When I ordered this book, I noticed that it was #3 of a trilogy, but the description assured me that it stood as a read-alone book, as well. I think they were mistaken.
For example, most of the actions of the protagonist seem inexplicable, with no logical motivation. Much of the plot concerns the caretaking and restoration of a vast collection of taxidermy, and this aspect must surely be metaphorical, but for the life of me I cannot imagine what the stuffed animals represent. The climax(?) is either one of the most anti-climactic ever or must depend for resonance on a knowledge of the previous books.
The novel starts with the death of Susan Lindley's husband at the hands of a mugger in a foreign country. She feels guilt because he left his home to look for her disappeared boss (whom he hardly knew) after becoming aware of her adultery with a co-worker (only the last in a long line of sexual indiscretions). As she begins the process of selling their house and starting life as a single woman, she inherits the estate of a great uncle, which includes a many-roomed mansion filled to the brim with taxidermied animals. Rather than clearing them out, she begins organizing and rehabilitating them. Later, she is (rather illogically) joined in her new home by a group of eccentric old women. And then she learns of a possible basement to the mansion.
I first became aware of this novel by reading an internet web site about possible contenders for the Pulitzer. Many people praised it. The Amazon web site included even more praise. My goodness, what I am I missing here? Although it is reasonably well written, the book seems to me to be flat and almost pointless. Perhaps if I read the first two parts of the trilogy? But this one so failed to impress me that I don't believe I will.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Thursday, May 16, 2013
The Dog Soldiers by Robert Stone
Here is yet another entry to my personal list of novels which, although they have won honors and/or have been praised by critics, I heartily dislike. I felt this way about Post Office by Charles Bukowski and Play It As It Lays by Joan Didion. And now this one.
The Dog Soldiers won the National Book Award in 1975 and has been included on Time's Top 100 Novels list. It has been compared to Conrad's Heart of Darkness, and I can see that Stone aims for that same theme and tone. But he misses it by a mile. Instead we have portraits of people who are aimless, without emotion, motivated by impulse, drug and alcohol addled, cynical and dead inside. Whereas Conrad's novel portrays dark universal traits in precise yet metaphorical prose, Stone's book features characters who are all petty and actually fairly naive, rather than being seduced by the black impulses of the human psyche. And the writing all sounds like a hip screen play. It is very much a novel of the '70s, with the frequent use of drug slang and the general cynicism of the late Vietnam War era, when the hippie dreams had failed.
The plot goes a little something like this: John Converse has been half-heartedly covering the Vietnam War as a journalist, when he decides to attempt a big heroine drug deal, though he is inexperienced in trafficking. He enlists the help of an old friend and of his stateside wife, only to have them disappear from sight when a corrupt Federal agent enters the picture. From here on the novel becomes pretty much a standard thriller, with the race on to see who ends up with the drugs.
Sometimes when I dislike a novel I realize that it's because my least favorite people in the world are those who are aimless and selfish and self-destructive and substance addicted and blame society for all their problems. I don't want to be around them and I don't want to read about them. That's the case here, I'm sure.
The Dog Soldiers won the National Book Award in 1975 and has been included on Time's Top 100 Novels list. It has been compared to Conrad's Heart of Darkness, and I can see that Stone aims for that same theme and tone. But he misses it by a mile. Instead we have portraits of people who are aimless, without emotion, motivated by impulse, drug and alcohol addled, cynical and dead inside. Whereas Conrad's novel portrays dark universal traits in precise yet metaphorical prose, Stone's book features characters who are all petty and actually fairly naive, rather than being seduced by the black impulses of the human psyche. And the writing all sounds like a hip screen play. It is very much a novel of the '70s, with the frequent use of drug slang and the general cynicism of the late Vietnam War era, when the hippie dreams had failed.
The plot goes a little something like this: John Converse has been half-heartedly covering the Vietnam War as a journalist, when he decides to attempt a big heroine drug deal, though he is inexperienced in trafficking. He enlists the help of an old friend and of his stateside wife, only to have them disappear from sight when a corrupt Federal agent enters the picture. From here on the novel becomes pretty much a standard thriller, with the race on to see who ends up with the drugs.
Sometimes when I dislike a novel I realize that it's because my least favorite people in the world are those who are aimless and selfish and self-destructive and substance addicted and blame society for all their problems. I don't want to be around them and I don't want to read about them. That's the case here, I'm sure.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Beautiful Ruins by Jess Walter
Like the 1960s movie Cleopatra, which is included in the plot, this novel has a cast of thousands--well, not literally. But it does have a very large number of featured characters whose stories are told in intertwined, non-linear episodes. The players include a shy Italian hotel owner, a beautiful actress who believes she is dying of cancer, two would-be writers, an unscrupulous movie producer and his idealistic assistant, an addiction-haunted musician, and Richard Burton, THE Richard Burton. And many more.
The time period extends from World War II to "recently." The locations include Italy, Scotland, and Hollywood. The tone of the narrative encompasses romanticism, cynicism, social satire, and pathos. It is both tear-inducing and laughter-inducing. Sometimes the novel includes almost too much, but then it tells such a darn-good story that all is forgiven.
The central plot around which all else revolves concerns Pasquale, the hotel owner, and Dee, the actress. To recount the plot would almost require summarizing the entire book, but suffice it to say that it begins when the two meet and ends when they meet again 50 years later, with many unexpected twists and people in between.
What sold me on this book was its exploration of "the moment," that magical point in time when dreams seem possible, before messy reality intrudes. Pasquale says of his meeting with Dee that it was, "The moment that lasts forever." The question becomes, is it possible to recapture the promise of "the moment"? I well remember my "moment"--can't you?
I could name some shortcomings of Beautiful Ruins: it is sometimes difficult to follow as it jumps from character to character and time to time; the tone of some sections is jarring next to the tone of other sections; it is perhaps a bit too clever for its own good at times. But I liked it very much.
The time period extends from World War II to "recently." The locations include Italy, Scotland, and Hollywood. The tone of the narrative encompasses romanticism, cynicism, social satire, and pathos. It is both tear-inducing and laughter-inducing. Sometimes the novel includes almost too much, but then it tells such a darn-good story that all is forgiven.
The central plot around which all else revolves concerns Pasquale, the hotel owner, and Dee, the actress. To recount the plot would almost require summarizing the entire book, but suffice it to say that it begins when the two meet and ends when they meet again 50 years later, with many unexpected twists and people in between.
What sold me on this book was its exploration of "the moment," that magical point in time when dreams seem possible, before messy reality intrudes. Pasquale says of his meeting with Dee that it was, "The moment that lasts forever." The question becomes, is it possible to recapture the promise of "the moment"? I well remember my "moment"--can't you?
I could name some shortcomings of Beautiful Ruins: it is sometimes difficult to follow as it jumps from character to character and time to time; the tone of some sections is jarring next to the tone of other sections; it is perhaps a bit too clever for its own good at times. But I liked it very much.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka
This is a most unusual novel, if it can even be called a novel. Instead of telling a story through focusing on one or a few central characters, Otsuka tells her story of the hundreds of Japanese picture brides who came to America in the early 20th century through one or two short declarative sentences per character, describing the lives of the hundreds of women. She uses "we" to narrate, as if one picture bride were telling the story of all.
The book is divided into eight sections: the boat trip to America; the first night with new husbands, who were usually not at all as they had represented themselves; the interactions with new neighbors, particularly the white Americans; the births of the children; the growing up of the children, who often became ashamed by their Japanese heritage; World War II and Pearl Harbor, and the resulting American reaction to the Japanese; the removal of the California Japanese to internment camps; and (this section from a differing viewpoint) the reaction of white America to the sudden absence of the Japanese from their farms and communities.
This unusual style of storytelling brings focus to social and political issues--cultural misunderstanding; assimilation difficulties; racial bigotry; racial profiling; and the fear-induced abandonment of Constitutional rights by the government, culminating in the virtual imprisonment of thousands of people based solely on their racial heritage.
Unfortunately, this style does not lend itself at all to any emotional connection with the book. It seems to make of it more of a long essay rather than a novel.
I was much reminded of the beginning of the most excellent Vietnam war novel The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien. His first section was structured in a similar way, with short sentences detailing what young soldiers carried to war, using "they" as his point of view. But then he progressed to individual stories, bringing about emotional connections. This does not happen in The Buddha in the Attic.
This book is very short (129 pages trade paperback), which is good in this instance, as so much "list-making" becomes tiresome.
For me, the primary attraction of the novel is the applications it has to today's political climate. Even though the WWII Japanese internment has been acknowledged by several US presidents as having been a shameful mistake and the internees have been paid reparations, once more our country has imprisoned people without due process of law, again out of fear. Even those who carp endlessly about Constitutional rights seem to think this is OK. My hope is that later on this, too, will be acknowledged as a mistake.
By the way, this book won the 2012 Pen/Faulkner Award for Fiction in 2012.
The book is divided into eight sections: the boat trip to America; the first night with new husbands, who were usually not at all as they had represented themselves; the interactions with new neighbors, particularly the white Americans; the births of the children; the growing up of the children, who often became ashamed by their Japanese heritage; World War II and Pearl Harbor, and the resulting American reaction to the Japanese; the removal of the California Japanese to internment camps; and (this section from a differing viewpoint) the reaction of white America to the sudden absence of the Japanese from their farms and communities.
This unusual style of storytelling brings focus to social and political issues--cultural misunderstanding; assimilation difficulties; racial bigotry; racial profiling; and the fear-induced abandonment of Constitutional rights by the government, culminating in the virtual imprisonment of thousands of people based solely on their racial heritage.
Unfortunately, this style does not lend itself at all to any emotional connection with the book. It seems to make of it more of a long essay rather than a novel.
I was much reminded of the beginning of the most excellent Vietnam war novel The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien. His first section was structured in a similar way, with short sentences detailing what young soldiers carried to war, using "they" as his point of view. But then he progressed to individual stories, bringing about emotional connections. This does not happen in The Buddha in the Attic.
This book is very short (129 pages trade paperback), which is good in this instance, as so much "list-making" becomes tiresome.
For me, the primary attraction of the novel is the applications it has to today's political climate. Even though the WWII Japanese internment has been acknowledged by several US presidents as having been a shameful mistake and the internees have been paid reparations, once more our country has imprisoned people without due process of law, again out of fear. Even those who carp endlessly about Constitutional rights seem to think this is OK. My hope is that later on this, too, will be acknowledged as a mistake.
By the way, this book won the 2012 Pen/Faulkner Award for Fiction in 2012.
Monday, May 6, 2013
North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell
This Victorian novel is an obvious rip-off of Jane Austin's marriage plot books, particularly Pride and Prejudice, combined with a very talky consideration of social and political issues in England at the time, particularly of the labor problems between workers and management. The two aspects don't always meld very well, and the entire book comes off as a bit strange in consequence.
The "north" and "south" of the title come from the south of England, which was largely rural and agrarian, and the north of England, which was developing as an urban manufacturing area. Our heroine, Margaret Hale, relocates from the south to the north when her father leaves the clergy of the Church of England as a dissenter and becomes a tutor. Thrown into a social situation entirely foreign to her, she comes to feel sympathy for the millworkers who are striking for higher wages, befriending one family in particular. Meanwhile, her father forms a friendship with one of his pupils, John Thornton, a mill owner. (This mill owner is taking time off from his business to be tutored in the classics. How unlikely is that?)
Margaret and the mill owner frequently verbally clash, as they discuss (at length) the situation of the strike. In addition, Margaret feels some class disdain for him and his ilk because they are involved in "trade." When he unexpectedly proposes, she rejects him as the last man she would ever choose. And yet, she cannot keep him out of her mind. Can't you imagine how this romance ends?
Perhaps not surprising, since the romance plot is predictable, the most interesting aspect of the novel is the discussion of the social and political issues. Gaskell uses the device of dialogues between her characters to advance her views, similar to a much later novelist, Ayn Rand. One is always tempted to skim-read these sections; however, in this case it is very interesting to see how similar the viewpoints of the workers and the owners in Victorian England are to those of today. Unions are particularly examined, with the good and bad aspects discussed, much of which would be pertinent now.
Also of interest is the depiction of class prejudice in England, which Gaskell is obviously criticizing. And yet, she displays her own prejudices, which are humorous to modern ears. For instance, of a family which behaves in an irresponsible and childish way, she has Margaret say as an explanation, "I should guess from their tones that they had Irish blood in them."
I found this book interesting, but it is easy to see why Gaskell is not considered as a member of the first tier of Victorian novelists.
The "north" and "south" of the title come from the south of England, which was largely rural and agrarian, and the north of England, which was developing as an urban manufacturing area. Our heroine, Margaret Hale, relocates from the south to the north when her father leaves the clergy of the Church of England as a dissenter and becomes a tutor. Thrown into a social situation entirely foreign to her, she comes to feel sympathy for the millworkers who are striking for higher wages, befriending one family in particular. Meanwhile, her father forms a friendship with one of his pupils, John Thornton, a mill owner. (This mill owner is taking time off from his business to be tutored in the classics. How unlikely is that?)
Margaret and the mill owner frequently verbally clash, as they discuss (at length) the situation of the strike. In addition, Margaret feels some class disdain for him and his ilk because they are involved in "trade." When he unexpectedly proposes, she rejects him as the last man she would ever choose. And yet, she cannot keep him out of her mind. Can't you imagine how this romance ends?
Perhaps not surprising, since the romance plot is predictable, the most interesting aspect of the novel is the discussion of the social and political issues. Gaskell uses the device of dialogues between her characters to advance her views, similar to a much later novelist, Ayn Rand. One is always tempted to skim-read these sections; however, in this case it is very interesting to see how similar the viewpoints of the workers and the owners in Victorian England are to those of today. Unions are particularly examined, with the good and bad aspects discussed, much of which would be pertinent now.
Also of interest is the depiction of class prejudice in England, which Gaskell is obviously criticizing. And yet, she displays her own prejudices, which are humorous to modern ears. For instance, of a family which behaves in an irresponsible and childish way, she has Margaret say as an explanation, "I should guess from their tones that they had Irish blood in them."
I found this book interesting, but it is easy to see why Gaskell is not considered as a member of the first tier of Victorian novelists.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey
What a lovely and magical book this is! On the one hand, it is a realistic picture of the hardship involved in trying to farm in the harsh yet beautiful Alaskan wilderness. On the other hand, it is a book of magical realism, with its story basis being a Russian fairy tale. As one reviewer wrote, "If Willa Cather and Gabriel Garcia Marquez had collaborated on a book, The Snow Child would be it."
As the Russian story goes, a couple who have long yearned for a child build a girl out of snow. The next morning, the snow child is gone, but they see a young girl running through the woods. As with most folk tales, many variations and endings exist, some sorrowful and some joyful.
As the novel goes, Jack and Mabel are struggling to survive the hardships of Alaskan settlement in 1920 and their sorrow at the still-birth of their child. In a rare moment of joy, they build a snow girl and, as in the Russian tale, next morning they see a young girl running through the trees. Wild and fey, the girl eventually comes to trust the couple and they come to love her as if she were their own, even though she disappears each spring when the snow stops falling. They accept her for the mystery she is: as Mabel says, "You did not have to understand miracles to believe in them...."
But then a very real explanation for her existence and actions is discovered, so perhaps no miracle is involved at all. And yet....
This is a story of love and family and hope and beauty and the pain and joy of life.
The writing is absolutely perfect, as far as I am concerned. It pictures the Alaskan landscape so concretely that I could see it in my mind, without any of those self-consciously poetic metaphors so prevalent in many of today's novels. The magic and the realism are mixed perfectly, so that they flow through each other.
I see this quote as illustrating the theme of the book, "In my old age, I see that life itself is often more fantastic and terrible than the stories we believed in as children, and that perhaps there is no harm in finding magic among trees."
No harm, indeed.
This novel was a finalist for the 2013 Pulitzer Prize. Most highly recommended.
As the Russian story goes, a couple who have long yearned for a child build a girl out of snow. The next morning, the snow child is gone, but they see a young girl running through the woods. As with most folk tales, many variations and endings exist, some sorrowful and some joyful.
As the novel goes, Jack and Mabel are struggling to survive the hardships of Alaskan settlement in 1920 and their sorrow at the still-birth of their child. In a rare moment of joy, they build a snow girl and, as in the Russian tale, next morning they see a young girl running through the trees. Wild and fey, the girl eventually comes to trust the couple and they come to love her as if she were their own, even though she disappears each spring when the snow stops falling. They accept her for the mystery she is: as Mabel says, "You did not have to understand miracles to believe in them...."
But then a very real explanation for her existence and actions is discovered, so perhaps no miracle is involved at all. And yet....
This is a story of love and family and hope and beauty and the pain and joy of life.
The writing is absolutely perfect, as far as I am concerned. It pictures the Alaskan landscape so concretely that I could see it in my mind, without any of those self-consciously poetic metaphors so prevalent in many of today's novels. The magic and the realism are mixed perfectly, so that they flow through each other.
I see this quote as illustrating the theme of the book, "In my old age, I see that life itself is often more fantastic and terrible than the stories we believed in as children, and that perhaps there is no harm in finding magic among trees."
No harm, indeed.
This novel was a finalist for the 2013 Pulitzer Prize. Most highly recommended.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Arcadia by Lauren Groff
I have very mixed feelings about this book, so much so that I put off writing the review for a couple of days after I finished it while I thought about it further.
This is the story of Bit, beginning with his birth in a hippie commune in the 1970's. More than half the book is the story of the commune and its rise and fall, from its idealistic beginnings to its disintegration brought about by egoism and other human frailties. While Bit is nourished by the lifestyle, others of his contemporaries seem to be destroyed by it, principally Helle, the daughter of the leader and Bit's first love.
The rest of the book concerns Bit's life in New York City, after leaving the commune at age 14, and extends to his early middle age. It very briefly describes Bit's initial adjustment to the real world and his re-meeting and marriage with the damaged Helle, before a concluding section set in 2018. This final section includes Bit's relationship with his and Helle's daughter, a world-wide pandemic, and a long and graphic account of the death of his mother from ALS.
Thematically, the author seems to be commenting on the entropy of modern society and on the possible ways to deal with it. Her conclusions seem to be that just trying to change things makes a difference, that a small like-minded community can help (the Amish neighbors of the commune are frequently referenced), and mainly that the circle of family love can make the struggle worth attempting.
The first part of the book is fascinating, told from the viewpoint of young Bit in very concrete and immediate detail, particularly in his interactions with his parents. Although the writing is sometimes overblown and hints of the MFA Creative Writing tendency of over-reaching for arresting metaphors, it is often beautiful. I would actually have preferred that the book would have ended here.
The rest of the book seems rushed and "tells about" what happened rather than presenting a picture. Only the death of Bit's mother is detailed, and that account is needlessly excruciating to read for anyone who has seen a parent's decline, especially as I cannot see any purpose in emphasizing this aspect of the story. Bit's romance at the end seems tacked on and unconvincing.
All this carping about the faults seems petty, since this is a much better novel than usual, but I was expecting so much more from reading the beginning section that I became very disappointed in the ending sections. Also, I felt that the depiction of the state of the globe was overly dramatic and pessimistic.
I believe most people would consider this an excellent novel, and I can see why it was considered a contender for the Pulitzer. I'm sorry I couldn't like it more.
This is the story of Bit, beginning with his birth in a hippie commune in the 1970's. More than half the book is the story of the commune and its rise and fall, from its idealistic beginnings to its disintegration brought about by egoism and other human frailties. While Bit is nourished by the lifestyle, others of his contemporaries seem to be destroyed by it, principally Helle, the daughter of the leader and Bit's first love.
The rest of the book concerns Bit's life in New York City, after leaving the commune at age 14, and extends to his early middle age. It very briefly describes Bit's initial adjustment to the real world and his re-meeting and marriage with the damaged Helle, before a concluding section set in 2018. This final section includes Bit's relationship with his and Helle's daughter, a world-wide pandemic, and a long and graphic account of the death of his mother from ALS.
Thematically, the author seems to be commenting on the entropy of modern society and on the possible ways to deal with it. Her conclusions seem to be that just trying to change things makes a difference, that a small like-minded community can help (the Amish neighbors of the commune are frequently referenced), and mainly that the circle of family love can make the struggle worth attempting.
The first part of the book is fascinating, told from the viewpoint of young Bit in very concrete and immediate detail, particularly in his interactions with his parents. Although the writing is sometimes overblown and hints of the MFA Creative Writing tendency of over-reaching for arresting metaphors, it is often beautiful. I would actually have preferred that the book would have ended here.
The rest of the book seems rushed and "tells about" what happened rather than presenting a picture. Only the death of Bit's mother is detailed, and that account is needlessly excruciating to read for anyone who has seen a parent's decline, especially as I cannot see any purpose in emphasizing this aspect of the story. Bit's romance at the end seems tacked on and unconvincing.
All this carping about the faults seems petty, since this is a much better novel than usual, but I was expecting so much more from reading the beginning section that I became very disappointed in the ending sections. Also, I felt that the depiction of the state of the globe was overly dramatic and pessimistic.
I believe most people would consider this an excellent novel, and I can see why it was considered a contender for the Pulitzer. I'm sorry I couldn't like it more.
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