The Mere Wife

Maria Dahvana Headley

Very loosely based on the Anglo-Saxon epic poem, Beowulf, The Mere Wife by Maria Dahvana Headley takes place in and around Herot Hall, a gated community in suburbia, replete with manicured lawns; regimented flower beds; and all manner of up-to-date security systems designed to keep outsiders off its pristine grounds. Herot Hall is an oasis where residents preside over a stream of never-ending dinner parties and children’s play-dates.

Our attention is drawn to Willa Herot, mother of Dylan, and wife of Roger, the heir of Herot Hall. Willa leads a surreal existence, a life riddled with popping pills and alcoholism. She is surrounded by a bevy of older women with surgically enhanced body parts, immaculately coiffed hair, and scrupulously polished fingernails. They swoop in on Willa at regular intervals to ensure her home, family, and dinner parties are up to snuff.

And then there is Dana Mills, a veteran of a desert war suffering from PTSD. Caught by her captors and somehow surviving a televised execution, she wakes up several months later to find herself pregnant. She returns to her home town and lives in hiding with her son, Gren. They live in tunnels and an abandoned train station buried deep within a mountain overlooking Herot Hall.

Convinced Gren looks like a monster, Dana showers him with unconditional love and a fierce determination to protect him from outsiders who will target him because of his difference. Her warnings to stay away from the monsters in Herot Hall go unheeded when Gren’s curiosity gets the better of him. He ventures down the mountain and befriends Dylan Herot. Their friendship becomes the catalyst that leads to an inexorable collision course.

Headley sets up a series of contrasts between Willa and Dana. Willa lives under a microscope in her brightly lit home with its large windows. She can rely on the support of power-wielding women to help her pick up the pieces every time her life falls apart. In contrast, Dana lives in darkness in the belly of a mountain with Gren as her only support and companion. Willa’s dinner parties with their sumptuous meals and tinkling glasses are described in vivid detail while Dana survives on whatever she can scrounge from the land and animals she can trap.

In spite of their differences, the two women have in common a struggle to survive. They are isolated and trapped in different ways. In the gated community with its locks and bolts and social expectations, Willa strives to make meaning in a life she finds insignificant and a lifestyle peppered with lies and deceptions. Meanwhile, festering away in the entrails of a mountain, Dana struggles with flashbacks and hallucinations that color her perceptions of reality.

This is an ambitious novel. In some ways, it is perhaps a little too ambitious. The point of view constantly shifts with a plethora of different voices, including Dana’s first person, the Greek chorus-like women of Herot commenting on events, the spirits inhabiting the mountain, third person limited omniscient, and others. The shifts are disconcerting. Add to the mix hallucinations and imaginary conversations with imaginary people, and it becomes a challenge to know who is saying what to whom, what is real and what is imagined. The last section of the novel, with its rapid pace toward a final crescendo, is confusing and baffling.

In spite of these short comings, the novel is a compelling exploration of current concerns clothed in an ancient myth. It explores significant themes of race and class divisions; othering; “us” versus “them;” privilege; the lingering effects of war trauma; life-thwarting societal expectations; maternal love; the price we pay to survive; and the manner in which female power is exercised in a male-centered culture. It poses the following underlying questions: where are the monsters? Are they inside us or outside us? And who are the real monsters? Is it those who live in their pristine surroundings determined to sustain their way of life, no matter the cost? Or is it those “others” rejected by society and forced to inhabit its margins?

The novel doesn’t provide answers but it does ask the right questions.

Recommended.

Spider Woman's Granddaughters: Traditional Tales and Contemporary Writing by Native American Women

Paula Gunn Allen, ed.

Spider Woman’s Granddaughters: Traditional Tales and Contemporary Writing by Native American Women, edited with an introduction by Paula Gunn Allen, is a must read for those wishing to gain an understanding of the culture and context within which Native American women write.

This slim volume is divided into three sections: The Warriors, The Casualties, The Resistance. Gunn Allen introduces each section by situating it within its cultural context. Each section includes traditional writings that have been transmitted orally for many decades, as well as contemporary examples by well-known authors, such as Louise Erdrich, Anna Lee Walters, Leslie Marmon Silko, and Linda Hogan.

Gunn Allen’s excellent introduction to the collection provides a brief historical overview of the oppression and broken promises experienced by Native Americans. She also situates the traditional tales, some of which are biographical, and she draws connections between these tales and their contemporary counterparts. Her introductions are enlightening in that she approaches each section by clarifying terms and context, revealing nuances and subtleties in Native American writing that may not be readily apparent to all readers.

Some of the traditional tales may pose a challenge for readers steeped in the Western tradition of story-telling because they do not necessarily adhere to a linear, cause and effect pattern. They weave in and out, frequently circling back on themselves, revealing biographical details about Native lives and perspectives. The contemporary writings pick up many of the same themes of traditional tales while situating them in modern society. The themes remain the same: the struggle to maintain tradition, culture, kinship, and values against the onslaught of a dominant culture that tries to subvert all things Native. 

A compelling collection of traditional tales and contemporary short stories, some of which are heart-wrenching.

Highly recommended.

Moby Dick

Herman Melville

Herman Melville’s Moby Dick was a mixed bag. Parts of it were brilliant with language and scenes that echo some of Shakespeare’s plays. But other parts were a bit of a slog.

Melville incorporated a variety of different genres and shifted points of view for no apparent reason. Some of the chapters appeared to have little bearing on the narrative and would have been more at home in an encyclopedia entry on everything you want to know about whales and/or their depiction in art. These chapters could have been excised with no damage to the main story line, which is about a man’s all-consuming obsession for revenge, an obsession that ultimately destroys him and most of his crew.

Recommended but with some reservations.

Till We Have Faces

C.S. Lewis

In Till We Have Faces, C.S. Lewis uses the myth of Cupid and Psyche as a vehicle to explore love in its many forms. The story takes place in Glome, a pre-Christian, polytheistic culture ruled by a tyrannical king who fathers three daughters. The narrative unfolds in the first-person point of view of Orual, his eldest daughter and Psyche’s sister.

Orual is castigated because of her ugly face. Her ugliness shocks all who see her, so she veils her face to diminish the impact of her defining feature. Psyche, on the other hand, is renowned for her sublime beauty and generosity of spirit. Orual assumes the role of her protective guardian, showering her with love. But this love is not unconditional. It is selfish, self-serving, and destructive. When Psyche is selected as the sacrificial bride to the Brute (Cupid), Orual is convinced she has been devoured by the Brute and embarks on a journey to bury Psyche’s remains. She finds Psyche is not only alive but is thriving and happy as the bride of the god. Psyche reveals the god comes to her only at night, and she is not permitted to see his face. And this is where Orual’s envy and possessiveness become paramount. Consumed by jealousy and anger at Psyche’s estrangement from her, Orual destroys Psyche’s happiness, deluding herself into believing she is doing it for Psyche’s own good.

Orual displays the very human trait of conceptualizing events and relationships only in terms of how they impact her. She cannot see beyond herself and lashes out at any hint of independence from people she cares about. She perceives herself as a victim, little realizing she has victimized others. As an aging queen, she gradually recognizes the possessive and destructive nature of her love, her role in extinguishing Psyche’s happiness and in consuming the lives and activities of those around her.

Orual grapples with questions concerning the nature of the divine and the concept of love for the divine. Unlike Psyche, she is incapable of loving the divine without seeing it. She questions the existence of the gods, the nature of divine justice, and dismisses faith as mere superstition. She cannot “see” what Psyche sees and is consumed with resentment because Psyche has entered a different realm of existence as a result of her love for the divine.

Through his characters, Lewis explores the nature of divine justice, love for the divine, and faith in a supreme being. He also probes the relationship between beauty and love and the forms of love that can exist between two people, ranging from that which is selfish, possessive, and destructive to a selfless love capable of self-sacrifice to ensure the happiness of the beloved.

At its most basic level, this is a story of Orual’s gradual transformation from a character struggling with her identity as an ugly girl, plagued with doubts about the existence of the gods and the nature of divine justice to one who gains self-acceptance and who finds redemption by embracing spirituality and faith in the divine. It is a testament to Lewis’ skill as a writer that he opens this complex, multi-layered novel to a variety of metaphorical interpretations, including the possibility of reading it as an allegory for Christian theology, while simultaneously depicting diverse characters who are vivid and life-like in their expression of human emotions and motivations.

Recommended.

To the Bright Edge of the World

Eowyn Ivey

Eowyn Ivey’s To the Bright Edge of the World is inspired by the real life journey of Lieutenant Colonel Allen Forrester through Alaska’s unchartered territory in the 1880s. Ivey’s blend of fact with fiction results in a gripping novel.

The narrative unfolds by alternating between Forrester’s journal entries, his wife’s diary entries, the ramblings of an emotionally distressed member of Forrester’s team, descriptions of artifacts, and a series of letters between one of Forrester’s modern day descendants and the exhibits curator at the Alpine Historical Museum in Alpine, Alaska. The constant shifts in perspectives present an initial challenge to the reader, but it isn’t long before one settles into the rhythm of the book and is able to follow with ease. The narrative technique enables the reader to hear the unique voices of each of the characters and to view circumstances through their eyes. The two most prominent entries are those of Forrester and Sophie, his wife.

As Forrester and a small group of men trek through Alaska’s interior along the Wolverine River, Forrester records the journey in his journal. These journal entries describe the grandeur, wildness, and breathtaking scenery that is Alaska. The vivid detail immerses the reader in raging rivers, majestic mountains, rugged terrain, extreme seasonal changes in weather; encounters with wild animals; and the experience of hunger, thirst, sleep deprivation, and sheer exhaustion. And as they trek through unchartered territory, Forrester and his men interact with tribes of indigenous people, some of who are understandably suspicious of the white man’s intentions.

Forrester also includes out-of-this world experiences that have no rational explanations—a woman whose arm reveals her goose feathers; a trickster raven whose intermittent and implausible appearances thread their way throughout the novel. Forrester hints these may be hallucinations caused by exhaustion, hunger, and/or dehydration. Or maybe not.

Meanwhile, Forrester’s wife, Sophie, anxiously awaits his return at the Vancouver Barracks. Her diary entries reveal her own set of challenges. Refusing to conform to the chauvinistic constrictions placed on her gender, she forges her own path. She converts her pantry into a dark room, purchases a camera and all the necessary equipment, and pursues her passion of photographing birds. By the time her husband returns from his expedition several months later, Sophie has made a name for herself as an accomplished bird photographer whose photographs are included in a number of scientific journals and magazines.

It is a testament to Eowyn Ivey’s remarkable skills and wide range as a writer that this novel differs significantly from her previous novel, The Snow Child. Both novels capture the mystery of Alaska and its breathtaking topography in language vividly descriptive of the land and its people. And both inject an element of magical realism into the narrative. But there the similarity ends.

To the Bright Edge of the World blends adventure, exploration, history, folklore, ethnography, and an endearing love story between two people that transcends time and distance. And to remain authentic to the historical period, Ivey does not shy away from depicting the insidious racism of the colonizers chomping at the bit to subjugate the indigenous people, appropriate their land, and strip it of its natural resources.

Ivey transplants the reader to a different time and a different place. The novel shifts seamlessly between the various formats. The writing is engaging, vivid, and, at times, poetic. The research is extensive. The characters are fully developed, each speaking with a unique and engaging voice as to be able to step off the page. Ivey’s blend of fact with fiction coupled with her skilled execution combine to make this a compelling read.

Highly recommended.

The Clay Girl

Heather Tucker

The Clay Girl by Heather Tucker chronicles the childhood and adolescence of Ari/Hariet Appleton. The youngest daughter in a family of six girls, Ari tells her story in the first-person point of view. The novel begins with Ari as a young child being bundled off to her aunt’s house when her father commits suicide. After a brief stay with her aunt, Ari goes back to live with her mother and stepfather.

To say Ari comes from a dysfunctional home is a gross understatement. Her father raped and impregnated one of his daughters and sexually molested the others before committing suicide. Her mother is abusive, cruel, neglectful, selfish, homophobic, and riddled with drug and alcohol addiction. Her first stepfather provides the stability Ari needs, cradling her with unconditional love and security. But after his death, Ari’s mother marries an abusive police officer. Her mother and new husband retain custody of her, primarily because they are after the money she inherits from her step-father. Ari has to navigate her way through school, hold down two jobs, and tread very carefully at home to avoid the physical, mental, and emotional abuse regularly inflicted on her by her mother and new step-father.

It is heart-wrenching to read the struggles and obstacles Ari experiences as she grows into her adolescence. Her constant companion through the tumult is her imaginary friend, an inner voice manifested as a seahorse named Jasper. Ari and Jasper have ongoing conversations, with Jasper commenting and advising Ari on how to navigate the turmoil.

This is an engaging, page-turning novel with many strengths. The characters speak in brisk, animated dialog. The narrative chugs along at a swift pace. As the protagonist and the teller of her own story, Ari is likable, intelligent, talented, resilient, witty, and street-smart. Her horrific experiences endow her with the ability to view the world with unabashed honesty. We watch as she skillfully skirts the land mines placed in front of her.

But the novel also has some missteps, the most notable being that it stretches the limits of plausibility. Ari not only manages to bounce back from multiple attacks of verbal and physical abuse, she somehow thrives on them. She excels academically at school in spite of her spotty attendance. Her teachers are more intent in encouraging her to pursue her academic and artistic talents than in safeguarding her from the abuse they know she suffers at the hands of her guardians. They bandage her battered and bruised body and send her back to her abusers armed with little more than comforting words and encouragement to pursue her writing.

The many characters in Ari’s life are one-dimensional. They are either hell-on-wheels (her mother, father, and second step-father) or saintly, loving, and supportive (her aunts, first step-father, teachers, and friends). The latter lavish Ari with continuous praise to the point of tedium. And in many ways, Ari is too good to be true. A young child whose father was an incestuous pedophile, whose mother is an addict, whose step-father is physically and emotionally abusive, and who is hurled from one traumatic event to another can hardly maintain the up-beat, can-do, generous spirit Ari exhibits.

In spite of these shortcomings, the novel has much to commend it. Through the eyes of a child, we see the interplay of child abuse, pedophilia, sexual assault, substance abuse, homophobia, greed, and cruelty. We also see the redemptive power of love in a child’s life. The narrative sustains reader interest. We continue to read if only to learn what new horror Ari is subjected to and if and how she manages to maneuver herself out of it.

Recommended with reservations.

The White Raven

Robert Low

The White Raven is the third book in Robert Low’s Viking Oathsworn series. Low doesn’t disappoint. This is book is as exciting as The Whale Road and probably even better than The Wolf Sea. Low picks up the thread where he left off in The Wolf Sea. Orm Bearslayer, leader of the Oathsworn, wants nothing more than to settle down and have a quiet life. But circumstances are against him and he is forced to lead his men on another adventure, this time across the frozen steppes in frigid weather.

Bound by their oath to each other, the Oathsworn set off to avenge an attack on their settlement and to retrieve those taken as hostages. They become embroiled in a cat and mouse chase to obtain the hoard of treasure buried in Attila’s burial mound. There is continuity from the previous books even though one doesn’t have to be familiar with them to enjoy this book as Low provides brief explanatory paragraphs when necessary.

The White Raven continues the tradition of its predecessors by plunging us into the chest-thumping, sword-thrashing, axe-wielding, womanizing, foul smelling, and vulgar speaking world of Low’s Vikings. But our immersion in this very masculine world is tempered somewhat by the presence of two very strong prominent females who are more than capable of navigating in male domain and who give as good as they get. And then there are the fierce Amazonian tribeswomen. They earn the respect of the Oathsworn because, like them, they are bound to each other by an oath of loyalty and are willing to fight to the death to honor their word.

The novel is choke-full of thrilling action. The characters are well-developed and engaging. Amidst the blood and carnage, Low sprinkles references to the Slavic and Norse mythology and folklore embedded in the characters’ daily lives. One of the most intriguing characters is a young prince with a talent for telling fables and folktales that capture the attention of this band of burly men as they huddle together for warmth.

Robert Low’s extensive research on the era adds authenticity and credibility to the people and events. He is a gifted story-teller who totally immerses the reader in the rough and tumble, full-blooded world of the Vikings in all its vivid, sensory detail.

Highly recommended, especially for lovers of historical fiction.

Cassandra: A Novel and Four Essays

Christa Wolf; Trans. Jan Van Heurck

Cassandra by Christa Wolf, translated by Jan Van Heurck, presents the fall of Troy and its aftermath through the first-person point of view of Cassandra, a daughter of Priam and Hecuba, the king and queen of Troy. According to Greek mythology, Cassandra was given the gift of prophecy by Apollo after she promised to become his consort. When she reneged on her promise, Apollo cursed her so no one would believe her prophesies.

We meet Cassandra as she is about to face her death. She weaves descriptions of her current situation with flashes of the past. She describes the deterioration of Troy into a virtual police state, a situation that creeps up fueled by a war that generates fear and superstition among her people and within members of her family. She is horrified by the changes she witnesses in the behaviors and values of those she loves. She warns of the impending doom, but her voice is marginalized and eventually silenced. She witnesses the brutality of war, the deaths of family and friends, and the destruction of her city.

Through Cassandra, Wolf voices her opinions on the insanity of war and its corrosive impact. As the novel unfolds, we see truth manipulated to serve political aims. Hostilities force people into adopting positions contrary to their previous nature. Deceptions and lies are reiterated until they assume the strength of dogma. The whole fabric of society crumbles until what remains is no longer recognizable. In war, everyone loses.

One of the many interesting aspects of the novel is the way in which the women of Troy carve a physical and psychological space for themselves outside of male domain. There is a sense of sisterhood and unity among women. They share intimate details of their lives, soothe each other’s wounds with healing balms, administer medicinal herbs and plants, and interpret dreams. Cassandra finds solace and comfort in the company of these women, a respite from the male machinations in the palace.

The book includes a collection of four essays in which Wolf describes her travels to ancient sites in Greece and Crete. Cassandra’s vision and voice are never far from her mind and eventually take shape as Wolf treks through these ancient sites. Woven into her travelogue are her musing on Cassandra. We are given a fascinating glimpse into the mind of an author’s creative process taking shape as it is being informed by her travels, research, and readings of Classical literature.

Wolf’s writing is intense and powerful. She conveys her views with passion and conviction. The writing is dense and energetic. At times, it can pose a challenge to keep track of her meditations on Cassandra, on the fall of Troy, on the impact of war, and on the political upheavals caused by the Cold War during the 1980s when she wrote the novel. But it is a challenge worth facing because what emerges is the voice of a talented author with a profound sensitivity to the state of the world and the political turmoil that surround her.

Recommended.

Laurus

Eugene Vodolazkin; Trans. Lisa C. Hayden

Laurus by Eugene Vodolazkin, translated by Lisa C. Hayden, is the story of Arseny, a fictional fifteenth-century Russian folk healer, holy man, mystic, and pilgrim. Orphaned at a young age, he lives with his grandfather, Christofer, who teaches him to heal the sick through prayer, a healing hand, and traditional folk remedies using plants and herbs.

When Christofer dies, Arseny assumes the role of village healer. He experiences distinct stages in his life, each of which corresponds to a change in his name. As Arseny, he is the village healer and the lover of Ustina. When she dies giving birth to their stillborn baby, Arseny blames himself and embarks on a life of atonement, traveling from one village to the next. Every good deed he performs is done on behalf of Ustina; every mishap or catastrophe he experiences is interpreted as punishment for Ustina’s death.

Temporarily assuming the name Ustin, he abstains from speech and is known as a mute holy man with miraculous healing powers. He reverts to the name Arseny, goes on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and survives an attack by bandits. Upon his return, he joins a monastery and is given the name Amvrosy. People flock to the monastery to experience his healing powers. He adopts the name Laurus in his declining years and leaves the monastery in search of a quiet place to die. Taking up residence in a cave near the village where he was born, he continues to heal the sick until he dies peacefully in his sleep.

This is a highly unusual novel that defies classification. Although situated in the Middle Ages, it feels timeless. The narrative is episodic in nature with unexpected shifts in time. One of its recurring themes is the proposition that time progresses in a circular motion. The past and future mingle with the present. The past is a constant present in Arseny’s mind, and the occasional forward leaps into the future occur through prophetic visions of the 20th Century. Arseny’s life journey illustrates the theme by coming full circle when he returns to the place of his birth to die.

Vodolazkin skillfully evokes the zeitgeist of the late Middle Ages with its pestilence and periodic outbreaks of the plague, its reliance on herbs and plants for healing, its superstitions, and its pervasive Christianity that permeates all aspects of life. Unusual events, prophetic visions, miracles, extra-sensory perceptions, and mysteries abound. Interpreted religiously, they are treated as a matter of course.

The diction is unpretentious, almost child-like in its simplicity, contributing to the feel of a fable told for moral edification. Interspersed throughout are conversations rendered with Chaucerian spelling—the addition of an extra ‘e’ to the end of a word or the substitution of ‘y’ for ‘i’. There is also the occasional lapse into 20thC slang, striking for its incongruity.

Perhaps one of the most endearing qualities of the novel lies in its sympathetic treatment of Arseny, a humble man who articulates profound insights in simple phraseology. He communicates with wild animals, treats victims of the plague with impunity, and has several narrow escapes from death. He abstains from worldly comforts, embraces physical deprivation, seeks simplicity, and desires nothing more than to alleviate the pain and suffering of others. A devout Christian who lives his faith, he engages in one-way conversations with God and with the deceased Ustina whose untimely death catapults him into a life of penance. His predominant quality is his humility.

This is an inspiring novel with elements of mysticism, magical realism, and allegory, all of which are infused with an atmosphere of fables, fairy tales, and myth.  

Highly recommended.

Nights at the Circus

Angela Carter

Enter the topsy-turvy world of Angela Carter’s Nights at the Circus where you will travel from London to Petersburg to Siberia, where you will encounter waltzing tigers, literate chimpanzees, introspective elephants, a clairvoyant pig, and where you will meet a motley crew of very unusual characters. Best of all, you will go on this raucous journey with the inimitable Fevvers— a part woman, part swan hybrid. She is a tall, statuesque aerieliste with a penchant for spouting earthy, no-nonsense wisdom in her delightful Cockney accent.

We first encounter Fevvers as she is being interviewed by Jack Walser, an American journalist. She claims to have been hatched from an egg; abandoned; raised in a brothel by Lizzie, her surrogate mother and constant companion; sprouts wings; learns to fly; and joins Colonel Kearney’s circus to become the talk of Europe with her dazzling skills on the trapeze. Walser falls in love with her and decides to join the same circus disguised as a clown to unearth her secrets. What follows is a rollicking ride from one bizarre event to another, parts of which are told in Fevvers’ raunchy dialog infused with feminism and a gritty, down-to-earth perspective.

Angela Carter takes the reader on a magical carpet ride. The price of admission is to abandon the world of reality and logical thought. Her prose is brisk, colorful, engaging, and smattered with some inspirational words from Shakespeare, Blake, and Yeats among others, as well as with the occasional dip into scatological humor. Her abrupt shifts in points of view keep readers on their toes. One never quite knows what to expect. We are hurtled from one bizarre happening to another—much like a trapeze artist soaring in mid-air with no knowledge of where one will land or what awaits upon landing.

This is an exhilarating ride made all the more delightful because we are accompanying the thoroughly enchanting, totally unconventional Fevvers. In her cockney accent, swan’s feathers, larger-than-life body, gritty wisdom, and voracious appetite, what’s not to love?

Highly recommended.

The Pickup

Nadine Gordimer

How do you define home? Is it where you were born? What about family? Is it the people who raised you? These are some of the issues Nadine Gordimer explores in her novel, The Pickup.

Meet Julie Summers. Born into an affluent white South African family, she is the poor little rich girl skirting through life, working at an unfulfilling job, spouting pretentious jargon with liberal friends. Ashamed of her wealthy father and her social butterfly of a step-mother, she rebels against everything they represent. Although thirty years old, she has yet to find her place in the world. Then, one day, her car breaks down. And Julie’s life changes.

Enter Abdu/Ibrahim, a young Arab mechanic who repairs her car. It’s no surprise when the two become lovers. Abdu’s illegal immigration status is discovered by authorities. He has 10 days to leave the country. Julie decides to join him. They get married and board the plane to an unnamed country somewhere in the Arab world.

Abdu/Ibrahim is ashamed of the primitive conditions of life in his village. He is baffled by Julie’s cheerful willingness to acculturate to her adopted home, to embrace its rituals and traditions, its gendered roles and restrictions. He anticipates her announcement on any given day that she is heading back to daddy in South Africa. Meanwhile, he races from one consulate to another, desperate to obtain a visa to any western country that will accept him. Eventually, he obtains a visa to America and makes plans to leave his village, fully expecting Julie to accompany him. But Julie has other ideas. She refuses to leave. She has found home. She has found family.

In the hands of an inexperienced writer, the story borders on being cliché. Poor little rich girl falls in love. Marries a man beneath her social standing. Follows him to a foreign culture. Finds her place in the world. But the story is anything but cliché in the hands of Nadine Gordimer, the winner of the 1991 Nobel Prize for Literature.

Gordimer treats her characters with empathy and sensitivity. Her portrayal of even tertiary characters is masterful and authentic. She captures the halting English and cadences of Abdu/Ibrahim; his desperate struggle to escape from his village; his eagerness to plunge headlong into a country he knows nothing about in the hope of a better life; his yearning for success within a capitalist society; and his complete inability to understand his wife. In Julie she captures her slow and bumpy transformation from recognizing the superficial life of white privilege that characterized her previous existence to an understanding that what constitutes home and family has little to do with material wealth. Julie immerses herself in the daily rituals of cooking and cleaning; of the muezzin’s call to prayer that punctuates the rhythms of the day; in the silence of the desert that speaks to her; and in the cooperation, community, love, and warmth she finds in her adopted family. Both Abdu/Ibrahim and Julie are searching for home, for a place to belong. Ironically, their search leads them in opposite directions.

Gordimer’s writing style presents some challenges. Fragments and incomplete thoughts abound. The language shifts from internal thoughts to spoken dialog without the usual indicators of quotation marks. Gordimer dispenses with, “he said/she said,” so one has to use context to determine who said what. But once you get accustomed to the writing style, the language flows seamlessly from thought to spoken word, from one character to another in a way that accurately captures the fragmentary nature of our thoughts and conversations.

This is a wonderful novel that slowly grows on you as it builds to its climax through the use of telling details. Offering a vision of how we can communicate and relate to one another across barriers of difference, The Pickup is a compelling story told by a master of the craft.

Highly recommended.

Slave Old Man

Patrick Chamoiseau; Trans. Linda Coverdale

On the surface, Slave Old Man by Patrick Chamoiseau, translated from the French and Creole by Linda Coverdale, is a straightforward story of the struggles of an old slave as he escapes from a Martinique plantation. Chased by a vicious dog and his master, the slave enters a lush rain forest where nature runs rampant, providing fodder for hallucinations and wild imaginings.

But this is anything but a straightforward story. One could argue it is not really a story at all but a thrilling piece of lyrical poetry. The sheer energy and lyricism of the language propels the story forward, embroiling the reader in the lushness of its diction while immersing us in the plushness of the rain forest. The narrative is gripping, fast-paced, and dense.

As the elderly slave breathlessly runs, twists, and turns in this wild terrain, his mind hallucinates with twists and turns. His journey deep into the forest is transformative, triggering a journey deep into his past. What’s real and what’s imagined become inextricably intertwined with the elderly slave populating his narrative with flashbacks of his harrowing journey from Africa; and with references to and imaginings of the Creole culture of Martinique; with Caribbean history, mythology, and folklore. The reader is swept up in a wave with no sure footing as to what is happening. The journey is archetypal. The forest assumes mythical proportions, housing monsters, mysteries, and secrets older than time itself.

This book may not be for everyone. Smatterings of words in French or Creole, references that require flipping to the Notes at the end of the book, prose that is lyrical and non-linear, and the juxtaposition of the real with the imaginary make it a challenging read. But it is a worthwhile read for anyone who enjoys being swept up by exhilarating prose with an electrifying, haunting quality.

Highly recommended.

July's People

Nadine Gordimer

You wake up one morning and you realize you and your family are in danger. You are no longer safe in your home in Johannesburg because of the popular uprising against the apartheid. You consider yourself to be a liberal white, someone who supports civil liberties and equality for all. But that makes no difference. You will be targeted if you stay in your home. What do you do? Where can you go?

This is the situation of the Smales family in July’s People by Nadine Gordimer. Mother, father, and their three children are out of options. So July, their servant of 15 years, offers to take them back to his village. For the first time in their lives, the Smales find themselves living under primitive conditions in a barely habitable dwelling with no running water and no proper sanitation. They have nowhere else to go and are entirely dependent on July for their survival. The balance of power has shifted. How July and the Smales navigate this shift is the subject of Gordimer’s novel.

The tension surfaces most clearly in Maureen Smales’ interaction with July and in her attempts to navigate a space for herself in July’s village. It does so initially in the details of everyday life. It is no longer relevant to sustain the master/servant relationship when the daily routines of eating, sleeping, cooking, and personal hygiene are shared on an intimate level. Eventually, the tension comes to a boil when July confronts Maureen because of her past treatment of him as her house boy. She is shocked by his accusation since she considered herself to be compassionate and humane toward July. But what she comes to realize is that no matter how compassionate or humane she had been, the very nature of their relationship and the context under which they operated deprived July of his dignity. In the face of systemic oppression, kind gestures are ultimately meaningless.

Gordimer’s exploration of the July/Smales relationship is a microcosm of the shift in power that occurs on a large political scale. The two sides struggle to find a balance, to ascertain how to view themselves, how to view each other, and how to interact with each other under these new circumstances. Gordimer does not provide any easy answers. The patterns of behavior are so ingrained that it is not easy to transcend them. The novel ends inconclusively with Maureen running toward the sound of a helicopter which may or may not be their salvation. The future is uncertain for the Smales and for July and his people.

Gordimer packs a lot in this very short novel. The characters are complex and multidimensional. They show their anxieties, conflicts, and struggles as they try to adjust to their new circumstances and shifting power structure. The dialog was authentic. July’s cadences and diction were especially effective in conveying his voice. The imagery captured the sights, sounds, and smells of a primitive village lacking in all modern conveniences.

This is not a light read, but it is a powerful one. Recommended.

There, There

Tommy Orange

There, There by Tommy Orange is a stunning novel, skillfully orchestrated and breathtaking in execution. The voice is powerful, full of rage, poignant, and heartbreaking.

The narrative unfolds from the point of view of twelve characters whose backstories reveal their struggles with poverty, drug-addiction, and alcoholism as they seek to understand and wrestle with their Native American identity. They converge at the Big Oakland Powwow in a riveting climax. With its characteristic pageantry and spectacle of traditional dance and music, the powwow attracts large numbers of people, including a group of young men who are there to commit a crime—to steal its lucrative prize money.

The narrative begins in the past with shattered families plagued with poverty and drug-addiction. It leaps forward in time with a new generation, some of whom are eager to claim their Native American heritage. The point of view shifts from past tense to present tense, from first person to third person, from one character to another. Each character speaks with a distinctive and authentic voice. Depending on who is speaking, the tone varies from resignation, to anger, to rage, to frustration, to a drug-induced or alcohol induced reverie. The sections get progressively shorter to quicken the pace as we hurtle toward the climax.

As the novel unfolds, we learn some of the characters’ lives intertwined in the past and some are related—a son encounters his father for the first time; a woman suspects the older woman she just met may be her birth mother; a grandmother sees her grandson for the first time. Underlying these interwoven stories is the heavy burden of a marginalized people struggling desperately to survive against brutal atrocities and attempts at erasure.

This is an incredibly powerful, gut-wrenching novel. Tommy Orange captures the heartache and struggles of each of his characters. After simultaneously introducing the characters and revealing their backstories, he slowly but surely leads them to converge in a climactic finish at the powwow. Orange sets the stage is if directing a play with each character making a separate entrance from a different corner of the stage. He navigates the drama, inching his characters forward until they meet at center-stage in a violent crescendo. The effect is riveting; the pace relentless; the voice explosive; the language breathtaking.

An amazing debut novel from an extremely gifted writer. Very highly recommended.

Women & Power

Mary Beard

Mary Beard’s Women and Power: A Manifesto is based on two lectures Beard delivered in 2014 and 2017 entitled, “The Public Voice of Women” and “Women in Power.”

Beard begins “The Public Voice of Women” by referring to the scene in Homer’s Odyssey in which Telemachus asserts his manhood by silencing his mother. From there Beard provides an overview of the silencing of women in the public sphere in antiquity through to contemporary times. She explores how women’s voices are verbally attacked and their body parts labeled in derogatory terms all because they dared to express an opinion in public; how their voices are marginalized in the workplace; how this impacts women’s voices; and the de-gendered gyrations women have to adopt if they want to be taken seriously in the public arena.

“Women in Power” begins with Beard’s exploration of Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s Herland, a utopia in which women are the only residents. They live in peace and harmony until all is disrupted by the entrance of three American males. Beard uses this story as a jumping point for exploring our gendered attitude toward women in power. She shows that when men and women think of a person in a position of power, the image that comes to mind is that of a white male. In other words, women are still not used to seeing themselves in that role.

Beard traces this attitude back to women in Athenian drama—Medea, Clytemnestra, and Antigone. Each is depicted as de-gendered, as a monstrous hybrid. She interrogates Athena, a female goddess who bears little resemblance to a female. She is not born of woman, dresses as a warrior, is an eternal virgin, and wears a breastplate with the image of a decapitated Medusa—a symbol of male mastery over female power.

Beard includes a striking illustration of Cellini’s statue holding up the severed head of Medusa. This image was manipulated during the recent U.S. election. The face of Hillary Clinton was superimposed on the face of Medusa and the face of Donald Trump superimposed on the face of Perseus, holding up the Medusa/Clinton severed head. Apparently, this image was fairly popular among Trump supporters during the previous election. The image speaks volumes not only about the tenor of the previous election but also about male power silencing the female.

Beard suggests some interesting connections of classical imagery and literature with 21st Century examples of misogyny. She concludes her work by arguing for a change in paradigms—specifically, for a change in how we define and perceive power. She calls for a feminine centered power structure, one that reflects and upholds the values traditionally associated with the feminine: connection, collaboration, nurturance, and sharing. This is a laudable goal. But the question of how we can achieve this goal remains unanswered as Beard does not adequately address it.

A good introduction to feminist thinking.

The Arab of the Future: A Childhood in the Middle East, 1978-1984

Riad Sattouf; Trans. Sam Taylor

The Arab of the Future by Riad Sattouf, translated by Sam Taylor, is Sattouf’s memoir in the form of a graphic novel. This first book in the trilogy describes Sattouf’s early childhood in France, Libya, and Syria. It opens when he is two years old and concludes when he is the ripe old age of six.

Born of a French mother and Syrian father, Sattouf experiences life in France, in Gaddafi’s Libya, and in Hafez Al-Assad’s Syria. He describes the sights, smells, sounds, and events with unflinching honesty and innocence, without judgement, and through the unfiltered perception and inquisitiveness of a child. And that is what makes this graphic memoir so compelling because what Sattouf witnesses and describes so innocently can cause one to recoil in horror.

Educated in France where he met his future wife, Sattouf’s father takes a job as an associate professor in Libya. While there, Riad learns that in Gaddafi’s Libya homes are free and their doors cannot be locked. He also learns homes are a free-for all in which a family outing can result in the loss of one’s home since even a temporarily vacant home is considered available for occupation by strangers. Food is in short supply; poverty is rampant; and the whole country looks as if it is under construction.

From Libya, Riad’s father moves his family to Syria to be closer to relatives. Riad’s blond hair attracts admiration from some and ridicule from others. He is bullied mercilessly and labeled a Jew by neighborhood street gangs, later revealed to be his cousins. He witnesses horrifying acts of cruelty to animals; child abuse; gender, racial, and religious discrimination; othering; and violence. A crumbling infrastructure and a stifling atmosphere permeated with pollution and the smell of raw sewage rounds up his experience in Syria. The novel concludes with the family returning to Syria after spending their summer vacation in France.

As a former contributor to the satirical publication Charlie Hebdo, Sattouf is well versed in satire. Because he speaks through the innocent voice of a child in the novel, his narrative is laced with irony and satire. The young Riad is an unreliable narrator who does not comprehend the import of his words. He idolizes his father who, in actuality, is a conflicted individual with a distorted self-image and delusional visions of reality. His mother is portrayed as a voiceless non-entity. The poverty, the stench, the bizarre behavior of his relatives, the abuse, and the bullying are all described through the eye of a naïve child trying to make sense of bewildering situations. The observations are authentic, unfiltered, and presented with unabashed honesty.

Just as is the case with the text, Sattouf’s illustrations are expressive and exaggerate the predominant quality of a person’s features and/or surroundings. He is a skilled cartoonist and a skilled story teller with an ability to expose the disturbing elements, the poverty, the corruption, and the chaos of Gaddafi’s Libya and Assad’s Syria as seen through the eyes of innocence. But while the novel highlights some traditional Muslim behaviors, it bears remembering that many of these behaviors are taken out of context, grossly exaggerated, and do not reflect Muslim behavior or attitudes either then or now.

Recommended with reservations.

Woman of the Ashes

Mia Couto; Trans. David Brookshaw

Woman of the Ashes by Mia Couto, translated by David Brookshaw, is the first book in a forthcoming trilogy that tells the story Portugal’s attempt to colonize the southern Mozambique territory of Gaza in 1894. The territory is claimed by Ngungunyane, the last of Gaza’s leaders. He has raised an army to fight the colonizers, and as the novel opens, Ngungunyane and his warriors are making their way toward the border village of Nkokolani where the story takes place.

The narrative alternates between the voices of two individuals: Imani, the fifteen-year girl of the VaChopi tribe, hired to interpret for the Portuguese; and Sergeant Germano de Melo, appointed as captain of the garrison at Nkokolani to represent the interests of the Portuguese crown. Germano’s narrative takes the form of letters to his supervisor in which he assesses the current political situation. His letters gradually become increasingly personal and confessional with the passage of time. Imani, who learned to speak fluent Portuguese at the mission school, is conflicted. Her situation is fraught with tension: her father is an abusive alcoholic; her mother continues to mourn the death of her children; her two surviving brothers are on opposite sides of the conflict; and she and Germano gravitate between love and hate in their relationship.

There is much to admire in the novel. Couto skillfully depicts the clash of cultures, miscommunications, deceptions, and attitudes of the colonizers and the indigenous peoples. And as is frequently the case, the indigenous people are split between those who support the colonizer and those who want to rid the country from the yoke of foreign oppression. This split takes the form of internecine violence with one tribe perpetrating atrocities on its neighbors. The situation is multi-layered and riddled with a complexity that is reflected in the alternating voices of the narrators.

Stories taken from African folklore, superstitions, dreams and their interpretation, and the occurrence of bizarre events all thread their way intermittently throughout the narrative. Many of these are taken seriously and interpreted as warning signs by the indigenous population; many are summarily dismissed by Germano as the belief systems of a primitive people.

The weakest element in the novel lay in its characterization. The characters are flat and one-dimensional with a portrayal that is stereotypical. Imani’s voice and diction are not reflective of a fifteen-year old girl. Her forays into self-doubt and existential angst lack authenticity. Germano’s letters are self-indulgent and full of self-pity. And other than the difference in content, there is little to distinguish Imani’s diction from that of Germano’s. Having said that, however, if one is willing to forgo the dearth of characterization, the novel does tell a compelling story, a story that sheds light on a turbulent period in Mozambique history, a story that has been repeated many times over and in many different forms whenever and wherever the colonizer and colonized clash.

We Should All Be Feminists

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

We Should All Be Feminists by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is an essay based on the author’s December 2012 TED talk. It is a short, quick read that packs a hefty punch. Using personal anecdotes of her experiences in her native Nigeria, as well as the experiences of herself and others in different parts of the world, Adichie deconstructs the word “feminism,” stripping it of its stigmatization while explaining its tenets in easy to understand, relatable terms. She exposes some of the ways sexism makes its ubiquitous presence felt in our everyday lives.

Adichie’s voice is not shrill or confrontational. She is engaging, non-threatening, and inclusive. She does not point fingers or assign blame but uses wit coupled with the eye of a keen observer to illuminate the ways and frequency in which women are marginalized. She appeals to all men to examine their words and actions through the prism of feminism to expose the possibility of underlying sexist assumptions. Her goal is to educate others by exposing the deleterious effects of sexism on society. She argues that strictly defined gender roles restrict both men and women into conforming to the expectations placed on them by society. The result is inauthentic selfhood. As examples, she offers women dressing and behaving in ways to garner acceptance; men suppressing emotions to appear manly.

Adichie aims to build bridges for a common cause that will benefit all. Although the ideas she expresses are not particularly groundbreaking, she should be credited for articulating the basic tenets of feminism and popularizing them through her TED talk and booklet. She does it in a manner that is non-threatening, engaging, logical, and one that is likely to win converts to the cause.

The Best We Could Do

Thi Bui

The Best We Could Do by Thi Bui is a graphic memoir about the struggles Bui’s family faced in Vietnam, their subsequent immigration to the United States, and the challenges they faced in adjusting to their new country. Bui’s entrance into motherhood is the catalyst that prompts her to seek a better understanding of her parents—their lives in Vietnam, why and how they escaped from their homeland, and the sacrifices they made to build a new life for themselves and their children in America. As a result of her exploration, she learns what it means to be a parent.

Although Bui describes the oppression and discrimination suffered by her family as civilians in Vietnam and then as immigrants in the U.S., her description seems detached, almost bordering on being clinical. It is as if she were describing their experiences through a veneer. There is such little depth to the characterization that it barely scrapes the surface. As a result, it is difficult to connect with any of the characters. This detachment may have been intentional on the author’s part, but it places a heavy burden on the reader to be interested in the outcome. The sketchy characterization, disjointed dialogue, and snippets of information dropped here and there were not helped by a narrative that jumped from one location to another, from one time to another. The art work, while quite good, might have profited by being less monochromatic.

I sympathize with the author and her family for all the hardships they experienced. I just wish the memoir could have been more compelling.

Courtesans: Money, Sex, and Fame in the Nineteenth Century

Katie Hickman

Courtesans: Money, Sex, and Fame in the Nineteenth Century by Katie Hickman is a social biography exploring the fascinating lives of five renowned courtesans—Sophia Baddeley (1745-1786), Elizabeth Armistead (1750-1842), Harriette Wilson (1786-1845), Cora Pearl (1835-1886), and Catherine Walters (1839-1920). Hickman charts the illustrious career of each courtesan, beginning with her life either as a prostitute or actress (a word synonymous with prostitute at the time).

Each courtesan is described as a unique individual. Sophia Baddeley recklessly spent exorbitant amounts of money; Elizabeth Armistead was an astute businesswoman who secured annuities from each of her successive patrons, enabling her to purchase homes for herself; the enterprising Harriette Wilson threatened to name names in her salacious memoir of 1825 unless she was duly compensated; the candid Cora Pearl valued her independence to such a degree she refused marriage proposals, claiming she detested men too much to ever obey one of them; and Catherine Walters (Skittles) excelled in horsemanship and in having an exceedingly small waist.

Some courtesans were able to move up the social ladder by attracting the attentions of wealthy, aristocratic patrons, (many of whom were European royalty) who then showered them with gifts and money and set them up in their own residences. Referred to as “kept women,” they frequently adopted the last name of their patron as if they were unofficially married. And some eventually married their patron.

The extravagant life-style of the courtesan was fodder for the gossip columnists. They and their patrons were frequently listed in the celebrity gossip section of Town and Country Magazine so all could see who was “keeping” whom and what benefits the “kept” woman received, including copious amounts of money, a home, servants, jewelry, etc. The successful courtesan demanded and received an all-expenses paid set up. Although the terms varied, for the most part, the courtesan was expected to make herself available exclusively to her patron at all times—that is, until he got tired of her and/or until he discovered her infidelity. Accomplished courtesans were highly sought after by men competing with each other to win her favor. The more prestigious her clientele, the more desirable she became, and the harder men would try to lure her from her current patron.

In addition to their dripping sexual allure and good looks, some courtesans were accomplished musicians, singers, actresses, and conversationalists. Admired by women as well as men, they were the fashionistas of their day, setting the trend for clothing, jewelry, and hairstyles. But by the early nineteenth century, the general public became less tolerant of courtesans and extra-marital relationships. Men no longer gleefully paraded their mistresses around for all to see. The celebrity status of the courtesan declined, her work becoming enshrouded in secrecy; her transactions conducted in private.

Hickman provides more than an engaging biography of the lives of these five women. She gives us a detailed view of the life and mores of upper class nineteenth-century Europe, occasionally veering off into areas that are only tangentially relevant. Her research is well documented with extensive notes, sources, and bibliography. Her style is accessible, lively, and engaging.

Hickman treats her subjects with sympathy, admiring them for their fierce independence. But her claim that they are “a powerful symbol of a woman’s potential for autonomy” is, perhaps, a bridge too far. These women forged their identities based on their perceptions of what men desired. They were also totally dependent on a series of men to provide them with financial security and to maintain them in their extravagant lifestyles—a situation that doesn’t lend itself to the image of an autonomous female.

This was an engaging and highly informative read. It is recommended for those interested in cultural history and in understanding how and why a group of women cultivated the role of courtesans in nineteenth-century Europe.