Ms. Ice Sandwich

Mieko Kawakami; trans. Louise Heal Kawai

Ms. Ice Sandwich by Mieko Kawakami, translated by Louise Heal Kawai, is a quiet and touching novella in which very little happens. In the first-person point of view of a young boy in the 4th grade, it tells the story of his school-boy crush on a woman who sells sandwiches in the local supermarket. He orders a sandwich from her in order to study her face and expressive eyes. The woman is surly and non-communicative, which only adds to her mystique.

The boy is never named, but we know a little about his background. He lives with his mother and grandmother. His father died when he was young, and his grandmother is bed-ridden and no longer able to speak. He feels disconnected from his mother who spends more time tinkering with her cell phone than paying attention to him. He confides to his grandmother, pouring out his heart, crying, and sharing the pictures he has drawn of Ms. Ice Sandwich.

His visits to the supermarket cease when he overhears his classmates ridiculing Ms. Sandwich’s appearance. His young friend, Tutti, convinces him he has to resume his visits before it is too late. Like our narrator, Tutti has also experienced loss—the death of her mother. The narrator reluctantly agrees and presents Ms. Sandwich with his final portrait of her as a gift. For the first time, she acknowledges him. And she smiles.

The narrative unfolds slowly, subtly, and with a minimal plot. Told in simple, child-like language, Kawakami captures the conflicted feelings of a young boy experiencing his first infatuation. The narrator is shy, naïve, painfully self-conscious, sensitive, and struggles to understand and articulate his feelings. He learns valuable lessons about life, love, grief, and coping with loss. He witnesses the harsh treatment toward those like Ms. Ice Sandwich who are deemed other. And from Tutti, his young class mate, he learns the value of honoring his feelings, of remaining true to himself, and of connecting with people he cares about while it’s still possible because one can never know when they may disappear from his life forever. Tutti’s message is particularly poignant and shows a maturity beyond her years.

A charming coming-of-age story told with a gentle, unassuming touch. Recommended.

The Medusa Reader

Marjorie Garber and Nancy J. Vickers, eds.

The Medusa Reader, edited by Marjorie Garber and Nancy J. Vickers, is a comprehensive anthology of excerpted references to Medusa in literature and art, beginning with Homer in Books 5 and 11 of The Iliad and concluding with Gianni Versace’s selection of her image as the symbol for the House of Versace. The anthology traces Medusa’s evolution from a beauty turned monster into a feminist symbol of woman’s empowerment, rage, and anger at the patriarchy. The selections are organized chronologically and include excerpts from writings of the classics through the Renaissance to the modern era.

The myth of Medusa, her story of rape by Poseidon, decapitation by Perseus, and Athena’s revenge on the victim, is interpreted in a variety of ways throughout the ages. Every aspect of the myth is explored: her rape, decapitation, the snakes in her hair, her ability to turn into stone those who look upon her face, Perseus’ use of the mirror, and Athena’s use of her image on her shield. These explorations take the form of poems, selections from critical essays, psychoanalysis, pictorial images, theatre productions, and political appropriations. The feminist poems and feminist interpretations were particularly interesting since they turn misogynistic readings of the past upside down by claiming Medusa as a powerful symbol of deterrence against patriarchal attacks on womanhood. The collection includes an extensive bibliography for further reading.

Although some of the excerpts were short and needed a clearer context, the work is recommended for its comprehensive exploration of Medusa through the ages, an exploration that reveals as much about each age as it does about the myth.

Green Lion

Henrietta Rose-Innes

Green Lion by Henrietta Rose-Innes opens with Con, a non-descript, listless young man tasked with picking up the belongings of his childhood friend, Mark, who is recovering in hospital after being mauled by one of the two black-maned lions at the zoo. The pair of lions were part of a breeding program to save black-maned lions from extinction. The male was put down after the accident, leaving Sekhmet, the lioness, as the lone survivor.

Reluctantly, Con picks up Mark’s belongings from the zoo and returns them to his mother. He intends to visit Mark in the hospital, but he never does. Instead, he puts on Mark’s uniform, adopts his role as a zoo volunteer, and assumes responsibility for taking care of Sekhmet.

The novel unfolds by alternating between Con’s past and present. Con reveals himself to be selfish, inconsiderate of others, emotionally impotent, deceptive, and unwilling to take responsibility for his actions even when he has put others at serious risk. Denied knowledge of his father, his childhood consists of living with a single, dysfunctional mother who clutters her home with other people’s discarded junk and has a revolving door of temporary boyfriends in an attempt to fill the gaping void in her life. As an adult, Con is unemployed, lacks ambition, and spends his days in his girlfriend’s apartment rummaging through her belongings in her absence. He abdicates responsibility for his life and even relies on her to select his outfits. He is a passive spectator to his own life. In his effort to assume an authentic identity, he is chameleon-like, taking on the personality of those around him.

But things change when he volunteers at the zoo. As the narrative progresses, Con becomes increasingly fascinated by Sekhmet. He hears her, smells her, and can feel her presence long before he sees her. His senses come acutely alive. Electrical currents charge through his emotions as he experiences an atavistic excitement at being in the presence of such a fierce, wild, untamed physical power. His desire to get close to her is mingled with terror.

Animals play a prominent role in the novel. Key rings and postcards of animals are stuffed in bags or fall out of pockets. Animal masks are worn in play productions. Some animals are stuffed and mounted on walls; some are alive and interact with humans. And there are those whose presence can only be sensed behind a fenced mountain reserve designated as a conservation area. The tension between humans who live on one side of the fence and the animals who live on the other side is palpable. But the boundaries are fluid. The interactions are troubled. Animals and humans encroach on each other’s designated terrains with tragic consequences.

The novel explores the ways in which humans try to fill a vacancy in their lives by connecting with what is wild and crackles with energy. Mark walks into the lion’s den. Mark’s father kills wild animals and stuffs them. The members of the Green Lion club derive their excitement by touching wild animals. And Con forms a bond with Sekhmet that is stronger than any bond he forms with a human.

The novel suggests that as we encroach on the habitat of wild animals and threaten their very existence, we lose something vital in ourselves. Entrance into their habitat is described in mythic, primordial terms, evoking a time when life sizzled with a frenetic energy. Our desire for connection is manifested in our longing to be close to and touch wild animals as if by touching them we can somehow revive the deeply buried wildness in our own natures. Instead, however, we are reduced to seeing them behind glass windows or metal barriers. We wear animal masks and mimic their movements. We carry their images in postcards and on key chains. And we stuff and mount their bodies, proudly displaying them as our trophies.

A thought-provoking read and well worth the effort.

My Favorite Thing is Monsters

Emil Ferris

My Favorite Thing is Monsters by Emil Ferris is a graphic novel that serves a veritable feast for the eyes.

The narrative unfolds in the form of a fictional diary of ten-year-old Karen Reyes. It takes place in Chicago in the late ‘60s and includes references to the deaths of Kennedy and Martin Luther King, as well as to the race riots. Karen lives with her mother and brother in an apartment. She thinks of herself as a monster with a passion for drawing in her spiral bound notebook. When Anka Silverberg, her neighbor and holocaust survivor, is found murdered in her upstairs apartment, Karen decides to investigate the murder. She wears her brother’s raincoat and fedora to assume the guise of a detective.

Karen visits the Chicago Art Institute and various other galleries and museums with her brother, Deez. She rides buses, trains, and walks through some of Chicago’s seedy streets, encountering drug addicts, prostitutes, and the homeless. She suspects Anka’s murder may have something to do with her past. So she listens to tape recordings Anka made about her life in Nazi Germany. She overhears conversations, trying to piece together clues. When her mother dies of cancer, Karen is left alone with Deez. She suspects her brother is hiding secrets which he refuses to reveal to her. Anka’s murder remains unsolved as the novel ends with a cliffhanger.

In her block lettered hand-writing, Karen identifies different types of monsters—those who are different from the norm, are good at heart, and embrace their difference; those who discriminate against others for being different. Through a child’s lens, Karen observes racism, sexism, and homophobia while she interacts with society’s outcasts. She shows compassion for those deemed “other.”

What makes the novel stand out are the dense and intricately detailed illustrations and doodles that fill every nook and cranny of the page. Ferris draws in tiny, cross-hatched lines and does an amazing job with shading. Each page is choke-full of mesmerizing details that invite the eyes to linger. There are full page copies of monster comic covers, horror movie posters, recognizable recreations of famous paintings, sketches of her mother and brother, her brother engaging in sex with one of his many girlfriends, her classmates, nudity, characters she encounters in the streets and on trains, images of Anka raised in a brothel in Germany, the horrors of a concentration camp, full-breasted women bursting out of their tight outfits, gangster-looking men. Scattered throughout are Karen’s werewolf monster self-portraits. Each page is a work of art to be studied and savored.

This is a multi-layered graphic novel told through the voice of a child who is innocent, funny, perceptive, and who reveals a nascent understanding of identity politics.

As an accomplished story-teller and a truly gifted artist, Emil Ferris has produced a compelling graphic novel that is sure to delight.

The Library at Mount Char

Scott Hawkins

Prepare yourself for a bumpy ride when you open the pages of The Library at Mount Char by Scott Hawkins.

Enter a strange world with a zany cast of characters (the “librarians”). There’s Carolyn, fluent in all human languages. Michael speaks very little English but is fluent in the language of animals. Jennifer is a pot-smoking addict who resuscitates the dead. Margaret has been killed and resuscitated so many times that she has lost her mind and feels quite at home among the dead. And then there is David—a bloody-thirsty, sadistic killer wearing a tutu and a helmet covered with dried blood.

Speaking in Pelapi, a language only they understand, they are on a quest to locate “Father” who has been missing for some time. Throw into the mix Steve and Erwin—"normal” characters who get embroiled in the antics while trying to make sense of it all.

It gets even stranger. Two friendly lions rescue Steve when he is attacked by a pack of ferocious dogs. The dead walk among the living, but they won’t harm you if you haven’t died yet. The president is killed; bombs go off; the sun disappears, plunging the world into darkness; and a library with volumes upon volumes of books is suspended in the sky.

Welcome to the crazy world created by Scott Hawkins. It is a violent and dangerous world with power struggles for control of the world. The characters adopted by “Father” have been trained in some sort of esoteric knowledge, with each one specializing in a specific area or library catalog. Their training includes personal experience with violence, cruelty, and torture—all of which are designed to desensitize them to human and animal suffering. It is a cruel, violent world, one that shocks and surprises with each turn of the page to make for a compelling read.

The plot is difficult to explain because it makes little sense. Confusion thrives at every corner. But if you’re willing to continue reading, you will be rewarded with a highly imaginative and thrilling book with snappy dialogue, bizarre happenings, unique characters, and end-of-the world scenarios. It also happens to be funny.

Suspend your disbelief. Buckle up, sit back, and enjoy the madcap ride!  Highly recommended.

The Library Book

Susan Orlean

The Library Book by Susan Orlean tells the story of the 1986 fire that devastated the Los Angeles Public Library. Burning for seven hours before it was finally extinguished, the fire consumed 400,000 books, damaged 700,000 others, and destroyed the interior of the library.

Orlean chronicles the investigation of the fire and the man suspected of starting it. Along the way, she includes personal anecdotes about her first experiences with a library; the history of the Los Angeles Public Library from its humble beginnings; its expansions in size and services; its various locations; its increasing number of patrons; its sequence of directors; and its role as a center providing valuable services for the community.

Orlean provides a cinematic description of the destruction caused by the fire. She walks the reader through the ash and debris and water and burned-out book shelves and damaged books. She describes in detail the impact of the fire on library employees and the surrounding community. She also describes a heart-warming picture of the community’s love for the library. When the appeal for help was made to rescue books, community members came out in droves, forming a human chain to pass one book after another down the line to be packaged and stored in a freezer until restoration work could begin.

Unfortunately, what started out as a strong book seemed to lose focus about half-way through by meandering through irrelevant material that detracted from the main story line. Orlean expands her scope by including chapters that are unrelated to the Los Angeles library fire. There is a chapter briefly surveying book burnings throughout history; several chapters in which she delves into the personal lives of the various directors, some of whom were flamboyant while others were sedate and bookish; and chapters detailing the vision of various architects. While these chapters may be interesting, they did little to add to the story of the Los Angeles Library fire or to the story of libraries in general. They felt like fillers.

Orlean is strong when her focus is on the library. She writes in immersive detail about walking through the library, what she sees and hears, the staff and patrons she talks to, the different sections of the library, the questions patrons ask the staff, the services it offers, and the general flurry of activity inside the library. Her diction, full of delightfully vivid detail, skillfully captures a library’s ambience—the comforting, welcoming, home-away-from home feeling as soon as you step through its doors; the walls saturated with a wealth of knowledge; the shelves laden with books on every topic imaginable; the palpable anticipation of browsing through book shelves; and the knowledgeable staff committed to serving its patrons.

What is true of one library is true of all. As Orlean aptly demonstrates, the library continues to adapt to changing times. It has evolved into more than just a place to house books. It serves as a community center by providing invaluable programs and workshops designed to assist its patrons in every way imaginable.

Recommended for its celebration of libraries, the staff who work in them, the patrons who frequent them, and book lovers everywhere.

The Lighthouse Keeper's Daughter

Hazel Gaynor

The Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter by Hazel Gaynor, inspired by true events, intertwines two narrative threads one hundred years apart.

The first thread takes place in 1838 in Northumberland, England. It is loosely based on the historical figure of Grace Darling, the daughter of the keeper of Longstone Lighthouse. She courageously sets out on a small boat with her father to rescue survivors of a shipwreck during a fierce storm. Celebrated for her heroism in newspaper articles and portraits, Grace was never comfortable with her new-found fame. She was happiest while living in the cocoon of the isolated lighthouse with her mother and father.

The second thread takes place in 1938. Matilda Emerson from Ireland arrives in Newport, Rhode Island, to stay with Harriet Flaherty, a lighthouse keeper and family relative. Sent there to be far from wagging tongues while she has her baby, she can barely remember the British soldier who fathered her child, the result of a one-night fling. Matilda is descended from Sarah Emmerson, the sole female survivor rescued by Grace and her father after the 1838 shipwreck. She carries with her mementos from Grace and Sarah that have been handed down through the generations of women.

The narrative threads alternate throughout the novel, gradually unfolding in a tapestry that weaves Grace and Matilda in surprising ways. It is a story of unrequited love. It is also a story of the strength, resilience, and courage shown by generations of women who put their lives at risk to save others. The characters are compelling and authentic. Grace, Matilda, and Harriet speak in first person point of view, which establishes a more intimate connection with the reader; the rest of the novel unfolds in third person.

The true strength of the novel lies in Gaynor’s ability to evoke a vivid atmosphere of the sea and its surroundings. The sea comes alive in all its thundering ferocity during storms, with waves pounding on rocks and seashore. The wild winds can be heard; the dampness can be felt as it seeps into the bones of the Darling family huddling together for warmth in the lighthouse; the salty sea air can be tasted as Grace or Matilda walk along the shore collecting shells. The descriptions immerse the reader in the sights, sounds, and smells of life near an ocean. Even the lighthouse comes alive with its creaky floorboards, its winding staircase, its lights, its spectacular view, and its presence as a beacon of hope and security.

The novel was marred somewhat by a far-fetched ending that borders on mushy sentimentality. Otherwise, this is a well-written and engaging historical novel.

Recommended.

Lab Girl

Hope Jahren

The year is 1977. You are a Sitka willow being brutally ravaged by a ferocious attack from tent caterpillars. You frantically load your leaves with caterpillar poison to ward off the attack. You trigger the release of an airborne chemical known as a volatile organic compound (VOC). But you’re overrun with caterpillars and cannot save yourself. Perhaps, just perhaps, you can warn other Sitka willows. But how? Nearby trees are already infested and dying at an alarming rate. You can’t signal distant trees through your roots because they’re too far away. Maybe the VOCs you’ve release into the air can warn other Sitka willows to arm themselves with caterpillar poison. Hurry, before it’s too late! You continue to release VOCs in the hope others can survive. The Sitka willows, too far removed for soil talk, receive the airborne VOCs and arm themselves. By the time the caterpillars get there and nibble on the fresh crop of leaves, their fate is sealed. They eat the poison. They shrivel up and die. The Sitka Willow wins this battle.

The year is 2004. Scientists are able to prove the theory plants and trees communicate with one another through airborne VOCs. Who knew trees not only talk to each other but also have a strong sense of community?

This is just one of the fascinating facts about the natural environment that the award winning geobiologist Hope Jahren describes in Lab Girl. She alternates chapters about the challenges she faced as a female scientist with chapters in which she presents intriguing facts about the natural environment. The chapters are thematically connected. For example, the chapter on plant reproduction is followed by the chapter on meeting her future husband. The chapter on the sacrifice plants make to reproduce (they decrease in mass to repurpose their nutrients toward a new generation of flowers and seeds) is followed by the chapter on her experience with pregnancy. The parallels are intriguing.

Jahren does not shy away from describing intimate details of her life—her childhood in Minnesota; her struggle with mental health; her long-term, deep friendship with Bill Hagopian, her brilliant lab partner; her passion for science to the exclusion of all else in her life; her continuous search for funding; the challenges she faced in launching a science lab at every institution where she was employed; and her love for her husband and son. Her knowledge of the natural environment is educational, compelling, inspiring, and absolutely fascinating. Her writing style is engaging, honest, humorous, and exhibits a refreshing ability to describe complicated natural processes in ways that are accessible and relatable.

In spite of the countless hours, the hard work, and the tremendous sacrifices she makes, what emerges from this wonderful book is the pure joy Jahren experiences at doing what she loves best.

This engaging and delightful book is highly recommended for all who live on planet earth.

The Bookseller of Kabul

Åsne Seierstad, translated by Ingrid Christopher

The Bookseller of Kabul by Åsne Seierstad, translated by Ingrid Christophersen, recounts the four months Seierstad lived with a bookseller and his family in Kabul in 2002 after the fall of the Taliban.

Seierstad is a Norwegian journalist who reported on Afghanistan. In the Forward to the book, she describes her meeting with Sultan Khan, the bookseller, a man passionate about art and literature. He discloses the measures he took to safeguard books from those who sought to destroy them. Seierstad is so taken by him that she asks to be a guest in his home to write a book about his family. He agrees. And so Seierstad settles in for four months in Sultan’s home with his mother, his two wives, and his children.

As a guest in the Sultan family household, Seierstad observes the life of a middle-class Afghan family. Afghanistan’s gender segregation and gendered codes of behavior did not apply to her as a Westerner. Garnering a unique perspective, she is privy to the cloistered lives of Afghan women and attends their women only gatherings while also being able to circulate freely among men.

Seierstad delivers a fascinating glimpse into the daily routines of Afghan women. The chapter Billowing, Fluttering, Winding describes the experience of women in their burkas as they weave through the marketplace, purchasing goods. And the chapter The Smell of Dust vividly describes the relaxed atmosphere in the women-only hammam where women of all ages, shapes, and sizes scrub away Afghanistan’s dirt and dust from one another’s naked bodies. Mostly, though, women’s lives are consumed with the daily grind of fetching water, cooking, cleaning, sweeping, doing laundry, mending clothes, and catering to the needs of male relatives.

Poverty, starvation, bribery, and cruelty are woven into the fabric of life. People resort to tragic and desperate measures to provide food for their starving families. Beggars with broken limbs are ubiquitous. The children go to school in tattered, hand-me-down clothes. Severe beatings are meted out by authority figures, including the male heads of families. And women have exclusive responsibility as standard bearers for family morality. Burdened with maintaining family honor, they suffer brutal repercussions should there be even a hint the honor has been breached. Meanwhile, males are allowed free rein.

Evidence of Afghanistan’s patriarchal structure is on full display. As the male head of the family, Sultan Khan requires and receives unequivocal obedience from family members, including sons. He controls all aspects of their lives and decisions. Women, restricted in movement and opportunity, are treated as commodities to be exploited, bartered, and exchanged.

Seierstad paints a compelling portrait of life in an Afghan family. She aims to erase herself from the picture by reporting on what she sees and hears. But her objectivity occasionally lapses. Instead of reporting, she mediates and interprets. This begs the question of authenticity. How much of what she infers is authentic, and how much is due to her Western lens projecting itself on the situation? Why did she presume to speak for Afghan women? Why not provide them with a platform to speak for themselves?

As an outsider looking in, Seierstad’s perspective diminishes the complex social, economic, and cultural context of a situation. At times her approach is superficial, condescending, patronizing, and judgmental. It occasionally smacks of a critique from a position of privilege. This is unfortunate since it detracts from what would otherwise have been a compelling book.

Recommended with reservations.

The Pagan Lord

Bernard Cornwell

The Pagan Lord, Book 7 of Bernard Cornwell’s The Saxon Series, continues the adventures of the intrepid warrior, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, as he becomes embroiled in the conflicting factions fighting for control of England during the Middle Ages. This action-packed historical fiction doesn’t disappoint.

In the opening, Uhtred accidentally kills an abbot, disowns his eldest son for becoming a priest, and returns home only to find his hall has been burned down. This sets him on a series of adventures involving sea skirmishes, political intrigue, subterfuge, shifting alliances, harrowing escapes, family feuds, and gory battle scenes. His adventures culminate in a battle of epic proportions.

The novel unfolds in the gritty, coarse, first-person narrative of the aging Uhtred. He emerges as a complex character. A warrior who relishes violent confrontations and unabashedly looks death in the eye, he has no qualms about slashing his enemies and dismembering their body parts. His dream is to regain control of his beloved home in Bebbanburg and live in peace. But he puts his dream on hold. In spite of his rough exterior of grunts, foul language, and the metaphorical chest-thumping and display of male bravado, he operates with his own code of ethics: he will not kill women and children and is a man of his word, committed to doing the honorable thing. It is a testament to Cornwell’s skill as a writer that he is able to portray this hulking hero, an aging and cranky warrior with blood on his hands, with compassion and sympathy.

But where Cornwell excels is in his immersive depiction of battles. The climactic battle explodes with thrilling detail. Armies line up in formation as the battle lines are drawn. Men hurl taunts and insults across the shield walls as they prepare to advance. The deafening sound of pounding metals can be heard as swords and shields clash. Dismembered body parts litter the battle field. The smell of sweat, blood, and fear mingle with the stench of filthy, mud-splattered bodies. Cornwell’s very effective use of descriptive details and vigorous verbs thrust the reader into the chaos of battle.

A well-researched and immersive historical fiction that successfully recreates a turbulent period in the history of England. Highly recommended.

The Forty Rules of Love

Elif Shafak

The Forty Rules of Love by Elif Shafak weaves two interlocking narrative threads. The first thread involves Ella Rubenstein, a bored, married housewife and mother of three children, living in a Massachusetts suburb. The year is 2008. Ella, who has recently taken on a position at a literary agency, has been assigned to read and report on a novel by Aziz Zahara. His novel, Sweet Blasphemy, introduces the second thread which takes place in the thirteenth-century and is based on the relationship between the Sufi mystic, Shams of Tabriz, and the famous Persian poet, Rumi. The novel alternates between these two threads.

The Ella sections reveal Ella’s state of mind. She is forty years old, has been married for twenty years, and is unhappy. She is aware of her husband’s infidelities and for reasons that are never made clear, she chooses to ignore them and go on with her life as if nothing is wrong. Somehow, her reading of Sweet Blasphemy awakens in her feelings of frustration with her life. She longs for connection and begins an email correspondence with Aziz, the author of the novel.

The second thread includes the voices of multiple characters, all of whom speak in the first-person. They include Shams, Rumi, Rumi’s wife, his two sons, and several outcasts from society, including a prostitute, a drunk, a zealot, a killer, and a leper. Shams’ interaction with various characters allows him the opportunity to articulate the rules of love associated with Sufi mysticism. It is a result of his influence on Rumi that the latter begins writing the poetry that has made him famous.

The two threads run along parallel lines. Ella is so captivated by Shams’ rules of love that she becomes increasingly disenchanted with her life, eventually deciding to abandon it altogether and follow her heart by being with Aziz. And Rumi is so captivated by Shams’ teaching that he abandons his former life as a well-respected cleric to become a Sufi mystic and an advocate of love without boundaries, all of which find expression in his timeless poetry.

Unfortunately, the novel fails on many levels. The characters are flat and unbelievable. Ella’s story smacks of a soap opera—a bored, unhappy housewife finds love with a globe-trotting man representing all things associated with the exoticism of the East, and, uncharacteristically, she dashes off into the sunset to be with him. The characters speak in clichés and American slang--even those set in the 13th Century. They all sound alike. The language is pedestrian; the dialogue flat. Sufi mysticism is reduced to the appearance of parlor tricks and a pre-packaged, lackluster, and superficial spouting of its basic tenets.

Disappointing.

How Jesus Became God: The Exaltation of a Jewish Preacher from Galilee

Bart Ehrman

In How Jesus Became God: The Exaltation of a Jewish Preacher from Galilee, Bart Ehrman traces how Jesus, a humble preacher from Nazareth, came to be worshipped as God.

Ehrman argues that Jesus came to be recontextualized at different times and in different places by different followers, all of whom promoted a different theological agenda. He places the historical Jesus in the context of his time and conducts textual analysis of relevant documents, including the Old and New Testament. His aim is to show how a belief in the divinity of Jesus evolved through the manipulation of texts during the early history of the church.

Beginning with what he labels Exaltation Christologies, Ehrman argues it was a belief in the resurrection of Jesus—based on visionary experiences—that initially led followers to believe Jesus had risen to heaven to sit at the right hand of God as his Son. This transitions to the Incarnation Christologies, the view that Jesus was not a human who was raised to the level of divinity but was a preexistent divine being with God before he came to earth as a human. Ehrman then traces the development of these various Christologies, their offshoots, their arguments and conclusions, their leading proponents and opponents. Aspects of some Christologies later evolved into what is now considered the orthodox (“right”) line while others were deemed “heresies” (false). Ehrman shows how inconsistencies and contradictions in the Gospels and in the writings of Paul are addressed by later theologians who selectively focused on different sections of a text in an attempt to reconcile inconsistencies, support their theology, and arrive at what they deemed to be a more coherent doctrine.

Ehrman provides ample textual evidence for his argument. His extensive research and knowledge of the material is impressive. He examines each assumption by placing it in its historical, cultural, and textual context to determine the likelihood of its actual occurrence. By doing so, he calls into question many of the basic tenets of today’s Christianity. He eschews theological debates and is careful to state at the outset that he is not taking a position on the question of Jesus’ divinity. As he says, “I do not take a stand on the theological question of Jesus’ divine status. I am instead interested in the historical development that led to the affirmation that he is God.”

This is a fascinating, well-researched, and thoroughly documented study. The language is engaging and accessible with touches of humor throughout. It is highly recommended for those interested in biblical research and in the historical development of Christianity.

Will and Testament

Vigdis Hjorth; translated by Charlotte Barslund

Will and Testament by Vigdis Hjorth, translated by Charlotte Barslund, is the first-person narrative of Bergljot, a woman in her fifties who has been estranged from her family for over two decades. An inheritance dispute and the death of her father forces Bergljot to interact with her family. Every interaction with them dredges up memories of the past as Bergljot struggles to understand her family’s choice of denying the truth of her childhood trauma. The nature of the trauma is alluded to but not explicitly stated until Bergljot confronts her family in an open letter after her father’s death.

Bergljot was sexually assaulted by her father when she was a child. The assault started when she was five years old and continued for two years. Although she suppressed the memory for many years, it continued to surface in fragments. She was eventually able to piece it together when she was in her twenties and revealed the assault to her family. They reacted to the accusation with virulent hostility. They doubted her, accused her of ingratitude, of having a wild imagination, of behaving aggressively to get attention. They did everything they could to deny her the satisfaction of believing her, effectively pushing her away to silence her. Their denial is a continual source of Bergljot’s frustration.

The narrative unfolds in a series of flashbacks and vignettes. Threaded throughout is Bergljot’s raw anger toward her family and her desperate attempts to understand why they denied her truth. She sends angry emails to her sister and then apologizes for them. She shares her frustrations with her husband, children, and friends. Each email or phone call from her mother or sister sends her plummeting into a vortex of anxiety and self-analysis. She narrates her dreams. She cites the words of Freud, Jung, her therapist, various artists, and friends in an effort to understand how childhood trauma has impacted her and why its revelation impacted her family in the way it did. The movement is circular, always rotating around the same issues—why did it happen and why are they denying my truth?

Whether it is based on the author’s real life as some have suggested, or whether it is a work of fiction as the author claims it to be, this is a powerful novel illustrating the devastating impact of childhood sexual assault on a victim whose truth has been denied. Unfortunately, it suffers from poor editing and punctuation. It is littered with fused sentences, comma splices, and repetitive sentences. This may be a fault of the translation. Or it may be an effort to reflect the narrator’s trauma as she circles around events, fuses sentences, or repeats them. Either way, it detracts from an otherwise powerful story.

In spite of this, the novel is recommended for its exploration of sibling rivalry, parental favoritism, the impact of childhood trauma, and the sacrifices and choices victims and their families make when egregious wrongdoing cannot be proved.

Strange Weather in Tokyo

Hiromi Kawakami; trans. Allison Markin Powell

Strange Weather in Tokyo by Hiromi Kawakami, translated by Allison Markin Powell, is a touching love story between a thirty-something Tsukiko and her seventy-something former Japanese high school teacher.

Tsukiko is a loner. She lives a secluded life, going to work, coming home to her apartment, and minimizing her social interactions. She is at a bar one evening when she bumps into her former high school teacher, Harutsuna Matsumoto, whom she addresses as “Sensei.” They strike up a conversation which eventually develops into a friendship. They go on outings together, meet in bars and restaurants to drink and eat together.

Gradually, Tsukiko grows dependent on Sensei and looks forward to their meetings. Her feelings toward him intensify. Love creeps up on her quietly and without fanfare until she realizes one day she has fallen in love with him. Their relationship fluctuates. She tries to put distance between them but without success. She finds herself missing him, thinking about him, and imagining things he would say to her. Sensei eventually admits to reciprocating her feelings, but they seem to retain their separate identities while forging a stronger bond. Their relationship from start to finish lasts around five years.

The story is told from Tsukiko’s first-person point of view, providing access to her thoughts as she struggles with her burgeoning relationship. Every little detail about Sensei fascinates her from the way he dresses, to his briefcase, to his tendency to horde old batteries, to the way he corrects her when she strays from ‘ladylike’ language and behavior. Her passion for Sensei is so intense she continues to conduct imaginary conversations with him and hears his voice even after his death.

This is a very tender love story where very little happens. Two different people with a wide discrepancy in terms of age and temperament gradually fall in love. The writing is simple, unadorned, and devoid of the histrionics that frequently plague love stories. The dialogue is deceptively simple and stilted, reflecting the awkwardness each feels at the situation and their reluctance to reveal the depth of emotions. Parallel lines of loneliness and a tense but growing intimacy thread their way throughout the narrative.

Like the love that develops between Tsukiko and Sensei, the novel is quiet, moving, and creeps up on you unaware of its impact until the end.

Highly recommended for those who like quiet, bittersweet novels about relationships.

Cockroaches

Scholastique Mukasonga; trans. Jordan Stump

Translated from the French by Jordan Stump, Scholastique Mukasonga’s Cockroaches is the author’s first-person account of growing up Tutsi in Hutu-dominated Rwanda.

Mukasonga begins with her childhood in the late 1950s. She was born in her family’s enclosure at Cyanika. She has no memories of her birth place, but she remembers well their home in Nyamata where her family lived in exile. She was raised with a strong sense of community and belonging in a loving home with her parents and siblings eking out a living as best they could with the little they had. A firm, loving bond held the family together in the face of formidable obstacles, with each one willing to risk life and limb to obtain much needed supplies for their survival.

Forced to relocate again, Mukasonga describes how her family lived under the growing threat of violence from soldiers and armed militias who terrorized Tutsis with threats, abuse, rape, torture, mutilation, dismemberment, and death. She is eventually sent to a boarding school where she experiences virulent racism by her Hutu class mates. Ostracized by the majority Hutus, she is constantly reminded of her status as an Inyenzi, a cockroach. She and her few Tutsi classmates escape from the school when Hutus come looking for them. She makes it back to her family only to be told it is no longer safe for her to stay. She escapes to Burundi with her brother, completes her education in social work, and marries a Frenchman. She visits her parents in 1986, after which time she loses contact with them. She later learns they were among nearly 40 of her family members tortured and murdered during the 1994 genocide.

In 2004, Mukasonga visits Rwanda with her husband and two sons. As she passes through familiar landmarks and homes, she names the individuals associated with the locations, providing a personal detail about each person. No one claims to know how her family, friends, and neighbors were killed or where they are buried. To ensure they are not erased, she writes their names in an old notebook to give voice to their existence, to guarantee they will not be forgotten.

I have nothing left of my family and all the others who died in Nyamata but that paper grave.

Using clear, unadorned diction, and written with an unflinching honesty, Mukasonga exposes the horrendous crimes committed against a people. The brutality is hard to stomach. She has understandably been traumatized by the experience and continues to be haunted by the faces of her family. Her very powerful, heart-wrenching memoir serves as a testament to the lives lost during a tragic, shameful, and bleak chapter in human history. It also serves as a painful reminder of how easily human beings can slip into barbarism.

Highly recommended.

A Rising Man

Abir Mukherjee

Abir Mukherjee’s A Rising Man transports us to Calcutta in 1919. The narrative unfolds in the first-person point of view of Captain Sam Wyndham.

Wyndham, recovering from the trauma of World War I and the recent death of his wife, accepts a post to join the Calcutta police force. He barely has time to adjust to his new surroundings when he is tasked with solving the murder of a British senior official. It initially looks like a crime committed by Indian separatists bent on revenge for British occupation of their land. But Wyndham sniffs discrepancies in the theory and decides to conduct a thorough investigation. He is assisted by his trusty Indian police officer, Sergeant ‘Surrender-not’ Banerjee.

Wyndham traverses the labyrinthine streets of Calcutta, piecing together clues that will help him solve the murder. He critiques with humor the palatial buildings of the British authorities and the homes of wealthy British businessmen who have amassed a fortune exploiting Indian resources. He views British declarations of superiority over Indians and their ostensibly moral motives for occupying Indian land with a weary cynicism. His investigation soon has him embroiled in Indian politics, liberation movements, and unseemly characters in the underbelly of the British occupation.

Wyndham is portrayed as a well-rounded character who is not without flaws. He is addicted to opium and occasionally lapses into racist innuendos. He stumbles around, following false leads while investigating the murder. But he desperately tries to adhere to a moral code of justice in spite of formidable obstacles. And he has the foresight to acknowledge the intelligence and invaluable contribution of Sergeant Banerjee in solving the crime. Hopefully, the seeds of their burgeoning friendship will bear fruit in the sequels of the series, especially since Banerjee emerges as one of the most likeable characters. He is astute and a man of moral integrity.

Mukherjee plunges the reader in the palpable atmosphere of an India on the cusp of brewing its revolutionary movements for independence. He weaves historical events and cultural perspectives throughout the narrative with great skill and does not shy away from exposing the hypocrisy, brutality, racism, and exploitative nature of British rule in India. His ability to capture the hustle and bustle of Calcutta, its pungent smells, cacophony of sounds, sweltering heat, and torrential rains is impressive.

Situated in the murky waters of early twentieth-century British colonial rule in India, Mukherjee has written a murder mystery that is compelling, entertaining, and skillfully executed.

Recommended.

The Bird King

G. Willow Wilson

Modeled on the 12th century poem, The Conference of the Birds by the Persian Sufi poet Farid ud-Din Attar, The Bird King by G. Willow Wilson transports us to the reign of the last sultanate in 1491 just as Grenada is about to fall to Spain. It tells the story of Fatima, a Circassian concubine to the sultan, and her friend Hassan, the palace mapmaker.

The novel starts off strongly with Fatima as a precocious, daring young woman who leads a sheltered life at the palace. She takes risks each time she visits Hassan, putting both their lives in danger. But since it is a well-kept secret in the palace that Hassan is a homosexual, the few people who know about these illicit visits are not concerned. Fatima is aided in her ability to sneak undetected through the palace because of Hassan’s extraordinary gift. He is not only able to make maps of places he has visited; he is also able to draw maps that generate alternative physical structures. He draws tunnels and secret locations that materialize and enable Fatima to visit him without being detected.

When the sultan is forced to surrender to the Spanish forces, he agrees to hand Hassan over to the Inquisition who view him as a sorcerer. Fatima discovers this and she and Hassan escape with the help of the Sultan’s mother and a shape-shifting jinn named Vikram. So far, so good. But then the story loses focus.

What follows in the remaining two-thirds of the novel is a helter-skelter chase where Fatima and Hassan are captured by the forces of the Spanish Inquisition, escape, are captured again, escape, and so on, and so on. They encounter mythical creatures and monsters along the way, witness killings and torture from the Spanish Inquisitors, and experience harrowing escapes. Hassan draws a map to lead the fleeing escapees to Qaf, the mythical land in Farid Ud-Din Attar’s poem, where they hope to find the Bird King.

Unfortunately, this section of the novel drags, is difficult to follow, and tries to do too much. The numerous captures and harrowing escapes become tedious. Confusion abounds. The adventure to find the Bird King gets tangled up in various love interest threads. Jinn appear at pivotal moments to rescue Fatima from near death. So much happens in so many different directions and with so many re-starts that it was difficult to keep track.

The novel promotes a message of tolerance and a celebration of diversity. It illustrates the concept that the manifestations and practices of different faiths should not cause strife among adherents because, ultimately, all faith is rooted in the same belief system. What is needed is tolerance of and respect for others regardless of their particular faith or how they choose to practice it since all faiths are ethnic inflections of a shared origin. It is a pity that such a valuable message got diluted by so many distractions, a seemingly random storyline, and an increasingly and unnecessarily convoluted plot.

Recommended with reservations.

How to Live or A Life of Montaigne in One Question and Twenty Attempts at an Answer

Sarah Bakewell

How to Live or A Life of Montaigne in One Question and Twenty Attempts at an Answer by Sarah Bakewell is a delightful exploration of the life, personality, ideas, and thoughts of Michel Montaigne. Her biography of Montaigne delves in and out of his Essays to extrapolate answers to the nagging question, how should one live?

Bakewell paints a vivid portrait of Montaigne. He emerges as charming, honest-to-a-fault, self-effacing, open-minded, and wise, a man eager to embrace life in all its diversity. His Essays celebrate his uncensored, free-wheeling, and digressive thought patterns. He rebelled against abstract thinking by infusing his writing with intricate detail about apparently nonsensical trivia, as for example, when he pauses to describe how he sees himself through the eyes of his cat or how his dog twitches his ears while asleep. He showed little patience for dogma, eschewed philosophical abstractions, believed in the subjectivity of truth, and advocated for a suspension of judgment and moderation in all aspects of life. No subject was off limits, including bodily functions which he described with unfiltered, concrete detail.

Bakewell traces the reception Montaigne and his work received during his lifetime through to the twentieth-first-century. She aligns various aspects of his thought with those of Classical philosophers while explaining how he deviates from them. By situating him in his historical context, Bakewell is able to demonstrate how Montaigne’s Essays were innovative in style and content. No one had attempted anything like this before. His influence on other writers was prolific. Bakewell argues Montaigne’s writing is so expansive and replete with such ambiguity and after-thought that each generation is able to select what it wants from his work to either celebrate or chastise him.

Each chapter responds differently to the question “how to live” with headings like “Don’t Worry about Death,” “Survive Love and Loss,” “Be Convivial, Live with Others,” “Be Ordinary and Imperfect.” Bakewell’s style is engaging and energetic, sprinkled with funny anecdotes and asides. Her research is extensive and impressive. What so easily could have been a dry biography is, instead, entertaining and informative, covering a broad spectrum of topics: the man, his writings, his influence, his supporters and detractors, and the politically turbulent time in which he lived. The Montaigne who emerges from Bakewell’s biography is a delightful flesh and blood human being with idiosyncrasies and quirks, an innovative thinker, and a man, above all, who celebrates contradictions. To borrow the words of Walt Whitman, Michel Montaigne was a man who contains multitudes.

Highly recommended.

Night Boat to Tangier

Kevin Barry

It takes only a few pages of Night Boat to Tangier by Kevin Barry to begin hearing echoes of Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot.

It is October 2018. Maurice Hearne and Charlie Redmond are two aging Irish gangsters waiting in a dreary ferry terminal at the Spanish port city of Algeciras. They’re looking for Maurice’s 23-year- old daughter, Dilly. They have heard she will be arriving at the terminal either on a boat from Tangier or heading to Tangier. So they wait. And they wait. They scrutinize the faces of young people at the terminal, hoping to recognize Dilly. They carry flyers of her image, asking people if they have seen her or know of her whereabouts. They descend upon a young man with threatening behaviors and menacing questions. They thwart his every attempt to leave until they doze off and he manages to escape their grasp. Meanwhile, they wait. And they talk. And here lies the beauty of this amazing novel.

The dialogue is remarkable. Maurice and Charlie have been friends—and temporary rivals—for decades. They know each other so well they can virtually complete each other’s thoughts and finish each other’s sentences. Their dialogue snaps and sizzles with shared references and half-formed thoughts. Interspersed throughout their conversations are flashbacks to an earlier time when the men smuggled drugs. Through the flashbacks, we learn of their history of violence, the cause of their rivalry, why Charlie limps, and why Maurice has a bad eye. The vignettes shed light on Maurice’s rocky past and his enterprising but ill-advised attempts to launder money. Above all, what emerges from their conversation is their unshakeable bond of friendship built on decades of shared history and fractured memories.

Kevin Barry can make language soar. He does it through lyrical diction, authentic dialogue, and brilliant metaphors. His prose is peppered with tones of nostalgia and dark humor. This is a riveting tale of two aging men reminiscing about their past loves and lives and many regrets. The toll their criminal past has taken on their lives unfolds with unflinching honesty in poignant, eloquent, and stunning prose. On the one hand, very little happens in this story; on the other hand, everything happens.

It is a testament to Kevin Barry’s remarkable skill as a writer that he is able to transform a lackluster situation—two former gangsters reminiscing on a bench in a ferry terminal—into something breathtaking.

Highly recommended.

The Glass Woman

Caroline Lea

The Glass Woman by Caroline Lea is set in Iceland in 1686 and tells the story of Rósa’s marriage to Jón Eiríksson, the wealthy chief of an isolated settlement. Having lost her father and watching her mother slowly fading away because of illness and starvation, Rósa agrees to marry Jón because he lures her with promises to send food to her mother. She knows his first wife died under mysterious circumstances, but she brushes her suspicions aside and joins her husband in the far-off village of Stykkishólmur.

 Isolated from the people she loves and forbidden by Jón to interact with the locals, Rósa begins to suspect her husband of nefarious deeds. Jón’s refusal to speak of his first wife or the mysterious circumstances surrounding her death serves to fuel her suspicions. And when Rósa hears noises in the locked loft which Jón has forbidden her to enter, her imagination runs amok with thoughts of ghosts, elves, and things that go bump in the night. A supposedly dead first wife, mysterious noises in the loft, the secrecy of Jón’s behavior, his veiled threats toward Rósa, and the ominous warnings the villagers mutter to Rósa about her husband enhance the gothic atmosphere, all of which is reinforced by Rosa’s isolation and virtual imprisonment in the croft.

The novel covers the period from August to December. The narrative unfolds in the third person point of view focusing on Rósa’s thoughts and actions. But about half way through the novel, the third person is intermittently interrupted with Jón’s first-person point of view in which he flashes back to past events. Threaded throughout the narrative are references to Icelandic sagas and superstitions.

One of the most successful qualities of the novel is Lea’s ability to evoke the frigid Iceland winters and life-threatening snow storms. Her descriptions immerse the reader in the hostile, and bone-chilling environment. Life is hard under these conditions, and this hardness is manifested in the villagers. An atmosphere of suspicion, violence, accusations of witchcraft, belief in the power of spells and runes, and a general sense of impending evil permeate village life. With few exceptions, the villagers are far from friendly and neighborly. They are consumed with jealousy, thrive on gossip, vilify those deemed different, and are ready to perpetrate violence at the slightest provocation.

The novel dragged in some parts, and was predictable and repetitive in others—especially in the sections where Rósa bemoans her fate. The shifts in timeline and point of view were jarring and could have been handled with more skill. The switches from one month to the next and back to a previous month were unnecessarily complicated and did little to advance the narrative. But the novel is worth reading primarily because of its ability to generate a rich Icelandic atmosphere.

Recommended with reservations.