The Weekend

Charlotte Wood

The Weekend by Charlotte Wood is a light, engaging novel about the four decades’ long friendship of four women in their 70s. When Sylvie dies, her three friends gather over a Christmas weekend to clear out her beach house so her partner can put it up for sale.

Each woman has a distinct personality. Jude, the take-charge organizer, is the leader in the group. A former restaurateur, she is not married but has been having an affair with a married man for 40 years. Wendy, an author and academic, still grieves over the loss of her husband and clings desperately to her ailing dog as the last vestige of her former happiness. And Adele, a once famous actress, longs to resuscitate her former glory.

Cleaning out Sylvie’s possessions triggers flashbacks of happier times when the four friends were together at the beach house. Each woman reminisces about the past while revealing her back story. Sylvie was the glue that held them together. Without her, they struggle to get along with each other. At times, it appears as if their friendship is too fragile to survive. Long-held tensions and resentments surface; petty jealousies simmer; painful secrets are disclosed.

Wood portrays her characters as plagued with more than the typical challenges besetting the elderly. These were once strong, vibrant women, successful in their respective fields. In addition to their problems with mobility, changes in the body and bodily functions, fading memories, regrets for past behaviors, insecurities, insomnia, money worries, and grief over the loss of loved ones, each character struggles with issues that transcend age. Jude’s anxiety over her lover’s failure to respond to her texts echo a lover’s fear of a breakup, regardless of one’s age. Wendy and Adele harbor ambitions to remain relevant, Wendy by writing a new book; Adele by securing a new acting role. Wood illustrates that life’s challenges and desires don’t disappear with old age. They coexist with the challenges of aging.

Finn, Wendy’s dog, is a constant presence as a haunting reminder of the body’s decline. He is blind, deaf, suffers from arthritis, is easily disoriented, and spends his waking hours going round in circles. Wendy refuses to put him out of his misery, clinging to him as if he were her last hope for survival. What she sees in Finn is not what others see in him, which illustrates another theme of the novel. The women do not see themselves as others see them. Each harbors illusion about herself and about how she appears to others.

In this entertaining, evenly paced novel, peppered with insights about aging and agism, Charlotte Wood explores the dynamics of friendship, female aging, loneliness, grief, support, loss, and resilience. Her characters are well-developed but predictable. In spite of their petty squabbles and bickering, their loyalty to each other and to their decades of friendship survives in a feel-good ending.

Recommended.

Confession of the Lioness

Mia Cuoto; translated by David Brookshaw

Confession of the Lioness by the award-winning Mozambican author Mia Cuoto, translated from the Portuguese by David Brookshaw, is a hybrid tale combing elements of magical realism with the myths, traditions, and superstitions of an isolated village in Mozambique; prescient dreams; and the hunt for lions—real or imagined—terrorizing the village of Kulumani.

The story unfolds through two interwoven, alternating diaries: the diary of Mariamar, a thirty-two-year-old woman whose sister is the latest victim of the lions; the diary of Archangel Bullseye, the hunter hired to kill the lions terrorizing the village. The troubled back stories of each of the characters is gradually revealed, including their meeting sixteen years ago which left a lasting impact on Mariamar.

In this virulently patriarchal society, women are marginalized, their voices silenced. Stories emerge of their oppression, including incest, rape, genital mutilation, and other forms of physical violence. Two prominent women reveal to Archangel that the real predators are not lions but the men inhabiting the village who abuse women with impunity. The men view Archangel with suspicion as an outsider threatening their traditional culture and are determined to sabotage his efforts by using traditional means to address the threat posed by the lions.

The narrative timeline constantly shifts between past and present, between reality and dream-like sequences. Incidents from the past haunt the present, entangling flashbacks with current events. The lines between the hunter and the hunted blur so it is no longer apparent who is doing the hunting and who or what is being hunted. Ambiguity in the language suggests the real threat comes from humans behaving like animals.

In diction that is dark, poetic, and intense, the line separating the real from the imaginary constantly shifts. The language is tentative and ambiguous. Are these real lions who are killing Kulumani’s women? Are they seeking revenge for man’s encroachment on their territory? Or are they a manifestation of the village’s rampant misogynism and a metaphor for the violence perpetrated by men against village women? Are they spirit lions inhabiting the bodies of some of the women through witchcraft to underscore the gendered death-in-life circumstances of their lives? Or are they all of the above?

Cuoto interlocks a number of themes in the novel: the conflict between modernity and tradition; the devastating impact of colonialism; the oppression of women; the demand for gender equity; Christianity versus traditional belief systems; the blurring of lines between the spirit world and the material world; and the struggle to emerge from the ravages of a recent civil war. He balances it all in a novel that conveys a distinctly allegorical feel with no clear ending and no easy answers.

Recommended.

Impossible Owls: Essays

Brian Phillips

Impossible Owls: Essays by Brian Phillips is a collection of eight essays in topics ranging from the Iditarod sled race, to sumo wrestling, to tiger-spotting in India, to the work of an accomplished Russian animator, to tidbits about the British royal family. It is an eclectic mix, but Phillips manages to hold it together with a very readable, accessible, and entertaining style.

Phillips follows the untrodden path in his approach toward subject matter. His research on the topic is impressive. He focuses on minute details. For example, in his essay on the Iditarod, in addition to describe the breathtakingly beautiful panorama, he describes some of the eccentric characters involved in the race, focusing on their quirks and mannerisms. He concludes with a thought-provoking theory on the significance of the race and what it represents to those involved. In his essay on the British royal family, he discusses how Queen Elizabeth signals her security guards of her intentions by where she positions her handbag.

Some essays are stronger than others, but all include interesting facts about the topic. Phillips exhibits a refreshing curiosity to ferret out nuggets of trivia and a willingness to plunge into new experiences. His eye is discerning; his pronouncements about people and their behavior astute. He punctuates his writing with personal anecdotes, impressions, and a delightful sense of humor. In a voice that is authentic and likable, he projects an infectious enthusiasm to seek the seemingly trivial as he looks at the world through a quirky set of lenses.

Highly recommended.

The Possessed: Adventures with Russian Books and the People Who Read Them

Elif Batuman

While Elif Batuman’s The Possessed: Adventures with Russian Books and the People Who Read Them is a somewhat enjoyable read, its title is misleading. The title sets up the expectation that this is an exploration of Russian books, their authors, and their readers. Unfortunately, it failed to meet the expectation. Instead, we are presented with a travel memoir of sorts.

Batuman describes her experience in graduate school; her attendance and participation at academic conferences; her travels to interesting locations, including Samarkand where she studied the Uzbek language; and St. Petersburg. Along the way, she takes inconsequential sidetracks and divulges details about her personal life, including her relationships with men and her fascination with a Croatian student. Much of the content felt like unnecessary padding. There were few insights on Russian authors and their books, and none on their readers. The final chapter includes a lengthy summary of Dostoevksy’s Demons with little analysis. The pace was uneven, and the essays seemed to meander along with no clear purpose or connection.

On the plus side, Batuman is intelligent, very well-read, and articulate. She shows flashes of humor and shares some interesting observations about the places she visits and the people she meets. Her writing is accessible and peppered with frequent phrases and one-liners from literary works. Her voice is distinct and engaging but the content is disappointing and failed to deliver on its promise.

Recommended with reservations.

Convenience Store Woman

Sayaka Murata; trans. Jinny Tapley Takemori

Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata, translated from the Japanese by Jinny Tapley Takemori, is a delightful novella told in the first-person point of view of Keiko Furukura.

The novel opens with an eighteen-year-old Keiko recalling incidents in her childhood. Even as a young girl, Keiko finds it challenging to conform to or understand society’s precepts for normal behavior. At the age of 18, she finds part-time employment at a convenience store. Here, Keiko is at peace. She adheres to the convenience store manual with meticulous precision and takes her cue on “normal” behavior by mimicking other employees’ speech patterns and imitating their style of dress. Although she and others are unaware of it, it becomes increasingly evident that Keiko is autistic.

Eighteen years later at the age of thirty-six, Keiko is still a part-time employee at the convenience store with no ambition to do anything else with her life. She feels perfectly at ease in the enclosed, safe environment where she knows exactly what to say, when to say it, and what to do. She is a model employee, perceptive, adept at reading facial expressions, and courteous. The only discomfort she feels comes from friends and family who pressure her to find a mate and seek what they consider to be a more appropriate career for a woman her age. Eventually, Keiko succumbs to the pressure. She invites a slovenly former employee to move in with her in order to appease society by appearing to have a boyfriend. Facing even further pressure, she quits her job at the convenience store.

Since she can no longer regulate her daily schedule or behavior by relying on the convenience store, Keiko loses perspective. She is deprived of the one thing that endowed her life with meaning and purpose. She becomes lethargic, refusing to get out of bed, bathe, or eat. But when her roommate forces her to go on a job interview, Keiko enters a nearby convenience store and immediately begins performing the duty of an employee. She basks in the familiarity of the surroundings and decides to pursue her notion of happiness even if it means defying societal expectations. She applies for the position of part-time convenience store employee.

In this quick and easy read, Sayaka Murata portrays a courageous, modern-day heroine. Keiko withstands enormous social pressure to get married, have children, and pursue a lucrative career. She rejects expectations she doesn’t understand or seek by exercising her choice to define a successful, happy life on her own terms. She returns to an environment where she feels secure, appreciated, and knows all the rules. The novella is as much a heart-warming accolade of Keiko as it is an indictment of society’s enormous pressure to conform to outmoded standards of behavior.

A charming, delightful novella about an unassuming heroine.

Highly recommended.

The Secret Lives of Baba Segi's Wives

Lola Shoneyin

Set in Nigeria, The Secret Lives of Baba Segi’s Wives by Lola Shoneyin tells the story of Baba Segi, a proud, affluent, corpulent, and flatulent man with four wives and seven children. Baba Segi’s fourth wife, Bolanle, is the youngest of his wives and the only one among them who is literate and a university graduate. Bolanle’s failure to conceive prompts Baba Segi to take her to the doctor, a visit which leads to unintended consequences. Baba Segi’s world is shattered when he learns the secrets his three wives have harbored for many years.

The narrative unfolds by alternating between third-person and first-person voices primarily of Baba Segi’s wives. Each wife reveals her back story, explaining how and why she married Baba Segi and what led her to deceive him. Baba Segi’s behavior is typical of a patriarch. He views wives and children as vehicles to elevate his social status. He expects their complete obeisance. They oblige him by maintaining the façade that he is in control. They fuss over him, pamper him, and prop his ego. Meanwhile, Baba Segi is oblivious to the plotting and scheming and subterfuge occurring right under his nose. Bolanle is the only wife who does not partake in the subterfuge. And for that she incurs the jealousy and wrath of the other wives who scheme against her.

In a quick and easy read, Shoneyin explores the intricate dynamics of a polygamous family. There is jealousy, rivalry, and feuding as each wife competes for the attention of Baba Segi. The driving force behind the back-stabbing, lies, and cowardice of Baba Segi’s first three wives is their desperate need for economic security. Their back stories reveal how they were mistreated, sexually exploited, assaulted, denied opportunities, and cheated of their inheritance. They cling to Baba Segi as their savior, tolerating his bodily emanations and crude sexual fumblings because their options for economic stability are severely limited.

Lola Shoneyin’s style is explicit and direct, laced with occasional humor. Her writing is grounded in an unabashed look at reality. She does not shy away from a frank description of the noises, sounds, and smells emanating from Baba Segi’s body, or his pounding heft as he rotates between wives on successive nights. Insects and rodents bask in the food and home. Sexuality is on full display on street corners and shady streets. But in spite of the squalid atmosphere, Shoneyin’s tone throughout is gentle and non-judgmental. She even manages to generate sympathy for the wives through their back stories. And Baba Segi, for all his faults, delusions, and deep entrenchment in the traditions of his social environment, is a generous man at heart.

Through her exploration of the dynamics within a polygamous family, Shoneyin conveys a salient truism that cuts across cultures. Women who turn against other women and ridicule their accomplishments frequently do so because they are in competition to secure a mate who can fulfill the role of economic provider. This is especially true in cultures where women have been denied access to educational opportunities. Shoneyin contextualizes the social, cultural, and economic environment of co-wives with empathy. It is not coincidental that Bolanle’s generosity of spirit toward her co-wives and their children is directly linked to her potential for economic autonomy afforded by her university education.

Highly recommended.

Possessed by Memory: The Inward Light of Criticism

Harold Bloom

Possessed by Memory: The Inward Light of Criticism by the prolific literary critic Harold Bloom is a literary memoir threaded with a meditation on aging.

The 89-year-old Professor Bloom begins by interrogating selections from Hebrew scripture and then moves to a discussion of some of his favorite excerpts from Western literature. Included is a section on Shakespeare and an exploration of what he refers to as the concept of “self-otherseeing” in some of Shakespeare’s characters. He probes the words of Milton, the visionary company of the Romantic poets, Walt Whitman and twentieth-century American poetry, and concludes with Proust’s In Search of Lost Time. His contributions to the field of literary criticism will be felt for years to come.

Professor Bloom peppers his discussion with delightful anecdotes and illuminating conversations he shared with famous figures in literature and literary criticism, most of whom have long-since died. He mourns their deaths, paying tribute to them by keeping their memory alive through engaging with their writing. An elegiac tone permeates his discussions as he looks back on the past, reminiscing about old friends and feeling their loss.

Making frequent reference to his aging body, his lack of mobility, and his insomnia, Professor Bloom acknowledges he does not have much longer to live. He meditates on life, aging, death, and the legacy one leaves behind. Suffering from chronic insomnia, he derives comfort by reciting extensively from a vast repertoire of poems, many of which he memorized as a child. And as he recites, he articulates why certain verses or whole poems move him. Literature is his consolation and his solace.

One doesn’t have to agree with all—or even, some—of Professor Bloom’s observations about literature or the Western canon. But one cannot deny the breadth, depth, and scope of his expansive knowledge and expertise. He cites verses from poems as if they are second nature; he draws unexpected connections and comparisons with poems that are centuries apart; he breathes life into a poem as he interrogates its meaning. And he uses literature as a platform to explore existential questions about life and death. One doesn’t have to be familiar with the literature he discusses to appreciate the insights he shares.

This isn’t an easy read. It is a deeply personal journey about how literature has informed and shaped the life of a giant among literary critics—a man endowed with a capacious appetite for reading, for thinking deeply about what he reads, and for nurturing an unabashed passion for literature.

Professor Harold Bloom died on October 14, 2019. May he rest in peace.

Recommended.

Mrs. Bridge

Evan S. Connell

First published in 1959, Mrs. Bridge by Evan S. Connell is set in Kansas City in the 1930s. The central figure is India Bridge, an upper middle-class suburban housewife. Her character is revealed in a series of short vignettes, episodes, and conversations, some of which are laugh- out-loud funny. The effect is cumulative, with layer upon layer gradually piling up until a full picture emerges of Mrs. Bridge.

Married to a successful, workaholic lawyer, Mrs. Bridge is happiest when her three children are young and need her attention. When her children get older and no longer demand or want her attention, Mrs. Bridge is plagued with doubts about her self-worth. She is lonely, bored, and doesn’t know what to do with her time. She pursues various activities to occupy herself but then abandons each project. She picks up a book and leaves it unfinished. She longs to connect with her children, but they show her little respect and grudgingly converse with her. She longs to connect with her husband. He loves her but is physically and emotionally distant, stifles her thoughts and aspirations, and demonstrates his love by buying her expensive gifts she does not need or want.

The cumulative layering of vignettes and conversations unveil a poignant portrait of Mrs. Bridge. She is well-meaning and well-intentioned, but her mind is vacuous. She gets her cues on what to think and what to say from her husband. She gets her cues on etiquette, mannerisms, activities, and clothing styles from her upbringing and social circle. She is shallow, bland, and focuses on appearances. She avoids meaningful conversations, fearing she might hear something that challenges her world view. At the same time, she realizes there is something missing in her life, but she can’t—or won’t—put her finger on it. She considers seeing a therapist but abandons the idea when her husband curtly dismisses it.

Mrs. Bridge is a product of her socialization. She has internalized the patriarchal constructs that dictate the male is the head of the household and the woman’s role is to cater to his every need and subordinate herself, her aspirations, her hopes and desires, entirely to him. She is Virginia Woolf’s “Angel in the House,” reflecting her husband at twice his natural size. She engages in de-selfing by stifling any hint of independent thought and slowly suffocates herself.

Evan Connell portrays her with generosity and sympathy. One cannot help but feel compassion for a woman who flounders with trying to understand the cause of her ennui. Her socialization has thwarted her desire for self-identity. By marrying a good provider, subordinating herself to her husband, living in the right neighborhood, attending the country club, speaking in non-controversial platitudes, adhering to the rules, and behaving with decorum at all times, she has checked off all the boxes society tells her will guarantee her happiness. But she is miserable, lonely, vacuous, and she doesn’t know why.

Through his brilliant use of telling details, short vignettes, and revealing conversations, Evan Connell has indicted patriarchal socialization by poignantly portraying its impact on a sad, lonely, and bewildered Mrs. Bridge. He does it all with heart, sensitivity, and humor.

Highly recommended.

Burger's Daughter

Nadine Gordimer

A young school girl waits outside a prison in South Africa. This scene opens Burger’s Daughter by Nadine Gordimer, the 1991 Nobel Prize winner in literature. The girl clutches a hot-water bottle and an eiderdown to be delivered to her mother inside the prison. The girl’s name is Rosa Burger, the daughter of Lionel and Cathy Burger. Both her parents are white anti-apartheid activists seeking to overthrow the South African government. Rosa has grown accustomed to seeing her parents and their colleagues under constant surveillance and/or incarcerated for their political activism.

The novel follows Rosa’s life as she tries to come to terms with her parents’ legacy. We meet her at the age of 26, over a decade after the opening scene. By this time, her mother has died of illness. Her father has also died of illness while serving three years of a life sentence for treason. The novel primarily consists of Rosa’s internal monologues in which she talks to her father or her former lover, Conrad. These monologues are interrupted occasionally by the omniscient narrator.

Rosa’s monologues reveal what it was like grow up in a household bustling with anti-apartheid activism. She was called upon to contribute to the cause in various ways, but her attitude of being thrust into a political movement is ambivalent at best. She is under surveillance by the authorities, so is cautious about her activities. In spite of that, she maintains some contact with her parents’ political acquaintances although she behaves like a disengaged observer. Eventually, she is able to obtain a passport, visits her father’s first wife in France, and has an affair with a Frenchman. She goes to London and then returns to South Africa after an unpleasant encounter with a former childhood friend. The novel ends with her imprisonment.

Gordimer weaves references to the political upheavals in South Africa, the strikes, the Soweto uprising, as well as the activities of actual prominent anti-apartheid activists, many of whom are mentioned in Rosa’s monologues. This gives the monologues the air of authenticity. But the monologues are stylistically challenging; the stream of consciousness style confusing. Sometimes it isn’t clear whether Rosa is speaking to her deceased father, her former lover, herself, or the reader. The monologues, which can extend for a couple of pages without paragraph divisions, include a plethora of names and complex political discussions. Since the speakers are not always identified and the dialogue is reported in indirect voice, it can become somewhat tedious. The temporal shifts and flashbacks without warning contribute to the confusion.

The style may be an attempt to reflect Rosa’s confused attempts to forge a separate identity for herself within her parents’ circle of politically committed activists. Although lucid and thought-provoking passages dot the landscape, the novel generally lacks coherence and fails to generate interest in the protagonist’s fate.

Recommended with reservations.

Iceland's Bell

Halldór Laxness; translated by Philip Roughton

Iceland’s Bell by the 1955 Nobel Prize winner Halldór Laxness and translated by Philip Roughton is set in Iceland in the late 17th century when Iceland was a Danish colony. The novel, a hodge-podge of different elements, is geographically and politically broad in scope.

The three parts span a couple of decades. Part one follows the mishaps of Jón Hreggvidsson, a drunken fisherman, punished for stealing a fishing line, accused of murder, awaiting execution in jail, and escaping with the help of Snæfridur, the magistrate’s daughter, known as the Iceland’s sun for her beauty. Embroiled in the political turmoil of the times, Jón has a penchant to burst into Icelandic song whenever the mood takes him.

Part two, which takes place years later, focuses on Snæfridur’s trials and tribulations with her drunken husband Magnus. She is in love with Arnas Arnæus, a character based on the historical Arni Magnusson who collected ancient manuscripts of Icelandic sagas with a goal of recording and reviving Iceland’s glory.

Part three takes place in Copenhagen where the war for political control of Iceland is waged. Snæfridur has gone to Denmark to reverse her father’s conviction by appealing to the Danish authorities. She speaks with eloquence, passion, and pride in Iceland’s cultural heritage while decrying the injustices it has suffered. Arnæus is tempted with the governorship of Iceland by German merchants on the verge of purchasing Iceland from Denmark. The novel concludes with a brief description of the fire in Copenhagen.

Throw in the mix a host of complex civil and criminal litigations; a critique of trials and legal procedures; examples of Denmark’s colonial exploitation of Iceland, stripping it of its resources to finance the whim and exploits of the Danish king; the poverty, famine, and abysmal living conditions of the Icelandic people; references to Icelandic folklore heroes and heroines; citations from the sagas; and then pepper the narrative with an abundance of Latin phrases for good measure. If all this sounds complicated, that is because it is.

Laxness populates his canvas with aristocrats, drunkards, criminals, and hypocrites. In the tradition of Icelandic sagas, his characters have no interiority. We are not made privy to their feelings or thoughts and see them exclusively through their words and actions. Laxness portrays them without judgment. Even the most outlandish, horrific experiences and actions are described with a detached, dark humor that borders on being cartoonish. The narrative rambles; the dialogue is choppy with characters seemingly talking at each other. The pronunciation guide at the beginning and the extensive notes at the end are helpful. But the constant need to refer to the end notes to understand references and context disrupts the flow of the narrative.

This dense, somewhat unwieldy narrative provides a panoramic view of the suffering of the Icelandic people under the colonial yoke of Denmark. What emerges from this rollicking, contemporary Icelandic saga is Laxness’ love for his country and his respect for its rich cultural heritage.

Recommended with some reservations.

Bird Summons

Leila Aboulela

Inspired by Farid Ud-Din Attar’s twelfth-century Sufi poem The Conference of the Birds, Bird Summons by Leila Aboulela tells the story of three Muslim women living in Scotland. They embark on a road trip to visit the grave of Lady Evelyn Cobbold, a Scottish convert to Islam and the first British woman to perform the pilgrimage to Mecca.

The three friends are plagued with doubts about their paths in life. Salma, the self-appointed leader who organizes the trip, is a massage therapist and happily married to a Scottish convert to Islam. When she is contacted by her first love in Egypt, she becomes embroiled in a fantasy world of what might have been had she stayed in Egypt. Moni relinquished a successful banking career to devote herself to the full-time care of her five-year-old son suffering from cerebral palsy. She feuds with her husband about her exclusive focus on their son to the detriment of their marital relationship. Iman, the youngest, has been married three times. In the course of the road trip, her third husband catches up with her and announces their divorce because his parents disapprove of his marriage.

The women spend a week at a resort on the grounds of a converted monastery before heading to Lady Evelyn’s grave site. During the road trip and the week-long stay, they bicker and criticize one another. Each one is wrapped up in her own thoughts. Salma’s phone calls to her former boyfriend in Egypt consume her. Moni is plagued with worry about her son. And without an education or adequate resources, Iman tries to figure out what to do with the rest of her life.

It is at this point the novel delves into magical realism. Iman is visited by a Hoopoe who speaks to her in parables, folktales, and riddles. Moni befriends a young child who reminds her of her son. He inexplicably assumes gigantic proportions and crushes her with his weight. And Salma chases after a man she thinks is her former boyfriend. She travels back in time to Egypt and ends up in her boyfriend’s clinic where he dissects her body. The three women metamorphose into a variety of inhuman shapes and are forced to rely on each other to proceed. As a result of the Hoopoe’s guidance and their collaboration, their human shape is restored and they are able to find their way back. Each woman gains insight and strength as a result of what predictably turns out to be a journey of self-discovery.

The plunge into magical realism is a new element in Aboulela’s writing. Unfortunately, it is not entirely successful. It does not flow organically from the novel and appears contrived—as if the author is trying to bend the narrative to conform to Attar’s poem. What started off as a promising novel about three Muslim woman immigrants and their struggles with relationships and with adapting to life in a western culture veers into the territory of magical realism that is totally out of sync with the novel. In addition, the characters lack depth and nuance; the writing is perfunctory and pedantic.

Recommended with reservations since it is not up to the quality of Aboulela’s other works in either style or content.

I'Jaam

Sinan Antoon; translated by Rebecca C. Johnson and Sinan Antoon

I’Jaam by Sinan Antoon, translated by Rebecca C. Johnson and Sinan Antoon, is a novella that packs a powerful punch well beyond its 90 pages. The title I’Jaam refers to the way in which letters in the Arabic alphabet vary depending on the location of 1-3 dots (above or below a letter) and on their position in the sentence. Readings of texts without dots can vary depending on context and syntax. The manuscript, discovered in a filing cabinet in the Ministry of Interior, is written by a young man detained by Iraqi authorities in Saddam Hussein’s Iraq.

Furat is a young university student and aspiring writer. He is incarcerated by Iraqi authorities, tortured, beaten, raped, and deprived of food and water for extended periods. While in detention, he writes. His writing consists of flashbacks, memories, terrifying hallucinations, nightmares, dreams, as well as his experience with torture and rape by his guards. His manuscript is discovered by the authorities and assigned to a bureaucrat to insert the missing dots. The insertions are indicated in footnotes in which the dots are positioned on a word so it is read as praising the dominant ideology; the words minus the dots in the manuscript can be read as highly critical of the dominant ideology.

The manuscript reveals the sheer terror of living in the clutches of a totalitarian government with its echoes of George Orwell’s 1984 and Franz Kafka’s The Trial. Lies and hypocrisy permeate every aspect of governance. Furat describes a society in which activity is monitored, freedom of expression severely curtailed, and government spies infiltrate all levels of society. Something as innocuous as failure to clap during a government-sponsored demonstration can cause one to disappear. Unquestionable loyalty and support are demanded for the “Father-Leader” and strictly and brutally enforced by his police.

Furat’s writing shifts from lucid descriptions of life before detention, his interactions with his grandmother, his budding love affair with his girl-friend, to the horror and brutality of his incarceration in a filthy, rat-infested cell. The shifts are abrupt, reflecting the temporal blur he experiences as a result of his humiliating and dehumanizing treatment during detention. His faculties break down so he/we no long know what is real and what is imaginary. The narrative is haunting and ends abruptly. We don’t know what happens to Furat. All that remains is the manuscript he left behind.

A chilling novella, highly recommended for its evocation of life under a totalitarian government.

The Poisonwood Bible

Barbara Kingsolver

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver is an epic story of a missionary family in the Belgian Congo in 1959. Nathan Price is an evangelical Baptist minister obsessed with converting the indigenous population in the small village of Kilanga. The story unfolds in the first-person voices of his wife, Orleanna; and their four daughters, Rachel, Leah, Adah, and Ruth May. The story takes place against the backdrop of political upheaval as the Congo briefly transitions to independence followed by decades of Mobutu’s tyranny.

The novel opens with Orleanna back in Georgia, years after her departure from the Congo. She grapples to understand their experience and the tragedy that precipitated her exit from the Congo. The novel then shifts back in time to 1959 and the family’s arrival at Kilanga. It moves forward through the next three decades through the alternating perspectives of the four daughters with intermittent reflections by Orleanna.

Divided into seven books, the first two-thirds of the novel describe the family’s experience in Kilanga. The girls initially experience culture shock. They ridicule the clothing, smells, food, morals, and habits of the indigenous population. But gradually, Leah and Adah open up to the culture, develop an appreciation for its positive elements, and begin to adapt. Rachel, the eldest, is self-absorbed, materialistic, and remains consistently aloof and disparaging of the Congolese; Ruth May is too young to form an opinion.

Nathan Price is seen through the eyes of his family. He is a physically and mentally abusive toward his wife and daughters; he is intransigent and close-minded toward the villagers. He refuses to understand their culture or to see anything positive in it. His insistence they embrace his religion and adopt his way of thinking only serve to alienate him. Propelled by his missionary zeal, Nathan emerges as arrogant, bigoted, and a foolish promoter of cultural imperialism.

The novel’s strength lies in a number of factors. Kingsolver’s imagery transports the reader to Kilanga through her detailed, atmospheric description of the local culture and life in the village with its challenges, losses, and rewards. We see the vibrant colors, feel the textures, smell the smells, taste the food, and hear the sounds of the jungle and its inhabitants. Kingsolver’s descriptions are immersive, powerful, and evocative. Her novel’s strength also lies in character portrayal. Each of her characters speaks in a unique, identifiable voice, is well-developed and realistically portrayed.

But the novel loses some of its strength in the last 150 or so pages when Kingsolver traces the lives of Orleanna and her daughters decades later. The passion and energy of the earlier part of the novel is diluted due to a perfunctory description of what happens to each character. Also, although Kingsolver’s scathing critique of western imperialism and Christian missionary zeal with its devastating impact on the Congo has been established earlier, she continues to hammer the point home. Her political advocacy overshadows the rest of the novel to its detriment. In spite of these flaws, however, the novel is a remarkable achievement and well-deserving of the numerous accolades it has received.

Highly recommended.

Painter to the King

Amy Sackville

Painter to the King by Amy Sackville offers a historical panorama of the court of King Philip IV of Spain by focusing on the artist Diego Velázquez and his portraits of Philip and his family.

The novel unfolds through a unique combination of different styles. Dashes and ellipses abound; as do partial sentences; sentences that start and stop and start up, again—all of which constitute a stream of consciousness technique. The technique also replicates the painter’s brush strokes as his hand moves across the canvas, hesitates, and continues.

The nearly four-decade relationship between Velázquez and Philip is told chronologically with intermittent interruptions in which the narrator inserts herself as she walks through the dusty streets of Madrid and Seville, retracing Velázquez’s footsteps and frequenting his former haunts. She dips in and out of Velázquez’s mind, stands behind him as he paints, evokes his struggle to capture the right amount of light and shade in an image, speaks to him directly, and invites him to answer questions about his life and his art. She occasionally walks readers through a painting, directing our eyes to certain details as if seeing them from inside the canvas.

Sackville’s attention to detail is immersive and atmospheric. She plunges the reader into chaotic scenes depicting the frenzied activities and celebrations in Philip’s court. Her impressive use of visual imagery conjures a scene or a painting before our eyes. Her sentences pile on the details and can extend for several lines, giving the text an almost breathless quality. The style is remarkable; the historical research extensive.

In terms of style, this is a remarkable work. However, it may be too much of a good thing. The novel is weighed down by an excess of style and too little substance. The dashes, ellipses, stops and starts, shifts in perspective, the chaotic atmosphere, lengthy sentences, and the breathless quality, while effective in generating an atmosphere, can be quite exhausting and tedious to read. The fragmentary style leaves little room for character development. Neither the king nor Velázquez emerge as fully fleshed-out characters that engage reader attention.

Perhaps Sackville was aiming for something different. Perhaps her intention was to translate Velázquez’s breathtaking portraits into words that emulate his pauses and deliberations during composition; the sweep of his brush strokes; his play with light and dark; his manner of suspending gestures; his attention to detail; his intense scrutiny; and his angle of vision—all of which characterize his masterpieces. If that were her intention, then she has succeeded admirably.

Recommended.

The Whispering Muse

Sjón; translated by Victoria Cribb

The Whispering Muse by Sjón, translated from the Icelandic by Victoria Cribb, blends fiction with mythology. The narrative unfolds through the first-person voice of Valdimar Haraldsson, a somewhat pompous elderly gentleman with an inflated ego. He is the author of a 17-volume journal devoted to demonstrating the supposedly mental and physical superiority of the Nordic race which he attributes to its consumption of fish. He has written articles and given lectures on the subject. Haraldsson is at a cross roads in his life when he is invited by the son of a deceased friend to join a Danish merchant ship on its way to Turkey. He embraces the opportunity. The year is 1949.

Once situated on the ship, Haraldsson meets the senior members of the crew. Among them is Caeneus, the second mate. Caeneus regales the guests at dinner time with tales of Jason and the Argonauts on their adventures to retrieve the Golden Fleece. He claims to have sailed with Jason, his muse being a broken fragment of the Argo’s hull which whispers in his ear. He serves as the muse’s mouthpiece. His tales include the stay at Lemnos whose exclusive inhabitants are females eager to entertain their male guests; his rape as a female and subsequent transformation into a male; his stint as a bird, as well as many other fantastical elements. He weaves Nordic mythology with Greek myths from Apollonius, the plays of Euripides, and the poetry of Ovid. He garners the rapt attention of the dinner guests, much to Haraldsson’s chagrin since he had hoped to entertain them with his theory on the benefits of eating fish.

Caeneus’ playful, fantastic tales contrast sharply with Haraldsson’s dry, controlled speech. His mythic retellings intersect with events on the ship. For example, during Easter when the ship is delayed at port, Caeneus tells the story of the Argo’s extended stay at Lemnos. He also echoes Easter when he launches into an improbable tale of being nailed to a cross to heal his broken bones.

Haraldsson barely contains his boredom as he listens to the Caeneus’ tales. He cannot fathom the audiences’ fascination with the stories and is frustrated by the lack of seafood on the ship’s menu. When he finally delivers his lecture on “Fish and Culture,” the audience listens in polite silence. He is dull, insufferable, and bereft of imagination. He refuses to be transported by Caeneus’ narrative. His perceptions are out of joint with the other guests and he is totally clueless on the impact he has on those around him. Upon his return home, he starts a romance with his elderly neighbor. The novel ends with Haraldsson stroking the “whispering muse” he smuggled off the ship.

This is an unusual, light-hearted mingling of mythic elements, storytelling, and sea-faring yarns, all told through the voice of a self-absorbed, pedantic egoist. The translation flows smoothly and is very readable. The narrative is entertaining, but it lacks the gravitas and intensity of Sjón’s The Blue Fox.

Recommended.

Freedom Hospital: A Syrian Story

Hamid Sulaiman; translated by Francesca Barrie

Freedom Hospital: A Syrian Story by Hamid Sulaiman, translated by Francesca Barrie, is a graphic novel about the civil war raging in Syria. Inspired by his own experiences, Sulaiman blends fact with fiction to depict the bloody carnage and devastation caused by the conflict.

The novel opens with a brief biography of each of the characters. It is March 2012. Yasmin, a young Syrian, and her childhood friend, Sophie, a journalist of Syrian origin, are smuggled back to Syria. Yasmin has established Freedom Hospital, an underground Syrian hospital in the fictitious town of Houria in Northern Syria. Sophie is there to film a documentary about Freedom Hospital and its occupants.

Revealed periodically are back stories of each of the characters and how they came to be involved with the hospital. We witness their desperate struggle to save lives with the meager resources available. Meanwhile, the bombing continues unabated. The mounting death toll is disclosed every few days and printed at the top of the page as a recurring drum beat in the background. Also identified is the type of type of weapon used, whether gun, bomb, plane, or tank, as well as where it was manufactured. Sulaiman acknowledges he inserts footage from YouTube videos, photographs of demonstrations, excerpts from speeches, and propaganda slogans to pepper the text. And in the midst of the carnage, romance blossoms between a few of the characters.

The illustrations are rendered starkly in black and white. They resemble dark blotches and have a sketchy, hurried quality, perhaps to reinforce the dark, haphazard condition of the hospital, located in a dark place at a dark time. Some of the characters are drawn with only partial outlines, suggesting a corresponding loss of life and limb.

In his Postscript, Sulaiman admits he cobbled together bits and pieces of his own experiences and the experiences of people he knew. Unfortunately, this patchwork quality is evident. The characters are flat and never come alive. They function as mouth pieces, spouting slogans from one faction or the other. The dialogue is stilted and unrealistic. The narrative contains gaps and jumps around, disrupting the flow.

Sulaiman’s intent is to familiarize people with the complex, political situation in Syria; to render the diversity of characters involved in the civil war; and to show how extremists attempted to co-opt opposition to the Syrian government. He is to be applauded for wanting to shed light on a very tragic situation. But his execution, no doubt heartfelt and well-intentioned, is somewhat scanty and sporadic, qualities that may be attributed to the nature of the medium more than to anything else.

Recommended with reservations.

The Grass is Singing

Doris Lessing

The Grass is Singing by the 2007 Nobel Prize winner, Doris Lessing, is a scathing indictment of South Africa apartheid as revealed through the tragic lives of Mary and Dick Turner and Moses, their “house boy.” The novel opens with the newspaper announcement of Mary’s murder and Moses’ arrest. The novel then shifts back in time to reveal the events leading up to the murder.

Eager to escape her drunken father and embittered mother, Mary moves to the city where she leads a contented, financially independent life as a secretary. She is happy being a reliable, “sisterly” friend without romantic attachments or desires until she hits the age of thirty when she becomes focused on finding a husband. She marries the first man who asks her—Dick Turner, a farmer. She is shocked to discover the meager condition of his home and farm. Her restlessness transforms to anger when she learns of her husband’s incompetence in managing his affairs and his total inability to eke out a decent living. Anger soon transforms to disengagement and apathy. Her disappointment in life and abject loneliness coupled with an attraction and repulsion she feels toward Moses eventually leads to her total breakdown. The final chapter skillfully conveys her muddled mind as she struggles to discern what is real and what is imaginary.

Lessing sustains a relentless tone of impending doom throughout the novel. Every detail spells misery--from the intolerable heat; to the blinding sun; to the parched, unforgiving earth; to the incessant chirping of the cicadas; to Dick Turner’s yet another in a series of failed new ventures. The main focus, however, is on Mary. Plagued with unmitigated boredom, embarrassment at their poverty, loneliness, isolation, increasing estrangement from her husband, and the gradual erosion of her hope for a better future all contribute to the gradual deterioration of her mind.

Mary is far from being a sympathetic character. Her treatment of the black “house boys” and farm workers is despicable and arises from her gendered and racist socialization. She struggles to navigate an appropriate relationship between master and hired hand when Moses enters her life as her house boy, the same Moses she had whipped when he defied her in front of the other farm hands. Tormented by her action, Mary finds herself both attracted and repulsed by him. She dies without understanding the expectations placed on her as a white female and wife in a South Africa riddled with the racial tensions and injustices of apartheid.

Lessing casts an unflinching lens on the impact of apartheid on white and black races. She allows us access to Dick Turner’s mind and draws him with some sympathy. But she never allows entrance into the mind of Moses who remains a mystery. This may be an intentional strategy to capture the truism that whereas the survival of the slave/servant depends on his ability to know the mind of the master, the master can cultivate a willful indifference to the thoughts and feelings of those he has subordinated. We never learn Moses’ attitude toward Mary although he is shown to be solicitous toward her on occasion. Does he murder her because she represents a system that strips him of his humanity? To avenge himself for her cruelty? Because the balance of power has shifted and he now feels he has the upper hand? Or does he murder her because he witnesses her mental breakdown and wants to put her out of her misery? His motivation is never made clear. What we do know is Moses calmly surrenders to white authorities and seems to accept his fate with equanimity.

A very powerful, well-crafted novel that demonstrates Doris Lessing’s consummate skill as a writer. Her unflinching lens and immersive details expose the tragic, dehumanizing impact on oppressor and victim in a virulently unjust, brutal, exploitative, and racially segregated society. This is what happens, Lessing tells us, when you dehumanize another.

Highly recommended.

Beowulf

Translated by Maria Dahvana Headley

Maria Dahvana Headley’s opening salvo in her translation of Beowulf is the word “Bro!” This sets the stage for an irreverent, rollicking, electrifying, and astonishing translation unlike any we have seen before.

Headley has studied the poem extensively. Her goal was to render the poem as close to the spirit of its original form as possible. As she says in her extensive introduction, “The original reads, at least in some places, like Old English freestyle, and in others like a wedding toast of a drunk uncle who’s suddenly remembered a poem he memorized at boarding school.” She captures the rollicking spirit of the poem admirably, generating a work that is not so much a translation but a re-creation. Her goal was to create “a text that is as bubbly and juicy as I think it ought to feel.”

Headley smashes the sedate lines of previous translations with flashes of lightning. As she explains in her introduction, some of the Old English words are difficult to pin down in modern English. Just as previous translators have had to interpret and take liberties with the wording, Headley has had to do the same. Whenever possible, she opts for wording that conforms with the original temperament of the poem. For example, the word “hwaet,” which has been variously translated as “Listen,” “Hark,” “Lo,” she translates as “Bro!” She conceives it as the poet’s attempt to capture audience attention and as a form of masculinist coded language. She punctuates traditional, stately passages of sublime poetry with the occasional four-letter word and phrases currently inhabiting social media. For example, Wealhtheow admires Beowulf’s “brass balls.” Treasure is now “bling.” The watchman in Denmark initially confronts Beowulf with, “There’s a dress code! You’re denied.”

Headley perceives the narrator as “an old-timer at the end of the bar, periodically pounding his glass and demanding another.” He shouts to be heard in a mead hall of rowdy men falling over each other in a drunken stupor. He interrupts himself, comments on the action, engages in foreshadowing, and addresses the audience directly to retain attention. She argues his language is laced with satire as he interrogates definitions of masculinity with its concomitant heroic boasts and chest-thumping.

One of the more interesting aspects of Headley’s translation lies in her treatment of Grendel’s mother. She allows her the simultaneous qualities of a monster while retaining her human qualities as a mother experiencing overwhelming grief at the loss of her only child.

With its raucous rhymes, refreshing language pulsating with contemporary idioms, Headley successfully reclaims a thousand-year-old manuscript for today’s audience. She comes out swinging. This is definitely not your father’s Beowulf.

Very highly recommended for its originality, riotous fun, effusive temperament, and sheer audacity.

Apeirogon

Colum McCann

Apeirogon by Colum McCann is a mosaic of vignettes focusing on the Palestine-Israel conflict. The 1001 vignettes or chapters vary in length from one sentence to several pages. They tell the true story of the tragic deaths of two girls and how their real-life fathers crossed paths to forge an unlikely friendship. Their common grief acts as the transformative catalyst. They become vocal advocates for an end to the occupation through dialogue as the means to resolve the Palestinian-Israeli conflict.

In 1997, Smadar, a thirteen-year-old Israeli girl, is killed when three suicide bombers blow themselves up in Jerusalem. Rami Elhanan, her father, is an Israeli Jew. About ten years later, Abir, a ten-year-old Palestinian girl, is shot dead with a rubber bullet by an Israeli border guard in East Jerusalem. She had crossed the street from school to buy some candy. Bassam Aramin, her father, is a Palestinian Muslim.

The story of Smadar and Abir, and of Rami and Bassam unfolds intermittently in a non-linear sequence of fragments. The gruesome details of the deaths of the young girls, their back stories, and the back stories of their families are revealed gradually and sandwiched between elements of fiction, quotations, anecdotes, insights, commentary, historical and religious explorations, information on bird migration, the Irish conflict, and various other miscellany. The novel is replete with symbolism that reverberates throughout the sections. The different threads, some of which initially appear as only tangentially connected to the main narrative, are stitched together, dropped, only to be picked up later.

The sections are numbered from 1 to 500, a middle section numbered 1001, followed by sections that reverse the numbering by beginning with 500 and concluding with section 1. The motion is circular and ends where it began with the wording of the final sentence varying slightly from the very first sentence. We are brought full circle. This circular structure reflects the activity of both fathers as are they are repeatedly called upon to tell and re-tell the story of their daughters. They dip in and out of the story, never willing or able to put it behind them. The fragmentary nature of the narrative also effectively replicates the trauma of losing a child since the pain of loss imposes itself on one’s consciousness, unbidden, interrupting the flow of thought at any time of the day or night.

This is not an easy novel to read. It contains graphic descriptions of torture, violence, and dismembered bodies. The heart-wrenching content, especially that which details the youth, innocence, and lost potential of the young girls, coupled with the fragmentary nature of the format make it a challenging read. Through its hybrid form and content, McCann has produced a multi-faceted perspective, an apeirogon with a countable infinite number of sides, which explores the issues surrounding one of the world’s most complex political conflicts. As Rami and Bassam demonstrate, although dialogue alone is insufficient in resolving the conflict, it is an essential first step in eradicating the de-humanization of the other, in generating empathy, and in dismantling the structural barriers which fuel the conflict.

A compelling novel that defies easy categorization but which leaves a lasting and profound impact. Very highly recommended.

Homeland Elegies

Ayad Akhtar

Homeland Elegies by Ayad Akhtar, the Pulitzer Prize winning author for drama, seamlessly blends memoir and fiction. Akhtar uses experiences from his life as the skeletal framework which he fleshes out with fact and fiction. Where the memoir ends and the fiction begins is impossible to discern. Ultimately, it makes no difference. What emerges from this brilliant hybrid of a novel is a raw, convincing, and gripping portrait of America and of life post 9/11 for an American born Muslim son of immigrants.

Unfolding in the first-person point of view, the narrator and author of the novel have much in common. Both are born in the U.S., are the sons of Pakistani immigrants, and are successful authors awarded the Pulitzer Prize for drama. But that is as far as we can go with the comparisons. We don’t know with any certainty when we slip from memoir to fiction or vice versa.

The novel reads like a memoir interspersed with a series of essays in which the narrator critiques American capitalism and its obsessive focus on materialism to the detriment of the health and well-being of society as a whole. Akhtar weaves history, political events, and real characters in his narrative to add to the confusing blend of reality versus fiction. His parents are successful doctors. His father embraces all things America, initially lending his whole-hearted support for Donald Trump. The narrator shares with his mother a more critical and nuanced perspective on all things America.

Although he was born in America and has lived all his life in America, the narrator experiences “othering” and bigotry as a Muslim person of color in a post 9/11 America. Those experiences, described in vivid and immersive detail, are chilling. His critique extends to fellow Muslims. He argues they have lost focus by adhering to rigid, fundamentalist thinking and by reacting to what others have said about their religion. He suggests they should deconstruct their own behaviors and attitudes and accept some measure of culpability for their failures instead of seeking to blame others.

The narrator’s voice is engaging, brutally honest, genuine, not always likable, and carries with it the appeal of self-disclosure. He struggles with identity. He experiences contradictions as an American born of immigrant parents. He interrogates the culture that victimizes him with its racism and bigotry. He feels the push and pull toward Islam and Muslims. He undergoes a temporary change in attitude when he experiences a moneyed lifestyle. He excoriates an America fragmented by race and class; the diminishing of its middle class; the lifetime of student debt; the unbridled greed of the health care industry; and the decline of critical thinking in education.

This combination of memoir and fiction delves deep and covers wide. It is unique, riveting, challenging, and compelling.

Highly recommended for its intensity, provocative thinking, originality of form, and sheer brilliance.