Virginity or Death!: And Other Social and Political Issues of Our Time

Katha Pollitt

Virginity or Death!: And Other Social and Political Issues of Our Time is a compilation of articles the feminist scholar, essayist, poet, and social critic Katha Pollitt wrote for The Nation from 2001-2006. Because of the time frame, some of the articles are obviously dated. However, the collection provides a useful recap of the Bush administration policies while giving a historical perspective on some of the issues we continue to face today. Many of her predictions have come true, especially those she made about the dire consequences that would ensue if the US continues along the same path in its Middle East policy.

Pollitt takes obvious delight in puncturing the misinformation and deceptions perpetrated on the American public. She unabashedly expresses her views, sometimes wielding her sword of acerbic wit and humor to do so, but always making a serious point. And although I didn’t agree with everything she says, I still found the collection to be choke full of keen insights delivered in her inimitable style of a refreshing, no-nonsense, cut-to-the chase punch.

Highly recommended. 

One Thousand and One Nights: A Retelling

Hanan al-Shaykh

One Thousand and One Nights: A Retelling by Hanan Al-Shaykh retells 19 stories from the original tales that circulated in the Arab world as long ago as the 14th Century. The work is a delightful, bawdy, rollicking piece of fun in which we are lead by a thread from one story to another. The stories are woven together in an intricate pattern of twists and turns, reminiscent of an elaborate Persian rug, bold and splashed with color. If one thread is pulled out, the whole pattern unravels and the tales falls apart.

The stories obliterate boundaries between the human world and the animal kingdom, the real and the unreal, the natural and supernatural, the mundane and the magical. We drift from one world into another seamlessly, suspending our disbelief as we read of humans metamorphosed into animals and back again, of jinns who fall in love with humans, of a demon who traps a beautiful woman in a glass cage under the sea.

The tales show a proclivity for violence with characters chopping off parts of the human body with relative ease. Sexual organs and sexual activity are described in such a cavalier manner that some may find the tales to be in poor taste. Others may appreciate their unabashedly honest treatment of the human body—including the occasional use of scatological humor thrown in for good measure—as being perfectly natural and not as something to be hidden away in shame. Dotted throughout are lines of poetry bursting on the scene at the most inauspicious times.

In the midst of all this craziness, however, the stories divulge important messages about human behavior: the injustice of collective punishment; honoring one’s word and commitments; the importance of reciprocity; rewarding the just; punishing the wicked; and compassion and forgiveness as precursors for healing. These lessons are as true today as they were several hundred years ago when The Thousand and One Nights first burst on the scene as a collection of tales told by a gifted storyteller.

Highly recommended for those willing to suspend their disbelief and approach the tales with humor and gusto.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows, written in the epistolary format, is set in post WWII England. The year is 1946, and England is still recovering from the war. Letters are exchanged between the writer Juliet Ashton and her circle of English friends in London and Scotland. Later, her circle is expanded to include inhabitants of the small island of Guernsey on the English Channel, an island occupied by the Nazis for five years.

Through their correspondence, Juliet learns about the hardships the islanders experienced while living under Nazi occupation. She also learns about the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, hurriedly formed to explain the violation of a curfew and consisting of a motley crew of islanders. Enchanted by everything she reads about Guernsey, she visits the island and promptly falls in love with its inhabitants and its natural environment. Rejecting her wealthy American suitor, Juliet decides to take up permanent residence on the island, adopt a young orphaned girl, and marry a quiet, solid, salt-of-the earth pig farmer.

On the plus side, the letters were witty, the characters colorful. The description of England during the war and its aftermath is detailed and vivid. Some of the stories are heart wrenching, particularly the evacuation of children to live with complete strangers in the countryside while London and other major cities experience heavy bombing. Meanwhile, the people of Guernsey, cut off from the mainland, had to experience their own set of hardships under Nazi occupation.

On the minus side, while I enjoyed the dry, tongue-in-cheek humor of the exchanges, the voices in the letters were virtually identical. It’s as if the writers all shared a common style of writing and exhibited the same sense of humor with little to distinguish one from the other. Also the ending was very predictable. The Guernsey community embraces Juliet as one of their own, establishing a mutual admiration society. It becomes apparent early on that she falls in love with the steady, quiet pig-farmer and he with her. So it was only a question of time before the two of them got together and tied the knot with a ‘happily ever after’ conclusion to the book.

If you can get past the clichés, past the formulaic spunky female rejecting the rich American suitor in favor the solid country bumpkin with a heart of gold, and past the predictable ending, you will find this to be a quick and easy read, charming in its own limited way.

Men in Black Dresses: A Quest for the Future Among Wisdom Makers of the Middle East

Yvonne Seng

The Australian born scholar Yvonne Seng is a professor of cultural history specializing in the culture and religions of the Middle East and Turkey. After leaving the region for several years to pursue her academic career, she decides to return to that part of the world to conduct interviews with its spiritual and religious leaders. She chronicles her journey in Men in Black Dresses: A Quest for the Future Among Wisdom Makers of the Middle East. The book is as much a journey of self-discovery and her own quest for enlightenment as it is to share the insights of the spiritual leaders she interviews.

The book opens with a promise extracted from her on her previous visit by a Coptic Bishop on the Nile train. She promises him she will return to Egypt to “see the future.” She does just that many years later to conduct her interviews.

Her journey begins in Egypt where she interviews a Sufi mystic; Sheikh Tantawi, the Grand Sheikh of Islam; Adel Beshai, a former assistant to the Coptic saint, Pope Kyrillos; and Bishop Musa, Bishop of Youth of the Coptic Orthodox Church.

From Egypt she heads to Syria where Hafiz Al-Assad still rules the country. There she interviews Dr. Ali Khayyam, a personal advisor to the Sufi poet, Assad Ali; Assad Ali, himself; Abu George who speaks of the miracles he witnessed and the visitations he had from St. Elias/the prophet Elijah; Pope Zakka, the Patriarch of Antioch and All the East and the Supreme Head of the Universal Syriac Orthodox Church; Sister Salma who channels Jesus and is visited by the Virgin Mary; the tomb of Ibn Al-Arabi, the 12thC Sufi saint and mystic.

She returns to Egypt, does the five-hour hike up Mount Moses to witness the sunrise, and then interviews Archbishop Damianos of the Greek Orthodox Church before returning back to Cairo to make her way home.

Seng writes in an engaging style. On full display is her intrepid attitude as she knocks on doors of mosques and cathedrals hoping someone will open them and let her in; her patience as she navigates her way through the labyrinthine bureaucracy of the Middle East; her inquisitiveness; her adventurous spirit; her sense of humor; and her obvious love for the culture, its sounds, smells, and people.

What she learns from these wisdom makers in black dresses surprises her. She learns of the common threads that unite them: their progressive attitude toward technology and medical science as long as the goal benefits mankind; their willingness to embrace people of different faiths; their tolerance of difference; their emphasis on the importance of family; and their belief that it is the heart and not the mind that is the seat of enlightenment.

An engaging book that speaks to a tolerance of diversity and a celebration of difference that the world is very much in need of nowadays. Highly recommended.

Regarding the Pain of Others

Susan Sontag

Susan Sontag’s Regarding the Pain of Others critiques photographic images of war and human suffering. Sontag traces the development of such images in photography, beginning with examples of photographs carefully staged to elicit a specific response from the viewer. Every photograph has a context, an interaction that occurs between the photographer, the victim(s) in the photograph, and the viewer. Sontag explores the nature of the interaction. Her argument is three-fold.

Sontag argues once it is taken, the photograph is out of the control of the photographer and the victim(s) in the photograph. It can be used to promote a political agenda that may or may not align with the photographer’s intention. A photograph can be used in a variety of ways depending on the context and caption. Sontag cites examples of the same photographs that have been used to advocate diametrically opposed political points of view.

Sontag also addresses the impact on the viewer of photographs depicting other people’s pain. She argues images of other people’s pain, misery, and death fascinate us, but we recoil in horror if the image is too close to home. To put it simply, there is an “othering” that occurs. We can tolerate images chronicling the impact of war and disaster on humans as long as the emaciated flesh and mangled corpses belong to people of color and as long as the violence occurs in distant lands. The same images closer to home are considered callous and insensitive.

The third point Sontag explores is whether a constant bombardment of images evidencing man’s inhumanity to man can desensitize us to violence. Our feelings may alternate between compassion, anger, guilt, relief for being spared, or indifference. In any case, constant exposure to the suffering of others may eventually cause us to perceive acts of violence as normal. We see the image and are momentarily impacted by it. We then shrug our shoulders, turn the page, and go on about our business. 

Throughout the pages of her book, Sontag implicitly invites us to explore our own reaction to images of violence. What does a photograph of others’ suffering mean? What is it saying to us? Does a graphic illustration of the cruelties and violence humans are capable of shock us? Does the context in which the image is displayed impact our response? Does the ubiquitous availability of images depicting human on human violence increase our tolerance for human suffering?

Although she does not provide ready-made, facile answers to the complex issues she raises, Sontag’s observations force us to interrogate the images for ourselves as well as our response to them. I assume that is exactly what she set out to do.

A thoughtful and thought-provoking read. Highly recommended.

Portraits: John Berger on Artists

John Berger

Portraits: John Berger on Artists is an exploration of centuries of art through the eyes and penetrating prose of the art critic, John Berger. Beginning with the paintings in the Chauvet Cave (c. 30,000 years BCE) through to the early 21st Century with the work of Randa Mdah, Berger situates the artist and his/her art in a historical context while simultaneously making us re-see already familiar works of art in a totally new way.

The book is poorly illustrated, its black and white photos blurred and of little help. However, most of the art referred to in the text is easily accessible on the Internet in full, blazing color.

In all, Berger discusses 74 artists and their works. Some of his essays are stronger than others, but all offer new insights. And some of these insights are breathtaking. Berger has an uncanny ability to take something initially appearing as tangential in a painting and make it his focus. He does this, for example, with the hand prints in the Chauvet Cave; the opaque window in Carvaggio’s The Calling of St. Matthew; the eyes in Diego Velazquez’ Aesop. He draws our attention to a detail in a painting that was always there but that somehow we had overlooked.

Berger interacts with art in a deeply personal way, humanizing it for us and for himself. His chapter on Rembrandt forges an intimate connection with the artist and his work to such a degree that we begin to see the famous paintings in a new light. And this is true not just of Rembrandt but of many of the artists Berger discusses.

In his analyses of artists and their art, Berger reveals much about himself, his approach to art, and his politics. He doesn’t withhold his opinions. And he doesn’t hesitate to go sauntering off in an entirely new direction, describing a chance encounter with something or someone that fascinates him. For example, in the chapter on Willem Drost, Berger is captivated by the image and words of an elderly, diminutive tour guide who tosses off her expert knowledge of the paintings in a unique, almost cavalier manner. As she completes the guided tour and abruptly exits the gallery, Berger muses on the possible contents of the Marks and Spencer bag she carries.

Finally, what makes Portraits so impressive is Berger’s penetrating prose and his ability to juxtapose seemingly disparate entities in his discussion. For example, he describes Yvonne Barlow’s paintings as having a musical sense of composition—“Chopinesque.” In a letter to Leon Kossoff, he claims an art studio is “like a stomach. A place of digestion, transformation, and excretion.” Cy Twombly is referred to as “the painterly master of verbal silence.” And Berger assures us he “listens” to the paintings of Liane Birnberg. Such juxtapositions startle. They force one to pause and re-think everything one thought one knew about art.

In the end, Berger’s Portraits is not simply a discussion about art. It is about the role art and the artist have played and continue to play in our lives. It is about art speaking to us on an intimate level. And by looking at art through the lens of this intense, perceptive art critic, we learn about the heart and soul of John Berger, about artists and their art, and about life. 

Sleeping on Jupiter

Anuradha Roy

Anuradha Roy’s Sleeping on Jupiter, long listed for the 2015 Man Booker Prize, got off to a very strong start.

The story takes place in India. It begins with the young child Nomi retelling the traumatic events of her childhood: her father’s brutal murder, the disappearance of her brother, and her mother’s desertion. Abandoned on the seashore, Nomi is abducted to an ashram in Jarmuli where she spends the next several years as a virtual prisoner and victim of child sexual assault. She manages to escape and returns years later to retrace her past while researching a documentary film about Jarmuli's religious shrine. 

Her story intertwines with the exploits of three elderly women sharing the train compartment with her as they journey to Jarmuli for the religious festivities. In Jarmuli, we encounter a series of colorful characters: a homosexual temple guide who pines with love for the tea-maker's young assistant; the tea-maker on the beach who sings sad songs and whom Nomi recognizes as the ashram gardener from her youth, severely beaten for trying to protect her; and Nomi’s assistant for the documentary who turns out to be a son of one of the elderly women. The narrative takes place over five consecutive days, with a sixth day occurring on day eighteen.

Roy weaves in and out of her characters’ lives, allowing their paths to intersect at times or just miss each other at other times. There are shifts in time with periodic flashbacks revealing the characters’ backgrounds and experiences. All this takes place against the backdrop of the sights, sounds, smells, and bustling streets of Jarmuli with the scent of the ocean wafting through the atmosphere.

The first part of the novel was very engaging, the description effective. We are invested in Nomi and her horrific experience at the ashram. The three elderly women, one of whom suffers from dementia, are vividly portrayed with their creaky joints, aches, and pains. 

But as the novel progresses, the description becomes perfunctory, the pace slows, and the story seems to drag. What starts off as a very engaging novel peters out, leaving the reader wondering about the inclusion of so many incidental anecdotes and chance meetings that don’t seem to lead anywhere. In the end there were too many unanswered questions, too many loose threads, and too many connections suggested but never explained. As a result, the ending was disappointing.

From the Beast to the Blonde: On Fairy Tales and Their Tellers

Marina Warner

From the Beast to the Blonde: On Fairy Tales and Their Tellers by Marina Warner is an exhaustive and comprehensive study of the history and development of fairy tales and their tellers. The book is divided into two parts: Part 1 addresses the tellers; Part 2 addresses the tales. Warner’s basic thesis is that fairy tales consist in narrative form of the lived experiences of women as told primarily by women. In order to understand the content and various permutations of fairy tales, one has to contextualize them within the social, economic, cultural, and legal conditions of women at the time. Fairy tales which pit woman against woman in vying for the affections of and benefits bestowed by the all-powerful male figure were no more than a woman’s strategy for survival in a world hostile to women and all things female.

The book is dense; the research impressive; the breadth and scope wide; the insights, interpretations, and commentary inspired. But this is not a light or quick read, especially Part 1. Her examination of specific fairy tales and their motifs in Part 2 was more accessible. The book is highly recommended but only for those with a serious commitment to understanding the social and cultural context from which these tales emerged.

Penelope's Daughter

Laurel Corona

Penelope’s Daughter by Laurel Corona tells the story of Xanthe, the ostensible daughter of Penelope and Odysseus, conceived before Odysseus left for Troy. Xanthe grows up in Ithaca until her mother decides to scuttle her off to Sparta for her own protection. Penelope orchestrates Xanthe’s supposed death and burial. Disguised as a young boy, Xanthe travels to Sparta under the care of Mentor. Once there, she comes under the tutelage of Helen of Troy who embraces her as a companion and daughter. Xanthe spends several years with Helen until Telemachus is sent to escort her back to Ithaca where she witnesses the return of Odysseus and his revenge against the suitors and the women servants who betrayed him. The novel ends with Xanthe’s betrothal to the love of her life, Peisistratus, the youngest son of Nestor.

Since I love reading and writing about myths and the re-tellings of myths, I was looking forward to reading Penelope’s Daughter. I wasn’t disappointed. It was an engaging novel with some interesting elements.

Each chapter begins with Xanthe’s description of the fabric she weaves, explaining how each thread, pattern, and colors represent specific events, people, and phases of her life. Since weaving was the pre-eminent occupation for women at that time, the continuous references to weaving were interesting and convincing for the time period.

Another strength of the novel was its focus on women: their daily lives, their friendships, their rituals, their activities, and their support of each other. It was refreshing to hear women’s voices and to see the world through their eyes as they carved a niche for themselves within the confines of a male dominated society.

Reference to events and characters from Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey were skillfully woven throughout the narrative. These popped up at unexpected places, with the men behaving in ways true to their characterization in the original epic poems. But for the most part, men and their activities were treated as nuisances and interruptions from the all important focus of women and their activities.

The only issue I have with the novel is with the characterization of Xanthe. She came across as insipid and dull, an uninteresting character more acted upon than acting. Granted, she lives in a heavily patriarchal society with little space to maneuver. However, both Penelope and Helen live in the same society and yet they are far more interesting and emerge as active, vibrant agents with no shortage of cunning up their sleeves. Penelope dupes the suitors by scuttling her daughter out of Ithaca right under their noses. And Helen has her own bag of tricks to navigate the events to her desired outcome. Even Hermione, the daughter of Helen and Menelaus, actively tries to change or forestall events, regardless of how misguided her actions or motives are. But Xanthe is a wallflower relying heavily on others to navigate the situation for her.

Other than the shortcomings of Xanthe’s characterization, Penelope’s Daughter is a well-researched and engaging read. With its description of rituals, the intricacies of weaving, the intermittent appearances of characters familiar to readers of the Odyssey, and its unflinching focus on the lives and activities of women, it will appeal to readers interested in breathing life into mythology, especially since it gives voice to those denied it in the original myths.

Recommended, especially for readers who love mythology and enjoy the re-tellings of ancient stories.

Herod and Mariamne

Par Lagerkvist

The Herod in Par Lagerkvist’s Herod and Mariamne is the Herod of Biblical notoriety. The novella is a love story of sorts. Herod is a monstrous ruler who derives satisfaction from killing and torturing his perceived enemies. He falls in love with the innocent Mariamne. She agrees to marry him but only because she thinks she may be able to temper his violent urges. She succeeds temporarily, but Herod resorts to his former cruelties when he realizes Mariamne doesn’t return his love. His rage at being spurned by the only woman he has ever loved fuels his resentment, and he eventually has her killed. He dies years later, a decrepit old man, alone, despised, and calling out to Mariamne with his last breath.

This is an engaging novel, simply told and written in Lagerkvist’s style of unadorned language. Lagerkvist’s portrayal of Herod is convincing. He is a cruel man consumed with self-importance, an inflated ego, and is paranoid to top it off. When he finds himself passionate about someone other than himself, he demands full reciprocation. His love turns to resentment and then to a seething anger aimed at the woman who deigns to withhold her love.

Lagerkvist’s portrayal of Mariamne is not so convincing. She is a woman of flawless internal and external beauty, a selfless creature totally devoted to sacrificing herself to save others. She tolerates Herod’s indiscretions and his cruelties with an unnerving patience. She goes about living her life as if she is not of this world. In short, Mariamne is barely human.

The portrayal of Mariamne reminded me of Virginia Woolf’s description of the Angel in the House in her Professions for Women. Woolf describes her encounter with the Angel while writing a review of a male-authored novel:  

“I will describe her as shortly as I can. She was intensely sympathetic. She was immensely charming. She was utterly unselfish. She excelled in the difficult arts of family life. She sacrificed herself daily. If there was chicken, she took the leg; if there was a draught she sat in it — in short she was so constituted that she never had a mind or a wish of her own, but preferred to sympathize always with the minds and wishes of others. Above all — I need not say it —-she was pure. Her purity was supposed to be her chief beauty — her blushes, her great grace.”

Virginia Woolf comes to the realization she has to kill the Angel in the House if she wants to survive as a writer. Her action is based on self-defense: “Had I not killed her, she would have killed me.”

Mariamne shares the qualities of Woolf’s phantom Angel. And it is those very same qualities that cause Herod to act in a murderous rage against her. Perhaps if she had been a little more human, thrown a few tantrums of jealousy here and there, argued with him, revealed she had needs and desires of her own, shown her weaknesses, she may have survived his onslaught.

An Unfinished Life

Mark Spragg

An Unfinished Life by Mark Spragg is reminiscent of Kent Haruf’s Plainsong in that both focus their lens on the relationships of people living in small towns. Both novels also tackle the themes of forgiveness, reconciliation, and finding home.

An Unfinished Life tells the story of Jean Gylkison, a wife and mother who harbors considerable guilt for causing the car accident that killed her husband. She vaults from one abusive relationship to another, taking her ten-year-old daughter, Griff, with her. The novel opens with Jean leaving her latest abusive boyfriend, Roy, after experiencing yet another night of beatings. With Griff’s urging, mother and daughter run away from Roy and end up in the small town in Wyoming where Jean grew up and where her father-in-law, Einar, lives. Einar resents Jean with a passion and blames her for the death of his son. But as the story unfolds, Einar and Griff develop a strong bond. Ultimately, Jean and Einar reconcile and forgive each other, primarily due to their shared love for Griff.

The strongest part of the novel for me was in its character portrayal. Spragg somehow manages to enter the mind of the ten-year-old Griff, revealing her innermost thoughts and capturing her dialogue very convincingly. Griff is an endearing character, wise and intrepid beyond her years. She has had to be in order to survive living with her mother’s abusive boyfriends.

Einar’s relationship with his war buddy, Mitch, was also beautifully captured. Their friendship has lasted 50 years, with Einar acting as the caretaker for his now severely disabled friend. The dialogue between these two elderly men was like that of an old married couple who have been through difficult times together but who survive by relying on each other for support and friendship. They know each other so well they can finish each other’s sentences, anticipate each other’s thoughts. Their communication is sparse, with meaning being conveyed more by what is left unsaid than what is articulated.

Spragg also captures the psychology of a woman living in an abusive relationship. Jean is consumed with self-blame and diminished self-worth. She thinks she deserves the abuse and gravitates from one abuser to another before finally extricating herself. Research on domestic violence tells us, on average, a woman attempts to leave her abuser 7 times before she finally leaves him for good. And the number one reason women finally leave their abuser is because of their children. Griff certainly plays that redemptive role. She urges her mother to leave Roy, and it is because of Griff that Jean tries to start a new life for herself.

But for me, Spragg’s strongest portrayal lies in the character of Roy, the abuser. He is typical of many batterers who confuse love for another person with possession, entitlement, and control. Roy has convinced himself he loves Jean, that she is his to possess, that he beats her for her own good, and that beatings are a normal part of all relationships. He is a thoroughly despicable character who sees himself as the victim, not the abuser. Spragg does a magnificent job of capturing the psychology of both the victim of abuse and the perpetrator.

This is an engaging, well-written novel about forgiveness of one’s self as well as of others, about reconciliation, friendship, and community. But for me, the most impressive part of the novel lies in the strength of its character portrayals, especially the portrayals of Griff and Roy.

Highly recommended.

The Penelopiad

Margaret Atwood

The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood is an imaginative re-telling of Homer’s Odyssey told from the first person point of view of Penelope, Odysseus’ long-suffering and patient wife. Interspersed throughout Penelope’s narrative are the songs of the twelve maids (the chorus) killed by Odysseus upon his return to Ithaca.

Atwood delivers some interesting twists on the original story. Penelope speaks to us a few thousand years after her death. Her phrases and references are current, and include, for example, a commentary on the recent rash of steroid use by athletes. She engages in several snide conversations with Helen, fueled by her jealousy and Helen’s narcissism. The twelve maids who meet their deaths were only following her orders to cozy up to the suitors in order to spy on them. She recognizes Odysseus from the moment he enters the palace disguised as a beggar but feigns temporary ignorance of his identity to better position herself.

Atwood provides some intriguing insights. For example, the twelve moon-maidens suggest their rape by the suitors and subsequent murder by Odysseus is a metaphor for the diminution of the great goddess and her cult. Accordingly, the maidens demand justice for the crimes perpetrated against them during Odysseus’ mock trial for the murder of the suitors.

This was an engaging novel told in brisk, accessible language. I enjoy re-tellings of myths, especially those told in the first person point of view. Atwood adheres to the skeleton of the original while providing interesting twists and perspectives to flesh out its female characters. Although I appreciated the feminist lens and commentary threading its way intermittently throughout the narrative, I didn’t think it shone far enough. I was disappointed there was no evidence of sisterhood, the bond of mutual support women frequently forge while living in the throes of a patriarchal culture.

Before and after their deaths, all the women in Atwood’s interpretation align themselves either with men or children. Their loyalties are never to each other. Penelope is resilient, enterprising, and quick-witted. While alive, she is thrust into an alien culture as Odysseus’ wife where she has to fend for herself with no support from her sisters. Anticleia is hostile toward her; Eurycleia treats her like an incompetent appendage whose sole function is to produce male offspring for Odysseus; and Helen thrives on ridiculing her and fueling the petty jealousies that characterize women who vie for the attention of the all powerful male. Penelope’s only tools for survival are subterfuge, deceit, and the pretense of stupidity. The closest she comes to feeling the bond of sisterhood is with the 12 maids. Unfortunately, they end up paying dearly with their lives for the privilege.

It would have been refreshing to see some evidence of sisterhood, of women supporting Penelope during her ordeal both in life and beyond the grave. But it’s quite possible the absence of sisterhood is intentional, suggesting the tools available to women to counter the effects of a male-dominated culture will remain limited until women learn to support each other. 

The Lives of Man: A Guide to the Human States: Before Life, In the World, and After Death

Imam Abdallah Ibn Alawi Al-Haddad

The Lives of Man: A Guide to the Human States: Before Life, In the World, and After Death by Imam Abdallah Ibn Alawi Al-Haddad is an explication of how Islam views the different stages a human being undergoes in life and after death.

Although relatively short in length (approximately 90 pages), the book is intense. The life of the human being is divided into 5 stages: before conception to birth; life in this world until death; life in the grave until the resurrection; from the time of the resurrection until one enters the Garden (Paradise) or the Fire (Hell); and entrance into the Garden or Fire. The final stage lasts for all eternity. Each stage can have subdivisions and different states within it.

Imam Al-Haddad supports his explication with frequent and extensive references to the Qur’an and Hadiths. This is not a quick or easy read, but it is an essential read for anyone interested in learning how one of the world’s major monotheistic religions envisions the stages humans experience in life and after death.

The Caliph's House: A Year in Casablanca

Tahir Shah

Tired of what he describes as his “meager existence” under the wet, grey skies of England, Tahir Shah decides to uproot his wife and young children and move to Morocco, chronicling their experience in The Caliph’s House: A Year in Casablanca.  Shah purchases the Caliph’s house (Dar Khalifa) in Casablanca, a dilapidated home, empty for ten years and situated on the edge of a shantytown. Upon entering his new home, he discovers his house comes equipped with a staff of three guardians and a she-jinn known as Qandisha. The intrepid guardians do their best to educate Shah on Moroccan ways and caution him to tread carefully so as not to incur the wrath of Qandisha who haunts the house and who (understandably) resents his presence.

So begins a year of living in the Caliph’s house. Shah’s vision is to remodel the decrepit home and restore it to its former glory. This brings him in contact with Moroccan craftsmen who are incredibly skilled at what they do but who work at a maddeningly slow pace. Shah eventually learns to accept the Moroccan way of doing things and, by the end of the year, the Caliph’s house has been beautifully remodeled with fountains, colorful mosaics, plush gardens, and a library that is the envy of any book lover. Additionally, the jinn have been successfully exorcised from his home through a combination of prayers, chanting, rituals, and the slaughter of a goat. The book concludes with Shah and his wife lying back and admiring all they have accomplished in the space of a year. He is finally at peace.

Some of the fantastic happenings in the book should be taken with a grain of salt. But perhaps nothing is quite as unbelievable as Shah’s gallant determination to forge ahead in the face of what appear to be insurmountable challenges. Shah speaks of these challenges with humor and irony. What shines throughout is his love for his adopted country in spite of the trials and tribulations he endures—or, perhaps, because of them.

Shah graphically illuminates Moroccan culture and life in Dar Khalifa. His engaging jaunt through the underbelly of Moroccan life exposes us to shady characters who speak in ambiguities, a place where corruption is rampant, where poverty abounds, and where money exchanges hands without quite knowing what one is getting in return. It is an excursion made all the more appealing due to Shah’s ability to capture the sights, sounds, scents, and texture of life in Morocco that waft through every page with vibrancy and color.  A delightful and entertaining read. Highly recommended.

The Interpretation of Fairy Tales

Marie-Louise Von Franz

I've been a big fan of the works of Marie-Louise Von Franz ever since I read The Feminine in Fairy Tales. In The Interpretation of Fairy Tales, Von Franz does what she does best: she performs a Jungian interpretation of fairy tales. Von Franz deconstructs the tales by delving deepr and deepter into the significance of each character, object, and event. She compares and contrasts different versions of the same tale to offer a more expansive interpretation. Her discussion provides insights into human behavior and relationships. However, the last chapter on Shadow, Anima, and Animus can be a challenge to those without even a rudimentary familiarity with the works of Carl Jung. 

The Green Road

Anne Enright

Anne Enright’s The Green Road is about the Madigan family with Rosaleen, the mother, at its center.  The novel opens in 1980 with Rosaleen, her husband, and their four children at their home in Ardeevin, County Clare, Ireland. They are gathered around the table having a family meal when Dan, the eldest, announces his decision to become a priest. His mother greets the news by taking to her bed for several days—“the horizontal solution,” as her son, Dan, refers to it.

The novel follows the paths of the four siblings over a period of 25 years. Dan is in America struggling to come to terms with his homosexuality while experiencing the gay lifestyle in New York. His sister, Constance, is married with children, lives in the same town as her mother, and struggles to do the right thing and say the right thing to satisfy her mother. Emmet, the third child, is in Mali where he struggles to help a people plagued with disease, poverty, ignorance, and violence. Hanna, the youngest daughter, is a struggling actress, an alcoholic with a young baby. Their struggles are different but they all have in common their inability to forge meaningful connections with the significant others in their lives.

Enright captures the jealousies, resentments, petty squabbles, and rivalries of the four siblings, the seeds of which are apparent in their childhood and which continue to haunt them as adults. These tensions surface when they respond to a summons by their mother to gather for a reunion Christmas dinner in their childhood home. They walk through their childhood home where every nook and cranny, every fading piece of wallpaper, conjures up memories of a time long since past. We see the siblings talking at cross-purposes, misunderstanding each other, and raising past grievances.

At the center of the gathering is Rosaleen. Her children respond to her in different ways, but they all harbor a mixture of love and resentment toward her. She feels the same toward them—alternating between experiencing an overpowering love for them one minute and resentment the next. Enright’s gift lies in her ability to depict the inner life of her characters and to situate them in poignant, vivid scenes that tug at the heart. Her characters are fumbling in the dark, searching for meaning and connection.

The novel is about aging. It is about the things we leave behind and the baggage we carry with us as we journey through life. It is about realizing the bonds we formed in childhood with our siblings can be lost to us as adults. It is about recognizing one’s children may follow paths that lead them far from home in ways we can’t understand. And, finally, it is about fragile attempts to move forward and forge connections based on giving and receiving love.

A beautiful story told with unflinching honesty and sensitivity.

Our Souls at Night

Kent Haruf

In one sense, nothing much happens in Our Souls at Night by Kent Haruf. In another sense, everything that is of any importance in life happens.

It is the story of two elderly people in search of companionship and love. They find each other when Addie More invites her neighbor Louis Waters to share her bed at night so neither one of them has to sleep alone. Their conversations at night are honest, touching, and devoid of artifice as they reveal the intimate details of their private lives. Their friendship develops into a genuine love, the kind of love that can come to two people in their twilight years who understand they don’t have to play games or pretend to be something they’re not or care any more about what the nay-sayers and gossips might think. Their connection is forged on the premise that the elderly are entitled to companionship and to the sharing of life’s simple pleasures.

This is another of Kent Haruf's gems--quietly told, gentle, heart-warming, delicate, and beautiful in its simplicity.

The Year of the Runaways

Sunjeev Sahota

I have mixed feelings about The Year of the Runaways by Sunjeev Sahota. I found it bleak, depressing, with very little that could be considered uplifting.

The novel tells the story of a group of runaways from India who come from different backgrounds, castes, and socio-economic status and whose paths cross in Sheffield, England. The opening chapters thrust us into their squalid lives in Sheffield where they have come in search of employment. They struggle at working in a construction site; live in appalling, dehumanizing conditions; experience cruelty and exploitation; and are in constant fear of being captured and deported.  The characters are desperately poor. A portion of what little money they earn has to be sent home to support their families in India.

We are then taken back in time to reveal the tragic and violent circumstances that drove each to leave home, family, and country (in short, all that is familiar) to embark to an unfamiliar land in search of a better life.

As the story progresses, their situation deteriorates. They sleep on the streets and under bridges, eat whatever scraps they can find, compete for the same meager, low-paying jobs, and steal. It is all pretty bleak. Sahota narrates their horrific experiences in a very matter-of-fact, almost pedantic style. He peppers the writing with Punjabi and Sikh words or phrases that are unintelligible to a non-native speaker.

Having immersed his characters in squalid and desperate circumstances and just as they reach the point where the little they have begins to unravel, Sahota leaps ten years forward where the characters are now leading middle class lives with no explanation as to how they managed to do this.

This is not a "feel good" book. But in spite of some of its drawbacks, it is an important book since it increases our understanding and, hopefully, our compassion for the desperate plight some immigrants experience in their home countries and in their adopted ones. 

Florence Gordon

Brian Morton

Florence Gordon by Brian Morton is a delightful depiction of a seventy-five year-old feisty feminist who advanced the goals of the woman’s movement through her writing and political advocacy for decades and who remains politically active in spite of her advanced years. Florence is fiercely independent, brutally honest, selfish, tactless, eccentric, and a passionate advocate for justice and equity. 

Brian Morton manages to create a character that is complex, believable, and admirable in her own uncompromising way. His portrayal of this eccentric woman is all the more remarkable in that he was able to get inside a woman’s head and capture her personality so convincingly.  Florence is gutsy, values her space and privacy, and has little tolerance for anyone other than herself. Much to her chagrin, her family’s dramas weave in and out of her life, interrupting her work and routine. She remains fiercely determined to live and to die on her own terms.

The novel is situated in New York, an ideal setting for this rough and tough protagonist. The style is accessible. The story moves at a brisk pace. But the true strength of the novel lies in its character portrayals, beginning with Florence's aging feminist friends whom she has known for decades, her ex-husband, her son, her daughter-in-law, and her granddaughter. Like Florence, they may not be loveable characters, but they are recognizably real, However, it is Morton's portrayal of Florence Gordon herself that shines above all others and that makes the novel such an engaging and delightful read. Highly recommended.  

Lavinia

Ursula Le Guin

In her novel Lavinia, Ursula Le Guin takes the character of Lavinia who gets little more than a tertiary mention in Virgil’s Aeneid, and provides her with voice, character, and background. The novel is in the first person point of view with Lavinia speaking directly to the reader. She describes her childhood, upbringing, meeting with and subsequent marriage to Aeneas, the birth of their son, Aeneas’ death, and her son’s rise to power.

Lavinia is portrayed as a strong woman determined to fulfill her obligations as the daughter of a king, later as the wife of a king, and later still as the mother of a king. The love she feels for Aeneas and he for her seems genuine and touching. She converses with Virgil’s spirit, learning what the future holds in store for her and her progeny. She is curiously aware of her status as the poet’s creation and is not shy of telling the reader Virgil neglected some of the relevant details in her story and was mistaken in others.

Le Guin takes us to areas where Virgil never ventured. She expands on his vision by presenting the untold part of the story. Through her vivid and meticulous description of the rituals, ceremonies, and oracles, coupled with the daily routines of domestic life at the time, Le Guin creates a world that hovers on the borderline between myth and history. Her novel has a haunting quality that makes the mythic appear real. Her believable evocation of a different time and a different place, grounded as it appears to be in thorough research, is what I most enjoyed about the novel. That and the obvious fact she is such an incredible writer.