Spill Simmer Falter Wither

Sara Baume

If you enjoy a “feel good” book, Spill Simmer Falter Wither by Sara Baume is not for you. If you enjoy a book that is uplifting, this one is not for you. If you enjoy a book heavy with action and plot, this one is definitely not for you. What Sara Baume’s Spill Simmer Falter Wither does offer is beautiful prose, prose that is lyrical and rhythmic and mesmerizing. What she also offers is penetrating insight into the soul of a dysfunctional man.

The novel tells the story of a fifty-seven-year-old man, a victim of childhood abuse, neglect, and trauma. A social recluse who never attended school, he adopts a dog with one eye—a misfit like himself who is also a victim of abuse, neglect, and trauma. They are both outsiders, fearful, mistrustful, loners, and lonely. Together they form a unique bond based on the qualities they share. Their identities merge to such a degree that the narrator occasionally dreams as his dog.

The novel is told in the first-person point of view with the narrator speaking to his dog. He names him One Eye and refers to him as ‘you.’ The ‘you’ can also be seen as an invitation to the reader to enter the narrator’s life. We learn about the cruel and abusive treatment the narrator received from his father. We learn about his loneliness, his isolation, his social ineptitude. We learn about his desperate need to find companionship, to find someone to talk to, someone with whom he can share his life. He finds it One Eye. One Eye hears but doesn’t understand. And perhaps more importantly, One Eye doesn’t talk back, doesn’t judge. This enables the narrator to speak freely and with unremitting candor.

Much of the novel is written in the present tense so that the reader witnesses the events alongside One Eye just as they are happening. But very little happens in this book. What keeps you turning the pages is Baume’s exquisite prose. She draws the reader in and doesn’t let go. Baume captures the lilt and rhythm of Irish speech, filling it with detail and colorful imagery. Her prose has a rhythm that borders on poetry. She skillfully describes the beauty of the natural surroundings. But not all is beauty as Baume doesn’t shy away from describing the gritty and gruesome in unflinching detail.

Baume has an astonishing ability to draw us into the mind of her narrator, to experience his desperation and fears as he experiences them, to see the world through his set of lenses. Although the tone is somewhat hopeful in the opening section of the book, it gradually shifts as we witness the narrator’s increasing desperation and declining options. One gets the sense early on that we are heading inexorably to a tragic conclusion.

This is a powerful book in many ways. It is also a sad one.

An Odyssey: A Father, A Son, and An Epic

Daniel Mendelsohn

An Odyssey: A Father, A Son, and an Epic by Daniel Mendelsohn is a combination of literary criticism of Homer’s Odyssey, a family memoir, and a travelogue. This is a unique and fascinating combination that Mendelsohn skillfully weaves together by transitioning seamlessly from one genre to another.

The literary criticism occurs when Daniel Mendelsohn, a Classics professor, conducts a seminar on Homer’s Odyssey. He analyzes the text with his students, providing insights and interpretations that illuminate the text in rewarding ways. The family memoir occurs when Mendelsohn’s octogenarian father sits in on his seminar and contributes to the discussion and analysis. As a result of his father’s reactions to the Odyssey, Mendelsohn interrogates his own relationship with his father, one that had been fraught with tension, misunderstandings, and lack of communication during his formative years. The travelogue occurs when father and son go on a literary cruise that re-traces Odysseus’ return from Troy.

Mendelsohn describes the structure of Homer’s Odyssey as a “ring composition” in which “elaborate circlings in space and time are mirrored” and where

…the narrator will start to tell a story only to pause and loop back to some earlier moment that helps to explain an aspect of the story he’s telling—a bit of personal or family history, say—and afterward might even loop back to some earlier moment, thereafter gradually winding his way back to the present, the moment in the narrative that he left in order to provide all this background.

Mendelsohn replicates this same ring structure in his work, looping backward and forward in time; weaving interpretations, highlighting details, and drawing connections within the poem; translating words from the Greek, providing their definitions, connotations, and context; and applying all of the above to significant events from his life that shed light on his relationship with his father. One of the most intriguing aspects of his discussion of the poem is the manner in which he interrogates Odysseus’ relationship with his son and his father, applying both to father/son relationships in general and to his relationship with his father in specific. This is as much an odyssey of Mendelsohn’s personal discovery of his father’s personality and behaviors as it is anything else.

What emerges from this work is a sensitive portrayal of Mendelsohn’s father, a fascinating critique of Homer’s Odyssey with profound insights on the poem, and a travelogue describing the locations father and son visit as they pursue their own transformative odyssey.

A fascinating and compelling work. Highly recommended for anyone with a pulse.

The Legacy of Luna: The Story of A Tree, A Woman, and the Struggle to Save the Redwoods

Julia Butterfly Hill

In The Legacy of Luna, Julia Butterfly Hill recounts her experience of living on Luna, a Redwood tree, for two years to save it from logging. Perched over 100 feet above the ground on Luna, Hill has a bird’s eye view of the Redwood forest and the devastation caused by logging. Her tree-sit ends after an agreement is successfully negotiated that will save Luna and some of the surrounding trees.

This is a quick and easy read. The prose is straightforward and unadorned. It is not particularly well-written although there was the occasional smattering of inspirational wisdom. Hill describes how she learned to adapt her platform on a tree to meet her needs for food, shelter, and routine bodily functions. She interacts with loggers, heads of corporations, the media, popular entertainment figures, and government officials as she gradually becomes a savvy advocate for saving the Redwoods. She survives snow storms, hail, blizzards, lightning, freezing temperatures, a terrifyingly close encounter with a hovering helicopter, and the napalming of the surrounding denuded areas.

Hill develops almost a symbiotic relationship with Luna. She becomes increasingly comfortable in her habitat, learns to “read” the grooves, gnarls, twists, and growths on Luna’s bark, and recognizes which of her branches will cradle and protect her. Her familiarity with Luna emboldens her to climb to the very top branches in her bare feet and with nothing to protect her. She befriends animals, feeding squirrels and allowing insects to crawl on her limbs as if she were an extension of Luna.

Governed by her spirituality and strengthening her resolve through prayer, Julia Butterfly Hill took a courageous step to save the Redwoods. But her tree-sit in was about more than saving trees. It was about the interconnectedness of all living things; the decimation of animal habitats; the deforestation that leads to devastating mudslides, destruction of property, and even loss of human life. Her commitment serves as a potent reminder of the intricate web that connects all living things and the importance of preserving and protecting our environment.

Recommended.

My Name is Red

Orhan Pamuk

My Name is Red by Orhan Pamuk is a whodunit mystery set in sixteenth-century Istanbul. Pamuk, the 2006 Nobel Prize Winner in Literature, takes us on a labyrinthine journey with interlocking threads of intrigue, love, rivalry, murder—all of which are interspersed with philosophical debates on the function of art and its intersection with religion.

The narrative progresses through the first-person point of view of multiple narrators, some of whom are startling. The opening chapter is in the voice of a corpse. The narrator has just been murdered and thrown down a well. He tells us he is an artist—a miniaturist who paints and embellishes books. Although we learn his murderer is a fellow miniaturist, the identity of the culprit is not revealed until the last pages of the novel. Other speakers include the murderer, fellow miniaturists, their mentors, a matchmaker, lovers, a storyteller, the image of a horse, a dog, a tree, a coin, the color red, death, and Satan. Some of the speakers address the reader directly as if extending an invitation to participate in the debate.

As the narrative gradually unfolds, we listen in on debates about the merits and demerits of eastern vs. western art; the nature of art; the perspective adopted by the artist; whether certain images are idolatrous/anti-Islamic; the artist’s anonymity vs. personal style and self-aggrandizement; artistic styles that have been passed down through the centuries; and vibrant descriptions of beautifully illuminated manuscripts alongside the stories they tell. Weaving in and out of these threads is a love story, a murder mystery that keeps one in suspense, and lamentations for a dying art form. To add complexity to an already complex tapestry, many of the speakers express themselves and answer questions on philosophy, religion, or art by telling stories derived from the cultural fabric of their society.

This is a great novel with a broad sweep that sheds light on a particular period in history while addressing some of the same philosophical, religious, and aesthetic issues we struggle with today. It is a challenging read but well worth the effort.

Highly recommended.

The Automobile Club of Egypt

Alaa Al Aswany

The Automobile Club of Egypt by Alaa Al Aswany, translated into English by Russell Harris, has an odd opening chapter. Two of the Gaafar children in the novel materialize and leave the author a copy of his manuscript in which they speak in their own voices. The novel then embarks on the story of Bertha and Karl Benz and the invention of the first automobile. This segues into the formation of the Automobile Club of Egypt and the fate of the Gaafar family.

Founded by foreigners and the Turkish aristocracy and under the patronage of King Fuad, the Automobile Club serves as a venue for the king and his sycophants to gamble, drink alcohol, and engage in all manner of licentious activities with a bevy of women selected specifically for that purpose. James Wright, an English man, is appointed as the club’s managing director. The employees of the club are Egyptian, and their treatment and compensation depends on where they’re situated in the hierarchy.

Into this club enters Abd el-Aziz Gaafar, a once respected landowner who has been reduced to taking a menial job at the club to provide for his family. His untimely death leaves his bereaved wife and four children destitute. Two of his sons, Mahmud and Kamel, become employees of the club. Mahmud earns additional income by becoming a gigolo; Kamel works in the Club’s storeroom while studying for his law degree. Said, the eldest son, marries. He abandons his mother and siblings to their own devices. And after an unfortunate marriage and divorce, Saleha decides to continue with her education to fulfill her father’s dream by becoming a university professor.

Simmering in the background is the beginnings of the political upheaval that would eventually overthrow the king and end British rule of Egypt. We see evidence of the exploitation of the workers and the poverty that forces them to tolerate inhumane treatment. James Wright’s racism rears its ugly head in his opinions of and interactions with the local population. We also see evidence of internalized racism in how the Egyptian supervisors treat those beneath them in the hierarchy.

The novel has some strengths. In addition to the Gaafar family, we are introduced to their neighbors and the club’s other employees. The wide array of characters, their backgrounds, overlapping stories, and struggles to survive makes for interesting reading. The narrative moves forward at a rapid pace. The plot sustains the reader’s attention with most chapters ending with a mini cliffhanger that is picked up again a few chapters later. Al-Aswany skillfully alternates the narrative between first person and third person point of view.

There were also some weaknesses. The opening chapter in which the two characters speak to the author served no purpose, did not enhance the story in any way, and could easily have been omitted. And the ending was abrupt and lacked closure. But the main weakness lay in characterization.

Although the Gaafar children are depicted as unique individuals with differing temperaments, the portrayal of some of the remaining characters bordered on being stereotypical: the septuagenarian women desperately seeking humiliating sex with virile, young men; the too-good-to-be true young English woman who defies her father, is enamored of all things Egypt, and falls in love with an Egyptian; the racist who spews racial bigotry every chance he gets; the corrupt officials who have no qualms about torture; and the Egyptian supervisor with his internalized racism, gleeful torment of his compatriots, and obeisance to all things western.

In spite of these weaknesses, this was an interesting novel. It sheds light on Egypt in the 1950s, portrays the political and moral corruption of the king’s court, and illustrates the panoply of ills that imperialism inflicts on a country and its indigenous population.

Recommended.

War Music: An Account of Homer's Iliad

Christopher Logue

Christopher Logue’s War Music: An Account of Homer’s Iliad is more of a re-imagining than a re-telling. Logue writes a version of the Iliad with many of the same characters and conflicts. But he uses the original poem as a skeleton which he fleshes out by stamping his unique mark on it. He deviates from the original; injects personal commentary; inserts references to post-Homeric historical events, including World War II; and endows his characters with a surprisingly modern diction and attitude.

Logue tells his story through some dazzling lines of poetry. He is liberal in his use of fragments, exclamations, repetitions, commands, rhetorical questions, and lines that sizzle and dance. Combat scenes are particularly effective in capturing the intensity of the battle with lines that clip at a rapid pace. He engages his reader by directly addressing him/her as “you” and ordering “you” to shout, to go left, etc. etc. At one point, he tells us of the “Uzi shuddering warm against your hip.” His use of present tense heightens the sense of immediacy and immerses the reader in the events of the poem.

Logue peppers his lines with humor and interesting word choice. A female is “a she”. Athena reminding Zeus about the Trojans’ violation of their oath is described with the following words:

Picking a cotton from his sleeve, "Pa-pa,' Athena said:

This is not fairyland. The Trojans swore an oath

To which You put Your voice.’

‘I did not.’

‘Father, You did. All Heaven heard You. Ask the Sea.’

‘I definitely did not.’

‘Did-did-did-did—and no returns.’

Aphrodite appears dressed in grey silk pajamas with gold piping and “snakeskin flip-flops.” She is referred to later as “The God of Tops and Thongs.” In particularly colorful language, she (Love) reminds Zeus and us why Hera hates the Trojans:

‘Stuff Greece,’ Love said.

‘Your blubber-bummed wife with her gobstopper nipples

Cannot stand Troy because Troy’s Paris put her last

When we stripped off for him.’

Although Christopher Logue did not live long enough to complete this work, what he left us with is a stunning feat of the imagination wrapped in a poem that delights and amazes. The story is Homer’s, but the telling of it is Logue’s. And what a brilliant telling it is!

Very highly recommended.

Beowulf

Stephen Mitchell, Translator

I loved Stephen Mitchell’s translation of Gilgamesh, so I was eager to get my hands on his Beowulf. I wasn’t disappointed.

The edition looks and feels quite lovely. The pages alternate between the Old English on one page and the translation on the facing page. It has been years since I took a seminar in graduate school where we were required to read and understand Beowulf in the original Old English. Although my inexorable trudge toward middle age has long since caused me to lose that skill, I did appreciate seeing the Old English once again and delighted in recognizing a few words.

Mitchell’s introduction situates Beowulf in its historical, social, and cultural context. He discusses the poem’s authorship, the discovery of the manuscript, and evidence of Christianity and of pagan practices in the poem’s content. Mitchell also articulates the rules he has tried to adhere to in performing his translation.

This brings us to the actual poem. The language is very accessible while maintaining the dignity and stature of the original. It is clear, rigorous, and lucid without deteriorating into modernisms that would destroy the effect. The diction, word order, and rhythm of the lines immerse us in the poem’s energy and robustness in such a way that we never lose sight of the fact we are reading a very old text. Mitchell captures the tone and language of the culture that gave rise to the poem with its masculinist emphasis on the warrior code, the heroic boast, the importance of avenging one’s kinsman, and the qualities that make for good leadership.

Invariably, the translation of a work will bear the mark of the translator, causing one translation to differ in varying degrees from another. But with each translation, we are offered the opportunity to see the work in a slightly different light, from a slightly different lens. Stephen Mitchell’s translation of Beowulf offers us that opportunity. He breathes new life into a very old poem while adhering faithfully to the original in spirit, tone, and content. He makes the old new again. And for that I am truly appreciative.

Highly recommended.

The Remains of the Day

Kazuo Ishiguro

The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro, the 2017 winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature, takes us on a poignant journey of an aging man’s self-discovery. On a superficial level, the novel is about Stevens, the central character, taking a much-needed, six-day vacation in the west country of England in the 1950s. His solitary travels by car spur him to reflect on his 30 plus years as a butler in Darlington Hall.

Written in the first-person point of view, Stevens describes his life as a butler in the home of Lord Darlington in the 1920s. Since Lord Darlington was politically active and influential, he hosted major European political figures in his home. Stevens’ position as the discrete but ever-present butler enabled him to view their interactions, to witness the rise in Nazism and fascism, and to observe the gradual decline in reputation of his former employer. The novel opens with Stevens trying to adjust his “butlering” to accommodate the new owner of Darlington Hall, the American Mr. Faraday. His biggest challenge is learning how to engage in “bantering”—an activity he never had to develop while under the employ of Lord Darlington but one for which his new employer demonstrates an obvious delight.

As Stevens drives through the rolling English countryside, he gradually reveals himself as an unreliable and naïve narrator. His obsession with maintaining the dignified posture he deems essential for a butler blinds him to the nature of his former employer and inhibits his ability to recognize and experience the mutual love he and Miss Kenton, the former housekeeper, feel for each other. He curtails any attempt she makes to reach out to him. He is stiff, formal, suppresses all feeling and shows little remorse even at the death of his own father. In Stevens’ mind, everything in life has to be subordinated to maintaining the dignified, unobtrusive posture required of a butler. And therein lies his downfall.

As his vacation draws to an end, Stevens questions the choices he made in life. He recognizes the missed opportunities to feel and to love, the words that should have been said but left unsaid, the devastating impact of subordinating his personal life to his professional life, the tragic waste of a life dedicated to an employer who proved himself to be less than worthy, and the recognition that he is aging. He sits on a bench by the pier at Weymouth, pouring his heart out to a complete stranger. And he weeps.

The Remains of the Day is a consummate masterpiece, slowly unfolding while revealing the gradual unraveling of Stevens’ identity. Through his central character, Ishiguro explores such issues as self-delusion, denial, repression, distorted self-image, selective memory, false personas, lost opportunities, and regret. With a flawless ear, he captures the voice and diction of each of his characters, especially the restrained, stiff upper lip maintained by Stevens. One can only hope that this endearing, damaged, and tragic figure finally masters the art of bantering.

Just like the unassuming English countryside whose beauty lies in its quiet, restrained charm, this is a novel that will slowly but surely grab you and tug at your heart strings as you sit on the bench with Stevens, contemplating the choices you made in your own life.

A skillfully-crafted novel, compelling, mesmerizing, haunting, and beautifully written. Very highly recommended.

Orfeo

Richard Powers

Orfeo by Richard Powers, very loosely based on the myth of Orpheus, is an ambitious novel. It tells the story of seventy-year-old Peter Els, a musician and amateur biochemist, who turns his home into a microbiology lab in an attempt to tease musical patterns into living bacteria. When Homeland Security discovers his project and suspects him of nefarious activities, Els turns fugitive. Accused of bio-terrorism, he becomes an Internet sensation as he zig-zags across the country to evade capture. The narrative constantly shifts from the present to Els’ long ago and more recent past in a series of vignettes or anecdotes. Throughout it all, Els’ all-consuming love of music governs his relationships and his life.

The constant shifts in chronological time coupled with the many threads that weave in and out make this a challenging read. Complicating the narrative even further are the constant references to music history, music theory, musical compositions, and the back story that gave rise to these compositions. Els seems to operate on a different level where even the sounds in nature and in everyday life are fodder for his musical ears and where he sees the intersection of music with science everywhere he looks.

Els reads musical compositions as narratives, describing the ebb and flow, the interludes, the highs and lows as elements of a story. Although the back stories of the musical compositions were fascinating, the technicalities of each musical piece maybe lost on someone who has no background in music theory or composition.

The novel explores the role art plays in our lives: its function, how and where it intersects with our lives, how it is perceived, and how it informs our lives. It is a complex novel dealing with complex themes. Powers’ pure joy in music permeates the novel as does his extensive knowledge of music. But perhaps one criticism of the novel is his assumption that the reader shares this knowledge. Without some background in music theory and composition, a reader can get lost in his discussion of B minor and E flat, in octaves and harmonies, scales and keys.

The novel is recommended, but especially for individuals who love classical music and who are familiar with music theory and composition.

Independent People

Halldor Laxness

Situated in Iceland’s unforgiving climate and rugged terrain and against the backdrop of Iceland’s struggle for independence in the early twentieth century, Halldor Laxness’ Independent People explores complex issues of survival, independence, and community. This masterpiece secured for Laxness the 1955 Nobel Prize in Literature.

The protagonist is Bjartur of Summerhouses, a stubborn, opinionated, inflexible, and fiercely independent sheep farmer who exhibits a mass of contradictory qualities. Bjartur is compassionate, tender, solicitous, and considerate. But only if you happen to be one of his sheep. By contrast, his treatment toward his family occasionally borders on cruelty. He expects them to whip themselves into shape as he has done, survive on stale fish and endless cups of coffee, confront the harsh Icelandic winters with equanimity, and vehemently decline assistance from others. Bjartur values his independence above all else, even at the expense of exposing his family to severe hardship. He disdains the most basic comforts in life and expects his family to do the same.

The story unfolds as Bjartur, having labored for eighteen years for others, finally secures a home for himself and his sheep. His first wife dies giving birth to Asta Sollilja, a girl he knows is not his. His second wife moves into his croft with her mother. She produces several children, only three of whom survive. She dies of grief when Bjartur ignores her pleas and kills the one meagre cow they possess. His eldest son walks out in a snow storm one evening and is never seen again. He ousts his only daughter from home on a freezing night when he discovers she is pregnant.

World War I brings prosperity to Icelandic farmers. Bjartur builds a home for himself only to lose it like many others before him because he is unable to pay his debts. His world disintegrates and he is forced to relocate to his mother-in-law’s home. The novel ends on a note of reconciliation. Bjartur finds Asta Sollilja living in a hovel with her two children. She is weak, coughing blood, and dying of consumption. He sweeps her up with her children and takes her home.

There is much to love about Bjartur. He writes poetry and recites Icelandic sagas, claiming their heroes as a point of reference in his every day conversations. His determination to be self-reliant is heroic. He works hard and expects others to do the same. He is a man of his word. He is noble, heroic, stoic, and proud. But there is also much about him that frustrates. He is incorrigible, fixated on his one goal, harsh in word and deed, and oblivious to the adverse effects his intransigence has on his family. It is almost as if he feels the need to suppress his emotions in order to survive in an inhospitable climate. His layers of tough skin peel away at the end of the novel, revealing his ability to forgive and to love another deeply as he carries his dying daughter, “the one flower of his life,” to their new home.

In Independent People, Laxness has produced a novel vast in scope and epic in nature. At the center of this masterpiece is a complex, fascinating protagonist. Laxness’ language is poetic, beautiful in its simplicity, full of profound insights, laced with irony and understated humor, and smattered with references to Icelandic heroes and mythological characters. At times his prose leaves you breathless. The characters are so real, they could almost walk off the page. His detailed descriptions transport the reader to the expansive moors and the modest croft; to experiencing the biting cold and relentless snow storms; and to smelling and hearing the sheep, the sheep, the sheep in all their tapewormy glory.

This is more than a novel about an Icelandic sheep farmer struggling to survive. This is a deeply profound masterpiece about the struggles we face in life. It is full of beauty, full of sadness, and brimming with poetry and wisdom. It is a novel that speaks to our common humanity and touches the soul.

Very highly recommended.

Golden Hill

Francis Spufford

Golden Hill by Francis Spufford thrusts us firmly on the ground of 18th Century Manhattan where a young Richard Smith has just arrived from England laden with a bill of exchange for a thousand pounds, a considerably large sum of money at the time. While waiting for the bill to be verified with Lovell’s counting house on Golden Hill, Smith causes much speculation and rumor among New Yorkers. He insists on shrouding himself with mystery by refusing to reveal his true identity, or from where he obtained the money, or what he intends to do with it. His identity and intentions are not fully revealed either to the reader or Manhattanites until close to the end of the novel. We share in the mystery and speculation until the very end.

In the 60 days it takes for the bill to be verified and paid, Smith ricochets from one adventure to another. He is robbed, chased on rooftops, escapes a drunken mob out to do him mischief, spends time in a debtor’s prison, struggles with a card game, falls in and out of love, fights a duel, and is exposed while succumbing to the temptations of the flesh with Terpie, a generously endowed local actress married to a military officer.

Francis Spufford’s novel is brilliant, entertaining, sparkling with wit and humor, and an absolute delight. Written in the language of 18th century novels, Golden Hill conjures up the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of New York and its inhabitants through rich immersion in historical detail. The plot is complex with surprising twists and turns. Spufford peppers his novel with scenes that are laugh out loud hilarious. Some notable examples occur during the card game of piquet, the breathless chase across winding streets and rooftops, Smith’s letter to his father, the illustrious union between Smith and Terpie, and Smith’s farcical trial. The authorial intrusions and commentaries, frequently tinged with ironic self-deprecation, were particularly enjoyable, making the narrator’s voice one of the most charming qualities of the novel.

Smith emerges as a lovable, bungling, naive hero who is more acted upon than acting and who blunders from one scrape into another. He swims outside of his element with little understanding of the political machinations at play. He mixes with the social elite of Manhattan, most of whom eye him with guarded suspicion. His relationship with Tabitha, Lovell’s eldest daughter, stings with dueling dialogue and acerbic wit. He is forced into fighting a duel for his indiscretion with the married Terpie. But what should have been a fake duel undertaken as a means to save face and preserve honor turns disastrous when Smith accidentally slips with sword in hand, mortally wounding his friend and only ally.

A wonderful combination of adventure, mystery, humor, historical authenticity, and social commentary flavored with scintillating dialogue, well-developed characters, and a charming hero, all of which are deliciously wrapped in a package of well-written 18th century diction.

A delightful read. Highly recommended.

Kate Vaiden

Reynolds Price

Kate Vaiden by Reynolds Price is a first-person narrative of the unsettled life of Kate Vaiden. The novel opens with Kate in her late fifties. She takes us back in time, recalling her turbulent life beginning at the age of eleven when she loses both her parents to a murder-suicide. Kate is then raised in a loving environment by her aunt and uncle in the small town of Macon, North Carolina.

Kate has her first sexual encounter with a young man who later dies in a military training camp during the Vietnam war. Not long after, she runs away to live with her uncle and his friend, gets pregnant at the age of 16, and runs away again. And so begins a series of events in which Kate ricochets from one attachment to another, runs away for no apparent reason, immerses herself in another attachment only to run away again. Meanwhile, she has abandoned her baby infant with her aunt and doesn’t consider contacting her son until he is in his mid-thirties when she is in her late fifties having received a diagnosis for cervical cancer.

Kate drifts aimlessly from one situation to another. And yet wherever she lands, she seems to find men who are attracted to her and who desire her company. She flees from any sort of commitment but doesn’t provide a plausible explanation for doing so, leaving the reader baffled and frustrated at her behavior. She emerges as an unlikable, selfish, ungrateful, and self-absorbed character. Her constant running away and haphazard choices in life make it hard to sympathize with her. She is an aimless drifter, bolting whenever she whiffs a relationship getting too close for comfort.

Now that she is middle-aged, now that she is staring cancer in the face, she tries to reconnect with people in her past who loved her and showed her kindnesses only to discover they have all since died: her aunt and uncle who took her in when she was orphaned and their neighbor, Fob, who gifted her a horse when she was a teenager. She plans to reconnect with her son. But the belated emergence of concern for people in her past, people she had abandoned for over thirty-five years, appears self-serving and underlines her selfishness. It all seems too little, too late.

The novel was okay but not something I would necessarily recommend.

People of the Whale

Linda Hogan

People of the Whale by Linda Hogan portrays the lives of the A’atsika Nation in a Native American village on the Pacific coast. Hogan integrates Native American mythology and folklore with the daily lives of the A’atsika people to form an intricate web illustrating the importance of wholeness and interconnectedness with all creatures whether on land, sea, or sky.

The central characters are Ruth and Thomas, a married couple who have been sweethearts since childhood. Ruth and Thomas have in common auspicious beginnings. Born with gills that have to be removed surgically, Ruth’s affinity with the sea is marked from birth. Thomas’ birth coincides with a large octopus emerging from the sea to take up temporary habitation in a dark cave. The villagers shower the octopus with gifts, perceiving it as a sacred being. Thomas’ mother acknowledges her son’s intimate connection with the octopus. She carries her infant to the mouth of the cave every evening as a form of dedication to the octopus, seeking its protection for her son.

Ruth and Thomas lead simple, idyllic lives until Thomas enlists to join the military and is shipped off to Vietnam. Their paths diverge for many years. Ruth remains in the village, giving birth to their son, Marco, and raising him as a single mother. She instills in him the values and culture of his people. Thomas, meanwhile, exposed to the horrors and atrocities perpetrated by all sides in Vietnam, has become a fractured human being. He takes up residence in one of the Vietnamese villages, is embraced by the locals, marries, and has a child. After his wife dies by walking into a mine field, Thomas is picked up by American troops and returned to America.

Hogan skillfully weaves the separate lives of Ruth and Thomas until Thomas returns to his native village many years later. But Thomas is now a changed man, tortured by images of carnage and haunted with nightmares. His flashbacks are scattered and disjointed, and it is not until the end of the novel that a complete picture emerges of his experience in Vietnam.

Hogan’s language is lyrical, her sentences rhythmic, her pace unhurried. She moves backwards and forwards in time and place, picking up a thread here, dropping it there, replicating the ebb and flow of the ocean that permeates every aspect of the villagers’ lives. She draws parallels between the Vietnamese villagers struggling to eke a living with those of the Native American villagers struggling to do the same under a different set of circumstances. She blurs the lines between the spiritual and physical realms. Her characters are richly drawn and believable, with Ruth emerging as the indomitable moral center fighting to retain traditional values with their concomitant respect for the natural environment against the onslaught of greed and exploitation of that same environment.

With sensitivity, compassion, and insight into Native American culture, Linda Hogan explores the issues of loyalty to family and tribe; adherence to traditional values; the quest for wholeness; the wisdom of the elders; respect for the natural environment; the survival of the human spirit against seemingly insurmountable odds; the restoration of balance; and the spiritual and physical interconnectivity of all forms of life.

This is a beautiful story, beautifully told, illustrating the fragility and delicacy of all life.

Highly recommended.

The Wolf Sea

Robert Low

The Wolf Sea, Robert Low’s second book of the Oathsworn series, continues where The Whale Road (Oathsworn #1) left off. The novel opens with young Orm, the Viking leader of the Oathsworn, with his scruffy, battle-weary band of men stranded in Constantinople. When Orm’s sword, the Rune Serpent, is stolen by Starkad, the Oathsworn embark on a perilous mission to retrieve the sword and rescue their captured brothers. Their mission takes them across the 10th Century lands of Cyprus, Syria, and Jerusalem.

Along the way, the Oathsworn get embroiled in battles between rival factions of east and west for control of land and resources. Orm has to forge alliances with various groups to ensure the survival of his followers as they advance toward their goal. They encounter Muslims, Christians, Greeks, Bedouins, and Danes. They cross deserts and seek shelter from unremitting sand storms. They enter into fierce battles and witness the gruesome horrors of torture and decapitated bodies in an atmosphere saturated with the smell of blood and haunted by flies hovering over dismembered limbs. The descriptions are vivid; the brutality graphic.

Orm emerges as the most fully developed character. He wears the mantle of leadership with a heavy heart, haunted by the responsibilities of being the leader of the Oathsworn. Thrust into unfamiliar territory, he navigates his followers through an alien land, through strange alliances and senseless killings, and through betrayals by men who were once deemed blood brothers, all the while straddling between the old-world beliefs in Odin and the Norse gods and those of the Christ-followers.

Robert Low has written another exciting work of historical fiction. It is action-packed; skillfully integrates historical fact with historical fiction; and offers a vivid description of the locations, battles, and culture clashes of the 10th Century eastern Mediterranean. It moves at a galloping pace. And, perhaps, therein lies a shortcoming. We barely have time to accommodate to one location and its inhabitants before we are thrust into yet another battle in a different location with yet another enemy. The plethora of characters, some of whom are sketchily developed at best, is another shortcoming.

Although not as strong as The Whale Road, The Wolf Sea is, nevertheless, an enjoyable read for aficionados of historical fiction and all things Viking.

Recommended.

The Architect's Apprentice

Elif Shafak

The Architect’s Apprentice by Elif Shafak is an engaging blend of historical fact with fiction. The novel opens with an elderly Jahan briefly recalling his life as the architect’s apprentice in 16th Century Istanbul, the center of the Ottoman Empire. It then flashes back to his youth and his years in Istanbul.

At the age of twelve, a naïve Jahan enters Istanbul with Chota, a splendid gift of a white elephant sent from the Shah of Hindustan for the menagerie of Suleiman the Magnificent. Jahan’s original intention is to run away as soon as he gets Chota situated, but he ends up staying in Istanbul for the next couple of decades as Chota’s friend, trainer, and care-taker. Eventually taken under the wing of the architect Mimar Sinan, he trains in architecture while absorbing some of Sinan’s spiritual wisdom. Mimar Sinan serves under three sultans, rising to the position of Royal Architect and building some of Istanbul’s magnificent mosques. Jahan becomes skilled in designing and building mosques, bridges, schools, aqueducts, as well as in renovating existing structures.

The intriguing world of the 16th Century Ottoman Empire is seen through the eyes of Jahan. He describes in vivid detail the opulence and barbarism of the palace and its inhabitants, the intrigue and rivalry within the palace, the crowded and narrow streets of Istanbul, and the cosmopolitan nature of its inhabitants.

Because Chota is frequently called upon to amplify the sultan’s grandeur, as her trainer, Jahan participates in parades and other ceremonial functions, fights in battles, and entertains the sultan and his entourage. He falls in love with the Princess Mihrimah during her frequent visits to Chota. He interacts with foreign dignitaries and meets historical figures, including Michelangelo. He even spends time in the dungeon when he defies the powerful Grand Vizier Rustem Pasha. Eventually, Jahan is forced to flee Istanbul and ends up in Hindustan where he meets the Shah and becomes one of the two Chief Royal Architects working on the Taj Mahal to commemorate the Shah’s deceased wife, Mumtaz Mahal.

The structure is episodic in nature, unfolding as it does through a series of incidents revolving around the central character, Jahan. Rather than having a coherent plot from beginning to end, the narrative meanders, taking detours that occasionally lead nowhere, much like some of the streets in Istanbul. Just as a snake biting its tale, the novel ends where it began—with a century old, frail Jahan, now married to a woman some sixty years his junior, physically deteriorating, and longing for the release of death.

Shafak has written an entertaining and imaginative novel that takes place over a period of several decades. Her extensive research on the subject is evident. The atmosphere, sights, sounds, smells, and people of 16th Century Istanbul are described in vivid detail and have the ring of authenticity. Mystery and magic are woven into the tale. Epic in scope and skillfully integrating historical fact with fiction, The Architect’s Apprentice is an entertaining read, especially for lovers of a historical fiction situated during the time of the Ottoman Empire.

Clear Light of Day

Anita Desai

Anita Desai’s Clear Light of Day has a quiet strength that slowly creeps up on you. Against the backdrop of the political upheaval and turmoil in pre-partition India is the story of the four children of the Das family. The novel opens with the four siblings as adults. Raja, the eldest son, has moved away, married the Muslim daughter of their former landlord, and lives in Hyderabad. Tara, the youngest daughter, has come home with her husband to spend a few days in her childhood home visiting her sister, Bimla, and their mentally challenged brother, Baba. Bimla, a single, middle-aged college professor, assumed the care taking responsibilities for Baba and for the aging Aunt Mira while she was alive.

Tensions surface between Tara and Bimla. Although Bimla claims she is satisfied with her life, she harbors a torrent of anger and resentment toward her siblings, especially Raja because she feels abandoned by him, and Tara because she married a diplomat and has become a well-traveled socialite. As the tensions smolder between the two siblings, we are thrust back to their childhood.

We discover the children were neglected by parents totally absorbed with themselves and their own activities. In many ways, the children were orphaned long before their parents died. With the arrival of Aunt Mira, the children are finally wrapped in a cocoon of love and acceptance. An aging, balding woman, Aunt Mira’s affection for the children is evoked with gentle, loving detail. The description of her arrival to the Das household is particularly poignant. She earns the devotion of the children by mothering, nurturing, and loving them in ways their mother never did.

The four siblings are depicted as unique individuals, each struggling in his or her own way to find a path out of their stifling environment. Baba doesn’t speak. We are never sure if he understands what’s happening around him since he doesn’t react. He withdraws into a bubble by continuously playing old songs on a windup gramophone. As a young girl, Bimla competes with her brother Raja. She is an exemplary student, athletic, accomplished, popular, ambitious, and a high achiever. Raja is restless, torn between his Hindu identity and his desire for acceptance by his Muslim neighbors, especially the Muslim landlord whose daughter he eventually marries. Tara struggles with school. Bullied by classmates and her older siblings, teased mercilessly, friendless, and desperately lonely, her only comfort comes from snuggling up to Aunt Mira. She eventually finds a way out of her environment by marrying a diplomat.

This is a story about family, about the sibling rivalries, guilt, frustrations, petty jealousies, and cruelties experienced during childhood continuing to haunt well into adulthood. As Tara says to Bimla, “…but it’s never over. Nothings over, ever.” It is also a story about childhood aspirations and dreams and the disappointments we experience as adults when those dreams fail to materialize. And, finally, it is a story about aging.

Skilled in evoking a sense of time and place and in capturing the tensions and frustrations of childhood, Desai is a master storyteller. Her prose is lyrical as she slowly draws you in to the lives of her characters. Themes introduced early in the novel recur as it progresses, shedding light on the divergent paths taken by the siblings. Desai shows the childhood baggage we carry into adulthood will never leave us until we make a conscious effort to let it go. The novel ends on a suggestion of acceptance and forgiveness—a glimpse at the clear light of day. Bimla indicates a willingness to reconcile with her estranged brother by recognizing that no matter how their paths have diverged, they are all inextricably linked by a past rooted in the same soil:

That soil contained all time, past and future, in it. It was dark with time, rich with time. It was where her deepest self lived, and the deepest selves of her sister and brothers and all those who shared that time with her.

A beautiful novel told with sensitivity and compassion. Highly recommended.

Home Fire

Kamila Shamsie

What would you do if your love of family violated the dictates of government, especially if those dictates appear unnecessarily harsh and devoid of compassion? This is the situation Kamila Shamsie explores in her novel, Home Fire, based on the classical Greek play, Antigone.

Shamsie clothes the story of Antigone in contemporary garb. The setting is England after 9/11. The story is of three grown children of Pakistani origin, orphaned at a young age. Ali Pasha, their jihadist father, died under mysterious circumstances at Bagram. The lives of his children intertwine with another Muslim family of Pakistani origin, the family of Karamat Lone, the newly appointed British Home Secretary. 

Isma Pasha, the eldest, assumes care-taking responsibilities for her younger twin siblings, Aneeka and Parvaiz. Aneeka studies law while her twin is aimless, lacks ambition, and grapples with understanding the legacy of his father. His vulnerability and connection to a jihadi father attracts the attention of terrorists. They systematically and methodically recruit him to join their ranks.

The families’ lives intertwine when Eamonn, the son of the British Home Secretary, is seduced by Aneeka. Her initial intent is to exploit her influence on him to facilitate her brother’s return to England. But Parvaiz is killed by terrorists while making his way to the British Consulate. It is at this point the parallels with the story of Antigone become very evident.

Because Parvaiz’s British citizenship has been revoked due to his terrorist activities, Karamat Lone denies permission for his body to be returned to England for burial near his mother. Aneeka decides to take matters into her own hands and flies to Pakistan to force the issue by defiantly holding vigil near her brother’s corpse. Her stance garners widespread media coverage. Although both Karamat Lone’s wife and son urge him to show compassion and allow the burial to take place in England, he insists upon strict adherence to the law. Eamonn defies his father by flying to Pakistan to be with the woman he loves. Both Eamonn and Aneeka die wrapped in each other’s arms in an explosive ending.

Shamsie explores the issue of how much of what we are and what we do is contingent upon our family background. The novel opens with Isma pursuing her education in America. She is portrayed as a complex character who informs government officials about her brother’s activities to protect her sister. Unfortunately, her character recedes to the background as the novel progresses, giving prominence to her two siblings.

Parvaiz and Eamonn have in common their lack of ambition and indeterminate focus. But because one is the son of a jihadi and the other the son of an important government official, their lives take completely different paths.

Unlike her sister, Aneeka is uncompromising in her loyalties and flaunts her defiance of the state. She shows no hesitation in taking a very visible and provocative stand in support of her brother’s right to be buried near his mother in England.

This is a powerful book about the obligations of family, the fractured experience of Muslim immigrants living in the West after 9/11, and the politics that embroil and ultimately destroy two families. The prose was unremarkable, and the characters’ motivations could have been explored in greater depth. Plot-driven and slow to start, the novel gradually picks up pace and increases in intensity until the climactic, explosive ending.

Shamsie gives contemporary relevance to the age-old clash between familial love and loyalty versus adherence to civic law. Her exploration raises profound questions about the choices young immigrants make and the forces that drive them toward those choices.

A compelling read.

The Underground Railroad

Colson Whitehead

The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead tells the story of Cora, a slave in a Georgia cotton plantation. Abandoned by her mother, Cora eventually decides to make a run for freedom with a fellow slave, Caesar. They escape to South Carolina by riding on a literal Underground Railroad, a network of tracks and tunnels under the ground, built and operated by former slaves and their sympathizers. Eventually they are hunted down by a ruthless slave catcher. Cora manages to escape and flees from one state to the next in search of freedom. The novel ends on an optimistic note in that it appears as if Cora is well on her way to finding the freedom she has long sought.

The novel begins on a strong note. We meet Cora as a young girl trying to survive in a brutal environment. We witness the horrors of slavery, and we see the impact of institutionalized oppression both on the oppressor and the oppressed. The descriptions are vivid and graphic and cause one to recoil in horror.

After Cora’s escape to South Carolina, however, the novel seems to lose focus. We are introduced to a host of new characters, which is understandable. But we are also given fairly extensive background on each of the characters, even the minor ones—their families, their upbringing, why they are the way they are, etc. etc. All of this tertiary information is problematic, redundant, and detracts from the main narrative. Why give us so much background information on a minor character, especially since such material slows the pace of the narrative and interrupts its progression?

None of the main characters are fully developed. They are portrayed in a detached, clinical manner, so we never become emotionally invested in any of them, not even in Cora. We should feel immersed in her experiences and see what she sees, hear what she hears, and feel what she feels. Instead, we observe her from a distance, which prevents us from forging a connection with her.

The absence of a cohesive structure in a narrative that jerked from one event to the next with little to no transitions coupled with a lackluster character portrayal made this a somewhat disappointing read. It is certainly not up to the level of previous Pulitzer Prize winners. But it is worth reading if, for no other reason, because of its depiction of the horrors and dehumanizing impact of slavery in its opening sections.

Recommended with reservations.

Benediction

Kent Haruf

Benediction by Kent Haruf is the third book in a series about the residents of Holt, a fictional town in Colorado. The novel lives up to the very high standard established by its predecessors, Plainsong and Eventide.

As with Haruf’s other novels, an atmosphere of quiet simplicity pervades Benediction. The language is simple and straightforward. The absence of quotation marks in the dialogue gives the impression of speech conducted in low keys and subdued, hushed tones. Haruf’s ability to depict true to life characters with simple language and little embellishment is truly amazing. We know these people. They are engaging and heart-warming. We recognize them as honest, generous, reliable, and genuine.

Different life stories weave their way in and out of the narrative. There is the eight-year-old orphan girl who recently lost her mother to cancer and now lives with her grandmother; the retired teacher who has moved back home to live with her mother; the gay son estranged from his family; the preacher whose sermon on love and forgiveness of one’s enemies incurs the wrath of many in his congregation. At the center of it all is Dad Lewis, an elderly man in the final stages of terminal cancer. Wrapped in a cocoon of love, tenderness, and support from his wife, daughter, neighbors, and employees, Dad Lewis reflects on his life and prepares for his death.

There is little action or conflict in the novel. So if you enjoy fast-moving, action-packed thrillers, Benediction is not for you. But if you enjoy reading the words of a consummate artist of “the precious ordinary,” a keen observer of human behavior who reveals the complexity of ordinary people in a prose style defined by its elegance and simplicity, then you will love what is yet another masterpiece by Kent Haruf.

Highly recommended.

Dust

Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor

A young man runs for his life in the streets of Nairobi, chased by unnamed assailants. Bullets whiz in all directions. As he runs, he flashes back to his girlfriend and his sister, Ajany. A bullet finds its target and he crumbles. He bleeds on the sidewalk. He coughs up blood. He stops breathing. Odidi Oganda is dead.

This is the dramatic opening of Dust by Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor. Serving as the focal point, Odidi’s death catapults us down labyrinthine paths that intertwine the tragedy of a family with that of a nation. Its many disparate threads weave in and out of the narrative, frequently returning to the focal point of Odidi’s death.

An Englishman comes to Kenya in search of his father; a father mourns for his son; a sister returns from Brazil to bury her brother and to learn the mysterious circumstances of his death; a mother runs away in a burst of uncontrollable rage. Each character is haunted by a past; each character wrestles with demons that won’t release their grip.

Threaded intermittently throughout this family tragedy is the story of Kenya: the political upheavals, the Mau Mau uprising of the 1950s, assassinations, murders, violence, torture, unidentified mass graves, secrets, lies, unspeakable crimes, revenge, smuggling rings, and corrupt officials.

This is a difficult book to read, not only because of its content. Adhiambo Owuor’s writing style presents some challenges. Much of the novel is written in fragments, one word sentences, shifts in time with no transitions, references to past events and people that leave the reader clueless, the occasional stream of consciousness in which a character shifts from the present to the past because a memory is triggered, and a smattering of Swahili which may or may not be followed by an English translation.

All this can be bewildering. But as we get accustomed to Owuor’s writing style and learn to read the novel, we may find it easier to decipher and piece together the disparate threads. Owuor captures the truncated language of trauma and recovery on behalf of a nation and its people, the fragmentary nature of memory, the struggle to deal with the violent death of a loved one, a speech that reveals only half-truths, secrets that refuse to stay buried, a country ravaged by violence and political turmoil, and an all-encompassing thin layer of dust covering the land and its people—a dust which blows this way and that at the slightest provocation to reveal the horrors that lie beneath.

What emerges from this complex work is a challenging read but one that is worth the effort for those willing to grapple with its style.

Recommended.