Blue Jewellery

Katharina Winkler; trans. Laura Wagner

Blue Jewellery by Katharina Winkler, translated from the German by Laura Wagner, is based on the true story of a young Turkish woman.

At the ripe old age of 13, Filiz, a young Turkish woman, marries Yunus, the love of her young life. She moves in with her husband and his mother. The horror begins. Filiz is a victim of atrocious domestic violence. The blue jewellery of the title, described in colorful, graphic detail, refers to the bruises all over her tender body. Yunus beats her up with such ferocity and frequency that Filiz not only comes to expect it, she calculates how many beatings she anticipates receiving for each supposed transgression.

What makes her situation all the more horrifying is the complicit behavior of her mother-in-law in the abuse. She denies Filiz food and begrudges her the little she does eat even while she is pregnant with each of her three children. Filiz is treated like an indentured servant. She does all the housework and all the cooking even while pregnant. Her work is punctuated with regular beatings. Yunus extends his control over his family by beating his own children.

The family finally settles in Austria. The beatings continue until Filiz tries to take her own life in desperation. The neighbors call the police when Yunus inflicts a particularly brutal beating. After recovering in the hospital for three months, Filiz moves into a shelter with her three children. She divorces Yunus who is forbidden by the courts to have any contact with her or their children. This opens the path for her and her children to obtain an education and become contributing members of society in their chosen careers. Meanwhile, Yunus returns to Turkey after getting into trouble with the Austrian authorities. He re-marries and has three children. One is left wondering what feast of horrors he is serving up for his new wife and children.

The narrative unfolds in the first-person voice of Filiz. There is a rhythm and lyricism to the manner in which she strings words together. It is almost poetic, setting up the contrast with the horrifying subject matter. Her diction is simple, almost child-like. And she describes the events in the present tense, as if to suggest she continues to re-live them.

This is a quick and important read. But it’s not an easy one because of the extensive incidents of domestic violence and psychological abuse, all of which are described in such graphic detail.

Recommended, but not for everyone because of its subject matter.

Oblomov

Ivan Goncharov; trans. Ann Dunnigan

Oblomov by Ivan Goncharov, translated by Ann Dunnigan, is a novel about a nineteenth century Russian landowner who turns the persona of the much-maligned couch-potato into an art form.

We first meet Oblomov as he reclines in his bed, draped in his Persian dressing gown. He calls for his trusty servant, Zakhar, and the two proceed to snap and snarl at each other. They feud about money, the accumulating dust and dirt in the bedroom, the poor quality of food, and Oblomov’s impending eviction from his apartment. Oblomov declares his intention to write to the steward overseeing his estate at Oblomovka. Meanwhile, he wants Zakhar to convince the landlord to delay his eviction as the thought of moving overwhelms him. All this thinking and anxiety exhausts him, so he slumps back into bed and takes another nap. As a first-class procrastinator, his motto is, “Delay, delay, delay.” Meanwhile, the steward of his estate is mismanaging his affairs and cheating him of his money; his income is declining; and he will soon be thrown out of his apartment.

While in this semi-somnambulistic state, Oblomov receives a series of visitors to whom he complains about his state of affairs. The visitors come with varying intentions. Some urge him to get up and get on with his life, while one exploits his good nature by stealing from him. And then comes work-oriented Stolz, Oblomov’s half-German/half Russian childhood friend. Stolz brims with energy. He will not tolerate Oblomov’s delay tactics and introduces him to the lovely Olga. Oblomov falls in love, shakes off his hibernation, and feels life’s energies animating his body. Alas, it is only a temporary hiatus. Since not even love can purge him of his lethargy, he soon reverts to his semi-somnambulistic state.

Oblomov’s orbit of characters are carefully drawn and well-developed. His back and forth banter with Zakhar is delightful and has echoes of another famous duo in literature—Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. The delicate Olga who tries to draw Oblomov out of his lethargy is sensitively portrayed. But perhaps one of the most sympathetically drawn characters is Agafya Matveyevna, Oblomov’s landlady. An uneducated, simple woman, she is totally devoted to Oblomov and unselfishly commits to his every comfort. She is abuzz with activity—ironing, cooking, cleaning, kneading bread, sewing, and baking. Oblomov enjoys watching her work from the comfort of his couch, deriving special pleasure in the movement of her fleshy elbows.

Oblomov can be seen as satirizing the Russian landowning elites who refuse to embrace progress while they continue to live off the labor of others. The satirical intent may be valid. But as a character, Oblomov transcends this designation. He speaks to the Oblomov in all of us—the part of us that wants to disengage from the flurry of daily striving in order to sit back, relax, and dream.

 In Oblomov, Goncharov has created one of the most loveable giant sloths in all of literature. Oblomov is lazy, lethargic, unambitious, indecisive, and reclusive. But his goodness draws people to him. As Stolz says of him, “ . . . he possesses something that is worth more than any amount of intelligence: his honest, faithful heart! That is the innate treasure which he has carried through life unimpaired. . .  A whole sea of evil and depravity could be surging around him, the entire world poisoned and in turmoil—but Oblomov would never bow down to false idols; his soul will always be pure bright, honest, and clear as crystal. There are not many like him. Such men are rare: they are the pearls in the multitude.”

 Lazy, lacking in ambition, a giant sloth, a dreamer with a heart of gold draped in a Persian dressing gown. What’s not to love?

 A wonderful, heart-warming masterpiece, in a very readable translation, with memorable characters, and an unforgettably endearing protagonist.

Very highly recommended.

The Sea, The Sea

Iris Murdoch

The Sea, The Sea by Iris Murdoch, winner of the 1978 Booker Prize, unfolds in the first-person narrative of Charles Arrowby, a famous theatre director. Much to the surprise of his theatre cohorts, Charles decides to retire to a secluded home by the sea to write his memoirs. He enjoys the quiet life of a small village, celebrates the isolation, the occasional swim in the sea, and the simple meals he prepares for himself. He seems content, sensible, and likable. His prose is elegant and engaging. All goes well until he encounters an elderly woman who, by the strangest coincidence, turns out to be Hartley, his childhood sweetheart, the first woman he ever loved, and the memory of whom has lingered with him for decades. And so the games begin.

Hartley is now considerably older and no longer the blushing schoolgirl who was the love of his life. Charles assures himself she is unhappily married and that she never stopped loving him. He feels duty bound to rescue her from an unhappy marriage in spite of her desperate pleas to be left alone. He is determined to resuscitate their love and goes to bizarre lengths to convince her to run away with him, temporarily imprisoning her in his upstairs bedroom. He becomes increasingly delusional, living in an alternative reality where everything Hartley says and does is twisted to conform to his vision.

Charles is interrupted in his quest to rescue Hartley by unannounced visits from theatre acquaintances, former lovers, his cousin James, and Hartley’s estranged adopted son. Charles’ cottage becomes a virtual stage with a motley cast of characters entering, reciting their lines, staying for extended visits, and exiting. They are depicted as unique, fully fleshed-out individuals, some of whom are prone to histrionics and a have flair for the dramatic. They are realistically drawn and bring vim and vigor to Charles’ life. Charles tries to direct their entrances and exits as would a director of a play. Add to the mix Charles’ vision of a sea monster, a series of improbable coincidences, an accidental death, an attempted homicide and you have the makings of a whirlpool of dramatic activity.

From a sane, articulate, and likable narrator, Charles gradually transitions to become totally unreliable and emotionally unstable. He is narcissistic, ego-driven, selfish, manipulative, cruel, delusional, obsessive, irritating, insanely jealous, and a pathological liar. His unveiling is handled skillfully. Murdoch doesn’t lighten up on him. By forcing us to inhabit his mind, we witness first-hand his delusions and twisted rationalizations.

In Charles, Murdock has created a complex character who has the gravitational pull to lure people into his orbit, exploit and manipulate them, while being totally oblivious to the suffering he causes. He is a sympathetic character in so far as he wants to resurrect the innocence and promise of young love. But his insanity lies in believing he can forcefully resurrect it through the sheer force of his will.

A gripping exploration of love, friendship, and jealousy in their various guises and as manifested in a delusional protagonist and his colorful cast of characters; situated against the backdrop of a wild, tempestuous sea; and peppered with drama, humor, and irony.

A compelling novel and highly recommended.

A Tiger for Malgudi

R. K. Narayan

A Tiger for Malgudi by R.K. Narayan is a delightful tale told in the first person of Raja, the tiger. Raja looks back on his life, beginning as a cub in the jungle. He roams freely, striking fear in beast and human alike. But his life changes when he is captured. Incarcerated, bullied, cajoled, and starved into submission, he becomes an obedient circus star, Raja the Magnificent.

While on short-term loan to a movie producer to co-star with a muscular Tarzan-type, Raja decides to make a run for it. He finds temporary refuge under the desk in the headmaster’s office of a local school. Crowds gather in panic. There is talk of shooting the tiger when a sannyasi (someone who has renounced everything in life) enters into the fray and quietly walks out of the building with a docile tiger in tow. Raja and his master lead a quiet, solitary life in the mountains where his master teaches him some of the principles of Hindu mysticism. They grow old together until a now aging, toothless Raja is sent to a humane zoo to live out the rest of his days in peace and comfort.

Threading throughout the story are Raja’s contemplations about life and human nature, all of which are imparted to him by his master. Raja observes our foibles with humor and depth.

Seeing the world through the eyes of a tiger brings into focus just how foolish and short-sighted people can be.

The accessible and simple language couches some profound insights about human behavior, the arrogance of human beings, and their exploitation of animals. Laced with humor, irony, and satire, the novel gently offers some profound philosophical precepts on opening the door to a meaningful life by ridding oneself of superficial distractions.

Recommended.

Mama Hissa's Mice

Saud Alsanousi; Trans. Sawad Hussain

Mama Hissa’s Mice by Saud Alsanousi, translated by Sawad Hussain, is set in Kuwait and covers a period of about 30 years. It unfolds through two parallel threads.

The first thread opens with the narrator, Katkout, now in his early forties, regaining consciousness as the result of a terrible explosion. Entitled “The Present Day,” this thread occurs in the year 2020 and follows Katkout throughout the day as he searches for his friends through the streets of a Kuwait ravaged by sectarian violence. He flashes back in time recalling fragmented images of his childhood, his friends, and what his life was once like in the now virtually abandoned neighborhood of his youth.

The second thread takes the form of the narrator’s novel which has been accepted for publication. In it, the narrator/author fleshes out the details of his life, beginning with his childhood. He chronicles the rising sectarian tensions in Kuwait, as well as recent events in the Arab world, including the Iran/Iraq war; Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait and its impact; and 9/11. His childhood friends, coming from different ethnic backgrounds and varying sectarian affiliations, form Fuada’s kids, a clandestine group protesting sectarian divides and warning of impending disaster if sectarianism is allowed to fester unchecked. Their radio broadcast garners popular support, making them vulnerable to attacks from extremists of all sides. Their warnings go unheeded as evidenced by the cataclysmic opening of the novel in which the narrator/author is injured as a result of the explosion.

The novel is rich in detail. Alsanousi captures the fabric of the life and characters that populate Katkout’s neighborhood. He traces the disintegration of Kuwaiti society as it slowly descends into sectarian violence. The impact of the Iraqi occupation of Kuwait is long-lasting and further fuels sectarian divides. Decades old grudges between neighbors don’t wane with time. Bodies litter the streets; family members disappear; friends are killed. The outlook is horrifying. Throughout it all, Katkout tries to build bridges between opposing factions and hungers for the vestiges of how life used to be.

The content is compelling and intense with an intricate, multi-layered plot. The writing is clear and accessible. The intertwining of the two narrative threads creates complexity and adds depth. But the frequency of the narrative shifts in time generates some confusion. And the references to political leaders in the Arab world as well as to popular musicians and movie stars may be lost on an audience unfamiliar with Arab politics and culture.

 The strength of the novel lies in its ability to act as a cautionary tale. It illustrates the principle that we are our own worst enemies. Unless we see beyond what separates us, unless we are tolerant of difference, and unless we recognize that what we have in common binds us together, we may be hurtling toward a cataclysm of our own making.

 Recommended.

The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman

Laurence Sterne

The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman by Laurence Sterne is an 18th Century novel that was far ahead of its time. It is a pre-cursor to the stream of consciousness technique that was later developed by early 20th Century writers.

The novel unfolds in the first-person point of view of a rambunctious personality. Tristram takes the reader on a boisterous exploration of his thoughts, opinions, and general frame of mind. He meanders, digresses, digresses within his digressions, expresses opinions, interrupts his narrative with unrelated incidentals, includes interesting tidbits about his time and place, sermonizes, and engages in heart to heart conversations with the reader. In short, he throws everything in but the kitchen sink. He taunts the reader with promises to expand on a certain point and then fails to deliver. He throws in a bit of Latin every so often just for good measure. He can be charming, boring, long-winded, and laugh-out-loud funny. In his depiction of Uncle Toby, he has given us one of the most loveable characters in literature.

Don’t expect a plot because there isn’t one. Don’t expect a logical sequence of events because you will be disappointed. And don’t expect closure because you won’t find it. But what you will get instead is a delightful romp through an 18th Century mind that is educated, opinionated, intelligent, witty, playful, eccentric, philosophical, unconventional, quick to discern and to poke gentle fun at the foibles of human nature, kind-spirited, charming, with a well-developed sense of irony, and a great sense of humor that veers toward the bawdy.

This book isn’t for everyone. But if you’re ever in the mood for a delightful frolic through the mind of an 18th Century literary genius, and if you’re in no hurry either to find or to get to the point, pick up a copy of this novel. Just follow Tristram to wherever his fancy takes him. Then sit back and enjoy.

A Meal in Winter

Hubert Mingarelli; trans. Sam Taylor

A Meal in Winter by Hubert Mingarelli, translated from the French by Sam Taylor, is set in Poland during World War II. Three German soldiers, one of whom is the first-person narrator, set off from their camp on a mission. As they trudge through the frozen landscape, clambering knee-deep in snow, the nature of their mission gradually becomes clear. They are to search for Jews and bring them back to camp for execution.

After trudging for several hours, they finally locate a young man hiding in the forest. They take him prisoner and decide to spend the night in an abandoned house before heading back to camp. They are joined by a Polish soldier who makes his distaste for Jews obvious. The soldiers turn their focus on cooking a meal with the bits and pieces of food they have salvaged. They share the food with the Polish soldier, and after much debate, they invite the Jewish prisoner to share the meal. But when one of the soldiers suggests they release the prisoner, they are forced to confront a moral dilemma. If they return to camp empty-handed, they will be required to participate in the execution squad. If they turn in the prisoner, they will be tormented by the knowledge they were responsible for killing an innocent man with whom they had once shared a meal.

This very simple plot told in straightforward, declarative sentences has a profound impact. The simplicity of the story, the camaraderie of the three soldiers, and their mundane preoccupation with preparing a meal is in stark contrast with the horror of their actions. The soldiers share a bond and have a common outlook. Their conversation as they trudge through the snow reflects their compassion and concern for each other. They have depth. Their humanity toward one another shines through. But this only serves to accentuate the magnitude and chilling horror of what they do as members of a death squad.

For such a short, understated work, this novella packs a potent punch in its exploration of complex moral dilemmas. Through contrast and irony, it illustrates the process of othering. Exposure to violence and barbarism in war desensitizes and gradually erodes a person’s own humanity. Normal people, capable of demonstrating concern and compassion for one another, are also capable of so distancing themselves from others that they no longer perceive them as human. They deny the other any vestige of humanity. But to do so, they must suppress a part of their own humanity and smother the ravages of their guilty conscience.

A simple story, simply told, but with a very powerful impact. Brilliant, concise, dark, and chilling.

Highly recommended.

A Fist or a Heart

Kristín Eiríksdóttir; trans. Larissa Kyzer

A Fist or a Heart by Kristín Eiríksdóttir, translated by Larissa Kyzer, is the winner of the 2017 Icelandic Literary Prize, the 2018 Icelandic Women’s Literature Prize, was nominated for the 2019 Nordic Council Literature Prize, and was the recipient of several other awards.

The novel unfolds in the voice of Elín Jónsdóttir, a woman in her early 70s who leads a solitary existence in Reykjavik. She makes props for theatre productions and movies. She is asked to make props for a play written by Ellen Álfsdóttir, the young, illegitimate daughter of a famous writer. Their encounter stirs up Elín’s memories of the long ago past she would prefer to keep buried.

Possibly for maternal reasons that may have something to do with their first encounter when Ellen was just two years old, Elín develops a fascination for Ellen, begins stalking her, and observes her at home with her mother. Although generations apart, the two have much in common. They are both illegitimate with dysfunctional mothers and absent fathers, live on the margins of society, and are generally misfits. And although they say a few words to each other, they never connect in a meaningful way. The novel concludes with Ellen drifting in a fog of alcohol and drugs after her mother’s abandonment, and Elín slowly deteriorating into the abyss of dementia and memory loss.

The narrative alternates between Elín’s recollections of her past, including what she remembers of being sexually assaulted as a teenager, and Ellen’s backstory told in third person. The details are revealed slowly and intermittently. Very little happens in terms of plot, but the novel is a rich psychological exploration of the two main characters, capturing their loneliness and marginalization with poignancy and sensitivity.

An atmosphere of uncertainty permeates and is reflected in the title with fist suggesting violence and heart suggesting compassion. The ambiguity and unresolved issues maybe due to Elín’s unreliability as a narrator. How much of what she describes about Ellen is accurate, and how much is simply the fabrication of a mind on the brink of losing touch with reality? When a man mysteriously appears in her home and demands the few boxes her deceased grandmother left her, she doesn’t question his right to be there. She gives him the boxes only to find them mysteriously reappear in her home later. There is no explanation as to who he is, why he is there, or why he claimed the boxes in the first place.

Kristín Eiríksdóttir is a talented writer and well-deserving of the awards and accolades she has received. Her prose is lyrical and compelling with a haunting subtext of something gone awry. The fragmentary nature of Elín’s recollections and her obsession with Ellen keep one guessing as to how much is real, how much is due to the residual impact of the traumas she experienced, and how much is the product of her oncoming dementia. It is a credit to Kristín Eiríksdóttir’s skill as a writer that she is able to portray authentic characters and sustain interest in the narrative without providing clear answers.

The Sun Also Rises

Ernest Hemingway

The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway is considered a masterpiece for its characterization of the Lost Generation.

The novel opens in post-World War I Paris. The characters are a group of disillusioned British and American ex-patriots. They drift aimlessly from one bar to another, from one coffee shop to another, from one restaurant to another. They drink, talk, drink, argue, drink, flirt, drink, fight, drink, whine, and drink. They engage in meaningless conversations and relate inept anecdotes. And then they’re off to Spain to fish and to watch the bullfights.

The first-person narrator, Jake Barnes, survived the war but did not do so unscathed. He received a wound in his groin that has rendered him impotent. He narrates the events and conversations in between bouts of profuse drinking. He seems as bored with his narrative as we are with reading it. To add tension to this wholesome gathering, the men are in love with Lady Brett Ashley who, for her part, engages in casual sex with virtual strangers. Her promiscuity seems to be more a result of apparent boredom than anything else. She is quick to cast her lovers aside once she loses interest in them, indifferent to the pain she may have caused. And why all these men are in love with her is a mystery since there is nothing remotely attractive about her other than she just happens to be the only female in their circle.

For the most part, the sentences are short, simple, and pile on the details, one after the other, with little variation in sentence structure, as in “first this happens, then this, then this,” etc. etc. The sentences are almost as monotonous as the endless bouts of drinking and staggering back to hotel rooms in a drunken stupor.

If the point of the novel is to depict a generation aimlessly adrift, drinking themselves to death, failing to connect with one another in a meaningful way, substituting sex for love, suffering from ennui, spouting ineptitudes, etc. etc. then it has succeeded. The trouble is that in capturing the qualities of this Lost Generation, Hemingway may have lost some of his readers by frustrating them with the monotony, the repetition, and the lackluster characters.

Butterflies in November

Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir; trans. Brian FitzGibbon

Butterflies in November by Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir, translated by Brian FitzGibbon, is a quirky novel unfolding in the first-person narrative of a quirky, thirty-something, unnamed female narrator. She is a whiz at learning languages but seems a bit of a scatterbrain about life. The novel opens with her lover dumping her and her husband announcing his plans to divorce her as his affair with a co-worker has led to a pregnancy. Our narrator seems totally unfazed by the news, taking it all in stride like an observer on the sidelines. Her demeanor suggests she is afloat, untethered to any person or thing in life.

When her best friend is hospitalized and has no one to take care of her four-year old son, the narrator reluctantly agrees to assume the role of caretaker. The child, Tumi, suffers from hearing loss. With their enormous winnings from a shared lottery ticket, the two of them embark on a road trip circling Iceland’s outer road. They stay in farming hotels, survive a car accident, endure horrendous weather, and are blocked by mudslides. The narrator suffers from a broken wrist and wards off her exes desperately trying to reconcile.

The road trip across Iceland takes on an almost surreal quality. They plow through deserted roads, heavy rain, mudslides, fog, and a sheep that didn’t get off the road in time. Men materialize out of nowhere to help her change a flat tire. A man looms out of the darkness to ask her for a ride. Her ex-boyfriend and then ex-husband show up wanting to take her back. She encounters people who are somewhat strange and with whom she has awkward conversations.

For the first time in her life, the narrator is obliged to take care of an individual who is totally dependent on her for survival. She experiences a profound transformation. She learns responsibility and accountability. She studies sign language to better communicate with him, and looks to him for guidance on food choices and activities. Although she knows nothing about parenting, she gradually learns to perform the role well by becoming sensitive to the child’s needs. Fortunately, Tumi is not a demanding child, so it doesn’t take them long to adapt to each other and form a strong bond.

The novel is engaging on a number of levels but primarily due to the narrator’s voice. She is funny, quirky, forgetful, and doesn’t take herself too seriously. Her attitude about marriage, relationships, sexual encounters, divorce, adultery, and children are somewhat off kilter. She eschews conventional behavior and niceties, is oblivious to the needs of others, is independent and unpredictable, and doesn’t seem invested in any relationship until she bonds with Tumi. She is baffled that men find her attractive but willingly engages in casual sex even with a complete stranger.

This is a whimsical novel that includes flashbacks of the narrator’s childhood, random events, and Icelandic food recipes. The narrative is choppy at times. One event or thought catapults to a completely unrelated item with no apparent connection. This could be due to the translation or to the vagaries of a narrator with a short attention span. In spite of this, the novel is engaging. Iceland’s topography with its lava fields and uninhabited landscape is evoked in vivid detail. And the narrator’s voice is endearing as she deals with various mishaps and challenges while expressing her quirky, unconventional opinions.

Tale of a Boon's Wife

Fartumo Kusow

Set in Somalia just before the civil war, Tale of a Boon’s Wife by Fartumo Kusow is the story Idil, the daughter of a general, who falls in love with Sidow, a man considered beneath her family’s social status. She defies her father’s threats and her mother’s pleas by eloping with him. This sets off a series of tragic events, including her displacement, the murder of her husband, her rape, and her betrayal by her brother and father. Idil endures each tragedy with stoic resolve and a determination to survive. She eventually finds refuge for herself and her family by emigrating from war-ravaged Somalia.

The backdrop for Idil’s story is the gradual buildup of the Somali civil war. Murder, rape, bribery, corruption, poverty, desperation, and tragedy are rampant. Young boys toting machine guns roam the streets. Family members disappear. Young women are kidnapped, raped, or forced into marriages with one militia leader or another.

Kusow tells a powerful story. Using unadorned, simple diction, she lets the details speak for themselves. She depicts Somali culture and tradition with its blend of Islam and its indigenous belief in the power of spells and magic. Through Idil and her experience, we witness the deleterious effects of a rigidly hierarchical caste-based system, gender stratification, the subjugation of women, brutality, and a never-ending lust for power that propels the country into even more civil unrest and violence.

Kusow demonstrates that when a country runs amok, the ramifications are experienced in every fiber of society. A traumatized population struggles to survive in the absence of the checks and balances of civil society. There is no rule of law, no recourse for justice, and what governance there is takes place at the end of a machine gun.

This is a haunting portrayal of Somali life leading up to the civil war. What emerges from the horror and the brutality is the resilience of the people, their determination to survive and to cling to the hope that the cycle of violence will end sooner rather than later.

Recommended.

The Plains

Gerald Murnane

The experience of reading The Plains by Gerald Murnane is similar to viewing a shifting mirage or experiencing a dream: the more you try to snag it, the more it fades out of reach.

In terms of plot, very little happens. The first-person narrator arrives in the central plains of Australia to gather research for his film project entitled The Interior. He comes armed with folders and notebooks to record impressions and conversations that will eventually go into his script. As he listens to the conversations of plainsmen, he develops an understanding of their view of history; their attitudes toward those who espouse differing views about the relationship between inner and outer Australia; their relationship to the land and those who presume to capture its essence through their artistic and/or literary endeavors.

The narrator is convinced of his ability to present a view of the Plains that no one has ever seen before, to “unearth some elaborate meaning behind appearances.” He is invited to stay with a wealthy plainsman to conduct his research. He makes use of his patron’s extensive library. He records conversations and observations, is self-reflective, and explains his thought processes in elaborate detail. He engages in lengthy philosophical ruminations. At the end of twenty years, what he has to show for his efforts is a blank screen.

To claim this novel is bizarre is an understatement. It is a novel that must be experienced. Just as the landscape of the Plains defies definition, just as the horizon light separating land from sky is hazy and eludes delineation, the novel eschews attempts to pin it down. It is Kafkaesque in the sense that one enters a world where everything is a blur, where what is real is called into question, where nothing is clear, where conversations hint at meanings, and where the layer of truth that presumably permeates the whole experience is impenetrable.

What is Murnane doing? Is he writing an allegory? Do the Plains serve as metaphor? And if so, is Murnane suggesting the essence of reality is elusive and all attempts to snare meaning out of it are bound to fail? Do we invent our own meaning and project it on to the world around us? Should our quest for meaning be inward, not outward? Murnane does not give us clear answers. Instead, he gives us a novel which lends itself to multiple layers of interpretation and whose meaning is as elusive as the meaning of the Plains.

Murnane’s prose is mesmerizing. He writes in long, complete sentences that convey complex thoughts. There is little dialogue and little action. Nothing happens in the conventional sense of plot development. His approach is never direct, always oblique, always at an angle. Somehow, he transports the reader to a mythical, dream-like realm to glimpse an amorphous shape on a shimmering horizon which continues to elude our grasp. How he achieves this effect is a mystery; but that he does achieve it testifies to his consummate skill as an artist.

Some readers will hate this novel due to its elusive nature; others will love its suffusion of an intangible quality that resonates deep within the psyche. In either case, the novel is bound to leave an impression.

Elsewhere, Home

Leila Aboulela

Elsewhere, Home by Leila Aboulela is a collection of thirteen short stories dealing with variations of the same theme: immigrants negotiating their presence in an unfamiliar country while feeling the tug of home with its familiar sights, sounds, smells, and textures.

The stories illustrate the challenges and rewards of being an immigrant in a foreign land. Aboulela captures the alienation and loneliness of immigrants as they straddle between two cultures. They struggle to assimilate in their adopted country as they attempt to forge a new identity for themselves. But the yearning for the familiarity of home is a constant presence in their hearts and minds. The tension can be manifested internally or externally and it can take many forms.

One such conflict is between first generation immigrants and their children born in the West. In “Summer Maze,” for example, a young girl is at odds with her mother and resents their compulsory annual visits to Egypt. The tables are turned in “Something Old, Something New,” which shows a Scottish man struggling to adjust to his position as an outsider when he goes to Khartoum to meet his fiancé’s family. “Farida’s Eyes” illustrates how sexist attitudes toward a girl’s education almost cause her to fail in school. “The Ostrich” shows how a former classmate on a plane reminds a young woman of all she cherishes in her home, reinforcing her feelings of alienation in a foreign land. In “Souvenirs” we see young man in search of souvenirs from Khartoum to take back to his Scottish wife. He carries with him his own intangible souvenirs—images of his homeland and snippets of conversations with his sister as he prepares to return to Scotland. “The Museum” shows a young Sudanese student from a wealthy family finding herself attracted to and in conflict with her Scottish classmate.

The stories approach the experience of immigrants in their adopted country from different angles. Some have internalized racism and try to diminish the positives in their own culture. Others recognize the opportunities presented in their adopted country but still long for the texture and beauty of their homeland. Some are eager to assimilate, while others cling firmly to their identity. But they all have in common an awareness of their status as outsiders. Their lives are fraught with tension. And they all yearn for a place to belong, a place where they no longer feel isolated or as aliens on a different planet.

The stories are well written and immerse the reader in the warp and weft of the lives of immigrants. But since the stories are variations of the same theme, some have the flavor of being repetitive and of trying too hard to reiterate the common dilemma facing immigrants. Nevertheless, this is a good collection of short stories and is recommended for its thought-provoking insights and sensitive portrayal of the challenges facing immigrants.

The Sound and the Fury

William Faulkner

A first reading William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury is a bit like scrambling to piece together a puzzle when you have no idea what picture will emerge. You read the words, trying to make sense of it all. And as you read, some of the pieces may fall into place. But it is only after you turn to the last page that a complete picture materializes. If you decide to go back and re-read the Benjy section, you’ll discover the clues, the flashbacks, the shifts in time, the broken sentences, the tangential hints, and the howls that made sense all along. They just had to be pieced together to make them coherent. At the end of it all, you sit back, admiring the immense scope of the work and the sheer brilliance of its execution.

The novel is in four sections. The first three sections are told in first-person points of view of each of the three Compson brothers utilizing the stream of consciousness technique in which thoughts and recollections bounce off each other. The disconnected time frame is a confused jumble with the past constantly intruding on the present in a flat continuum.

It opens with the Benjy section on April 7, 1928. It is Benjy’s birthday although he doesn’t know it. Benjy is 30 years old but has the mind of a toddler. He is incapable of speech. He howls, moans, and whimpers. He has no concept of the passage of time so events in the past impact him as if they are happening in the now. For Benjy, time never heals. His section initially appears to be the most confusing with its apparently illogical shifts in time and incoherent, baffling associations. But as the novel progresses, the logic of his behavior and the triggers that set him howling become predictable.

Section two, the Quentin section, takes place on June 2, 1910, the day of Quentin’s suicide. Told from Quentin’s point of view, this section is in many ways the most complex. Quentin has his own set of triggers that generate flashbacks. One minute he is in the present; the next he has flashed back to past events with no warning. His obsession with clocks and watches reflect his desire to turn back time. This section is replete with long, convoluted sentences and pages with few paragraph breaks, revealing the inner workings of his tortured mind.

Section three, the Jason section, takes place on April 6, 1928. Jason sees the world through an embittered, angry lens. He reveals himself to be cruel, resentful, mean-spirited, a liar and a thief. He lives in the present, dashing from one place to the next as if he wants to outrun time.

The final section, April 8, 1928, is in the third person omniscient point of view. It is the calm after the storm. We encounter the surviving members of the Compson family through an objective lens: Benjy with his hulking frame, drooling as he is fed his breakfast; Jason with his nasty, cutting remarks in short, curt sentences; Mrs. Compson with her incessant, self-absorbed whining. And Dilsey, the housekeeper, who holds the family together and who demonstrates compassion and endurance.

The title of the novel is taken from Act 5, scene v of Shakespeare’s Macbeth: “It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

The novel is full of sound. It is full of fury. And it is partially told by an idiot. But it is far, far removed from signifying nothing. It is devastating in its impact, brilliant in its execution, and stunning in its ability to capture the tortured minds of each of the characters.

An absolute masterpiece and highly recommended.

Ms. Ice Sandwich

Mieko Kawakami; trans. Louise Heal Kawai

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

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

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

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

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

The Medusa Reader

Marjorie Garber and Nancy J. Vickers, eds.

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

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

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

Green Lion

Henrietta Rose-Innes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A thought-provoking read and well worth the effort.

My Favorite Thing is Monsters

Emil Ferris

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Library at Mount Char

Scott Hawkins

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Library Book

Susan Orlean

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

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

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

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

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

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

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