The Door

Magda Szabó; translated by Len Rix

The Door by Magda Szabó translated from the Hungarian by Len Rix, takes place in Hungary over a period of two decades—from the mid 1960s to the mid 1980s. The narrator and her husband are intellectuals who earn a living through their writing. Emerence, an elderly woman with a reputation for honesty, cleanliness, and hard work, enters their lives as their housekeeper.

The story unfolds through the intense, first-person narrative of the “writer lady” who remains nameless until the last few pages of the novel. She is an old woman, plagued with guilt. Framing the novel is a recurring nightmare of her struggle to open a locked door. The novel takes the form of a confession in an extended flashback, which she reveals in the opening pages: “I must speak out. I killed Emerence. The fact I was trying to save her rather than destroy her changes nothing.”

The crux of the narrative lies in the contentious relationship between the narrator and Emerence. The two women are a study in contrasts. The narrator is educated, well-read, cultured, values the work of the mind, regularly attends church, and believes in scientific and political progress. She is also selfish, self-absorbed, and completely dependent on Emerence for the most basic maintenance of her home.

Emerence is illiterate. She disdains intellectual activity; distrusts doctors, scientists, and politicians; eschews organized religion but shows considerable compassion toward the weak, whether human or animal; has risked her life in the past by harboring Jews, Russians, and others hiding from authorities. She values manual labor and places more faith in animals than in humans, declaring animals don’t inform on others, or lie, or steal. She is loyal to a fault, stubborn, incorrigible, opinionated, guards her privacy and home with a vengeance, and is prone to histrionics and scathing outbursts. She treats the narrator as a wayward child in need of guidance and care.

From the outset, the narrator is curious to ferret out the details of Emerence’s private life. She fabricates scenarios, some more nefarious than others, about Emerence’s past and the contents of her home. The growth in mutual trust eventually prompts Emerence to reveal details of her past. She even does the unthinkable by privileging the narrator with a tour of her home. She is devastated when she learns that the one person she trusted has betrayed her, exposing her to public humiliation.

The narrative raises a series of questions but does not offer easy answers: Is the life of the mind more beneficial to society than a life of manual labor? Is it more important to adhere to the rituals of organized religion than it is to serve others with compassion and with no expectation of acknowledgement or reward? Are we ever justified in betraying a trust? Do we honor an individual’s choice in how he/she wants to die? Or do we intervene with the best intentions and deprive them of choice? How do we assist the elderly while preserving their dignity?

This is a haunting novel which unfolds slowly, peeling away layers of Emerence’s past while gradually building up the suspense to its inexorable climax. The prose is economical and precise. The tone is ominous. It is a testament to the impressive quality of Szabó’s writing that, just as the narrator is haunted by the mystery that is Emerence, the reader is left plummeting the depths of this novel without ever fully exhausting it.

Highly recommended.

On Black Sisters Street

Chika Unigwe

Chika Unigwe’s On Black Sisters Street is the story of four African women who leave their respective homelands for Belgium with hopes of improving their lot in life. They harbor dreams of freedom, of sending money home to their families, and of saving money to establish themselves anew. Reality sets in as soon as they arrive in Antwerp. Sisi, Ama, Efe, and Joyce find themselves trapped as sex workers, flaunting their skimpily clad bodies in the windows of Antwerp’s red-light district, trying to entice men to procure their services.

The four women are heavily in debt to the ruthless man who arranged their transportation to Belgium and to the madam who houses them in Antwerp while holding a tight grip on their activities. Although they share an apartment, they share little else with each other, maintaining their distance. But when one of the women is murdered, the remaining three form a bond as each shares her story, revealing who she is and how she ended up in her current situation.

The women come from different backgrounds, but they have in common the need to escape from poverty, sexual assault, violence, sexual exploitation, and the brutality that plagues their homelands. Although educated, Sisi cannot obtain employment since her poverty denies her access to the contacts essential for gaining meaningful employment. Efe is abandoned by her affluent, married lover when she becomes pregnant with his child. Ama is a victim of child sexual assault who is thrown out of her home by her mother and stepfather when she confronts him with his sexual abuse. And Joyce witnesses the murder of her family before being gang raped by the Janjaweed militia in Sudan.

The focus is on Sisi. Her murder is intermittently foreshadowed; her story weaves its way through the novel, interrupting the fragmentary revelations of the other three women. Their stories are horrific. The violence, carnage, atrocities, and sexual assaults they experienced are described in graphic detail. Their betrayal by family members and/or former lovers lead them to seek desperate solutions for their desperate plight.

Chika Unigwe does not initially portray the women sympathetically. They snap, snarl, and ridicule one another, withdraw into themselves, and are distrustful. But when they reveal their true identity and describe the horrors they experienced, their sense of isolation diminishes. By contextualizing their experience, Unigwe generates understanding for her characters’ qualities—their lack of trust, toughness, isolationism, resilience, and determination to survive. Sisi’s death forces them to recognize they need to rely and support one another as they are the only family they have left.

Told in direct, unadorned language through a series of flashbacks, Chika Unigwe allows the grim details of these women’s lives to speak for themselves. Although we may not entirely sympathize with the questionable choices they make, we can at least recognize the desperate and appalling circumstances that left them feeling they had little option but to pursue the course they did.

Recommended.

Mud and Stars: Travels in Russia with Pushkin, Tolstoy, and Other Geniuses of the Golden Age

Sara Wheeler

In Mud and Stars: Travels in Russia with Pushkin, Tolstoy, and Other Geniuses of the Golden Age, Sara Wheeler records her travels across Russia to the homes and haunts of famous nineteenth century Russian authors. She crosses eight time zones; travels in cars, trains, boats, and planes; experiences extremes of weather; and observes a variety of landscapes.

Each chapter explores a different author. Among those discussed are Pushkin, Dostoevsky, Turgenev, Gogol, Chekhov, Goncharov, and Tolstoy. Wheeler briefly examines their major works, but her main interest lies in determining how time and place influenced each writer. Accordingly, she treks to each author’s estate/home, visits his place of birth, where he lived, where he wrote, where he died, and where he is buried. She weaves intricate details about the author’s personal life. Her narrative is rich with fascinating anecdotes about each writer, including his likes and dislikes, his strengths and weaknesses, his politics, and his idiosyncrasies.

Wheeler seamlessly travels back and forth in time. Her travelogue is peppered with observations about the current political situation in Russia. She dips into the history and political movements of the nineteenth century and then effortlessly switches to an observation or comment about Putin’s Russia.

She is like a sponge, absorbing and recording what she sees and hears in intricate detail. Curious about the lives of ordinary people—her guides, the shopkeepers, the drivers who shuffle her from one location to the next, and those who share her train compartments—she strikes up conversations with complete strangers. She stays in private homes and connects with her hosts by practicing her Russian, dining together, getting to know them, and listening to their perspectives on life in Russia. Some of the most enjoyable passages are descriptions of her train journeys and the food she shares with her traveling companions.

Wheeler’s style throughout is lively, engaging, and peppered with a delightful sense of humor. She is not averse to laughing at herself. She interrupts the narrative with amusing anecdotes about her personal life, her struggle to learn Russian, and her forays into cooking the Russian meals she has read about in novels.

By peeking into their homes, their lives, and their personalities, Wheeler humanizes Russia’s nineteenth century literary giants. Her travels also give voice to ordinary people—their stories and daily struggles, their emotions and spirit, and their hopes and aspirations.

An engaging mix of history, literary criticism, travelogue, and memoir.

Recommended.

Hamnet

Maggie O’Farrell

Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell transports the reader to Stratford-Upon-Avon in late sixteenth-century Elizabethan England at the time of the Black Death. In this brilliant work of historical fiction, O’Farrell imagines William and Agnes Shakespeare’s only son, eleven-year-old Hamnet, as dying of the bubonic plague in 1596. In painstaking detail, she describes the impact of the boy’s death on his grieving parents.

According to O’Farrell’s extensive research, Shakespeare’s wife is named Agnes in her father’s will. To retain her focus on Agnes and Hamnet, O’Farrell never refers to William Shakespeare by name. He is identified by his relationship to others—as the glover’s son, as Agnes’ husband, as Hamnet’s father; or by his profession—as the Latin tutor, as the playwright.

The novel initially unfolds by alternating between two timelines: the day Hamnet’s twin sister, Judith, contracts the plague; and fifteen years earlier when Hamnet’s parents first meet and have a passionate courtship that culminates in a pregnancy and marriage. O’Farrell interrupts the narrative of the two timelines with a fascinating passage charting the course of a disease-carrying flea and its progeny from a bead-maker in Murano, Italy, to young Judith Shakespeare in Stratford as she eagerly unpacks the box of colorful, glass beads.

Hamnet is depicted as a beautiful, precocious, intelligent, articulate young boy, brimming with life and energy. The tension is palpable as the panic-stricken boy desperately searches home and streets for his mother and grandmother when his sister first contracts illness. By the time his mother returns home, Judith’s condition has deteriorated.

After Hamnet’s death, the focus shifts to Agnes, a free-spirited and independent woman with her mother’s gift for healing. She is at once feared and sought after for her knowledge of the medicinal properties of various plants and herbs. Powerful, strong, and beautiful, Agnes becomes a shadow of her former self with the death of her son. She experiences insurmountable grief and self-blame. The tenderness with which she touches her son’s fingers and strokes his hair in an effort to will him back to life is described in devastating detail.

Hamnet’s father returns to London to continue his work. Four years after the tragic death of their son, Agnes watches his production of Hamlet on the stage. Since the young actor playing Hamlet has been trained to mimic Hamnet’s mannerisms, Agnes realizes her husband’s grief has taken the form of breathing life back into their son through the play. The ensuing reconciliation is a testament to the healing power of art.

O’Farrell’s brilliant tale is full of atmospheric detail and immersive diction. She floods our senses with the daily grind of activities involved in running a household; the intimacy of living in close quarters; and the sights, sounds, smells, and texture of humans and animals populating the domestic and public spheres of Elizabethan England. Her characters are well-rounded, recognizable human beings, with Agnes emerging as the most compelling and sympathetic. O’Farrell is especially effective in depicting the powerful bond between siblings—Agnes’ bond with her brother, Bartholomew; and Hamnet with his identical twin sister, Judith. Hamnet and Judith’s childhood game of blurring genders by exchanging places to fool their parents is particularly poignant in light of his death and in light of the gender blurring in Shakespeare’s plays.

The novel is a masterpiece, vast in scope, with vivid characters and a captivating story line that grips the reader from the first page to the last. It is a testament to O’Farrell’s spell-binding ability to weave magic with words.

Very highly recommended.

Iza's Ballad

Magda Szabo; trans. by George Szirtes

Iza’s Ballad by Magda Szabo, translated from the Hungarian by George Szirtes, is a compelling portrait of a mother and daughter who share a profound love for each other but who never really understand one another. The chasm separating mother and daughter becomes fully apparent as the novel unfolds.

Ettie and Vince are a loving couple who have been married for nearly five decades. They dote on their daughter, Iza, beam with pride at her accomplishments, and are in awe of her. Iza does no wrong in their eyes. With Vince’s death at the opening of the novel, Ettie, unaccustomed to making decisions for herself, willingly surrenders to Iza’s directives.

Iza is a successful, highly respected physician in Budapest. She is a take-charge person, a dutiful, loving daughter who regularly sent money to her parents and efficiently handled whatever issues they faced. When Vince dies, Iza sweeps her mother off to live with her in her Budapest apartment. At first, Ettie, is thrilled at the prospect. In her mid-seventies, she is a simple, gentle rural woman who has devoted her life to taking care of others. She is grateful to Iza and imagines she can be of use to her daughter in their new life together in Budapest. But things don’t turn out as anticipated.

The overwhelming grief Ettie feels at the loss of her husband and partner for so many years is compounded by her inability to adjust to life in the big city. She struggles to cope with modern appliances. All her attempts to be useful to her daughter by cleaning, cooking, doing laundry, etc. are rebuffed because she just gets in the way of the housekeeper. Deprived of agency and choice; alienated from her surroundings; feeling isolated, lonely, and increasingly useless, Ettie becomes taciturn, withdraws into herself, and loses what little voice she had. With no community or purpose, she spends all day re-living memories of happier times.

For her part, Iza tries to make her mother comfortable and happy, but her attempts are inept. She doesn’t understand her mother’s need to feel useful or the extent of her isolation. She dismisses her mother’s sentimental attachment to her personal belongings with a wave of her hand. For Iza, an object’s value lies exclusively in its use. If it is broken, threadbare, cracked, or old, replace it with something shiny and new. She can’t grasp why her mother is becoming increasingly withdrawn. Plagued with guilt but not knowing how to help, she begins to view her mother as a nuisance, as a heavy burden interfering with her busy, active life. The abyss widens; the clash becomes inevitable; the tragic ending, inexorable.

Magda Szabo’s depiction of the tense dynamics between mother and daughter can be seen as a metaphor for the tension between rural and urban; between traditional and modern culture; between our private thoughts and those we articulate; and between appreciating objects and places for their sentimental value and the memories they embody versus viewing them in purely utilitarian terms.

Magda Szabo’s writing, as translated by George Szirtes, is beautiful, powerful, moving, and heart-wrenching. It is emotionally draining to witness Ettie’s gradual deterioration until she becomes a hollow shell of her former, vibrant self. In the absence of communication and mutual understanding, it seems love alone cannot prevent one from inflicting a world of hurt on those we love.

The compelling character portrayals embody this tragic but beautiful meditation on grief, love, and aging. Very highly recommended.

The Weekend

Charlotte Wood

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

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

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

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

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

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

Recommended.

Confession of the Lioness

Mia Cuoto; translated by David Brookshaw

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

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

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

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

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

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

Recommended.

Impossible Owls: Essays

Brian Phillips

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

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

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

Highly recommended.

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

Elif Batuman

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

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

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

Recommended with reservations.

Convenience Store Woman

Sayaka Murata; trans. Jinny Tapley Takemori

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

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

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

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

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

A charming, delightful novella about an unassuming heroine.

Highly recommended.

The Secret Lives of Baba Segi's Wives

Lola Shoneyin

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

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

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

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

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

Highly recommended.

Possessed by Memory: The Inward Light of Criticism

Harold Bloom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Recommended.

Mrs. Bridge

Evan S. Connell

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

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

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

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

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

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

Highly recommended.

Burger's Daughter

Nadine Gordimer

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

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

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

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

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

Recommended with reservations.

Iceland's Bell

Halldór Laxness; translated by Philip Roughton

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Recommended with some reservations.

Bird Summons

Leila Aboulela

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'Jaam

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Poisonwood Bible

Barbara Kingsolver

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

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

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

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

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

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

Highly recommended.

Painter to the King

Amy Sackville

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

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

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

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

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

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

Recommended.

The Whispering Muse

Sjón; translated by Victoria Cribb

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

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

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

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

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

Recommended.