Memento Mori

Muriel Spark

“Remember that you must die” potentially reeks of morbidity, so one would assume a novel entitled Memento Mori would be pretty bleak. But one would be mistaken. For in the capable hands of Muriel Spark, this is far from being a macabre or depressing reading experience. Although set in the 1950s and published in 1959, the novel feels fresh in its treatment of an enduring subject—how do we come to terms with our own mortality?

The novel’s lively cast of elderly characters are from the upper echelons of society. With ages ranging from the mid 70s to the late 80s, they are in various stages of physical and mental decline. They are connected to each other either as siblings, through marriage, as previous lovers, or as caregivers. Among them is Dame Lettie, a recipient of the OBE; Charmian, her sister-in-law and famous novelist; Guy Leet, Charmian’s former lover and a literary critic; Godfrey, Charmian’s disgruntled husband and brother to Dame Lettie; and Jean Taylor, Charmian’s friend and previous caregiver who now resides in a home for the elderly.

Unexpectedly, this close-knit coterie finds itself victimized by harassing phone calls. An anonymous caller has the unmitigated gall to remind them of their impending death. The calls are initially dismissed. Dame Lettie, the first victim, is accused of imagining things. But when the culprit broadens his circle and calls all members of the group individually, a police investigation is launched, a detective is consulted. But to no avail. The harassing phone calls continue.

Each character responds to a reminder of the inevitability of death in a manner that conforms with his/her world view. Their coping mechanisms vary. Some are in denial and desperate to catch and silence the culprit who reminds them of their mortality; others take a more philosophical and religious approach. Added to the mix are the elderly women who reside in the Maud Long Medical Ward with Jean Taylor. These women, affectionately referred to as “the Grannies,” act as a chorus of those refusing to go gently into that good night. Depicted as unique, authentic individuals with different interests and temperaments, they are resilient and frequently cantankerous. Their interactions are both comic and poignant.

Using the third person omniscient point of view, Spark turns her astute lens to observe her characters. Their behavior and interactions are rendered realistically, with even minor details revealing a great deal about a character’s disposition. The indignities that come with aging, including the loss of mobility and bodily functions, are presented authentically and, in many cases, with compassionate amusement. The quirky characters with their foibles and humorous interactions serve as potent reminders that the conflicts, deceptions, and intrigues of one’s wild and woolly youth diminish in significance when confronted with the ravages of aging and the inevitability of death.

Highly recommended for its inspired and inspiring treatment of an otherwise bleak subject.

Absent

Betool Khedairi; translated by Muhayman Jamil

Absent by Betool Khedairi, translated from the Arabic by Muhayman Jamil, unfolds in a series of vignettes focusing on the occupants of a crowded apartment building in Baghdad during the 1990s. It is told in the first-person voice of Dalal, a young high school student who grows into adulthood by the end of the novel.

Orphaned at a young age when her parents die in an exploding landmine, Dalal lives with her aunt and her aunt’s husband. Her mouth is disfigured due to a stroke she suffered at an early age. She is haunted by her appearance and initially harbors the hope her disfigurement can be corrected with plastic surgery. But when her aunt’s husband uses the money allocated for her surgery to start a beekeeping business in order to earn much needed cash through the sale of honey, Dalal abandons hope.

Through Dalal, we meet the occupants of the apartment building. They are an assorted group representing a cross-section of Iraqi society: Umm Mazin, the resident fortune-teller specializing in concoctions to alleviate domestic and social ailments; Saad, the hairdresser who specializes in making women feel better about their appearance; Ilham, Dalal’s friend, a nurse who reveals the horrors she witnesses in the hospital; Uncle Sami, a former photographer who has lost his sight as a result of insulin shortages. And then there is Dalal’s aunt who tries to eke a living by sewing outfits adorned with padded shoulders and copious buttons; and Dalal’s uncle, a collector of Iraqi art, who enters the world of beekeeping with gusto.

Ever present as a backdrop is the impact on Iraqi civilians of the debilitating consequences of economic sanctions and the never-ending bombs raining terror from the skies. Ilham describes in graphic terms the horror of dismembered limbs; the after-effects of depleted uranium and cluster bombs on the bodies of children; and the shortage of medical supplies and equipment. To add to the unmitigated horror, Iraqi civilians live in terror of the secret service, of loved ones carted off never to be heard from again, of informers infiltrating neighborhoods, of a population living in constant fear of stepping out of line, and of a repressive government that demands sacrifice from its population while feeding it a daily dose of lies and propaganda.

A picture emerges of a people desperately struggling to survive under the most horrific circumstances. But in spite of the horror, the characters try to maintain normal lives. Dalal attends school and goes to work. Marriages and births take place. People adjust to the changing circumstances by varying their trade and by re-purposing used products. The resilience and determination of the human spirit to survive is nothing short of admirable.  

The fragmentary nature of the narrative and somewhat stilted dialogue make it a choppy read. Dalal’s tone is that of a detached observer. Some of the details she shares are gratuitous, appearing as fillers and contributing little to the narrative. For example, do we really need several paragraphs to describe how she removes a stray hair that finds its way inside her mouth? Fewer distractions, a more natural dialogue, and an engaged and engaging narrator would have improved on what is otherwise a compelling portrayal of the impact of war and sanctions on the daily lives of Iraqi civilians.

Recommended.

The People in the Photo

Hélène Gestern; trans. Emily Boyce and Ros Schwartz

The People in the Photo by Hélène Gestern, translated from the French by Emily Boyce and Ros Schwartz, unfolds in a series of letters, texts, and emails between Hélène, a French archivist; and Stéphane, a Swiss biologist living in England.

Hélène discovers a photograph of her mother with two men while sorting through her father’s papers after his death. Having virtually no knowledge of her mother who died when Hélène was too young to remember her, she decides to post the photograph in the paper asking if anyone can identify either of the men. She receives a response from Stéphane who informs her that one of the men is his father; the other is a close family friend. The two begin corresponding. They unearth more photos, snippets of memories, postcards, and letters until they eventually piece together long held secrets about their parents’ lives and loves.

In this award-winning novel, Hélène Gestern captures the poignancy of lost love, heartache, and egregious mistakes made with the best of intentions to protect loved ones. The poignancy is heightened with descriptions of photos that intermittently interrupt the correspondence. Hélène describes each photo in intricate detail as she searches for answers behind a sideways glance, a relaxed pose, the position of a hand, a forced smile. Frozen in time, the characters initially conceal their secrets. But as she and Stéphane piece together their parents’ lives and tragic circumstances, they breathe life into the characters. The subtle gestures and wistful expressions gradually reveal painful secrets that had previously been buried.

Gestern adroitly unlocks the power of photographs to not only freeze a moment in time but to transport us back to a time and place and persons who have long since disappeared. Her use of letters and emails circumvents authorial intrusion by placing the reader alongside Hélène and Stéphane as they gradually unearth the past. Furthermore, the intricate description of each newly discovered photograph invites the reader to decipher the image with Hélène and Stéphane while they construct a narrative behind the image. We participate in their discovery and share in their anticipation as they unravel family secrets.

A poignant story told in compelling, eloquent prose of the role of memory in identity, of secrets shrouded in silence, of betrayal, and of the tragic loss of a life.

Highly recommended.

The Wedding of Zein

Tayeb Salih; translated by Denys Johnson-Davies

The Wedding of Zein by Tayeb Salih, translated from the Arabic by Denys Johnson-Davies, is a delightful novella depicting life in a small village in Sudan. The central character is the gawky, lanky, toothless, and comedic village buffoon, Zein. The villagers are shocked with the announcement that not only is Zein getting married, but he is marrying one of the most beautiful and eligible girls in the village. Zein is actually getting married? The villagers are baffled.

In this delightful story, Tayeb Salih introduces us to a motley crew of villagers—a Sufi mystic; a wayward, now reformed son; an orthodox Imam; the beautiful and pious Ni’ma; the village elders who mete out justice; and, of course, Zein. Treated like a harmless village idiot, Zein’s antics are a source of raucous laughter. His vociferous declarations of love for some of the village girls attract potential bridegrooms—a service that makes Zein popular with mothers of marriageable age daughters who welcome him as an emissary of love.

In spite of his antics and tomfoolery, Zein has a heart of gold, a quality recognized and appreciated by Haneen, the Sufi mystic, and by Zein’s future bride, Ni’ma. Zein lives his faith. He looks after the destitute, the lame, and the outcasts. He entertains children and is quick to offer a helping hand to any who need it. The villagers gradually realize Zein is not such an idiot, after all. They dance, sing, clap, and stomp in celebration during his nuptials while he stands at the heart of the circle, the linchpin that holds the story and the village together.  

Tayeb Salih’s enchanting story unfolds with gentle humor and kindness toward the inhabitants of his village. His story illustrates community, neighborliness, compassion, shared responsibility for the well-being of others, repentance, forgiveness, transformations, and acceptance of diversity. It celebrates the differently abled and the beauty that lies beneath physical attributes. This heart-warming tale, beautifully translated by Denys Johnson-Davies, exudes warmth and wholeness and a nostalgia for a time when life was simpler, when people cared about each other, and when all was well with the world.

Highly recommended.

The Master and Margarita

Mikhail Bulgakov; translated by Michael Glenny

The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov, translated from the Russian by Michael Glenny, defies attempts at categorization or pigeon-holing. On the one hand, it is political satire and social commentary at its most scathing. On the other hand, it is witty, hilarious, weird, absurd, original, fantastic, and wildly entertaining. Bulgakov wrote the novel in secret for fear of reprisals. A censored version was published in 1966, a little over two decades after his death.

The opening seems sane enough. It is the 1930s in Stalin’s Soviet Union. Two men, Ivan Nikolayevich, (aka as Bezdomny) an aspiring poet; and Berlioz, a magazine editor and head of Massolit, the literary writers’ association, discuss the historicity of Jesus while sitting on a park bench. They are joined by a strange looking man, later identified as Professor Woland. Woland predicts the death of Berlioz under highly improbable circumstances. When the prediction comes true and Berlioz’s head is severed from his body, Ivan chases after Woland convinced that he is none other than the devil.

This begins our journey into a topsy-turvy world where bizarre events and magical happenings are taken in stride and where we meet a giant talking black cat; a couple of ominous-looking henchmen; and the beautiful, red-headed succubus, Hella. Characters appear and disappear; a pig flies; lies and subterfuge proliferate; a naked woman turned witch flies across the sky on a broomstick; authors and poets are carted off to the insane asylum; a magic show concludes with females stripped of clothing running out of the theatre; money turns into scraps of paper; Satan throws a ball with an illustrious guest list; wit and sarcasm are on full display; trickster-like antics wreak havoc with society; a severed head re-joins its body; Faustian deals are made with the devil; Margarita, the Master’s lover, transforms into Queen Margot to become hostess of Satan’s ball. A novel within the novel about the relationship between Jesus and Pontius Pilate adds to the general mayhem. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

The mingling of the fantastical with the common place is one of the novel’s most endearing qualities. The tone throughout is light, witty, and humorous. Although the fantastical happenings and paranormal events cannot be taken seriously, the novel raises some very serious questions. How do you cope with censorship? With the curtailment of free speech? With living in a state of constant fear? With disbelief when you speak the truth? With disappearances of people? With mysterious happenings? With a summons from the authorities or a knock on the door in the middle of the night? With the re-writing of history to make it consistent with a political ideology? With the implausible and unreal made to appear plausible and real? In short, how do you cope with living a nightmare where truth and reality are sacrificed and where dissent is summarily squashed?

Bulgakov adroitly delivers a political message under the guise of a playful romp in magical realism. Simmering under the humorous dialogue, fantastical events, imaginative story line, and general hilarity is a scathing critique of the Soviet system and of authoritarianism, in general. The novel seems to suggest one needs humor and an attitude of wild abandon to confront Soviet-style censorship, repression, and abuse of power.

Highly recommended.

My Soul to Take

Yrsa Sigurdardóttir; trans. Bernard Scudder and Anna Yates

My Soul to Take by Yrsa Sigurdardóttir, translated from the Icelandic by Bernard Scudder and Anna Yates, is a murder mystery set in Iceland. The novel opens in 1945 with the horrific murder of a little girl. We jump sixty years later to meet Thóra Gudmundsdóttir, a lawyer.  

Thóra is invited to her client’s New Age Spa hotel to investigate the presence of ghosts ostensibly haunting the premises. The ghosts appear as little girls shrouded in fog and can be heard as babies crying. Thóra’s client wants to sue the previous owners for not being forthcoming about the ghosts. Although she doesn’t believe in ghosts, Thóra accepts his offer to spend a weekend at his resort mainly because she needs some rest and relaxation. Unfortunately, it doesn’t quite turn out that way for her. When a mutilated body is discovered on the beach and her client comes under suspicion for the murder, Thóra decides to conduct her own investigation.

Thóra is joined in her exploits by her partner, Matthew. They question the guests and staff at the hotel, each of whom has a connection to the victim and each of whom appears to be hiding something. When a second murder takes place on a nearby property, the investigation acquires greater urgency. One by one, guests and staff come under increasing scrutiny and suspicion. Thóra explores nearby farmhouses, discovers old photographs of Nazi activity and paraphernalia, and gradually unravels long hidden secrets. Eventually, she and Matthew piece together the puzzle, connecting the recent murders to the murder of the little girl in the prologue. 

A personal life fraught with challenges constantly intrudes on Thóra’s investigation. Her sixteen-year-old son is expecting his first baby with his fifteen-year-old girlfriend. Her contentious relationship with her ex-husband weighs on her. Her secretary treats her with disdain. And her feelings toward Matthew are somewhat ambivalent. One the one hand, she relies on him and welcomes his contribution; on the other, she expresses relief that his German origin and lack of knowledge of Iceland precludes him from wanting to move in with her permanently.

The constant stream of suspects, the slivers of clues, the unearthing of past secrets, and the intermittent intrusions of Thóra’s personal life contribute to a confusing atmosphere. It is challenging to keep track of the characters and their relationships to each other, especially since the murder investigation has Thóra delving into the past to learn about the two brothers who were previous owners of the farm. Their connection with the present-day murders is the clue that eventually solves the case.

Yrsa Sigurdardóttir is able to sustain reader interested and keep the reader guessing as to the murderer’s identity due to a complex and convoluted plot. But the novel would have benefited from a tighter construction, fewer distractions, fewer suspects, stronger character development, a more natural-sounding dialogue, and a protagonist who is an actual detective and not a want-to-be detective camouflaged as a lawyer. Since Thóra does very little lawyering in the novel, one wonders why Sigurdardóttir chose to make her a lawyer.

Recommended with some reservations.

Travels in Vermeer: A Memoir

Michael White

Travels in Vermeer: A Memoir by Michael White is part travelogue, part memoir, and part art appreciation.

Michael White, an award-winning poet, chairs the creative writing department in the University of North Carolina in Wilmington. He opens his memoir with an account of his bitter divorce as he and his wife argue over custody of their young daughter, Sophia. He travels to Amsterdam during his spring break to recuperate. At the Rijksmuseum, he stands transfixed in front of The Milkmaid by the seventeenth-century Dutch painter, Johannes Vermeer. So entranced is he by the painting that he embarks on a year-long pilgrimage to see the works of Vermeer in museums and galleries across Europe and the U.S.

White travels to The Hague, Delft, Washington, and New York, concluding his tour of Vermeer paintings in London. Along the way, he shares intimate details of his childhood, his first and second marriages, his attempts at dating after his divorce, and the overwhelming love he feels for his daughter. The personal stories act as segues to take the reader from one location to the next, from one Vermeer painting to the next. The writing is engaging and lucid. But it is when he stands in front of a Vermeer painting that White’s diction soars to new heights in a luminous description of what he sees and what feels as he sees.

White builds anticipation by walking the reader through each museum and gallery as he hastily makes his way toward a Vermeer. As soon as his eye catches a Vermeer, he stands in front of it, transfixed. He is riveted by what he sees. He observes intricate details in each painting, details that are inevitably missed by the untrained eye. He gushes at the interplay of light and shade, the bright reds and golds, the shifts in perspective, and the overall composition. He explores the faces of Vermeer’s women as they look back at him, speculates on their temperament and the circumstances captured in each frame. At times he stretches the interpretation further than seems warranted. Above all, he is enthralled by the serenity and stillness and luminosity that the paintings exude.

At the conclusion of his year-long odyssey, White recognizes his intimate discourse with Vermeer’s art has been profoundly transformative and facilitated his healing. His reading of Vermeer’s paintings is fascinating and shows a discerning eye sensitive to shape, form, color, and detail. He speaks with a breathless intensity infused with passion as he explores each painting, extolling Vermeer’s skill and vision in poetic, glowing terms. With astute insights and a skillful use of language, White captures Vermeer’s radiance with an infectious appreciation for the artist’s body of work.

Highly recommended.

Lord of the Flies

William Golding

William Golding’s Lord of the Flies is as haunting and as chilling today as it was when first published in 1954.

A group of English schoolboys are stranded on a deserted island after a plane crash during an unspecified war. There’s no shortage of food or drink as the island is plush, full of fresh fruit, wild pigs, and fresh water. The boys’ ages range from five-years-old to early teens. Initially, they organize and elect Ralph as their leader. He tries to run their meetings in an orderly manner by establishing rules and allocating various tasks, especially the all-important task of keeping the fire going for their rescue.  

From the outset, Ralph’s leadership is challenged by Jack, the leader of the choir. Piggy, an overweight asthmatic with poor eyesight, tries to assert Ralph’s authority. Piggy is intelligent and logical, the voice of reason reminding them of the importance of keeping the fire going, of adhering to rules, and of behaving in a civilized manner. But his commonsense advice falls on deaf ears. He is ridiculed, bullied, and ignored.

Without the restraints of civilized society and dogged by fear and superstition, the boys rally around Jack, the leader who summons the heart of darkness within each child. The situation deteriorates until most of the boys are no longer recognizable as young boys. They paint their faces, run around naked, carry spears, dance around a ceremonial fire, chant, work themselves up into a frenzy, and leave sacrificial offerings to the “beast” to quell their fear of the unknown. Their savage-like behavior leads to horrific consequences.

With Ralph and Piggy on one side and Jack and his tribe on the other, the novel lends itself to an allegorical interpretation with each of the main characters representing a type. It is rich in symbolism. Through his skillful use of diction and imagery, Golding alerts the reader that this will not end well. The ominous tone, apparent at the outset, becomes increasingly pronounced as the situation deteriorates. We witness the tension escalating, the horror unfolding.

The novel suggests there is an innate human tendency toward savagery which must be kept in check by the laws governing society. Remove the social and legal restraints that bind a functioning society together, add to the mix a fear of the unknown and a leader who knows how to galvanize support by exploiting human weakness, and the result will be a regression to chaos, lawlessness, brutality, and violence. We become one with the savages performing the atavistic rites of our ancestors. As the introspective Simon suggests, “Maybe there is a beast . . . Maybe it’s only us.” The intimation we are one tenuous step away from barbarism is a chilling and sobering prospect.

A cautionary tale that is as relevant today as it was 60 years ago.

Highly recommended.

Abigail

Magda Szabo; translated by Len Rix

Set against the background of World War II Hungary, Abigail by Magda Szabo, translated from the Hungarian by Len Rix, is a suspense novel couched in a coming-of-age story of fourteen-year-old Gina Vitay.

Raised by her widowed father, a general in the Hungarian army, and under the tutelage of her French governess, Gina is loved and coddled and thoroughly spoiled by all. She is used to being the center of attention and getting her way. But then her cosseted world comes to an abrupt, screeching halt. When the Nazis stomp on Hungary’s heels, her governess has to make a hasty retreat to France, and Gina is sent off to a strict, religious, fortress-like boarding school. She is baffled by her father’s decision to abandon her there and is even more baffled when he gives her strict instructions not to contact anyone, including him. 

Gina is immature, rebellious, and determined not to cooperate until her father explains his involvement with the underground resistance to Nazi incursion into Hungary. He has placed her in school to protect her and to prevent her from being used as a pawn to coerce him to reveal the identity of his collaborators. Feeling isolated, Gina seeks help from the legendary Abigail, the statue on the school grounds who responds to the girls’ requests for help. She leaves notes inside Abigail’s pitcher and receives secret instructions from her. She speculates on the identity of the person operating behind Abigail, but it is not until the final page of the novel that Abigail’s identity is revealed.

Evidence of the war increasingly intrudes on the school as the novel progresses. The suspense escalates; the tension builds. Gina grapples to find answers. Who is the mysterious dissident who leaves anti-war messages in the town? Who is the person behind Abigail? Who is watching out for her welfare in the school? Why has she not heard from her father? Whom can she trust?

The answers to these questions are fairly predictable as Magda Szabo includes foreshadowing and drops hints throughout the novel even though Gina is unable to piece it all together until the end. But the predictably does not detract from the suspense. It may actually heighten it as we watch a headstrong Gina jump to erroneous conclusions, make false assumptions, and misjudge individuals.

This is a compelling, page-turning mystery from an accomplished story-teller. The translation makes for a quick and easy read. The focus is on plot, not on character development as none of the characters is particularly well-developed or engaging or likeable. The novel succeeds as a mystery, but it goes no further. Unlike Magda Szabo’s The Door or Iza’s Ballad, this novel does not invite lingering moral or ethical questions that continue to haunt the reader long after the last page is read. Once Gina has solved the central mystery, the novel is over, and there is little left to ponder.

Recommended.

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.