At Night All Blood is Black

David Diop; translated by Anna Moschovakis

Winner of the 2021 International Booker Prize, At Night All Blood is Black by David Diop, translated from the French by Anna Moschovakis, chronicles the descent into madness by a Senegalese soldier fighting with the French in the trenches in World War I.

Unfolding in the first-person point of view of Alfa Ndiaye, the novels opens with a shocking image and revelation. Alfa Ndiaye’s “more-than-brother” childhood friend, Mademba Diop, has been fatally wounded. With his guts sprawled outside his body, he pleads with Ndaiye three times to put him out of his misery. Ndaiye can’t do it. He lies next to him and waits for him to die. As soon as Mademba takes his last breath, Ndaiye experiences a profound sense of guilt for not honoring his friend’s last request. He carries his friend’s body back to the trench for burial. And that is when he begins to unravel.

Ndaiye embarks on a gruesome ritual of capturing German soldiers to torture and mutilate. He slits open the stomach of each soldier he captures, pulls out his insides, and lies next to him to watch him die. He severs the soldier’s hand and takes it back to the trenches as a trophy. Initially, his comrades congratulate him for his bravery and ingenuity. But after he brings back the seventh severed hand, they begin to fear and avoid him as a devourer of souls. Eventually, Ndaiye is sent to a field hospital to recuperate.

A series of flashbacks about his childhood and his friendship with Mademba convince Ndaiye he is to blame for Mademba’s death. Consumed with guilt, he circles back to his childhood, his first sexual encounter, and he contrasts his impressive physique with that of Mademba. His conviction that a young French nurse in the hospital physically desires him leads to rape. His constant refrain that he speaks “God’s truth” is ironic since he is far from being a reliable narrator.

The contrast between Ndaiye’s childhood and his touching first sexual experience to the brutal, torture-loving man he becomes is horrific. His descent into madness is replete with graphic images of female sexual organs as metaphors for the trenches. Ndaiye recognizes the insanity of war which expects the savagery and madness be switched on or off with the flip of a switch at the captain’s command. He also sees that exploitation of the “chocolat” soldiers is reinforced by the French captain using racist stereotypes to urge the African soldiers to behave with excess brutality on the battlefield.

The language is visceral and graphic; the translation sounds authentic, capturing Ndaiye’s rhythmic diction. The novel opens with the words, “ . . . I KNOW, I UNDERSTAND, I shouldn’t have done it.” Done what? The question is open-ended since there is so much he shouldn’t have done. Desperate for atonement, Ndaiye’s struggle and descent into madness graphically illustrate the savage consequences of war and its horrific impact on the psyche by stripping it of compassion and humanity.

Depicting the intersection of racism, masculinity, violence, and war, this is a compelling novel. But it may not be for everyone because of its graphic description of violence.

Crimes of Conscience: Selected Short Stories

Nadine Gordimer

Crimes of Conscience: Selected Short Stories by Nadine Gordimer, the 1991 Nobel Prize laureate, is a collection of eleven stories set in South Africa. The stories vary from first person point of view to third person point of view. They all have in common characters who are put in the position of having to make a difficult choice, one which frequently leads to a crime of conscience and its concomitant feelings of guilt.

Gordimer’s characters are caught up in a South Africa in the grip of the violence and political turmoil of apartheid. With depth and breadth, she explores the subtleties and nuances of her characters’ emotions against this background. Her characters face a moral quandary and must choose. Why they choose to do what they do is sometimes not clear even to them. But in one form or another, they are all plagued with guilt for the choices they make.

The situations vary. A wife betrays her husband’s friend to the authorities. A white farmer’s son murders the infant daughter he has fathered with a black farm hand. A former guerilla leader remembers only too late how much he owes to the white lawyer and his wife for opening their home to him. A village chief reports the presence of strangers in his village with devastating consequences. A man reveals to his lover he has been sent to spy on her. The destruction of termites and their queen under the floorboards of a home takes on symbolic significance, haunting a child well into her adult years. A refugee grandmother must choose between saving her spouse or her grandchildren.

Gordimer’s movement from one situation to another, from one setting to another, and from one voice to another seems effortless. Her characters are authentic. They are complex and deeply felt. Her observations on people in morally complicated situations are honest, astute, and depicted with a sensitivity to their predicament and their weaknesses.

There are no easy answers to the dilemmas posed in these stories. Set against the background of an apartheid South Africa where systemic racism is the rule of law, Nadine Gordimer’s stories remind us that living under an oppressive government takes a tragic toll on people’s lives and thrusts them in moral dilemmas where they feel they have no choice but to commit crimes of conscience.

Very highly recommended.

Nature Obscura: A City's Hidden Natural World

Kelly Brenner

Nature Obscura: A City’s Hidden Natural World by Kelly Brenner explores the microflora and microfauna of an urban landscape that many of us either don’t see or simply take for granted.

Brenner, a naturalist blogger, organizes her book around the seasons. She visits the same location, even her backyard, at different times of the year to record the changes in plant and animal life brought about by the changes in weather. She is meticulous in her explorations, recording and documenting what she sees and hears in the minutest details. Her reverence for all living organisms, including the microscopic ones, is evident. She gently lifts a piece of bark or a rock or a shell so as not to disturb the habitat of what lies beneath. And what she doesn’t know or can’t identify, she solves by soliciting the help of experts.

Not all her locations are urban since she visits nature reserves, parks, shores, wetlands, forests, and graveyards. Her curiosity, sense of wonder, and enthusiasm at what she discovers is palpable. Who would have thought that mold, fungi, moss, and lichen could generate such excitement or have a multitude of varieties? Brenner shows the same level of enthusiasm for the hummingbird as the hardy but minuscule tardigrade that is so weird-looking, it might be a suitable candidate for a science fiction movie.

In writing that is accessible and conversational, Brenner’s work is full of interesting insights and observations. Above all, it is a meditation on the connectedness of all living things, from the most minuscule creature whose presence and movement can only be detected with a strong microscope to the majestic trees and the flora and fauna who inhabit them. Through her explorations and discoveries, she shares the wonder of nature and introduces us to the scientists who have advanced our knowledge about the natural world. She invites her readers to conduct their own explorations by providing instructions and tools for those harboring urban naturalist aspirations.

Recommended.

The Book Smuggler

Omaima Al-Khamis; translated by Sarah Enanny

Winner of the 2018 Naguib Mahfouz Medal for Literature, The Book Smuggler by Omaima Al-Khamis, translated from the Arabic by Sarah Enany, recounts the adventures of Mazid Al-Hanafi as he journeys to various capitals in the Middle East and Spain in the 11th Century CE. His journey coincides with a time of transition when political and religious conflicts were ubiquitous in the Islamic world. Rivalry between the factions was rampant with different sects having the upper hand across the region.

Mazid leaves home with a thirst for learning and exploration. He is a bookseller with a passion for books at a time when certain books were considered blasphemous and could land a person in prison or dead were they to be found in his possession. Undeterred but cautious, Mazid devours books of Islamic thinkers and Greek philosophers, determined to preserve them for future generations. His travels take him to Baghdad, Jerusalem, Cairo, Granada, and Cordoba.

While in Baghdad, Mazid is initiated into a secret society of books smugglers, individuals who risk their lives to preserve and disseminate books containing scientific and philosophical knowledge. He is given a chest of books and tasked with distributing them on his travels to individuals who will benefit from and appreciate them. The work is dangerous. He approaches each city cautiously and does not reveal the controversial books until he has satisfied himself that the selected individual can be trusted and is worthy of receiving the precious gift. He also connects with other members of the secret society by using code words to identify himself.

Al-Khamis’ detailed and vivid description immerse the reader in the zeitgeist of 11th Century Islam. Mazid attends the mosques in each city to pray and to attend discussion circles of the various sheikhs. He learns about the politics of the city, which faction/sect is fermenting dissent, who is accusing whom of blasphemy, and the ubiquitous conspiracies at court. He becomes embroiled in political intrigue everywhere he goes and is obliged to make a hasty exit with his treasury of books.

The novel is steeped in the history of the time, perhaps more so than it needs to be. Although a table of historical figures, dynasties, people, and terms is included in the beginning of the novel, the amount of detail and references to various historical individuals, quotations, poems, tribes, caliphs, different sects, and who is fighting whom coalesce to bury the reader in a morass of confusing detail. It was hard to keep track of who, what, where, how, when, and why.

Mazid’s growth from a naïve young man to one intimately involved in the political and religious struggles of the day was compelling. His journeys on the caravans and his sojourns in various cities vividly immerse the reader in the sights, sounds, and smells of traveling through deserts and experiencing the atmosphere of a medieval Arab city. But the many references to religious and political individuals, the excessive detail of sectarian rifts and debates can be bewildering to someone with little more than a cursory knowledge of the historical intricacies of the period. Their presence clouds what would otherwise have been a much stronger novel.

Miss Benson's Beetle

Rachel Joyce

Miss Benson’s Beetle by Rachel Joyce is a quick and easy read about an unlikely friendship between two very different women as they set sail for a scientific expedition.

The central character is Margery Benson, a single school teacher in her mid-forties. World War II has ended, but England hasn’t fully recovered from the bombings, shortages in supplies, and rationing. Conscious of her shabby existence and shabby appearance, Margery is lonely and alone in the world. And then, one day, she snaps. Confiscating a particularly unflattering sketch of her drawn by one of her students, Margery does something uncharacteristically spontaneous. She runs out of the school, stealing the deputy’s new boots along the way. She has never stolen anything in her life.

Convinced it’s a matter of time before the police catch up with her, Margery decides to leave the country. She will indulge her lifelong fascination with insects by escaping to New Caledonia in quest of the elusive golden beetle to present to the Entomology Department at the Natural History Museum. She advertises for an assistant, and after a series of bumps and starts, she hires the young and flamboyant Enid Pretty. Their adventure begins.

The women are a study in contrasts—Margery in her dowdy brown outfits and sensible boots and Enid in her tight outfits, pom-pom sandals, and flaming blond hair. Their personalities couldn’t be more different. Margery is methodical, organized, prefers to remain unobtrusive and quiet. Enid is garrulous, charismatic, ostentatious, and with a flair for attracting male admirers. They travel together by sea, plane, boat, and car; survive cyclones and torrential rains; navigate challenging terrain; collect and document rare insects; share meager supplies; and experience unexpected dangers. As a result of their adventures and misadventures, they experience growth and cement a close friendship based on mutual respect, acceptance, support, and love.

Joyce excels in describing the natural environment. Her descriptions are rich with sensory detail and immersive. The reader is transported to the rain forest of New Caledonia and walks alongside Margery and Enid as they hack their way up the mountain through dense foliage while mosquitoes nibble away at them. But the novel also has its weaknesses. Although there are moments when the characters are portrayed realistically and show some depth, for the most part, they border on being caricatures. The events are far-fetched; the humor leans toward slapstick. But this plot-driven novel is a quick, easy, and entertaining read if approached with reduced expectations in terms of character depth and plausibility.

Windswept: Walking the Paths of Trailblazing Women

Annabel Abbs

In Windswept: Walking the Paths of Trailblazing Women, Annabel Abbs retraces the steps of exceptional women who had a passion for walking. Her selection of women is international: Frieda Lawrence, the German wife and muse of D.H. Lawrence; Gwen John, a Welsh artist; Clara Vyvyan, an Australian author; Daphne Du Maurier, an English author; Nan Shepherd, a Scottish author; Simone de Beauvoir, a French writer and feminist theorist; and Georgia O’Keeffe, an American artist.

Abbs provides brief sketches of the lives of each of these women and conducts extensive research on their writing to determine where they walked, when they walked, why they walked, and how walking impacted their lives. Some ventured to exotic locations far from home, while others preferred to walk closer to home. But they all experience the same exhilaration of simply putting one foot in front of the other and walking.

Their reasons for walking primarily had to do with the need to assert themselves, take pride in their physical prowess, and claim their autonomy. Unfortunately, some of them had latched on to men who dominated and confined them while toying with their affections. Walking became a release, a freedom from the cloying atmosphere of male domination.

The book is also part memoir since Abbs interjects details about her personal life and the challenges she faces as a mother whose children will soon be leaving home. She uses the lives and walking experience of these women to serve as her platform for sharing her experiences, exploring her thoughts, and working through some of her challenges. Although these interjections can be interesting and insightful, they interrupt the narrative flow. One minute we are experiencing Frieda’s exhilaration in the Alps; the next minute we are invited to observe the Abbs’ family quibbling about toads in a concrete bunker. The effect is jarring, the juxtaposition incongruous.

Abbs performs a valuable service by focusing her lens on these extraordinary women. To learn about their lives, to hear them speak in their own voices, to applaud their accomplishments, and to witness the transformative impact walking had on their lives make this an interesting and worthwhile read. It’s unfortunate the effect has been marred somewhat by personal interjections.

Recommended with some reservations.

All's Well

Mona Awad

All’s Well by Mona Awad is a wild romp into magical realism. The novel opens with Miranda Fitch lying on her office floor. An assistant professor in theatre, Miranda is determined to direct Shakespeare’s All’s Well That Ends Well. But there’s a problem. Miranda suffers from chronic pain, the result of falling off the stage during one of her acting performances. The pain is so debilitating she can barely move. So she lies on her office floor, swallowing pain killers while ignoring repeated knocks on the door reminding her students are waiting.

Eventually, Miranda gets up and hobbles on to the stage to announce to the class they will be performing All’s Well. The students are disappointed since they had set their sights on performing Macbeth. The tug-of-war begins between Miranda and Briana, a student whose parents have donated generously to the theatre department. Making full use of her parents’ influence, Briana stages a coup in favor of Macbeth. It appears as if she will get her way, that is until Miranda steps into her local pub where she encounters three men. And that’s when the fun begins.

These are no ordinary men. They have mysterious powers, talk in riddles, are aware of Miranda’s predicament, assure her all will be well, and offer her a gold-colored miracle drink. Miranda drinks up only to find the chronic pain in her leg and hips has dissipated. The next day she learns anonymous donors have given generously to the theatre department and insist on seeing a performance of All’s Well. And that’s not all. The three men have bestowed on Miranda the trick of transferring her pain to others, which she does by simply touching Briana’s wrist. She brims with health while Briana’s condition deteriorates.

The further we get into the novel, the more surreal it becomes. Miranda hyperventilates words, thinks and speaks in staccato sentences, hallucinates, conducts conversations with people who aren’t there, and exhibits manic behavior. Meanwhile, she radiates energy, vitality, and sparkles with physical health. The play is eventually performed to an over filled theatre, the crowd demanding entrance as they wave the wrong theatre tickets. Briana miraculously recovers her health during the performance while Miranda chases a vision of her ex-husband.

The novel’s strength lies in its realistic portrayal of Miranda’s interiority, her chronic pain, and how others react to her invisible pain. A central focus is the way in which the medical profession refuses to acknowledge the reality of female pain. Miranda’s male physicians and therapists condescend, patronize, and dismiss her pain as if it is all in her head. Her desperation to alleviate pain makes her comply with their directions even when they pull, tug, stretch, prod, and poke her body while blithely ignoring her tortured cries of agony.

This excursion into magical realism borrows heavily from Shakespeare, as well as Christopher Marlowe’s Dr. Faustus, and echoes Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. The three men are the witches to Miranda’s Lady Macbeth. Her pact with the three men is Faust’s pact with Mephistopheles. Miranda is Shakespeare’s Miranda, the beneficiary of Prospero’s magic. And the transmission of her debilitating pain to Briana while she radiates physical health and vitality is a nod to Dorian Gray.

In the end, all’s well that ends well. Or is it? Is Miranda cured of her chronic pain? Was it all in her head, after all? Is she having some drug-addled hallucination? What exactly happened? The conclusion offers no clear answers. But what a roller coaster ride it was!

The Manningtree Witches

A. K. Blakemore

It is 1643 in Essex, England. The civil war is raging between the Puritans and Royalists. The time is rife with superstition and fear. Neighbor turns against neighbor. Scapegoats for life’s tragedies are hunted and persecuted. This is the setting for The Manningtree Witches by A. K. Blakemore, a blending of fact with fiction of the Puritan witch trials in which several women were executed for witchcraft in 1645 in the village of Manningtree. The protagonist is Rebecca West, the 19-year-old daughter of Beldam West, the ostensible ring-leader of the witches.

Life was never easy in Manningtree, but it takes a turn for the worse when the mysterious Matthew Hopkins, “the witchfinder,” moves into the village. Hopkins is on a mission to ferret out witches and bring them to trial. He gives full vent to his misogynism under the guise of doing “God’s work,” sniffing here and sniffing there until he finds a suitable target. His laser-sharp focus pinpoints weak, vulnerable, impoverished, elderly widows living on the margins of society who are easy prey. Through Rebecca’s eyes, we see the patriarchal hunting machine in full force as it singles out these women, solicits testimony against them, examines their frail bodies for evidence of satanic activities, uses their poverty as a sign of weakness, demonizes their pets, tortures them to solicit confessions, and twists their words to obtain a conviction and execution. Logic and common sense are in short supply. Rebecca, caught in the web of conspiracy against these women because of her mother, is temporarily incarcerated with them but obtains her release by telling the patriarchal court what it wants to hear.

The novel unfolds primarily through Rebecca’s first-person point of view. But it shifts sporadically to third person to describe scenes and events in which Rebecca is not present. These unnecessary shifts can be jarring and confusing. Rebecca’s diction is detailed and evocative. Replicating the idioms of 17th century England, it is replete with graphic descriptions, pungent odors, and immersive imagery. The diction is generally effective but can occasionally veer toward being too flowery and obscure.

The novel’s strength lies in its realistic character portrayals and in its lyrical description of the sights, sounds, smells, squalor, and poverty of 17th century England. Superstition, fear, Puritan fervor, lies, petty jealousies, and betrayal coalesce to scapegoat destitute women living on the fringes of society. The tension gradually builds up as layer upon layer of “evidence” against the women accumulates until the unthinkable happens.

The portrayal of the misogynistic Matthew Hopkins, clothed head to toe in black, is particularly effective as he sniffs around for vulnerable, elderly women to victimize. He is simultaneously sexually aroused and repulsed by a woman’s flesh. Rebecca’s mother, the fearless Beldam, emerges as the most powerful female. She is a crone in every sense of the word—a woman who refuses to be intimidated by the patriarchy, who will not submit to male domination regardless of the consequence to her personal safety, who exercises agency, and whose voice is not silenced until the patriarchy puts the noose around her neck to silence it.

An atmospheric plunge into a tragic period in English history. Highly recommended.

The Wrong End of the Telescope

Rabih Alameddine

The Wrong End of the Telescope by Rabih Alameddine explores the plight of refugees arriving on Lesbos. The narrative unfolds in the first-person voice of Dr. Mina Simpson, a transgender Lebanese-born doctor estranged from her family for decades. The short chapters and their quirky titles reflect Mina’s musings, sensitivity, and dry humor.

Mina, born Ayman, has been living in the United States for over thirty years. An experienced physician, she answers the call for help from a friend with a Swedish NGO assisting refugees arriving in Lesbos. Being so close to Lebanon conjures up memories of her childhood and family, the conflicts she had with her abusive mother for being trans, and her ensuing estrangement from her siblings except for her brother, Mazin.

Interspersed with flashbacks on her childhood and her life with her partner in America, Mina encounters refugees and hears their harrowing tales of oppression and escape. She is particularly drawn to Sumaiya, a Syrian wife and mother with terminal liver cancer. Sumaiya wants her condition kept secret for fear it might jeopardize her family’s chance of going to Europe.

While in Lesbos, Mina encounters a gay Lebanese author she had met and admired in the past. He is in Lesbos, presumably interviewing refugees for his novel. She addresses him as “you” in her narrative and includes his back story. But this unnamed author, possibly based on Alameddine, himself, has been severely impacted by the scale of human tragedy. He has become disillusioned and reclusive, hiding in his hotel room to avoid interaction. Mina and her friends temporarily draw him out of his self-imposed shell.

Mina describes the two groups in Lesbos with an acute eye for observation. The first group are the volunteers, some of whom come with genuine concern and desire to serve refugees; others come primarily prompted by a desire to be seen in an altruistic light. They take selfies while posing with refugees and behave with shocking insensitivity. The second group are the refugees, themselves. And, here, Mina’s description is at its strongest. As an Arab and a volunteer, Mina straddles between the two groups. She speaks the language of refugees and understands their culture in ways American and European volunteers do not.

The media posits refugees as a group of indistinguishable individuals hoarded together en masse. Mina gives each refugee she meets a unique identity and background, ranging from the crotchety, grumbling grandmother; to the Iraqi child who holds her hand and guides her through the camp; to the young newlyweds who can barely keep their hands off each other; to Sumaiya and her family; and to countless others. They are unique, well-rounded human beings with a story to tell. All are portrayed with sensitivity, empathy, and compassion. And all are depicted as struggling to make the best of a horrendous situation, waiting patiently in long lines for documents and food amid the squalor and the mud.

The seamless blend of fact with faction grounds the novel in real events. Rabih Alameddine reverses the customary lens. He looks through the wrong end of the telescope to shine a light on the volunteers and journalists as they are perceived by the refugees. In the process, he portrays refugees as complex individuals who have embarked on a heroic struggle to survive after losing their homes, livelihoods, and families. He bears witness to their struggle without being maudlin or creeping toward sensationalism. No matter how brief the encounter, each refugee discards anonymity, assumes a unique identity, is presented as fully fleshed-out and as well-deserving of our sympathy.

Recommended.

The Wild Fox of Yemen

Threa Almontaser

The Wild Fox of Yemen by the Yemeni American author, Threa Almontaser, thrusts the reader into a whirlwind. Almontaser’s diction is bold, exuberant, vibrant, and sizzles with electricity.

The poems address multiple topics: navigating a space between two cultures; interrogating what it means to be a Muslim black woman in America; immigrant assimilation; the yearning to belong; othering; Islamophobia in post 9/11 America; dreams and nightmares; body image; visits to Yemen; sexism; sexuality; politics; racism; and condemnation of the war in Yemen. Almontaser also includes translations of two poems by the Yemeni poet Abdullah Al-Baradouni.

Almontaser’s voice is unflinchingly honest and unapologetic. She peppers her poems with Arabic words, seamlessly moving from one language to another while crisscrossing cultural borders. Her images are vivid, startling, scattered, fragmentary, and burst energetically on the page. She uses strong, provocative language. Her voice is powerful; her roar, loud; her energy, untamed; her spirit, undaunted.

Winner of the Walt Whitman Award of the Academy of American Poets, this breathtaking collection draws the reader into Almontaser’s world imbued with personal and political intensity. If you enjoy the poetry of Walt Whitman, you will love the way Almontaser sounds her “barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.”

Very highly recommended.

My Father's Notebook

Kader Abdolah; translated by Susan Massotty

Kader Abdolah, the pen name for an Iranian political exile currently living in the Netherlands, wrote My Father’s Notebook in Dutch. Translated by Susan Massotty, the novel is in three parts. Part 1, told by an omniscient narrator, is the story of Aga Akbar and his son, Ishmael. Part 2 is told by Ishmael in the first-person. And Part 3 returns to the omniscient narrator to conclude the story. This structure allows the narrator to provide the back story of Aga Akbar and Ishmael while later allowing direct access to Ishmael’s interiority.

Part 1 introduces us to Aga Akbar, an illiterate deaf-mute who mends carpets and lives in an Iranian village at the foot of Saffron Mountain. Aga Akbar communicates using a rudimentary form of sign language that few people can understand. He writes cuneiform characters in a notebook that no one can decipher. When Ishmael is old enough, he acts as his father’s interpreter, going everywhere with him and mediating his father’s conversations. The two form such an inseparable bond that one becomes almost an extension of the other.

Part 2 unfolds in the first-person point of view of Ishmael, now living in the Netherlands. While describing his daily activities as an exile, he pours over his father’s notebook, trying to decipher the cryptic characters. This triggers flashbacks to his life and family in Iran. As a former political activist and an engaged member of the communist party in Iran, his life was in constant danger for opposing the shah and the mullahs who succeeded him. Forced to escape Iran when his identity is discovered, he loses connection with his family.

Part 3 is picked up by the omniscient narrator and includes the fate of Ishmael’s family after his departure from Iran.

Kader Abdolah weaves Persian legends, songs, myths, poems, and verses from the Koran throughout the novel. And intricately threading the narrative is the history of 20th Century Iran beginning with Reza Shah and concluding with the Khomeini government. The history, plagued with torture, disappearances, and the violent crush of dissent, renders the suffering of the Iranian people in somber detail.

The novel forms a rich tapestry in which the personal lives of Aga Akbar and Ishmael play out against the larger political framework. Infused throughout its pages is the profound love father and son have for each other. The vocabulary is unadorned and concise. The characters are vividly portrayed. Ishmael emerges as a soul adrift in a foreign land, desperately trying to decipher his father’s notebook as if to mitigate the guilt he feels for abandoning him and fleeing his homeland. His struggle to understand his father’s notebook can be read as a metaphor to reconnect the severed lines of communication between the simple, trusting Aga Akbars of this world and their educated, politically savvy offspring cut off from their origins.

The character who garners the most sympathy is Aga Akbar. He painstakingly struggles to make sense of the world around him, communicates in a sign language few people can understand, and writes in a notebook that only he can decipher. He is out of step with the times. His unwavering love for his son remains constant. A kind, generous, compassionate man, his silence speaks volumes.

Highly recommended.

The Garden of Evening Mists

Tan Twan Eng

An ethereal, meditative tone permeates the atmosphere of The Garden of Evening Mists by Tan Twan Eng. The narrative unfolds in the first person-point of view of the Supreme Court judge in Kuala Lumpur, Teoh Yun Ling. Her voice is dull, bland, as if to suggest she has had a lifetime of repressing her emotions. Diagnosed with aphasia, Yun Ling retires to the Cameron Highlands, the tropical rain forest where she grew up and where the former gardener of the Emperor of Japan, Nakamura Aritomo, resides.

The narrative unfolds very slowly. The details of Yun Ling’s past emerge in fragments scattered throughout the novel in the form of extended flashbacks. The daughter of a prominent Chinese Malaysian family, Yun Ling and her sister had been captured by the Japanese during their invasion of Malaysia and sent to a prisoner of war camp where her sister was brutally and repeatedly raped by Japanese soldiers and where Yun Ling did what she had to do to survive.

The horrors of the prison camp are never far from Yun Ling’s memory, frequently impinging on her daily activities even decades later. Until her retirement, her professional life was dedicated to prosecuting Japanese war criminals and to locating the prison camp to retrieve her sister’s remains. With the onset of aphasia and the knowledge she is losing her memory and will soon lose her ability to understand language, she decides to honor a promise she made to her sister by hiring Aritomo to build a Japanese garden for her.

Aritomo declines to work for her, instead offering to take her on as his apprentice to teach her the skills in building a Japanese garden. Despite her hatred for Japanese, Yun Ling accepts. Against the violent backdrop of a Malaysia in turmoil after World War II, British occupation, and a communist insurgency, the Japanese garden forms a verdant oasis of peace and tranquility. As layer upon layer of the garden slowly takes shape, the connection between Aritomo and Yun Ling slowly deepens until they become lovers.

Tan Twan Eng weaves the concepts informing the ancient arts of Japanese gardening and tattooing with the brutality of war, the inhumane acts it generates, and the guilt associated with survival. In poetic language and immersive imagery, the novel explores the theme of remembering and forgetting—what we remember and what we try to forget. This is particularly poignant since Yun Ling suffers from aphasia and will soon forget the memories that haunt her.

Just as the Japanese garden is a deceptively simple construction, none of the characters are what they superficially appear to be. Their external veneers gradually strip away to reveal complex, conflicted personalities haunted by their past actions. And just as a Japanese garden requires empty space to fulfill its promise, the novel ends with empty space in the form of inconclusive answers to open-ended questions.

A finely crafted, mesmerizing novel, rich with ambiguity and suggestion.

Nightbitch

Rachel Yoder

Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper meets Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis in Rachel Yoder’s riveting tale, Nightbitch.

The story is of a nameless middle-class woman, known as ‘the mother,’ married to a nameless engineer, known as ‘the husband,’ and their two-year-old toddler, known as ‘the boy.’ The three characters remain nameless throughout the novel to reinforce their anonymity and perhaps to suggest some of their generic qualities. The novel opens with the mother as a stay-at-home mom. After juggling work with breast pumps, a day care where the staff neglected her baby, exhaustion, guilt, guilt, and more guilt, she abandons her career to take care of her child. Her struggle begins. The husband, traveling during the week for his job, is blissfully clueless of his wife’s struggles and condition.

The mother spends all her weekdays with the boy who consumes every second of her every day and most of her nights with his persistent demands. She is lonely, desperate, resentful, exhausted, self-deprecating, and suffering from sleep-deprivation. The drudgery and monotony of catering to the needs of a demanding toddler eat away at her. She questions herself, questions her choices, questions her identity, and questions her future. She tries to bury her anger and resentment only to have it surface in an extraordinary way. She turns feral, experiencing a gradual transformation into a dog, complete with canines, fur, claws, a tail, and an insatiable appetite for raw meat. Her transformation takes place at night. She becomes the Nightbitch, prowling around at night on the hunt for little, furry creatures to clamp between her teeth.

The mother loves her son and is fiercely protective of him. But his all-consuming demands on her time and energy exhaust her. She has no time for herself. And on those rare occasions when she snatches a few minutes of quiet, she either sits in a semi-catatonic state or she cries. The only time she feels fully alive, fully herself, is in her doggy manifestation. Whether she actually metamorphoses into a dog or just imagines herself as one is never made clear. But what is clear is that her ostensible transformation into a wild beast enables her to release the frustration, loneliness, tedium, resentment, and suppressed anger she feels as a stay-at-home mother of a demanding toddler.

The novel is not for everyone because of the graphic descriptions, replete with blood and gore, of violence toward little, furry creatures. But the mother’s interiority is fascinating and will no doubt resonate with many stay-at-home mothers. The prose draws the reader in as we watch the mother question her sanity, struggle with her mothering role, embrace her canine persona, and follow her as she stalks the parks and streets at night.

A highly original, and, at times, hilarious story that articulates the feral side of motherhood. It will resonate with modern stay-at-home mothers who experience de-selfing, internal conflicts, guilt, isolation, a stifling of their creativity, and society’s erroneous assumptions about their lives. It does all this with penetrating insight and honesty.

Very highly recommended.

Things Fall Apart

Chinua Achebe

Chinua Achebe’s classic Things Fall Apart is as powerful today as it was when first published in 1958. It tells the story of Okonkwo, a strong and well-respected leader in Umuofia, a fictitious Igbo village in Nigeria.

Okonkwo is a tough warrior. He is aggressive, violent, prone to fits of uncontrollable rage, and abusive toward his wives and children. He is a product of a culture in which masculinity is defined as projecting power and control over women, children, and the men who show signs of weakness. Okonkwo goes to extremes to avoid earning the pejorative label of “woman” by eschewing even the slightest hint of weakness.

Life in Umuofia is far from idyllic. The culture is harsh, unforgiving, and based on gender stratification and a rigid hierarchy. Superstitions abound. A life is taken for a life. Twins are perceived as possessed by evil spirits and routinely abandoned in the forest to die. Domestic violence is pervasive. But it is also a culture rich in tradition and rituals which bind the community together into a cohesive unit. People know their places and the roles they are expected to perform based on their age, gender, and position in the social hierarchy. Formal protocols are adhered to in meetings, whether it is village elders gathered to render judgments on disputes or negotiations for bride dowries. Pleasantries must be exchanged before the serious business can begin. It is a culture strictly governed by ritual, tradition, superstition, protocol, and tribal laws. But all that changes with the arrival of white colonialists and missionaries. The influx of Christian missionaries and colonial governing structures cause the fragmentation of tribal bonds which rupture the community.

Despite some abhorrent practices and beliefs, life in Umuofia before the influx of foreign missionaries is vibrant, cohesive, and communal. Villagers’ lives are regulated by the natural cycles of planting, harvesting, the rainy season, and drought. Their language is rich with natural imagery and metaphors; their myths and folktales serve as exemplars. While some in the community abandon their traditional beliefs and embrace the new religion, others, like Okonkwo, cannot reconcile themselves to changes that have fragmented the community. His violent temper leads to tragic consequences.

Traditional ways of life fall apart when confronted with a colonial power armed with the Bible in one hand and superior weapons and technology in the other. The final paragraphs are a scathing indictment of the callous indifference shown by colonialists at the tragic cost in human suffering of the indigenous population when it collides with colonialism.

Even decades after its first publication, Achebe’s masterpiece is as prescient and powerful today as it was when first published.

Highly recommended.

The Mountains Sing

Nguyen Phan Que Mai

Basing the novel on some of her family stories as well as by interviewing people who experienced the Viet Nam war and its aftermath, Nguyen Phan Que Mai composed The Mountains Sing as a multigenerational tale of the Tran family. The novel unfolds from the alternating perspectives of the young Huong (also known as Guava) and her grandmother, Tran Dieu Lan. It shifts back and forth in time as it alternates perspectives.

The novel opens with Guava as a little girl sheltering with her grandmother from the onslaught of bombs during the 1970s. She narrates her experience growing up: escaping with her grandmother; reuniting with her mother, aunts, and uncles; and concluding with her marriage. Tran Dieu Lan’s sections take the form of recollections and stories she shares with her granddaughter. She begins with her childhood in the 1930s; includes the Great Hunger of the 1940s; her marriage; the birth of her children; the brutal murder of brother; her desperate escape from her home during the Land Reform of the 1950s; her harrowing journey to Ha Noi with her young children; her struggle to survive; and her success in gathering most of her now adult children around her, again.

Spanning decades, this sweeping saga describes a family’s struggle to survive during times of war, famine, dislocation, and mayhem. Tran Dieu Lan emerges as the central character. She is resilient, pragmatic, enterprising, and fiercely determined to do whatever it takes to ensure her family’s survival. Despite witnessing horrors and carnage, she manages to sustain her compassion and sensitivity toward others, including those who treat her with cruelty. She never fails to appreciate the kindness shown toward her and her children even from complete strangers. And she instills in her granddaughter pride in her heritage and the belief we all share a common humanity, even those who are our so-called enemies.

 The novel is told in simple, straightforward language that does not shy away from graphic descriptions of brutality, torture, and executions. As in all conflicts, the real victims are the civilians who are caught in the crossfire, whose lives have been disrupted, who have lost their homes and livelihoods, who are forced to flee from the carnage, and who have been traumatized by the experience. At times the language is sentimental and contrived as if aiming to manipulate the reader to feel a certain way. But the novel’s content is gripping and sheds light on the tragic history of the Vietnamese people who suffered from colonial powers, foreign domination, brutality from all sides, and a seemingly endless barrage of heavy bombings that shattered their cities and countryside while killing countless numbers of people.

Hot Milk

Deborah Levy

Hot Milk by Deborah Levy unfolds in the first-person voice of Sofia Papastergiadis, a twenty-five-year-old with an English mother and a Greek father who abandoned them when she was a teenager. The novel opens with Sofia and her mother, Rose. They’re in Spain to attend a health clinic where they hope the consultant, Dr. Gomez, will address Rose’s multiple ailments, including her intermittent inability to walk.

Sofia is listless, insecure, confused, adrift, and totally consumed with taking care of her mother’s needs. She even abandoned her Ph.D. to care for her mother. Her identity seems to be fused with her mother to the degree that she will occasionally adopt her mother’s limp while walking. “My legs are her legs,” is her constant refrain. For her part, Rose is cantankerous, endlessly demanding, never satisfied, abusive, and claims to be in constant pain. There is a suggestion that some of her ailments may be psychosomatic.

Very little happens in the novel. Sofia and Rose visit Dr. Gomez’s clinic, where he proceeds to put Rose through a series of tests to diagnose her problem and determine treatment. His unconventional approach includes taking her out to lunch and taking her off all her medications. Meanwhile, Sofia has sexual relationships with a German girl and a young Spaniard who works on the beach applying ointment on jellyfish stings.  

As the novel progresses, Sofia gradually gathers strength, begins to take risks, and becomes more assertive. She visits her estranged father with his young wife and baby daughter in Greece, in the hope of reconnecting with him. But he is too wrapped up in himself and his new family. When she returns to Spain, she takes out her anger and frustration at her mother in a surprising way.

Sofia’s relationship with her mother is fraught with tension, a simmering aggression, guilt, and resentment. It borders on being parasitic although one is never quite sure who is the parasite and who is the host in this fractured relationship. The boundary between her identity and her mother’s identity is fluid and constantly shifting. She grapples with unearthing an identity for herself that is separate from her mother.

The novel is dense, the prose lucid, the technique stream of consciousness. Sofia shares her unfiltered, sporadic thoughts as they come to her. The problem is Sofia is not very interesting and what happens to her is even less interesting. Her interiority, with its perpetual navel-gazing and fractured self-image, becomes tedious and repetitive.

I really enjoyed Levy’s Swimming Home. This one, not so much. Perhaps it just wasn’t for me.

Three Apples Fell From the Sky

Narine Abgaryan; translated by Lisa C. Hayden

Three Apples Fell From the Sky by Narine Abgaryan, translated from the Russian by Lisa C. Hayden, echoes an old Armenian saying. An omniscient narrator tells the story of a group of aging villagers in the isolated, fictitious village of Maran, located in the Armenian mountains. The story unfolds in three parts: For the One Who Saw, For the One who Told the Story, and For the One who Listened. It concludes with a short epilogue.

The narrative opens with the gentle, fifty-eight-year-old Anatolia Sevoyants, the youngest resident of Maran. Experiencing heavy vaginal bleeding for several days, Anatolia is convinced she has only a few days to live. She approaches her impending death with equanimity, feeding her chickens, laying out her burial clothes, leaving money aside for her funeral, and opening the window so her soul can escape. As she lies in bed waiting patiently for the grim reaper to come knocking, she recalls her childhood and unhappy first marriage to an abusive spouse. When the grim reaper doesn’t come calling, Anatolia calmly gets out of bed to perform her chores.

Anatolia is just one of the delightfully quirky characters in this heart-warming tale. Among them are Yasaman and Ovanes, her kind neighbors; Vasily, the outwardly gruff but inwardly gentle village blacksmith who marries Anatolia late in life; Satenik, Vasily’s cousin who urges him to re-marry after the death of his first wife; Magtakhin, Vasily’s deceased first wife who acts as guardian angel to his infant daughter; and Valinka, who uses the coffin of a neighbor’s mother-in-law to transport a new pair of shoes for her deceased husband residing in the after-life. The back stories for each of the characters are woven throughout the narrative with the community emerging as the actual protagonist of the story. Women form the backbone of the community, holding it together with their culture, traditions, communication, work ethic, empathic care-giving, and use of natural methods of healing for common and not so common ailments.

The characters form a unique bond. They share in each other’s sorrows and celebrate each other’s joys. Together, they have braved earthquakes that swallowed up some of their neighbors and homes on the mountain side; devastating famines that reduced their population; wars that killed off many of their sons, brothers, and husbands; swarms of insects which devoured their crops; blizzards, snowstorms, and droughts that further isolated their village. Their aging and dwindling population takes whatever calamities life throws at them without lapsing into cynicism or despair. They make do, share resources, and function as an egalitarian community while performing their daily rituals of cooking, harvesting crops, taking care of animals, chopping wood, mending clothes, and looking out for each other. Buffered by their cultural traditions, superstitions, and folklore, they communicate with deceased loved ones who appear to them in dreams or as apparitions. But not even the occasional visit from a ghost phases them.

The story’s fable-like qualities gradually draw the reader in to the rhythm and pace and atmosphere of village life where a group of aging villagers with a strong sense of community nourish and sustain each other. The overriding atmosphere is one of peace and acceptance. The elements of magical realism, including visits from ghosts and a mysterious peacock, are handled unobtrusively as if they are part of the fabric of life.

This is a beautiful story, beautifully told, and beautifully translated with an abundance of effective visual and sensory imagery immersing the reader in the sights, sounds, and smells of village life. It is a story of resilience, friendship, compassion, and generosity of spirit that serves as a gentle reminder of the importance of community in nurturing and sustaining life.

A heartwarming story threaded with tender and loving humor. Highly recommended.

Samarkand

Amin Maalouf; trans. Russell Harris

Samarkand by Amin Maalouf, translated from the French by Russell Harris, is a historical fiction novel in two main parts. The first part opens with the narrator, Benjamin Omar Lesage, revealing the loss of the original Rubaiyat manuscript of Omar Khayyam when it sank with the Titanic in 1912. Lesage then takes us back to 11th century Persia where he recreates the life, love, poetry, and work in science, mathematics, and astronomy of Omar Khayyam. The second half of the novel skips to the early 20th century where the narrator reveals his determination to locate the original manuscript of the Rubaiyat. His quest takes him to Persia where he becomes embroiled in its fight for the establishment of democratic institutions and freedom from the yoke of foreign imperialism.

Maalouf skillfully blends historical fact with fiction. He populates his novel with historical characters and events. The first part of the novel is the more interesting of the two with its sultans; viziers; emperors; caliphs; the court at Samarkand; exotic locations; political intrigue; assassinations; Khayyam’s contributions to science and astronomy; his friendship with Hassan Sabbah, the founder of the Assassins; and his love affair with Jahan, the court poet.

The second part of the novel unfolds in the first-person point of view of Lesage. He reveals his growing obsession with the Rubaiyat and with locating the original manuscript. He develops a certain amount of notoriety on his return to America because of his knowledge of Persia, writing articles for local papers. This section is also replete with political intrigue and rivalry. But its primary focus is on the western powers jockeying for lucrative deals and political control in Persia.

The structure of the novel is interesting. Maalouf links both halves of the novel in several ways. Lesage’s love interest is a Persian princess. It echoes Khayyam’s love for a poet in the court at Samarkand. Both men must initially maintain their love in secret for fear of reprisals. Both men are wrongly accused of being accomplices in a murder and must flee for their lives. The conflict between traditionalists and modernists of Khayyam’s era is repeated in the early 20th century with a slightly different twist since western imperialism has been added to the mix. The tension is between religious fundamentalists with their literal interpretation and application of religious principles and those who wish to apply the principles of Islam in a manner more suited to the 20th century. And, of course, the overriding connection between the two halves is the Rubaiyat itself—the individual who composed it and the individual who is on a quest to locate the original manuscript.

Parts of the novel lapse into expository writing generating the feel of a history lecture. Maalouf goes to great pains to provide historical context, the extensive details of which may be unnecessary in a work of fiction. The characters are not well-developed, especially Lesage. His obsession with locating a lost manuscript is not fully convincing. He seems to be adrift—more acted upon than acting. With little volition, he becomes embroiled in the Iranian Constitutional Revolution of 1906, wandering from one location to the next in between bouts of love-making with his Persian princess. But despite these shortcomings, the novel is entertaining, exciting, and educational, immersing the reader in the political upheavals of Persia during the last several centuries.

The Girl with the Louding Voice

Abi Daré

The Girl with the Louding Voice by Abi Daré unfolds in the first-person point of view of Adunni, a precocious fourteen-year-old girl who grows up in a small Nigerian village.

The novel opens with Adunni assuming responsibility for the household chores after the death of her mother. She takes care of her father and two brothers. Faced with financial difficulties, her father took her out of school and then married her off to a local taxi driver in exchange for a substantial dowry. Adunni is his third wife and is expected to bear him sons. She befriends Khadija, the second wife, but when Khadija dies in childbirth, Adunni runs away to Lagos where she is sold in domestic service as a housekeeper for Big Madam. Adunni is exploited, abused, and beaten. With the help of Big Madam’s chef, with guidance from Big Madam’s driver, and with tutoring from a helpful neighbor, Adunni obtains a scholarship to complete her education and achieve her life-long dream of becoming a teacher.

The strength of this novel lies in Adunni’s voice. Her broken English, the unusual juxtaposition of her words, her diction, her mixed up sentence constructions, her vibrant sensory impressions, her prolific use of colorful imagery, and the sing-song rhythm of her language leap off with the page with exuberance and a fresh vitality.

Despite all the hardships she experiences in her young life, Adunni remains resilient and steadfast. Her spirit is indomitable, her fierce determination infectious, her louding voice delicious. She is fortunate to encounter individuals who recognize her potential and help her along the way. Their presence balances out those who oppress and victimize her. In the midst of her pain and suffering, her spirit is buoyed by those who offer friendship, solidarity, and support.

Adunni’s unique narrative voice adds authenticity to her story. The reader experiences the world through Adunni’s eyes and her very potent sense of smell. Her eye for detail and sensory impressions immerses the reader in the sights, sounds, smells, and texture of life in her village and, later, in Lagos. Her vivid portrayal of characters and candid observations about their appearance, mannerisms, and the pungent odors emanating from their bodies bring them to life. Her generosity of spirit and compassion for the suffering of others never falters.

The predictable outcome of the novel does little to detract from a compelling story told in the narrative voice of an unforgettably delightful and precocious young girl whose louding voice soars triumphantly.

The Captain's Daughter

Alexander Pushkin; translated by Natalie Duddington

The Captain’s Daughter by Alexander Pushkin, translated from the Russian by Natalie Duddington, is an engaging novella situated in eighteenth century Russia. The first-person narrator, Pyotr Andreyich Grinev finds himself embroiled in the historical rebellion of peasants and Cossacks against the government of Catherine II. The rebellion, led by Pugachov, was ultimately crushed, and Pugachov was executed.

The narrator begins his journey as a compassionate but naïve young man. As he sets off on his new career in the army, he has a chance encounter with a man freezing in a blizzard. He generously gives him a warm coat, an act that reaps benefits when he encounters the same man during the turmoil of the peasant’s rebellion and its ensuing bloodbath. Meanwhile, the narrator has fallen in love with the captain’s daughter and sets off on a hazardous mission to rescue her from the clutches of his rival. The novella has all the makings of a Sir Walter Scott historical romance but in a condensed and tighter structure.

One of the appeals of the novel lies in the relationship between the characters. Pugachov, the ostensible villain in the piece who leads the rebellion, is portrayed sympathetically despite his gruff mannerisms. He repays Pyotr Andreyich for his generosity by sparing his life and assisting him in rescuing his beloved. But the most delightful relationship is between the narrator and his servant, Savelyich. Their humorous bantering back and forth echoes the chatter of another famous duo, Don Quixote and his trusty servant, Sancho Panza. Savelyich is fiercely protective of his master, proffering practical advice and guidance. His down-to-earth wisdom serves Pyotr Andreyich well if he chooses to listen.

A romantic historical novella which includes the hero’s coming of age, blizzards, duels, a villain in military uniform, a sympathetic rebel leader, the heroic rescue of a damsel in distress, and an encounter with Catherine the Great set against the backdrop of a Russian rebellion. In the hands of Alexander Pushkin, the narrative exudes warmth and makes for a quick, delightful, and swashbuckling read.

Highly recommended, especially for those who enjoy Russian novels.