North Woods

Daniel Mason

North Woods by Daniel Mason consists of a series of loosely connected vignettes covering a period of three centuries. The thread connecting them is the sequence of characters inhabiting and/or visiting the same yellow house in the woods at one time or another. 

The narrative opens with a pair of young lovers in colonial New England fleeing from their Puritan neighbors. They successfully escape into the north woods and lay the foundation stone that will later serve as the location for the yellow house. One by one, we are introduced to a succession of inhabitants of the house in a sort of relay race. These include a woman captured by Native Americans; Charles Osgood, who loves the woods and who cultivates a delicious variety of apples called Osgood’s Wonder; his two daughters living well into their spinsterhood; an abolitionist; a runaway slave; a famous landscape artist; a manufacturer; his daughter and her schizophrenic son. And, of course, one mustn’t forget to add to the mix a couple of ghosts thrown in for good measure.

The yellow house experiences various transformations and stages of decay and revival, ranging from expansion, abandonment, disrepair, refurbishing, and rebranding. The surrounding woods experience their share of change with the loss of the original flora and fauna and the introduction of disease-bearing insects, invasive fungi, and pathogens.

The narrative is a hodgepodge of styles consisting of exposition, letters, poems, diary entries, song lyrics, medical case notes, documents, a real-estate listing, calendars, a reporter’s true crime detective story, and an address to a historical society. Each vignette is self-contained but drops a seed that is picked up in a vignette further down the line. Botanical illustrations separate each vignette. Peppered throughout are breathtaking descriptions of the natural environment, including a hilarious passage of the coupling of two amorous beetles.

With so many styles, so many characters, and so much going on in this lowly house in the woods, the novel shouldn’t work. But in the hands of a master craftsman like Daniel Mason, it not only works, it works brilliantly. The vignettes are self-contained and compelling with unique, fully-fleshed out, and authentic characters. The ghosts—literal and metaphorical—flit in and out of the narrative. Nature comes alive in soaring, lyrical diction. It is resilient and survives in different manifestations as when, for example, the skeletal remains of a human body shelter an apple seed that takes root, strengthens, and shoots up to catch the sunlight. The same apple trees later meet their demise when swallowed up by oak and chestnut trees. Nothing and no one that is dead is gone forever. All merely transform from life to death to new life in a never-ending cycle. And all is inextricably intertwined. In this hodgepodge of a narrative, Mason is somehow able to imbue the tale with a gentle comedy that pokes fun at human foibles.

In one of the most moving vignettes, Robert, the schizophrenic, believes he can “stitch” and repair the forest with his footsteps. Daniel Mason has performed a magical stitching of his own in a novel that is well-deserving of all the accolades and praise heaped upon it. His content and structure are imaginative; his execution, brilliant. In an astonishing tour de force, he bursts open exhilarating new possibilities for the novel form.

The Pearl That Broke Its Shell

Nadia Hashimi

The Pearl that Broke its Shell by Nadia Hashimi unfolds in parallel narratives of two women in Afghanistan who lived a hundred years apart. The women are Rahima and her great, great grandmother, known as Bibi Shekiba.

The novel opens with Rahima as a young girl living with her parents and sisters. Their aunt begins telling them the story of Bibi Shekiba to inspire them. One side of Bibi Shekiba’s face is severely disfigured as a result of a cooking accident. She assumes the role of a man by fending for herself after her immediate family dies of cholera. She is then taken in by her relatives who cheat her of her birthright and treat her as a servant before trading her away to serve another family. Her story inspires Rahima to become a bacha posh, the cultural practice which allowed any family without sons to dress a daughter as a boy. This was a temporary solution to help the family since a son had freedom of movement to go to school, to shop, and to work—something denied to females.

Bibi Shekiba is eventually traded to work in the king’s palace. Dressed as a male, her job is to guard the women in his harem since men could not be trusted to do so. When one of the king’s wives is discovered to be in an illicit sexual relationship with a man, she is stoned to death. As the guard on duty, Bibi Shekiba is punished for failing in her duties. She is sent off to become the second wife to a close advisor of the king’s son. She gives birth to a son, securing her position in the household.

Along parallel lines, Rahima is married off to pay for her father’s debt. She becomes the fourth wife of a brutal war lord where she is abused by him, his mother, and some of his wives. Because she knows how to read and write, she accompanies his first wife to the Afghani parliament in Kabul to help her navigate the paperwork as a member of the newly formed parliament. When Rahima’s young son dies unexpectedly of illness, she disguises herself as a bacha posh and escapes to a shelter for abused women.

Rahima’s aunt intermittently weaves Shekiba’s narrative to inspire and encourage Rahima to follow in her ancestor’s footsteps. Although they lived a hundred years apart, the similarities between the lives of the two women are readily apparent. The restrictions on women remained unchanged. Sequestered, secluded, and powerless, women were the property of men to be dealt with and disposed of as they saw fit. They were denied voice and deprived of their rights. Bickering and jealousy proliferated as women competed for male attention and privilege. And with few exceptions, women were frequently used as tools to reinforce the patriarchal oppression of their sisters.

The narrative structure worked well with the intermittent weaving of the dual story lines. But more could have been done with the setting by immersing the reader in the sensory experience of life in Afghanistan. The characters felt distant, perhaps because of the nature of the writing which was primarily expository. While we read about and sympathize with Shekiba and Rahima for the abuse and discrimination they experience as a result of the patriarchal tenets of their culture, we are not drawn to them as characters. Their stories end inconclusively: Shekiba hopes her son’s generation will see better days; and Rahima escapes the abuse to end up who knows where.

Sweetland

Michael Crummey

Sweetland by Michael Crummey explores a crusty old man’s attempt to cling to a dying way of life on the abandoned island he calls home.

In the sparsely populated fictional island of Sweetland, located just south of Newfoundland, its handful of villagers agree to accept the government’s resettlement package of $100,000 cash for each inhabitant. The government’s condition is all must agree to leave the island or the deal falls through. Pressure mounts on the lone holdout, 69-year-old Moses Sweetland. Named after his family, the island has been Sweetland’s home for most of his life. He refuses to give up on it, fighting a lone battle for its survival.

Although he is a cantankerous old man, Moses Sweetland plays the role of caretaker for many of the island’s quirky inhabitants. He knows each one’s history, life, loves, and losses. He is generous and can always be counted on to lend a hand, whether it is to deliver a baby calf, share his catch of fish, or help bury their dead. His dialogue is peppered with sarcasm, but his generosity of spirit shines under a curmudgeonly veneer. This is especially apparent in his dealings with his niece’s autistic son, Jesse, with whom he shares a strong bond. When a tragic accident takes Jesse’s life, Moses announces he is ready to accept the government’s offer. But this is all a ruse since he has no intention of leaving the island he loves. He fakes his own death and hides, watching from a distance as the community leaves the island on the last ferry. He leads a Robinson Crusoe existence with only a scraggly dog to keep him company.

Crummey details Sweetland’s daily activities to survive. He raids empty homes and cabins for firewood and food. He sets animal traps. He endures blistering storms. He listens to his radio for company. His mind wanders to the past, flashing back to pivotal events in his life. And he is besieged by ghosts of his past. Slowly but surely, Sweetland begins the inexorable decline in physical strength and mental acuity. He hallucinates. Alone on the island, he questions whether the people he sees and converses with are real, figments of his imagination, or ghosts. The ending, intentionally ambiguous, leaves open to interpretation Sweetland’s ultimate fate.

Crummey’s technique keeps the reader guessing what is real and what is imaginary. Sweetland’s conversations disorient the reader because one is never quite sure if he is having a flashback or hallucinating. Similarly, the border separating the dead from the living is a foggy blur. While he is alive, Jesse never tires of relating conversations he has with Sweetland’s deceased brother, Hollis; and alone on the island, Sweetland witnesses a ghostly parade of deceased villagers.

In this well-crafted novel, Crummey immerses the reader in Sweetland’s experience so that we feel his loneliness, isolation, and bereavement at the loss of community and a way of life. His is a eulogy for the way things used to be. No matter how obstinately or heroically Sweetland clings to the past or tries to relive it, there is no going back. He eventually realizes it is not place that makes a home. It is the community inhabiting it. And in the absence of one’s community, place loses its significance and will never again be home.  

James

Percival Everett

James by Percival Everett, loosely based on Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, flips Twain’s novel by unfolding the narrative in the first-person voice of Jim, the runaway slave. Everett adheres broadly to the outlines of Twain’s novel with Jim and Huck on the run together. Jim runs away when he learns he is to be sold to a man in New Orleans and will be separated from his wife and daughter. Huck fakes his own death to escape from his abusive father. The two overcome obstacles, are separated and reunited on several occasions, barely survive drowning in the mighty Mississippi, and escape hair-raising encounters with white men who are chasing them. But this is more than just a retelling of Huckleberry Finn. Everett weaves the concept of oral and physical performance throughout his novel to interrogate the social construction of race and to show the humanity and intelligence of James and the other slaves.

James is well-read; articulate; engages in imaginary debates with Locke, Rousseau, and Voltaire about the nature of human rights and slavery; and writes notes on his experiences. He is also a consummate performer. He articulates a public diction that makes him sound gullible, foolish, and ignorant to pacify the white people he encounters. He calls it a “slave filter” and he teaches enslaved children to translate their private speech into “slave” talk. This is akin to teaching them a second language. And it is no exercise in futility. As he impresses upon the children, this is a matter of survival. In effect, the slaves are bilingual. They perform in the manner white people expect of slaves in order to mitigate the threat whites would feel if they discover their slaves can articulate their thoughts clearly, can read, write, and think for themselves.

James’ diction operates on two levels: his private voice in which he is articulate, circumspect, and literate. This voice appears only when he speaks to other slaves or records his thoughts. And his public voice which appears when he speaks to white people to reinforce their preconceived notions of slaves. In addition to a private and public language, James engages in private and public performance. In public, he shuffles his feet, hobbles along, keeps his head bowed, and won’t look white people in the eye. In private, he is resourceful, athletic, and can move swiftly in land or water.

The concept of performance is treated with a heavy dose of irony when James is purchased to sing in a minstrel show. With the exception of one man, the performers are all white males. They cover their faces with black boot polish to look black. The one exception is a black man whose skin is light enough to pass as white. James’ face is smothered with black polish to look blacker, but white is painted around his eyes and mouth to make him look like a white man with black face. In effect, a group of mostly white men put on a performance pretending to be slaves by singing and dancing and holding themselves up for ridicule by the white audience. Although the white audience and white minstrels don’t know it, theirs is a performance of a performance that slaves adopt to dupe whites. The irony and absurdity of the situation is not lost on James or the reader.

Percival Everett’s brilliant re-imagining of Twain’s classic novel honors its predecessor while interrogating the social construction of race through the performance and voice of an eloquent and unforgettable James. An impressive achievement.

The Wren, The Wren

Anne Enright

The Wren, The Wren by Anne Enright alternates between the first-person voice of Nell, a young woman in Dublin, and the third-person voice of her mother, Carmel. Interspersed throughout the narrative are original poems as well as translations of centuries old Irish poetry by Phil McDaragh, Carmel’s father. Phil is a fictional Irish poet who achieves fame and becomes a source of pride for his community. A short piece in which Phil speaks in first-person voice is included as a brief interlude.

Little happens in the novel. Both the Carmel and Nell sections are non-linear, leaping backwards and forward in time from their respective childhoods to the present. Carmel describes the rocky relationship of her parents, her father’s abandonment of the family when her mother becomes ill, and the fame and new wife he acquires while living in America. She struggles to come to terms with the father she loved, her resentment at his desertion, his death in America and burial in Ireland, and the fact he is hailed by the Irish as a highly successful, home-grown poet. She seeks to understand him and his relationships through his poems.

Nell never knew her grandfather but seems to have inherited his love for words. Like her mother, she tries to connect with him through the language in his poems. Her section primarily focuses on her complicated relationship with her mother and her tangled relationship with her abusive boyfriend, Felim. Her narrative is fragmented; her communication style is stream of consciousness. Being raised by a single mother, Nell feels untethered and is constantly seeking to connect and be understood. She travels to exotic locations, eventually ending up in New Zealand, after which she returns to Ireland with her new boyfriend.

A major theme of the novel is how language and silences can serve to connect us or distance us over time. Carmel and Nell care deeply for each other, but their ability to communicate with one another is fraught with tension. Theirs is a stuttering communication, with one or the other constantly holding something back. One of the most powerful scenes in the novel is when Carmel and her sister, Imelda, come to physical blows over inheritance issues after their mother’s death. They communicate physically by flinging one another against furniture, slapping and punching one another. But the whole debacle takes place in silence.

And then there is the language of Phil’s poetry and the old Irish poetry he translates. The language of the dead poet reaches out to touch his daughter and granddaughter. In some ways, his words are an attempt to show connection with and seek redemption from the family he abandoned. Available on the internet is an old interview with Phil which has both Carmel and Nell scrutinizing his words and observing his movements. Rather than connecting mother and daughter through their interest in the one man they share, they each watch the interview separately and remain silent about its contents.

Enright doesn’t simply describe relationships and patterns of communication and silences. She allows the reader to experience them through her characters. Her women are vividly drawn and authentic, each with a distinctive voice, each silencing her voice at different times, and with each voice capturing shades of loss, longing, and the fragility of connection.

Agent Running in the Field

John Le Carre

Agent Running in the Field by John Le Carré unfolds in the first-person voice of Nat, a forty-seven-year-old veteran of the British secret service and an avid badminton player. Nat is always up for a challenge when it comes to badminton. So when a young and fit Ed Shannon shows up at the Athleticus Club and challenges him to a game of badminton, Nat eagerly embraces the challenge. The two strike up a friendship, playing regularly and enjoying a cordial drink and chat at the end of each game. But all is not as it seems.

Ed wears his political anti-Trump, anti-Brexit views on his sleeve. He finds a sympathetic ear in Nat as he rants about the American president, slams his cozying up to Putin and his anti-Europe stance. But this wouldn’t be a Le Carré novel if things didn’t get complicated. Nat is disenchanted with his current demotion since it virtually consists of glorified baby-sitting a team of colleagues. Before long, he is actively embroiled in clandestine meetings with secret agents, double agents, and, possible triple agents. His long-standing, patient wife, Prudence, has learned through their years of marriage not to ask too many questions about his assignments. But when Nat finds himself in a precarious position with his own intelligence services, Prudence lends her unwavering and practical support.

After a slow beginning, the novel picks up its pace and moves rapidly along through twists and turns, surveillance operations, covert meetings in Europe, obscure codenames, a potpourri of watchers to observe and listen in on secret conversations, coded dialogue, false identities, and interrogations, all of which lead up to the final denouement. But this spy story offers more than thrills and suspense. It also explores the toll the profession of a secret service agent can take on a family.

Le Carre’s prose is brisk and energetic. The narrative is entertaining and holds the reader’s attention. The plot twists, misdirection, questionable loyalties, bureaucratic infighting, world-weary spies, and tight dialogue generate tension and suspense. Add to that the ongoing issues with Brexit, the Trump presidency, and Putin, and what we get is a spy thriller steeped in contemporary politics.

The Thirty-Nine Steps

John Buchan

First published in 1915, The Thirty-Nine Steps by John Buchan is a classic spy thriller. It recounts the harrowing adventures and narrow escapes of Richard Hannay, a former mining engineer recently arrived in London from Rhodesia.

Bored with his uneventful life, Hannay decides to leave England to seek adventure. But adventure comes knocking on his door in the form of his neighbor, Franklin Scudder. Scudder, fearing for his life, seeks temporary refuge in Hannay’s flat. He claims to have uncovered a plot to assassinate the Premier of Greece on his visit to London, an assassination which will start a world war. Hannay’s adventure begins when he discovers Scudder’s corpse with a knife through his heart.

Realizing he will be accused of murder once the body is discovered, Hannay assumes the first of his many disguises. He escapes from London to Scotland. Deciphering Scudder’s notes in his little black book, Hannay learns of the existence of a German spy ring known as the “Black Stone.” Their goal is to steal Britain’s naval defense plans to give Germany the advantage when war breaks out.

Since he has been entrusted to thwart the assassination plot and to prevent the theft of Britain’s naval secrets, Hannay traipses all over the Scottish moors to buy himself time. He assumes multiple disguises, successfully evading police on the one hand and the German spy ring on the other. He makes it to London just in time to uncover a deception by a German spy in the guise of a British naval officer. The spy has obtained Britain’s secret plans and has made arrangements to get them to Germany. Following Scudder’s clues and in a race against time, Hannay figures out the location where the plans are being handed off. He thwarts the plot and saves the day by preventing the British naval plans from leaving the country.

The novel moves at a brisk pace. Hannay frantically evades capture while being pursued by the police and the German spy ring. He interacts with the locals, borrows their clothes to disguise himself, steals cars, sleeps in the outdoors, and takes time to appreciate the bucolic scenery. His plan is far-fetched; his escapes are unlikely; his encounters with well-meaning, helpful strangers is improbable. And his luck never seems to run out.

This is a classic tale of espionage that bounds along at a rollicking pace. If one overlooks the dated feel, the improbabilities, the lucky encounters, and the old-boy network with ne’er a female in sight, one can just sit back and enjoy the ride.

Unlikely Friendships: 47 Remarkable Stories from the Animal Kingdom

Jennifer S. Holland

In Unlikely Friendships: 47 Remarkable Stories from the Animal Kingdom, Jennifer S. Holland compiles a collection of examples in which animals make friends with creatures outside their own species. Examples include a leopard with a cow, a dog with a piglet, an orangutan with a kitten, and a macaque with a dove. Each example comes with a short introduction documenting the location where the friendship took place, and each comes with heartwarming photographs of interspecies cuddling.

A quick, easy, and enjoyable read.

Animal Dreams

Barbara Kingsolver

Animal Dreams by Barbara Kingsolver alternates between the first-person voice of Codi Noline and the third-person voice of her father, Doc Homer. Codi returns to her small home town in Arizona, ostensibly to take care of her father who has been diagnosed with Alzheimer. In reality, she has come home seeking to find herself. Hired to teach at a local high school, she prefers to live in the home of a close school friend rather than with her father. Meanwhile, her younger sister, Hallie, has gone to Nicaragua to work with farmers and their families. Hallie is determined to make a positive difference in their lives even at the cost of putting her own life at risk since Nicaragua is in the throes of violent civil unrest. We hear Hallie’s voice through Codi’s flashbacks and through the letters she sends to Codi.

Codi’s narrative describes her feelings of estrangement. Her mother died shortly after Hallie’s birth and she and her sister were raised by their father. Codi struggles to come to terms with her past. Her relationship with her father is strained; their conversations are at cross purposes. Codi revives a relationship she had with Loyd Peregrina, a high school boyfriend. Loyd shares stories about his culture, his people, and the history of the land. She is embraced by the women of the town when she joins forces with them to combat the devastating environmental pollution caused by a corporation stripping the land of its natural resources. Kingsolver successfully establishes a strong and palpable sense of community among the town’s inhabitants.

Initially, Codi comes across as a self-obsessed whiner with a tendency to interpret everything she sees and hears as reflecting on her or her childhood. Although in her early thirties, she frequently sounds like a teenager suffering from existential angst. She idolizes her sister who rejects any attempt to idolize her. She is directionless and is determined not to form permanent attachments to anyone, including her native American boyfriend. Eventually, however, she comes to recognize she is supported by a community and feels welcomed in its embrace.

The Arizona landscape, the ancestral Puebloan homes carved out of rocks, and the natural springs are vividly evoked. Dotted within the desert are bursts of color in the form of flowers, peacocks, and rocks. The detail is immersive; the changes in weather and its impact on the land is fully realized; the sheer beauty of the southwestern landscape is writ large.

Kingsolver ties the different threads to a satisfactory conclusion. The town compels the corporation to submit to its demands; Codi learns the family secrets her father had kept buried from her and her sister; and she starts a new life for herself in her home town with Loyd. The prose is clear and descriptive. The narrative is compelling. But the characters feel contrived—more character types than real. Codi is the lost soul who ran away from home only to find herself by going home; Loyd stereotypically imparts native wisdom about the land and his culture’s mythology; and Hallie is the idealist who runs off to save the peasants in a war-torn country.

Other than the quibble with characterization, this was an enjoyable and easy read.

The Fawn

Magda Szabo; translated by Kathleen Szasz

The Fawn by Magda Szabo, translated from the Hungarian by Kathleen Szasz, unfolds in the first-person voice of Eszter Encsy, an accomplished stage actress in Soviet-era Budapest. To describe Eszter’s narrative voice as unreliable, intense, blunt, spiteful, and vindictive is to apply a heavy coating of sugar on it. Her monologue consists of an angry and bitter tirade to an unnamed reader who is later revealed to be her lover.

The novel opens with Eszter describing her poverty-stricken childhood. She is an only child, always hungry, shoeless, and consumed with rage at the world. She is virtually ignored by her parents who have eyes only for each other. Her father is a lawyer who is more concerned with nurturing plants and insects than his daughter. Her mother gives piano lessons to help support the family. With hands apparently too delicate for cooking and cleaning, the mother delegates all household chores to her daughter. Eszter has to cook, clean, and shop for the family while attending school. Snubbed by their rich relations, Eszter takes on additional tasks to help make ends meet.

Eszter’s rage at the world coalesces, manifesting itself with a vengeance on the figure of her classmate, Angela. The daughter of a judge, Angela is a beautiful, kind, and gentle young girl from a wealthy family. She is compassionate, sensitive, generous, and eager to share her good fortune with her classmates, especially Eszter. She is everything Eszter is not; she has everything Eszter has been denied. Eszter’s interiority is full of venom and spite toward Angela while externally, she pretends to be her friend. She is consumed with an obsessive and palpable hatred toward her. As a young girl, Eszter steals Angela’s pet fawn and is ultimately responsible for the fawn’s death. As an adult and a successful actress, she projects a façade of being Angela’s friend while conducting an affair with Angela’s husband.

Eszter learns to cultivate an ability to conceal her opinions and emotions at a young age. She fakes an interest in others while her thoughts spew venom at them. She simultaneously avoids and seeks people who care for her. She is hell-bent on a path of self-destruction, suggesting she has internalized feelings of insignificance and thinks herself undeserving of love. Her abrupt shifts in time can be confusing, especially during the first few chapters. Eventually, the narrative begins to make sense. Her monologue takes on the form of an attempt to explain to her lover why she is the way she is by unfolding the story of her life. It constitutes an apology of sorts, but it comes too late.

This is a compelling tour de force by an extraordinarily talented author. In Eszter, Magda Szabo has created a psychologically complex character, tormented by her past, riddled with envy, consumed with rage and regret. Beneath it all, she is full of self-loathing. Through Eszter Encsy, Szabo shows how a traumatic past can haunt us and influence our life’s trajectory for good or, as in the case of Eszter, for ill.

Remembering Laughter

Wallace Stegner

Remembering Laughter by Wallace Stegner is a brief but powerful novella about the tragic consequences of marital infidelity.

Margaret Stuart and her husband, Alec, welcome Margaret’s sister, the exuberant Elspeth, who has come all the way from Scotland to live with them on their farm in Iowa. When Elspeth arrives at the train station, she is greeted warmly by her sister and brother-in-law. Their journey to the farm is filled with laughter as Alec feeds Elspeth one hilariously improbable animal story after another. All seems to be going well until Margaret decides to host a party to introduce Elspeth to some eligible males. But her plan backfires when Elspeth and Alec find themselves attracted to one another and start an affair only to be discovered later by Margaret. The situation is further exacerbated by Elspeth’s pregnancy.

The seed of marital infidelity poisons the relationship between the sisters and between husband and wife. Margaret and Elspeth become solemn and estranged from one another. They raise Elspeth’s son in an atmosphere devoid of joy and laughter. This continues for 18 years with neither sister willing to forgive or forget. Elspeth is plagued with guilt and cannot forgive herself; Margaret, consumed by jealousy, cannot let go of the pain of betrayal. Their unwillingness to let go of the past sucks the joy and spirit out of their lives. They are broken and their rigid, stone-faced appearance reflects just how broken they are.

Although this is Stegner’s first published novel, signs of his greatness as an author are already evident. He has an uncanny ability to convey volumes through his attention to detail. The characters are drawn with sensitivity and tenderness. This is a quiet, beautifully written novel about how foolish lapses in judgment can haunt us for the rest of our lives. It is sad. It is tragic. And as with Stegner’s subsequent novels, it is oh, so very human.

Euphoria

Lily King

Euphoria by Lily King is a fictionalized account inspired by the field work performed in New Guinea by the anthropologist Margaret Mead, her second husband, and the man who was to become her third husband.

The novel opens when Nell Stone (Margaret Mead) and her husband, Fen, have returned from disappointing field work in New Guinea and are about to set sail for Australia. They meet up with an English anthropologist, Andrew Bankson, who has been working in the same general vicinity as they have. Desperately lonely, Bankson convinces the couple to go back to New Guinea with a promise to introduce them to the Tam, a peaceful tribe that has yet to be studied. Their agreement to study the Tam sets into motion a complex relationship between the three anthropologists, one that is fraught with intellectual competitiveness, petty jealousies, sexual rivalries, as well as some measure of academic cooperation and inspiration.

Abusive, selfish, and secretive, Fen is envious of and resentful of his wife’s academic success. He diminishes her proclivity for extensive record-keeping, preferring to immerse himself in the culture as a lived experience. Bankson is more in tune with Nell’s work habits and is inspired by her. He falls in love with her and she with him. Meanwhile, Fen sets off without warning to abscond with a sacred object from a neighboring tribe—one that he thinks will shower him with riches and establish him as a renowned anthropologist. His quest leads to disastrous consequences. Deviating from Margaret Mead’s actual life, King concludes the love triangle tragically.

King portrays the three anthropologists as distinct characters with different approaches to field work. She interrogates the issue of how much of what an anthropologist observes is an accurate description of the life of a tribe; how much is influenced by the eye of the observer; how much of what the tribe shares is authentic; and how much is intended to dupe the observer. She captures the euphoric feeling that characterizes a breakthrough in understanding in a powerful, exhilarating scene in which the three anthropologists cooperate to design a grid that combines the disparate pieces of knowledge they have garnered about the different tribes into a cohesive, comprehensive whole.

Although the tribes and villages are fictional, Lily King’s extensive research on the work of Margaret Mead and other anthropologists enables her to depict village life and tribal activities authentically. Just as Nell Stone familiarizes herself with and befriends the village women and children, King immerses the reader in village life and the methodology anthropologists use to tease valuable information about the culture. The novel moves at a brisk pace, is well-written, and compelling.

Enter Ghost

Isabella Hammad

Enter Ghost by Isabella Hammad unfolds in the first-person voice of Sonia Nasir, a thirty-eight-year-old daughter of a Palestinian father and a Dutch mother. Sonia is an actress living in London. After the breakdown of a disastrous love affair with a married man, Sonia decides to visit her older sister, Haneen, living in Haifa. Haneen is a professor at a Tel Aviv university. Years have elapsed since Sonia’s last visit to her ancestral homeland. In the interim, she has married, divorced, and remains focused on her acting career. Sonia is not very likeable as a character. She is conceited, self-absorbed, and with an interiority that is prolonged and tedious.

A return to her family’s Palestinian homeland conjures mixed emotions in Sonia and revives snatches of long since buried memories. Her relationship with her sister is strained. Their communication falters, stutters, and stumbles, with neither one initially willing to open up. Enter Haneen’s friend, Miriam. Miriam is a charismatic theatre director currently in the throes of putting together an Arabic production of Hamlet in the West Bank. She is in need of someone to play the roles of Gertrude and Ophelia and turns to Sonia for help. Reluctantly, Sonia agrees to read for the two parts until Miriam is able to find a permanent replacement. Sonia meets the rest of the cast and finds herself increasingly drawn into the production until she finally agrees to play the roles of Gertrude and Ophelia.

The narrative alternates between the rehearsals and interactions of the actors; their competing egos and shifting allegiances; probes into the craft of acting; Sonia’s interiority as she begins the slow process of understanding the challenges of living in occupied land; her interrogation of her family’s role in the Palestinian resistance; and her increasing emotional and intellectual investment in the play’s success. Against this backdrop, Hamad shows how even something as simple as travel is fraught with tension because of Israeli military check-points, interrogations, and the fear of and humiliations inflicted by Israel soldiers. Add to that the challenges of producing a play while navigating the political landscape, juggling funding issues, dealing with infiltrators who spy on those involved in the production, intermittent road closures, and theatre closures. These occur against a back drop of demonstrations, tear gas, and civilian killings. In spite of a haunting fear the Israeli authorities can close down the production at a whim, the players show a fierce determination to persevere.

The selection of Hamlet is perceptive. The ghost haunting Hamlet becomes a metaphor for the ghosts haunting Sonia’s past. Just as Hamlet puts on a play to force Claudius to confront his guilt, the actors stage their production of Hamlet to similarly confront their oppressors. Hamlet’s description of Denmark as a prison resonates with its Palestinian audience, especially when Israeli soldiers menacingly approach the stage in full view of audience and actors. The play represents art as resistance. It assumes the role of a powerful tool courageously entering the political arena to resist oppression.

The novel’s strength lies in its ability to illustrate the fear and exhausting struggles of Palestinians living under occupation. Their determination to keep their cultural activities alive in spite of the numerous obstacles they face is highly commendable. Isabella Hammad’s ability to capture their struggle with skill and objectivity is worthy of praise.

Late Migrations: A Natural History of Love and Loss

Margaret Renkl

Late Migrations: A Natural History of Love and Loss by Margaret Renkl is a series of autobiographical vignettes about growing up in Alabama with three generations of her family. She couples these essays with her detailed observations of nature. The essays, varying in length between a few lines to a few pages, are poignant and heartfelt.

Renkl has been a keen observer of nature from childhood. Her insights into birds, animals, and insects bleed into her understanding of the interconnectedness of all life. She describes in detail the shapes, sizes, colors, migratory patterns, and parenting habits of different birds—details that can only come from years of astute observation. She provides new born creatures with shelter and camouflage from predators. And although she recognizes nature can be red in tooth and claw, she also sees the beauty and wonder in what many of us will gloss over as the most mundane sights in nature. The lens with which she views the natural world shines with compassion and tenderness.

Juxtaposed throughout her observations of nature are anecdotes about and conversations with her family. Renkl grew up in a cushion of love and comfort showered on her by her parents, grandparents, and great grandparents. Secure in her place in the world, she infuses her words with the unconditional love and gratitude she feels for her family as a child and for her husband and children as an adult.

The different threads intertwine, bounce off, and enhance one another. Running throughout is a circular concept of time, of beginnings that lead to endings that lead to new beginnings; of births, deaths, and new births; of the cycle of life brought about by time and seasonal changes. Renkl also acknowledges the resilience of nature. Birds and butterflies that disappear one year may appear unexpectedly the following year. The most one can do is make the necessary preparations to nurture their re-appearance and sit back patiently and wait. If you’re lucky, they will circle back.

The essays are poignant, heartfelt, warm, tender, and inspiring. The writing is magical, the tone, intimate. The illustrations by Billy Renkl, the author’s brother, are beautiful in their simplicity and elegance. A book to be read slowly and savored.

Martyr!

Kaveh Akbar

Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar chronicles the internal struggles of Cyrus Shams, a young man born in Iran who was brought to America by his father while an infant. His mother was on a commercial airliner to Dubai to visit her brother when her plane was accidentally shot down by an American missile. No one survived. Shortly after her death, Cyrus’ father, Ali, relocates to America with his infant son. Ali works in a chicken factory, doing everything he can to support his son. The two have only each other and get into a routine in their daily lives. Ali dies when Cyrus enters university. Cyrus is convinced his father had stayed alive just long enough to see him into adulthood.

Cyrus is an aspiring poet who struggles with depression, insomnia, and addiction. He has had to contend with racism and feelings of alienation all his life. He attends AA meetings and is able to remain drug-free and alcohol-free, but his demons continue to haunt. His constant thoughts of death lead him to interrogate the issue of what gives life purpose and death a meaning. He decides to compile a book about martyrs—people whose deaths made a meaningful statement. When his friend suggests he visit an artist dying of cancer who is spending her last days in a Brooklyn Museum talking to visitors, Cyrus decides she may provide some insights for his book. He visits her, and the two develop a rapport.

The novel unfolds with chapters moving back and forth in time and place. Inserted into the narrative are intermittent passages ostensibly taken from Cyrus’ Book of Martyrs. These include make believe conversations between various characters, for example, Lisa Simpson with Cyrus’ mother; Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Beethoven Shams; Ali Shams and Rumi. There is also poetry in the voices of the deceased; first-person narratives of Cyrus’ parents, an uncle who suffers from PTSD, a boyfriend, and Orkideh. Haunting dream sequences are thrown in for good measure.

What seems like a hodge podge of unrelated threads and a mixture of voices is somehow woven into a cohesive, comprehensive novel in the talented hands of Kaveh Akbar. The threads are entertaining as stand-alones but they also function to enrich the novel. The writing is witty, philosophical, profound, moving, introspective, and always compelling. Even though we are provided with only brief glimpses of some of the characters, they are depicted as three-dimensional, complex individuals. Cyrus emerges as a multifaceted, haunted, bisexual male, occupying the liminal space between two cultures, struggling to find a purpose in life and a meaning in death.

A compelling, engaging, and thoroughly original debut novel from a gifted poet and author.

Cinderella Liberator

Rebecca Solnit

Cinderella Liberator by Rebecca Solnit is a delightful retelling of the Cinderella story that empowers Cinderella and gives her agency.

Cahokia Jazz

Francis Spufford

Cahokia Jazz by Francis Spufford offers an alternative history of Cahokia as a city in the U.S. but separate from it. In Spufford’s narrative, Cahokia is owned and run by Native Americans who have their own language, their own mythology and rituals, and their own “royal” family.

Set in the 1920s, the story opens with the discovery of a gruesome murder in which the corpse has been disemboweled in some sort of ritualistic sacrifice. Detectives Drummond and Barrow are assigned the task of solving the crime. Drummond is white; Barrow is a native American with a talent for playing the piano. Initial inquiries lead the detectives to pursue it as a racially motivated crime perpetrated by the indigenous community against the white victim. But Barrow soon realizes the situation is far more complicated than he had previously thought. There is nothing simple in this racially divided city with its smoke screens and shifting allegiances. Barrow follows the labyrinthian trail that leads him to interact with Cahokia’s royalty, finds himself embroiled in political conspiracies, battles it out with the Klan, thwarts two assassination attempts, solves the murder, and discovers the extent of his partner’s corruption. In all of this mayhem, he has the time and wherewithal to pursue a love interest.

Spufford’s world building is intricate, detailed, gritty, and atmospheric. Barrow takes us on a tour of the city through its winding roads, different racial and ethnic neighborhoods, train station, smoke-infested police precinct, wide open plaza, dark alleys, and university. He dashes about from one urban jungle location to the next in a frenzy of activity. The description is immersive—perhaps too much so. The excessive detail of the city’s topography weighs down the narrative. To add to an already complicated setting, Spufford refers to the different groups by their assigned labels: Takouma – Native American; Taklousa – African ancestry; Takata – European ancestry. It is so confusing to keep track of who is what that it becomes necessary to refer to the front of the book several times to see which label has been assigned to which group to ascertain a specific character’s race and ethnicity.

The plot is dense with an excess of expository writing. The main character, Barrow is interesting as a detective noir archetype. He is an orphaned Takouma but a newcomer to Cahokia. He doesn’t speak the language and is conflicted about his allegiance to his former partner, to the police department, and to his mixed heritage identity. He finds himself increasingly drawn to Cahokia’s leading family as they wrestle for survival in a hothouse of racial and cultural tensions.

Francis Spufford is to be commended for writing an ambitious novel of a rich and complex world. But it maybe a little too ambitious with too many intricate details and pursuing too many directions to make it a compelling and comprehensive read.

Every Rising Sun

Jamila Ahmed

Every Rising Sun by Jamila Ahmed is a retelling of The Arabian Nights in the first-person voice of Shaherazade. Jamila Ahmed weaves the story-telling of Shaherazade within the historical context of twelfth-century Persia , a time when the Seljuk dynasty of Kirman is under constant attack from the Oghuz Turks.

The novel opens with Shahryar’s marriage to Fataneh. Shaherazade stumbles upon Fataneh in the embrace of her lover. She sends an anonymous note to Malik Shahryar warning him of his wife’s infidelity. Caught in the act, Fataneh is executed. But her death does not satisfy the Malik who proceeds to marry a different bride each night and then behead her. Into this madness steps Shaherazade, the vizier’s eldest daughter. She volunteers to marry Shahryar in the hope of putting an end to his madness. After the consummation of her marriage on the wedding night, Shaherazade asks permission to call for her sister, Dunya, who then asks Shaherazade to entertain them with a story. And so it begins.

Just as in the original story, Shaherazade stops each time at a critical point in her tale to leave Shahryar wanting to hear more. But unlike in the original story, Ahmed expands Shaherazade’s voice, agency, and role by giving her center stage in the political turmoil. The focus is on Shaherazade’s interiority and activities rather than on her stories. Ahmed’s Shaherazade travels with her husband when he fights alongside Saladin in the Crusades. She is given access to traditional all-male territory strategy sessions and is able to influence political decisions. She negotiates deals and truces. She falls in love with one of Shahryar’s associates and is tempted to commit adultery. And just as in the original story, she reforms Shahryar who now recognizes his egregious offense of beheading his three innocent brides. But Ahmed’s version deviates from the original in that it doesn’t include “a happily ever after” ending. Shaherazade and Shahryar divorce and she goes into exile.

The political intrigues in the court of Shahryar and the battles to regain territory from the western crusaders are interrupted by Shaherazade’s tales. The stories she weaves have strong female heroines, fearlessly eager to embrace adventure and overcome obstacles. The stories are replete with magical happenings, jinns, a talking parrot, transformations, and other-worldly habitats. Shaherazade recognizes the transformative power of her stories and spins them to effect change and influence action.

Shaherazade’s sister, Dunya, is also given greater prominence. Her role expands from that of a mere prompt for Shaherazade’s tales to that of an instrument to reconcile warring factions. And for her part, Shaherazade experiences change. She probes the morality of her decisions, develops greater sympathy and compassion for human weakness, and recognizes the choice between right and wrong is not as clearly defined as she had once thought it to be.

The setting is detailed and immersive. Ahmed transports the reader to the colorful sights, sounds, and smells of life in the courts, in the desert, and on the battle front. Her writing is fast-paced as she weaves Shaherazade’s tales seamlessly into the historical framework.

An engaging and imaginative take on a well-loved, traditional story.

The Good Wife of Bath

Karen Brooks

The Good Wife of Bath by Karen Brooks is a retelling of The Wife of Bath’s Prologue and Tale in Geoffrey Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales. Karen Brooks re-tells it in the first-person voice of Eleanor/Alyson, the wife of Bath, giving her the opportunity to speak in her own voice and present her version of the story.

The narrative opens in 1364 when a twelve-year-old Eleanor is forcibly married to a Fulk Bigod, a man old enough to be her grandfather. Much to her surprise, Bigod turns out to be a kind, considerate husband. Their marriage ends with Fulk’s death in 1369. Enter husband #2, Turbet Gerrish. Theirs is an economic alliance. After his death, his children inherit the properties, and Eleanor is left with nothing. Enter husband #3, Mervyn Slynge, many years her senior. He respects Eleanor’s business acumen in managing a sheep farm and overseeing a spinning and weaving industry. This is a marriage of convenience to camouflage the fact Slynge is gay. The two share a mutually respectful relationship. After his death, Eleanor marries Simon de la Pole who is unfaithful and extravagant with her money. He meets a violent end to his life, after which Eleanor marries husband # 5, Jankin Binder. All too soon, Eleanor discovers Jankin is violent, abusive, and a murderer. The novel ends in the year 1401 with Eleanor/Alyson as the proprietress of a brothel.

Weaving in and out of her life, her many marriages, and her lovers is Geoffrey Chaucer. He makes his first appearance as the poet partially responsible for her marriage to Fulk Bigod. Eleanor and Chaucer form a life-long friendship that transcends all other relationships and lasts until his death. As her friend and confidante, Chaucer assists Eleanor through her many trials and tribulations. She is credited with encouraging him to write about the lives of ordinary people, which, in turn, leads to his composition of The Canterbury Tales using Eleanor as his model for the Wife of Bath.

Karen Brooks gives Eleanor/Alyson the voice of a lusty, medieval feminist. Eleanor/Alyson rails against the abysmal position of women in the Middle Ages. Viewed as property, women were used, abused, marginalized, discarded, and held responsible for male violations against their bodies. Eleanor repeatedly voices her anger at the injustice of male privilege, claiming women want control of their own lives and their own decisions. She is not averse to using her feminine wiles, including her “queynte,” to get her way with men.

The narrative moves at a rollicking pace as Eleanor bounces from one marriage to another. Her many pilgrimages in England, Italy, and Jerusalem are described in vivid detail, as is the devastation caused by the plague. The extensive historical research that went into the novel is apparent. Eleanor/Alyson’s desire to embrace and support women is commendable. But her constant refrain against patriarchal injustices and rampant misogyny becomes tedious, repetitive, and stretches plausibility. Can an illiterate 14th Century woman, steeped in the culture and socialization of her time, be that strident in her demands for gender equality?

Although the occasional lapse into modern idioms and perspectives detracted from its authenticity, and although some of the narrative threads, including the miraculous survival of Jankin Binder, seem highly improbable, on the whole, this is an engaging and entertaining read.

The Last Pomegranate Tree

Bachtyar Ali; trans. Kareem Abdulrahman

The Last Pomegranate Tree by Bachtyar Ali, translated from the Kurdish by Kareem Abdulrahman, blends magical realism, myth, fables, and narrative threads that record the atrocities perpetrated by Saddam Hussein against the Kurdish people in northern Iraq. The narrative unfolds as an extended flashback in the first-person voice of Muzafar-i-Subhdam, a former peshmerga who fought Saddam’s oppression. He is on a ferry boat with other refugees trying to reach Europe. His narrative is peppered with the occasional direct address to his audience/the reader.

Muzafar had been imprisoned for twenty-one years in a remote facility in the middle of the desert, isolated and out of touch with the rest of the world. His one thought was of finding his son, Saryas-i-Subhdam, who was just a few days old when Muzafar was incarcerated. When Muzafar is set free, he is taken to the home of a fellow Kurdish soldier, Yaqub-i-Snawbar. Yaqub insists on keeping him captive for his own protection. But with the help of Ikram-i-Kew, Muzafar manages to escape and begin the search for his son.

Muzafar’s search follows a meandering path in which he learns there are three Saryas-i-Subhdam, one of whom may or may not be his son. He recounts the story of Muhammad the Glass-Hearted who died of love; makes the acquaintance of two sisters who vow never to marry and always wear white; learns of the death of one Saryas-i-Subhdam, the incarceration of another, and the severe burns of a third. He narrates how two of the Saryas-i-Subhdams and Muhammad the Glass-Hearted met, each of whom has a glass pomegranate in his possession that binds them together. The friends travel to a mysterious place where a magical pomegranate tree with life-changing properties flourishes. The tree straddles the two realms of dreams and reality.

Muzafar unravels one lead which leads him to another which leads him to another in a mosaic of interconnected stories. In the process, he encounters those who have suffered in the hands of Saddam and his security agents. One of the most gruesome scenes is toward the end of the novel where Muzafar goes to a children’s hospital to locate a Saryas-i-Subhdam. He encounters victims of Saddam’s atrocities—young boys with missing appendages; horribly disfigured, burned faces; and misshapen bodies that seem to have been cobbled together with various body parts.

This haunting narrative is, at times, difficult to follow because of its fragmentary nature and digressions; because it weaves in and out of different threads, scrambling chronology; and because of its unflinching honesty in depicting the horrors of war. Its disjointed structure echoes the way in which war ruptures lives and disrupts reality. The narrative is peppered with philosophical musings about the meaning of life, illustrations of man’s inhumanity to man, and the traumatic impact of war on the collective psyche. 

A challenging but worthwhile read.