Not a short story lover. But there are some that tell a longer story episodically. Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout is like this. The chapters stand alone.
I dove into Fight No More with the advice from a reviewer that this book of short stories (finalist for the Pulitzer Prize) was episodes in a longer story. It was, sort of. The writing is excellent. I could see the characters and their situations. But they did not engage me. All the stories are dark, and all the characters have pain and suffering in their past lives: The Holocaust, familial rape, drugs/alcohol, internet porn. Naturally this leads to pain and suffering in their present lives, though you do hope that Lexie and Jem escape. Not likely.
If you like the short story genre, this book will be a good read. For me, it was a good bedtime read because most stories are short. Plots are not “resolved”, but neither is life. These are well made YouTube videos: on and off. Millet is a prolific writer and I’ll try one of her novels for comparison.
“The twelve years that are the conventional designation of the Reconstruction period, from 1865 to 1877, teem with associations and developments that seem regrettable, if not simply baleful.”
Massive tomes have been written about the history of the Reconstruction. Guelzo pockets it into 130 pages, if you choose to ignore the supplements. It’s a wonder that the U.S. survived as a nation. Guelzo’s narrative is concise, but not snappy—it’s a bit of a tough read because so much is crammed onto every page.
The best predictor of the future is the past. So, we read history, understanding it is one person’s interpretation of the past. So much of what we see today flows from those 12 years of chaos. Andrew Johnson, Lincoln’s Vice President proved to be the antithesis of Lincoln. He was a Southerner from Tennessee. His direct actions overrode Congress’s attempts to set up an orderly transition from war to productive peace. Instead, former Confederate officers stepped into positions of power and eventually drove out the “Carpetbaggers” from the North. Johnson was impeached in March 1877, but the measure did not pass. In November, Ulysses S. Grant was elected, a flawed man with no political experience.
The Supreme Court took advantage of weak executive and legislative leadership, carving new powers for itself. They became the arbiter of efforts to bring North and South together, more often driving them further apart. In 1883, the overturned Sumner’s Civil Rights Bill, a deed not rectified until Lyndon Johnson’s presidency.
Though southern blacks were almost immediately elected to new legislative bodies in the South, they proved unable to formulate and negotiate favorable legislation. They were too poorly educated and underfunded. No charismatic leader arose from among them who could have led a more effective effort. Slavery proved no training ground for politics.
Guelzo, in the end, endorsed the theory that the U.S. would have fared much better if the rebellious states had been held and managed by the victorious North until arrangements were made for the integration of the former slaves and the infrastructure rebuilt. Instead, we proved true to our American need to “get it done” and left the South in shambles for both freed people and whites.
I was enlightened by Reconstruction. It deserves a second read, but not for a while…
How do you categorize a novel in which the protagonist mostly listens and observes the actions of others, not judgmentally, almost like a psychiatrist who has no control except her ability to stay or leave?
Transit episodically tells the tales of people who surround Faye, the protagonist, a writer. The book opens with a spam email from an astrologer informing her that an important transit of the planets will save her from the feeling insignificant.
"What the planets offer, she said, is nothing less than the chance to regain faith in the grandeur of the human: how much more dignity and honour, how much kindness and responsibility and respect, would we bring to our dealings with one another if we believed that each and every one of us had a cosmic importance?"
Faye purchases the chart, then proceeds to act insignificantly throughout the book. Her encounters with her realtor, who helps her purchase a flat in London, her remodeler, her abusive neighbors below, her former lover, her fellow writers, her children, her cousin—all of whom seem to have some cosmic importance, reveal Faye’s Zelig-like ability to avoid confrontation, much less make an impression. Her role is to allow them to reveal their stories, one chapter apiece.
Transit is short and crisply written. I enjoyed it and recommend it.
Teraphilia means love of a monster. Ryan Meyer likely enjoys this condition and writes poems to the monster under his bed that he wished would come out and play. In Dear Demon, he concludes,
“Crawl out from under my bedframe
Whenever you feel safe enough.
There’s no need to feel afraid:
I won’t bite.”
And in The Boogeyman Lives, Meyer tears down our image of this ogre and ends with,
“Most of all, he isn’t human, he isn’t
A metaphor for your Earthly fears.
He is much, much more than that.
He does in fact wait for you,
Underneath your bed.”
Embracing the macabre, Ryan makes every poem a slice of the dark side, the unknown and unknowable, leaving us closer to the subject but still in the dark. Because this is where the fun is for those who enjoy the unearthly. The poems, written in free verse, lend themselves to reading aloud, some even conjure up a group around a campfire, anticipating a good scare.
Meyer’s descriptions conjured memories for me. The Gusts of a Tempest brought back the pond on the farm.
“This silence grew louder during
Our pause, settling around us like silt
At the bottom of a pond…”
Anyone who ever walked in pond muck never forgets--and to compare silence to the silken terror that envelopes your feet and legs gives it such strength. In He Looked Like Me, we “shrug off anxieties...like a rain poncho”. In Sour, a woman “lets her inhibitions slide down the surface of the bar”. The poems are full of graphic word-images.
I am not a poet, nor a student of poetry, so cannot critique the literary qualities of Haunt. But I am a reader and enjoyed most every poem, thinking of where they could live again as a Halloween greeting card, or paired with an illustration or as the inspiration for a film. Some of the poems will haunt me.
Irish novels tend to be a bit melancholy, with the local environment heavily influencing the characters. Not so much Dublin, but the small towns are like hives—closely quartered, each knowing the others’ business.
Thus, Nora Webster begins her life as a middle-aged widow, two children grown and two still at home. The story has no big climax, just the natural ups and downs of growing children, helpful family and friends, and a town that knows everything you do. Lack of privacy is Nora’s angst. When her husband was alive, she shadowed her life under his, with perfect contentment. Now, she is visible, a person of interest.
Skillfully woven in the background is the beginning of the Irish “troubles”. Catholics in Northern Ireland are beginning to march, demanding more representation and the cessation of British oppression. It’s clear that politics plays an important, but underlying role.
Tóibín does nothing to glamorize the lives of his characters. It’s the late 60’s, and Nora does not even have a telephone, an early reveal about her personality. But few complain about this, even though they become involved in relaying messages and substituting for phone booths. The community cares. And Nora develops a single life on her terms, both private and public.
The book is 375 pages that flew by. The writing is so solid, the characters so grounded and the plot, though not surprising, pulls you along. Highly recommended for a gentle summer read.
Crammed with things you’ll enjoy as he travels from Bognor Regis in the South to Cape Wrath in the North of Scotland. Bill Bryson is funny. Not what you would expect from a Des Moines, Iowa native who spent most of his adult life in the U.K., much of it in senior copy and editing positions with the The Times and The Independent. It must have been galling for the British reporters to take direction from an American.
Bryson returns to his strongest theme in Little Dribbing—the joys of travel among the annoying idiosyncrasies of his adopted country. Unlike Paul Theroux, who makes you not want to visit the countries about which he entertainingly writes, Bryson revels in the beauty of the UK, the ignorance of British clerks, and the unique history of minor lay-bys that dot his island's highways and byways.
I’ve read most every book of Bryson’s—he’s that kind of writer. Not one who produces series thrillers or mysteries, but one from whom you will effortlessly learn in beautifully written prose. And, if you want to take on a 500-page science education (A must for those of us educated 50 years ago by the RSCJ’s.), A Short History of Nearly Everything is a must read. Also suggest that you read Bryson’s Notes from a Small Island prior to Little Dribbing.
Five Skies by Ron Carlson, (Penguin, 2008
The beautiful skies of the high plateau in Southern Idaho are the tableau against which Carlson draws this compact tale of three lonely men who come together to construct a reality TV set. Each has a difficult background: Darwin, death of a spouse; Art, death of a brother and Ronnie, petty criminal. The opportunity of a summer job with good pay brings them to the Idaho plateau where they establish camp and a work rhythm. The set reveals as it is built, without much focus on the production itself. The focus is on the development of trust, friendship and grief. Highly recommended.
Fractured Continent: Europe’s Crises and the Fate of the West by Wlliam Drozdiak (W. W Norton & Company Ltd., 2017)
Taut read that covers a lot of territory—almost all of Europe. In journalist style, Drozdiak delivers most pertinent 21st Century history about 13 European countries and Washington D.C. How different it is today that at the close of the 20th Century when a united Europe seemed almost a certainty. His thesis is that the rise of nationalism within the European countries has weakened the strength of numbers, threatens global trade, and leaves them weak and susceptible to Russian interference, if not takeover. This is a good read if you follow U.S. and European current events and sometimes cannot figure out “the back story”.
Elizabeth Bishop: A Miracle for Breakfast by Megan Marshall, (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2017)
This is a new biography of Elizabeth Bishop (1911 – 1979), one of the U.S.’s greatest poets. She was born in Lowell, MA. Her father died when she was one and her mother was committed to an asylum when she was five. She was raised by her mother’s family in Nova Scotia, a time she recalls fondly. Her father’s wealthy family brought her to U.S. for a boarding high school and Smith College. Early on, she acknowledged she was lesbian and had lots of lady friends throughout school. Her great love was an architect from Brazil, Lota de Macedo Soares. Elizabeth lived off and on in Brazil for years, and the country influenced her writing. Her actual literary output was small, but perfect—100 poems. She won the National Book Award, Pulitzer Prize and was U.S. Poet Laureate in 1959.
This biography is written by one of Bishop’s students at Harvard, so there are interesting insights into her professional life as well as her difficult, personal life. If you are into poetry, this is a good read.
The Jaguar Smile: A Nicaraguan Journey by Salman Rushdie (Picador, 1987)
A short book that I listened to in the car, it was Rushdie’s first non-fiction book. It details his three-week visit to Nicaragua in 1979, while the Sandinistas were in power. He was invited by an arts organization, and in a style reminiscent of Paul Theroux, does little to paint a pretty picture of what he finds. On the one hand, life is better, more democratic (if that means better) for the mestizos and indios. On the other, the Sandinistas were enjoying power and money much the same way that that powerful people do. Ties were close with Cuba, and the U.S., supporting the Contras, was hated.
At the end of the book, there is an Epilogue that Rushdie wrote in the 90’s when the book was republished. That should be read first to really benefit from the content of the book. It provides the perspective of time. Eventually the sanctions imposed by the U.S. choked the Nicaraguan economy and the Sandinistas were democratically voted out of power. A good little book if you like history in the Americas.
Phineas Finn: The Irish Member by Anthony Trollope, originally published as a serial October 1867 to May 1868 in St Paul's Magazine, London, England. Read by Librovox.org.
Charles Dickens and Anthony Trollope were contemporaries in the U.K. literary world. So why is Dickens a household name and most readers have not heard of Trollope? Some say Dickens was a more creative writer, with memorable characters and a unique knack for portraying hardscrabble London and general misery. Trollope is gentler, easier to read (for me). Dickens is the fruit cake and Trollope the egg custard—both lovely, but in different ways. Trollope’s 40 novels usually run in series, and there is enjoyment in tracing the characters who appear, downstage, front and center, then in another book, upstage, a marginal figure.
Phineas Finn is part of Trollope’s Pallisar Series. Finn is Irish, a unique hero in any mid-19th century British book. It deals with both British parliamentary politics of the 1860's, including voting reform (secret ballot and eliminating rotten boroughs and Irish tenant-rights) and Finn's romances with women of fortune, which would secure his financial future. The education and the romance are never heavy-handed. These would be excellent books to read to children as my grandmother did for me with Dickens’s novels. They are also good books for listening. They are large and heavy to tote as print books; and, if you miss a paragraph or two on the recording, it’s no big thing. Recommended
I liked this book the minute I looked inside: 307 pages, with large leading between the lines; short chapters and U.S. names – a comfort read. I’m interviewing Crais, one of the U.S.’s bestselling mystery authors at the Tucson Festival of Books. He has twenty books in his bibliography and is going strong--The Wanted is his new bestseller.
Crais handles the many elements of his mystery with ease. He introduces characters that most readers know intimately; his protagonists, Elvis Cole and Joe Pike are featured in 16 of his books. I've not read any of them, but Elvis and Joe were immediately familiar to me. I never felt like the backstory was missing. His new characters, a devoted single mom, her teenage, spineless son and his wacky girlfriend, become embroiled with major crime due to the teens’ burglary spree. There is a unique criminal team, who may be lovers, that provides a taste of comic relief—reminded me the radio comedians Bob and Ray (RIP), professional and droll.
Crais’s writing style flows, carrying the reader in a bubble of good writing and thoughtful character development. The tag lines that appear at the end of chapters bring characters further into the reader’s confidence. You are reading their minds. It’s an elegant device and paces the plot.
I enjoyed The Wanted. It’s a great plane read (5 to 6 hours). If Robert Crais is even a bit like Elvis Cole, I’ll be the privileged interviewer.
The Man in the White Sharkskin Suit: A Jewish Family’s Exodus from Old Cairo to the New World, and The Arrogant Years: One Girl’s Search for Her Lost Youth from Cairo to Brooklyn, by Lucette Lagnado, (Ecco, 2008 and 2011.) - Review
I stumbled across these in a used bookstore. Lucette Lagnado is familiar as a feature writer for the Wall Street Journal – usually interesting and often obscure articles, covering New York or Middle Eastern topics. What a powerful treasure of information and family homage is captured within these books. Sharkskin Suit is the Lagnado family’s life in Cairo, traditional and as secure as any Jews ever feel. Her father Leon is the focus, his mysterious life as a trader, a bon-vivant, and a dispassionate husband and loving, yet absent, father. His marriage was between a patriarchal, Sephardi Jew, Leon, and a beautiful, submissive, Syrian Jewish wife, Edith—and between Edith’s mother, abandoned by her husband and family, and Leon’s mother, the autocrat who ruled the house. For a Gentile, the combination of regionally close, yet traditionally different, Jewish spouses (Syrian and Sephardic) was interesting. Prayers are different, relationships are different, roles are different. Naturally, Edith’s were purged.
After Egypt took control of the Suez Canal, Jews began to leave—taking the opportunity to migrate somewhat thoughtfully. By the time the Lagnados left Cairo, with 26 suitcases and $200, there were no choices. They fled to Paris to a pauper’s life assisted by Jewish Relief. Eventually, they made their way to the U.S., but Leon, crushed by the loss of his life in Cairo, never adapted. He kept his merchant ways, selling ties out of a cardboard box, and scrupulously repaying the $2,000 loaned to him by Jewish Relief for fare from LeHarve to New York.
The Arrogant Years is not so much about Lucette as about Edith, who blossomed in New York. A skilled teacher of French before her marriage, she found work and a new life within the city library system accessioning books. Stories of the siblings, a rebellious older sister and two older brothers, are told, but not in depth. Lucette excelled in high school, struggled at Vassar, regrouped, graduated and began work as a reporter. Throughout both books, her mysterious illness, finally diagnosed as Hodgkin’s disease, interstices her life with pain and despair. The Arrogant Years, as with most memoirs, does not plow new ground of the immigrant, destitute Jews who thrive in the U.S., but is beautifully written with love and thanksgiving.
Both books are elegantly illustrated with photographs that bring the family to life. Highly recommended for history lovers and those who appreciate well written memoirs.
A “tour de force” of inventive writing. But for me, a struggle to both figure out and keep up with the double plots and the cross references bridging 500 years.
How to be both is two unique stories: a teenager, George/Georgia (actual name Georgia, “both” because she has her first stirrings of same-sex attraction), who has tragically lost her mother and seems abandoned by her father who mourns in drink and her brother too young to really understand; and a young woman in 15th century Ferrara, Italy, Francescho del Cossa, who is a masterful painter, posing as man to gain commissions.
The book’s “tie” is a fresco, seen by the mother in a magazine that prompts her to take both children out of school and drive to Ferrara – these frescos are not fictional. Per Wikipedia,
Palazzo Schifanoia is a Renaissance palace in Ferrara, Emilia-Romagna (Italy) built for the Este family. The name "Schifanoia" is thought to originate from "schivar la noia" meaning literally to "escape from boredom" which describes accurately the original intention of the palazzo and the other villas in close proximity where the Este court relaxed. The highlights of its decorations are the allegorical frescoes with details in tempera by or after Francesco del Cossa and Cosmè Tura, executed ca 1469–70, a unique survival of their time.
When I researched the palace after reading the book, I immediately recognized the work of Francesco del Cossa, though I have not visited Ferrara. Having these in mind would enrich the reading.
To soothe her loss, George/ia ditches school and spends her days at the National Museum in London in a room with a painting by del Cossa, as she imagines her mother did. George’s time there becomes a study on the insensitive way most museum visitors dash past roomfuls of art, rushing to “complete the tour”. I warmed to this activity and empathized with George’s precise method of examining all sections of a painting, thinking of each as a solo work. del Cossa is known for his malicious depictions of stingy benefactors in the face of pigs and devils—totally missed if all you study is the face of the central character.
To further confound readers, Pantheon issued two version of the book: one with George/ia’s story first, the other with Francescho’s story first. Mine began with George/ia, and that was difficult enough because you are thrust into the first scenes with no context. However, Francescho’s would have been even more difficult as the first section.
Smith’s writing pushes the envelope on guidance for the reader. There is no dialogue punctuation – a blessing in a way because the flow is livelier. There are sections of blank verse with no punctuation at all. And there is this force that pulls the reader along because you hope that the next page will provide more comfort.
I came to this book after reading several NYT best sellers and recommended books for 2017. To me, they seemed pedestrian, too easy a read. Ali Smith has two current bestsellers: Autumn and Winter. At the recommendation of Sam Sacks, reviewer for The Wall Street Journal, I began with her 2014 book. Wish I had known what you know now, because then the read would have been enjoyable and challenging. As it was, I struggled. However, I highly recommend this book if you want to put your foot into the genre of a successful Scottish contemporary author. This book summary on Amazon says it all.
Passionate, compassionate, vitally inventive and scrupulously playful, Ali Smith’s novels are like nothing else. Borrowing from painting’s fresco technique to make an original literary double-take, How to be both is a novel all about art’s versatility. It’s a fast-moving genre-bending conversation between forms, times, truths and fictions. There’s a Renaissance artist of the 1460s. There’s the child of a child of the 1960s. Two tales of love and injustice twist into a singular yarn where time gets timeless, structural gets playful, knowing gets mysterious, fictional gets real—and all life’s givens get given a second chance.
A good historical novel is a rare treasure. Few authors want to take the research time to craft characters into past, engaging and educating the reader simultaneously—and do it accurately.
A Darker Sea is the second of Haley’s new series based on U.S. Naval history. The first book of the series (though by no means the first book written by this honored Texas author) is The Shores of Tripoli. See my January 2017 review.
Like the first book, A Darker Sea is easy to read, with an engaging story, and an excellent description of why we fought the War of 1812, often considered the second U.S. war for independence. The plot is not laden with nautical detail. There is family lore, romance, bromance, action, and intrigue. Highly recommended for U.S. history lovers.
What to look for next year? In Haley’s own words, here are the eight scenarios he proposed for the series. “I sent off an outline for eight interlocking novels that followed the adventures of a juvenile midshipman in the Barbary War, through the War of 1812, perhaps chasing pirates in the Caribbean in 1818, with the missionaries in Hawaii in the 1820s, in the Texas Revolution in 1836, and so on to the Civil War, when he would be a white-haired old commodore.”
I’m not alone in the perverse fascination with Mormon polygamy. Two cable shows, “Sister Wives” and “Big Love” (neither of which I have seen.) averaged 1.75 million viewers per show. Warren Jeffs and his band of polygamists in Colorado City, AZ and Texas repeatedly make news with sensational trials for raping underage girls (marriage in the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of the Later Day Saints - FLDS) and welfare fraud because the mothers claim state support and food stamps for each child.
So, I grabbed The Sound of Gravel when browsing the shelves of the Chicago Public Library--it was an unexpected find. The story of Ruth Wariner is different from the FLDS. Her family lives in LeBaron, Mexico, home to a polygamist LDS sect founded by her grandfather in 1944.
The following is from Wikipedia on the section “Mormons and Polygamy”.
“In 1862, the United States Congress passed the Morrill Anti-Bigamy Act, which prohibited plural marriage in the territories. In spite of the law, Mormons continued to practice polygamy, believing that it was protected by the First Amendment. In 1879, in Reynolds v. United States, the Supreme Court of the United States upheld the Morrill Act, stating: "Laws are made for the government of actions, and while they cannot interfere with mere religious belief and opinion, they may with practices.
In 1890, church president Wilford Woodruff issued a Manifesto that officially terminated the practice of polygamy. Although this Manifesto did not dissolve existing plural marriages, relations with the United States markedly improved after 1890, such that Utah was admitted as a U.S. state in 1896. After the Manifesto, some Mormons continued to enter into polygamous marriages, but these eventually stopped in 1904 when church president Joseph F. Smith disavowed polygamy before Congress and issued a "Second Manifesto", calling for all plural marriages in the church to cease and established excommunication as the consequence for those who disobeyed.”
Many polygamist Mormons settled in Mexico, where they were tolerated. Thus began the back and forth cycle for the members. They always obtained U.S. citizenship, and when welfare was established, assured that they returned each month to collect their checks. Each “wife” declared that she did not know the father, so there was no chasing for child support, etc.
Ruth Wariner’s story begins in Mexico, her mother is the third wife of an entitled failure, father of 47 children, who feels little responsibility for providing for either wives or offspring. These are cult members, indoctrinated in the original Book of Mormon which endorses polygamy and practically deifies polygamist men. There is unhappiness within her community, but little thought of revolt.
As the mother and children shuffle back and forth between grandparents in California, who have returned to the official LDS religion, and LeBaron. The children begin to understand that their settlement life style offers stark poverty and no opportunity. Their religion, instead of providing consolation, threatens the women and empowers the men. Since The Sound of Gravel is a memoir, we know from the outset that Ruth and her siblings survive, but not before catastrophe decimates the fragile family. This is a quick and engrossing read.
If you are interested in another graphic memoir of a totally dysfunctional Mormon family, please read Melissa Anderson’s Eleven Regrets (Little Bear Publications, 2015). Beautifully written, it is perhaps the most disturbing memoir ever.
Better than most “epic sagas”, New York begins in the 15th Century with the Dutch and the Indians and ends with the fall of the World Trade Center. The story traces various families representing old money, new money, illegal money, etc. The focus is on New York as the financial center of the world, not just the U.S.
The stories around the various financial crises provided insights on the role of J.P. Morgan, Teddy Roosevelt and others who knew that several New York financial institutions were “too big to fail” long before our debacle beginning in 2008. They appear to have been right.
There are adequate maps to use as Rutherfurd pulls the story from Downtown to Uptown following Manhattan’s development. The growth of the boroughs is included, but the focus is Manhattan.
The Masters family are the main characters—old money going back to the Dutch, who evolve into new money as they change with the times. Nice characters, well drawn.
Recommended for those who can deal with a book of 860 pages!
Pastoral by André Alexis (Coach House Books, Toronto, 2014)
First book of Alexis’s quincunx (a set of five books)—this one a pastoral. Alexis’s goal is five books in five genres. A pastoral, thanks to Merriam-Webster is “a literary work (such as a poem or play) dealing with shepherds or rural life in a usually artificial manner and typically drawing a contrast between the innocence and serenity of the simple life and the misery and corruption of city and especially court life.” Pastoral fits the definition. It’s an easy read, with deceptively simple characters. It’s a book that could lead to many interesting conversations about God and nature and man.
Five Carat Soul by James McBride (Random House, 2017) Short Stories
Five Carat Soul contains seven short stories, two of which are broken into chapters. McBride’s stories are full of fun, quirky characters and history. They mostly center around ghetto life seen through the eyes of children, teens, and their parents. The scenes are “matter of fact” realism, with no maudlin appeal to the poverty of spirit and lack of money in the protagonists’ lives. The last set of stories, “Mr. P and the Wind”, told by animals, was unintelligible to me, so I stopped reading it. Recommended
The Rooster Bar by John Grisham (Doubleday, 2017)
Oh John, your last book, The Whistler, disappointed because you tipped the resolution of the plot in the first third of the book. The Rooster Bar disappoints because it is just not interesting.
Yes, Grisham is true to his genre of educating us about yet another folly of our society—this one involving for-profit law schools and the owners and loan companies who consume unsuspecting students and their bartered futures.
Ghachar Ghochar a novella, by Vivek Shanbhag (Penguin Books, 2013)
How money corrupts, taken to the most finite pettiness in a family. The name is a nonsense word for the string tie in pajama pants, and how, when it unties in bed, you can become all tangled in it. It’s a good metaphor for what happens when a family that is poor, but tidy, economical and close-knit, becomes all tangled up when money is easy. Status changes, relationships crumble, goodness is replaced not so much by evil as by neglect. At 118 pages, Ghachar Ghochar packs a punch.
A Visit from the Goon Squad, by Jennifer Egan, BBC Audiobooks 2010
Egan’s newest book, Manhattan Beach, is a runaway best seller. A Visit from the Goon Squad seemed a good prep before visiting Beach. Now, I’m not sure I will ever read the new book. Truthfully, I listened to ¾ of Goon Squad and gave up—too confusing to be a good audio book. The plot and the characters jump all over the time sequence. The characters are mostly low-life denizens of the music business. Misogyny and amorality abound. Reminded me of Brent Easton Ellis.
Ants Among Elephants: An Untouchable Family and the Making of Modern India By Sujatha Gidla, (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2017)
This was a wonderful surprise. Books about untouchables in Hindu cultures are like reading about mass murder—fascinating, but repulsive. The caste system in India, and all caste systems, represses lives on a micro and macro scale. And the lower down in the system, the more fascinating and awful life is. Untouchables are so low, they are not in the caste system. I expected this to be a memoir about the author’s life as an untouchable. Instead it was a memoir about her uncle, Satyam, one of the founders of the Naxalite Party in India. These are Maoist Communists, who continue as rebels today in rural East-Central India. I’ve read about Naxalites, but never the birth of the movement. This is a must-read for understanding one of the dynamics of modern India. An interesting fact—the untouchables are often well-educated due to the work of missionaries. Unlike the lower castes, untouchables are literate, sometimes with advanced degrees, and teach in the universities—to all castes. These positions gave Satyam and other Naxalites sway over impressionable students who they recruited.
How often do you open a book, read a few pages and become captured by the story, the writing, the imagination of the author? Alexis’s Fifteen Dogs had me from the first sentence, “One evening in Toronto, the gods Apollo and Hermes were at the Wheat Sheaf Tavern”. You know immediately there is going to be a punch line to this story.
And what a story it is. I’m not going to spoil your reading pleasure (and you must read this book) by revealing the plot. Only that dogs do die, so those who cannot abide animal reality should not indulge in this wonderful story.
André Alexis is Canadian and has just been awarded Canada’s Windham-Campbell Prize for his body of work. So why don’t we know more about him? Ah, Canadian? Not so exciting; perhaps a bit intellectual; published by a small Canadian house and therefore lacking the publicity machine?
Alexis refers to Fifteen Dogs as part of a Quincuix (a series of five interlocking novels that investigate the idea of faith, of community, of morality, of humanity). Fifteen Dogs is Quincuix II, an apologue or moral fable often using animals as characters. Each part of the Quincuix is written in a different genre: a pastoral, an apologue, a ghost story, a quest, and a romance. Pastoral is Quincuix I and The Hidden Keys is Quincuix III.
Don’t miss is wonderful, quirky, amusing, sad book. I plan to dive into I and III immediately.
And we think that Game of Thrones is complex. In one century, from 1206, when Genghis Khan was born, through 1294, when Khubilai Khan died, the Mongols spread from a small group of nomads on the steppes of what is now Mongolia to control all of Russia, northern India, Persia, Iraq and China.
Inventive warfare, featuring swift warriors shooting arrows from galloping horses, overwhelmed rigid peasant armies and fully armed, mounted knights. Mongols attacked front on, while stealth battalions came from the rear, crushing the enemy between the two. The Mongols did not always exterminate the conquered. They demanded loyalty and taxes. If there was no pledge of loyalty, you were exterminated. Where inhumane systems governed, they supplanted it with religious tolerance, rights for women, and learning. Originally the Mongols were illiterate nomads. When exposed to systems of writing, accounting, teaching, they brought these skills to their people and to other, less developed, cultures. While Europe was in the Dark Ages, the Mongol Empire and culture flourished
As nomads, their focus was always on trade routes. Mongols opened all the groups they conquered to international trading, developing the Silk Road and the system of caravanserais, motels of the ancient world build one camel-day journey apart. At the caravanserais, all were welcome, baths were available, food was available, merchants could store goods to reclaim as they returned. What they paid was tax in return for the services.
Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World is not an easy read because there are so many important characters spread over such vast territory. Jack Weatherford is an academic who spent years on the ground researching this book. He presents the material in a logical and thorough manner. This is a worthy read for armchair travelers and historians—eye opening to say the least.
We visited Highgate Cemetery in London last year. Aside from noting how cleaned up the grounds were, we were attracted to the grave of Alexander Litvinenko, marked with candles and a sign posted by his wife requesting that we not take photos. So, when this book released, I jumped at the chance to read what I knew would be a disheartening story of espionage gone wrong.
Luke Harding is award-winning foreign correspondent with the Guardian, who has reported from Delhi, Berlin and Moscow and covered wars in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Libya. He is the author of Mafia State: How One Reporter Became an Enemy of the Brutal New Russia, and this book on Litvinenko.
Litvinenko was well known in the U.K. as are many of the other Russian emigres who have fled either to escape political murder and mayhem and/or to protect their billions. They are reported on daily in the press. In the U.S., coverage is less frequent, unless, like Litvinenko, you are poisoned with polonium that contaminated every surface the bumbling assassins encountered on their death mission through London
Litvinenko’s story is of a middle-class Russian military espionage officer who appears to responsibly serve the state. When he completes his military career, he uses former contacts throughout the world to serve commercial interests. In that arena, it is easy to run afoul of criminals in the “New Russia”. He did; he tried to escape to London; Putin put a hit out on him. Litvinenko was finally murdered in the second attempt. Bumbling murder assignments seems to be common among the Russian henchmen. They use poison because it is often undetected. The heart of Harding’s book is that after many years, the murderers were tried and convicted in U.K. law courts. By implication, Putin was convicted.
Harding is no friend of Putin and the “New Russia”. He tells it as he sees it—Russia is country run by criminals with accountability only to Putin and his cronies. The mask of statesmanship and amiability is geared to only one thing—restoring Russia to the former USSR borders and putting money into Putin’s pockets. Things get done when Putin is paid. Things go away when Putin pays or murder others.
When I finished reading this book, I found it shading anything about Putin and Russia that was in the news as the work of criminals and liars acting in their own overt and covert self-interest. I’m not uncomfortable with the opinion. Looking at any Trump or U.S. contact with the Russians in this light make me realize they are as evil as North Korea, a lot smarter and therefore magnitudes more dangerous. Communism failed Russia. What filled the void is an evil criminal state without a moral center, not unlike Russia under Stalin.
Robert Olen Butler is a prolific writer – and each time I read a book of his, I’m encouraged to dive into his bibliography and read others. Perfume River is his latest book. I chanced upon it in the Portland, MA library, but that’s another story.
Butler’s most famous book, A Good Scent From a Strange Mountain, for which he won the Pulitzer Prize in 1993, is short stories, many of them about the Vietnam war, from the POV of the Vietnamese, both in Vietnam and in the U.S. In Perfume River, he returns to the war again, this time from the POV of American families in the U.S.
We are long post-war. Robert Quinlan, the main character, is 70, a veteran; his father William a veteran of WWII. Robert and his wife, Darla have a long and happy marriage, even though she was a demonstrating pacifist in the 60’s. Robert is still dealing with his father’s attachment to war and killing. This has affected Robert and his brother Jimmy since childhood. They took different paths regarding the war: Jimmy fled to Canada and Robert enlisted so he would not be in the infantry, as his father was. This rift in the family has never been healed. William’s illness and unexpected death force the family to deal with secrets that will change their lives.
Twined throughout the Quinlan saga is the story of Bob, the son of a Vietnam veteran. Bob is now homeless and suffering from his own PTSD. Through him, Butler examines the war’s impact on next generations, a fascinating exploration.
This is a beautifully written book—the tale of brothers who chose different paths, their families and their ability to face life’s unpleasant revelations and move forward. It is also a story of marriage, how it changes with age yet remains a defining source of loyalty.
Visiting the Chicago Public Library branch at Water Tower, I can’t help but peruse the newer releases. And so, I chanced upon Margaret the First. The velvety feel of the paperback cover, and its beautiful illustration of Margaret immediately made me feel this was a book above others. And, an historical novel to boot.
Margaret is royally born Margaret Lucas, in 1623 in Colchester, Essex, England. She joins the court as a lady in waiting for Queen Henrietta Maria and goes into exile in France with her and the court of Charles I during the Civil War with Cromwell and the Roundheads. While in France, Margaret marries William Cavendish, the Duke of Newcastle on Tyne, a fellow exiled royal. This is a love match. The Duke is considerably older than Margaret and supports her emotionally her throughout their childless marriage. Margaret indulges her interest in writing poetry, memoir, plays, some of the first science fiction—much of which she published in her name. This was a first for a woman of her time and today Margaret, who was an early influence on Virginia Woolf, is revered by women’s liberation advocates.
Dutton’s writes in a style evocative of the erratic nature of her subject. Some chapters are a paragraph, other much longer. She follows the historical landmarks of the time: war, exile, the restoration and life after the restoration. Margaret and William lose their fortune in property, regain it after the restoration and eventually leave Margaret a wealthy widow. Throughout, Margaret writes and writes—her preferred method of expression. That and her costume, which titillated the masses who could read the first tabloids documenting the exploits of Mad Margaret.
For my taste, the book was too short, exciting my interest in the historical period and in the characters. That is a good thing and will lead me to seek other books relating to Mad Margaret.
Recommended for history lovers.