I did not care for Donna Tartt's much-praised The Secret History and could not even get through her second novel, The Little Friend. Consequently, I did not rush to read The Goldfinch. In fact, I didn't plan to. But then last summer, my friend Nina was raving about the book and, since she's smart and a former English teacher, I thought I'd give it a go. Seven months later, I finally finished the rather massive novel and, with apologies to Nina, the Pulitzer committee, and most of the rest of the world, my response is a vehement "meh."
The Goldfinch is essentially a coming-of-age novel that begins with an event that might easily derail any 13-year-old--the death of the protagonist's mother in a terrorist bombing at the Metropolitan Museum. At the time of the bombing Theo Decker was in a different room of the museum; knocked unconscious, he awakens and finds another survivor--an old man who seems to be dying. Inexplicably, the man gives him a ring and tells him to steal a nearby painting, "The Goldfinch," and Theo does so. Through the chaotic years to come, Theo never mentions his possession of the masterpiece to anyone.
And there is no question that his life is chaotic. Immediately after his mother's death, he goes to live with a wealthy friend's family, but this situation is temporary and he soon decamps to Las Vegas with his ne'er-do-well father and his girlfriend Xandra. The two have little interest in the boy and he and his friend Boris spend the next few years drunk, high, and engaged in petty crime. After another trauma, Theo returns to New York, living with an accepting antique restorer named James Hobart, a friend of the old man who told Theo to steal the painting. As Theo enters adulthood, his ethical standards remain about what they were when he and Boris were living the feral life in Vegas.
Eventually, the painting becomes the centerpiece of a misadventure that takes Theo to Amsterdam and ultimately causes him to resolve to change his life. The book ends with Theo musing philosophically about art being the only thing that lasts.
Very little in The Goldfinch beyond Theo's early teenage problems and the bombing at the museum feels at all believable. The longer the book went on, the more far-fetched it became. Combined with a cast of rather despicable characters (Hobie and a few other more minor characters are excepted from this condemnation), dialogue that sometimes did not fit the characters mouthing it, and writing that often felt trite, this implausibility gave me little to love in The Goldfinch. The philosophical discourse at the end is written with grace and passion but seems to belong in another book.
Favorite passage:
. . . between "reality" on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there's a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
When She Woke, by Hillary Jordan
When Hannah Payne (note the name's similarity to Hester Prynne) woke, she is in prison and her skin is a bright red--she has been "chromed," the punishment for crimes in the not-to-distant future in which this dystopic novel is set. Wrong-doers serve only brief prison sentences, but they must remain chromed for years--and their color reflects the severity of their crimes. Red is the most serious, denoting murder. Hannah's "murder" was of her unborn child, born from her affair with married pastor Aidan Dale.
Reverend Dale has just become the Secretary of Faith--yes, the wall between church and state has come down, largely due to a pandemic involving a sexually transmitted disease. Most of the country is devoted to conservative Christianity. The effects of climate change have also made life difficult for most Americans.
When Hannah gets out of prison, as a Red she faces serious problems, including a vigilante group that kills Chromes (and of which her brother-in-law is a member). Soon she and a friend are on the run to Canada, helped by an underground organization called the Novembrists.
The concept of chroming is interesting, as are other details of the society into which the United States has devolved. The allusions to The Scarlet Letter are a bit ham-handed but on their own do not compromise the book (there are evidently references to Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale as well, but I have never read that book so the references went right past me). The plot, however, is a mess--Hannah careens from crisis to crisis, accumulating experiences that make little sense (particularly the brief lesbian affair). Hillary Jordan is clearly a political novelist, and my views are pretty well aligned with her liberal positions. Unfortunately, she is not as adept a writer as, say, Barbara Kingsolver, and When She Woke's potential is largely unrealized.
Favorite passage:
She'd crossed into a place where truth, even if it was brutal, was all she had to offer
Reverend Dale has just become the Secretary of Faith--yes, the wall between church and state has come down, largely due to a pandemic involving a sexually transmitted disease. Most of the country is devoted to conservative Christianity. The effects of climate change have also made life difficult for most Americans.
When Hannah gets out of prison, as a Red she faces serious problems, including a vigilante group that kills Chromes (and of which her brother-in-law is a member). Soon she and a friend are on the run to Canada, helped by an underground organization called the Novembrists.
The concept of chroming is interesting, as are other details of the society into which the United States has devolved. The allusions to The Scarlet Letter are a bit ham-handed but on their own do not compromise the book (there are evidently references to Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale as well, but I have never read that book so the references went right past me). The plot, however, is a mess--Hannah careens from crisis to crisis, accumulating experiences that make little sense (particularly the brief lesbian affair). Hillary Jordan is clearly a political novelist, and my views are pretty well aligned with her liberal positions. Unfortunately, she is not as adept a writer as, say, Barbara Kingsolver, and When She Woke's potential is largely unrealized.
Favorite passage:
She'd crossed into a place where truth, even if it was brutal, was all she had to offer
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Lila, by Marilynne Robinson
Lila is a prequel to Marilynne Robinson's much-lauded novel Gilead, which I, sadly, found tedious. Indeed, I struggled to finish that book and quickly forgot virtually all of the philosophical/religious discussions that comprised its heart. For readers of Gilead with better memories, Lila was the wife of John Ames, the pastor who was the central character in that novel.
In this novel, we learn about Lila's early years. The book opens with the child Lila sitting outside a house in the cold. A woman named Doll comes along and takes her, becoming her de facto mother. While Doll clearly cares for Lila, the childhood she provides is difficult to say the least. The two live with a band of migrant farmworkers in the Midwest, who camp outside towns and pick up whatever work they can. They do spend one year in a town so Lila can attend school, where she shines but Doll's fears of being found by Lila's original family drive them away. When the Depression makes it difficult to find work, things fall apart and Lila ends up on her own. For awhile she is able to eke out a living, but then she reconnects with Doll, with disastrous effects. After some time in a St. Louis whorehouse, Lila hitches a ride to Iowa, ending up near Gilead. There, she meets the much older John Ames, and the two feel an attraction made up of a complex of yearnings. They marry and have a baby, the boy Robby to whom the letter in Gilead is written.
Those are the events of the story, but the real action takes place primarily inside Lila's head. She is lonely and yet Doll taught her that being alone is the only way to survive, a philosophy Lila struggles to reconcile with the Christian world view of her husband. She wants to stay in Gilead, to embrace family life and turn away from loneliness--and yet she also wants to leave, to assert her ability to make her way through the world on her way, to escape from her shame.
Lila is a complex and sympathetic character and considering her emotional distress and the decisions that spring from her years of profound loneliness is a worthwhile endeavor, since the experiences of her childhood are not that far from many children's lives today.
Favorite passages:
It felt very good to have him walking beside her. Good like rest and quiet, like something you could live without but you needed anyway. That you had to learn how to miss, and then you'd never stop missing it.
It was that feeling that she had had walking along beside him that put the notion in her mind. It comes from being alone too much. Things matter that wouldn’t if you had a regular life
She had told herself more than once not to call it loneliness, since it wasn’t any different from one year to the next, it was just how her body felt, like hungry or tired, except it was always there, always the same.
In this novel, we learn about Lila's early years. The book opens with the child Lila sitting outside a house in the cold. A woman named Doll comes along and takes her, becoming her de facto mother. While Doll clearly cares for Lila, the childhood she provides is difficult to say the least. The two live with a band of migrant farmworkers in the Midwest, who camp outside towns and pick up whatever work they can. They do spend one year in a town so Lila can attend school, where she shines but Doll's fears of being found by Lila's original family drive them away. When the Depression makes it difficult to find work, things fall apart and Lila ends up on her own. For awhile she is able to eke out a living, but then she reconnects with Doll, with disastrous effects. After some time in a St. Louis whorehouse, Lila hitches a ride to Iowa, ending up near Gilead. There, she meets the much older John Ames, and the two feel an attraction made up of a complex of yearnings. They marry and have a baby, the boy Robby to whom the letter in Gilead is written.
Those are the events of the story, but the real action takes place primarily inside Lila's head. She is lonely and yet Doll taught her that being alone is the only way to survive, a philosophy Lila struggles to reconcile with the Christian world view of her husband. She wants to stay in Gilead, to embrace family life and turn away from loneliness--and yet she also wants to leave, to assert her ability to make her way through the world on her way, to escape from her shame.
Lila is a complex and sympathetic character and considering her emotional distress and the decisions that spring from her years of profound loneliness is a worthwhile endeavor, since the experiences of her childhood are not that far from many children's lives today.
Favorite passages:
It felt very good to have him walking beside her. Good like rest and quiet, like something you could live without but you needed anyway. That you had to learn how to miss, and then you'd never stop missing it.
It was that feeling that she had had walking along beside him that put the notion in her mind. It comes from being alone too much. Things matter that wouldn’t if you had a regular life
She had told herself more than once not to call it loneliness, since it wasn’t any different from one year to the next, it was just how her body felt, like hungry or tired, except it was always there, always the same.
Beloved, by Toni Morrison
I have tried to read Beloved numerous times over the years, but have always gotten bogged down very early on. So I decided to listen to it and feel a sense of triumph for getting to the end of what is a challenging work.
Beloved is the story of Sethe, a formerly enslaved African American woman living in the Cincinnati area in the 1870s. Sethe and her husband Halle had a plan to escape slavery but, when the night came to flee, Halle had disappeared. Sethe sent her three children ahead to her mother-in-law, Baby Suggs (whose freedom had been purchased by Halle) and waited for Halle to return. When he did not reappear and no one knew what had happened to him (or was not willing to tell him), she left on her own. She gave birth to her fourth child en route, but eventually made it to Baby Suggs's house at 124 Bluestone Road.
By the time we meet Sethe 17 years later, she and the baby she gave birth to while fleeing, her daughter Denver, are alone in the house except for the ghost of a baby, presumably the baby of the daughter who died as a toddler. Baby Suggs has also died, and Sethe's two sons have taken off. Then Paul D, a man Sethe knew when they were both enslaved in Kentucky, arrives; he and Sethe become lovers and he manages to scare the ghost away from 124. Paul convinces Denver to leave the house, something she rarely does, and happier days seem to be ahead. But then a young woman named Beloved turns up at the house. Denver immediately believes Beloved is her sister returned from the dead and treasures her presence. That presence is not entirely benevolent, however, as Beloved manages to drive Paul away and seems to be slowly sucking the life out of Sethe.
Morrison intersperses the Ohio story with Sethe's "rememories" of life as a slave, providing context for what is happening following the Civil War. About halfway through the book, a devastating revelation changes the reader's understanding of the events of Sethe's life and the ways in which the black and white communities respond to her. As the dynamic in the household continues to deteriorate, the book builds to an ending that reveals much about the resilience of community and family.
I can't say that I loved Beloved, but I think it is a worthwhile struggle, both as a reading experience and as an important milestone in African American literature. The themes Morrison explores--the trauma of slavery and its long-term effects, the customs and values of the free African American community, the ways in which mothers and children see sacrifice--are crucial to American history, and the uniquely African American voice she creates(without resorting to dialect) is an amazing achievement. I should also note that the audio version of the book was read by Morrison herself; while many listeners have critiqued her reading as dull and monotonic, I enjoyed it (and, of course, I dislike what I call overacting in audio books, so a low-key delivery works for me).
Favorite passage:
Freeing yourself was one thing, claiming ownership of that freed self was another.
She told them that the only grace they could have was the grace they could imagine. If they could not see it, they would not have it.
, , , there was no accounting for the way that simple joy could shake you.
Beloved is the story of Sethe, a formerly enslaved African American woman living in the Cincinnati area in the 1870s. Sethe and her husband Halle had a plan to escape slavery but, when the night came to flee, Halle had disappeared. Sethe sent her three children ahead to her mother-in-law, Baby Suggs (whose freedom had been purchased by Halle) and waited for Halle to return. When he did not reappear and no one knew what had happened to him (or was not willing to tell him), she left on her own. She gave birth to her fourth child en route, but eventually made it to Baby Suggs's house at 124 Bluestone Road.
By the time we meet Sethe 17 years later, she and the baby she gave birth to while fleeing, her daughter Denver, are alone in the house except for the ghost of a baby, presumably the baby of the daughter who died as a toddler. Baby Suggs has also died, and Sethe's two sons have taken off. Then Paul D, a man Sethe knew when they were both enslaved in Kentucky, arrives; he and Sethe become lovers and he manages to scare the ghost away from 124. Paul convinces Denver to leave the house, something she rarely does, and happier days seem to be ahead. But then a young woman named Beloved turns up at the house. Denver immediately believes Beloved is her sister returned from the dead and treasures her presence. That presence is not entirely benevolent, however, as Beloved manages to drive Paul away and seems to be slowly sucking the life out of Sethe.
Morrison intersperses the Ohio story with Sethe's "rememories" of life as a slave, providing context for what is happening following the Civil War. About halfway through the book, a devastating revelation changes the reader's understanding of the events of Sethe's life and the ways in which the black and white communities respond to her. As the dynamic in the household continues to deteriorate, the book builds to an ending that reveals much about the resilience of community and family.
I can't say that I loved Beloved, but I think it is a worthwhile struggle, both as a reading experience and as an important milestone in African American literature. The themes Morrison explores--the trauma of slavery and its long-term effects, the customs and values of the free African American community, the ways in which mothers and children see sacrifice--are crucial to American history, and the uniquely African American voice she creates(without resorting to dialect) is an amazing achievement. I should also note that the audio version of the book was read by Morrison herself; while many listeners have critiqued her reading as dull and monotonic, I enjoyed it (and, of course, I dislike what I call overacting in audio books, so a low-key delivery works for me).
Favorite passage:
Freeing yourself was one thing, claiming ownership of that freed self was another.
She told them that the only grace they could have was the grace they could imagine. If they could not see it, they would not have it.
, , , there was no accounting for the way that simple joy could shake you.
The Girl on the Train, by Paula Hawkins
The Girl on the Train is sure to be compared to Gone Girl--it, like Gillian Flynn's work, is a dark thriller featuring troubled/flawed characters, multiple narrators telling their stories asynchronously, and a plethora of red herrings.
Rachel Watson is the titular girl on the train. Looking out the window as she commutes from the suburbs to London every day, she has constructed an idyllic life for a couple she often sees from the train, a couple who happens to live just a few doors down from Rachel's ex-husband Tom and his new wife Anna. Then one day she sees the woman she has been watching--Rachel calls her Jess but we soon learn her name is actually Megan--kissing a man who is not her husband Jason (actual name: Scott). Rachel, an alcoholic who drinks to the point of blacking out and makes many bad decisions, decides to go to Jess/Jason's house the next day and confront Jess.
The morning after this outing, Rachel remembers nothing of what happened--but she has a head injury and senses that something very bad occurred. Then she sees a news story with a picture of the woman she recognizes as Jess, saying that Megan is missing. Rachel insinuates herself into the investigation, which eventually leads in an unexpected direction. I won't say more because I don't want to ruin the suspense.
I found The Girl on the Train entertaining, although I thought there were perhaps too many red herrings. Hawkins does a good job of making the three women--all of whom narrate sections of the book--quite distinct (I can imagine discussions of what actress should play each in the sure-to-happen movie); the men, unfortunately, are less well-developed. While all the characters are flawed (when the most sympathetic character is a therapist who sleeps with a patient, you know this is true), they are not as repulsive as the characters in Gone Girl. I guess that's not exactly an endorsement, but it does allow you to feel less dirty when you finish the book. I recommend the book for fans of the dark; for those who like their mysteries a bit more light-hearted, stay away!
Rachel Watson is the titular girl on the train. Looking out the window as she commutes from the suburbs to London every day, she has constructed an idyllic life for a couple she often sees from the train, a couple who happens to live just a few doors down from Rachel's ex-husband Tom and his new wife Anna. Then one day she sees the woman she has been watching--Rachel calls her Jess but we soon learn her name is actually Megan--kissing a man who is not her husband Jason (actual name: Scott). Rachel, an alcoholic who drinks to the point of blacking out and makes many bad decisions, decides to go to Jess/Jason's house the next day and confront Jess.
The morning after this outing, Rachel remembers nothing of what happened--but she has a head injury and senses that something very bad occurred. Then she sees a news story with a picture of the woman she recognizes as Jess, saying that Megan is missing. Rachel insinuates herself into the investigation, which eventually leads in an unexpected direction. I won't say more because I don't want to ruin the suspense.
I found The Girl on the Train entertaining, although I thought there were perhaps too many red herrings. Hawkins does a good job of making the three women--all of whom narrate sections of the book--quite distinct (I can imagine discussions of what actress should play each in the sure-to-happen movie); the men, unfortunately, are less well-developed. While all the characters are flawed (when the most sympathetic character is a therapist who sleeps with a patient, you know this is true), they are not as repulsive as the characters in Gone Girl. I guess that's not exactly an endorsement, but it does allow you to feel less dirty when you finish the book. I recommend the book for fans of the dark; for those who like their mysteries a bit more light-hearted, stay away!
The Whistling Season, by Ivan Doig
I was out of town most of the week and have a lot of posting to catch up on. First, the Novel Conversations book for February, The Whistling Season, by Ivan Doig. Set in rural Montana in the early 1900s and 1957, The Whistling Season is narrated by Paul, the oldest son of the Milliron family. The long-serving Superintendent of Public Instruction for Montana, the Paul of 1957 faces the spectre of telling the state's rural educators that all of the one-room schoolhouses in Montana are being closed for budgetary/efficiency reasons. On the way to the meeting at which he will make this announcement, Paul decides to take a side trip to the town where he grew up, Marias Coulee. There, he indulges his recollections of a memorable year in his youth. These recollections provide the bulk of the story.
In 1909, Paul's widowed father Oliver sees an ad in the local weekly advertising a housekeeper who "can't cook but doesn't bite." Laughing, he can't resist responding. Soon Oliver, Paul, and the younger sons--Damon and Toby--are waiting for Rose Llewelyn's arrival. When she steps off the train, she brings along a surprise, her brother Morris, who seems to be something of a dandy, as well as a fount of information--perhaps not the ideal Montana homesteader. Soon, however, Morris's knowledge comes in handy, as the schoolteacher elopes with a tent preacher; Morris steps into take her place, and the students respond, even the rather dull eighth-graders.
Doig paints a lovely picture of the Milliron family and the challenging but beautiful environment in which they live. Not everything that happens to them is positive: the boys face bullies, Toby is injured when a horse steps on his foot, their dryland farm needs rain desperately. Yet their lives are full of love and connection--and the one-room school where Morris reigns is central to those connections.
Doig's writing is evocative--he often refers in interviews to "the poetry under the prose"--and captures a way of life that is no more. I found the ending unsatisfying, however--it felt like Doig got to a certain point, said to himself, "Well, I better end this," and threw in a couple of not particularly twists to try to satisfy the reader. I also didn't see the point of the 1957 frame he put around the primary story; perhaps he thought it provided more opportunity to provide reflections on the value of local schools to rural communities, but that point was well-made without the adult Paul's voice. Despite these quibbles, I enjoyed The Whistling Season and would recommend it, particularly for those nostalgic about rural American life.
Favorite passages:
. . . childhood is the one story that stands by itself in every soul.
My books already threatened to take over my part of the room and keep on going . . . whatever cargoes of words I could lay my hands on I gave safe harbor.
The circumference of love depends on the angle you see it from . . .
In 1909, Paul's widowed father Oliver sees an ad in the local weekly advertising a housekeeper who "can't cook but doesn't bite." Laughing, he can't resist responding. Soon Oliver, Paul, and the younger sons--Damon and Toby--are waiting for Rose Llewelyn's arrival. When she steps off the train, she brings along a surprise, her brother Morris, who seems to be something of a dandy, as well as a fount of information--perhaps not the ideal Montana homesteader. Soon, however, Morris's knowledge comes in handy, as the schoolteacher elopes with a tent preacher; Morris steps into take her place, and the students respond, even the rather dull eighth-graders.
Doig paints a lovely picture of the Milliron family and the challenging but beautiful environment in which they live. Not everything that happens to them is positive: the boys face bullies, Toby is injured when a horse steps on his foot, their dryland farm needs rain desperately. Yet their lives are full of love and connection--and the one-room school where Morris reigns is central to those connections.
Doig's writing is evocative--he often refers in interviews to "the poetry under the prose"--and captures a way of life that is no more. I found the ending unsatisfying, however--it felt like Doig got to a certain point, said to himself, "Well, I better end this," and threw in a couple of not particularly twists to try to satisfy the reader. I also didn't see the point of the 1957 frame he put around the primary story; perhaps he thought it provided more opportunity to provide reflections on the value of local schools to rural communities, but that point was well-made without the adult Paul's voice. Despite these quibbles, I enjoyed The Whistling Season and would recommend it, particularly for those nostalgic about rural American life.
Favorite passages:
. . . childhood is the one story that stands by itself in every soul.
My books already threatened to take over my part of the room and keep on going . . . whatever cargoes of words I could lay my hands on I gave safe harbor.
The circumference of love depends on the angle you see it from . . .
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
What We See When We Read, by Peter Mendelsund
Peter Mendelsund is a book designer/art director who has used his visual approach to address the question of what and how readers visualize what they are reading about and how that process affects the meaning they ascribe to what they read; eventually, he extends the analysis to include how people "read" reality. Mendelsund draws examples from literature of various vintages and approaches the focus question from a variety of perspectives. The book is lavishly illustrated with black-and-white drawings, charts, photographs, and manipulations of type.
Unfortunately, I found the book to be a novelty, but one that's a bit of a jumble and lacks penetrating insights. Examples: "A novel invites our interpretive skills, but it also invites our minds to wander." "Words are like arrows--they are something, and they also point toward something." ". . . no matter how pure the data set that authors provide to readers--no matter how diligently prefiltered and tightly reconstructed--readers' brains will continue in their prescribed assignment: to analyze, screen, and sort." Not exactly earth-shattering statements and all too typical of What We See When We Read. Perhaps a more visual person would find the book design and illustrations, which are certainly creative, inspirational, but with a few exceptions, they also failed to move me.
Unfortunately, I found the book to be a novelty, but one that's a bit of a jumble and lacks penetrating insights. Examples: "A novel invites our interpretive skills, but it also invites our minds to wander." "Words are like arrows--they are something, and they also point toward something." ". . . no matter how pure the data set that authors provide to readers--no matter how diligently prefiltered and tightly reconstructed--readers' brains will continue in their prescribed assignment: to analyze, screen, and sort." Not exactly earth-shattering statements and all too typical of What We See When We Read. Perhaps a more visual person would find the book design and illustrations, which are certainly creative, inspirational, but with a few exceptions, they also failed to move me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)