A young woman pursuing a PhD in medieval history writes a tale dominated by Southern Gothic elements, but situated in rural Britian, circling around tA young woman pursuing a PhD in medieval history writes a tale dominated by Southern Gothic elements, but situated in rural Britian, circling around themes like possession, belonging, gender, and revenge - wow, what a set-up!
"Elmet" is narrated by a teenage boy named Daniel, who lives with his father John and his sister Cathy in a house they built with their own hands. Although the narrated time is not specified, the story does obviously take place in our modern days, in the realm of what used to be the medieval Brittonic kingdom of Elmet. John supports his family as a bare-knuckle prize fighter and day laborer, his wits and his physical strength being his most precious possessions. John is described as an almost mythical figure, with a body of nearly superhuman strength and endurance, and with an acute moral awareness. His ideas and ideals are informed by ancient concepts of justice, morality and self-reliance, and his character is reminscient of British folk hero Robin Hood and other mythological figures such as Grettir, infamous outlaw and hero of The Saga of Grettir the Strong.
While John is an archaic male, his kids are presented as queer characters: Daniel grows his hair and nails, his sexuality remains somewhat ambiguous, and Cathy is a tomboy who takes after her father. The prospect of becoming an adult woman and everything connected to that is very painful to her and seems to contribute to the anger she constantly feels.
The land on which John and his children built their house does not belong to them, Daniel's and Cathy's mother (whose absence remains mysterious) sold it to the capitalist Mr. Price when she fell on hard times. When Price wants to evict the family from their illegal building, John organizes a resistance to fight the tactics of greedy landlords and exploitative taskmasters in the area.
I really enjoyed how Mozley transports classic elements of Southern Gothic into the British countryside: Eccentric characters, grotesque details, ambivalent gender roles, derelict settings, and the particular presentation of poverty and violence render this sinister tale special. Nevertheless, Mozley's prose has its limitations: "The Guardian" claimed that the language is modeled on Cormac McCarthy, but frankly, this is quite a stretch. McCarthy displays immensive narrative discipline and textual consistency with his direct, forceful prose. Mozley, however, lacks control and, as a consequence, does the copposite: Daniel's direct speech differs substantially from his narrative voice, and the text as a whole fails to present its narrator as a consistent character as his voice tumbles from overly lyrical descriptions and acute observations to the thoughts of a particularly simple-minded teenager.
The moral theme, which, in itself, is highly interesting and current, could also have been developed a lot better. Of course housing should be affordable and wages have to be fair, but no one would like it if a family just came along and built a house on his property. This problematic tension, the forces that prompt John and Mr. Price to act as they do, could have been explored in a more thorough and, by that, interesting manner.
Many reviewers criticised the book's climax that follows after the novel turns into a revenge tale as unrealistic and over-the-top - and I agree, it takes the element of the grotesque to another level, and there are good reasons to criticize it. Without giving away too much, my main issue with it was not the level of brutality, but that it tries to cover up ambiguities that clearly do exist. From another perspective, one could also say that Mozley elevates her text from a realistic story to one that seeks truth by employing biblical amd mythological narrative features and metaphors.
A little flawed, but overall an exciting and worthwhile read. I am looking forward to reading Mozley's next effort....more
Is this book overburdened with information, does it push a political agenda, does Roy get carried away by her intention to work towards a better IndiaIs this book overburdened with information, does it push a political agenda, does Roy get carried away by her intention to work towards a better India? Yes, yes, and yes! But the characters she creates, the poetic language, and the dedication that carries the whole text impressed me, and I was not bored for a second while reading it.
I will not even try to sum up the story, because that would almost mean to miss the point: Roy introduces us to vivid characters like Anjum, who was born with both male and female sex organs, Tilo, an independent young woman, Musa, who is a Kashmiri freedom fighter, and Saddam Hussain (not be confused with Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein), a low-caste worker who lives in a graveyard with Anjum and rides around on a white horse. All of the characters are affected by political and religious turmoil in their home country of India. Roy shifts between perspectives and styles (classic narrative, fairy tale, poetry, song lyrics, letters, historical account), and space and time also change frequently.
Admittedly, this textual tornado struggles with strong centrifugal forces, and its discursive structure sometimes makes you ask “Hey, but what happened to so-and-so? And where the hell is XY now?” Some characters vanish for more than 100 pages, others disappear and reappear in various stages of their lives. At the same time, it is this technique of overwhelming the reader with people, events, narrative colors, and powerful images that lies at the core of this book, it is what constitutes its fascination and appeal. There is an immersive effect to it, and it made me want to go on reading (I generally love this kind of po-mo extravaganza though).
As to the overflow of political and historical details, I think it is only fair to state that this effect is certainly at least in part evoked by the fact that most readers (including me) know next to nothing about domestic politics in India and the intricacies of various conflicts spurred by religion, colonialism, territorial questions, and the caste system. Most of us (again: including me) have a rather vague concept of the trials and tribulations that strain the population of the world’s biggest democracy and the people in Bangladesh, Pakistan, and Kashmir. Roy gives foreign/non-Asian readers an idea how it must feel to be a part of these societies and what all these issues actually mean for the individual, and I am pretty sure that for someone from South Asia, many passages of the book are way more accessible, as the topics at hand are well-known.
So although at first, I did not intend to read this, I am glad I did it anyway: The argument that persuaded me was that in his review, Neil compared “The Ministry of Utmost Happiness” to “Bricks and Mortar” (a book by one of my favorite German-language writers), stating that both texts have a similar structural approach and hypnotic effect. Although “Bricks and Mortar” was way more accessible to me (well, it’s about Germany and I am German), I agree: Roy also makes your head spin, and I loved the entrancing effect of this novel. (So thanks, Neil! :-))...more
Winner of the Costa Book Award 2016 Winner of the Walter Scott Prize 2017 Nominated for the Booker Prize 2017 From all books on the Booker list that I haWinner of the Costa Book Award 2016 Winner of the Walter Scott Prize 2017 Nominated for the Booker Prize 2017 From all books on the Booker list that I have read, this has the most beautiful prose – more beautiful even than the writing of George Saunders and Ali Smith. There are two main threads in this novel: The love story between the protagonists Thomas McNulty and John Cole, and the establishment of America, where the frontier myth is intertwined with the Indian Wars, and the fight for the abolition of slavery almost tore the union apart.
The story is told from the perspective of Thomas McNulty who left his native Ireland when he was a teenager in order to escape the Great Famine to which the rest of his family has succumbed. After his arrival, he accidently meets and falls in love with John Cole. Thomas and John fight in the Indian Wars on the side of the settlers, but later, they take on a young Native American girl as their daughter and try to build a domestic life. When the Civil War erupts, they become soldiers again and fight for the North. Barry does an amazing job when it comes to describing what these wars meant for the people actually fighting them and what life at the frontier was like. The way he describes the attraction of violence and what it does to people exercising it and to people who fall victim to it is both scary and stunning.
Beyond that, Barry (who dedicated this book to his gay son Toby) tells the beautiful love story between Thomas and John, who want to live as a family with their adopted daughter Winona, but poverty and historical turmoil take their toll. Thomas likes to wear dresses and even publicly performs in them in two different contexts. He sees himself as John’s wife and Winona’s mother, and he is clearly happiest when he can fulfill these roles. At the same time, he is a very good soldier who successfully takes part in many battles. Barry created a Western with a gay couple at its center, zero clichés and a lot of complex patterns of action and reaction - wow.
On a more basic level, one could say that “Days Without End” meditates about the question what makes us human. Thomas takes a clear stance: If you can feel love, you are human, if you can’t, you are a mere ghost. About the death of his father (who starved), he says: “I loved my father when I was a human person, formerly. Then he died and I was hungry and then the ship. Then nothing. Then America. Then John Cole. John Cole was my love, all my love.” … and in this context: “Gives an idea of the victory meeting John Cole. First time I felt like a human person again.”
The word ghost reappears from time to time, always referring to people who are showing or are connected to a lack of humanity. Re-telling a massacre against Native American women and children in which he took part (they had expected to fight male warriors), Thomas explains: “There didn’t seem to be anything alive, including ourselves. We were dislocated, we were not there, now we were ghosts.” About the soldiers fighting for the South, he says: “Maybe they all ghosts and don’t need nourishment.” …and when facing them in battle: “Other things I see are how thin these boys are, how strange, like ghosts, like ghouls.”
The gruesome battles, the frontier as a place of violence, the evocative description of nature as a force to be reckoned with, and the mystical aspect of the ghosts – all this turns “Days Without End” into a piece of “Southern Gothic”. It reminded me of Cormac McCarthy’s masterpiece “Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West”, which also tells the story of a young fighter in the Indian Wars, but from an even grimmer, darker and more brutal angle. Although I am a huge fan of McCarthy, I liked that Barry combined the war stories with Thomas’ and John’s love story and, by doing that, made a point that when there is the possibility of inhumanity, there also must be the possibility of humanity.
There are some books on the Man Booker longlist that are current in a more in-your-face kind of way (like “Exit West” which is about migration, or “Home Fire” which talks about terrorism and racism), but Barry writes about how the United States were founded on immigration, the connection between the mythic frontier and the Native American genocide, racism and how it persisted after the North won the Civil War, and about the importance of love -all kinds of love- for the human soul.
“My fellow Americans, we are and always will be a nation of immigrants. We were strangers once, too”, Obama said in one of his speeches, and about race: “I have asserted a firm conviction – a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people – that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice if we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union.” “Days Without End” makes you want to take a copy of the book and hit Trump over the head with it, again, again, and again.
Winner of the Costa Book Award 2017 *sigh* I have thought long and hard about why I dislike this text, especially because so many people whose opinion Winner of the Costa Book Award 2017 *sigh* I have thought long and hard about why I dislike this text, especially because so many people whose opinion I value just loved it, and I could even find all the points they have raised in order to explain why they liked this novel so much in the text, but their well-made arguments did not change the fact that this book did almost nothing for me. So here are some attempts to explain why I found myself so underwhelmed:
The structure of the book dominates (if not to say suffocates) the story. McGregor portrays life in an English village over the course of 13 years, starting with the year in which 13-year-old Rebecca disappears. Animals, plants, villagers, festivities that mark the succession of every year – everything that happens flows in a steady narrative stream, as if life was a calm steady river, as if people, animals and plants exist in some common contemplative space that is shaped by natural forces, where even crime, death, and love lost are nothing more than parts of the course of life…yeah, I have a couple of questions regarding this concept: How does this mirror human experience? If we do not talk about how it feels and what it means to be human, if we do not acknowledge all the little tragedies as such – what’s the point in writing at all, what’s the merit of a story?
I am interested in the characters the book has to offer, I think all their trials and tribulations are worth exploring, especially because they are so common – but this attitude turns out to be a problem here, because the villagers are only portrayed in a rather superficial way, crammed in short episodes, with zero direct dialogue that might disturb the steady pace of the narrative. But I like my narratives with changing paces, with differing moods, and full of expression. This runs against what McGregor wants to do (and, admittedly, also achieves to do), but the more the author sticks to his narrative and structural concept of composed calm, the more agitated I get.
“Reservoir 13” has often been compared to Solar Bones, and there are some similarities. But in my opinion, McCormack highlights the dignity, the societal contributions, and the epic elements in the life of a so-called average person, while McGregor evens out everything: The average is made more average, and life is made to appear flat. I see that McGregor’s approach can be interpreted as humble or soothing, as in “we are all part of a greater scheme”, and yes, we are, but the human experience is that all those troubles feel existential to us, and they are what makes up our lives: Jackson’s illness is tragic, Su’s trouble with her twins and her job are worth discussing, and what the hell is going on between Rebecca’s parents? I want to know, because it matters!
So unfortunately, I felt more intellectually stimulated and emotionally engrossed watching Conor McGregor’s bout with Floyd Mayweather than reading Jon McGregor’s welterweight of a book – it doesn’t qualify as light reading, but for my taste, it does definitely lack some muscle....more
It’s not the historical information or the details about the “peculiar institution” that make this book worth reading – if you are slightly knowledgeaIt’s not the historical information or the details about the “peculiar institution” that make this book worth reading – if you are slightly knowledgeable about American history, you heard all of that before (and there are much better books that illustrate the horrible faith of American slaves). What makes this text original is Whitehead’s decision to expand his story beyond the classic slave narrative and superimpose other historical events and debates, almost like a pastiche with regard to content.
His vehicle to do that (haha – sorry) is of course the underground railroad, which Whitehead turns from a metaphor for the secret routes and safe houses that slaves used to flee to the free states, into an actual, physical railroad that operates underground. The railroad transports his protagonist Cora to five different states in the South before she reaches the North, and the author uses each location to play out a different set of ideas:
- Georgia: As a starting point, Whitehead shows the lives of slaves on a Southern farm, the cruelty they suffer from their masters and the dynamics that unfold among the slaves themselves. Plus: We learn about our protagonist, Cora, who flees the plantation.
- South Carolina: …is Cora’s first stop. Although at first, this seems to be an advanced state, Cora finds out that its government performs medical experiments on black people without their knowledge and that a large sterilization program is set up to stop the black population from growing – methods reminiscent of Nazi eugenics and the experiments Mengele carried out in Auschwitz. First I thought that Whitehead mainly aims to track down the parallels between racial hatred against different groups and its consequences, but then another Goodreader informed me that beyond that, the U.S. government did in fact carry out experiments on black people without their consent: The "Tuskegee Study of Untreated Syphilis in the Negro Male" started in 1932. It is also true that there were attempts to hire poor white immigrants for the work on the farms, but, and this is exactly as horrible as it sounds, exploiting and subjugating black people was cheaper.
- North Carolina: In the novel, NC has recently decided to abolish slavery, and white resistance is strong. Abolitionist Martin hides Cora in his attic, until she is captured in a raid. Whitehead cannot possibly have foreseen this, but this chapter is a particularly dire read when the current American President has just declared that there are also some good people in the KKK and that General Lee was basically just another fun patriot (plus the travel ban, DACA cancellation, Arpaio, you get the idea). Whitehead shows the mania, the primal indulgence into violence, the fury that is evoked in some people when white supremacy is questioned – the ecstasy of the mob has always been a key feature to the survival of any ideology of hatred.
- Tennessee: The Tennessee chapter is mainly used to illustrate the character of the professional slave catcher Ridgeway (large parts are dialogue between Cora and Ridgeway) and his young black assistant, Homer. One of the most haunting characters in the book, Homer is like a young version of Stephen, the house slave in Tarantino’s “Django Unchained”. After observing the dynamics of the mob, Whitehead now discusses individual justifications for and adjustment to racism.
- Indiana: After Cora is freed, she flees to Indiana, where she lives on a farm with other black people, some of them runaways like her. As the pressure from the white community is growing, the black inhabitants of the farm discuss how to go about the advancement of their race, the main verbal antagonists being Milton and Lander. Their dispute seems to foreshadow the actual debate that happened after the South lost the Civil War: How can the freed slaves be educated, how can they make better lives for themselves in the world of Jim Crow laws? Although Milton and Lander do not talk about the exact same issues, their conflict is reminiscent of the debate between Booker T. Washington and W. E. B. Du Bois, hinting at the diverse opinions within the black community and the enormous challenges that lay ahead for free slaves, challenges that reach up until our present.
As to the depiction of violence in the novel which, for some readers, seems to be a cause for criticism, let me quote Quentin Tarantino talking about "Django Unchained”: ”What happened during slavery times is a thousand times worse than what I show. So if I were to show it a thousand times worse, to me, that wouldn't be exploitative, that would just be how it is. If you can't take it, you can't take it.” I think that we all deal with it is not too much to ask for....more
This book reminds me of a fairy tale, in as far as it describes a curious incident involving fantastical elements - the sudden appearance of magic dooThis book reminds me of a fairy tale, in as far as it describes a curious incident involving fantastical elements - the sudden appearance of magic doors all over the world that allow people to move to other countries without passing border controls - connected to a moral. Another aspect that brings the story close to a fairy tale is that time and place remain vague, with the protagonists Nadia and Saeed living in and finally fleeing an unspecified country that stands emblematically for the many war-torn areas in the Southern hemisphere . And for the romantics among you: Yes, there’s also a fairy tale-ending (well, at least there’s a definite improvement). :-)
I think these connections to the set-up of a fairy tale are pretty interesting, because they highlight that Hamid wanted to write an accessible tale that makes a moral point by appealing to universal human sentiments, a story that could also come from an oral tradition or be a folk tale (the people in the book always “hear” about the doors from other people).That he takes this approach with a subject as complex as migration and still manages to avoid portraying and discussing it in a simplistic manner is a remarkable achievement. Even the book’s language is extremely accessible and Hamid completely relies on his content to make his text interesting (so in a way, this book is reversing the principles of Solar Bones, which is also an amazing book).
I agree with those readers who maintain that the story fails to answer some major questions like “Where do these magic doors even come from?”, but I think just like a fairy tale, this story expects you to simply accept the fantastical elements – who would ask how the wolf managed to dress up a like a grannie in “Little Red Riding Hood”? Hamid aims to discuss the reasons for and consequences of worldwide migration, and to focus on that, he found plot devices to block out whatever might distract from that.
Through the magic doors, Nadia and Saeed travel to Greece, England, and finally the United States, trying to make a better life for themselves. Hamid does an amazing job when it comes to making their actions and reactions plausible, and he manages to be highly empathetic without ever using clichés. By showing the different reactions of Nadia and Saeed individually, the effects of migration on their relationship, and the circumstances in the different countries, Hamid creates depth and nuance, which he further expands by adding unrelated episodes of people from different parts of the world and their experience with migration, because “we are all migrants through time” – a fascinating theme throughout the book, where Hamid frequently plays out the similarities between movement in time and in space.
Good book that I would never have picked up if it wasn’t for the Booker longlist - so thanks, MBP judges!...more
Now Winner of the 2018 International Dublin Literary Award It is amazing how this text turns the life of an everyman - "husband, father, citizen" - intNow Winner of the 2018 International Dublin Literary Award It is amazing how this text turns the life of an everyman - "husband, father, citizen" - into poetry! McCormack portrays what is mostly considered too common to make it the heart of a story, and in a way, he celebrates the life of those who make up and sustain our societies: Average people.
There are already many interesting and eloquent reviews of this book, so I'd like to restrict myself to challenging one notion that has been frequently maintained: I'd like to argue that this is indeed a political book. The difference to, for instance, Autumn or Home Fire is that McCormack talks about a lower level of politics. By doing so, he exposes dynamics that exist in and shape politcs in general, and he illustrates how the political sphere affects our lives, everyday, right in front of our eyes.
Protagonist Marcus Conway works as a civil engineer for the Mayo County council, and he is responsible for building projects,
"(...) projects which if taken all together, would amount to a fully serviced metroplis with adequate housing for a hundred-thousand souls, give or take, plus facilities for health and education and recreation with complete infrastructure (...)".
In his job, he is responsible for planning, timely construction, but also the solidity of the buildings. When a politician calls and wants him to sign off papers to start construction on a school building project, Marcus does not want to comply because he worries about the quality and compatibility of the envisioned building materials. The politician points out that he wants to cater to his constituency as he aims to be re-elected, while Marcus, who is just an employee, worries about the safety of the kids who will attend the school.
"(...) fuck engineers, Moylette roared, his temper now routed engineers don't make the world, you should know that more than anyone, politics and politicians make the world and I'm telling you now I do not give one fuck whose name appears on that cert but that's the difference between you and me John what difference the difference between a politician and an engineer, your decisions have only to hold up for four or five years - one electoral cycle (...)"
This tension between power politics and sound policy is very common on all levels of government (especially when there is a degree of uncertainty involved), and McCormack gives a vivid example of this dynamic and how it affects or might affect people - those working for the government and those living in the governed area.
Politics also plays an important role when McCormack describes the health crisis that emerges due to contaminated water. Marcus' beloved wife falls ill, and he has heated discussions with his kids which drift from the water crisis to politics in general. Marcus himself is also very critical of how the crisis is handled:
"(...) the civic authorities sought to locate the exact origin of the disaster it found that it could not be pinpointed to one specific cause, human or environmental, but that its primary source was in the convergence of adverse circumstances (...) which smudged and spread responsibility for the crisis in such a way as to make the whole idea of accountability a murky realm (...)" He sees the city "politically at its wits' end", then going on to use metaphors like "a company of zombies (...) shepherding a small flock of sheep".
McCormack brings politics into the domestic realm, and I really liked how he manages to merge these spheres. That he does that by using a stream of consciousness-technique (and even bringing this technique to another level by not using any punctuation) reminded me of Arthur Schnitzler's None But The Brave (German: "Leutnant Gustl"), an Austrian classic in which Schnitzler paints a portrait of the Austro-Hungarian Empire's obsession with honor and the military by taking a glimpse inside the head of an army lieutnant. McCormack imagines the thoughts of an everyman, and he paints a picture of modern society.
The aspect of politics is certainly not the main point of the novel, but it is one of many components that make the text so brillant....more
Now Winner of the Women's Prize for Fiction 2018 - well-deserved!! " - Go back to uni, study the law. Accept the law, even when it's unjust. - You don'Now Winner of the Women's Prize for Fiction 2018 - well-deserved!! " - Go back to uni, study the law. Accept the law, even when it's unjust. - You don't love either justice or our brother if you can say that."
This book tells the story of a British family with Pakistani roots that gets torn apart by the ideology of jihad - and the story is modeled after Sophocles' classic greek tragedy Antigone. I loved the idea, as it underlines that the turmoil we are facing today is not as new as we like to assume. Rather, it can at least in part be traced back to aspects of the human condition and universal feelings that have not changed in the last 2,000 years.
The main protagonists of "Home Fire" are Isma and her twin siblings Aneeka and Parvaiz. Their father was an Islamic terrorist who died on his way to Guantánamo, and after the death of their mother, then 21-year-old Isma is left to provide for her 12-year-old siblings. After Aneeka and Parvaiz finish school, Isma decides to leave London (where all siblings have lived all their lives) and finally continue her studies in the United States. While Isma and Aneeka seem to be able to overcome their past, Parvaiz' life slowly unravels until he finally decides to move to Raqqa and take part in the jihad, just as his father did.
The story is split in five parts, each moving the story forward from a different point of view: - Isma - Aneeka - Parvaiz - Karamat, the British Home Secretary in charge of fighting terrorism, who is himself the child of Muslim immigrants - Eamonn, Karamat's son, who falls in love with Aneeka
I would like to talk a little about the parallels to "Antigone", but beware: While I stopped my little summary above to avoid spoilers, the connections between "Home Fire" and "Antigone" will give you some hints concerning what will happen to the three siblings! Okay, let's go:
(view spoiler)[Oedipus, the King of Thebes, and his mother Iokaste had four children: Antigone (here: Aneeka), Ismene (Isma), Polyneices (Parvaiz), and Eteocles (no direct counterpart). After Oedipus' death (for more on his story, check: Oedipus Rex and Oedipus at Colonus), Polyneices and Eteocles start a civil war fighting for the throne of Thebes, in which both die. The new king Creon (Karamat), brother of Iokaste, blames Polyneices (Parvaiz), whom he had previously banned from Thebes, and orders to deny Polyneices (Parvaiz) the burial rites. Although Ismene (Isma) tries to prevent it, Antigone (Aneeka) goes ahead and buries her brother (Polyneices/Parvaiz) anyway, as she refuses to conform to a law she sees as unjust and to male dominance. Instead, she chooses to conform to what she perceives as the rules of the gods. Antigone's (Aneeka's) fiancé Haimon (Eamonn) tries to save her from the consequences of her actions, but Creon (Karamat) realizes that he has gone too far only after it is too late: Both Antigone (Aneeka) and Haimon (Eamonn) die. (hide spoiler)]
I particularly liked that both in "Antigone" and in "Home Fire", none of the main characters are outright bad: They are trying to do what's right, but some of them make bad choices and take the wrong decisions - with devastating consequences. The way Shamsie talks about race, class, religion, identity and belonging is very lucid and daring, as she asks extremely difficult questions that are almost impossible to answer. I was fascinated by the character of Karamat, who at some point asks himself:
"Working class or Millionaire, Muslim or Ex-Muslim, Proud-Son-of-Migrants or anti-Migrant, Moderniser or Traditionalist? Will the real Karamat Lone please stand up?"
I also enjoyed how the people of Thebes who question their king in "Antigone" are mirrored in "Home Fire", media frenzy and all.
Other parts of the novel, especially the scenes in Pakistan and the ending, are not told realistically, but almost dream- or movie-like. The effect is rather puzzling, but not in a bad way, and I will have to think about those scenes more in order to interpret them.
Although the language is not nearly as good as in Autumn or Lincoln in the Bardo, this book would also be a worthy winner of the Booker - yes, I said it! For instance, it is way, way better than the former winner The White Tiger, a book that also talked about class and injustice. This will most likely make my shortlist. (Update: It did make my shortlist, but unfortunately, the Booker judges did not shortlist it)....more
"What I do when it distresses me that there's something I can't remember, is. Are you listening? Yes, Elisabeth said through the cyring. I imagine whate"What I do when it distresses me that there's something I can't remember, is. Are you listening? Yes, Elisabeth said through the cyring. I imagine whatever it is I've forgotten is folded close to me, like a sleeping bird. What kind of bird? Elisabeth said. A wild bird, Daniel said. Any kind. You know what kind when it happens. Then, what I do is, I just hold it there, without holding it too tight, and I let it sleep. And that's that."
I've never read Ali Smith before, and this really blew my mind - I love the lyrical language that is almost a mixture between fiction and poetry, I love how the textual structure resembles a collage, and I love how the text expands on so many themes without ever losing track of the single threads and ideas.
In their reviews, Paul and Neil did an excellent job summarizing the content and explaining what role the artist Pauline Boty and the 1963 Profumo Scandal play in the text, so I would like to take the liberty of referring to their analyses.
I would like to add that I really enjoyed how Smith uses the themes of memory and representation as an undercurrent throughout the whole text: There is an acute awareness that the past and the present are not only intertwined, but that both are created through stories, and that those stories paint a picture of reality just as Pauline Boty did with her collages.
"And whoever makes up the story makes up the world, Daniel said. So always try to welcome people into the home of your story. That's my suggestion."
Our stories about the world are not only a form of representation, but these "portraits in words" are a form of appropriation that shapes our reality, which, in turn, can be read by others. This is a key to the protagonists' memories and dreams, and it is also important when Smith writes about politics -Elisabeth's mother even ends up in jail when she uses memories turned into artefacts to challenge barriers (I cannot spoil this part of the novel, it is just too good).
Other examples for the themes of memory and representation would of course be Boty and Keeler, with Boty being dead and almost forgotten until Elisabeth, inspired by Daniel, digs into her work and biography.
Some readers from outside Europe have expressed that they feel like this novel is mainly concerned with current events in Britain, which somehow diminishes the text's relevance. As another European, I would like to contradict that notion, at least in part. Although the consequences of Brexit will affect Britain more and differently than the rest of Europe (especially young people who now fear to loose their Schengen privileges), Brexit is worrying and upsetting people throughout the continent. The EU is not only an economic structure, it is a supranational organization with roots in 1957, when countries who used to be enemies signed the Treaty of Rome which would turn out to be a crucial step towards the longest peace period in the history of the continent (at least between the EU member states; in 2012, the EU won the Nobel Peace Prize). When Britain decides to leave this union, what does this mean for the future of Europe? - that's the question that is scaring people and the dimension in which the Brexit discussion needs to be understood. How can we uphold the values on which the EU is based? In her book, Smith talks a lot about values and respect, and what she says is very relevant in today's EU (and in Trump's America, for that matter). My guess is that this book will personally affect many people, also outside Britain.
Regarding the question whether the book will stand the test of time, I am not sure whether I can answer it, but I think "Autumn" will remain a valuable and touching portrait depicting how many people felt at a certain point in time....more
As a nature-loving dog owner who used to live in beautiful Minnesota, I was inclined to love this novel. Unfortunately, I didn’t. What is this book abAs a nature-loving dog owner who used to live in beautiful Minnesota, I was inclined to love this novel. Unfortunately, I didn’t. What is this book about? I found three hints in the book, admittedly planted by the unreliable narrator, as to what Fridlund wanted to achieve. First, there is of course a presentation the protagonist, 15-year-old Linda, gives on the title-giving “History of Wolves”. The emphasis is on the misleading concept of the alpha male as in a pack, dominance is impermanent and shifting in relation to the specific situation. But does Fridlund go on and discuss the concept of shifting powers in social contexts in her story? Nope.
Rather, Fridlund meditates on two questions that she also lets Linda ask herself: “What’s the difference between what you want to believe and what you do? (…) And what’s the difference between what you think and what you end up doing?” Linda is a neglected kid who grew up in a failed cult and in the book, she meets a married couple of Christian Scientists who believe that people who fall ill can be healed by displaying a certain mindset and do not need evidence-based medicine. It is the nature and consequences of these gaps between personal conviction and outward reality, thought and action that the book mainly discusses. Befriending the Christian Scientists and becoming the babysitter of their son, Linda gets caught up in a situation she is unable to handle, and the consequences of her own misled perception will end up tormenting her (more details would be too much of a spoiler). In connection to that, Linda declares that her story is an account “of the origin of human evil. (…) I think, now: That’s the story I am trying to tell.” In a subplot, there is also a pedophile teacher and the problem of guilt regarding the thought of a crime vs. committing a crime is displayed.
In my opinion, having an unreliable narrator (who, by the way, is nicely characterized) telling a story does not mean that a writer has to execute his/her main plot ideas inconsistently – and as described above, the gist of the novel is a little messy. In addition to that, Linda is supposedly a grown-up looking at her past when she tells this story, and that does not show. “History of Wolves” is a coming-of-age story with minimal character development apart from feelings of regret about things past – although that seems to be intentional, I did not like it as it is unsatisfying to read and adds to the ever-present mood of resigned melancholy. In disregard of the above-mentioned presentation on the alpha male, the wolf seems to mainly stand for the wild as such, where Linda feels more at ease as in civilization. To nag on, I would like to add that the hints that Fridlund places throughout the book are maybe a little obvious.
I am still a fan of wolves, dogs (who, as domesticated wolves, also feature in the novel), and Minnesota, but I do not think that this book will make the Booker shortlist....more
Paul Auster, I am officially annoyed: This book could have been just great, but it is way, way too long, and by that I don't mean to say that I am genPaul Auster, I am officially annoyed: This book could have been just great, but it is way, way too long, and by that I don't mean to say that I am generally opposed to long books, but that this story could have been told more effectively if a good editor had taken out at least 200 pages.
The basic idea that Auster plays out over the course of 866 pages is that coincidence and the slightest change in circumstances can change our whole lives. He demonstrates this by telling the life story of Archie Ferguson from infancy to early manhood in four different versions that diverge more and more over the course of time, as every Archie experiences different events and grows up in a slightly different social context. I did not feel that Auster's way of telling these stories in a linear, but parallel manner was particularly innovative, in fact it does not even have a postmodern feel to it (which is of course not necessarily a bad thing, the novel's structure just did not feel fresh or particularly exciting to me).
On a positive note, I was very impressed with Auster's writing, which is accessible without ever being simplistic or shallow. I really enjoyed how he dives into the psychology of his characters, shedding light on their ambiguities, insecurities, and doubts while always preserving their dignity and, by that, evoking an enormous amount of empathy on the side of the reader. As I listened to the audiobook, I also want to mention that Auster has a beautiful voice and very engaging way of reading.
Nevertheless, there was just too much detail, too many minor characters, and too many sidetracks that would not have been necessary to get the point across. I see that Auster wanted to paint a lively picture and highlight all the little things that have the power to affect us, but the reader gets that message very early on, and after some time, hammering home this point becomes rather tedious. I would not even limit this criticism to the extensive description of 60's campus politics at Columbia U (although I totally understood why some readers found the length of these passages outrageous), but I would extend that claim to many parts of the story. The excessive length takes away some of the power the novel undoubtedly has, a power that could be increased by crossing out a serious amount of material.
At around page 500, there is a little vignette that works as a spoiler and gives away the ending, but I did not mind it that much - Auster really went for the most obvious choice to end his book, but it is also the most consequential alternative. Unfortunately, I felt a sense of triumph after I managed to finish the whole thing - which is a rather bad sign.
This probably won't make my Booker shortlist....more
Oh, Zadie Smith, why? Why do you take some good basic ideas and then play them out in the most predictable way possible? I want the time back that I sOh, Zadie Smith, why? Why do you take some good basic ideas and then play them out in the most predictable way possible? I want the time back that I spent listening to this!
As many readers have already remarked, the two storylines - one about the unnamed narrator and her childhood friend Tracey, the second about the narrator's work for an international superstar named Aimee whose character is modeled after Madonna - do not quite come together. I also have problems with each of the plot lines separately:
1) The story about the narrator and Tracey has great potential as a tale about the complicated friendship of two mixed-race kids/teenagers/adults, a constellation suited to discuss questions of race and gender. Unfortunately, it feels like Smith took somewhat classic motifs and issues usually discussed in this context and put them together without adding anything substantially new or surprising. If you already read anything in this direction, there is a good chance you'll end up profoundly bored. (If you haven't, better books on the subject are for example Caucasia, Passing, The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man, and Born a Crime: Stories From a South African Childhood).
2) The story about Aimee, the global superstar founding a school in Africa and using shady tactics to adopt an African child, made me a little angry - not because it doesn't touch upon important moral issues regarding money, power, and race, but because these issues have already been discussed in just about every paper, and unfortunately on the same intellectual level. Literature should have something new to add, a new perspective, a new understanding...but there's nothing there!
The topic that could potentially elevate that story and turn it into a truly original tale is the role that dancing plays - or better that dancing could play, as I felt like the theme was touched upon frequently, but not consequently played out. Smith hints at the different traditions of dance and what they represent culturally: From the dancers in minstrel shows to tap dance, performance in theater and musicals, ballet, tribal dances and dancing as free expression without any rules. Smith could have made a much more coherent case here if she had used the implicit metaphorical potential more consequently thoughout the text. Also, the parts that talk about (real-life) dancer Jeni Le Gon are a case of wasted potential - this could have been so much better (shout-out to Ali Smith and what she has done with Pauline Boty in Autumn).
I would also like to touch upon the question of unfulfilled potential/shadows that has already been pointed out by some of my GR friends: The narrator likes it when Tracey takes the wheel and makes the decisions, and later this position is taken up by Aimee. The narrator herself remains strangely passive though, as if she really was a simply a narrator, not a protagonist (until the final twist, that is) - why is this the case? I have not yet found a convincing explanation (maybe there is one and I didn't get it).
The whole story is told by the same first person narrator, but in a non-linear manner - though it remains unclear why Smith decided to do that. The placement of the narrative bits appears to be quite random, the structural choices do not create a particular atmosphere, they don't help to keep the reader's attention or to make the story more suspenseful. Don't get me wrong: I am usually all for non-linear fiction, but there has to be a point in cutting up the story, besides wanting to add a postmodern touch to it. Alas, I did not find that point here.
I have to say though that I liked the twist at the end: (view spoiler)[After criticising Aimee for adopting a child from a poor family in Africa, the narrator contemplates whether she should take care of the three children of her childhood friend Tracy, who has trouble to get her life on track. When she arrives at Tracy's house, she sees her and her children dancing on the balcony. (hide spoiler)] Now that is an interesting, thought-provoking ending - if just all of the novel would be like that!
As the attentive reader has certainly noticed by now, I am not a big fan of this, it just feels too generic and stale. No MBP shortlist material....more
- Well-deserved winner of the Man Booker Prize 2017 -
In a way, this is a book about freedom - freedom in life and in death. While the Civil War is rag- Well-deserved winner of the Man Booker Prize 2017 -
In a way, this is a book about freedom - freedom in life and in death. While the Civil War is raging, Lincoln loses his beloved eleven-year-old son Willie to typhoid fever. Grief-stricken, he doubts himself as a parent and as a President: "He is just one. And the weight of it about to kill me. Have exported this grief. Some three thousand times. So far. To date. A mountain. Of boys. Someone's boys. Must keep on with it. May not have the heart for it."
But Willie has not yet reached the realm of the dead, he is stuck in the Bardo, meaning the space between the time one dies and what comes next. By introducing many other ghosts who occupy the graveyard with Willie, Saunders paints a panorama of the American people at the time of the Civil War, and meditates about the human condition as such: Some ghosts are held back because they do not want to leave their beloved relatives, some are unable to face the truth about themselves, others feel like they have tasks to finish, matters to settle. We meet slaves, slavemasters, dedicated mothers, loving husbands, drunkards, criminals, a reverend, a gay man, and many others, including, of course, Willie Lincoln, desperate but unable to communicate with his father who comes to visit his corpse in the burial crypt at night. In his despair, the President is just one more powerless mourner tormented by his grief.
Lincoln is caught up in his sadness, just as the ghosts are caught up in the Bardo. How can the President find the perseverance to continue his fight to abolish slavery, and how can the ghosts find the courage to leave the Bardo?
The way Saunders answers these questions is beautiful, poetic, and very moving. As we follow the story, many of the ghosts are able to break free from the Bardo, since they are learning to make peace with their own stories, the lives they lived and the future they did not live to see. Instead of being tormented, they are set free and can move on to whatever lies beyond. We all know what Lincoln proceeded to do, and Saunders depicts his inner struggle beautifully (and even lets those who will not profit from his policies anymore help him to regain courage: "We are ready, sir; are angry, are capable; our hopes are coiled up so tight as to be deadly, to be holy; turn us loose, sir, let us at it, let us show what we can do.").
It has often been remarked that the text resembles a play, as it is wholly compiled of quotations by the ghosts and from (partly invented) historical sources about Lincoln and the Civil War. Although the audiobook version works really well and is very impressive, I do not think that a stage or film version of "Lincoln in the Bardo" could easily be produced, or at least I believe that the overall effect would be quite different from the book (which of course is not necessarily a bad thing). But this text does things that only literature can attain, and it's those things that make us read fiction in the first place. The last chapter is a prime example of this - it is magical. I would be extremely surprised if this would not at least make the MBP shortlist.
Update: It did make the shortlist, and it did win - congratulations, George Saunders!!...more
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