I remember, at the time, feeling very attached to the characters, and in turn that made the events of the French Revolution more accessible and person...moreI remember, at the time, feeling very attached to the characters, and in turn that made the events of the French Revolution more accessible and personal. But in all honesty, I can't remember if I read this in high school or college, woops. Probably high school.(less)
My undergrad features something called the Sophie Kerr Weekend where they invite the high school seniors accepted in the creative writing program to a...moreMy undergrad features something called the Sophie Kerr Weekend where they invite the high school seniors accepted in the creative writing program to attend and hear an acclaimed writer speak. For my year, it was Joyce Carol Oates and I remember reading this book in preparation for her talk.
I appreciated this book for its cynical futility, the way Marianne was raped without absolution and how it tore the male members of her household apart. Further depressing to me than the rape was the resulting, lifelong estrangement from her father, made even more distant because we could only hear her voice as perceived by that of the narrator, her younger brother Judd.
More than any other book I've ever read, perhaps, my memory of this one got tangled up in all of the biases of where I was as a writer then, and how I looked back on this experience throughout college. At the time, I was drawn to depressing stories, and especially those whom the college that accepted me for writing said were well written. My mother, who attended the weekend with me, dismissed Oates and the story she shared with us (about a 15 year old girl being abducted) as overwhelmingly dark and uninspiring. Then, when Oates sat down to talk with the group of we admitted seniors, a friend of mine asked a question about being published without much experience, she was pretty disdainful. Now, my friend actually has a rather large following for her distinctive voice on social media sites, and I can't help but think of how blindly Oates misinterpreted her question and the media world that opened for my generation.
Back to the book: I have no clear recollection, but I certainly hope I realized how similar this novel is to William Faulkner's "The Sound and the Fury," which remains one of my favorites. Similarly, Faulkner sets up a sister's loss of sexual innocence as the downfall for a predominately male family, but this is also an allegory for the downfall of the antebellum south. In retrospect, I feel like there was more meat on Faulkner's bones, not only because his story had more of a sense of purpose, but because he didn't just stick to one narrator. This truly made it a familial experience.(less)
Another I read during college, this focuses on English industrialization in Victorian England. Gaskell takes time to highlight the social issues of th...moreAnother I read during college, this focuses on English industrialization in Victorian England. Gaskell takes time to highlight the social issues of the day, and this passage I pasted into my journal in college.
“I don’t set up Milton as a model of a town.”
“Not in architecture?” slyly asked Mr. Bell.
“No! We’ve been too busy to attend to mere outward appearances.”
“Don’t say mere outward appearances,” said Mr. Hale gently. “They impress us all from childhood upward—every day of our life.”
“Wait a little while,” said Mr. Thornton. “Remember we are of a different race from the Greeks, to whom beauty was everything, and to whom Mr. Bell might speak of a life of leisure and serene enjoyment, much of what entered in through their outward senses. I don’t mean to despise them, any more than I would ape them. But I belong to Teutonic blood; it is little mingled in this part of England to what it is in others; we retain much of their language; we retain more of their spirit; we do not look upon life as a time for enjoyment, but as a time for action and exertion. Our glory and our beauty arise out of our inward strength, which makes us victorious over material resistance and over greater difficulties as well. We are Teutonic up here in Darkshire in another way. We hate to have laws made for us at a distance. We wish people would allow us to right ourselves, instead of continually meddling, with their imperfect legislation. We stand up for self-government and oppose centralization.”(less)
I could never fall for this novel as hard as I fell for "Jane Eyre"--Lucy's life was more independent and detached, and far less gothic, in it's way....moreI could never fall for this novel as hard as I fell for "Jane Eyre"--Lucy's life was more independent and detached, and far less gothic, in it's way. Half the time, it felt like the story was more about Polly and Graham, if I remember correctly, whereas "Jane Eyre" centered very firmly on Jane's experience. But this book makes me wish futilely that I'd had GoodReads in college, or just kept better notes, at least, so this novel would live on more crisply in my memory. Be that as it may, I did write a few notes in the margins, likely influenced by my Victorian lit professor, Dr. Gillin. Here are a few examples.
Emotional trajectory of Lucy Snowe: "She moped: no grown person could have performed that uncheering business better; no furrowed face of adult exile, longing for Europe at Europe's antipodes, ever bore more legibly the signs of home sickness than did her infant visage. She seemed growing old and unearthly. I, Lucy Snowe, plead guiltless of that curse, an overheated and discursive imagination; but whenever opening a room-door, I found her seated in a corner alone, her head on her pigmy hand, that room seemed to be not inhabited, but haunted."
As a child, Lucy is detached from baby Polly's pain. Polly acts on natural level with Graham, striking Lucy as "strangely rash."
Effects of natural phenomenon in world: "I had heard my voice ere this, and compulsory observation had forced on me a theory as to what it boded. Three times in the course of my life events had taught me that these strange accents in the storm--this restless, hopeless cry-denote a coming state of the atmosphere unpropitious to life."
Lucy, the perpetual observer, observes those who observe her.
Revelation: women can be in power; where am I? "I stood-not soothed, nor won nor overwhelmed. It seemed as if a challenge of strength between opposing gifts was givem, and I suddenly felt all the dishonour of my diffidence-all the pusillanimity of my slackness to aspire."
Lucy has no hope for love so she puts up wall, afraid of going past it.
Asserting her femininity for the first time by insisting that she wear her own dress for a play and not be dressed as a man, despite director.
Ginevra is putting on flirtatious performance to "wow" Dr. John. Lucy takes on male perspective (watching Ginerva)--jealous of Ginerva paying attention to Dr. John and not for her character? Lucy must confront herself, figure out herself.
She convinces herself, rationally, that she's destined to be unhappy. Working against this is her desire to be with other people.
Real love is acceptance of turbulence, allowing herself to feel and become vulnerable though tempted by reason.
St. John judges her as a woman--Lucy sees him as coming up short, understanding nothing but traditional values.
Paulina and Lucy are exquisitely careful with what they see and how they feel.
Lucy's loss of identity when Paulina, like Ginerva, is pretty. Lucy gloats in a moral construct--good wins! Ginerva "got hers," but this is a good thing.
Paul debates should he put intellectual women in a box or is there something more to them? He grows enamored with Lucy because of her honesty.
Lucy asks why she should expect more than anyone else--even trying to get past the restrictiveness of her time (must suffer.) Admits she doesn't like this even while accepting it. Also recognition that she misinterprets things, which she now accepts.
With Justine Marie, Lucy sees that she's an incredibly ordinary girl who's sanctified because she's dead. She sees things as they are and why people act the way they do--she's maturing.
Is she afraid of rejection? Vulnerability? Once her deep passions are let loose, there's danger. Likelihood that she'll be misunderstood.
Some people want something authentic. Is there a "Mr. Right"? Madam Beck wants conventional aim of binding people, eg Lucy, in love, but doesn't want to bind Paul.
Lucy doesn't want socially acceptable love--she wants love that confronts raw life. She explains this with Paul.
Does this pass? Or does she go down with the ship? "And now three years are past: M. Emanuel's return is fixed. It is Autumn; he is to be with me ere the mists of November come. My school flourishes, my house is ready, I have made him a little library, filled its shelves with the books he left in my care: I have cultivated out of love for him (I was naturally no florist) the plants he preferred and some of them are yet in bloom. I thought I loved him when he went away; I love him now in another degree; he is more my own."(less)
Not my favorite Bronte novel; that would be "Wuthering Heights." I think Emily's novel provided a far broader and more layered look at her subject mat...moreNot my favorite Bronte novel; that would be "Wuthering Heights." I think Emily's novel provided a far broader and more layered look at her subject matter. But I read "Jane Eyre" first and I loved it.
My opinions have altered just slightly with age, I think. As a middle schooler, I was struck by Jane's plainness and the dead ends in her life. I think it was the first time I read of a female protagonist who wasn't plucky and adventurous but who challenged me to look at the unfairness of the world. Downer though that might be, I appreciated it.
As an adult, I appreciate Bronte's criticism of false piety, with Mistress Reed and Lowood School. The situation with Bertha was horrible, but I believe the author was casting a frank light upon ignored parts (read: female) of her society. And Rochester, for all of his Byronic faults, was at least Jane's choice. She didn't bend to St. John's entitled will though he demanded it.
This book (and certainly "Wuthering Heights") will have the tendency to be overlooked as tween romance drama about less than admirable partners, but I think it's a mistake to not look beyond that at just what contemporary realities Charlotte and Emily were trying to unveil on those gothic moors.(less)
After my high school bender of reading Charlotte and Emily I knew I had to progress to Anne, but I confess I remember basically nothing about this boo...moreAfter my high school bender of reading Charlotte and Emily I knew I had to progress to Anne, but I confess I remember basically nothing about this book. Seems like it didn't leave much of an impression. I might come back to this and read it again, but I have troubles with keeping my GoodReads to-read list manageable.(less)
"A Visit from the Goon Squad" is quite a post-modern book--chapters (or inter-connected short stories) were told in first, second and third person, pr...more"A Visit from the Goon Squad" is quite a post-modern book--chapters (or inter-connected short stories) were told in first, second and third person, present and past tense, a magazine article, and one was even a PowerPoint, surely the first of it's kind! I read half of the book last week and half after seeing Jennifer Egan at the National Book Festival in Washington, DC (9/24/11).
The story loosely follows two leads involved in the San Francisco/New York music scene--Bennie Salazar, an executive who had his teen hey day in the 70s, and Sasha, his assistant and a young woman from the nineties. Both characters are featured in stories that chronicle (often from other peoples' points of view) their younger years to middle age, and how time was a "goon" to them. As kids they may have had rough family lives, done hard drugs or run away for periods of time, but it was in later adulthood that they felt the full repercussions of this, and either had to fully reinvent themselves, live with their failures, or often both.
Along with the characters the music scene seemed to be visited by "goons" as well--at least Egan's assessment of modern music and her predictions for the future is that it will become less about art and more about digitization and marketing. In the final story, which was told from the POV of Sasha's inconsequential date from the first story, Bennie is able to raise his teenage friend, Scotty, to a measure of stardom, perhaps because Scotty, an anti-social loner who spurned the increased computerized connectivity of the world, offered something more real. Though I gotta say--I was disappointed when the date remembered Sasha's name, because even when it was happening 20 years ago, they knew that this was meant to be some random anecdote of being in your twenties, and nothing to get hung up on two decades later.
I read two of Egan's "chapters" previously, before buying the book--in my advanced fiction writing class this summer we covered "Safari" as it appeared in "Best American Short Stories of 2010." And on my own I read "Selling the General" in the "This Is Not Chick Lit" anthology (reviewed on GoodReads last December.) These actually constitute my favorite and least favorite stories. :P
"Safari," which pulled off multiple POVs, a rarity in a short piece, chronicles a family trip to Africa, one of those rare, memorable occasions that can be looked back on with nostalgia and an impetus for change (two characters take steps to get married.) The narrative jumps into the future from time to time in a ponderous tone, laying out the Africa trip as a microcosm through which to understand the family as a whole.
"Selling The General" is about three characters who are the least connected to the rest of the narrative. Similarly the story has nothing to do with music, either. Instead we meet Dolly, a humiliated publicist who quite questionably takes her young daughter on assignment to meet with a dangerous but vaguely defined dictator of a far-off country. The daughter, Lulu, comes back in her twenties to be Bennie's new assistant (ok, I can buy that,) and to date the grandson of one of the tribesmen from "Safari" (um....yeah.)
But all in all "A Visit from the Goon Squad" is a success for traditional reasons--Egan builds up wonderfully flawed and complicated characters who grow and change, maybe understanding themselves by the end, maybe not, but at least they give us a lot to think about.
A final note--I have a real soft spot for "Great Rock and Roll Pauses," the PowerPoint story narrated by Sasha's 12-year-old daughter, Allison. In it, Allison recounts her brother's mild autism creating a slide about how her brother tries to reach out to his father. As someone on the autism spectrum herself, I don't think I've ever seen anything so succinctly and truthfully depict the way my thought patterns work when I try to communicate. Frankly, I don't even think I understood it that well myself until reading this. So thank you, Ms. Egan! :P
I first put this book on my reading list after catching most of the movie on tv, a story which I now barely remembered and chalked up to a standard, y...moreI first put this book on my reading list after catching most of the movie on tv, a story which I now barely remembered and chalked up to a standard, yet touching, portrayal of a young woman who, in the throes of giving up her adult life to care for her cancer-stricken mother, realizes that the parent she overlooked has a lot to offer and the parent she idolized wasn't as perfect as he seemed. I didn't remember, though apparently it existed in the adaptation, that Ellen was in fact questioned about her mother's morphine overdose, but I still don't think it was as big a deal as it was in the book, where it took over almost half of the story and altered the characters' lives almost beyond recognition.
Telling the story from the vantage point of looking back almost a decade later led to the obviously intentional theme of how one's understanding of one's life and relationships is altered by distance and changed circumstance. Not only was the mid-thirties Ellen looking back as the writer, but the mid-twenties Ellen in the midst of the action was reevaluating her relationships with her parents and other loved ones. I found it all very organic and rich in storytelling that can't often be transplanted to the screen.
I was expecting, given Quindlen's journalistic background, for the prose to largely be succinct and to the point--not always a bad thing, in fact a valuable lesson I take from my own grad school foray into journalism. But instead she gave us something much deeper, prosey narrative (loved it so much I even typed in one of her paragraphs as a Facebook status) and a sometimes slow-moving plot, which nevertheless grabbed me with the deeply realized characters. This is an art, which takes dedication to fiction to perfect.
Speaking of fiction, I loved the professorial father (not so much the flawed character, but his job and how it led to his family throwing about novel allusions the way other families might talk about politics or sports.) I felt shame, as an English major, that I can't prattle off classical literature as easily, but I'm familiar enough that the references were very soothing. (And it also reinforced my desire to read the GoodReads copy of "Anna Karenina" on my new iPad. :P) This book spoke to me in two languages I understand well--fiction and psychology. :P
My quibbles are few and largely inconsequential--I wish Ellen mentioned her friend, Jules, more often, though it makes sense that she'd be lost in the shuffle of the day-to-day with her mom. Kate's friends, meanwhile, who were much closer by, seemed remarkably fair-weathered, and that surprised me. Perhaps the judicial hearing struck me as a bit over-the-top, but that's likely the way it goes under the lights of the media circus. Finally, I'd've liked more comeuppance for that jerk, Jon, but alas that's not the way real life always goes.
Overall, great book that I enjoyed far more than I thought I would (enjoy it. :P/grammar).(less)
"The Murderer's Daughters" is a compelling read, which really shows the author's mastery over the subject of domestic violence and it's aftermath, not...more"The Murderer's Daughters" is a compelling read, which really shows the author's mastery over the subject of domestic violence and it's aftermath, not just technically but emotionally as well. I was incredibly impressed by the character study of Lulu and Merry, two sisters who grew from tiny girls into middle-aged women, and in first-person too!
Lulu and Merry's lives were incredibly rich and textured, which perhaps gave me pause in how shallow and unkind the rest of their family was, particularly Aunt Cillia. The aftermath of their needy, self-absorbed father murdering their sleazy, uncaring mother ultimately landed the girls in an orphanage because no grandmothers, aunts or uncles were able to look beyond themselves. (Also, both grandfathers were MIA and both grandmothers died in their 50s/60s of bad health...maybe socioeconomical?) I'm hesitant to put their foster parents, the Cohens, in the same category- they, too, were selfish, but they were selfish in different ways, at least. Also, their affluence was able to catapault the girls from a bleak, lower class outlook to college educations and steady jobs. Sorta. :P
Another interesting component- both the family and the foster family were Jewish. It played in odd, barely-connected ways throughout the girls' childhoods through Yiddish phrases and secularized Chanukah and Passover celebrations, until Lulu's marriage to the gentile Drew (easily the most selfless, kindhearted character in the book) basically ended that association. I would assume that Meyers herself is Jewish, and it's an interesting, though largely unimportant, cultural connection to have in the book.
I was expecting the father to be more sadistically violent, but this passive-aggressive, needy little child man ultimately had a huge impact on his daughters, no matter how (self-servingly) he loved them. I really admired how Lulu and Merry struggled and grew under their father's imprisoned influence over the course of the 30 years. Their stories were realistic, subtle rather than haranguing, and complete with the gritty details and unclear conclusions that I'd expect. My only complaint might be how convenient it was for the father to be parolled at the same time that Merry and her nieces were held hostage, thereby forcing what Lulu had been presently struggling with- telling her daughters the truth about their grandfather.
Overall, an amazing piece of craftmanship; definitely reccomend.(less)
This is a very brutal book, which deals with the continued sexual abuse of a young girl not yet a teenager. Tilly tells the story from two points of v...moreThis is a very brutal book, which deals with the continued sexual abuse of a young girl not yet a teenager. Tilly tells the story from two points of view, first person for the protagonist, Gemma, and third for occasional interjections by her kidnapper, a man her mother's boyfriend once pimped her out to, 37-year-old Hazen.
Hazen is a character who makes Mr. Harvey from "The Lovely Bones" almost look like Mr. Rogers. At least Harvey had occasional doubts. He was also painstakingly aware of the fact that society would look down on his actions. Hazen never reaches that point. He is able to convince himself, as much as Gemma, that she is an guilty slut who deserves what's coming to her. His opinion of his victim varies from that to abused child whom he's rescued to adoring lover, depending on his mood. I found him impossible to relate to on any level- more of a raging force of narcissism, misogyny (he was homophobic and antisemitic, too,) wrapped up in a gauze of extremist theology. I'm not sure what I think of that in terms of his believability.
Gemma, on the other hand, was amazingly complex, strong and opinionated yet highly victimized and naive about the world. There was a huge disconnect, though, between how she saw herself (so confident and angry) and how Hazen did (simpering and weak.) Other peoples' reactions to her could only be inferred as both styles of storytelling were highly subjective. We only got their perceptions of what happened to them, which for the most part, made for a highly unique story, imho.
The only time I think it didn't work was at the end. I loved how Gemma used the turtle as a stand-in when she was in the trunk; obsessing over Boxcar Julie *showed* the readers what she herself was going through. However, in the courtyard, she was just *telling* us how she had changed. Perhaps dialogue would have been too clunky, perhaps not, but I almost felt robbed of the chance to see for myself how Gemma was finally able to come into her own. Alas.
Thanks for the advance copy, GoodReads and Macmillan Publishing!(less)
I think this is an amazing book in the scope of what it accomplished. In sending Susie to heaven, Sebold was able to analyze her characters in a shock...moreI think this is an amazing book in the scope of what it accomplished. In sending Susie to heaven, Sebold was able to analyze her characters in a shockingly honest and complex way that is not available to most first-person narrators, as they don't have access to the flow of peoples' thoughts. I loved how, in the beginning, which was easily the most tragic, yet quick and suspensful portion of the book, Susie was comparing the emotions she felt from her family and friends coping with her death to her childhood memories of them in life. As we moved past the first anniversary of the murder, time understandably quickened as the Salmons went on with their lives and the urgency died down.
The book is ultimately about love and hope and I was so touched by where the title of "The Lovely Bones" ultimately came from. I spent most of my reading feeling touched by this book, the underscored yet poigniant emotions of the protagonists. I fell in love with all of them (save Mr. Harvey, of course,) though I have to admit that as much as I wanted to like Ruth, she seemed like a convenient plot device at best and a Mary Sue character at worst (I mean honestly, we need a medium here? Then again, we are supposed to believe in Susie's heaven...which was so amazingly real to me, so bittersweet in both the promise and the fatality that it signified.)
Mr. Harvey, as horrible as he was, was fantastically drawn, a true shell of a man with a complex history. I like the way that Sebold wrapped his story up, because it kept the focus more on the family moving on from the death rather than what (little) justice might have been served were Harvey caught. Keeping Harvey on the outskirts gave Susie, watching and learning more and more about him from heaven, the most human connection to him, which, though haunting, was perhaps justice in itself as the last thing Harvey wanted to be was known.
A final criticism of Sebold might be the use of her metaphors, especially "eyes buttering the bread of tears;" that one still sticks out painfully. But what she might have lost in metaphors she made up for in Susie's voice, growing from innocence to maturity as she watched her family and peers grow up. I especially loved Susie's intuition- how she grew to understand so much about her loved ones- but she was not all-knowing or omnipotent. There were no easy answers for the Salmons, but there was the love and memories that sustained them.(less)
"The Lost Daughter" is one of those amazing books where the stream-of-consciousness works. In the present, the book is about a middle aged woman, Leda...more"The Lost Daughter" is one of those amazing books where the stream-of-consciousness works. In the present, the book is about a middle aged woman, Leda, who takes a beach-side vacation for the summer. Beneath the surface, it's about how her interactions with a Neapolitan family reminds her of her upbringing and, more poignantly, her relationships with her estranged daughters.
One thing I love about this book is that, even though I was in Leda's head, she managed to surprise me. She was filled with such longing for her daughters, who now lived in Canada with their father, that it didn't cross my mind that *she* had first abandoned *them.* Similarly, Nina, the young mother of the very young Elena, first seemed like solely the victim of her husband's family, but then we learn that she is having an affair.
The relationship between Nina and Leda might be the central one of the story. First, they revere each other- the unfortunate young mother, the sophisticated middle-aged professor- then those illusions are shattered. Nina tries to justify her affair by going to Leda, but Leda knows that leaving her children was just selfishness. Then Nina goes to Leda to beg her apartment for a night with her lover, only to be met with the news that Leda had stolen Elena's doll, an act that completely unraveled her family. Suddenly, she goes from being a selfish child herself to a lioness of a mother.
There was just so much great character development here, and Ferrante completely captured the complexity of familial relations. (As an American- especially an Italian American- it was also great to learn about distinct, cultural groups within Italy!) My one big complaint would be that I wish she'd changed up some of her male names a bit. Too many of the main characters started with G- Leda's suitor, Giovanni, Nina's lover, Gino, Leda's ex-husband, Gianni. I'm not ashamed to admit I got them confused from time to time. :P(less)
This book was a triumph. It's funny to say that, really, because I don't think it touched me as deeply as some others I read this year- at least, I co...moreThis book was a triumph. It's funny to say that, really, because I don't think it touched me as deeply as some others I read this year- at least, I could never completely divorce myself from the movie as I did with "The Hours," "The Namesake," "Atonement," etc. Perhaps because the book was told in first person, through the eyes of a young girl- I needed the movie for it's distance and perspective.
Lily's voice was amazing in it's simple genuineness- kudos to Kidd for that. She had a very direct, very self-centered, fledging voice- she was ignorant of a lot of things (for example, it would've made little sense for her to describe June's classical music as much more than "mournful" or "happy",) but she also grew as a character, and had some great inner monologues. Mostly, she grew as herself- trying to find her place within the twisted world her parents left behind- but she also became more aware of broader issues (only tangentally, as they rarely directly affected her,) and, of course, the ins and outs of beekeeping. :P And I just *loved* her inner sass. There was something very assertive about her, something perhaps grown out of the space that she basically had to take care of her own emotional needs throughout her life. Like August says to her at the end, the power to overcome hardship is inside of us.
Kidd's relationships were also amazingly fleshed out- again, we were only able to see things through Lily's eyes, but you could tell that every single character, from August to T. Ray, was fleshed out, not just a caricature of good or evil. I really did love the themes- from the subplot of Lily's budding attraction to Zach, to the main one of finding a family in the most unlikely of places.
Speaking of surprises, I found this book to be speckled with Jewish themes- from the subtle (and likely unintended) structure between Mary Day and Jewish holidays, starting at sunset and etc., to the far more blunt, like May's Wailing Wall, fashioned after the Kotel, where she wrote out her sorrows. And I really *loved* the Mary rituals that the Daughters thought up- kind of like a mix of Catholicism and and slave lore (and perhaps even a little Judaism. :P) Overall, it was a chance for the disinfranchised to become empowered- be they African Americans living in the '60s south, to a young girl escaping an emotionally abusive father, to being a woman, and looking for a female voice within the fellowship of faith.
My one complaint is that the story seemed to wrap up too neatly- T. Ray showing up on *the day* when Lily finally started to reach some sort of resolution about her mother. (Seemed like an awfully long time for him to get his phone bill, too.) I really liked "the epilogue" though (the movie ended before this :P) where Lily is finally able to make a girlfriend, and she sticks by Zach as he starts his difficult year at the white high school. There is also no true resolution with her mother- her guilt remains cyclical, though she now has the tools with which to forgive herself. It's a wonderful story for young girls, but something that all women (and people) could learn from, too.(less)
White Oleander was truly a rich tapestry. Fitch wove us, not only into the viscereal, physical landscape of Los Angeles, Mexico, Amsterdam and other p...moreWhite Oleander was truly a rich tapestry. Fitch wove us, not only into the viscereal, physical landscape of Los Angeles, Mexico, Amsterdam and other places from Astrid's memory, but also into her protagonist's evolving emotional state as the daughter of a woman convicted of murder, placed in foster care.
It's definitely one of those books that surpasses the movie adaptation. Astrid's life is so much more fleshed out, more foster homes, more personal growth, more pain and rebirth. It's interesting how the movie gave off the impression that, by and large, Astrid and Ingrid spent their entire lives in LA, but the book moved them around the world, constantly chasing culture and Ingrid's pretentious, self-serving vision of an artist's life. Ingrid was an amazing villain, so self-possessed, so confident, living in this metaphoric dream world populated by literary artists, where she did not have to face the mundane details of what she had done. And Astrid's journey, from 12 to 18, was amazing, from Ingrid's shadow to, painstakingly, her own, realized person. A book definitely worth 400 pages!
One thing I was shocked about in the book was that Ingrid was ultimately acquited of the murder (which she actually did commit.) Then again, in both book and movie, I never did exactly get a tangible picture of what exactly went down with Barry- probably because Astrid was so young and not present for every detail. At the heart of it, of course, is being poisoned by the oleander, the tough flower that can withstand anything, and is a constant metaphor for the Mangussens and their ability to survive despite (and at the cost of) others.
One complaint I have about Fitch's amazing writing (seriously, to span from city descriptions to foster care 101 to art history and emotional growth...truly amazing) was her over-use of similies. A lot of them, particularly about Olivia, I found, stretched the line a little and took away from the narrative. As mentioned, Fitch had a lot of material to cram into this novel, and I think she did just fine with describing the facts and sensations, straight up.(less)
I felt a bit of kinship with this book, coming from an collegiate English major background and struggling with depression. Parts of Esther's story wer...moreI felt a bit of kinship with this book, coming from an collegiate English major background and struggling with depression. Parts of Esther's story were universal while others were a little more dated to her time, like the gender expectations and the McCarthyism. The conceit about observing the world through a bell jar worked well--it's warped and strange how societal pressures and/or realizing you won't be a scholarship girl forever slowly infringe upon your impressions. The world itself is in a bit of a bell jar, projecting warped visions back to you, and I felt strongly that none of the main characters (with the exception of Dr. Gordon and his apathetic treatment) were completely right or completely wrong in any given situation. Life isn't so cut and dry, which is part of what makes it terrifying.
I admit, what unnerved me the most was the electroshock therapy, even when Esther seemed to appreciate it with Dr. Nolan. It still strikes me as a therapy cop-out that inflicts more harm than it prevents. Most alarming over all, therefore, was that this treatment is still in use, albeit on a far more limited scale than in 1953.
The book was highly subjective, as we only saw events through Esther's eyes, though at the end, given what had happened, I couldn't help but wish we could get some thoughts from Joan. Since she was implied to be gay, she was dealing with even more restrictions on her identity as a woman than Esther. Sylvia Plath's own suicide, which occurred shortly after the publication of the novel, also cast a ghostly spin on things for me, whether rightly or wrongly. Obviously, she didn't write this from the grave, but the historical timeline may have propelled me to think more about the nature of depression than the social and identity-related issues that Plath was trying to raise.(less)
Been a long time since I've been here! Took me awhile to get to "The Waves." In many ways it's a difficult read- but in the same breath I'll say that...moreBeen a long time since I've been here! Took me awhile to get to "The Waves." In many ways it's a difficult read- but in the same breath I'll say that I easily got thorugh the entire manuscript in under a day.
The Waves focuses on the lifespans of six friends as they grow from children to elderly adults. In particular, the death of their friend Percival at 25 played heavily on their joint story, as did a couple of smaller happenings...Jinny kissing Louis to Susan's dismay, Louis's discomfort over his Austrlian accent (thanks to "my father, a banker in Brisbaine,") Bernard's obsession with Byron, strange list keeping, and telling stories, and etc.
One thing the book did really well is to light up these seemingly unimportant moments in peoples' lives (dinner engagements, tripe school humiliations, memories of home and walking with your children, etc,) and blew them up- always's Virginia's speciality. :P She takes these moments that make up a life and gives breath to their soliloquies, their fears, their bumbly attempts at defining relationships, and juxtaposes them with minute physical details, food on the table, horns honking, etc.
But "The Waves," being her most stream-of-cosnciousness story that I've ever read, was so beyond *any* semblance of real pacing that sometimes it got to be too much. Not to metion that although the six protagonists were obviously very different people, all of their soliloquies sounded the same. We are introduced, vaguely, to some of the people who shaped their childhoods, we have a goodbye dinner with Percival where he barely exists in the narrative, and then we don't even get names or descriptions of the people who follow- Bernard and Susan's spouses and children. The six of them seemed very conveniently stuck in a world where everyone else was just vague impressions- including Percival, which was a problem considering that his death touched them all so personally.
I love the motif of a human life being like a day of waves crashing at the sea. The title is apt for the book on a whole. These characters are meant to convey emotions, tumbling one after another, about life, and then they are washed away.(less)
I really liked the idea behind this book, the end of childhood, shifting relationships, but I thought it was sloppily-executed at first. If Alice, Ril...moreI really liked the idea behind this book, the end of childhood, shifting relationships, but I thought it was sloppily-executed at first. If Alice, Riley and Paul only saw each other during the summers (and *hadn't* for the past three years), then shouldn't they be somewhat rooted in the rest of their lives? I understand how going back to a childhood place tends to revert one (I thought it was much more masterfully handled when Riley and Alice were living back with their parents in their childhood apartment for the year that Riley was sick) but up until that climax of Riley's heart problems, they seemed like cardboard cutouts, only existing for each other and some vague memories.
I did appreciate the stream-of-consciousness feel, how a conversation in the present could remind them of a memory in the past. And with time, with slowly getting to know these people and especially how Riley's sickness impacted their lives, I finally got to see them as real and believable. And I ultimately appreciated all of the nuanced relationships and all of the characters' proclivities- and the ending, with Riley's death and the sale of the houses, truly was touching. (Though I do have to question why *now* of all times did Paul open his grandparents' mail and decide to sell the house. Then again, if he felt betrayed by Alice and like he was growing up anyway, perhaps it would make sense.)
I expected more from this book, and I guess my biggest disappointment was realizing anew how difficult it is to write about these tricky, emotional sort of relationships without making the characters seem unhinged, like they're merely a part of a writing exercise. The authors who accomplish this the best, to my mind, have to cram *a lot* of sensory information into very little space- emotional and physical alike. Maybe this is something that Ann and I can learn together. :P(less)
I found this book to be a fascinating read. Many stories that span for 616 pages can become boring or pedantic, but Padma needed all of this and more....moreI found this book to be a fascinating read. Many stories that span for 616 pages can become boring or pedantic, but Padma needed all of this and more. Spanning four generations with dozens of characters in a richly-defined world, one couldn't expect less.
I like how effortlessly Padma was able to weave Indian history and hyper-specific Hindu cultural norms into her story without talking down to a Western audience or going *too* over our heads. Even if we may not have been familiar with all of the gods, terms, rituals, etc, the larger themes had some common ground- people learning how to define themselves within a changing world and complicated familial relationships. I think that Padma did a superb job in making opposite "arguments," particularly regarding traditional caste Brahmin-centric views versus modern, egalitarian casteless opinions both sound feasible, opinions that people trying to do their best at life could equally share. I think she fell short a few times on character development. Probably because there were so many characters to begin with.
I felt a special kinship with "the original" characters- Sivikami and her children, Thangam and Vairum- especially Thangam, poor Thangam, who was thrown into a horrible marriage and a luckless life due to traditional ways of doing things. :-/ It was heartbreaking to see her physically diminish for 30 years, then die so unceremoniously, without being able to forge any lasting relationships with her children. Vairum also broke my heart, just because I think he felt so cheated by a system that told him that his horoscope killed his father, his castemates were cruel to him yet still he was expected to support them, his sister was suffering yet there was nothing he could do to help her (personally...when it came to his nieces and nephews, he did a great deal!), and his wife, sweet Vani, who was unable to conceive, even though they both desperately wanted children. Made perfect sense that he'd be drawn to the "modern" ways and shirk off his traditionalist mother, but dammit, he didn't have to be *such* a bully to her. :P I could feel the pain in their scenes but at the same time, the novel was so jmapacked with other things that it was difficult to keep up, or to remember the past.
I'll give second-layer kudos to Janaki, Sivikami's granddaughter, who struggles to temper respect for her traditional upbringing with her interest in music, educataion (and ultimately movies :P), and Muchami, a lower-caste gay man with a really fascinating, deep character. He was a sweetheart.
I'd reccomend this book to all, because I think that there's something in this book that everyone could enjoy.(less)
"The Voyage Out" is Virginia Woolf's first novel, and a preliminary foray into the world of modernist, "stream-of-consciousness" fiction. I have to sa...more"The Voyage Out" is Virginia Woolf's first novel, and a preliminary foray into the world of modernist, "stream-of-consciousness" fiction. I have to say, it's not my favorite attempt. Several months trapped between the thoughts of several characters can get a little pedantic.
I found that I liked the characters more at the end than the beginning, though. One nice thing about having a thoughts-centric story is that you really get to know everyone and their relationships through all of the complexities of living through each day.
The story tries to breach several topics- the isolation and ignorance of a 24-year-old girl named Rachel (ok, so I would have gravitated towards her anyway, :P) her falling in love with a man and his falling in love with her and just what it means to be married and spend their lives together, and then, in true Virginia fashion, at least from what I've read, a sudden death and how that impacts everyone. Very moving and very realistic.
Also- just gotta give a squeeful shoutout to the brief scene with the Dalloways, later to star in Virginia's most famous novel, "Mrs Dalloway." Clarissa particularly came off as so shallow, flippant and *normal* for such a brief aquaintance (with Rachel) that I think that's why Virginia liked her. I'm not as much of a scholar as I pretend, but there's my two cents. :P(less)
All in all, I gotta say I'm disappointed. That's why I'm giving this book such a mediocre review- something I rarely do for books. I *loved* this movi...moreAll in all, I gotta say I'm disappointed. That's why I'm giving this book such a mediocre review- something I rarely do for books. I *loved* this movie. I love how it dealt with these "slice of life" moments in the lives of these four family members, and how they coalesced around their indescretions with a neighbor family. Paul, the son who was least involved in this inter-familial deceit (he lived at boarding school and spent the majority of the book at a friend's apartment far away in New York,) was the obvious choice for narrator. I like how they did it in the movie- Paul's fleeting but poigniant overtures to the plot progression, plus the crispness and unspokenness of the action. My favorite scene- the ending scene, where the family picks Paul up from the train station after all is said and done- is so wonderful for what it conveys by *lack* of dialogue and internal angst. It's just such a beautiful, compelling look into the life of this family without hitting you over the head with "what it all means" or "what's coming next."
The book, however, is chock full of all of this. Paragraphs upon paragraphs of dialogue- even the truncuated sentences were too rambly and unbelievable. Way too much stream-of-consciousness and breaking away from the plot to reminsce over the Conneticut landscape from the train or disjointed childhood memories thta I had to ask myself, continuously, what's important here? And why should I care? (Which is shocking enough in itself since, as a writer, I am usually far more interested in character development than plot!)
But the characters themselves were similarly hollow. The whole book kinda read as a rambly encyclopedia for 1970s culture, and the Hoods were mere outcroppings of popular trends. They barely had distinctive voices at all. Paul and Wendy, the brother and sister, had nearly identical sexual experiences (down to the specifics of what acts they performed on which gender.) Each of them came equipped with these trivia deviations- paragraphs thrown into their narratives as if Moody was writing a poorly-constructed essay on counterculture, whether it was about the Paul's heroes, the Fantastic Four, Wendy's favorite television programs, or Elena's psychology book finds.
There were occasional moments of insight within all of the hubris, plus my love for the movie characters that make me give the book props. I also am an advocate for exploring sexual themes in books- but they should be beliveable. People may be influenced by the culture of the day, absolutely, but ultimately, their choices should be their own, and not read like some sort of sterilized "example" of whatever theme the author is trying to prove.(less)
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