You Are My Only is a gorgeously written YA novel. That's the first thing I want you to know about it. The second thing is that I couldn't put it down....moreYou Are My Only is a gorgeously written YA novel. That's the first thing I want you to know about it. The second thing is that I couldn't put it down. I read it in a day, ignoring my children. My older daughter, age 13, curious about my absorption, examined the cover and picked up the book to see what it was all about. That is the beauty of a paper book.
You Are My Only is told from two perspectives in alternating chapters. First there is Sophie, age fourteen, who has had a fugitive life being precipitously moved about by the woman she knows as her mother, who is always in a state of mystifyingly oppressive fear. Then there is Emmy, a young mom whose life and sanity were broken by the abduction of her baby, unnamed, but clearly Sophie.
But Emmy and Sophie both find love and comfort from the kind actions of strangers who enter their lives. Emmy is helped first and last by Arlen, an unprepossessing man, unsuccessful in material goods but large of heart. Her relationship with an anorexic young woman in a psychiatric hospital is also one of tenderness and mutual support.
Sophie finds courage, love, meaning and a way to better her life when she moves next door to a very different made family from the one her "fake mother" (as my daughter M called her) made. Joey, about her age, was adopted by his father's stepsister and her partner, Helen and Cloris, an artistic, nurturing and accepting couple, who are strong even in the face of evident sorrow.
This is not a sensationalistic treatment of a subject that could easily be sensationalized and sentimental. I noticed a couple of disappointed reviews on Amazon by readers who expected that sort of treatment. The other reviews, the 5 star ones, loved what I did about this book: the beauty of the language, the tenderness of the characterizations, the love and hope and kindness that come to lift up a life even in dire situations and so to change them forever for good.
A taste (p 1):
My house is a storybook house. A huff-and-a-puff-and-they'll-blow-it-down house. The roof is soft; it's tumbled. There are bushes growing tall past the sills. A single sprouted tree leans in from high above the cracked slate path, torpedoing acorns to the ground.
Another (p 36):
He has taken off his jacket and given it to me, laid it across my knees like a blanket. He has kept his arm across my shoulder, and I don't mind him, not really. I don't mind how he gives me room to tell my Baby stories, how he lets things be--no questions.
I pre-ordered You Are My Only and it arrived at my house the day after the release date. I read it as soon as I could and I recommend you do too!
My favourite lines (p 235):
"We're a sight," I say, and then we're laughing, as if nothing was ever wrong or ever could be, as if we engineered goodness. As if we have that power.
I read this book for for the Slaves of Golconda bookclub. Written in 1930, it is narrated by the midlist writer William Ashenden.
As a young ...moreI read this book for for the Slaves of Golconda bookclub. Written in 1930, it is narrated by the midlist writer William Ashenden.
As a young man in the 1890's, Ashenden knew the British literary icon, Edward Driffield (ostensibly based on Thomas Hardy, which Maugham denied). At that time Driffield was a little known working class writer married to Rosie, an earthy sexually promiscuous woman. Later in life, Driffield rose to fame and acclaim and a second wife. Now, after Driffield's death and being, himself, in middle-age, Ashenden has been approached by Alroy Kear to get the inside scoop on Driffield's life before his iconship was established.
Alroy Kear is a best-selling author and sychophant, who, in cahoots with Driffield's second wife wants to produce an autobiography suitable to the elevated and refined status of an icon.
I loved this book for its satirical take on the literary scene, which I found just as relevant in 2011 as in 1930:
I read The Craft of Fiction by Mr Percy Lubbock, from which I learned that the only way to write novels was like Henry James; after that I read Aspects of the Novel by Mr E M Forster, from which I learned that the only way to write novels was like Mr E M Forster; then I read The Structure of the Novel by Mr Edwin Muir, from which I learned nothing at all.
The character of Rosie, Driffield's first wife, is a weakness of the novel, being rather flat. She is unremittingly sexual and cheerful. But I find that generally Maugham is less successful portraying men's attractions to women than to other men, and that may be because he was primarily gay with a few ambivalent (and I have to wonder if somewhat forced) relationships with women in his life. These were brief and concurrent with his longstanding relationships with men: Maugham lived with his first partner for 30 years until his partner's death, and then with his second for the remaining 20 years of Maugham's life.
However for his time (1930), Rosie was a remarkable and disturbing character because of her happy sexual appetite and the lack of authorial criticism for it. The stock character of "the whore with a heart of gold" was supposed to realize her unworthiness and sacrifice herself for the hero. Instead Rosie outlives everyone and is entirely contented with herself.
What I loved about this book was its satirical portrayal of class and the literary scene. The sly cutting comments that Ashenden makes about Kear and his success made me laugh out loud. The conflict of class was vivid and so was the hilarious and yet sad manipulation of Driffield first by his patroness and then by his second wife to make him appear refined to the middle-class who read his books.
Poor Driffield rebelled in the only way he could, refusing to bathe at all in the last years of his life, and hiding out in the local pub as long as anyone would let him. But they didn't let him much--and that's the whole point. He wrote his best books while married to Rosie, everyone acknowledges that, and yet at the same time everyone around him believes that Rosie wasn't good enough for him. They're all virtuou and wants to make him so. And all he really wants to make him happy are cakes and ale. Rosie was the only one that got that.
The title of the novel comes from Twelfth Night. Sir Toby Belch (who would have been a pal to Driffield) says:
Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?
Cakes and Ale was reputedly Maugham's favourite of all his books, and I can understand that. This was such a fun read for me, as a writer, especially as I read it just when I was re-entering the publishing process and anticipating the public literary scene that he criticizes.
From the description, Mercy is a paperback edition (under different title) of The Keeper of Lost Causes, which is set to be issued in hardcover in Aug...moreFrom the description, Mercy is a paperback edition (under different title) of The Keeper of Lost Causes, which is set to be issued in hardcover in August. I loved it--full review is here. (less)
Let me start by saying that this is a book of crime fiction that made me cry. I expect suspense in crime fiction, and Jussie Adler-Olsen delivered (my...moreLet me start by saying that this is a book of crime fiction that made me cry. I expect suspense in crime fiction, and Jussie Adler-Olsen delivered (my children looked at me as I was reading the last 100 pages saying over and over, “I can’t stand it! Does she get rescued or not?”). I wouldn’t even be surprised at the kind of tears that come from emotional manipulation. (I cry over telephone commercials.) But it was genuine, tender, true human feeling that had me weeping.
Jussi Adler-Olsen, the Danish author of The Keeper Lost Causes, is one of the best loved and best sold Nordic authors of crime fiction. In Denmark last year, one million of his novels were sold. That’s right–last year–in a country with population 5.5 million. He’s also a bestseller in Germany and Austria, rather larger countries.
I’m sure he’s going to be here as well. I’m impressed and now also excited that his work is being translated into English, this novel the first of what I’m sure will be many, coming out August, 2011.
I’m gratified that I got an advanced reader’s copy so that I can tout his abilities not only in this genre but plainly and simply as a writer. The major characters are brilliantly conceived as an investigating duo. Carl Morck is a grumpy, slovenly detective whose flaws had previously been overlooked if not forgiven by his colleagues because of his effectiveness. However, ever since an investigation gone wrong, where one team member died and another was paralyzed, Morck has been indifferent and depressed and annoying.
The deputy chief comes up with a brainstorm: promote Morck up and down simultaneously. He is to be put in charge of a new department, Department Q, which will handle cold cases that, for political reasons, need to be seen to be still active. Nobody expects him to actually do anything in his new office down in the basement. And he is just as happy with that situation.
His new assistant, however, is not. The mysterious Assad, a refugee from the Middle-East, brings Morck back to life with his strong coffee, irrepressible spirit, keenness of mind and unusual connections. The pair of them are irresistible as partners.
The case they investigate concerns the disappearance of Merete Lynggaard, a rising politician, young, beautiful, intelligent, who has been missing and presumed dead for five years. The novel follows 2 interwoven strands: the present day police investigation, and the sequence of events from Merete’s point of view from prior to her disappearance onward.
It’s expertly done. At nearly 500 pages, the book didn’t feel long at all. I read it over a weekend, unwilling to put it down. And as the strands came closer and closer together in time, the suspense was almost unbearable. But more to the point, the novel isn’t just driven forward by a desire to know what happens. The journey is just as gripping. The full cast of characters and their interactions with Morck and Assad are engaging, written with humour and compassion. Here’s a small sample from the beginning of the partnership:
“Do you have a driver’s license?” he asked Assad, hoping that Marcus Jacobsen had forgotten to take that detail into account. If so, the whole question of the man’s employment could be taken up for discussion again.
“I have driven a taxi and a car and a truck and a T-55 tank and also a T-62 and armoured cars and motorcycles with and without sidecars.”
That was when Carl suggested that for the next couple of hours Assad should sit quietly in his chair and read some of the books on the shelf behind him. He turned around and grabbed the nearest volume, which he handed to his assistant. Handbook for Crime Technicians by Police Detective A. Haslund. Sure, why not? “Pay attention to the sentence structure while you’re reading, Assad. It can teach you a lot. Have your read much in Danish?”
“I have read all the newspapers and also the constitution and everything else.”
“Everything else?” said Carl. This wasn’t going to be easy. “So do you like solving Sudoku puzzles?” he asked, handing Assad the magazine.
If only you were here in person, I’d make tea and talk much more about this book, but as a second best option, I recommend you pre-order it. (less)
In classic mystery form, the novel opens with a dead body. But for the first third it reads more like a literary novel and even the rest of the book i...moreIn classic mystery form, the novel opens with a dead body. But for the first third it reads more like a literary novel and even the rest of the book is driven, not so much by suspects, investigation, danger relating to the crime, but by the character of the characters. I couldn’t put it down. If Downie can sustain the quality of writing throughout the series, I will be seriously impressed.
Medicus is about a doctor in ancient Britain under the occupation of the Romans. Gaius Petreius Ruso is an army doctor, recently divorced, broke and burdened by financial obligations to his extended family, a guy whose career is held back by his honesty and integrity. He is likable and believable because he is also a man of his times, with prejudices and blind spots. His exposure to a new country, its inhabitants, and the culture of occupation is a learning experience for him.
So is Tilla, the young British slave whom he buys in order to nurse back to health, a feisty herbalist and midwife who would gladly bite the hand that feeds her if it gets her back to her people and the British rebellion. To her dismay, the hand belongs to a man who is much more sympathetic than she expects.
The dead body is that of a young prostitute, which raises issues that are universal in time as well as place, about sex, slavery, armies, and freedom. Although the novel takes place in ancient Britain, it is typical of the latest wave of historical novels, which give a contemporary feel to language and setting and make free with some of the facts.
It worked well for this book and I was completely engaged, even though normally I’m a stickler for historical accuracy, because I was rooting for Gaius and Tilla. Highly recommended. Page 17:
Ahead of him, a chorus of excited voices rose in the street. He recognized the fat man, still shouting orders in a thick Gallic accent. The female who had collapsed had now attracted a sizable crowd. They seemed to be carrying her to the fountain. Ruso tossed the last fragments of cake to a passing dog and strode on in the direction of the amphitheater. It was nothing to do with him. He was not, at this moment, a doctor. He was a private citizen in need of some bath oil…
There was a sudden gasp from around the fountain. Someone cried. “Ugh! Look at that.”
A child was pawing at her mother’s arm, demanding, “What is it? I can’t see! Tell me what it is!”
Russo hesitated, came to a halt, and promised himself it would only be a quick look.
This is perhaps the funniest book I've ever read; it's also seriously brilliant. This is a novel that deserved to win the Booker prize.
It's...moreThis is perhaps the funniest book I've ever read; it's also seriously brilliant. This is a novel that deserved to win the Booker prize.
It's about anti-semitism in particular, but more generally about other-ness and self, about hatred, jealousy and love. The first 2/3 is laugh out loud funny, so much so that I attracted attention from my kids (what's so funny, Mom?), my h (who took the kobo from me to read a passage) and strangers who looked around to see the hilarity for themselves (in the girls' change room, in the lobby of a nursing home).
The last third, while funny in spots, is necessarily more serious as the book draws toward its end, and each of the main characters is inescapably confronted with humanity's worse aspects, each of them choosing a different response.
The three main characters are an elderly widower, a middle-aged widower, and a middle-aged man who has, his whole life, been a mourner in search of an object to be mourned. The first two are Jewish types. Libor is a nearly 90 year old holocaust and Communist era survivor who moved between Hollywood and London. Sam Finkler is an ASHamed Jew (the name of the organization he co-founded), a loud, successful philosopher-author of self-help books and tv personality. While they have an overabundance of identity to cope with, Julian is their foil, a Gentile with too little, a wannabe something who makes a living by imitation as a celebrity look-alike, a dreamer who wants to hold a dying woman in his arms, and if not that, to be a persecuted Jew.
The humour in the novel comes from playing with these types, taking a core of truth and exaggerating it in caricature to highlight its characteristics. And yet the characters aren't simple or flat, but rounded out and turned around so that we can see other dimensions of who they are and how they interact with each other, their children, their wives, their lovers.
I don't know if it sounds as funny as it is, or as sharp. I wasn't all that attracted to the book by the descriptions I read of it, but it was available as an e-book at my library, so I downloaded it.
Readers on amazon are about evenly divided between people who loved it and people who hated it, which I find interesting and not uncommon. I've been on both sides of that fence. And obviously, in this case, I'm on the side of being wowed.
By the end of the first page of The Finkler Question, I knew that Howard Jacobson could write, but it wasn't until the end of the first chapter that I realized just how well. He's a smart guy that Jacobson, and a compassionate one, who isn't afraid to stick his hands into some of humanity's nasty bits. And yet I didn't end the book feeling at all depressed by it. If anything I felt elated by the brilliance of the novel, its humour and its honesty.
This is what I drew from it. There are various responses one can have to the pain of this world and to life, but the best of them is to live fully, mourn honestly and love one another. (less)
I loved it. The structure is perfect, the characters compassionately and truly portrayed, the suspense tight, the language never running away with its...moreI loved it. The structure is perfect, the characters compassionately and truly portrayed, the suspense tight, the language never running away with itself and at times so lovely I had to re-read it.
This is a novel about a quiet hero who is misunderstood by his family and shunned by his community, though he has never hurt a soul, a man who is kind to chickens. It is a novel about another man who is haunted by a choice he made when young, understandable at the time, but which blighted the life of another. And at the end, I cried because the ending was perfect. Continued here.(less)
This is the kind of book that made me want to know more about the author, and so I was pleased to find the interview that was included in the Reader’s...moreThis is the kind of book that made me want to know more about the author, and so I was pleased to find the interview that was included in the Reader’s Guide. This is a novel that could have been great. When I began reading, I felt that I was in the hands of a master (remarkable for a first novel). I could just relax because it takes a masterful book to overcome my habit of analyzing technique. So I snuggled into the couch, tension leaving my shoulders, and settled in for a great read.
That feeling diminished midway through the book as I began to notice the writing instead of being swept along...Still, it was a very good book, and I’m interested in what Meyer will do next. Continued here.(less)
I would like to write a book as deeply investigated and hotly debated as this one. Written during the outbreak of the first World War, this is a novel...moreI would like to write a book as deeply investigated and hotly debated as this one. Written during the outbreak of the first World War, this is a novel about two enmeshed couples, marital affairs, passion and the forbidden object of passion. One of the marriages is between a tart and an asexual man (the narrator). The other marriage is between an uptight woman and a man who is generous of spirit and body (courtly knight or lech, depending on your view). But the beauty of this book, for me, isn't as much in what it's about as in how the story is told. Continued here (less)
In The Long Song, Levy’s narrator is an old Black woman who has been asked by her son, a successful publisher, to write her memoirs of slavery in Jama...moreIn The Long Song, Levy’s narrator is an old Black woman who has been asked by her son, a successful publisher, to write her memoirs of slavery in Jamaica. The story alternates between her memoir of the 1830′s and her present day interactions with her son and his family. This is a difficult time made bearable and more--rich and exciting--because of the first person narrator.
She is poetic, tough, sly, funny and “unreliable.” I put that in quotation marks because her lack of reliability is only in her literal statements; the truth shouts out between the lines and I would bet that the narrator knows it. She is such a vivid character that I find myself slipping into talking about her as if she were real, something that always makes me roll my eyes when friends or book club members do it.
Levy’s narrator uses her privilege as memoirist and old lady to skip over horrors when she finds they’re too much, and so Levy saves the reader from being overwhelmed. Yet the narrator’s sharp and clever observations convey everything that needs to be conveyed.
Room is about a five year old boy and his mother, abducted seven years earlier. Ever since, they’ve lived in captivity, confined to an 11 by 11 foot r...moreRoom is about a five year old boy and his mother, abducted seven years earlier. Ever since, they’ve lived in captivity, confined to an 11 by 11 foot room. How she keeps her son fit mentally and physically and how they adjust to the world outside make for a gripping narrative.
But what makes this books outstanding and the difficult subject matter tolerable is the skillful, innovative use of first person narration. (See my review of Andrea Levy's The Long Song for another great first person narration)
Room‘s narrator is a little boy who is literate and numerate way beyond his years while at the same time naive, his perceptions skewed by living all his life with his mother in a single room. The choice of narrator is courageous and brilliant. It’s courageous because a 5 year old narrator is limited in expressive skill and understanding. Emma Donoghue just manages to stay within the bounds of believability while pushing it for the sake of the story.
The narrator is a brilliant choice because his naivite works for the story. Sheltered from most details of his mom’s abuse, he shelters the reader. Yet his view of captivity (all he’s known, safe, warm, close to his mother) and his view of the world (strange, threatening, big, different) tell more about both than a lengthy discourse. Through his narration, Donoghue vividly portrays what he sees. Through his thoughts and reactions, she creates an endearing, poignant and full bodied character. I was astounded by how accurate this portrayal was in terms of getting at a child’s reactions to captivity and freedom.(less)
Natalie Goldberg is at her best as a teacher of both writing and zen and of writing as a spiritual discipline and practice. I first encountered her bo...moreNatalie Goldberg is at her best as a teacher of both writing and zen and of writing as a spiritual discipline and practice. I first encountered her books around 20 years ago. Writing Down the Bones was all the rage in writing groups and of course, being contrary, I avoided it for a few years and then read both that one and Wild Mind (basically a re-run of Bones, but enjoyable). I found them invigorating, and loved the spiritual aspect, though her favourite methods didn’t work for me.
The Great Failure, however, isn’t about writing nor is it about failure as a path to success. It’s a memoir about the two important men in her life and their failure to maintain appropriate boundaries, resulting in abuse of their positions, one as father, the other as teacher. It’s a divided book, not only in its subject matter, but in the success of the portraits.
Her portrait of her father is nuanced and vivid. He was, as one would say in Yiddish, “a grober yung,” a boor (literally “a gross boy”). He had little boyhood himself, and was little cared for. As a man he was crass and oblivious to his crassness. He commented on his pubescent daughter’s body, he held her too tight, he made her uncomfortable enough to avoid being alone with him. A bartender, he had no understanding of his adult daughter’s career as a Buddhist teacher, but he was earthy and without pretension.
During a visit to her home in the southwest, he sat outside to watch the sunrise at her command. When she asked him what he thought of it, he was nonplussed; it was a sunrise, it happens every morning. On another occasion she tried to teach her parents to meditate. After ten minutes of silence, she asked him if he’d noticed how busy the mind was, how many thoughts flit through it. He said he hadn’t thought at all, not a single thought. What was it like for him, she asked. It was like it always is when nobody is talking or doing anything, he said.
He was loud, he was busy, he was vigorous, he was insulting, a grober yung who loved his daughter with all his heart. His simplicity, his complexity, and her forgiveness for all of it comes through vividly.
It stays with me. And I envy her this possibility of forgiveness because, although her father failed in many ways it was out of ignorance, not intention, and there is all the difference in that.
Her portrayal of her teacher, Katagiri Roshi, a zen master and founding abbot of the Minnesota Zen Meditation Center, while sincere lacks the vibrancy and understanding she has for her father. Katagiri’s motivations and feelings in carrying on secret affairs with students are unknowns that Goldberg tries to fill in with guesswork. Her guesses are sometimes plausible and sometimes, for me, dubious. And the situation is different in another way; he was her teacher not ever her lover. The wounds are wounds of disillusion, and as disappointing as the disillusion is, it is a surface wound compared to what she experienced as a daughter.
Perhaps better writing comes out of deeper wounds. I wonder what, as a teacher herself, she would say about that. (less)
This novel won the Costa Award for a first novel and was short-listed for the 2008 Orange Prize, deservedly so. The first 2/3 of the novel is brillian...moreThis novel won the Costa Award for a first novel and was short-listed for the 2008 Orange Prize, deservedly so. The first 2/3 of the novel is brilliant.
This is a coming of age story, not my favourite genre, but I couldn’t put it down and finished it in 2 days. Somehow I managed to help my children with their homework while completely absorbed in 1950′s Britain, where post-war repression, denial, and dissociation are a practised art in the village where Lewis Aldridge grows up.
The novel begins with Lewis coming out of prison for an unknown crime, clearly not a terribly serious one as he has served two years. The story then begins with Lewis as a little boy, going with his mother to London to fetch his father, newly demobilized after serving four years in the second World War. The question is how does this Lewis, sweet, likable, and open hearted become a nineteen year old ex-con drunk.
On one level, the answer has to do with an accident, an unexpected tragedy, which no one is allowed to properly acknowledge, least of all the little boy who witnessed it. But it is also an exploration of denial and its cost, which Jones depicts with exquisite accuracy and insight. The setting for this exploration is the perfect choice, ie the post-war world of shut up, put on a cheery face and assemble the stuff of middle class life, where emotion is just more stuff to be displayed in the quantity and quality that is socially acceptable.
Real emotion is stuffed away, and, like the war, weighs the characters down more and more while they pretend to travel light. Consequently, ordinary decent people cannot grieve, but can and do drink (a lot). Nor can they properly love, because to do so means to open up their heavy hearts. They wish it were different but not if it means giving up denial. And so things go from bad to worse. This is the real tragedy.
Lewis as a child and then an adolescent acts out the sickness of the whole village. The very open-heartedness that made him so likable as a little boy makes him unable to fully shut away his grief and act his part the way others do.
Contrasting with Lewis, whose painful self-injury and outward bursts of rage are visible, the head honcho in the village, a successful business owner with the perfect family, is secretly and pleasurably abusive. The collusion of his family in hiding it is another consequence of denial, which Jones delicately portrays. The other outcast in the novel is Kit Carmichael, a child in this family.
Like Lewis she has absorbed some of her family and village culture, and yet, again like him, her nature does not permit full assimilation into it. While Kit believes that silent endurance is brave, thus colluding in her family’s secrecy, she is outspoken in other respects, telling the truth for and about Lewis, incurring her family’s disdain and wrath.
Both Kit and Lewis are fully realized characters, Lewis perhaps more so than Kit, but Kit is endearing in her faithful love and her outspokenness. The perspectives and thoughts of the minor characters also come through strong and clear, and Jones doesn’t hesitate to get into the mind of every sinful and failing person in the novel and to dig right into their humanness.
For me the last part of the book doesn’t quite live up to the brilliance of the rest. Like David Guterson in Snow Falling on Cedars, Jones takes her protagonist deeper and deeper into tragedy, only to pull a happy ending out of a hat. I wanted a happy ending, of course, but I wasn’t convinced that it was real.
She did such a good job of showing the villagers’ devotion to denial, that I would have expected that even when faced with the truth, they would find a way to turn it upside down as they had before. I also found it hard to believe that alcoholism and self-injury could be cured and true love find its way cleared just by discovering that a man one thought was respectable was actually an asshole, and a girl one thought lived an ideal life actually has suffered badly.
However maybe at nineteen, someone can believe it’s so, and the story ends there, rather than going on to years of therapy, probably a failed marriage and relapses, but hopefully no more jail time and a second, better marriage.
Despite that, this is really a wonderful novel. Her command of language is excellent, her voice original. Honestly, I’m relieved that the last bit wasn’t quite as good as I’d hoped because otherwise I would be completely intimidated by the skill of this first novel from a writer in her early 30′s. I’m looking forward to what she does next, and I’d love to hear what other people who’ve read this book think of it. (less)
I picked this book up on a Monday and had finished it by Tuesday. I was thoroughly entertained, couldn’t put it down, and subsequently spent some time...moreI picked this book up on a Monday and had finished it by Tuesday. I was thoroughly entertained, couldn’t put it down, and subsequently spent some time researching the historical incident on which it was based.
This is the 7th in Jennings’ Detective Murdoch series. I read the first one and enjoyed it, and I think that the series gets even better as it goes along. Set in 1890′s Toronto, the novels are more serious than Murdoch Mysteries, the enjoyable and slightly tongue-in-cheek tv show based on them. Both the books and the tv show give more space to vigorous, intelligent female characters and social themes than is often the case in mysteries that feature a male protagonist. Thanks Maureen Jennings!
The murders to be solved in A Journeyman to Grief are connected with incidents that occurred 40 years earlier when Blacks were still slaves in the southern U.S. and Toronto was a destination on the Underground Railroad. The story is gripping and it was only after I finished reading the book that I questioned some of the intricacies in the plot.
The historical aspect of it was convincing and well done. I learned that the expression “up to scratch” comes from bare-fisted (and illegal) boxing, as does “throw in the towel.” Jennings was inspired to write this book by a historical incident reported in Recollections and records of Toronto of Old by William H. Pearson. Published in 1914, this book records Pearson’s memoirs of mid 19th century Toronto. At Adelaide and Church
"where the Post Office now stands, was the livery stable of James Mink, a colored man and somewhat notable character. He was a very well-known citizen, a man of marked individuality, considerable intelligence and good business ability. He was stout and rather fine-looking. He had a violent temper and used to deal very roughly with the boys, so that we gave his place a pretty wide berth. His livery stable was a large one and he kept a number of good horses. He did a large business and was reported as being well off. In addition to his stables he kept a hotel called the “Mansion House Inn.”
He had a daughter who was very black, though she had good features, was tall and quite dignified, and attracted considerable notice. Her father, wishing to improve her social position, openly stated that he would give a considerable sum of money to any respectable white man who would marry her. By-and-by a suitor came along, won the heart of Miss Mink and was accepted by her father, and it was not long before they were married, and with her the husband obtained the promised pecuniary consideration. He took her for an extended trip in the United States, and when they arrived at South Carolina the disreputable scoundrel cruelly sold his young wife into slavery, and she being young, healthy and good-looking brought a considerable sum of money. The father, on learning of the dastardly trick played upon himself and his daughter, took immediate steps to repurchase her and brought her back to Toronto. Poor Mr. Mink had to pay very dearly for the coveted honor of having a white man for his son- in-law !" (p 63-64)
The story of James Mink and his daughter was also made into a tv movie (Captive Heart) with Lou Gosett Jr., which played rather loose with the facts but is worth renting. Better yet, read a Murdoch mystery for yourself!(less)
The second of the Isabel Dalhousie mysteries is, loosely, about a man with a transplanted heart who believes that he’s having visions related to the d...moreThe second of the Isabel Dalhousie mysteries is, loosely, about a man with a transplanted heart who believes that he’s having visions related to the death of his donor.
I say loosely because this is a meandering novel that is more about what people make of coincidence than it is about solving a mystery, though the mystery is solved in a way that is consistent with the main character’s rational approach to life.
Isabel Dalhousie is an independently weatlhy philosopher who edits an academic journal on applied ethics. She is a thinker and the novel is largely taken up with her thoughts on morality, history, and all the other questions that catch her fancy by chance as she wanders through her daily life. She is a decent woman, attractive enough, conscious of her age (early forties), intelligent, not immune to jealousy or unrequited love, but attempts to act well despite the power of those emotions. She is an interesting protagonist.
I found the novel pleasant. I kept expecting a turn of events that would bring danger and menace to the story, but though there were hints it was possible, that never happened. Instead the story strolled through Isabel’s life, her thoughts, her struggle with her passions, not a great struggle but a quiet one.
It was a good read for a couple of hot days when I wanted to do very little but lie around and read. There were about half a dozen lines in the book that were beautiful–enough to show that Smith could write much better if he wished, though probably not as quickly. It’s a good enough book. It isn’t exquisite, it didn’t keep me on the edge of my seat. The structure is loose. I wouldn’t rush out to get the next in the series. But it was just right for the heat and it would be good for the flu. I’m sure I’ll visit with Isabel another time. (less)
For several days, I was completely absorbed in this novel. It’s one of my favourite kinds of stories: a love story between older people. And it’s near...moreFor several days, I was completely absorbed in this novel. It’s one of my favourite kinds of stories: a love story between older people. And it’s nearly perfect.
Major Pettigrew, the widowed protoganist whose point of view the third person narrator follows, is a 68 year old retired army officer living in an English village. He is moral, sometimes moralistic, upright, more mellow as an old man than he was as a young father, reticent yet passionate, compassionate yet conservative. He falls for Jasmina Ali, a widowed shopkeeper. She is a 58 year old woman of Pakistani descent, born in Cambridge, the daughter of a professor whose love of literature she has inherited.
I lost myself in this book. I couldn’t put it down. I forgot to analyse what the author was doing. I wanted to know whether Major Pettigrew and Jasmina Ali would live happily ever after.
What I liked best about this novel is the command of character and nuance. So much is conveyed in an economical way about morality, love, prejudice, class, while taking care of the basics: character development, setting, moving the story along.
"He had forgotten that grief does not decline in a straight line or along a slow curve like a graph in a child’s math book. Instead it was almost as if his body contained a big pile of garden rubbish full both of heavy lumps of dirt and of sharp thorny brush that would stab him when he least expected it." (p 35)
"She hurried down the driveway and as she disappeared, blue dress into deep night, he knew he was a fool. yet at that moment, he could not find a way to be a different man." (p 266)
"[T:]he lake lapped at their feet and the mountains absorbed their calls and the sky flung its blue parachute over their heads…"(p 321)
I would have preferred that this subtlety and nuance carry through all the way to the end. Instead, the novel takes a thrillery turn near the end, with dramatic events that didn’t quite strike me as real. A couple of times earlier in the book, at a country club dance and a duck hunting scene, there was also a tendency to push the bounds of credibility. I wonder if the author (this is her first novel) lacked confidence in the power of her story and its inherent drama. Heightening those events with riot and danger (I won’t say more; I don’t want to give anything away) wasn’t needed. But maybe it added to the novel’s popularity.
Still, it’s an impressive first novel, the kind of book I want to talk to others about, and I loved reading it. (less)
I was quite impressed with this novel. And so I was surprised when I looked it up on Amazon to see that it averaged only 3 stars. I was even more curi...moreI was quite impressed with this novel. And so I was surprised when I looked it up on Amazon to see that it averaged only 3 stars. I was even more curious when I saw that the average was divided about evenly between people who loved it and people who hated it.
I think the love/hate reaction can best be summarized by the first few lines describing the novel in Publishers Weekly and The Washington Post (quoted from the Amazon site linked above:)
"Set in 1907 Wisconsin, Goolrick’s fiction debut (after a memoir, The End of the World as We Know It) gets off to a slow, stylized start, but eventually generates some real suspense." (Publisher’s Weekly)
"Don’t be fooled by the prissy cover or that ironic title. Robert Goolrick’s first novel, “A Reliable Wife,” isn’t just hot, it’s in heat: a gothic tale of such smoldering desire it should be read in a cold shower." (Washington Post).
The blurb on the book jacket lets the reader know that this is the story of a prosperous businessman who gets a wife by mail. The wife, pretending to be a demur, proper spinster, is in fact a woman with a broad sexual history who intends to poison her new husband to inherit his wealth.
This sounds like a rip-roaring yarn, a noir perhaps, and that’s what disappointed the irate readers who hated this novel (as well as some who were dismayed by all the sex), for this is really a book that explores desire and despair. It does so at length, with intensity, vividness, and attention to language. That is the point of it, not the suspense, though the suspense has a purpose in providing the means to convey the grip of desire, the struggle to the death with despair.
The novel was inspired by Wisconsin Death Trip by Michael Lesy. In the 1970′s, Lesy came across a series of strange turn of the century photographs in a small Wisconsin town. After matching the photographs to newspaper articles that covered the same peculiar and deadly events, he produced a book about them. More recently a film was made of the same gothic material.
This is a terrific novel, unexpected, atmospheric, doing what literature can do that film cannot: using language to explore and evoke the intensity and strangeness of human experience. I recommend it highly. (less)
is a gorgeously written YA novel. That's the first thing I want you to know about it. The second thing is that I couldn't put it down.
Loading...
