atwood is eye candy for her absolutely mastery of the narrative form. the storytelling just slips off her pen, not a word wasted, not a sentence out o...moreatwood is eye candy for her absolutely mastery of the narrative form. the storytelling just slips off her pen, not a word wasted, not a sentence out of place. crisp. it never gets melodramatic or slack or anything but taut. it's just perfect.
the story didn't feel hugely gripping to me. post-apocalyptic whatever. i don't really care a whole lot. but the understanding of how we got to this -- through sheer, criminal neglect of the environment; through science gone mad; through nasty experiments; through rigid and spiteful class division -- this is all so brilliantly conceived and yet so simply delivered, you know it's true. it is so true that just a few years after this book was written the things atwood wrote are coming to pass, under our eyes, without our having to make an effort to look for them -- and we are doing nothing to stop them. sorry, kids.
maybe this startling simplicity, this predictability is what made the story less than gripping to me.
here's something else that's fabulous. this entire book pivots on the voices of two women. atwood chooses to hew close to genre and does not delve into the intricacies of their personalities (in other words, she resists the pull of the psychological), but she gives us two great female voices while, somehow, managing not to turn this into a "woman's book." see how it's done, boy-authors? you can put women's voices at the center of the book without erasing the men at all. go to school at atwood's academy, boy-authors. stop erasing women from your stories. we are tired.
honorable mention to the book's dealing with sexual violence. this is how it's done, boy-and-girl-authors. not a second of graphic prurience, yet so devastating. men so infatuated with the penis that they put it at the center of their perception of "the perfect human." men brutalized by the compulsion to violate women. this is what brings the world down y'all: men split off from women. women split off from men. like jimmy; like lucerne.
unlike others (i am talking to you, jakaem, my prime interlocutor), i saw the gardeners as entirely un-ironic. in fact, i found them quite inspirational. yes, adam one is hokey, but so what? that's what religion always looks like from the outside (both toby and ren are outsiders) -- irredeemably absurd, over the top, ridiculous. i think atwood has a ton of respect for the gardeners. why wouldn't she? she makes them the flood's survivors. the dick-wagging boys? they all go down.
this is my new bff ruth ozeki's first novel and yes, it is a novel that deals with the woeful health impact of the way beef is processed these days by...morethis is my new bff ruth ozeki's first novel and yes, it is a novel that deals with the woeful health impact of the way beef is processed these days by the US meat industry, but like all of ozeki's novels, it is also so much more. and i for one am a little astonished that this is her first novel, because there are so many layers to it, and this complex ensemble of voices, self-referentiality, and documentary work is put together in such a controlled, light-hearted, humorous yet touching way, you just can't stop reading.
it seems as if what i'm about to say could be said of all of ozeki's novels, but this is mainly a story of women, and since ozeki is nothing if not a fierce woman writer, she gets into the nitty gritty of femalehood -- sex, the body, mothers, children, wives, blood, guts, food, work, love, resilience, and the bond of honesty that must (imperatively must) link women everywhere -- from the get go, and stays there, right in there, in that space of womanhood that is so often undervalued and dismissed, the whole time, even when the going gets tough and malehood threatens to encroach and take over.
there are lovely men and there are awful men in the book, but the women, the women are all terrific, even the monstrous ones, especially the monstrous ones. and this is only fair, you know, this is not slanted or skewed or unbalanced, this is just fair because womenworlds get so little room in literature and movies, so little darn room -- not for brave women authors' lack of trying, but for lack of reviewing, advertising, supporting, mediapropagating, enthusing, etc. -- you need once in a while to see the world through a woman's eye, and see that we trust each other, and need each other, a whole lot, and that men sometimes are to us just bad people who think they own us.
some people on here found the book preachy. i can't for the life of me see any preachiness in it, but at the same time i do see, somehow, how one might feel preached at by it. eh. if you feel preached at just drop this book and read something else. ruth ozeki won't mind. she didn't write the book for you.
what makes it all so fantastic is how daring ozeki is formally. she puts herself -- the writer -- right into the narration; she spills outside the boundaries of the first-person/third-person/multivocal novel and does pretty much what she pleases, addressing the reader, discussing the book even though the book should be invisible, and blurring the author-narrator distinction; and she infuses it all with such riotous humor, and such elegance, and such goddamn pathos, you wonder how it all works together. but it does, it does, and there isn't a clumsy, heavy-footed, incongruous moment in the whole thing. (less)
i am, doubtless, doing a grave injustice to this book, which will be probably rectified the moment i read reviews and secondary material on it. but i...morei am, doubtless, doing a grave injustice to this book, which will be probably rectified the moment i read reviews and secondary material on it. but i have a prejudice against alice walker. she seems to me, for an accumulation of reasons none of which sits discreetly in my mind, identifiable, a sloppy writer. say this book. the story is powerful and powerfully told. but then there's a whole lot of anthropology thrown in, and some etymology, and some sort of grand historical theory of patriarchy and the submission of women, and when you scratch the surface a tiny little bit you realize that it's made up. i didn't scratch the whole surface, so it's entirely possible that some of it -- the core of it? -- may not be made up. but when i scratched i found sloppiness or unabashed invention (some invention is openly acknowledged in the postscript) and, well, i am not sure i liked it.
i could be persuaded, but, right now, i don't see why alice walker needs to come up with an invented nomenclature (say) for stuff that truly exists. she doesn't offer any reason and i don't see a reason myself.
so this is what took the book south for me. the first part is beautiful, but then, well, i stopped being engaged, because i felt i was being taken for a ride, and i become unconvinced with everything. what is the relationship between adam and lisette all about? what is its narrative purpose? how do people (reviewers, etc.) know that tashi is treated by carl jung? are the clay figurines for real? do women really leave refugee camps because otherwise they'd be asked to work? what?
nice treatment of post-traumatic mental pain, and powerful, powerful indictment of genital mutilation. i thought i knew about it but i didn't know a thing. genital mutilation must stop. (less)
this is extraordinary and beautiful. i can see how it may not be everyone's cup of tea -- kind of the same reason why, say, virginia woolf is not ever...morethis is extraordinary and beautiful. i can see how it may not be everyone's cup of tea -- kind of the same reason why, say, virginia woolf is not everyone's cup of tea. there are writers who are utterly and unflinchingly original. this is nothing if not unflinching. it doesn't hold anything back. it says what it has to say and it doesn't mince words.
i hope to be able to write a longer review soon. my one suggestion, if you read it, is to read freud's Dora: An Analysis of a Case of Hysteria. your reading of this book will be all the richer and fuller.
P.S. don't listen to chuck palahniuk. you cannot possibly compare this book to a boybook. there is a quantum leap in operation that prevents comparison. this is a girlbook (NOT a girlybook) through and through. also, honestly, i wouldn't know what book to compare it to. it's its own very lovely, very shocking book.
so let me try to say more. lidia yuknavitch has clearly studied the heck out of freud's most famous case study. two of freud's major faults in his treatment of dora are a. silly interpretative moves and b. not believing dora. yuknavitch tackles those faults head on. she leaves all the interpretations intact (all freud's quotes are from the Analysis) and puts them in front of a very sad but extremely spunky, ballsy, and angry 16 year old (am i getting the age right?). the circumstances of ida/dora's life are pretty much the same in the two works, with full update to the 21st century in Y's rendition: super sad mother who's given up on life and daughter, super self-involved father engaged in an unsavory affair, shocking turn of events in which the father basically sells the daughter to his lover's husband in order to keep things quietly humming along.
this whole drama, in freud's analysis and in yuknavitch's rendition, is reproduced on dora's body. dora has problems with her voice, which comes and goes at will. in one great line (in Y's book) dora says, "My silence? It's what kept the house in order." and here let me say that i love the way Y deals with the silencing of girls who know and feel "too much." yes, dora loses her voice (then gets it again, then loses it again, etc.), but she doesn't go down. she fights back by incessantly recording other people's voices with a super duper digital recorder, and by creating films in which the voices of others (stupid voices, ordinary voices, regular city noise, etc.) form the soundtrack. when she does have her voice, dora is the most mouthy, offensive, obscene teenager you've ever met. this has shocked some readers, especially given the fact that the book is written in dora's voice so the offensiveness is not only between quotes but also in the narrative.
but that's how dora speaks. that's how dora gets mad. that's how dora fights the manipulation of adults and freud's relentless attempts at subjugating her sexuality in the name of a sexist view of things in which penises are very powerful and attractive objects and vaginas are very meek and passive objects. dora is not politically correct. not even close. dora is sixteen and hurt and angry.
dora also cuts herself. her cuts are not just injury: they are writing. she writes a new body on her own body. she writes her voice on her body. she doesn't have much to make herself heard, at least to herself, and she uses it to the max.
dora has a wonderful girlfriend whom she adores but with whom she can't make love, or ever make out, because the terrible "transgression" of expressing a woman-on-woman, or simply a female sexuality causes her to pass out.
in the meantime, freud is not a complete asshole. after all, he's the only adult in authority who pays any attention at all (though dora has a little posse of great, queer, alledgedly marginalized friends who are family and salvation and home). so there are some nice moments between dora and sig, alongside some entirely cringe-making moments which you might or might not be able to endure.
as someone who loves psychoanalysis i was happy to see that it wasn't entirely thrown under the bus. freud (the real-life guy) really screwed up with dora, but psychoanalysts (some of them at least) have learned a thing or two between then and now, and they are some of the few mental health professionals who still listen, and pay attention, and hear you.
underneath all of dora's spunk, or alongside it, there's a ton of pain: the pain of abandonment by her parents, the pain of denial of her sexuality, the pain of the utter silencing of her self. i have the impression one or two or a thousand girls and boys might find themselves in dora and say, with her, fuck yeah. cuz kids nowadays, and perhaps always, need all the help they can get.
here's a really excellent word of advice, straight out of dora's mouth, for every adult who finds him or herself in a position of helping kids, especially girl kids, and maybe girl non-kids too: "Um, brainbuster? Next time you work with a female? Ask her which city her body is. Or ocean. Give her poetry books written by women. Like Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton and H.D. and Adrienne Rich and Mary Oliver and Emily Dickinson. Let her draw or pain or sign a self before. You. Say. A. Word."
finally, i want to say that this book's language will bring tear of joy to your eyes. also: it's really hilarious. like, LOL hilarious. and heartbreaking. and still hilarious. (less)
i just taught this for the first time. for some reason, this time around the book had a tremendously disruptive impact on me. it was, simply put, like...morei just taught this for the first time. for some reason, this time around the book had a tremendously disruptive impact on me. it was, simply put, like going through a trauma experience. the last part, about the three stages of recovery, gave me palpable relief, as if i were going through recovery myself as i read the book with the class.
reading it with a group made a huge difference. at least some of the students experienced some level of traumatization. it was important to debrief at the end. some felt compelled to share stories. all reported discussing the book outside of class. the level of attentiveness during discussion was so high you could tell who had done the reading and who hadn't.
this book is not about a generically traumatizing world; it's about regularly misdiagnosed mental pain. the number of mental health professionals who are willing to journey with a patient to the roots of trauma is minimal. the number of those who have the competence, training, and wisdom to do so safely and successfully is so tiny, if you find one it's a miracle. most mental health professionals will misdiagnose post-traumatic syndromes. most mental health professionals will slap demeaning and belittling diagnoses on you and declare you sick for life and doomed to a lifetime of maintenance-drug use. most won't even feel the need to talk to you. it's amazing the way trauma imposes its stealth on the world of healers. the refusal to recognize it and deal with it is as persistent in healers as it is in sufferers.
a student was brave enough -- and healed enough -- to discuss a traumatic experience of their own in class. gently, we asked questions. gently, we helped them see how they were reproducing in their narrative the telltale symptoms of the traumatized person ("it was nothing;" "people have it much worse;" "i am ashamed of my reaction;" "i am trying not to give in to weakness and fear"). it was pretty intense, and i hope healing, for all of us. the student's openness helped us see that they are okay. one can experience trauma and be okay. after reading the horrors depicted in this book -- what a relief.
there are mental health professionals who know how to deal with trauma and if you have a traumatized past you should look for them. at the very least, you should look for a survivor group (the internet will do in a pinch). trauma doesn't heal in isolation. trauma is a dramatic break in relationship (with the world, with others, with the self, with god) and can only heal in relationship.
there are aspects in which this book is dated. its feminism is a bit black and white, and ignores the myriad ways in which gender-related trauma cross-pollinates across gender boundaries (such as they are; they constantly reshape themselves anyway). men get beaten, threatened, and raped too. women go to war. violent men are often themselves trauma victims. the low-level traumatization in which all women are steeped qua women has a low-level traumatic correspondent in guys. if 1 in x women will be raped in their lifetimes, 1 in x guys will be raping a woman in their lifetimes. as JH demonstrates when she talks of war, the perpetration of violence leaves the perpetrator scarred. yet, she does not extend this observation to civilian life. this is a mistake. we try to understand and forgive the horrors soldiers perpetrate under orders on the battlefield (whatever that is; that specific spacial designation no longer exists), but we are loath to understand the pressures that push men to take their rage out on women, children, other men, and, increasingly, strange bystanders in our civilian communities.
what lies behind school shootings and other civilian rampages? diagnosing and medicating mental pain away, clearly, is not working. we have to restructure our culture of psychic healing from the ground up. it has to be based on deep listening, deep investigation, and a genuine, long-term commitment to the well-being of the patient. too few graduate programs in psychology train therapists in the arts of deep listening and deep therapy. this is a crisis we can no longer afford to ignore. (less)