I was captivated by this book from the first line and my time with this book was nearly obsessive. Every free second I needed to read; and now that I'...moreI was captivated by this book from the first line and my time with this book was nearly obsessive. Every free second I needed to read; and now that I'm done, I'm pretty sure I won't be able to do this book justice. (The very short review: I loved this imaginative, thoughtful book.)
Set in New York City, 1899, the novel follows two very unusual immigrants: a female golem, created to be a bride/sex slave to a man who dies on their journey to the US and a jinni (genie), released from a flask accidentally by a timsmith.
The golem is found by a rabbi who guesses her true identity, and they live in uncomfortable closeness. The golem, built to serve but living without a master, finds herself tugged at by every wish, desire, and yearning around her. The rabbi, unable to bring himself to destroy her, instead tries to introduce her into the wider Jewish world in the Lower East Side. Unable to sleep and unable to rest, the golem finds employment in a bakery but still attracts attention, despite her best attempts to obey the rabbi's suggestions.
The jinni, on the other hand, a powerful creature chained into human form by iron, chafes and bucks at his mortal shell. Almost a thousand years have passed since he was last free, and while he has a myriad of memories, he has no memory of his entrapment and what might have happened while trapped. Hidden in 'Little Syria' -- a neighborhood of Christian and Muslim Syrians in lower Manhattan -- the jinni is styled as the tinsmith's new assistant and immediately attracts nosy interest from his neighbors. In an impetuous move, motivated by curiosity and a smidgen of lust, the jinni meets a society woman who immediately captures his interest and attention with tragic results.
All this happens in the first hundred pages, and the remaining three hundred plus pages unfolds these two threads. But within these stories are a myriad other stories, like a fairy tale or Scheherazade's, overlapping and meeting, occasionally tangling: the hermit who made the golem, the wizard who entrapped the jinni, the society woman, an itinerant ice cream seller with a complicated and strange affliction.
The jacket blurb says this is in the vein of A Discovery of Witches, which originally put me off since I didn't like ADOW, but I found this a richer, more nuanced novel.
Depending on the kind of reader you are, this can be simply a fantastical mix of myth and history or a literary exploration of faith, self directed identity, free will, the stuff that makes us human. Through the golem and jinni, we see firsthand the tumultuous, explosive, earthy world of early 20th century New York City; as they struggle with the whys of their existence, we puzzle through the bigger philosophical questions about life and choice. But at no point is this book pedantic or political; Wecker's characters wrestle with the same issues so many of us do and have, in the end, to answer to themselves, those they love, and the values they chose to hold.
Those who liked Neil Gaiman's American Gods might enjoy this one; those who like unusual historical novels will certainly dig this book. While it is a supernatural story or a historical fantasy, the 'magic' is tempered and controlled, and I think anyone who allergic to paranormal stories should give this one a try. (You can read an excerpt here, if it that helps!) I will say this one will end up on my holiday gift list for many folks -- it's a book that made me feel joyous as a reader, relishing the pleasure of being lost in a story so real I had to remind myself where I was every time I lifted my nose from the page. (less)
I was a bit apprehensive when I got this book: with a white heroine proudly emblazoned on the cover and a premise set during the 19th century Anglo-Zu...moreI was a bit apprehensive when I got this book: with a white heroine proudly emblazoned on the cover and a premise set during the 19th century Anglo-Zulu War in South Africa, I was afraid it would be White Man's Burden meets The Power of One. (And I say this as someone who loves The Power of One, but let's be real, it's problematic.)Â Instead, this is a lovely historical romance with a bold heroine living in two worlds, belonging to neither, and a fascinating armchair escape to an era and locale rarely seen in historical fiction.
Set in 1878 in the eastern coastal region of what is now South Africa, the story follows Elizabeth Jones, a white Englishwoman who was washed up on the coast at fourteen when her ship wrecked. Taken in by the local Zulu tribe, she is raised alongside them, her rescuer Lindani virtually a brother to her. Now twenty, Elizabeth and her Zulu family watch in horror as the British army masses against them, clearly bent on war. At the behest of the Zulu king, Elizabeth crops her hair short and dons stolen British uniforms to infiltrate the army and report back to the Zulu what the British plan.
Through a tiny bit of helpful coincidence (which I forgive, because otherwise, things would have progressed way too slowly), Elizabeth ends up masquerading as a batman (a personal servant) to Captain Jack Burdell. Jack is a seasoned soldier and a gentleman farmer, recently disillusioned with army life, a sentiment that grows when he reads his father's journals and finds his father felt the same way.Â
Fairly quickly, Jack sees through Elizabeth's disguise, but buys her cover story, and the two fight off their sexual interest. Elizabeth, who witnessed the British Army at their worst as a child, finds herself softening toward the soldiers around her, less convinced she wants to be party to anyone's annihilation, Zulu or British. As the story marches (literally) toward battle, Elizabeth has to learn who to trust and what world she wants to live in -- and of course, what the cost of that choice will be.
While the romance is straight-forward, I so loved Diener's acknowledgment of the hypocrisy of the mores and values held by Victorian British. In one scene, when Jack learns Elizabeth dressed in traditional Zulu fashion -- that is, topless -- all her life, he is aghast. For a moment, his sexual desire for her dissipates as he makes the erroneous leap that she was ravaged by the Zulu. Her semi-nudity, he's convinced, was sexually explicit -- whereas the reality, as Elizabeth points out, is that no Zulu stared at her breasts the way Jack stared at them. The repressed Victorians are the savage ones here.
Diener's premise, while seemingly far-fetched, is based on some historical tidbits, including the real-life survival story of a ship-wrecked child adopted by locals as well as the fact that after the battle of Isandlwana, survivors were questioned as to whether they had seen a woman on the battlefield. (As Diener writes, why would anyone ask that question?, and I agree!) Every chapter opens with a historical quote from the Zulu or British from this time, prescient and heartbreaking, and there's a glossary of Zulu phrases as well as an extensive bibliography.
I raced through this book in a day, following the Boston Marathon bombings and it was just the read I needed. Easily losing myself in the story, it had a romance I was rooting for and a larger historical arc that was tense and fascinating. (Being unfamiliar with the Battle of Isandlwana, I raced to the end to see how it resolved.) Fans of unique historical settings will enjoy this, as well as anyone who hankers for a historical romance that is spicy, a little complicated, and very bittersweet.(less)
I was interested in this book because my paternal grandmother's family were Sicilians who ended up in West Virginia and western Maryland coal country....moreI was interested in this book because my paternal grandmother's family were Sicilians who ended up in West Virginia and western Maryland coal country. We're a taciturn people on my father's side of the family; my wife and sister-in-law marvel at the long, drawn out conversations we have about weather -- the current weather, the past weather, the weather to come -- but for my brother and I, that's just how you communicate with those relatives.
My wife and sister-in-law, being bolder, nosier people who didn't get the memo that one talks about the weather, are unabashed questioners, a trait I've come to deeply appreciate as they've elicited some of the loveliest and surprising stories from that side of the family. Unfortunately, my grandmother passed away after she and my wife met only once, and that brief glimpse into her family's life was eye-opening and fascinating. It's one of my greatest regrets I didn't get to talk to her about more than the weather.
In some ways, this book felt like I got a chance to continue that conversation.
Spanning almost fifty years, from 1924 to 1973, this novel is a collection of vignettes following a West Virginia family. Emma, a 16-year old Sicilian immigrant, loathes her mother's joyless existence and marries impetuously. Caleb, her new husband, works for the railroads and has a generous but drifting kind of focus that emerges even more strongly in his son Dean. Tragedy forces Dean from his family's land and upon his return, his devotion to the ground, the earth, the animals, and even the people he crosses creates joy and anguish in equal part. His daughter comes of age when her immigrant Italian relatives are old and frightening and the lure of the world outside of her family's property lines calls her more than her family's link to the land.
Tekulve's writing style is pretty, poetic, but not ornate or obfuscated. Each chapter feels like a self-contained short story in many ways; together, they show the arc of a family and place, but individually, there's a brilliant, bright, or blinding moment that stings or illuminates. I got the sense that some of the pieces were composed independently of the volume: Tekulve occasionally repeats an incident or a particular turn of phrase from one story in another, as if trying to offer context to a chapter were it removed from the collection. I didn't mind the repetition as it sort of emphasized the almost fairy tale quality to the family: fatherless children, magical gardens, temptations.
The familiarity of Tekulve's characters and place resonated with me as much as the writing. She articulated the nuances of rural poverty that felt authentic rather than shocking or exploitative. In her description of the Sypher family property, with the creeks and trees, random cabins, farm animals semi-feral, men obsessively working the land -- hauling, pulling, cutting, chopping -- I was reminded of my grandfather, father, and even now, my brother. (A trip to see that part of the family isn't complete without something being hauled, a cabin or milk house explored.)
I will admit to laughing a few times Tekulve's characters remarked on the West Virginia landscape as resembling Sicily; my family was stationed in Sicily for a few years when I was a child, and the country was gripped in a terrible drought the entire time we were there. My memory of Sicily is of a dry, stony, yellowed place, scrub and withering trees rather than the sort of verdant hilliness I associate with West Virginia. It wasn't until a few years ago when traveling in the Mediterranean did I see Sicily as it usually is -- fresh, green, hilly but alive -- but I still can't shake the sense of it as I knew it.
The vignette-y style reminded me immediately of Jennifer Haigh's Baker Towers and Ursula Hegi's Floating in My Mother's Palm, so readers who enjoy those kind of family sagas will enjoy this volume (grandmother with Sicilian background not needed). Highly recommended for fans of immigrant stories and rural American life in the first half of the 20th century.(less)
The experience of a book is shaped by the reader: what she feels, thinks, values, believes, has experienced, wants to experience. Some books come with...moreThe experience of a book is shaped by the reader: what she feels, thinks, values, believes, has experienced, wants to experience. Some books come with more baggage than others.
Sylvia Plath is a figure for whom I have intense, tangled feelings; any book I read by her or of her is seen through the many layers of experience and emotion I've tied to Plath. More than ten years ago, I wrote a sort of reflection piece on a non-book blog about The Bell Jar, trying post-college to untangle my feelings about Plath and her tragic hagiography. In college, as a young depressed teenager, the pathos of Plath's life as I understood it seemed immensely appealing -- crucial, even -- to my developing identity as an adult (and at the time, a writer) but now that I'm older, now that I'm dealing with my depression, I want to get past the flat caricature and see the complete woman.
This book is hardly a complete presentation, but the focused sliver is fascinating. In this 288-page volume, poet Elizabeth Winder narrows her sights on Plath's one month internship at Mademoiselle magazine in 1953 and the impact it had on her. (These four weeks later inspired The Bell Jar, an autobiographical novel about a brilliant, passionate, self-possessed young woman chafing life in the 1950s.)
Winder's Plath is a sensualist, a fashionista, a gourmand, a sociologist. She's unlikable, predatory, sharp, cruel, insecure, competitive, playful, curious. Using Plath's diary and new interviews with the other 'guest editors' who spent that June with Plath, Winder shapes a Sylvia who is less alien and more familiar than I anticipated. (And far less melancholy!)
The rigors of working for Mademoiselle, the pressure of being a young woman from an Ivy League college in 1953, the transition from small town life to New York City all weighed on the women who made up the guest editors, Plath included. Each one, they shared in their interviews with Winder, thought they alone were unhappy, stressed, or feeling isolated. Oblivious, they rocketed from one event to another, cramming copy in between fashion shows and cocktail parties, Yankee baseball games and movies. In their opening editorial, they declared they wanted careers and marriage (and three children each); Plath, however, fought against that inevitability bitterly. She paid for her resistance, as well as her passion, with her first suicide attempt and subsequent electroconvulsive therapy treatments.
The book's unusual style reminded me of a magazine, with the sidebars, call outs, blocks of trivia, interviews mixed in with narrative. I didn't find it gimmicky; it read breezy and fast, layered, allowing Winder to tell her story without having to spell it all out. I raced through this one, even when the last 100 pages grew weighty with the foreshadowing of Plath's coming suicide attempt.
My only real critique is that there were some glaring inconsistencies that might just be a result of my reading a galley (rather than a finished copy). Info offered on one page is contradicted on another ('she wrote in blue cursive' (p61), 'She never wrote in cursive.' (p62)); or repeated verbatim, like the tidbit of a guest editor writing to Mademoiselle in the 1970s, condemning them for ignoring Plath's vulnerabilities (p89 and p181). There was also the occasional mistake (Sylvia gifted someone Alice and Wonderland which I presume was meant to be Alice in Wonderland.)
I can't say I was exactly sad to leave Sylvia -- she's not a woman I think I would have been friends with -- but I do miss Winder's warm portrayal of that heady, busy, sad, stifling summer and the women who worked with her. (And for the most part, based on the quotes Winder shares, seemed to have liked Plath, in a way.) This is a partial, biased biography that unabashedly rings with admiration and affection for Plath, and I appreciated that. For those new to Plath, I think this a good introduction to her; those who are familiar with Plath might find nothing shockingly new other than the tidbits revealed by Winder's interviews. Those who like gossip-y armchair escapes will love this book: New York City and some of her famous residents and notorious visitors appear, pushing for attention as much as Plath was.(less)
You know when you start a book titled There Once Lived a Girl Who Seduced Her Sister's Husband, and He Hanged Himself: Love Stories that you're not g...moreYou know when you start a book titled There Once Lived a Girl Who Seduced Her Sister's Husband, and He Hanged Himself: Love Stories that you're not going to get happy times. And yet/but/however, Petrushevskaya manages to twist the bitter into something ... not quite sweet, but not so unpalatable.
In her introduction, translator Anna Summers provides a little context for Petrushevskaya's stories; they range from publication in 1972 to 2008, and describe a varying, changing, and changeless urban Russian. (Tip: don't read the introduction until after you read the volume or you'll be spoiled for the twists of all the stories.)
The seventeen stories in this volume range from the outright depressing to the darkly comedic, and they paint an urban Russia filled with tiny apartments cramped with family (usually unemployed), alcoholism, abandoned mothers, mind-numbing jobs, and lovelorn women grasping at affection where they can. The stories that most resonated with me were those of young, gawky teenaged girls, outcasts for one reason or another, self-conscious, shy, prone to irrational crushes, too smart for their own good. Petrushevskaya is gentle with these girls although they don't always have happy endings, they don't have sad ones. (In fact, in all of these stories, the endings could be considered 'happy'. It's a strange kind of happiness, but there you go.) In the end, I felt bemused rather than depressed, and I can't shake some of the images and moments Petrushevskaya evokes.
I can't say whether Summers' translation is good or faithful; the stories read very quick, clean, a little modern in style. I enjoyed them over a few nights, but that was me using epic restraint and not saying up and reading them all in a single night. If you like short fiction, get this; if you like dark Scandinavian crime fic and want the dark without the crime, get this; and if you want a different view of domestic life, women's life, urban life, get this.(less)
This is another juicy slice of historical awesomeness from Stephanie Dray. I've fallen hard for Dray's Cleopatra's Daughter series, a kind of magical...moreThis is another juicy slice of historical awesomeness from Stephanie Dray. I've fallen hard for Dray's Cleopatra's Daughter series, a kind of magical historical trilogy that is dark, unapologetic, epic, and fun. So when I saw this short story, I did grabby hands and got started.
I know nothing of the historical Arsinoe II, but being aware of Dray's dedication to historical accuracy, I sat back and let the story unfold.
Arsinoe is one of the pharaoh's daughters, sweet and eager to be loved, teased mercilessly by her older, ambitious half-sister. When contracted into marriage to the King of Thrace, she finds some measure of happiness in her new home among her friendly in-laws. But good things rarely happen to royalty, and Arsinoe has some pretty awful things happen.
This is a short story -- which was too bad because I seriously wanted more! This story is more straight-up historical (rather than magical historical or historical fantasy), for those who care, and is a great intro to Stephanie Dray if you're new to her. (less)
I love a good mystery series for the mix of new and familiar: the return to characters I know and enjoy, settings and eras that are appealing and made...moreI love a good mystery series for the mix of new and familiar: the return to characters I know and enjoy, settings and eras that are appealing and made different with new crimes, perhaps new tidbits about my beloved detectives and crime stoppers. Nicola Upson's series featuring 1930s mystery novelist Josephine Tey is a new favorite -- in 2011, I reviewed Two For Sorrow, and was taken with Tey, Upson's lovely writing style, and the dark moodiness of the locale and crime.
(A note about the heroine: Josephine Tey is a real-life author of mystery novels from the 1930s. Tey is the pseudonym for Elizabeth Mackintosh, a very mysterious and shadowy writer. I don't know if Upson's articulation of Tey is meant to be a reflection of Mackintosh or if she's styling her Tey as a person independent of Mackintosh, so if you're me, try not to assume Tey's sapphic inclinations are historical fact.)
The setting of this book is almost the polar opposite of Two For Sorrow -- a sunshine-y resort in Wales, Hitchock and movies, the golden glitz of birthdays and celebrities -- and yet, underneath is the same dark sadness, moodiness, and bittersweet mix of loss and longing I found so appealing.Â
That sense of bittersweet loss was evident from the first page, in 1954, when we learn our heroine, Josephine Tey, is dead. (I was so stunned I reread this page about a dozen times before deciding to trust Upson and see what was going on.) Tey's friend, Detective Archie Penrose, has been asked to consult on a series of murders in Hollywood that might be connected to a series of murders from 1936. The connection: both happened on Alfred Hitchcock's film sets and were possibly committed by the same person -- despite the fact the 1936s murders were considered solved.
Upson takes us back to that summer. Tey, celebrating her 40th birthday, is considering selling her newest mystery to Hitchcock, and is vacationing at Portmeirion, a planned resort on the coast of Wales. Archie has joined her as well as a coterie of friends and acquaintances, including a woman for whom she has complicated emotional feelings. Hitchcock and his wife Alma are staying there as well, with a gaggle of actors and film crew, observed by the locals who work and live around the resort. Quickly, things turn tense: Hitchcock is a cruel practical joker and a prank of his goes to far; a murder victim turns up and quickly the mood on the resort turns from nervous and excited to anxious and angry. Tey struggles with her romantic feelings for a woman -- and all that implies -- while Archie finds his own romance.
The feel of this story is a bit of 1950s Hollywood noir meets Agatha Christie's closed room English murder mysteries. (Perhaps even reminiscent of Tey's novels but I've never read them.) While I can't wholly endorse this one as a standalone I do think those who are interested in Hitchcock will enjoy this one and could read it outside of the series. Upson has done personal interviews with those who knew Hitchcock and this novel is full of gossip-y tidbits about what the man was like, his gifted wife Alma Reville, and what on-set life was like with the famed director. The insight into the British film industry in the 1930s was also fascinating. Upson shifts from character to character which is both fun -- you see the whole story unfold -- but also slightly maddening, as I wanted very much to just settle down with Tey and know exactly what she's thinking and feeling!
I finished this one quickly -- it reads fast -- and I will admit to being panicked that this was the last Tey novel Upson had planned. Thankfully, her website says one will be coming out at the end of this summer. (Whew!) I know there are many novels set during this era, but what I enjoy about Upson's series is her heroine -- this smart, chic, pragmatic author -- and the setting -- the eve of World War II, in a way, Britain in the years leading up to the war. There's a mix of glamor and grit I find appealing and as I mentioned before, a lingering sort of melancholy I can't resist.
(Also, this book introduced me to HarperCollins' new mystery imprint, Bourbon Street Books. They'll be re-iussing the Lord Peter Wimsey books by Dorothy L. Sayers!)(less)
I am seriously not ready for this trilogy to end. I actually feel melancholy, reluctant to start another book for fear of losing the 'taste' of the no...moreI am seriously not ready for this trilogy to end. I actually feel melancholy, reluctant to start another book for fear of losing the 'taste' of the novel. (For recaps, see my reviews of the first novel, The Passing Bells, and the second novel, Circles of Time.)
The novel opens similarly to the first book, The Passing Bells, with Lord Stanmore getting dressed for the day, and my heart lifted -- until the scene changed to sadness with the death of a tertiary character. With that mood established, Rock's final novel is a bounce between familiarity, bittersweet loss, and heady hope.
Seven years have passed between the end of the second novel and the start of this one. Those who wanted more time with the 'original' cast might feel some loss at the shifting direction -- I will admit I initially was disappointed -- but the twining connection between the 'new' cast and the other characters, as well as Rock's wonderful writing, sucked me in and I no longer mourned the shifting focus.
This book has the largest scope -- ten years -- from 1930 through 1940 and in that sense, I think it felt a bit rushed. Rock covered six years in The Passing Bells but conveyed, I thought, the unending grind of trench warfare rather well without losing the reader. I felt the two years covered in the second book was too little -- even though the page length was the same as the first novel! (What can I say, I just want more!) Still, this isn't an unsatisfying story: threads are tied up, characters come to some concluding arc (whether I like it or not!), and the Grevilles and their beloved Abington Pryory continue to live on, changed.
Our intrepid American reporter Martin is still the moral 'voice' of the novel; his interest in European politics and experience as a war reporter allow him to be a bit of an oracle or Greek chorus here, hinting at what we know will come. Fenton Wood-Lacey, still in the military, returns to the same battlefields where he fought during World War I, again fighting Germany. His daughters are now vibrant and passionate young women, hungry for their own victories, infatuated with soldiers the way the characters from the first novel were. Lord and Lady Stanmore, the Greville patriarchs, clinging to the past as much as they grab for the future, keep their beloved Abingdon Pryory as their seat. Rock doesn't forget the working class either: the brother of one of the Greville house maids becomes a main character, eager to change his fortunes the way he saw his sister change hers.Â
As with his previous novels, Rock articulates so well the societal shifts in behavior, attitudes, and mores -- and the ways parts of society haven't changed. There's a seen where a character decides to marry a divorcee, and Lady Standmore has to have a frank conversation with the woman about how, pre-war, this marriage would have never happened and how, even now, some society will never accept her. It is in this world that the children bristle -- having grown up in a post-war era of parties, blatant sexuality, explosive politics, economic boom -- and just as they hurtle into adulthood, war approaches. The bookending of these two conflicts is wonderful/upsetting/moving/cinematic/exciting/so ridiculously sad, and I love/hate Rock for doing so.
The ending was lovely, a note of hope, but I still got teary just remembering all the losses and changes that the characters experienced. (I'm getting a tiny bit teary right now!) This trilogy definitely makes my top ten for this year -- these books were everything I love about reading -- and I feel the absence of my favorite characters now that I'm done. I anticipate a reread of these books -- they're that kind of read -- and I hope this trilogy enters into the canon of 'classic' historical fiction.(less)
I really haven't been able to breath since starting these books, the three novels that make up Philip Rock's Passing Bells trilogy. I am in serious lo...moreI really haven't been able to breath since starting these books, the three novels that make up Philip Rock's Passing Bells trilogy. I am in serious love. (See my review of the first book for the start of my swooning fit.)
This book has a much tighter time span -- 1921 to 1923 -- and starts a year after the first book ends. Life in Britain has changed: the 'Jazz Age' has dawned, and the public starts to accept a more open discussion of the events of World War I. Rock covers an array of details in this novel as in the first book; here, we learn about the development of engines for jet planes and the growing Fascist presence in Britain.
A good deal -- but not all -- of the characters from the first book return. As in life, some of the characters have come to terms with the losses from the war, while others are still in denial about it. Beautiful Alexandra, no longer flighty and superficial, must be married, according to her mother -- but the war decimated the population of marriageable men. Four members of the Abingdon Pryory staff were killed in the war, and what staff are there are new, men too old to have served. Chauffer Jamie is now a successful engineer, and Martin still travels Europe, reporting on the shifting political landscapes. (Rock has really honed in on his American journalist, Martin Rilke, as the main character of this saga, which kind of disappoints me because he's not my favorite. Which isn't to say he's not interesting or anything, but I'm far more fond of the women and their challenges.)
Oddly, even though the page count is similar to the first book, I feel like I saw 'less' of the characters than I did in The Passing Bells. Perhaps it's because Rock has narrowed his focus a little, keeping an eye on Martin, with the rest of the characters circling around that plot arc. (I'm hesitant to squee or wail about specific characters for fear of spoiling the story for anyone, so I apologize if this review seems super vague!)
Rock still has the habit of having some major events happen 'off the page', so to speak; we only learn of it when a character mentions it in passing. Which isn't to say the reader is denied emotion and drama -- that's to be found here, although less gutting than in the first book -- as we hurtle toward the 1930s, World War II, and a shifting focus from the parents to their children.
This could possibly be read as a standalone -- Rock recapped characters and plot quite frequently, which surprised me given that originally there had been only a year between the publishing of the first and second book. (Rock took four years between this book and the final book in the trilogy.)  Still, for maximum oomph, pick up The Passing Bells before this one, and have a weekend, lots of tea, and tissues handy.(less)
Given the Downton Abbey craze, I was apprehensive about this trilogy: was it any good or just a marketing ploy to cash in while DA is hot?
Thankfully,...moreGiven the Downton Abbey craze, I was apprehensive about this trilogy: was it any good or just a marketing ploy to cash in while DA is hot?
Thankfully, happily, awesomely, this book is good. Great. Another meaty hist fic that satisfies. This review, however, is probably going to be a hot mess, because how do I describe what is contained in these 500+ pages without just squeeing stupidly? Here goes:
The novel follows a few families and tangential individuals from 1914 through 1920, and at first, the enormous cast was be a bit overwhelming. There are the rich, titled, old money families, the wealthy trade families who are trying to gain their own social standing, the working class, the serving class, and everything in between.
As a result, this book is massive, in size, cast, and scope. Still, I loved every frickin' page. It's the kind of epic book I love to snuggle up with and devour over a weekend, and devour I did -- I was sneaking reads as often as I can. (I recommend not putting this down for any length of time -- given the size of the cast, it could be very easy to forget who is who.)
Opening at the beautiful, bucolic country estate of Abingdon Pryory, the reader basks in the refined dramas of the titled rich -- marriages, love affairs, training house hold staff -- before widening to incorporate a wider lens. As the residents of Abingdon Pryory move to London for the season, we meet the educated tradesmen, American relatives, reporters, and politicians. Then war strikes and everything changes.
Rock's writing style reminded me of the 'classic' historical fiction I love. There's a little romance -- some vague intimations of sex among the younger set -- and a leeetle bit of philosophic ruminations on war and violence. As this was originally written in the late 1970s, Rock has some distance from the era to insert a little sharp and wry commentary and observation. Early on, for example, one of his characters muses about the inequality of marrying American heiress made rich from trade while an Englishwoman with a successful merchant father is completely out of the picture. It's a darkly funny moment and this novel is punctuated with that -- the hypocrisy and beauty of the pre-World War I era.
Rock's characters do change and shift and I liked them, all of them. Some are selfish, some are jerks, some are badly behaved -- but I found all of them to be real and settled in their 'place' -- even as their place shifted as time went on. (Rock conveys that shift so very well -- when one of the titled rich girls seeks out her former maid, now a nurse, their interaction is painful and striking.)
If you like family sagas, this is your book -- while I normally bristle now at sequels, I am bouncing with excitement for the second book. I don't want to leave these people yet. (less)
I didn't know what to expect with this book. While the blurb tells me something ('A haunting and moving collection of original narratives that reveals...moreI didn't know what to expect with this book. While the blurb tells me something ('A haunting and moving collection of original narratives that reveals an expatriate’s coming-of-age in Paris and the magic she finds in ordinary objects.') it didn't convey, I think, the real personality LaCava brings to her book. In further crankiness, I thought the subtitle ('A Memoir of an Outsider in Paris') as off-the-mark as the blurb. I found this book to be a memoir of depression, portrayed in a series of playful, odd vignettes, voiced by a lonely American desperate for connection and unable to find the tools to get out of her head and be more present in the world.
In the early '90s, LaCava's family moves to a suburb of Paris. She's sent to an international school where she finds herself isolated and unhappy. Teased by her classmates, she starts collecting objects in a kind of obsessive cataloging endeavor, as if naming and placing things would help her find herself. LaCava shares the experience of her crippling depression that broke my heart and resonated with me -- she and I seem to be approximately the same age, and while she was feeling like an outcast in '90s Paris, I was an outcast in '90s South Dakota. (Those who love the '90s will enjoy that bit of ambiance -- My So-Called Life and Nirvana feature in her vignettes, for example.)
The book's narrative style is quirky, and I think readers will either love or loathe it. Interspersed in her vignettes, LaCava includes footnotes about an object or person, usually providing some quick trivia or history. The object in question is almost always paired with one of illustrator Matthew Nelson's drawings. For LaCava, these objects are obviously totemic, deeply personal, and emotionally resonant, and the book's physical design -- cloth-bound cover, small size, and deckle-edged pages -- was tactile-ly satisfying, making me read a little more slowly, savor more, as if LaCava and I were in conversation.
While much of this novel worked for me, it isn't a perfect memoir. Readers wanting a cohesive narrative and accounting of time will be disappointed, I suspect. There is a very strong sense of distance between LaCava and the reader, perhaps an echo of the distance she feels from others. The narrative jumps from 1996 -- when she's 13 -- to 2009, and I found that a bit jarring. Toward the end, LaCava shifts from a self-introspective accounting of time to replaying conversations between herself and others which didn't always work for me. (In the seven-page vignette where she meets a former classmate, the conversation circles mostly around how pretty she is, and touching lightly upon a kind of throw away mystery from earlier.)Â
I found LaCava seemed to need to punish herself for her debilitating depression -- she remarks in a 2009 vignette about how selfish she was, and in a later 2011 vignette, she quotes her mother as saying the same thing. It broke my heart a little, for however 'badly' LaCava might have behaved as a girl-almost-a-teen, she obviously needed help. Moody doesn't equal selfish in my book and I don't know if she felt as if she had to make 'amends' to people in her life for her depression, but it made me angry on her behalf.
I wouldn't recommend this exactly as an armchair escape to Paris -- while LaCava shares a passion for certain places, she evokes some strongly while others sort of just float in the background. As a memoir of a time and a place, of one person's pain, this is lovely, sad, moving, and odd. (less)
I have to confess, when I saw the blurb from the San Francisco Chronicle on the cover -- "An acknowledged master of limning the Chekhovian mysteries o...moreI have to confess, when I saw the blurb from the San Francisco Chronicle on the cover -- "An acknowledged master of limning the Chekhovian mysteries of experience." -- I kind of panicked. I know Chekhov is great, but isn't The Seagull super obscure and boring? I'm pretty sure I know what 'limning' might mean, but needless to say, I was a bit daunted to start.
I needn't have worried! While these stories are quiet in a way, they aren't boring or obscure. They're moody and sad, poignant and romantic, bittersweet and heartbreaking, frustrating and expansive. Hadley's writing is pretty at times -- ("The wind is tearing scraps of cloud in a fitfully gleaming sky, and combing through the twigs of the hornbeam trees (the trees are another difference between this street and his), setting them springing and dancing like whips.", from 'The Trojan Prince') -- and sharp at other times, like 'In the Cave', six pages that articulated perfectly the disappointment of not being in love.
Some of the stories are historical -- set in the '20s or the '70s -- while others are ambigu-contemporary. All are about relationships in some way, and usually about the way those relationships fail one or both people. The New Yorker has the entirety of 'Married Love', the titular first story of this volume, online; you can get a sense of Hadley's writing style and subject through this story, which I found captivating and maddening. My favorite story might have been 'The Trojan Prince', about a young man in 1920 who decides to befriend his wealthier second cousin for a nebulous, un-articulated reason and instead finds he's less enamored of her than he expected.
I inhaled this volume over the past weekend -- there are twelve gems in this book -- and it was perfect for kicking me out of my reading funk. These sad snapshots of love and life were a kind of escape -- I was grateful for my own happier relationships and caught up in the whirlwind of the ones contained in the book -- and I'm still thinking about these stories with a mix of sadness and longing. (less)
As soon as I saw this promoted as 'stories for anyone who couldn't relate to Holden Caulfield', I was sold -- The Catcher in the Rye is a very strong...moreAs soon as I saw this promoted as 'stories for anyone who couldn't relate to Holden Caulfield', I was sold -- The Catcher in the Rye is a very strong least favorite of mine. I love coming-of-age stories and Wirstiuk's collection of vignettes immediately grabbed me as I just was smitten with our unlikely heroine.
Veda, from a Ukrainian family in New Jersey, is an aspiring artist. She's self-absorbed, sad, moody, friendly, uneasy, lovely. Veda is the kind of friend I would have liked to have in college, as new to sophisticated life as I was, plunging headlong into what we perceived, for good and for bad, as proper grown up life. She fumbles through relationships with men -- 'Not Homecoming', the story on her attempt to lose her virginity, was hilarious and heartbreaking, and all too awkwardly familiar -- and works to be satisfied with her looks while being deeply insecure about them.Â
Wirstiuk tells the story through Veda's eyes, and the narrative is a mix of selfish ruminations and poetic moments (like ...the skyline showed some of itself between buildings like a woman performing a striptease (p76)); I laughed and cringed in equal part. You can download a sample story for Wirstiuk's website to get a taste of her writing style. She -- and her Veda -- were the anchor to this collection and the reason for reading, and I loved how flawed and real Veda was.Â
The book itself is as much a treat as the stories; the collection opens with a series of captioned photographs, one for each short story, as if Veda were presenting this as an art project of her own. There are discussion questions, creative writing exercises, and Veda's Guide to a Creative Life, treats that extended my time with this book and Veda. Wirstiuk ran a Kickstarter campaign to raise funds to print this volume, and donors were able to fund a final short story by providing a word or phrase. I was dubious, but Wirstiuk made it work.
A fabulously engrossing debut, and worth splurging on -- e-book or otherwise -- as Veda stuck with me, and I'm missing her like I do a far-away friend.(less)
If I didn't have to read this book for review, I would have stopped 60 pages in and we would have parted friends. This book is just not my thing -- no...moreIf I didn't have to read this book for review, I would have stopped 60 pages in and we would have parted friends. This book is just not my thing -- not my genre, or my writing style, or my plot -- so it didn't work for me, but I don't think that should be a knock against this book.
The blackberry winter of the title refers to spring snowstorms that hit now and then. In 1933, a May snowstorm brings Seattle to a halt. Vera Ray, single mother, maid in Seattle's most glamorous hotel, leaves her three-year old son for the night to complete her shift. Upon returning home, her son is gone -- missing -- but despite her efforts, the police believe he's simply a runaway who will return when he's hungry. In 2010, Claire, a features reporter for a Seattle newspaper, struggles to deal with her depression following a tragic accident as her marriage unravels. A freak May snowstorm leads her to discover the mystery of Vera's missing son, and she becomes consumed with finding out what really happened.
Both Vera and Claire are women grappling with tragedy -- Vera's more immediately, Claire's lingering and festering -- as well as their place next to Seattle's rich elite. Vera's lover -- the father of her son -- is a Seattle scion and Claire's husband is the handsome, charming heir of a Seattle newspaper dynasty. Unsurprisingly, they're connected, and depending on your enthusiasm for solving mysteries, you may or may not guess early on the 'twist'. (I guessed, but I was feeling a little surly.)
There's a love triangle, familial drama, social commentary, improbable coincidences, lots of armchair travel around Seattle, a great need for grownups to use their big kid words and just have a bloody conversation, very brisk storytelling (no maudlin dwelling, happily!), beloved heroines and villain-y villains.
The emotions are big and easy to understand and the resolution just as obvious, but in some ways, that's what is great about this book. You go into it knowing what you're going to get, and Jio's writing is fast and full enough to suck one in. I read this in a day and a half -- it's not breakneck but there is a sense of momentum, questions the reader needs answered -- and Jio's skill is in creating that tension without a ton of lead up. We're plunged into the drama, both Vera's and Claire's, and whatever quibbles I had about the characters and their life choices, Jio doesn't let passivity move the story along.
Seattle lovers, and those who like place as character should get this, as Jio's juxtaposition of Seattle -- 1933 and 2010 -- was wonderful and interesting. Perhaps my favorite part of the story -- it made me wish I could tour the city this weekend and check out the sites she mentioned.(less)
It is 1934 in Cascade, Massachusetts, a small town in the western part of the state. Picturesque, bucolic, it was once a thriving summer vacation spot...moreIt is 1934 in Cascade, Massachusetts, a small town in the western part of the state. Picturesque, bucolic, it was once a thriving summer vacation spot, with a gorgeous Shakespearean theater managed by the big-hearted, passionate William Hart. Then the crash happened, the Depression hit, and like everywhere in the U.S., Cascade started going through hard times.
For Desdemona Hart Spaulding, talented daughter of William, her sacrifice to survive came in exchange for her happiness. An artist who trained in Boston and New York City, she married Cascade-native Asa Spaulding, a mild pharmacist who wanted nothing more than to settle down and have many babies. Dez, afraid for her ailing father and his now-shuttered theater, married in hopes of saving what she could -- her remaining family -- only to lose that two months later. Against that bitter loss came additional heartbreak: that Cascade was in competition with another small town to be leveled for a reservoir. Just when things couldn't possibly make Dez's life more agonizing, she meets Jacob Solomon, a Jewish artist who evokes in her deep passion and reminds her of the life she once thought she'd live.
This is the novel's opening -- we learn all this in the first few chapters. This gutting, beautiful, emotional setting spills into a story far more complicated and rich than I initially thought. I anticipated a historical novel with a love triangle; and there is that, the history, and the triangle, but there's more, too. There's the conflict of obligation to one's self, one's family, one's reputation, one's hometown; the very real march of progress and of war. In small town Cascade, one's reputation is a major currency, and Dez, Asa, and Jacob all feel the brunt of their town's changing and shifting opinion of them.
There's tragedy and betrayal and romance on a Shakespearean scale, and Dez is a complicated, maddening, honorable, childish, and beautiful heroine. I liked her and felt angry with her in equal part, but O'Hara wrote Dez so well that even when I wanted to shake her, I still wanted to hug her. I appreciated where her choices came from; I felt like I really knew her.
This is a historical novel of place -- a small-town during the Depression, a beloved landmark in danger of destruction -- and a romance -- star-crossed lovers -- as well as a snapshot of wartime America in the '30s and '40s -- national prejudices, fears, patriotism, the New Deal. O'Hara's writing is beautiful -- simple and sparse, but not thin -- and I lingered over this novel because I was so unwilling for it to end. This is O'Hara's first novel and it has ensured I am going to be a slavish fangirl of hers.(less)
I fell in love with Melanie Benjamin's first novel, Alice I Have Been -- it was emotional and a bit raw, it made human this nearly mythological figur...more I fell in love with Melanie Benjamin's first novel, Alice I Have Been -- it was emotional and a bit raw, it made human this nearly mythological figure (Alice Liddell) -- and so I have been a slavish fangirl since. Which is why, as I'm no Lindbergh fan, I still went into this book with some excitement, curious about how Benjamin would handle Lindbergh's politics and later-in-life choices.
If you don't know much about Charles Lindbergh beyond his famous flight on The Spirit of Saint Louis, that won't be an impediment here. You can learn about him in much the same way his wife Anne Morrow did, by simply spending some time with him.
The novel opens in the 1970s, with Anne facing her dying husband and the proof of his last selfish acts. As she struggles to make peace with with the man, the story flashes back to their marriage, beginning in 1927 when Anne met Charles.
Anne Morrow was the daughter of an American banker who later became an ambassador. A student at Smith -- like her sister, like her mother -- Anne was the mousy, quiet, invisible Morrow. Her older brother Dwight was the Morrow heir; her older sister Elizabeth was golden and clever. Her younger sister Con was the baby, all excitement and enthusiasm. But Anne seemed to offer nothing of note until her surprise engagement to famed aviator Charles Lindbergh.
Their marriage propelled Anne into a world of stardom and fame unseen, Benjamin suggests, until Princess Diana. Chased by the press and public alike, Charles and Anne had to dress in disguises to go out and hire security guards for their homes. Worse, perhaps, was their marriage, full of expectations as well. Charles challenged Anne to be his co-pilot and crew, and she became a licensed pilot and radio operator, breaking records on her own. Yet her fame really lay, of course, in her connection with Charles. Their marriage becomes seriously fractured in 1932 when their 20-month old baby was kidnapped, and to my surprise, Anne's story didn't stop there. (Forty more years of things happen, but I'm not going to summarize them -- you'll want to see how things shake out here.)
Benjamin is a star at biographical historical fiction. She wrestles with the historical record and evokes people who are real, who answer to the choices we know they made. And while I might be dubious of Anne Morrow Lindbergh and seriously judge her as a person, I feel like I got a glimpse of who she was -- and I couldn't shake her. (Although I suppose my only critique -- and this is totally emotional knee jerk stuff -- is that I thought Benjamin was too much of an apologist, voicing for Anne an acknowledgment of Charles' dangerous political beliefs even though, in her lifetime, she made no noise of dissent or disagreement.)
As with Alice I Have Been, I was struck by Benjamin's ability to convey the both the mores and societal attitudes of the time as well as critique of those expectations and behaviors without feeling anachronistic or didactic. (less)
After Anouk Markovits' I Am Forbiddenblew my mind, I was pretty curious to see what Hogarth's other offerings would be like, and if they continue put...moreAfter Anouk Markovits' I Am Forbiddenblew my mind, I was pretty curious to see what Hogarth's other offerings would be like, and if they continue putting out books as good as this and I Am Forbidden, then I will be a very happy, happy readergirl.
Forgive me in advance for my clumsy attempt to summarize this novel; it is more rich than what I can articulate. Set in 1960s Vietnam, the story follows Percival Chen, a Chinese headmaster living in Cholon with his son. As the country shifts from being a French colony, as the conflict with China grows, as the American presence (and impact) in Vietnam increases, Chen's English-language school gains and loses privilege in the shifting political landscape. When Chen's son makes an stupid, patriotic gesture that has violent ramifications, Chen is forced to confront the changes around him and the loss of power the Chinese community once had. Chen's vices -- women and gambling -- become his escape and his punishment, and he constantly re-evaluates just what he'll wager to save what -- and who -- he loves.
Lam's writing is lovely, descriptive but not weighty. I'm wholly unfamiliar with the Chinese community in Vietnam but I was able to understand Chen's life, his values, his passions, his foibles, as well as the shifting politics of the place, and in Chen, I found a very flawed, very sad, very fascinating character. (Although I'll be honest: I really want a novel about his ex-wife Cecilia! She's a flinty one.)
Even at 400+ pages, this novel read quickly. Lam balances sex, violence, war, and inner turmoil wonderfully; his cast is complicated and interesting. Those who might not consider themselves interested in the Vietnam War will find this a fascinating read for the unusual angle, the focus on family, race, identity, and community. As with Nayana Currimbhoy's Miss Timmins' School for Girls, I loved seeing the 1960s and 1970s in non-Western way.(less)
Words always fail when I'm really in love with a novel; a problem made worse when the novel in question is written in lush, lovely, dense, tangled, ph...moreWords always fail when I'm really in love with a novel; a problem made worse when the novel in question is written in lush, lovely, dense, tangled, photographic, poetic prose. How do I compete?? Here's my try:
Set in the late 1880s, the novel follows Maribel Campbell Lowe, a stunning foreign beauty who smokes too much (in an era when only 'loose women' smoked!), is married to a radical Member of Parliament who supports socialism and reform, who yearns for the passion and inspiration that comes from an artistic life while performing her social obligations as an MP's wife.
Inspired by a real life couple, Robert Cunninghame Graham (who was the first socialist MP) and his wife Gabriela Cunninghame Graham, Clark's novel is hefty and rich, loaded with historical details about a Victorian London I'm unfamiliar with. Buffalo Bill Cody and his entourage are visiting, loaded with tons of gravel and rocks to replicate the Rocky Mountains in their performances. Queen Victoria's Jubilee is underway. The government and public are wrestling with suffrage, the right to assemble, the values they wish to embody -- and legalize -- while remaining safe.
Initially, I had a hard time getting into the book -- the novel opens with a game of charades, with our heroine and other side characters -- but within forty pages or so, I was hooked. Maribel has a secret, and I wanted to know what it was.
Clark's writing style is ... amazing. I'm prone to hyperbole, I know, and I'm pretty gushy in most of my reviews, so what do I mean by 'amazing'? The narrative is meaty, with flavor -- wry, sarcastic, dry, historical, detailed, emotional -- and the characters confusingly human. There's so much loaded into every sentence, but I wasn't aware of reading.
I was reminded of An Ideal Husband -- especially the lovely 1999 film version with Julianne Moore and Cate Blanchett (those dresses and hairstyles, the clever repartee and layers of secrets!) -- and I admit it: I want this to be a BBC miniseries stat. Maribel moves in Wilde's circle, so the connection was likely intentional, and I'm sure there's numerous nods to literary and artistic influences of the era that I missed but others might see.
This is historical fiction for anyone who hates romantic historical novels -- there's a strong current of love here, but it's not a bodice ripper -- and those who enjoy savoring strong women, strong writing, strong setting will be very, very happy to dig in.(less)
I lingered over this short novel -- 250ish pages -- because Lakoseljac's writing was so lovely -- poetic and lyrical -- and the story she was telling...moreI lingered over this short novel -- 250ish pages -- because Lakoseljac's writing was so lovely -- poetic and lyrical -- and the story she was telling was so sad and bittersweet, I didn't want to rush through it. Set in Serbia (or as it was then, Yugoslavia), the novel begins in the summer of 1960, and follows Kata, a young woman living on her grandparent's farm with her aloof, cold mother and fascinating, emotive grandmother.
For Kata, this summer literally changes her life when the gypsies arrive in the small village, bringing with them a dancing bear and a young man she decides she's in love with. When a young villager's infant disappears, the gypsies are accused of kidnapping the child, and suddenly the once welcome visitors are now criminals and murderers. While Kata's grandmother likes and openly interacts with the gypsies, others in the village are less welcoming, and when the gypsies leave, a cloud of suspicion hangs over them, lingering for years. In the coming summers, Kata's life is shaped by that summer -- how she thinks about family, her own identity, her place in her village and the specter of the baby's disappearance which never leaves.
It takes a skilled writer to create believable, evocative children and teenagers, especially in a book in which they -- and their evolving feelings, beliefs, attitudes, and thoughts -- are the primary focus. Lakoseljac's Kata was a lovely foil for this dreamy, complicated, emotional story: she was curious and imaginative in ways I could relate to, a book lover and romantic, a young woman determined to solve the mysteries that divided her village and find her place in the world.
My only critique is that, near the end, during the big reveal, I felt a bit lost, unsure of what was happening -- I reread the final chapters a few times (no challenge since the writing was so lovely) but even now I'm not sure I can say confidently I understand what happened. Dream and reality merged -- I got caught up in the language, that's for sure! -- and the resolution offered is satisfying, sad, and mysterious.
Get this book if you like coming of age stories, or rural/small town locales, or post-WWII fiction. (Death is a preoccupation in the village, as those killed during WWII are still missed, as war crimes from the '40s remain unsolved, and it was a fascinating backdrop that was relevant and ignored by the villagers as needed.) If you enjoy poetic novels, this is one for you -- Federico GarcÃa Lorca figures literally at times -- and Lakoseljac's prose won't disappoint. I'm eagerly awaiting her next novel.(less)
Three things: 1) why did this book have to end?; 2) why is Sheila Kohler not sitting next to me telling me stories all the time?; and 3) why are Kohle...moreThree things: 1) why did this book have to end?; 2) why is Sheila Kohler not sitting next to me telling me stories all the time?; and 3) why are Kohler's novels not all in my hands this very instant?
Four word review: I adored this book.
Set in the mid-1970s, the novel follows Dawit, a young Ethiopian exile in Paris. After his family was brutally executed following the overthrow of Haile Selassie, emperor of Ethiopia, Dawit was imprisoned and tortured. A guard who was once a childhood friend helps Dawit escape, and he crosses into France illegally, living at the margins, a displaced person dependent on the generosity of friends. Born into a life of luxury, he has no skills as an illegal laborer, and when the story opens, Dawit is literally lingering over a coffee in a cafe, afraid to return to his friend's home without means, when he spots M. M. is a famous French author, now in her 60s, notorious for her spare novels about her childhood love affair with a Somali man. M. is immediately taken with Dawit, and in a matter of days, sweeps him into her life, clearly wanting to relieve her affair.
What seems like a Cinderella story, of course, dissolves into something darker. As M.'s obsession with Dawit grows, he feels himself experiencing the same apprehension, fear, and tension he did while imprisoned in Ethiopia. Feelings of gratitude transform into resentment. As he grows healthier, bolder, stronger, M.'s need for him in her life grows as well, until --
You get the idea. It's dark, twisted, gruesome, gorgeous, chilling, amusing, cowardly and heroic. I closed the book in love with everyone, messed up as they are, captivated by the superficial and glamorous world of 1970s Paris, Sardinia, and Rome. Pretty people, ugly secrets.
At 207 pages, this is a zippy fast read, but I lingered over this one because I didn't want it to end. Kohler's writing is spare, like Duras', like M.'s, but there's so much impact between the words. I was greatly reminded of Patricia Highsmith, right down to some of the plot elements, but found Kohler's homage to be delightful in its own right. (less)
Here is, essentially, my experience with this book: one) I thought, 'awww, funky cute cover!'; two) I flipped to the back and thought, 'awww, cute aut...moreHere is, essentially, my experience with this book: one) I thought, 'awww, funky cute cover!'; two) I flipped to the back and thought, 'awww, cute author!'; three) I opened the book and read the first few stories and thought, 'ohhellyeah!'.
I raced through this slender volume in a day -- managing three stories on my commute, two at lunch, three before dinner, the rest after dinner -- and while I probably should have moved a little more slowly -- savored -- I didn't want to stop swimming in Wood's world of invisible lovers, sentient houses, hungry oceans, and unending damp. I suppose my only complaint is that while the stories are very atmospheric and very moody, there's some bite missing. Wood beautifully evokes the claustrophobic and maddening sense of her scenarios, but ends the stories just as we've acclimated. I finished many of her stories bemused, or sad, or curious -- but never with the shattering sense of unease that makes my skin crawl, like when I read Aimee Bender or Angela Carter.
BBC Radio 4 Extra did a reading series of her stories, so if you want to get a sense of her writing, be sure to give them a listen. The five stories featured were among my favorites -- they feature Wood's deliciously damp settings (literally, in some cases!) and quirky, paranormal-y, magical realism-y plots.(less)
I had a rough go with this book to start, partially because I thought the blurb was setting me up for a rosier story and what was unfolding was partic...moreI had a rough go with this book to start, partially because I thought the blurb was setting me up for a rosier story and what was unfolding was particularly, well, not rosy. 1907: Edith Wharton, in her late 40s, has been invigorated by Paris and most importantly, her acquaintance with the earthy, sensual Anna de Noailles and the handsome, inappropriate, and witty Morton Fullerton. With her are her husband Teddy and her governess-turned-secretary Anna Bahlmann, who have their own complicated feelings for each other. As Edith pursues an emotional, and then physical, affair with Fullerton, her life becomes unsurprisingly complicated.
I only have the scantest familiarity with Wharton's life so almost everything that unfolded was a surprise to me (my ARC didn't include any sort of Author's or Historical Note to outline what was invented or conjecture and what was historical, which sort of bugged me.).One of the challenges of historical fiction is that the author essentially has an outline to stick to, and the skill is in making what we know happened feel believable in context of the story the author has told, the characters they've painted.Â
We know Anna remained with Edith through World War I; clearly devoted to each other, recently it has come out that Anna had an immense hand in shaping Edith as a writer. Fields' articulation of Wharton felt right to me -- imperious, selfish, emotional stunted, self absorbed to the point of being cruel -- and so, her treatment of Anna seemed very possible. However close she and Anna were, Wharton strikes me as someone who always perceived help as the help, and so when she dismissed or sent Anna away, I believed that. What I couldn't quite buy is why Anna kept returning to her. Fields includes letters between them -- I'm unsure if they're real or penned by her for the book -- that evoke an emotional tenderness, but when they interacted in person, I felt the scenes swayed between coziness and coldness.Â
Edith with Fullerton was pathetic; I was often reminded of The Countess DeLave from The Women. What she saw as a life-changing romance was really something sadder, and it took me a while to get that Fields wasn't holding back in showing that. (She painted Fullerton so slimy I wanted to shake Edith -- he's obviously a cad! -- but once I realized this novel wasn't supposed to be a romance about the two of them, I could enjoy Fullerton's behavior.) Much of Fields' characterizations of the players was unflattering, and I appreciated that -- I still liked them -- but they felt appropriately pig-headed, selfish, and self-absorbed. (Vindictively, I liked Edith's cold pragmatism toward her husband at the end; male writers are always putting their wives away. So lovely to see the tables turned!)
I stayed up all night to read this one, compulsively, really, I just couldn't stop, it was potato chip fun. Certainly more on the chick lit spectrum of historical fiction, this offers some racy sexy scenes, armchair travel, wonderful descriptions of Gilded Age life, and a maddening look at a fascinating author. (less)
This was a fantastically great book. I rarely read historical fiction set around the Civil War, and this book's time span -- 1857 - 1862 -- was unique...moreThis was a fantastically great book. I rarely read historical fiction set around the Civil War, and this book's time span -- 1857 - 1862 -- was unique, fascinating, and compelling. Wiegenstein's writing is vibrant and engrossing, his characters uncomfortably real, and I was immediately plunged into a time and world that frightened and fascinated me.
James Turner is a philosopher and itinerant lecturer who wrote a utopian novel called Daybreak that inspired a Missouri man to donate land in hopes of establishing a real life Daybreak. Turner's new bride, Charlotte, eager to escape a sad home and embark on something promising, rushes to join Turner in the Missouri Ozarks. A Harvard-educated abolition, Adam Cabot, recently tarred and feathered in Kansas for his anti-slavery work, decides to join the community as well, and these three characters provide the frame for the story. But the secondary characters are just as compelling and fleshed out -- the other residents who decide to join Daybreak, the suspicious neighbors who are uneasy with the commune -- and I felt like I knew everyone.
I will admit that the love triangle-ish-ness was my least favorite part of the story, but I've got some weird hangup about infidelity that I kind of think I need to explore in therapy or something. (Seriously -- I've not been affected by infidelity myself and I used to love hot torrid affairs in my novels but now just a whiff of cheating makes my stomach hurt!) Regardless, the love triangle wasn't the focus of the story, really, and it served to provoke some great mental debate about ethics, ideals, and obligations.
Wiegenstein's writing style is straight-forward, evocative but not flowery. I was lost to the world every time I picked up this book and I didn't want it to end. Even if you're not a historical fiction fan, consider picking up this novel -- this is a philosophical armchair escape that is grounded, accessible, and real. (less)
I started this book on Friday morning and I had to make myself put it down to go to bed Friday night. I then ignored my wife Saturday morning to finis...moreI started this book on Friday morning and I had to make myself put it down to go to bed Friday night. I then ignored my wife Saturday morning to finish. I raced through this book because I loved the two main(ish) female characters; their world might have been alien to me but I felt like I knew them, and I had to know where they ended up.
This is essentially a family saga, beginning around World War II and ending in about 2007. Starting in Romania in the late 1920s, the story roughly follows two Jewish children, Josef and Mila, who are part of a conservative Hasidic sect. Orphaned by violent antisemitism and World War II, Josef and Mila are taken in by Zalman Stern and his family; Josef is eventually sent to New York City to study with the community's beloved rabbi while Mila moves with the Sterns to Paris. Mila becomes close to Zalman's daughter Atara.
Faced with the secular world so directly, the Sterns also struggle with the changing mores and values in the Jewish community -- Zionism, reform movements, lingering antisemitism -- and eventually both Mila and Atara are sent to a conservative seminary to study before their arranged marriages. It is there that Atara and Mila discover they want different lives: Atara wants to go to university while Mila wants only to make a good marriage.
This might seem like a very simple set-up but I'm not conveying the real heft and beautiful mood of the story. Mila's marriage is as typical and atypical as one might imagine, and the results of her choices are staggering. I teared up more than once but had to keep reading -- I was absolutely in love with Mila and Atara, and I wished this novel was double the length so I could have spent more time with them. (My sole complaint, I suppose, is that Atara's side wasn't fleshed out as much as I would have liked, but that would have derailed this book's arc.)
This is a novel about community, belonging, faith and family, about love and desperation and everything in between. It's a meaty story that reads airy, and despite the fact that I know nothing about this religious community, I understood and empathized with the characters. They were so real, and so human, and I they captured me from the first page. I miss them already.(less)
This is another book my wife tore out of my hands because I gushed too much, too soon. We both adored Achy Obejas' short story "Destiny Returns" from...moreThis is another book my wife tore out of my hands because I gushed too much, too soon. We both adored Achy Obejas' short story "Destiny Returns" from Chicago Noir and this book reminded me greatly of Obejas' story: the wonderful use of place and the bright light shone on the experience of those on the margins of society. James' novel is about a transgendered hairdresser, whose personal life is already emotionally tumultuous -- she's working on coming 'out' wholly as a woman without, hopefully, losing her job -- when she learns that a friend, another transgender woman, is brutally murdered.
Concerned that police aren't moving on solving the murder, Bobbi tracks the man believed to be the murdered, and unsurprisingly, this leads Bobbi into some serious danger. The story flips between Bobbi's first person account and the murderer's life, and it's chilling (delightfully, deliciously, angry-making-ly). This is a political thriller in some ways, unintentionally, but by virtue of the fact that the murder of a transgendered woman is often under-reported in media and poorly investigated. I loved that nuance to this story -- the violent death of anyone is horrible but James really lifts up the fears and anger from a community that often has to watch silently as society ignores the violence they face.
I loved the characters and James' writing, and Bobbi passed my I-want-her-to-be-my-bestie test. She's smart and funny, nervous and bold, scared and surprisingly strong, and very real. She's also a sexual person with desires and lusts, and James doesn't hide that. There's some sex (PG-13ish, I'd say), and some romance, and I loved it all -- and I was really delighted that James doesn't hide Bobbi in anyway. The secondary characters were just as appealing as the main characters, and again, I was so taken with the mix of crime and social/political commentary.
This is a fantastic murder mystery -- don't be scared off by the focus on the transgender community. Even if you're unfamiliar with what 'transgender' means isn't a problem as James provides context and explanation. As Bobbi goes through the process of coming out as a transwoman and what that means, James brings the reader along the whole time, and I dare anyone not to be moved.
I am so eager to see James' next endeavor, and I kind of hope Bobbi shows up again. She's a heroine I'm rooting for, and James' Chicago is a place I want to visit again. Give this book a try, especially this summer: this is a fun, quick-but-meaty murder mystery that is engrossing from the first page to the last.(less)
It's pretty ballsy to take one of Shakespeare's most famous characters and write a novel about him from his viewpoint, and there are tons of opportuni...moreIt's pretty ballsy to take one of Shakespeare's most famous characters and write a novel about him from his viewpoint, and there are tons of opportunities to make a horrible misstep. However, Nicole Galland's novel about Iago is awesome. It's straight up a great read: a meaty historical that is rich with detail but doesn't drown the reader, thick with evocative characters and exotic locales, dramatic plot and wonderful writing. Being unfamiliar with Othello isn't a problem, as Galland's story is set squarely with Iago, and we're with him from his youth through to the horrible, tragic end.
Set in Renaissance Venice, we meet Iago, the redundant fifth son of prosperous silk merchant, gifted to the military when his older brother dies in a stupid accident. Blunt Iago, too honest to be a politician or merchant, finds a place for himself in the bare, rough work of soldiering, and in that, he finds honor, notoriety, and some fame. Galland's characterization of Iago was what sold the book for me; from the first page, I knew exactly who he was. I'm super picky about being told a character has x attribute but never see the author demonstrate that; in this book, Iago is known for his bare honesty, his grouchy wit, and his monstrous intelligence, and Galland shows that over and over again. If you like bad boys, you're going to love Galland's Iago. I was charmed by him; I felt sympathy for him. I even admired him.
As a historical novel, this satisfies: Galland articulates the dramatic, artificial world of upper class Venice, the ponderous boredom of Italian infantry, and best of all, Venetian celebrations. Costumes, foods, architecture -- rich descriptions that helped me escape cold, rainy Boston.
And the end, oh, the end. I knew how things would shake out since I'm familiar with Othello, but following Galland's Iago to the inevitable was heartbreaking -- even if he was a monster.
I didn't anticipate loving this book as much as I did since I far prefer to follow women rather than men and I'm a big wimp about violence toward women. And yet, Galland's character study was so fleshed out and human, I was captivated -- mesmerized -- by Iago, and I had to know what happened. I had to know why. Her supposition, her imagining of the world and circumstances that drove Iago to do what he did made sense to me, felt real to me, and still left me shocked and devastated. (In, of course, the best way, the way a really good book can do -- and make one feel grateful for the experience!)(less)
Okay, so, I admit it, when I saw the hero of this novel was Axel von Fersen, I immediately thought of so-dreamy-makes-lesbians-faint Jamie Dornan, who...moreOkay, so, I admit it, when I saw the hero of this novel was Axel von Fersen, I immediately thought of so-dreamy-makes-lesbians-faint Jamie Dornan, who portrayed von Fersen in the 2006 Marie Antoinette. Nummy. Needless to say, that mental image helped make this novel especially awesome. But even if your mental image of Swedish courtiers isn't shaped around twenty-something Irish actors, I still think you're really going to dig this book.
Told in parts by von Fersen himself -- by way of his memoir, discovered by his beloved sister Sophie -- and Sophie, filling in the blanks, the story starts with von Fersen's introduction to Marie Antoinette. Despite the title, however, this novel isn't the story of a love affair, but rather, a kind of fictional autobiography by a man whose most notable distinction is that he was, once, Marie Antoinette's lover.
The end of the 18th century was a tumultuous time, and von Fersen participated in some of the most momentous events. Fighting in the American Revolution with French troops, witnessing the French Revolution firsthand, and later, the sweeping political change in Sweden, I was captivated by his life. (I had no idea that pretty face had such an interesting back story!)
I'm struggle with how to describe the writing style, the feel of the narrative; this is a very biographical novel that reads, almost, like a piece of non-fiction. However, that worked for me: it was easy to imagine this is how von Fersen would compose his autobiography -- very precise, attempting some distance and not always succeeding. The chapters are titled with the 'author' -- either von Fersen or Sophie -- and Sophie's tone is admiring and warm. If this sounds like a disjointed way to tell a story, I promise it fits together better than I'm articulating.
Like any good historical, I was sad -- heartbroken -- to finish this book, as the novel ends with von Fersen's death. While the jacket blurb describes this novel as a 'fresh vision of the French Revolution and the French royal family', I would actually argue that this is a fictional biography about an eyewitness to 18th century revolution. The French Revolution is a major part of the story -- and certainly shapes von Fersen -- but this book is far more about loss, love, and the reality of lofty philosophical ideals.
I can't rave about this book enough; I was taken by surprise with how much I enjoyed it and von Fersen.
(Also, if you, like me, are unfamiliar with Francine du Plessix Gray, this Paris Reviewarticle and interview provides a great introduction to a fascinating woman!)(less)
A five book series about Guinevere (or Gwenhwyfar, as she's called in this book) is pretty ambitious but Pruitt's first book is promising. Covering a...more A five book series about Guinevere (or Gwenhwyfar, as she's called in this book) is pretty ambitious but Pruitt's first book is promising. Covering about fourteen years, the novel follows Gwenhwyfar when she's 8 through her early 20s. Pruitt's story is set very firmly in the 6th century world of Wales, and it's dirty and mucky and bloody. This isn't a clean, late medieval-ized version of the Arthurian myth, which I liked immensely. This book reminded me strongly of Marion Zimmer Bradley's The Mists of Avalon, another sprawling, epic re-imagining of the Arthur legend. It's a favorite of mine and so I was a bit apprehensive if I'd be sympathetic to Gwenhwyfar, and thankfully, Pruitt's Gwenhwyfar is miles away from Bradley's. (I suppose she's closer to the Guinevere from the 2004 King Arthur film.)
Mixing gritty history and magic, Pruitt's novel had the elements I love in historical fantasy: action and magic, mythological creatures, atmospheric location, huge personalities and big plot drama. I can't attest to the accuracy of her research or depiction of 6th-century life, but there's an epic Author's Note at the end detailing her research for those who care. I was a bit surprised about how often women were involved in violent conflict, but otherwise, I didn't feel as if Gwenhwyfar was exceptionally anachronistic in behavior or manner. Pruitt's description of place was particularly good, very evocative, and despite being unfamiliar with the era, I could easily imagine what life in that fortified castle was like.
My only complaint would be the pacing. Clocking in at about 300+ pages, I felt the story could have been a bit tighter -- there were times when I skimmed and I felt some section could have been trimmed -- but otherwise, I ripped through this story.
I'm excited for Pruitt's next book, eager to see what happens with Gwenhwyfar. While I'm a bit impatient with multivolume historicals, I do like the idea of having a ton of space to really dig in to the legend, and I'm very curious about how she takes on the well known and well loved characters from Arthurian myth.(less)
When this book ended, I contemplated flipping back to the start in order to begin again. I absolutely didn't want to leave the characters I had come t...moreWhen this book ended, I contemplated flipping back to the start in order to begin again. I absolutely didn't want to leave the characters I had come to like so much.
Set in early 20th century Norway, this novel drew me in immediately with the heartbreaking story and quiet, intense characters. Oleanna and her sister Elizabeth are left on their isolated farm in southern Norway after their brother emigrates to the U.S. Already too familiar with loss -- tragic deaths, ended engagements, the absence of their loved ones -- Oleanna and Elizabeth face their time on their farm with pragmatic determination and couched restlessness.
There's elegant restraint in how Rose articulates love and loss, passion and madness, the rhythm of farm life, the quietude of rural Norway. In this book, I saw shades of both Sigrid Undset and Willa Cather. Rose's story of a strong woman at an isolated Norwegian farm reminded me immediately of Undset's Kristin Lavransdatter while the novel's theme of emigration, place, and identity felt like a companion to Cather's O Pioneers!.
This is a historical novel for my wife, who believes life is hard and should be unvarnished. Rose doesn't employe melodrama or theatrics and yet this is a story of deep loss, sadness, and heartbreak, the kind that just digs and twists (I'm getting teary again recalling the few particularly sad scenes!).
I'm normally a bit hesitant about novels that feature the author's ancestors or family members -- I find that sometimes the author doesn't have enough distance to make the characters real -- flawed or otherwise. In this case, Rose's Oleanna and Elizabeth are vibrant and complicated -- I just adored them and their journey.
Even if you aren't typically a historical fiction fan, consider this novel -- it's a wonderful snapshot of a place and a time set in tradition but uprooted by enormous transition. A story of ordinary women, unique and astounding in their own way, that will charm and captivate. (less)
Margaret Fuller might be one of the most famous American women you've never heard of; I really learned of her when I read The Margaret-Ghost by Barba...more Margaret Fuller might be one of the most famous American women you've never heard of; I really learned of her when I read The Margaret-Ghost by Barbara Novak. Since then, I've been pretty hot for her, and so I was over-the-moon to learn about a new novel about her and her life.
April Bernard's novel didn't disappoint, and I don't think one needs to be familiar with Fuller to appreciate and enjoy this story. Set in 1850, the novel opens with Fuller's tragic death -- a shipwreck that claimed her as well as her husband and son -- and Henry David Thoreau combing the beach for their bodies and their effects. His younger sister, Anne, muses on Miss Fuller and her legacy, her thinking, her life. But a good portion of the novel is an unsent letter from Margaret Fuller to Sophia Hawthorne, Nathaniel Hawthorne's wife, and it shows us Fuller's real fears, passion, and blind admiration for those in her life.
In some ways, the novel is less about Fuller than about the people around her, the men and women she called friends and loved like family, and the uncomfortably cold way (to me) they dissected Fuller and her life. This is a novel about reputation, too -- at least, that's something I took away. As Melanie Benjamin's Alice I Have Been made so clear for me, Fuller has to be accountable to the ludicrous judgments of the men around her. Her wisdom is tied in to her 'purity', and her normal, reasonable, understandable choices become the fodder with which the people she idolizes disparage her.
That the author is also a poet is no surprise, as there's a really lovely sense of language here, neither heavy nor ethereal. I'm reminded of other poetic novelists, like Anne Carson, and master wordsmiths like Ellen Feldmen and A.S. Byatt.
That was the clear end, the major crashing chord, of the essay. Although Miss Fuller threw in a bad poem treacled with high sentiments to close, Anne held the phrase a complete life of its kind and knew she would not forget it.
The awkward, herky-jerky force of the essay, rather like an electric eel, twisting, brilliant, sparkling -- that, and the heat-lightening flashing and filling the window-panes -- kept her awake until dawn. (p58)
This is a smart, quiet novel that provoked righteous indignation in me -- and inspired me to look up Bernard's other works. Language lovers, feminists, historical fiction fans, and anyone who enjoys learning about long forgotten historical figures will enjoy this slim novel. (I reread it about a week after finishing -- I couldn't help myself!)(less)
Audra (Unabridged Chick)
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