I wish was a) brave enough to do a video review or b) lived near all of you so I could just gush in person about this book, which would be easier than...moreI wish was a) brave enough to do a video review or b) lived near all of you so I could just gush in person about this book, which would be easier than trying to write down with words how reading it made me feel. I loved this book -- it broke my heart about ten times -- and I found Lyon's writing style beautifully sharp, modern, slightly magical, a teeensy bit mysterious, and very, very human.
Set in 4th century BCE, the novel follows Pythias, beloved daughter of Aristotle. Brilliant, but not pretty, Pythias' life is unfair: doted on by her father, educated by him and once praised as having one of the most brilliant minds he's come across, but still a woman, and good only for keeping house. She must remain modest, chaste, veiled, silent.
When Alexander dies, Athens grows hostile to Macedonians, and Aristotle's family flees to a seaside town, heavily fortified by the army, where he has a family estate. After Aristotle's unexpected death, the impact of his passing is more than just an emotional loss. His mistress, the woman who raised and loved Pythias since she was four, is sent away, neither blood nor family nor a slave bequeathed to Pythias. When the family's stores raided, Pythias finds that the household slaves she loves do not feel the same way. Penniless and adrift, an unwanted woman among her father's acolytes, Pythias first fights to survive and then to find some measure of happiness.
Little is known about Pythias, so Lyon created a life for Pythias that is wild, complicated, incomplete (the story ends around, I think, Pythias' mid-twenties.) The strength of this story comes from Pythias, who is smart and striking, emotive and honest. Lyon's writing style is precise and sharp, yet heavy with inference and intimation. Pythias speaks in polite obfuscation at times -- ever the lady -- until her experiences shift her from someone reserved and polite to someone who owns her agency, decisions, voice. The plot follows this subtle transition; at some point the story drifts into the fantastical, but whether it is really magic or just hysteria (we learn earlier from Pythias' young friend about the wandering uterus), there's a disquieting sense that the concrete reality Pythias grew up with may not be the reality of the world she lives in.
Technically, this book might be a 'sequel' to Lyon's The Golden Mean, but I haven't read The Golden Mean and I don't think I missed anything. This takes place, I believe, some decades after the events in The Golden Mean and is a vibrant, beautiful novel about growing up in the shadow of someone brilliant, famous, and contradictory; coming-of-age in a brutal way; and the powerful agency claimed by this historically forgotten woman. (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)
It's no secret the Tudor era is not a favorite of mine but Nancy Bilyeau makes me sing a different tune: first, with her fabulous novel The Crown and...moreIt's no secret the Tudor era is not a favorite of mine but Nancy Bilyeau makes me sing a different tune: first, with her fabulous novel The Crown and again this year with the sequel, The Chalice.
Returning to the 16th century and her ex-nun Joanna Stafford, this novel delves more into Joanna's life and past as well as the drama Henry VIII's decisions were wrecking on the country. As with The Crown, Bilyeau opens her novel with another fantastic first sentence -- When preparing for martyrdom on the night of December 28, 1538, I did not think of those I love. -- and the story races from there.
Joanna struggles to make sense of her life and the rapid changes she's endured: once a dedicated nun, she's now living a secular life due only to a decree of the King and by no choice of her own. Raising her cousin's child -- a woman burned at the stake for treason -- Joanna hopes to make a living weaving tapestries when conspiracy and danger find her again. Brought to London with the promise she won't be forced to go to court, Joanna instead is embroiled in a plot to return England to the Catholic Church when she factors into three prophesies, including one by Elizabeth Barton, the Mad Maid of Kent. (Which, if there's going to be religious conspiracies, give me an oracle nun, and I'm in heaven.)
Although from a noble family, Joanna is hardly a typical courtier, which makes Bilyeau's novels such a refreshing entry in the Tudor genre. Bilyeau articulates what it might have been like for those who took religious vows, forced by edict to abandon their life and their beliefs. While the dissolution of those institutions might have ferreted out those who weren't truly religious, for those who were devoted -- like Joanna -- the world has upended. She still believes Henry VIII is divinely ordained, for example, and is rocked to the core when those around her suggest he isn't.
There are some hints of romance in this book, but there's a twist: Henry VIII banned former clergy, nuns, and monks from ever marrying. Still, Joanna feels some attraction to men now -- a monk she's known, a sheriff she just recently met -- and she has to navigate this new tension as well.
I'm not super familiar with this era, so I can't say how many liberties Bilyeau has taken (if any) but I loved the mix of historical and fiction. Joanna is able to move through two worlds -- court life and religious life -- comfortably, and as an educated woman, has a smart 'voice' through which to tell her story. (Although I will admit, she maddened me at times with her choices!)
For Tudor fans, I think this is a must (I've read a few reviews by folks who say this one can be read as a fine standalone, but I encourage you to start with The Crown), and for those tired of Tudor novels, but interested in meaty hist fic, pick up these two. Joanna Stafford might be one of my top ten favorite heroines and I'm dying for the third book.(less)
I feel kind of terrible writing this review because this book is awesome ... and not available in the U.S. (It is available in the UK.) As usual, with...moreI feel kind of terrible writing this review because this book is awesome ... and not available in the U.S. (It is available in the UK.) As usual, with a book I love this much, I'm having a hard time writing a coherent review. I really ought to just do a video review so I can wave my hands and make excited noises -- that'd probably convey more.
I'm a sucker for a fairy tale retold, especially when they're placed in a historical era, marrying 'real' with 'fantasy'. In this case, the fairy tale is Rapunzel, and the historical eras are 17th century France and 16th century Venice. Told in a story-within-a-story style, Forsyth manages to write a wonderfully solid historical novel with all the details I like -- customs, costumes, and characters -- as well as a fairy tale fantasy that resonates and delights. Shifting between three perspectives, this brick of a novel (about 500 pages) had me hanging on every word, literally, and I was lugging this thing with me everywhere and reading it with every free second.
Opening in late 17th century France, the novel focuses first on Charlotte-Rose de la Force, a witty noblewoman banished to a convent by the Sun King, Louis XIV. There, the woman once bedecked in jewels and luxurious fabrics finds herself stripped of her belongings (including her writing implements), head shorn, condemned to lowly tasks. When a nun takes Charlotte-Rose under her wing, she enchants the Frenchwoman with a tale from her own life, and the story shifts to Renaissance Venice. One of Titian's muses, Selena Leonelli, has taken to witchcraft to preserve her youth, and when a neighbor steals greens from her yard, the witch takes their Margherita for use in her own dark magic.
De La Force is the real life author of a Rapunzel variation, and Forsyth's novel guesses at how this Frenchwoman might have heard of the Venetian original. Using the Venetian motifs in her own version, Forsyth mixes magic and history, and comes up with a delicious and heartbreaking treat.
Forsyth's writing is evocative and pretty without feeling heavy or ornate; she conveys a sense of time and place without the dreaded infodump. What I appreciated, She also doesn't mince words about the way women were treated in these eras -- she creates strong heroines who are quite real but don't reek of anachronism.
Like others on this tour, I'm totally unwilling to part with my copy of this book. I had hoped to offer a giveaway but Book Depository doesn't have this one available yet. Keep your eye out -- if you like fairy tales, French history, and escapist historical fiction, you'll want this novel.(less)
I'm not a Napoleon fangirl but I love novels set during his time. I cut my teeth on Georgette Heyer and the Georgian-era is still a favorite. And whil...moreI'm not a Napoleon fangirl but I love novels set during his time. I cut my teeth on Georgette Heyer and the Georgian-era is still a favorite. And while I like books set during wartime, I'm not really drawn to the combat narrative -- I like stories about those at home -- but recently, I've found that novels set squarely in the battlefield have been engaging and this book is no exception.
Opening in 1814, Mace drops us in the middle of a violent skirmish in Toulouse, France, in which famed British military hero, the Duke of Wellington, is driving back Napoleon's armies. Alternating between French and British viewpoints, Mace sets up a rather complicated back story fairly easily, contexting the conflict that just happened and establishing what's to come. It took me about two chapters to get totally up to speed, I admit, but by the third chapter, I was hooked. As the European powers wage peace, Napoleon frets in exile, and it is only a matter of time before he returns to Europe to take back France, an invasion that culminates in the Battle of Waterloo.
Mace weaves these bursts of conflict in with a few character-driven threads (or perhaps the other way around) and as a result, I was caught up in the drama of both 'what will Napoleon do next??' and 'I hope that sweet British widower will remarry that nice Englishwoman!'. Reminiscent of Heyer, Mace's novel touches upon the rigid class stratification in the British Army, the societal changes happening in the world around them, and the shocking reality of life for a 19th century soldier. Being the opposite of a war buff, I wouldn't know my bayonet from my ... some other 'b' term, but Mace peppers the narrative with tidbits and hints to help the reader envision the scene and understand what is going on.
What really impressed me -- because I love it when done well -- is that Mace balances a light touch (hints of a courtship between two characters) with a darker one (the behavior of the 'good guys' during a particularly hellish combat moment). In his 'Final Thoughts' (more on that later), he reveals he strove to create some ambiguity about who were the 'good guys' and 'bad guys', and he nailed it: I was for the British and French constantly.
This particular edition was a treat to read, an enhanced e-book loaded with extras. The novel clocks in at about 480 pages with a rich collection of appendices to answer any armchair historian's questions, from a detailed list of military ranks with explanation, a historical afterward that shares the fate of the major historical players, and perhaps my favorite section, an annotated list of what historical regiments from this novel still exist and in what form. The book is peppered with illustrations -- either historical or contemporary renditions of the events at the time -- which I loved and appreciated.
Mace's 'Final Thoughts', in which he shares his thoughts on writing this novel, was a pleasure to read. I love reading about the craft of writing as much as the actual product and Mace echoes that refrain I've heard from other historical novelists, a desire to balance accuracy with entertainment.
You can read a preview chapter at the publisher website to get a sense of Mace's style but I will again mention it took me two chapters -- and was worth it. A wonderfully rich and detailed chunkster for those who like Georgian-era historical fiction, war stories, or the Franco/Anglo divide.(less)
This 100 page novella is a horrifying snapshot of a suicidal mission. Technically a prequel to I Stood With Wellington (which I loved), this can be re...moreThis 100 page novella is a horrifying snapshot of a suicidal mission. Technically a prequel to I Stood With Wellington (which I loved), this can be read alone. (As can I Stood With Wellington.)
Set in 1812, Mace takes the reader into the siege of a Spanish fortress, focusing on the group of soldiers known as the 'Forlorn Hope' -- the first wave of attackers expected to die, meant only to pave the way for further assault. Mixing gritty details and cinematic elements in his combat scenes with a focus on a few individuals -- both French and British -- Mace hooked me on this story.
I'm not typically a reader of combat/military fiction, but this is a story of soldiers -- good, bad and everything in between -- and the military culture of 19th century armies. From the 'ranks' to the officers, we're given glimpses of the snobbery, prejudices, and camaraderie common in the time.
Mace builds tension methodically, ticking away the hours to the siege, introducing us to some of the men participating. A young officer volunteers impetuously, aching at the sudden death of his wife. When the breach is delayed, he finds himself less certain about his decision but is committed nonetheless. A young raconteur fears he'll die without knowing love; a terminally ill man chooses this death over a more protracted one.
Even though I technically 'knew' what happened at Badajoz from characters referencing it in I Stood With Wellington, I was still glued to this book. It was quite a nail-biter, shockingly gory at moments (but not gratuitously), and thankfully ended beyond the last moments of Badajoz.
As with I Stood With Wellington, Mace's Notes are fascinating to read. Again sharing his goals and desires in writing this novella, he also reflects on his sources and the historical and fictional characters featured.
At about 100 pages, this was a zippy read, a wonderful introduction to Mace's writing style and a good dip into a historical novel that mixes well military and combat narrative with character-driven plot.(less)
Halfway through this book, I found myself describing it to my wife as 'fine' -- a passable fantasy-ish novel, a decent debut -- but upon finishing, I...moreHalfway through this book, I found myself describing it to my wife as 'fine' -- a passable fantasy-ish novel, a decent debut -- but upon finishing, I had to revise my opinion. While this isn't an earth-shattering entry in the genre, it is fun and has some intriguing world building.
When done, I jotted down some fairly critical notes, but a week or so later, I'm looking back at this book a bit more fondly. My dislike of our heroine faded -- or maybe I've forgotten how bland I found her -- and I'm really really eager for the next book. Impatient, actually.
It took me some time to get into the story; Newman plunges us right into her world and it takes a few chapters to work out what the rules are. In short, there are three realms: Mundanus, where the humans live and cities like Bath exist; Nether, then the mirror wold stuck in the Regency and Georgian era, where humans age slowly and live for beauty, pleasure, and their fairy patrons, where Bath exists as Aquae Sulis; and Exilium, the realm of the fey, where humans are enslaved for eternity.
Catherine Rhoeas-Papaver, from a powerful Nether family, has neither beauty nor grace, but a prodigious desire for knowledge. She hides out in Mundanus to learn but her Fairy Patron finds her and orders her back to Nether, where among the usual social machinations and dramas, a bigger scandal is brewing. Back in Mundanus, Max, an Arbiter of the Split Worlds Treaty, stumbles across crimes that indicate fairy involvement, and worse, his emotions have settled in a stone gargoyle who becomes an unlikely sidekick. Humans are kidnapped, social reputations are made and shredded, and Cathy fights to be happy and Max fights to stay alive.
Max might be my favorite character -- he has the delicious grouchiness of a classic private eye -- and Cathy my least favorite. But their world, and the book's drama, hooked me.
There is quite a cliffhanger at the end -- two major plot threads left out in the cold -- so don't pick this up if you're impatient. However, the author has a lovely site where you can sign up for short stories from the Split World universe, which I am all over. The second book comes out in July, and I plan to be all over it. (less)
This fun historical novel has the wild plot of a Sidney Sheldon with the kind of dramatic machinations of The Count of Monte Cristo (both very good th...moreThis fun historical novel has the wild plot of a Sidney Sheldon with the kind of dramatic machinations of The Count of Monte Cristo (both very good things).
Set between 1768 and 1794, the novel follows Victoire Charpentier, a sweet girl from a rural French village. Her seemingly enchanted life -- loving parents, adored family, a childhood love -- is shattered when her beloved herbalist mother is drowned as a witch.
Sent to Paris as a maid for a noble family, she learns first hand the violent cruelties the wealthy heap upon those less fortunate, and she finds herself pregnant. After giving up her baby, Victoire returns to her home and finds herself married -- not to her childhood love, but to the father of her crush. To her surprise, it proves to be a satisfying relationship, and she and her older husband open a successful inn.
Happiness, however, isn't prone to lingering around Victoire, and tragedy strikes once more with devastating effect. There's prison, a notorious noblewoman, some shocking episodes, wild vengeance, mistaken identities, and a bittersweet ending. (I'm doing broad strokes here to save some surprises!)
With such an extravagant plot, there's potential for a book like this to just turn into a plot heavy 'and then she' style novel, but happily, Perrat balances the action with solid narrative, a nearly too-sweet-to-be-believed heroine, and lavish historical detail that made me think, now and then, I was in revolutionary Paris. (The sensory details of what a Paris street was like made my skin crawl!)
While our heroine Victoire was lovely, I must admit that my heart went to Jeanne de Valois, most infamous for her real life role in the 'affair of the diamond necklace'. It's obvious Perrat feels some warmth for the notorious figure, and her Jeanne is dangerous, amusing, shocking, and sexy. I could go for a whole novel about her! (According to Perrat's website, this is the first in a historical series, so color me excited!)
A delightful debut, this novel was escapist fun -- Francophiles will want this one and those who enjoy historical fiction that doesn't focus on royals will also rejoice. (If you're curious, you can read an excerpt here.) Great fun for the summer -- and I can't wait to see what Perrat does next.(less)
This first novel is a promising start to a nautical-based series set in the tumultuous late 18th century.
While the opening chapter offers a rather cl...moreThis first novel is a promising start to a nautical-based series set in the tumultuous late 18th century.
While the opening chapter offers a rather clunky introduction of our three leads (to us and each other), Peacock's story smooths out and things feel less contrived and awkward. Noble born Edward Deveare runs off to sea to avoid being shipped off to sea by his hostile and greedy paternal grandfather. Country carpenter Jemmy Sweetman runs off to sea because he hates his gin-drunk father. Wealthy French radical Louis Saulnier ends up at sea after his radical views get him in trouble at home.
Once at sea, all three young men grow up fast, and inevitably, their separate stories eventually connect -- but not after some serious agony and pain. The secondary cast of this book is large, but all rather intriguing, from Edward's dramatic mother to Louis' lace maker mistress to the cruel captain drives Jemmy to desert. I rather wished some of the secondary characters got more time in the book -- but then again I'm always partial to the stories of women.
The best parts of the book are when Peacock paints life at sea. Her descriptions are wonderfully vivid and often shocking, from the pungent scent of life below deck to the horrifying cruelties of Naval discipline and punishment. I often found myself pausing to chew over a scene that was visceral or gave me a historical 'oh, fascinating!' moment. (This whole book made me randomly curious about the development of the modern navy as I was horrified at how the British Navy worked in the 18th century. Paying for meals on a ship?! One's own uniforms?! Laundry?! Everyone drunk?!)
My edition came with a two-page supplement offering family trees of the three main leads as well as a crew list for the ships featured in the story. It was nice to have, although I will say, I had Wiki open so I could ascertain where on the ship people were -- that was more baffling to me than anything else!
My interest in nautical fiction comes from liking Master and Commander (the movie) and having a hot crush on Austen's Captain Wentworth. So needless to say, my knowledge of this genre is thin. I can't say whether the ship-speak and boat bits were accurate or not. As when I read super science-y scifi, I glossed over the super technical bits, but I still enjoyed the ambiance Peacock created and it satisfied my snapping-sails-blue-ocean-wool-uniforms-gritty-realism craving. For those who want hist fic that isn't heavy on romance, this is one for you.
From the end of the story, I'd guess this is the first in a series, and I'm curious to see where our boys end up. This is my second Fireship Press book and I'm impressed with their offerings. If you like nautical fic, take a look at this and their other offerings!(less)
I loved everything about this book. The plot, the places, the people (oh, the people!), the mood, the drama -- everything. I'm not even sure where to...moreI loved everything about this book. The plot, the places, the people (oh, the people!), the mood, the drama -- everything. I'm not even sure where to start with this gush-fest!
Blackadder's novel grew out of her research into her surname, and while normally family-inspired novels give me the gibblies, in this case, we all win. The historical Blackadders have a story straight out of an opera or Gothic tale: widow violently married off to a vicious noble, evil stepfather marries her daughters to his brothers, and subsequent Blackadders are all murdered before they can foment rebellion against him. In this climate, surviving Blackadder William is re-invented as a merchant sea captain and his daughter Alison -- the Blackadder heir -- is transformed into his nephew, Robert Blackadder.
The novel opens in 1561, with Alison-as-Robert on the ship that is bringing Mary Stuart aka Mary, Queen of Scots, to Scotland. Although Alison has grown used to living life as a boy, her father believes they can better push their cause if Alison becomes one of Mary's ladies-in-waiting, and Alison finds herself away from the comfortable identity (and clothes) she's familiar with and struggling to embody a sophisticated lady at court.
What could be a simple story of a girl-who-dresses-like-a-boy shenanigans -- a little sapphic longing, lots of court drama -- is actually a rather meaty, dense, and evocative historical novel of Mary Stuart's court and a woman's confusing place in it. When Alison's skill at passing for a boy is discovered, it becomes her greatest asset and one that grants her unusual access and power -- and of course, increased danger. While Alison's father is driven to reclaim Blackadder Castle, Alison finds herself more drawn to her Robert persona and all it entails -- right down to romance with women.
Blackadder (the author) created a fantastic main character in Alison/Robert -- I was there, from the first page to the last -- and I fell in love with the world she evoked. Royal court hist fic is not a favorite of mine, but through Alison/Robert, the reader sees a more robust view of 16th century Scotland -- the court and the life of the non-nobles. Being unfamiliar with this era, I can't say how accurate the events are represented, but in terms of pacing, narrative arc, and character development, I was immersed. I didn't want this book to end.(less)
Interestingly enough, I think this book is a kind of supernatural sequel (or perhaps, an alternative-universe re-imagining) to the author's previous n...moreInterestingly enough, I think this book is a kind of supernatural sequel (or perhaps, an alternative-universe re-imagining) to the author's previous novel, Rosedale in Love -- Raphael's take on Wharton's The House of Mirth, from the viewpoint of Simon Rosedale, Jewish financier and suitor to the haughty Lily Bart.
I don't think one needs to be familiar with either Rosedale in Love or The House of Mirth to enjoy this novella; the story here is really about a Gilded Age widower's descent into depravity, first through sex and then through blood lust. In a brief 75ish pages, Raphael hints at a fascinating vampire mythology -- Jewish vampires have powers that other vampires don't -- and creates a kind of anti-hero who feels unappealing and likable in equal part. Not much happens in this novella, other than Rosedale's turning, but Raphael sets up an interesting supernatural universe, and it seems he has two more novellas in the works. (This makes me happy.)
The style of the story is very florid, like a pot boiler, Sheridan Le Fanu, or The Monk, and while at times it verged almost on purple, overall, I liked the ornate prose. (My vocab certainly expanded!) Raphael deals with sex more than his early 20th century counterparts and while he doesn't explicitly describe it, it's not obfuscated, so the squeamish might want to pass. I enjoyed the tawdry.
If you like supernatural, or historical supernatural, this is a great easy piece to snack on, especially during the hectic holiday season. Disappear and enjoy a little debauchery!(less)
Set in a small town in the Chechan Republic, the novel takes place over five days, shifting from 'present' -- 2004 -- back to 1994. (The time jumps are beautiful noted at the start of each chapter with this timeline, the year in question bolded.)
The five days in question, the frame of the book, refer to the time spent at a nearly abandoned hospital by Akhmed, an incompetent village doctor, and Havaa, the 8-year old daughter of his neighbor, orphaned after Federal police seized her father and burned her house. Desperate to save her, Akhmed drags her to the city hospital (at one point in the book, he realizes it is the first life he's saved as a doctor).
There they meet Sonja and her crazy nurse. Sonja, paralysed with guilt and fear over her sister Natasha, missing again after being a victim of sex trafficking, works automaton-like numbness at the hospital, amputating limbs with quick practice and dealing with gangsters to resupply the hospital.
Every night, Akhmed returns home to care for his invalid wife, living in fear of his neighbor Ramzan, who is a snitch for the police (Ramzan is the reason Havaa and her father were turned in to the police) while nurturing a friendship with Khassan, Ramzan's historian father who has taken to ignoring his son as punishment for his betrayals.
Chechnya, a region in Russia perhaps only vaguely familiar to Americans in the last decade, is now increasingly familiar due to the Boston Marathon bombings. I will admit to some -- I don't know how to describe it -- some shaky unease reading about Chechan landmines and amputations when I've been reading about bombs and amputations here.
Marra's writing is gorgeous, not quite poetry, not simple statement, and as a result, whatever he articulates, be it a broken heart or severed limb, reads achingly real. (Which isn't to say it's all lofty philosophy: there are some literally stomach-turning, had-to-put-the-book-down-and-walk-away graphic or grotesque moments, like the aforementioned amputation scene.) That said, I couldn't stop reading -- or wanting to read -- this book, and Marra's inclusion of such violence emphasizes the unstable destruction of the area, the unceasing horror these characters live with.
Much like the old medical text that inspired the title, the characters are all points on a constellation, connected and separate. I finished this book unwilling to start another, still working at the story in my mind.(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.
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 was delighted by this book from the first page. Written vaguely in the style of a Greek play -- or, a choral novel, as Williams explains in his Auth...moreI was delighted by this book from the first page. Written vaguely in the style of a Greek play -- or, a choral novel, as Williams explains in his Author's Note -- there are narrative 'episodes' and various commentaries, ranging from the Muses to the homeless itinerants.
Set in Louisville, Kentucky, the story follows a handful of players -- Stephen Thorne, once-disgraced high school teacher who now runs regional theater; his band of scrappy teen thespians, some of whom might just be literally divine; his student fling, now a grown woman and a mother -- as they attempt to stage Euripides' Bacchae. The production has attracted immortal interest, and the gods gather in Louisville, nudging and pushing everyone along. Like a production on opening night, the story hurtles toward the end -- but whether the end is a success or disaster remains to be seen. Reading, I wasn't sure if this would be a Greek tragedy or comedy, and I held my breath, hopeful.
I was rather taken with the characters, which surprised me -- given the sort of stylized way the story is written, I expected some distance, but Williams creates real warmth in his players, back stories that resonated and moved me, and he evokes a Louisville that is urban, grimy, gritty, and mesmerizing.
Williams' writing style is just wonderful, a word-lovers delight. (I shared a teaser yesterday.) Languorous, lyrical, lilting, lovely -- very nearly the kind of thing to read aloud, just to try on words new and exotic. Yet, despite the poetic style, the book doesn't feel contrived or overly designed: it still reads like a novel, still has dramatic tension and great characters, and the unusual frame just heightens the anticipation and the awareness of supernatural elements. A kind of magical realism for those who like their magic darker and seedier.(less)
This was a fascinating, unexpected memoir. From the subtitle -- A Healer's Journey From Surgeon to Shaman -- I anticipated a kind of anthropological...moreThis was a fascinating, unexpected memoir. From the subtitle -- A Healer's Journey From Surgeon to Shaman -- I anticipated a kind of anthropological study of Haitian spirituality including Voodoo, and Dr. Jean-Murat's decision to embrace her family's faith practices. This memoir has all that, and more: it is a look at a woman and a country in turmoil and transition.
Born in Haiti in the 1950s, Jean-Murat lived through some of her country's most violent times: the dictator "Papa Doc" Duvalier, followed by his son "Baby Doc". Jean-Murat's family was divided between the educated elite of Haiti -- her father's side of the family -- and the practitioners of the then-illegal Voodoo tradition -- her mother's side of the family. Growing up, Jean-Murat was embarrassed by her maternal relatives, as much as she loved them, and she gave up numerous opportunities out of fear of having to reveal her Voodoo connections. However, repeated experiences with Voodoo ceremonies resonated with her and always called to her, and as she trained to be a doctor, she found herself turning more and more to her family's faith to help her in her work and personal life.
In her Foreword, Jena-Murat makes it clear that Voodoo is not some kind of black magic, and her book explains the rituals, beliefs, and spiritual grounding of the Voodoo tradition in Haiti. (In 2003, Voodoo was recognized as an official religion in Haiti, and her family's Voodoo temple became a national heritage site.) I so enjoyed this glimpse into a faith tradition that I know little about, and I loved reading Jean-Murat's journey to incorporate her faith into her medical practice (especially as her spiritual beliefs don't limit a woman's reproductive choices!).
At about 345ish pages, Jean-Murat covers a great deal skillfully, and while at times I thought the narrative could have used a leeeetle tightening, I was always engrossed and interested in what she had to say. Her writing is straight-forward and clear, a mix of her own emotional introspection and constructed dialogue that made the book read quickly. It's obvious Jean-Murat loves Haiti and her family, and she invites the reader to find love in this place and her people as well -- as maddening as her family may be at times! -- and I enjoyed this look at a world unfamiliar to me.
Jean-Murat's medical focus -- and vocation -- is healing those who've experienced sexual assault, and a great deal of this book discusses openly that trauma. Those who are easily triggered should be warned, but as with everything in her story, Jean-Murat handles those moments carefully and honestly. It was painful to read, but I appreciated their inclusion, and her honest discussion of this epidemic.
My only wish was for a glossary, as Jean-Murat peppers her narrative with Haitian Kreyòl phrases; while she defined them at the time, I often forgot later what they meant and had to guess from context. Otherwise, I have no gripes: this was an engrossing and fascinating read, an armchair escape and a spiritual education.(less)
Like Stephen King, my experience with Kingsolver has been one hit with many DNF'd misses. This book might break that streak, however. It reminded me o...moreLike Stephen King, my experience with Kingsolver has been one hit with many DNF'd misses. This book might break that streak, however. It reminded me of what I so enjoyed in The Poisonwood Bible: a sharp look at family, loyalty and betrayal, a nebulous swirl of science and magic. The vibe of this felt like Ann Patchett's State of Wonder with Sena Jeter Naslund's Adam and Eve and a bit of Lauren Groffs The Monsters of Templeton -- all books with really lovely language, maddening and fascinating plots, heroines that kind of annoyed me, and realities that touched lightly on the fantastical.
Dellrobia Turnbow, redheaded, size zero (and dinky tiny as we're constantly told), is 27, the mother of two children, married to a cowed mama's boy nicknamed Cub, living in rural Tennessee. The novel opens with Dellrobia on her way to meet a much younger man for a fling at a small hunting shack out on her husband's family's property. Vain, she takes off without her glasses and stumbles upon a staggering sight: the entire mountaintop coated in what seems to be living fire. It turns out to be about 15 million monarch butterflies, driven out of their usual migratory pattern due to ecological changes.
Dellrobia's discovery of them is seen by her husband -- unaware of her earlier trek up the mountain-- as a kind of religious vision while her in-laws see it as a money making venture (or obstacle to their making money). For Dellrobia, it is a visceral sign of all that is wrong with her and her life. She's confused, electrified, inspired, and devastated by the arrival of the butterflies, but what comes with them helps her eventually make sense of who she wants to be.
This book preoccupied me: when not reading, I chewed over Dellrobia and her life, dying of curiosity, needing to know what happened next. When reading, I was mostly caught up in the story, although Dellrobia occasionally felt too self-conscious about her poverty and lack of education. The themes of conservation, education, and religion also felt a bit heavy-handed at times but I appreciate Kingsolver's interest in taking them on in her fiction.
The writing, of course, was wonderful. Kingsolver can turn a phrase like nobody's business, the kind of sentences that make me giddy at being able to read. Like, Dellarobia had managed to corral her fleecy hair into two wild blond poofs, with a center part so crooked it could get you a DUI... My copy is full of underlined sentences, like a textbook.
I think Kingsolver fans will like this (maybe even love it) and those new to her will get a treat -- although I'd still advise folks to start with The Poisonwood Bible, many other folks are saying this is her best. (less)
I picked up this volume of poetry one night after work, intending to just thumb through the offerings and see what the vibe was like; and then it was...moreI picked up this volume of poetry one night after work, intending to just thumb through the offerings and see what the vibe was like; and then it was bedtime, and I had devoured the entire volume.
Suffering through this everlasting respiratory and sinus infection, I haven't been feeling the most clear-headed and focused. Sometimes, I admit, poetry can feel a bit obscure for my tastes -- I worry I'm 'missing' something -- but what I love about poetry is the snapshot of sensory detail, magic, and emotion that comes through with a finely crafted poem.
On her website, Kennedy describes this volume as "a blend of dark, light, spiritual and a hint of madness," and that's precisely what she offers. Kennedy's volume had the kind of dreamy language and moody, almost fairy tale-like elements that I'm drawn to -- without being unmoored by wild fantasy. Touching upon the experiences of childhood, first love, favorite holidays and books, the inspiration from a historic landscape, and the stressors of every day life, Kennedy's poems are brief breaths of experiences familiar and alien.
The lies I told my Mother
Last Tuesday whilst rummaging I found a box of lies I told my Mother, one lost summer Bright and golden August sunshine spilled across the wooden floorboards.
White wild flowers sprung up between the cracks. The smell of orange juice was almost tangible.
The lies laid before me, scattered like stars small and innocent, childlike. The shame that lay beside them had engulfed and consumed.
I heard my Mother's voice whisper,
'Leave that which scars the spirit to fade beneath the dust'
While I enjoyed all the poems, there were some standouts, like 'Orlando', which was inspired by Woolf's novel and the film; 'Yorvik', about the area of northern England once controlled by Danish Vikings; and 'The Crows', which felt like the opening of a deliciously creepy movie I really want to see. (It didn't hurt that it ended with the phrase my wife and I have on our wedding rings, 'Vous et nul autre'.)
Since my initial inhalation of this volume, I've gone back to it twice, trying the poems on a little more slowly, and they stand up to rereading and mulling and chewing and reading-aloud-to-my-wife-while-she-brushes-her-teeth well. They're grounded enough that I feel like I 'get' them, but with enough imaginative twists of language that I can invent my own deeper meanings.
For those curious, and willing to post a review somewhere, Kennedy will send readers a PDF of this volume. You can contact her through her website. (less)
That this novel had its start as a screenplay was something I felt aware of throughout my whole reading, but it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Set in...moreThat this novel had its start as a screenplay was something I felt aware of throughout my whole reading, but it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Set in the 1940s, the story is both an adventure novel and a kind of parable of a nation with dramatic landscapes, big emotions, and iconic characters.
Judith Roth, a mathematician and researcher, is smuggled out of Germany and into Israel in hopes she can finish her father's research on a new engine or turbine that will impact oil production. The Nazis, British, and Americans are all eager for Judith's research and assistance as well, but Judith is scarred -- physically and emotionally -- from her time in the camps, and she finds life on a kibbutz to be satisfying and interesting in its own way. She doesn't find pastoral peace, however: her new home is situated on a dangerous border, on the eve of British withdrawal from Israel, and she's captivated and confused by Aaron Stein, the aggressive and good-looking leader of the kibbutz's security team and a member of the unofficial Israeli army. British forces are withdrawing from Israel soon, and the Israelis are preparing themselves for the inevitable conflict to come from their neighbors. The story is fraught with tension, waiting, wondering -- not just for the country but for Judith herself.
This isn't a particularly nuanced novel when it comes to Israel and Palestine so if you've got strong opinions one way or the other, you won't be swayed. As a snapshot of an era and an attitude (1940s, British, pro-Israel), this novel satisfies, however, and I found it intriguing in that way. Durrell's writing is lovely -- not the lyrical loveliness I adored from his Alexandria Quartet -- but pretty at moments, sharply funny at others.
The first chapter -- presumably the film's opening -- has a kind of tragicomic mood to it. The ship's captain discovers among his illicit cargo people, crated up in hay. Two have survived; two have died. He and his second-in-command have a sad but funny back-and-forth about how to dispose of the bodies -- they want to offer some kind of religious burial but neither know what to do. Without extra tarpaulin they're forced to use country flags, and issue small hopes that God will know his people, even if wrapped in a Brazilian flag.
The characters also had a cinematic casting feel: Judith's love interest, Aaron, has the strapping, white-teethed masculinity of a '60s film star (I kept seeing Charlton Heston and Richard Burton in my mind's eye) while Judith's mentor/mother figure, Pete (Miss Peterson) was wiry and tough, a bit like Katherine Hepburn. The British officer Lawton (who was a kind of Captain Renault to alpha male Aaron), had this humorous buddy flick banter thing going on with his younger officer, Carstairs. As with much of the novel, Durrell mixes humor with dark honesty about the situation in Israel, like this scene, in which Lawton and Carstairs realize they're going to have to inspect a kibbutz suspected of harboring illegal immigrants:
"It may interest you to know, Sir, that when I joined the army to fight Hitler, I felt sure that I'd be loved and wanted by the Jews forever after. All this has been a horrible shock to my nervous system."
"Oh, shut up," said Lawton furiously, and his junior subsided into chastened silence, and contented himself by slowly selecting another sweet from the apparently endless supply in his pocket. (p121)
The novel's mood remains mixed with the kind of pithy, dark humor and cinematic drama; it reads quickly and relatively uncomplicated. The characters are fairly vibrantly identified although felt a bit thin -- I never really felt like I got to know Judith or Aaron -- and the inevitable romance didn't resonate either (but honestly, it reminded me of a '60s Bond flick, in which a man can give a woman a look and inevitably, sexing must happen. So not bad, just not realistic.)
There's a long introduction by Richard Pine (the founder of the Durrell School of Corfu) which includes a pretty serious historical summary of events around the setting of the novel as well as the writing of it (and the differences between the film and the book). I'm no expert on this era of history, and Pine's intro was both helpful and at times, overwhelming. (At a certain point, I quit reading it, read the novel, then returned to it and found it more helpful.)
I think Durrell fans will enjoy this newly 'discovered' novel; those who are new to him might find a new author to adore. As with Open Roads' other e-books, this one was wonderfully formatted for easy reading (although the very first sentence of the introduction had a weird spacing issue in mine). This edition includes a glossary of terms and an illustrated biography of Durrell's life which was a fun treat.(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.
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.
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)
You know how when you meet someone, and you immediately decide they're a total snob and you hate their guts, and then you spend more time with them an...moreYou know how when you meet someone, and you immediately decide they're a total snob and you hate their guts, and then you spend more time with them and you realize you were totally wrong and this person is actually wildly cool, and now you've got to backpedal to all your friends about how that person is actually not as awful as you originally said...? Well, that's exactly my experience with this book.
On Friday I blogged about how I was kind of on the fence about this book because there's adultery and a lesbian who falls for a married man, and I definitely had my eyeballs rolling as I opened the first page. Ooops.
I loved this collection. (Not in theory, either, but for real.)
Every story was like, I don't know, something delectable and redolent. Be it a piece of chocolate or a slice of cake or a gorgeous aria -- Levy's writing sucked me in from the first line and I wanted to savor her stories, linger with them.
The characters felt real, immediately, their emotional state familiar and resonant, and their challenges and conflicts achingly, uncomfortably articulated. In the much feared 'Theory of Dramatic Action', with the lesbian and married man, I found a character I could relate to and understand, and a poignant situation that made me tear up a little. The volume's opening story, 'The Best Way Not to Freeze', about a woman's first real love, was so good I read it twice, then read it to my wife, then to a friend. After that, when I started reading 'The Three Christs of Moose Lake, Minnesota' to my wife, she just took the volume from my hands to inhale on her own. (I raced through this book in one night, then reread almost all the stories over the following two days.)
I have to stop saying I dislike short fiction because clearly, I do like it. These snapshots of relationships, of people, of emotional landscapes are as satisfying as a chunky novel. Maybe more so -- they're like the first bite of a fabulous meal. You want the taste to linger, but it disappears. The next story, the next bite, is just as intriguing. The only perk is, after glutting myself on Levy's book, I still wanted more. (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)
Life in the historical western US evokes complicated feelings in me. I like it for sentimental reasons from playing Oregon Trail in elementary school,...moreLife in the historical western US evokes complicated feelings in me. I like it for sentimental reasons from playing Oregon Trail in elementary school, and for some time, my family was stationed out in South Dakota and Utah, where we immersed ourselves in prairie stories. (The landscapes out west are amazing. The wind really could make a person mad. I don't miss living out there but I would love to visit again.) But there's a dark current of domination in narratives about life out west -- dominating nature, dominating people -- even when the characters aren't lawmen and outlaws, or Forty-niners and Native Americans.
In this beautiful, quiet, grim, graceful first novel, set in the early 1900s, we see that domination play out in the orchardist's pruning and grafting of his trees; in the capturing and taming of wild horses by the wranglers; in the savage battle to survive life as a woman.
The orchardist of the title is Talmadge. He lives alone on his massive spread of land -- neat rows of apple and apricot trees, plus a wild expanse of forest he preserves because he can -- in the house his mother built when he was a child. He's solitary, but lives with ghosts: his sister Elsbeth, who disappeared one day when he was a young man, the legacy of his isolation-seeking mother. His guests are few, itinerant horse wranglers including his mute friend Clee, and the town's herbalist and midwife, a composed older woman named Caroline Middey (who remains that, Caroline Middey, throughout the whole book). He visits town weekly to sell his fruit and get his supplies.
His world is changed by the arrival of two wild, barefooted, dirty, pregnant teenagers, Della and Jane. Within days of spotting them skulking around his property, Talmadge sees a notice offering a reward for their return. Chilled by the cash reward offered, Talmadge treks to the Oklahoma mining camp where the girls are 'from', wanting to see why they might have fled. My guess aligned pretty much with what Talmadge found, and he returns to his orchard resolute, however unconscious, to care for the girls and their coming infants.
The story doesn't stop there; in fact, all that is the start, the foundation, of the taut, gripping, heartbreaking, exultant story of survival, family, vengeance, and acceptance.
Coplin's writing style reinforces the hushed feel; I held my breath while reading both out of anticipation and a desire to keep from being too loud lest the characters noticed me. There's dialogue but Coplin writes without quotations, which for me perpetuated the quiet. The novel is broken up into sections, and those sections marked not by chapters, but by pauses and breaks, noted only with a small, lovely graphic flourish. Again, there's hush, and restraint, and quiet; passage of time.
However, this isn't a slow novel, despite the restraint that vibrates from the pages; that domination I mentioned earlier also radiates out, as well as rocketing action, enormous emotions kept tight and close. I felt wildly jumpy while reading, bucking against that restraint Coplin evokes.
I'm horrified to admit I hated Della and Jane for their slovenly disinterest and calculated coldness. Victims of violence, degradation, and ignorance, Talmadge was able to see past their wild savagery and animal instincts and recognize the human in them. His patience and concern for them seemed boundless, which made me aware of my own impatience toward them. In fact, Talmadge's careful care of them echoes his nurturing of his trees: splintering the injured, grafting to make stronger, keeping an eye on the elements to ensure disease and the weather don't rot the entire orchard.
Another wildly unique historical novel, Coplin's book has a literary feel, reminiscent of the strong-and-silent genre of historical Westerns, and shares the grim reality of parts of the US that harken to the 1800s rather than the 1900s. Coplin is an author to watch. (less)
Set in the 1660s, the story follows Ella and Sadie Appleby, girls from rural England who flee to London after a tragedy with Ella's employer, and ther...moreSet in the 1660s, the story follows Ella and Sadie Appleby, girls from rural England who flee to London after a tragedy with Ella's employer, and there they find themselves struggling to survive. Restoration London for these two is dark, dank, dirty, and exhausting, and Swift's writing made the grime, fog, and muck all too real. (I wanted to shower every time I put the book down!)
Ella -- beautiful and bold -- gets a job as a sales girl at an unusual ladies boutique called The Gilded Lily. Sadie, marked with a noticeable birthmark on her face, remains cloistered in their rented room as relatives of Ella's dead employer search London for them. Ella becomes enamored of her new employer and her increasing status as a London icon, while Sadie bristles at being trapped -- literally, as Ella locks her away to keep her sister from being tempted out into public, risking capture.
I was immediately grabbed by this book -- the novel opens with a bang -- and Ella and Sadie are fascinating characters. Swift shows their complicated relationship -- selfish Ella, shy Sadie -- and I liked both of them a good deal (even Ella, who did some rather despicable things!). There's intrigue and scandal -- this is Restoration England -- but instead of royal mistresses, The Gilded Lily features common women scrabbling for fame and fortune, safety, some measure of comfort.
One of the things I loved about this book was Swift's use of dialogue. She used what I presume were historical phrases and slang -- at times a little surprising, but I was able to guess the meaning through context -- and I appreciated that never once did the story, or the characters, sound anachronistic. (Or worse, my pet peeve, overly Shakespearean or classical.) I should note I'm reading the UK edition of this book; I don't know if the dialogue will be 'Americanized' for the US edition (I hope not.).
I also appreciated the focus on sisters - sibling relationships in historical fiction is always fun -- and the seedy focus of the story. (It is, however, pretty low on the risque factor, to my surprise.) I was initially apprehensive when I heard this was a follow up to Swift's first novel, The Lady's Slipper, as I hadn't read it, but from the author's note at the end of the book, it seems the main character of that book is a peripheral figure in this one.
At more than 460 pages, this is a chunky historical that raced, with enough intrigue and distinctive characters to keep me glued to the pages. A fun read especially if royal romances aren't your kind of historical. (less)
Thankfully, I don't mind when historical figures are wrangled into improbable fictions, and in this case, I loved watching Francis Bacon slum it and f...moreThankfully, I don't mind when historical figures are wrangled into improbable fictions, and in this case, I loved watching Francis Bacon slum it and fight crime in World War II London.
Bacon, a crazy surrealist modernist painter who totally creepies me out (warning: painting is wicked disturbing!), is the narrator of this quick, dirty, exciting murder mystery set in the 1940s. An asthmatic, Bacon was unfit for service and instead worked for the Air Raid Precautions (ARP), doing rounds in London during the Blitz, ensuring blackout conditions were observed. Those dark nights, when his duties were completed, he would indulge in a quick pickup at a local park with an anonymous man. Living with his beloved nanny -- near blind, but sharp as a tack -- Bacon was kept in painting supplies thanks to his married lover, a local alderman, with whom he ran an illegal roulette parlor now and then for extra cash.
Naturally inclined toward trouble with a strong disinterest in police, Bacon nonetheless finds himself forced to work with a local cop when he continues to stumble upon murdered men in his neighborhood. With the Blitz killing many indiscriminately, the pointed murders provoke additional fear in Bacon and his circle of acquaintances.
I don't know much about Bacon other than having a passing awareness of his art, so I can't say whether Law's articulation of him is accurate or irreverent. I loved him -- he was wry and self-deprecating, quick and clever and kind of sketchy, bold and dirty and observant -- and he was a fascinating narrator for a World War II/London Blitz murder mystery. Through Bacon, Law's writing is pretty and poignant, artistic without feeling contrived. I had something like ten pages of bookmarks for a 179-page story -- I couldn't stop noting lines I loved, like this one, from about midway, when Bacon helps a crew of men dig rubble off someone after one of the nightly bombings.
The dog dived toward the cavity newly opened in the mess of brick and timber before raising an eerie howl. Strange how effortlessly expressive animals are, while we hairless beasts must struggle over canvass and paints and the English language. (p73-74)
For those who care, there's lots of implied gay sex but nothing overt; still, I felt deliciously seedy while reading. I raced through this one and would have loved it if it were twice or three times the length; hell, I'd love it if this became a series. I so liked Bacon, that rascal, dapper and damaged. Whether 'accurate' to the historical figure or not, Law's Bacon is a character I already miss.(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)
Another book I just loved from the first line. While I was predisposed to love this novel since I adore all things Hildegard, Sharratt's articulation...moreAnother book I just loved from the first line. While I was predisposed to love this novel since I adore all things Hildegard, Sharratt's articulation of the woman behind the legend is what made me unable to put this book down. (That, and the reality of what religious monastic life meant for Hildegard. Horrifying!)
Growing up Catholic, I'm still pretty enamored of saints even if I've shed most everything else of that faith tradition. The dramatic saints -- women like Hildegard -- were and still are my favorite. Those radical women, with their shocking theology and passionate worship, made me go through a brief phase of wanting to become a nun myself in hopes of having the same dramatic experiences. (These days, I'm taken with Sister Simone Campbell and those nuns on the bus, but I digress.) I love authors who take on making saints human (like Debra Dean's look at St. Xenia) and I really relish when authors make saints -- those who are ostensibly holier-than-the-rest-of-us -- feel real and human.
Sharratt created a woman I loved immediately -- an unusual young woman from a huge family who craved only her mother's love, Hildegard instead finds herself tithe-d to the church as the handmaiden to Jutta, a wealthy noblewoman's pious daughter. To her horror (and mine), being wrested from her family isn't the worst Hildegard faces, as young Jutta has entered as an anchorite. At eight years old, Hildegard is literally walled in into a two room cell with just a screen to allow food and meager communication with her spiritual adviser. Jutta wears a hair shirt and indulges in self mortification, while Hildegard is blessed with amazing visions and crippling illnesses.
She lives like that for twenty years.
The novel doesn't end there, for after Jutta dies, Hildegard really gets radical. She founds her own convent, gains fame (and infamy) for her writings and music, challenges the clergy and world around her. She is amazing and awful, sinful and soulful, progressive and proud. In short, just awesome.
Sharratt's writing style is clean and clear, and manages to evoke Hildegard's visions in a way that doesn't feel too obscure or cartoon-y. Hildegard herself felt reasonable and historically centered (I can't say whether she was 'accurate' since I know nothing of medieval life) but she responded and behaved in a way that resonated with me and didn't feel anachronistic.
I think even if you're not normally drawn to 'religiously' inspired fiction, consider this, as it is a look at a woman who shaped Christian/Catholic mysticism and lived to her values in a time when women's power was feared and quashed. And also, more people need to see how amazing Hildegard was (the Catholic Church has finally made her a Doctor of the Church!).(less)
I have a soft spot for saints. Novelists who tackle the life of a saint -- what they might have been really like -- automatically endear themselves to...moreI have a soft spot for saints. Novelists who tackle the life of a saint -- what they might have been really like -- automatically endear themselves to me, and I was drooling with anticipation over this book. Happily, Dean didn't disappoint, and this brisk little novel has the lush extravagance I wanted from a historical novel featuring royalty as well as the more mundane details of everyday life.
Beginning in the 1730s, the story is told by young Dasha, who is mesmerised by her older cousins, Nadya and Xenia. While Nadya is cold and cruel, making a flawless debut into St. Petersburg society, Xenia is dreamy, impulsive, and impractical -- and yet, she makes a successful love match. When tragedy strikes, Xenia's wild exuberance manifests as a discomforting disregard for herself, her property, and her place in society.
I loved this book from the first page -- Dean immediately sucked me in with her sweet narrator, Dasha, and her complicated cousins. Dean juxtaposes the real cruelties of life -- heartbreak, disappointment, loss -- against the historical ones of the era -- like the Empress' cruel mock marriage of her young jester to an old maid that required them to spend their wedding night naked on a bed of ice in a massive ice palace.
What else should I squee about? I raced through this book because I didn't want to leave Dasha, Xenia, and even Nadya, and I was fascinated -- and horrified -- at this look at royalty. (That Empress Anna -- she was a cruel one!) Dean's writing style is effortless, a little pretty, a little detailed, so that mood and place are evoked easily. (less)
This is a memoir that reads like a novel, and that's both a good and bad thing. Torregrosa has a sinuous, vague, slippery style of writing that I love...moreThis is a memoir that reads like a novel, and that's both a good and bad thing. Torregrosa has a sinuous, vague, slippery style of writing that I love in a good novel (I was reminded a bit of early '90s Jeannette Winterson) but feels a bit incomplete in a memoir. This story of 'love and revolution' had plenty of revolution -- on an international and interpersonal scale -- but I felt a real lack of love in Torregrosa's narrative.
Which leads me back to my original complaint. Were this a novel -- with some exploration into the motivations of our two heroines -- I would be all over this. But as a memoir, I wanted more from Torregrosa: I wanted her to go deeper in her recounting and analysis of her relationship and that juxtaposition with the tumultuous world of 1980s Philippines and international journalists.
There's an enormous distance between Torregrosa and the reader due to her writing style. A little dreamy, very much removed, Torregrosa sums up weeks at a time with a small paragraph. She recounts other people's words but never offers her own direct statements. The moment when (I think) she and her married lover consummated their relationship felt obfuscated, as if Torregrosa didn't want to write about it but felt like she had to.
In many ways, this felt like an homage to a relationship rather than a memoir of a life, as Torregrosa's obvious affection and gratitude toward her lover, Elizabeth, spills out from every page. She writes very poetically about Elizabeth but I never got to 'know' the woman -- which would be fine if I got to know Torregrosa. Instead, I felt at arm's length from both women, watching their squabbles uncomfortably, and drinking in the gorgeous landscapes around them. (Torregrosa can evoke place like a song; its wonderful.)
This book reminded me of those 'gay classics' one gobbles up when first coming out, desperate for someone to relate to and, let's be honest, some sex. And like those classics -- like Rubyfruit Jungle and Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit -- they're lovely, moody books that aren't nearly as gay as one wants them to be.
All this and I still liked the book in many ways; I just wanted more. Shelf Awareness loved this one and found it passionate, so it may be that I focused on the wrong themes with this reading. In another moment, I might see it as deeply passionate. Still, I enjoyed very real look at international journalism Torregrosa offered; this is armchair escape of the first order. (less)
This is my second Patchett novel, and I liked it even less than the previous one I read (State of Wonder).
First, I totally misunderstood the premise...moreThis is my second Patchett novel, and I liked it even less than the previous one I read (State of Wonder).
First, I totally misunderstood the premise of this novel. I thought our heroine Sabine's lovely hottie magician husband dies, and then she discovers he was secretly gay, and then discovers he lied about his family being dead and seeks them out blah blah. Instead, the story is that Sabine's lovely hottie magician husband is openly gay and only marries her in the last year so she may inherit his things. He's had numerous loves despite her affection for him. When he dies, she discovers his family isn't dead and seeks them out blah blah. Slight difference, but a significant one: it put the idea of knowing more on Sabine. She knew who Parsifal was, to a point -- she'd been his assistant for 20 years -- so I found her behavior in this book to be a bit piteous and aggravating.
Disappointingly, rather than explore the source of her mental and emotional stasis, Patchett has Sabine pursue Parsifal's life -- yet another obsessive step into the life of a man who didn't love her like she loved him. Since I wasn't fixated on Parsifal the way Sabine was, this whole journey didn't capture me. That Sabine seemed to have little emotional growth and development along the way -- other than to glom onto one of Parsifal's relatives -- frustrated me, but I'm not sure that was the intent of Patchett's story. I think we were supposed to like and relate to Sabine but I found her in need of therapy and some time alone to think about who she is and what she wants from her life.
My next complaint is a little harder to articulate, but there was something dated, I guess, about the novel's feel regarding gays. In some ways, that makes sense -- this book came out in 1997, nearly twenty years ago -- but at the same time, I feel like there's an artificial sense of shock and surprise created by Patchett to evoke tension, maybe. I'll have to meditate on this more as I know I'm not expressing myself clearly -- while reading this, I found myself venting to my wife about how all the Midwestern gays I know (even the ones not speaking to their families) had a more layered relationship to their kin than Patchett's imagining.
And on to my final complaint about this book: I wasn't wild about Patchett's use of setting. In State of Wonder, I thought she evoked the Amazon beautifully, magically. In this book, I found her articulation of Nebraska and the Midwest to be little more than caricature. I suppose since I've lived in Nebraska and the Midwest for a good chunk of my life (and not the Amazon), I cared more, but I felt Patchett used stereotypical shorthand to paint the setting -- country kitsch decor, Walmart, brutish spouses -- rather than really evoke the beauty of a place that moves, lives, and breathes differently than L.A.
The writing is very Patchett-ian, I would say. I read a review about this book describing it's "...dreams, flashbacks, and long, elliptical conversations..." which is spot on, and made me insane. I'm not wild about dream sequences in books; I find them a bit self-indulgent and pointless. Perhaps if I liked Sabine more, that element would have resonated, but since I didn't, I felt tired -- I kept putting this one down rather than wallow in the linguistic snakiness.
So, in conclusion, I'm a big cranky wench. Millions of others have enjoyed this novel so I'm sure it's mostly just me.(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)
Audra (Unabridged Chick)
>
Books:
mood-evocative
(142)
×
Loading...
