Just Another Macabre Monday (almost)

   

Earlier this year, The Library of America released an edition of Shirley Jackson's (pictured above) work, including novels and short stories.  I decided to re-read one of her most famous and controversial works, The Lottery.  This eerie short story was published to acclaim, shock, and uproar in the New Yorker in 1948.  The magazine received an influx of angry letters and many readers canceled their subscriptions.  Shirley Jackson (1916-1965), was a housewife and a mother to four children, and lived most of her life in Vermont.  This background would not necessarily appear to lend itself to the dark themes of her work.  Yet Jackson's stories are precise, measured, and chilling.  


The Lottery tells the story of a small village that has an annual ritual wherein all the townsfolk put their names in a black box.  One name is called and that person is doomed to a horrific fate.  While there have been many interpretations of this story, it seems to me it is about what defines a society, who is in power, and how to escape (or not be able to escape) the confines of oppressive and unjust social systems.  It reminded me of the premise of Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games and also of Ursula LeGuin's short story The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas.  


In 2007, The Shirley Jackson Awards were established to pay homage to Jackson's unique and memorable writing, thus permanently securing her work in the American canon.  This literary award is given to authors who have written stand-out "literature of psychological suspense, horror, and the dark fantastic." 


Over this weekend, I also read Barbara Comyns' Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead, an oddball allegorical tale published in 1955 about a river that floods a small English village and the literal madness that ensues (possibly as a result of the baker's rye bread).  Comyns was not only a writer but also a breeder of poodles and a renovator of pianos!  In this work, she explores the nuances of a motley family of three generations all living under the same roof.  The matriarchal and domineering Grandmother Willoweed attempts to rule the house as well as the village.  I imagine that these villagers may be similar to the ones that exist in Jackson's The Lottery.  Comyns writes "The madness, the madness, you couldn't get away from it." Each day in the lives of the Willoweeds is stranger than the next, with such occurrences including a day in which "Plates where thrown across the luncheon table and a tortoise through the window."  The tone of this book reminds me of the documentary "Grey Gardens," as there is something repulsive and tragic about many of the characters.  


Neither of these books provide comfort or uplift the spirits, but they are both compelling and likely like nothing you've ever read before.  

Ron Rash's Writing Burns Bright, Indeed

I learned of Ron Rash from reading the McLean and Eakin bookstore staff recommendations - thank you Jessilynn!  Rash does not disappoint.  In Saints at the River, a young girl drowns in a river in South Carolina, stirring up local debate about how to recover her body.  As an environmentally protected river, the law states that the riverbed shall not be altered in any way.  The possibility of erecting a temporary dam is proposed by the girl's family.  Maggie Glenn, a photographer who grew up in the area, is assigned to cover the story alongside journalist Allen Hemphill.  As Maggie returns to her hometown, she must confront her troubled relationship with her father.   Throughout the book, the river rushes forward and is impossible to tame, proving that there are some things that are better left wild and unbridled.  

Burning Bright is a collection of stories that focuses on the hardscrabble life in Appalachia.  Straight out of the gate, Rash's first story is shocking in its starkness and depiction of the depths of poverty.  Some of his stories are merely ten pages long, yet still he packs a punch and engages you in the characters' lives from the first few sentences.  

Neither of these books were uplifting with tidy endings.  But the honest, unflinching look at the maelstrom of human emotion, desperation, conviction, and struggle is captured in deceptively simple and beautiful language in both works.

  

Review: The Imperfectionists

Tom Rachman's debut novel The Imperfectionists was a page-turning, witty, smart book told in vignettes.  Each chapter centers around someone involved with an international English-language newspaper published in Rome.  From the feisty editor-in-chief, to the enamored business reporter, to the gullible stringer, each story stands alone though some of the characters from other vignettes weave in and out of the chapters.  While nothing deeply profound happens, the snippets of the day-to-day lives that we are privy to are entertaining and unique.  This is a book that can be read in just a few sittings.  While not necessarily a memorable or stand-out novel, I appreciated the humorous dialogue and motley cast of characters.

A Southern Classic: The Optimist's Daughter

Eudora Welty is one of the most admired writers who wrote about the American South.  The Optimist's Daughter won her the Pulitzer Prize in 1973.  This short novel tells the story of Laura McKelva Hand who grows up in the South but then leaves to pursue a career in Chicago.  Her ailing father Judge McKelva is suffering from an eye "disturbance," so she comes to be by his side in New Orleans.  After an outrageous display of behavior by Laura's exasperating stepmother Fay (who comments upon learning of the Judge's ailments, "I don't see why this had to happen to me"), Judge McKelva passes away.  Laura then returns to her childhood home in Mississippi for the funeral.  While there, she comes to a deeper understanding of her family and her upbringing.  


The dialogue is, at times, quite funny.  Perhaps my favorite line is when Dr. Courtland, a good friend of the Judge's who performed the eye operation, comments that while it may seem like the Judge is asleep, "he's just possuming."  The novel takes a more serious and contemplative turn when Laurel returns home and eventually confronts Fay.  I enjoyed this novel, but not enough to read more of Welty's books in the immediate.  However, I am going to seek out more novels featuring the South.

Review: The Quickening

"What I wanted felt like a hunger, rising from my ribs, my throat, starved for something immense, golden," writes Michelle Hoover in The Quickening.  Hoover's debut novel is a beautiful written book that follows the lives of Mary and Enidina who live on neighboring farms during the early 1900s.   As with most books I've read this year, this is a book with both tragedy and heartbreak.  Hoover's writing reminded me of Marilynne Robinson, but with grittier detail and a more character-driven story line.  


Hoover's narrative voice is distinctive and she writes with a subtle smolder.  Some of the sentences are crafted to perfection.  Nonetheless, if I were to recommend books about hardscrabble farm life, I would give Amy Greene's Bloodroot and Kent Haruf's Plainsong even higher praise.   

Review: The Hunger Games

The Hunger Games is a science fiction novel for young adults and adults alike.  It tells the story of a post-apocalyptic country known as Panem, which has a central, ruling Capitol and twelve outlying districts.  The districts exist mainly to provide their goods to the wealthy Capitol.  Each year, as penance for an unsuccessful rebellion by a district against the Capitol and as a reminder to attempt nothing of the sort again, the powers that be hold the annual Hunger Games.  A boy and a girl from each district (known as "tributes") are selected at random to fight to the death, until they are the last one standing.  The only rule for the annual games is, simply, to stay alive.  Katniss Everdeen is this year's district 12 girl tribute and in many ways the odds are against her.  She is from the poorest district in the country, and isn't as big or well-fed as the other tributes.  But having grown up as the provider for her family after her father died in a mining accident, she has honed her survival skills.  The tributes must battle against each other, but the deeper battle is to not allow the Capitol to take away one's humanity and kindness.  


I found this to be a disturbing and gruesome tale.  It was interesting to read about how the tributes handled this unfathomable situation, and of course, to learn the outcome.  I also appreciated a strong and resourceful female protagonist, as these are not often found in young adult novels.  While The Hunger Games was page-turning and inventive, as well as an unabashed social commentary, I found it too bleak to want to read the subsequent books in the trilogy.  

An Allendean Tale: Island Beneath the Sea

  

I remember the first time I read an Allende novel - The House of the Spirits.  I loved that book for its sweeping story line and multitude of characters couched within the style of magic realism.

It is interesting to have read The House of the Spirits, Allende's first novel written in 1982, and now Island Beneath the Sea, written over 25 years later.  Both books are written in Allende's trademark style characterized by lush descriptions, epic timeframes, a focus on history and place, and even a requisite "madwoman."

Island Beneath the Sea marks a departure for Allende, as a work of historical fiction set in Saint Domingue (present-day Haiti) and New Orleans in the late 18th century.  The novel tells the story of Zarite (known as Tete), a biracial slave who is purchased by Toulouse Valmorain, a French plantation owner.  

Ultimately, I appreciate Allende's work, as many of her stories feature female protagonists, thus giving voice to perspectives that have often gone unspoken or unheard.  In this book, I found the descriptions to be too flowery and long, and I found myself skimming over some sections.  I also did not feel that the historical information was woven seamlessly into the novel.

Allende is a treasure, but I would recommend her earlier works instead of her latest novel.  Try The House of the Spirits or Daughter of Fortune.

Singing Doig's Praises

"The most precipitous chapter of life always begins before we quite know it is under way," writes Doig in his winning new novel Work Song.  The story takes place in Butte, Montana in 1919.  Morris Morgan ("Morrie") steps off the train in Butte, known at the time as the copper capital of the world, to begin a new chapter of his life.  Morgan is featured in Doig's earlier work The Whistling Season, though it is not necessary to read this work beforehand.   

The charming and multi-talented Morrie quickly finds his skills needed, and so becomes integral to the town's library and the local union's struggle against the Anaconda mining company and the radical Wobbly agitators.  Doig excels at creating memorable characters with such motley names as Rabrab, Hoop, and Russian Famine.  This Western tale was quite an enjoyable read.  One down, twelve more Doig books to go!

SF Big Book Sale!

Come on down to support the San Francisco Public Library!    Touted as the largest book sale on the West Coast, all proceeds go to the library system.  With an anticipated 100,000 books on hand and all books only $1 on the last day of the sale, this is surely an event not to be missed if you are in the Bay Area.  

Author spotlight: Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

   

This year I have had the pleasure of reading all three of Adichie's books - Half of a Yellow Sun, Purple Hibiscus and most recently, the short story collection The Thing Around Your Neck.  Adichie has received many accolades, including winning the Orange Prize for Fiction in 2007 and being named one of the New Yorker magazine's "20 under 40," this past summer.  At just 33 years old, Adichie is a literary hotshot, but if you watch her on YouTube you'll likely be impressed with her humility. 


I enjoyed all of her books, but my favorite was Half of a Yellow Sun, a story about two sisters and what happens to them around the time of the Biafran War in Nigeria.  This is a book that is bursting with vivid detail and impassioned characters.  Be forewarned that there is civil unrest and violence described in the narrative.


Adichie masterfully captures both quiet moments and loud ones, the dynamics of political movements and the dynamics of family.  Her books are fresh, bold, and written with a gracefulness that belies the effort it must take to write such wonderful stories.

Don't mess with (football in) Texas

When I talk with friends about Friday Night Lights (TV version), their reaction is always the same, to the tune of "why would you want to watch a show about high school football in Texas?"  I have no particular affinity for high school, football, or Texas, but the series, based on H.G. Bissinger's book, is outstanding.  It's shot in a gritty way that feels almost like a documentary.  The acting is top-notch.


Being a huge fan of the show, I was curious about the book.  Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist H.G. Bissinger spent 1998 immersed in the football season at Permian High School in Odessa, Texas.  His book follows the team through the tremendous ups and downs of that year.  While I didn't think Bissinger's writing was as dynamic as I had hoped, he does go beyond writing about the players and the focus on "going to State," and in doing so, paints a picture of life in a small town affected by the boom and bust of the oil industry.  Bissinger focuses on tense race relations and school integration in Texas, as well as the way in which football was much more of a focus than academics at the school.  Both of these topics were ones he was later criticized for exposing in his book.  


What Bissinger does best is convey how football affects all parts of life in Odessa - politics, home life, career choices, and local tradition and how this all-encompassing love for and loyalty to football makes a group of teenage boys godlike for a season or two, and then become largely forgotten once they are injured or graduate.  Friday Night Lights offers a glimpse into what it would mean to grow up in a town defined by one thing.  I'll admit that after reading the book, it did have me curious about what it would have been like to be under those Friday night lights, cheering for those seemingly invincible kids that had the weight of the whole town on their shoulders.

Green Apple Books: Worth Biting Into

This weekend I went on a long jaunt out to the Richmond in San Francisco to visit Green Apple Books, an independent bookstore that has been around since 1967.  The store has both an annex featuring used and new fiction, and a main bookstore.  Having walked to the outer lands of SF with the fog rolling in and the wind picking up, I had high hopes of a warm, inviting, cozy space in which to warm up and browse.  


While unassuming from the outside, I came under Green Apple's spell as soon as I set foot inside.  What I found inside were hardwood floors, warm lighting, lots of handwritten recommendations, and a playful atmosphere.  I wandered into the "red delicious room" and spotted the rather intimidating  "shoplifters will be nailed" sign.  I particularly liked their unique shelving categories which included such delightful sections as "big fat reads," "the bicycle," and" just because you're old and unhappy doesn't mean you can't read children's books."  The store was abundant and bountiful, a place to get lost in for hours.  It reminded me of Elliot Bay Books in Seattle.  The only downsides were that there was nowhere to sit and the staff were not as friendly as they could have been.


To me, the mark of a good bookstore is one that humbles me.  One that reminds me of the endless number of books I have yet to read.  I can't wait to go back!

Parrado's Perspective: Miracle in the Andes

Miracle in the Andes is by far the best account I've read or seen of the tragic airplane crash in the Andes in 1972, in which 16 members of a Uruguayan rugby team survived for 72 days in one of the harshest climates in the world.  With hardly any food, warm clothing, or medical supplies, the survivors of the crash battled nearly impossible circumstances.  As the number of deaths increased due to the cold and injuries, and once the survivors heard on a radio that the search for them had been called off, it became clear that someone would need to climb out of the mountains if any of them were to survive.  Nando Parrado, 34 years later, tells the story of the crash and of his journey out of the mountains.  Parrado and his friend Roberto Canessa made the 12 day trek, with little food and a sleeping bag made out of insulation from the plane.  


What is most fascinating about this book is the way in which Parrado describes how the survivors dealt with this trial.  Parrado recalls a moment in which he wants to cry for the death of his mother and sister who died in the crash.  He realized that to cry would be to lose essential fluid that he would need in the days to come.  His survival instinct kicked in immediately.  Yet, he later describes  a moment when all he could think of was to run off into the blinding snow and be left to die.  He writes about how as more and more of the crash survivors passed away, those who remained were terrified by the thought of being the last survivor, left to die alone amidst the stillness and silence of the Andes.  


This is a book I couldn't put down.  The vulnerability Parrado exhibits in writing about his love for his father as the driving force keeping him alive, as well as the humility and honesty of his writing make this a book not to be missed.  For weeks after reading this eloquent autobiography, and still now as I write this, I think about how if any story proves to us the possibility of human triumph over unimaginable odds, it is this one.  

(Auster)ity

  

By page 1, I was irritated by the obscure literary references and seemingly pretentious writing.  By page 3, I could not put Invisible down.  This was my first foray into Auster's world, and it reminded me in a certain sense of Carlos Ruiz Zafon's Angel's Game.  Both books tell the story of a young writer brimming with promise who is unexpectedly sought out by a mysterious supposed benefactor.  Things quickly go awry and spin out of control.  Invisible is absorbing, shocking, disturbing even.  I didn't feel particularly fond of his characters, but I was intrigued enough by the plot to read this book in two sittings.  While this adds another tick mark on the list of depressing books I've read this year, I'll be reading more Auster very soon.  The writing is simple and straightforward - Auster picks every word carefully, creating a sparse but palpable read.

Jim Crow Era: Fiction and Non-fiction

I recently read these two books back to back because they just happened to come in the same time on my "hold" list at the library.  Both books are based on events that took place during the Jim Crow era, though The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks also interweaves current day events as we come to know the Lacks family.  

I was curious about The Help, having heard good things about it but also being wary of any book jacket telling me that I will need a "hankie."  Author Kathryn Stockett tells the story through three female characters - two African American women who work were domestic workers, and one young white woman who becomes interested in their lives.  As I read this novel, I felt immersed in the South in 1962 and the lives of all three of these women.  For me, the book had a breezy feel to it, despite being about such a serious topic as racial injustice.  Other than this contrast which I found a bit unsettling, I applaud Stockett's effort.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks is about science, bioethics, and the controversy over who owns elements of our body once they are taken from us.  Henrietta Lacks was an African American woman who died in 1951 from cervical cancer.  Unbeknownst to Lacks, a tissue sample was taken from her at Johns Hopkins University, and her cells became the first to live and grow outside of the human body.  Her cells became known as HeLa, and have been highly influential in cancer research and medical advances.  The Lacks family did not find out about Henrietta's cells being used for science until nearly 20 years later.  Interested in finding out about the DNA of Henrietta's ancenstors, doctors at Johns Hopkins contacted the Lacks family and then did research on them without informed consent.  As the family comes to know author Rebecca Skloot, we experience alongside them their wrestling with who to trust and how to feel about their mother's/grandmother's cells being taken without her knowledge.  Despite HeLa cells being worth millions of dollars, the Lacks family has never received any compensation, and ironically, many members of the family do not have health care.  I don't often read non-fiction books focused on science, but this was a fascinating read in which I learned a great deal about the history of experimentation on African Americans, biology, law and ethics.

Chilean Whimsy

  

I lived in Chile for a year, and during that time, I was able to visit all three of Pablo Neruda's homes - in Santiago, Valparaiso, and Isla Negra.  I've posted some photos above from my time in Valparaiso, an UNESCO World Heritage city known for its many hills, old wooden elevators, and colorful, cobblestoned streets.  An eccentric, rough and tumble port city, it is one of the most unique and memorable places I've ever been.


Neruda's houses (now museums), are quirky and whimsical, designed to have a nautical feel.  As he traveled throughout Africa, Asia and Europe, Neruda collected a variety of objects including keys, bottles, clocks, sea glass, and nautical instruments.  These objects may seem mundane to us, but they were treasures to Neruda.


What shaped Neruda as a child, before becoming one of the world's most beloved poets? The tender, honest, and sophisticated new novel The Dreamer, written by Pam Munoz Ryan and illustrated by Peter Sis, provides insight into Neruda's early fascination with objects in his daily life.  Called absentminded and a daydreamer by his domineering father, Neruda was drawn to poetry from an early age.   Born Neftali Reyes, he changed his name to Pablo Neruda just before starting college in Santiago.  The Dreamer captures the struggle between doing what one loves, and following the expectations our parents put upon us.  You'll likely pick it up and not put it down until you are done (about an hour or two)!  While the library has categorized The Dreamer as "juvenile fiction," both young readers and adults alike would likely enjoy this fictionalized account of Pablo Neruda's childhood.

Two of the best books I've read in 2010 (and two appendages lost)

 

Bloodroot and Little Bee are, hands down, the best books I've read in 2010 thus far.  Strangely enough, they have an odd detail in common - in both books, one appendage from a main character is lost, and in a sense, it is these acts of violence that  set the stories in motion, even though the mysteries of how these appendages are lost are slow to unravel.  There are some brutal scenes in each of these books, but if you can stomach it, these are too good to miss.

Bloodroot, Amy Greene's debut novel, is a multigenerational saga set in Appalachia.  I read so many books that I often forget plot lines or the names of characters, but I doubt I'll ever forget Myra and Johnny Odom.  The story is told, quite convincingly, from the perspective of several different characters.  The book almost feels like reading magical realism.  This is stunning, haunting storytelling at its best.

Little Bee, Chris Cleave's second novel, tells the story of how the lives of a British woman and a Nigerian girl become intertwined as a result of a horrific encounter.  It is a dark story, though infused with humor.  The characters are well-developed, and Little Bee is unforgettable.  I was blown away.

Well-read, well-worn

Out of Print Clothing, a venture created by Todd Lawton and Jeffrey LeBlanc, is where you can go to find t-shirts featuring vintage, out-of-print cover art from classic works of literature.  

For every purchase, a book goes to the non-profit Books for Africa.

Out of Print Clothing

Books for Africa

Charming bookstores in unexpected places

Below is a link to an article in The New York Times entitled "As American as Cherry Pie," by Ann Patchett, recounting her visit to do a reading in Petoskey, Michigan that she initially begrudged though she ended up being charmed by the town and particularly the independent bookstore there (McLean and Eakin, pictured above).   

Where have you stumbled upon a great bookstore where you least expected it?

"As American As Cherry Pie" - Ann Patchett

"The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago, the second best time is now." - African proverb

Somewhere in Eastern Washington

This blog is an attempt to infuse intentionality into my experience as a reader, and to share this important part of my life with others.  I've been a voracious reader for over 20 years.  It is high time to lay down some literary roots.  

Every day, I try to carve out time to read so as to slowly chip away at my ever-growing list of books to read or to re-read.  When I travel, one of the first places I try to find is the local, independent bookstore.  As I walk home from work these days, right past the public library, I have to stop myself from visiting each day and checking out more books than I could possibly read in a three week period (3 times a week maximum)!  


My love for books is only equaled by my appreciation for chocolate, Argentina, Otis Redding, and a handful of human beings (and one mischievous cat).  Reading has been one of the cornerstones of my life, and has altered and shaped my very foundation.  Through this medium, I have caught glimpses of life in times or realms I never thought I would see, and I've been privy to the inner lives and emotions of some haunting and unforgettable fictional characters and real people I haven't been fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to meet.  


I look forward, via this blog, to sharing my ruminations, recommendations, and resources about all things literary.  I await your comments and ideas.