Sunday, May 17, 2009
In Cormac McCarthy's The Road, the reader is confronted with an alien world. Post-Apocalyptic and utterly devastated, the world as we know it is gone. The new world is hostile, some might say fallen -- it is a place veiled, always, in the pall of ash and dirt, where no plants or animals can even hope to live, and the human population fares little better. Those who haven't killed themselves turn to their only other viable option -- cannibalism. In a world where no one is friend and every solitary day is a struggle for survival, what do morals--love thy number, thou shalt not murder, thou shalt not eat thy neighbor's face--even mean?
Turns out, a lot -- at least to the nameless narrator and his son. The book follows the nameless man and his child as they try to survive another day in a world that doesn't bear survival. Through their struggles to find food, shelter, and ever more ingenuous ways to avoid being captured and eaten by other survivors, they are faced with questions that seem unanswerable: are there things more important than survival? What are they? And in a world like this, does any of it matter?
He'd had this feeling before, beyond the numbness and the dull despair. The world shrinking down about a raw core of parsible entities. The names of things slowly following those things into oblivion. Colors. The names of birds. Things to eat. Finally the names of things one believed to be true. More fragile than he would have thought. How much was gone already? The sacred idiom shorn of its referents and so of its reality. Drawing down like something trying to preserve heat. In time to wink out forever.
Yet the man and the boy come to find that, perhaps, it is those fragile beliefs that keep them human, keep them utterly different from the cannibals that have thrown all aside in favor of physical survival. Perhaps the world they are in isn't worth their struggle, but those other things are.
McCarthy's writing is both rich and sparse: passages of breathtaking, metaphorical prose are integrated and juxtaposed with simple, terse description of actions and events. Despite the radical premise of the story, the action-arc isn't explosive -- it's basic, realistic (whatever that means in a place like that) descriptions of every day actions necessary for survival.
What I found remarkable about the book was that despite its radical, nearly unimaginable setting, it still forced me to think about the same questions the narrator posed. Those aren't questions purely reserved for a post-Apocalyptic world, they are for the here, now, and everyday. There were certainly sections in the story that made me cringe and turned my stomach (hi, People Pantry?), sections that felt slightly gratuitous in their shock-value, so I would definitely advise caution for the weak of stomach. But overall I recommend it as a really interesting read with some beautiful writing and thought-provoking questions.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Fun Home: A Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel is graphic -- literally. Probably one of the only graphic novels I've ever read that I would consider literature, it's the autobiography of a young woman--Alison Bechdel--viewing her childhood through the lens of adult hindsight. Through a combination of text and images, Bechdel examines the shape of her life. The richness of her narrative and the images she chooses to pair with it almost tell parallel stories -- when the text is not reinforcing the pictures, or vice versa, it almost seems that there are two separate narratives, narrowing down to the same focus. One of the things that surprised me the most about this novel was the depth of Bechdel's prose, and the plethora of literary references that made me feel as unread as a five year old.
Fun Home is fairly daring in content and style. Bechdel doesn't spare details to save the reader comfort. That's not what she's concerned with. She's telling her story as honestly as she can, and she's doing it, it seems, for more than the sake of telling a story -- it's a mode of clarification, a way of working through the tangles of her past that will allow her to follow individual threads, and reach an understanding that has thus far alluded her. One of those threads is Bruce Bechdel -- the husband, the father, the homosexual man repressing his sexuality for the sake of a socially acceptable image, and the man who, eventually, ends his own life. Bruce Bechdel, as Alison puts it, is a master of artifice. Stoic, aloof, and an aesthete to the highest degree, he loves to shape, mold, and construct things to make them beautiful -- or, rather, perfect. This drive to create perfection doesn't end at molding inanimate objects, however. He does it to his family as well. There is a notable gap between Bruce and the rest of the family, and yet he is the force that directs their lives, for better or worse.
Another thread that Alison follows through the novel is the development of her own sexuality, and the ways in which her father may have prefigured that, too. Alison's gender confusion, sexual discovery, and life as a lesbian woman in a family and culture that is repressive--in more ways than one--is told (and shown) in a genuine and understated way. She does not deal in cliches or melodramatics. Honesty and self-clarification are her purpose.
I would highly recommend this, even to those who might not be particularly interested in the self-discovery of a lesbian woman. I had my own set of reservations in starting it, but found, the further I read, that I very much enjoyed and, in some ways, connected with Bechdel's voice. The style most certainly won't be everyone's cup of tea (though I highly enjoyed the novelty of it), but Bechdel is a skilled raconteur, and her story is worth reading. To me, it wasn't really about politics -- it got right down to the nitty gritty of human experience. Whatever one's opinion on homosexuality may be (positive, negative, or somewhere in between), it can only be beneficial to try to understand another's life through their eyes, respectfully and sympathetically.
If a picture is worth a thousand words, imagine the impact of a novel with both.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Twilight, oh Twilight. What is there to say about this series?
I had promised a good friend of mine that I would read the first book. We had a deal -- if I read Twilight, then she would have to read Little Women. I was feeling pretty damn sneaky, considering Twilight is a teen book I could probably get through in a day, and Little Women is a sizable novel that, in my opinion, is a pure classic. So I borrowed the book from my friend, sat down one Saturday afternoon, and began reading.
I made it through about eight chapters before I had to put it aside. I haven't picked it up since. And I'm sitting here, trying to think of what I could possibly say that hasn't been said already -- the quality of Stephanie Meyer's writing (poor), the plot line (dull), the characters (duller than the plot) -- and I've decided that someone else has said it better than I possibly could. For those who have any sort of Twilight-curiosity, THIS is pretty much all you need to know about the series.
Enjoy the review, it sure gave me a laugh.
I had promised a good friend of mine that I would read the first book. We had a deal -- if I read Twilight, then she would have to read Little Women. I was feeling pretty damn sneaky, considering Twilight is a teen book I could probably get through in a day, and Little Women is a sizable novel that, in my opinion, is a pure classic. So I borrowed the book from my friend, sat down one Saturday afternoon, and began reading.
I made it through about eight chapters before I had to put it aside. I haven't picked it up since. And I'm sitting here, trying to think of what I could possibly say that hasn't been said already -- the quality of Stephanie Meyer's writing (poor), the plot line (dull), the characters (duller than the plot) -- and I've decided that someone else has said it better than I possibly could. For those who have any sort of Twilight-curiosity, THIS is pretty much all you need to know about the series.
Enjoy the review, it sure gave me a laugh.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Phillip Roth's The Plot Against America is the dystopian novel of the past. Roth doesn't write about the possibility of future horrors -- he writes about the horrors that might have been.
This novel is written in a unique way -- as the fictional autobiography of the author. Using his own name, his own family, and his own childhood community as the setting, Roth embarks on this "what if" dystopian view of history.
For instance: what if, say, Roosevelt lost the 1940 presidential election? What if, instead, Charles A. Lindbergh won?
Such is the premise for The Plot Against America. Lindbergh's election launches America into a time of "perpetual fear" for the nation's Jews. Under his leadership, America never enters World War II. It does not aide Britain. It tries to isolate itself from the chaos reigning in the rest of the world -- that is, until Lindbergh buddies up with Hitler himself.
We see the deterioration of nation, community, and family through the eyes of seven-year-old Phillip, the eyes of a child. Who else could be more affected by the shape of history? As Roth writes --
".. Harmless history, where everything unexpected in its own time is chronicled on the page as inevitable. The terror of the unforseen is what the science of history hides, turning disaster into an epic."
Roth takes us right into that terror, into that uncertainty, by reshaping the course of history, and showing it to us through the eyes of a child powerless to stop it.
The narrative switches between Phillip's first person perspective, and the omniscient perspective of a Roth describing historical events. Chapters move between Phillip's family and neighborhood sphere to a more global sphere, in order to get a clearer picture of the world Roth is creating. At first it seems an odd move to make, a bit forced and awkward, but as the book progresses Roth makes the style his own and gets it to work quite nicely.
The major criticism I have of this book, however, is the ending. Throughout the entire novel, Roth makes a point of showing us how any alteration in history can drastically effect the present. It's the domino effect -- one thing changes, and everything else follows. But, despite this point which is manifested in the very premise of the book, he chooses to end it how? By tying it right back up with the present. He conveniently brings an end to every historical alteration he had so meticulously created, so that the end of the book is congruous with the present as we know it.
Why? It defeats the very purpose of the book. And if it's obviously a work of fiction, does it really need to match up with today's reality? I think not.
Even given this disappointing ending, however, this is a definitely a book worth reading. Roth knows his stuff -- literary and historical.
This novel is written in a unique way -- as the fictional autobiography of the author. Using his own name, his own family, and his own childhood community as the setting, Roth embarks on this "what if" dystopian view of history.
For instance: what if, say, Roosevelt lost the 1940 presidential election? What if, instead, Charles A. Lindbergh won?
Such is the premise for The Plot Against America. Lindbergh's election launches America into a time of "perpetual fear" for the nation's Jews. Under his leadership, America never enters World War II. It does not aide Britain. It tries to isolate itself from the chaos reigning in the rest of the world -- that is, until Lindbergh buddies up with Hitler himself.
We see the deterioration of nation, community, and family through the eyes of seven-year-old Phillip, the eyes of a child. Who else could be more affected by the shape of history? As Roth writes --
".. Harmless history, where everything unexpected in its own time is chronicled on the page as inevitable. The terror of the unforseen is what the science of history hides, turning disaster into an epic."
Roth takes us right into that terror, into that uncertainty, by reshaping the course of history, and showing it to us through the eyes of a child powerless to stop it.
The narrative switches between Phillip's first person perspective, and the omniscient perspective of a Roth describing historical events. Chapters move between Phillip's family and neighborhood sphere to a more global sphere, in order to get a clearer picture of the world Roth is creating. At first it seems an odd move to make, a bit forced and awkward, but as the book progresses Roth makes the style his own and gets it to work quite nicely.
The major criticism I have of this book, however, is the ending. Throughout the entire novel, Roth makes a point of showing us how any alteration in history can drastically effect the present. It's the domino effect -- one thing changes, and everything else follows. But, despite this point which is manifested in the very premise of the book, he chooses to end it how? By tying it right back up with the present. He conveniently brings an end to every historical alteration he had so meticulously created, so that the end of the book is congruous with the present as we know it.
Why? It defeats the very purpose of the book. And if it's obviously a work of fiction, does it really need to match up with today's reality? I think not.
Even given this disappointing ending, however, this is a definitely a book worth reading. Roth knows his stuff -- literary and historical.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry has been one of my favorite books since the moment I read the last line of the last page. It's one of those books that you keep coming back to in the quiet moments of life when, more than anything, you need a bit of hard-won wisdom to ground you.
Hannah Coulter finds herself old, widowed, and alone. Now, faced with the onset of a new life -- life without Nathan -- she recalls the events that brought her to where she is. She remembers her childhood, growing up on a farm in the tiny community of Port William, Kentucky. She remembers young love and devastating loss. She remembers life during World War II. She remembers raising her children. Mostly, she remembers the never ending changing of seasons. Life has to be lived, a season at a time. Hannah lived it, and now she has a few stories to tell.
This is by no means an explosive book: it's not thrilling, or action packed, or fast-paced. Plot is not the author's primary device. It's through the unique, first-person perspective of Hannah that the story unfolds. The great pleasure of reading this book doesn't come from intricate story lines -- it stems rather from the wisdom and philosophical insight of an ordinary woman who's lived an ordinary life. Using prose that's nothing short of absolutely lovely, Berry lends us Hannah's words in telling her story, in sharing her impassioned opinions, and in showing us life through her eyes.
Hell is a shameful place, and it is hard to speak of what you know of it. It is hard to live in Port William and yet have in mind the blasted and burnt, bloodied and muddy and stinking battlegrounds of Okinawa, hard to live in one place and imagine another. It is hard to live one life and imagine another. But imagination is what is needed. Want of imagination makes things unreal enough to be destroyed. By imagination I mean knowledge and love. I mean compassion. People of power kill children, the old send the young to die, because they have no imagination. They have power. Can you have power and imagination at the same time? Can you kill people you don't know and have compassion for them at the same time?
If you want a novel that will leave you biting your fingernails at the edge of your seat, I wouldn't recommend it. Remember, plot is not the main focus of the author, and for those who aren't used to this style, it can be slow in places. But, regardless, it is a novel that's stirring in a different way. It opens up a window into a world most would otherwise never know, and it does so with an insight and beauty that I find to be rare in most contemporary fiction. Life, love, and everything in-between -- Hannah sees it all, and tells it in a voice so real, and ordinary, and wise, it's like having your own grandmother in the room.
Hannah Coulter is one to put on the bookshelf, because it's definitely one to come back to.
Hannah Coulter finds herself old, widowed, and alone. Now, faced with the onset of a new life -- life without Nathan -- she recalls the events that brought her to where she is. She remembers her childhood, growing up on a farm in the tiny community of Port William, Kentucky. She remembers young love and devastating loss. She remembers life during World War II. She remembers raising her children. Mostly, she remembers the never ending changing of seasons. Life has to be lived, a season at a time. Hannah lived it, and now she has a few stories to tell.
This is by no means an explosive book: it's not thrilling, or action packed, or fast-paced. Plot is not the author's primary device. It's through the unique, first-person perspective of Hannah that the story unfolds. The great pleasure of reading this book doesn't come from intricate story lines -- it stems rather from the wisdom and philosophical insight of an ordinary woman who's lived an ordinary life. Using prose that's nothing short of absolutely lovely, Berry lends us Hannah's words in telling her story, in sharing her impassioned opinions, and in showing us life through her eyes.
Hell is a shameful place, and it is hard to speak of what you know of it. It is hard to live in Port William and yet have in mind the blasted and burnt, bloodied and muddy and stinking battlegrounds of Okinawa, hard to live in one place and imagine another. It is hard to live one life and imagine another. But imagination is what is needed. Want of imagination makes things unreal enough to be destroyed. By imagination I mean knowledge and love. I mean compassion. People of power kill children, the old send the young to die, because they have no imagination. They have power. Can you have power and imagination at the same time? Can you kill people you don't know and have compassion for them at the same time?
If you want a novel that will leave you biting your fingernails at the edge of your seat, I wouldn't recommend it. Remember, plot is not the main focus of the author, and for those who aren't used to this style, it can be slow in places. But, regardless, it is a novel that's stirring in a different way. It opens up a window into a world most would otherwise never know, and it does so with an insight and beauty that I find to be rare in most contemporary fiction. Life, love, and everything in-between -- Hannah sees it all, and tells it in a voice so real, and ordinary, and wise, it's like having your own grandmother in the room.
Hannah Coulter is one to put on the bookshelf, because it's definitely one to come back to.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
The Dragon Queen by Alice Borchardt
Her parents were apagan queen and a Sidhe. She was raised by wolves. She was taught by a druid. Her name was Guenivere. This story takes the Arthur Myths and tells them from an infinitely more interesting side. In fact, Arthur only makes brief appearances. All for the better I say! Why? Because Borchardt manages to make a Guenivere that you will see as neither weak or loose. ( Which I see both of in books like The Once and Future King.)
This is the tale of her youth. Of her fight with the lovers, Merlin and Igrane. Of the epic battle to claim her right as the pagan Dragon Queen. This isn't the overwritten tale of knights and castles, but of Celtic warriors, priestesses, and druids.
The characters that populate this book are both primitive and amazingly complicated. It set in the time that the later pagan culture is meeting the early Christian. Both aspects manage to twine together to make a truly beautiful book.
You'll not be seeing a Guenivere locked in a tower or mooning over Lancelot. This is a princess that waits for no man! (Seriously, it's amazing-ness has me all choked up and unable to express it.)
" My eyes opened and I saw the vine begin at my shoulder. The sleeve of my shirt was gone, dissolved by the nameless power in this man's hand. Coiling spreading down my arm speaking in the statement of design and form of my people's belief that all is one, and endlessly varied procession of beauty-- joining, separating, searching, dreaming loving-- an indestructible and eternal panorama of creating that we can never, never love enough. Both spectator and participant, protector and destroyer, but above all, joined to the everlasting splendor that is it, us, and God."
Ooo, wow, it still gives me chills. I challenge you to read this book and not get chills at least once. Alice can really spin a tale. (She's Anne Rice's sister by the way. Don't let that turn you off her. She's much better.)
Only downside to this book is that the sequel isn't worth the effort. If you read this then I would definitely let it stand alone because The Raven Warrior is just a waste of time. I never made it all the way through it, to be honest. It just was that bad. Small warning: There is a rather graphic scene in the middle. Not involving two people, but graphic none the less. Just for you people who are easily squicked.
Go forth and read it!
Her parents were apagan queen and a Sidhe. She was raised by wolves. She was taught by a druid. Her name was Guenivere. This story takes the Arthur Myths and tells them from an infinitely more interesting side. In fact, Arthur only makes brief appearances. All for the better I say! Why? Because Borchardt manages to make a Guenivere that you will see as neither weak or loose. ( Which I see both of in books like The Once and Future King.)
This is the tale of her youth. Of her fight with the lovers, Merlin and Igrane. Of the epic battle to claim her right as the pagan Dragon Queen. This isn't the overwritten tale of knights and castles, but of Celtic warriors, priestesses, and druids.
The characters that populate this book are both primitive and amazingly complicated. It set in the time that the later pagan culture is meeting the early Christian. Both aspects manage to twine together to make a truly beautiful book.
You'll not be seeing a Guenivere locked in a tower or mooning over Lancelot. This is a princess that waits for no man! (Seriously, it's amazing-ness has me all choked up and unable to express it.)
" My eyes opened and I saw the vine begin at my shoulder. The sleeve of my shirt was gone, dissolved by the nameless power in this man's hand. Coiling spreading down my arm speaking in the statement of design and form of my people's belief that all is one, and endlessly varied procession of beauty-- joining, separating, searching, dreaming loving-- an indestructible and eternal panorama of creating that we can never, never love enough. Both spectator and participant, protector and destroyer, but above all, joined to the everlasting splendor that is it, us, and God."
Ooo, wow, it still gives me chills. I challenge you to read this book and not get chills at least once. Alice can really spin a tale. (She's Anne Rice's sister by the way. Don't let that turn you off her. She's much better.)
Only downside to this book is that the sequel isn't worth the effort. If you read this then I would definitely let it stand alone because The Raven Warrior is just a waste of time. I never made it all the way through it, to be honest. It just was that bad. Small warning: There is a rather graphic scene in the middle. Not involving two people, but graphic none the less. Just for you people who are easily squicked.
Go forth and read it!
Well, the plot is peppered with clichés, the heroeine is dancing on the ledge of Mary-Sue-ism, and the fantasy elements occasionally leave something to be desired.
But is it a good read? Heck yes!
Countess Meliara's only wish is to live peacefully in her poverty-stricken homeland, running wild among the mysterious Hill Folk and dancing in the village with her best friend Oria. But when she begins to aid her father and brother in brewing a rebellion against the tyrannical King Galdran, a devastating war gets dumped on her doorstop, and the damage is irreparable.
The stakes are raised when, on a routine scouting mission, Meliara is horribly injured and captured by the enemy. However, after being taken to the King's palace and left to rot in a jail cell, she is given the chance to escape. Now a wanted criminal on the lamb, she's only got the clothes on her back and her wits to carry her through. But she finds help in unexpected places, from allies she thought to be enemies, and when the military war ends, the war at court begins, with Meliara in the center of the political whirlpool.
Granted, the sub-plots (mainly of a romantic nature) are predictable and thus rather boring. But overall, it's definitely a fun read, especially for any lover of fantasy. The saga of Meliara's flight from the palace was a page-turner, aided by a slew of cliff-hangers that almost made me fall off my bed with impatience. Sherwood Smith's writing style is sharp and fast-paced, and her characters run deeper than the kiddie pool, which was refreshing after my latest excursions into Philip Pullman's work. Sure, Meliara could be more well-rounded, and she has her Mary-Sue moments, but Smith creates a smart and persistent heroeine. She has personal weaknesses, but she also has enough strength to get her through the tough spots. She was a character I enjoyed following.
If you're looking for a meaningful, thought-provoking experience, I would put away Crown Duel and pick up something else. But if you're looking for an entertaining fantasy story and a cast of characters that delivers, I would definitely recommend it.
But is it a good read? Heck yes!
Countess Meliara's only wish is to live peacefully in her poverty-stricken homeland, running wild among the mysterious Hill Folk and dancing in the village with her best friend Oria. But when she begins to aid her father and brother in brewing a rebellion against the tyrannical King Galdran, a devastating war gets dumped on her doorstop, and the damage is irreparable.
The stakes are raised when, on a routine scouting mission, Meliara is horribly injured and captured by the enemy. However, after being taken to the King's palace and left to rot in a jail cell, she is given the chance to escape. Now a wanted criminal on the lamb, she's only got the clothes on her back and her wits to carry her through. But she finds help in unexpected places, from allies she thought to be enemies, and when the military war ends, the war at court begins, with Meliara in the center of the political whirlpool.
Granted, the sub-plots (mainly of a romantic nature) are predictable and thus rather boring. But overall, it's definitely a fun read, especially for any lover of fantasy. The saga of Meliara's flight from the palace was a page-turner, aided by a slew of cliff-hangers that almost made me fall off my bed with impatience. Sherwood Smith's writing style is sharp and fast-paced, and her characters run deeper than the kiddie pool, which was refreshing after my latest excursions into Philip Pullman's work. Sure, Meliara could be more well-rounded, and she has her Mary-Sue moments, but Smith creates a smart and persistent heroeine. She has personal weaknesses, but she also has enough strength to get her through the tough spots. She was a character I enjoyed following.
If you're looking for a meaningful, thought-provoking experience, I would put away Crown Duel and pick up something else. But if you're looking for an entertaining fantasy story and a cast of characters that delivers, I would definitely recommend it.
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