Little Bee by Chris Cleave
March 15, 2011
Today we had a good discussion about this book at our book club, and I want to make some notes about our response.
A quick summary would be to say that we all enjoyed this book, even though we felt it has several flaws.
Why did we enjoy it?
~It brings an important message about the plight of refugees trying to enter 1st-world countries and made us wonder what refugee centres are like in Canada. Our interest was aroused in the topic.
~ We found it moving and the characterisation memorable if not always convincing.
~We enjoyed Cleave’s elegant writing style.
~We sympathised with Little Bee and her situation.
~We enjoyed the complexity of the character, Sarah.
~We found the themes interesting. The treatment of refugees is the main theme, but we also discussed some other themes in the book:
~Globalization and how open borders apply to money and ideas but not to people. The current unrest in autocratic Arabic countries is an example of the new face of globalization.
~Personal accountability and the responsibility of the British characters to the situation of the Nigerian girl.
Our discussion ranged over several aspects of the book. We talked about the dual narrative which was distracting for some and decided that as the book is the story of two worlds, it was appropriate to hear it from two points of view.
We talked about Cleave’s challenge in adopting female voices to tell his story, remembered other books we had read in which a male author spoke through women, and decided that he had done a convincing job.
We found the character of Sarah interesting and found many scenes in which she displayed an impulsivity that we decided was her driving personality trait.
We felt there is a lot of coincidence in the plot, especially the contrived setting of the ending, on the same beach where the story started.
We found that the character of Little Bee, while very sympathetic, was not consistent. We found it surprising that she was able to manipulate Lawrence and behave so appropriately at the daycare centre and yet lose her cool with the policeman and use such inappropriate language with the taxi driver. She berated herself for not calling the police when Andrew was hanging himself and yet she did not know how to call them when Charlie went missing. We found the whole theme of her responsibility in Andrew’s death was unconvincing as we felt that she made strong efforts to save him within the limits of her ability.
Some members had read about the author and we were pleased to find out that he had researched his topic thoroughly and spent a summer working in a British refugee facility.
We agreed that the novel is a good organ for publicizing human rights issues that remain statistics when they are reported in a news format.
We discussed the difference between novels that depict gratuitous violence such as The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and the horrific violence in the rape and murder scene of Little Bee’s sister, which was terrible to read but yet necessary to understand the danger of the character’s situation.
We were surprised by the internet reviewers who described the book’s ending as hopeful. We were unanimously certain that Little Bee was captured by the soldiers and would be tortured and killed. We found the book to be ultimately depressing because all efforts to save Little Bee failed. Furthermore, we were disappointed with the author who at the end shifted his theme from atrocities and the plight of the weak and intertribal warfare in Africa to focus on a future when black and white children would play together. The conclusion did not arise from the previous concerns of the novel and left the readers unsatisfied.
For all the faults that we found in characterisation and plot, we hated to pick the book apart because we all enjoyed reading it, found it moving, enjoyed the prose, and would recommend it to others.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Shantaram
Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts
Nine hundred and thirty three pages, and I loved them all. Prior to writing my own review, I did a little web surfing and discovered that on amazon.com there are 438 reviews, 312 of them five-star! It’s clearly the kind of book that people respond to. Roberts has his own website, and Wikipedia has a plot summary and list of characters (quite an achievement.) With so much already said, I will just mention some of the reasons why I kept on reading.
I loved the way Roberts creates the setting, Bombay. The city should really be added to the list of characters. Clearly, Roberts himself loves the city in all its many aspects. Having had my heart broken in A Fine Balance, I loved reading about the joy that people can find when living in the direst conditions. Reduced to the worst poverty imaginable, Roberts’ slum-dwellers possess pride and loyalty, creativity, patience, self-respect, a sense of community and a commitment to their fellows. Roberts celebrates their strengths rather than focusing on their neediness.
I loved the characters because each one had his own complexity. Each one had a bit of wisdom to offer, had strengths and weaknesses, was dealing with a clouded past and was fighting his own way to happiness.
I loved the questions posed by these characters. Karla, the main love interest, felt loyalty to the mafia boss who had rescued her from a nervous breakdown and yet wanted to break free from him. Permanently scarred by her murder of a man who abused her, her emotions are permanently numbed, she is unable to feel for anybody and uses people without compunction. We understand her trauma, condemn her manipulativeness and hope for her redemption.
Khaderbai, the mafia boss is another complex character. He is capable of great love, he supports his followers, he is wise and continues to search for truth with a spiritual teacher, he is principled in his refusal to deal in drugs and prostitution, and yet he believes that the end justifies the means and orders the murder of a loyal follower in order to consolidate the power of his empire and takes advantage of the loyalty of his followers by taking them on a dangerous mission to Afghanistan in order to fulfill a personal promise.
Abdullah is a dangerous killer, but is capable of fierce loyalty.
I loved the pacing of the book. Each chapter was action-packed but book-ended with philosophical reflections, interspersed with poetic descriptions and punctuated with episodes which described life in the slums, techniques of passport forgery, the atmosphere in popular bars or gyms, the deliberations of the mafia council, Bollywood productions, and on and on. The appeal of the book is not purely narrative. There is much to ponder, and many images to conjure. The pace is comfortable, and after a few chapters, one is happy to put down the book and think about it for awhile.
There is a lot to learn from this book. The descriptions of prison conditions and slavery in brothels was alarming. The operation of the mafia was interesting. The excursion to Afghanistan during the Russian regime gave pertinent background to the current situation in that country. And the setting of Bombay, in its many quarters and moods, gave me a new understanding of this complex and foreign city.
Many of the experiences in Roberts own life are paralleled in his book, and although it is not strictly autobiographical, the descriptions and characters have an authenticity and originality that we feel is genuine. He has taken us to a place which we will never forget, and we are wiser for having met his characters and visited his parts of the world.
Nine hundred and thirty three pages, and I loved them all. Prior to writing my own review, I did a little web surfing and discovered that on amazon.com there are 438 reviews, 312 of them five-star! It’s clearly the kind of book that people respond to. Roberts has his own website, and Wikipedia has a plot summary and list of characters (quite an achievement.) With so much already said, I will just mention some of the reasons why I kept on reading.
I loved the way Roberts creates the setting, Bombay. The city should really be added to the list of characters. Clearly, Roberts himself loves the city in all its many aspects. Having had my heart broken in A Fine Balance, I loved reading about the joy that people can find when living in the direst conditions. Reduced to the worst poverty imaginable, Roberts’ slum-dwellers possess pride and loyalty, creativity, patience, self-respect, a sense of community and a commitment to their fellows. Roberts celebrates their strengths rather than focusing on their neediness.
I loved the characters because each one had his own complexity. Each one had a bit of wisdom to offer, had strengths and weaknesses, was dealing with a clouded past and was fighting his own way to happiness.
I loved the questions posed by these characters. Karla, the main love interest, felt loyalty to the mafia boss who had rescued her from a nervous breakdown and yet wanted to break free from him. Permanently scarred by her murder of a man who abused her, her emotions are permanently numbed, she is unable to feel for anybody and uses people without compunction. We understand her trauma, condemn her manipulativeness and hope for her redemption.
Khaderbai, the mafia boss is another complex character. He is capable of great love, he supports his followers, he is wise and continues to search for truth with a spiritual teacher, he is principled in his refusal to deal in drugs and prostitution, and yet he believes that the end justifies the means and orders the murder of a loyal follower in order to consolidate the power of his empire and takes advantage of the loyalty of his followers by taking them on a dangerous mission to Afghanistan in order to fulfill a personal promise.
Abdullah is a dangerous killer, but is capable of fierce loyalty.
I loved the pacing of the book. Each chapter was action-packed but book-ended with philosophical reflections, interspersed with poetic descriptions and punctuated with episodes which described life in the slums, techniques of passport forgery, the atmosphere in popular bars or gyms, the deliberations of the mafia council, Bollywood productions, and on and on. The appeal of the book is not purely narrative. There is much to ponder, and many images to conjure. The pace is comfortable, and after a few chapters, one is happy to put down the book and think about it for awhile.
There is a lot to learn from this book. The descriptions of prison conditions and slavery in brothels was alarming. The operation of the mafia was interesting. The excursion to Afghanistan during the Russian regime gave pertinent background to the current situation in that country. And the setting of Bombay, in its many quarters and moods, gave me a new understanding of this complex and foreign city.
Many of the experiences in Roberts own life are paralleled in his book, and although it is not strictly autobiographical, the descriptions and characters have an authenticity and originality that we feel is genuine. He has taken us to a place which we will never forget, and we are wiser for having met his characters and visited his parts of the world.
Pillars of the Earth
The Pillars of the Earth
Ken Follett
At 1007 pages, this book is a doorstop, and a page turner. It took over my life for several weeks, and what pulled me in was narrative. Like his character, Jack the jongleur, Ken Follett is an excellent storyteller. The events fold neatly into each other, each one sequencing logically from the previous.
We know, for instance, that Aliena, daughter of the Earl of Shiring, is the character best suited to manage her father’s estate. Although she is a woman, this seems to be her destiny. Seamlessly, Follett creates in Richard, her brother and rightful heir, a character who excels in the skills of war but is a poor manager, and has him intervene to save his sister from an assault by her estranged husband, an intervention he is driven to make because of his memories of his inability to save her at the beginning of the novel when he was a young and spineless boy. Thus an event at the beginning of the novel is woven into the concluding narrative. But how to remove Richard from his role as earl? Follett brings back his character, William, whom we can always count on for nefarious deeds. William, who at this point is a sheriff, tries to arrest Richard for murdering Alfred, the husband, as this is the middle ages and men can legally rape their wives. Richard is weak and ineffective, but he can’t meet an untimely end because he is the loyal brother of the heroine. To the rescue comes Prior Philip, the idea man. Richard is absolved of his crime by leading a crusade to the Holy Land where he can spend the rest of his life being a hero at fighting, which he loves, and Aliena will manage the estate in his absence. A dozen years later Richard dies in the Holy Land and his nephew, Aliena’s son, tutored in estate management by his mother, inherits the title of Earl. In the meantime, Philip, an ally of Aliena’s, has been able to finish construction of his cathedral with stones from the quarry on her estate. Every event is logical and evolves naturally from preceding ones with a craft that is never overstrained.
Setting is another strength of this book. Anyone who has visited a Gothic cathedral has wondered about the genius of the architects, the development of the concept, the methods of construction and the lives of the workers. Follett has done his homework and brought the 11th century to life, with the shifting loyalties at court, the power struggle between church and state, the fragmentation of power within those entities, the relationship between England and the Continent, and the challenges of living in a country where there is civil unrest. Follett makes a strong commentary on the debilitating effects of civil war and the concomitant lack of law and order in absence of strong leadership, which extends beyond his particular setting of the war between Stephen and Maud.
Character development, however, is not Follett’s strength. He creates the characters he needs to drive his plot, gives then the strengths and weaknesses that will motivate their actions, dresses then up like paper dolls, and has words come out of their mouths like bubbles in a comic strip. He doesn’t love his characters, he needs them to tell his story. For such a long book, there are really not very many characters, and personally I got tired of the ever virtuous and sometimes introspective Prior Philip, always the problem solver in any crisis, and I wished that we could have some other villains besides Waleran Bigod and William of various estates of life. Whenever Follett needs a resolution, he turns to Philip, and when he needs some plot complication, he turns to these two “bad guys” whose motives were established at the beginning of the book and remain static throughout.
Character development is an impediment in a tale with so many complications, but I would have liked to have heard more about Jack’s reunion with his grandmother in France; seeking out his family was one of the reasons he went to the continent. Likewise, I would have liked to know what effect the revelation about Jonathan’s parentage had on him and his little sister, Martha. Follett cannot find a niche for poor little Martha, and I feel sorry that she has been neglected by him.
Nevertheless, this novel has been a bestseller since it was published in 1989 and cannot be dismissed despite its faults. It is a classic in the ‘good yarn’ genre of literature, and what’s wrong with a good tale?
Despite the predictability of some of its plot turns and the woodenness of its characters, its strength is in the story and the delighted, “Of course!” that we feel as its scenes unfold.
Ken Follett
At 1007 pages, this book is a doorstop, and a page turner. It took over my life for several weeks, and what pulled me in was narrative. Like his character, Jack the jongleur, Ken Follett is an excellent storyteller. The events fold neatly into each other, each one sequencing logically from the previous.
We know, for instance, that Aliena, daughter of the Earl of Shiring, is the character best suited to manage her father’s estate. Although she is a woman, this seems to be her destiny. Seamlessly, Follett creates in Richard, her brother and rightful heir, a character who excels in the skills of war but is a poor manager, and has him intervene to save his sister from an assault by her estranged husband, an intervention he is driven to make because of his memories of his inability to save her at the beginning of the novel when he was a young and spineless boy. Thus an event at the beginning of the novel is woven into the concluding narrative. But how to remove Richard from his role as earl? Follett brings back his character, William, whom we can always count on for nefarious deeds. William, who at this point is a sheriff, tries to arrest Richard for murdering Alfred, the husband, as this is the middle ages and men can legally rape their wives. Richard is weak and ineffective, but he can’t meet an untimely end because he is the loyal brother of the heroine. To the rescue comes Prior Philip, the idea man. Richard is absolved of his crime by leading a crusade to the Holy Land where he can spend the rest of his life being a hero at fighting, which he loves, and Aliena will manage the estate in his absence. A dozen years later Richard dies in the Holy Land and his nephew, Aliena’s son, tutored in estate management by his mother, inherits the title of Earl. In the meantime, Philip, an ally of Aliena’s, has been able to finish construction of his cathedral with stones from the quarry on her estate. Every event is logical and evolves naturally from preceding ones with a craft that is never overstrained.
Setting is another strength of this book. Anyone who has visited a Gothic cathedral has wondered about the genius of the architects, the development of the concept, the methods of construction and the lives of the workers. Follett has done his homework and brought the 11th century to life, with the shifting loyalties at court, the power struggle between church and state, the fragmentation of power within those entities, the relationship between England and the Continent, and the challenges of living in a country where there is civil unrest. Follett makes a strong commentary on the debilitating effects of civil war and the concomitant lack of law and order in absence of strong leadership, which extends beyond his particular setting of the war between Stephen and Maud.
Character development, however, is not Follett’s strength. He creates the characters he needs to drive his plot, gives then the strengths and weaknesses that will motivate their actions, dresses then up like paper dolls, and has words come out of their mouths like bubbles in a comic strip. He doesn’t love his characters, he needs them to tell his story. For such a long book, there are really not very many characters, and personally I got tired of the ever virtuous and sometimes introspective Prior Philip, always the problem solver in any crisis, and I wished that we could have some other villains besides Waleran Bigod and William of various estates of life. Whenever Follett needs a resolution, he turns to Philip, and when he needs some plot complication, he turns to these two “bad guys” whose motives were established at the beginning of the book and remain static throughout.
Character development is an impediment in a tale with so many complications, but I would have liked to have heard more about Jack’s reunion with his grandmother in France; seeking out his family was one of the reasons he went to the continent. Likewise, I would have liked to know what effect the revelation about Jonathan’s parentage had on him and his little sister, Martha. Follett cannot find a niche for poor little Martha, and I feel sorry that she has been neglected by him.
Nevertheless, this novel has been a bestseller since it was published in 1989 and cannot be dismissed despite its faults. It is a classic in the ‘good yarn’ genre of literature, and what’s wrong with a good tale?
Despite the predictability of some of its plot turns and the woodenness of its characters, its strength is in the story and the delighted, “Of course!” that we feel as its scenes unfold.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
The Birth House
by Ami McKay
I enjoyed this book. When I put it down, I looked forward to picking it up again. McKay is good at evoking the hard beauty of life in rural Nova Scotia at the beginning of the twentieth century. She has a large cast of characters and we feel we could visit this community and recognize everybody: the hard-working, decent, sometimes ignorant men and women whom life has taught to be no-nonsense, the women’s cliques with their prejudices and pretensions which go back generations, and the girls from away with their fresh ideas, who don’t recognize the authority of the old families. Some of the characters are memorable: the original and colourful Acadian, Marie Babineau, takes over all the scenes she is in. And there is the stalwart and conflicted Hart and his weak, spoiled and selfish brother, Archer. I enjoyed following Dora Rare’s growth from a lonely teenager to a leader in her community, gathering friends and confidence as she matured.
The pace is good, and the narrative moves along in a well-balanced and brisk fashion.
The prose is lyrical with vivid images and the dialogue flows naturally.
This is a feel-good book for women. It embraces all the issues that interest modern Canadian women: midwifery and home birth, control over one’s own body, suspicion of experts who have lost touch with human issues, herbal cures and natural foods, alternative green energy, and finding one’s calling and fulfilling one’s ‘passion.’ There is even the requisite lesbian couple who teach the protagonist that sex can be full of joy and love.
I can’t say the author is manipulative or insincere. She is genuine, believes in all these things herself and has written a book that reflects her own choices and appeals to like-minded women. Dora, the protagonist, faces problems with which we identify and makes conclusions that we applaud. Of the sex workers, she wonders whether they are not the same as women like herself who gave up power over her own body for the security of a home. She is open to new ideas. As a girl she is a romantic, conflicted and ignorant about her emerging sensuality. We see her ignorance and vulnerability taken advantage of when she enters a marriage to a callous man who has no respect for her. We hurt for her as she accepts her situation and doesn’t know that it could be better. She confronts social problems that interest us: girlhood bullying, an abusive husband, and the search for security. We readers relate to her problems. We are happy to see little Dora develop into a strong woman who follows her own career and maintains an equal-partner relationship with a man who makes no demands on her. These are our modern ideals.
But is the book well written?
This is a first novel and I think it strains under research insufficiently kneaded into the two essentials: plot and character. We read about the Acadian Dispersion, the Halifax Explosion, World War I, white feathers, suffragettes, the Temperance Union, the Influenza Epidemic, the Boston molasses explosion, the end of the shipbuilding era in Nova Scotia, and the coming of electricity. We have a history lesson in the pages of a novel. Does this enhance the story? Are the events germane to the plot? Do they drive it? Do they develop the characters? Mostly the answer is no. They seem imposed on the plot in an effort to create an authentic setting. Most of these events could be excised without changing the plot.
Archer, for instance, is given the white feather, but this seems to have no effect on him or Dora. It was presented out of jealousy, not patriotism. We know that in fact, men who received the white feather were humiliated and even driven to suicide, and we expect this event to be a plot driver in the novel, but it fizzles out. I felt that McKay just wanted to tell me that she knew about the use of white feathers during the war. Well, I know about them too, and, like a gun introduced into a first act, I’d like to see it used by the conclusion.
Just by chance, the first time Dora ventures out of her immediate vicinity, the Explosion happens, and she goes to Halifax to help out. Does this help the plot or develop her character? She goes back to Scots Bay and worries about her marriage and her barrenness. The whole episode could be excised and the story would be no different.
The magazine literature advertising sexual advice and aids for women was interesting and well-researched. The gadgets sold, women bought them. But would Dora have bought them? A character has been developed who is opposed to the new ways brought to the village by Dr. Thomas, the villain of the story. She knows that the printed page carries misinformation; she has seen lies written about herself in the Canning Register, and she has seen her husband taken in by printed advertisements for windmills. Would Dora really have believed the advertisements and ordered sex aids from a magazine?
It seems to me that Dora is a strong character wanting to emerge from this story, but McKay is so eager to include references that ground her book in an authentic time and place, that she neglects the authenticity of her character. She wants to impose her thinking on this girl from another era. She holds Dora on too tight a leash. Dora’s function as a proponent of midwifery is more important to McKay than allowing her character to grow into who she wants to be. Next time, Ami, relax the reins.
McKay says that she wanted her style of writing to resemble the emptying of her mother’s pockets at the end of the day, and include all the disparate items that represented her life. The introduction of letters, newspaper clippings, invitations, and so on into the text is part of this attempt. Including letters in a narrative is an old device. It varies the rhythm, and focuses attention on what is often a turning point in a plot. These intrusions have more effect when done less liberally, in my opinion. In The Birth House there are so many of them that they appear as shortcuts to proper development of the drama and response to events. It’s an original attempt, but I think it is overworked.
What is the theme of this book? I think it is to teach us to value traditional healing and the wisdom of experience and promote midwifery. Unfortunately, the figure who represents modern medicine, Dr. Thomas, is so entirely malign, that a real debate can never emerge from this book. There cannot be a satisfactory resolution when the two sides are unequal. We know that doctors and midwives can work together and doctors have learned a lot from midwives. But this book ends with the banishment of the doctor. Midwives Rule!
This is a book from the 60s , from the back-to-the earth people who formed the first co-ops and discovered wheat berries and bulgur and introduced America to yogurt. I am a first cohort baby boomer. I remember this stuff. But I have learned that there are many sides to an issue and I appreciate a fair debate. I have moved on.
E*
I enjoyed this book. When I put it down, I looked forward to picking it up again. McKay is good at evoking the hard beauty of life in rural Nova Scotia at the beginning of the twentieth century. She has a large cast of characters and we feel we could visit this community and recognize everybody: the hard-working, decent, sometimes ignorant men and women whom life has taught to be no-nonsense, the women’s cliques with their prejudices and pretensions which go back generations, and the girls from away with their fresh ideas, who don’t recognize the authority of the old families. Some of the characters are memorable: the original and colourful Acadian, Marie Babineau, takes over all the scenes she is in. And there is the stalwart and conflicted Hart and his weak, spoiled and selfish brother, Archer. I enjoyed following Dora Rare’s growth from a lonely teenager to a leader in her community, gathering friends and confidence as she matured.
The pace is good, and the narrative moves along in a well-balanced and brisk fashion.
The prose is lyrical with vivid images and the dialogue flows naturally.
This is a feel-good book for women. It embraces all the issues that interest modern Canadian women: midwifery and home birth, control over one’s own body, suspicion of experts who have lost touch with human issues, herbal cures and natural foods, alternative green energy, and finding one’s calling and fulfilling one’s ‘passion.’ There is even the requisite lesbian couple who teach the protagonist that sex can be full of joy and love.
I can’t say the author is manipulative or insincere. She is genuine, believes in all these things herself and has written a book that reflects her own choices and appeals to like-minded women. Dora, the protagonist, faces problems with which we identify and makes conclusions that we applaud. Of the sex workers, she wonders whether they are not the same as women like herself who gave up power over her own body for the security of a home. She is open to new ideas. As a girl she is a romantic, conflicted and ignorant about her emerging sensuality. We see her ignorance and vulnerability taken advantage of when she enters a marriage to a callous man who has no respect for her. We hurt for her as she accepts her situation and doesn’t know that it could be better. She confronts social problems that interest us: girlhood bullying, an abusive husband, and the search for security. We readers relate to her problems. We are happy to see little Dora develop into a strong woman who follows her own career and maintains an equal-partner relationship with a man who makes no demands on her. These are our modern ideals.
But is the book well written?
This is a first novel and I think it strains under research insufficiently kneaded into the two essentials: plot and character. We read about the Acadian Dispersion, the Halifax Explosion, World War I, white feathers, suffragettes, the Temperance Union, the Influenza Epidemic, the Boston molasses explosion, the end of the shipbuilding era in Nova Scotia, and the coming of electricity. We have a history lesson in the pages of a novel. Does this enhance the story? Are the events germane to the plot? Do they drive it? Do they develop the characters? Mostly the answer is no. They seem imposed on the plot in an effort to create an authentic setting. Most of these events could be excised without changing the plot.
Archer, for instance, is given the white feather, but this seems to have no effect on him or Dora. It was presented out of jealousy, not patriotism. We know that in fact, men who received the white feather were humiliated and even driven to suicide, and we expect this event to be a plot driver in the novel, but it fizzles out. I felt that McKay just wanted to tell me that she knew about the use of white feathers during the war. Well, I know about them too, and, like a gun introduced into a first act, I’d like to see it used by the conclusion.
Just by chance, the first time Dora ventures out of her immediate vicinity, the Explosion happens, and she goes to Halifax to help out. Does this help the plot or develop her character? She goes back to Scots Bay and worries about her marriage and her barrenness. The whole episode could be excised and the story would be no different.
The magazine literature advertising sexual advice and aids for women was interesting and well-researched. The gadgets sold, women bought them. But would Dora have bought them? A character has been developed who is opposed to the new ways brought to the village by Dr. Thomas, the villain of the story. She knows that the printed page carries misinformation; she has seen lies written about herself in the Canning Register, and she has seen her husband taken in by printed advertisements for windmills. Would Dora really have believed the advertisements and ordered sex aids from a magazine?
It seems to me that Dora is a strong character wanting to emerge from this story, but McKay is so eager to include references that ground her book in an authentic time and place, that she neglects the authenticity of her character. She wants to impose her thinking on this girl from another era. She holds Dora on too tight a leash. Dora’s function as a proponent of midwifery is more important to McKay than allowing her character to grow into who she wants to be. Next time, Ami, relax the reins.
McKay says that she wanted her style of writing to resemble the emptying of her mother’s pockets at the end of the day, and include all the disparate items that represented her life. The introduction of letters, newspaper clippings, invitations, and so on into the text is part of this attempt. Including letters in a narrative is an old device. It varies the rhythm, and focuses attention on what is often a turning point in a plot. These intrusions have more effect when done less liberally, in my opinion. In The Birth House there are so many of them that they appear as shortcuts to proper development of the drama and response to events. It’s an original attempt, but I think it is overworked.
What is the theme of this book? I think it is to teach us to value traditional healing and the wisdom of experience and promote midwifery. Unfortunately, the figure who represents modern medicine, Dr. Thomas, is so entirely malign, that a real debate can never emerge from this book. There cannot be a satisfactory resolution when the two sides are unequal. We know that doctors and midwives can work together and doctors have learned a lot from midwives. But this book ends with the banishment of the doctor. Midwives Rule!
This is a book from the 60s , from the back-to-the earth people who formed the first co-ops and discovered wheat berries and bulgur and introduced America to yogurt. I am a first cohort baby boomer. I remember this stuff. But I have learned that there are many sides to an issue and I appreciate a fair debate. I have moved on.
E*
Friday, September 10, 2010
The Help
The Help
Kathryn Stockett
I was surprised by how much I liked this book. Stockett is a good story-teller. She has a wide cast of characters, with diverse personalities and she manages to keep them all true to themselves. The story unfolds through the voices of the main characters who take turns telling the tale, each from her own perspective. Men are in the background in this book. It is the story of women domestics in the Deep South of the 60s and the women who hire them.
There are many characters, and unfortunately, some of them become caricatures in the rush to tell the story. The strong black women who hold together their families while working long hours for demanding, spoiled employers are the best developed. Each has her own private tragedy and is supported by the others in the community. Each takes a risk when she decides to take part in the project that drives the plot of the book: to contribute her personal stories to a book about what it is like to be a domestic in a white home in Mississippi.
Stockett found it harder to write sympathetically about the white women, and they are less distinguishable as they spend their days at the pool and tennis courts and playing bridge. Miss Hilly, especially, the leader of her coterie, is one-dimensional, the arch-typical insensitive, self-centred woman, leading the campaign to keep the black help out of white bathrooms, alternately hounding the help and shunning the white women who have crossed swords with her. Apart from her love of power, her motives are not explored.
The secret of Miss Hilly's power seems to lie in the passivity and cowardice of the other white women. Stockett takes an interesting look at the existence of female cliques and their loyalty system, which are not specific to the south.
The shallowness of the lives of Southern women has been shown before, since Gone With the Wind. The mother of Skeeter, the protagonist, wants nothing more for her daughter than for her to be shorter, have better hair, and to get married. Miss Celia, the 'white trash' woman who has married into Jackson society, expends all her energy on trying to be accepted into Miss Hilly's group of friends.
The most developed character is Skeeter, freshly graduated from university and in search of a career. On a whim, she decides to write a book about the black help who raise the white children of her community. As the book progresses, and she learns their stories, she matures and realizes the responsibility she has undertaken for these vulnerable women. Her childhood friends turn against her when she disagrees with Miss Hilly, and she examines herself and realizes that she has values which she cannot compromise. Despite her physical attraction for her suitor, Stuart Whitworth, she sees that she could never spend a lifetime with him and fall into the mold of a southern belle.
Stockett is good at creating her setting: the beauty of her father's farm, the summer heat, the country club, the bus ride to the black side of town, the snobbery among the white society. When she and her parents are invited to the influential Whitworths for supper, the description of her father wearing "his black funeral suit" sums up succinctly the awkwardness of the farmer looking his best when he comes to town. Rosa Parks has just taken her famous bus ride, and people are talking about the big rally in Washington.
Stockett's strength is story-telling and the impact of her book lies in the stories she reveals about the black and white lives which are intertwined in the intimacies of child rearing and house-keeping, and yet divided by the gulf of colour and the history of slavery.
The winners are revealed to be the losers and vice versa in this book. While the white women benefit from the rules of Southern society, they are alike in their insensitivity and shallowness. The black women all have their individual heartaches and yet survive through personal strength and community support.
Among those maids who decide to tell their stories is Minnie, whose fiery temper gets her into trouble, but whose warm heart and common sense are a support for her misfit employer. A former boss gave her a week's vacation, and when Minnie came back to work, she found that the family had moved out of town and had not given Minnie prior notice because they were afraid she would find other employment while they still had need of her. Minnie's courage to tell her stories is rewarded when the royalties from the book allow her to leave her abusive husband.
Another maid is Yule May, whose son is blinded by a lynch mob. And there is Abileen, who helps Skeeter with her household hints column in the local paper and is her contact with the rest of the black community. Abileen has raised seventeen white children, her maternal nature has loved them all, but the forces of society have turned them all into racists of some degree. The anomaly of white women entrusting the raising of their children to black maids is not overlooked.
These maids are the glue that makes this society work. One of them has a special treasure: a thank you note handed to her at the funeral of one of her employers. "Thank you for making my baby stop hurting," it read.
In the end, these risk takers are rewarded, the racist Miss Hilly is silenced to some degree, and Skeeter, who has outgrown Jackson society, gets a job in New York. The threads are tied up and we are relieved of the suspense created by the very real risks taken by these women. It is all a bit too good to be true, but it's always nice to have a happy ending.
Kathryn Stockett
I was surprised by how much I liked this book. Stockett is a good story-teller. She has a wide cast of characters, with diverse personalities and she manages to keep them all true to themselves. The story unfolds through the voices of the main characters who take turns telling the tale, each from her own perspective. Men are in the background in this book. It is the story of women domestics in the Deep South of the 60s and the women who hire them.
There are many characters, and unfortunately, some of them become caricatures in the rush to tell the story. The strong black women who hold together their families while working long hours for demanding, spoiled employers are the best developed. Each has her own private tragedy and is supported by the others in the community. Each takes a risk when she decides to take part in the project that drives the plot of the book: to contribute her personal stories to a book about what it is like to be a domestic in a white home in Mississippi.
Stockett found it harder to write sympathetically about the white women, and they are less distinguishable as they spend their days at the pool and tennis courts and playing bridge. Miss Hilly, especially, the leader of her coterie, is one-dimensional, the arch-typical insensitive, self-centred woman, leading the campaign to keep the black help out of white bathrooms, alternately hounding the help and shunning the white women who have crossed swords with her. Apart from her love of power, her motives are not explored.
The secret of Miss Hilly's power seems to lie in the passivity and cowardice of the other white women. Stockett takes an interesting look at the existence of female cliques and their loyalty system, which are not specific to the south.
The shallowness of the lives of Southern women has been shown before, since Gone With the Wind. The mother of Skeeter, the protagonist, wants nothing more for her daughter than for her to be shorter, have better hair, and to get married. Miss Celia, the 'white trash' woman who has married into Jackson society, expends all her energy on trying to be accepted into Miss Hilly's group of friends.
The most developed character is Skeeter, freshly graduated from university and in search of a career. On a whim, she decides to write a book about the black help who raise the white children of her community. As the book progresses, and she learns their stories, she matures and realizes the responsibility she has undertaken for these vulnerable women. Her childhood friends turn against her when she disagrees with Miss Hilly, and she examines herself and realizes that she has values which she cannot compromise. Despite her physical attraction for her suitor, Stuart Whitworth, she sees that she could never spend a lifetime with him and fall into the mold of a southern belle.
Stockett is good at creating her setting: the beauty of her father's farm, the summer heat, the country club, the bus ride to the black side of town, the snobbery among the white society. When she and her parents are invited to the influential Whitworths for supper, the description of her father wearing "his black funeral suit" sums up succinctly the awkwardness of the farmer looking his best when he comes to town. Rosa Parks has just taken her famous bus ride, and people are talking about the big rally in Washington.
Stockett's strength is story-telling and the impact of her book lies in the stories she reveals about the black and white lives which are intertwined in the intimacies of child rearing and house-keeping, and yet divided by the gulf of colour and the history of slavery.
The winners are revealed to be the losers and vice versa in this book. While the white women benefit from the rules of Southern society, they are alike in their insensitivity and shallowness. The black women all have their individual heartaches and yet survive through personal strength and community support.
Among those maids who decide to tell their stories is Minnie, whose fiery temper gets her into trouble, but whose warm heart and common sense are a support for her misfit employer. A former boss gave her a week's vacation, and when Minnie came back to work, she found that the family had moved out of town and had not given Minnie prior notice because they were afraid she would find other employment while they still had need of her. Minnie's courage to tell her stories is rewarded when the royalties from the book allow her to leave her abusive husband.
Another maid is Yule May, whose son is blinded by a lynch mob. And there is Abileen, who helps Skeeter with her household hints column in the local paper and is her contact with the rest of the black community. Abileen has raised seventeen white children, her maternal nature has loved them all, but the forces of society have turned them all into racists of some degree. The anomaly of white women entrusting the raising of their children to black maids is not overlooked.
These maids are the glue that makes this society work. One of them has a special treasure: a thank you note handed to her at the funeral of one of her employers. "Thank you for making my baby stop hurting," it read.
In the end, these risk takers are rewarded, the racist Miss Hilly is silenced to some degree, and Skeeter, who has outgrown Jackson society, gets a job in New York. The threads are tied up and we are relieved of the suspense created by the very real risks taken by these women. It is all a bit too good to be true, but it's always nice to have a happy ending.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Testimony
Testimony
by
Anita Shreve
In 2005, at Milton Academy near Boston, a notorious sex party took place. The event was videoed and broadcast, mishandled by school authorities, and sensationalized by the press. Two books and a magazine article have been written about the incident.
The first book, Restless Virgins, is non-fiction, written by two graduates of Milton Academy, and based on interviews with those involved. It claims to show that the incident represented a new pattern of behaviour among high school students.
The magazine article, Love Actually, is written by Caitlin Flanagan in the June 2010 issue of the Atlantic and is partly a review of the novel by Anita Shreve, Testimony, published in 2008.
Flanagan's interest is in the response to sex and romance by modern teenage girls. Along with the authors of Restless Virgins, she feels that there is a disturbing twist to the perennial boyfriend quest, which she calls, "the hook-up culture." Flanagan found the conclusions of Restless Virgins unsatisfactory, and recommends instead the novel, Testimony.
Testimony, however, does not address the issue of the hook-up culture that so dismays Flanagan. It places the event in its community and tries to show what kind of teenagers take part in sex parties, the entitlement culture of elite sports teams, the pressure of the home environment, the betrayal of responsibility by lax supervision by those in a position of responsibility, and the tragic repercussions of the event on the young people involved, on those who loved and supported them, and on the whole school community.
Rather than depicting the key players as caught up in a teenage sub-culture, Shreve gives the background and reflections of each of them and shows that each case was special. The girl in question is shown as non-typical of her classmates, recognized by her room-mate and the older boys as having different priorities and interests from an average girl her age.
Of the six boys involved, two recognized the danger and left the party, one was nineteen and almost out of his teenage years, one was reacting to the recent discovery that his mother was having an affair with the school principal, one took the video but did not otherwise participate, and one was so drunk that he acted out of character. We conclude that the event and the participants were out of the ordinary.
I would not bother to read another book by Anita Shreve myself. Although she is a competent writer, Testimony is more in the young-adult category. But I would strongly recommend that the book be studied in high school classes.
The subject matter is very relevant to teenagers, and the format, with each chapter being a different voice, rather like a reality television show, makes the book easy to break up into segments for discussion. High school years can be hard ones and teenagers need guidance and open discussion to lead them through the pertinent moral issues examined in this book.
Shreve is candid about the power of sex but also reassuring that, although they happen, wild sex parties are not the norm in high school. Given Shreve's perspective, it seems odd that Flanagan recommends this book as an insight into the hook-up culture. But its study could well give positive direction to adolescents dealing with the reality.
E*
by
Anita Shreve
In 2005, at Milton Academy near Boston, a notorious sex party took place. The event was videoed and broadcast, mishandled by school authorities, and sensationalized by the press. Two books and a magazine article have been written about the incident.
The first book, Restless Virgins, is non-fiction, written by two graduates of Milton Academy, and based on interviews with those involved. It claims to show that the incident represented a new pattern of behaviour among high school students.
The magazine article, Love Actually, is written by Caitlin Flanagan in the June 2010 issue of the Atlantic and is partly a review of the novel by Anita Shreve, Testimony, published in 2008.
Flanagan's interest is in the response to sex and romance by modern teenage girls. Along with the authors of Restless Virgins, she feels that there is a disturbing twist to the perennial boyfriend quest, which she calls, "the hook-up culture." Flanagan found the conclusions of Restless Virgins unsatisfactory, and recommends instead the novel, Testimony.
Testimony, however, does not address the issue of the hook-up culture that so dismays Flanagan. It places the event in its community and tries to show what kind of teenagers take part in sex parties, the entitlement culture of elite sports teams, the pressure of the home environment, the betrayal of responsibility by lax supervision by those in a position of responsibility, and the tragic repercussions of the event on the young people involved, on those who loved and supported them, and on the whole school community.
Rather than depicting the key players as caught up in a teenage sub-culture, Shreve gives the background and reflections of each of them and shows that each case was special. The girl in question is shown as non-typical of her classmates, recognized by her room-mate and the older boys as having different priorities and interests from an average girl her age.
Of the six boys involved, two recognized the danger and left the party, one was nineteen and almost out of his teenage years, one was reacting to the recent discovery that his mother was having an affair with the school principal, one took the video but did not otherwise participate, and one was so drunk that he acted out of character. We conclude that the event and the participants were out of the ordinary.
I would not bother to read another book by Anita Shreve myself. Although she is a competent writer, Testimony is more in the young-adult category. But I would strongly recommend that the book be studied in high school classes.
The subject matter is very relevant to teenagers, and the format, with each chapter being a different voice, rather like a reality television show, makes the book easy to break up into segments for discussion. High school years can be hard ones and teenagers need guidance and open discussion to lead them through the pertinent moral issues examined in this book.
Shreve is candid about the power of sex but also reassuring that, although they happen, wild sex parties are not the norm in high school. Given Shreve's perspective, it seems odd that Flanagan recommends this book as an insight into the hook-up culture. But its study could well give positive direction to adolescents dealing with the reality.
E*
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
The Long Song by Andrea Levy
The Long Song
By
Andrea Levy
I think that this is a very well-written book. It purports to be the life's reminiscences of an old woman, yet it encompasses the brutality of slavery in Jamaica, the complexity of the transition that followed emancipation, British racism, and its many cloaks. The straight-forward story-telling is compelling, but the social situation of the setting leaves a lasting impression.
Levy has developed a style that seamlessly integrates narrative with description. So, for instance, when reading about the preparations for a Christmas Dinner, we are simultaneously caught up in the action and interaction of the characters, and also given a vivid picture of plantation life in 1870s Jamaica. The setting has been well researched, from the oranges rubbed on the wood floors to make them shine, to the difference in sanitary practices between rich and poor. The social interactions are subtly but clearly presented - the rivalry between the white plantation owners, the treatment of slaves, and the complicity among slaves as they exact their own little revenges upon their owners.
The narrative is just fast enough to be compelling, but it is infused by a vivid depiction of life among blacks and whites under the hot Caribbean sun. The pacing is perfect. Descriptions are always germane to the narrative which is recounted by July, the audacious black house-slave whose story frames the book.
The voice, or voices, sound authentic and are consistent with the narration. The bulk of the story is told by July, by now elderly and living with her son, Thomas, the minor voice, who is the well-educated owner of a publishing house. This combination of narrators makes the voices plausible. July has an irrepressible side to her character which she may have lost during the hard years after her master left Jamaica, but which resurfaces in old age when life is easier. As an old woman, she nags her grandchildren; as a young woman she pestered her mistress. We see the same irrepressible nature in her little grand daughters. The persistence of this trait gives consistency to her voice. The impetus and commitment to tell the whole tale comes from the educated Thomas who recognizes that his mother has a story worth telling. We who have had older parents identify with his response: "You should write this down!"
The role of Christianity in the emancipation of the slaves comes under reflective scrutiny. Christian ideals led to freedom for slaves, but British societal values made it hard for whites to follow their Biblical teaching when faced with colonial life. The headstart which Thomas received by being brought up in a strict Baptist family and his eventual blossoming under the tutelage of the freethinker, Linus Gray, symbolizes the limitation of the Bible-believing emancipationists.
A comparison begs to be made between the naughty, imaginative July of The Long Song, and the teflon Aminata of The Book of Negroes (Someone Knows My Name in the US) by Lawrence Hill. Both protagonists experienced the horrors of slavery and the transition to emancipation, although the timing was later in the US. Both are telling their story to a named audience. Levy is so much more astute to address us, the readers, through the intervention of her son, than was Hill, who compelled his character to speak to an audience of self-righteous emancipators with political ambitions. July is a character who comes alive on the page, whereas little Aminata soldiers on, unable to show her emotions to her readers.
The Long Song is a memorable book for the character of July, who defiantly dances through the narrative, and for the sober setting painted so vividly. Poor benighted Jamaica. With such racial exploitation in its history, no wonder it is such a troubled country today. What terrible mistakes were made. What indifference and hatred flourished.
E*
By
Andrea Levy
I think that this is a very well-written book. It purports to be the life's reminiscences of an old woman, yet it encompasses the brutality of slavery in Jamaica, the complexity of the transition that followed emancipation, British racism, and its many cloaks. The straight-forward story-telling is compelling, but the social situation of the setting leaves a lasting impression.
Levy has developed a style that seamlessly integrates narrative with description. So, for instance, when reading about the preparations for a Christmas Dinner, we are simultaneously caught up in the action and interaction of the characters, and also given a vivid picture of plantation life in 1870s Jamaica. The setting has been well researched, from the oranges rubbed on the wood floors to make them shine, to the difference in sanitary practices between rich and poor. The social interactions are subtly but clearly presented - the rivalry between the white plantation owners, the treatment of slaves, and the complicity among slaves as they exact their own little revenges upon their owners.
The narrative is just fast enough to be compelling, but it is infused by a vivid depiction of life among blacks and whites under the hot Caribbean sun. The pacing is perfect. Descriptions are always germane to the narrative which is recounted by July, the audacious black house-slave whose story frames the book.
The voice, or voices, sound authentic and are consistent with the narration. The bulk of the story is told by July, by now elderly and living with her son, Thomas, the minor voice, who is the well-educated owner of a publishing house. This combination of narrators makes the voices plausible. July has an irrepressible side to her character which she may have lost during the hard years after her master left Jamaica, but which resurfaces in old age when life is easier. As an old woman, she nags her grandchildren; as a young woman she pestered her mistress. We see the same irrepressible nature in her little grand daughters. The persistence of this trait gives consistency to her voice. The impetus and commitment to tell the whole tale comes from the educated Thomas who recognizes that his mother has a story worth telling. We who have had older parents identify with his response: "You should write this down!"
The role of Christianity in the emancipation of the slaves comes under reflective scrutiny. Christian ideals led to freedom for slaves, but British societal values made it hard for whites to follow their Biblical teaching when faced with colonial life. The headstart which Thomas received by being brought up in a strict Baptist family and his eventual blossoming under the tutelage of the freethinker, Linus Gray, symbolizes the limitation of the Bible-believing emancipationists.
A comparison begs to be made between the naughty, imaginative July of The Long Song, and the teflon Aminata of The Book of Negroes (Someone Knows My Name in the US) by Lawrence Hill. Both protagonists experienced the horrors of slavery and the transition to emancipation, although the timing was later in the US. Both are telling their story to a named audience. Levy is so much more astute to address us, the readers, through the intervention of her son, than was Hill, who compelled his character to speak to an audience of self-righteous emancipators with political ambitions. July is a character who comes alive on the page, whereas little Aminata soldiers on, unable to show her emotions to her readers.
The Long Song is a memorable book for the character of July, who defiantly dances through the narrative, and for the sober setting painted so vividly. Poor benighted Jamaica. With such racial exploitation in its history, no wonder it is such a troubled country today. What terrible mistakes were made. What indifference and hatred flourished.
E*
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