Tin Man

Sarah Winman

Tin Man by Sarah Winman opens in 1950 when a pregnant Dora Judd publicly defies her husband by selecting a reproduction of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers as her raffle winnings instead of the bottle of whisky he wanted. The painting holds special significance for Dora and references to it appear throughout the novel.

The novel then shifts to 1996. Dora’s son, Ellis, is forty-six years old and mourning the death of his wife, Annie, who died in a car accident. What follows are flashbacks to Ellis’ past, his teenage love affair with Michael, and his marriage to Annie. The three form a powerful bond with Michael as a force of energy. The narrative then shifts to 1989 and 1990 with Michael’s first-person point of view, as he recalls his relationship with Ellis and his later relationship with G who dies of AIDS. Michael later succumbs to the disease. Included in the flashbacks are images of Michael’s loving grandmother who plays a prominent role in all their lives. Michael abruptly leaves London after her death and loses contact with his two friends for several years.

In beautiful, simple, and heart-warming prose, Winman captures the sadness, grief, and loneliness at the loss of those who were once bound by an all-consuming love and friendship for one another. Her prose is tender, restrained, and compassionate. The loneliness and grief are palpable, as is the love they share. But the novel is not simply about grief over the loss of a loved one. It is also about grief for the many paths not taken in life—the many pursuits, indulgences, choices in life that were relinquished in favor of others. In that sense, the novel laments our lost selves—the selves we might have been had we made different choices.

Winman has crafted a powerful, moving narrative in a little over 200 pages in which she depicts with tenderness and warmth the many forms and fluidity of love; intense feelings of loss and grief; and middle-age regret over the road not taken.

Very highly recommended.

The Lincoln Highway

Amor Towles

The Lincoln Highway by Amor Towles opens in 1954 with 18-year-old Emmett Watson’s early release from detention on compassionate grounds because of his father’s death. The warden drives him to the family farm in Nebraska and gives him parting words of advice.

Because of the father’s mounting debts, the bank has foreclosed on the family farm. Emmett intends to pick up his 8-year-old brother, Billy, and drive to California in his old Studebaker to start a new life. But his plans go awry when two fellow inmates, Duchess and Woolly, appear unexpectedly at his doorstep. Having escaped from the detention center by hiding in the warden’s trunk, they reveal their plan to retrieve thousands of dollars ostensibly left for Woolly by his grandfather at their summer home in the Adirondacks. They want Emmett and Billy to join them. Emmett declines. Duchess then “borrows” Emmett’s car and heads to New York. And so begins an eventful journey consisting of a desperate chase. It is replete with detours, U-turns, digressions, a “borrowed” car, “borrowed” money, rides on freight trains, visits to the sites in New York city, magic tricks, a circus, a slew of coincidences, and interactions with savory and unsavory characters.

The novel spans a period of ten days. The intricate plot unfolds from multiple points of view, shifting from first-person and third-person narration. The reader is given access to each character’s thoughts and background, including how the three detainees ended up in the detention center. Each embeds stories of the past and background within the larger framework. The characters are portrayed as distinct individuals with a unique way of thinking and speaking. They are well-developed, the most interesting character being Duchess who is endowed with a quick-thinking gift for talking his way out of any situation.

The episodic nature of the structure shares elements with the picaresque novel. The narrative has a fitful stop-and-start quality with its many digressions and stories within a story, and with its leaps from one narrator to the next. The pacing is uneven, at times hurtling through, and at other times, moving slowly and dragging. The tone shifts from a comedic tone in the beginning to a dark, anti-climactic one at the end. What started off with a rollicking opening ended not with a bang but a whimper.

In spite of these issues, however, this was an enjoyable read and is recommended with reservations.

Still Life

Sarah Winman

Still Life by Sarah Winman covers a period of nearly four decades. It opens in Tuscany in 1944 during the final stages of World War II. Evelyn Skinner, an English sixty-something art historian, meets Ulysses Temper, a private in the British army. The two have an immediate connection and chat as if they have known each other for years. Their brief encounter leaves a lasting impression on both.

Ulysses returns to England after the war. In a surprising turn of events, a man whose life he saved in Italy dies and bequeaths Ulysses his home in Florence. Ulysses decides to relocate to Florence. He takes with him his ex-wife’s daughter and an elderly friend. The three form an inseparable bond. At various points, they are joined by Ulysses’ ex-wife and other close friends. Together this motley crew forms a rambunctious, loving family.  

The novel shifts to Evelyn Skinner who is now a professor of art. She is adored by her students and carries a wealth of knowledge about Italian art. She returns to Florence on a couple of occasions. Although she is in the same city as Ulysses, and although she and Ulysses remember each other with great fondness, their paths don’t cross for several years. They just miss each other. At one point, they are even standing at opposite ends of the same bridge. Eventually, they do re-connect and Evelyn, now in her eighties, moves to Florence to join Ulysses and his makeshift family.

The novel is strong in many areas, beginning with a narrative voice that is bright, engaging, funny, irreverent, and delightful. The characters are interesting, realistically portrayed, and each has a unique, authentic voice. Their interactions, subtle jabs at one another, jokes, and bickering are infused with a deep sense of love and friendship. The descriptions of Florence with its sights, sounds, and smells are immersive. One can almost smell the delicious food wafting off the page. The streets, the bridges, the buildings, and the Arno are depicted in all their majesty. The description of the 1966 flood that devastated the city is particularly effective. An impressive wealth of information about Italian masterpieces in painting and sculpture pepper the narrative.

There is so much to praise about the novel that it is easy to overlook some of the not-so-successful features, including a talking parrot who spouts lines from Shakespeare; a talking tree; and a series of highly improbable coincidences that feel staged. There is also an extended section at the end of the novel called “All About Evelyn,” that feels like an add-on feature and sticks out like a sore thumb.

Aside from these problematic features, the novel is a highly entertaining and engaging. It celebrates friendship, community, and love in its many forms. It is an education in Florentine art and architecture. And it celebrates of the magic and charm that is Florence.

Noonday

Pat Barker

Noonday by Pat Barker is the third book in her trilogy about World War II. The three main characters are Paul Tarrant; his wife, Elinor; and their friend, Kit Neville. Now in their middle-ages, the three were former art students attending the same school. The novel takes place during the London blitz. Paul works as an Air Raid Precautions warden, and Elinor and Kit drive ambulances. Woven within the main thrust of the narrative, which describes their volunteer activities during the blitz, are the occasional flashbacks of the past, most notably those centering around the death of Elinor’s brother, Toby, in World War I and Paul’s recollections of crawling through tunnels and trenches during the war.

The novel is weak on plot and character development. It is episodic in nature and shifts from one scene to another, seemingly without much purpose. Minor characters, like Bertha Mason, a medium who communes with the dead, are introduced to suggest a significant role, but then they fizzle out. There is mention of childhood incest, adultery, and rape, but little is made of any of these.

The main characters are floundering, aimless, and uninteresting. They come alive when they are driving ambulances or entering bombed out buildings to rescue survivors. Otherwise, they are bland and lack substance. But perhaps that is the point. At times of war when bombs are dropping, people readjust their priorities. They become casualties of war and have little choice but to adopt a flat veneer in order to survive the horrors they witness. It’s as if they bury their vitality in the rubble. They go through the motions of daily life, but little seems to matter other than surviving and helping others to survive.

The strength of this novel lies in Barker’s vivid description of the blitz. Her writing transports the reader to a London experiencing relentless bombing and destruction. The descriptions of the bombing and its aftermath on people and infrastructure vividly evoke the horrendous conditions people endured. What also emerges is the bravery and self-sacrifice of individuals tasked with rescuing survivors in bombed out buildings teetering on the edge of collapse. Barker describes rescuers crawling through small, claustrophobic spaces; listening for survivors; and painstakingly digging tunnels to get to people trapped in the ruins. Ambulances navigate through rubble, debris, unexploded bombs, and gas leaks. The images are haunting and relentless.

Barker successfully evokes a historical time and place through her use of descriptive detail and vivid imagery. The immersive sights, sounds, and smells of the blitz coupled with the camaraderie and courage of rescue workers constitute the highlight of the novel and redeem it from its lackluster characters and meandering plot.

Three Days in June

Anne Tyler

Three Days in June by Anne Tyler unfolds in the first-person voice of Gail Baines, a middle-aged divorced woman whose daughter is getting married. Day 1 is the day before the wedding of her daughter, Debbie. Day 2 is the day of the wedding. And day 3 is the day after.

On day 1, Gail learns that even though she is the second in command at a high school, she will not be promoted to replace the retiring headmistress due to her lack of people skills. Furthermore, the new headmistress is bringing with her an assistant, so Gail’s services will no longer be needed in that capacity. She marches home in an angry huff. To her surprise, her ex-husband, Max, shows up at her doorstep with a cat. He is there for their daughter’s wedding. He has to stay with Gail because their future son-in-law is allergic to cats. And so begins the next three days when Gail and Max get reacquainted.

Theirs is a study in contrasts. Gail is uptight, aloof, self-conscious, organized to a fault, awkward with small talk, and blurts her opinions with little consideration for other’ feelings. Max is loving, compassionate, comfortable in his own skin, forgiving, and kind. Gail distances herself from others; he connects with others. Gail is both drawn to Max’s easy-going style and irritated by it.

The presence of her ex-husband and her daughter’s upcoming marriage serve as the catalysts for Gail to re-evaluate her past, her marriage, and her divorce. Details of the past are woven into her narrative as flashbacks. Max helps Gail navigate the stressful three days and reins her in when she tries to interfere in their daughter’s decisions. Their opposite styles balance each other out.

Tyler’s characters are authentic and handled with empathy and sensitivity. They are vividly portrayed and so believable they could be stepping off the page. Gail is plagued with guilt for her past transgression, and Max is forgiving and has a generosity of spirit that makes him thoroughly endearing. They seem to complement one another so well that we want them to reconcile. Fortunately, and to our satisfaction, the closing pages of the novel suggest a reconciliation seems to be in the offing.

An easy, quick, and enjoyable read.

The Collected Stories of Carson McCullers

Carson McCullers

Collected Stories of Carson McCullers is a collection of nineteen short stories and two novellas, The Ballad of the Sad Café and The Member of the Wedding. McCullers stories plunge the reader in the atmosphere of the South. She captures the sights, sounds, smells, and texture of Southern life with immersive detail.

The thread that holds this collection together is McCullers consummate skill in depicting marginalized and alienated characters with authenticity and depth. She is particularly adept at depicting the interiority and dialogue of children. Some of the stories that stand out in this respect are “The Haunted Boy,” “Wunderkind,” “Like That,” and “The Member of the Wedding.” She treats her characters with empathy while underscoring the tragic circumstances of the human condition.

Many of McCullers stories focus on a single event or a moment in time that carry with them profound repercussions which haunt a character and impact his/her behavior and outlook. The tone throughout is melancholy, and although these are not uplifting stories, the consummate skill and delicacy with which she depicts her complex characters and their tragic circumstances will resonate profoundly with readers.

The Ferryman and His Wife

Frode Grytten; translated by Alison McCullough

The Ferryman and His Wife by Frode Grytten, translated from the Norwegian by Alison McCullough, is a short, profound, and captivating novel unfolding in lyrical and deeply moving diction. It infuses magical realism with a ferryman’s journey on the Norwegian fjords.

On the morning of November 18, Nils Vik opens his eyes knowing that today he will die. He goes through his usual morning routine and heads for his boat as he does every morning. Nils is a ferryman. He has spent decades transporting passengers to and from the various fjords. As he gets in his boat for this, his last trip, he is joined by his now dead dog, Luna.

Nils has a simplicity of spirit and quiet charm. He navigates his way across the fjords he knows so well. He is heading out to sea. Along the way, he stops to pick up now deceased former passengers to join him on his journey. He refers to his logbooks and his memory to introduce the passengers and provide their backstories. Although described in a few short pages, each passenger emerges as a complex, unique, and intriguing human being. And each is portrayed with delicacy and sensitivity. The passengers reveal the circumstances of their deaths. As Nils listens with respect and without judgment to their stories, he contemplates the meaning of life. But his focus is on picking up one last passenger, the love of his life, his now deceased wife, Marta.

Set against the stunning Norwegian landscape, the impact of this hauntingly profound meditation on life will linger long after the last page is read. A quiet novel, beautifully translated and packing emotional depth.

Highly recommended.

Black Woods, Blue Sky

Eowyn Ivey

Black Woods, Blue Sky by Eowyn Ivey blends magic and realism against the backdrop of the Alaskan wilderness. The narrative opens with Birdie and her six-year-old daughter, Emaleen. Birdie is restless and longs to escape her humdrum life of working in a bar. When the opportunity presents itself to move to a remote cabin in the wilderness with a mysterious and reclusive man named Arthur, Birdie seizes it and takes Emaleen with her.

Initially, mother and daughter enjoy the freedom of living off the grid. They develop a routine, adjusting to cabin life without electricity or running water. But as time passes and the novelty wears off, their ostensibly idyllic life becomes increasingly precarious. To complicate matters, Arthur remains elusive. He harbors a dark secret about his origins. He disappears, sometimes for days at a time, and is non-communicative about where he has been. His only instruction to Birdie is to leave him alone. Meanwhile, Emaleen discovers his secret but withholds the information from her mother until it is too late.

The novel’s strength lies in Ivey’s ability to immerse the reader in the pristine Alaskan wilderness. She captures the raw beauty of the Alaskan flora and fauna, as well as its potential for danger from wild animals. But the narrative and its execution are disappointing. The lackluster characters are underdeveloped and uninteresting. Birdie is too quick to rush off to the wilderness with a man she barely knows, putting her daughter at risk. Emaleen’s voice as a six-year-old is irritating and contrived. Arthur, supposedly a dark, brooding, romantic male character, comes across as a lumbering idiot. And the elements of magical realism fall short. Magical realism should infuse the narrative as a whole to be effective. Here, it is exclusively contained in the person of an uninspiring Arthur.

I enjoyed Ivey’s The Snow Child and To the Bright Edge of the World. But this book just wasn’t for me.

Why Animals Talk: The New Science of Animal Communication

Arik Kershenbaum

Why Animals Talk: The New Science of Animal Communication by Arik Kershenbaum explores the possible reasons why six specific species of animals communicate. The six animal species Kershenbaum focuses on are wolves, dolphins, parrots, hyrax, gibbons, and chimpanzees. Each chapter includes some fun facts about the species. Kershenbaum then moves to human communication, exploring definitions of what constitutes a language and to what degree we can truly communicate with animals and they with us.

Kershenbaum analyzes the different sounds animals make through the use of a spectrogram which visually represents sounds in time and in pitch. By studying the spectrogram, we can picture animal sounds in our heads. He offers some interesting insights on animal communication, categorizing the different sounds they make and suggesting a correlation between a specific sound and the event that triggered it. He provides fascinating examples of two-way communication between animals and humans.

Animals have species-specific methods of communicating which are governed by a number of factors, including the nature of their habitats, the availability of resources, mating rituals, and predator warning signals. Kershenbaum cautions us against imposing our meanings on animal communication and argues that in order to understand what animals are communicating and why they are communicating, we have to view the world through their set of lenses and not through ours.

Kershenbaum is at pains to argue against the idea that human communication is somehow superior to animal communication. Animal communication evolved to the degree necessary to suit the needs of the specific species inhabiting that specific environment. Our language, which is immeasurably more complex than the “language” of animals, evolved to suit the needs of our immeasurably more complex social environment. Human language is not necessarily superior to animal talk—just different.

Underlying his study is Kershenbaum’s plea for humility in our treatment of animals and when studying their oral and non-oral methods of communication.

Full of interesting insights on animal behavior, the study takes a measured approach to the subject of animal talk.

The Secret History

Donna Tartt

The Secret History by Donna Tartt opens with a chilling prologue in which Richard, the first-person narrator of the novel, reveals his participation in a murder which occurred many years prior. The victim was a college friend known as Bunny. The remaining 500 plus pages of the novel circle back to Richard’s background; his attendance at a liberal arts college in Vermont; his acceptance at an exclusive class taught by an eccentric Classics professor; his developing friendship with the five other students in the class; the events leading up to the murder of one of those students; and the aftermath. The opening pages divulge the murder, so we know who gets killed, but we don’t know why.

Unlike his five classmates, Richard comes from a low-income family. He is embarrassed by his background and makes every attempt to fit in with his wealthier classmates. He is susceptible to their influence, is easily impressed, and eager to please. All this makes him a naïve and an unreliable narrator.

The plot is intricate. Since we know at the outset who gets killed and who the culprits are, the suspense is not generated by whodunit but by why-they-done-it, and will they get caught? The culprits hide their tracks, await anxiously for Bunny’s body to be discovered, navigate through police questioning, and attend Bunny’s funeral with an appropriate façade of mourning. This gripping, page-turner charts how the effects of an unpunished crime cause each member of the group to unravel in his or her own way.

Tartt captures a college atmosphere awash with alcohol and drugs which her characters use to anesthetize themselves. The characters are well-developed and intriguing, especially Henry, the de-facto leader of the group. Richard’s fascination with Henry saturates the narrative. And although he survives, Richard continues to be haunted by the crime and by ghosts of the past as evidenced by the prologue written years after the event. His overwhelming desire for acceptance by this elite group blinds him to their snobbery and lack of moral fiber until years later.

The diction is rich and detailed. Tartt immerses the reader in college life. She peppers the narrative with references to Greek plays and Greek phrases. She captures Richard’s insecurities and psyche realistically. And although some of the scenes are unnecessarily drawn out, too long, and overwritten, they don’t mar the effect of the novel as a whole.

With echoes of The Lord of the Flies and Crime and Punishment, this is a gripping novel about a group of elitist students at an exclusive liberal arts college who are convinced the rules of moral and ethical behavior don’t apply to them and who eventually learn they are not immune to the consequences of an unpunished and morally abhorrent crime.

The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry

Rachel Joyce

The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce tells the story of Harold, a timid retiree who makes a spur of the moment decision to walk 600 miles to visit a former colleague dying of terminal cancer.

The novel opens with Harold receiving a letter from Queenie Hennessy whom he hasn’t heard from in decades. Queenie is saying goodbye because she is dying of terminal cancer. A man of few words, Harold pens a short note and walks to the nearest mailbox to post it. Once there, he realizes he is not quite ready to post the note and decides to walk to the next mailbox. From there, he decides to walk to the post office. And from there he makes a spontaneous decision to embark on the 600 mile walk north to say goodbye to Queenie Hennessy in person.

Ill-equipped to make the long trek, Harold forges ahead in his yachting shoes. He walks and walks in all kinds of weather; without a map or a phone; and in spite of leg cramps, blisters, worn-out shoes, and threadbare clothes. He makes periodic phone calls to his wife, Maureen, to update her on his progress. And he updates the hospice where Queenie is staying, convinced he can keep her alive until he gets there.

As he trudges along, one leg after another, Harold evaluates his life, his difficult childhood, the decisions he has made, his relationship with his son, and his current estrangement from his wife. He recalls the joy the two felt for each other when they first got married. He develops an appreciation for the beauty he finds in nature. He meets people along the way who share their life-stories and challenges. Eventually, Harold develops a temporary following of make-shift pilgrims, each of whom has a personal reason for walking with him. He becomes a reluctant media celebrity and is relieved when all abandon him to continue the walk alone. He arrives at his destination and sees Queenie at the final stages of her life. He is joined by Maureen who has also used the time apart to reflect on their relationship. The novel ends with their reconciliation and a celebration marked with laughter.

In a series of episodes, Harold encounters people in varying stages of life, dealing with different challenges. Some show him kindness; some exploit his celebrity status for their own ends. They confide their secrets to him because it is easier to do so to a stranger. Throughout, Harold is non-judgmental and compassionate.

The epigraph for the novel is from John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress. This suggests Harold may be perceived as a contemporary Everyman figure embarking on a spiritual journey that leads to forgiveness for past failures and reconciliation. Told in simple, straight-forward language, Joyce’s novel is a testament to the resilience and fragility of the human spirit and its capacity for forgiveness.

The Pleasures of Reading in an Ideological Age

Robert Alter

In The Pleasures of Reading in an Ideological Age, Robert Alter distinguishes imaginative literature from other types of writing by showing how literature works. He begins by decrying the general decline in reading literature and argues critics who analyze literature from their ideological perspective to the exclusion of alternative readings perform a great disservice to the literary work.

Alter’s approach is systematic. He demonstrates how the strategies of character, style, allusions, structure, perspective, and multiple meanings work in literature. He illustrates his argument with selections from literary works, providing context to the selection. His close textual analysis of the selections is inspiring and opens up new ways of reading already familiar works. He defines his terms and avoids academic jargon. His tone throughout is measured, respectful, and inclusive.

While any give literary text can support a variety of readings with never one that is “correct” to the exclusion of all others, Alter convincingly demonstrates a reading is not simply weak but wrong when a reader . . .

proposes implications of social institutions invoked in the text that they never had in their historical setting, and when details provided by the narrator or by the character in their dialogue are ignored or misrepresented

All readings must be grounded in the words of the text. Approaching a reading with an ideological bias may open it up, but it should never do so by excluding all other approaches. In fact, one of the pleasures of reading literature is its very open endedness:

The open-endedness of the text plays a key role in this pleasure because the reader is the recipient of a kind of communication that, unlike graffiti or bumper stickers or telegrams, offers a rich multiplicity of messages in which the mind may delight.

Alter offers an erudite, eloquent, and systematic explication of the value of and pleasures in reading literature while arguing for a slow, attentive reading of the literary text.

The Emperor of Gladness

Ocean Vuong

The Emperor of Gladness by Ocean Vuong is a semi-autobiographical novel about a nineteen-year-old gay Vietnamese-American son of a refugee mother.

The novel opens with Hai, the protagonist, standing on a bridge’s ledge over a river in Connecticut, debating whether to jump. His decision is thwarted when an elderly woman calls out to him from her home overlooking the river. He sees her struggling against the wind while putting up laundry on her porch. She orders Hai to stop whatever he is thinking of doing and demands he come to her house. Embarrassed, Hai struggles to find an excuse to explain his presence on the ledge. He finds himself walking to her home where he meets Grazina, an eighty-two-year-old Lithuanian refugee in the final stages of dementia.

Grazina invites Hai to move in with her in exchange for which he lives rent-free, makes sure she takes all her medications, and becomes her caregiver. Hai agrees. The two live comfortably together, accommodating one another and establishing a close bond. Hai carefully monitors Grazina’s medications, picks up their groceries, prepares dinner, and even bathes her. Grazina experiences bouts of confusion and hallucinations, frequently mistaking reality with memories of her home in Lithuania sixty years ago. Hai indulges her hallucinations by playing the role of a soldier who is helping her escape capture from German troops. He gently steers her back to reality when he senses she is ready to return. Meanwhile, he is addicted to pain killers, deceiving his mother into believing he is in Boston studying to get his medical degree.

A second thread opens when Hai gets a job working at a local chain restaurant. He meets the motley crew of employees, each of whom is on the fringes of society for one reason or another. This unlikely crew of people, who seemingly have little in common other than their place of employment, form a surprisingly strong community of supportive individuals who go out of their way to help one another.

Although the novel has some very moving passages illustrating compassion and generosity toward those in need, a lot of the description feels like overkill. The language fluctuates between the needlessly flowery or the pedestrian. There is a particularly gruesome section set in a pig abattoir choke full of unnecessarily graphic detail. Some of the chapters seem out of sequence and out of context, contributing little to the overall narrative and leaving one wondering why they are in there in the first place.

In short, the novel suffers from too much going on, too many distractions, and too many sections that seemed to lead nowhere. It’s a case of losing sight of the wood for the trees.

Thomas Hardy

Claire Tomalin

Thomas Hardy by Claire Tomalin charts Hardy’s modest beginnings as the son of a Dorchester builder to a critically acclaimed and highly successful author.

Tomalin’s biography opens with the death of Hardy’s first wife, Emma. Riddled with guilt for his treatment of her, Hardy memorializes Emma in his poetry, recalling their courtship and early years of marriage. They became increasingly estranged as the years wore on, so by the time Emma dies in 1912, the two had barely spoken to each other. They led virtually separate lives with Emma sleeping alone in an attic bedroom.

Tomalin then takes us back to the beginning of Hardy’s life, his school years, and his apprenticeship as an architect. As an aspiring author, Hardy initially struggles to get his books serialized in publications. Eventually, he achieves success and recognition for his novels and poetry. He evokes rural landscapes with an exquisite eye for detail and captures the lives, customs, struggles, and dialects of country people with unsurpassed realism. His success gave him access to famous literary and political figures with whom he interacted regularly.

Tomalin describes Hardy’s relationship with women as fraught with tension. He was heavily influenced by his mother’s outlook on life although he ignored her advice never to marry. Emma assisted him with his early novels, serving as his copy writer. He consulted with her on how to depict his female characters. She inspired some of best novels while she lived and inspired his poetry after her death. She claimed Hardy didn’t understand real women and cared more for his fictional heroines than he did for real women.

Hardy married his second wife, Florence, after Emma’s death. He was more than twice her age. Like his first wife, Florence served as his assistant. She never felt comfortable stepping into Emma’s shoes, taking Emma’s place. She did all she could to erase traces of Emma, even going so far as to deny Hardy’s poetry was about his first wife.

Tomalin weaves excerpts and insightful readings of Hardy’s novels and poems into her narrative. She shows him keeping a strict daily regimen to focus on his writing at the expense of cultivating healthy relationships with the women in his life. Both wives claim he was not an easy man to live with. His polite and unassuming persona in public belied the seething social tensions he experienced in his early years and which are reflected in his writing. His novels did not shy away from holding up the harsh light of criticism on accepted ideas about society, about social inequities and gender discrimination.

The biography deepens our understanding of Hardy and his work. It is well-researched, avoids academic jargon, and is very readable. It includes black and white photographs, detailed notes, and an extensive bibliography.

Highly recommended.

The Voyage Home

Pat Barker

The Voyage Home by Pat Barker is the third installment of her multi-novel project on the Trojan war. In this novel, Barker turns her attention to Agamemnon’s return journey to Greece and its aftermath. The novel unfolds in two alternating threads—a first person narrative in the voice of Ritsa, a captured Trojan woman who serves as Cassandra’s handmaid; and a third person narrative that focuses on Clytemnestra and her revenge on Agamemnon for sacrificing their daughter, Iphigenia.

The novel opens with Ritsa and Cassandra as captured Trojan woman being shipped with Agamemnon to Mycenae. Ritsa describes the harrowing journey in vivid, sensory detail. Barker inhabits Ritsa’s interiority, and through Ritsa, we come to know Cassandra. Their relationship is fraught with ambiguity because, although Cassandra was once higher in status than Ritsa, now they find themselves inhabiting virtually the same status as spoils of war.

The alternating thread revolves around Clytemnestra as she prepares for her husband’s homecoming. She maintains a façade of welcoming his return while plotting her revenge. Clytemnestra has managed the kingdom during Agamemnon’s ten-year absence. She projects a calm and efficient exterior but is haunted by the death of Iphigenia and plagued with guilt for not saving her.

The novel’s strength lies in its depiction of the three female characters: Ritsa, Clytemnestra, and Cassandra. All three have been traumatized by war and all three are victims of male dominance. Each is depicted with a unique voice and perspective. And each tries to exercise agency in a world where women are routinely raped, victimized, and treated as pawns in male power plays.

Barker skillfully evokes atmosphere in both locations. The transport ship to Greece is described in vivid detail with its slippery ropes, creaky joints, cramped quarters, musty smells, damp atmosphere, and pungent stench. The palace in Mycenae is oppressive with its dark and gloomy winding hallways and hazardous stairs. To add to its sinister and menacing atmosphere, the palace of Atreus with its bloody-thirsty history is haunted by ghosts of children whose whispers can be heard and whose handprints are visible on the walls.

The novel strips war of whatever glory it ostensibly carries by depicting its returning warriors, especially Agamemnon, as sweaty, smelly, licentious men, haunted by their past deeds which they try to bury under a façade of ribaldry and partying. The women, traumatized by witnessing the murder of loved ones, the destruction of their homes, and their powerlessness against the onslaught of male sexual violence, epitomize the human cost of war. But the novel is not just about the Trojan war. Barker collapses the time separating the centuries of then and now by peppering her novel with contemporary vernacular to depict the deleterious impact of any war at any time and at any place.

By the Lake

John McGahern

By the Lake by John McGahern is a character-driven novel that is simply beautiful and beautiful in its simplicity.

It focuses on Joe and Kate Ruttledge living on a small lakeside farm in Ireland. They are surrounded by a motley crew of villagers who casually drop by for a drink and a chat. All are welcomed and all are offered refreshments. Most prominent among them are their closest friends, the village gossip, Jamesie; and his lovely wife, Mary. There is the elderly Bill Evans, traumatized by the abuse he suffered as a child. Bill no sooner enters their home than he is offered a drink and a couple of cigarettes. Patrick Ryan is building a shed for them, which, somehow, never gets finished. Jamesie’s brother, Johnny, comes home to visit every summer. John Quinn is the local womanizer, always on the lookout for another propertied widow to marry and exploit. And Joe’s wealthy uncle, nicknamed “the Shah,” has a generosity of spirit hidden beneath a no-nonsense exterior.

Nothing very much happens in the novel. The opening chapters are a little chaotic. The reader feels like an outsider listening in on conversations between people who know each other well and who have stories to share with one another. Gradually, the picture solidifies. Each character emerges with a distinct personality and an authentic voice. They casually drift in and out of one another’s conversations and one another’s lives. We come to know them, know their banter, their foibles, their camaraderie, and their predilections. But what emerges above anything else is their unequivocal support for one another. All are tolerated with grace and kindness. And all are awash with love.

McGahern situates the novel in lyrical descriptions of the natural world. The rural setting is seen through the lens of its seasonal changes. The flora and fauna are evoked in such vivid sensory detail that the rural setting assumes the same degree of prominence as a character in the novel. The villagers’ lives are inextricably intertwined with their natural environment and with the rhythmic cycles of nature.

Although nothing much happens in the novel, in a sense, what does happen is all that matters. McGahern captures a time when life was simpler, when neighbor helped neighbor, when a person’s word was tantamount to an iron-clad commitment, when people worked in harmony with nature, and when peace and serenity are captured in the sight of a heron gracefully gliding over a pristine lake.

Highly recommended.

Mona's Eyes

Thomas Schlesser; trans. Hildegarde Serle

Mona’s Eyes by Thomas Schlesser, translated from the French by Hildegarde Serle, is the story of ten-year-old Mona’s excursion into the world of art.

Mona’s journey begins when she is suddenly struck by a mysterious episode of blindness. Although her bout with blindness is temporary with Mona regaining her vision within a few hours, her parents are understandably very concerned. They consult a doctor who runs a series of tests and scans. When the results reveal that there is no physical cause for the blindness, the doctor suggests Mona visit a psychiatrist. Her maternal grandfather, known as Dadé, agrees to accompany her to her psychiatrist’s appointment every Wednesday. But instead of doing so, he unilaterally decides Mona would be better off visiting famous works of art in Paris museums. He tells Mona these expeditions are to be their little secret, urging her to deceive her parents.

Mona’s adventure into the world of art begins. Over the course of a year, Mona and Dadé visit the Louvre, the Musée D’Orsay, and the Centre Pompidou. They stand before a different work of art each week. Together they gaze intently at it, study it, discuss it, interpret it, and derive a lesson from it. Dadé provides a brief background on each artist’s life and contextualizes the work within an artistic movement. The work is described in detail. More often than not, Mona points out details that her grandfather overlooked. As the visits progress, she recognizes the influence on one artist’s work with another even though they are centuries apart, articulates connections between different artistic movements, and interprets the art work unassisted. And there’s the rub.

It is highly improbable that a ten-year-old child could have Mona’s prodigious memory or have her analytical powers when viewing a work of art. Her exchanges with Dadé are pedantic and come across as clumsy prompts to invite him to share context. And when she is not prompting him, she launches into an analysis of the art work that far exceeds the capabilities of a ten-year-old. Her Dadé comes across as arrogant and irresponsible. He encourages her to deceive her parents. And his constant amazement at his granddaughter’s erudite comments come across as hackneyed and tiresome.

The weekly visits to the museums are couched in minor plot lines with Mona’s school, her father’s business and struggles with alcoholism, her mother’s frenetic behavior, and the mystery surrounding her grandmother’s death. The plot lines are insignificant, and trite; the characterization, weak.

Schlesser’s novel-writing skills fall far short of his credibility as an art critic. He offers some interesting insights into the art works. He is informative and lucid when analyzing structure and composition. But when he interprets a work and derives its “lesson,” he gets into murky waters. Does a work of art have to be reduced to a lesson? Does it have to “mean” something? Can it not just be?

The Furies

Natalie Haynes

The Furies by Natalie Haynes unfolds primarily in the first-person voice of Alex Morris, a young theatre director mourning the untimely death of her fiancée, Luke. The manner of his death is hinted at but not fully revealed until late in the novel. Alex’s grief is so intense she leaves London to try to escape all that reminds her of him. She accepts a position in Edinburgh teaching dysfunctional children who are no longer accepted in regular schools.

Although Alex works with children of different age groups, her focus is on the class of fifteen-year-olds—two boys and three girls. Using drama therapy, she introduces the teenagers to classical Greek tragedies. She encourages them to analyze the characters and to discuss their motivations, their feelings of guilt—or lack, thereof—and their acts of vengeance. She succeeds in engaging the students in the readings and discussions.

Mel (Melody), an intelligent deaf girl, is particularly inspired by the plays and responds to the discussion. Alex’s narrative is punctuated with Mel’s dairy entries in which the young girl unveils her thoughts about the plays and her growing sympathy for Alex. She develops an unhealthy curiosity about Alex and begins stalking her. She also reveals the unhealthy degree with which she has embraced the Greek tragedies and adopted their underlying message.

Some issues with plausibility surface in the novel. For example, Alex has no prior experience in teaching, let alone in conducting a class with particularly challenging students who have been abandoned as lost causes by many others in the teaching profession. And with barely a year of teaching under her belt, she is offered the position of the school’s director when others who are more qualified and who have been there longer are by-passed.

But the novel more than makes up for these shortcomings through the classroom discussions about the plays. It is fascinating to read how these troubled teenagers engage with the Greek classics. They ask questions, speculate on motives, and interpret the material. The plays act as catalysts for the teens to open up about themselves, share their perspectives, and reveal how they do or do not relate to the characters and events in the plays. It is thrilling to see them breathe life into these ancient classics.

Another strength of the novel is Haynes’ ability to capture the insecurities, projections of tough external veneers, sensitivities, awkwardness, and halting dialogues of fifteen-year-olds. Alex manages to break through to them, and in the process, seems on the verge of finding a meaningful purpose to her life. But tragedy intervenes and Alex plummets back into the depths of despair. The novel ends on a hopeful note, however, as Alex picks up the pieces of her shattered life.

An engaging novel in which Haynes skillfully and periodically drops details about past events and foreshadows future events until a full picture emerges of what actually transpired.

Empty Cages

Fatma Qandil; trans. Adam Talib

Empty Cages by Fatma Qandil, translated from the Arabic by Adam Talib, is a fictional memoir in the first-person voice of Fatima, the youngest child in a middle-class Egyptian family. The discovery of an old tin that once contained chocolates is the catalyst that triggers Fatima’s reflections of growing up with two older brothers, an alcohol-addicted father, and a loving and supportive mother.

Beginning in the 1960s to the present day, the novel unfolds in a series of vignettes that are in a non-linear sequence. They include snapshots of Fatima’s childhood, including her recollections of being molested as a child. She traces the gradual economic decline of the family; her father’s increasing addiction to alcohol until his death; the selfishness of her brothers, one of whom disappears in Germany for twenty years, and the other who reluctantly and irregularly sends money to support their mother’s cancer treatments. Throughout it all, Fatima struggles to complete her studies and fulfill her ambition of being a poet.

The diction is unflinchingly honest and candid. The style is confessional and intimate. Fatima identifies her brothers as selfish, narcissistic individuals who virtually abandon their widowed mother. She is well aware her father’s addiction is what dragged them into financial ruin. She is forced to rely on friends and family for help with her mother’s medical expenses.

One of the strengths of the novel is the depiction of Fatima’s relationship with her mother. It is a relationship built on unconditional love, mutual support, and a shared understanding of life’s struggles. They are totally and unequivocally devoted to one another. Fatima describes in graphic detail the challenges of being the sole caregiver to her mother as she battles cancer treatments of chemotherapy and radiation. She displays a herculean patience in treating her mother’s ailing and fragile body in need of constant attention and constant care. She describes the continuous vigil by her mother’s side, remembering to change her IV bag, her bandages, and her diaper. And she does it all with sensitivity and tenderness.

An accomplished poet, Fatma Qandil received the Naguib Mahfouz Medal for Literature in 2022. This, her debut novel, is at times lyrical, at times raw, but always engaging, sensitive, and genuine. Her determination to survive and to remain true to her voice is commendable. How much of this novel is autobiographical is unclear. But what is clear is Fatma Qandil has given her central character a narrative voice that authentically depicts what life is like for a woman struggling to survive in a misogynistic, patriarchal world.

A Calamity of Noble Houses

Amira Ghenim; trans. Miled Faiza and Karen McNeil

A Calamity of Noble Houses by Amira Ghenim, translated from the Arabic by Miled Faiza and Karen McNeil, is the story of two wealthy, prominent Tunisian families connected through marriage. A family tree illustrates who is related to whom. Zbaida Rassaa marries Mohsen Ennaifer, the son of a conservative judge. Zbaida is educated in a French school and has been raised in a progressive family espousing liberal views on women in Islam. The novel charts how the families are torn apart by an event that happened on a fateful day in 1935, an event which continues to haunt them and their offspring for decades. The event is the discovery of a letter addressed to Zbaida, ostensibly revealing her illicit affair with her former tutor and social reformer, Tahar Haddad.

The novel unfolds through multiple first-person voices of each character impacted by the event in one way or another. Included are the voices of two servants, one of whom has an unflinching loyalty to Zbaida. The narratives present different perspectives on the event and its ensuing consequences, with each adding layer upon layer of detail. The testimonies are confessional in nature and reveal a tangled web of lies, deceits, betrayals, violence, secrets, regrets, and hypocrisies. These are set against the backdrop of the socially constructed male hegemonic power structure with its concomitant double standards the privilege the male. Embedded throughout the narratives are historical events of Tunisia under French colonialism, its political unrest, and its struggle for independence. The historical context lends the narratives an aura of authenticity.

What emerges from this elaborate tale is a complex tapestry of gripping revelations as each member of the household relives the traumatic. Their recollections illuminate their prejudices, inconsistencies, and jaundiced perspectives. The novel concludes in the present day with Zbaida’s granddaughter, Hind, trying to piece together this elaborate puzzle to ascertain the truth of what happened on that eventful day and its aftermath. Her quest to discover the truth about her grandmother’s ostensible affair with Tahar Haddad remains unresolved.

A gripping, well-executed tale that illustrates the elusive nature of a past event due to the personal bias and jaundiced lens which shape a participant’s recollections.