War Music: An Account of Homer's Iliad

Christopher Logue

Christopher Logue’s War Music: An Account of Homer’s Iliad is more of a re-imagining than a re-telling. Logue writes a version of the Iliad with many of the same characters and conflicts. But he uses the original poem as a skeleton which he fleshes out by stamping his unique mark on it. He deviates from the original; injects personal commentary; inserts references to post-Homeric historical events, including World War II; and endows his characters with a surprisingly modern diction and attitude.

Logue tells his story through some dazzling lines of poetry. He is liberal in his use of fragments, exclamations, repetitions, commands, rhetorical questions, and lines that sizzle and dance. Combat scenes are particularly effective in capturing the intensity of the battle with lines that clip at a rapid pace. He engages his reader by directly addressing him/her as “you” and ordering “you” to shout, to go left, etc. etc. At one point, he tells us of the “Uzi shuddering warm against your hip.” His use of present tense heightens the sense of immediacy and immerses the reader in the events of the poem.

Logue peppers his lines with humor and interesting word choice. A female is “a she”. Athena reminding Zeus about the Trojans’ violation of their oath is described with the following words:

Picking a cotton from his sleeve, "Pa-pa,' Athena said:

This is not fairyland. The Trojans swore an oath

To which You put Your voice.’

‘I did not.’

‘Father, You did. All Heaven heard You. Ask the Sea.’

‘I definitely did not.’

‘Did-did-did-did—and no returns.’

Aphrodite appears dressed in grey silk pajamas with gold piping and “snakeskin flip-flops.” She is referred to later as “The God of Tops and Thongs.” In particularly colorful language, she (Love) reminds Zeus and us why Hera hates the Trojans:

‘Stuff Greece,’ Love said.

‘Your blubber-bummed wife with her gobstopper nipples

Cannot stand Troy because Troy’s Paris put her last

When we stripped off for him.’

Although Christopher Logue did not live long enough to complete this work, what he left us with is a stunning feat of the imagination wrapped in a poem that delights and amazes. The story is Homer’s, but the telling of it is Logue’s. And what a brilliant telling it is!

Very highly recommended.

Beowulf

Stephen Mitchell, Translator

I loved Stephen Mitchell’s translation of Gilgamesh, so I was eager to get my hands on his Beowulf. I wasn’t disappointed.

The edition looks and feels quite lovely. The pages alternate between the Old English on one page and the translation on the facing page. It has been years since I took a seminar in graduate school where we were required to read and understand Beowulf in the original Old English. Although my inexorable trudge toward middle age has long since caused me to lose that skill, I did appreciate seeing the Old English once again and delighted in recognizing a few words.

Mitchell’s introduction situates Beowulf in its historical, social, and cultural context. He discusses the poem’s authorship, the discovery of the manuscript, and evidence of Christianity and of pagan practices in the poem’s content. Mitchell also articulates the rules he has tried to adhere to in performing his translation.

This brings us to the actual poem. The language is very accessible while maintaining the dignity and stature of the original. It is clear, rigorous, and lucid without deteriorating into modernisms that would destroy the effect. The diction, word order, and rhythm of the lines immerse us in the poem’s energy and robustness in such a way that we never lose sight of the fact we are reading a very old text. Mitchell captures the tone and language of the culture that gave rise to the poem with its masculinist emphasis on the warrior code, the heroic boast, the importance of avenging one’s kinsman, and the qualities that make for good leadership.

Invariably, the translation of a work will bear the mark of the translator, causing one translation to differ in varying degrees from another. But with each translation, we are offered the opportunity to see the work in a slightly different light, from a slightly different lens. Stephen Mitchell’s translation of Beowulf offers us that opportunity. He breathes new life into a very old poem while adhering faithfully to the original in spirit, tone, and content. He makes the old new again. And for that I am truly appreciative.

Highly recommended.

The Remains of the Day

Kazuo Ishiguro

The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro, the 2017 winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature, takes us on a poignant journey of an aging man’s self-discovery. On a superficial level, the novel is about Stevens, the central character, taking a much-needed, six-day vacation in the west country of England in the 1950s. His solitary travels by car spur him to reflect on his 30 plus years as a butler in Darlington Hall.

Written in the first-person point of view, Stevens describes his life as a butler in the home of Lord Darlington in the 1920s. Since Lord Darlington was politically active and influential, he hosted major European political figures in his home. Stevens’ position as the discrete but ever-present butler enabled him to view their interactions, to witness the rise in Nazism and fascism, and to observe the gradual decline in reputation of his former employer. The novel opens with Stevens trying to adjust his “butlering” to accommodate the new owner of Darlington Hall, the American Mr. Faraday. His biggest challenge is learning how to engage in “bantering”—an activity he never had to develop while under the employ of Lord Darlington but one for which his new employer demonstrates an obvious delight.

As Stevens drives through the rolling English countryside, he gradually reveals himself as an unreliable and naïve narrator. His obsession with maintaining the dignified posture he deems essential for a butler blinds him to the nature of his former employer and inhibits his ability to recognize and experience the mutual love he and Miss Kenton, the former housekeeper, feel for each other. He curtails any attempt she makes to reach out to him. He is stiff, formal, suppresses all feeling and shows little remorse even at the death of his own father. In Stevens’ mind, everything in life has to be subordinated to maintaining the dignified, unobtrusive posture required of a butler. And therein lies his downfall.

As his vacation draws to an end, Stevens questions the choices he made in life. He recognizes the missed opportunities to feel and to love, the words that should have been said but left unsaid, the devastating impact of subordinating his personal life to his professional life, the tragic waste of a life dedicated to an employer who proved himself to be less than worthy, and the recognition that he is aging. He sits on a bench by the pier at Weymouth, pouring his heart out to a complete stranger. And he weeps.

The Remains of the Day is a consummate masterpiece, slowly unfolding while revealing the gradual unraveling of Stevens’ identity. Through his central character, Ishiguro explores such issues as self-delusion, denial, repression, distorted self-image, selective memory, false personas, lost opportunities, and regret. With a flawless ear, he captures the voice and diction of each of his characters, especially the restrained, stiff upper lip maintained by Stevens. One can only hope that this endearing, damaged, and tragic figure finally masters the art of bantering.

Just like the unassuming English countryside whose beauty lies in its quiet, restrained charm, this is a novel that will slowly but surely grab you and tug at your heart strings as you sit on the bench with Stevens, contemplating the choices you made in your own life.

A skillfully-crafted novel, compelling, mesmerizing, haunting, and beautifully written. Very highly recommended.

Orfeo

Richard Powers

Orfeo by Richard Powers, very loosely based on the myth of Orpheus, is an ambitious novel. It tells the story of seventy-year-old Peter Els, a musician and amateur biochemist, who turns his home into a microbiology lab in an attempt to tease musical patterns into living bacteria. When Homeland Security discovers his project and suspects him of nefarious activities, Els turns fugitive. Accused of bio-terrorism, he becomes an Internet sensation as he zig-zags across the country to evade capture. The narrative constantly shifts from the present to Els’ long ago and more recent past in a series of vignettes or anecdotes. Throughout it all, Els’ all-consuming love of music governs his relationships and his life.

The constant shifts in chronological time coupled with the many threads that weave in and out make this a challenging read. Complicating the narrative even further are the constant references to music history, music theory, musical compositions, and the back story that gave rise to these compositions. Els seems to operate on a different level where even the sounds in nature and in everyday life are fodder for his musical ears and where he sees the intersection of music with science everywhere he looks.

Els reads musical compositions as narratives, describing the ebb and flow, the interludes, the highs and lows as elements of a story. Although the back stories of the musical compositions were fascinating, the technicalities of each musical piece maybe lost on someone who has no background in music theory or composition.

The novel explores the role art plays in our lives: its function, how and where it intersects with our lives, how it is perceived, and how it informs our lives. It is a complex novel dealing with complex themes. Powers’ pure joy in music permeates the novel as does his extensive knowledge of music. But perhaps one criticism of the novel is his assumption that the reader shares this knowledge. Without some background in music theory and composition, a reader can get lost in his discussion of B minor and E flat, in octaves and harmonies, scales and keys.

The novel is recommended, but especially for individuals who love classical music and who are familiar with music theory and composition.

Independent People

Halldor Laxness

Situated in Iceland’s unforgiving climate and rugged terrain and against the backdrop of Iceland’s struggle for independence in the early twentieth century, Halldor Laxness’ Independent People explores complex issues of survival, independence, and community. This masterpiece secured for Laxness the 1955 Nobel Prize in Literature.

The protagonist is Bjartur of Summerhouses, a stubborn, opinionated, inflexible, and fiercely independent sheep farmer who exhibits a mass of contradictory qualities. Bjartur is compassionate, tender, solicitous, and considerate. But only if you happen to be one of his sheep. By contrast, his treatment toward his family occasionally borders on cruelty. He expects them to whip themselves into shape as he has done, survive on stale fish and endless cups of coffee, confront the harsh Icelandic winters with equanimity, and vehemently decline assistance from others. Bjartur values his independence above all else, even at the expense of exposing his family to severe hardship. He disdains the most basic comforts in life and expects his family to do the same.

The story unfolds as Bjartur, having labored for eighteen years for others, finally secures a home for himself and his sheep. His first wife dies giving birth to Asta Sollilja, a girl he knows is not his. His second wife moves into his croft with her mother. She produces several children, only three of whom survive. She dies of grief when Bjartur ignores her pleas and kills the one meagre cow they possess. His eldest son walks out in a snow storm one evening and is never seen again. He ousts his only daughter from home on a freezing night when he discovers she is pregnant.

World War I brings prosperity to Icelandic farmers. Bjartur builds a home for himself only to lose it like many others before him because he is unable to pay his debts. His world disintegrates and he is forced to relocate to his mother-in-law’s home. The novel ends on a note of reconciliation. Bjartur finds Asta Sollilja living in a hovel with her two children. She is weak, coughing blood, and dying of consumption. He sweeps her up with her children and takes her home.

There is much to love about Bjartur. He writes poetry and recites Icelandic sagas, claiming their heroes as a point of reference in his every day conversations. His determination to be self-reliant is heroic. He works hard and expects others to do the same. He is a man of his word. He is noble, heroic, stoic, and proud. But there is also much about him that frustrates. He is incorrigible, fixated on his one goal, harsh in word and deed, and oblivious to the adverse effects his intransigence has on his family. It is almost as if he feels the need to suppress his emotions in order to survive in an inhospitable climate. His layers of tough skin peel away at the end of the novel, revealing his ability to forgive and to love another deeply as he carries his dying daughter, “the one flower of his life,” to their new home.

In Independent People, Laxness has produced a novel vast in scope and epic in nature. At the center of this masterpiece is a complex, fascinating protagonist. Laxness’ language is poetic, beautiful in its simplicity, full of profound insights, laced with irony and understated humor, and smattered with references to Icelandic heroes and mythological characters. At times his prose leaves you breathless. The characters are so real, they could almost walk off the page. His detailed descriptions transport the reader to the expansive moors and the modest croft; to experiencing the biting cold and relentless snow storms; and to smelling and hearing the sheep, the sheep, the sheep in all their tapewormy glory.

This is more than a novel about an Icelandic sheep farmer struggling to survive. This is a deeply profound masterpiece about the struggles we face in life. It is full of beauty, full of sadness, and brimming with poetry and wisdom. It is a novel that speaks to our common humanity and touches the soul.

Very highly recommended.

Golden Hill

Francis Spufford

Golden Hill by Francis Spufford thrusts us firmly on the ground of 18th Century Manhattan where a young Richard Smith has just arrived from England laden with a bill of exchange for a thousand pounds, a considerably large sum of money at the time. While waiting for the bill to be verified with Lovell’s counting house on Golden Hill, Smith causes much speculation and rumor among New Yorkers. He insists on shrouding himself with mystery by refusing to reveal his true identity, or from where he obtained the money, or what he intends to do with it. His identity and intentions are not fully revealed either to the reader or Manhattanites until close to the end of the novel. We share in the mystery and speculation until the very end.

In the 60 days it takes for the bill to be verified and paid, Smith ricochets from one adventure to another. He is robbed, chased on rooftops, escapes a drunken mob out to do him mischief, spends time in a debtor’s prison, struggles with a card game, falls in and out of love, fights a duel, and is exposed while succumbing to the temptations of the flesh with Terpie, a generously endowed local actress married to a military officer.

Francis Spufford’s novel is brilliant, entertaining, sparkling with wit and humor, and an absolute delight. Written in the language of 18th century novels, Golden Hill conjures up the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of New York and its inhabitants through rich immersion in historical detail. The plot is complex with surprising twists and turns. Spufford peppers his novel with scenes that are laugh out loud hilarious. Some notable examples occur during the card game of piquet, the breathless chase across winding streets and rooftops, Smith’s letter to his father, the illustrious union between Smith and Terpie, and Smith’s farcical trial. The authorial intrusions and commentaries, frequently tinged with ironic self-deprecation, were particularly enjoyable, making the narrator’s voice one of the most charming qualities of the novel.

Smith emerges as a lovable, bungling, naive hero who is more acted upon than acting and who blunders from one scrape into another. He swims outside of his element with little understanding of the political machinations at play. He mixes with the social elite of Manhattan, most of whom eye him with guarded suspicion. His relationship with Tabitha, Lovell’s eldest daughter, stings with dueling dialogue and acerbic wit. He is forced into fighting a duel for his indiscretion with the married Terpie. But what should have been a fake duel undertaken as a means to save face and preserve honor turns disastrous when Smith accidentally slips with sword in hand, mortally wounding his friend and only ally.

A wonderful combination of adventure, mystery, humor, historical authenticity, and social commentary flavored with scintillating dialogue, well-developed characters, and a charming hero, all of which are deliciously wrapped in a package of well-written 18th century diction.

A delightful read. Highly recommended.

Kate Vaiden

Reynolds Price

Kate Vaiden by Reynolds Price is a first-person narrative of the unsettled life of Kate Vaiden. The novel opens with Kate in her late fifties. She takes us back in time, recalling her turbulent life beginning at the age of eleven when she loses both her parents to a murder-suicide. Kate is then raised in a loving environment by her aunt and uncle in the small town of Macon, North Carolina.

Kate has her first sexual encounter with a young man who later dies in a military training camp during the Vietnam war. Not long after, she runs away to live with her uncle and his friend, gets pregnant at the age of 16, and runs away again. And so begins a series of events in which Kate ricochets from one attachment to another, runs away for no apparent reason, immerses herself in another attachment only to run away again. Meanwhile, she has abandoned her baby infant with her aunt and doesn’t consider contacting her son until he is in his mid-thirties when she is in her late fifties having received a diagnosis for cervical cancer.

Kate drifts aimlessly from one situation to another. And yet wherever she lands, she seems to find men who are attracted to her and who desire her company. She flees from any sort of commitment but doesn’t provide a plausible explanation for doing so, leaving the reader baffled and frustrated at her behavior. She emerges as an unlikable, selfish, ungrateful, and self-absorbed character. Her constant running away and haphazard choices in life make it hard to sympathize with her. She is an aimless drifter, bolting whenever she whiffs a relationship getting too close for comfort.

Now that she is middle-aged, now that she is staring cancer in the face, she tries to reconnect with people in her past who loved her and showed her kindnesses only to discover they have all since died: her aunt and uncle who took her in when she was orphaned and their neighbor, Fob, who gifted her a horse when she was a teenager. She plans to reconnect with her son. But the belated emergence of concern for people in her past, people she had abandoned for over thirty-five years, appears self-serving and underlines her selfishness. It all seems too little, too late.

The novel was okay but not something I would necessarily recommend.

People of the Whale

Linda Hogan

People of the Whale by Linda Hogan portrays the lives of the A’atsika Nation in a Native American village on the Pacific coast. Hogan integrates Native American mythology and folklore with the daily lives of the A’atsika people to form an intricate web illustrating the importance of wholeness and interconnectedness with all creatures whether on land, sea, or sky.

The central characters are Ruth and Thomas, a married couple who have been sweethearts since childhood. Ruth and Thomas have in common auspicious beginnings. Born with gills that have to be removed surgically, Ruth’s affinity with the sea is marked from birth. Thomas’ birth coincides with a large octopus emerging from the sea to take up temporary habitation in a dark cave. The villagers shower the octopus with gifts, perceiving it as a sacred being. Thomas’ mother acknowledges her son’s intimate connection with the octopus. She carries her infant to the mouth of the cave every evening as a form of dedication to the octopus, seeking its protection for her son.

Ruth and Thomas lead simple, idyllic lives until Thomas enlists to join the military and is shipped off to Vietnam. Their paths diverge for many years. Ruth remains in the village, giving birth to their son, Marco, and raising him as a single mother. She instills in him the values and culture of his people. Thomas, meanwhile, exposed to the horrors and atrocities perpetrated by all sides in Vietnam, has become a fractured human being. He takes up residence in one of the Vietnamese villages, is embraced by the locals, marries, and has a child. After his wife dies by walking into a mine field, Thomas is picked up by American troops and returned to America.

Hogan skillfully weaves the separate lives of Ruth and Thomas until Thomas returns to his native village many years later. But Thomas is now a changed man, tortured by images of carnage and haunted with nightmares. His flashbacks are scattered and disjointed, and it is not until the end of the novel that a complete picture emerges of his experience in Vietnam.

Hogan’s language is lyrical, her sentences rhythmic, her pace unhurried. She moves backwards and forwards in time and place, picking up a thread here, dropping it there, replicating the ebb and flow of the ocean that permeates every aspect of the villagers’ lives. She draws parallels between the Vietnamese villagers struggling to eke a living with those of the Native American villagers struggling to do the same under a different set of circumstances. She blurs the lines between the spiritual and physical realms. Her characters are richly drawn and believable, with Ruth emerging as the indomitable moral center fighting to retain traditional values with their concomitant respect for the natural environment against the onslaught of greed and exploitation of that same environment.

With sensitivity, compassion, and insight into Native American culture, Linda Hogan explores the issues of loyalty to family and tribe; adherence to traditional values; the quest for wholeness; the wisdom of the elders; respect for the natural environment; the survival of the human spirit against seemingly insurmountable odds; the restoration of balance; and the spiritual and physical interconnectivity of all forms of life.

This is a beautiful story, beautifully told, illustrating the fragility and delicacy of all life.

Highly recommended.

The Wolf Sea

Robert Low

The Wolf Sea, Robert Low’s second book of the Oathsworn series, continues where The Whale Road (Oathsworn #1) left off. The novel opens with young Orm, the Viking leader of the Oathsworn, with his scruffy, battle-weary band of men stranded in Constantinople. When Orm’s sword, the Rune Serpent, is stolen by Starkad, the Oathsworn embark on a perilous mission to retrieve the sword and rescue their captured brothers. Their mission takes them across the 10th Century lands of Cyprus, Syria, and Jerusalem.

Along the way, the Oathsworn get embroiled in battles between rival factions of east and west for control of land and resources. Orm has to forge alliances with various groups to ensure the survival of his followers as they advance toward their goal. They encounter Muslims, Christians, Greeks, Bedouins, and Danes. They cross deserts and seek shelter from unremitting sand storms. They enter into fierce battles and witness the gruesome horrors of torture and decapitated bodies in an atmosphere saturated with the smell of blood and haunted by flies hovering over dismembered limbs. The descriptions are vivid; the brutality graphic.

Orm emerges as the most fully developed character. He wears the mantle of leadership with a heavy heart, haunted by the responsibilities of being the leader of the Oathsworn. Thrust into unfamiliar territory, he navigates his followers through an alien land, through strange alliances and senseless killings, and through betrayals by men who were once deemed blood brothers, all the while straddling between the old-world beliefs in Odin and the Norse gods and those of the Christ-followers.

Robert Low has written another exciting work of historical fiction. It is action-packed; skillfully integrates historical fact with historical fiction; and offers a vivid description of the locations, battles, and culture clashes of the 10th Century eastern Mediterranean. It moves at a galloping pace. And, perhaps, therein lies a shortcoming. We barely have time to accommodate to one location and its inhabitants before we are thrust into yet another battle in a different location with yet another enemy. The plethora of characters, some of whom are sketchily developed at best, is another shortcoming.

Although not as strong as The Whale Road, The Wolf Sea is, nevertheless, an enjoyable read for aficionados of historical fiction and all things Viking.

Recommended.

The Architect's Apprentice

Elif Shafak

The Architect’s Apprentice by Elif Shafak is an engaging blend of historical fact with fiction. The novel opens with an elderly Jahan briefly recalling his life as the architect’s apprentice in 16th Century Istanbul, the center of the Ottoman Empire. It then flashes back to his youth and his years in Istanbul.

At the age of twelve, a naïve Jahan enters Istanbul with Chota, a splendid gift of a white elephant sent from the Shah of Hindustan for the menagerie of Suleiman the Magnificent. Jahan’s original intention is to run away as soon as he gets Chota situated, but he ends up staying in Istanbul for the next couple of decades as Chota’s friend, trainer, and care-taker. Eventually taken under the wing of the architect Mimar Sinan, he trains in architecture while absorbing some of Sinan’s spiritual wisdom. Mimar Sinan serves under three sultans, rising to the position of Royal Architect and building some of Istanbul’s magnificent mosques. Jahan becomes skilled in designing and building mosques, bridges, schools, aqueducts, as well as in renovating existing structures.

The intriguing world of the 16th Century Ottoman Empire is seen through the eyes of Jahan. He describes in vivid detail the opulence and barbarism of the palace and its inhabitants, the intrigue and rivalry within the palace, the crowded and narrow streets of Istanbul, and the cosmopolitan nature of its inhabitants.

Because Chota is frequently called upon to amplify the sultan’s grandeur, as her trainer, Jahan participates in parades and other ceremonial functions, fights in battles, and entertains the sultan and his entourage. He falls in love with the Princess Mihrimah during her frequent visits to Chota. He interacts with foreign dignitaries and meets historical figures, including Michelangelo. He even spends time in the dungeon when he defies the powerful Grand Vizier Rustem Pasha. Eventually, Jahan is forced to flee Istanbul and ends up in Hindustan where he meets the Shah and becomes one of the two Chief Royal Architects working on the Taj Mahal to commemorate the Shah’s deceased wife, Mumtaz Mahal.

The structure is episodic in nature, unfolding as it does through a series of incidents revolving around the central character, Jahan. Rather than having a coherent plot from beginning to end, the narrative meanders, taking detours that occasionally lead nowhere, much like some of the streets in Istanbul. Just as a snake biting its tale, the novel ends where it began—with a century old, frail Jahan, now married to a woman some sixty years his junior, physically deteriorating, and longing for the release of death.

Shafak has written an entertaining and imaginative novel that takes place over a period of several decades. Her extensive research on the subject is evident. The atmosphere, sights, sounds, smells, and people of 16th Century Istanbul are described in vivid detail and have the ring of authenticity. Mystery and magic are woven into the tale. Epic in scope and skillfully integrating historical fact with fiction, The Architect’s Apprentice is an entertaining read, especially for lovers of a historical fiction situated during the time of the Ottoman Empire.

Clear Light of Day

Anita Desai

Anita Desai’s Clear Light of Day has a quiet strength that slowly creeps up on you. Against the backdrop of the political upheaval and turmoil in pre-partition India is the story of the four children of the Das family. The novel opens with the four siblings as adults. Raja, the eldest son, has moved away, married the Muslim daughter of their former landlord, and lives in Hyderabad. Tara, the youngest daughter, has come home with her husband to spend a few days in her childhood home visiting her sister, Bimla, and their mentally challenged brother, Baba. Bimla, a single, middle-aged college professor, assumed the care taking responsibilities for Baba and for the aging Aunt Mira while she was alive.

Tensions surface between Tara and Bimla. Although Bimla claims she is satisfied with her life, she harbors a torrent of anger and resentment toward her siblings, especially Raja because she feels abandoned by him, and Tara because she married a diplomat and has become a well-traveled socialite. As the tensions smolder between the two siblings, we are thrust back to their childhood.

We discover the children were neglected by parents totally absorbed with themselves and their own activities. In many ways, the children were orphaned long before their parents died. With the arrival of Aunt Mira, the children are finally wrapped in a cocoon of love and acceptance. An aging, balding woman, Aunt Mira’s affection for the children is evoked with gentle, loving detail. The description of her arrival to the Das household is particularly poignant. She earns the devotion of the children by mothering, nurturing, and loving them in ways their mother never did.

The four siblings are depicted as unique individuals, each struggling in his or her own way to find a path out of their stifling environment. Baba doesn’t speak. We are never sure if he understands what’s happening around him since he doesn’t react. He withdraws into a bubble by continuously playing old songs on a windup gramophone. As a young girl, Bimla competes with her brother Raja. She is an exemplary student, athletic, accomplished, popular, ambitious, and a high achiever. Raja is restless, torn between his Hindu identity and his desire for acceptance by his Muslim neighbors, especially the Muslim landlord whose daughter he eventually marries. Tara struggles with school. Bullied by classmates and her older siblings, teased mercilessly, friendless, and desperately lonely, her only comfort comes from snuggling up to Aunt Mira. She eventually finds a way out of her environment by marrying a diplomat.

This is a story about family, about the sibling rivalries, guilt, frustrations, petty jealousies, and cruelties experienced during childhood continuing to haunt well into adulthood. As Tara says to Bimla, “…but it’s never over. Nothings over, ever.” It is also a story about childhood aspirations and dreams and the disappointments we experience as adults when those dreams fail to materialize. And, finally, it is a story about aging.

Skilled in evoking a sense of time and place and in capturing the tensions and frustrations of childhood, Desai is a master storyteller. Her prose is lyrical as she slowly draws you in to the lives of her characters. Themes introduced early in the novel recur as it progresses, shedding light on the divergent paths taken by the siblings. Desai shows the childhood baggage we carry into adulthood will never leave us until we make a conscious effort to let it go. The novel ends on a suggestion of acceptance and forgiveness—a glimpse at the clear light of day. Bimla indicates a willingness to reconcile with her estranged brother by recognizing that no matter how their paths have diverged, they are all inextricably linked by a past rooted in the same soil:

That soil contained all time, past and future, in it. It was dark with time, rich with time. It was where her deepest self lived, and the deepest selves of her sister and brothers and all those who shared that time with her.

A beautiful novel told with sensitivity and compassion. Highly recommended.

Home Fire

Kamila Shamsie

What would you do if your love of family violated the dictates of government, especially if those dictates appear unnecessarily harsh and devoid of compassion? This is the situation Kamila Shamsie explores in her novel, Home Fire, based on the classical Greek play, Antigone.

Shamsie clothes the story of Antigone in contemporary garb. The setting is England after 9/11. The story is of three grown children of Pakistani origin, orphaned at a young age. Ali Pasha, their jihadist father, died under mysterious circumstances at Bagram. The lives of his children intertwine with another Muslim family of Pakistani origin, the family of Karamat Lone, the newly appointed British Home Secretary. 

Isma Pasha, the eldest, assumes care-taking responsibilities for her younger twin siblings, Aneeka and Parvaiz. Aneeka studies law while her twin is aimless, lacks ambition, and grapples with understanding the legacy of his father. His vulnerability and connection to a jihadi father attracts the attention of terrorists. They systematically and methodically recruit him to join their ranks.

The families’ lives intertwine when Eamonn, the son of the British Home Secretary, is seduced by Aneeka. Her initial intent is to exploit her influence on him to facilitate her brother’s return to England. But Parvaiz is killed by terrorists while making his way to the British Consulate. It is at this point the parallels with the story of Antigone become very evident.

Because Parvaiz’s British citizenship has been revoked due to his terrorist activities, Karamat Lone denies permission for his body to be returned to England for burial near his mother. Aneeka decides to take matters into her own hands and flies to Pakistan to force the issue by defiantly holding vigil near her brother’s corpse. Her stance garners widespread media coverage. Although both Karamat Lone’s wife and son urge him to show compassion and allow the burial to take place in England, he insists upon strict adherence to the law. Eamonn defies his father by flying to Pakistan to be with the woman he loves. Both Eamonn and Aneeka die wrapped in each other’s arms in an explosive ending.

Shamsie explores the issue of how much of what we are and what we do is contingent upon our family background. The novel opens with Isma pursuing her education in America. She is portrayed as a complex character who informs government officials about her brother’s activities to protect her sister. Unfortunately, her character recedes to the background as the novel progresses, giving prominence to her two siblings.

Parvaiz and Eamonn have in common their lack of ambition and indeterminate focus. But because one is the son of a jihadi and the other the son of an important government official, their lives take completely different paths.

Unlike her sister, Aneeka is uncompromising in her loyalties and flaunts her defiance of the state. She shows no hesitation in taking a very visible and provocative stand in support of her brother’s right to be buried near his mother in England.

This is a powerful book about the obligations of family, the fractured experience of Muslim immigrants living in the West after 9/11, and the politics that embroil and ultimately destroy two families. The prose was unremarkable, and the characters’ motivations could have been explored in greater depth. Plot-driven and slow to start, the novel gradually picks up pace and increases in intensity until the climactic, explosive ending.

Shamsie gives contemporary relevance to the age-old clash between familial love and loyalty versus adherence to civic law. Her exploration raises profound questions about the choices young immigrants make and the forces that drive them toward those choices.

A compelling read.

The Underground Railroad

Colson Whitehead

The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead tells the story of Cora, a slave in a Georgia cotton plantation. Abandoned by her mother, Cora eventually decides to make a run for freedom with a fellow slave, Caesar. They escape to South Carolina by riding on a literal Underground Railroad, a network of tracks and tunnels under the ground, built and operated by former slaves and their sympathizers. Eventually they are hunted down by a ruthless slave catcher. Cora manages to escape and flees from one state to the next in search of freedom. The novel ends on an optimistic note in that it appears as if Cora is well on her way to finding the freedom she has long sought.

The novel begins on a strong note. We meet Cora as a young girl trying to survive in a brutal environment. We witness the horrors of slavery, and we see the impact of institutionalized oppression both on the oppressor and the oppressed. The descriptions are vivid and graphic and cause one to recoil in horror.

After Cora’s escape to South Carolina, however, the novel seems to lose focus. We are introduced to a host of new characters, which is understandable. But we are also given fairly extensive background on each of the characters, even the minor ones—their families, their upbringing, why they are the way they are, etc. etc. All of this tertiary information is problematic, redundant, and detracts from the main narrative. Why give us so much background information on a minor character, especially since such material slows the pace of the narrative and interrupts its progression?

None of the main characters are fully developed. They are portrayed in a detached, clinical manner, so we never become emotionally invested in any of them, not even in Cora. We should feel immersed in her experiences and see what she sees, hear what she hears, and feel what she feels. Instead, we observe her from a distance, which prevents us from forging a connection with her.

The absence of a cohesive structure in a narrative that jerked from one event to the next with little to no transitions coupled with a lackluster character portrayal made this a somewhat disappointing read. It is certainly not up to the level of previous Pulitzer Prize winners. But it is worth reading if, for no other reason, because of its depiction of the horrors and dehumanizing impact of slavery in its opening sections.

Recommended with reservations.

Benediction

Kent Haruf

Benediction by Kent Haruf is the third book in a series about the residents of Holt, a fictional town in Colorado. The novel lives up to the very high standard established by its predecessors, Plainsong and Eventide.

As with Haruf’s other novels, an atmosphere of quiet simplicity pervades Benediction. The language is simple and straightforward. The absence of quotation marks in the dialogue gives the impression of speech conducted in low keys and subdued, hushed tones. Haruf’s ability to depict true to life characters with simple language and little embellishment is truly amazing. We know these people. They are engaging and heart-warming. We recognize them as honest, generous, reliable, and genuine.

Different life stories weave their way in and out of the narrative. There is the eight-year-old orphan girl who recently lost her mother to cancer and now lives with her grandmother; the retired teacher who has moved back home to live with her mother; the gay son estranged from his family; the preacher whose sermon on love and forgiveness of one’s enemies incurs the wrath of many in his congregation. At the center of it all is Dad Lewis, an elderly man in the final stages of terminal cancer. Wrapped in a cocoon of love, tenderness, and support from his wife, daughter, neighbors, and employees, Dad Lewis reflects on his life and prepares for his death.

There is little action or conflict in the novel. So if you enjoy fast-moving, action-packed thrillers, Benediction is not for you. But if you enjoy reading the words of a consummate artist of “the precious ordinary,” a keen observer of human behavior who reveals the complexity of ordinary people in a prose style defined by its elegance and simplicity, then you will love what is yet another masterpiece by Kent Haruf.

Highly recommended.

Dust

Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor

A young man runs for his life in the streets of Nairobi, chased by unnamed assailants. Bullets whiz in all directions. As he runs, he flashes back to his girlfriend and his sister, Ajany. A bullet finds its target and he crumbles. He bleeds on the sidewalk. He coughs up blood. He stops breathing. Odidi Oganda is dead.

This is the dramatic opening of Dust by Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor. Serving as the focal point, Odidi’s death catapults us down labyrinthine paths that intertwine the tragedy of a family with that of a nation. Its many disparate threads weave in and out of the narrative, frequently returning to the focal point of Odidi’s death.

An Englishman comes to Kenya in search of his father; a father mourns for his son; a sister returns from Brazil to bury her brother and to learn the mysterious circumstances of his death; a mother runs away in a burst of uncontrollable rage. Each character is haunted by a past; each character wrestles with demons that won’t release their grip.

Threaded intermittently throughout this family tragedy is the story of Kenya: the political upheavals, the Mau Mau uprising of the 1950s, assassinations, murders, violence, torture, unidentified mass graves, secrets, lies, unspeakable crimes, revenge, smuggling rings, and corrupt officials.

This is a difficult book to read, not only because of its content. Adhiambo Owuor’s writing style presents some challenges. Much of the novel is written in fragments, one word sentences, shifts in time with no transitions, references to past events and people that leave the reader clueless, the occasional stream of consciousness in which a character shifts from the present to the past because a memory is triggered, and a smattering of Swahili which may or may not be followed by an English translation.

All this can be bewildering. But as we get accustomed to Owuor’s writing style and learn to read the novel, we may find it easier to decipher and piece together the disparate threads. Owuor captures the truncated language of trauma and recovery on behalf of a nation and its people, the fragmentary nature of memory, the struggle to deal with the violent death of a loved one, a speech that reveals only half-truths, secrets that refuse to stay buried, a country ravaged by violence and political turmoil, and an all-encompassing thin layer of dust covering the land and its people—a dust which blows this way and that at the slightest provocation to reveal the horrors that lie beneath.

What emerges from this complex work is a challenging read but one that is worth the effort for those willing to grapple with its style.

Recommended.

The North Water

Ian McGuire

Coarse language? Yes. Vulgarity? Yes. Violence? Yes. Brutality? Yes. Graphic references to bodily functions and smells? Yes. Murder? Yes. Greed? Yes. Animal cruelty? Yes.

This is just the tip of the iceberg of what you’ll find in The North Water by Ian McGuire. It is definitely not a novel for the squeamish. But if you enjoy reading about the gritty, harsh reality of life on a whaling boat in the late 1850s; good versus evil fought against the expansive backdrop of the Arctic with its inhospitable climate; man against beast; and the struggle for survival in nature at its harshest, you will enjoy this novel.

Ian McGuire holds nothing back in descriptive detail. His extensive research on the whaling industry is on full display in the novel. With unflinching honesty, he evokes the sights, sounds, smells, and activities of men on a whaling boat and their efforts to survive amid Arctic snow drifts and blizzards. There are echoes of the work of Jack London, Melville’s Moby Dick, and William Faulkner’s short story, “The Bear.”

Through their coarse, vulgar dialogue and the descriptive detailing of their appearance and behavior, the characters emerge as well-rounded figures who are all too real. McGuire provides a stunning example of evil personified in Henry Drax, a man without a conscience or moral compass. He takes what he wants and slits the throat of man or beast without batting an eye. Pitted against him is Patrick Sumner, a flawed hero struggling with his past and hiding in a fog of laudanum addiction. The narrative clips at a rapid pace with an unremitting suspense that grips the reader from the first page to the last.

Historical accuracy, attention to detail, the portrayal of complex characters, a vernacular that captures the coarse speech of men on a whaling vessel, and the use of present tense to generate immediacy combine to immerse the reader in a real time, in a real place, and with real people.  

A compelling read. Highly recommended for those who enjoy historical fiction with the grit and authenticity of the period.

The Pyramid

Ismail Kadare

The counselors and High Priest gasped. The Pharaoh Cheop’s had just announced his intention to deviate from tradition by refusing to have a pyramid erected in his honor. His announcement sent his counselors in a panicked frenzy to research the issue. They finally found their answer. The pyramid, they told Cheops, serves multiple purposes. It is not just the future burial site of the Pharaoh. It also serves to keep the multitudes under control through oppression and forced labor. Give them busy work, they argued. The higher the pyramid, the more arduous the task of building it, the less time the rabble will have to make trouble. It would be an obsession for decades, keeping the masses distracted from their other concerns. Once completed, it would stand as a symbol of the Pharaoh’s power and majesty, dwarfing everything and everyone in its surroundings.

Cheops was convinced.

So begins Ismail Kadare’s The Pyramid, a tour de force depicting the brutal tactics a totalitarian regime will employ to sustain its powers. The pyramid snuffs out people by the hundreds. Kadare chronicles in elaborate detail the hauling of thousands upon thousands of giant stones from far away quarries, their positioning in the pyramid, and the numbers of people who lost their limbs or were crushed to death in the process.

The construction of the pyramid precipitates periodic purges in which people are disfigured, tortured, and executed. It chronicles theories of internal and external conspiracies; the ubiquitous spread of superstition, rumors, and lies; the tedium and mind-numbing boredom of the work; the silencing of speech; paranoia; the fear and trembling with which the Pharaoh’s closest advisors approach him; and the rush to fulfill the Pharaoh’s every whim even at the cost of the maiming and killing of innocents.

The pyramid comes to represent different things to different people throughout the decades of its construction, its completion, and beyond. It symbolizes a tool of oppression wielded by authoritarian governments whose goal is to magnify the power of the regime and diminish all else in their wake. At the end of the novel, Kadare explicitly draws a parallel between the construction of the pyramid and modern tools of oppression:

Pyramidal phenomena occurred in cycles, without it ever being possible to determine precisely the timing of their appearance; for no one has ever been able to establish with certainty whether what happens is the future, or just the past moving backward, like a crab. People ended up accepting that maybe neither the past nor the future were what they were thought to be, since both could reverse their direction of travel, like trams at a terminus.

The Pyramid is an allegory of life under any authoritarian regime at any time and in any place. The atmosphere is haunting, eerie, and terrifying. This may not be a novel for everyone, but it is a remarkable achievement, prescient and relevant to our time.

Highly recommended.

The Hottest Dishes of the Tartar Cuisine

Alina Bronsky

The Hottest Dishes of the Tartar Cuisine by Alina Bronsky tells the story of three generations of women: Rosalinda (Rosa) Achmetowna; her daughter, Sulfia; and Sulfia’s daughter, Aminat. Their story is told through the voice of Rosa, an unreliable narrator who shares her unvarnished opinions on life, love, marriage, and a host of other issues, including her supposedly good looks and impeccable taste in food and clothes.

Rosa emerges as an unsavory character with a distorted self-image and tyrannical tendencies. Convinced her daughter is too stupid and too ugly to find a husband for herself, Rosa successfully orchestrates the terrain for her. Sulfia marries and divorces twice. Rosa then navigates a third husband for her, a German enthralled by Aminat, Sulfia’s young daughter. Undeterred, Rosa insists he cannot have the one without the other two. Besotted with the young girl, the German agrees to the deal, and the three women move to Germany to live with a man who reluctantly marries Sulfia while obsessing over Aminat.

That is just the tip of the iceberg of Rosa’s devious machinations. Her interference in the life of her daughter and granddaughter has no limits. Convinced she is only doing what is best for them, she hounds them, threatens them, and bullies them into submission. She exploits the weakness of anyone she encounters to further her agenda, resorts to blackmail at the earliest opportunity, maneuvers people like pawns in a chess game, and engages in the most bizarre behaviors.

In spite of her many unsavory qualities, Rosa is enterprising, industrious, and determined to make a better life for herself and her family, no matter the cost. She perceives every obstacle as a challenge. To save herself embarrassment in front of her daughter’s future in-laws, she sets a tablecloth on fire to divert their attention from her husband who has shamelessly fallen asleep on the dinner table. Armed with her stockpile of chocolates and other goodies, she bribes her way to get what she wants. We sympathize with her daily struggles to obtain even the most basic necessities in a communist country. But we also cringe at the ridiculous extremes she goes to in order to advance her agenda.

Rosa’s outrageous behavior and attitude is exaggerated, almost bordering on caricature. This cartoon-like portrayal of Rosa and an ending that is inconclusive weaken an otherwise engaging read.

Recommended with some reservation.

Things We Lost in the Fire

Mariana Enriquez

Things We Lost in the Fire by Mariana Enriquez is a collection of twelve short stories set in the backdrop of an Argentina plagued with heat, poverty, and stench. The stories are unnerving. In one form or another, each story deals with a jarring event that defies explanation. The stories are replete with mysterious disappearances, brutality, violence, addiction, and characters (either real or imagined) that are misshapen and physically or mentally damaged.

Violence and brutality occur with regular frequency: the corpse of a young boy is found with cigarette burns on his torso and a decapitated head; a young girl (possibly a victim of child sexual assault) self-mutilates; a priest kills himself after warning of something demonic residing in the polluted black river of a nearby slum.

And then there are the mysterious disappearances and appearances that defy explanation: two girls are accosted in a room by the sounds of cars, heavy pounding on window shutters, running feet, screaming men, shining headlights—all of which terrify the girls but none of which is either seen or heard by adults; the ghost of a brutal child-murderer appears to a tourist guide on a bus; a husband disappears while on a road trip; two teenagers witness the disappearance of their friend behind a door in an abandoned house. Never seen again, her ghost supposedly haunts the house. A woman sees a young boy in her neighbor’s courtyard. His legs are chained and he looks barely human. When he shows up in her bedroom and devours her cat, we are not sure whether what she sees is real or a hallucination.

Finally, there are disturbing activities: a young woman’s obsession with a human skull she finds tossed among a pile of garbage. Taking the skull to her bedroom, she decorates it with beads, a wig, lights for eyes. Determined to “complete” the skull, she decides to dig for human bones. And then there is the story of a young boy who withdraws from the world and becomes obsessed with the deep web. And in another story, a clandestine organization helps women set themselves on fire so they can serve as visually potent protests of male violence against women.

The anthology is dark and disturbing. Many of the stories are inconclusive, ending on a chilling note that contributes to the atmosphere of unease. Enriquez juxtaposes bizarre events with routine concerns and a resigned tone—as if to suggest Argentina, having barely emerged from a brutal dictatorship, continues to be haunted by its past horrors, blurring the lines between reality and illusion, between the normal and the insane.

Recommended for those interested in tales of horror and the macabre.

An Unnecessary Woman

Rabih Alameddine

"You could say I was thinking of other things when I shampooed my hair blue, and two glasses of red wine didn’t help my concentration.

Let me explain."

With those words, we are introduced to Aaliya Saleh, a seventy-two-year-old Lebanese woman and the narrator in Rabih Alamaddine’s novel, An Unnecessary Woman. Her culture may classify her as unnecessary because she is elderly, divorced, and childless. But Aaliya is anything but “unnecessary.” She is precocious, sassy, eccentric, witty, resilient, socially recluse, introverted, brilliant, and an absolute delight.

The novel unfolds in the form of Aaliya’s monologue. She reveals details about her childhood, her loveless marriage at the age of 16, her subsequent divorce, her tense relationship with her mother, her friendship with Hannah, her employment in a bookstore, her aging body, her three neighbors (“the three witches”), and a consuming passion to which she has devoted fifty years of her life. This passion consists of translating translations into Arabic. Specifically, she translates novels that have already been translated into French or English. She completes a translation, crates the manuscript, and ferrets it away in an empty room to be hidden from prying eyes. Each January 1, Aaliya embarks on a new translation. By the time we meet her, this small room is bursting with crates. 

Her monologue is full of witticism, inspirational gems and insights, her voice vibrant and engaging. She has a way with words. When her husband divorces her and walks out of their apartment, she says, "I did not wait for the smell of him to dissipate on its own. I expunged it." Convinced she will remain unloved and unattractive all her life, she says of herself, “I was already different: tall, not attractive at all. Mine is a face that would have trouble launching a canoe.”

To say Aaliya is an avid reader doesn’t begin to do her justice. Aaliya lives and breathes books. She speaks of characters in novels as if they are old acquaintances. She peppers her musing about life with lines from poetry. She drops names of artists effortlessly in her sentences. She is erudite, knowledgeable about music and composers, and shares interesting tidbits about their lives. And she does all this while navigating the streets of Beirut during lulls in the civil war with its decimated buildings, crumbling infrastructure, shell-shocked population, and intermittent power outages.

This is a wonderful novel. Rabih Alameddine uses his immense talent to craft an endearing portrait of an unforgettable woman. The last scene was particularly moving. Aaliya’s storage room with all her crated manuscripts has been flooded due to a leak in an upstairs bathroom. Fifty years of labor is reduced to a soggy mess. Devastated, Aaliya weeps uncontrollably. But all is not lost. Rescue comes in the form of her three neighbors, clad in dressing gowns and slippers, who begin the painstaking task of salvaging the manuscripts armed with hair dryers and clotheslines. This is a beautiful image of sisterhood and community to end what is a remarkable novel.

Highly recommended, especially for those of us who share Aaliya’s passion for snuggling up between the covers of a book.