Showing posts with label literary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label literary. Show all posts

Thursday, July 20, 2017

Review: The Crying of Lot 49

The Crying of Lot 49 The Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is an example of a good book read at the wrong time and in the wrong way. I started this over Thanksgiving and didn't finish until late January and this is absolutely a book that should be read in a single sitting, if possible. It's unquestionably a wonderful, bizarre book. It just didn't land right with me because of how I read it

Oedipa Maas becomes the executor of state for her ex, Pierce Inverarity, and gets caught up in a conspiracy involving the Postal Service and alternative mail carriers that spans centuries - but she's not quite sure she should believe anything she's experiencing. Her journeys up and down the coast of California, seeing strange plays and investigating stamps and sleeping with various men who inevitably go insane, feel like a dreamlike haze. She wanders aimlessly with an unrealized mission, each stop almost accidental but becoming meaningful in hindsight. The book ends just as a dream would, right before the moment when you'd receive any answers.

Much could and has been said of the constellation of symbols and signifiers that flood the book and what they mean, and I'm not up to that right now. It's enough to say that the onslaught of symbols adds to the dreamy nature of the story. Many things feel illogical or impossible or random and simultaneously perfectly arranged and promising meaning, if you only look at them the right way. It's an impressive work. I imagine it's difficult to create something with so many layers of near-opacity and obfuscation that also reveals the hints of meaning and a deep structure if you push further, and Pynchon does it well. I mostly read speculative fiction nowadays and "The Crying of Lot 49" gives me the same feeling: a wholly constructed, imagined world with its own rules and a tenuous grip on reality.

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Review: The New and Improved Romie Futch

The New and Improved Romie Futch The New and Improved Romie Futch by Julia Elliott
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This book totally wasn't my jam but I enjoyed the hell out of it anyway. I'm not big on Southern Gothic and I've never read Moby Dick and I'm not even a huge fan of most modern SF that deals with cybernetic brain implants (lookin at you, Nexus by Ramez Naam). But damn do I love a book that makes me like it despite my initial hesitations.

Some scattered thoughts:
I totally thought this was going to end horribly for Romie. I kept thinking his hallucinations and the voices and the blackouts might actually be due to drugs and alcohol even though Elliott kept proving me wrong. At the end of Part Two I thought he was going to die. All throughout Part Three I thought he was going to die or fuck up. I'm kinda glad it was a happy ending, but I'm not sure I'm totally satisfied by it. I've probably been watching too much Bojack Horseman.

I almost feel the science fiction parts of the book were unnecessary. The real story here was his quest for Hogzilla (and his attempts to repair the trajectory of his life) and the SF was not as important. It didn't bother me in the moment, but in retrospect it's like I read two different stories that got stitched together.

I loved the silliness and the verbosity of Romie and his buds post-op. Lots of humor plus some beautifully written sentences. Awesome.

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Review: The People in the Castle: Selected Strange Stories

The People in the Castle: Selected Strange Stories The People in the Castle: Selected Strange Stories by Joan Aiken
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Disclosure: I received an e-galley copy of this book through Edelweiss.

This was one of several collections of 'strange stories' - magical, weird, unsettling collections that don't pack neatly into a genre label - that I read this year. Many of them, including this one, are almost like fairy tales, and I'd describe Aiken's as more like the original Grimm's fairy tales, pretty horror stories, than anything else.

Many of the stories focus on children experiencing the fantastic in their dire situations. Sometimes they read like miniature animatronic dollhouses featuring strange and magical scenes. Often nature encroaches on old, Victorian English homes. This is one of the most beautiful collections I read, and I'd highly recommend it to anyone, whether you like fantasy, horror, or typical literary writing.

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Saturday, May 21, 2016

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Review: The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse

The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse by Louise Erdrich
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

My boyfriend has been trying to get me to read Erdrich for a year now. I don't know why I didn't listen to him earlier, because Erdrich has everything I could possibly want on my author wishlist: she's a woman writing magical realism from the perspective of a minority who often incorporates gender issues into her stories and comes highly regarded as a master of prose. And is she ever! This is easily the best book I've read so far this year in terms of beauty of prose and emotional power of the story.

"The Last Report of the Miracles at Little No Horse" is a strange place to start with Erdrich, though. From what I understand, many of Erdrich's novels take place in an Ojibwe (Native American) community in North Dakota, so characters appear and re-appear in different novels. And this novel revolves around a huge spoiler for the rest of those novels, and you can't talk about the book without talking about this reveal, so here goes: the white priest for the community is a woman, and has been masquerading as a man (by the end of her/his life) for about 70 years.

Father Damien Modeste, also known as Agnes, has been writing to the Pope since he became a priest, and finally, it seems, the Pope has answered as Modeste nears the end of his life. A young priest has come to investigate the miracles of Sister Leopolda, an Ojibwe woman who became a Catholic nun (and often the subject of Modeste's letters), and consider her for canonization.

Modeste is old, long-winded, and absent-minded, so the young priest finds his job surprisingly difficult. Modeste alternately rambles about moments in his life and becomes lost in nostalgic reminiscence, and the reader is privy to it all. He remembers the love he has always had for both God and music, looks fondly on his life prior to the priesthood, considers his changing relationship to religion as he becomes integrated in the Ojibwe community.

I say "he" because Erdrich has cast Modeste as a character who is comfortable with ambiguity. He is perfectly at home entertaining two conflicting ideas and making a whole from those disparate parts without destroying or betraying either. This is true for his gender and his religion. There are moments where Modeste is a man, and he is a he; there are moments when Agnes is a woman, and she is a she. Both exist within the character, and each comes through in varying degrees at varying moments, and Agnes/Modeste is not bothered by it at all. Agnes grew up Catholic and maintains that love for God throughout her life, and as she becomes Modeste, she incorporates Ojibwe beliefs into her Catholicism (and converts Ojibwe by incorporating Catholicism into their existing beliefs).

Erdrich has mastered elegant nuance of character, of ideology. Her imagery is enchanting; the story is full of descriptions of nature and characters that are beautifully striking. Novels are often described as tapestries and I think that description is nowhere more fitting than with Erdrich - this book is a warmly hand-woven tapestry carefully made and illustrated with an expert's detailing, but still full of charm and heart. It evokes a natural garden, lovingly planted but allowed to grow almost wild with only a touch of carefully-placed cultivation and love. Read this, or some other Erdrich book, if you want to be woven into that tapestry and grow in that garden and in the end be wrenched out of it and it hurts to leave but you can see the beautiful whole.

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Thursday, March 10, 2016

Review: ODY-C, Vol. 1: Off to Far Ithicaa

ODY-C, Vol. 1: Off to Far Ithicaa ODY-C, Vol. 1: Off to Far Ithicaa by Matt Fraction
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I've talked a lot recently in other reviews about the kinds of things I particularly enjoy in comics - weird narrative structure, experimental page layouts, abstract and non-representational art with bright colors - and "ODY-C" hits all those marks and more! I was hooked the moment I read the description: it's a re-telling of the Odyssey, in space, and all the characters are women. And it's such a blast!

I'm going to start with the artwork, because I've already mentioned it and because it's the most immediately striking thing about this story. The colors are incredibly vibrant and alive, and they melt into each other or clash forcefully against each other as the story demands it. Christian Ward has done an amazing job creating art that stands beautifully and powerfully on its own but also serves and uplifts the story. There is often little dialogue on a page, and the art alone tells large parts of the story. Character design (and world design) is fabulous. Most of the characters are women, but their physicality and gender presentation vary wildly (and gloriously). Hera has a beard. Zeus is large, insisting on taking up as much space as the head of the gods deserves. The characters (usually) are clear and distinct (with some exceptions, see below). Some of the character designs remind me of Moebius, which is high praise coming from me. There are almost no traditional comic panels in the story. Ward does some amazing things with concentric circle layouts that are simply stunning. The flexible and non-linear layouts add to how weird and trippy this whole story feels.

I'm enjoying the story quite a bit, too. I'll admit that it's sometimes difficult to get through, because while the overall story mirrors the Odyssey, that provides more of a general structure and many of the specifics are original (or very loose interpretations of the original story). So often, my rusty knowledge of the Odyssey is more of a hindrance than a help, because those expectations are subverted or diverted to a different direction. Other reviewers have mentioned difficulty with the language, as well, and there are times when it is hard to understand what's happening. Generally, I followed the story pretty well. There were some scenes I puzzled over, moved on, and understood in retrospect. There are others where I think I know what happened, but am genuinely not sure (though a re-read or going back to the scene would have helped). Most of the confusion stems from the combination of abstract, poetic Homeric language with sci-fi plotlines, but some also comes from the difficulty keeping track of some of the characters. Their names are often substantially changed from their original Greek, and in at least one instance I confused two of the non-Zeus gods and am still unsure who is who. The confusion and difficulty are what knocked this down from a home-run five-star story to four stars, but I suspect as the story continues (as I get used to the prose, as characters get more established, and I get myself the cliff notes for the Odyssey) this will get easier.

The characters themselves are, as in the Odyssey, not necessarily the kind of characters you warm up to, find compelling, and eagerly await their whole life story. The gods get some personality, and Fraction has given Odyssia more grounding, more personal and emotional depth than Homer ever bothered with Odysseus. Otherwise, it's a grand narrative with larger-than-life events, and with more narration than dialogue, so it's not particularly character-driven. But that's okay; that works here, because it's like the Odyssey in that regard and the story choices complement that decision.

And often, it's the small choices here that make the story great. Hera's beard - I love it. Odyssia captains her ship through literal willpower and mental synchrony with her subordinates; if anyone is not in general coordination with the rest of the crew, the ships can be thrown dangerously off course, and only Odyssia has the force of will to command the ship. Fraction mirrors the Odyssey by frequently using wolf metaphors to refer to Odyssia. Circe is a space pirate. The jealousy and pettiness of the gods (though certainly not unique to this telling) was delightful. There's a lot to love in the small moments, and it shows that Fraction and Ward know how to tell a good story.

The concept itself is pretty great, and Fraction has woven a neat little SF premise into the story beyond the whole 'set in space' conceit. Zeus has cursed humans and made it so no male creature can exist. Humans are trying to get around this in various ways - gender-neutral people, and one old man creepily tries to father sons on young woman after young woman - and it appears that Odyssia's child, as in the Odyssey, is a young man. I'm excited to see where that plotline will go, because it's such a clear departure from the original text. I'm excited to read more of this in general, and I definitely recommend it if you want an SF comic that's both a challenge and a delight.

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Thursday, March 3, 2016

Review: Find Me

Find Me Find Me by Laura van den Berg
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

"Find Me" is an ethereal, eerie character piece about displacement. Its post-apocalyptic backdrop that feels almost inconsequential to the story, which focuses on a young woman named Joy and her hazy wandering existence, both in this new world and in the past. It's very much a 'literary' novel doing what a lot of 'literary' novels are doing lately - snatching bits and pieces of the sci-fi genre and weaving them into more mainstream (or prestigious) genres. I like this trend - the more SF the better! - but I'm also a little wary, as authors sometimes try to deny the SF-ness of their writing to keep themselves out of the genre ghetto. Either way, the SF premise drew me in, and while it didn't turn out to be hugely necessary to the story I wasn't disappointed at all (well, at least in terms of genre).

Joy is in a hospital. At first, it's unclear what kind of hospital she's in, or why. Outsiders gather outside, trying to get into the hospital, and no one in the hospital seems ill. Slowly, we discover that all the patients in this hospital are thought to be immune to a plague sweeping America, one that causes amnesia and then death. Joy suspects she's immune because she's already lost the memories that are important to her. She has recently received her first photo of her mother, and there is a curious year of her life in foster care she doesn't remember at all.

Joy eventually leaves this strange hospital and the people she has met there. She runs into the only foster-brother she's ever cared about while wandering the east coast on a series of sketchy long-distance buses. She's searching for her mother, who she believes she identified from TV as a lost-ship-chaser who lives off the shore of Florida.

Nothing in this book is in the foreground. Joy's memory problems and the inconsistency of memory throughout the story constantly displace both event and emotion. Though the story is roughly chronological, life-changing moments happen off-screen and are not referenced until Joy has digested them enough to temper their emotional impact. Thus the tone perpetuates a constant, unchanging level of emotional valence. Often, this deliberate disaffection creates a clashing contrast with the actual events Joy remembers, and the slow, steady grind of emotion becomes a relentless crashing wave of white noise drowning out all the things Joy should be concerned about but ignores with her single-minded goal.

It's an impressive build, but the question for me is: what does it build to, and how does it land? And, unfortunately, the answers are a disappointing 'not much,' and 'no.' I shouldn't have been surprised (and I wasn't, as the novel neared its end and with only pages left Joy was supposedly only moments away from her mother) that a novel that is primarily about lack and uses lack as a literary device displaces the ending beyond the final page of the book. Perhaps this means for the reader that we must understand Joy's journey is not about the destination, but about the getting there, but for Joy herself this isn't even the case. She has undergone a lot and her life has drastically changed, but her primary concern is still finding her mother and she refuses to foreground any of her more immediate problems.

Still, up until the last page, it was engrossing read. I could have used some closure and I feel the story would've benefited from it, but the author clearly disagrees, and I respect that.

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Tuesday, March 1, 2016

Review: A Guide to Being Born: Stories

A Guide to Being Born: Stories A Guide to Being Born: Stories by Ramona Ausubel
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I am getting way too far behind on my reviews, so I'm going a bit out of order on these. On the blog, you'll notice I've started tagging reviews with months - those are the month the book/story was read, to better keep track. I read "A Guide to Being Born: Stories" immediately after reading "Find Me," by Laura Van Den Berg (review forthcoming), and the two share a lot of immediately striking similarities. (I'm hoping this review will make the other one easier; I have a lot of feelings and no proper words to explain them for "Find Me.")

This was an impulse read, something I found on the library shelf when I was ostensibly there just to pick up some long-planned reads that came in from on hold. This happens a lot to me. It's like going shopping on an empty stomach, only I'm always hungry for more books. It was a quick read, too; I finished it in one sitting.

As the title indicates, it's a book of short stories, many following the theme of birth, life, and death. It shares with "Find Me" a kind of deliberately disaffected, dark curiosity about birth and motherhood that suggests someone trying desperately not to reveal their obsession. In one story, a pregnant woman's husband wakes to find he has empty drawers in his chest. He fills them with significant odds and ends to feel like he contains something important, too. In another, a young woman who finds herself accidentally pregnant can't believe she's actually having a human baby, and instead imagines her child will be any of a variety of animals. The stories oscillate between pointedly oblique - directing your thoughts exactly to one specific place without ever saying it outright - and commandingly, heartwrenchingly plain, laying out exactly the meaning as they grasp your heart by the collar and shove it up against a wall. That is to say, the collection attempts that dichotomy, but often falls short of the emotional strength needed.

The thematic concern with life is emphasized by stories about death and not living life well. One of the stories most vivid in my memory takes place on a boat. Everyone on the boat is a grandmother, and none of them know how they got there. There are many kinds of grandmothers, but all of them are on this boat, and some, in desperation, choose to jump off. Another is about a young girl who plays catch with the ghost of a Civil War soldier. The young girl lives alone in the woods with her mother and grandmother. She thinks she knows a lot about how she was born, but much of it is a lie.

These stories are sweet pastries, easy to consume quickly but perhaps better to chew on slowly, doled out one by one. There's no plot to be found in any of these stories. As with much stereotypical high-literature short fiction, they are mundane slices of life (in this case, mundane turned fantastical). If that's not your thing, this isn't for you, but the collection certainly made for a pleasant evening.

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Wednesday, December 23, 2015

Review: Boy, Snow, Bird

Boy, Snow, Bird Boy, Snow, Bird by Helen Oyeyemi
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I did it! I finally read something that isn't just science fiction or fantasy! Thanks to my friend Clair for the recommendation!

I'm not sure how I feel about this at all. On one hand, I liked the characters and the prose and the skill with which Oyeyemi can write a relationship and the racialized 1950s take on Snow White. On the other, the story faltered about halfway through, I was never given compelling reasons or resolutions for the way certain relationships and storylines turned out , there was a distinct lack of consistency and unity across the storylines, the whole thing was unsubtle yet muddled about its themes, and I'm very conflicted about Frank.

Plot summary (including spoilers):
The story begins from the perspective of Boy Novak, a girl who has never known her mother, only her abusive father, Frank. She runs away to the idyllic town of Flax Hills and begins life anew doing odd jobs and living at a women's boardinghouse. She makes several friends and goes on lots of dates, and even begins to connect with one of the men she dates. Her two close friends give her two models for the ideal woman's life of the time: Webster marries quickly and happily and settles down into marital bliss, while Mia, a spunky journalist, turns fluffy women's pieces into undercover investigative journalism. Boy is clearly haunted by her past, though; she feels she doesn't know how to properly love. Even as she starts a relationship, she remembers Charlie, the boy she loved at home, and thinks that she can't have someone who truly loves her that way because she doesn't know how to be like that. She finds herself staring into reflective surfaces but actually looking at them. In one alarming incident, her reflection takes on a life of its own.

Eventually, she finds a permanent job at a bookstore and makes friends with the black children who skip school to read in the safe haven of the shelves. She marries her new man, who has a daughter named Snow. Snow is beautiful, with pale skin and dark hair. Everyone adores her, and while she seems older than her age it's not caused by worry, but just a natural strange maturity. Snow's mother, also much adored, is dead, but both of Snow's grandmothers dote on her to a degree that, to Boy who was never loved as a child, seems excessive and spoiling. But Boy loves her just the same. And then Boy's daughter, Bird, is born: Bird is clearly black, and Boy, who is possibly the fairest-skinned of all, has a major conversation with her husband about his background, where it's revealed that he, his dead wife, Snow, and all of Snow's grandparents and family are all light-skinned black people who pass for white.

Snow's grandmothers gently suggest that Bird be sent off with Clara, Snow's dark-skinned aunt who was also sent away in her youth to keep up the family's appearances. Boy refuses. After a while, though, she sees that Snow and Bird (though they get along splendidly) cannot live in the same place without the differences in their treatment doing serious damage to one or both of them. The grandmothers snub Bird and continue to dote on Snow. Everyone in town whispers about Bird but adores Snow. So Boy does send a child to Clara, but she sends Snow. It's partly because of everyone else, but also because she can also see that her resentment of Snow - that she has the love Boy never had and she's taking away Bird's chance for that love - will eventually hurt Snow, as well.

At this point - slightly more than halfway through - the book switches to Bird's perspective. Bird is thirteen; she knows she has a half-sister but has never contacted her. Her father visits Snow a few times a month and occasionally brings back gifts from one girl to the other, but they haven't spoken in more than ten years. She has a close friend named Louis Chen, who she might be in love with and with whom she deals with racist remarks along regular childhood challenges. She's remarkably mature. She decides to contact Snow and the two bond quickly through letters, though there is a brief point of contention. Bird confides in Snow that, sometimes, she doesn't appear in mirrors. Snow responds saying that, if she means it literally, that's a dangerous thing to say - something she knows from personal experience as Snow also is sometimes absent from mirrors. Bird thinks Snow is teasing her, and they drop the subject. Boy, who has been a loving if somewhat distant mother, always willing to do exactly what Bird asks at the drop of a hat, says to be wary of Snow because her sweetness is deceptive. Snow comes to visit for Thanksgiving, causing a huge uproar in the town as everyone wants to see the beautiful young girl who left and has now returned. It seems Bird and Snow get along rather well. Bird is then briefly kidnapped by an old man who takes her to a restaurant, where he tells her he is Frank, Boy's mother. He tells her Boy is evil, among other things. Bird calls Mia, her mother's friend, to get some perspective. (Boy, who hears about it later, kind of agrees with Frank - she thinks she is evil, because she lets bad things happen to people when she could have prevented them.)

After what feels like very little plot happening, the perspective switches back to Boy, who is, predictably, still resentful of Snow. She approaches the girl and tells her that in order for them to ever get along, Snow has to beat her up, like kids did back in New York when Boy grew up. With some prompting, Snow agrees, and then everything is okay. Mia, investigative journalist, contacts Boy and tells her that Mia was the one who let Frank know where Boy lived, and that Mia has been doing some digging to find Boy's mother. And what she's found is that Boy's mother, Frances, was a top research student in a time when women were barely allowed into school, until she was raped, at which point she disappeared. Mia has learned that since her disappearance, Frances has been living as Frank; the loving mother Boy never let herself wish for was the abusive father she lived with. Boy immediately gathers Bird and Snow and Mia and tells them they're going to New York to find Boy's mother. The end.

Now, I feel like several of my problems with the story are pretty clear. I feel like the switch to Bird's perspective and back didn't work. If we'd gotten more time with Bird, if we'd gotten some time with Snow, if it hadn't switched to Bird at all and just stayed from Boy's perspective - any of those would have worked better, in my opinion. I'm not sure why the story focused so much on Bird at all, because the most interesting relationship (and the one we hear the least about) is between Snow and Boy. Is Snow really so perfect that she only has mild feelings about Boy? We don't know.

The ending is abrupt; everything is wrapped up and this family goes on a jolly quest to NYC to find Boy's mother (which will, supposedly, solve all of her issues regarding love and motherhood) in a way that implies all of their issues are essentially worked out, despite the fact that as Boy is gathering them all Bird is emotionally torturing Snow by mimicking her dead mother's singing voice. Boy is still emotionally distant and feels little remorse about Snow; she doesn't seem to have grown or changed since the beginning of the novel, except that now she wants to meet her mother (and any restorative or destructive impact that may have is left off-page). And can we talk about their end goal in New York: finding Boy's mother? Because I'm still not sure how I feel about that. Frances experienced trauma, and that trauma triggered her life as Frank. But prior to the trauma she had an academic history in sexuality, and it seems like she was increasingly masculine throughout her life. It's hard to tell if Frank is a transgender man or if Frances is suffering through trauma, and the novel doesn't seem to address that nuance. It merely validates Boy's blind faith that Frances can be "found" and returned to her by using that as the unifying send-off of the characters.

The prose is beautiful, and the novel has a lot of lovely things to say about the tricky and complicated nature of relationships, love, and motherhood. Boy's fierce but disaffected mothering of Bird shows how someone who doesn't know how to love can find a way to approximate it if they try hard enough, and maybe that's all that matters. But often, the prose was unsubtle, blunt to the point of slapping you in the face with the metaphors and subtext. Bird writes that maybe she doesn't see herself in certain mirrors (like one in her grandmother's house) because those are places Snow occupies. Like, wow. Way to tell us exactly what that previously strange and intriguing phenomenon means in the context of the story, 13-year-old child. Thanks. The novel is slightly more delicate with its treatment of race, though one fairly obvious moment of foreshadowing (Boy's thoughts wandering toward the black children at her bookstore when eating with Snow's family) is essentially described as such later in the novel, when Boy thinks "hmm, could I have foreseen this? Maybe I did, when I thought about those children during that meal." At the same time, though, there's little consistency in any message throughout the novel, no building to a larger meaning. Several scenes seemed to exist only to convey a smaller story with a particular moral, and then had no impact on the larger plot, especially in Bird's section. A generous reading would say that it's because relationships are unique, and even the two people involved can have very different views of the relationship, so one grand message about family/race/love/motherhood/trauma isn't going to work. But it felt to me like Oyeyemi simply didn't weave together these threads well enough to make a patchwork but complete picture of the complicated dynamics at work. Instead, we're left with beautiful, separate patches.

One nitpicky comment - there seem to be a lot of anachronisms in the early portion of the book. Even the tone made it difficult to place when Boy was living; she has the voice of a modern young woman, which I suppose isn't all that different from a woman in the early 1950s, but it felt out of place. Boy's future husband goes jogging regularly - an activity that wasn't common and a name that was not used for that activity until the early 60s and not popularized in America until several years later. The early section of the novel comes across as a kind of achronological "early 1900s America" that takes place in no time but all of them at once (until it needs to take place at specific times, at which point the achronology becomes confusing).

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Tuesday, December 22, 2015

Review: Inés of My Soul

Inés of My Soul Inés of My Soul by Isabel Allende
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is the kind of book you have to give four stars because it's clearly well-written and a Good Novel, not necessarily because you like it. It wasn't bad, and I definitely liked it - which gives it at least 3 stars according to the Goodreads metric - but I can't say I *really* liked it. It earned that 4th star by virtue of its inherent quality.

"Ines of My Soul" is a fictional biography of a Spanish woman of common birth who becomes a conquistadora of Chile and falls in love with three different men along the way. The story is framed as Ines writing and dictating her memoirs to her daughter. She recounts a partial history of the exploration of South America, as well as a rather detailed history of the founding and growth of Chile. The book is in turns informative and moving. Ines Suarez was a real historical figure, and was present at the founding of Chile (as far as I'm aware), but Allende successfully turns her into a person, a character who loves and is scorned and loves again, and who fiercely cares for the bedraggled settlers of Chile.

The prose is lovely and introspective, and especially beautiful when describing the landscape of Chile or Ines's various loves throughout her life. I'm not big on the story, but I'll admit that the historical fictional biography is not really my thing. I'd go so far as to say there isn't really a story, in terms of exposition-rising action-falling action structure; it's just a narrative of events as they happened, and even then Ines tells us straight up when major characters are going to die way before it happens, which eliminates any potential for tension in the story. But that kind of tension isn't the point; this is the kind of novel that luxuriates in the moment and the telling. For me, the telling isn't *quite* beautiful enough to pay off, but I imagine for a lot of people it does.

Personally, I am slightly bothered by Ines's occasional (but inconsistent) emphasis on how poorly the Spaniards treated the Indians and how it was wrong and cruel. It doesn't feel true to character - because it's only occasional, and because it seems rather convenient that the main character of the novel (sometimes) has these modern sensibilities about cruelty to the indigenous peoples - and instead feels more like modern moralizing. Perhaps we're supposed to read it as the narrator Ines trying to make herself look better in hindsight; several of her comments have this "well *they* treated their slaves badly but *I* didn't" feel to them, so it may be that. But it definitely came across, to me, as a distinctly 20th/21st century sense of morality forced into a context where it didn't fit to make the book more palatable to readers, who don't want to read about a good strong woman who also happens to be a slave torturer. (Granted, I also don't know anything about the real-life Ines Suarez outside this book, so maybe she did do all those things. I somehow doubt it though.)

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Review: Orlando

Orlando Orlando by Virginia Woolf
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I'm afraid that my review of Orlando might sound like I hated Orlando, so I want to say up front that I didn't hate it and talk about the stuff that I liked. It was a delightfully whimsical read, and I was surprised at how contemporary it felt, in certain ways. Woolf was did a lot of interesting things with perspective and mildly fantastical elements. I'm also really excited about the nuanced exploration of gender and love and romance. There were also moments that were dense and wordy, but poetic and rewarding.

But really 'moments' are all there were. There is no plot at all, simply a continuous description of incidents and thoughts of the title character. I guess that's to be expected from a faux-biography, but I wish it had built more, or had a more conflict to get invested in. And not every book has to be a page-turning plot-driven quest. I just found myself wondering where it was going and if anything would ever have consequences.

I'll also say that this book would have been a lot more rewarding as part of a course, because it's hard to tell whether a given turn of phrase or strange occurrence was supposed to reference something literary or historical, or if it was some detail about Vita's life or inside joke between Vita and Virginia. I'd like to read something a little more traditional from Woolf to see how this compares.

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Review: The Sirens of Titan

The Sirens of Titan The Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I almost don't want to say much about the Sirens of Titan because it's so rich and funny and fantastic that any words I'd use to describe it wouldn't be enough. The more I read of Vonnegut, the better it gets (and I'm saying that as someone who really didn't like Slaughterhouse-5). This is the most novel-like of Vonnegut's novels. He tends toward deconstruction and achronality, and neither of those are missing from Sirens of Titan, but not only does the book proceed in chronological order but also the action serves to move the plot forward in that order. In a lot of Vonnegut's writing, there are asides and non sequiturs that emphasize one of his main philosophies - the cosmic meaninglessness of everything humans do - and I think he uses the linearity of Sirens of Titan to make the same point, only in this case, it's phrased a little differently. Here, he's telling us that even if we see some sort of arc or meaning or growth toward a climax, life will inevitably continue on to prove that there is no grand purpose.

The story here follows Malachi Constant, a billionaire party boy who has never done anything constructive in his life. He meets with a man, Winston Niles Rumfoord, who has been through a chrono-synclastic infundibulum - basically, a portal that spreads him throughout the universe, so that he experiences the entire past and future of the solar system and only appears at certain places at regular intervals. Rumfoord tells Constant that the latter will soon leave Earth, go to Mars, Mercury, back to Earth, and then to Titan, and that in the process he will have a child with Rumfoord's wife. And while neither Constant nor Rumfoord's wife Beatrice believe this, it does come true.

Spoilers follow: Constant loses his fortune and accepts an offer to go to Mars and be part of an army that plans to invade Earth. The army is made up of humans from across the globe, all controlled by antennas placed in their heads and wiped of memories of home, but Constant can't seem to shake his memories. He remembers that he has a mate and child and seeks them out as the army leave for Earth, and encounters Rumfoord - who he doesn't remember - in the process. Rumfoord sends Constant and his 'buddy' Boaz to Mercury instead of Earth. The description of the aliens - harmoniums - on Mercury is quirky and adorable in Vonnegut's way. Little glowing yellow kites that feed off musical vibrations, who love the music that Boaz plays for them during the years the two men are stranded on the planet. The whole time, Rumfoord is arranging the aliens on the wall to spell out glowing messages for the men, and eventually shows them how to get off the planet (though Boaz chooses to stay and take care of the harmoniums).

Meanwhile, on Earth, the invasion is over, and failed. It was meant to fail, as we discover. Rumfoord engineered it so that humans would fear the invasion, but be unified in their (quick and easy) defeat of the Martian army. And then Rumfoord tells the world that the Martian army were willing martyrs who sacrificed themselves to unify the world, and he begins a religion: the Church of God the Utterly Indifferent, where God does not smile upon or curse anyone because all humans are too insignificant to matter. Rumfoord uses Malachi Constant as an example of the worst kind of person, the kind who believes he is just lucky or that 'someone up there likes him,' and doesn't do anything to counteract that luck. (Once the religion has taken hold, strong people wear weights to drag them down, smart people marry dumb people to keep them humble, beautiful people deliberately obscure their beauty with bad posture and make-up.) And when Constant returns, Rumfoord makes a big show of exiling him (along with Beatrice and their son, Chrono) to Titan for his sins.

On Titan, we discover that Rumfoord is constantly materialized there and lives there with a stranded Tralfamadorian alien named Salo. Salo is waiting for a part for his spaceship, and occasionally receives messages from his home planet that are instantiated in human achievements like the Great Wall of China or the UN building (he also hasn't told Rumfoord about that last bit, because he's worried Rumfoord would be angry, and he enjoys the novel experience of friendship with Rumfoord). Rumfoord is suffering from sunspots and will soon be ejected from the solar system. His last request of Salo is for Salo to share the message he has sworn to carry across the galaxy without opening - and he reveals that he knows he has only been an agent manipulated by the Trafalmadorians to get Salo's missing part to him, so Salo owes him. Salo refuses (until it's too late, and then opens the message to find it says "Greetings") and Rumfoord disappears, and then Salo disassembles himself. This leaves the unhappy family of Constant, Beatrice, and Chrono alone on Titan. Chrono leaves to live with the birds of Titan, Constant lives off the land and tries to rebuild Salo, and Beatrice spends the next 30 years writing a treatise on the actual meaning of human life, trying to prove Rumfoord's nihilism/Trafalmadorian conspiracy wrong. And when Salo finally reappears after Beatrice's death, he takes Constant back to Earth, where he dies a peaceful death.

This was only Vonnegut's second novel, and while it shows its earliness (in the sense that it's much less experimental than his later ones), it also shows what a master Vonnegut is at sly humor and building a moving story. We learn just enough at the beginning to be invested in Constant's journey, but we're still invested and the twists and turns are surprising and emotional. The tone and even the plot of this book reminded me a lot of Douglas Adams. Lots of hijinks like the messages spelled out in harmoniums on Mercury, dry wry sense of humor, the achievements of human existence serving only to deliver a piece of an alien ship to Titan.

I'm intrigued by Rumfoord, too, and wonder if he really told the future as it was supposed to be or deliberately worked pre-emptive vengeance on his cold wife and the man who cuckolded him. I think we're supposed to assume that he does have all-seeing knowledge of the solar system, but his treatment of Constant and Beatrice seems a little extreme and unnecessary, even for sending a message to his congregation.

There's also the matter of messengers. Malachi, we are told, means 'messenger,' and what Malachi wants most is to carry a crucially important message from one place to another. He wants to carry a message from God, ideally. And in a way, he does - his return to and exile from Earth are a message to the people of Earth, to the congregations of the Church of God the Utterly Indifferent. And the ship he leaves on carries the replacement piece for Salo's ship (though Malachi himself doesn't carry it) so that Salo can continue carrying his message. And Salo's message, though it's of utmost importance to him and his planet, is simply one word (one dot, in Trafalmadorian), which again reinforces how meaningless even our most important goals and words are. There's more here, probably enough to write an essay on, but that's not the point of this review. Overall, it was a great book, and I was hooked 'til the end.

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Review: The Passion

The Passion The Passion by Jeanette Winterson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is a beautifully lyrical novel that tells the story of a man and a woman in France and Venice, respectively, in the early 1800s. The man, Henri, is a soldier in Napoleon's army and believes that Bonaparte may be the son of God come again. The woman, Villanelle, is a boatman's daughter who works and plays at grand Casinos. Both struggle with the blessings and pain that come with passion. The prose is fantastic in the otherworldly sense. The book is concerned with the relationship between reality and story, both in the individual's life and as abstract concepts, and it leaves you with an appreciation for storytelling as an art.

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Review: This Is How You Lose Her

This Is How You Lose Her This Is How You Lose Her by Junot Díaz
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I haven't read anything by Junot Diaz before, but apparently a character (or characters?) from this short story collection has shown up in previous Diaz works. That being said, this works very well as a standalone collection. The stories concern love, sex, and identity - specifically, coming of age as a Dominican-born boy living in America. It was a fast read and very accessible, one of those works that is appealing because it channels deep emotions through raw, simple prose, the words anyone could use but don't. It's pretty explicit, so not for everyone, but that explicit honesty is a necessary part of the style. Diaz has taken typical experiences of a particular kind of person - a young, sex-hungry, Dominican man with a penchant for cheating - and distilled those experiences through unassuming prose, resulting in a super-focused, flavorful portrait. It's like he found a precious stone in the rough and with only a few careful cuts turned it into a beautiful jewel.

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Review: One Hundred Years of Solitude

One Hundred Years of Solitude One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This was my first foray into "literary" fiction in a while, and I think I made a good decision. It's been hard for me to get excited about stories without fantastical elements after reading exclusively sci-fi for so long, but magical realism is a good compromise, and on top of that I'm making an effort to read non-white authors this year. In general, I very much enjoyed the prose and the challenge of the unorthodox story structure. The lack of traditional narrative structure and the patchwork feel of the interwoven tales of the individual members of the Buendia family did make it a little touch to get through at times, though.

The story follows the descendants of Jose Arcadio Buendia and his wife Ursula, who together helped found a city and a formidable family line. My difficulties and complaints with the novel are pretty typical - most of the characters have very similar names, and there's no "plot" as such so skipping around between anecdotes can get kind of confusing - but I understand and appreciate the emphasis on the cyclical nature of families. I also really feel that this would read better in Spanish than it did in English, but that's a failing on my part, not the novel's.

There are points where there does seem to be a plot - there's a war (or wars) going on, people fall in love, etc. - and when the story runs with the same characters or the same events for a while, it's engaging and beautiful.

I usually do a plot synopsis for most of the books I read, but that just won't work for this one, so I'll leave this review short.

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Review: Magic for Beginners

Magic for Beginners Magic for Beginners by Kelly Link
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

My first exposure to Kelly Link was through a contemporary literature course my final semester of college. I read the eponymous story, "Magic for Beginners," which is about a group of loyal fans of a TV show about a library inside a tree. But it's hard to describe what Link's stories are ostensibly concretely 'about' in a way that captures their magic. A better description for that story might be 'the best short story I've read, in a way that dug down deep inside my psyche and showed me what I fundamentally enjoy about short stories and media in general,' or 'an exploration of the relationship between media and its audience, shown through the experience of one fan as he navigates his changing relationships with his family and friends, as well as with the show they all love.' The show only airs on channels that are otherwise static, and doesn't air according to any schedule. The actors don't play the same characters from week to week. There's an episode that takes place entirely in darkness, inside a card catalog.

I feel like that story is a thematic template for all of Link's stories. Plots are dreamlike and fantastical and, in theory, impossible, but all the more beautiful because she doesn't try to explain what makes them possible in this world. Things just are, and Link encourages the reader to roll with the punches and to accept the impossible strangenesses of her worlds, and thus our own world. The writing is lovely and whimsical and haunting, and the stories stick with you for a long time.

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