Lost Children Archive

Valeria Luiselli

Lost Children Archive by Valeria Luiselli consists of several threads woven intermittently throughout the narrative to form a complex tapestry. The narrative unfolds within the backdrop of a blended family’s road trip from New York to Apacheria, Arizona.  

The blended family consists of the narrator, her five-year old daughter, her husband, and his ten-year old son. The parents are archivists. The father documents the sounds along the way to capture an “inventory of echoes” of the land once inhabited by Apaches and, presumably, where their ghosts still reside. The mother, the narrator of the first half of the novel, focuses on documenting the harrowing journey and fate of migrant children entering the US to re-unite with family members.

Peppering the mother’s first-person narrative are the father’s stories of the heroism of the Apaches in their struggle against the Europeans, focusing on the life and death of Geronimo; intermittent news reports of migrant children held in detention centers and/or shuttled back across the border to an unknown fate; the desperate search for two sisters missing from a detention center; selections from the deeply moving Elegies for Lost Children about the traumatic journey of migrant children; her private musings on a wealth of subjects; her struggles with the apparent breakdown of her marriage; her children’s questions and interruptions; descriptions of the various locations and motels; her son’s Polaroids; and copious literary cross-references. The porous nature of her skin is evident as the rage and despair she feels at the fate of migrant children saturates her first-person narrative.

The second half of the book shifts to the first-person narrative of the son when he and his sister run away to search for the lost children. In the process, they replicate some of the experiences of migrant children. When the family is reunited, he presents the document of his experience to his mother to remind his little sister of their desert adventure. This section is gripping although the diction and thoughts may, at times, be too sophisticated for a ten-year old child, especially sections of a sentence that runs on breathlessly for twenty pages.

 Luiselli has written an ambitious, complex novel with the interlocking themes of the treatment and fate of migrant children; the nature of justice and equality; the challenges of parenting and marriage; the role of storytelling; and the role of the archivist, specifically, how to give voice to those whose voices have been lost forever. She blends the personal, the political, the historical, and the mythic with empathy and sensitivity.

This is a deeply moving novel with a complex structure and several intertwining threads. And there’s the rub. Luiselli may have crammed too much in the novel, thereby causing confusion and diluting some of its more salient threads. Nevertheless, it is highly recommended because of its expansive vision, deeply expressed emotions, exploration of relevant themes, technical skill, and the occasional brilliant passage.

Where'd You Go, Bernadette

Maria Semple

Where’d You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple is an entertaining, light-hearted novel with a cast of eccentric and quirky characters.

The narrative unfolds through a series of emails, police reports, school announcements, magazine articles, connecting fillers, etc. compiled by Bee, Bernadette’s fifteen-year-old daughter, after her mother’s disappearance. The switching back and forth between the different formats energizes the narrative and gives it a hurried pace. Characters rush in and out; the format changes at dizzying speeds; the Russian Mafia attempts identity theft; the local police and FBI are involved; Bernadette disappears mysteriously; her husband and daughter hunt her down. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. This hodge podge of frenzied activities gives the novel almost a slap-stick, fast-paced sitcom quality.

The speed at which the novel moves and the shifting format means there is little time or space for character development. The characters are, in fact, flat caricatures. Elgie, Bernadette’s husband, is a genius at Microsoft. He rides a bike, takes his shoes off when he gets to work, wears headphones to tune people out, and is treated with a mixture of reverence and fear by colleagues. Bernadette is ostensibly a genius as well as a scatterbrain. A former architect and recipient of the MacArthur genius grant, she exhibits anti-social behavior, antagonizes the parents of children at Bee’s school, and shuffles around the house strategically placing pots and pans to catch the rain leaking from the roof. Bee is a precocious fifteen-year-old who thinks it’s perfectly normal to live in a home with weeds pushing their way through broken floor boards, with a mother who is a scatterbrain, and with a father who is virtually absent.

The characters are unrealistic and set up for ridicule. Bernadette’s zany antics are laughable, but at the same time, we are supposed to find her endearing and loveable. She’s not. The only positive quality about her is the unconditional love she has for her daughter. Bee emerges as the most believable character. But considering the serious health issues she had to overcome as a child and her mother’s crazy antics, it’s amazing she isn’t damaged.

Maria Semple knows how to write a light-hearted, entertaining novel that sustains reader interest as she hurtles us from one page to the next. But her characters are parodies, her plot unrealistic, her treatment of weighty subjects superficial, and her conclusion inconclusive.

Recommended with reservations.

A General Theory of Oblivion

Jose Eduardo Agualusa; Trans. Daniel Hahn

Winner of the 2017 Dublin International Literary Award and shortlisted for the 2016 Man Booker International Prize, A General Theory of Oblivion by Jose Eduardo Agualusa, translated by Daniel Hahn, tells the story of the 1970s Angolan war for independence and its aftermath.

The story unfolds by patching together a series of vignettes, snippets of diaries, poems, snapshots of events, characters who participate in the mayhem and those who avoid it, the back stories of each character, and their interlocking threads. The narrative alternates between first person and third person.

The war is seen through the eyes of several characters, primarily through the eyes of Ludo, a victim of rape who suffers from agoraphobia. At the onset of civil turmoil, Ludo walls herself up in her apartment. Living in total isolation for nearly 30 years, she survives by restricting her diet, growing her own fruits and vegetables, and consuming the occasional pigeon she has killed. The events outside her apartment are experienced at a distance through hurried snatches and glimpses: demonstrations, people chased by mobs and shoved into vans, corpses abandoned on the roadside, residents in neighboring buildings, and gangs of young men with guns roaming the streets. She hears gunshots and listens to the radio. She records what she sees, what she thinks, and what she feels in her diaries, and when she runs out of paper, she writes on the walls.

Weaving in and out of Ludo’s narrative are the stories of characters who experience the events from differing vantage points. Among them are a former prisoner who survived torture, a security official who tortured him, a young boy living off the streets, and a former orderly at the hospital. Their lives intersect in a tangled web that is gradually revealed as the events unfold. All the characters converge in Ludo’s apartment at the novel’s conclusion.

For the most part, the prose is straightforward and concise, but occasionally, a line will jump out at you for its sheer lyricism and beauty. The format is unusual. Each chapter is introduced with a telling, succinct phrase. Chapter lengths vary from a few short lines to several pages. The format reinforces the episodic nature of the narrative—from short vignettes to descriptions of longer episodes. The focus is not on the tumultuous events but on the impact they have on individual lives. The characters are caught up in circumstances beyond their control. They struggle to survive amid the horror and brutality. Some do it by physically hiding while others disengage psychologically. But all lapse into some form of oblivion or a yearning for oblivion as a means of coping.

The episodic nature of the narrative with snapshots here, glimpses there, and interlocking threads widens the scope but provides little depth to the events or characters. What emerges from this unusual format is a panoramic view of a civil war and its impact on the lives of individuals. The fleeting glimpses barely skim the surface of character development. But this may be intentional as it opens the possibility that the characters are not intended to be well-rounded and unique. Their experiences and forays into oblivion transcend the individualistic. Instead, they are generic and speak to the universal experience of all who have lived through the turmoil of a civil war and who wish to bury nightmare memories deep in the shadows of oblivion.

Highly recommended.

Freedom is a Constant Struggle: Ferguson, Palestine, and the Foundations of a Movement

Angela Davis

Freedom is a Constant Struggle: Ferguson, Palestine, and the Foundations of a Movement by Angela Davis is a collection of interviews with and speeches by Angela Davis over a two-year period from February 2013 to June 2015.

With passion and conviction, Davis argues that the struggle for freedom is inextricably intertwined with all ongoing struggles throughout the world. As examples, she highlights the connections between the training and militarization of police in Israel with the training and militarization of police in the US and in other parts of the world. She draws comparisons between Ferguson and the Palestinian struggle in the occupied territories. She critiques the prison industrial complex, perceiving it as an extension of slavery. She argues that social change does not come about because of the actions of one individual but rather through robust, collective social movements. She credits the Black female domestic workers for their pivotal role in the 1955 Montgomery bus boycotts. And she sums up her underlying premise by saying, “The greatest challenge facing us as we attempt to forge international solidarities and connections across national borders is an understanding of what feminists often call ‘intersectionality.’ Not so much intersectionality of identities, but intersectionality of struggles.”

This is a powerful collection of speeches and interviews. Davis’ arguments are perceptive and persuasive. Since the speeches were given at different times and in different locations, there is some repetition of her main ideas. But these reiterations serve to illustrate her unflinching resolve to articulate and illustrate the intersectionality of global struggles and the collective action needed to address them.

Davis challenges us to think deeper and broader and to reject facile solutions to complex problems. She urges us to unearth root causes and to recognize the interconnectedness of the various global struggles for freedom.

Highly recommended.

Praise Song for the Butterflies

Bernice L. McFadden

Praise Song for the Butterflies by Bernice L. McFadden tells the story of Abeo Kata, a young girl in Ukemby, a fictitious country in Africa. Although Ukemby cannot be found on a map, the description of Abeo’s ritual servitude, known as trokosi, whereby children are abandoned in a religious shrine to atone for ancestral crimes, is both realistic and heart-wrenching.

Abeo is born into an affluent, loving family. When her father falls on hard times and the family experiences a series of calamities, Abeo’s father acquiesces to his mother’s demands and abandons Abeo in a religious shrine in the hope of turning the tide against his misfortunes by appeasing the gods. Abeo is nine years old at the time. She spends the next fifteen years as a virtual slave to the priest and his son. Like other young girls in the shrine, she is forced to work in the fields, endures physical and mental abuse, harassment, starvation, and sexual assault. Eventually rescued, she moves to America where she is embraced in a cocoon of love and support, undergoes healing, and makes a life for herself.

McFadden tells Abeo’s story in sparse, economical prose. Things happen, things change, lives are turned upside down in the space of a paragraph. We move quickly through the different stages of Abeo’s life in matter of fact sentences that lack adornment. McFadden carefully balances the harrowing details with distance so the reader is not mired in the horror. The technique is effective since the horror she describes is sufficiently disturbing that it needs no embellishment. Some of her most effective sentences simply declare a girl’s age after she has witnessed or experienced a horrific example of abuse.

McFadden is to be commended for shedding light on the practice of ritual servitude and for doing so without lapsing into melodramatic, sentimental prose. However, Abeo’s fate at the end of the novel veers toward the cliché and improbable. Here is a woman who has supposedly been so traumatized by her experience that she becomes catatonic and is temporarily rendered speechless. She recovers gradually by watching The Wizard of Oz, a movie she remembers from her childhood. And while in America, she learns to trust and to find healing in a romantic and sexual relationship with a man. She is finally able to transcend her past when she has a dream of stabbing her abuser.

In reality, recovery for a traumatized individual is not that simple. It is a long, complex process which may take years and seldom occurs in a forward trajectory. Continuous spurts of progress and relapses are the norm, especially for victims of child sexual assault. Survivors are frequently unable to engage in loving relationships until after healing has occurred, not before. It is understandable that McFadden wanted to conclude her novel on an uplifting note, but in terms of the terror Abeo endured for fifteen years, the speed of her recovery and its very nature stretches the truth.

Recommended in spite of an improbable conclusion to what was otherwise an engaging, well-written novel shedding light on a brutal practice.

Battle Cries and Lullabies: Women in War From Prehistory to the Present

Linda Grant De Pauw

Battle Cries and Lullabies: Women in War from Prehistory to the Present by Linda Grant De Pauw is a sweeping overview of the multiple roles of women in war. De Pauw chronicles the various functions women performed in war: as spectators watching from the sidelines; as cheer leaders urging men into battle; as warrior queens leading the charge against the enemy; as laundresses; as nurses; as prostitutes; as camp followers; as baggage carriers; as spies; as wives; as mothers; and as soldiers sometimes disguised as men whose real identity was not revealed until they were wounded or their bodies were strewn on the battlefield.

A few recurring themes emerge from this survey. The first is that women are as capable as men of engaging in brutality, torture, bodily dismemberment, etc. on the battle field as are men. The second theme is that women are eager to pick up arms when it is a case of having to defend their homes and families. When the battle is about conquering land or colonizing a people, women are more likely to participate as nurses near the front lines than as battle-hardened warriors.

As De Pauw sketches women’s participation in war from one conflict to another, she includes inspiring stories of females who were brilliant war strategists, leaders, and many others who showed true bravery, heroism, courage, and compassion in the bloody carnage of the battlefield.

Because of the wide scope of the survey covering several thousand years, the book can offer only a cursory glance at women’s role in some of the numerous conflicts in history. The many gaps and paucity of recorded documentation of women’s role in warfare means De Pauw had to rely heavily on sketchy evidence, hearsay, second-hand reports, speculation, and anecdotes for much of the book. Documented evidence is more substantial beginning with the 19th Century. The 50 pages of footnotes and nearly 30 pages of bibliography make available sources for anyone interested in exploring the topic in greater depth.

As De Pauw concedes in her introduction, her work is a starting point, an invitation for further research. She is to be commended for attempting a broad survey of this nature, for highlighting gaps in our knowledge, and for her extensive compilation of available documentation on the subject.

Recommended.

Nobody's Fool

Richard Russo

Richard Russo’s Nobody’s Fool is set in North Bath, a small, struggling town in upstate New York. The town is populated by a host of quirky characters, the most prominent being 60-year old Donald Sullivan (“Sully”) who hobbles around town with a bad knee and who has an uncanny knack for finding trouble.

In this down-and-out setting, Russo creates a large cast of interesting characters, each of whom is fully fleshed out, unique, thoroughly believable, and depicted with meticulous precision. This is particularly true of Sully who emerges as a larger-than-life character, riddled with flaws and yet capable of displaying magnanimous concern and compassion toward the elderly and the weak. Whether you hate to love him or love to hate him, you can never ignore him. Every eye focuses on Sully with his biting wit and bungling antics the minute he enters a room.

 Sully rents an upstairs apartment from 80-year old Mrs. Beryl Peoples, his 8th grade English teacher. Beryl, with her biting sarcasm, is an absolute delight. She conducts regular conversations with her husband who has been dead for over 20 years. She also converses with “Driver Ed,” an African mask, whose advice conflicts with that of her husband. Sully and Mrs. Peoples enjoy a wonderful relationship. She confides in him, tolerates his idiosyncrasies as he tolerates hers, and is more comfortable talking to him than to her own son.

If Sully has an outstanding quality, it is his ability to garner a stubborn loyalty from people who should have abandoned him long ago—his one-legged lawyer who refuses to give up on him even though he has never been paid; his best friend, Rub, who tolerates his constant ribbing; his on-again, off-again employer, Carl; his lover of twenty years who is married to another man; and his estranged son whom he had virtually abandoned throughout his childhood. And that’s the thing about Sully. He is incorrigible, stubborn, proud, fiercely independent, self-destructive, a constant joker, careless, forgetful, irresponsible, generous to a fault, a wise-cracking smart mouth, and completely and utterly lovable.

Russo’s talent lies in portraying believable characters whose banter is laced with verbal jousting and laugh out loud humor and wit. These colorful inhabitants of Bath are frequently resentful, sometimes mean, sometimes loving, but always very realistic. Their diction, speech patterns, and phrases sound genuine and consistent with their personalities.

Russo depicts the foibles of dysfunctional people in a small, economically depressed community with compassion and sensitivity. The only criticism to be made of the novel—and it is a minor one, at that—is the occurrence of a few too many flashbacks and digressions. But it is a testament to Russo’s talent as a writer that we come to know his characters well, recognize their eccentricities, laugh at their antics, feel their disappointments, become invested in their lives, and love them in spite of—or because of—their very human flaws and frailties. Should they step off the page, they would do so fully formed, warts and all, aiming jabs at each other while spouting dialogue that is deliciously real.

Highly recommended for its skillful characterization threaded with compassion and humor.

Cairo Modern

Naguib Mahfouz; Translated by William M. Hutchins

Cairo Modern by the 1988 Nobel Prize winner in Literature Naguib Mahfouz tells the story of Mahgub, a young, proud, embittered, and poverty-stricken university student in 1930s Cairo. The translation is by William M. Hutchins.

The novel opens with Mahgub and his three friends discussing the current state of Egyptian politics, philosophy, religion, the changing role of women, and the best methodology for resolving the ills of society. Mahgub conceals his poverty from his friends while eyeing their economic circumstances with bitterness and jealousy. His financial situation deteriorates even further when his father suffers a stroke and can no longer work.

After graduating from university, Mahgub’s hope to find gainful employment is dashed. He quickly learns employment is unavailable to someone in his position since he lacks the necessary contacts. Faced with dire circumstances, he becomes desperate. So when opportunity knocks on his door, he seizes it even though it places him in a repellent position. He makes a Faustian pact with an unscrupulous man in exchange for future wealth and prosperity. But at what price? He learns too late the gains are short-lived. His deal with the devil unravels, exposing him and his wife to the censure of Egyptian society.

Through the plight of his central protagonist, Naguib Mahfouz offers a scathing indictment of Egyptian high society and the governing class. Both are riddled with hypocrisy and corruption. Nepotism is rampant. Without money or contacts, even those with education are left floundering on the margins of society. Mahgub struggles to retain his dignity while seething with anger at a society that denies him the opportunities afforded those with money and influence. He stifles his already shaky moral compass to penetrate the social barriers impeding his advancement.

The situation is even worse for poverty-stricken women since they are treated as commodities with few available options. If they are beautiful but poor, they are candidates for victimization by men with wealth and influence eager to exploit them and prey on their vulnerabilities. The pressure to avail themselves to lecherous men in exchange for financial security is overwhelming.

Mahfouz’s critique of the Egyptian elite and governing classes is unrelenting and persistent. He reveals their hypocrisy and corruption at every page and holds them accountable for fostering an environment where ethical and moral behavior are sacrificed for the sake of survival. In that sense, his theme transcends Cairo society of the 1930s. It is universally applicable to any culture which denies those without means or lucrative connections access to advancement.

Mahfouz ends the novel as it began by taking us full circle. Mahgub’s former friends debate the latest government scandal, the role of religion, changing mores, and rectifying the ills of society. One is left with the impression that it is all talk followed by more talk. Meanwhile, the wheels turn but nothing changes.

Recommended.

Outline

Rachel Cusk

One would be hard- pressed to consider Outline by Rachel Cusk a novel in the traditional sense. There is no plot and very little happens. It consists of a series of conversations, many of them more akin to soliloquies than actual dialogue.

The novel is in the first-person point of view of a female writer who is on her way to Athens to teach a brief summer writing course. Seated next to her on the plane is an elderly gentleman who proceeds to disclose personal details about his failed marriages. The narrator mostly listens with an occasional prompt or question. What makes it confusing is Cusk frequently omits the use of quotation marks so one is never sure if the narrator is articulating her perceptions aloud or if they are internal. It is only after her neighbor responds we realize she has actually spoken.

Her arrival in the smoldering heat of Athens is punctuated with a series of conversations with an assorted group—a fellow teacher, her friends, her students, her neighbor on the plane, an author, and her replacement at the writing school. The conversations feel more like monologues or soliloquies than dialogues. The speakers reveal intimate, detailed stories about their lives and their loves. In each case, they disclose a pivotal incident long since passed that has had a lasting impact on their life or changed its trajectory. Cusk occasionally puts their disclosures in quotation marks, but more often they are reported through the filter of our narrator in the form of indirect dialogue.

The narrator says very little to interrupt the flow of the monologues. Details about her life surface through snatches or through her occasional commentary. Her portrait is sketchy, an outline at best. We don’t even learn her name until we are almost at the end of the novel. But she is an attentive listener and an astute observer of behavior. She asks probing questions which prompt the revelations. Her eye is trained to catch seemingly insignificant details. Her tone is resigned with a tinge of sadness. Her perceptions reinforce the thread that ties the conversations together—the sense of having lost something that can never be regained, whether it is one’s family, a former lover, an identity, a meaningful purpose, or a philosophy of life.

This is a very different type of novel, one that stretches the genre to its limits. It is both frustrating and brilliant. The frustration lies in the expectation that something is about to happen, some stunning revelation or epiphany. It never does. The brilliance lies in Cusk’s exquisite prose and in the manner in which the narrator somehow manages to erase her presence while mediating the monologues of those around her. What emerges from these monologues is stunning observations about human nature, loneliness, regret, loss, the desire to connect, gender stratification, fractured relationships, parenthood, failed marriages, and the amorphous nature of selfhood. These observations resonate forcefully as nuggets of truth. They creep up on us slowly, almost incidentally, attesting to Cusk’s consummate skill as a writer.

Highly recommended for those willing to plunge into an innovative novel where very little happens.

Once Upon a River

Diane Setterfield

One Upon a River by Diane Setterfield begins in the Swan Inn at Radcot along the River Thames. The year is 1887. In addition to serving ale, cider, and meals, the Swan offers its patrons a daily fare of stories told either by the owner or by a patron (with others chiming in with their two pennies worth to help the storyteller along). So, if you want to hear a good story, the Swan is where you need to be. And that is where Diane Setterfield takes us to share a delightful story, delightfully told.

It begins on the night of the winter solstice, the longest night of the year. The patrons are huddled together, drinking ale, telling stories, and embellishing each story in the telling of it. Suddenly, a badly injured man with a bloodied and misshapen face bursts into the inn carrying what appears to be a large puppet. The puppet turns out not to be a puppet, after all. Instead, it is a lifeless young girl. And the young girl turns out not to be dead, after all. She slowly regains consciousness and becomes the subject of future stories as the child who died and came back to life. And so the story unfolds.

The mystery at the heart of the novel is the identity of the child. Who is she? Is she the young girl who was kidnapped two years ago? The sister of the cleaning lady at the parsonage? Or the daughter of the woman who committed suicide? Or is she someone else entirely—an ethereal creature from a different time and place?

The novel is populated with believable and delightful characters: the proprietors of the Swan with their brood of children; their customers; a farmer of mixed racial heritage with his wife and children; a young couple still reeling from the loss their child to kidnappers; a photographer; a midwife; and a host of villagers who make up the medley of characters. But what would a story be without a villain? So, add to the mix a ruthless villain, kidnapping, murder, and blackmail. And haunting the river is the mysterious Quietly whose name is spoken in hushed whispers. He ferries people safely to the river bank if their time has not yet come, and he ferries them to the other side where they are never to be seen again if their time is up. Throughout it all is the ever-present river with its winding ways and changing currents, harboring mysteries in its enchanting waters.

With interlocking threads of magical realism, folklore, science, and myth, Setterfield has composed a magic carpet that whisks you to a different time, a different place, and the liminal space between the real and the unreal. Her writing is eloquent, haunting, descriptive, and immersive. The dialogue is so realistic that one gets the sense of eavesdropping on real conversations. Her lines, peppered with irony and a gentle humor, reveal a charming ability for turning a phrase.

 Setterfield is a talented storyteller with an uncanny knack of making you feel as if you are curled up in a comfy chair, cradling a hot cup of tea, and listening to a gifted storyteller as she tells her wondrous tale.

A delightful story, delightfully told, celebrating the power of story-telling. How can it be anything but highly recommended?

Broken Verses

Kamila Shamsie

Broken Verses by Kamila Shamsie is in the first-person point of view of Aasmaani Inqalab, a thirty-something Pakistani woman. Her mother, a charismatic and prominent activist for women’s rights, disappeared and is presumed dead of suicide 14 years before the book opens. Her mother’s lover (“Omi”), a very famous poet, had been incarcerated several times in Pakistan for his radical views and critiques of the government. His body, with evidence of brutal torture, was found two years before her mother’s death. And now, more than a decade after their deaths, Aasmaani still struggles with accepting their disappearance from her life.

The novel opens with Aasmaani taking a job at a local T.V. station in Karachi. She has apparently drifted aimlessly in life since her mother’s disappearance. While at the T.V. station, she receives coded letters forwarded to her by a famous actress who was one of her mother’s closest friends. These letters convince her that either the poet or her mother or both are still alive. She de-codes each letter and becomes obsessed with investigating the circumstances of their alleged deaths.

The plot is interesting and has potential. Unfortunately, it fails in execution. Aasmaani is a self-obsessed whining character who spends an interminable amount of time fretting about not being the center of her mother’s life. This “poor me” stance goes on throughout the novel, ad nauseum. She spends an inordinate amount of time obsessively remembering her mother and alternating between feelings of anger and love toward her for choosing to be with the Poet rather than with her own daughter. These ruminations are tedious and weigh down the novel.

And then there is the issue of Aasmaani’s relationships. She has a strained relationship with her father, her step-mother, and step-sister—three people who continue to shower her with unconditional love. She has a love/hate relationship with the movie star’s son who also happens to be a colleague at the T.V. station and who shares the struggle of having a famous mother. Their dialogue is strained, pretentious, and completely unnatural. They talk in clichés and cite lines from Western poetry and Western movies as if each is trying to outdo the other. People simply don’t talk like that in real life.

Add to the mix references to recent political events and prominent figures in Pakistani politics; an oppressive government; the tensions between religious extremism and civil rights; a halting love affair; Aasmaani’s famous mother as Omi’s muse; a beautiful movie-star whose return to the T.V. screen causes a media frenzy; the mystery of encoded letters; and Aasmaani’s obsessive search for the truth about the deaths of her mother and step-father figure.

Kamila Shamsie has tried to do too much in this novel. And it shows. There is little depth to any of the characters. The dialogue is unnatural. The attempts at lyrical language are blatant and over-written. The mystery lacks luster and ends with a fizzle. And the main character’s interminable whining throughout makes her unlikeable and thoroughly annoying.

The novel is disappointing and lacks the talent Shamsie displays in Home Fire.

What We Lose

Zinzi Clemmons

What We Lose by Zinzi Clemmons reads more like a memoir than a novel. It consists of a series of vignettes told in the first-person point of view of Thandi, a young woman of mixed heritage.

Thandi’s mother is South African and her father is African American. Born and raised in America, Thandi has a foot in both countries, regularly visiting her mother’s homeland and family in Johannesburg while growing up and attending schools in the U.S. She feels estranged wherever she goes—“too black” in America and “too white” in Johannesburg. While grappling with her identity and notions of self-hood, she witnesses her mother’s physical decline as cancer ravages her body. Her mother’s death catapults Thandi into a period of extended mourning. Her feeling of being adrift leads to sexual promiscuity, drug experimentation, a pregnancy, marriage, divorce, and single parenthood.

The structure of the novel is unorthodox. There is no straightforward plot. The narrative unfolds in a seemingly haphazard sequence of events. The chapters vary in length from a few lines to several pages. They include anecdotes, vignettes, newspaper articles, pictures, graphs, and intimate reflections on Thandi’s life, her mother’s gradual decline, and her inability to come to terms with her mother’s death.

Thandi continues to feel her mother’s presence in every nook and cranny of her life long after her death. The pages are saturated with her overwhelming feeling of loss and her sporadic attempts to fill the gaping void that gnaws at her being. With the birth of her child, her time and energies are so consumed with care-giving that her mother’s presence no longer intrudes on her waking and sleeping hours to the same degree. She expresses profound regret that the memories of her mother have receded into the background of her life.

This is a poignant and compelling coming-of-age novel that explores the meaning of motherhood, the search for identity of children of mixed heritage, the interplay of racial and class dynamics in different cultures, and the impact of post-apartheid racism. Its predominant tone is one of a profound grief permeating every aspect of a life. How does one cope with feelings of rootlessness triggered by the loss of a loved one who served as a foundation for being and self-hood?

Clemmons packs a powerful, visceral punch in each chapter, never letting us lose sight of Thandi’s all-consuming grief and loneliness as she tries to piece together the disparate threads of her life. Each chapter is an elegy, a heart-wrenching lament for loss and for the struggle to find a foothold in shifting sand. Dotted throughout are lyrical and meditative sentences, giving one pause to reflect.

Highly recommended for its refreshingly unorthodox structure and for its compelling depiction of the raw emotions a young woman experiences at the death of her mother.

The Red Collar

Jean-Christophe Rufin; Trans. Adriana Hunter

The Red Collar by Jean-Christophe Rufin, translated from the French by Adriana Hunter, is a novella with a straightforward plot and few characters.

The year is 1919 in a small town in France. A young man is in a military prison for committing an unspecified crime after the end of the war. His mangy, battle-scarred dog is outside, barking incessantly for his master. Along comes a military lawyer who is tasked with investigating the man’s crime and determining his fate. Added to the mix is the young man’s former lover and the father of his young child.

In the sweltering heat, the lawyer questions the prisoner and slowly unravels the story of his participation in the different campaigns during the war. We learn of the prisoner’s increasing disenchantment with the war, of the incompetence of military commanders, of the sheer drudgery and apparent futility of troop movements, and of the nascent stirrings of communism within the ranks. We learn the dog never leaves his master’s side and witnesses and/or actively participates in the some of the campaigns. He is loyal to his master and singularly focused on saving his life.

As the narrative unravels, we learn about the prisoner’s commendation as a hero of the war. We learn of the role the dog played in a crucial campaign. And, finally, we learn of the “crime” for which the prisoner faces the death sentence. The plot is simple, simply told, and with few characters. But what emerges from this simple narrative is a moving illustration of the meaning of love, loyalty, integrity, and sacrifice in times of crisis.

Rufin, a founder of the humanitarian organization, Doctors Without Borders, and winner of the 1997 Goncourt Prize for a debut novel, has constructed a poignant novella based on a true-life anecdote revealed to him by a former colleague. He turns his lens away from the trenches of World War I to the women, children, and animals who suffer during a war. He reminds us of the indiscriminate impact of war. It is not just the men, women, and animals serving on the battle lines who are indelibly scarred by war. War also scars those who are left behind to pick up the pieces and who struggle with whatever semblance of normalcy they can salvage after the devastating loss of loved ones.

Highly recommended for the simplicity and subtlety with which it conveys the enduring aftermath of war.

Studies in Bible and Feminist Criticism

Tikva Frymer-Kensky

Studies in Bible and Feminist Criticism by Tikva Frymer-Kensky is a collection of 30 essays addressing various topics in the Bible and comparing them with their treatment in Near Eastern religions. Of particular interest was her analysis of the ancient Mesopotamian myths of creation, the flood, and goddesses.

The primary focus of the collection was on different aspects of Judaism and how it compares with Near Eastern religions and Christianity. Frymer-Kensky explores Jewish law; perspectives on the image; the covenant; ecology; and the role of women. She interrogates the concept of gender-neutral terms for God. And in her final essay, “Woman Jews,” she includes personal reflections on why she is a Jew.

The essays were uneven, and there was some overlapping and repetition of ideas, especially in her discussion of the Mesopotamian poem, Atrahasis. Her reading of the poems, in particular the Enuma Elish, may be subject to interpretation since she disagrees with scholars who see the poem as a precursor to monotheism. But the depth and scope of her scholarship is impressive. The notes at the end of each chapter coupled with an extensive bibliography are provided for further reading.

Recommended for those with an interest in Jewish perspectives of the Bible.

The Subtle Knife (Book II in His Dark Materials Series)

Philip Pullman

The Subtle Knife by Philip Pullman is the second book in his Dark Materials series. Picking up where The Golden Compass (#1) left off, this book introduces us to a new protagonist, the young boy, Will. The protagonist of Book I, Lyra, recedes into the background as we follow Will on his adventure to locate his father. When Will and Lyra finally meet up and coordinate their activities, Lyra assumes the role of a support figure, following Will, obeying his orders, and nursing his wound.

The book is populated with witches, angels, specters who feed on adults, children running amok, adults with their demons, adults without their demons, the mysterious Dust, alternative worlds that run parallel to each other, armies preparing for a final, all-out war, and a knife that can cut between worlds.

This has the feeling of a middle book—a “filler” passage between Book I and the final book in the series. There are a lot of loose ends and questions that need to be answered at the end of Book II. Threading its way throughout the narrative is religious commentary—primarily critiques of organized religion, Catholicism, and the concept of original sin—as well as splashes of physics and anthropology. The narrative felt rushed and choppy, the events hurried, the focus scattered, and the dialogue stilted. The characters dash from one place to the next, from one event to the next, neither of which is sufficiently developed. And it was disappointing to see the plucky Lyra, full of spunk and audacity in Book I, be relegated to Will’s obedient side-kick in Book II.

All of this begs the question, where is Pullman going with this? Presumably, we will get the answers in Book III.

Recommended with reservations.

The Adventures of Ibn Battuta: A Muslim Traveler of the 14th Century

Ross E. Dunn

The Adventures of Ibn Battuta: A Muslim Traveler of the 14th Century by Ross E. Dunn recounts the journey (Rihla) of Ibn Battuta throughout the Islamic world.

In 1325, at the age of twenty-one, Abu Abdallah Ibn Battuta set off from his birth place of Tangier, Morocco, to go on a pilgrimage (hajj) to Mecca. After performing the hajj, Ibn Battuta goes on a detour to visit the far reaches of the Islamic world, a detour that was to last twenty-four years. He visits Syria, Egypt, Persia, Iraq, East Africa, Yemen, Anatolia, southern Russia, Constantinople, India, southern Spain, the Maldives, Sumatra, and, possibly, China. Upon his return and with the help of Ibn Juzayy, a secretary, Ibn Battuta records his travels in the Rihla.

Since the spread of Islam and Islamic jurisprudence required literacy in Arabic even though Arabic may not have been a country’s primary language, Ibn Battuta has no difficulty encountering an Arabic-speaking individual to serve as his translator and guide wherever he goes. He is generally greeted as a visiting dignitary and is provided with free accommodation, money, and gifts—a characteristic of Islamic hospitality. Even when he is robbed and stumbles destitute into a village, he is immediately taken in and given housing, food, and clothing. He survives shipwrecks, pirates, malaria, and the plague.

Using the Rihla as his reference point, Professor Dunn takes us on a fascinating tour of the Islamic world in the fourteenth-century. He traces Ibn Battuta’s steps as he travels by foot, by camel, by horse, and by boat to the different locations. Professor Dunn suggests Ibn Battuta’s destinations are frequently serendipitous. He happens to encounter a caravan or a boat going in one direction and decides to join it even though his initial intention may have been to go in an entirely different direction. We are the beneficiaries of the haphazard and extensive nature of his travels.

Professor Dunn situates each location in its cultural, social, historical, and political context. As a consequence, we learn a great deal about the geography, history, trade, religious practices, habits, and conduct of a wide geographical region in the Islamic world. Relying on quotations from the Rihla as well as summaries and maps, Professor Dunn charts the journey. During Ibn Battuta’s time, the Islamic world was divided in numerous kingdoms and provinces with competing factions and feuds. The glue that bound them together was their faith and their modes of conduct derived from their belief in the one God and their allegiance to the Sacred Law. This made it possible for Ibn Battuta to travel to foreign climes and feel right at home because of a shared belief system governing public and private affairs.

Professor Dunn paints an intriguing portrait of this fourteenth-century Muslim globe-trotter. Although he is not without the occasional criticism for Ibn Battuta’s oftentimes meddlesome ways and self-inflated importance, it is obvious he holds an affection for this quirky adventurer. But more importantly than his portrait of Ibn Battuta is Professor Dunn’s extensive research, bibliography, endnotes, maps, commentary, and narrative of the mosaic nature of the cultural and political climate of the Islamic world in the fourteenth century.

Highly recommended for any who wish to trek through the Islamic world in the fourteenth century under the expert guidance of a professor of History and his audacious world traveler.

Warlight

Michael Ondaatje

Warlight by Michael Ondaatje is a masterpiece of storytelling.

The novel begins in 1945 London, shortly after the end of the war when London is slowly recovering from the Blitz. Although the war may officially be over, the conflict between factions continues but assumes a different form.

Unwittingly embroiled in post-war events is 14-year-old Nathaniel and his sixteen-year-old sister, Rachel. Abandoned by their parents who have ostensibly gone to Singapore for a year, Nathaniel and Rachel are left in the hands of a guardian, a mysterious figure they call The Moth. Initially, Rachel and Nathaniel are convinced that their guardian is engaged in some sort of nefarious criminal activity. Their impressions are reinforced when The Moth’s motley crew of cohorts enter and exit periodically in their lives with little to no explanation.

The narrative unfolds from Nathaniel’s first-person point of view. He attaches himself to one of the regular visitors, The Darter, and joins him on his midnight adventures through the streets of London and on river barges as they smuggle greyhounds and transport crates, the contents of which remain a mystery. From The Darter and The Moth’s other visitors, Nathaniel picks up survival tools, takes on odd jobs in London, and has his first love affair. All this comes to a violent and bloody halt when his mother emerges from the shadows to be with her children.

We skip forward about a dozen years when, as a grown man employed by British Intelligence, Nathaniel begins to uncover his mother’s secret life. He recalls people, events, activities, and snatches of conversation that had little meaning for him during his adolescence. He unearths documents about post-war clandestine activities, interrogations, spies, and covert operations. He learns that the shady characters who befriended him as a teenager all had unique talents that were put to use by British Intelligence. And he learns of his mother’s activities under her code name, Viola. 

This is a multilayered historical novel about what happened and what might have happened in post-war London. The research is impressive and encapsulates the zeitgeist of the time: the “mopping up” or destruction of sensitive documents; the transportation of explosives by river and through the dimly lit streets of London at all hours of the night; the museum and gallery collections stored in hotel basements and tunnels for safe-keeping; and shady people operating in the margins.

But it is also a novel about memory, about the fragmentary nature of memory, and about how our recollections are enveloped in a fog. As a teenager, Nathaniel snatches images and tidbits of conversations, the full import of which he doesn’t understand until years later. He grasps at hints, suggestions, innuendos. His enigmatic mother provides evasive answers to his questions and cradles her secrets to the grave. His attempt to reconnect with The Darter later in life is unsatisfactory. Like Nathaniel, we are haunted by much that is left unanswered. 

Just as with memory, the novel progresses in a non-linear fashion, circling back on itself with flashbacks and flash forwards. The narrative switches from first-person point of view to limited omniscient as Nathaniel imagines events in his mother’s secret life and in the life of The Darter now with a wife and child. The diction and imagery exquisitely capture the ambiguity and indefinable quality of life in the shadows. We witness his struggle to connect shards of memory to make meaning of a historical period in which secrecy was a pre-condition for survival.

The term “Warlight” refers to the dimming of lights during wartime to evade night time bombers. In this novel, Michael Ondaatje has captured the essence of warlight—a foggy darkness peopled by barely discernible shadows, engaged in activities that remain a mystery, with Nathaniel as a participant in a game he didn’t even know he was playing.

A breathtaking masterpiece at evoking a murky, haunting atmosphere and the shadowy characters who people it. Highly recommended.

The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry

Gabrielle Zevin

The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry by Gabrielle Zevin is about a bookstore owner who struggles to come to terms with the death of his wife. His deteriorating life-style takes an unexpected turn with the arrival of a package mysteriously abandoned in his bookstore. The package prompts his transformation from a curmudgeonly, unsociable book lover to a loving father and husband who gradually learns to connect with his community and become a socially active and contributing member.

Fikry is a book lover who harbors strong opinions about books. But don’t we all? Zevin peppers the narrative with references to various books and Fikry’s unapologetic assessment of the work, as well as his pronouncements on what constitutes a good story and why. He is the focal point in a social circle of people who share his love for books—from Chief Lambiase, the well-intentioned police officer; Amelia, the book sales representative; and Maya, his adopted daughter.

Fikry is lovable enough, but his portrayal is somewhat stereotypical—a socially inept, frosty book lover who is more comfortable between the pages of a book than among real people. The portrayal of his daughter Maya is the most problematic. She speaks with the voice of an adult while a toddler and maintains the same voice even as she ages. At times it is difficult to pinpoint whether she is still a child or a young adult.

The plot was predictable, especially the burgeoning romance between Fikry and Amelia. And the rose-colored lens with which the tragedies are viewed and summarily dismissed is unrealistic and superficial. The tone of Maya’s short story in which she imagines what led to her mother’s suicide is callous and flippant—as if to suggest that every tragedy in life can be dealt with if one turns it into fodder for creative writing.

In spite of these shortcomings, there is much to recommend this book. It is a quick, easy, and enjoyable read. The narrative is brisk and the discussions of the merits and demerits of various books are sure to thrill most readers. The setting is delightful as it is the only bookstore in an off-the-beaten path village. And the lovable Fikry with his precocious child and quirky wife make an amiable team.

Recommended for readers who love reading books about people who love reading books.

What Makes Civilization?

David Wengrow

In What Makes Civilization, David Wengrow argues the connections of Ancient Mesopotamia and Egypt with the West go beyond the perception of the former as the birthplace of civilization. He does this by dissolving the concept of distance and arguing that civilization consists of the exchange of culture between different societies.

Part 1 of his book focuses on a discussion of metals, gems, food preparation, food cultivation, trade, currency, dwellings, and culture in the civilizations of the ancient Near East. Through detailed and concrete examples, Wengrow demonstrates that prehistoric and ancient societies did not exist in isolation of each other. They were interconnected and inter-related in spite of geographical distances. His detailed and extensive analysis shows how the raw materials found in one location were consumed in a different location. He then demonstrates the similarities and differences in how the cultures tried to dissolve the distance between humans and gods.

Part 2 focuses on dissolving the distance between the ancient Near East with modern European history by drawing parallels between a belief in sacral kingship with the modern institution of monarchy.

Wengrow’s aim is to repudiate the idea of a clash of civilizations. Rather, he sees strong evidence of cultural sharing between civilizations—both past and present. He criticizes the West for regarding itself as the successor of ancient cultures, as if “Modern Civilization . . . is a unique possession of the West, but one nevertheless built upon (ancient) Eastern foundations.”

The book as a whole made for challenging reading because its details and plethora of examples bordered on being too technical, cumbersome, and confusing at times. But if we step back from the minute details and view the general argument, we can appreciate Wengrow’s promotion of an interesting perspective: civilization is to be found in the domestic and mundane and not simply in ancient structures; ancient civilizations interacted and engaged in cross-fertilization; and the lines which separate ancient civilizations of the Near East with the West are blurred, at best.

Recommended for its exploration of daily life in ancient Near East societies and for arguing for a fresh look at the meaning of civilization.

The Collector of Treasures

Bessie Head

With some of the stories echoing folktales, Bessie Head’s The Collector of Treasures is a collection of thirteen short stories set in a Botswanan village where life is fraught with tension.

Conflict permeates most aspects of village life. Some villagers cling to traditional religion and culture while others have adopted Christianity, embrace modernization, and view indigenous culture with disdain. Conflict also exists between men and women. The men in several of the short stories are depicted with rapacious sexual appetites, abandoning wives and children to fend for themselves. Meanwhile, the women eke out a living to support themselves and their children. Exacerbating the tension is a harsh climate, devastating droughts, unforgiving soil, poverty, corruption, and the sheer desperation of village life.

Several of the stories illustrate intolerance and hypocrisy. For example, in “Heaven is not Closed,” a devout Christian woman is banished from the church by a missionary for choosing to marry a man who insists on adhering to traditional customs. In “The Village Saint,” a woman is exposed for being harsh, cruel, and domineering. “Witchcraft” and “Looking for a Rain God” echo traditional beliefs and superstitions. In “Kgotla,” we see an example of the traditional method of resolving conflicts by having each party publicly air its grievances in front of a “court” of elders, with all agreeing to abide by the chief’s decision.

The subordination of women is clearly evident in this patriarchal culture. Women are used, abused, and perceived primarily as sexual objects to satisfy male lust. Male misbehavior is tolerated, whereas the same behavior exhibited by women is vociferously condemned and accosted with wagging tongues. Women have little recourse to defend themselves or their children. Some, as in the case of Dikeledi in “The Collector of Treasures,” resort to violence since they see no other viable option available to them.

Although most of the stories portray conflict and challenges, a few illustrate harmonious marital relationships. Kenalepe and Paul Thebolo in “The Collector of Treasures” and Tholo and Thato in “Hunting” are married couples living in harmony and mutual respect. And some stories show glimpses of female solidarity—women supporting each other in the face of adversity.

The strength of these stories lies in Bessie Head’s portrayal of village life while maintaining the tone of a detached observer even when describing scenes of horror and abuse. She presents harsh events as if they are every day occurrences woven into the fabric of village life in Botswana. There is no lapse into righteous condemnation. There is no banner-waving to call attention to the injustice. Injustice occurs at every street corner. It just is. Head’s quiet equanimity and distancing in voice and tone is highly effective since her understated manner of presenting events serves to reinforce the horror.

Recommended.