Reading Well: The Narrow Road to the Deep North by Richard Flanagan

Posted on July 24, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

Published in 2013, and winner of the 2014 Man Booker Prize, Richard Flanagan‘s The Narrow Road to the Deep North is really two stories woven together. The first recounts the harrowing experience of Australian soldiers in Japanese PoW camps; the second, the life of the protagonist, Dorrigo Evans, both before the war and after his return home.

The first narrative thread is likely to carry more immediate impact: it’s brutal and sad and violent and full of the kinds of detail that make it all too real. The emaciated bodies driven beyond their capacity, the callousness of their Japanese captors, the futility of their efforts, all combine to pack a significant emotional punch. But it is the other story–that of Evans, hailed publicly as a hero, but carrying a devastating level of self-doubt and guilt–that shows, I think, Flanagan’s consummate skill. The portrait of the successful man, rationalizing his infidelities and haunted by his past, is quite memorable.

Just be warned: this is a “man’s book,” fully concerned with war and brotherhood and whoring and father-son (and uncle-son) relationships. There are strong female characters, but they orbit around the men in the book as decoration or reward or foil. As long as that–and the unrelenting brutality of the PoW camp material–doesn’t put you off, this is a deeply rewarding read, a book fully deserving of its accolades.

As far as I know, there is no movie deal, but that has to just be a matter of time: Evans is a role built for a star vehicle for a male lead.

#WhatIWishICouldDo

Other than be this successful? Tackle a monstrous topic while retaining the humanity that lives at the core of great fiction. Evans remains a compelling character, despite the setting and his various peccadilloes. That’s a great accomplishment.

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Reading Well: A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan

Posted on July 7, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

A Visit from the Goon Squad (2010) by Jennifer Egan purports to tell the story of two people, however the cast of characters is much larger. Each chapter is written from a different perspective, and while Bennie (a musician and record producer) and Sasha (his protégée for a while) are either directly or indirectly involved in each storyline, the focus wanders quite a bit.

As you may guess, your openness to this–and your ability to track who’s who as the novel also moves around in time–will have much to do with your enjoyment. Egan is most skilled at character beats, and many of the smaller scenes will remain with you long after you put down the book: a young woman losing her way in Rome, vibrant descriptions of early punk shows, a woman working her way through a compulsion to steal from strangers.

The skill with characters runs deep enough that even the chapters that feel somewhat stilted–most notably one entirely in PowerPoint slides–contain enough information about the people involved to retain a clear place in the narrative.

I would have preferred the chapters to be chronological, finding it hard to track especially the peripheral characters as it moved, but m. had no such troubles (on the whole, she enjoyed the book more than I did, and that may be a testament to how well Egan captures a sense of the struggles and possibilities of the young). This also points to a difficulty in the book: the “Goon Squad” of the title is age itself, and Egan’s hold on the motivations of the older characters is a bit strained at points. But, her literary skill does shine throughout, and I would not be surprised if she has a masterpiece somewhere in her future.

#WhatIWishICouldDo

There is a confidence with which Egan sketches the way a character’s habits at one age impact them later in their development that is quite elegant. Her characters feel continuous and consistent, even the ones we meet as pre-teens and follow into early middle-age.

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Reading Well: We by Yevgeny Zamyatin

Posted on June 26, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

Yevgeny Zamyatin‘s We has a bit of a tortured publishing history: written in 1921, it was first published–in English–in 1924. Further translations followed (Czech in 1927, French in 1929) but, due to the nature of its political critique, it was not until 1952 that it appeared in full in the original Russian.

There are claims (both at least partially disputed) that We partially inspired both 1984 and Brave New World. Regardless of accuracy, it clearly belongs in the same space as those two early dystopias: the world of We is one that takes a fascination with early 20th century logic and mathematics to predictable conclusions. Society is perfect in that it is ordered, perfect in that the evils of choice and non-conformity have been eliminated in a glorious, absolute perfection.

Zamyatin has some creative touches on this theme: his discussion of mathematics is nicely handled, names have been replaced with alphanumeric designations (our hero is D-503), the buildings are all made of glass to ensure “transparency,” and everyone–in ordered groups of four–take afternoon walks in perfect order through neatly segmented walkways. The plot is consistent with the genre: female sexuality is the gateway to rebellion against the state, and the spark that opens the protagonist’s mind to the possibility that there may indeed be alternatives to the dominant governing structure; and sexual jealousy provides the basis for a constant threat of betrayal. And, yeah, that is all a bit problematic, but also (unfortunately) pretty standard for both the era and genre.

There’s nothing too surprising here, but it is deftly handled, and the plot carries a “page-turner” dimension to it that was surprising: We is more engaging than I anticipated and, especially if you liked 1984 and Brave New World, well worth your time. It deserves a wider audience than it has received.

#WhatIWishICouldDo

The voice of the main character is simultaneously anguished and uncomplicated in a way that propels the novel forward. That is a hard balance to strike, and Zamyatin is at his best when he is deepest in D-503’s head.

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@TheMovies with PopPop: Tangerines

Posted on June 18, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

Tangerines is a 2013 Georgian-Estonian film, directed by Zaza Urushadze, and nominated for a 2014 Oscar (not to be confused with 2015’s Tangerine about a transgender sex worker). The film is set in Abkhazia, a region of Georgia that fought a stalemate of a war for its independence in the early ‘90’s. Chechen mercenaries and local Abkhazians fought against Georgian troops. A number of the local residents were Estonian, most of whom returned to Estonia when the conflict broke out.

The film centers on 4 individuals: 2 Estonians who remained, Ivo, an elderly carpenter who is making crates for his neighbor, Margus, a tangerine grower, who intends to hold on until he can harvest his almost ripe crop; and two soldiers on opposing sides, one Chechen and one Georgian, who survive a local skirmish, badly wounded. Ivo takes them into his house and nurses them back to health. They each are committed to kill the other, delayed only by Ivo’s extraction of a promise that they won’t do it in his house.

The film focuses, first on the question of why Ivo and Margus have stayed (clearer for Margus), and then the evolving relationships between the soldiers and among the four of them. Over all this is the film’s real center: war, its destructiveness and unpredictability, and ultimately its inhumane foolishness.

While not a great movie, it’s a very good one, delivers quite a strong and universal anti-war message (I thought it ranks among the finer of that category), is well acted, captures a very realistic sense of life in Abkhazia, and is well worth the time to watch it.

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Reading Well: The Gate to Women’s Country by Sheri Tepper

Posted on June 11, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

Sheri Tepper‘s story is personally encouraging: since her first novel was published in 1983, when she was 54, she has released over 30 more and has received a World Fantasy Award for “Life Achievement.” So, note to self, late-starting and incredibly prolific are not necessarily contradictory.

The Gate to Women’s Country (1988) is neither her first novel, nor her best-known, but it was the first I have encountered. It is the story of Stavia, beginning when she is a girl and ending in mid-life, and it is the story of Women’s Country, a territory that has survived an apocalyptic destruction several centuries earlier. It feels like Women’s Country is situated in North America, but it’s never clear; at the start of the novel, it seems like Women’s Country is all there is, by the end it is clear that it represents only one of many modes of survival in a landscape that is riddled with wastelands sown by the violent historical event, which is never fully described.

What is made clear is that–at least for Stavia, her mother Morgot, and the rest of the denizens of Women’s Country–the destruction of the old world was explicitly the fault of men, of their aggression, of their mechanized violence, of their need for warfare. The society that has emerged is cleanly bifurcated: women live inside the walls of small villages; men live in garrison’s outside the walls, determined to protect them. Except for servitors, men who choose to abandon the warlike garrison camps and serve inside the walls.

So, yeah, this is a novel committed to its own feminism. If that turns you off, avoid it. But if not (and, especially, if that attracts you), The Gate to Women’s Country is an engaging, evocative read. The politics are also not simple: indeed, the stance of Women’s Country towards homosexuality is simultaneously consistent with their internal logic and very problematic. I see that as a positive accomplishment: creating something in the society that readers will struggle with, a reminder that this is not utopia.

The plot is oddly meandering (to the point where I wonder if it would survive the contemporary editing process). There are characters and dramatic arcs that seem important initially that fade into the background, and it’s not clear that the story is actually Stavia’s (and her young love, Chernon’s) story until halfway through. Others may see them earlier, but I was pleasantly surprised by some major plot reveals, and while the dominant other culture that Stavia encounters is a bit of a caricature of the worst possible manifestation of gendered fundamentalism, the societies that Tepper envisions are well thought-out.

The denizens of Women’s Country perform a transformed version of ancient Greek plays each year, and perhaps 15% of the book is the text of the (re-conceived) story of Iphegenia. I found the plays distracting and while I could appreciate what she was doing, found Tepper’s prose more convincing than her drama.

Even with that, though, especially if you are looking for something that is feminist, post-apocalyptic, and not of the 21st century, this is a good and occasionally thought-provoking read.

#WhatIWishICouldDo

Allegorize. I tend to make things far too complicated, which makes it harder to illustrate political situations through social structures. I blame Foucault: while perhaps in massively differing proportions, we are all both oppressed and oppressor.

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Reading Well: The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell

Posted on June 2, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

Mary Doria Russell‘s The Sparrow (1996) is one of the most satisfying reads I’ve had in a while. The core idea is fantastic: contact is made with an alien species, so the Jesuits decide to send a mission to make contact with them.

The book alternates between the near-future (the 2010s and 2020s), when we meet our main characters, the initial discovery is made and the mission is being assembled; and the 2060s, when our protagonist, Emilio Sandoz, has returned from his time on the alien planet. This is often a problematic structure for me as a reader, as we already know, in broad strokes, the outcome of the mission before we know much about its details. We know who lives and who dies, and we have a general sense of the outcomes.

What we don’t know is the how and the why, and it takes an awful lot of skill to keep the narrative moving along and engaging. But we still care about characters whose death is known, and when it comes, an emotional weight is still maintained. This is one of the strengths of Russell’s writing: she handles the different character motivations with clarity, deftness, and directness, and while two of the astronauts are significantly thinner (in terms of character depth), the warmth and solidity of the rest make up for it.

The core of the book, though, is the role of faith, both in terms of a rationale for space travel and the specific role it plays for Emilio, who has to reconcile a concept of an engaged and loving God with great personal tragedy and pain. This is not a religious book, but it uses religion to explore some big ideas: fate, hubris, celibacy & sexuality, the possibility of understanding other people (let alone other races). At heart, well constructed variations on the story of Job remain deeply compelling. The fact that this occurs in a creative narrative involving a thickly constructed alien culture adds even more yumminess.

This is a memorable book, and one that I highly recommend. Clearly, if either science fiction or the presence of Jesuit theology make you break out in hives, avoid; but otherwise, this was an enjoyable surprise.

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Reading Well: The Three-Body Problem by Cixin Liu

Posted on May 20, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

Cixin Liu (刘慈欣) is probably the best-regarded contemporary Chinese science fiction author, and The Three-Body Problem (2007, 2014 in English) his best known novel (certainly, at least, in the English reading world). It is what is sometimes referred to as hard science fiction, which usually means there is at least as much attention on the science as on the fiction.

That is certainly the case here. The protagonist, Wang Miao, is a nanomaterials specialist who is gradually drawn into a plot involving interstellar contact with a race that lives on a planet orbited by three suns. Gravitational attraction and orbital relationships between four bodies (the planet and the three suns) are incredibly complicated, and the title of the novel refers to a classic set of problems in physics concerned with predicting future states given initial positions, mass, and velocity of three objects in relation to each other.

The novel is most interesting, however, in the window it gives into Chinese scientific society in the second half of the 20th century. The devastating impact of the Cultural Revolution is in play, both in the immediate death and dislocation of many, but also in the way scientific advances in the later Maoist and post-Maoist years required a philosophical justification for their adoption.

The response to the Trisolarians is also fascinating: Cixin Liu posits an underground, yet sizable (and global) movement that welcomes the arrival of the Trisolarians as a disruptive and even destructive force. The notion is that the cultures of Earth are beyond redemption, and the necessarily violent intervention of a more advanced alien culture would be a welcome “reboot” of the whole thing.

The bleakness of this outlook is never really questioned, and its relationship to the cultural context is never explicitly raised, although I think such links can be inferred.

There is an intriguing use of a role-playing video game that simulates life on the Trisolarian’s home planet, but most of the novel is heavier on the science and its potential advances than on traditional characterization or plot. Still, an interesting read, and if the Hugo Award given to the book feels more like a lifetime achievement for a foreign writer, there is enough here to warrant picking it up ≡ (if you don’t know that stand for if and only if, this book may not be for you) you are interested in the science behind the fiction.

#WhatIWishICouldDo

Ground my alternative universe settings as deeply in understood scientific principles. One of the challenges of writing magic is ensure that it has rules, costs, benefits, etc. If you aren’t careful in that construction, books bottom out in well, why didn’t they just fix it with magic to begin with?

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Reading Well: The Electric Michelangelo by Sarah Hall

Posted on May 13, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

Sarah Hall is the first author to appear twice in Reading Well: check out my thoughts on her Daughters of the North if you’re interested.

The Electric Michelangelo (2004) belongs simultaneously to two genres: first, it documents the life of Cy Parks, tracing his arc from his boyhood on the English seaside to his adult years in a slowly deteriorating Coney Island, and beyond. Second, it is a book that creates a doorway into a specific art form, leaving the reader better educated and, perhaps, a little in awe of something previously unconsidered.

In this case, Cy is a tattoo artist, and a freehand one at that.

His life is dominated by his first mentor, an abusive, drunk, master of the art, and Cy’s struggles to place himself, to separate his identity from his teacher, and to find solace in his own skill–which is facing a decline in demand and appreciation–form the central thrust of the narrative.

Hall’s prose is thought-provoking, and at times profound, and she juggles themes of pain (both emotional and physical), violence (likewise), and art with a deft touch. There are moments that, in less sure hands, would spin off into the unbelievable, but even a somewhat tortured storyline about Cy’s desire for a woman who wants her entire body covered with eyes, and what happens to them and her, manage to hold attention. This is, I think, because, even though there are friends and family and a few lovers,  The Electric Michelangelo is, at its core, Cy’s story, and Hall has created a character worth hearing.

And, there is Coney Island: if you have any affection for amusement parks or for between-the-wars Brooklyn, the time spent there (most of the second half of the novel) will be well spent.

An engrossing read, with moments of brilliance.

#WhatIWishICouldDo

Smoothly incorporating the kind of research necessary for this book is really difficult: from the historical settings (not just Coney Island, but the early and final chapters in Morecambe as well) to the different tattoo techniques and traditions, Hall handles it deftly without it ever feeling like she is lecturing the reader. Her immersion makes Cy’s immersion convincing, which makes the reader’s immersion possible.

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@The Movies with PopPop: The Hateful Eight

Posted on May 9, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

Watched The Hateful Eight, the latest Quentin Tarentino movie last night via Netflix. As with many Tarentino movies, the rap about it is only tangentially accurate. Yes, there is violence – but quite little until late in the movie, and some of it is of the disgusting nature rather than being blown away – and much of the latter is mainly off-screen.

What it is, is a (somewhat overlong at 2:48) set of reflections on the Civil War, its racist aftermath, commitment to one’s profession (even if that’s a bounty hunter), and how character isn’t always visible on the surface. It’s a beautifully shot (70 mm), poetic vision of the West and the lives it contains. The opening vistas of the West in the snow – mountain ranges, forests, rivers are breathtaking – and with a wooden Christ on the cross coming increasingly into focus, introduces a nice note of anticipatory confusion.

The basic plot (from IMDB):

Some time after the Civil War, a stagecoach hurtles through the wintry Wyoming landscape. Bounty hunter John Ruth and his fugitive captive Daisy Domergue race towards the town of Red Rock, where Ruth will bring Daisy to justice [a trial and then a hanging – Ruth’s nickname is the hangman because his morality has him bring in his prisoners alive, although the rewards are for dead or alive]. Along the road, they encounter Major Marquis Warren (an infamous African-American bounty hunter and ex-Union Army officer) and Chris Mannix (a man who claims to be Red Rock’s new sheriff). Lost in a blizzard, the bunch seeks refuge at Minnie’s Haberdashery. When they arrive they are greeted by unfamiliar faces: Bob, who claims to be taking care of the place while Minnie is gone; Oswaldo Mobray, the hangman of Red Rock; Joe Gage, a cow puncher; and confederate general Sanford Smithers. As the storm overtakes the mountainside, the eight travelers come to learn that they might not make it to Red Rock after all…

They also discover all kinds of past relationships among them, and display both insight and patience.

The movie is divided into six narrative sequences which, with one exception to provide a bit of backstory, take place chronologically.

There are some very funny bits, some incredibly insightful dialogue, and other than a scattered few “look-away” moments, it’s a marvelous ride. Tarentino is a brilliant director, and in my opinion, worth watching despite his excesses.

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Reading Well: The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf by Ambelin Kwaymullina

Posted on May 5, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

When I wrote about Some Sing, Some Cry, I was struck by how difficult it is for books to be successful. It takes a magic combination of timing, marketing, critical reception, and, yes, inherent quality. The more cynical you feel, the less weight you will give the last item.

The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf (2012) by Ambelin Kwaymullina is, while a very different book, another one that deserves more success than it seems it will receive. Let me be clear: Some Sing, Some Cry may, at the end of the day, be an important book. Ashala Wolf is a well-crafted young adult thriller with a female protagonist. It has far more in common with The Hunger Games or Divergent than Some Sing, Some Cry.

But that’s pretty high praise, at least in terms of its potential for commercial success. It’s a nicely done tale, a young girl who leads the Tribe, an outlawed collection of youth who all possess special abilities (some are Sleepwalkers, some Boomers, others Skychangers–it’s a book that is big on capital letters and easily-identifiable superpowers).

Ashala has been captured by the nefarious Bureau of Citizenship, and has to navigate a nearly overpowering attraction to one of her guards, an escape, and a rebellion. All of the beats and notes are hit: the fire of young love, the ingenuity of youth, the triumph of an ecologically-based revolution.

Oh, and there are dinosaurs. Big ones that can communicate with people.

It really should be a movie. My suspicion is, as hard as it was to track down a copy, it never will be. On the one hand, that is too bad as there are distinct resonances to Kwaymullina’s voice that stand out; on the other, it is a tale we’ve seen before.

#WhatIWishICouldDo

Embrace the YA genre fully and enthusiastically. It seems so freeing: the adults can be ciphers, the relationships are all so vibrant and young, etc.

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