Book reviews

A Heretical Complaint: Reading a Loveless Gabriel Garcia Marquez Novel

Friday, October 7th, 2011

Love in the Time of CholeraLove in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I spent two weeks of my reading life. That’s how long it took to get through Love in the Time of Cholera. I read first with a kind of tingly enthusiasm, reunited with the work of one of my favorite authors. Then with a growing sense of duty. Then with fear that the novel’s sprawling backstory was really going to account for all six hundred and twenty-two (give or take) of Florentino Ariza’s lovers as he grew to old age, waiting for Fermina Daza to become a widow.

Perhaps it is unfair of me to expect brilliance from all of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s novels, but 270 pages in to this one, I finally succumbed to the temptation to scan. I slowed for the final fifteen pages, which reinforced my view of Florentino Ariza as a tepid protagonist. He made me think of leeches, parasites, little rodents living in the wall.

For a novel ostensibly about love, the only reciprocal love I believe is that of Jeremiah de Saint-Amour and his Haitian lover. All else feels stained by conditions, regret, empty lust, and equally empty longing. These are the faces of other loves, yes, but they lose even this credibility by Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s final failure to make us feel that the love that settles between Florentino and Fermina is truly “the heart of love.” This comes after 350 pages of uninterrupted narration and our loss of respect for Florentino–given his pedophilic dalliance and his hand in the deaths of both his child-lover and the river over which he had responsibility. Maybe it’s fitting is that the book’s final image is of a plague boat doomed to sail up and down a dead river, carrying its dying lovers between pestilential cities.

One Hundred Years of Solitude left me longing to become a better writer, and Memories of My Melancholy Whores impressed me with its uncharacteristic brevity and tricky, magical ordinariness. Although Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s wisdom and insight make so much of Love in the Time of Cholera awe-inspiring to a fellow writer, after I set it down with a final thump on my coffee table, I couldn’t help thinking of Twitter’s irreverent #lessambitiousbooks game: Old Pervert’s Crush in the Time of Cholera.

Or maybe you can think of a better re-title?

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A Nurse Ratched Apologia: Reading Ken Kesey Fifty Years Later

Thursday, September 15th, 2011

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's NestOne Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Well-crafted, straightforward, and rendered beautifully, the novel is a public monument to the barefaced sexism of yore. As in most of the novels I enjoy reading, power matters. And as a novel about the friction between authority (Nurse Ratched) and freedom (McMurphy), it holds up almost fifty years after its first publication; it would had survived better, though, if it made less of the “emasculating woman” stereotype. In the tense final pages, when I most wanted to surrender to the story, the novel’s sensibility wouldn’t let me forget its insistent theme: “This is the outrage, the injustice, that results when a woman who can’t get laid has too much power.”

Ugh. For sensibility, I’d give the novel one and a half stars. But as Azar Nafisi reminds us in the Henry James portion of Reading Lolita in Tehran, to judge a book solely on the basis of your own values diminishes the art of writing. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is a damn good novel, and its carelessness toward the women’s and civil rights movements of its day shouldn’t be confused with a dead heart. As a Pacific Northwest writer, Kesey was sensitive to the plight of Native Americans, and the gentleness and magic with which he wrote Bromden’s POV made this more than just a well-plotted story.

So, finally–I read the famous book. As a writer, I learned more about not getting carried away with the beauty of language, and how to keep it under control. From a cultural perspective, I’d say it’s valuable to look at the art that enters popular culture with your own eyes; for years, I knew what people meant when they called someone a “Nurse Ratched.” Yet now, I wonder about her. Her character was awful, but what made her that way? The Combine? The culture? Her story never had a chance to be told before she entered the American lexicon as a synonym for medical violence. I even have a little underdog-inspired curiosity about her, no thanks to her creator.

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Alexandra Fuller’s COCKTAIL HOUR UNDER THE TREE OF FORGETFULNESS, a review for The Oregonian

Saturday, September 3rd, 2011
Click to view book on Amazon.

Click to view book on Amazon.

Alexandra Fuller returns to the African landscape in her memoir, Cocktail Hour Under the Tree of Forgetfulness. It accepts the curious task of being both a prequel and a sequel to her 2001 debut, Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight: An African Childhood. With a love of landscape, a historian’s lens and a knack for laugh-out-loud satire aimed at her mother’s narcissism, Fuller tells the broader story of her family’s participation in the Rhodesian civil war.

(Published in The Oregonian, August 28, 2011. Read the full review here.)

“The Wild Girls” by Ursula K. Le Guin

Friday, May 20th, 2011
Click to buy the book from Powell's. Don't buy it from Amazon, against whom Le Guin has "nothing, really, except profound moral disapproval of their aims and methods, and a simple loathing of corporate greed."

Click to buy the book from Powell's. Don't buy it from Amazon, against whom Le Guin has "nothing, really, except profound moral disapproval of their aims and methods, and a simple loathing of corporate greed."

Last February, Ursula Le Guin told The Oregonian‘s Jeff Baker that at 80, she probably didn’t have another novel in her. Which was bad news to her readers, like me, who didn’t want to consider Lavinia her last work of fiction. It is one of her finest, dancing so gracefully along the lines between genres that it ought to have finally-once-and-for-all proven that there were never any lines in the first place. The good news, then, is that Le Guin can’t stop writing. The Wild Girls (PM Press Outspoken Author Series) is an even broader pastiche of genres—containing fiction, poetry, essay, and interview.

The title comes from the eponymous novelette whose economy showcases the maturity of Le Guin’s writing, reminding me of Gabriel García Márquez Memories of My Melancholy Whores. It’s the work of a writer at the peak of her talents, whose forty years’ attention to the craft and its context can produce a seamless story about injustice, gender, slavery, and love that completes its work in fewer than fifty pages. If her 1973 short story “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” was an extended metaphor for the idea that every society rests on some fundamental cruelty, “The Wild Girls” is a more literal version of the same story. It’s about a girl who follows her sister into slavery in order to protect her, and both are raised to marry the soldiers who captured them; throughout their years of acculturation, they’re haunted by the memory of an infant who died during the raid. It’s a violent, bleak story that has no wish to be pessimistic, and it works, oddly, because Le Guin’s portrayal of the soldiers is so generous—not out of a prim compulsion to be fair to everyone, but out of the same blunt realism with which she writes about the slaughter that preceded the girls’ capture.

She resists moralizing. Her characters are complicated; some do awful things despite having humane sensibilities; the slaves collude with their captors; the unjust system lives on. It’s the world we live in, even though its class system looks different from ours. Her stories have no agenda, but she will not let us forget that the absence of a solution does not imply absence of right and wrong. For this reason, Le Guin’s speculative fiction is some of the most realistic writing I’ve ever had the joy of reading.

Visit Ursula K. Le Guin’s website here.

Interview with Cara Hoffman

Saturday, April 9th, 2011

hoffmancara

Cara Hoffman’s SO MUCH PRETTY strikes at the roots of violence against women. It tells the story of a town’s complicity in the disappearance and murder of Wendy White, a wholesome and pragmatic young woman who resists the “blame the victim” attitude that permeates our culture’s response to rape. Thanks to its remarkably thoughtful orchestration, this debut novel is one of the most difficult to discuss without spoilers–but suffice to say here, the plot is tied loosely but carefully together by an out-of-town journalist’s work on the case.

Yet while the attempt to find White pulls the narrative forward, most of the novel’s surprises lie in the sustained urgency of Cara Hoffman’s writing: As I read, I encountered in every chapter, in every point of view, and between each line, that we already know the story. We’ve lived it in our own lives. We’ve been raped, or supported someone who has, or worked with groups of women who have survived years of sexually violent marriage–or especially, been presented with rape and dominance disguised as forms of entertainment. The particular power of fiction is to enlist our capacity for empathy and our tolerance for uncertainty, and then ask us a question. SO MUCH PRETTY asks why we put up with so much violence. And why, even when we attempt to live nonviolent lives, do our efforts seem so powerless?

In a slightly different vein of inquiry, I’m honored to discuss the novel with Cara on this blog. She received her Masters of Fine Arts in Writing from Goddard College in 2009. She has been a guest lecturer at Cornell University, Hobart and William Smith Colleges, and taught English at Lehman Alternative Community School and Tompkins Cortland Community College. She lives in Manhattan with her son and works as a writing tutor at the Lower Eastside Girls Club. SO MUCH PRETTY was released on March 14 to great reviews in the New York Times and all over the blogosphere.

A link to the book on Amazon

A link to the book on Amazon

1. Before crafting the story, you did an extraordinary amount of research on it–not only about the original case, but also covering a range of social thinkers like Derrick Jensen and Carolyn Merchant. Tell us about SO MUCH PRETTY. How much of the story came from a sensibility you developed while researching, versus what you already knew and wanted to express?

Such a good question. I did do a lot of research on violence against women looking at specific cases and statistics. I also immersed myself in theory and history, and focused heavily on the intersection between environmental issues and violence against various populations throughout time. I was an environemental reporter so much of this came very naturally and had been a part of my job. Authors like Derrick Jensen, Hannah Arendt, Monique Wittig, and of course Guy Debord whose philosophy is central to the novel, were important to me throughout my life and clearly their work had an impact on my work. But there was certainly a synthesis of the research I did concerning anti-social masculinity and violence and my own foundations in philosophical and political thought.

2. Again, trying not to spoil the plot too much… but late in the novel, the story takes a leap. After White’s body is found, Alice Piper, a brilliant and promising high school senior, responds unexpectedly to the news. She’s been raised by thoughtful, ethical parents–but in that moment, her decision escapes the spirit of everything they raised her to be. To me, it was a hopeless moment.  What do you see as the failure that led to her actions? Was it human? Social?

This is a tough one to talk about without giving too much away. I would say that what happens to Alice doesn’t necessarily go against the way she was raised or the society in which she was rooted, and this is part of the overall mystery. Alice’s fate could be read as a social/familial failure or as the culmination of everything that made her who she was, a success. I would say if there was a failure that led to Alice’s fate it was in the shared delusion of her parents that a rural life meant a wholesome life. Genius or not, she was very much a product of her enviornment and her isolation.

3. You give a shout out to punk culture and the anarchy symbol. Having spent enough time around Portland, Oregon’s anarchists and admiring Ursula K. LeGuin’s use of the philosophy in her early novels, I found one of the book’s most startling lines to be when Alice says: “Nothing ever made me feel quite this responsible.” In a land without government, or with a totally indifferent government, peace and justice depend on everyone’s nuanced understanding of personal responsibility. Besides starting a new society from scratch, what needs to be done today, right now, to work for women’s equality and protection?

Wow. This is another fantastic question. I am always a big fan of mutual aid and solidarity and the concept of infinite responsibility. Those are foundational anarchist beliefs that can do everyone a lot of good. For me the answer lies in direct action. What needs to be done today is that people act. Writing, or giving money to charity, or being responsible in your own social circle is really not enough and it probably never will be. The magnitide of the violence we’re dealing with, and the way it has become normal for us to see it everywhere and accept it as our fate or as individual, anomolous acts…these are things we have to actively fight against. And I see that fight taking a variety of forms, none of them passive.

4. On a lighter note, you seem to have done everything right in launching your novel. I learned about it online weeks before the release date, and was eager to get my hands on a copy. That kind of response from potential readers is every debut novelist’s dream. What helped you? What advice do you have for other first-time authors?

I had an incredible publicity team and very dedicated, very smart editor and agent. I listened to them and essentially did everything they told me to do. Part of that was blogging which has been a lot of fun and enabled me to connect with some great folks.

Check out Cara’s book and another interview about it on its Amazon page. Her blog is here, and her series of guest blogs for Porland’s own Powell’s Books is here. She’s also on Twitter.

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