Book Review: Wild Houses

 By Colin Barrett

• Pub Date: 2024

• Genre: Irish literature

• Where I bought this book: Oblong Books, Millerton, N.Y. 

• Why I bought this book: I read his previous short story collection, which was OK, so I wanted to give his first novel a try

• Bookmark used: Corner Bookstore, New York   

 ******** 

   This isn't your Ireland of the green and red of Mayo, stone walls and green grass along the N-17, and hoisting up the Sam Maguire.

    No, this is the rural, small-town Ireland filled with exhilarated sadness, where the rain gets in your shoes, and life is dejected and cold.

    And all this is written by a fellow who knows his places. Barrett grew up along the River Moy, in Ballina and Foxtrot, settings for this wonderfully melancholy first novel about the lost souls of the young and old going nowhere, unsure of what they are looking for, and unwilling or unable to find it.

    It's the Ireland where beer and liquor is omnipresent, but without an opium problem, rarely a drug of choice.

He knew the pharmaceutical tastes of the average Mayoite tended away from those substances that encouraged narcosis, introversion and melancholy -- traits the natives already possessed in massive hereditary infusions -- in favour of uppers, addys and coke and speed; drugs designed to rev your pulse and blast you out of your head.

    The characters are well drawn, mostly losers and not necessarily likeable, but surprisingly able to carry the tale. The writing is knowing and sympathetic, drawing on their backgrounds and upbringings to paint a full picture of their flaws and traumas. The overall story is compelling and insightful, although little changes in their lives.

    It's as if the universe is telling us that life goes on, regardless. 

They tackled each day, which was usually just like the day before, in a spirit of inured rue.

    You start with Dev, a lonely, depressed young man bullied by his classmates, deserted by his father, who now lives alone after his mother died. Asked if it suits him to live in an isolated. decrepit old farmhouse, he shrugs. "It's just -- it's just how it ended up."

    There's Gabe and Sketch Ferdia, two hoodlums who do as their told, without knowing or caring why. There's Cillian and Doll English, small-time drug dealers who cross the bosses of the Ferdia brothers. And there's Nicky, Doll's 17-year-old girlfriend, the only one with a hint of ambition, but who allows her friends to thwart even her limited dreams.

    To round out the crew, there's an assortment of guilt-instilling Irish mothers and wayward Irish fathers.

    When the Ferdias persuade a reluctant Dev to get involved in a complicated plan of revenge against the English boys, we get character studies, tales told through pain and flashback, and some of the finest writing in Ireland today, worthy of being longlisted for the 2024 Booker prize.

Book Review: Orbital

  By Samantha Harvey

• Pub Date: 2023

• Genre: Space, Science fiction, Literary fiction

• Where I bought this book: Oblong Books, Millerton, N.Y. 

• Why I bought this book: It's the 2024 Booker Prize winner

• Bookmark used: Top 10 Most Challenged Books, from Roebling.com  

 **********

    Samantha Harvey's love letter* to planet Earth reverberates with rapid-fire brilliance on every page. 

    But it's much more than that. It's a paean to the solar system, its exploration, and our humanity. 

    It's there in the description of the astronauts and cosmonauts watching in wonder at seeing the aurora australis** from above.

    It's there as they travel down east from the North Pole, past the Alaskan and Canadian coastlines, over the Pacific and South America, before swinging across the South Atlantic to Africa and up to the Middle East before watching the "first crack of silver" marking their fifth or sixth sunrise of the day. 

    It's there as they watch, helplessly, as a typhoon bores down on and eventually assaults the Philippines.

    It's there as author Harvey shows the blackness of the deep oceans and the color palettes of the land: The field of gold of Polynesia, the blues of the Indian Ocean, the purple-green of the Nile River. 

    It's in Uzbekistan, an expanse of ochre and brown. It's in the apricot desert of Takla Makan,*** It's in the rose-flushed and snow-covered mountains of Asia. It's there as Astronaut Nell looks down during her spacewalk: Cuba pink with morning, the turquoise shallows of the Caribbean; her left foot obscuring France, her right foot Germany.

    More than a mere novel, the 2024 Booker Prize-winner reads like a dazzling think piece in the best literary journal, At 200 pages, it ends too soon. But as you set it aside, you agree with some of her final words about life on a minor planet revolving around an ordinary star in an obscure part of the Milky Way: "The past comes, the future, the past. It's always now, it's never now."

    Its plot is simple: A single day, 18 revolutions around the Earth in the lives of four astronauts, Nell, Chie, Shaun, and Pietro from America, Europe and Japan, and two cosmonauts, Anton and Roman, from Russia, as they live, work, and play in the International Space Station. In small snippets, we learn about their lives at home, growing up. Learn about their families. Learn about their travels on earth. Learn why they wanted to go to space.

    They reflect on life in the cramped quarters, the state of the planet, and their place in the universe. They note how from 250 miles above, the Earth is "just a rolling indivisible globe which knows no possibility of separation, let alone war." They see no borders except for the land and the sea. Countries are indistinguishable.

    Except when the sun is on the other side, they see the lights of their hometowns below: Seattle, Osaka, London, Bologna, St. Petersburg, Moscow. 

    And politics below sometimes intrudes on the international mission of peace above. Because of "engaging political disputes" on Earth, they must use their "national toilet" in the Soviet-built module or the American one. Americans, Japanese and Europeans on one side, Russians on the other.

    They follow the rule but find it amusing. "I'm going to take a national pee, Shaun will say. Or Roman: I'm going to go and do one for Russia." 

    In 1969, while piloting Apollo 11 alone, Michael Collins snapped a photo of the lunar module taking off from the moon, with the Earth hanging in the background. Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin were in the Eagle, and the rest of humanity was on Earth.     

NASA photo

   

Michael Collins is the only human being not in that photo, it is said. ...(But) what of all the people on the other side of earth that the camera can't see, and everybody in the southern hemisphere which is in the night sky and gulped by the darkness of space? ... In truth, nobody is in that photograph, nobody can be seen. Everybody is invisible. ... The strongest, most deductible proof of life in that photo is the photographer himself. ... In that sense, the most enchanting thing about Collins's image is that, at the moment of taking the photograph, he is really the only human presence it contains.

    Sublime. It's thoughtful, soulful, and mindful. It shows the earth being "wired and wakeful." You want to read it slowly, mark every other paragraph, then read it again. Read it with a cup of tea on the table and cat in your lap, poking at your skin, the pinpricks making you feel alive, if Earthbound.

    It is truly a book for the ages.

------------------------------------------------

* I'll admit to stealing this term from a friend

** The Southern Lights

*** A desert in the Xinjiang province in northwest China. Often spelled in English as Taklamakan

Book Review: Glory

  By Noviolet Bulawayo

• Pub Date: 2022

• Where I bought this book: The Book Loft, Columbus, Ohio 

• Why I bought this book: I like fables 

 ******

     I really, really wanted to like to book. Tholukuthi, I wanted to like this book. But it took my slogging through some 325 repetitive pages, with too many words, tholukuthi, and a writing style that carried around too many blending ideas and voices, before I found it.

    It's difficult to say it was worth it. But two parts of the book -- one in which Destiny finds her mother's past of being a victim of violence linked with her own similar history, and a second in the final 70 pages, which featured the hope of butterflies and some extraordinary writing -- made me rethink all the thoughts I had while reading it.

    It's a tale of Zimbabwe, an African country that suffered colonialism and white minority rule before a revolution threw out the white overlords but brought in a murderous, native dictatorship. The persecution and disappearances of the population continued, with the government of Black nationalist  Robert Mugabe becoming increasingly more vicious and corrupt over his 40-year dictatorship.

    This fable shows the country as literal animals -- Mugabe is the Old Horse, whose presence strikes fear and loyalty among the population of goats and chickens and cats and all manner of insects. His army of Defenders are brutal dogs that attack and kill without warning or remorse. The majority animals are poor but loyal to the ruler, wearing his image on their clothing and waving the proper flag of the Country Country.

    All of this mimics the history of the land in the south of Africa, which during colonialism was called Rhodesia -- named after the rich English lord who invaded and declared the area part of Britain. If that's not the most colonial thing ever, I'm not sure what is. After World War II, the rulers declared independence from Britain, and, looking to neighboring South Africa, set up an apartheid-like state.

    The book begins with Old Horse celebrating his 40 years of power, and moves on to the coup that tossed him out and took over his rule. But it is a verbose story, told through a multitude of conflicting and confusing voices. It's often unclear what the animals represent -- someone from the Seat of Power, the Resistance, the Dissidents, the Sisters of the Disappeared, or just random citizens.

    The writing includes repetitive words, phrases, entire sentences. Some chapters, tholukuthi, include long-winded descriptions that go on and on and on and on and on. And there is the use of tholukuthi, a word of African origin that means -- seemingly, whatever the author wants it to mean. It's an interjection, a hallelujah!, a "really, really," an "and so," a "you'll find that," and is used so many times it means all of them, and none of them.

    Bulawayo even uses a social media style to tell the tale. But even there, the streams of Twitter feeds are as disembodied, annoying, and incomprehensible as the real ones.

    When one overdoes a stylistic point, it loses its magic.

    That's what happens here. In the later quarter of the book, the tone changes, becomes more personal, and focuses on a single family of animals, including Destiny and her mother, Simiso. This is where I started enjoying the book, and eagerly read the pages. But the writing still overwhelms the ideas and actions. The repetition and overwriting stand out and get in the way of the story.

    When she writes about the genocide that occurred, it's hard to read -- because it's true. I stuck through the book until the end, and I'm glad I did. It struck a chord in me. It touched me. It taught me something.

    It also showed me what this book could have been.

Book Review: Small Things Like These

 By Claire Keegan

• Pub Date: 2021

• Where I bought this book: Scarlett Rose Books, Ludlow, Ky. 

• Why I bought this book: I'd heard good things about it, and it won a Booker Prize in 2022

 *********

    This book surprised me. I had expected concise, controlled, and beautiful writing, but a sparse story. What I found was tight, poetic writing -- at a mere 116 pages-- an exquisite use of the language, and a tale that untangled the old torments of Ireland in a new era.

    Just admire this scene of a Catholic Church in small-town, modern Ireland a few days before Christmas.

Some women with headscarves were saying the rosary under their breath, their thumbs worrying through the beads. Members of big farming families and business people passed by in wool and tweed, wafts of soap and perfume, striding up to the front and letting down the hinges of the kneelers. Older men slipped in, taking their caps off and making the sign of the cross, deftly, with a finger. A young, freshly married man walked red-faced to sit with his new wife in the middle of the chapel. Gossipers stayed down on the edge of the aisle to get a good gawk,  watching for a new jacket or haircut, a limp, anything out of the ordinary.

   

    Keegan conveys how the piety and the hypocrisy that pervaded the joining of the Catholic Church and the Irish Free State of Eamon de Valera may have evolved but has never left.

    She presents a story of the Magdalene Laundries, which operated throughout Ireland during this time. Run by the church, they held "fallen women" -- young women who became pregnant, bringing shame to their families and communities, or just troublesome souls who were not "proper ladies" -- ostensibly to help such women give birth or learn a trade. In reality, they were cruel institutions that worked the women for years, giving them little care or love, stealing their infants at birth, or letting them die.

    The communities knew what went on behind closed doors, but bought the excuses because of the power and teachings of the church -- first the Protestant Church of Ireland, and later the Catholic Church.

    Into this steps Furlong, a good man, an orphan raised by a widow, now an adult who is married with five daughters who attend the adjacent Catholic school. He stumbles into a reckoning with the reality, and wrestles with his ability to help or to continue to deny the truth.

    What he considers doing may be a small thing that leads to more trouble, or it may improve lives. Keegan's writing -- the slow setting of the scenes, the intricate but restrained  descriptions, and the expressive dialogue -- compel the story forward and make it a joy to read.

Book Review: Cursed Bunny

 By Bora Chung

• Translated by: Anton Hur

• Pub Date: 2017 in Korean; 2021 in English

• Where I bought this book: Downbound Books, Cincinnati, Ohio  

• Why I bought this book: The bunny on the cover told me to, and that it was shortlisted for an International Book Prize

******

    

    Short stories are not just truncated novels but have a flow and a texture all their own.

    In the hands of Chung, short stories take on the aura of fables, using allegories that shock and horrify, and rise to the status of a legend devolving into fantasy.

    She writes about absurd ghosts and lives lived brutally, about children and capitalism, and about war, peace, and the aftermath -- which brings us back to those spirits that can haunt us. 

    These tales are seemingly simple, told with little fuss and a minimalist style. They have few characters, none more than needed, and often are nameless, with only enough detail to tell the tale without shame or scorn. 

    But, oh, do they hold power over your mind and thoughts. There's also some nods to the misogyny rampant in the culture, and a feminist take. In The Embodiment, an unmarried, pregnant woman is told -- by her doctor, no less -- to get a father or the child will not grow properly. The woman responds by going out on seon dates set up by a matchmaker for the specific purpose of finding a man to marry her. 

    The opening tale, The Head, begins with a woman seeing a head rising from her toilet, calling out for "mother." It is created from her excretions. The title story, which reads like an old fashioned fairy tale, is about a man who creates "cursed fetishes" -- in this case a lamp shaped like a bunny. A second, similarly told story, Scars, is about a man who finds riches in the most evil places.

    The stories are tough to read, and reach into places that most would rather avoid. But Chung's style belies their nature -- her basic, matter-of-fact narratives let the tales stand as the epitome of how to write a short story.

Book Review: The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida

  By Shehan Karunatilake

• Pub Date: 2022

• Where I bought this book: Roebling Point Books, Newport, Ky. 

• Why I bought this book: The title, and it won the 2022 Booker Prize, which is always a good sign

******

    

 

   Even the dead in Sri Lanka continue to fight its wars, but only the ghosts see the irony in having the same enemies as the living. 

    This is one ghost's story of his country, which he loves, hates, and everything in between. As part of the living, he thought he was trying to change the wrongs, but his involvement failed to make anything better. He's not ever sure what better would have been -- because he sees the factions, parties, and terrorists as equal opportunity killers -- in life and after. 

    Maali is in the afterlife as the story opens, but remembers little about how he died -- or was killed, which he also suspects. He has seven moons to find out, and he spends the time reviewing and justifying his life, and the country's violent ways. 

    It's hard to determine his many roles in the violence, which surrounds him in death as it did in life. Because he is the narrator of this tale -- in both his ghostly self and as the main actors in his flashbacks -- he has a bias to make himself look good and the various sects who are the warmakers look bad.

    He's a photographer and a gambler, a journalist and a "fixer," who brings together outside reporters and members of the various militias, the military, the police, and the government men. 

    He's a gay man in a homophobic country, dating the son of one of its top officials. So his voice is sometimes self-suppressed -- and sometimes loudly outspoken and self-conscious.

    He's also wryly cynical and morbidly funny. He refers to the dead wandering the streets as a combination of the various gods and goddesses from the Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim, and Christian religions that are part of Sri Lanka. He calls others the Cannibal Uncle, the Atheist Ghoul, the Dead Child Soldier, and the suicides -- and wonders if they could collectively be known as "an overdose of suicides."

Outside in the waiting room, there is wailing. (A police officer) walks outside to console the weeping woman. He does so by pulling out his baton and asking a constable to remove her.

     The switching from Maali's past as a living being, to his current state as a ghostly presence, can sometimes be confusing. And the story also questions whether we are the same person, the same soul, as we move from life to death -- and perhaps, back to life again.

Book Review: Learning to Talk

 

•  Authors: Hilary Mantel

• Where I bought this book: Arcadia Books, Spring Green, Wisc. 

• Why I bought this book: Her other collection was titled and included the story, The Assassination of Margaret Thatcher

*******

    

    The settings in these short stories, mostly about childhood, are benign; the colors are grey; the tales are ordinary.

    But the writing is crisp. It shows off the literary style of one of the  best writers of our time. It has touches of that droll British wit. It is written mostly in the first person, and thus brings us closer to the author and the subjects.

    Indeed, the collection is pure British. Its tone, its inflections and its manner says, quite politely yet determinately, that this is a British book of British stories.

    None of that is surprising. Its author is one of the finest writers in Britain today. Mantel is a two-time winner of the Booker Prize, and her latest book -- the finale in her trilogy of the years of Thomas Cromwell and Henry VIII -- was longlisted for the 2020 Booker Prize. 

   This is one of her earlier books, published in 2003, and her first of just two collections of short stories.

    Many of the stories appear to be almost autobiographical, and that is not an accident. In her forward, Mantel says the tales are part of her life, but are not her real life.

I would not describe these stories as autobiographical, more as autoscopic. From a distant, elevated perspective, my writing self is looking down at a body reduced to a shell, waiting to be fleshed out by phrases.

    Among my favorite tales is King Billy is a Gentleman, in which a Catholic lodger replaces the father in a household, and the tale explores some of the sectarianism in British life. The Clean Slate shows the failures of the perspectives of the past to tell a true story. It contains the great line about a couple of Irish uncles: "They drank when they had money, and prayed when they had none."

    Third Floor Rising, about a mother who gains confidence when she goes to work in a Manchester department store, and her daughter, who does not, has the stock on the floor as major characters.

Book Review Shuggie Bain

 Shuggie Bain, by Douglas Stuart

    Shuggie leads a sad and depressing life. 

    So does his alcoholic mother, his cheating, abusive father, his sister, and his lost-soul older brother. Indeed, this novel is full of sad and depressing people, words which also describe this ultimately disappointing book.

    None of the characters is a good person. Except for his siblings, who are minor players, you cannot root for any of them -- even Shuggie, a child who is bullied and struggling with the perception that he is not like other boys. But his character has little life of his own; although he appears to be the novel's protagonist, he seems more of a supporting character meant to showcase the fears and faults of others. 

    The child ignores reality and keeps believing his mother will eventually recover from her disease. His love for her is rarely reciprocated -- and when it is, never for very long.

    What also makes this book disappointing is that it is the 2020 winner of the Booker Prize. Usually, even being longlisted for the prize is a good sign that it's a book worthy of your reading list. This is the first time I have found that not to be the case.

    Set in Glasgow, Scotland during the 1980s, the  novel shows the changing economy of the times, as working class jobs dry up, and people fall into poverty and despair. Shuggie is a young boy growing up with the slow realization that he is gay in a paternalistic, macho culture. His mother is a self-absorbed drunk seldom available for him. His abusive father has mostly abandoned the family. Shuggie, bullied at school, alone at home, struggles to survive.

    On a positive note, the book is well written and pulls you in. But it never hits a satisfying point.

    It doesn't follow Shuggie's inner struggles and turmoil. Rather, it emphasizes the bigotry and hatred he is subjected to on a more-or-less daily basis.

    Such bitter neighbors and schoolmates are the novel's focus -- and the downtrodden working class community Shuggis is a part of is not treated with kindness or sympathy. Their poverty and despair may come from a changing economy that considers them castaways -- this is the era of Reagan and Thatcher, after all -- but the author fails to connect them to this larger social decline. 

    Instead, their poverty, malice, and despair are shows as their own fault. From pilfering coins from gas meters, to stealing whatever is nearby, to using others for their own gain, the characters are portrayed as without morals. 

Book Review: Girl, Woman, Other

Girl, Woman, Other, by Bernadine Evaristo

    This book is additional proof that the Booker Prize never leads you astray.

    It also shows the benefits of reading literature.

    The 2019 winner of the British-based prize, by Evaristo, an Anglo-Nigerian writer, was cited for "a gloriously new kind of history for this old country."

    Indeed. These seemingly random, but ultimately interconnected profiles of women -- mostly of color, but young and old, cis and trans, gay, straight, and bi -- are a wonderful collection of tales from groups who seldon are heard from and less often listened to. But these women deserve to be seen and heard, and noticed.

    And they are. And it is good.

    These vignettes tell the stories of women's lives. They demand that people like me -- a white, older male -- listen to their struggles and their success. The show me their cultures -- old, new, and joined. 

    Some show why they left their African or Caribbean homes for a difficult if more prosperous life in England, and how they fought to survive, adapt, yet hold on to their past.

    The descriptions connect mothers and daughters, or grandmothers and granddaughters, or descendants to their ancestors, and show us the lives of several generations. 

    One woman clings to her Nigerian heritage, but has no plans to return to her native home. Despite the racism and the poverty, her home and her life are now in England, and she cherishes being British. Another dreams of returning home, but cannot see a future for her there. Another not only lives her Nigerian culture, but desires to pass it, unchanging, to her daughter. But her daughter prefers her own Britishness, which she has fought hard to accept and be accepted in.

    The book's format allows for a full telling of an individual's prosopography. First, we hear from one woman, giving her background, her experiences, and her views on her life and work. A following chapter will tell the story of another person, until it slowly dawns on us that she is related -- by blood, marriage, or heritage -- to a previous person in the book. Then another individual's profle is told, and that person gives insight into previous -- and perhaps a future -- character.

    It's a compelling collection of tales, full of surprises, evocative yet pointed in its writing, colorful in its descriptions, and sensitive in its narrative.While it may not show the full panoply of women's views and stories, it tells a wide and impressive range.

This Week in Books, 10th Ed. Black Authors

Black Authors White People Should Read

In the past few years I have made a concerted effort to read more female writers and writers of color. Last year, I started counting, and half of the authors I read were women, and more than a quarter were people of color. I am improving from the days of reading almost exclusively white male authors.

So in honor of Black History Month, I am recommending several writers of colors and their books, and what I have learned from them.

Washington Black, by Esi Edugyan: With this novel, set in the 19th Century, Edugyan gives us an extraordinary work filled with powerful and explosive  writing, Through the title character, Edugyan shows some of the true horrors of slavery, not just in the routine dehumanization of people of color, but in the lifelong impact it has on them, She shows the depravity of its systemic brutality. She shows how it allows white people to decry its savagery while simultaneously benefiting from it.


Red at the Bone, by Jacqueline Woodson: Woodson goes a step beyond the present, and shows how history and family and ancestory affect black lives today, She shows how bigotry and hate and violence in the past impacts the present and the future for black Americans. Bonus book: Read her Another Brooklyn, about groing up black in Brooklyn.


On the Come Up, by Angie Thomas: Thomas uses Bri, the smart, hip, talented, and ambitious protagonist, to show us what it's like to grow up as a 16-year-old black girl living in black ghetto in an otherwise white world.  Bri discoves how people judge her through lenses tinged with bias and outright bigotry. Her teachers condemn her as "aggressive." White parents claim her rap lyrics causeviolence. Many -- even her fans and neighbors -- see Bri as little more than a ghetto hoodrat.

My Name is Leon, by Kit De Waal: A British writer of Irish and Kittian descent, De Waal writes about a mixed-race child in England trying to find his way. After Leon's mother falls ill, social services take him and his younger, white brother, who is adopted almost immediately. Leon stays with his white foster mother. He learns the difficulties in being a black boy in white Britain while bonding with a group of black men from the West Indies.


Celestial Bodies, by Jokha Alharthi: It tells the stories of a multi-generational family growing up in Oman at a time of massive societal change in the Middle Eastern country. It's the first book originally wriitten in Arabic to win the Man Booker prize, It's mostly about three sisters trying to adjust to the changing culture, and it also explains the village of al-Awafi where they live. It does so through many voices, which reach a cohesive whole that is sad, but compelling and illuminating.

Book Review: Celestial Bodies

Celestial Bodies, by Jokha Alharthi

This can be a difficult if enjoyable novel to read. Its style -- combining several voices and perspectives jumping around in time, along with its setting of a different culture in an unfamiliar place -- forces one to read closely.

Several times, I had to go back and re-read paragraphs or whole chapter -- which tend to be short -- to comprehend the time and voice. Helping immensely in this is the inclusion of a family tree that connects most of the characters. I bookmarked this page so I could refer to it early and often.

The story is ostensibly about three daughters in a changing Oman, an Islamic country on the Arabian peninsula. But it's really a multi-generational tale about the village of al-Awafi and its people. The clans intermingle, slaves who were bought and sold and recently freed live and work with their former owners, and women are married off, usually not to a man of their choice.

The book is the first novel originally written in Arabic -- it was translated by Marilyn Booth -- to win the Man Booker prize. The award called it "a coiled spring of a novel, telling of Oman's coming of age through the prism of one family's losses and loves.

We meet sisters Mayya,  Asma, and Khawla, representative of different women who are changing along with the country. We also hear from and about others in the town, from the poorest of former slaves, to other who try to maintain their dignity over time, to those who are leaving behind their traditional culture for a new way.

We have Abdullah, whose voice ties the novel together, who married Mayya and talks about his abusive father, a slave trader. We have London, the eldest daughter of the couple, who becomes a doctor and enjoys western culture. We have Zarifa, a former slave who raised Abdullah after his mother mysteriously died, and whose place in the village is inconsistent.

As the novel moves along its path, the intertwined stories become clearer, and we reach a cohesive whole that becomes more familiar, at times sad, but always compelling and illuminating.

Book Review: The Testaments

The Testaments, by Margaret Atwood

If you were riveted by The Handmaid's Tale, its sequel also will enthrall you.

I'm not sure I like the word sequel, which carries the inference of being somewhat lesser than the original. So consider this not a sequel, but a continuance of the first novel. Think of it as Part 2, the later years.

Because that's a better description of it.

I read The Handmaid's Tale back in the long, long ago, and saw the original movie. I have not watched the TV series for a number of reasons. But I remember the first book, which had a huge impact on me.

The Testaments provides a backstory as to how and why Gilead came into existence. It's setting is years into the Gilead regime, which solidified its control of the country once known as the United States. Opposition to the regime, both from Canada -- its neighbor to the north and the author of these novels -- and among the states that split off from the regime after various civil wars, has intensified.

This is today's story.

It is told in a multitude of voices, from a top aunt in the organization to members of the resistance, both inside and outside the country. Some of the voices are those of children, who only know Gilead after the revolution, as they are taught little about the previous life.

Those voices alternate in the book. Together, they tell a complete tale, but the individual accounts are compelling in their own right. What happens is you get into one person's story; the chapter ends, and you move into another's story. You immediately want to find out more about the story you were reading, but wind up so engrossed in the new one you get upset when that chapter ends, and a third story moves in, or a previous one returns.

So you find yourself staying up late into the evening to learn the next verse of each story, which together tell a complete tale.

Atwood is a wonderful story-teller and a top-notch writer. It's no wonder this book was short-listed for the Booker Prize. We'll know who wins the prize later this month.

My bet is on Atwood. Besides, anyone who quotes a William Blake poem is OK with me.