Book Review: The Ministry of Time

 By Kaliane Bradley

• Pub Date: 2024

• Genre: Fantasy, time travel

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

• Why I bought this book: The idea of time -- and time travel -- fascinates me  

 *****

    I love the concept of this book -- bringing people from the past into the present -- but its execution was, shall we say, a bit disjointed.

    It has a lot going for it. The writing is decent, with flashes of brilliance. The characters for the most part are diverse and well rounded. Their biographical backgrounds -- and more than one is actually taken from the pages of history -- are compelling.

    Our hero and narrator, who is not named for the bulk of the novel, is an Asian Englishwoman working in the British civil service. She was born in Cambodia and lived through the Khmer Rouge takeover and genocide, survived and moved with her family to the UK and now lives in London. As the book begins, she finds her new job is part of a time travel experiment. Various people from other eras of the British Empire will be brought into the 21st Century. She will be a bridge to help them acclimate to the current time.

    The newcomers will be called expats, rather than refugees, the latter being considered an unflattering term. Our hero, a refugee herself and currently an expert on languages, has mixed feeling about the issue.

    The book never delves into how the theorical impossibility of time travel is overcome. It simply posits that it was found sometime in the future, and the British appropriated the discovery to the current time and place. Precautions are taken to ensure the past is not changed; they are simply bringing people from previous times into the present. "Removing them from the past ought not to impact the future."

    Still, the book is written on various timelines, which can be confusing.

    Anyway, let's start with the good parts: The writing is stunning at times,  including lines like these:

            * "Ideas have to cause problems before they cause solutions."

            * "My mother ... had witnessed the sort of horrors that changed the way screams sounded."

            * "The wind shook me like a beetle in a matchbox." -- A line I so want to believe is a reference to Melanie's song, Alexander Beetle.

     The book explores the themes of people out of their elements and trying to fit in, often comparing it to the experiences of immigrants and refugees. How they are treated -- as a curiosity, savage, naive or incompetent -- is a constant element.

    There's a story in there that explains what happened, but it's so tangled it's sometime hard to decipher. The author throws in a romance and potential crimes of the past and future. As we move into the climax, it attains the elements of a thriller, as good guys and bad guys (and who are all these people?) battle to take control of whatever needs to be taken control of.

    Yet within that, that actions sometimes grinds to a halt and we are subjected to philosophical meanderings about what it all means.

    So go ahead and enjoy the writing and the story. Just don't try to hard to understand it all.

Book Review: The Cloisters

 By Katy Hays

• Pub Date: 2022

• Genre: Fantasy

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

• Why I bought this book: I grew up blocks from The Cloisters in New York City  

 ******

 

   It's not often my old neighborhood in New York is highlighted in a novel. Even in maps, Manhattan gets chopped off somewhere uptown from Harlem, like it's not worth the effort to draw the streets of Inwood.

    But The Cloisters are two subway stops from where I grew up on 207th Street. Not that I went there a lot; I think the only time I've been was on a field trip during my elementary school days.

   Still, there's a lot to be said for seeing familiar places and streets in a novel. And it's a decent overall story. Not mind-blowing, but with an array of incongruous yet curiously well matched characters, it's well plotted and well told. 

    Our narrator -- who is either unreliable or unknowing -- is Ann Stilwell from Walla Walla, Wash. She's a smart if unsophisticated art history major, coming to New York for a summer internship at the world renowned Metropolitan Museum of Art on Fifth Avenue in Midtown. But there's a mix up and her job is now unavailable.

    Serendipitously though, she is rescued by Patrick, the dashing curator of the Cloisters, who says he can use her talents at the relatively obscure medieval museum uptown near 190th Street. There, she meets Rachel, a young, cultured, and worldly researcher, and Leo, the gardener with a discerning knowledge of the plants and herbs grown at the museum and a side gig as a punk rock musician.

    In the rarified air of the museum, we discover a lot is going on. Secretive stuff, which involves tarot cards and divination, late night unannounced meetings, and the questionable provenance of artifacts some employees are buying and selling on the side.

    The story centers on the relationships between the main characters, a complicated web of intrigue and personal histories. In between we have Ann's journey of discovering the city's diverse neighborhoods, and her telling the history of the Cloisters, the Renaissance period, and Medieval art. 

    Sometime, it's difficult to follow the rationales of the characters, and several times you find yourself thinking things will not end well. We wonder if they are devious, diabolical, brilliant, or some combination. 

    As a murder mystery (yes, there is one) and police procedural, the story is not very good. As a potential romance, it's mundane. Where it hits its peaks is as an art tutorial, tour guide, and language explainer. Here, the writer finds her niche, with compelling writing and deep insights. 

Book Review: There, There

By Tommy Orange

• Pub Date: 2019

• Genre: Native American Fiction

• Where I bought this book: The Newsouth Bookstore, Montgomery, Ala. 

• Why I bought this book: I was pondering if I should buy his second novel, Wandering Stars, when my wife told me this one, his first, was much better  

 *****

 

  This debut novel, dealing with the urban lives of several Native Americans in Oakland, Calif., has a lot going for it, but in the end, it's a disappointment.

    Oh, the writing is vivid. The individual stories are well told and compelling. Orange gets into their heads, describing their fitful experiences living life on the edge. 

    This is not a tale for white people who see Indians as stoic and spiritual, as more natural and earthbound. These are urban Indians, with problems like trauma, addiction, boredom, loneliness, and isolation.

    The anger and resentment they live and express for the treatment of the Indigenous population -- and the continuing negative effects of that -- comes out loud and clear. I weep for them and for the abuse and scorn and hatred we heaped, and continue to heap, on them.

    But, much like the Gertrude Stein quotation that gives the book its title, the overriding theme gets lost in the details. The character studies are wonderful. But they never coalesce into a whole. They drift in and out of the tales, and their connections with each other get lost amid the confusion.

    Maybe that is the point. Maybe it's me who doesn't understand. But I can see what make the characters tick -- and what they are ticked about -- but feel lost trying to follow what the story is ticking about.

    The book explores the histories and biographies of the various Indian characters, most of whom have tribal or familial relationships. It does so in successive chapters, sometimes following the characters. showing new experiences or bonds. It leads up to, and climaxes during, something called the Big Oakland Powwow.

     Too many make it hard to keeps up with who is who, and if their memories collide with  their actual experiences. There's no single protagonist or antagonist. There is a cast of characters list at the beginning, and it's useful, but it often means having to flip back and forth to determine the changes in relationship. 

    And the ending is a mishmash of those experiences that, once again, tell individual stories well but miss the full picture of what happened,

Book Review: The God of Endings

 By Jacqueline Holland

• Pub Date: 2023

• Genre: Fantasy

• Where I bought this book: Bookmatters, Milford, Ohio 

• Why I bought this book: It is a debut novel, and stories of immortality intrigue me   

 ******

         We give immortality to our gods, because they are perfect. We grant immortality to our book characters, because they are not.

    Collette LeSange is far from perfect. And she assuredly does not like her immortality. She did not ask for it, and her years on earth -- full of pain and loss, despair, failed hope, and taunts from the gods -- have not been friendly. She isn't living, she thinks, just existing.

    And as modern society grows around her, she's finding it harder to hide -- and to eat. Because Collette is a vampire, she must feed on blood, which gets more difficult to find as her years mount up.

    Holland's debut novel tells us how Collette gained immortality, her life over the next 150 or so years, and the fears that engulf her and remain constant companions.

    It's an audacious tale, full of adventure and sadness. It's a life writ large, and as much as Colette tries, she find it impossible to ignore the larger world. All too often, we find that her attempts to exude compassion and kindness rarely end well. 

    Collette grew up the daughter of a gravestone carver in the America of the early 19th Century, before her grandfather chose immortality for her -- a sore spot with her. She soon made it to Europe, where she met and was kept by others of her kind. But angry gods and angry mortals decried what they saw as her wickedness, so she was forced to wander alone and live apart from the vremenie -- those who live short lives -- for most of her days.

    Now, in the early 1980s, she is living and working in America as the owner of and only teacher at an elite pre-school. She senses the gods -- Czerobog* and Belobog, the former the god of darkness, destruction, and woe; the latter the god of light, life, and good fortune (the pair also may be just two faces of one god) -- have something planned for her. 

    In successive chapters, Holland alternates between Collette's history and struggles through the years and her current saga, which includes her growing relationship with a young artistic student with a troubled family life.

    The book has a few problems: Parts of it are overwritten, both stylistically and in the telling. Over-description is rampant, and some of the storylines could have been parsed or omitted.

    But it's a wide-ranging epic, and the ageless protagonist allows Holland to tell a tale over centuries of human history through the eyes of a single women, who is caring and strong, if also confused and lonely. It's overall a good read, depressing at times, but with a texture of hope that threads its way through some of the worst actions of humanity.

___________________________________

    *He's also called the God of Endings, hence the title.

Book Review: We Are the Brennans

 By Tracey Lange

• Pub Date: 2021

• Genre: Irish Fiction

• Where I bought obtained this book: A Little Free Library in the Wrigleyville section of Chicago 

• Why I bought  obtained this book: My mother was a Brennan from the drumlins and lakes of County Monaghan 

 ******

 

    Based on the blurbs on the novel's cover and comments from friends who have read it, I was thinking I may not like this book. "It's a lot of family drama and bad choices," said one.

    So I was expecting something overtly dramatic, with a soap-opera vibe.

    But it was none of that. Instead, I got a story with solid writing, well-defined characters, familiar settings, and tales of family love, lore, and longing.

    In short, I liked it. I really liked it.

    Oh, it had some questionable plot twists. When the big secret was reveled, the story just kept going, heading for another big reveal. As one character said, he didn't want to see another potential "emotional mess ... just when they were past the worst of it."

    And neither of those secrets was a surprise; indeed, you wondered why the close-knit Brennans hadn't already figured them out.

    As the novel opens, we find Sunday, the only girl in an Irish-American clan with three brothers, needing help. Five years before, she moved from the family home in Westchester County, N.Y., for Los Angeles. She left behind a devoted fiancé -- considered to already be an honorary Brennan; an elderly, widowed father; and three brothers, including Denny, considered the alpha male. Why she left is the first big mystery.

    But now, she finds herself lost in LA,  with a crappy job, a lousy apartment, and a drunken driving charge.

    She heads back home, and as she gets re-acquainted with the family, we learn their ways. Their stories are told in chapters by a narrator who knows them intimately and can see inside their heads. It's a fine way to tell the tale from all sides

    All of the Brennans have made, and continue to make, bad choices. But they back up each other -- most of the time -- although they keep many secrets. When and how those secrets are revealed are the heart and soul of the story.    

    It's a good family tale, even if, sometimes, you just want to give them a well deserved dope slap.

Book Review: King of the Armadillos

 By Wendy Chin-Tanner

• Pub Date: 2023

• Where I bought this book: Irvington Vinyl & Books, Indianapolis 

• Why I bought this book: It's about Chinese immigrants in the Bronx, and it has a great title.*

 *******

    Hansen's disease has been around at least since Biblical times, and it's always been seen as a nasty, frightful, and stigmatizing sickness. It attacks both the body and mind, with painful skin lesions, muscular weakening, growths on or swelling of the nerves or skin, and potential blindness. 

    Formerly called leprosy, those afflicted had been damned as lepers. It was believed to be caused by sinful actions, wrongly thought to be highly contagious, and, more recently, to be spread by people from China.

    That last part is particularly meaningful to this novel, which tells the story of an immigrant Chinese boy who contracts the disease in 1950s New York.

    This self-enclosed novel takes places in that period, and oftentimes brings in the characters' pasts to explain their actions and choices. And those choices matter, whether immediately or sometime in the future. And while time goes by, we see the results and longer term implications of those decisions. 

    Victor Chin is the young boy who emigrated from China to New York with his father, Sam, and older brother Henry. Sam's wife and the boys' mother, Mei, stays behind in their  Chinese village of family obligations. She writes often, and everyone plans for her to one day join them in America.

    Sam works in and later buys a Chinese laundry. There, he meet Ruth, a Jewish woman who soon becomes his lover, and a maternal figure to the two boys.

    But their lives are turned upside down when Victor contracts Hansen's and is sent to a sanatorium in Carville, La.

    It is here where the story begins to move quickly. Victor finds friends, perhaps love, continues to write (never mentioning his disease) to his mother in China, and finds a new relationship with Ruth. He also exhibits a growing independence from his family in New York, and a love and genius for music.

He'd never been exposed to much religion, ... but Victor thought there might be something spiritual about what music made him feel. Maybe that was what people meant when they said they felt the presence of God. A feeling of not being alone, a feeling of being safe. A feeling that there, in the temple of sound he visited when he listened or played, he could let go of what he'd been holding on to so tightly.

    This is the strength of the tale, the heart and soul of the story. Victor begins to find his place in the world, and while knowing that his family may always be there, knows he must take control of his life. We learn more about the background of the other characters, and where they come from.

    Now, it is Victor's turn to stake out his life, to grow up, to come of age as a Chinese immigrant in American.

    The writing here is superb, and the story is about a life -- making decisions, growing and learning, not knowing what the future may portend, but willing to move forward while holding on to the memories and places and people that helped make you.

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

    *He considers himself the King of the Armadillos and takes them as a mascot after learning they are one of the few mammals, beside humans, who contract Hansen's disease.

Book Review: Stories From the Tenants Downstairs

 

•  Author: Sidik Fofana

• Where I bought this book: A Room of One's Own, Madison, Wisc. 

• Why I bought this book: A collection of tales about apartment living in Harlem seemed like a good bet.

*****

      

     This is not a book of happy, spunky tales.

    Rather, the stories in this collection are tales of life, of sorrow, of making do. Of struggling to get by, of cutting corners, of doing what you must to survive.

     If that means taking something that isn't yours, then it's what you do. If it means taking advantage of someone else -- who may or may not be in a better position than you -- then the choice is yours.

    These are tales of making questionable decisions,  choosing between nothing but bad choices, knowing that you can try to fix things later.

    It's not a book of making excuses, or justifying the actions. It's simple stories, explanations perhaps, laying out a life of poverty, indifference, and toil.

    These are tales from an apartment building in Harlem, not quite rundown yet, but not one that has people clamoring to get in. It's a building where the tenants care more than the unseen landlord, but they don't care about much more than how to pay their rent. It's a building on the edge of gentrification, not that that helps those who live there.

    There is Michelle, who tells her story of struggling to find the money to pay the rent on the first of the month or else be homeless. She tells of how she find the money, in different ways each day, and how much more she needs. It's not a tale of lament or woe. It's her life. 

    There are tales of students and teachers in school, putting up with the daily misery because that's what they do. There are tales of hanging out, looking for something to do, whether it's to avenge a perceived wrong or simply to bring a bit of joy into their lives.  

    There is the sad tale of najee, a 12-year-old boy, who writes why he is leaving a dancing activity called lite feet. Written in the vernacular of a young boy with learning disabilities and a literacy problem, it tells of his inability to adapt and fit in with the other boys. It's a struggle to read, mirroring the struggle of najee's life.

    Then there is Mr. Murray, an old veteran who hangs out on the corner with his chessboard, inviting others to play. A new restaurant orders him from his corner, and he moves down the block. But his fellow tenants take up his cause and demand he get to stay. Police are called. The newspapers come. Things happen.

    But this is Mr. Murray's story, and no one asked him. He doesn't care where he sits. He just wants to play chess.

    You up for a game? He'll be in his new spot.

Book Review: The Farm

 

•  Author: Joanne Ramos

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

• Why I bought this book: It's been on my TBR list for a while, so when I saw it, I grabbed it

*******

    There are a lot of evil people in this novel.

    And I don't mean Lex Luther-type evil. Oh wait, I do. That's exactly who I mean. The evil folks in this book are either superduper rich -- like multiple-billions rich -- or wanna-be superduper rich and don't care who they have to step on or over to get there.

   

Gabrielle, the book, and a potted plant

  I would relate some of the utter evilness of their actions, but that would give away some jaw-dropping spoilers. Suffice to say the main storyline is their intention to pay young woman, many immigrants or people of color, to bear children for the superduper wealthy who just can't be bothered to do it for themselves.

     Admittedly, it's a lot of money -- life-changing, they grandly proclaim -- but no figure is ever proposed or given. (And it's only paid after the child is successfully delivered.) As they say when dealing with the superduper wealthy, the devil is in the details. Or perhaps, the devil is in the super-duper-wealthy themselves.

    Anyway, this is a damn good book. Your should go out and buy it, and then read it. 

    The "farm" is an estate in upstate New York where the pregnant women go to live for the time they are pregnant. After being implanted with a fertilized sperm and egg, their lives are no longer their own. They are constantly monitored -- for their own good, of course, and for the good of the babies -- not to mention the super-rich mommies and daddies.

    The women undergo strict testing, but most of them tend to be poor immigrants, usually Filipina, because the author is an emigrant from the Philippines, and it's what she knows best.

    The novel is told in a linear style, with chapters narrated by various characters. There is Jane, the protagonist Filipina who is trying to make a better life for herself and her daughter. Mae is the antagonist who created and runs the farm because she wants to be superduper rich, and caters to those who are because she sees it as a way in.

     Ate is sort of a secondary antagonist -- Jane's aunt and a mother figure to a group of Filipina immigrants in New York City -- whose role changes over the time of the novel. Reagan helps move the action along; she is a young white woman from an upper-middle class family unsure of what she wants out of life.

    Their tales move the story along, and with references to others in Jane and Ate's world, along with several other women at The Farm, who help us understand the rationale of being a surrogate.

Book Review: Good Eggs

•  Author: Rebecca Hardiman

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

• Why I bought this book: I was looking for a quick and fun read; this was her debut novel, and it looked right

******

    Like her character Millie Gogarty, Hardiman tells a good yarn.

 

    But unlike the elderly Millie, who tends to embellish and stretch out her story telling, Hardiman is concise and keen. She writes a pithy and funny tale about the kerfuffle that three generations of a Irish family find themselves in during the rainy season of their discontent.

    Yet, despite their meanderings, mistakes, and muddled lives, we know, deep down, they are good eggs. Why, it says so right on the cover.

    The middle guy in this saga is Kevin, a son and a father who is trying to hold their lives together, but like many a hapless dad, finds that no one really listens to him. Still, he tries.

     He loves his wife (mostly); he adores his four kids (even when they act out), and he does his best for his mother as she enters the purple phase of her life.

    His mother is Millie, elderly and kinda, sorta losing it, but determined to continue as she always has. She wants to keep her seaside house in Dúg Laoghaire, outside of Dublin, but when she gets arrested for mindlessly shoplifting at her local store, gives in to Kevin's insistences she bring in a caretaker.

    Then there's Aideen, Kevin's 16-year-old daughter. She is, well, she's a moody teenager who hates her family, hates her school, and hates her life -- and she isn't shy about letting everyone know. She does not take kindly to her parents' plan to send her to a nearby boarding school.

    There are a few other characters -- Aideen's perfect but bitchy twin, Nuala (who Aideen calls Nemesis); Kevin's mate's mother, Maeve, who gives Kevin the what for: Miss Bleekland, the school's disciplinarian (and old maid); Sylvia, the American helpmate, and assorted friends, neighbors and relatives -- mostly well drawn, but just around for decoration. Except for one of them. Well, maybe two.

    So that's the setting, and the story takes off from there. It's a short book of 323 pages -- and 64 chapters! -- so it moves quickly. It may take a while to introduce everyone before the real action starts, but then things hurry along. 

    It's funny, gentle, and moving.

Book Review: Beasts of a Little Land

•  Author: Juhea Kim

• Where I bought this book: Busboys and Poets, 14th and V Sts., Washington

• Why I bought this book: Such a wonderful vegetarian-friendly restaurant/bookstore. Beyond the great food, I had to support it, and this book called out to me.

  

  *********

    I knew nothing about Korea. Seriously, I was a bit ashamed about my unfamiliarity  regarding one of the world's major cultures and countries.

    Now, I am a little less ignorant. Not an expert by any means. But I now know that Koreans fought for centuries for their independence against their aggressive neighbors.

    Beasts tells the tale of commitment from a variety of Koreans. Kim weaves their stories into a traditional jagakbo from the silk, hemp, and muslin of her characters. Family, community, and tradition combine to bring fortitude and determination amidst wisdom, betrayal, poverty, and wealth.

    She uses vivid descriptions and extraordinary writing to depict her character's lives and how they change over time. They encompass many aspects of Korean society -- street kids, shop owners and soldiers; businessmen and courtesans; artists, actors, and activists.

    For a debut novel, this is quite a start. I look forward to her next work.

    Beasts begins in 1917 in a snowy forest in Korea, with a hunter seeking food for his starving family. He nearly dies in the cold, but when he somehow stops a tiger from attacking a Japanese military officer, he also is saved from a frigid death.

    The story follows their intertwined lives for the next 50-plus years, bringing in others who are memorable, masterfully drawn, and recognizable. There is Jade, a young girl sold to apprentice as a courtesan, but who winds up as so much more. JungHo is a boy who grows into a man as his life intersects with Jade's. HanChol starts as a rickshaw runner and moves ahead. General Yamada, a Japanese soldier, is personally changed after a lifetime of war. MyungBo grows from his beginnings as a socialist and peace activist to a major political actor.

    The story is Korea-specific, but tracks timeless themes: of a revolution in politics and relationships, between longing for the past but adapting to the future. It's about the connections between ruler and ruled, between men and women, and between family and duty and honor.

    The lives of the characters merge, bond, fall apart, and move on. Every character, even the tiger, has a purpose. The writing is exceptional, even poetic at times. The phrasing, the descriptions, and the linear narrative combine to make this novel a joy to read.

Book Review: Migrations

Migrations, by Charlotte McConaghy

    Franny Stone is forever seeking, searching, and surviving.

    The budding ornithologist is of Irish-Australian heritage, but she doesn't feel at home in either place. In fact, she rarely feels at home; she only is comfortable in or by the sea -- preferably alone, in the cold, deep ocean water.

    Set again the backdrop of an earth in the throes of a full-blown extinction crisis -- most land animals are gone, birds are disappearing, and the seas are being emptied of fish -- Migration follows Franny as she chases a flock of Arctic terns on perhaps its last migration. She tells us the terns are known for their record-shattering flights.

   That is true. The Arctic tern, a small bird about a foot long with a 2 1/2-foot wingspan, regularly travels the length of the Earth to its breeding grounds. They start up as far north as Greenland, and criss-cross down the Atlantic Ocean in a S-curve, thought to take advantage of the prevailing winds. They can travel some 44,000 miles on their journey. 

    Franny wants to follow them, and oddly, she persuades a fishing boat to take her. A vegetarian and conservationist, Franny dislikes fishermen, blaming them for the destruction of aquatic life. Her pairing up with them and their craggy captain, Ennis, is one of many contradictions in her life. 

    Others include her love for her husband as she always runs from him. She searches for her family, but shies away from releationships. She survives her own reckless life as she follows extinction.

    The story's main arc is the pursuit of the terns and the tale of  her voyage with the raggedy crew she meets and mostly befriends. But pierced throughout are flashbacks to other episodes in her life, which somewhat explain why she is always so antsy to leave those she loves. Some of those revelations can be startling -- those of the "Wait ... wait ... What?" variation. You find yourself re-reading certain passages just to ensure you understood it correctly.

    That is the allure of this sometimes depressing but mostly uplifting novel. It is stunningly beautiful in its story, in its descriptions, and in its warnings about how our actions are killing the planet. Franny is a wonderfully drawn character, with the flaws and fervor of the great heroes and wanderers in literature.

    It's more than a good read. It's a great read.

Book Review: Witch's Heart

 The Witch's Heart, by Genevieve Gornichec

    Gornichec could do for Norse gods what Madeline Miller and Margaret Atwood did for Greek mythology: Rethink and rewrite them, making them accessible for a new group of readers.

   

    If you're like me, what you know about Norse mythology begins and ends with Thor and his hammer. If that's the case, this well-written and enjoyable novel is an excellent primer into the ancient worlds. An attached appendix, which you will refer to often, is an essential addition.

    Most of the characters here are from the Norse mythology. Gornichec takes their stories, re-imagines them, and tells new tales.

    But even here, gods are needy, violent, and vindictive. The witch is a counterpoint to them, although she has her issues -- which start with her being burned three times, having her heart cut out, but remembering little of who she is.

    So she -- known as Gullveig or Angrboda -- winds up retreating to a cave in Ironwood, a forest in eastern Jotunheim. There she lives her next life -- or, perhaps, a continuation of her previous lives -- as the gods seek to use her talents for their own benefits. This is all laid out in the opening of the book, giving you the background on the characters, their motivations, and their relationships. Pay attention here. It will be worth it.

    Loki, a "blood-brother" of Odin -- he's the top guy -- meets Angrboda and returns her heart. Literally. He hangs around. They have kids -- interesting kids, I might add -- and adventures, together and separately. But this is largely Angrboda's story, told from her perspective, and her loves and interests are the key to the tale.

    Many of the people and events are from the Norse mythology, which like its counterparts in the ancient world, have contradictions, discrepancies, and variations. This is another one.

    The Witch's Heart is about love and longing, about deeds and desirers, about protection and rejection. It a great tale, finely written. Whether Gornichec stays on this path as a writer and novelist is up to her. But I am eager to see more.

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: Queenie

Queenie, by Candice Carty-Williams

Much like its protagonist, this novel is bi-polar. Some of it -- especially the final couple of chapters -- is extraordinary. 

But too much of it is mundane or head-scratching. It's meant to portray a woman going through a tough period in her life, but sometimes you want to be like her grandmother and figuratively smack her upside the head and tell her to get her act together.

OK, perhaps that is cruel thought when discussing a book about a potential mental illness, an issue the book handles quite well. But you often see where Queenie is headed, and want to beg her to avoid the poor choices you know she is going to make. It's going to turn out badly -- you know it, she knows it; hell, all of England knows it -- yet she's going to play it through.

And yes, I recognize I am a man critiquing a woman's perspective, with all the limitations that entails. 

Queenie Jenkins is a young black woman of Jamacian heritage growing up in south London. A lot is changing in her life -- she's starting a new job, her white boyfriend is on the edge of dumping her -- taking a break, he calls it -- and her traditional Caribbean neighborhood of Brixton is undergoing gentrification. So she tries to muddle through by overreacting, underreacting, and looking to fill her loneliness with sex.

Queenie also tries to be a politcal activist. She expresses both sadness and anger at the number of black men and women in the United States and the United Kingdom who are being harassed and attacked by police. She tries, without success, to get her editor to give her assigments on the issue. She is an avid supporter of Black Lives Matter.

The book includes some decent arguments on these issue. But not near enough, and when they occur, they seem like afterthoughts.  They are few and far between, being overtaken by her chatter with her girlfriends, her poor decisions about men, her roommates, and her family problems. 

Perhaps I wanted and expected a more political book about dealing with what it's like to grow up as a black woman in London. Because I did get some of that. But I got more pesonal matters -- if you enjoy reading about those, go ahead and grab this book. It does have its strong points.

Overall, it just isn't -- to overuse a British phrase -- my cup of tea.

This Year in Books: 2019 Edition

My Best Books of 2019

I like to begin the year reading a favorite story about one of the greatest baseball players of all time. Roberto Clemente died New Year's Eve 1972 when he boarded a plane to take supplies to Nicaragua, which had been recently devastated by an earthquake. The plane crashed, killing the 38-year-old Clemente, the pilot, and three others.

Fifteen years later, writer W.P. Kinsella, working off the idea that Clemente's body had never been found, wrote "Searching for January," in which a tourist sees Clemente coming ashore in 1987. In a touch of magical realism, they discuss what happened and what might have been.

Ready for breakfast and the yearly reading of Kinsella's work.

OK, that's a long intro/aside to my first Year in Review blog post, featuring the best books I have read this year. According to my Goodreads profile, I read a book a week, which, according to one estimate I have seen, means I read about 50 pages a day. Sounds about right.

Anyway, of those, I have selected eight as my books of the year. Why eight, you ask? Why not, I respond.

So here were go.

The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek, by Kim Michele Robinson. This novel, about a WPA project that paid women to ride mules into the hollers of Eastern Kentucky, became one of my favorite of all time. The writing is extraordinary, vivid, and sensitive. Richardson reaches perfection in her use of dialect -- just the right amount to give flavor to the speech of the people, but never too much. In addition to her keen ear, Richardson has a keen heart and mind in creating and letting her characters live their lives. Full review.

The Bees, by Laline Paull. Paull gives us a hive of honeybees that are feminist, pro-labor, and loyal, and presents them to tell a story of love, hope, and commitment. It's a book not about bees, but about us. It's about how we are locked into a caste at birth and struggle mightily to escape. Full review.

Washington Black, by Esi Edugyan. With powerful and explosive writing, Edugyan tells the tale of George Washington Black, who begins life as a field slave on a plantation in Barbados in the 19th Century. From that beginning, she follows Wash through the United States, Canada, and England, as he tries to escape slavery and live the life of a freeman. But melancholy and a haunted, hunted existence follows him. Full review.

The Testaments, by Margaret Atwood. This is today's story of what happens in the years of The Handmaid's Tale and its government of Gilead. It is told in various voices, from a top aunt in the organization to members of the resistance. They include children, who only know Gilead after the revolution, as they are taught little about the previous life. It's an inspiring tale from a top-notch writer. Full review.

Elevation, by Stephen King. This is an unusually short Stephen King book, but it's also the ultimate Stephen King book. It has great characters in a great story that's well written, with a little supernatural sprinkled in. It's a short novel packed with intensity and issues. Full review.

Unsheltered, by Barbara Kingsolver. Kingsolver melds past and present into a sentimental yet unsparing tale, exploring how our present determines our future and influences interpretations of the past. In her literate prose, with a gift for the narrative of empathy and understanding, Kingsolver touches on what moves us all -- our family, our homes, our beliefs, and our hopes for the futures. Full review

Night Boat to Tangier, by Kevin Barry. In the long, extraordinary history of great Irish writers, Barry is finding himself among the elite. Night Boat tells about  two old Irish drug dealers and wanderers, who have made it good, then lost most of it. As they wait in a Spanish port for one character's daughter, Barry tells their story in writing that is ravishingly beautiful. He makes every word count, and causes you to use your five senses to take it all in. Full review.

Music Love Drugs War, by Geraldine Quigley. Quigley introduces us to a group of young friends and acquaintances in Derry, Northern Ireland, at the start of the 1980s. Most of them are in their late teens and on the cusp of adulthood, but unsure of their futures. They live in a city where jobs are scarce, the violence can be thick, and the hope can be slim. Their pleasures lie in drugs, music, and each other. Their fears and realities lie in the violent struggle that has engulfed Ireland for 400 years. Full review.

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: On the Come Up

On the Come Up, by Angie Thomas

This is not my world. It's Bri's world, and she's letting me visit. Bri is a champion tour guide. She tells me things. Things I didn't know. Things I need to know.

Things like how woefully ignorant I am about popular culture, particularly black popular culture. For instance, I had no idea black nerds existed, and that superheroes and comic books are a thing among young African-Americans. I also learned about daps, snapbacks, and timbs.

Look, I am an old white guy living in the suburbs, Bri, Angie Thomas's smart, hip, talented, and ambitious protagonist, is a 16-year-old black girl living in the ghetto with her mother and brother. Her father, a popular rapper, was killed in a drive-by shooting when she was a child.

Bri wants to emulate him, but she also wants to be her own person -- in many ways, that's a common enough struggle for any teen-ager. But Bri's life is more complicated.

For one thing, members of the gang who shot her father are contemptuous of and try to thwart any success she might achieve. Her mother, a recovering heroin addict, is trying to raise her two children and find a decent job. Her brother -- who returned home after college to help out the family but can only find a job making pizzas -- likes to analyze everyone with his degree in psychology. Her aunt, who is also her mentor,  is a drug dealer. Her paternal grandparents like to throw shade on her mother. Her best friends are growing up with their own crises.

And Bri finds out that people -- even perfect strangers -- judge her through lenses tinged with bias, pre-judgment, and outright bigotry. Her teachers condemn her as "aggressive" when she speaks her mind. White parents blame her rap lyrics for any violence that occurs. Even those with good intentions see her as a ghetto hoodrat, and want her to become one -- or at least play the role.

How she handles that is shown through Thomas' masterful story-telling and crisp, descriptive writing. Thomas knows her characters and their lives. She bring them into ours with dignity, compassion, and respect.

Resurrected reviews

Spill Simmer Falter Wither, by Sara Baume

The TBR Stack is premiering a new feature, where I dig up and revive a pre-TBR book review. For the opening post, I selected my review of one of the best-written books I have read, which I  finished on April 9, 2016.

I read this short book slowly. I wanted to savor its every word. It is beautifully written, with splendid  rhythms and word selection. It enhances the story like a blue-ink fountain pen complements cream-colored note paper.

But the plot itself? Meh.

It's a tales about a man and his dog, neither of whom is very likable. The man, unloved or scorned in his small Irish town because he's a fearful hermit, adopts a dog to keep him company after his father dies.

The dog can be vicious -- attacking smaller dogs and snapping at children -- so the pair take off and travel around Ireland to avoid the consequences. The story tells of their life on the road, struggling to survive and living out of his car for weeks on end.

Its title is a hint to the structure of the story, which revolves around the seasons of the year. It starts in the spring, a time of regrowth, and ends in the winter, when life tends to shut down.

The ending here, though, adds much to the story, and puts the human character in perspective.

The dog, not so much.

Book Review: Mad and Furious City

In Our Mad and Furious City, by Guy Gunaratne

Gunaratne's debut novel is both sad and angry, full of hope and full of despair. It is beautifully written in the voices of the old and the young, those who revolt in violence and those who see courage in running from the gathering storm. It displays the voices of those united in their poverty, who have lived its hatreds, its futility, and its destructive impulses.

This is London at its inner core, with the story of the dispossessed, growing up in the shadow of massive towers built for the unwanted. It's the story directly told by those involved -- the children and the parents who know the violence and the heartbreak of being outside the mainstream.

The story is told in five voices: There are Selvon and Ardan, who are both looking for a way out. Yusuf is torn between the comfort of and the growing oppression of his religion, and the influence it is having on his older brother, Irfan. Nelson and Caroline are the remnants of an older generations who have seen it all before.

At the start, the style is a bit confusing: the characters take some time to become individually known and recognized. Their occasional use of British slang muddles the issue; here Google was my friend, as I looked up the words and learned something. Those terms quickly became well-known, innit?

The voices soon become familiar and reassuring, and their temperament becomes soothing as the story increasingly grows edgy. Here comes the aftermath of a soldier being killed and his body hanged. An angry white mob wants revenge, and descends upon the council estate (public housing) of mostly immigrants of color from Southwest Asia. Those residents, who simply want to move on with their lives, either stay and battle or avoid the fight. Complicating the issue is the new leadership of the local mosque, which wants its membership to become more insular and conservative.

The writing complements the book's rhythm and flow. As the struggle nears its climax, the chapters get shorter, the writing tighter, and the action more intense. You feel yourself in the midst of everything, as you are hearing from all the characters' perspectives. It's a strong ending for the story, by a brilliant writer.

The book's blurbs are filled with comments about how we will hear a lot from this young writer. I agree. This novel was on the longlist for the 2018 Man Booker prize. He is off to a fine start.

This Week in Books, 5th Ed.

So. I found this list of new Irish writers in The Irish Times book section, and I have a sneaking suspicions I will be buying several of the selections. Their books may be hard to find here in the states, but I do have several options on the interwebs that do not include Amazon!!!  I am not a big fan of the megalith, mainly for its work helping to destroy local bookstores.

Indeed, several of my internet choices are local bookstores, even though they may be thousands of miles away. I define "local" rather broadly. figuring it's local somewhere. Right?

Adding to the stack

 Speak, by Laurie Halse Anderson;
Dreyer's English, by Benjamin Dreyer;
and Song of Achilles, by Madeline Miller

Speaking of local bookstores, I went to one this weekend and bought these,  which will be going in The Stack. >>>

^^^ Also, my daughter added to the stack by recommending Wife of the Gods, by Ghanaian author Kwei Quartey. Because one of my goals this year is to read more writers of color, it's a good choice, and I am looking forward to it.

<<< Then there was this run of about 5.5 miles along the muddy trails and up the Stone Steps at Mt. Airy Park in Cincinnati on a cold but sunny Saturday. You can see me there in the middle, I climbed to the top of those steps, which rise 276 feet over the span of a quarter mile, a grade that averages 20 percent.

That sharp rise in the middle? That's the Stone Steps