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: Thirteen Ways of Looking

  By Colum McCann

• Pub Date: 2015

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

• Why I bought this book: I love me a good collection of Irish short stories. 

 *****

 

  I am sad that I was generally disappointed in this collection of a novella and three short stories. I have liked several of the author's previous works.

    OK. The stories themselves were decent. The last one, Treaty, about a aging Catholic nun who comes face-to-face with her living nightmare, was thoughtful and compelling. But that one suffered from a flaw the others were far more guilty of, and unexpected from such an accomplished writer: A general lack of focus, using too many words, too much excess description, too much meaningless detail and too many strained metaphors  

    But let's start with the good. Treaty involves Sister Beverly, a nun living in a care home in Long Island, concerned about her health and wondering if her religious life has been a waste. She's forgetful, ill at ease, and unable to feel comfortable in her old age. Then on the television, she sees a man who looks very much like an older version of person who raped her a long time ago. 

    The story deals with perception, pain, horror, and regret. She relives her pain, but does not want to dwell on it as the defining point of her life. Would God want her to reveal the monster -- if that is what he is -- or forgive his actions? Her thoughts and behaviors are deeply compelling, and McCann's tale paints a masterful image.

    Contrast that to the main story, about Peter J. Mendelssohn,  an aging white guy, an immigrant, a Jew, a lawyer, and a former judge in Brooklyn. He's retired, and now living -- and dying -- in a fancy apartment on the Upper East Side. He's had a good life, despite an upbringing in anti-Semitic Europe. But now his days are all about his pains, his diminished capacity, his beloved but now dead wife, and his terse relationship with his egotistical son. 

    But unlike Sister Beverly, his story is not about reflection and regret. It's about him, his thoughts, and his dying. And, quite frankly, his life and story are not all that interesting for the amount of effort it takes to read about it.

    The other two stories, Sh'khol, and What Time is it Now, Where are You? also fall flat.

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: Blackberries, Blackberries

 By Crystal Wilkinson

• Pub Date: 2000

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

• Why I bought this book: For the cover art -- and the title

********

    Short stories comprise many a genre, providing an outlet for stylish writing, whether it be a character study, a self-narrative, a moment in time, or a profile of home.

    The writing may be descriptive or stark. The story may be complete or part of a larger whole. But at their best, short stories allow writers to explore a small slice of life, of time, or of place.

    The best ones are concise, and telling.

    This collection takes all the options, to the benefit of the reader. The tales are brief, most less than 10 pages, some just two or three. But the stories they tell.

    Wilkinson grew up in the mountains of Eastern Kentucky, poor and Black, surrounded by family and community. She watched and listened. She learned to read people and reflect on their nature. She did it for survival, for the times to come, and for the hereafter. She captured their words and their messages. 

      Writing in the vernacular is hard, and often writers fail miserably. But Wilkinson nails it in ways hard to express. Indeed, the English language has few words to describe dialect that aren't degrading or dismissive, an subtle acknowledgement those who make such linguistic decisions look askance at such speaking or writing.

    But Wilkinson pulls it off, and it adds texture and character to her writing. Take for example, her story, Women's Secrets, in which a grandmother, Big Mama, cautions her daughter, Mama, who is young and looking for love wherever she may find it. Mama's daughter, our narrator, pays attention when Big Mama speaks.

I seen that Adams boy sniffing 'round here at your skirts but he ain't no count. Him nor his brothers. His daddy weren't no count neither. What he gonna give a family, girl? Ain't never gonna be nothing. Ain't got no learning. Ain't gonna never have no land. Gambling and carrying like sin.

    Later, in the same story, Big Mama gets more down home, unleashing her tongue and giving Mama a big heap of learnin.

"Chile, mens these times just ain't like your daddy." Big Mama takes a big loud breath and starts in on Mama again. "Ain't nare one of 'em no more than breath and britches, specially them Adams boys. Watch my words now girl, I'm telling you. Ain't good for not a damn. God in heaven forgive me but ain't good for not a damn. Breath and britches all they are."

      The stories are personal, and depend much on the relationships between women, particularly mothers and daughters. Their stories, literally, are about life and death. One, Waiting on the Reaper shows Wilkinson at her best, telling the tale of an old woman waiting to die, which she could have learned only by listening to a old woman waiting to die. 

    "I'm ready now," she said. "Ain't got too much time. Gonna see Lonnie and my little girlfriend that drowned in a well when I was ten."

Book Review: Unfamiliar Fishes

 By Sarah Vowell

• Pub Date: 2011

• Where I bought this book: Last Exit Books, Kent, Ohio 

• Why I bought this book: I read a previous book by the same author and liked her writing style

*****

    It's the final decade of the 19th Century, and the United States is feeling mighty smug about itself.

    That whole Manifest Destiny thing is working out pretty well. The country covers the area between Canada and Mexico, from sea to shining sea, with just a few areas yet to be consolidated into several states. So it's time to look further out, build up its sea power with a big ole navy and widespread naval bases, and start becoming a world power.

    Look to the west. There's lots of oceans and countries to  acquire, starting with the Sandwich Islands. Indeed, it even has a foothold in those lands, called Hawaii by the natives, and it's sure the monarchy will enjoy being part of the Greatest Country on Earth. (r) If the islanders kick up a fuss, it can always remind Queen Liliuokalani what happened to King George III's forces back in 1781 at the Battle of Yorktown.

    And the United States had been muddling around in Hawaii since 1820, when a couple of New Englanders set out to Christianize the population and stuck around, so they and their descendants could change the natives' culture and overthrow their queen.

    It's quite an agenda, and when you read the history books, you realize that before the dawn of the 20th Century, the United States had invaded the Philippines in a war with Spain that started with a bombing (or maybe just an explosion?) in Cuba. It had taken colonies in the Caribbean, Hawaii, Guam, and the Philippines. It was well on its way to becoming a world power.

    Vowell sees 1898 as the pivot-point of that domination, when all of the United States' meddling and wannabe imperialism came together. Looking back at the islands' history and culture, its geography and politics, she gives a broad oversight about what happened in the 70-odd years the United States nosed around and took control.

    With her trademark caustic wit and satirical asides, she tells about how the Pilgrims and Puritans bring what they see as their superior culture -- particularly their religion -- to a land of lost souls. It's timely reading now, and you can learn how the recent firestorms and deaths are tied to the changes they brought to Hawaii's traditional culture.

Just as the sugar plantations changed the islands' ethnic makeup, they also profoundly altered the physical landscape. We were talking about Maui's central plain before the advent of commercial agriculture. (Gaylord Kubota, director of the Sugar Museum on Maui) says, "Isabella Bird, a traveler in the 1870s, described central Maui as a veritable Sahara in miniature. There were these clouds of sand and dust. That's what central Maui looked like before. . . . (Kubota shows Vowell a photo and points out) a visible line where the irrigated land stops. There the greenery ends, and the desert, complete with cactus, begins.

    The dry climate of the island was covered over. It helped feed the fire of the past month.

Book Review: The Mammy

By Brendan O'Carroll

• Pub Date: 1999 

• Where I bought this book: Last Exit Books, Kent, Ohio 

• Why I bought this book: I read The Young Wan, another book in this "not a series" and it was tender and funny

******

    Agnes Browne is a widowed mother of seven children, living in a ghetto of North Dublin in the late 1960s, and eking out a living selling produce in the market on Moore Street.

    Yet this is not a sad story of Irish poverty, nor a heavy-handed outlook on Irish life. Rather, it's an amusing, sometimes laugh-out-loud, yet always loving look at a mother dealing with the realities of raising six young boys and a sole daughter.

    One of the funniest chapters has her handling her eldest boy, Mark, 12 and unknowingly entering puberty, who is petrified when he finds hair growing on what he called his willy. She first wanted to know who willy was. When she realized it was his penis, she put on the kettle.

    She told him it was part of his growing up. When he asked why, she said her modern woman's explanation went out the window. "That's to keep your willy warm when you go swimming." 

    She was done. "Now, out with yeh," 

    So, Agnes can be profane and exasperated, yet warm to her brood. She accepts their traits and quirks, letting them be themselves as much as they can within the confines of their tiny flat. She keeps them in line, but will go to the mat when they're mistreated by the hard nuns at their Catholic School.

    It's a strong woman and mother, who anybody who has lived with or knows an Irish Catholic family is quite familiar with.

    O'Carroll paints her and the family in broad strokes, giving us small vignettes to portray Agnes, her family, her friends, and her neighborhood. At less than 200 pages, it's a quick and funny read.

Book Review: Trespasses

 By Louise Kennedy

• Pub Date: 2022

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

• Why I bought this book: I found it after a long  search, because it's about Northern Ireland.

******  

    I liked the stories of life in Belfast as The Troubles were settling in for a long spell in the early 1970s. The romantic episodes, not so much.

    But that romance -- between a married Protestant lawyer who defends Republican activists and young Catholic teacher whose family owns the rare pub that welcomes both sides -- is integral to the overall tale.

    Cushla lives with her mother on the outskirts of  Belfast, and like the majority of her community, is just trying to find a life away from the violence that is 1970s Northern Ireland. She's taking care of her mother, who likes the drink a bit too much, helping her brother out at the family pub, and teaching her young charges at a Catholic primary school.

    While cleaning up at the bar one night, she meets Michael Agnew, and against her better judgment but seduced by his charm and caring nature, begins a not-so-secret affair. 

    Cushla is a middling and complicated character. She knows her duties -- to family, to Catholicism, to Ireland -- but her heart isn't in it. She knows her heart -- Michael, with his failings, treats her decently and lifts her up. She knows what she should do -- help out one of her students from a neighboring, mixed family who are trying to raise decent children amidst their poverty, but she also knows both communities look down on them.

    Cushla's complications are Northern Ireland's complications. In fits and starts, sometimes headed in the wrong direction, sometimes going against the grain, both her and her community mostly try to do the right things. But being pulled in all directions, neither are quite sure what the right thing really is.

    The ending is satisfying. And that's all I'll say about that.

Book Review: The Gospel of Orla

 By Eoghan Walls

• Pub Date: 2023

• Where I bought this book: The Novel Neighbor, Saint Louis. 

• Why I bought this book: Jesus returns to a young Irish girl living in England.

*******  

    Orla is an unhappy 14-year-old. Her mother is dead. Her father is an alcoholic. School sucks. Her teachers suck. Her friends have deserted her. Her cat dies.

 

   Then, as she's planning to run away from home, she meets Jesus.

    Seriously. Not a pretend Jesus, but the Son of God, back to preach his father's word. But he's unsure how to go about it. 

    He's a little confused, roaming around parts of England, unsure of how he got there. He remembers being in Israel, dying, and lying around under the sea for a while. He knows the message he wants to spread -- peace and love and kindness -- and he thinks people will just follow him intuitively.

    He's unsure when he is. He hasn't heard of the internet, but becomes fascinated when Orla starts to teach him about wifi and Google maps. Cell phones are a mystery: He knows about phones, but thinks they are attached to walls. Personal hygiene is a concern -- he smells pretty rank, Orla says, and he thinks running around wearing only a blanket is an OK thing.

    Orla's a bit dubious about him, until she sees him bring a dead animal back to life. Then she decides she can use him to help her run away, and in return can teach him a thing or two about reaching out to people in modern times and on social media.

    The story ranges from Orla's plans, to her family life, to her days in school, to flashbacks about how her life got to the mess it is. Her tales of her time with Jesus are written in the style of the gospels, but with the voice of a teenage girl.  

 

    Walls is an Irish poet, and the prose often sings with a lyrical lilt. This is his first novel, and it's well done, with a fine story to go along with Orla's unique voice.

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: The Wordy Shipmates

•  Author: Sarah Vowell
• Pub Date: 2008

• Where I bought this book: Joseph-Beth, Norwood, Ohio 

• Why I bought this book: I heard the author on NPR once, and she seemed amazing 

*******

    You might not think that a history book exploring the lives of some of the earliest immigrants to the United States -- the somber Puritans who came to Boston in the 1600s because the religious figures in England were not strict enough -- would make for a witty, rollicking tale of adventure and petty in-fighting.

    But you would be wrong.

    Vowell's tale, complete with the letters and journals of the men -- and the few women -- who made an impact on the Massachusetts Bay Colony, is a joy to read. It's history come alive, as reported by a somewhat snarky, knowledgeable reporter who, with a wry grin sadly shakes her head at the goings on.

    She brings in popular culture -- from the Brady Bunch to Bruce Springsteen, to Thanks, an oddball situation comedy that lasted six episodes in 1999 -- to help show how we've gotten it all wrong and entirely misunderstand the point of the first English colonists and their relationships with each other and the native culture. When one of them, John Winthrop, spoke about building a "city on a hill," they also missed the point, much like candidate Ronald Reagan misinterpreted Winthrop and Springsteen's Born in the U.S.A. in 1984.    

In the U.S.A., we want to sing the chorus and ignore the verses, ignore the blues.

      So, Vowell aims to set us straight. Chockful of primary sources, she covers the Puritans' voyage from their leaving of England in 1630 to their first years in what they called New England. The title is acknowledgement that the Puritans weren't stuffy, ignorant people, (well, they tended to be stuffy, but ...) but serious men and women who knew their religion, had a specific interpretation of their Bible, and could argue and explain exactly what they wanted and why. Along with fighting evil and burning Indians, they wrote and collected books and created colleges of learning.

    And they did it their way.

Book Review: Haven

 

•  Author: Emma Donoghue

• Where I bought this book: The Strand, New York City. 

• Why I bought this book:  Donoghue is one of my favorite writers, and this is her latest.

********

    This slow, meandering narrative is like taking a trip down the Shannon River sometime in the Seventh Century.

    It's a meaningful ride, one of compelling stories and heartbreak, of questions of life and immortality, of whether being alone is the same as loneliness.  

    It tells of Irish history, both physical and spiritual. It tells of Christian ideology, or the desire to please that version of  god above all else, whatever that may mean. 

    It begin when Artt, a monk at a monastery on the western coast of Ireland, has a vision of himself and two other men  finding a more isolated location to better worship God. Artt feels the current monastery has too many comforts -- regular meals, a warm place to sleep, and music during the evening hours. But Artt fervently believes that only by suffering and fending for themselves -- and above all putting God at the center of their lives -- could they properly honor his will.

    So he gathers Trian, a naïve young man, and Cormac, who came to the monastery late in life, after his family died in a plague, and the trio sets off to find an isolated rock on Ireland's Atlantic coast.

    The novel continues its slow journey, as the men find Skellig Michael -- an actual place eight miles off the coast of County Kerry that was founded by monks sometime in the latter part of the First Millennium. It is what Artt wants, set off from human habitation, a windswept, rocky land that would focus their minds on worshipping, honoring, and praising God.

    The basics of this story are real. Skellig Michael, now a tourist attraction, is lonely, cold, and hard to get to. Evidence shows that monks did arrive there more than a thousand years ago, built some stone structures and attempted to open a monastery so they could worship the Christian God more than life itself.

    You know, I get the desire to live alone, on some forgotten -- or as yet unknown -- part of the world. And while it's not for me, I get the dream of making a life on one's own, to be self-sufficient, to live among nature, and to sleep under the stars. 

    But what I don't understand is the need to welcome -- even to seek -- pain and suffering and deprivation to ensure your devotion is real. Artt insists that his monks should serve their God first and foremost, and thus building shrines and worship centers must take precedence over finding shelter and supplies.

    Artt wants the days to be spent honoring God, which includes copying out, by hand, the words of the sacred text. And to do this means creating the paper, ink, and writing materials, instead of finding food, water, and other necessities of life. Artt nixes that, saying only that God will provide. To doubt that is to doubt God.

    Donoghue explores the questions of what is love and survival. She blends the aspirations of Trian and Cormac to serve God and keep their vow to obey and follow Artt despite his  contentions that God wants them to suffer while doing so.

    Artt sees their human needs as selfish, while they come to see his philosophy of God as rather pointless.