We, the Drowned

Original image from stevementz.com.

Title: We, the Drowned
Author: Carsten Jensen
Year: 2010 (English)
Genre: Historical, exploration
Rating: 1

What do we base our identities on? Does the shape of the whole define the shape of each individual, or the other way round? Perhaps both.

W.B. Yeats once wrote, 

              The finished man among his enemies? 

                    How in the name of heaven can he escape

        that defiling and disfigured shape

 the mirror of malicious eyes 

          casts upon his his eyes until at last 

                 he thinks that shape must be his shape?

                            And how in the name of heaven can he escape

            if honor find him in a wintry blast? 

--A Dialogue of Self and Soul

  Carsten Jensen's seafaring novel We, the Drowned not only explores the ending days of sailing ships and the Danish world, but also delves into the heart of those questions that purse us every time that something ends. Where do we go from here? What am I without it? 

Told from the perspective of no particular character, only the we of the town, the novel tells the story of a Danish seafaring town called Marstal off the northeastern coast of Denmark. For generations, men and their sons and their grandsons have gone to school until confirmation, then taken to the decks of ships to sail around the world, only returning once every two years or so. Those left behind, the mothers and children and parents, wonder if they will ever see their sons again, but have to learn to live around it-- Marstal is a seafaring town. The men take pride in it, and don't care if they drown. To them, that's just collateral damage in their line of work.

The book tells the story of Marstal from 1848 until the end of World War II, sharing the lives and adventures of several people along the way, but never from their perspective. It is always the townspeople sharing the story from the outside, as if they were reading diary entries or sharing the tales over beer in a pub. We begin with Laurids Madsen, the heart of Marstal seafaring, a man who trusted nothing save his own skills and his sea boots. He disappears into the South Pacific, and fifteen years later, his abandoned son Albert goes looking for him to give his family some closure. We trace Albert's life from beginning to end, and we meet Knud Erik, a boy who was denied the sea by his mother, and wanted the adventure with his whole heart. Dozens of other names float by, like acquaintances we only knew a little, living their lives and passing away as time goes by.

The first chapter is a bid muddled, as you are walking in on a complex world that you know very little of, but everything soon falls into place. The crew is the "we" in this case, and they tell the stories of the legendary Laurids Madsen, like a hero that they all knew, who did nothing more than survive. That is the legacy of Marstal-- those who survive are the heroes.

The greatest majority of the book, though, involves Albert. After becoming a hero for sailing the South Pacific and returning with tales of cannibals and shrunken heads, Albert watches his friends die and his town grow old, and he can do nothing to stop it. He watches his own life drift idly by after he comes ashore, constantly longing for the danger of the sea, and conflicted by his own desire. After all, who is he without the sea? He is a sailor, and if he no longer sails, he's drifting.

Knud Erik, too, is an vividly living character, full of latent desire, suppression, and longing, pursued by his own dreams. He was shaped from a young age to love the sea and sailing, and once he reaches it, it's so different than his expectations that he's not sure what to do. His whole life has been about sailing, and when his desires change as he ages, he falls stagnant, trapped by his achievement.

Jensen is brilliant. Even though We, the Drowned has been translated from the Danish, it reads smoothly and beautifully in English, even the idioms and quotes falling into place. He clearly has a passion for this town and its history, and as he grew up there, he understands the dreams of the people and the things lost. Marstal comes to life in its biography, fraught with danger and very real characters.

The novel is gritty, dark, and gruesome where it needs to be, but no more so than necessary to be real. Many times adventure novels become romanticized, and while this book has its fictional elements, the core of it is so deeply human and real that even the words of the characters come to life. Every Marstaller walks the streets, warm with the blood of their ancestors that we knew, full of the dreams that they know will never come true.

The core is all about identity. We all know that nothing lasts forever, even if we hope it will, and life is all about learning to say goodbye and change ourselves. Marstal faces the extinction of its way of life, and even though the men are the greatest sailors in the world, they cannot stop the end of the sailing ship as they had known it for centuries. Laurids' identity is in his thirst for adventure, and it ruins him; Albert's identity is in his skill and experience as a sailor, and once he retires, he is forced to change himself. Knud Erik's identity is in his dreams and ambitions as a sailor and defiance of his mother. There is a drawing point where each man must face failure or change, and some do, but some fade away.

The second chapter is the most strikingly poignant. We are placed amongst the schoolboys of Marstal, tortured by Isager, the abusive schoolteacher. He teaches them to accept pointless abuse, because that is what they will get aboard ships their whole lives, and the readers recoil against it. And rightly so-- it is horrific, but real. In the middle of the chapter, the boys have a quiet moment, and they say poignantly,  "We committed appalling acts and only realized the horror of what we'd done when we stood gathered around the evidence of our atrocity. Violence was like a drug that we couldn't relinquish. He planted a thirst for blood in us. One that could never be quenched."

In addition to the brilliant main characters, every side character is unique and colorful. Jensen has painted a full picture of a town, leaving no one out and nothing corrected. For example, Lorentz, a contemporary of Albert, is constantly seeking acceptance and only learns to accept himself by years of rejection. Another striking character that is nearly impossible to sort out is Herman, a darkly suspicious man who does what he will, but he is still a Marstaller and therefore "one of us."

At 678 pages, We, the Drowned is a hefty novel, but it wastes no time on unnecessary moments. Capturing the very real parts of life is the challenge to the novelist, but Jensen has done it so poignantly that his work will survive amidst names like Moby Dick, The Old Man and the Sea, and The Odyssey.

Available for just $9.32 from the Kindle store, We, the Drowned is one of the best books I've ever read. I have a deep fondness in my bones for seafaring novels (stemming from a childhood copy of Carry On, Mr. Bowditch) but this one goes even deeper. Because of its raw emotion and beauty, this novel will live forever in the hearts of those who quest for adventure and identity. We all want to know who we are, and we belong to each other just as much as everyone belongs to us.

The Winter Vault

Title: The Winter Vault
Author: Anne Michaels
Year: 2009
Genre: Historical fiction/romance
Rating: 4

Everyone knows that one guy that's just too articulate. You know, the guy who uses phrases like "his soul is courage," or maybe "it rolled out like a papyrus scroll in my palm." After awhile, it crosses the line from pleasantly odd to creepy to just plain annoying, no matter if he's right or wrong. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate those people-- they spice up life, give me something to think about when we're chatting across the table. But that kind of wording just doesn't really belong there, even if it is creative.
That is exactly the problem with Anne Michaels' The Winter Vault-- something about it is just off. The words all go together in beautiful order, lining up and falling into place with imagery that makes sense, but when compiled only make an enormous pile of pretty phrases. Not entirely unexpected for a poet, but still disappointing.
The novel follows the story of Avery and Jean, a Canadian newlywed couple come to the Nile valley to help with the relocation of Abu Simbel in order to build the Great Aswan Dam. Avery is an engineer and a "machine worshipper," whose mind works in a whirl of cogs and gears into a perfectly oiled machine. Jean, on the other hand, is a botanist, interested only in the growth of the exotic plants of the Egyptian river valley and the destruction that the dam is going to do to them. Tragedy unfolds and pulls the couple apart as they go back to the cold north, where Jean becomes involved with a Polish immigrant named Lucjan and Avery tries to get on with his life. Instead, they find that they're still caught up irretrievably in one another.
Unfortunately, the novel is not told nearly so cleanly. First, Michaels does away with all that "chapter" rubbish that us readers have been clinging to since the Dark Ages, replacing it with short sections that have no notation of time. This might have been fine if they didn't attempt T.S. Eliot-style time jumps, lurching back and forth between the past so suddenly that the reader is left seasick before twenty pages are past.
Avery and Jean's relationship, while soft and gentle in some places, is eyebrow-raisingly strange in others. For one, they always seem to end up talking about their parents in their spare seconds between cuddles, and is constantly interrupted by poetic epiphanies. From my experiences in the real world, poetry is the last thing that comes to my mind when I'm on a date.
The biggest, greyest, most awkward elephant in the room here is the language. Now, I'm pretty lenient about poetry in fiction-- after all, Homer and Shakespeare were both great novelists and poets-- but this book crosses the line into illegibility after awhile. Drowned in turns of phrase and tropes, the real thoughts of the characters become lost in the prose, and they become mere red blood cells for the oxygen of Michaels poetic thought. She ought to stick to poetry if she wants to make points about life without developing characters into human beings that her readers can relate to.
Not to say that the poetry is not breathtaking; Michaels clearly has talent as a writer. There are phrases and paragraphs that are deeply moving, thought provoking, and memorable, each clearly meditated and contemplatively written. Too bad they're just in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong book.
(On an unrelated note, ever read a novel by a Canadian? Americans with a penchant for foreign dialects will enjoy the Joyce-style quotations and the spellings of words like "tonne" and "colour.")
Some of the greatest books known to bibliophiles are those rife with beautiful phrasing, flowing with the deepest thoughts of their writers. And yet, they still create between those words the characters that have taken root so deeply in our hearts that they become inseparable from our very souls-- in other words, they are a part of us. That is the mark of truly good fiction: as Mr. Nabokov says, "the merging of the precision of poetry with the intuition of science."
The Winter Vault is available on the Kindle for $11.99, or $14.50 in hardback from Amazon. A copy was logged away in the back shelves of my local library, so unless your local branch has one, I wouldn't advise going and looking for it. The language is worth a glance, but no more than if you pick it up on the coffee table and read a page or two.

The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet

Title: The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet
Author: David Mitchell
Year: 2010
Genre: Historical fiction/conspiracy
Rating: 2

Places and times can capture our souls. A wise man once told me that we spend ten percent of our lives making new happiness and ninety percent trying to stay there rather than trying to find new ways to be happy. Have we not all felt that tug of nostalgia for a day long gone, perhaps a golden afternoon from childhood or the memory of a young love?
In David Mitchell's newest novel The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, he explores the bittersweet realities of losing your heart to something you can never have. With the light-fingered writing that he first showcased in 2004's Cloud Atlas, Mitchell draws us in again, this time to a far more grounded story of how enchantments really do exist.
When we first meet the titular character, he has just had his nose broken by a cheating former official of the Dutch East India Company. Jacob de Zoet is a humble clerk, hoping to earn the hand of the woman he loves back in the Netherlands by serving at the Company's Japanese port, Dejima, for the next five years. Little does he know that the land will change him and his life so drastically that he will never be the same. He quickly meets a number of fascinating characters, both Dutch and Japanese, but none so mysterious and deep as the burned girl Orito Aibigawa, the only female ever allowed to study medicine. With his utmost effort, he finally forges a hesitant friendship with her, attracted by her reticence and her quiet nature.
However, things are changing in isolationist Japan. As the story moves on, the characters disperse to their various fates, unable to fight the march of time and ambition, each wronged in a way that maroons them without a ship to carry them back.
Mitchell makes use of the factual Japanese law against foreigners not just to push the story along but to make a point: if we know a land and its people inside and out, we can still be strangers. It takes more than knowledge and familiarity to be welcome in a world. That is the heartbreaking core of the novel-- Jacob can never belong. He has a name given to him by the people, respect, money, status, and can still never be one of them.
The organization of this novel is a little disconcerting for traditional readers. Mitchell reeducated us with Cloud Atlas; by comparison, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet is a little gentler. We see parts of the story through the eyes of nearly every character at some point or another, which definitely throws the story around like dice in a cup, but lends a full feeling, like a blind man feeling the walls. Every perspective, every attitude, and every voice chips something in to make the tale the most it could be-- a time, a place, a people.
On an interesting historical side note, the end of the Dutch East India Company is an incredibly important and surprisingly overlooked moment in time. At one time, the Company was so powerful that it was basically an independent country, with its own flags and fleet of ships. Its ships traded from Batavia to Japan to Malaysia to the Netherlands and back. And yet, at the end of the 18th century, it imploded suddenly and violently, leaving an enormous economic gap in Southeast Asia, which in turn affected Europe. Mitchell does an excellent job of depicting this confusion and ambiguity in the novel, thorough for his readers but accurate to the sense at the time.
Despite the beauty of this novel, the construction is a little unbalanced. All the symbolic power is packed at the end, finishing on a terribly serious note, but many parts of the first half give a light-hearted air that belie the undertones of the story. This does appropriately endear us to the characters quickly, and we certainly know Jacob and Orito well by the end of the story, but the amount of ground that Mitchell covers in 477 pages just doesn't give us enough time to probe to the bottom of such interesting personalities.
And yet, the simplicity lends to the air of the novel. The last chapter is heart rending, breathtakingly beautiful, and quiet, just like the end of life-- as T.S. Eliot said, "this is how the world ends, not with a bang but with a whimper." Jacob de Zoet, our brave and awkward hero, cannot change his world, because he's just a man that doesn't belong, but in doing that he has changed the world for good. People pass in and out of our lives for brief moments, their presence and their absence alike leaving marks.
Two years old, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet is available on the Kindle for $12.00 or in paperback for as low as $10.20 from Amazon. Some libraries may have a copy, but small ones won't, and this book is definitely worth the time you spend reading it and the hours you'll devote to thinking about it afterward. Quiet and beautiful, just like the land it is set in, this novel flows like a quiet stream through your heart and leaves a coolness in its wake that aches for understanding, for belonging.

The Last Prince of Ireland

Title: The Last Prince of Ireland
Author: Morgan Llywelyn
Year: 1992
Genre: Historical fiction
Rating: 3

Anyone who's been reading this blog for awhile knows that I've got a penchant for history. My grandfather was a professor of history, my sister is a history teacher, my father was a history buff, and my favorite classes in school were always history. In the American school system, we usually focus on the "usual" docket of historical events, meaning European history and American history, with a sprinkling of ancient history thrown in. But what about those parts of the world that we've completely passed over? Those are my passion, my curiosity, my real love of history-- there are so many stories out there, each more fraught with passion and fear than the last. It is our privilege and our duty to learn and share them, to gain a fuller understanding of this wonderful world we live in.
But enough of my ranting, and on to the book of the day-- The Last Prince of Ireland, by Morgan Llywelyn (pronounced a bit like hly-WE-lin).
Based in Ireland during the end of the Elizabethan era, this book follows the journey of Donal Cam O'Sullivan and his thousand followers on their long, hungry, cold march out of the district of Munster, fleeing the wrath of his former friends and kinsmen. Although it takes place over just fifteen days (each chapter covers one day), the story seems much longer than that-- more like a slow fall into ruin and decay. Each day, the ragged survivors lose more friends, more animals, more dignity and more hope, and we can't help but wonder if it would be more of a mercy to let them just give in somewhere along the way. Donal Cam, the commander of his bedraggled and wretched army, wonders the same while struggling to lead them to life.
And yet, we see hope growing between the cracks of despair. From the earliest pages we see a lovestruck Niall spy Maire Ni Driscoll and attempt to win her heart with kindness rather than bravado, even in the depths of starvation and fear. Joan Ni Sweney and her husband, Dermod O'Sullivan, provide a wry sense of humor and determination, struggling onward and depending on one another more and more as their provisions and strength run out. And Orla Ni Donoghue, a strong woman married to Rory O'Sullivan, struggles with the past and her faith as she fights for life and fierce loyalty to her leader.
Although the novel is protracted and somewhat basic in its choice of words, the burning passion of the writer is obvious. He sees Ireland itself in these pathetic survivors, relics of a noble and strong past being exterminated by the betrayal of the modern world. This is the time when Ireland finally succumbs to the rule of the expanding British, whose influence will change and shape Irish culture for the next four hundred years. Llywelyn, while recognizing this force, clearly believes that there is a deep individuality and strength within the Irish people that cannot be extinguished by oppression.
This, too, can be extended to the human soul in general. The factual march of Donal Cam and his survivors is a tribute to that, but Llywelyn's narrative of the horrific suffering and losses of those people in their struggle for that most basic of human rights-- freedom-- is heart wrenching. As the readers, we find ourselves growing more and more attached to characters we know are considered traitors and are sentenced to death, as if that bright glimmer of light just before it goes out is the most beautiful thing that a person can ever be. And despite the fact that they are bony, dirty, and desperate, these people are beautiful, if only for the sheer strength of will that carries them forward.
The whole novel feels like a slow decline into ruin, which may be intentional, but definitely detracts from the book's readability. There is no clear climax, only a long, drawn-out journey to the end. While the story is character-based, this can only carry on to a certain extent before it become dry and-- dare I say it?-- boring. Every tale needs some sort of arc, some sort of rising action, and while this one doesn't lack for battle scenes, it just seems like disaster after disaster before long.
But in the end, The Last Prince of Ireland is still a tale that needs to be told and understood in its fullest, for the true tragedy it is-- a betrayal of trust, and a shift in patriotism. Most of the princes of the island gave up in order to save their houses, which seems pathetic and selfish, but the motives are understandable. While practically foolish, Donal Cam's protest and subsequent rebellion are noble and contain a spirit of pride; we treasure that kind of national pride and look for it in our leaders, which makes Donal Cam a truly full, admirable, nearly tangible character.
Not exactly a best seller or common, I pulled this book off the shelf by pure happenstance and enjoyed it-- it's not a long read at 364 pages. It's actually fairly difficult to find on Amazon, but if you live in a city with a good library, they should have it. You can get a copy from Amazon for $15.00, but the next lowest price was nearly $40. Go figure on obscure books.
History is vital to understanding the present, even if it is obscure history. Every story weaves together to make the present, which makes it vital to appreciate the past before we move toward the future.

The Whiskey Rebels

Title: The Whiskey Rebels
 Author: David Liss
Year: 2008
Genre: Historical fiction/Thriller
Rating: 1

We all believe that we know what America is, don't we? After living here our whole lives and being so saturated with the ideas, values, concepts, and freedoms of this grand experiment of a country, we think we know what constitutes our society and freedoms. But that's just the trouble-- when we think we know what is right, what happens when a dilemma comes from within? If we must adapt our values, how do we adjust afterwards?
These are the questions that David Liss addresses in his finest novel yet, The Whiskey Rebels. Deeply American in conception and execution, we see in its pages a wrenching question of patriotism versus justice: if the country that nurtured you is unjust, is it our duty to rebel and right the wrongs? Or does that simply fall under the category of revenge? In a gritty story woven with masterfully tangled threads, Liss explores the conflict and is brave enough not to offer an absolute answer.
Split into two intertwining narratives, the book follows the tale of the disgraced Captain Ethan Saunders, an alcohol-sodden ex-spy destitute in Philadelphia, and that of Joan Maycott, a grievously wronged pioneer on the western border of Pennsylvania. We pick up the story in early 1792, an era of tangled politics and tenuous economics, ruled by veterans and strongly opposed idealists like Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson. Saunders, by all appearances a disreputable, philandering ruin of a man, soon becomes caught up in a complicated web of events involving the disappearance of a former love's husband, mysterious strangers, and the fragile Bank of the United States. Someone threatens the Bank, and despite warnings from Hamilton and several agents, he gets deeper and deeper into the threats against it-- and him.
The parallel story is one of tragedy, deception, and failed dreams-- and vaguely reminiscent of the tales of unemployment, foreclosure, and woe from today. Told in the format of a memoir, we meet Joan Maycott when she is just a child and follow her from her family's farm in rural New York through her marriage to Andrew Maycott, their removal to New York City (which Liss evokes in all its glorious 18th century squalor and improvement upheaval), and to the barren, hopeless land west of Pittsburgh. There, she and her husband are beset by difficulty, oppression, and before long it is all that they can take before being inspired to rebellion.
Liss has clearly improved as a writer since his bestsellers A Conspiracy of Paper and The Coffee Trader. Here his characters are deeper, more complex, and passionate, both in writing and in action, without losing that lighthearted charm that the author is so well known for. Ethan Saunders is a marvelous conundrum of a character, a murky mixture of honorable patriotism with nefarious lechery with a sprinkle of alcohol addiction thrown in. He is universally despised for being a scoundrel by his peers, but is simultaneously respected for his skill as a spy and honor for participation in the Revolutionary War.
One of the things that makes The Whiskey Rebels so fascinating is its particular focus on the post-Revolutionary America. Where the end of the 18th century was a period of enlightenment, bettering education, and expanding scientific horizons in Europe, it was a dismal, confusing tangle in the brand-new United States, and no one knew if this enormous experiment was going to succeed or collapse into shards of anarchy. Oftentimes, the two decades following the Revolution are skipped in the study of history, which is surprising-- during those twenty years, our Constitution was written, the economics of our country shook but stood firm, and the Whiskey Rebellion rose and was put down. Many important events that shaped us happened quickly after the Revolution, and Liss has finally opened up those years in this brilliant novel.
Another interesting relationship is that of Saunders with his slave, Leonidas. Most often, the master-slave relationship is exploitative, cruel, and abusive, but there were exceptions-- those more akin to a friendship. Sure enough, they were rare, but there are exceptions to every rule, and Liss has portrayed a fascinating co-dependency between Leonidas, a well-educated Americanized African, and Saunders, a gruff, lonely military fellow who won Leonidas in a game of cards. We spend the whole book guessing at whether he hates Saunders, disrespects him, or grudgingly likes him, and there are plenty of laughs along the way.
But perhaps the most important feature of The Whiskey Rebels is the questions that it raises about patriotism. Most of us regard ourselves as patriots if we support our troops, sing the national anthem, and raise a toast on Independence Day-- but what does it really mean to be a patriot? Is it just loyalty to one's country, or is it also an innate sense of responsibility, of holding one's government in check? And if the people are wronged, is it the patriot's duty to change the government to right those wrongs?
This masterful, thoroughly American work is available on Amazon for $10.20 in paperback, or on the Kindle for $12.00. In this day and age of questions and the changing American social landscape, it's important to understand our past and our duty as a people to our country. Novels may be fiction, but there are important truths buried even in the most fanciful of stories, and there are momentously important ones here.
On that note, happy election season!

The Help

Title: The Help
Author: Kathryn Stockett
Year: 2009
Genre: Historical fiction, social issues
Rating: 2

Self-examining fiction is always an interesting endeavor: a song about writing a song, a film about making a film, a book about writing a book. Obviously, as the author is a professional book-writer, the idea of writing is something dear to their heart and familiar, which makes the description of the process very real and accurate. What The Help attempts, in contrast, is to show the power of reaching people with your voice without them seeing your face.
All the evidence of today, despite America's creed of acceptance and tolerance, leads one to believe that racism is not dead, but buried under a thin sheet. We are so acutely aware of one another's color in our attempts to ignore it that any violation of this throws us into a tizzy of denials of racism and passing anti-hate crime laws and all sorts of nonsense. Kathryn Stockett takes on the heart of the most oppressive environment for African-Americans-- Jackson, Mississippi in 1962-- to show the true subtlety of the separations in "one nation under God."
Told from three perspectives, The Help follows the lives of Aibileen Clark and Minny Jackson, two black maids and best friends, and Eugenia "Skeeter" Phelan, a white college graduate and aspiring journalist. Aibileen's job is to look after two-year-old Mae Mobley Leefolt, whose mother doesn't want to be near her child. Minny, who "has a mouth on her," is fired at the beginning of the book from working for Mrs. Walters, the mother of the malicious Hilly Holbrook. Both of them think darkly of their white mistresses, but stuff down their opinions in order to keep their jobs-- one misstep could cost them their livelihoods and safety.
Skeeter Phelan, on the other hand, is a wealthy white girl whose parents own a cotton farm on the edge of Jackson-- and has been best friends with Hilly Holbrook and Elizabeth Leefolt since college. She gets a job writing a cleaning column for the local paper and enlists Aibileen's help, as she has never cleaned a day in her life and her own maid, Constantine, disappeared without explanation from Skeeter's very controlling mother. After coming to know Aibileen a little better, Skeeter is compelled to write about a book about what it's really like to work for a white woman as a maid in Jackson.
Stockett's first novel, The Help is a creative, enveloping read about a topic that was not well-known outside of the South. She draws from her own experiences of a maid close to her family when she was young to create the characters of the maids around Jackson, and is keenly aware of the social climate of a city like Jackson. The struggles of housewives to raise their children in the 1960s pales in comparison to the struggles of the black families to raise their children on dirt-low wages and poor working conditions-- little better than slavery in practicality, despite being a hundred years after the Emancipation Proclamation.
And yet, for all the activist intentions, Stockett does not make the African-American people into a heroic race. There is doubt, cruelty, spite, bitterness, and pettiness juxtaposed with the courage, longsuffering, and beauty. Minny's husband is abusive and alcoholic, and Aibileen's husband left her for another black woman with no warning. With all their achievements and failures thrown together into the facts, Stockett does what many novels fighting racism fail to do: make their heroes human.
Skeeter and her mother are a classical dichotomy: a rebellious child of the 1960s, questioning the standing laws, with a mother who treats the African-Americans who work for them as little better than mentally handicapped animals. Her mother, Charlotte, is prim and proper and constantly hounding Skeeter about how to dress and do her hair and act in public, while Skeeter would let her frizzy hair go and her clothes be mismatched. By the end of the novel, their love-hate relationship is also extremely, pulsingly human, making one wonder whether Stockett has drawn from her relationship with her own mother.
Aibileen, too, is a wonderfully deep and conflicted character. She clearly loves the white children she raises as her own, while nursing a bitterness that her own son was killed three years before the story takes place because of the negligence of a white man. Every time she holds Mae Mobley, it is clear how much more she loves this little girl than her prim and proper white mother, but we realize with heartbreak that Mae Mobley will grow up to be exactly the same as the other white housewives. Aibileen's voice is carefully hardened to protect herself, but we see the pain that she knows daily as she watches this little girl grow up in a world that tells her that the woman who raised her is dirty, diseased, stupid.
Many interesting insights regarding racism come forward in this novel, but nothing that we haven't seen or thought of before. Although the actual physical topic of the book is rather novel, the underlying themes of racism have all been dealt with in books that are, frankly, better-- like To Kill a Mockingbird. Understanding racism in the 1960s is important for our culture, but perhaps what we need more is a novel to help us understand the racism so prevalent today-- the more dangerous idea of pretending that racism is dead.
Altogether, The Help is an educating, entertaining, and fascinating read. Stockett masters the voices and accents of Minny and Aibileen, but still slips in literary turns of phrase that captivate. The organization and pace of the novel leave something to be desired, but overall the story sticks and is memorable.
And Hilly is a hilarious, ridiculous, malignant character that seems overdramatic and fictional but is unfortunately all too real.
Available for $10.00 in both Kindle and paperback, this book is very accessible and affordable, and should be available in most libraries. The movie, starring Viola Davis and Emma Stone, is an excellent reproduction, but the book holds more of the voice and power that the author intended. Somehow, reading always does.

The Swan Thieves

Title: The Swan Thieves
Author: Elizabeth Kostova
Year: 2009
Genre: Thriller/Mystery
Rating: 1


Passion faded, love lost. The question rises, is there anything more real than this moment? Has everything reported before this second disappeared into fiction, and if not, how can something that you've never seen be as real as the hands you hold out before you, the color of your skin, the moisture of your lips? All the hundreds of millions of lives that began and ended before you were a single cell don't make sense to you, with all their myriads of emotions swirling, pulsing, and disappearing without any more trace than a wind that ripples your hair.
With the quiet grace of Kazuo Ishiguro and the dark strength of Philip Pullman, Elizabeth Kostova's second novel The Swan Thieves ponders the impact of history on the present. Subtle and sweeping, the novel of painters and their lives quivers with the life that Kostova says painters strive to evoke in their works. Kostova has vastly outdone herself from The Historian, although her style remains her own, vague and moving.
The book is largely told from the perspective of a middle-aged psychologist, Dr. Andrew Marlow, who receives a patient by the name of Robert Oliver who attempted to attack a painting in the National Gallery. Marlow is stymied in his treatment of Robert by the patient's refusal to speak at all, and is mystified as to why Robert will only paint portraits of a dark-eyed woman. Marlow's quest to cure this one patient leads him from DC to North Carolina, New York City, and Paris, all the while wondering if this man is insane or simply misunderstood.
Along the way, we slowly discover the seemingly disconnected story of Beatrice de Clerval and Olivier Vignot, two rather unknown painters from nineteenth-century France, linked by invisible ties to the present and the madness of the man who paints endless portraits.
Kostova is one of the finest novelists of our time. Although we are aware vaguely that Robert Oliver is one of the main characters of the book, we are introduced to him only through the memoirs of those who knew him, as if we are discovering him for ourselves after the fact. Robert Oliver is like an event in the lives of those he has touched; they remember him vividly, all of his actions, his mannerisms, his faults and wonders. By the end of the novel, although we only hear him actually say about a paragraph's worth of words, Robert Oliver is as familiar as Marlow, the man we've known from the first.
A master of the first person, Kostova has clearly thought out each character to the ends of their souls. The clear shifts in voice from person to person display an understanding of her own work rarely shown, and a strong reason for each word. Nothing that occurs in The Swan Thieves is arbitrary or by accident; a clear sense of purpose permeates the air of the story. Even the minor characters have a defined role to play, and once this is complete, they gracefully turn away to their own lives. That is perhaps the most beautiful thing about this novel: each character is a person, full of a life beyond the pages written.
That is certainly not the only beautiful thing, though. Some of the words that would apply best to this novel are marvelous, spectacular, and aesthetic. With the knowledge of an experienced author, Kostova describes dozens of masterworks of the painting world to us, but the most exhilarating aspect is the pure pleasure of the writing. Some of the passages, especially those of Beatrice, are moving enough to take the reader's breath away; others are so deep and thoughtful that the reader is compelled to stop and think about the questions raised for a moment before continuing.
To say this novel is intricate would be an understatement. From specifying the year and artist of vague paintings to the dates of birth of the fictional Beatrice de Clerval (she is a synthesis of Berthe Morisot and some of the other Impressionists), Kostova has provided us a net of facts, times, and little details that make the novel into an impressive reality for the readers as well as the characters. Her presumptions on the museums of Paris impress the thought that is really is okay for novelists to add their own facts to real places and events-- it is only fiction, after all.
The Swan Thieves is not only a better novel but is a step forward for the author from The Historian. More complete and rife with emotion, the dark elements so characteristic to the story of Dracula take on a softer, more human edge in the tale of Robert Oliver. The whole story itself feels more complete, with matching segments on both ends, and the connected elements of foreshadowing and prediction that her previous novel lacked. But perhaps most importantly, she has understood her readers as well as her fictions: we are all just people, seeking to understand ourselves in relation to history and the world around us.
This novel is fairly recent and well known, so it will probably be hard to find at a library. I managed to snag my hardback copy for $6.95 at a Barnes and Noble clearance, but according to Amazon you can get it for $9.99 on the Kindle or $10.33 for a hardback copy of your own. Do purchase it, and follow Elizabeth Kostova. I expect that her next novel will be even more enchanting.

22 Brittania Road

Title: 22 Brittania Road
Author: Amanda Hodgkinson
Year: 2011
Genre: Fiction
Rating: 3

Even when things end, they never really do. As long as there is one person alive who remembers what happened, it will never end. It will go on in their mind, their memories, who they are. It's changed them.
Unlike so many books about the effects of World War II, 22 Brittania Road offers an achingly intimate picture of the true tragedy of the war: the terror that it inflicted on its victims. Amanda Hodgkinson's debut novel quietly but firmly forces us to look at the true consequences of our actions and the choices that we make every day of our lives.
The novel follows the story of Silvana, Janusz, and Aurek Nowak, a family of Polish-British immigrants who have been separated for six years by the war. Janusz has brought Silvana and their son to Ipswich to live in the eponymous house, trying to make a new life, picking up the pieces where they left off in pre-war Warsaw. However, Silvana is changed after hiding in the forest for six years, and Aurek is a wild child who thinks of his father as "the enemy" who threatens to take away his mother's love.
The book chronicles the deeply personal tale of recovery, pain, and change that follows any significant event, and the reconciliation of a broken family. Aurek slowly and hesitantly comes to trust Janusz as Silvana discovers that he is not the same man who left her with a baby in Warsaw. The entrance of a rival for her affections doesn't help the situation, and she must decide whether the past is worth a miserable present.
Written in incredibly simple but honest language, 22 Brittania Road touches on a subject that many authors fail to address: the question of what now? How do you just pick up the broom again after the windows have been blown in by a bomb? How do you clean out the stove after someone close to you dies? How do you just go on as you did before? The unhappy truth comes out in bits as the book progresses, and we watch Silvana and Janusz change to become people that can be together after so much time and separation.
Each person has their own separate tale of woe, loss, and inner struggle, and none is more pathetic than Tony Benetoni, the father of Aurek's young friend Peter, who lost his wife some years before the novel occurs and cannot help but try to replace her love with everything else. Silvana relates to him, and as the end of the book approaches, the veil is lifted aside, and we see how hard they've both tried to hide their pain and how much pain hiding it has caused.
Ms. Hodgkinson has clearly put a lot of time and love into this book, and it shows in the depth of thought and vivid, piercingly ordinary scenes. However, it is definitely a first novel: the chapters are somewhat muddled, with the storyteller constantly changing without warning. The places are indicated at the head of each section, but the time is not, and with the constant flashbacks to Janusz and Silvana's pasts, we're constantly confused and hunting for a clue as to what year it is. Usually, the titles of Poland, Ipswich, or France give us hints, but it would have been incredibly helpful to indicate the year just under the character's name.
There is also a lot of "She thought... she did... she wanted..." sentences in this book, which is not a grievous error, but is somewhat annoying after a bit.
But on the whole, the book redeems itself with such an understated but painful storyline. The characters are so hurt that you just want to give them a hug by the end to tell them that everything is going to be okay, and that the war is over. Certainly, the war inside each of them is neverending as they struggle to cope with peace.
22 Brittania Road is a deeply personal exploration of pain, and absolutely worth your time. It's still pretty new, so you can pick it up for $12.99 at the Kindle store or the paperback from Barnes and Noble for $15.85.

Fall of Giants

Title: Fall of Giants
Author: Ken Follett
Year: 2010
 Genre: Historical Fiction
Rating: 2


Ken Follett is a giant himself- with books like World Without End and The Pillars of the Earth behind him, he could write children's books for the rest of his life and still be read. Fall of Giants does not disappoint. In classic Follett style, he lays out a historical context and creates characters within it that capture our hearts.
The book begins in the glory days before World War I, on the day of George V's coronation in Westminster Abbey. That's only peripherally important to us, as the readers, though: that same day, Billy Williams goes down into the coal pit in Aberowen, Wales. Follett's depiction of a tiny, early 20th century mining town is captivating and evocative; every detail is as vividly accurate as usual, bringing every essence of the miners' desperately ordinary lives to bright color.
Fall of Giants focuses its story on eight incredibly different individuals-- Billy and Ethel Williams from Aberowen, the English nobility Maud and Fitz Fitzherbert, the German dignitary Walter von Ulrich, the Russian peasant brothers Grigori and Lev Peshkov, and the American political aide Gus Dewar. Each of them brings a different perspective to the torrent of disaster that is the oncoming World War, and Follett brings their doubts, worries, and fears to life in strikingly human situations.
The book moves forward in sections of time, which is an interesting change from the usual chapter-by-chapter setup for books. Follett titles a chapter with the date that it occurs, such as "July 1914", and under that numbers sections that either alternate between characters or time on the same character. With this setup, we don't forget about characters in the gaps between their segments, and we aren't constantly flip-flopped between vignettes of the different times and places.
However, the book has failings as well. Follett, while gripping and evocative, has some sort of visceral fascination with the taboo in time-period cultures, and gleefully describes it to awkward readers. In one scene, he describes a certain woman giving a man a surreptitious handjob in the back row of an opera. In the first chapter, he describes Billy's woe at his poor sexual development. These details are part of the reality of his characters, but there are copious amounts of them, and could be limited without being too terribly missed.
Some of the sentences in Fall of Giants seem a little choppy as well. As the book is told in third person, the necessity for simple language for simple characters is eliminated, but in some of the cases, it remains. At one point during a section of Billy's story, I was horrified to be reminded of that travesty scribbled by Stephanie Meyer in a paragraph that plodded, "Billy did this. Billy did that. Billy wasn't sure of this." It happens to the best of us, but editing can usually catch most of it.
Despite some small failings, Fall of Giants is still a wonderfully intimate, moving depiction of the true human effect of World War I. We see the desperation of friends caught between warring nations, the destruction wrought on families and cities, and the truly uncontrollable nature of human nature in politics. At the end, we see Germany moving toward the desperation that placed Hitler in power, and the chaos wrought on Russia by its own revolution. Fortunately, this is only the first in the new Century trilogy, so more of this gripping series is yet to come.
Also in classic Follett style, Fall of Giants is a fantastically long read-- around 1000 pages-- that doesn't feel all that long. I ripped through that thing in about 10 days, reading at breakfast, dinner, and coffee. This book is pretty new, so it's pretty pricey, but definitely worth your time. My library had a copy, but if yours doesn't, see if you can get it on your Kindle. It's $18.99 on the Kindle, which seems expensive, but the hardback in real life is $34.00, so suck it up and get the eBook. If you can find the paperback- which I could not- it's supposed to be $16.50, so that's a better buy if you can. However, I will probably read this book again, so I'd like to have it on hardback someday if it gets cheaper. I'll keep my eyes glued to the clearance shelf at B&N.
That's all for me today. As always, keep reading, you pageturners.

The Journeyer

 Title: The Journeyer
Author: Gary Jennings
Year: 1984
Genre: Historical Fiction
Rating: 3

Gary Jennings is royalty in the genre of historical fiction. Aztec, Aztec Autumn, and Aztec Blood are all fantastic original pieces of historical fiction, enthralling readers in a world that now no longer exists. The Journeyer, published 4 years after Aztec, takes us back into 13th century Europe, and fulfills its name. As always, Jennings' descriptions of people, places, and events are stunning and enthralling, sometimes more attractive to the darker parts of ourselves than we care to admit.
We follow a young Marco Polo from La Serenissima, Venice, as he grows into a man and travels with his legendary father, Niccolo, and uncle, Mafio. Along the way, in classic Jennings fashion, we watch Marco become an adult through the somewhat destruction rites of passage (sex and violence) and experience the laws of pre-Renaissance Venice for ourselves as Marco is outlawed from his birth city until another Doge is crowned and he can return.
Jennings takes us from Venice to Constantinople, Baghdad to Cathay, and back again. Medieval Europe is grimy and violent, and the colorful descriptions of death will stay in my mind for a long time after the last page. Marco Polo's sometimes exaggerated adventures seem to fit in very realistically into Jennings' well-told tale.
However, if you've read Aztec, there's really nothing new here. In fact, I don't find Marco as charming character as Mixtli. I personally have always had a penchant for lost cultures, so Aztec had me from the beginning, but I feel like The Journeyer had so much potential that went unfulfilled. There are parts of it that drag, especially after the Yun-nan bit, and some parts are purely unnecessary (like Jennings' multiple descriptions of homosexual relations- one would be fine).
Don't get me wrong, it was still a fantastically written book; most of today's writers can only dream about achieving what Gary Jennings has. Superbly researched and well written, I liked The Journeyer for what it is- a wild adventure that doesn't fall into the traditional knights-in-shining-armor category of classic medieval literature. It's a step into another time and place that is not often explored- medieval China, the Middle East, and India. So often, in historical fiction from this time period, these regions are either cursory or completely ignored- Jennings explores them thoroughly and explicitly incorporates racial prejudices and wars of the time period.
Altogether, The Journeyer is yet another Jennings success. Nostril is actually my personal favorite character (and now you have to read it just to figure out the reason for his name). Don't go out and buy this book if you can avoid it, because it runs about $30.00 in hardback, but it's only $9.99 on the Kindle. It'll be at your library, and you'll want to renew it a few times, because it's a good long read.
By the way, merry Christmas! Buy a book for someone you love, because buying chocolate only lasts a week at the best and power tools only get you so far. :)

Hornet Flight

Title: Hornet Flight
Author: Ken Follett
Year: 2002
Genre: Historical Fiction
Rating: 2

Ken Follett has done it again.
Whether you're an avid Starz fan or a voracious historical fiction reader like me, you know the compelling story of Pillars of the Earth, and many readers now know Fall of Giants. Ken Follett has proved himself a master of the genre, inventing compelling characters and throwing them into the heart of some of history's greatest moments. Hornet Flight is no exception.
The story of a young Danish boy, Harald Olufsen, intertwines with the pulse-pounding stories of the great spies of war-torn Europe. As in all of Follett's novels, you can never quite tell what twists and turns the story will take, and it leads to delightful, horrifying, compelling moments in the years that shocked the world.
Flight depicts the British/German spy game and how it really affected the fighting. In the prologue of the book, the final gambit is revealed: if the British don't find out how the Germans are detecting their planes, they'll lose the war. So from the earliest moments of the book, we are introduced to those in power, and in the next chapter, we meet those under the regime. The small country of Denmark is rarely ever talked about in history books, let alone in exciting novels; so the idea of reading about the people during that time period had me from the beginning.
Harald is a compellingly ordinary character, which is somehow attractive. He seems so traditional- the son of a preacher, a schoolboy, and a little rebellious- but after the points in the plot develop, he becomes so real that I can almost picture his blonde head walking through the crowds on the street. Plus, his peat-burning motorbike is so stinkin' cool, it's not fair.
I've always admired Follett's ability to create villains; Peter Flemming is no exception. He is incredibly complex; almost a modern Javert- a man obsessed with justice because of the lack of justice in his own life. His wife was permanently mentally damaged due to an automobile accident, and there is no recovery. As an officer of the law, we see him fall throughout the book, and justice finally prevails, but  I can't share too many of the details without spoiling the book entirely.
Arne and Hermia are my favorite, in short. :) Hermia is an absolutely fascinating character as well, with her passions unrestrained, but we cannot tell where her most powerful passion lies. It's an interesting character study.
Follett's character development is absolutely impeccable. Even in a far-removed era like Pillars, he makes Philip real enough to touch; but in a time much closer to our own, he makes every detail of his people real enough to draw breath. Fantastically researched, infallibly written, and compelling, Flight is a gritty, bittersweet tribute to the gains and losses that we all suffer in times of trial.
I managed to get away with Hornet Flight for five dollars from Barnes and Noble's sale rack, and because the books is almost ten years old now, you'll probably be able to find it for cheap on Amazon or eBooks. Either way, it's absolutely worth a read if you can get your hands on it. If not, get it from the library, but it's definitely worth a read. Don't pass it up, if you can.
That's all for me, for a bit. I have some catching up to do. Read on, my pageturners.

Aztec

Title: Aztec
Author: Gary Jennings
Year: 1980
Genre: Historical fiction
Rating: 3

Okay... here we go. Prepare for a deluge.
Aztec is a wide-spanning, incredibly detailed, indefatigably researched piece of historical literature, regarded as one of the most accurate in current existence. Gary Jennings is a master story teller- in Tlilectec Mixtli, he has created an incredibly human character who relates his life in stunning detail. And throughout his "abnormally long years", we come to know Mixtli intimately and, to borrow from Cummings, "laugh his joys and cry his griefs".
Aztec opens with a letter addressed from Bishop Zumarraga of Mexico to Emperor Don Carlos I of Spain, placing the book's year at 1529. The priests of Mexico City (inside the desecrated House of Song of ancient Tenochtitlan) press an old Mixtli to tell them completely the story of his life, which he happily does. After all, he is a "word knower"- a scribe.
Mixtli begins the story of his life at birth, and from that moment on, he leaves out nary a detail, and granted the native peoples' penchant for loose sex, it becomes awkward in many places. However, Jennings's research on the original Nahuatl tongue is impeccable- most of the terms that Mixtli uses for cultural objects are first listed in Nahuatl and then in English. Reading the language became a little wearying after awhile- I couldn't take in too much of this book in one sitting.
However, the story arcs are beautiful. Mixtli's voice is amusing and amazingly contemporary, making fun of many aspects of Mexica culture, other native peoples, and the Spanish priests' hypocritical behaviors. He often states that he was "heathen" before, but under the false words, I could detect a pride in his original faith in Tonatiu, the sun god. He is a little ashamed of many of his people's violent traditions, such as the Flowery Wars (wars fought purely for the purpose of obtaining sacrifices for the gods) or the sacrificial rites of Xipe Totec.
However, we also feel Mixtli's pain at losing those he loves. I wept with joy when he married Zyanya, Always, and had their daughter. I also shed tears when he lost her in the floods of Ahuitzotl. I was appropriately shocked in the court of Jadestone Doll (which I won't detail here). And when I found out the fate of Tzitzitlini, I wept harder than before.
Altogether, this book is a little too long. Don't get me wrong- it's beautifully written, and covers an incredible expanse of time, from the old Motecuzoma's rule until the fall of Tenochtitlan, in breathtaking detail. Everything, from the farthest south of the Mexica's rule to the history of Texcoco, is told from beginning to end. And although the information is told incredibly and there is so much of it, I began to lose interest about when the floods ended.
Also, the detailed amount of sex in this book is rather R-rated. For most indigenous cultures, sex is a common topic, but Mixtli is promiscuous, to say the least, throughout his bachelorhood; there are many sex scenes, and Jennings describes almost all of them from beginning to end. From his incestuous relationship with Tzitzilini to his loving marriage with Zyanya, Mixtli certainly sowed his wild oats. Now, I don't personally have a problem with sex in books- as it's a necessary part of the story- the number of scenes was just unnecessary (especially the one with Cozcatl). That's just a personal preference, though.
There are a number of books in the Aztec series, and although I haven't read all of them, this is a great one. Unfortunately, Mr. Jennings passed away in 1999, so there won't be any more, but this is an enduring work that he will be remembered for. I enjoyed it immensely.
I picked up my copy from the local library, but I had to renew it to finish it. I think it costs around $20.00 at B&N, but it's probably cheaper at your local Bookman's or Hastings. So, grab it from the library if you can. It's a good, lengthy read.
That's all for me today. Keep reading, my dear pageturners.

The Terror

Title: The Terror
Author: Dan Simmons
Year: 2007
Genre: Historical fiction/thriller
Rating: 1

What a gripping, compelling piece of literature. Dan Simmons is a masterful word-weaver, and he shines his brightest in the pages of The Terror.
The Terror is, without a doubt, one of my favorite books- which is saying something for me. This is my second time through it, and I enjoyed it just as much if not more, re-reading every line with the full backdrop of the story in mind. It is a little complicated, so knowing the general outlines before going back for the details really helped in filling in the images and indeterminacies in my mind.
Terror follows the factual Lost Franklin Expedition to discover the Northwest Passage in 1845, which was lost and never recovered. Simmons creates incredibly colorful and human characters from the true historical faces of the sailors and officers. Told in alternating viewpoints as the chapters change, we hear from mostly Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier, Captain of HMS Terror, Dr. Goodsir, the surgeon's assistant aboard Erebus, Sir John Franklin himself, and John Irving, a young third lieutenant on Terror (Irving is my personal favorite). Although the first chapter occurs in 1847, the rest of the story is told in a series of flashbacks in different viewpoints. In Simmons' traditional style of not holding back a single detail, we cringe at the terrible conditions of the icy north, the death of many of the various officers and seamen, and the terrible creature that holds all of the men in bondage in the terrible wasteland of white. The story moves forward, and it seems as though there is no misfortune which does not befall the two ships. And then, as if in a dream, we see the end coming.
Simmons is a master of foreshadowing. In only the second chapter, he begins foreshadowing the conditions which would eventually befall Franklin's men in the extremes of their fight to survive. Through their trials and hardships, we see the darkest in them come out- the darkness of taking the weak way out to survive, surrendering their humanity to retain their vitality. It's heartbreaking to watch men that we became close to give up hope and either die of debilitating scurvy, poison, or give up their humanity and take the weak way out.
Despite the change of perspective, time, and location between chapters, I found that the telling was masterful and beautiful. Often when writers attempt that kind of T.S. Eliot-like shifting, I find it jarring, but not here. The changes play out like a movie's shifting in camera angle rather than a change in scenery. Crozier becomes as close to me as someone I know personally, someone who has taken a much darker angle on life. He is incredibly human and touching, his flashbacks memorable and vivid.
Simmons also does something rather unique- he blends Esquimaux (I'm going to stay with the traditional French spelling) mythology and language with the history of exploration of northern Canada and the search for the Northwest Passage, even pulling some of their monsters and gods into the physical fabric of the story. As I progressed through the later part of the story, I found myself almost learning the ancient Esquimaux language, the words resonating as I read the story and echoing through my head as familiar terms, almost as easy as their English meanings.
One of the best parts of the book is that it is so easy to follow. The plot itself, while convoluted and twisting, is understandable for two main reasons: Simmons' excellent word choice and arrangements, and the fact that he restates information often. The first is a necessary quality of any good writers; the second is, while sometimes droll and redundant, amazingly helpful in The Terror. Simmons restates the names of the men and their positions often enough to make them seem human and to help the reader easily remember who they are. He also restates what happens to the men later in the book as Crozier is taking a death count in his head- writing name, occupation, age, and cause of death, even if we knew the character fairly well.
Altogether, this a heartbreaking and enthralling piece of literature. Read it as soon as possible. I do have to warn you that some of the scenes depicting the violence done by the Thing on the Ice is not for the fainthearted or squeamish (Simmons excludes no details- I cried in several circumstances where my favored characters died), you should be able to handle it as 'showing, not telling'. The hardback copies (which I recommend you get- it's a beautiful printing) run on the expensive side- $26.00 from the Hatchette Book Group USA- and the eBook is a little pricier at $15. It is a nearly 900 page book- that tends to happen. I was really fortunate and picked this one up in a used pile for $5.00 (:D). But if your library has it, that's pretty good. I will warn you that you may be borrowing it again, though.
That's all for today. Happy reading, my pageturners!
"Winter follows summer.
Two halves.
Light and darkness complete one another.
Life and death complete one another.
You and I complete one another.
Outside, the Tuunbaq walks in night.
Where we touch,
there is light.

Everything is in balance."

New York

Review: New York: The Novel
Author: Edward Rutherfurd
Written: September, 2009
Genre: Historical Fiction
Rating: 1

New York has such a spirit and effervescence for the beautiful city that we all know as the 'island at the center of the world' that I wanted to pack my bags and get on the first plane there. Edward Rutherfurd has an amazing talent for creating historical characters to make the truthful eras come to life in vivid color.
Historical fiction is a relatively new genre in popular fiction, but it's growing rapidly. There are a lot of new books in the ever-lengthening historical fiction aisle in my Barnes and Noble here in Prescott. Edward Rutherfurd is definitely among the governing circle of that genre, with his top sellers being such famed novels as London, The Princes of Ireland, and The Forest.
New York begins in the 17th century colony of New Amsterdam, but it really doesn't focus on the politicking of England and the Netherlands. Rather, it focuses on the people, which really gives the reader insight into what life was really like. While describing the landscape in rich words and phrases, New York still leaves something to the imagination, which gives it that extra dimension which so many books are lacking. Following the Van Dyck boat north, you can almost hear the rush of the river and the soughing of the wind through the trees of the largely still-wild Manhattan.
New York dances gracefully alongside American history without all of the heavy descriptions of the politics, and George Washington himself even makes an appearance during the Revolutionary War. I personally loved the way that Rutherfurd followed the Master family down through the ages, seeing how the years affected them and the city which changed so much beneath their feet.
Now, I've heard from many different readers that it's hard to like Rutherfurd's novels because they switch characters. I understand (I've had a hard time with some of the other ones), but New York is different. It keeps tracking all the way through, following one family throughout the ages, keeping just enough of their parents' story in it to keep you interested and reading, following each generation through their trials and hardships, either coming out triumphant or despondent in the end, searching for a happy ending the eastern land of opportunity.
I don't want to give too much of the story away, but what I must say is that the ending is both tear-jerking for those of us who witnessed it and heartwarming for those who don't remember it.
Oh, and Rutherfurd's technique of following a family heirloom is sparkling and flawless, as ever.

I borrowed it from my local library, but I wish I'd bought this book. It runs a little pricey still at a $29.00 hardback, but is totally and completely worth it. If you can get your hands on it in the next week, do so.
That's it for today. :)