Category Archives: Prize Winner

March 12, 2011 · 6:41 pm

Animal Farm: Best (yet) history of the Russian revolution

                                       I’ve only read a few histories of Russia. N. suggested the category “Books set in Moscow,” but I find Russian everythings (history, literature) daunting and intimidating, and so I’ve done my best to avoid finding out how little I know by avoiding reading anything too Russian (notable exception: City of Thieves, which is really, really, awesome). If I had known all I needed to do to understand the Russian revolution was to read Animal Farm I might not have spent so many years in self-imposed ignorance.

In any case, after reading (well, listening to) Animal Farm I feel I have a grasp on the main players and events of the Revolution. I appreciate the extent to which propaganda was used (have I already forgotten the book I read earlier this year about propaganda? what was it? set when Trotsky dies? Sigh.) to lead the “masses,” and the ultimate capitulation of communist/socialist/marxist ideals. That said, I do not have any better understanding of the differences among communism, socialism, marxism. I did not appreciate the representation of the animal masses (the sheep, the dogs, the ducks, the people) as unthinking and blithely following orders.

As for the classification of this book as a book with “non-human protagonists,” I feel somewhat reluctant to class it as such. This book has human protagonists, who happen to be pigs/horses/ducks. The only non-human character is the cat (unnamed) who behaves as a cat ought to: with a total disregard for the expectations and desires of others.

I do have a much better appreciate for why this book makes such frequent appearance on high school curricula: it perfectly demonstrates allegory and symbolism. That it does a poor job of characterization is probably an effect of the allegorical focus. What I mean is, I wonder whether a straightforward allegory can have interesting and complex characters if the whole point is to replicate/represent real events in symbolic/narrative terms? Maybe?

All said and done I feel braver in approaching Russian history because now I’ll picture dueling pigs and subservient horses and all will make perfect sense.

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March 10, 2011 · 10:03 pm

Paris 1919: Excellent

               Even if I wasn’t predisposed to an enjoyment of WWI history, I suspect I’d have enjoyed Margaret MacMillian’s (epic 500 page) account of the drafting of the Treaty of Versailles in Paris 1919. Elegant sentences and a keen sense of characterization make this history intensely readable. A decision to withhold judgment on the particular historical characters lends it credibility, in that no one person or country is blamed; rather, the combined effect of a complicated and contingent set of treaties, weak characters (either too ambitious or too reticent), illnesses, and miscommunications, resulted in a treaty that, as MacMillan argues, cannot on its own be blamed for anything (re: not for WWII), but must be recognized in historical hindsight (and by many at the time) as an abject failure in a project of promoting peace.

I particularly enjoyed the characterization of the members of the Supreme Council (aptly named, I suppose): Wilson, Clemenceau, Orlando and Lloyd George. Each received ample introduction, which allowed the later discussion of their mistakes, and subsequent political downfalls, to read as poignant. The measured attention to the contradictory enforcement of “self-determination” as dependent on political and economic expedients for those with political power, and the arrogance and self-righteousness of the policy makers, came with an appropriate connection to circumstances in the present that resonated, without badgering.

The organization of the book is excellent. Characters, countries and their different aims and outcomes, geographic determinations and overlaps, unfold according to geography, but also read as seamlessly plotted, such that a subsequent chapter relies on necessary information introduced in a former. That said, there are a few occasions where I wondered whether an editor might have missed a line where information is given twice — perhaps a later section written independently without regard for the chapter that came earlier? or perhaps a purposeful reminder to the reader of what appears to be a rather insignificant point? I’m not sure, and it probably doesn’t matter, as these infrequent repetitions take nothing away from the well crafted plot.

If you’re at all interested in imperialism, border-making, diplomacy, or Europe in the inter-war period I cannot recommend this book enough. Should you find European history to be the least engaging, you will be – without overstatement, I think – riveted at many points by this account. Perchance you dislike history books, Europeans, witty asides, and sarcastic comments about historical attire and comportment, you best look elsewhere.

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February 27, 2011 · 1:36 am

In the Skin of a Lion: Here be Short

    I read In the Skin of a Lion again for my class, and can’t seem to fit it in anywhere in the 10-10-12 list, so I’m putting it in “Short” both because that’s the category I’m meant to be reading right now, and because – perhaps more importantly – the book might be thought about in short thematic, chronological and character sequences. It’s a beautiful novel. There are descriptions that catch your breath, beautiful scenes between people who connect by allowing one another the space to be different, cartwheeling images that subtly shift over the course of the narrative.

I wrote an essay on the book in undergrad; I can’t remember what the essay was about. I feel like I had things to say about the novel’s representation of history. A representation that doesn’t strike me as very interesting anymore (the history of labourers and immigrants finds a space to be heard – okay), but is there for those of you interested in labour history. I was far more taken with the imagery this go around and tried to pay attention to how each operated, but found myself – perhaps appropriately – overwhelmed by the number of images and the way they worked together. So great to read a novel by a poet. I think, anyway.

Other news: 1/5 done 10-10-12. (Is this good news? Or worrisome that I’ve spent Jan/Feb reading 20 books and not finishing T?)

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February 20, 2011 · 3:24 pm

The White Bone: A Book about Elephant People

      The White Bone is narrated from the perspective of elephants and raises some interesting questions about the limits of authorial imagination. When male authors write female characters (or vice versa) interviewers ask how they could imagine the experiences of the other gender (see interviews with Lawrence Hill, for example). Typically the response has something to do with imagination being the work of authors and why doesn’t the interviewer ask something more relevant to the book itself?

In this case I expect Barbara Gowdy has answered one or two questions about how she imagined the perspective of elephants (I suppose this will be a reoccuring question in the non-human protagonist category?) – but the thing is, I don’t think imagined the perspective of elephants at all. The elephants are made to be people in all the ways people are thought to be unique animals: the creation of art; feelings of love, empathy and loss; laughter; mourning and burial practices. The elephants are also way better than people: ‘rumbling’ – infrasonic messaging is clearly superior to FB and TWTR, and mind talking is high up on the scale of pretty great skills.

I suppose I can’t blame Gowdy: how to imagine the perspective of an elephant except as a human might imagine it? But then I wonder whether the same doesn’t apply for men writing women, or young people writing adults, or healthy writing sick: how do you imagine the perspective of another? Isn’t it that author’s imagine how the experiences, desires, dangers of the other might lead them to think and behave in certain ways? Isn’t this the gift of the author? When then am I so dissatisfied with Gowdy’s presentation of the elephants as humans in their wants, needs and sorrows? Well, precisely because she imagines the elephants as humans as elephants. Elephant people.

P. told me I would read this book and sob. And I admit to thinking about the characters in non-reading time (a mark of an engaging narrative, I think), but I didn’t feel overly sad with the conclusion of the book (indeed, the very end is cloying and unrealistic). Instead I felt confused that such a brilliant premise – how better to evoke concern and empathy for elephants endangered by poaching and environmental disruption than to have the elephants tell the story? – failed so entirely in capturing my compassion. I ended the book feeling frustrated with all of the living elephants and (this is the truly remarkable thing, as someone obsessed with character) near-indifferent to the deaths of the elephants I’m meant to care most about.

My failing perhaps? My inability to let go of human concerns and wander with the elephants? Or the more likely case, that the elephants-as-people-as-elephants made me too frustrated to care about the elephants-as-characters.

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