I know I rave about books all the time. I’ve been called out more than once by N. for overselling a book that’s only really good. Not the case with David Mitchell’s The Bone Clocks. This novel is genius. Extraordinary in so many ways: in its approach to genre, to plot, to character.In its hyper-imaginative renderings of the near future world and of the past. It’s a book that asks about mortality, familial-responsibility, ecological-responsibility, identity and grief. It’s a book that gives the finger to genre tick-boxes and plots made-for-movies. It revels in the brilliant beauty of its own writing without being showy. It’s exuberant in the possibilities for the novel as a form and for readers as enthusiastic consumers of imagined worlds and people. Continue reading
The Betrayers: Seeing story through politics
David Bezmozgis’ The Betrayers layers questions about forgiveness, betrayal, moral direction and compromise in a plot focused on an Israeli politician’s principled (to him) stand against the withdrawal of Israeli settlements in the West Bank. In taking such a stand, our protagonist, Kolter, is blackmailed and refuses to compromise: as a result his affair with a younger woman is exposed. In an effort to avoid the media spotlight, Kolter and his mistress flee to the Crimea where they encounter – in a twist of coincidence or “fate” (an idea thoroughly explored in the novel) – characters from Kolter’s past that dramatize for the reader ideas of fated encounters and fated actions; morality and moral codes; and how, when and under what conditions, forgiveness can be given? granted? bestowed? burdened?
The novel reads quickly, has compelling back stories for its characters, takes on a sizeable – yet intimate – plot line and set of questions. And it does what good fiction should do: it makes the reader consider a viewpoint that may be different from their own. The book is pro-Zionist and unapologetically so. Its presentation of the Zionist position is not one I am comfortable or familiar with, but I nevertheless – in the reading – was granted a way to think about this position and its people with something closer to empathy than I’d otherwise have been capable of. The novel and its characters aren’t making an argument for Zionist ideas. Zionism is, instead, the undercurrent and setting against which the action, character development and thematic questions are explored; it is taken for granted and given. This sort of philosophy/politics-as-setting allows the reader – or this reader at least – to suspend potential responses or arguments, and to instead explore with the characters the contours of their stories and discoveries.
Filed under Uncategorized
Birdman: Gross
I watch crime procedurals to be soothed by the familiarity of the introduction, the red herring, the twist, the conclusion. I read mystery novels knowing that (the good ones) are intentionally playing with the genre, the expectations, the mode and pattern of discovery and twist. So on the recommendation of A. I started reading Mo Hayder’s *Birdman* with the expectation of formal/genre play. On that count the book delivered – much to my chagrin (and secret pleasure) I didn’t see the plot twists coming.
So what’s my problem? I suppose I wasn’t expecting the graphic violence, the victimization of women (both literally and metaphorically), the pleasure the narrative derives in long passages of brutality. My patience for this sort of normalized violence against women is wearing thin. Throughout this book I felt escalating frustration with the heroic rescue of women in distress, the small and large indignities visited on women’s bodies and identities and the supposed pleasure the reader is meant to take from encountering such descriptions. I did finish the book, but I’ll be taking a long break from Mo Hayder. And suggesting you only read this if you’re looking for examples of the ways in which representations of violence against women are made simultaneously normal and glamorous. Examples that you can then declare gross and reprehensible. And never read again.
Filed under Mystery, Worst Books
Sweetland: Chills
I got chills reading the last pages of Michael Crummey’s *Sweetness.* Real chills. Okay, okay, I was outside when I finished it, but they weren’t cold chills. They were beauty chills mixed in with the eerie turn of the conclusion of this most excellent novel.
The eerie-ness pervades the novel as our protagonist, Moses Sweetland, after refusing to leave Sweetland Island (yes, they share the name) along with the rest of its inhabitants (bought-out by the smarmy government man), finds himself alone… or is he? Not actually that dun, dun, dun dramatic: the quasi-supernatural elements of the text read as entirely believable, if also wholly unsettling. Another way of putting it: the “realist” portrayal of the Island already reads as magical and out-of-time and so when eerie things begin happening the reader accepts these moments as what they are: eerie and entirely possible in the space/place of Sweetland.
Sweetland as space/place is some great setting. The Island assumes its own character with a personality that is alternately forgiving and vengeful. If you weren’t already contemplating a trip to Newfoundland (as I am!), the representation of the expanse and the mystery might well have you planning.
Minor quibble? Descriptions of some of the “action” plot moments were a bit too heady for me to follow. I couldn’t quite visualize where people were and what they were doing and so just accepted that Things Were Going Wrong, read the descriptions, then waited for the description of the outcome to really piece together what happened. There aren’t many of these moments, but when they do happen this reader felt a little left out of the action (particularly as these moments occurred in climactic scenes).
On reflection, part of my feeling of being left out might be purposeful: I am not from/of Newfoundland. These slightly muddy descriptions happened in boats and on rocks. It’s not impossible that my confusion stems from not knowing enough about boats and Newfoundland geography. Perhaps these moments are a way of echoing one of the themes of the novel, that is that those of/from Newfoundland will always have a special connection to the land that others will not. In this way these moments of dislocation for the Ontario-reader are a way of letting me know what it feels like to leave/be forced out of Newfoundland.
The character, setting and plot of this book are beautiful and magical. Another brilliant read from Crummey. Enjoy! (Also I’m tagging this as a prize winner as I have little doubt that it will be!)
Filed under Book Club, Canadian Literature, Prize Winner
Literary Vice 