June 22, 2011 · 6:13 pm

Un Lun Dun: Mostly Good

           After a little meltdown last night about my rate of reading in the last month and a half, M. reminded me that 10-10-12 is not a race or competition, but is an exercise in me loving to read. And someone how that pep talk (that wasn’t, I don’t think, intended as a pep talk) gave me the zip I needed to finish off Un Lun Dun, a mostly terrific young adult fiction book with illustrations (which category will it fall into?).

China Mieville might be better known for his adult fantasy novels (or so my friends who read fantasy tell me), but Un Lun Dun (pronounced UnLondon) is deserving of its own credit and following. The book follows our un-hero, Deeba, as she finds herself in the world of UnLondon – a shadow city separated from London, but not necessarily different from the ‘real’ city in terms of xenophobia, class conflict, and most prominently, environmental concerns.

After several – unecessary – chapters about Deeba’s friend the “Shazzy” (I say unnecessary because they do not add to Deeba’s characterization and rather than advancing the plot, these chapters stall its development. What these chapters do offer is a space to sketch the setting of UnLondon in some detail, a “setting up” that might easily take place on Deeba’s second visit) Deeba finds herself tasked with battling “The Smog,” a malicious force bent on destroying both UnLondon and London by consuming it with fire. This (somewhat?) allegorical menace allows readers of any age to connect the consumption patterns of the modern city with environmental toxins and pollutants and makes a vigorous case for “nothing” as the solution to this problem. The solution of “nothing,” is to me a poignant conclusion for the novel as it advocates at one at the same time that “nothing” can be done to solve the problem/character of the Smog, and yet simultaneously suggests that it is by doing less, or by doing “nothing,” that we might combat it.

In any case, the climatic battle between Deeba and the Smog is by far the most engaging section of the book. The rest of the novel is something of a trudging affair, a journey that is not all about the journey and rather all about the expected climatic-awesomeness of the destination. That the climax did meet my expectations of awesomeness was pleasant, but I’m not convinced the slog to get there was worth it.

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May 30, 2011 · 2:32 pm

Mourning Diary: Self-Indulgent

                 For the first time since beginning 10-10-12, the book I chose for my “short” category was actually… short. Roland Barthes’ diary of his mourning of his mother spanned 250 pages, but each page includes only one or two sentences, reflecting on his grief and sense of loss.

I found the diary self-indulgent, which shouldn’t be surprising given that it’s a diary a genre necessarily preoccupied with the self, but somehow the book read as grotesquely self-indulgent. It sets up as its premise the affective consequence of losing someone else and then begins an outpouring of the effects on the self: sense of impending mortality, dissociation from time, incorporation of affect into writing and work, newly discovered freedom of living a life untethered from a mother. Had the book abjured the claim of being about Barthes’ mother I might find no complaint – the snap sentences are moving, painful and above all, thoughtful – but as it is, I could not reconcile the distance between purported purpose – mourning a mother – and given text – meditation on the mourning self.

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May 30, 2011 · 2:25 pm

Tiger, A True Story of Vengenace and Surival: Incredible

         Nearly everything about Tiger is “incredible,” in the sense of hard to believe, remarkable, and extraordinary. The book perfectly matches form to content, as the subject, the Amur (or Siberian) tiger defies easy understanding, and the form, a meandering blend of history, geography, biography and anthropology, likewise resists categorization.

I found myself captivated by the narrative through-line, the story of a particular tiger and the people he eats. A story that probes why this tiger hunts the people he does, and whether and how to assign blame for the attacks that take place (both person on tiger and tiger on person). Indeed John Vaillant (the author) castigates humans and their rapacious greed for meat and fur, while nevertheless addressing the systemic economic and social factors that make poaching not only viable, but necessary for (some) poachers survival. I was no less captivated by the meandering side plots of Russian-Chinese relations, Russian settlement, taiga geography (the Boreal-Jungle! how rich a descriptor), and eco-animal history. And perhaps most taken with the poetic descriptions of the tiger and his habitat, descriptions that truly “captured” the tiger in his size, majesty and awe.

That the titular Tiger in this story is a protagonist might strike some readers as a stretch, he receives no internal or focalized narrative voice, and yet, the reader has little doubt about his motivations, his affective responses to situations, we feel – emphatically in my case – for this tiger. I mourned his death, if not in an of itself, than for its necessity. 

The epilogue to the book, too, is remarkable. Affecting again in its description of current conservation efforts and the impediments they encounter, in particular, the admission of tiger ‘farms’ a notion made deeply disturbing precisely because Vaillant has done such tremendous work in exploring the majesty, beauty and indeed the humanity of the tiger.

So this part ought to be troubling – that I feel so deeply for the tiger because Vaillant makes him out to be human – so let me nuance that by pointing out that the text similarly confuses the border between the human and the animal, arguing for the animality of humans, to the point that the biology of the species matters far less than the actions it takes: both humans and animals can claim humanity in the sense of generosity, empathy and remorse, while both humans and animals can also animalistic in their appetites, instinctual reactions, and callous disregard for the existence of others.

Truly a remarkable work, and one that I think I’m ready to name the best so far in 2011. Strongly urge you to get to the library to get a copy of this book.

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May 23, 2011 · 6:53 pm

The Thief: As great as NWMD is terrible

      The Thief, by Megan Whalen Turner and the Newberry Honour Winner for 1997, is just so great. Our anti-hero, Gem, captivates the reader from the opening scene in his jail cell to the closing scene in his bedroom. I wanted him to succeed, yet I worried about his decisions, though I somehow came to believe his justifications for his actions. Knowing as you do how much I love good character, it should be little surprise that I loved (really really loved) The Thief.

The narrative does a masterful job letting the reader believe they have deduced secret ‘facts’ of Gem’s life – and this reader did deduce certain elements – but nevertheless codes some plot details with such subtlety that the climax remains suspenseful and surprising: we are taken in, not taken advantage of; we are rewarded for close reading, but still given the pleasure of a surprise twist.

More praise for plot: the adventure manages to contain itself. Where other YAF adventure stories (or adult adventure stories for that matter) fall prey to endless delays, meandering side-journeys, and excruciating details of campfires, trail food, and horses, The Thief delivers enough detail to convince and captivate, but arrives at the destination by such a direct route as to leave no question that it really is the destination that holds the magic and adventure, and not the journey.

The interweaving of Greek-cum-novel-civilization mythology and the struggle of our (darling) Gem to make sense of the apparent power of the Gods in everyday life is careful, measured and thought-provoking: what, the novel asks, do we owe to destiny and what do we owe to our own wits?

It’s really just so good. And something like 120 pages. I. tells me that there are two other books in the series, but this one ends with a decisive conclusion, something I admire and appreciate, as this is a complete work in its own right, and not simply a set-up for later books and other purchases. I’ll likely read the other two books because I loved this one so much, but I may save them, as they really are “Gems.”

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