Trevor's Review of Fitzgerald's The Bookshop

Since I read Offshore, my goal has been to read everything I can by Penelope Fitzgerald, an author I consider to be among the best of the last part of the twentieth century. Again, this is taken from my blog, where I have a bit more to say, but not much (you can visit it here).

Like Offshore, The Bookshop is a fine look into a small, somewhat isolated community. In this case we are in the town of Hardborough, a seaside town in Eastern England that doesn’t have a bookshop. In 1959, Florence Green is hoping to change that and make a success of one. In a great display of precision and control, the first couple of paragraphs set up the novel and its theme of survival.

Survival was often considered all that could be asked in the cold and clear East Anglian air. Kill or cure, the inhabitants thought — either a long old age, or immediate consignment to the salty turf of the churchyard.

As dismal as that sentiment is, one might simply pass over it because Fitzgerald’s writing is dense and, strangely, urgent. Furthermore, this line is couched in a paragraph about how Mrs. Green is attempting to “make it clear herself, and possibly to others, that she existed in her own right,” since she had been living on the little money her husband left her when he died. So we come to that passage above thinking — at least I did — that this focus on survival was necessary and, perhaps, noble. However, through the rest of this short, brilliant novel, Fitzgerald shows that the way this small community survives is through a form of social warfare as sensible as king of the mountain. Here is one of Fitzgerald’s earliest descriptions of Mrs. Green:

She had a kind heart, though that is not of much use when it comes to the matter of self-preservation.

Nevertheless, after many sleepless nights of indecision, Mrs. Green purchases Old House, which is, as the name suggests, one of the town’s oldest buildings. It’s damp and leaky and possibly haunted (a fact which remains in the background, but give Fitzgerald moments to display her humor: ”The house agent was in no way legally bound to mention the poltergeist, though he perhaps alluded to it in the phrase unusual period atmosphere.”).

The bookshop has its ups and downs, but it is, nevertheless, a moderate success. And this frightens several of the townspeople. For one thing, there’s some jealousy from those doing more poorly, like Mr. Deben, who has been trying to sell his fish shop for several years. Why didn’t Mrs. Green buy his place. That might have benefited them both.

Certainly she knew that Deben’s wet fish shop was about to close. Everybody in the town knew when there were likely to be vacant premises, who was in financial straights, who would need larger family accommodation in nine months, and who was about to die.

Basically, Mrs. Green didn’t want Deben’s wet fish shop, and she’s not entirely apologetic (she knows how to hold her own as well).

The biggest threat comes by way of Mrs. Gamart, who, if the town had one, would be part of the reigning aristocracy. Each summer, when other towns are holding their arts festivals, Mrs. Gamart believes that everyone should support her idea of creating an arts center in Hardborough. It always comes to nothing because before any steam has built up the other towns’ festivals have ended, and, presumably, Mrs. Gamart goes on to worry about other ways to ensure that she reigns over a respectable, cultured town.

Now that Mrs. Green has purchased Old House, though, which is the perfect place for the arts center, Mrs. Gamart, as charming as ever, begins to turn the wheels on several machines meant to destroy Mrs. Green’s enterprise.

As in Offshore, though the story here is centralized and focused, Fitzgerald allows herself the liberty to take the reader on minor tangents to see the lives in Hardborough. Each character and each episode is so well developed that this short book contains more than most long books. And, because by the end Fitzgerald’s community has ceased to be a strange seaside town but is so real, so familiar, we echo Mrs. Green’s question: ”What is natural justice?”

Trevor's Review of Fitzgerald's Offshore

I noticed that most of the reviewers here didn't like Penelope Fitzgerald's Offshore, so I'm posting my dissenting opinion: I loved it! I've copied below the heart of the review I posted on my own blog (you can read the whole thing by clicking here).

Offshore begins with a sly attention grabber:

‘Are we to gather that Dreadnought is asking us all to do something dishonest?’ Richard asked.

Dreadnought nodded, glad to have been understood so easily.

It turns out that Dreadnought is one of several houseboats in Battersea Reach on the Thames. Its owner is Willis, a sixty-five-year-old painter, and he has plans to sell his boat and move to land where he can live with his widowed sister. However, the boat is old and not worth much — but, perhaps it could be worth a bit more . . .

Richard, captain of the boat Lord Jim, is the de facto leader of the small community set in Battersea Reach. It probably goes without saying that Fitzgerald’s characters are people living on the fringe. Living neither on the land nor on the sea, these are characters who don’t fit well in society. Besides Dreadnought and Lord Jim (and others), this community also includes Maurice and Grace. Maurice lives on Maurice (the boat used to be named Dondeschipolschuygen IV, but Maurice renamed it when he found out everyone referred to each other by their boat’s name). Maurice’s male clients are there most of the night, but it’s the man who stores his merchandise on the boat that causes the most fear. Nenna lives on Grace with her two young daughters, Tilda and Martha. When Nenna’s husband, Edward, returned from South America a failure, his wife’s situation on the boat was still below him.

Offshore revolves around these strange, basically lonely characters. They frequently encounter each other, they are friendly, they do form part of a community, but the loneliness, the separateness remains. And that is all due to Fitzgerald’s wonderful prose. The following quote, for example, says so much about Nenna and her two daughters. On the surface, it sounds somewhat hopeful, as they like to see their situation. But there’s a desperation beyond the obvious. There’s an intimation into what could happen when Martha and Tilda grow up a bit more.

Martha and Tilda were in the position of having no spending money, but this was less important when they were not attending school and were spared the pains of comparison, and they felt no bitterness against their mother, because she hadn’t any either. Nenna believed, however, that she would have some in the spring, when three things would happen, each, like some melting ice-floes, slowly moving the next one on. Edward would come and live on Grace, which would save the rent he was paying on his rooms at present; the girls, once they were not being prayed for at the grotto, would agree to go back to the nuns; and with Tilda at school she could go out herself and look for a job.

Nenna is, in many ways, the central character. The other characters have their unique stories, but more time is spent on Nenna, which is proper. Not only is Nenna’s story intriguing but Fitzgerald has given her a fabulous interior dialogue:

. . . Nenna’s thoughts, whenever she was alone, took the form of a kind of perpetual magistrate’s hearing, in which her own version of her marriage was shown as ridiculously simple and demonstrably right, and then, almost exactly at the same time, as incontrovertibly wrong. Her conscience, too, held, quite uninvited, a separate watching brief, and intervened in the proceedings to read statements of an unwelcome nature.

For glorious pages Nenna is interrogated by this judge as her husband, the plaintiff, sits in the background. Though this goes on for pages, Fitzgerald doesn’t overdo it. This technique doesn’t take over Nenna’s personality, and it still allows Nenna’s sad story to be told.

Though short, this book actually took me quite a bit of time to read. The story and the characters are complex. Though Fitzgerald’s sentences hold this complexity well, they are intricate and complex in and of themselves and take some time to digest. The book demanded time. But it was time so well spent. I loved this book.

Trevor's Review of Galgut's In a Strange Room

Since this book wasn't available in the U.S. when the 2010 longlist was announced, I bought it and read it on my iPhone. At the time, it was just an experiment, a way to read a shortish book when no other way was possible. This book is so engrossing, that I didn't even realize I was reading it on a tiny screen. I was quickly taken out of my surroundings and eagerly followed Galgut as he told three linked travel stories focused on a character named Damon.

The three stories are "The Follower," "The Lover," and "The Guardian." In each case, the story is being narrated by an older Damon as he reflects on these three trips he took some ten or twenty years earlier. Because a focus of the book is memory, the older Damon sometimes speaks in the first person as he recalls the events and at othe times, when he seems less sure or more distanced from who he was, he narrates in the third person. This is not as cumbersome as it sounds. Galgut has complete control and the prose is actually clean and spare.

As much as I loved The Finkler Question, this was my pick for the Booker winner.

For my complete review on my blog, click here.

Trevor's Review of Jacobson's The Finkler Question

In short, I loved this book and, though my favorite book on the shortlist was In a Strange Room, I was thrilled when it was announced as the winner last night. I began it warily the day the shortlist was announced. Well, any wariness wore off quickly. The first few pages were incredibly funny to me. Jacobson certainly connected with me and, with superb stlye, made me laugh and shudder throughout.

So it is funny and sad as it examines loss and grief, but it is also very timely. Its looks at religious identity in modern society are important, and Jacobson has a flury of perspectives from which he presents this material.

For my complete review, please click here.

Trevor's Review of Spark's The Driver's Seat

I have been very negligent in my Booker reading lately, not to mention my posting here! I haven't stopped reading the reviews, though. Anyway, I just finished Muriel Spark's The Driver's Seat, my first stop in my attempt to at least read a few of the books on the Lost Booker shortlist (personally, I'm a fan of this latest "gimmick"). (By the way, I'm not sure how to categorize the Lost Booker, so if my tag is inappropriate, please feel free to flag it for repair).

About a year ago I read my first Spark: The Pride of Miss Jean Brodie. I think I was distracted at the time because the book didn't sit well with me. Since then it's gotten better (I've discussed it more and tried to get another perspective by watching the film) but I didn't rush out to read more Spark. Thanks to the Lost Booker I found reason to read another shortie in The Driver's Seat. From page one this is a disturbing take on a disturbed mind.

I've heard that Spark could be very dark, but I didn't expect this one, where we know from the beginning that the woman we are following, Lise, will be dead from multiple stab wounds the next morning. We are forced to watch her encounter brutal (and creepy) men, always wondering which will be the murderer -- and why is Lise with them in the first place? It's a great take on modern spirituality from a writer who seems to like to torture her reader as much as she tortures her characters.

For my complete review, click here.

Trevor's Review of J.L. Carr's A Month in the Country

While I've been reading everyone's reviews, I haven't posted one of my own here in some time. Part of that is because I haven't read many Booker books. After reading last year's longlist, I became disgruntled. I'm getting over it and hope I'm in shape to read this year's list as well.

However, it almost slipped by me that this little gem of a book was shortlisted for the Booker in 1980. I loved it! I think it is the shortest book ever to be on the shortlist, so it doesn't take long to read, but there is so much in it. It does feel like a month in the country: restful, nostalgic, dreamy.

I posted my full review on my blog here: http://mookseandgripes.com/reviews/2009/03/08/jl-carrs-a-month-in-the-country/

I hope many of you find this book which is published by Penguin Modern Classis in the UK and NYRB Classics in the US.

Trevor's Review of the 2008 Longlist

I just finished reading all but one and a half of the thirteen books on the 2008 longlist (didn't finish The Northern Clemency and didn't start Girl in a Blue Dress.

It wasn't a good year in my opinion. Here is my ranking of the books. If you click on them, you can get my full review with comments from other readers.

1. Netherland, by Joseph O'Neill
2. The Clothes on Their Backs, by Linda Grant
3. A Fraction of the Whole, by Steve Toltz
4. Sea of Poppies, by Amitav Ghosh
5. From A to X, by John Berger
6. The Secret Scripture, by Sebastian Barry
7. The Lost Dog, by Michelle de Kretser
8. The White Tiger, by Aravind Adiga
9. A Case of Exploding Mangoes, by Mohammed Hanif
10. The Enchantress of Florence, by Salman Rushdie
11. The Northern Clemency, by Philip Hensher
12. Child 44, by Tom Rob Smith

While I liked aspects of almost all of the books, only the top three were enjoyable to read throughout. And I'm not sure they were particularly strong or not. Still, it's a great prize, and I look forward to seeing which one of the luck books takes it away this year!

Trevor's Review of Atwood's Alias Grace

Moving away from the winners for a bit, I took on Atwood's Alias Grace. I have had my eyes on this book for a while, basically waiting to read it as a reward for when I finished the Best of the Booker shortlist. This might have ruined if for me.

It's not that the story wasn't interesting. It's not that the issues it took on weren't important or compelling. I think I'm just getting tired of Atwood's style. Her quick punches in her wry codas really started to get to me in this one.

At the start Grace Marks has already been in jail for fifteen years for the murder of Thomas Kinnear, her employer, and Nancy Montgomery, his housekeeper. Interestingly, Grace can't remember what happened. Doctor Simon Jordon, who doesn't necessarily care about exonerating Grace as much as making his name in science, comes to try to help her remember. Grace tells her story from the beginning, and Atwood escorts us smoothly to a finale.

If you're interested in more of my feelings on this book, please check out my new blog: http://mookse.wordpress.com. My blog is set up so people looking for general feelings about a book before they read it can get a general review. But I also leave space at the end to discuss issues that might spoil the book for those who haven't read it. I'm hoping to get into some conversations about some of these books on that level. I'd love for my Complete Booker friends to visit to discuss some of these issues.

3 stars out of 5.

Trevor's Review of Rushdie's Midnight's Children

I've completed the short list for the Best of the Booker. Midnight's Children has my vote (though I think had I really been able to vote for Best of the Booker on my own terms, I would have gone for Remains of the Day or Possession).

I didn't think I was going to enjoy Midnight's Children as much as I did. About four years ago I started the book, and while I really enjoyed the first 150 pages or so, I got bogged down in the political history that overwhelms the last 400 pages. I never finished it. Since then I have learned more about India's recent history and more about Islam and Hinduism. While it was still difficult at times to follow how the abstract portions of the book fit with the political history, having basic knowledge of India's contemporary history made it much more enjoyable--a true pleasure. The history informs the reading of the book--and the book illuminates the history. Both are fascinating, and important.

It's not just the clever allegory that makes this a worthy read. Rushdie has the gift of describing mundane events as if they were mythical. The narrative devices are clever: Saleem is telling the story while he cracks all over, almost as if it is in real time; a woman makes commentary about his story while he tells it, and he responds to her, sometimes contradicting what he's already said. And what really impressed me: the intricacies and rhythm of the story telling make it seem like this story has been passed down through generations. As it should, being the story of a nation.

5 stars out of 5.

Trevor's Review of Gordimer's The Conservationist

I am ambivalent about this book.

On the one hand, it had some brilliant parts. The overall themes of apartheid are incredibly subtle but powerful. Many of the passages are very poetic and evocative. At the end I could honestly say that I felt I'd been through a good experience. She does a great job showing the awkward relationship between Mehring and his black workers. The dead man found at the beginning haunts the rest of the novel--and it works brilliantly.

On the other hand, most of the time I read it I was annoyed by what to me felt like an over self-indulgent, self-conscious style. I felt like I was at one of those poetry readings where the poet is reading the poem entitled something like "A purple evening on the hood of my 1965 Mustang with the engine turned off thinking about existentialism while the moon rose over the hills to the East: A Reverie"--the kind of writing that lays out details in a way not meant to be descriptive but to sound profound, even when they are not. It doesn't help that she starts a chapter "Golden reclining nudes of the desert." It's there at the beginning, one line, with a break between it and the next paragraph. I'm just not into this kind of writing. I enjoy a more simple, understated style.

I'm sure a lot of this was just my approach to the novel, but I couldn't help feel like the narrator was drolling on and on in this way, enunciating alliteration and assonance to show how clever it was. I was most touched by the simple passages, not by the ones that were obviously worked and reworked to have a rhythm that screams at the reader--look at this rhythm!

This is just my personal taste. I don't want to discourage anyone about this novel. I feel awfully pretentious saying all of that about a Booker Prize winner, let alone about a Nobel Prize winner. Griping about style in a book of obvious substantive value is a probably petty. Gordimer's writing is important. She has been incredibly progressive with her portrayals of race, and this book was one of those important works. Unfortunatlely, this particular book felt dated to me. The Best of the Booker judges have a bit different taste than I do--I didn't feel like this book really made it out of the early 1980s.
3 stars out of 5.

Trevor's Review of Farrell's The Siege of Krishnapur

So far, this is my favorite of this year's Best of the Booker shortlist (I still have to read Midnight's Children and The Conservationist). It was a great story with a lot of subtle characters and themes. And the writing was excellent. I wish that Sacred Hunger could have been written in language this good and meticulous--it is poetic yet simple and does an excellent job setting the overall feel for a deep historical novel.

The novel itself, as the title says, is about a siege that happened in 1857. A British community in Krishnapur is attacked by Muslim soldiers. On that level, it is a great adventure novel. The action is great; Farrell manages to express the excitement and fear at the same time as he relays the strategies of the defense. It was both interesting and entertaining.

The true beauty of this novel, however, lies in its discussions about civilization, colonialism, and "ideas" of progress. All of the characters, at one point or another, have to examine how they feel about their position in both India and in the greater construct of "civilization." There is a lot of pride, of course. Farrell does an excellent job displaying that pride with ironic undertones. For example, when one soldier dies:

"Providence has denied his country the privilege of decking his youthful brow with the chaplets which belong to the sons of victory and of fame, but his deeds can never die. The pages of history will record and rehearse them far and wide, and every Englishman, whether in his island home or a wanderer on some foreign shore, will relate with admiration what George Foxlett Cutter did at the siege of Krishnapur!"

Since the book takes place soon after the Great Exhibition, that event provides a nice backdrop to the conversation. However, much of the book felt disconnected from its history, and I felt a strong desire to get more of an epic feel. Then again, the book is about an isolated siege that has turned out to be rather insignificant even in its own time. This feeling of isolation fits nicely with that.
5 stars out of 5.

Trevor's Review of Barker's The Ghost Road

I can't give this book a good review, but I can say some good things about it: it was interesting, it was well written, it was compelling, it was quick.

The book takes place towards the end of World War I, a fascinating time period both historically and culturally. Barker puts a lot of this together in this book: war, empire, sexuality--particularly homosexuality. I found it interesting. I also enjoyed the bits about real historical figures like Dr. Rivers, the poet Wilfred Owens, and Lewis Carrol.

Still, the book didn't do it for me. Tying death and sex together is an interesting concept, but it remains in the abstract for me. Barker's attempts to bring that abstract concept into gritty realism didn't make sense to me. Rather, her explicit depictions (nothing meant to titilate, merely to describe in a physical sort of way) offensive. I'm not easily offended either, having studied literature and sexuality in some detail. Then again, maybe it is just me.

The violence did not offend me however. In fact, the passages about the war were poignant in their grit. Still, when I was done, I kind of felt like I'd heard most of it before, in some other war book or movie. That does not make me dislike this book. In that way, its insights were important, but it didn't redeem the book for me to be retold something.

The seemingly original part of the book was Dr. Rivers's memories of his early days as a missionary doctor in the south seas being overlayed on his experiences as a doctor/psychiatrist during World War I. But even there, I felt like nothing new was being said. Still, that nothing new was being said very well. Barker is a gifted writer.

Unfortunately, I didn't do my research on the book before reading it and therefore didn't realize it was the last book of a trilogy. While I haven't gone back to read the first two books, they look better than The Ghost Road. I recommend reading them first and then going for The Ghost Road to complete the Booker challenge or to give an informed vote in the Best of the Booker ballot. I think I might have enjoyed this book more had I done that. As is, my rating is probably unfair, but here it is:
2 stars out of 5.

Trevor's Review of Carey's Oscar and Lucinda

When I started this book I knew I was in for something different. Two gamblers fall in love and conspire to transport a glass church across the outback in colonial times? And it's good? Yes, it is good.

Peter Carey's Oscar and Lucinda was a great trip for me. I loved being immersed in the details of the 1850s and 1860s. I especially loved being immersed in the details of the mind from this period. This is not a simple love story. The characters feel deeply about many things, and have many different feelings: guilt, pleasure, holiness, despair, longing, loneliness. The list could go on. It's a rich rich book.

While the basic story is what's written above, it is more honest to say that the transporting a glass church thing is just something that happens in the book. It was a way for Carey to really dig into deep questions of the soul--faith, doubt, righteousness, hypocrisy, wickedness, the fragility of relationships. While I read this book I really cared for the characters as they struggled to find their identity amidst so much external and internal conflict.

The book is also pretty funny. There are several great parts that made me laugh out loud. It's the way Carey describes things and his sense of timing. But that same talent helps him also achieve a devestating effect in the reader. The comical story is real, but so is the tragedy and the despair. The relationships are so important to the characters, who have struggled so hard to connect with anyone, yet the relationships, while honest, are also desperate. It's hard to read at times for fear of what discoveries will be made.

The books started slowly, though not unpleasantly. We see Oscar and Lucinda growing up, experiencing their rather harsh childhoods. Oscar is a bit strange to others. Lucinda too, only its because she's a rather strong willed woman. Both recognize their situation, and even though they recognize that they should not worry because they feel they are being exactly who they should be, it still hurts. On a side note, almost, they each become addicted to gambling. Ultimately they gamble everything they care for on each other. This all somehow leads to a very insightful look at faith, colonialism, love, death.

Somehow in this book Carey has taken a million minute, seemingly unimportant details, and compiled them into something touching and important. I like the way one of the Best of the Booker judges described it as building the Taj Mahal out of matchsticks (or something along those lines).
4 stars out of 5.

Trevor's Review of Brookner's Hotel du Lac

A disturbing book that was at the same time a pleasure to read. We begin when Edith Hope commences her stay at the Hotel du Lac, a luxury hotel, prideful of the fact that it is the place people go when they need a deep rest. Brookner's prose perfectly encapsulates the mood as Edith stands before her window looking out on a grey day:

"Edith Hope, a writer of romantic fiction under a more thrusting name, remained standing at the window, as if an access of good will could pierce the mysterious opacity with which she had been presented, although she had been promised a tonic cheerfulness, a climate devoid of illusions, an utterly commonsensical, not to say pragmatic, set of circumstances--quiet hotel, excellent cuisine, long walks, lack of excitement, early nights--in which she could be counted upon to retrieve her serious and hard-working personality and to forget the unfortunate lapse which had led to this brief exile, in this apparently unpopulated place, at this slowly darkening time of the year, when she should have been at home."

Guests come to rest, often sent by their families because their families don't know what else to do with them. In a way, it feels like a sanitorium, though at the same time it is like a nice pension in Switzerland. Edith herself is attempting to recover from something, and her friends are glad to be rid of her. When Edith gets there, the season is beginning to end. There is a feeling of both of loneliness and security.

I expected this to be a type of romance novel. The description on the back of my book is a bit misleading in this regard. However, I found a great exploration of love and its role in relationships. For years before coming to the hotel, Edith was involved with a married man. She knows that to him she is a diversion, someone to visit for relaxation. But since he has never said as much himself, she cannot bring herself to fully accept the fact either. She is honest with herself, but her philosophies have prevented her from changing. She sees herself on the periphery, and she knows that's where people expect her to be. At the hotel, she meets a cast of characters who are mostly out-of-season women who, like her, feel but fail to comprehend or accept their situation. The one man staying at the hotel approaches Edith with a different philosophy that Edith both wants and does not want.

"Since I freed myself from all that I have discovered the secret of contentment. . . . It is simply this. Without a huge emotional investment, one can do whatever one pleases. One can take decisions, change one's mind, alter one's plans. There is none of the anxiety of waiting to see if that one other person has everything she desires, if she is discontented, upset restless, bored. One can be as pleasant or as ruthless as one wants. If one is prepared to do the one thing one is drilled out of doing from earliest childhood--simply please oneself--there is no reason why one should ever be unhappy again."

Edith recognizes the logic of this theory. She wants to free herself from what others see her as. But she recognizes contradictions. But the man has grown an interest in her. She wants what his philosophy offers but she knows she cannot have what she wants if he too espouses this philosophy. The book has many paradoxes and contradictions--one of its strengths.

I enjoyed the book from the beginning to end. Brookner's structure is excellent, and she can go backwards and forwards in time smoothly. She can also present the contradictions and their connections to feminism and post-modern theories. However, the book is not itself an exercise in these theories. It's a fairly straight-forward story that offers a lot of food about what's wrong and right with relationships.
3 stars out of 5.

Trevor's Review of McEwan's Amsterdam

This is the funniest McEwan book I've read. It's also probably one of the funniest Booker winners I've read. That's not to say it's light, but its dark humor definitely hits the right spot.

McEwan's style is excellent. When he wants the book to speed up, the prose forces the reader to move quickly. When he wants things to slow down (which doesn't happen often in this quick read) he manages to slow it down while still being interesting.

The story is a lark. I had a lot of fun with it. It picks out three men in their fifties. Each has been a lover of Molly's, who's dead on the first page. Each attends her funeral. Clive is a composer, about to write his most important work, a work that will cement his place as a genius. Vernon is top editor of The Judge, one of London's newspapers, and he's got a story that is guaranteed to push it to the top. The other, Julian, is a politician, favored to become PM. These characters and the novel as a whole parodies the world in which we live wonderfully. Impressively, though it's been ten years since Amsterdam won the prize, and even though the world has changed, many things, the things this novel picks up and plays with, have not changed at all, and this novel still hits the right spots in the eary twenty-first century.

That said, I didn't really think it was much more than that. It had some great commentary on society and art, jealousy and ambition, death and revenge; however, the commentary seemed more fitting to a column in a high-brow newspaper than a Booker prize winner. It was ironic, it was witty, and it was fun. But unlike other Bookers and other McEwan novels nothing else really stood out. What was unique was the story, not what it said. Or maybe more will come to me with time, and I'll see just how profound this book really was. Still, a quick, fun read that I recommend. It's better than this last paragraph makes it sound.
3 stars out of 5.

Trevor's Review of Coetzee's Life and Times of Michael K

"The damp weather was no good for her, nor was the unending worry about the future. Once settled in Prince Albert she would quickly recover her health. At most, they would be a day or two on the road. People were decent, people would stop and give them lifts."

This is one of those rare works of art that by showing ugliness gets the person paying attention to recognize, more deeply, beauty. I'm not sure how it happens, but while reading this book, this book about a war and about one man's physical decline as he attempts to become invisible--I looked around me and saw so many wonderful things. I would read the sad way Michael K passes time while alone or in captivity and feel some fundamental truth, some elemental beauty even among the ugliness of human nature. For example, this simple passage from early in the book is simple, its momentary bliss is rare, yet for all its simpleness it shouts a message louder than the ravages going on around the characters:

"[H]e was again able to take his mother, wrapped in coat and blanket, for a seafront ride that brought a smile to her lips."

I liked this book more than Coetzee's Disgrace. In both Coetzee has a way of using simple words in seemingly simple sentences, coming up with a fabulously understated style:

"He had a feeling that he was losing his grip on why he had come all these hundreds of miles, and had to pace about with his hands over his face before he felt better again."

But Life and Times of Michael K felt more compassionate. Because Coetzee had to recognize the fundamental beauty I talked about earlier, I felt more drawn to K and to the writer. Simple passages like the one here made me feel like Coetzee was not merely defending a character--as I felt in Disgrace, where the character was almost completely unlikeable--but also working hard to get the reader to love a character that he loved.

"There was a cord of tenderness that stretched from him to the patch of earth beside the dam and must be cut. It seemed to him that one could cut a cord like that only so many times before it would not grow again."

Michael K is deceptively complex. He seems simple. He barely talks. The simple style of the novel strengthens this feel. However, like the novel itself, there is much more to Michael K. The doctor, who tells Part II, is one of the only characters who recognizes Michael K as something more than a simpleton. His revelation is probably flawed too, but that leaves more room for the reader to get what they can from the life of Michael K.

4 stars out of 5.

Trevor's Review of Unsworth's Sacred Hunger

"Soon after midnight the first of the land breeze began making along the river and Thurso ordered sail to be got up and all to be made ready for purchasing anchor. At two they weighed an got out to sea, the wind by this time giving a good offing. In the cover of darkness, as quietly as possible, the Liverpool Merchant began to steer a course south-eastward. but when the ship met the deep sea well, the rhythm of her movement changed and the people in the cramped and fetid darkness of the hold, understanding that they had lost all hope of returning to their homes set up a great cry of desolation and despair that carried over the water to the other ships in the road and the slaves in the holds of the ships heard it and answered with wild shouts and screams, so that for people lying awake in villages along the shore and solitary fishermen up before dawn, there was a period when the night resounded with the echoes of lamentation."

Sacred Hunger is a difficult read--passages like this one are piercing, painful to really digest and admit. But this is an important book. Unsworth's insight into the complex motives behind greed, dominion, mercy, and kindness make this much more than a simple story about a slave ship in the mid-1700s. In fact, in this book we see these emotions and attributes come up in almost all relationships: between man and woman, between captain and sailor, between English and Native-American, between one tribe and another, between parents and children. Its a complex world, but Unsworth makes it flow smoothly. Also, even though there are many relationships which all are used to further themes, this book is far from contrived. The characters and their relationships are real and familiar--that's what's scary.

In Sacred Hunger there is mutiny aboard a slave ship. The whites and blacks begin their own community in south Florida. Meanwhile, the ship owner's son single-mindedly seeks revenge against the crew, particularly against his cousin, the ship's doctor. But it is not that simple. Even while the new community is attempting to grow into a free society, where there are no distinctions between blacks and whites, Unsworth shows just how difficult such a task is.

In the dialogue, Unsworth has the ability to show the feelings of the slave traders while instilling pure irony:

"'Tis a terrible trade, them not in it will never know the hardships, to see your profits dribblin' in the sea an' nothin' you can do."

Such passages are amusing at the same time they evoke reprehension. But in a frightening way they made me think about how many awful things we do today without quite understanding how ridiculous our position is. Then there are the illuminating, yet discouraging passages:

"Nothing a man suffers will prevent him from inflicting suffering on others."

This book recognizes the difficulties inherent in trying to live in an equal society. In fact, some of its interesting passages deal with building a community through rhetorical strategy. While I didn't feel like it was a fully-fleshed theme, story-telling and legend-making definitely are important, especially since the story is based on the ramblings of an old mulatto many years after the story has ended:

"But mainly he talked--of a Liverpool ship, of a white father who had been a doctor aboard her and had never died, a childhood of wonders in a place of eternal sunshine, jungle hummocks, great flocks of white birds rising from flooded savannahs, a settlement where white and black lived together in perfect accord."

This is a great contender for the Best of the Booker over the last forty years. I wish it had more attention, especially considering this anniversary year for the US and last year's for the UK--200 years since the abolition of the slave-trade across the Atlantic. If only it had truly ended then--but Unsworth's book offers some bitter insight into why it didn't.
5 stars out of 5.

Trevor's Review of Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale

Amazing in its frightening and yet too plausible view of the future, this book is also a master lesson in narrative and metafiction.

First, the substance: Atwood's insight into so many facets of modern American life is so astounding, her genius cannot be questioned. She delves adroitly into feminism, theocracy, literary theory, world history, and so many other trends and philosophies they cannot all be listed. Yet Atwood never falters in her application. Each philosophy makes its way into the narrative with subtle accuracy. It's incredible. And it's scary.

Second, the style: I spent most of the book trying to figure out how the handmaid was telling her story, and to whom. And especially--why. Turns out I was wrong--I don't think I could have figured it out, honestly. But Atwood's narrative technique is perfect. By the end, one can question the accuracy of every single thing the narrator said, but the feeling is still there, real and unquestionable. This book is enjoyable as a simple read. But one can get so much out of studying it.
5 stars out of 5.

Trevor's Review of Coetzee's Disgrace

This book was a quick read--not necessarily because it is short but because it is one that must be read. David Lurie is a character to be despised, at least, that's what I wanted to do. I couldn't fully despise the man though. Somehow, I could not help but pity him and see underneath the cold, selfish skin a real human being.

The novel opens up when Lurie's prostitute stops meeting with him. He's seen her outside of the hotel room where until now they've had a great relationship. She cannot deal with the fact that she's been seen by a client in her daily life, so she drops him. He finds solace by seducing one of his students. She is captured. He won't let her go, even though he sees that she is crushed with her guilt and her desire. Eventually he is exiled from his community, mostly by choice because he will not go along with the type of apology that was demanded of him. He goes to live with his daughter, who herself has a troubled past. In a sense, this is where the book begins. And there is more disgrace to come.

An excellent book. Exquisite craftsmanship. There are so many levels to this story, all of them tied together with profound insight and masterful allusion. However, this is not a light read. While the story itself is simple to follow, the story is devestating. My favorite aspect of the book is how well Coetzee portrays the racial tensions in South Africa. It's subtle yet fully realized. Coetzee knows how to write sentences that evoke so much emotion and energy. I admit that I have not fully informed myself of the criticism this book takes from those who purport to know more about South Africa and race relationships. I'm not sure how I'd feel about it if I knew more, but as I stand now, I highly recommend it both for its stylistic, stark beauty and for its substance.
4 stars out of 5.

Trevor's Review of Byatt's Possession: A Romance

Here Byatt wrote a fantastic, confident book. For a former literary scholar, it is perfect. Not only does she control two time periods, one that is investigating the other, but she includes full writings and poems from two fake literary geniuses. These excerpts fit the voice and style of Victorian literature and thought. One gets the feeling that they really would be part of the cannon were they really written 150 years ago.

Two young scholars are researching the lives of two Victorian poets. They slowly come to discover the relationship these two poets had together. Meanwhile, Byatt takes us back to the lives of the two poets. It is fun to read the literature through the voice of someone who knows literary criticism. One can see that Byatt is criticizing the profession at the same time she is using its tools to create a great work.

But this book is not good just because it is stylistically clever. There were many parts of this book that took my breath away. Particularly there were some ruminations on death that really struck me--especially since they came from someone who is dead and part of the past for most of the novel.

5 stars out of 5.