Human Acts by Han Kang (2014)

The shock and aftershocks of loss from the 1980 Gwangju massacre in South Korea are described with painful sensitivity.

Book Review: Human Acts is a book on a mission, giving evidence, bearing witness, creating meaning, testifying to the effects of the brutal suppression of a student and worker uprising in which the human suffering had a half-life of decades. This is not reportage. This is a memory that refuses to be forgotten. Like some unholy mix of Solzhenitsyn and Lincoln in the Bardo, everything is told through human cost, emotion, loss, pain, guilt, anger. "Why I'm still alive?" Han Kang brings everything to the most fundamental level, real, human, into the physicality of bodies: torn flesh, ripped intestines, flowing blood. The war repeated, but this time South Korean soldiers sadistically killed South Korean workers and students. Human Acts tells the actual physical effect of broken bodies and broken minds on broken people, but the suffering existed not only in three dimensions, but in the fourth as well, in real time, as the horrendous legacy is felt over decades, continually and increasingly destructive for these damaged people. Han is determined to carefully express the hurt, and does so through a web of interrelated people, alive or dead, all victims of the massacre. An important book, a telling moment, as the book notes such events occurred in the New World and in Bosnia. This unique story is not unique to Korea. Think of Warsaw, the Khmer Rouge, the Egyptian Spring, and so many others. Moments of meaning and finality. Han says: "There is no way back to the world before the torture. No way back to the world before the massacre." This a book to cause pain and tears. But for me the most touching moment is when Human Acts tells of the mothers of the dead, finally taking their voice.  [4★]

Passing by Nella Larsen (1929)

A black woman passes for white in 1920s America in the second novel by one of the luminaries of the Harlem Renaissance.

Book Review: Passing is educational, challenging, and contains far more substance than one might expect from such a short novel. The story is told like a three act play through two women, childhood friends. Clare who "passes," while married to a virulent racist (who demonstrates the absurdity of the "one drop rule"), and Irene who passes occasionally, but actually simply ventures at times into the white community and is light enough to be unchallenged. For Clare, life is hinged between black and white: her entire life is a reaction to the white world, which she has joined because she "looks white." She has abandoned her black heritage and seems to have lost her moral center. For Irene, the white world rarely intrudes as she lives comfortably within the black middle class, and "acts white." While proud of her heritage and working for racial advancement, she's also assimilated to the limits of rejection. Her life is not a matter of reacting to the white world, but living side by side, while trying to protect her children from the "race question" and stay safe. She's loyal to her race (and gender) and reluctantly protects Clare's secret because she's a black woman. But what happens if Irene's secure world is threatened when Clare wants to pass and reclaim her place in the culture. Although published in 1929, Passing still has much to say to us today. Apparently there is some controversy whether the novel ends with the paragraph beginning "Her quaking knees ..." or the following paragraph, "Centuries after... ." Both versions I found ended with the latter. It's said "the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice," but in Passing, no one gets what they want. The stunning ambiguity of the ending is an excellent place to start a conversation.  [4★]

The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith (1952)

A young woman discovers her sexuality in 1950's Manhattan.

Book Review: The Price of Salt was such an enjoyable read that I'm unsure how good it was. It was so Fifties, with smoking and cocktails and hotel bars, it felt like an old Technicolor movie about New York, with stylish clothes and giant cars. But transgressive and anachronistic, (I had to keep telling myself that this was published in 1952), something like the film Far from Heaven (2002, but set in 1957). The genre is a little difficult to pinpoint. A simple tale, straight forward, a romance, a growing up story, a bit of suspense (Patricia Highsmith just can't help herself). Her writing is carefully controlled, quiet and restrained, sometimes plain as pudding, sometimes sharp as jalapeños (there is a road trip out West, after all). A woman says of her husband, "I think he picked me out like a rug for his living room, and he made a bad mistake." Much of The Price of Salt is told through interior monologue, with quotidian dialog between, but rings true at almost every step. The emotion and passion is sensitive and real. None of the characters are "easy" people: complicated, changeable, subject to moods. The characters don't communicate well, but the interior self-analysis and doubt is spot on. Seeing the growth of our protagonist is rewarding. At first the romance seems like a schoolgirl crush on a teacher younger and prettier than her mother, but then transforms. The last quarter of The Price of Salt wasn't quite as enthralling as the rest, but still a good set-up for the ending. Originally published by Highsmith under the pseudonym Claire Morgan, a film version was released as Carol in 2015. What was daring and empowering in 1952, is charming and sweet almost 70 years later. That's a good thing.  [4★]

To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf (1927)

The story of the Ramsay family and friends in the Hebrides, before and after the Great War.

Book Review: To the Lighthouse seems to create only a very small picture, but reminds us that every day consists of a thousand moments, small events, all of which have meaning. That love and the other thousand feelings that connect us to other people, are real even if they cannot be fully unraveled. The reader can get as much from this book as she is willing to put in. Woolf's writing is simultaneously beautiful, inventive, and magical, and occasionally difficult. When we speak of writers such as Joyce and Proust, we must also include their contemporary Virginia Woolf, their peer in every way. To the Lighthouse seemed more accessible, easier to follow, than some of Woolf's other books and may be a good place to begin with one's Woolf reading. Very little seems to happen in the exterior world of this novel, but the interior world of the characters is busy, fraught, and crowded. When events occur in the exterior world, events barely mentioned here, they are momentous. And the interior world goes on. To the Lighthouse is in three parts, the first day when discussion is had whether to take a trip to the lighthouse across the bay; then the "Time Passes" section in which time indeed passes and the devastation, horror, and death of the Great War occurs. After which the interior world continues, but everything is changed. Finally we have a later day, in which a trip to the lighthouse across the bay is again proposed. The lighthouse itself can happily be an endless discussion for symbologists everywhere. So much is interior here that it leaves endless room for readers and their own interior thoughts. This was fresh, enjoyable, accessible, reminding us how much can be captured in a grain of sand.  [4★]

Welcome to the Monkey House by Kurt Vonnegut (1968)

A collection of short stories written from 1950 to 1966.

Book Review: Welcome to the Monkey House is a startling mix, even more so than most short story collections. A writer's first book of short stories gives the reader a picture of the author's growth, history, mistakes and successes. This is particularly true of Kurt Vonnegut, with some stories having no endings, some seemingly little purpose, some being nothing like the Vonnegut he became, and others just unashamedly brilliant ("Harrison Bergeron"). But all the stories, no matter the quality or subject, have his great humanity, all are people-centered, all are about us. What's particularly striking is the variety of styles included in Welcome to the Monkey House. This is revealed by the magazines in which the stories were first printed. Does Cosmo, Ladies Home Journal, the Saturday Evening Post sound like Vonnegut? How about Atlantic, Esquire, The New York Times? Okay, maybe the NYT. There're also stories from Fantasy & Science Fiction and Galaxy. And some periodicals I'd never heard of. Some of these stories are just everyday slice of life, some are clever ideas taken to absurd levels, many are satirical commentary on our society that remain relevant, and there's even straight romance. Vonnegut was trying anything. With a generous 25 stories in Welcome to the Monkey House, there's bound to be ups and downs, but all the stories are enjoyable and provide an insight into how to write, how to live, and how to be human.  [3½★]

Moses, Man of the Mountain by Zora Neale Hurston (1939)

The story of the Hebrews, slaves in Egypt, told through the lens of Africans, slaves in America.

Book Review: Moses, Man of the Mountain shows the strengths of wily Zora Neale Hurston, godmother to writers such as Alice Walker and Toni Morrison. Although a product of the Harlem Renaissance, as ever she refuses to be politically correct. Here she tells the story of Moses and the Exodus her way, like no other, retelling the story with black slaves from the American South somehow replacing the Hebrew slaves of the original tale in Egypt under Pharaoh. Hurston creates an irresistible mix of myth, satire, legend, spirituals, and parallels. She uses many voices, from the vernacular to the professorial, in telling her story. Her version sheds more light on all permutations, comparing and contrasting, allowing a greater understanding of the American experience. Hurston rejected the idea of African Americans as victims, that their entire lives were nothing but a response to the dominant white oppressors. Hurston denied the "arrogance" of whites assuming that "black lives are only defensive reactions to white actions." She preferred celebrating and acknowledging independence and success than bemoaning wrongs. Alice Walker called this a view of "racial health," black people as complete and whole. This point of view was not widely accepted. But it was her vision as she wrote Moses, Man of the Mountain. She speaks to black Americans, to Jewish Americans, and makes strong points about the place of women in society by acknowledging women's role at the time. Hurston's Moses embodies both male and female, a working stand-in for the author herself. Readers could be forgiven for not knowing that Zora Neale Hurston wrote any novels beyond Their Eyes Were Watching God, as her other three novels are virtually invisible. Which is a shame and a continuing crime as they are valuable contributions, vastly underestimated and underrated, always good and always interesting. Moses, Man of the Mountain is well worth reading.  [4★]

The Vegetarian by Han Kang (2007)

A young wife becomes a vegetarian in reaction against the society that created her.

Book Review: My first thought was to relate The Vegetarian to Kafka, but I don't think that works over the length of the book; it's not that simple. Perhaps it's closer in theme to Melville's Bartleby the Scrivener. The novel kept me reading and thinking throughout. The story is told by three narrators, with only short excerpts revealing the thoughts and feelings of the protagonist. The first narrator, her husband, views her as unremarkable as himself, and has no ambition beyond conformity, which he, mistakenly, thinks will include his wife. He anticipates and accepts an ultimately deadening and debilitating life, a life without living. Cruelly denying his wife any aspirations beyond his non-existent dreams. The second narrator is her brother-in-law, who lives on her sister's income. He is an artist who sees in the protagonist the fulfillment of his artistic vision, without any appreciation of the cost to her, or any benefit to or fulfillment of her own vision. He narcissistically turns her into a fetish of his fantasy, succeeding because her own dreams have some coincidence. The third narrator is her sister, a successful entrepreneur who supports her husband and child, and alone runs both home and business. Her sister has managed to conform to, even succeed in society, while subject to the same fears and vulnerabilities of her damaged sister. She shows how thin the line between sanity and (what we view as) insanity can be ("It was a fact. She had never lived."). Here our protagonist, seeks to react against her brutal, abusive father (who physically abused her but not her siblings) by finding a way in life to do no harm, she seeks to become a harmless creature, self-sufficient, neither needing nor feeding upon others, barely interacting with humanity. Her understanding of her life, of her choice not participate in life or society, changes throughout The Vegetarian. It is her parents, particularly her father, who react most aggressively against her vegetarianism, her father violently, her mother deviously. Her husband and siblings are frustrated and troubled by her choice, but take few direct actions about it.  The violence of her parents (physical and mental) drives her to become a creature that does no harm, that does not hurt others.  If one views the patriarchy as a source of violence, her response fits perfectly. If one views parents (representing society) as the source of a child's pain, as the ones that bend the twig, that control the child at the expense of the child's own destiny, own aspirations, her reaction also fits. Other possible interpretations exist. Yet those around her view her actions (as she returns to infancy) as insanity, which the reader may also identify in her actions (her insanity causes her to harm), if not her aim. Her attempt to cause no harm, to be nonvalent, to have no effect, angers, frustrates, and confuses those around her ("what she had renounced was the very life that her body represented"). Suggesting that the demands of society require us to do harm, to injure, to be unkind, even to those we do not know. How do we live a life like that? An insane society sees an effort to resist and deny its inherent violence as insanity. Choosing not to participate is not an acceptable option. The Vegetarian is open-ended and thoughtful as it must be when it is about something deep inside us, what makes us, where we begin.  [4½★]

Jane Austen: A Life by Claire Tomalin (1997)

A thoroughly detailed and thoughtful biography of the insurgent novelist.

Book Review: Jane Austen: A Life is excellent, an intelligent and deep biography worthy of its subject. This book would be far shorter if it relied only on the known facts of Jane Austen's life. So few of her letters and assuredly accurate memoirs have survived that a biographer must be creative to present a more complete picture of our Jane. Claire Tomalin has done just that. Much as astronomers can detect a hidden celestial object by its effects on other bodies, so Tomalin has taken her research one step further. Not only has she deeply examined Austen's family and relatives, she's also studied the lives of her peers and contemporaries, revealing the circumstances of comparable women in the same region and period, undergoing similar life events. In this way the biographer presents a portrait that at times must be based on supposition, but also tells us much more than expected. This revelatory approach obviously leads to speculation, but it's speculation amply informed by Tomalin's judicious intelligence, clever insights, and persuasive discussion. She's also willing to extend her extrapolations: "If this ... then perhaps that ... ," but her manner is informative rather than opinionated. When Tomalin comments on the narrative, it's enjoyable rather than intrusive: "There is something fresh and pleasant about Mr. Austen's concern for well-brushed teeth."  A distant maternal relationship and family financial difficulties are well explored. There's a sad but saintly scene of Jane using three chairs and a pillow as her "sofa." Well and clearly written, Jane Austen: A Life was slow going at times only because of the immensity of the factual background presented. An invaluable map, two family trees (!), and informative notes, bibliography, and index are also included. Although Tomalin is of the opinion that Austen rarely wrote autobiography, Janeites will find many echoes from her life in her novels, to the enrichment of both. While Jane Austen: A Life is the only Austen biography I've read, I can't imagine there's much better out there.  [4½★]

The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion (2005)

Joan Didion recounts the year in which her husband died, her only child became seriously ill, and she had to question reality.

Book Review: The Year of Magical Thinking is a very individual story, from a certain kind of culture on how to deal with death. The daughter of a serviceman, as a child Didion was a military dependent who traveled frequently with intermittent schooling. She came from a background where one doesn't show weakness or emotion, as showing emotion is a form of weakness. Never let them see you sweat. Where the answer to any problem is to work harder, and if that doesn't succeed, then to work harder still. No excuses. Some critics call her cold and unfeeling, others say she's whiny and self-indulgent. To me this contradiction reveals the depth of her writing. In The Year of Magical Thinking Didion may at times seem cold, analytical, unaffected by the tragic events of the year, but in her quiet way the perceptive reader can see her screaming like her hair's on fire. Her 40-year marriage ends with her husband's death. Working partners for much of their lives together, editing each other's books, writing screenplays together. With the loss the sensible Didion succumbs to hope and magical belief, that if she can just get it right her husband will return. She can't give away his shoes after the funeral, because when he returns he'll need shoes. At the same time her daughter is in a coma. She searches literature and science, poetry and research for a means to cope. At times as a reader it seemed Didion was tough and hard and dealing, and then I realized the tears in my eyes. There are some cultures which pretend death doesn't really happen, which erect a screen between death and our response to it, but then suddenly realize the random unbidden effects on our lives. The Year of Magical Thinking speaks clearly to that world.  [4★]

Elena Ferrante: The Neapolitan Quartet

Elena Ferrante's Neapolitan Novels are, as she's acknowledged, actually a single 1,700 page novel in four volumes about the lives of and relationship between two girls becoming women in Naples: Lina and Elena. I've never read anything quite like this. Is it like Trollope? Proust? Knausgaard? What is this creation? What does it mean and what do I do with it now that I've read it? When I first heard the buzz I resolved never to read the collection. Four books? So many pages? I could read Morrison, Pynchon, Chang, and Wallace instead. And I'm always suspicious of translation. But the buzz continued and got louder, became hype. People I respected recommended the series ... I gave in. First, I read her "memoir" Frantumaglia and thought it was brilliant. Likewise her second novel, Days of Abandonment; Ferrante's writing style was strong, fresh, unique and won me over. The Neapolitan Quartet  grew naturally from her earlier works (particularly the tightrope act that is The Lost Daughter -- the story Ferrante is closest to). So I read My Brilliant Friend, The Story of a New Name, Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay, and The Story of the Lost Child. The first book is by far the shortest (and for her, the most arduous), so that Ferrante (like a drug dealer) can lure and hook the unwary reader. She's an immensely gifted storyteller, who establishes an immaculate tone for her story. She writes of strong women who, even though they're our heroines, are far (distant, even) from perfect. The four novels move through Childhood, Adolescence; Youth; Middle Time; and Maturity, Old Age. I see and make little distinction between the four books in terms of quality. They all seem of a piece, equally good and equally necessary. Having read one the reader must complete them all. Fortunately, they're an easy and quick read. The first person narrator of the books is the diligent, intelligent Elena, who becomes an author. She sees herself as the shadow of her indefinable friend Lina, the wild, undisciplined genius who inspires, goads, challenges, and threatens Elena. They are not simply opposites, but facets, permutations, different aspects of each other. We need both characters, both narratives. Both parts of Ferrante. Emotionally, it's an excruciating story to tell. Usually described as about a "friendship," that word is wholly inadequate for what comprises these four books and binds these two women. Here friendship is uncharted, unknowable, and uncontrollable. The two women are connected, but more by destiny and necessity than friendship. At least any friendship I've ever known. They are the witnesses to each others' lives. Two different people who are linked by equal amounts of good and bad, of love and chaos. They are bound by something in their DNA, their psyches, more like two junkies whose addiction is each other. At the same time, the stories of mothers and daughters saturate both the books and their lives. We learn that loss, complete and utter loss, is never far for women. For anyone perhaps, but especially for women, who always live on the edge as they (as we see with Elena and Lina) try to adapt to their changing conditions. In the danger and challenge of crossing borders, harms and wounds are inevitable. These are not just social novels, but political and historical ones as well. A setting in which Elena grows as Lina disappears, as we only know Lina's writing though Elena's, and we only know Lina though Elena's writing. Writing that tries to control the uncontrollable. All set in a very specific time and place, which is, paradoxically, accessible to everyone. All of which we get to taste in our experience of reading this autobiography, our experience of sharing Elena's and Lina's lives.  🐢

The Body's Question by Tracy K. Smith (2003)

The first book of poems by the Poet Laureate of the United States.

Poetry Review: The Body's Question is an amazing first book, and reassuring in that contemporary American poets are still writing poetry this wonderful. Tracy K. Smith creates within the great tradition of lyric poetry, yet her poems are fresh, individual, and contemporary (yet retro enough to capitalize every line). Too many poets today write poetry so opaque that it couldn't be deciphered by a CIA analyst. Or write poems so accessible there's little substance or meaning, like shower thoughts, like tumblr poetry. Smith writes real poetry (sorry, but true). She's a Romantic. Her poems can be timeless ("A Hunger So Honed") or as immediate and pointed as breaking news: "That's why women/Wear worry and cover their heads, let their words/Drop like shot birds from the higher windows./Every night here one of us is sliced open."

At heart, Smith describes a young woman seeing and enjoying what life has to offer, with her memories never too far from the surface. She has wonderful lines: "I woke, touching ground gently/Like a parachutist tangled in low branches." or "Lying beside you was like/Dangling a leg/Over the edge/Of a drifting boat." or "I have always been this beautiful/and this dead." Appropriately, the book begins with a "Serenade" and ends with a "Prayer." The word "hunger" is a drumbeat throughout the pages, covering everything from desire to ambition to need. The Body's Question includes love poems (many), memory poems, travel poems, confessional poems. The ghosts of the Spanish poets drift through. There's metaphor if you like that, but if you don't you can just kick back and enjoy the pyrotechnic imagery. The amount of work that went into these poems is astonishing. She constructs brilliant first and last lines, and then fills the in-between with revelatory pictures. It's not just that Smith is talented, clever and intelligent, but she knows, she knows what she's doing:

   Success must hurt. Must yield sharp evidence.
   I'll have to lie to get it.
                                              Like love.

Don't let Kevin Young's introduction turn you off, if it does; poets writing about poets can be something of a swamp (I'm currently reading his new books, Brown). If you want an excellent example of the best of contemporary poetry, The Body's Question is it.  [4★]