The Alice Network

Today is Halloween and what’s spookier than historical fiction??? They say that history repeats itself, like a broken record stuck on the Halloween theme song. Michael Myers has never looked better:

The Alice Network* by Kate Quinn is extra historical fiction-y because it follows two parallel timelines (no spoilers-- this is “back of the book” stuff). One involves a female-dominated spy ring in World War I; it focuses mainly on Eve, an English native who moves to German-occupied France to spy on some German dudes. The second is set in 1947, where a young woman searches for her missing cousin throughout war-torn, recovering Europe. I’m a big fan of the former thread and less enthused by the latter.

First and foremost: the book is too long. It’s over 500 pages when it doesn’t need to be. The novel’s two threads weave in and out of each other, which provides plenty of material, but not 500 pages worth. Since the book jumps around in time, place, and narration, I was initially worried that I’d get lost in the shuffle; however, Quinn does an excellent job of transitioning between settings in a straightforward, sensible way.

Fictional spies are cool; actual spies are even cooler. The Alice Network is inspired by Louise de Bettignies, a secret agent whose code name was Alice Dubois. Speaking of Dubois, one of the plot points that I found most dubious ended up being an actual event. The novel holds my interest in its historical accuracy and I like Quinn’s focus on women as unlikely yet potent forces during both world wars. On the other hand, some of the inner dialogue is cheesy and, as aforementioned, many chapters are redundant, which leads to unnecessary length. Overall, The Alice Network receives 3 out of 5 camel humps.

*Quinn, Kate. The Alice Network. New York: HarperCollins, 2017. Print.

Deliverance

I’ve never seen a Burt Reynolds movie (RIP-- Yes, I know, I should watch Boogie Nights). So, when I read Deliverance* by James Dickey at work, all of my middle-aged coworkers crooned over Reynolds’ role in the film adaptation and I pretended to know what the heck they were talking about. Apparently, I’m the dumb dumb, because it earned several Oscar and Golden Globe nominations. And Burt looks like a boss.

Long story short: a group of four guys go on a canoe trip in remote Georgia and disaster strikes.

This novel so obviously checks every box for a good thriller, especially in the second half. As a book, it’s not as compelling as it could be. The suspense relies heavily on the readers’ ability to maintain a complex visual, and with the constantly shifting nature-scapes, I struggled. Instead of getting swept in the current of the plot, I fixated on the complicated minutia of the actual river where they canoed. I love being in nature and I recognize that it’s no easy task to successfully place a reader there. Still, if you can’t picture the most harrowing scenes, they don’t take an emotional toll.

The latter half is filled with adventure and the former is filled with philosophical discussions about survivalism. One of the guys in the crew (Reynolds’ character) devotes his life to preparing for any potential disaster, and he does so very obnoxiously. I would not be friends with this dude and I grew tired of his one-dimensional dialogue. I know that people like this exist, but is it really all they ever talk about? Is survivalism the same as Crossfit?

I appreciate the plot twist, especially because it caught me off guard despite knowing a plot twist would come eventually. I’m glad Dickey wrote this book because it deserved to be turned into a movie; but, in book form, I don’t recommend it. Deliverance receives 3 out of 5 camel humps.

Olive Kitteridge

The Nobel prize in literature will not be awarded this year because some men can’t keep it in their pants. The academy experienced backlash for its association with Jean-Claude Arnault, who faces 18 allegations of sexual assault and physical abuse. Instead, two prizes will be given next year. In the meantime, readers can turn to the Pulitzer Prize for guidance on the best fiction of 2018.

Unfortunately, I feel like the 2009 Pulitzer, Olive Kitteridge*, failed us a bit. The novel by Elizabeth Strout is a collection of 13 short stories that feature a fictional woman, Olive Kitteridge, in one way or another. Sometimes the story is told from her perspective, sometimes it is not. Sometimes she is the main character, sometimes she’s only peripherally mentioned. Although the stories jump around in point of view, they pass through time linearly. So, we initially experience Olive indirectly as a middle-aged wife and mother in Crosby, Maine and we eventually experience Olive directly as an old woman who has undergone many life changes.

Seeing her character grow through a multitude of lenses certainly shapes my perception of Olive as three-dimensional. It gives me empathy and reveals how much she understands her own weaknesses and strengths. That being said, I don’t like her as a person. I think that’s fine; not everybody likes everybody.

I don’t need to rally for the short story structure more than I already have, but Strout’s writing takes the format to a whole new level. She gives us detailed snippets of different character’s worlds (and in doing so, inhabits completely different voices) while connecting those pieces into a complex matrix. I admire her work and appreciate her ability.

Still, I’m not crazy about the story, nor am I sold on the worthiness of Olive’s character to be featured in such a prominent manner. In an interview, Strout says, “the quotidian life is not always easy, and is something worthy of respect” (Strout, 281). While I agree with her, Olive’s life simply did not draw me enough to regularly want to read the book, and I found it difficult to finish.

So, Olive Kitteridge is good enough but not necessarily meritorious of the Pulitzer. I don't buy into the hubbub, so it receives 2 out of 5 camel humps. I gave fellow Pulitzer novel American Pastoral 2/5 as well. Other Pulitzer-winning novels that I bestowed 3/5 humps include: The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, A Visit from the Goon Squad, Beloved, All the Light We Cannot See, and The Old Man and the Sea. I gave Interpreter of Maladies a well-deserved 4/5. To Kill a Mockingbird and Middlesex top us off with 5/5.

*Strout, Elizabeth. Olive Kitteridge. New York: Random House, 2008. Print.

The Virgin Suicides

The Virgin Suicides* title pretty much says it all. There are virgins and they will commit suicide. Not only that, but the first few sentences remove any arc of suspense. I respect Jeffrey Eugenides’ boldness in his debut novel; he told readers what to expect from the get-go and then piqued our interest enough to keep reading.

The novel is told from the perspective of teenage boys. They describe the life (and death) of five sisters who live in their neighborhood, walk their school halls, and experiment with innocence or lack thereof. At first, I was like….okay, so why do we need a bunch of boys mansplaining girls to us? It’s the ladies’ lives, let them tell it! Except, from a creative perspective, I appreciate that Eugenides used distance to render the girls into mythical creatures, overly romanticized. They’re girls who the reader can’t quite grasp. They’re basically ghosts throughout.

The first Eugenides book I read was Middlesex, a Pulitzer Prize winner and a personal favorite (check out my review if you want a photo of an interesting retail product-- the “Anti-Masturbation Cross”). Then, I tried The Marriage Plot, which was absolute garbage and filled with the most boring characters one could possibly conjure. The Virgin Suicides, while not as impressive as the entertaining complexities of Middlesex, certainly read better than the plot which shall not be named.

You can also watch a young Kirsten Dunst crush it as a main character in the film adaptation. You're welcome! The Virgin Suicides receives 3 out of 5 camel humps.

*Eugenides, Jeffrey. The Virgin Suicides. New York: Warner Books, 1999. Print.

The Best American Short Stories 1987

The year is 1987. Michael B. Jordan is born (hallelujah). Aretha Franklin is the first woman inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Two nerds invent Photoshop. Eazy-E releases Boyz-n-the-Hood (banger). Ann Beattie edits The Best American Short Stories 1987*. Solid year.

I’ve reviewed some of The Best American Series before and I will again because they’re the best. For some background on what the series entails, check out my review of The Best American Short Stories 2013. If you like the idea of the format, but want a slightly different genre, check out my review of The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2005.

The Best American Short Stories 1987 is chock-full of talent, as per usual. This year includes Susan Sontag, John Updike, Raymond Carver, and Charles Baxter. The series not only entertain in and of themselves but also gift you a long list of talented authors for your mental Rolodex. You get a good short story and a taste of what the writer could provide you in long form. In the end, authors get a chance to explain their writing process and their inspiration for the story, which is helpful for any aspiring writer.

I chose this particular year at random from my favorite used bookstore (shout out to Heartwood Books in Charlottesville). I enjoy it only slightly less than the 2013 edition (very hard to beat out George Saunders and Juno Díaz). The 1987 edition includes an excerpt from The Things They Carried, which is beyond brilliant, and I found it interesting how easily the excerpt stood on its own as a short story.

Overall, The Best American Short Stories 1987 receives 4 out of 5 camel humps.

*Beattie, Ann and Shannon Ravenel, eds. The Best American Short Stories 1987. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1987. Print.

Blood Meridian

Something that I don’t need in my life: a brutal gang of scalphunters intent on superfluous violence roaming the United States-Mexico borderlands in 1849. I’m uninterested. To be honest, I don’t like Westerns and I never have. In my opinion, they tend to be too slow-paced, I get annoyed with the narrator’s drawl, there’s too much landscape description for my liking, I don’t relate to their plight, and every little detail feels like a trope. I gave Blood Meridian* by Cormac McCarthy a chance because...it’s Cormac McCarthy. I never read All the Pretty Horses when it was assigned in high school (Sorry, Mr. Wood) and I also never got around to The Road (mostly because I used to confuse it with On the Road by Kerouac). No Country for Old Men is a phenomenal movie, but I haven’t read the book.

Basically, I read Blood Meridian because, like in the case of White Teeth, reading it allowed me to scratch off part of a poster. We’re all suckers for scratch offs, admit it.

The most impressive aspect of the novel is its historical accuracy. Blood Meridian follows a teenager referred to as “the kid” as he gets caught up in the Glanton Gang. The gang originally kills Native Americans for bounty hunting; soon, they devolve into killing anyone and everyone for sport. Apparently, the Glanton Gang existed. They are all a bunch of morally devoid assholes and the only whisper of a moral compass lies in “the kid”. It’s a very quiet whisper.

Am I missing something? Blood Meridian was the biggest struggle for me to trudge through since Naked Lunch (which isn’t a novel, it’s vomit on some pages). McCarthy is clearly talented--his sentences are symbolic and he sure knows how to describe the countryside. But the book is 330 pages of murder and not much else, plot-wise.

I do not have a problem with the graphic violence; we’ve all been desensitized by the Saw movies and serial killer podcasts. Instead, I found the violence monotonous; again, I am uninterested. The crew seems to murder because they are bored and I, in turn, am bored. *Gang encounters large group of Native Americans. Kills them mercilessly. Gang encounters another large group of Native Americans. Kills them mercilessly. Gang encounters another large group of Native Americans. Kills them mercilessly*. I wonder what happens next??!?

There are countless novels and movies that contain violence and manage to use that violence to a creative end. For me, Blood Meridian has the violence without the creatively satisfying payoff. Blood Meridian receives 1 out of 5 camel humps.

*McCarthy, Cormac. Blood Meridian. New York: Vintage Books, 1985. Print.

Bend Sinister

Vladimir Nabokov is my favorite lepidopterist-authors (one who studies butterflies and also writes world-famous books--seriously, he's very into butterflies). Eight years before he published Lolita, he published his second English-language novel, Bend Sinister*.

Bend Sinister is not an “in your face” dystopian novel, like 1984, Brave New World, Fahrenheit 451, or The Handmaid's Tale. “In your face” dystopian novels make you go THIS IS NUTS, SOMEONE GOT VERY, VERY CARRIED AWAY, HOW CAN WE AVOID THIS?! 1984 has a rigid system of policing thought and a Big Brother literally invading people’s homes. Brave New World produces genetically modified people and then indoctrinates them at all hours of the day. Fahrenheit 451 treats knowledge as dangerous and requires the burning of books. The Handmaid's Tale forces fertile women to submit themselves to men and imposes strict puritanical codes. On the other hand, the totalitarianism of Bend Sinister progresses insidiously but also clumsily. The new government, which seeks to create a uniform society, seems disorganized and inefficient. After all, any transfer of power will come with some growing pains. Bend Sinister shows the growing pains, so while the staples of dystopia are in the works (censorship, torture, oppressive government, all that jazz), these tools have yet to be fully implemented.

Nabokov’s dystopia is also different from his contemporaries' in that the main character, Krug, is important on an international level, so he’s able to fight back. He isn’t disposable and he has some leverage. Unfortunately, I find him boring and two-dimensional, and I can’t connect with him. I know that Nabokov is capable of garnering empathy for his characters-- his best novel is narrated by a rapist. The man knows how to create complexity-- so why does Krug fall so flat?

In Bend Sinister, Nabokov makes complicated moves between 1st and 3rd person in his narration and drops references that I straight up don’t understand (he includes a seemingly unnecessary and lengthy aside on Shakespeare, but what do I know?). Overall, we have a novel with: great writing (it’s Nabokov!) and a compelling story (I like that he attacks from the angle that authoritarianism is stupid rather than merely evil), but ultimately awkward execution. Bend Sinister receives 2 out of 5 camel humps.

*Nabakov, Vladimir. Bend Sinister. New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1947. Print.

The Best of Roald Dahl

Roald Dahl is known for his bangin children’s books: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Gremlins, James and the Giant Peach, Matilda, Fantastic Mr. Fox, The BFG, etc. He never shied away from “adult” themes because he respected children by challenging them with sophisticated and nuanced concepts. I wasn’t allowed to read James and the Giant Peach when I was younger because it said the word ass and I’m still bitter about it. More like James and the Giant

Roald Dahl’s children’s stories are cool but I had no idea he wrote adult lit too until I came upon a collection of short stories at Powell’s City of Books. Powell’s, located in Portland, is the largest independent bookstore in the world. It’s truly a city of books and if you’re ever in Portland, you should live there for the day.

My collection, The Best of Roald Dahl*, contains 25 short stories organized chronologically by publication (from Madame Rosette in 1945 to Claud’s Dog in 1953). You’ll find no happy endings here, but hey, a happily-ever-after is borrrrrrring. If you love a dark, macabre finale like me, you might also enjoy Flannery O’Connor’s Everything That Rises Must Converge.

The downside to a collection where every ending is a twist is that you’ll paradoxically come to expect the unexpected; however, despite the fact that you know it’s going to end poorly for the characters, Dahl manages to suck you in and root for them. 

I highly recommend this particular collection because it includes the majority of his published adult short fiction. My favorites are Lamb to the Slaughter and Pig. The Best of Roald Dahl receives 5 out of 5 camel humps. If you’re interested in the short story format (personally, it’s my favorite route to meet an author for the first time), check out my previous reviews of short story collections: Girl With Curious Hair by David Foster Wallace, Self-Help by Lorrie Moore, Welcome to the Monkey House by Kurt Vonnegut, Like You’d Understand, Anyway by Jim Shepard, Men Without Women by Haruki Murakami, In the Valley of the Kings by Terrence Holt, Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris, Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri, Tenth of December by George Saunders, The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2005 edited by Dave Eggers, and The Best American Short Stories 2013 edited by Elizabeth Strout. Just to name… a zillion.

*Roald Dahl. The Best of Roald Dahl. New York: Vintage Books, 1978. Print.

The Gospel According to the Son

            I grabbed Norman Mailer’s The Gospel According to the Son* off of a Housing Works bookshelf a few years ago, and I’m just now getting to it because it’s a tiny little nugget and I forgot about it. Housing Works is a non-profit that supports people with HIV/AIDS. They have several NYC locations, but their bookstore café in Soho is particularly cool (lots of seating, lots of books, lots of coffee, lots of good causes, lots of inspo).

            Norman Mailer caught my eye because I’ve known him as this eccentric, prolific, outspoken, Pulitzer Prize winning founder of The Village Voice who absolutely could not keep a wife. He married six times. He stabbed his second wife at a party, nearly killing her. The party resumed and he went on to marry four more times.

            I’m drawn to religious books because of my upbringing. Religious fiction? Sign me up. For those who are offended easily, let me stop you right here. Fiction can be a useful tool that helps readers think differently and creatively about a subject. Fiction is a thought experiment! If your religious beliefs are so fragile that you can’t test them every now and then, then what’s the point of having a brain?

            That being said, The Gospel According to the Son won’t test your beliefs much. It’s Jesus’ autobiography, starting with him as a child and moving through his teachings, his crucifixion, and his resurrection. The concept certainly has promise, but the writing is dry and unimaginative. Having some prior knowledge of the Gospels is helpful, but you’ll notice there is very little (if any?) overt deviation from the Bible, and if I wanted to read the Bible, I would…read the Bible. Mailer’s Jesus notes that the Gospels are rife with exaggeration, and he clarifies what went down by stripping out extraneous, embellished details. Still, that’s not exactly a productive use of artistic license.

            Mailer even continued to treat women as second rate in his rendition. I’m like oh, a biblical story that reemphasizes the patriarchy, HOW UNIQUE.

            Overall, The Gospel According to the Son feels like an opportunity wasted. If Mailer had turned the novel in as a book report, his teacher would have flagged it for plagiarism. The most inventive aspect of the book is the brief portrayal of a young Jesus who is scared and partially in denial, just like any of us faced with large responsibilities. Like ones in which humanity’s salvation rests upon our shoulders. 

            If you're interested in religious fiction that's actually creative, check out The Bible According to Spike Milligan. If you're interested in religious nonfiction that tests the bounds of conventional religious interpretation, check out Zealot: The Life and Time of Jesus of Nazareth. The Gospel According to the Son receives 2 out of 5 camel humps.

*Mailer, Norman. The Gospel According to the Son. New York: Ballantine Books, 1997. Print.

Something Happened

              Catch-22 is the GOAT. Vonnegut is the GOAT. I figured that the combination of these two GOATS would create a beautiful baby GOAT that bleats an appropriate amount. You see, Joseph Heller published Catch-22 in 1955; then, he published Something Happened* in 1974. Kurt Vonnegut reviewed the novel for The New York Times shortly thereafter. I’ll smuggle the link elsewhere in this review because I’m petty and I want you to read mine first. I have a hump rating system and he doesn’t, just sayin.

              Something does happen in Something Happened, but not until page 524/530. Vonnegut says it’s structured like a suspense novel and he’s not wrong. The first 524 pages consist of the stream of consciousness complaints of a middle-aged man, Bob Slocum. The tone and content does not change--just variations of a rotation of grievances. He lives in Connecticut with a family that he despises, and works in NYC at a nice job with a nice paycheck that serves as an adequate, albeit tedious, escape from his woes at home. IMO, Bob is clinically depressed—undiagnosed, because executives at his company are not supposed to see therapists, as it would imply unhappiness. Instead, we're his therapists, and he tells us in meticulous detail how he hates everyone and everything. 

              Unlike Catch-22, which is simultaneously dark and hilarious, Something Happened overemphasizes the dark and misses out on the hilarity. Personally, I believe that life is hard and *shit happens* every day to remind us of that; but, we can rely on comedy to ease suffering. Black humor and satire are the best! They're realistic and smart about the struggle, looking pain dead in the eye and laughing. Something Happened leads down a road that is brutally honest, and I appreciate that, but I don’t want 500+ pages of it without a few laughs. Vonnegut agrees that it’s “overly long”—and you can read that for yourself here. Something Happened receives 2 out of 5 humps.

*Heller, Joseph. Something Happened. New York: Dell Publishing, 1974. Print.

*Vonnegut, Kurt. “The New York Times Book Review” The New York Times. The New York Times Company, 06 Oct. 1974. Web. 15 Aug. 2018.