The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

Read: 30 January, 2013

Amir grew up in Kabul, Afghanistan, with his father, his servant, and his servant’s son. The two boys grew up without mothers, and they were raised nearly as close as brothers. But soon after the Russians invaded, an event changed both of their lives forever.

The descriptions were wonderful and I feel that I learned quite a bit about Afghani history and culture. In particular, I quite enjoyed the comparisons between the Afghanistan prior to the Russian invasion and the Afghanistan many years later, once it had fallen under the control of the Taliban.

The book is very obviously a fictional account – though it’s written as if it were a memoir, there are several instances of far too perfect resonance  such as the mirroring between the events of Amir’s childhood and his return to Afghanistan as an adult. This would ordinarily be fine, but it felt far too clunky in The Kite Runner, perhaps because the author felt the need to keep reminding his readers about it – “look, look! He has a split lip! Just like Hassan!”

There were quite a few issues in the novel with the treatment of women. Amir acknowledges several times that he “won the genetic lottery” as far as gender is concerned, but he never seems to actually do anything to mitigate this. In fact, again and again, he just seems to make things worse, as when he speaks to Soraya without her father present, knowing and acknowledging that she would be the one to suffer from the gossip that would result.

The descriptions of Hassan and his father, Ali, were disturbing. I realize that they are supposed to be martyrs and that their suffering is supposed to be all the more poignant because of their exaggerated innocence, but the fact that they are also members of the servant class makes this problematic. They are Perfect Servants, knowing exactly what their masters want at all times (even to the point of what appears to be mind reading), and are utterly self-sacrificial (literally, in Hassan’s case) in serving their masters. And this is presented as a mutual relationship, in which both Hassan and Amir are at their happiest when the former is serving the latter.

I also had some issues with Amir’s absolution. I don’t want to give too much away, but basically he has to perform a task in order to “make right” with Hassan. Thing is, he never really performs that task. He takes a beating, realises that he feels wonderfully sin-free, and then the task performs itself. It’s a very odd, impotent sort of cleansing.

The last issue I had with the book is possibly the greatest one. Amir essentially gets custody of a child who has been through some pretty horrific experiences, including sexual abuse that has lasted for at least a month. His first reaction to this is to keep touching the child (despite the child’s obvious reticence) until the child finally starts submitting. After some more stuff happens, he just kinda lives with the child and waits out the “issues” until, in a big redemptive moment, the kid may or may not begin to smile again. Yay, right? Except that at no point does he mention getting professional help for this child. I’m sure that there are refugee support groups or at least therapists who specialise in sexual abuse who may be able to help. But no, it’s just something that the child is expected to get over on his own. It left me with a really bad taste in my mouth for Amir and his wife, as they are this child’s sole lifeline and they seem so utterly oblivious to his needs.

Despite all the issues, I did really enjoy the book until Amir leaves the hospital after his “redemption.” At this point, his total inadequacy in caring properly for the child just made me angry.

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African Psycho by Alain Mabanckou

Read: 29 January, 2013

Gregoire Nakobomayo is an aspiring serial killer. He idolizes Angoualima, a particularly brutal serial killer who had been on the prowl in Gregoire’s youth, and he has promised to Angoualima that he will be a good disciple, that he will kill.

The story is set in a first person rambling style, allowing Gregoire to take us through his life (a “pick-up child,” he was abandoned at birth and raised in a series of foster homes), his “petty” criminal activities, and, ultimately, his plans to murder Germaine – a prostitute he has convinced to live with him.

The book reads like a really long joke, with a macabre (but hilarious – though I’m rather ashamed to admit it, given the subject matter) punch line at the end. It reminds me of a lot of 19th century horror/gothic short stories with their twist endings in which everyone gets their comeuppance.

I found the narrative voice to be very compelling. Gregoire bounces back and forth between feelings of inadequacy and narcissism, impotence and power, and a very misplaced sense of purpose. I found his thought-processes to be both uncomfortably familiar and distinctly Other.

It’s an easy read and, at only 145pages, a quick one as well. The translation wasn’t too bad and, while I did feel that I was missing a lot of the local-specific jokes and references, it’s still reasonably accessible to an international audience.

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Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt

Read: 23 January, 2013

When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I managed to survive at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.

Angela’s Ashes is a memoir of Francis McCourt’s childhood, first as a young child to Irish parents in America, and then growing into adulthood in Limerick, Ireland. It’s a childhood of extreme poverty, and all of consequences of that.

It’s a brutal book, and it never lets up. Several reviewers have called the book a “laundry list of the terrible things that happen to the McCourt family,” and in many ways that’s pretty accurate. The happiest moments of the novel, when little Frankie forms a connection with two separate girls, end with those girls dying. Yeah, that’s the kind of book this is.

I quite liked the writing style. I know that there are many who found it irritating, but the short sentences gave it that breathlessness that children get when telling a story. For me, this served to reflect the narrator’s youth during the events of the book, and it heightened its impact.

In some ways, given how relentlessly depressing the book is, I kept expecting it to get worse. Every time Frankie was alone with a priest, I thought “oh no, this is where it happens…” But, thankfully, it never does.

One thing that impressed upon me as I was reading was Frankie’s vulnerability and passivity. Even as an adult, when he’s finally making decisions for himself and leaving Ireland, he has very little say in what happens to him. Though bound for New York, the boat captain simply decides to go to Albany instead and he is forced to come along. When they make a stop and a woman decides to have sex with him, he can do little other than lie down and accept her advances. He may enjoy it and be glad it happened, but it’s still something that happens to him.

It was a frustrating read, of course, as so many of the problems stem from the father’s alcoholism, the mother’s complacency, and the lack of knowledge of both. But all the characters – even the father who takes his dole money to the pub while his children starve at home – are treated with such compassion that it’s hard to feel anything other than pity for the whole family.

It’s a wonderful book full of interesting characters and funny moments and sadness… It would have been so easy for McCourt to write with anger, to lay blame with the various individual choices, institutions, and the sexism that cause nearly all of the suffering he describes. But instead, he merely relays his experiences and we are left to draw our own complicated conclusions.

I highly recommend reading Angela’s Ashes. Just remember to keep tissues handy.

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Zoo City by Lauren Beukes

Read: 13 January, 2013

Imagine if the daemons from Pullman’s His Dark Materials series were real, except that you only got one if you had a guilty conscience. In Zoo City, the animalled are the new criminal element, living in the fringes of society, ghettoed into “zoo cities.” After addiction led to Zinzi December being paired with a sloth, she tries to pay off her debts by finding people’s lost things and writing 419 scam letters. But after a job goes wrong, she becomes entangled in a search for a lost girl…

Beukes’s writing style is fantastic, and she made good use of alternative chapters – articles from a fictional movie database describing a documentary on the first famous case of an animalled individual, one of the 419 scam letters that Zinzi sends out, a fictional journal article about animalling, etc. There’s also quite a lot going on in the book that’s separate from the mystery itself, such as Zinzi meeting a couple her boss is scamming, that add dimension to Zinzi and her world. I also found that Beukes’s use of descriptions is fantastic.

Unfortunately, the plot feels clunky. I rode through because the characters are compelling and the writing is a joy to read, but the mystery just falls flat.

***SPOILER ALERT***

I didn’t care for the ending at all. For one thing, can we stop writing books set in the music industry that have the producer be the baddie, please? But also, the attempt to tie together the two different plot strands in some big elaborate conspiracy was just tiresome, and totally unnecessary. The victims (other than Mrs Luditsky, who seems to have been killed only for the cover up anyway) are fringe people that no one noticed missing. As for the twins, Odi had already set them up as being unhinged with the rehab stuff, so he could have easily just covered it up with a “they ran away” story (especially once Song helped out by actually running away – giving that story some precedence). What was the point of getting Zinzi involved at all? and the victims sending out e-mails? Why? That’s not Zinzi’s shavi, so how were they doing it and why were they sending them to her?

***END SPOILER***

I’d say that the book is worth reading, just for the characters, the setting, and the world-building concepts. But as a mystery, I was disappointed.

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The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy

Read: 29 December, 2012

Esthappen has been re-Returned to the house in Ayemenem, and his two-egg twin Rahel is there to meet him. Years have passed since the Terror and the tragedy of Sophie Mol’s death, but the wounds are still fresh.

The narrative bounces all over the place. The “now” takes place when Esthappen and Rahel are adults, but they are children through much of the book, and the narrative flows around them and other characters, giving each a biography in turn, so that the timeline encompassed is actually about a century long. Despite this, it was surprisingly easy to follow once I had a grasp of the general outline.

The writing style is heavily focused on the senses, so that very few things or people are mentioned without lengthy sense-based comparisons. It’s all rather poetic, and I found it quite interesting to follow – particularly when these comparisons are used to link people and events.

The centre of the story – Sophie Mol’s death – is revealed from the beginning, but the details are danced around through the whole novel. I found it rather frustrating, since the event is brought up again and again throughout, but what the event really was or what it meant is withheld until the very end. On the other hand, the climax revelation was far more effective once I’d come to know the whole cast of characters.

I found the writing style to be quite beautiful, though I often found myself carried away by the cadence of it and forgetting to absorb the meaning – though fatigue may also have had something to do with this.

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Shaman’s Daughter by Nan Salerno & Rosamond Vanderburgh

Read: 10 September, 2012

I’ve always had a soft spot for stories about First Nations people, though there’s a very thin line between respect for the cultures and an idolization that sublimates the humanity of the cultures. Shaman’s Daughter, a collaboration between an anthropologist and a professor of literature, manages to present a suitably real picture of life at the turn of the last century.

The story follows Supaya (called Sophie by the whites) as she grows into adulthood, raises a family, and grows old. Through her life, we get to see the friction between the Church and the practitioners of the traditional faith and healing, the loss of identity of the residential schools and, later, the struggle to integrate and earn a living as an Indian, and the impact of World Wars 1&2 on the First Nations people.

The historical span is broad enough to show the changes as they were happening and, to some extent, their resolution.

The writing is also quite decent, and the book kept me engaged from start to finish.

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The Gospel of the Flying Spaghetti Monster by Bobby Henderson

Read: 23 July, 2012

With the debate raging over whether Creationism (or “Intelligent Design”/ID, as it’s often called) should be taught alongside evolution in science classrooms, Bobby Henderson proposes a third alternative – FSM did it.

Gospel pokes fun at the debate from every angle – from a mock Templeton Foundation, promoting science papers proving the existence of the FSM, to ways for the reader to test the claims for themselves. And he does it all with pirates.

Lots and lots of pirates.

I enjoyed reading Gospel. It’s a hilarious book – especially since I’ve been following some of the debate, so I “got” the references. Of course, sometimes Henderson’s sense of humour gets a bit cruel and over the top (sorry midgets, fat chicks, et al).

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Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro

Read: 21 March, 2012

I watched the movie a few days after my son was born, while I was still riding the hormonal high and at the peak of my weepiness. Because of this, it’s hard to say just how much of the movie’s awesome was because of how awesome the movie was, and how much was enhanced by my emotional state. Regardless, I feel confident in saying that if you haven’t watched the movie yet, do so as soon as you get the chance.

I was so enchanted by the movie that I decided to pick up the book and give it a try.

I have to say that the movie did an amazing job of capturing the book, and of translating them into the silver screen format. But still, I found the two to be very different. The movie is, primarily, a love story. It’s about the love shared by Tommy and Kathy, and the sense that time is running out for them. Kathy’s monologue at the end makes this focus quite clear.

The book, on the other hand, seems to focus more on the characters and their growth, which is continually undercut by the reminder of their eventual donation. I couldn’t help but feel that Ishiguro was commenting on the way that we, generally, refuse to talk to our children about death and the urgency of living well. He’s highlighted the problem by speeding up the timeline, but that’s about it. Perhaps the most striking element of both the book and the movie is just how normal Kathy and her friends are, which is quite different from the norm in the dystopian genre.

I did enjoy the book, and I was impressed by the skill with which Ishiguro smashed many of the conventions of the science fiction / dystopia genres, but this is one instance where I’m tempted to say that the book has little to add that the movie doesn’t convey. And while there’s a lot of value in Ishiguro’s depth and the slow pace at which he covers his topic, I don’t feel like anything important was lost in the transference to the movie format and, if anything, the story may have benefited from conciseness of the format.

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Flatland by Edwin Abbott

Read: 30 November, 2011

A. Square, an inhabitant of the two-dimensional Flatland, is taken on a journey of Lineland, Spaceland, and Pointland, during which he learns to transcend many of his assumptions about the universe and the natural order.

There are two parts to the Flatland narrative. The first reads like your standard (albeit clever – clever enough to fool several contemporary reviewers) social commentary, while the second tries to illustrate the failings of perspective and how trapped we are in comprehending only our own and lower dimensions. But as with any excellent writer, the division is never quite so clear and the second part provides a very interesting lens for the first.

I knew going in that I would enjoy Flatland; I’d heard enough about it for that. I’m glad to say that I was not disappointed. This is an excellent and readable novel that is one part social commentary, one part math, and one part Crusoe adventure!

I highly recommend the Broadview edition of the text. As always, the notes, introduction, and additional materials are both interesting and informative.

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The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Read: 26 January, 2011

The Scarlet Letter is the classic story of a woman who dared to rebuke the mores of her Puritan society.What pop culture didn’t tell me was that the novel actually starts with a rather lengthy chapter from the perspective of the narrator, living in “modern times” (mid-19th century), and complaining about life as a customs house clerk.

The first part was absolutely wonderful. It read like one of the Sketches by Boz narratives, as an exposé of a particular job in a particular place. The characters were vividly drawn amid the narrator’s meandering thoughts and rants. It was everything I fell in love with about Victorian literature!

The more well-known portion of the story had a more standard Social Problem feel. A fallen woman wins over the reader and, perhaps, the novel’s community by being a perfect angel of the hearth, a self-sacrificing and nearly Christ-like in her perfection. We’ve seen this before in novels like Ruth and Oliver Twist. But Hawthorne pulls a fast one and martyr’s the male tango-dancer instead, allowing Hester to live and, presumably, to grow old.

I expected to have some trouble with this book. It’s been a while since I’ve read anything from the Victorian period (at least that was aimed at an adult audience). But I found The Scarlet Letter to be extremely engrossing. I read the whole thing in just a few days and enjoyed it immensely.

As a little side note, I read this book while very obviously pregnant. It was rather titillating to be in public reading a book that is famously known for being about promiscuity resulting in pregnancy while actually pregnant!

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