Surfacing. I've long heard about this early Margaret Atwood novel, a landmark in contemporary literary fiction; feminist fiction; Canadian nationalist fiction. As I began my exploration of this award-winning author's work seven years ago with The Handmaid's Tale, followed by Cat's Eye, and then an odd choice, the underrated Bodily Harm, I knew that eventually I would make my way to 1972's Surfacing, the title of which fellow Canadian Sarah McLachlan echoed on her 1997 album.
Every so often, a novel is so powerful, evocative, confusing, or possibly a combination of all three, that you finish it in a sort of daze, not wanting to move on, and oddly unable to truly process what you've read. Surfacing provided such an experience for me. Twenty-four hours later, I'm still thinking about the book; its indelible atmosphere hovered on the edges of my brain throughout the day. I know I shall not soon forget it.
There is so much jammed into Atwood's sophomore novel (the well-reviewed The Edible Woman had come out three years earlier) that a book review could only hope to skim the basics. Issues of national pride, the environment, feminism, sexual relationships, parent-child bonds, abortion, dreams and memory all take their pride of place in this tour de force. Somehow, perhaps because she's a genius, Atwood allows each issue to rise naturally from the storyline and characters, never seeming heavy handed to this reader.
Surfacing has its dreamlike moments, but it's not an abstract or puzzling novel, at least not as a whole. In fact, there is a fairly straightforward, captivating plot. The narrator, a nameless woman in her twenties, is searching for her father, who has disappeared from the island off of Quebec where she grew up. She has returned to this childhood home with her lover, Joe, and two friends, a married couple by the names of Anna
and David. The storyline follows the group's search through the island's forests and surrounding lakes, interspersed with activities like fishing, blueberry picking, and late night card games. Atwood's writing is detailed and observant, her singular style already showing itself in this early effort. Although original and unique as all of her novels are, one can see her honing her craft and can't help but think of how this style will appear again, magnified and expanded, in 1988's Cat's Eye.
Surfacing moves ahead at a determined pace, never dragging, and its major plot point is eventually resolved. There are subplots, including the narrator's mysterious past with a husband and child she abandoned, or at least that's what she tells us at first. Atwood's narrators often seem mysterious, slightly aloof and at times almost emotionless. This one is even more of a removed figure, given Atwood's decision not to name her, but she is never less than a very real composite of a living, breathing human being. There is a deep tragedy in her past, and as she searches for her missing father, she also searches within herself, ultimately finding more than she bargained for.
To me, Margaret Atwood's fiction has a sinister feel, sometimes overt, sometimes more subtle. Hints of danger lurk beneath the surface, sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally, as in the narrator's experience while diving deep into a lake to search for symbolic paintings on a long buried rock cliff. As the four friends explore the island, searching in vain for the narrator's father, you feel as though someone is watching them, possibly ready to strike at any moment. Scenes involving their canoes passing those of other tourists, the "fascist Yank pigs" (according to David, whose Canadian pride manifests itself in an arrogant, confrontational manner) are imbued with a quiet dread. When they come across a dead heron (I will not divulge the details), it's one of the most striking passages in the novel, and allows the narrator to share her views on animals and their value (or lack thereof) to the twentieth century world.
There is so much I could write about this novel. I don't want to give anything away. I came to this book expecting to like it very much, and I have walked away in awe. While very much of its time (not a bad thing), the novel deals with timeless themes and seems relevant in 2012. I hope to read it again in my lifetime. Some books leave permanent marks, and Surfacing is one of those books for me. Margaret Atwood has impressed me four times, and I can't wait to read the rest of her work. She is, as goes without saying, one of our most important living authors. I highly recommend this novel.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
Singing Herself Free: Madonna's MDNA, Part 1
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Saturday, March 31, 2012
First Look: Regina Spektor's Amazing New Single, "All The Rowboats"
It's been almost three years since Regina Spektor's last album, Far, was released. Never fear: on May 29th, she drops her latest album, cleverly titled What We Saw From the Cheap Seats. The official video for the album's first single, "All the Rowboats," was released to Youtube this week, and the single is available for purchase on i-Tunes, for $1.29.
Far was my second favorite album of 2009, so I am anxious to see if the new material lives up to my lofty expectations. Based on this single, I have nothing to worry about. I am particularly happy to see that "All the Rowboats" is a somber affair, continuing the darker mood she explored in songs like "Blue Lips" and "Machine" on Far.
Now before I annoy any loyal Regina fans who do not like Tori Amos, let me clarify that I do not find them all that similar, and I think any attempts to lump them together because they both play piano and write their own songs are sexist, and pretty lame. If anything, I'd compare Regina more to Fiona Apple than Tori, but the fact is that she's a singular talent who is not really like anyone else that I listen to.
However, that being said, there is a definite Tori Amos vibe on this single (musically speaking), and that's entirely a good thing. One of the highlights of "All the Rowboats" is a very sinister burst of keyboards starting at approx 1:21 in, and those keyboards strongly echo Tori Amos at her late 90s peak (think Choirgirl era), with perhaps a touch of "Precious Things." I know there is a contingent of Spektorites who don't want their hot girl of the moment compared to some feminist forerunner, but the fact is, it's a valid comparison in this case, and one that does not take away from the originality of this song in any way, shape, or form.
"All the Rowboats" is an ominous piece of amazement; in fact, Consequence of Sound has already labeled this as "one of our favorite songs this year so far." That's terrific praise! Lyrically, she turns the rowboats in oil paintings hanging in a museum into living beings who are forever trying to escape from their pictures: totally Regina, and very original amidst the humdrum of much of today's music. Just consider these words: "First there's lights out, then there's lock up. Masterpieces serving maximum sentences. It's their own fault for being timeless: there's a price to pay, and a consequence."
Vocally, she sounds strong, but never oversings. Her tone matches the solemnity of the song. As far as the music, it's downright enveloping, from the previously mentioned Amos-like keyboards, to the unique and instantly recognizable Regina piano, and most surprisingly, sharp bursts of drums that add a sense of urgent fear to the proceedings.
Hats off to Regina, and here's hoping the entire album is as good as this first single!
Grade: A
Far was my second favorite album of 2009, so I am anxious to see if the new material lives up to my lofty expectations. Based on this single, I have nothing to worry about. I am particularly happy to see that "All the Rowboats" is a somber affair, continuing the darker mood she explored in songs like "Blue Lips" and "Machine" on Far.
Now before I annoy any loyal Regina fans who do not like Tori Amos, let me clarify that I do not find them all that similar, and I think any attempts to lump them together because they both play piano and write their own songs are sexist, and pretty lame. If anything, I'd compare Regina more to Fiona Apple than Tori, but the fact is that she's a singular talent who is not really like anyone else that I listen to.
However, that being said, there is a definite Tori Amos vibe on this single (musically speaking), and that's entirely a good thing. One of the highlights of "All the Rowboats" is a very sinister burst of keyboards starting at approx 1:21 in, and those keyboards strongly echo Tori Amos at her late 90s peak (think Choirgirl era), with perhaps a touch of "Precious Things." I know there is a contingent of Spektorites who don't want their hot girl of the moment compared to some feminist forerunner, but the fact is, it's a valid comparison in this case, and one that does not take away from the originality of this song in any way, shape, or form.
"All the Rowboats" is an ominous piece of amazement; in fact, Consequence of Sound has already labeled this as "one of our favorite songs this year so far." That's terrific praise! Lyrically, she turns the rowboats in oil paintings hanging in a museum into living beings who are forever trying to escape from their pictures: totally Regina, and very original amidst the humdrum of much of today's music. Just consider these words: "First there's lights out, then there's lock up. Masterpieces serving maximum sentences. It's their own fault for being timeless: there's a price to pay, and a consequence."
Vocally, she sounds strong, but never oversings. Her tone matches the solemnity of the song. As far as the music, it's downright enveloping, from the previously mentioned Amos-like keyboards, to the unique and instantly recognizable Regina piano, and most surprisingly, sharp bursts of drums that add a sense of urgent fear to the proceedings.
Hats off to Regina, and here's hoping the entire album is as good as this first single!
Grade: A
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
The First Annual Between The Pages Year-End Book Awards
When it comes to books, a year-end best of list is slightly more difficult (for me) than a similar list of music or films. For starters, I tend to read all over the map, not just current releases. This year, I finally got around to reading The Bell Jar! I also picked up She's Come Undone, which I had been meaning to read for a decade. Due to the nature of my job, I also read a lot of new stuff in order to recommend titles (and because my huge love is contemporary fiction). This makes it difficult to do a straight up Top 10 books for the year, because what would it consist of? Top 10 books of 2011, top 10 recent reads, top 10 of everything I read this year? I managed to do one last year, but this year, I am going to mix it up a little, and simply present my First Annual Book Awards. Enjoy.
My Greatest Discovery: Antonya Nelson. This category was a toss up between Nelson, who has been writing for years, and Victoria Patterson, who is only on her second book. Both of them were new discoveries for me, although I was vaguely familiar with Nelson's name. Over Memorial Day weekend, I read her novel Bound, which was a 2010 release. The story is engaging, the writing is first-rate, and most impressively to me was the way in which she made about twenty characters seem necessary in a relatively small book. You can check out my original post here: http://shane-malcolm.blogspot.com/2011/05/book-review-bound-by-antonya-nelson.html.
Best Biography/Autobiography/Memoir: August Gale by Barbara Walsh. I read several books in this category in 2011, but the most well-written was certainly Walsh's tribute to her enigmatic grandfather, Paddy. This book gets you more bang for your buck, because it's actually two tales in one. Walsh traces the story of the August gale that rocked Newfoundland in 1935 and its momentous effect on the fishermen (one in particular) with painstaking historical accuracy, while also chronicling the present day saga of she and her father hot on the trail of family secrets ... all in the name of love and redemption. Riveting from the first page.
The Well Worth the Wait Classic Award: The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. Again, this could have gone to any number of books, but Plath takes the trophy simply because I've been hearing about The Bell Jar all my life. The story of Esther Greenwood, this could almost be viewed as the female Catcher In The Rye, although the dark tones and themes are much more overt here. The book spoke to me as I read it at age 34. If I'd encountered it earlier in life, I'm not sure how I would have reacted. Very real, very haunting, entirely timeless.
Most Disappointing Read: Clouds of Witness by Dorothy L. Sayers. I feel like this is a sacrilegious statement, but don't worry, I am definitely going to give this Grande Dame of mystery another chance. I had wanted to read her for years, since she's considered to be as good as (and in some cases better than) my beloved Agatha Christie. Alas, I may have chose the wrong title to start with. I certainly enjoyed Clouds of Witness, but it didn't live up to the hype. I didn't find myself blown away by her talent like I do at the end of each Christie book. I also found Lord Peter Whimsey to be quite annoying. Still, it was nothing short of impressive in terms of plotting and technical achievement.
Most Memorable Book: The Magus by John Fowles. No contest here. This is one of the most unforgettable books I've ever read, and unlike anything else out there. I cannot even speak properly about this novel yet, but here's the link to my previous blog http://shane-malcolm.blogspot.com/2011/10/magus-by-john-fowles-wild-ride-into.html
The "I Feel Like I'm Not Alone" Award: Rob Sheffield, and the late May Sarton. This year, I read Sheffield's heartwarming, genuine tribute to music Talking To Girls About Duran Duran. I have long loved this man, since his columns in "Rolling Stone" magazine, and this book was laugh inducing and tear-jerking at the same time. I also read May Sarton's 1973 memoir, Journal Of A Solitude, which chronicles one year of her life and her inward search as an introvert. Words cannot express how thankful I am to Sheffield and dear departed Sarton. I feel like they are kindred spirits of mine, and reading them, I'm less alone in the world.
Most Underrated Novel: By Nightfall by Michael Cunningham. This one sort of got lost in the shuffle when it was released in 2010. Sure, it garnered some good reviews, but it didn't have the buzz of Cunningham's earlier works like The Hours and A Home At the End of the World. I absolutely loved this book, which details the personal collapse of art gallery owner Peter Harris. His life is in shambles, although he doesn't exactly know this when the book begins. His marriage, seemingly solid, is crumbling. A visit from his brother in law, Mizzy, stirs up feelings and attractions that are far more devastating than they first appear. Because the entire book is told from Peter's viewpoint, there is a lot we miss, but you'll have fun filling in the blanks. As always, Cunningham's writing is top notch.
Greatest Use of Talent: Sarah Braunstein, The Sweet Relief Of Missing Children. Braunstein's novel is as dark as they come, and it's equally amazing. My book group was vociferous in its reaction to this novel, which involves an abduction, as well as several parents who make "wrong" choices. People were disturbed by the book, but wow, did we ever have a great discussion. And even those who were most put off by the novel rose up to praise the writer for her shimmering prose. When Braunstein spoke at the Bailey Library, she was engaging and won over the crowd. Only the most talented can win unanimous praise even when their books are so divisive. As for me, I liked the book enough to put it in my Top 3 for the year if this was a traditional Top 10.
Most Deserving of the Hype Award: Room by Emma Donoghue. Sometimes a book is so good that it's actually deserving of all the great press, five star reviews, and award nominations. Room is one such book. It's also one of only two books that every single person in my book group loved, and let me tell you, this is a group of diverse and serious readers! I recommended Room to my mother, and it promptly became one of her favorite books of all time. My brother read it, and he's not usually a fan of contemporary literary fiction. People talk about it on the street, in the shops, on the bus. Emma Donoghue took a dark and disturbing storyline and wove it into something larger than life. Ma and Jack will stay in your hearts forever. I will go out on a limb and say that books like this are why we read. Here is the link to my original post: http://shane-malcolm.blogspot.com/2011/04/no-room-for-improvement.html
And now, at last, we come to our final award. Out of dozens of books read this year, only one can take the equivalent of Oscar's Best Picture. If this were a live broadcast, I'd hope to have this presented by Ian McEwan or Anne Tyler. Ladies and gentlemen, this was my favorite.
Book of the Year 2011: Swim Back To Me by Ann Packer. That's right, a short story collection is taking this trophy right out from underneath all the novels I read this year. Packer knows how to write about human emotions, human connections, and human tragedy. She is a gift to the literary world, and I pretty much knew from the time I read this in April that it would be my book of the year. Lo and behold, I was correct. Here is a link to where I said more about this title: http://shane-malcolm.blogspot.com/2011/05/book-review-swim-back-to-me-by-ann.html.
My Greatest Discovery: Antonya Nelson. This category was a toss up between Nelson, who has been writing for years, and Victoria Patterson, who is only on her second book. Both of them were new discoveries for me, although I was vaguely familiar with Nelson's name. Over Memorial Day weekend, I read her novel Bound, which was a 2010 release. The story is engaging, the writing is first-rate, and most impressively to me was the way in which she made about twenty characters seem necessary in a relatively small book. You can check out my original post here: http://shane-malcolm.blogspot.com/2011/05/book-review-bound-by-antonya-nelson.html.
Best Biography/Autobiography/Memoir: August Gale by Barbara Walsh. I read several books in this category in 2011, but the most well-written was certainly Walsh's tribute to her enigmatic grandfather, Paddy. This book gets you more bang for your buck, because it's actually two tales in one. Walsh traces the story of the August gale that rocked Newfoundland in 1935 and its momentous effect on the fishermen (one in particular) with painstaking historical accuracy, while also chronicling the present day saga of she and her father hot on the trail of family secrets ... all in the name of love and redemption. Riveting from the first page.
The Well Worth the Wait Classic Award: The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. Again, this could have gone to any number of books, but Plath takes the trophy simply because I've been hearing about The Bell Jar all my life. The story of Esther Greenwood, this could almost be viewed as the female Catcher In The Rye, although the dark tones and themes are much more overt here. The book spoke to me as I read it at age 34. If I'd encountered it earlier in life, I'm not sure how I would have reacted. Very real, very haunting, entirely timeless.
Most Disappointing Read: Clouds of Witness by Dorothy L. Sayers. I feel like this is a sacrilegious statement, but don't worry, I am definitely going to give this Grande Dame of mystery another chance. I had wanted to read her for years, since she's considered to be as good as (and in some cases better than) my beloved Agatha Christie. Alas, I may have chose the wrong title to start with. I certainly enjoyed Clouds of Witness, but it didn't live up to the hype. I didn't find myself blown away by her talent like I do at the end of each Christie book. I also found Lord Peter Whimsey to be quite annoying. Still, it was nothing short of impressive in terms of plotting and technical achievement.
Most Memorable Book: The Magus by John Fowles. No contest here. This is one of the most unforgettable books I've ever read, and unlike anything else out there. I cannot even speak properly about this novel yet, but here's the link to my previous blog http://shane-malcolm.blogspot.com/2011/10/magus-by-john-fowles-wild-ride-into.html
The "I Feel Like I'm Not Alone" Award: Rob Sheffield, and the late May Sarton. This year, I read Sheffield's heartwarming, genuine tribute to music Talking To Girls About Duran Duran. I have long loved this man, since his columns in "Rolling Stone" magazine, and this book was laugh inducing and tear-jerking at the same time. I also read May Sarton's 1973 memoir, Journal Of A Solitude, which chronicles one year of her life and her inward search as an introvert. Words cannot express how thankful I am to Sheffield and dear departed Sarton. I feel like they are kindred spirits of mine, and reading them, I'm less alone in the world.
Most Underrated Novel: By Nightfall by Michael Cunningham. This one sort of got lost in the shuffle when it was released in 2010. Sure, it garnered some good reviews, but it didn't have the buzz of Cunningham's earlier works like The Hours and A Home At the End of the World. I absolutely loved this book, which details the personal collapse of art gallery owner Peter Harris. His life is in shambles, although he doesn't exactly know this when the book begins. His marriage, seemingly solid, is crumbling. A visit from his brother in law, Mizzy, stirs up feelings and attractions that are far more devastating than they first appear. Because the entire book is told from Peter's viewpoint, there is a lot we miss, but you'll have fun filling in the blanks. As always, Cunningham's writing is top notch.
Greatest Use of Talent: Sarah Braunstein, The Sweet Relief Of Missing Children. Braunstein's novel is as dark as they come, and it's equally amazing. My book group was vociferous in its reaction to this novel, which involves an abduction, as well as several parents who make "wrong" choices. People were disturbed by the book, but wow, did we ever have a great discussion. And even those who were most put off by the novel rose up to praise the writer for her shimmering prose. When Braunstein spoke at the Bailey Library, she was engaging and won over the crowd. Only the most talented can win unanimous praise even when their books are so divisive. As for me, I liked the book enough to put it in my Top 3 for the year if this was a traditional Top 10.
Most Deserving of the Hype Award: Room by Emma Donoghue. Sometimes a book is so good that it's actually deserving of all the great press, five star reviews, and award nominations. Room is one such book. It's also one of only two books that every single person in my book group loved, and let me tell you, this is a group of diverse and serious readers! I recommended Room to my mother, and it promptly became one of her favorite books of all time. My brother read it, and he's not usually a fan of contemporary literary fiction. People talk about it on the street, in the shops, on the bus. Emma Donoghue took a dark and disturbing storyline and wove it into something larger than life. Ma and Jack will stay in your hearts forever. I will go out on a limb and say that books like this are why we read. Here is the link to my original post: http://shane-malcolm.blogspot.com/2011/04/no-room-for-improvement.html
And now, at last, we come to our final award. Out of dozens of books read this year, only one can take the equivalent of Oscar's Best Picture. If this were a live broadcast, I'd hope to have this presented by Ian McEwan or Anne Tyler. Ladies and gentlemen, this was my favorite.
Book of the Year 2011: Swim Back To Me by Ann Packer. That's right, a short story collection is taking this trophy right out from underneath all the novels I read this year. Packer knows how to write about human emotions, human connections, and human tragedy. She is a gift to the literary world, and I pretty much knew from the time I read this in April that it would be my book of the year. Lo and behold, I was correct. Here is a link to where I said more about this title: http://shane-malcolm.blogspot.com/2011/05/book-review-swim-back-to-me-by-ann.html.
Monday, October 24, 2011
The Magus by John Fowles: A Wild Ride Into the Mystic
I read The Magus by John Fowles over the summer. I read a few other books as well, but I can definitely say that The Magus defined my reading during the summer of 2011. I had long wanted to read the book, because of its revered status, but only this year did I bother to investigate the premise of the novel. Upon doing so, I moved the book closer to the top of my to-read list.
The Magus is not like anything I've read before. In some ways that can be said about each individual book that one reads, but truly, there is something that sets this giant tome in a class of its very own. First appearing in 1963, Fowles released a revised edition (with a tweaked ending) in 1977, and it's this version clocking in at 656 pages that I read.
The Magus is a mixture of genres and styles, encompassing mystery, psychological thriller, love story, philosophical treatise, and literary fiction. There's lots of other stuff in there, too. Above all, though, it's a heck of a good story, full of twists and turns and shocking revelations that keep you guessing until the very end and long after.
Nicholas Urfe is our protagonist (or antagonist, depending on your view). He's a 26 year old, smart, good looking, independent man whose parents died early, leaving him wayward and adrift. Very self-possessed, he is often lost in his thoughts and also quite judgmental of the 1950s London society in which he lives. Looking for adventure in the wake of a tumultuous romantic relationship, he accepts a post as language instructor in a school on the Greek island of Phraxos.
Although the adventure ostensibly begins when Nicholas arrives on Phraxos, close attention must be paid to the opening fifty pages of The Magus, which detail his relationship with a young Australian woman named Alison. These scenes are important, because they will tie in to the storyline at a later point. They are also notable for showcasing Fowles's strength at writing about romantic relationships between men and women, and for his strong character development. Although this part of the story flies by quickly almost as a prologue of sorts, it rings quite true in its portrayal of young love in first, glorious bloom.
Once Nick arrives in Greece, he discovers that he is just as bored as he was in London. He also realizes that his poetry is not very good, and even makes an unsuccessful attempt at suicide. Soon, however, he makes his way to the mysterious mansion of Maurice Conchis on the secluded part of Phraxos known as Bourani, and here is where his life takes a turn, if not for the better, certainly toward the more interesting. On Bourani, nothing is what it first appears, and Conchis seems nothing less than a magician or magus who manipulates Nicholas and sends him on a labyrinthine adventure that cannot begin to be described in this blog. You'll simply have to read The Magus for yourself. I will say only that a beautiful woman named Lily is a central figure in the games Conchis plays with Nicholas, and she emerges as a vivid but oh-so-puzzling character in her own right.
The bulk of the action in The Magus takes place on Bourani, and watching Nicholas navigate the maze set by Conchis is certainly a riveting reading experience. However, there are plenty of asides and various backdrops in this huge novel, including flashbacks to important periods in Conchis's life which he relates to Nicholas in great detail, and a sojourn to the mountains that Nicholas takes with Alison when he has reached an impasse of sorts on Bourani. These rustic mountain scenes are understatedly touching and lay a groundwork for the finale of the novel, which ultimately ends up being more of a love story than it first appears (arguably).
I thoroughly enjoyed The Magus. I liked the character development, the storyline, the questions of physical attraction vs. romantic love, the adventure, the mystery, the historical references, and Fowles's writing style. By the end of the novel, I was slightly annoyed (impatient), as I waited for everything to come together, and although I didn't really get the answers I wanted, I found the concluding pages of this book so striking that I forgave everything else. I would recommend the novel to almost everyone just for the sheer puzzlement of it, and the excitement of joining Nicholas as he weaves his way through the Magus's tangled web. Certainly this modern classic offers the reader one heck of a free ride!
The Magus is not like anything I've read before. In some ways that can be said about each individual book that one reads, but truly, there is something that sets this giant tome in a class of its very own. First appearing in 1963, Fowles released a revised edition (with a tweaked ending) in 1977, and it's this version clocking in at 656 pages that I read.
The Magus is a mixture of genres and styles, encompassing mystery, psychological thriller, love story, philosophical treatise, and literary fiction. There's lots of other stuff in there, too. Above all, though, it's a heck of a good story, full of twists and turns and shocking revelations that keep you guessing until the very end and long after.
Nicholas Urfe is our protagonist (or antagonist, depending on your view). He's a 26 year old, smart, good looking, independent man whose parents died early, leaving him wayward and adrift. Very self-possessed, he is often lost in his thoughts and also quite judgmental of the 1950s London society in which he lives. Looking for adventure in the wake of a tumultuous romantic relationship, he accepts a post as language instructor in a school on the Greek island of Phraxos.
Although the adventure ostensibly begins when Nicholas arrives on Phraxos, close attention must be paid to the opening fifty pages of The Magus, which detail his relationship with a young Australian woman named Alison. These scenes are important, because they will tie in to the storyline at a later point. They are also notable for showcasing Fowles's strength at writing about romantic relationships between men and women, and for his strong character development. Although this part of the story flies by quickly almost as a prologue of sorts, it rings quite true in its portrayal of young love in first, glorious bloom.
Once Nick arrives in Greece, he discovers that he is just as bored as he was in London. He also realizes that his poetry is not very good, and even makes an unsuccessful attempt at suicide. Soon, however, he makes his way to the mysterious mansion of Maurice Conchis on the secluded part of Phraxos known as Bourani, and here is where his life takes a turn, if not for the better, certainly toward the more interesting. On Bourani, nothing is what it first appears, and Conchis seems nothing less than a magician or magus who manipulates Nicholas and sends him on a labyrinthine adventure that cannot begin to be described in this blog. You'll simply have to read The Magus for yourself. I will say only that a beautiful woman named Lily is a central figure in the games Conchis plays with Nicholas, and she emerges as a vivid but oh-so-puzzling character in her own right.
The bulk of the action in The Magus takes place on Bourani, and watching Nicholas navigate the maze set by Conchis is certainly a riveting reading experience. However, there are plenty of asides and various backdrops in this huge novel, including flashbacks to important periods in Conchis's life which he relates to Nicholas in great detail, and a sojourn to the mountains that Nicholas takes with Alison when he has reached an impasse of sorts on Bourani. These rustic mountain scenes are understatedly touching and lay a groundwork for the finale of the novel, which ultimately ends up being more of a love story than it first appears (arguably).
I thoroughly enjoyed The Magus. I liked the character development, the storyline, the questions of physical attraction vs. romantic love, the adventure, the mystery, the historical references, and Fowles's writing style. By the end of the novel, I was slightly annoyed (impatient), as I waited for everything to come together, and although I didn't really get the answers I wanted, I found the concluding pages of this book so striking that I forgave everything else. I would recommend the novel to almost everyone just for the sheer puzzlement of it, and the excitement of joining Nicholas as he weaves his way through the Magus's tangled web. Certainly this modern classic offers the reader one heck of a free ride!
Monday, June 20, 2011
Atwood's Bodily Harm
Margaret Atwood is one of our greatest living writers, a Canadian treasure who has been considered a strong contender for the Nobel Prize in Literature for several years. Having produced excellence in the realms of the novel, the short story, and poetry, her reputation as a jack of all trades is well established. She won the Booker Prize for 2000's The Blind Assassin, and the Governor General's Award for 1985's The Handmaid's Tale, which remains her most famous creation to this day.
I read The Handmaid's Tale in 2005 and Cat's Eye (1989) in 2006. Both are among my all time favorites. I also read at least one short story and a couple of her poems during my school years. Last week, I picked up her 1981 novel Bodily Harm, mostly because it's the one I've heard the least about. Surfacing, The Robber Bride, and Alias Grace would have been more obvious choices, but this relatively slim novel (less than 300 pages) called out to me.
I read the book rather quickly, and I'm still not sure what I think of it. The prose is exemplary, as Atwood's prose always is. The protagonist, Rennie, is very interesting. The plot is solid, and the messages come through loud and clear. In some way, though, the book left me puzzled.
One of Atwood's strengths as an author is the way she tells a story, presenting us with multiple time frames through the eyes of one narrator. This strategy is employed to great effect in Cat's Eye, which takes place in present day Toronto as Elaine Risley prepares for an exhibition of her art. We go back in time to Elaine's childhood and teenage years, and the alternating scenes work fabulously to tell something closer to a whole story. In Bodily Harm, we also get fragmented narration, but somehow it's a little more confusing. Maybe not confusing, but certainly not straightforward. I can't help thinking that this reflects the narrator's state of mind, because Rennie feels fragmented herself, still trying to deal with the aftermath of a mastectomy.
Bodily Harm opens with Rennie returning from the market to find that her apartment has been invaded, and a coil of rope left ominously on her bed. This stressful scenario prompts her to take a tropical vacation. She is a journalist who writes lifestyle stories, and this time she decides to combine work and pleasure, taking off for the secluded Caribbean island of St. Antoine to write a travel guide article of sorts. Upon arriving at her destination, she meets a host of interesting and mysterious characters including Dr. Minnow, who is running for public office; Laura, who bites her nails ragged and grew up in an abusive household; and the alluring Paul, who charters boats and may be involved in some sort of smuggling ring. Rennie soon discovers that not all is peaceful on St. Antoine, and as she becomes increasingly involved in the goings-on of the island, Bodily Harm turns into a thriller of sorts.
As the action escalates on St. Antoine, Rennie has flashbacks to her life in Toronto. She was living with her boyfriend Jake, writing stories on everything from the return of faux fur to chain drain jewelry, when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Her surgery changed everything that she thought she knew about herself and her life. She fell in love with her doctor, Daniel. After her mastectomy, she was no longer able to feel sexually attractive. She and Jake split up, and her feelings for Daniel remained basically unresolved.
Atwood is extremely adept at linking Rennie's flashbacks to her current situation on St. Antoine, although the tone of the two threads is very different. The flashbacks are always interesting, but very inward looking; whereas Rennie's current situation is action-packed and dangerous. Of course, there was danger in her life before, especially when cancer reared its head. Atwood juxtaposes these two periods in Rennie's life seemingly to make a bigger point and to teach Rennie (and the reader) a "valuable life lesson," which becomes clear at the conclusion of the novel.
There is a lot more to the flashbacks than cancer and unrequited love. At times, Rennie goes further back, to her childhood in the unhappy town of Griswold, where her mother became "stuck" taking care of her senile grandmother. This gloomy upbringing left its mark on Rennie, who seems sophisticated and bright, but not entirely happy. She is exceedingly cynical. Also, Atwood makes it clear that Rennie's boyfriend Jake was abusive, though whether intentionally so is something the reader is left to wonder.
Bodily Harm was released in 1981, and there are cultural references to Ronald Regan and the punk scene. The feminist movement of the early 70s also hovers over the book, in particular, the way that Rennie was affected by it and how she relates to it today. Atwood is a feminist, and issues of woman's rights, female sexuality, and power play between the genders are of great importance to her. Never does she focus on these issues to the point of alienating readers; in fact, they usually heighten the impact of her stories. In Bodily Harm, there is no escaping the presence of gender issues, and at the novel's conclusion, Rennie comes to a very sobering realization.
If some of this sounds a little heavy, do not fear. Margaret Atwood is a commercially successful author as well as a critically acclaimed one, and this is because she knows how to hold your interest. Bodily Harm is never boring, even at Rennie's most introspective moments. The conclusion to the thriller plot line on St. Antoine, and the conclusions that Rennie makes about herself, are both satisfying. I was, however, unsatisfied by the fact that the opening invasion scene is never really touched upon again. I thought there would be some kind of resolution, but apparently it was included on a more metaphorical level (and, of course, to steer Rennie toward her tropical destination). Atwood is great with description, characterizations, and action in equal measure. Bodily Harm is not her most essential novel, nor is it her best, but it's an important part of her oeuvre, and an enjoyable, rewarding read.
I read The Handmaid's Tale in 2005 and Cat's Eye (1989) in 2006. Both are among my all time favorites. I also read at least one short story and a couple of her poems during my school years. Last week, I picked up her 1981 novel Bodily Harm, mostly because it's the one I've heard the least about. Surfacing, The Robber Bride, and Alias Grace would have been more obvious choices, but this relatively slim novel (less than 300 pages) called out to me.
I read the book rather quickly, and I'm still not sure what I think of it. The prose is exemplary, as Atwood's prose always is. The protagonist, Rennie, is very interesting. The plot is solid, and the messages come through loud and clear. In some way, though, the book left me puzzled.
One of Atwood's strengths as an author is the way she tells a story, presenting us with multiple time frames through the eyes of one narrator. This strategy is employed to great effect in Cat's Eye, which takes place in present day Toronto as Elaine Risley prepares for an exhibition of her art. We go back in time to Elaine's childhood and teenage years, and the alternating scenes work fabulously to tell something closer to a whole story. In Bodily Harm, we also get fragmented narration, but somehow it's a little more confusing. Maybe not confusing, but certainly not straightforward. I can't help thinking that this reflects the narrator's state of mind, because Rennie feels fragmented herself, still trying to deal with the aftermath of a mastectomy.
Bodily Harm opens with Rennie returning from the market to find that her apartment has been invaded, and a coil of rope left ominously on her bed. This stressful scenario prompts her to take a tropical vacation. She is a journalist who writes lifestyle stories, and this time she decides to combine work and pleasure, taking off for the secluded Caribbean island of St. Antoine to write a travel guide article of sorts. Upon arriving at her destination, she meets a host of interesting and mysterious characters including Dr. Minnow, who is running for public office; Laura, who bites her nails ragged and grew up in an abusive household; and the alluring Paul, who charters boats and may be involved in some sort of smuggling ring. Rennie soon discovers that not all is peaceful on St. Antoine, and as she becomes increasingly involved in the goings-on of the island, Bodily Harm turns into a thriller of sorts.
As the action escalates on St. Antoine, Rennie has flashbacks to her life in Toronto. She was living with her boyfriend Jake, writing stories on everything from the return of faux fur to chain drain jewelry, when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Her surgery changed everything that she thought she knew about herself and her life. She fell in love with her doctor, Daniel. After her mastectomy, she was no longer able to feel sexually attractive. She and Jake split up, and her feelings for Daniel remained basically unresolved.
Atwood is extremely adept at linking Rennie's flashbacks to her current situation on St. Antoine, although the tone of the two threads is very different. The flashbacks are always interesting, but very inward looking; whereas Rennie's current situation is action-packed and dangerous. Of course, there was danger in her life before, especially when cancer reared its head. Atwood juxtaposes these two periods in Rennie's life seemingly to make a bigger point and to teach Rennie (and the reader) a "valuable life lesson," which becomes clear at the conclusion of the novel.
There is a lot more to the flashbacks than cancer and unrequited love. At times, Rennie goes further back, to her childhood in the unhappy town of Griswold, where her mother became "stuck" taking care of her senile grandmother. This gloomy upbringing left its mark on Rennie, who seems sophisticated and bright, but not entirely happy. She is exceedingly cynical. Also, Atwood makes it clear that Rennie's boyfriend Jake was abusive, though whether intentionally so is something the reader is left to wonder.
Bodily Harm was released in 1981, and there are cultural references to Ronald Regan and the punk scene. The feminist movement of the early 70s also hovers over the book, in particular, the way that Rennie was affected by it and how she relates to it today. Atwood is a feminist, and issues of woman's rights, female sexuality, and power play between the genders are of great importance to her. Never does she focus on these issues to the point of alienating readers; in fact, they usually heighten the impact of her stories. In Bodily Harm, there is no escaping the presence of gender issues, and at the novel's conclusion, Rennie comes to a very sobering realization.
If some of this sounds a little heavy, do not fear. Margaret Atwood is a commercially successful author as well as a critically acclaimed one, and this is because she knows how to hold your interest. Bodily Harm is never boring, even at Rennie's most introspective moments. The conclusion to the thriller plot line on St. Antoine, and the conclusions that Rennie makes about herself, are both satisfying. I was, however, unsatisfied by the fact that the opening invasion scene is never really touched upon again. I thought there would be some kind of resolution, but apparently it was included on a more metaphorical level (and, of course, to steer Rennie toward her tropical destination). Atwood is great with description, characterizations, and action in equal measure. Bodily Harm is not her most essential novel, nor is it her best, but it's an important part of her oeuvre, and an enjoyable, rewarding read.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Literary Classic: A Good Man Is Hard To Find and Other Stories by Flannery O'Connor
Flannery O'Connor is one of the most well-known names from 20th century literature. She wrote two novels, Wise Blood and The Violent Bear It Away, before her early death at thirty-nine years of age. She is probably more revered for her two collections, A Good Man Is Hard To Find and the posthumously published Everything That Rises Must Converge. In 1972, she won the National Book Award (also posthumously) for her Complete Stories. She is absolutely among the greatest short story writers of all time.
I remember reading three of her stories for my AP English class with Mrs. Taylor during senior year of high school: "Greenleaf," "The Enduring Chill," and "Parker's Back." They were strange and alluring, eccentric tales, and my curiosity was piqued. Somehow I did not have to read her for any of my college courses, but she's always been in the back of my mind. Last month, one of my book groups decided to tackle our first collection of short stories (we've only read novels up to this point), and we unanimously selected O'Connor's A Good Man Is Hard To Find.
This collection of ten stories produced some of the most famous and studied titles in recent memory, including "A Late Encounter With The Enemy," "Good Country People," and "The Displaced Person." It's a bleak book, full of desperate, tortured, and unhappy characters, and lots of uncomfortable situations. O'Connor's style is often labeled Southern Gothic, and she is compared to writers like Eudora Welty, William Faulkner, and Carson McCullers. Her tales are not for the faint of heart.
In all honesty, though, Flannery O'Connor did not write like anyone before or since. Her style is unique and entirely her own, which is a large part of the reason these works have stood the test of time. Yes, the South of the 1950s is a huge part of the stories' fabric, which places her alongside Eudora Welty. However, Welty's stories were written in a much more formal style, and violence and danger were merely undercurrents. O'Connor, on the other hand, writes in a quick, blunt style with slight echoes of Hemingway, and violence is right on the surface of these sometimes chilling tales. The only living author I can think of whose stories bear a slight resemblance to O'Connor is Joyce Carol Oates, but again, these comparisons are not overt.
The title story, " A Good Man Is Hard To Find," is possibly the most well-known in this batch. It follows a family of six as they take off on a road trip. They are not a happy bunch. The grandmother, known only as The Grandmother, is constantly harping at her son, Bailey. Her grandchildren, a boy and girl, are argumentative and fidgety. Bailey himself is often finding fault with his old mother, yelling at and insulting her more than once. His wife (also nameless) and newborn baby don't have much to do. When the grandmother's cat jumps out of a basket and startles Bailey, he drives their car down into a ravine. They are soon "rescued," but the rescuers are a group of bandits led by a notorious killer named The Misfit who has been referenced since the opening of the story. What happens next is horrific, even by today's standards, and you'll not soon forget this tale.
Flannery O'Connor was a Roman Catholic, and many of her stories involve characters searching for grace, pondering grace, or finding grace at an unlikely moment. Religion was an integral part of her work. It also cannot be denied that many of her characters are racist, uneducated, and coarse. She was writing what was real to her in that time and place, and it's often ugly and hateful. You can argue that she was making deeper points than are readily apparent in some of the stories, possibly trying to combat racism by exposing it at its brutal core. These are issues that have been debated for more than fifty years, and readers will have to make up their own minds.
The endings of O'Connor's stories are often abrupt and startling, and they leave you wanting more. Sometimes, the conclusions raise more questions than answers, which again reminds me of some of the short stories of Joyce Carol Oates. There is symbolism in many of these stories, as well as allegory, metaphor, and irony. O'Connor employed many literary techniques and used each them in an expert manner.
There is something sinister in almost every story in this collection. O'Connor is exploring the dark facets of human nature, but again, she also allows her characters to find moments of grace, albeit in strange ways. She addressed themes that were somewhat ahead of their time, as in the story "A Stroke of Good Fortune," wherein the protagonist is disgusted and dismayed to find herself pregnant.
I cannot say that reading A Good Man Is Hard To Find is a particularly pleasant experience, because so many of the stories are bleak. However, it is definitely an intriguing, challenging, and revelatory experience, and certainly worth it to see one of the masters of the short story form at the peak of her powers. There is a reason that some authors are considered essential touchstones of fiction. Flannery O'Connor is one of the literary greats, with an uncontested place in the canon.
I remember reading three of her stories for my AP English class with Mrs. Taylor during senior year of high school: "Greenleaf," "The Enduring Chill," and "Parker's Back." They were strange and alluring, eccentric tales, and my curiosity was piqued. Somehow I did not have to read her for any of my college courses, but she's always been in the back of my mind. Last month, one of my book groups decided to tackle our first collection of short stories (we've only read novels up to this point), and we unanimously selected O'Connor's A Good Man Is Hard To Find.
This collection of ten stories produced some of the most famous and studied titles in recent memory, including "A Late Encounter With The Enemy," "Good Country People," and "The Displaced Person." It's a bleak book, full of desperate, tortured, and unhappy characters, and lots of uncomfortable situations. O'Connor's style is often labeled Southern Gothic, and she is compared to writers like Eudora Welty, William Faulkner, and Carson McCullers. Her tales are not for the faint of heart.
In all honesty, though, Flannery O'Connor did not write like anyone before or since. Her style is unique and entirely her own, which is a large part of the reason these works have stood the test of time. Yes, the South of the 1950s is a huge part of the stories' fabric, which places her alongside Eudora Welty. However, Welty's stories were written in a much more formal style, and violence and danger were merely undercurrents. O'Connor, on the other hand, writes in a quick, blunt style with slight echoes of Hemingway, and violence is right on the surface of these sometimes chilling tales. The only living author I can think of whose stories bear a slight resemblance to O'Connor is Joyce Carol Oates, but again, these comparisons are not overt.
The title story, " A Good Man Is Hard To Find," is possibly the most well-known in this batch. It follows a family of six as they take off on a road trip. They are not a happy bunch. The grandmother, known only as The Grandmother, is constantly harping at her son, Bailey. Her grandchildren, a boy and girl, are argumentative and fidgety. Bailey himself is often finding fault with his old mother, yelling at and insulting her more than once. His wife (also nameless) and newborn baby don't have much to do. When the grandmother's cat jumps out of a basket and startles Bailey, he drives their car down into a ravine. They are soon "rescued," but the rescuers are a group of bandits led by a notorious killer named The Misfit who has been referenced since the opening of the story. What happens next is horrific, even by today's standards, and you'll not soon forget this tale.
Flannery O'Connor was a Roman Catholic, and many of her stories involve characters searching for grace, pondering grace, or finding grace at an unlikely moment. Religion was an integral part of her work. It also cannot be denied that many of her characters are racist, uneducated, and coarse. She was writing what was real to her in that time and place, and it's often ugly and hateful. You can argue that she was making deeper points than are readily apparent in some of the stories, possibly trying to combat racism by exposing it at its brutal core. These are issues that have been debated for more than fifty years, and readers will have to make up their own minds.
The endings of O'Connor's stories are often abrupt and startling, and they leave you wanting more. Sometimes, the conclusions raise more questions than answers, which again reminds me of some of the short stories of Joyce Carol Oates. There is symbolism in many of these stories, as well as allegory, metaphor, and irony. O'Connor employed many literary techniques and used each them in an expert manner.
There is something sinister in almost every story in this collection. O'Connor is exploring the dark facets of human nature, but again, she also allows her characters to find moments of grace, albeit in strange ways. She addressed themes that were somewhat ahead of their time, as in the story "A Stroke of Good Fortune," wherein the protagonist is disgusted and dismayed to find herself pregnant.
I cannot say that reading A Good Man Is Hard To Find is a particularly pleasant experience, because so many of the stories are bleak. However, it is definitely an intriguing, challenging, and revelatory experience, and certainly worth it to see one of the masters of the short story form at the peak of her powers. There is a reason that some authors are considered essential touchstones of fiction. Flannery O'Connor is one of the literary greats, with an uncontested place in the canon.
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