Tag Archives: literary fiction

Book Review of The House Girl, by Tara Conklin

The House GirlI checked out a copy of The House Girl, by Tara Conklin, from my local library.

Description from Goodreads:
Two remarkable women, separated by more than a century, whose lives unexpectedly intertwine . . .

2004: Lina Sparrow is an ambitious young lawyer working on a historic class-action lawsuit seeking reparations for the descendants of American slaves.

1852: Josephine is a seventeen-year-old house slave who tends to the mistress of a Virginia tobacco farm—an aspiring artist named Lu Anne Bell.

It is through her father, renowned artist Oscar Sparrow, that Lina discovers a controversy rocking the art world: art historians now suspect that the revered paintings of Lu Anne Bell, an antebellum artist known for her humanizing portraits of the slaves who worked her Virginia tobacco farm, were actually the work of her house slave, Josephine.

A descendant of Josephine’s would be the per-fect face for the lawsuit—if Lina can find one. But nothing is known about Josephine’s fate following Lu Anne Bell’s death in 1852. In piecing together Josephine’s story, Lina embarks on a journey that will lead her to question her own life, including the full story of her mother’s mysterious death twenty years before.

Alternating between antebellum Virginia and modern-day New York, this searing tale of art and history, love and secrets explores what it means to repair a wrong, and asks whether truth can be more important than justice.

Review:
I have to preface this review by noting that I read this book for my book club and it is not a book I would have picked up on my own. As a result, I can’t say I enjoyed reading it. I felt satisfied by the ending (thank goodness) but I basically had to force myself to read it. This, however, is more a symptom of not being a preferred story type for me than actual quality of the book or writing.

Having said all that, there were a few things that I think, even outside my general dislike of depressing fiction, are worth mention and critique. First, while I understand Josephine is/was an artist and sees/saw things through an artists eye, the overly descriptive writing got on my nerves. Even in people’s hand written letters to one another, they were describing refracted light and how the moon shimmered, etc. It was just too much for me.

Secondly, the interminable lists, there are soooo many lists of things in the book, some of them very long. Yes, some of this served a purpose, but god, so boring to read. Third, there are a number of unbelievable coincidences that occur. Yes, some of them could be that information wasn’t hidden so much as no one had thought to look for it, but still Lina’s investigation was too easy.

Fourth, why did Lina have to romantically consider almost every man she encountered? You don’t see this with male characters. Fifth, the resolution of the mother…just no; that’s all I’ll say on that.

I did very much appreciate that there was no apology for, dressing up or hiding the horrors of slavery. Nor was it ever gratuitously shown. We didn’t need to see a man whipped to death or a woman raped to know those things were happening. The inhumanity of the establishment came through quite clearly, as did some people’s blindness to it and other’s struggles with living with it but feeling helpless to change it, even when they wanted to.

My final assessment is that this is what it is, a thought provoking, ‘book club’ sort of book. Does anyone read these just for enjoyment? No one I know.

A Thousand Splendid Suns

Book Review of A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini

A Thousand Splendid Suns I picked up a copy of Khaled Hosseini‘s A Thousand Splendid Suns from a used bookstore. 

Description from Goodreads:
Born a generation apart and with very different ideas about love and family, Mariam and Laila are two women brought jarringly together by war, by loss and by fate. As they endure the ever escalating dangers around them-in their home as well as in the streets of Kabul-they come to form a bond that makes them both sisters and mother-daughter to each other, and that will ultimately alter the course not just of their own lives but of the next generation. With heart-wrenching power and suspense, Hosseini shows how a woman’s love for her family can move her to shocking and heroic acts of self-sacrifice, and that in the end it is love, or even the memory of love, that is often the key to survival.

Review:
This was not a winner for me. Yes, I get it. All Afghan men are cruel, power-hungry monsters who lord over their wives and all Afghan women are abused victims who are only beautiful in their capacity for sacrifice. (See, I’ve saved you from having to read the book now.) 

If I was a conspiracy theorist, I might call this anti-Afghanistan propaganda. I’m not a conspiracy theorist. I don’t actually think this is anti-Afghanistan propaganda. But, with the war and all, publishers don’t seem to be trying paint Afghanistan in even a neutral light. Seemingly every recent popular book concerning the territory has this same theme. That makes reading this book an exercise in redundancy. I did not enjoy it and it felt incredibly arrogant to me. I don’t care if the author was born (not raised, mind you, but at least born) in Kabul. The whole thing still felt like arrogant judgment against a people who have already had to weather one hell of a storm. 

Even worse, in its attempt to be so quintessentially tragic it was also utterly predictable. All you ever had to do was think what the worst thing that could happen next was and there you had it. Sometimes you didn’t even had to do that, the trajectory of the plot-line was so blatantly obvious that it was practically written in neon.

Dancing With Gravity

Book Review of Dancing With Gravity, by Anene Tressler

Dancing With GravityBook number nine of my Taking Care of My Own challenge is Dancing with Gravity, by Anene Tressler. She isn’t actually a Goodreads friend. As far as I can see she doesn’t even have an account. (How is that possible?) But I met her at a mutual friend’s Christmas party and she’s a really cool woman. In fact, as soon as I got home I rushed to Amazon to buy her book. I just kept putting off reading it because it’s not SciFi or Fantasy and I’m so addicted to these genres.

Description from Goodreads:
Father Samuel Whiting does not set out to be a hero. He doesn’t want to save the world or even save the day. Instead, he simply exists, asleep in his own life, adrift in a loneliness of his own creation. And then the circus comes to town and his self-imposed isolation is shattered. As he gradually awakens to a world of possibility, he embarks on the hero’s journey of discovery through the uncharted terrain of his own heart. His is a tale of insecurity and false hopes, of self-absorption and self-denial, of reaching out and falling short. It is a tale of struggling with integrity and striving for valor by someone who, if left to his own devices, would willingly remain an extra in his own life. Finally, blinded by self-delusion and at the brink of despair, a challenge to serve changes everything he believes about the true cost of love.

Review:

I should start by mentioning that I’m not at all religious (academically interested, but not a believer in any of the Books), so I was admittedly a little skeptical about reading a story with a priest as the main character.  However, though there are a few homilies here and there and Whiting’s faith is an important aspect of the book, I didn’t feel preached at or that the book’s main intent was actually to ‘spread the good word’ or revel in the mutual beliefs of the author and reader. (Both of which I have a pretty low tolerance for.)

I actually quite enjoyed Whiting’s story…no, enjoy isn’t the right word because this is one of those books that is good, but an uncomfortable read. Another reviewer called it emotionally draining and that’s a good way to say it. It’s draining, but it’s worth the cringe moments for the way it humanised priests. They’re often just reduced to caricatures of their collar, especially in these post abuse-scandal days. Whiting is having personal issues, but the last thing he could ever be called is a predator. The book doesn’t go there AT ALL.

This isn’t really a story about a circus. In fact, Whiting doesn’t even meet the circus performers until 35% into the book and he doesn’t get to know any of them until closer to 60%. It’s not really a story about one man’s desire to rediscover the value of his calling or vocation either, though it’s touched on. This is a story of one man’s almost unconscious search for meaning in his life.

He’s having a bit of a midlife crisis, not that he realises that and it takes the form of ‘love’—deep, passionate, obsessive, self-absorbed, utterly extinguishable ‘love’…twice in a matter of days. The story really is watching his internal struggles.

At one point Whiting says to another character, “You always make me sound so naïve.” She responds that he isn’t, but he is. It part of what makes him so loveable. He’s naïve, but not stupidly so. He’s just more inclined to see the good in a person or circumstance than the potential for harm, even when it’s obvious.

In the beginning he reminded me of Prince Myshkin from Dostoyevsky‘s The Idiot, full of emotional reflection and genuine good will, but a step removed from social understanding and therefore often confused and deceived (if only by himself) and therefore deemed deficient. 

By the end however, he was differnt. He’d been broken and reformed to become something else, something more. And it was a painful, if unacknowledged, process for everyone involved. There were also some very real consequences of his actions, inactions and inattentions. His transformation was subtle, but oh so real.

The writing was marvellous. It matched the tone of the book wonderfully. I did think that some of the internal thoughts were disruptive. Not all of them, most played an important role in letting us in on Father Whiting’s mental state. The man started the book fragile; I mean he’s a mental and emotional basket-case. I don’t mean crazy, but he overanalyses everything, second guesses himself constantly, and is overly aware of his own social awkwardness (thereby, of course, making it significantly worse).

The internal (and occasional external) monologues are important, but other ones aren’t. There are times he does things like make a cup of tea, thinks, “tea will make it better” and then sits to drink his tea. The thought is redundant and breaks the narrative. There were a number of these sorts of little internal snippets that I could have done without. But for the most part, it was well written, engaging and thought provoking.

If you’re looking for a strong, character driven novel this is a good one to pick up. It’s not an easy-breezy book, but not all of them should be.