Review: The Violent Bear it Away by Flannery O’Connor

Posted on May 12, 2010 by

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Summary: 
Flannery O’Connor’s The Violent Bear It Away: A Novel is a novel strongly concerned with Christian fanaticism & indoctrination, education, and family.  The story presents us with three male generations of the family Tarwater:  The elder or “great” Uncle, a mentally unbalanced, violent man & self-proclaimed prophet of the Lord; the younger Uncle, a school teacher who was jaded in his youth by the tyrannical, damaging teachings of the great-Uncle; and the two boys – cousins – one an orphan raised by his great-Uncle Tarwater, similarly jaded and trying to find a way to shake off the chains, the other is the mentally handicapped son of the school teacher Uncle, and the only “pure” character in the novel.  The story deals largely with young Tarwater, Francis, and his uncle Marion who come together after the death of their great-uncle and who are both dealing with their own demons, while also trying to come to terms with each other.

The Good:
Flannery O’Connor takes the powerful language of her short stories and fills page after page with it here in The Violent Bear it Away.  Her themes always relate to religion, family, and the south – and this novel is no different.  The most fascinating aspects, I think, are the two Tarwaters who , in their youth, had been stolen and raised for a time by their great-Uncle.  They each end up battling their own demons, and each denies his own continued susceptibility to their former teachings.  Marion, the school teacher, deals constantly with his inner-demons and passions.  In one moment, he is enraptured by and completely loving of his mentally handicapped son and yet, he is also perpetually on guard, as he has repeating thoughts of murdering his son to unburden himself.  Meanwhile, young Francis Tarwater, more recently released from the bonds of the old man, is also dealing with his own identity – fighting his uncle’s compulsion that the boy should be a baptizing prophet.  Francis is fond of saying that he is meant to “do” things and not just think about them or talk about them – and if he cannot or will not do one thing, then he will prove it by doing the opposite.  The boy proves himself true in the most drastic and devastating way, and to the detriment of the one simple, honest soul involved.   Interestingly enough, there are virtually no women in the story.  The only two living female characters are nosey shop owners, both of whom recognize a problem with Francis but neither of whom do anything to intervene.  The mothers and aunts have either deserted their families or died.  I find this role reversal fascinating and telling as, typically, in novels of this fashion – gothic religious and familial – the women tend to take on the main roles, as caregivers and educators and Christian examples.  Perhaps that is why neither education, nor family, nor religion quite lives up to anyone’s expectations.  The pace was fast, the prose beautiful, and the story truly harrowing.  There are some expected and anticipated moments, and there are some shocks – particularly in the final moments. 

The Bad: 
 At the moment, the only criticism I have for the novel is that the ending seems a bit haphazardly produced.  The final pages bring us back to the farm with young Francis, and the indication is that he has been unable to break from his great-uncle’s persuasion and, in fact, submits entirely to his “destiny” after imagining a vision similar to ones he experienced earlier in the novel, though these earlier visions he was able to logically explain away.  Whether this final submission was unavoidable or the result of one of the unexpected moments which occurs just before Francis returns to the farm is hard to determine and this in itself is unsettling as, either way, the result is unsatisfying (though more so in the latter).  Also, the reader is left to guess at the fate of the school teacher.  He wishes for two things as the story unfolds, and his wishes are granted, but will he really be better off?  The answer seems to be yes, which is disturbing yet honest. 

Final Verdict: 5.0 out of 5.0 
Overall, I had to push myself to find flaws with this novel.  It was brilliantly constructed and executed.  The story is dark, interesting, and moving – if a bit oppressive.  Flannery O’Connor is a religious writer but what is so fascinating with her work is that she is honest about the dangers of belief-in-excess and in blinding one’s self to the truth at hand and, instead, to allow one’s self to descend into madness in the name of “belief.”  While some of the characters, particularly the great-uncle, are certainly grotesques – the novel still manages to steer away from being wholly didactic.  It also manages to be impressively engrossing, while dealing with such unsettling issues.  

Published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2007
ISBN-13: 978-0374530877
Challenges: N/A
Source: Owned Copy
Rating: 5.0/5.0

Review: The Meaning of Night by Michael Cox

Posted on May 9, 2010 by

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Summary:
Michael Cox’s The Meaning of Night: A Confession is a murder-mystery tale, set in the mid-19th century, with an attempt on the author’s part to portray the story in the contemporary (i.e. Cox presents the work as if it had been written in the 1800s).  The main character, Edward Glyver, has been slighted by an old school friend, and this betrayal leads to the ultimate downfall of both Glyver and his nemesis, Phoebus Duport.  The novel is, in fact, Glyver’s “confessions” which are written down and sent to a dear friend, who passes it along to the fictitious editor, J.J. Antrobus.  This “editor” makes notes and comments throughout, and points out insertions of found materials which were not included in the original package sent by Glyver to his friend and former employer, Tredgold.  These editorial notations and introduction are an attempt on the author’s part to re-assert the antiquity of the text – perhaps a clever nod to his bibliophile readers– for, as the reader soon will discover, bibliophiles play a prominent part in the plot, and in finding and unraveling the many mysteries to Glyver’s past and future.  Through clever use of flashback and an oftentimes seamless introduction of major and minor characters – all of whom, past and present, become related and relevant to the plot, Cox develops a fast-moving, believable literary history of a multitude of fictitious authors and nobles.

The Good:
Cox’s story is a delightful throwback to the Victorian and even Gothic romances and mysteries – with obvious nods to Dickens (Great Expectations, The Mystery of Edwin Drood) and even Radcliffe (The Italian).  Interestingly enough, though, the book was most reminiscent to me of non-English writers, such as Peter Carey’s re-telling of Great Expectations vis-à-vis Jack Maggs.  I was also clearly reminded of some American works, such as Poe’s “The Cask of Amontillado” and Hawthorne’s “Rappaccini’s Daughter” – both of which deal with this idea of self-destructive, calculated, and unrepentant revenge, as well as love lost and unrequited.  I found the language and dialogue interesting and fluid.  The main character, Glyver, while despicable at times – and certainly starting off on the wrong foot with his readers – can be sympathized with and championed, despite his many failings (such as an obvious love-blindness).  For bibliophiles, the many references to major literary works is laudable, as is the fact that Glyver’s clues and mysteries are resolved by research into lost letters, old histories, and personal libraries.   I particularly liked that, while revenge is sought & found, there is no satisfactory resolution for the avenger – indeed, his life likely would have amounted to much more (and certainly have been much simpler) had Glyver either 1) never looked into the mystery of his past or 2) chosen not to seek the destiny which he was denied (the conclusion his mother so hoped he would choose).  In this way, and only in this way, can we as the reader empathize with Glyver & root for him throughout, and then also be satisfied that Glyver does not get more than he really deserves – considering he is not really such a great guy, after all.

The Bad:
In reference to this edition, specifically, there were a few proofreading oversights, which I found surprising in a Norton publication.  I also disliked the idea of this fictional editor who inserts his own clarifications and footnotes throughout the novel – it is largely unnecessary and ultimately distracting (not to mention that Cox comes across rather indulgent by including explanations and clarifications to his more obscure references – almost as if he is patting himself on the back for including such ambiguous or learned information).  There were also quite a few holes in the plot, most of which include Glyver not picking up on facts which are blatantly apparent to the reader.  Does the author believe his audience– supposedly literature lovers and bibliophiles who would be quite privy to sub-plots and deconstruction- is too obtuse to figure these things out without them being spelled out, step-by-step, as Glyver seems to need?  One hundred pages could easily have been saved by allowing Glyver, a self-identified genius, to have come to conclusions which the average reader has certainly come to on his own.  There is also a stunning lack of characterization – aside from Glyver and perhaps Tredgold, the remaining characters are relatively flat and indistinguishable.  The servants, even, who are of severely different capacities and mentalities, to Glyver, all seem to be the same person in style.  In a seven hundred page novel, perhaps more attention could have been paid to the other characters, particulary to the Lord and Lady Dupont, whose relationship is so imperative to the plot, but who are never truly engaged.  The combination of including unnecessary clarifications and “spellings-out” of plot points, with the major oversights in character development, I feel, prohibit a generally well-written, entertaining, and intelligent novel from being quite possibly a great work.

The Final Verdict: 4.0 out of 5.0
Despite the oversights, the over-indulgence, and the author’s obvious assumption that his readers are incredibly less learned than he is, The Meaning of Night is still an achievement.  Glyver’s story is interesting, and the psychological play in terms of championing an anti-hero is always intriguing.  The pace is good and author’s passion for literature and books in general is clear and well received (by me, at least).  What could have improved this rating to a 4.5 or 5.0 would be, perhaps, a bit less arrogance by the author – and a bit more trust in his readers.  It is impossible to develop and present a piece with hopes of earning “epic” or lasting status, while assuming the readers need to be hand-held throughout.  Cox is said to be writing a sequel and, I hope, he has been encouraged to treat his reader as a partner in his journey, rather than as an apprentice or subordinate.

Published by W. W. Norton & Company, 2007
ISBN-13: 978-0393330342
Source: Owned Copy
Rating: 4.0/5.0

Review: The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck

Posted on April 30, 2010 by

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Summary:
Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath is an intense, harrowing account of one family’s struggle to survive, after being dislocated from their Oklahoma ranch and forced to move to California – land of prosperity for work.  The Joad family and their local (former) preacher, Jim Casey get caught up in the web of agricultural monopolies & Hoovervilles.  They bounce from farm to farm, job to job, and camp to camp, as they search for enough work just to feed themselves.   The story ends on a note of acceptance and understanding, but without promise or hope.  The reality of the Great Depression and the dust bowl devastated “Oakies” seems to settle over the entire novel, the entire country, without so much as a glimmer of better days to come – though the Joads are sure to keep on. 
The Good:
Steinbeck’s use of language and scene as emotion is absolutely brilliant.  His description makes the moments – and there are many intensely moving moments.  He also breaks up the storyline with chapters interspersed that tell almost like a news reel.  There will be a chapter, for instance, on the life of a cotton picker, what a man can expect to be paid, how he struggles to feed his family off it, how the pickers are forced to fight over bolls and weigh down their bags with rocks for extra pay; how the scales are tipped in the farmers’ favor and how arguments ensue which are for the benefit of pride, but never truly resolve anything.  Then, in the next chapter, Steinbeck brings his reader back to the Joad family and their personal struggle.  The reader finds the Joads in the midst of situations described in the former chapter – only this time the impact is more intense, because we know this family – we are rooting for this family, but we already know, we have the facts, that this family is doomed to fail.  Still, Steinbeck forces us to cheer them on and to believe, like the Joads believe, that everything will turn in their favor sooner or later.  The format – the style and language- make this novel read like a play or a movie, as something almost watched rather than read.   Steinbeck’s close, personal relationship with California is also an asset to the tale; he knows these peoples’ destitution and pain; he knows the land and what it does to people, how it promises wealth and easy-living, then turns on those emigrants who have come to reap the land’s riches.  Steinbeck touches on this in many of his novels – East of Eden, for instance, but nowhere else is the land such an active character, such an antagonist to the Joads success – and to the success of all the “Reds.”  Still, these folks love the land, and will continue to work for just a small space of their own; so we too love the land.  Finally, Steinbeck is clearly speaking out in preference of the Union.  Casey and Tom Joad – likely the novel’s two most conscientious and laudable protagonists – both, in the end, come to the conclusion to “organize.”  They believe it is the only way to get ahead, to get out of the slums and to earn a living for the people and their families.  At a time when Unions were being demonized by big and small corporations alike, Steinbeck was courageous –and right- in his championing of them. 
The Bad: 
The only negative I see in The Grapes of Wrath is the lack of resolution.  What happens to Connie, for instance, or to Noah?  They disappear – walk away from the Joad family and are never heard from again.  Are we to believe that they made it, or that they perished?  Jim Casy, when he chose to take the fall and was driven away from the Joad family, letter returns as a hero – so, in contrast, we can assume that the two deserters met a less heroic fate? Tom Joad, too, the novel’s main character – in close race with Ma Joad- disappears at the end.  We get a sense of where he’s going, but we never know if he succeeds.  Finally, the story of the Joads themselves, or at least those Joads whom are left, is also left unresolved.  Just when things start looking up for this family – when a little money has come in, when the family is fed and food is not wanted – all luck turns, and everything is washed away.  The Joads are flooded out of their camp, lose their truck and their reserves.  Rosa Sharon loses even more than this and yet we see her giving care to another in the last moments of the novel, a “mysterious smile” on her face.  Steinbeck leaves a lot to the imagination which, in a six hundred page novel, seems unnecessary.  My interpretation would be this: the Joads will never make it, but they will never give up trying.  This seems to be the reason for Rosa Sharon’s smile – like Mona Lisa’s.  Sad, resigned, but alive.
The Final Verdict: 5.0 out of 5.0
Not since Melville’s The Confidence Man and Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn have I felt an author has so completely and implicitly captured the American spirit.  The only faults to find in this novel were that too much, though not much really, was left unresolved.  Why doesn’t this reduced my overall score for the novel?  Because Steinbeck knew the problem itself was unresolved – yes, characters in this novel wandered off and were never heard from again; so it was with the migrant laborers, split from their families to find work, with promises to strike it big and return with wealth and advantages.  The language and dialogue were masterfully wrought, and the novel’s structure is something unique and wonderful.  The interspersed chapters of detached observation give the readers a clearer understanding of what is really happening, and the realization that, left with only the Joad family’s journey, we too would continue to be hopeful when there was no reason left to be positive.   It is no wonder that The Grapes of Wrath is considered by some, such as Dorothy Parker, to be “the greatest American novel.”

Review: Nothing Like the Sun by Anthony Burgess

Posted on April 16, 2010 by

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Summary: 
Anthony Burgess’s Nothing Like the Sun is a highly fascinating, albeit fictional, re-telling of Shakespeare’s love life.  In 234 pages, Burgess manages to introduce his reader to a young Shakespeare, developing into manhood and clumsily fumbling his way through his first sexual escapade with a woman, through Shakespeare’s long, famed (and contested) romance with Henry Wriothesley, 3rd Earl of Southampton and, ultimately, to Shakespeare’s final days, the establishment of The Globe theater, and Shakespeare’s romance with “The Dark Lady.”  
The Good: 
Burgess has a command for language.  This is my third experience with a work by Anthony Burgess and, once again, I am impressed and awed by his skill as a story-teller and an imagist.  While, in typical fashion, he does tend to break-off at points of leisurely prose into something more Gertrude Steine-esque (stream of consciousness, for example), for the most part he keeps this novel in finely tuned form.  There is also an exceptional arc to this story, which carries the reader from Shakespeare’s boyhood, to his death, with common characters interacting regularly and to an end result.  Even the minor characters, such as Wriothesley’s secretary, are well-established and easily identified, once they have been described.  I also very much appreciated the references to other historical figures of the time, and how they impacted Shakespeare’s life and works. Marlowe, Lord Burghley, Sir Walter Raleigh, Queen Elizabeth I, The University Wits (Greene, Lyly, Nashe) all make an appearance, or are at least referred to, throughout the novel – their works (as well as works of the Classicists – Ovid, Virgil; and the early dramatists – Seneca, etc) are clearly defined in relation to their impact on Shakespeare’s own designs and interpretations.  I found this highly informative and a nice refresher to/reinforcement of my studies of Shakespeare at the Undergraduate and Graduate levels – I enjoyed being reminded of how the playwrights competed and worked together, how Shakespeare was inspired, and by whom, and how politics and the time period played an important role in the successes and failures of the players (Greene, for instance, died sickly and shamed; Marlowe hunted down as an atheist; Jonson’s imprisonment for treasonous writing, and Nashe’s escape from England for the same).  Incredibly fascinating and surprisingly sound story, which also appropriately references, with subtlety, many of Shakespeare’s works, at their time of development, so that a reader familiar with the works may catch them without their names actually having been written.  Lovely little way for Burgess to reward his learned readers (as Shakespeare oft amused himself by doing).   
The Bad:
Burgess takes much creative, though well-researched, license with Shakespeare’s life and the details of his relationship with various people.  For instance, while many scholars believe “The Rival Poet” of “The Fair Youth” sonnets to be either Chapman or Marlowe due to circumstances of fame, stature, and wealth (ego, essentially), Burgess breaks from the traditional interpretation of “The Rival Poet” to explore the possibility that Chapman was, in fact, a rival for Henry Wriothesley’s attention and affection and,  for this reason, Shakespeare became jealous and critical of Chapman.  Similarly, the ultimately un-established relationship between Shakespeare and Wriothesley, Shakespeare and “The Dark Lady” (or Lucy, in this novel), as well as, even Shakespeare and his wife – are all quite largely fictional.  That being said, while the novel’s general details – including historical happenings, political and religious tensions, and rivalries between the poets and the players are all well envisioned – the novel is dangerous in that the story of Shakespeare’s life comes across so logical here that it almost appears factual (and, who knows, a large portion of Burgess’s interpretations may have been true).  Thus, the writing is fantastic, but the liberties taken are troublesome. 
Final Verdict: 4.0 out of 5.0
The story was well written and enjoyable.  It was also, I thought, a fascinating glimpse at history and this particularly time period.  Burgess reminds the reader of many of the fears and prejudices of the time, and seems to be more critical of Elizabeth I than Shakespeare himself (most scholars believe) was.  I appreciated Burgess’s cleverness and subtlety, but also his openness and candor in terms of sexuality and taboo relationships.  Burgess clearly wants to open the reader’s eyes to what very well could have happened, yet is never acknowledged.  Still, some of the author’s creative license, I think, goes beyond an artistic historian’s realm.  When I compare Nothing Like the Sun to, say, Stone’s Lust for Life I find the latter to be much more honest to the facts as we know them, whereas the former is a bit more adventurous in scope.  Overall, though, it was a highly educational, enjoyable read of an interesting and valid perspective look on Shakespeare.

Review: A Single Man by Christopher Isherwood

Posted on April 2, 2010 by

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Summary
George, the main character, is an English-born gay man, living and working as a literature professor in Southern California.  George is struggling to readjust to “single life” after the death of his long-time partner, Jim.  George is brilliant but self-conscious.  He is determined to see the best in his pupils, yet knows few, if any, of his students will amount to anything.  His friends look to him as a revolutionary and a philosopher, but George feels he’s simply an above-par teacher,  a physically healthy but noticeably aging man, with little prospects for love – though he seems to find it when determined not to look for it.

The Good
Christopher Isherwood’s A Single Man is not Isherwood’s most popular or most lauded work, even after the recent Hollywood movie, starring Colin Firth & Julianne Moore (two of my favorite actors).  That this novel is one of the “lesser read” of Isherwood’s novels, I think, speaks volumes for his other works –because this novel is absolutely beautiful.  In some ways, it reminds me of a gay Nicholas Sparks, except the themes are deeper and the language/style is more artistically driven and manipulated.  Edmund White, one of gay literature’s most respected and prominent authors, called A Single Man “one of the first and best models of the Gay Liberation movement” and it’s impossible to disagree.  Isherwood himself said that this was the favorite of his nine novels, and though it is my first encounter with Isherwood’s works, I imagine it would be quite difficult to top this work in terms of emotional connectivity and social relevance.  The language flows beautifully, even poetically, without seeming self-indulgent.  The structure – like short bursts of thought – is easy to keep pace with and seems to function almost in tune with George’s day-to-day musings.  What’s for breakfast?  What’s happening on the way to work?  What am I saying to my students, but what do I hope they’re hearing?  Once I got 15-20 pages into the novel, I knew it would be impossible to put down and, indeed, I completed most of the book in one afternoon.  This is not to say that the book was an “easy read.”  In fact, it was emotionally and psychologically haunting.  George’s love for his deceased partner, his loyalty to a broken friend, and his struggle to control lustful emotions for a student are effortlessly expressed by Isherwood, and the tension is brilliantly divined.  There is a twist ending which, had it not been constructed with such ingenuity and genius, I would have ordinarily found it quite cliché.  Fortunately, Isherwood gets his point across without having to sacrifice his (or the readers) immersion into the plot line.  This was a balancing act pulled of immaculately, and I was –as a seasoned reader- truly impressed.

The Bad
There is little to place here under “the bad.”  I found the novel just so impressive and moving, it’s hard to find fault.  The two things I was disappointed in, I suppose, are 1) the novel’s length.  George’s simple, sad life was so ordinary but had so much promise – largely due to George’s internal monologue – his analysis of every action and emotion (typically literary-inspired).  I would have enjoyed getting more of the back story between George and Jim – and more of the relationship (little as it existed) between George and his student, Kenny.  I was disappointed in George’s kindness to Dorothy, mainly because I would not have been able, personally, to forgive such a transgression and betrayal – so, for this reason, I find it a bit unbelievable (but that could be my problem, and not George’s or Isherwood’s).  2)  No, I was wrong – I covered all of this in point #1.

The Final Verdict: 4.5 out of 5.0
The novel takes place in the course of one day – so the characterization was probably as well-developed as it could be; the emotion of the novel – the desperation and sadness were genuine and personal – I felt exposed and violated, frustrated and hopeful.  I could see myself in George – the future me – and I was disappointed in myself at times, proud of myself at times, but – ultimately – I was left with the sense of knowing who I am (who George is) and of accepting things as they are.  The only truly possible way of living a satisfied (not happy) life.

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