historical fiction

Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress

5 Comments

I won’t profess to be an expert on Chinese Revolution/Mao literature, but I have read a few books based on/about that time in Chinese history. And the one thing that really struck me was how tame it was compared to the other books. The only reference to the time was that the main character and his friend, Luo, were in the mountains because they were being re-educated. Sure, the revolution is there in the background, but it’s not a forceful presence. In the end, then, this novel is a gentler, kinder look at the harshness of the re-education program. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing, but it was interesting.

The basic plot of the story is when our narrator (whose name you never find out) and Luo discover that their friend, Four Eyes (don’t you love Chinese names?), has a leather suitcase full of Chinese translations of forbidden Western novels. The friends decide that they want to read them, do all sorts of interesting (and possibly stupid) things in order to get Four Eyes to give them a book. They start with a novel by Balzac, which they love. Luo takes it to the next village to read to their friend, Little Seamstress, and that ends up in an affair between the two (well… not really an affair, since neither was married, but you get the point). This book leads to a desire for more, and so they steal the suitcase from Four Eyes. They devour the books, manage not to get caught, but because of them, their lives — and especially the life of Little Seamstress — is changed forever.

Aside from the gentle tone of the book, and the general promotion of freedom of stories (or storytelling; that should be a basic right: to be able to tell all kinds of stories without censorship… though I guess that’s covered in freedom of the press!), the book wasn’t one that I could sink my teeth in to. It was a quick read, and I didn’t dislike it… I just didn’t find myself caring much one way or the other for most of the book. I did care at one point, near the end, but then the ending came so abruptly, I was kind of thrown. I’m still trying to figure it out. Thankfully, though, it was a read for my online book group, so there’s lots of opportunity for discussion. Becuase I think that’s one thing that can be said for this book: it’s a good one to discuss.

Suite Francaise

5 Comments

I’ve spent the past week in France, enjoying the lyrical and evocative writing of Irene Nemirovsky. Amira highly recommended it a (long) while back, and so I was excited that my in person book group (which sometimes does pick really good books!) chose it this month.

It took me a bit to get into the book, but once I realized that there was no real plot, no real character development, but that it was a portrait of a time and a place and how individuals dealt with the time and place, I lost myself in it. And it was easy to do. The first part, Storm in June, dealt with the exodus of Paris in the wake of the German invasion. Nemirovsky followed a dozen or so people in the exodus, how they reacted to the crisis, how they managed to deal with an extreme situation. Some managed admirably, some horribly; some were noble and respectable, some were petulant and miserly. It was fascinating watching it all unfold, interesting to see how each individual person reacted to each individual situation.

The second part, Dolce, was my favorite of the two. It was the portrait of a country village after the German occupation and how the villagers responded to their German occupiers. My heart went out to Lucile, living with a horrible mother-in-law, and falling in love with the German who was living in her house. There was less going on in the second part, but I really thought Nemirovsky perfectly captured the emotions of a human being trapped between two realities.

And, then there’s the note at the end, about Nemirovsky’s history and how this book came to be. It shed a lot of light on how she treated some of her characters, especially wealthy and upper-middle-class women, and it made the whole book much more tragic.

And, because these popped out at me, I’ll include some of my favorite quotes…

From early on in Storm in June:

“I keep telling you, you don’t pay enough attention to the minor characters. A novel should be like a street full of strangers, where no more than two or three people are known to us in depth.”

And from Dolce:

She said “we” out of that sense of propriety which makes us pretend we share other people’s misfortunes when we’re with them (although egotism invairoable distorts our best inetntions so that in all inocencewe say to someone dying of tuberculosis, “I do feel for you, I do understand, I’ve had a cold I can’t shake off for three weeks now”).

Let them go where they want; as for me, I’ll do as I please. I want to be free. I’m not asking for superficial freedom, the freedom to travel, to leave this house (even thought aht would be unimaginably blissful). I’d rather feel free inside — to choose my own path, never to waver, not to follow the swarm. I hate this community spirit they go on and on about. The Germans, the French, teh Gaullists, they all agree on one thing: you have to love, think, live with other people, as part of a state, a country, a political party. Oh, my God! I don’t want to! I’m just a poor useless woman; I don’t know anything but I want to be free!

The Redheaded Princess

2 Comments

I suppose, after being Tudored out, it would seem a bit odd that I would even bother to pick up a book about Elizabeth I. But, there were two reasons I did. One, it’s by Ann Rinaldi, whom I really like. And two, I actually like Elizabeth’s story. It’s her dad that drives me nuts.

Anyway, as far as Elizabeth books go, I think that this one’s okay. It pretty much skims across Elizabeth’s life from the time Henry VIII dies to the time she becomes queen. But, other than that, it’s lacking. I think Rinaldi tried to do too much, cover too much time. Only 208 pages for 16 years just doesn’t really work. I missed details, descriptions, conversations that could have been written about. Granted, then it would have probably become an adult novel. But, maybe even Elizabeth’s teenage years deserved that. She was never really a “teenager” after all.

Then there was Elizabeth herself. She was always saying how she thought of herself as a queen, carried herself as a queen, but I never got much of a sense of whom Elizabeth really was, or what she really wanted. She spent her time reacting to events rather than acting on her own. Perhaps that’s the way it was, but it doesn’t make for terribly engrossing reading. And her relationships with other people — even the ones she was supposed to be close to like Cat Ashley and Roger Ascham and Robin Dudley — lacked intimacy and connection. If I hadn’t been told over and over again that Elizabeth was in love with Robin, I never would have figured that out. Not a sign of a really good work of fiction.

As an introduction to Elizabeth’s life, this works just fine. But, I’ll wager, that it’ll leave readers longing to know more, and search out other books about Elizabeth. Maybe that’s what Rinaldi had in mind all along.

The Other Boleyn Girl

7 Comments

I tried, a few years back (almost exactly), to read this one by Philippa Gregory, to no avail; I had read a couple other fiction books on Anne Boleyn and the Tudors (albeit YA fiction), and I was Tudored out. I went on and enjoyed two others by her, but this one was always lurking in the background; I figured I’d get around to it someday. The release of the movie prompted me to pick it up again. But, 230 pages into it, I realized something: I really don’t like these characters. In fact, I loathe them. I don’t mind naked ambition so much, but combine naked ambition with wantonly using people and loose morals, and you’ve got a bunch of people I’d rather not be reading about.

So, I bailed. Sometime after Mary Boleyn was pushed aside as King Henry VIII’s lover and Anne was squirming her way in, I decided that I’ve had enough of the Boleyn and Howard family. I mean, really: it’s one thing to be an object of the king’s desire, and to have him literally lust after you in front of his wife, the Queen. It’s entirely another to be practically pushed on him by your family (father and uncle specifically) and told to go have sex with Henry because it’s good for the family, while your poor husband (which your family arranged for you to marry in the first place) is shunted to the sidelines. Ugh. And so, since I know how the book ends anyway (everyone knows how the book ends; that’ s not the point), why bother spending time with such disagreeable people?

It’s not Philippa Gregory; as I said, I enjoyed both The Queen’s Fool and The Virgin’s Lover (though I remember liking the former better). Rather, it’s the Tudors, Howards and Boleyns. They were just despicable people (well, in historical fiction, anyway, they’re made out to be despicable people). And I think I’d rather not read about them. (Though I do have to admit, I’m intrigued enough by the time period that I’m rather curious about HBO’s The Tudors. I don’t know if I’ll ever get around to getting the DVDs, though… maybe after I forget how annoying and amoral these people were…)

This does mean, however, that I’m not going to count this one for the Once Upon a Time Challenge. I think I’ll substitute American Gods by Neil Gaiman, instead. I’ve been meaning to read another Gaiman. It’s got to be better than the Tudors, anyway.

A Drowned Maiden’s Hair

5 Comments

I’ve heard nothing but good about this one, by Laura Amy Schlitz. I liked the Newbery winner she wrote, and so I figured with those two recommendations, I couldn’t go wrong with this one.

Thankfully, I was right. I loved this little story. Schlitz deftly weaves a bit of mystery, some beautiful scenery and a lot of longing into a not-so-traditional orphan story. Wonderful.

Maud, an 11-years-old orphan, is singing in the outhouse of Barbary Asylum on the best day of her life: the day that Hyacinth Hawthorne decides that it’s Maud she wants to adopt. She has always longed for a home, or at least ever since she was 5 and someone adopted her older brother and younger sister and not her. She goes home with Hyacinth, meets her two sisters Judith and Victoria, and then discovers that she’s to play a part in the “family business”. She makes the best of it, vying for Hyacinth’s attention and affection, and eventually finds happiness in the bargain.

That’s a terrible plot summary, but I don’t know how to do the book justice while not giving too much away. I loved Maud as a character: feisty and spunky yet with so much longing to be loved it made my heart break. I thought it was an interesting look at family and death and separation and surviving… and so much. I liked the relationship that Maud had with Muffet (the deaf house maid in the Hawthorne home); how Maud came to understand Muffet and how their relationship developed. I really liked the ending, even though I saw it coming. I thought it was just perfect, and very satisfying.

M’s only quibble with the book was the subtitle: A Melodrama. She finished the book and said that it didn’t really read like a melodrama (or at least how Hubby defined a melodrama to her). (My only quibble is that Schlitz seems to like colons in her titles. They all have one.) According to trusty old Webster, a melodrama can mean both “a work characterized by extravagant theatricallity and by the predominance of plot and physical action over characterization” (doesn’t quite fit) or something “appealing to the emotions” (fits better). Maybe M’s right: it’s not quite a melodrama (though I think it was melodramatic at some parts). But it is a really wonderful book.

The Book Thief

8 Comments

Things I can say about Markus Zusak’s best-seller: I admire it. I thought it was brilliantly written. I thought Death as a narrator was an intriguing premise. I thought it was interesting that the story was set in Nazi Germany, but was about ordinary Germans just surviving. And yes, I cried at the end.

Things I can’t say about The Book Thief: that I like it. (Oh, and that I can spell thief the first time, without a spell-checker. Just can’t do it.)

This bothered me. I read the book — all 550 pages — and two-thirds of the way through I was still unsure what I thought of it. I didn’t hate it; I had no desire to stop reading. I did want to “find out” — though I already knew — what happened to Liesel and Rudy and Max and Hans. I don’t consider it time wasted, or time lost. So I didn’t hate it, or even really dislike it. About 100 or so pages before the end I finally decided that this book would have to be a toss: I was going to admire a book, to recognize it’s literary worth, and yet not like it.

I think my fundamental problem with this story is that it’s not really a cuddly or accessible one. Not that stories set in Nazi Germany can ever be cuddly. And a story about a pre-adolescent girl during this time isn’t necessarily accessible or enjoyable. It is an interesting, and possibly important story — but like “Schindler’s List” or “The Pianist” or Elie Wiesel’s books — it’s not one you want to cuddle up with, to read and reread. The final moral is something along the lines of: words can do good as well as harm, some people are good even in a bad situation, and some people survive. That’s life. In the end, I feel like this is an English class book; one to be respected and studied and analyzed and possibly imitated.

Just not really liked, at least by me. I’m okay with that.

The Painted Drum

6 Comments

This is me exercising my right to give up on a book that I just am not enjoying.

This is me giving up on trying to enjoy Louise Erdrich’s books (this is the second one I’ve disliked).

This is me not writing what I really think about this book (though Hubby dared me to).

I had fairly high hopes for this one. I know I didn’t like Birchbark House, but I figured maybe it was that because Erdrich is usually an adult-fiction writer, that she just didn’t quite know how to write well for kids. It’s not that she doesn’t write well — some of her passages were quite beautiful. It’s just that there was nothing else. And after a while I lost interest in the whole first section — the story of Faye and how she came to have the drum. So, I skimmed to the second section, the story of how the drum came to be, hoping that it would be better. It was, but only marginally. And not enough for me to even care about the last two sections of the book. I wasn’t moved, I wasn’t touched, I wasn’t captivated.

So, I abandoned it. I’ve got better things to do with my time.

Song of the Sparrow

7 Comments

I loved this book.

Sure, I have a bit of a soft spot for books about the Arthurian legend, and so I would have probably liked this book anyway. But, it was a beautiful story, a captivating take on the legend, masterfully written.

It’s written in free verse, and I couldn’t imagine it being done any other way. The simplicity of the text brought out the story, the emotions, the choice of words that much stronger. And because of that, they — and the story — resonated in a way that longer, more detailed works haven’t.

Lisa Ann Sandell takes a new perspective on the story, writing it from Elaine’s point of view. (She’s the infamous Lady of Shalott; if you’re good, you will have read Tennyson’s poem. If you’re like me, you will mostly know her from Anne of Green Gables.) Elaine’s mother died 8 years ago, and ever since then, she’s lived with her father and brothers in the war camp. Lancelot is her hero, her friend, as is all the rest of the men: Arthur himself, Gawain, and (in an intriguing, and brilliant, twist) Tristan (from Tristan and Isolde). Elaine’s happy enough, spending her days mending and healing and being in nature. And then life changes: Arthur becomes the dux bellorum (the war chieftain), and Gwynivere arrives.

It’s a simple enough plot, but between the characterizations (I had tears streaming down my face at the end), and the elegance of the poetry, the book is a captivating read.

I really have only one complaint: the cover. It’s a beautiful enough cover, but I became annoyed with it because of both the description on the blurb (“Elaine has a temperament as fiery as her long red hair”) and this passage:

Eyes of hazel-green like forest ferns
and mud,
and long, thick hair my father once told me
was the color of wheat and summer strawberries.

I ask you: does that girl have hair the color of wheat and summer strawberries? No. She has dishwater blonde hair, the color mine was in high school. This is wheat and summer strawberries:
I do have to admit that it wouldn’t bother me as much if I didn’t have a red-haired daughter. Still, I won’t let the cover get in the way of highly recommending this book. It truly is wonderful.

Enter Three Witches

4 Comments

Novelizing Shakespearean plays. Novel idea, right? I have this feeling that the recent “trend” (I’ve read three different takes on three different plays in the last four months) isn’t really new; that somewhere out there other authors have taken on Shakespeare and tried to make him more accessible.

If not, then why not? He’s just loaded with story ideas…

This one, by Caroline B. Cooney takes on Macbeth. It’s not exactly a happy play; but as far as tragedies go, I like this one best. Granted, it’s been years since I’ve read or seen it (and since I couldn’t remember it well, I kept wondering how the book measured up; but it isn’t necessary to understand the book), but I remember thinking that it was not only a good, cohesive play (it makes more sense than Hamlet!), but it’s got enough of the supernatural in there to scare you silly.

I think that Cooney did a marvelous job re-creating the mood of the play. The narration flips back and forth between characters, some of whom are Shakespearean. We follow Lady Mary (who isn’t in the play), daughter of the Thane of Cawdor (who is), and ward of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. We learn about Swin, the cook; Ildred, Lady Macbeth’s lady-in-waiting, as well as Seyton and Fleance (who are mentioned in the play, but has an expanded role). It’s a complicated thing, flitting between narrators, and generally I find it distracting. But I think it helps with the mood in this case; we are supposed to feel a measure of confusion and uncertainty, and having different people tell us different aspects of the story helps with that. I also like that the book feels spooky. The undercurrent of the witches are there… and Macbeth’s (and others) descent from the noble to the cursed is visible and affecting.

I did have a few issues with the book — Lady Mary as a main character was fairly weak; she spent much of the book lurking around wondering what she should do. It’s understandable; being the 14-year-old daughter of a traitor leaves her in a precarious situation. Still, it wasn’t until the last third of the book that I actually began to like her as a character. I liked the other narrators, though, so they kept me going when Lady Mary was uninteresting. And the plot point where Ildred became pregnant and had a baby which was killed in the course of the book, I felt like it came from nowhere. I did go back and read some sections after finishing and realized that the hints were there, but they were sufficiently subtle that I completely missed them. So, it may just be me.

Overall, though, I liked the book and think it’d be a good companion read with the play. (Maybe I’ll even get around to reading/seeing it again someday.)

Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry

8 Comments

For me, this book falls into the “important but very painful to read” category. It was depressing, disheartening, and yet an important look at race relations in the south in the 1930s.

The basic story is a year in the life of the Logans, as told from 9-year-old Cassie Logan’s point of view. She and her family live in Mississippi, north of Vicksburg, on a former plantation. Her family is different than the other tenant farmers in their area: they own 400 acres of their own land. It was a fluke: a Yankee had bought some after the Civil War and ended up selling some to Cassie’s grandfather. Yet, it’s the land — and owning it — that allows Cassie’s family a measure of freedom that the other families don’t have.

The interesting thing (to me) is that the other black families don’t hold it against the Logans do what they can to help out their neighbors and work hard at making ends meet. It’s the white people that claim the Logan’s are putting on airs, getting uppity and the like. In the end, it’s the land that both dooms them and saves them. (Which sounds ominous, I know, but really that’s the way it happens.)

Mildred Taylor doesn’t spare any one or anything. When Cassie disobeys, she gets whipped. She gets humiliated for just being black, and manages to get her “revenge”. It’s very much a world of get and try and give back. The children get splattered every morning on their way to school by the white bus going by (on purpose), and they take their revenge. Which sets off a chain of events. I think more than race relations, this book is about consequences. The consequences of choices, of decisions, of being black (or white) in Mississippi. There’s a strong sense of family, too. The Logans deeply care for their children, wanting what’s best for them. They are also concerned for their safety, navigating the difficult path of what’s right versus what’s best.

It was a very powerful book, one that I’m sure will stay with me for quite a while.