historical fiction

How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents

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by Julia Alvarez
age: adult

Look, a non-Cybil’s book! (And an adult one at that!) I’ve been reading this at nights (by eliminating my TV watching — only one hour of the John Adams miniseries and a 1/2 hour 30 Rock this week…) for my on-line book group. It wasn’t earth shattering, but I did like parts of it.

The four Garcia girls are the daughters and granddaughters of a fairly powerful clan in the Dominican Republic. However, their father, Carlos, was involved in a plot to overthrow the dictator Trujillo, they have to flee to the United States. There, they try to adjust: Papi finding new patients, Mami taking the lead because she went to school in America for a few years. The girls — Carla, Sandi, Yolanda and Sofia — each make their own way, for better or for worse.

The real “gimmick” of this book is that it’s told backwards. You find out how the girls fared, before you find out how they got to where they ended up. It worked for me, at times, but I think, ultimately, it was more confusing than intriguing. I kept having to flip back to figure out which girl ended up which way (the copy I read had notes in the margins just for that purpose; initially, I was annoyed, but by the end, I was grateful). I think I would have rather a story told with flashbacks to their Dominican childhood.

There was much good about the book, though, especially when it addressed the immigrant experience. Alvarez captured both the initial intrigue of the unknown (near the end of the book, the children would long for the new and unexpected and fascinating things brought back for them from the States) to the challenging and finally accepting of their new culture. I enjoyed some of the individual stories, too, from the descriptions of the compound in the Dominican Republic, to the experiences of each of the girls.

In the end, though the thing that struck me most was that Alvarez writes with honesty and with love for the characters and both their countries. The book made me think about all the immigrant experiences, and the challenges they face when they arrive in a new country. Which is something worth thinking about.

The Walls of Cartagena

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by Julia Durango
ages 10+

Calepino has an easy life, especially for one born as a slave. Taken in by Dona Isabel after his mother died when he was born, Calepino has learned to speak eleven languages, can read in several, and spends most of his days lazing around the Dona’s house. That is, until he turns 13. Then Father Pedro, the local Jesuit priest, decides that Calepino needs to earn his keep. So, he is drafted to help translate for the captured Africans who have arrived to be sold into slavery. It’s there that he meets Mara and Tomi, who, along with Dr. Lopez and the San Lazuro leper colony, will change the course of Calepino’s life.

I liked this book — it’s a good, solid piece of historical fiction. Many of the characters, including Father Pedro who was canonized by the Catholic Church in the 1800s (according to the author’s note), were either real, or based on real people. Durango touched upon the evils of slavery, the horror of leprosy, and the Spanish Inquisition and did so in a manner that was serious, but humane and delicate. You understood the importance and horror of the events, but without going into detail that a child couldn’t handle. It’s a good introduction to the topics and the time period, one in which I could see spurring many discussions. In addition, I really liked Calepino as a narrator. He was a likable person, and an eventually diligent and willing one, which made the circumstances that he found himself in (and the ones he propelled) all the more compelling.

Good reading.

(Just for the record: because this is a Cybils nominee, I’ve been asked to make sure y’all know this is my opinion only, and not that of the panel.)

Tennyson

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Tennyson lives in the backwoods of Mississippi and is perfectly happy. That is, until her mother, Sadie disappears. Her father, Emery Fontaine, decides to go looking for her and leaves Tennyson and her sister, Hattie, with their Aunt Henrietta, who runs the Fontaine family house, Aigredoux. Once there, Tennyson is faced with an aunt who can’t live in the present, a house that’s falling apart, the fact that her mother may never come back, and most interesting (and haunting) of all, the dreams of her family’s past that she keeps having.

This book is a hard one to pin down. I liked it; there’s a lot going for it in terms of mood and Tennyson is a good, strong main character. I liked the portrait of the deep South, both in the 1930s and the glimpses into the height of the Civil War. It’s full of tragedy and mood and discovery and dreams. I think out of all of it, I liked the dreams the best — Blume captured the essense of the High South, the grand ladies, the southern mannerisms, the Gone-With-The-Wind fierceness in the face of destruction and betrayal. I found the dream sequences fascinating.

Real life was less so. I was pained by Sadie; I cringed even though Blume just skirted the top of the iceberg when it came to Sadie’s mothering. I felt so terrible for the girls, and for Emery who was just trying to keep it all together. There were so many deeper issues in the book; I’m not sure how many would come across to a child reading this, or if it’s just my life and wide reading that makes the neglect and jealousy and betrayal pop out at me.

For that reason, though, the ending worked for me. I could see what Blume was doing with it. Yes, it ended abruptly, but I think this part of Tennyson’s life was finished, and she was moving on. Therefore, the book needed to end, even if the story wasn’t ended. I could see, though, how it can be unsettling, leaving all the ends dangling, the story unfinished.

It’s at the very least a good mood book, and a good Southern book. And a very good one for a cool fall day.

(Just for the record: because this is a Cybils nominee, I’ve been asked to make sure y’all know this is my opinion only, and not that of the panel. Thank you.)

Jimmy’s Stars

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True: There are a LOT of books about World War II out there.

True: There is also a lot of books about kids dealing with war and the effects it has on daily life.

True: Jimmy’s Stars is one of those books.

However, even though it’s a WWII book about a child, Ellie (age 11), dealing with how the war touches everyday American life, it doesn’t come off as trite, or overdone, or sentimental. True: it’s a very touching portrait of a girl trying to come to grips with her brother, Jimmy, entering the war. It’s simultaneously a very simple book and a very complex one.

The thing that carries this book from the beginning, is Ellie. She’s so real, so believable, so heart-breakingly hopeful that she literally leaps off the page and into your heart. You want her life to be okay, everything to go on as normal, and yet nothing can because of the war. It touches her life in so many ways — from the big: Jimmy going away, her Aunt Toots coming to live with them, her mother and sister going to work; to the little: to the dreaded summer canning, a girl’s bragging about her brothers being heros.

Interestingly enough it’s both an anti-war book (war does things to people that aren’t very good; is war really worth it), as well as one that subtly chastizes those who don’t appreciate what the soldiers — especially the ones who were just the line soldiers — have done (and do) for the safety of the country (and the world). It’s not often you see those two sentiments paired in a book, but it works well here. And it made me think not only about those who served in World War II, but those that are currently serving. And the sacrifices their families make so I can type here on my computer in relative saftey and freedom, telling you to go read this book.

You won’t regret it.

(Just for the record: because this is a Cybils nominee, I’ve been asked to make sure y’all know this is my opinion only, and not that of the panel. Thank you.)

Bloody Jack

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Leila mentioned this book on her blog a while ago, and I stuck it on my list. But, honestly, I completely forgot about it. Then, I was wandering the aisles, looking for books for M, and it jumped out at me. (It was only later that I realized it was one that Leila had recommended…) She loved it, and passed it my way with a “You HAVE to read this!” So, taking a break from middle grade books, I did.

Jacky Faber was orphaned at an early age and grew up with the rest of the orphan scrabble on the streets of 18th-century London. One day, however, when Jacky’s gang leader, Charlie, was brutally murdered, Jacky decides to make a career change. Hiking down the Thames to the sea, Jacky enlists in His Royal Majesty’s Navy, becoming a ship’s boy. The hitch (and you probably figured this one out): Jacky is a girl. She not only has to deal with not being detected, but she — in an incredibly hilarious twist — ends up going through puberty while on the ship, which only complicates things. She does make a bit of a name for herself, battling against pirates, and ends up stranded on an island (but doesn’t get there the usual way), and falls in love. In short, she’s quite busy.

As far as seafaring/piratey/girls-masquerading-as-boys books go, this one’s a winner. A rip-roaring adventure book, it’s not for the faint of heart (boasting battles, fights, an almost-rape-scene, among other things). But it is: humorous, witty, exciting, thrilling… and has something for just about everyone. And, M’s right: you HAVE to read this. (Well, you don’t have to, but you won’t be sorry if you did.)

Nobody’s Princess

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It’s not a common problem of mine, but there have been instances in the past where I’ve enjoyed the afteword to the book much more than the book itself. This one, as much as I wanted to really like it, was along those lines. It was kind of just blah until I got to the afterword, which was full of information, humor, and held my interest in a way that the novel didn’t.

The idea behind this book was to explore how Helen of Sparta became to be Helen of Troy. We don’t get that far in this book (there is a sequel, Nobody’s Prize), though. Helen is the oldest daughter of the King of Sparta, thereby making her the heir. But she’s also a free spirit, only wanting to do what she would like with her life, hang the expectations that society (even a women’s lib-ish one like Sparta) puts on her. She finds a way to learn to fight. She talks her parents into letting her go with her brothers and twin sister when said sister is sent to Mykenae to get married. She tricks said Mykenaen king out of arranging a marriage for her. She accompanies her brothers along to hunt a wild boar at her mother’s childhood land of Calydon, where she befriends huntress Atalanta and learns to ride a horse. She tags along with her brothers when they go to Delphi and finds a way not only to befriend the oracle, but finds a way for her and her friend/freed slave Milo to go on the same adventure.

I liked Helen well enough; I liked her spunk and determination. I liked how she was willing to do anything to become more “educated” and how she wasn’t willing to let society’s expectations stop her. But that wasn’t enough for me. I wanted some grand conflict and resolution, something to thrill me and keep me gripped to the edge of my seat (granted, having just finished Dracula had something to do with this feeling) and all I got was a series of vingnettes where Helen learned something or did something. I never really became involved in the plot, partially because by the time it got interesting, Helen up and moved on, and we had to start all over again building relationships, creating conflict. I wanted some overarching story, something to tie it all together and to the story of Helen I know.

I do have some hope, though, that this could all be a grand set up and the pay off very well could be in the next novel. At the very least, though, the afterword is fascinating. As for the rest… I’m crossing my fingers that the sequel is better.

Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress

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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

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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

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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

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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.