PGR 2005 Book Review Table of Contents
Unstoppable Sorrow
Kyle Adney
142
Eugene O’Brian: Keeps Searching for Answers
Philip Lima
145
Hidden Prey: A Question of Loyalty
Kristin Nybank
147
My Life as a Thrill Kill Cop
Ben Corman
150
Offbeat: Analyzing Music of a Distant Drum
Amberly Rumrill 153
Beloved of the Beloved Enthusiast, but not the Literary Groundling
Sydni Indman
157
An Eccentric Spook
Judy Ryan
160
The Year Is 42: Skimming the Surface of Emotion
Erin L. Johnson
163
Breath by Levine is a Breath of Fresh Air
Melissa Camburn
166
Just One Look: Do We Ever Truly Know Anyone?
Tristan Morrow
168
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Unstoppable Sorrow
Kyle Adney
Done for A Dime
David Corbett
The Random House publishing Group
Imagine yourself exhausted from a long night of playing in a band, looking
forward to going home and relaxing. Your fingers are sore from playing for hours,
and the one thing that keeps you awake is the fact that you know you will soon be
with your girlfriend. Suddenly you make the turn down your street and there are
lights flashing, sirens going off, and a half dozen police officers standing around
your front lawn. You get out of the car, run to the front of the house and see your
father laying face down in a pool of blood.
This is what happens to Toby Marchand, the son of Mr. Carlisle, in the novel,
“Done for A Dime.” Toby learns more about his father as two officers investigate him
through the night, telling him where his father was and what he had done. Toby’s
girlfriend, Nadya, who was with Mr. Carlisle, lay in a hospital bed extremely traumatized from the situation. By the end of the book Toby has a real understanding of
loss and clings to Nadya for help.
One part of the story that I love is the different characters. Like Mr. Carlisle,
who is a large strong-willed black man--tough and stubborn--who loves his son, but
his son can never live up to what his father once was. Mr. Carlisle was a musician and
now Toby has followed in his footsteps. The music is jazz. The father was in a band
called, “Strong Carlisle & the Mighty Firefly,” they think they are the greatest thing
that ever happened to music. Toby wants to be like his father but there is a void that
his father creates by putting him down and telling him that he will never measure
up to the “The Mighty Firefly.” I think Mr. Carlisle is actually very proud of his son
and probably wants to tell him, but has no idea how. Arthur Miller, author of “Death
of a Salesman,” writes, “During most father-son relationships, there are certain times
were the father wants to become more of a ‘player’ in his son’s life.” I use this quote
for an example because I think Mr. Carlisle does want to be more involved in his
sons life but does not know how to do that. In the club, when Toby’s band is playing,
someone makes an inappropriate gesture, implying that he does not like the band.
Toby’s father not only stands up for Toby but punches the man several times yelling, “two- faced son of a bitch” because earlier the man had said how much he loved
his son’s music, sucking up to Toby’s father. So there is obviously a part of him that
would do anything to protect his son, but at times he does not know how to express
his love.
The writer shows how different the father and son are, but at the same time
they are similar in respect to dealing with women. Nadya, Toby’s girlfriend, notices
this when she and Mr. Carlisle are sitting at the piano at his house. She knows that
he has been drinking and this makes her uncomfortable, yet she notices how his
eyes are gentle and kind. His voice reminds her of Toby, how he softly speaks about
music and the song that she has just played for him.
Hours before the murder, when Toby was getting ready to leave he starts try-
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ing to tell his father that he shouldn’t drink. He wants him to not need the alcohol
and wishes he would give it up. The writer exclaims, “As he passed his father, Toby
caught the sharp sour taint coming from the old man’s tea. He stopped, leaned
forward, sniffed. ‘Tell me that’s not what I think it is.’ His father tipped the cup
away and nodded toward the door beyond which Nadya still lingered, out of sight.
‘Seems to me you got your own business to mind.’ ” Another reason that Toby is
concerned for his father is because Mr. Carlisle just had a kidney transplant. His
father knows it is unhealthy, but for some reason continues to ignore his son. He is
a stubborn man and wants what he wants. He has worked hard all his life to give
his family what they have and would do anything to prevent anyone from taking
it away. He is an old-fashioned man who believes that you should treat a woman
with respect, work for your own money, and be glad for what you have. The old
man I think is ashamed for what he does, and he doesn’t want Toby to do the same.
Instead of saying that and expressing what he really feels inside, he chooses to tell
Toby to mind his own business.
Another thing that I like about this book is how the writer has so many different suspects. He has a visceral description of every single person and goes into
depth to describe all of the characters. One of the characters, known as, “Long Walk
Money”, is a gangster that deals drugs and is one of the main suspects at the beginning of the book, but towards the end they realize that he and his crew had nothing
to do with it. Arlie Thigpen is another suspect that they believe had something to
do with the murder of Mr. Carlisle. Arlie is one of the dealers that works for Arlie
Thigpen and coincidently had a run in with Mr. Carlisle the night of the murder.
Mrs. Thigpen, Arlie’s mother, is also brought in for questioning. She knows that her
son would never kill a man but needs a way to prove it.
Detectives Dennis Murchison and James Stluka are the officers who are
questioning and interrogating all of the suspects. They work as a team, but the
relationship that they have is not as good as one would hope. They get along and
put up with each other, but they have no liking for one another and would rather be
working alone. Murchison is the leader--so to speak--and takes over the investigation with his knowledge of the force and of the crime scene. Stluka is sort of the
sidekick or the one who does Murchison’s chores.
The culprits, Mr. Ferry and Mr. Manny, are the ones behind the whole thing.
Manny was the one who killed Mr. Carlisle. He is young, confused, and doesn’t
know how to handle the situation. You can tell that he is like a child compared to
Ferry. He is new to the crime life and in a way wishes that he never did this evil
act. In his head he wishes that he were a normal person, not affiliated with crime.
The night after the crime, Ferry and Manny go back to the scene and burn the house
down to get rid of the evidence. The way that Manny acts, you can tell that he wishes he was never a part of this and wants it all to go away. But he is stuck, he will
never get away from that voice inside of his head that cries out saying, “you killed a
man, you’re worth nothing, you’re scum.” Ferry pushes him to get the job done and
get rid of the evidence. So he does it, still feeling ashamed, and then, exactly what
he thought would happen happens. Ferry kills him; because he thinks he is week
and can’t stand the pressure.
The relationships that one has with loved ones is something that we might
take for granted sometime. Harold B. Lee, an author writes, “ Father work builds
the foundation for a child’s trust in the world.” Toby found out more, not just about
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his father, but also about himself and what kind of person he is because of his father.
Works Cited
Arthur Miller, Death of a Salesman, 5-15-05
Quote from Harold B. Lee, 5-15-05
Henry Darger
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Eugene O’Brian: Keeps Searching for Answers
Philip Lima
Seamus Heaney: Searches for Answers
Eugene O’Brian
Pluto Press $24.99
As a reader who had never heard the name Seamus Heaney before reading this
book, I felt as though I was missing something when Eugene O’Brian started speaking of Heaney’s pieces as if I had them memorized. “In the final sections of ‘Traditions’, and the plural number of this noun is significantly in the light of this reading
of Heaney’s work as plural in terms of its searches for answers, another linguistic
and cultural tradition is grafted onto the givens of Irish identity” (O’Brian 17).
Seamus Heaney may be one of the worlds most acclaimed and studied poet and
author, however the book titled: Seamus Heaney Searches for Answers, just doesn’t
do him justice. After wading through hours and hours of very difficult to read and,
frankly boring text, I came away in awe, not of Seamus Heaney’s accomplishments
as a writer, but Eugene O’Brian’s ability to turn such a universally loved author into
something that does nothing except put you to sleep.
Seamus Heaney is an amazing poet who, is perhaps one of the most well known
authors in the world. “To say that Seamus Heaney’s work is academically popular
would be an understatement. There are, to date, over 30 books completely devoted to
the study and analysis of his writing, and to list the number of articles and chapters
on Heaney would probably be a book-length enterprise in itself”(O’Brian 9). Heaney
also was awarded a Nobel Prize and is, today, one of the most popular poets currently writing in English.
To start the book off, O’Brian goes into detail about Heaney’s accomplishments
and gives you an idea of how well known he is, the author then tells about Heaney’s
often unspoken of prose pieces. I feel as though there should have been more of a
biographical beginning part to this book.
The author’s writing style, is not only extremely technical, but assumes the reader
knows more than the information presented. When I first started reading through
this book, I thought to myself, there has to be some point at which it becomes at least
somewhat interesting. I was wrong. The technicality and oddly worded sentences
kept pilling up, one after the another.
What is at work in this structure is the deconstruction of a linguistic and literary essentialism which sees a particular strand of linguistic use as hegemonic ally ‘Irish’ to the exclusion or demotion of more
complicated interactions. Each of the figures who are constitutive of the
quincunx are proto-deconstruct of any simplistic ad equation between
language, tradition and place (O‘Brian 151).
I’ve read that quote many times, and even now, I just scratch my head and wonder,
why would an author make something so complicated? Finally, after I finished reading the book I wondered who the author was and what kind of education background
he had. Not surprisingly, he is head of the Department of English at a private catholic
college, Mary Immaculate College. This school, by their own definition, “promotes
a sense of identity enriched by an awareness of its Catholic tradition, the cultures,
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languages and traditions of Ireland…” (www.mix.ul.ie/mission.htm) and it shows in
how O’Brian writes. The book reads as though O’Brian was trying to include every
word in his dictionary when writing. I understand there is a place for very technical writing, but I don’t feel this is it. If the author spent less time “showing off” how
many words he knows and more time presenting his points, I think this book would
be well worth reading.
It may seem as though I hated every part of this book, and in some ways, that
would be true. However, there are a few redeeming qualities about it, including the
historical and biographical information presented. When I picked this book to review, I chose it because of its ties to Ireland and recent Irish history. As someone who
has played and studied Irish music, I thought I might find some links in the arts.
Through reading the book I did learn a lot about the historical side of Irish poetry,
but to my disappointment, I couldn‘t find any ties to music. It is obvious that O’Brian
has considerable knowledge about Irish history, poetry and language and I feel as
though he should of focused more on this and less on overly showy vocabulary.
I believe this book was written as much more of an instructional textbook than a
simple “pleasure read” book. This book has its place, I however don’t think it is the
hands of the casual reader relaxing on a beach or in a lazy chair. O’Brian has written
a very technical, ostentatious, and ultimately boring book. If you enjoy reading text
books, and are not looking to be entertained at all, then this is the book for you. As
for the ninety nine percent of the population left over, go find a good novel, and keep
your reading and napping times separate.
Works Consulted:
“Seamus Heaney: Searches for Answers” About the author. 2003. www.amazon.
com
“Seamus Heaney: Searches for Answers” About the book. Univercity of Michigan Press. 2003. www.press.umich.edu
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Hidden Prey: A Question of Loyalty
Kristin Nybank
Hidden Prey
John Sandford
G.P. Putnam’s Sons
$26.95
Murder. Soviet spy rings. Mystery. Romance. Violence. Killings. Family. Loyalty. John Sandford’s fifteenth book, “Hidden Prey” has it all. The intriguing murder
mystery pulls you in from the beginning of the first chapter and doesn’t let you go
until the story wraps up in the last few pages. The story begins by introducing a Russian man, Rodion Oleshev who gets murdered within the first chapter, setting off an
entire chain of killings that unfolds throughout the story. Continuing with Sanford’s
other “Prey” entitled books, we attempt to discover the mystery through the eyes of
detective Lucas Davenport and are introduced to Russian spy, Nadya Kalin. As each
chapter unfolds we get a new piece of the puzzle until the two investigators have
uncovered enough information to unscramble and conclude the ending. Not only is
it entertaining, but from reading this book we learn about keeping true to your ties
and what loyalty is all about. Sandford teaches us the harsh reality of being stuck
between your own desires and your loyalties to your ties.
Sandford’s writing style puts you in the environment effectively and efficiently. You quickly become part of the character’s lives and in turn deal with their
dilemmas first hand. His sentences and grammar are simple, making the story more
direct without having to sort through any complicated language. He repeatedly uses
colons—a grammar notation that replicates an equal sign—which forces us to quickly
make the connection between two thoughts. Some examples are: “She shook her
head: ‘Absolutely no’” (Sandford 264). “’Hey: great kolaches, huh’” (220). “She nodded: ‘I will do that also’” (221). Sandford writes in clear direct thoughts that don’t
wander in-between but jump straight and purposefully to the next one. This allows
the reader not to have to sort through useless junk but instead we’re told exactly
what direction the story is going in. This is a unique writing style that I’ve never
come across while reading other material. It causes you to develop a better connection with the characters by using dialect that you would hear any day. When two
friends are conversing they don’t normally use proper English, we tend to abbreviate
and shorten our phrases, which is exactly how Sandford writes. It makes you feel as
though you’re on a friendly basis with everyone. You become loyal to the characters
as you would a friend, which helps you view the story from both sides. As a result,
at the end of the book it leaves you torn between the antagonist killers, that are doing what they believe has to be done and the protagonist investigators that are just
doing their job. You inevitably want the “good guys” to prevail but you also feel like
you’ve adopted the “bad guys” as distant cousins and feel that family tie. By doing
so Sandford tugs on our emotions and teaches us the realities we must face when we
know something must be justified but we don’t want it to. Personally, I think it works
well and makes Sandford’s writing stand out. Even though it’s subtle—you probably
wouldn’t notice it until half way through the book—it does a good job of making his
style stick out.
Sandford also does an effective job of constantly switching the narrative
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point of view which helps us to easily put ourselves in the story. The story is mostly
written in third and first person and to add more depth Sandford switches between
character’s narrative point of view so he can describe the same event through multiple character’s eyes. In two chapters, Lucas and Nadya are described as they leave
Burt Walther’s house after questioning him. The first chapter is written through Lucas’ point of view. “Nadya smiled and nodded and Lucas bobbed his head and fluttered his hands and a minute later they were walking back down the sidewalk…
He picked up the phone and said, ‘I’ll call off Andreno…’” (Sandford 273). You get
a sense of what both of the investigators are thinking and feeling by being inside of
his head. It makes you understand their logic in leaving. Later, Sandford returns to
the same incident and describes it through Burt Walther’s eyes, “Grandpa pushed
the door shut on the cop, and waited. Would the cop come in after him? No. Instead,
the cop seemed to laugh at him, turned, and walked back toward the other two,
motioned, and they all went back out toward the car” (Sandford 319). This time—by
seeing through Burt’s eyes—we get more insight that reveals that he might be playing the two cops. Some could argue that retelling the same events could become
boring, but Sandford reveals enough new information or hidden detail in the second
round that it actually helps the reader put the entire story together better. It makes
the reader feel as though they’re involved as a detective, right there in the action.
By understanding what all the character’s motives and what their thought
process is, it makes us loyal to both sides. At the end of the book you don’t know
which side you should be rooting for. Near the end of the book Burt Walther ends up
killing himself and his wife to protect investigators from suspecting his great-grandson. Even though you understand the character’s motives you feel as though you’re
connected to Burt as a grandpa but simultaneously want to protect the grandson like
your brother. Again, Sandford pulls our emotions and forces us to think about the
steps we’d take to protect our ties. By having Burt commit suicide to protect his family ties—a serious endeavor—Sandford is making a point to tell us how important
sticking up for family can be. Even though I’m sure Burt didn’t want to kill himself,
he understood that he had to stay committed to his family ties. Sandford makes a
point that family loyalties can be as important as your own life.
As a result of telling the story from multiple points of view we’re left with
more of a sense of completion. By the time the book starts summing up we understand why the characters had to do what they did which causes us to better understand the plot of the book. If the author had tried to jam every detail in one trip than
we would find ourselves lost and confused. By breaking it apart Sandford makes
the story clear and allows us to catch little details that otherwise would have gotten
swallowed up in clutter.
Although I haven’t read any other books by John Sandford, I would commend him as an author. I haven’t read any of the other 15 books in Sandford’s “Prey”
series but many say that this particular one is significant enough to stand on its own.
“Most of the books in this series can’t be read as stand alones. However, with just a
couple of minor references to earlier novels in the series, this one certainly could be
read as a stand alone and would serve as an excellent introduction to a strong series
well worth reading” (allreaders.com). When the book finally resolves and I found
myself turning blank pages, I was completely satisfied and content. My only regret
was—I wish my life could be that exciting! Many book critics agree by describing the
book as “Sprawling, suspenseful, tough-minded [and] sheer fun” (johnsandford.
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org). The only problem with the book is you’ll need a lot of free time because you’ll
never want to put it down. Not only does this book put on a sustainable show, but
also makes you think about the bigger picture. By living through the character’s eyes
first hand you get to experience situations that many of us avoid. The author teaches
us the dedication and strength that it takes to forgo your own desires/life to stay true
to your loyalties. It’ll make you wonder: would you make the ultimate sacrifice and
give up your own life to protect another? As a result of the author effectively putting
you inside the book and being forced to live through the loyalties and family obligations that the characters experience, you’ll find yourself wondering about your own
ties and what you would do to protect the ones you care about.
Works Cited
Hidden Prey – John Sandford Book Review. 1 May 2005 <http://www.allreaders.
com/Topics/Info_23491.asp>
JohnSandford.org Hidden Prey. 1 May 2005 <http://www.johnsandford.org/prey15.
html>
Sandford, John. Hidden Prey. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 2004.
Robert Chiarito
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My Life as a Thrill Kill Cop
Blue Blood
Edward Conlon
Riverhead Books
$26.95
Ben Corman
In recent years, the personal memoir has become an increasingly popular
format for writers. This is in part because of the changing nature of publishing. The
internet is giving the ability to self-publish to people who historically would have
never had the chance to have their words available to a mass audience. The largest
sign on this trend is the rise of the weblog, or blog. Following in this trend is Edward
Conlon’s Blue Blood, a retelling of his career as a New York City police officer. While
published as a traditional book, it still is a personal retelling of his experience, which
is the story that most bloggers choose to tell. I was struck how well this book would
have worked in a different format. What holds this book together are the stories of
being a police officer that Conlon takes the reader through. This book would have
worked much better if he had stuck to those stories and really fleshed them out, and
left out all the extraneous information.
Unlike most bloggers, Edward Conlon does have a story to tell. His book
works precisely because most of us will never get to experience what it is like to work
in some of the worst areas of New York City as a police officer. It is in these details
where the book shines like when, on page 80, he explains how every interaction is a
subtle test of authority, and there is always a hint of danger. A routine activity, such
as having to break up groups of primarily young men out with radios just enjoying
themselves, can sometimes turn dangerous. He generally lets them do their thing
until he gets complaints from their neighbors. Once he’s received a complaint, he has
to tell them to move along. Sometimes they’re cooperative, sometimes they just pay
him lip service so that he won’t hassle them, and sometimes they directly challenge
his authority. It is in this last scenario where things can turn dicey. He writes that
these groups of young men will sometimes challenge him with “What the fuck are
you going to do about it?” and he dissects this question thusly “For as long as there
has been an NYPD, every cop has had to answer that question, and always – at least
at first – alone … the answer would have to be … Whatever I have to” (Conlon). It’s this
answer, first maybe seen as tough cop bravado, but really understood that his personal credibility and indeed the credibility of all police officers rests on the fact that
they can’t allow themselves to be bullied or disrespected. He continues “For cops,
respect is seen as the foundation of society … rudeness or even over familiarity can
been seen as an opening to physical threat” (Conlon 80). Conlon is able to draw the
reader in and give them a sense that putting on the uniform every morning changes
every interaction in ways we might not think about.
His style of writing is also engaging. It’s not just the stories he tells, but how
he tells them. He takes something routine like asking some kids to move along and
is able to show how that simple interaction is indicative of everything he deals with.
How a cop’s thinking has to be different from other peoples. How that uniform and
the authority that it has changes how police officers see and interact with the rest of
the population.
Unfortunately Conlon falls flat in places also. While it is of passing interest
PGR 150
that he comes from a long line of police officers, the length at which he goes on
about his family is oppressive. Almost all of chapter 2 is dedicated to his great-grandfather Patrick Brown. He recounts numerous stories others tell him about his greatgrandfather, cites books about the time, as well as retelling his mother’s vague recollections. There is ample evidence that Patrick Brown was a corrupt cop with mob ties
who retired in greater luxury then a policeman’s salary would allow, but who cares?
This is a story of what it is like to be a police officer today, not an autobiography of
Patrick Brown. Since Conlon never new Patrick Brown, there is no personal connection. It would be interesting perhaps if the author had to struggle against corruption,
either the temptation or corruption within his department, but he does neither. From
the story, he never encounters either and the reader is left wondering “why mention
Patrick Brown at all”? With the book coming in at a hefty 550 pages this material
seems superfluous.
Even worse is Conlon’s retelling of the Serpico case and the subsequent flaws
in the movie version of that tale. Starting on page 248 and rambling on, Conlon takes
the reader through a dry retelling of Serpico and his partner. Even as one who has
seen the movie and enjoyed it, I couldn’t understand why Conlon dissects the movie
in such detail. Serpico, the movie and the real life drama, is the story of a good cop
during a time when corruption runs rampant in the New York City Police Department. Serpico and his partner each fight this corruption in different ways, Serpico
being an outside and alienating people, his partner trying to work within the system.
It is unclear why Conlon spends so much time on this story himself. Conlon isn’t on
the take, and doesn’t encounter any cops who are dirty, much less a system wide epidemic of corruption. Its not as if the two were friends or even knew each other and
his retelling is a bit like watching paint dry.
The personal memoir is hard to do well. Conlon certainly has a story to tell
and when he is telling it, it shines. Blue Blood would do well to be told in a different
format, one where the interesting parts could be pulled out and made to stand alone,
and everything else could be dropped. Like on page 263 when Conlon recounts how
his team takes down an apartment used for dealing drugs. Here he doesn’t go into
the sociopolitical ramifications of being a cop, it just reads as a good story of him
charging in, gun drawn, after another cop has knocked down the door with a battering ram.
At the signal, the caravan moves forward, a little faster but still with restrained
haste, until you pull out front and break from the cars into a run. The suddenness
makes people on the street stop and stare; in the lobby passersby have no time to ask
questions as we pile into the elevator for the sixth floor, the top floor of the building.
Other run straight up the stairs. Someone carries the ram for John so he’ll be fresh
when we arrive. We step out and stepp forward, I point out the door, John takes the
ram and with one shot sends it clean off the hinges. I charge in, gun out, bellowing,
“Get down! Get Down! Get Down”
Behind me, the cops fan in, and before me two men sit at the table, shocked. Between them on the table are a large bag of cocaine and a small tinfoil packet of it,
cash and a scale.
Here is where the reader feels the excitement of being a police officer, and this
is what the book should really concentrate on. I almost wonder if this shouldn’t
be a series of short stores, so that both author and writer could concentrate on the
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of the writing. That’s why the blog format might work so well here. Each could be
a separate piece of work, but related because they are all experiences that Conlon has
had.
Again on page 321, Conlon recounts a time that he is out with an anti-narcotics team and they mistake three white junkies in a predominately black part of town
for undercover cops until they get closer to them. “They were not street people: they
were younger, cleaner, and bigger, and they could not have stood out more if they
were wearing tuxedos or cowboy hats. Because of their race, they could only be cops
or criminals … I knew that white undercovers were rarely used in this area, but
this was an operative of such surpassing skill that he could pick where he worked”
(Conlon). Here we see two strengths about the writing. Conlon obviously has stories
to tell, absurd times and places that the normal person isn’t going to see. Conlon also
has a clean, simple writing style that’s easy to read. This may not be Shakespeare, his
use of tuxedos or cowboy hats may be a bit clichéd, but it’s easy to follow and engages
the reader. The story ends, barely a page later with “… and a strong olfactory read
became available at ten. They drooled, the stank, their eyes rolled like dice, but in the
distance and the dark, most of us had taken them for colleagues” (Conlon 322).The
potential for humor here is tremendous and the story should really be developed.
These are the stories that really hold the book together. One of my favorite
blogs, http://philalawyer.blogspot.com shows the potential that blogs have for this
type of story. The author, an anonymous lawyer from Philadelphia, recounts the stories from his law school and working days in a quick, fun style that bring the reader
back day after day looking for new material. He concentrates on the absurd, the scary
and the funny. He knows that we aren’t interested in boring day-to-day affairs of being a lawyer, but of the crazy times he’s had with friends. The format encourages a
stripped down style, making each entry one part in a short story. It doesn’t encourage
a lot of back story or rambling and Conlon could do well to strip Blue Blood down to
its action and stay away from trying too hard for the reader to identify with the trials he faces as an officer. Where Conlon is best is when he is detached, retelling his
story in a way that lets the reader naturally feel sympathy with Conlon as a person.
When Conlon tries to draw the reader in, by bitching about his boss, he comes off
as whiney. Its not that we all haven’t had bad bosses, quite the opposite, but no one
wants to read about bad bosses and stupid bureaucracy for 500 plus pages. What the
reader wants is what we don’t get in our everyday lives. The excitement, the detached
analysis which opens our eyes to things we may have never thought about.
Blue Blood was an enjoyable, if long, book. A book may not have been the best
format for this story to be told. I see it working better as a series of short stories where
the reader gets to know Conlon through his work and what sets him apart from the
rest of us. The material about his family, about his bosses, about the bureaucracy of
being a cop is over done. There is a story here, it just needs to be brought out, highlighted and refined.
PGR 152
Offbeat: Analyzing Music of a Distant Drum
Amberly K. Rumrill
Music of a Distant Drum: Classical Arabic, Persian, Turkish and Hebrew Poems
Bernard Lewis
Princeton University Press
Given the major events going on in our world today, I feel it’s beneficial when I
– as an American – can learn anything new about Middle Eastern culture. Music of a
Distant Drum, a collection of Arabic, Persian, Turkish, and Hebrew poems, appealed
to me as a great resource to something I’d never read: Middle Eastern poetry. While
this book gave me a little insight into the various cultures of the Middle East, reading
it also left me feeling stranded – like I’d been dropped off in a new country with only
a cultural history book to guide me. I believe some of this result was intentional on the
part of the author, Bernard Lewis, because he wants us to experience this delightful
offering without any editor’s bias. However, I think he bends over backwards to leave
himself out of it, leaving loose ends and unanswered questions about the pieces, the
authors, artists, and grander social/historical context, which, answered, could have
made it a much more palatable read.
Music of a Distant Drum begins with an introduction that spans thirty-three pages
and four different cultures of the Middle East between the seventh and eighteenth
centuries. While the information I discovered within the introduction was fascinating
(did you know that both the Arabic and Hebrew languages have no word for “it?”
(25)), I found the sheer number of concepts covered to be overwhelming. Lewis
ranges from Middle Eastern political history to differences in status between the arts,
to language nuances, to artistic themes, to his difficulty in translating, and beyond.
As an individual who doesn’t have an extensive knowledge of medieval Middle
Eastern history, I found this to be a bit overwhelming – much like hearing a whole
semester’s worth of information in one lecture. Part of this, I realize, is due to the
fact that Lewis specializes in Near Eastern Studies, has a B.A. from the University
in London in “History with special reference to the Near and Middle East (www.
princeton.edu)” and a Ph.D in the History of Islam – in other words, he knows his
stuff. I wonder that if in compiling this collection, his target audience was meant to
be those well-versed in Middle Eastern history. I suspect this book was intended for
a more specialized audience – the sort of reading one would be assigned for a class
in Classical Middle Eastern Literature – as opposed to a collection that would be
widely accepted by “the masses.” I find this unfortunate because, while I enjoyed the
poems and the information provided immensely, I would have liked it in little bits
throughout the collection that would allow me to absorb more about the different
cultures, languages, and artists’ conditions a morsel at a time. I believe that would
give others like me – newcomers to the world of Middle Eastern history – a great way
to learn about it without reading a textbook. Instead, I felt like I was stuffed full of
information at the onset with the intro, and then the author fled while I was left to
make sense of it all, while he assumed that I would just “get it.”
Throughout my reading of the book, I was torn between frustration in wanting
the
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poems to have more context for me as a reader, and enjoyment in simply reading the
poems for their own value instead of for analysis. Poems included in the text were
separated into the Arabic, Persian, Turkish, and Hebrew cultures, with authors
cited at the end of each poem. Pages of beautiful artwork from the specific region
represented closed each section. Occasionally within a poem, an obscure reference
would produce a footnote for explanation, but beyond that, if I wanted more
information, I had to flip to the back of the book where the list of authors was given,
to read a few sentences about them.
In some cases, the poems were so universal that they needed no clarification:
“Kisses are like salt water,/ The more you drink, the more you thirst” (92). These
sorts of poems, dealing with love in all its forms, religion/spirituality, drinking,
old age, were poems that helped me feel connected. Others – for example, a poem
by Arabic poet Ibn Sahl al-Andalusi, likening spring to two “classes” of men – had
me intrigued and confused: “Spring has come with his whites and his blacks--/two
classes, his lords and his slaves;/ the branches are his army of spears, and above/
the leaves are his unfurled flags” (78). While many similar searches produced more
insight into the context of the poem, this particular author biography gave me no
such hint as to a particular event or part in history that this poem could point to.
Perhaps the poem was in reference to al-Andalusi’s own life, but all we learn about
it is that he “entered the service of the governor [of Ceuta]” and “was drowned in a
shipwreck while on a diplomatic mission for his master” (205).
There were other such instances in which I felt it was difficult to enjoy (let
alone understand) the poem without contextual reference. For that reason, I would
have preferred a short (no longer than a page) biography and historical context/
background of
each author before their poem(s), as a way to help me connect with them, and learn a
little about their place in society and in history. This, based on Lewis’ introduction,
shouldn’t be hard to do. Poets were held in high esteem in Middle Eastern cultures,
and “much information about the poets, their lives, and often, the circumstances
in which particular poems were composed and, so to speak, published” is still
available (4). Why then could he not have provided us with more of that delicious
information?
I ask the same question for the art included in the collection. Lewis ends each
section of poetry with artwork from the time in history and historical region. The
artwork has been reproduced into black-and-white images that are stunning, despite
the lack of color. No artists’ names are given – just a sentence describing what the art
is depicting. Details of the origin of the artwork are given in the illustration credits
– the very end of the book. I wondered why Lewis would find it so important to close
a section with this artwork, yet fail to let us know the author or origin of the pieces.
The answer for this may lie in the introduction.
According to Lewis, artists “were seen basically as artisans, working with their
hands, and therefore of inferior social status.” Middle Eastern artwork between the
7th and 18th centuries “served to embellish and offset the written or spoken word”
through the illustration of “manuscript books” (3). As was pointed out earlier, poets
were higher on the social ladder than were artists, which would explain why there
isn’t as much information about them; therefore, it seems incongruous to give the
art
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the position of “best for last” and then not offer any history as to the artists. I think
the art would have been better placed near the poems that they were illustrating, or
if they weren’t connected to a poem in the collection, to place them throughout the
pages with the description as is given. If artwork was meant to marry the poetry in
classical Middle Eastern culture, why were they divorced in the placement within
this book?
Despite these obvious drawbacks, one benefit to the lack of any editor’s voice
within the text makes certain pieces stand out all the more strongly because of their
understated position. We are able to connect with and relate to these poems without
any outside information showing us how the culture from which it came is different
from (and thereby possibly better or worse than) ours. For example, on page 59 we
find a poem by Arabic author Abu’l-‘Atahiya, who waxes poetic on the subject of
life:
Your life is a sum of counted breaths.
With each breath that passes
a part of life is lost.
That which gives life brings death every moment
nearer,
and your caravan is led by one
who will not jest with you.
This poem connects me to it not only through my own view of the frailty of life, but
also through the author’s powerful use of second person. Reading it, it appears that
the author is literally addressing me, and I would assume that he is. But because he
has touched on such a universal theme, the poem is also addressing himself, as well
as humanity – and the truth of the poem strikes us even after we’ve finished reading
it. This is true even if we do not readily relate to the reference of “your caravan is led
by one/ who will not jest with you,” because even if I don’t personally relate to the
image of a caravan as being a normal aspect of life, I still understand and can relate
to the idea behind it, and that for me is the key to being able to connect with a piece
of literature from a different culture or time in history.
That sense of connection that I receive from Abu’l-‘Atahiya’s poem is what I get
from many others in Music of a Distant Drum, and that is what I believe Bernard Lewis
should have tried to achieve with all those included in his collection. With all due
respect to Lewis and the sheer amount of time and dedication it took to compile and
translate this collection (not to mention his vast knowledge of the Middle Eastern
regions), to me, he fell short of one of his primary goals. In his introduction, Lewis
writes of his goals for Music of a Distant Drum that “at least some of the poems should
be in some way illustrative of the time and place from which they derive and should
exemplify some aspect of its history and culture… that aspect should be intelligible
and recognizable, without elaborate explanations and annotations, to the reader
of our own time” (31-32). A noble sentiment, but all the “some ways” and “some
aspects,” in that statement push me as a newcomer to the cultures he knows and
155 PGR
loves so well, further into a corner of ignorance and frustration, instead of closer to
the sound of the captivating drum.
WORKS CITED
Lewis, Bernard. Faculty. 13 Apr 2005 http://www.princeton.edu/~nes/
profiles/Lewis.htm
Lewis, Bernard, ed. Music of a Distant Drum: Classical Arabic, Persian, Turkish,
and Hebrew Poems. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2001.
PGR 156
Beloved of the Beloved Enthusiast,
but not the Literary Groundling
Sydni Indman
Beloved: A Casebook
Nellie Y. McKay and William L. Andrews
Oxford University Press
$35.00
Ask any griping Honors American Lit student, lowly book club member, or
historian and they will all tell you that seldom if ever will you come across a piece
of writing so deep, so passionate, so ungodly convoluted and just such an all around
pain-in-the-arse-to-read as Toni Morrison’s Beloved. As one of the most distinguished
authors of the twentieth century, Morrison’s most memorable novel encompasses
such a vast spectrum of history, psychology, sociology, ethics, gender study, and
beyond, that the modern literary classic warrants its own user manual. For those
wishing to delve a little deeper than Spark Notes, William L. Andrews and Nellie Y.
McKay’s Beloved: A Casebook cracks open the shadowed world of slavery through a
series of academic essays written by highly acclaimed literary critics and scholars. Of
particular interest to the English teacher or book enthusiast, Casebook provides deep
insight and analyses from several angles into Morrison’s intricate and soul-stirring
tale. With a target audience of well-educated readers, Casebook makes an excellent
addition to a classroom or college forum, but not an introduction or companion to
the novel by any stretch of the imagination. Equally as sophisticated as the novel it
describes, Casebook does however offer logic and reasoning— and like Ariadne giving
Theseus a spool of thread to navigate the labyrinth of the minotaur, Andrews and
McKay take us on a twisted journey through a treacherous landscape, yet ultimately
guide us to a grander understanding and appreciation of Morrison’s Pulitzer Prize
winning work.
Immediately the book issues its own disclaimer: that it exists solely:
To present teachers and scholars with a small group of essays that not only
are worthy of inclusion but also that address some of the issues that readers
often raise about the book. We believe they will be valuable to those who
teach or write about the novel (14).
Yet the aforesaid thesis is wholly unnecessary— for those who have any doubt
that Casebook isn’t your standard airplane book, by all means, read on. From the first
section of the book the audience is fiercely segregated: casual readers and groundling
high school students read at your own risk, but Vassar lit majors kindly proceed. The
sophisticated vocabulary, highly academic allusions, and borderline nose-in-the-air
voice immediately say “I am not going to waste my immensely important pages with
plebian drivel to help you to understand this highly intellectual book; I will however
present you with different ideas about Morrison’s masterpiece that I promise will
tickle your brain.” Opening with the background of Morrison herself, Casebook
details the author’s roots, inspirations, and career. Through the details of
157 PGR
her life we see the formation of her voice which is famously disjointed,
fragmented, abstract, yet wrenchingly vivid and unlike any author elsewhere.
From her origins we see how she weaves a world brought about by the tradition of
storytelling and histories of African Americans, learn of the evolution of Morrison’s
novels, and how she arrived at her crowning achievement: Beloved.
When an author’s language is so unique that their words set them in a league
of their own, any writing about their life or work is automatically expected to meet
a high standard of quality. Yet as exhibited by Casebook, Morrison’s own language
eclipses that of her literary on-lookers by an order of a magnitude, which seems ironic
because to publish writing about Toni Morrison, a critic should be able to write with
some degree of artistry— not in her style or even as well, but at least well enough to
be both thought provoking and engaging. Morrison, on describing the very nature of
her craft, notes that, “We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language.
That may be the measure of our lives,” (Morrison) thus stressing the importance
of language and literature itself. Her prose reads with sophistication and depth
whereas Casebook’s is dull as dirt— like a crayon stick figure shrine to Leonardo Da
Vinci. Though informative and mind candy to the devout Morrison fan, banal prose
reads like a mandated textbook, not an enriching supplement. The disadvantage to
starting off a book of essays with a dutifully informative yet bland introduction is
that doing so sets a misleading tone: now that you’ve read through this stuffy and
downright boring introduction about the essays you are going to read, here is the
pile of haughty essays to wade through to make yourself feel more cultured. The
dryness is unfortunate because for those who love Beloved, the actual essays range
from lukewarm to brilliantly insightful.
The first two essays, “The Slave Mother: The Tale of Ohio”, and “Margaret
Garner and Seven Others” offer a historical account of the conception of the novel by
detailing the case of Margaret Garner, a slave mother who escaped form her master
and upon capture slit the throat of her beautiful baby girl to save her daughter from
a fate she knew to be worse than death. Recounting the horror of that afternoon, the
newspaper described the girl “weltering in its blood, the throat being cut from ear
to ear and the head almost severed from the body,“ (Cincinnati Enquirer). Though
not unprecedented, the incident bore particular historic significance in bringing
attention to the desperation of slavery. In the first two essays we learn how Morrison
weaved the history of slavery and the underlying theme of the female love and selfsacrifice to start the novel. Not only do these pieces give meticulously researched
facts, they elaborate on the historical impact of the event. A good half of “Margaret
Garner” discusses the huge affect of the slave mother on the abolitionist movement
before the Civil War—how she became a raging testament and ultimately martyr to
the horrors of the Peculiar Institution, and how in a hypocritical nation Margaret
Garner, mother of four, embodied the ultimate tenet of the American ideal: “Give me
liberty or give me death!” (35).
The essays progress from the historical context to heavy analysis of the
fictional elements of Beloved. Of particular brilliance is the analysis of the entity
Beloved herself: “A requiem that is a resurrection. The most obvious example of this
commemoration is Beloved herself, the ghost of Margaret Garner’s unnamed child”
(41). In the above close reading, and throughout the essay, the author fully analyzes
just who Beloved is, where she came from, and what she means. Both here and in
PGR 158
“Garner” the book shines and meets its objective; Casebook illuminates Beloved
with intelligent dissection and interpretation of the text, which is really why you
would plunk down $35.00 for a copy in the first place.
While the first half of Casebook offers solid analytical insight, the latter essays
veer off into uncharted territory of interpretive essays which prove that regardless
of how many degrees you earned or even if you have a Fort Knox of lexical storage,
you can still sound like a complete idiot. In “Beloved: Woman, Demon by they Name”
Trudier Harris (a colleague of McKay, which seems to be the primary reason her
essay was published) claims that the house in which the main characters reside is a
metaphor for toxic femininity. Harris proposes that:
…Paul D. already views the house as a threat to his masculinity. He therefore
enters it like the teeth-destroying tricksters of tradition entered the vagina, in
the heroic vein of conquering masculine will over female desire.
Interestingly enough when I read Beloved, I thought that maybe, 124 Bluestone Road
was just a house and the real threat to Paul D’s masculinity lies with the interactions
that go on inside the house! Her argument would have been more convincing
had she said “The house was just constantly PMSing, hence the whole dead baby
reincarnation bit.” In a novel so richly layered with motifs and metaphors, focusing
on an obscure dead end analogy for the sake of coming across as intelligent dampens
the overall quality and prestige of the entire book. Instead of being able to say, “Here
is an excellent anthology of essays culled for their quality” the best I can cough up is
“Here is a book of essays, some are fantastic, some are narcissistic college professors
trying to justify their tenure.”
Ultimately Casebook is like wandering around a literary desert— a lot of
hot air from critics with swollen heads, but a few oases which make the journey
worthwhile. If you seek a guide to hold your hand through Morrison’s daunting
writing style, proceed to the Cliff Notes shelf. But if you’re ready to take the literary
plunge for finding an essay topic, you’re a rabid Morrison fan, or just want to boost
your ego a few notches, go out and purchase this really nice looking book/coaster.
An extraordinary author with an extraordinary novel, Morrison certainly deserves
books written about her books. Yet Casebook only partially fills the goal—some essays
are worthy, some should never even have been published, thus Casebook needs a
second edition: a Casebook: A Collection of Entirely Good Essays.
Works Cited
“Stampede of Slaves: A TALE OF HORROR.” The Cincinnati Enquirer.
Jan. 29, 1856.
“Tony Morrison Quotes.” BrainyQuote web site. <http://www.brainyquote.com/
quotes/quotes/t/tonimorris166884.html>
159 PGR
An Eccentric Spook
Judy Ryan
The Hitchcock Romance
Love and Irony in Hitchcock Films
By Lesley Brill
296 pp. Princeton University Press.
He was a master storyteller who loved to tingle a captive audience’s sensibilities. He’d frighten us with the eerie, the bizarre, and the improbable, then, worry us
with an added, what if ? He had a broad face and a little round belly, he was chubby
and plump-but not-the right jolly old elf known as Santa Claus. On his long running television show, he would announce, with calculated dignity, “Good Evening,
I’m Alfred Hitchcock,” and then try to shock us. He was the renegade oddball in the
kingdom of filmmaking. Always eccentric, Alfred Hitchcock had the gift to fascinate. A quarter of a century after his death many of his films, such as, The 39 steps,
Rebecca, Shadow of a Doubt, Notorious, The Birds, Vertigo, North by Northwest and Psycho,
to name a few, continue to fascinate worldwide audiences.
Many books have been written to try to shed light on the enigmatic Alfred
Hitchcock. While highlighting his cinematic genius, most writer’s hint at Hitchcock’s
other side, for example, Donald Spoto’s, The Dark Side of Genius, The Life of Alfred Hitchcock. Lesley Brill, in his book, The Hitchcock Romance, offers a different opinion. In
his introduction he states, “I regard Hitchcock as the creator of romance” (xiv). This
is the book’s first problem. Hitchcock never was a-and-they-lived-happily-ever-after
kind of filmmaker. He relished sudden twists, surprise turns and shocked gasps.
Brill continues on,
The world of Hitchcock’s film is postlapsarian.
Inhabitants of a fallen world, his heroes and
heroines are inevitably flawed. But they are
accessible to grace and love, through which they
can recover innocence despite their hereditary
faults (25).
Brill is a Professor of English at Wayne University which may explain his
book’s second problem, ponderous language. He uses words like extirpation, felix
culpa, and postlapsarian. I had to look in the dictionary to find out the meaning of
postlapsarian. It means,’relating to the time or place after the fall of mankind.’
Back when Hitchcock and the film industry were just beginning, all they wanted
in this world was to find an audience, pro postlapsarian or otherwise, who would
pay to watch their new-fangled motion pictures. Brill writes as if he is dissecting
obscure manuscripts intended only for the elite instead of twentieth century movies
produced for mass audiences.
Brill further explains,
[In Hitchcock’s films]…I find an affectionate, profoundly
hopeful view of fallen human nature…He is never, so
far as I can tell, the cynical, macabre trifler with an
audience’s emotions that he liked to pretend to be (xiii).
Affectionate? A profoundly hopeful view? In Psycho, a frenzied cross-dresser
repeatedly slashes Janet Leigh as she showers, while in Vertigo, Jimmy Stewart reels
PGR 160
in horror as his beloved plunges to her death; where is the grace and love for them
to recover innocence despite their hereditary faults? And what about the Nazi-like
horde of feathered fliers who invade a small, quiet town in The Birds?
Was their blitzkrieg a profoundly hopeful encounter? This book’s problems
mount.
Brill continues by explaining that he is fond of using what he calls, ‘the Persephone motif.’ In describing the heroine, Eve, in North by Northwest, Brill wants us to
know,
Like most of Hitchcock’s heroines, Eve retains hints of
Persephone, the goddess of flowers and vegetative fertility
kidnapped by the King of Hades and finally rescued through
the agency of Demeter and Zeus(12,13).
This introduces another problem. Robert Graves(1895-1985)compiled the definitive The Greek Myths. In it he writes,
Persephone, the daughter of Zeus, was forcibly
married to Zeus’s brother, Hades, King of the
Underworld. Queen Persephone was a Deathgoddess…faithful to Hades, but had no children
by him and prefers the company of Hecate, goddess
of witches…She has three bodies and three heads-lion,
dog and mare(121).
I suspect Hitchcock would have enjoyed a chat with Hecate, the three-headed
goddess of witches. Personally speaking, I saw the heroine, Eve, in North by Northwest, as a sexy lady spy who was good at her job.
The problem with this professor’s pedantic theory of Hitchcock as the creator
of romance, is that he has refused to look at Hitchcock, the man. He even tells us so
at the beginning of his book.
My discussion of Hitchcock’s work…[is] not…
biographically based…I would guess[he was]deeply
conventional, thoughtful and rather soft hearted(13).
In spite of Hitchcock’s carefully cultivated persona, he was not conventional
or soft hearted. He nursed hidden anxieties and romantic fantasies, especially in his
later years, about beautiful blonde actresses. He wasn’t a God, he had human failings and was a dazzling, cinematic technican who, for five decades, half –a-century,
created commercially successful, fascinating films.
Donald Spoto, in his book, The Dark Side of Genius, The Life of Alfred Hitchcock,
writes,
Despite his private demons, his obsessive privacy…
He had an uncanny ability to locate and diagnose
much of the psychological suffering of the world,
much of the delusion and sickness just below the
surface of polite society(viii).
For one of Hitchcock’s most famous sequences, the crop-duster chase scene in
North by Northwest, Professor Brill has a brittle dismissal,
…the elevation of the camera in the Prairie Stop scene
provides a point of view that nobody in the film, including
the men in the moving airplane, could possibly have…
What sort of fool would lure someone to the country
161 PGR
and try to run over him with an airplane? Surely a gun,
rope, or knife would be more efficient, more plausible(4).
Perhaps Brill’s assessment is more plausible but Alfred Hitchcock knew the
world’s dark side. His genius was in exposing to the world it’s eerie, bizarre and
improbable, what ifs?
Works Cited
Graves,Robert. The Greek Myths. London:The Folio Society, 1996.
Spoto, Donald. The Dark Side of Genius, The Life of Alfred Hitchcock. New York:
Da Capo Press, 1999.
Rod Johnson
PGR 162
The Year Is 42: Skimming
the Surface of Emotion
Erin L. Johnson
The Year Is 42
Nella Bielski
(translated from French by
John Berger and Lisa Appignanesi)
Pantheon Books
18.95
In the war troubled world of Nella Bielski’s “The Year Is 42,” the quality of
light is always brilliantly cold and clear. I can’t even recall if that description was ever
used in the book, but in every location from Paris to Saxony the characters seemed
to be lit by an unrelenting brilliance. Going through their motions as if in a flawlessly directed art nouveau film, they read their lines with the required nuances of
emotion, while staring unflinchingly into the gaze of an interrogator’s inexhaustible
lamp. In a story that weaves a complex historical map of events and characters, it
seems that a bit of flinching should have been in order. There is some truly poetic
and beautiful writing in this book, in fact some of the smaller sections have some
very moving prose, and several fascinating characters, but it is not quite enough to
sustain the story.
Bielski’s novel drifts from one event to another in an opiate haze, exploring characters’ problems and reactions for brief moments, then moving on to another, as if
losing interest in the life or death plot lines it casually develops and then drops by
the wayside. If the author had stuck to presenting a picture of life on either side of the
lines it would have worked, but she tries to cram so many ideas, or non-ideas in as
well as characters, that the constant jumping about makes you lose any attachment
to what is happening, a lot like trying to bake a cake with six types of sugar and no
salt.
In a review for The Guardian, Lisa O’kelly called “42”:
“An exquisite Russian doll of a novel: a tale within a tale within a tale. As you
near the end, you wonder how the many stories it tells can possibly fit convincingly together and then it surprises you by making it do just that.” My impression
was more to the effect of a nightmarish door within a door that reveals another door,
when all I as the reader was trying to do was find a character on the other side that I
could attach myself to. The main character of the story, a vain German officer called
Karl Bazinger, is so selfishly motivated and confused by turns throughout the story
that you just want to yell at him to make up his mind before he starts bothering you
again. For example Katia, a young Russian woman with whom Karl’s fate eventu-
163 PGR
intertwines, is one of the highlights of the novel, but we do not meet her until
nearly the end of the book.
Is Bielski striving for some deep existential meaning? or merely commenting
on how mediocrity can effect mediocrity in varying situations? In O’kelly’s somewhat vaunted review she goes on to rave about 42’s “echoes of Chekhov and Pasternak ” and how “the mood is yearning and elegiac, the symbolism mystical and
religious.” It is entirely possible that I missed an important philosophical sub-text,
but then again I’ve never been a huge fan of Chekov. (He stirs emotions in me very
much akin to the way I feel listening to people who claim they understand Samuel
Becket,.) O’kelly also takes note of Bielski’s “civilized compassion” but passion is not
supposed to be a civilized thing. The horrors of war are mentioned, even described,
but they somehow lack emotional resonance. The scenes of tragedy are told in such
a matter of fact, nearly clinical way that the entire story feels as if it is viewed from a
distance or through a thick window.
Since Babi Yar twelve months have passed. Everyone
now knows it was a massacre. Not a soul returned from
the census. Sarah Kern, Liouvouchka’s wife, was
killed amongst tens of thousands of others.
On the night following the 26th of August, Fedorenko
hanged himself in the sroreroom where Anna Nikiforovna,
the governess, had once kept her preserves. (pg.168-169)
Like the narration, all the characters seem to be so contained, even under emotional duress, that it is hard to work up much empathy about their various circumstances. Perhaps because the novel was translated from French, the form of the short pithy
sentences doesn’t quite seem to pack enough punch.We are left adrift by the writer’s
ambivalence, in a novel where the scope of emotion should grip us till the end.
The story is told with chapters, flowing from one scene to another in a somewhat bewilderingly fluid way. The lack of quotation marks around the dialogue perpetuates the sense of feeling somewhat lost in the scope of events. It is surprising
how a form of grammar that we usually take for granted is really an invaluable tool
for capturing and holding the voice of a speaker. Without them, the conversations
seem to bleed into each other, as if all the speakers are yawning while they talk, and
the words don’t quite pack the same punch. The dialogue almost seems like part of
the scenic description, not conversation, for example this conversation between Bazinger and some friends in a bar:
So Remy is being brought to order, remarks Karl Bazinger, returning to the
table of his friends.
And you, my Karl, you’re looking pleased with yourself. I suppose Jean told you
the latest scandal.
No scandal. He put forward his theory about Madam de Stael, and her role
in German history.
What, then, did our Madam de Stael do to the Germans? (pg.65)
With such a format one can see how it is hard to really allow yourself to be grabbed
by the text.
PGR 164
The points that do grab the reader’s attention are the brief, almost throwaway
scenes that have only passing mention in the body of the text, and it is here that
Bielski’s writing shines. The bewilderment of Karl’s young son at being separated
from a playmate because he is Jewish, and the tender family unit that forms between
Katia, a young Russian woman, her father, and a young Jewish girl whose family is
massacred at Babi Yar, were a few gripping moments of the book. Indeed it is when
Bielski is capturing moments of quiet domesticity or grief, that her writing really
rings true, like Katia’s thoughts when coming across a dress, a long ago gift from her
imprisoned husband:
The memory of that day in May came back to her,
mingled with the memory of their first night together
and all those little buttons covered with the same fine
material, which Ivan Ivanovich had had to
undo. Katia pressed the dress against her breast, heart
beating. She felt Ivan Ivanovich’s hands against her skin,
her feet were no longer touching the ground and
suddenly he was back with her, she could even
smell the pungent tobacco of the Turkish cigarettes he
smoked in those days. (162)
It is when she moves from such quiet ruminations to bigger themes that the reader
becomes confused. Is her book a meditation on fate? Or the lack of fate? One could
almost say it focuses on six degrees of separation, but no one in this book is really
connected by far acquaintances. When Karl and Katia eventually meet for a few brief
pages of the book, they seem to be brought together by mere chance, yet at the same
time, it is a culmination of many minute occurrences. Beilski can’t seem to decide
if her novel is a rumination on the workings of the universe, a wartime drama or
character study. As any one of these alone it would have been a fine piece, but that
is not the case. In this book the concepts are so busy warring with each other for attention, rather than working together to form a whole, that we as the readers soon
surrender to a battle for comprehension we cannot seem to win. As is so often the
case in war, emotion is left by the wayside in an effort to try and achieve larger goals.
If that was the point Bielksi was trying to make she has succeeded, but it makes for
a bleak read.
Works Cited
Bielski, Nella. The Year is 42
Pantheon Books/Random House Inc.,
New York. 2004.
Book Reviews
http://www.metacritic.com/books/authors/bielksinella/yearis42
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Breath by Levine is a Breath of Fresh Air
Melissa Camburn
Breath
Philip Levine
Alfred A. Knopf
$23.00
“Soon the headlights come on, singly or in pairs,/the rain gleams through
the taut cables,/no moon rises above the island where now they are/among us, each
one doing a morsel of God’s work/until their small jaws ache from so much prayer.”
(Houses in Order, 23-27) It was in these words, I finally started to grasp just ever so
slightly what I was reading. The words were so simple and yet they caught me off
guard. Philip Levine’s book of poetry, was impressive. I have to admit that at first,
I was bored, very bored. I started looking around at reviews of those who had read
his work before and I also took a look at the inside cover of the book and I started to
understand why. I could not relate; I simply could not relate. He was not speaking to
me. I have no clue what it is like to move from one country to another, much less live
in the 1930s. The losses I have endured cannot compare to those of so many others. I
have a very pretty looking existence.
So what changed? I accepted it; I accepted that I could not relate and I
read. I realized that I did not have to relate and that Levine was saying much more.
Suddenly, I knew what others were talking about. The words just jumped out of
the page and though I did not understand the background of them, they did sound
ever so poetic. It was beautiful. I looked back to the beginning of the poem, only
to realize it was about rats. I laughed because that is not what I would have even
thought it to be about. I realized, that in some ways, that is what good poetry is: It is
the transitions and the metaphors and the ideas laid out that make sense but are not
so easy to understand upon first glance. They are different. They are unique. They
have their own spin. He could have talked about the rats a million different ways
but he talked about them “each one doing a morsel of God’s work.” A good poet
brings you from point A to point B. It makes sense but he or she might take a road
less traveled to get you there which is what makes each style different from others.
In addition, the writer make you want to read it all, and read it again. When I read
through the whole text of the poem, I was amused because of my misinterpretation at
first. Then, I saw the depth and it caught me, drew me in and made me want to read
more.
Each of the poems in this book takes the reader down a different path
to a place Levine knows very well. In When The Shift Was Over, the simplest
descriptions sound so eloquent but convey his thoughts so well–“He could
taste/nickel under his tongue...” (When The Shift Was Over, 71) In Naming, the
simple introduction, a question, opens his poem up so well–“Do you remember
an impossible city on the river Styx, population depressed, altitude a mile below
everything?” (Naming, 47) In yet another poem, the form is what caught my
attention–Eleven stanzas of three lines each, centered in the page, with a space
between each stanza (The Two, 17-18). Each is different in its form, word choice,
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language, and method in delivering the images he so wanted to convey. I would
recommend this book. There is a lot of fluff out there and this is NOT fluff; this
is good stuff; this is quality work. My belief is that to truly appreciate Levine’s
writing, one has to either feel they relate, sympathize or at the very least, understand
it enough and have the experience that goes along with reading a good poem, one
that just comes off the page and makes you want to read it more. Overall, I give this
poem a good review. It may take a little time, but if you give it that time, you will
not regret reading it. This book has a lot to offer; you just have to be willing to be
patient and go through the process. You have to take the time. Regardless of where
you come from, how much you can relate, what you know, or what you understand,
you just might enjoy this book of poems. After reading through, I found each poem
to be different from the last, each with its own special characteristics, each with its
own story. It really is like reading story after story. It is a great collection and I
highly recommend you at least check it out.
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Just One Look: Do We Ever Truly Know Anyone?
Tristan Morrow
Just One Look
Harlan Coben
Penguin Group Inc.
$25.95
Harlan Coben, author of Just One Look, cleverly writes this book in
twists and turns that seem confusing but answer questions with every turn
of the page. Coben has written several books, but this is his first with a
woman as the lead character. Grace Lawson is her name; she is a housewife
and successful artist that has a mysterious past. Mystery novels usually
have plot twists that don’t reveal themselves until the end. Just One Look is
full of these mysteries but Harlan Coben develops the plot twists in a way
that keeps the reader involved throughout the book. He reveals just enough
throughout the book to keep the reader interested and on edge.
The first line in the preface of the book is, “Scott Duncan sat across
from the killer.” Scott Duncan, an assistant US Attorney, has no idea why
this “killer” requested to see him. He soon finds out in a twisted discussion
when the “killer” admits to being the man who murdered Scott’s sister. This
is the last we see of Scott Duncan until about halfway through this 370 page
book when we learn his connection to Grace and her husband. Coben uses
this tactic as a way to keep the reader involved and in the know: the reader
feels like they are the first to know about Scott.
The discovery of a strange photograph mixed in with photos that have
just been developed starts the storyline of Grace and her husband Jack. It’s
an old photo of Jack and four other people. There is an X through one of the
girls’ faces. When Grace confronts Jack he gets on his phone for a minute
then takes off in his car. When he doesn’t return the next day Grace gets
worried. This is Grace’s awakening of the fact that her husband has been
keeping something from her.
There is an irony in Grace’s relationship with her husband. It makes
you wonder whether or not she is being used by him. Grace seems to think
that it is healthy to respect each others privacy, but the reader is led to believe
that Jack is a lot more secretive than Grace. She hesitated going into his
study to find out who he was on the phone with before he left because she
didn’t want to disturb his privacy,
Grace felt weird, snooping. There had been strength, she thought,
in respecting one another’s privacy. They each had a room closed
off to the other. Grace had always been okay with that. She’d
even convinced herself it was healthy. Now she wondered about
looking away. She wondered if it’d derived from a desire to give Jack
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privacy—needing space?!—or because she feared poking a beehive.
(Coben, pg. 71)
Grace fears disrupting Jack’s privacy because she instinctively knows that he
is keeping something from her, and she’s not sure she wants to find out what
it is.
The first mystery that unveils itself is who Jack Lawson telephoned
while in his study. After much trouble Grace gets this woman on the phone
and finds out that it is Jack’s sister, a sister that Grace had never met; she
didn’t even know her name. Some people are very private about their
families, but a marriage is supposed to be honest. To Grace this is another
clue that she doesn’t know her husband as well as she had thought.
Sheri and Bob Stritof have been married for 25 years. They host
marriage workshops and have written a book called “The Everything Great
Marriage Book”. They say that “Being honest with each other doesn’t mean
you must share every single thought, dream, fear, or fantasy with your
spouse.…Knowing what to share and what not to share is an important
communication skill for couples to learn and use in their marriage.” They go
on to list what sort of things to share with your spouse. Included in the list
are family issues. Jack Lawson keeping his sister a secret from Grace is quite
harmful to their marriage. When Grace learns of this deceitfulness, all her
trust for Jack dissolves and she wonders what else he has kept from her.
A large part of the storyline is Grace’s involvement with the Boston
Massacre, which Coben explains as a rock concert where the band was late
and the crowd rioted. Grace got caught in the crowd and was crushed.
She woke up four days later as a media mogul; she had been dubbed “the
people’s survivor”. This turns into an interesting plot twist that the reader
will discover ties in to her missing husband.
There is an array of characters in this story that add to the confusion
of the plot and progressively work out the mysteries. Coben uses these
characters to point out that in life there aren’t just a few people involved,
it’s usually an army of people that work out the kinks in a person’s life.
One of these seemingly unrelated characters is Cram, named for the way
his teeth are all crammed into one side of his mouth. Grace described him
as having “a sea-predator smile”. Cram is chauffer to Carl Vespa, father
of a boy that was killed in the Boston Massacre. For some reason, Vespa
latched onto Grace after the accident. They kept in touch and Grace uses his
“connections” to find answers about her husband.
Throughout the book Grace Lawson has to find out who the people in
the photograph are, find her missing husband, and take care of her two kids
that don’t understand where their father is. She is portrayed as a strong and
intelligent woman who evokes admiration from those who get to know her.
Grace believed in her husband up until the very end when she discovers the
horrible truth about him. She was deceiving herself by ignoring hints until
she finally had to face the fact that he had been lying to her throughout their
169 PGR
marriage. Everyone comes to a realization at one time or another in their
life. Grace’s realization was one that hurt her badly. She had to deal with
something that no one wants to deal with; a lying husband that she loved
very much.
The reader of this book will feel a connection to Grace that will make
them not want to put it down until they’ve read it through to the end. The
way Grace expresses her feelings in the second to last paragraph sums up
why anyone can relate to her,
The brush soared and danced across the canvas. She started thinking
again about how we can never know everything about our loved
ones. And maybe, if you think about it hard, we don’t even know
everything about ourselves.
(Coben, pg. 370)
This is only one example of the beautiful writing that pulls you into Just One
Look and involves you in solving this mystery.
Works Cited
Coben, Harlan. Just One Look. New York: Penguin Group Inc., 2004
Stritof, Bob and Sheri. Secrets In Marriage. About, Inc: http://marriage.about.
com, 2005
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171 PGR