Punctuated Post: Anita Shreve's The Weight of Water

Read Anita Shreve they said. You'll like her, they said.

The Weight of Water takes place off the coast of Maine. So, when I traveled to Maine to a dear friend's graduation, I thought this book was a fitting pick! I love to read a book while being in the book's setting.

In a way, this was the perfect type of book to read during the hustle and bustle of travel: light and easy to dip in and out of while boarding flights and such. It has two narrative threads, one contemporary and one pertaining to a mystery from 1853. In the contemporary thread, a woman who is a photographer on a job at the island learns of gruesome murder. We also learn about the circumstances of another women, an immigrant to the area in the 1850s. An undercurrent of both narrative threads is the whodunit of the nineteenth century murder, partially as the contemporary woman finds archived letters written by the immigrant. I think the book could have been more enticing if the murderer didn't seem so obvious early in the book. While I am glad I gave an Anita Shreve book a chance, I am not sure that another is in my future soon.

Shreve, Anita. The Weight of Water. Back Bay Books, 1997.

Punctuated Post: Emily St. John Mandel's Station Eleven

It is not often the case that you embark on reading a best-selling book award finalist and have no idea what the novel is about. I lucked out, both in a sense that each page and plot twist was a surprise, and then in the sense that the book is premised on an epidemic. I am fascinated with epidemiology. In sixth grade, I used to read the goriest passages from Richard Preston's The Hot Zone. In college, my first major was microbiology because I wanted to become a virologist, but math is not my strong suit, so I get my epidemiological fix through books. My interest isn't even merely quite about the power of a small virus that can tear through civilization, it is about the post-apocalyptic humanity (or lack thereof) that comes with it, in books like Parasites Like Us by Adam Johnson, Blindness by Jose Saramago, Margaret Atwood's MaddAddam series, and now Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel.

I finished this book two years ago--exactly two years to the date I started drafting this post (oops!)--and with the benefit of hindsight I can still say that I really enjoyed this book and have recommended it on many occasions.

Mandel, Emily St. John. Station Eleven. New York: Vintage Books, 2014.

Punctuated Post: Jonathan Safran Foer's Here I Am

Note the Arizona-themed bookmark
cross-stitched by my mother.

This book is long enough, so I will keep my thoughts to a Punctuated Post. I do not regret a single minute of the time I spent reading the nearly 600 pages of Jonathan Safran Foer's latest novel, Here I Am. In fact, most of it felt fairly fast-paced. There is a great deal of dialogue, and various narrative strategies keep the pages turning. If anything slows down the reading pace, it is the need to process some of the deep emotional episodes that sustain the book. From family to catastrophe, this book covers the gamut of heart-wrenching scenarios. And, I suppose it is this very breadth that became, in my opinion, the greatest weakness of the book. When a book is about everything, it sometimes feels like it is about nothing. Is this book about the father character, Jacob? His family? Dealing with crises? Politics and political catastrophe? Religion? Death and loss? I am never one to shy away from a long book with a complex plot, yet a can't fight the suspicion that this book would be even better if it were about just a little less.

While I would have wished for a little more focus to guide me to the core message that the author wanted the reader to walk away with, there were little literary nuggets throughout the book that served as a huge payoff for the reader. I'll end with one sentiment that resounded with me.

Jonathan Safran Foer, Here I Am, p. 493

Foer, Jonathan Safran. Here I Am. New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2016.

Punctuated Post: Amara Lakhous' Dispute Over a Very Italian Piglet

Ever since I was introduced to Europa Editions, they have been my go-to publisher for international fiction, and especially translations of contemporary literature. My latest discovery from the publisher came at the Modern Language Association meeting in January. Penguin was there (they distribute for Europa Editions) selling paperback books for $3.00. Now, do not get me wrong, these books are worth every penny of the usual $15.00 to $18.00 they usually cost, but there is no way I could pass up a book deal that good, especially when I noticed the adorable cover of Dispute Over a Very Italian Piglet by Amara Lakhous and translated from the Italian by Ann Goldstein.

The book is truly charming. Lakhous, an award-winning author, manages to strike a smart balance between depth and humor--usually a tricky task. A lighthearted Italian novel about multiculturalism and a missing piglet, it is at once whimsical and prying as to the issues surrounding immigration, labor, and day-to-day life. Anyone who reads this will be able to see the obvious similarities to immigration debates in the United States along with the hypocrisies of xenophobia. I quite liked a book review from The Independent that both overviewed the plot and spoke to its literary contributions.

Lakhous, Amara. Dispute Over a Very Italian Piglet. Trans. by Ann Goldstein. New York: Europa Editions, 2014.

Punctuated Post: Breaking Bad As A Retelling of Yogi Bear

So, bear (pun!) with me on this, but I made an offhanded comparison between the relationship between Yogi Bear and Boo-Boo as they share a quest for stealing picnic baskets illegally to the relationship between Walter White and Jesse Pinkman as they share their quest for an illegal, successful drug business. I didn't think much about it when I first said it, but then I thought more about it.

First, the distribution of power seems odd in both relationships, and nothing any rational person would put up with over a prolonged period of time. Why do Boo-Boo and Jesse have such dysfunctional loyalty to Yogi and Walter, respectively, so much? They would both be in far less trouble, and are possibly more capable of acting on their own than in the shadow of the large egos of their partners in crime.

The other similarity, I realized, is the relationship between the criminals and the law enforcement. Park Ranger Smith and Yogi have always been a little too chummy for logic. The Ranger always knows what Yogi is up to, yet the bear always seems to elude him or consequences. Slightly different, but with obvious similarities, Hank always knows what Heisenberg is up to, but the drug dealer always eludes him. In this case, the law and criminal are also chummy; of course, in this case, Hank isn't aware of this. But from time to time, don't we wonder: how can Hank not suspect, just a little, if he really chose to see what was in front of him?

So, what I'm saying here is, if Albuquerque is Jellystone, and we equate the epidosidic goal of the criminal pairs, which is to subvert the law to cover up their activity, then perhaps we are left with an acclaimed drama that is little more than a nefarious Hanna-Barbera plotline.

. . . or maybe not, but what's the fun of watching an outlandish amount of television if you can't making speculative connections to amuse yourself from time to time.

Punctuated Post: Sun Mi-Hwang's The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly

This weekend something rare happened--we're talking mythical unicorn rare. I woke up on Saturday without anything to do for the first weekend I can remember in recent history, and I stayed in bed and read a book. When I say read a book, I mean the good ole fashioned way: straight through, in one sitting, cover to cover (or whatever that is in e-reader speak). True, The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly isn't especially long or especially challenging, but it is a dear gem. I think I read it at the perfect time: deep in the year, right around the time everything is overwhelming, and the days are the shortest, and the weather is unforgiving, and it is hard to get motivated to do anything. What better story than one that features a plucky hen who faces the impossible and surpasses all of her obstacles with determination and love? When the winter is getting you down, nothing will shame you out of your pity party like a hen who has to fight for survival against unsympathetic farmers, pretentious farm animals, an aging guard dog trying to maintain his ego, and a dangerous predator, all while protecting her beloved baby. But I suppose that is the point of the story--that anything can be overcome, and we all have to hold onto our dreams and embrace our individuality, whether it is a hen who dreams she can fly or a person trying to navigate this crazy world in which we live. I loved this story for all the ways it reminded me of other well-loved fables, and I think the message will stand the test of time and remind us to stay true to ourselves as we navigate the obstacles around us, where the allegorical forces of the story are pervasively treacherous forces like close-mindedness, political agendas that stifle individual rights, prejudice, the prison industrial complex, systemic violence, and a thousand other issues and hardships big and small.

Hwang, Sun-Mi. The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly. Trans. by Chi-Young Kim. Illust. by
     Namoco. New York: Penguin Books, 2000.
 

Introducing Punctuated Posts

Happy birthday to me! As I get older, I like to think I'm getting wiser, and one of the things I've been getting wiser about is how I spend my time. Sometimes I just have a smidgeon to say about something, and sometimes those thoughts aren't specifically about the books I'm reading (though sometimes they are), and I'm going to start sharing those thoughts in brief, intermittent musings I am calling Punctuated Posts. I hope you enjoy this new aspect of the blog!