Medicine as Art: A Few Thoughts on Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghase

No spoiler information is contained in this post.

A good book. A page turner. I love when I get my hands on one. But I must admit, I am the type of person who can put a good book down. It is always with guilt and regret, but I get distracted by other books, spend too much blogging instead of reading, or just fiddle around with my kids. Sometimes it can take me months to read books that are compelling and I never make it through books that do not grab me.

So, I must admit that I was a little surprised when I read the 658 page novel Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese in three days. To say this spellbinding, captivating novel is a page tuner is a crude understatement. Cutting for Stone is a gripping epic that sweeps through six decades and three continents, making the reader part of the powerful and heartrending journey.

Verghese’s debut work of literary fiction is so far-reaching in scope and depth that it cannot be pigeonholed into one genre. There is a touch a mystery, much romance, tons of action, many thrills, a tremendous amount of humor, a plethora of heartbreak, a multitude of surgical drama and most importantly, luminous storytelling.

Despite the high page count and larger-than-life story, the plot of the novel is really quite simple. A beautiful Indian nun who works in a hospital in Ethiopia conceals her pregnancy for nearly nine months, suddenly goes into labor, and gives birth to twins in the middle of night. She dies immediately following the birth which results in the twins’ distraught father (a brilliant British surgeon who was unaware of the pregnancy) to flee the country minutes after the birth. Left behind are twin boys, Marion and Shiva who both eventually embark on careers in medicine after being raised by two kindhearted, loving, compassionate doctors and their zany support staff --a bunch of madcap, doting characters similar to those found in a Dickens novel.

Unlike a Dickens novel, Verghese writes fully developed character histories that are meticulously recounted by Marion, the biological son of surgeon Thomas Stone and Sister Mary Joseph Praise and the adopted son of Hema and Gosh. With meticulous detail, Marion reveals what he knows about the mystery surrounding the twins' conception, their birth, their mother’s death and the disappearance of their father, which propels the action of the novel that unfolds into a saga about family, coming of age, betrayal, love, loss, social unrest, medicine, forgiveness and redemption.

If Stone’s abandonment and betrayal is the stimulus of the first portion of the novel, Shiva’s betrayal of Marion and all the events that spiral out of control after the betrayal drives the latter part of the novel. Secrets, lies, impulsiveness, insensitivity, and selfishness run as rampant in this novel as does kindness, compassion, healing, tenderness, passion and love. Just about every human emotion is rendered eloquently and believably. Verghase is a master at capturing the human spirit without relying on clichés and sappiness. He successfully manages to balance good and evil; life and death; mysticism and realism; and medical care and human acts of comfort.

Balance is a trick that Verghase seems to know well since by profession he is both a doctor and a writer (published two memoirs prior to his work of fiction). It is through his fiction writing that he is able to offer profound observations about and scathing accusations towards the field of medicine. Throughout the novel, he takes a strong line that doctors need to see patients as humans with one doctor asking: “What treatment in an emergency is administered by ear?” After a long silence in a room filled with medical practitioners, another doctor responds, “Words of comfort.”

Comfort -- this is precisely what Verghase offers his readers although he gives a lot of discomfort, upheaval, distress and agony too. But no matter if he is providing details on a bowel removal, discussing the foul smell associated with young women with fistula or explaining the motivation of Eritrean guerrilla fighters, Verghase wastes no words, finds beauty in grotesqueness and makes art out of science.

Verghase is a truly masterful novelist who pulls his readers into a lush and thrilling world where emotions and empiricism commingle beautifully to make a whirlwind saga that holds the reader captive until the end. Cutting for Stone is truly a marvel of a novel.

I Need This Book Please, Oprah Told Me To Read It

“Can you show me where the Oprah books are?” asked an elderly woman, holding her cane and flanked by her health care provider.

This is one of the most frequently asks questions in libraries across the country. Although many people think that Oprah should be her own library category like Fiction, Non-Fiction, Children’s, and Paperback Fiction, the books she has selected since her club’s inception on September 17, 1996 vary widely in authors, genre, style, and literary merit. Due to the diversity of her picks, these books are spread all over the library, typically.

However, I realized that I was working at our library district’s gorgeous “retail-style” library, meaning a library with so many displays that it feels like you are shopping at a bookstore for free. At this particular library, we put the Oprah Selections on our special display for Award Winners. (I feel a little reservation about this because when I think of award winners, The National Book Award, the Pulitzer Prize, the Mann Booker Award, and the Nobel Prize for Literature come to mind. But, is there really any greater boost to an author’s career than being selected by Oprah? So in many ways, her book selections are award winners.)

Having given Oprah selections to patrons at libraries in two different states, I have many of them memorized, so I buzzed around the library grabbing as many as could. From our special display, I snatched Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides, The Road by Cormac McCarthy, Tara Road by Maeve Binchy,White Oleander by Janet Fitch, The Pilot's Wife by Anita Shreve. I then went over to biography to grab Night by Elie Wiesel and found A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle in non-fiction. I later made my way to the Classics for East of Eden by John Steinbeck, and Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. I concluded my quest with a few of my favorites from Oprah’s list Sula by Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison and Daughter of Fortune by Isabel Allende.

I placed this enormous array of books on a table for the woman to peruse. Admitting she was not a huge reader, the senior citizen said she felt like “an Oprah Book was a good place to start," which is such a funny phrase because I tend to think of Anna Karenina as a Tolstoy novel not an Oprah Book. She grabbed Wiesel’s Night and also picked up McCarthy’s The Road when I told her that one was also a movie. She left happy and is just one more example of why Oprah is the Ultimate Sherpa of Library World.

In many ways Oprah is the perfect Old School Librarian, the kind who starts their readers off gently with engaging books and slowly moves them to move literary fiction and Classics. When she started her Book Club, her selections were mostly contemporary books that could trigger some conservation but for the most part were not literary fiction. Early examples of her simple selections include The Heart of a Woman by Maya Angelou and The Treasure Hunt by Bill Cosby. As Oprah’s Book Club grew into an international sensation with millions of readers and the selected books instantly becoming best sellers, Oprah started to select more literary works such as novels by her friend and Nobel Prize Winning Author Toni Morrison. She later transitioned her readers to Classic novel. Average readers who probably read New York Times Best Sellers and paperback romances were reading, The Good Earth and Anna Karenina all because Oprah asked. And, she has done it again by, in her words “going old school” with her winter selections Tale of Two Cities and Great Expectations by Charles Dickens.

In the past year, I have put out Great Expectations (my favorite book ever) as a “Staff Pick” with my name scribbled on a recommendation slip sticking out of the book nine times in the past year. It has been returned to shelf nine times without being checked out. Within hours of Oprah’s selection, we had numerous requests for the book. Librarians go to school for years to learn that trick and never have near as much success.

But fortunately, Oprah does the work for librarians. She tells the masses what to read; they us what they were told to read; and, we put the books in their hands resulting in both higher circulation numbers and happy customers. In the early days of her club, librarians shuttered every time Oprah made a new selection. Oprah is both the biggest boon and bane for libraries. Anytime, she announces a new book selection, libraries are slammed with a multitude of requests. Her requests impact libraries everywhere, Interlibrary Loan is not a reliable option to fill requests. So, libraries are expected to purchase books. But, what does a library do with 70 copies of The Book of Ruth after Oprah moved on to her next book? This is where book rentals for libraries come in. Most major book vendors allow libraries to rent “in-demand” books and return them when the books fall out of favor. This movement in libraries is a clear-cut example of the Oprah Effect.

Without any real knowledge of library operations, Oprah has changed the way libraries buy books; accomplished what most librarians have always hoped to accomplish -- getting readers to abandon  bibliographic crap in favor of more esoteric, educational titles; and, has caused circulation numbers to increase.

Next to the Librarian of Congress, Oprah is probably the most powerful figure in libraries.

The Beauty of Book Club

A round table by the window that can fit about six people comfortably. Smiling moms with their books in hand. One after another enter the door. Another chair added to the table, another chair and yet another chair added. No more chairs can fit in the corner of the small Greek restaurant. A stare down of the family in the middle of restaurant begins. Finally, the pressure induced by the book-toting mamas is just too much; they leave and the ladies pounce on their table and three nearby tables. The Book Club Mamas own the center of the room.

As the chatter continues, one of the newest book club attendees arrives. “Are you here to impart your literary wisdom,” the moderator chides her dear friend of more than ten years. “I read six pages, but the cover of my book looks different,” she says with her usual self-confidence. She is greeted with smiles and laughter and settles in with the group.

While glasses of wine and bottles of beer were being passed around the table, the banter envelops the room with conversations ebbing and flowing until one phrase rises up above the noise. “Oh crap, I read six pages of the wrong book. You read The Memory Keeper’s Daughter. I read My Sister’s Keeper.” Similar titles and both books exploit illness to tug at reader’s heartstrings. Really pretty similar books, so close enough. Laughter ignites and the regular conversations about kids, husbands and the perils of stay-at-home motherhood resume.

This is the beauty of book club, reading the book is not required for participation. All are welcome and encouraged to abandon their children for the evening.

Missed Potential: A Few Thoughts on Kim Edwards' The Memory Keeper’s Daughter

I love literary tragedy. Works of literature that depict horrific, catastrophic events or deep devastating psychological portraits of personal destruction. And of course, only unhappy endings truly satisfy me. But the story told most be truly tragic and not just sad. There is a huge difference between tragic and just plain depressing.

Kim Edwards’ The Memory Keeper’s Daughter fits the description of depressing not tragic; an exceedingly sad book in a non-particularly interesting way that does not match its fascinating premise. It is the Winter of 1964 in a middle of a snow storm; an orthopedic surgeon’s wife goes into labor. The obstetrician fails to arrive for the birth; the doctor delivers his own child, a healthy boy. Moments later, he is greeted with the surprise of a second child, a daughter with Down Syndrome. In a rash decision, he gives the impaired baby to his nurse to delivery to a home for mentally retarded children; he then tells his wife that their second child died. Unable to leave the child, the unmarried nurse, who secretly loves the doctor, keeps the baby, moves away and starts her life anew. Now that is a plot with tension and much potential for many exciting plot twists.

The potential remains unfulfilled. Edwards misses all opportunities to create a tension filled book that interweaves the lives of the two babies separated at birth. Instead she fills her novel with a bunch of despicable people who keep secrets, behave badly and evoke little empathy. Dr. David Henry, whose childhood was burdened by his parents’ constant concern and worry for his sickly sister, abandons his daughter supposedly to spare his wife and healthy child the rigors and heartbreak associated with raising a mentally retarded child. His wife, Norah Henry, devastated by the supposed loss of her child becomes an adulterous drunk. Trapped in the mayhem of his parents’ failed marriage, Paul Henry becomes an angry rebellious teenager who is indifferent to his father and behaves poorly. The longsuffering nurse, Caroline Gill is a bit of a heroine figure by saving the unwanted baby, but is she really a hero? She kept a baby from her natural mother. Then, there is title character and impaired child, Phoebe who could have been piece that held this book cohesively together, but she nothing more than a literary device who only appears in a handful of touching, tear-inducing scenes.

The Memory Keeper’s Daughter drags along with all the characters keeping their secrets with little tension that the secrets will be revealed, which makes for a long and boring read. By the time that the big reveal occurs, readers are so beaten down by all the redundancy, introduction of strange, irrelevant characters and uninteresting plot developments that the climax provokes very little emotion. Sadly, the premise of this book is substantially better than the actual book. This is a book that can be skipped and not missed in anyway.

Missed the Tapas, Where’s the Dead Dog?

I am so relieved. I am relieved that Garth Stein did not bring Enzo with him to his talk about his New York Times Best Seller, The Art of Racing in the Rain because I would have eaten him. Yes, I would have devoured Enzo’s decaying corpse and wiped the moldy tendons from my lips the same way that Enzo licked the squirrel’s blood off his face and ate curdled yogurt off the baby’s highchair. In fact, I was so hungry that while Stein was sharing tales about the writing process and how tough it was to sell a book narrated by a dog, I stared at his burgundy loafers, wondering if there was a piece of gum or sticky Laffy Taffy on his soles. Hunger replaced the excitement that I felt earlier.

So consumed by anticipation for the event, I spent most of my day bouncing back and forth between housework, laundry, and Facebook – doing none of them with focus or concentration. Well, with one exception, I did manage to write blog entries, Facebook posts and emails about my hot black leather boots. My boots consumed all my thoughts and distracted me from properly doing my husband’s laundry. One load of pants, one load of dress shirts and one load of socks and underwear. It was the same every week until this week. I forgot to turn on the dryer for the third load, resulting in soggy socks and dripping underwear 15 minutes before my husband was scheduled to catch the airport shuttle.

My laundry faux-pas resulted in me driving my husband to the airport, eating half a bambino burger from Good Times in the car and arriving 45 minutes late to the chic restaurant where the Book Club Mamas were meeting for appetizers and drinks before the author talk. Not wanting to appear undignified, I declined offers of both bread and crackers. I soon realized this was a mistake when I started seeing parachutes landing behind the author’s head and the six rows in front of me looked like gigantic Hershey bars. Next time, I’ll just drop my earring and pick up the scraps, or I could just arrive promptly.

Hittin' the Club...Again

A short black sleeveless dress, black kneehigh leather boots, black pantyhose and a sexy burgundy scarf will be my attire when I go clubbing tonight for the second time in four days – book clubbing that is. Even bookworms need a social life and sometimes bookworms splurge on a babysitter to discuss a rather mediocre book, not once but twice. Truthfully, Garth Stein’s The Art of Racing in the Rain is really not worth all the trouble, but it just happens to be the book that our dog friendly community selected for its version of a One Book, One City program. So, Stein’s arrival in town is the Book Club Mamas’ excuse for a night on campus in our college town. Wearing nice clothes, eating delicious food, and having splendid drinks are my primary motives, but if the author actually looks like his picture on the back of his book, the talk could be riveting too.

Oh, the nightlife of a clubbing bookworm…

Adorable Canine Redeems Lame, Cheesy Novel: A Few Thoughts on The Art of Racing in the Rain

Shocked! This was the look on the faces of my fellow book club members when I gave Garth Stein’s “The Art of Racing in the Rain” a thumb in the middle during our traditional opening Thumb up/Thumb down ceremony. It was strongly anticipated that I would not like this book because I am petrified of dogs; I ridicule gimmicky narratives; I do not typically read New York Times Best Sellers; and, most importantly, I despise uplifting endings.

For all the above reasons, I really should have loathed this book, but I did not on two simple grounds: Enzio, the charming narrating dog suckered me in with his jokes and wisdom and the racing metaphors absolutely captured my imagination. In actuality, The Art of Racing in the Rain is a simplistic story of a man, a woman, their child, the man’s dog and the woman’s horrible parents. Not much interesting happens. Man gets dog; man marries woman; dog and woman don’t care for each other too much; woman gets cancer; and the grandparents try to steal the child from her father. In terms of plot, this novel is really sort of puerile until the dog comes along and gives the reader an “under the table” view.

Enzio narrates every detail with a four-legged perspective. We hear from his point of view the details of human mating rituals; we learn what is like for a dog to discover a rancid chicken nugget under a kitchen table; we experience firsthand a dog’s thirst for squirrel’s blood and how that is a magnificent metaphor for irrational acts of human passion. And of course, Enzio charismatically draws us in with his T.V. addiction, hatred of monkeys and ardent belief that he would transform into a human upon his death. Reviewing that list, it still surprises me that this ridiculous book appealed to me, but the success of this book lies in the humanistic portrayal of the universe from a non-human point of view. Furthermore, it gave me that tingling in the nose about to cry feeling many times.

In fact, for a moment or two, I adored Enzio so much that I wished I liked real life dogs (not likely to ever happen). Enzio is a literary device not a dog, a literary device that makes this non-dog-lover’s experience with this novel very different than a dog lover’s encounter. Generally, dog-lover’s were ecstatic about this book. For the non-dog lover, Stein’s book is a light, tolerable read. If you have a few hours to kill, this one will make you laugh and tear up a little.

The Fictional Housewives of the Hunan Province: A Few Thoughts on Lisa See’s Snow Flower and the Secret Fan

“Snow Flower and the Secret Fan is written with a stately but unremarkable prettiness; it is not a book that will make its mark for reasons of style. But Ms. See has worked enough joy, pain and dramatic weepiness …to give it a quiet staying power. It's liable to be read by women's groups and valued for its quaintness… But what will work best for this book is its own secret message: cultures vary, but old sames and same-olds don't change,” wrote Janet Maslin in the New York Times on August 15, 2005.

Maslin’s scathing review of Lisa See’s fourth novel shocks me because her argument that See’s book is melodramatic, quaint and typical cannot be reinforced with textual evidence. Throughout her review she calls this novel a soap opera and argues that the two main characters Snow Flower and Lily have “sudsy lives” that develop into the “rainstorms of bitchery” commonly associated “with this novel's underlying genre.” Although she wants to label this novel to be a soap opera/melodrama, Snowflower and the Secret Fan belongs to genre of historical fiction specifically and women’s literature more generally. See’s novel provides a fictional but reasonably accurate account of life in Nineteenth Century Chinese life derived from months of research. And even more importantly, the novel chronicles and examines the relationship of two women from early adolescence until death separates them in adulthood.

The two women in question are Snow Flower and Lily who are a laotong pair also called old sames (meaning they were born on the same day in the same year, hold the same place in their birth order, have the same number of living and dead siblings and started their foot-binding at the same age on the same day). A laotong match, which should last a lifetime, is a more intimate and committed relationship than an arranged marriage that allows husbands to have concubines. As Lily’s aunt explains, "A laotong relationship is made by choice for the purpose of emotional companionship and eternal fidelity. A marriage is not made by choice and has only one purpose – to have sons."

Emotional companionship is exactly what Snow Flower and Lily give each through tumultuous changes in their lives. Lily climbs up the social ladder as a result of to her beautiful and tiny “golden lily” feet while Snow Flower slides down tragically into destitution due to her father’s addiction to opium and whores. As their social spheres shift, communication becomes increasingly complicated. But thanks to nu shu (a secret women’s only language that they embroidered on the secret fan) and clandestine meetings in remote villages, their relationship continues, despite the disapproval of Lily’s new family, until a misunderstanding about their “eternal fidelity” triggers a regretful and tragic dispute that unravels their bond.

Snow Flower and Lily’s bond, which was allowed only after both girls completed the torturous process of foot binding, is in some way compensation for the agony that must be endured to become a woman and a wife. The comfort that they find in each other’s arms reinforces their value as females, giving them validation in a culture were girls are oppressed and underappreciated. Their passion for each other glides, over the years, into the areas of tenderness, love, eroticism, jealousy, fury, cruelty, retribution , isolation, regret, reconciliation, grief and repentance. Each emotion moves the narrative forward.

Yes, the action is fast-moving; drama is high in the inner-sanctum of the women’s sitting room; emotions are unbridled, but See does not teeter on the border of melodrama. Instead, she creates a fascinating portrayal of femininity in relation to social status and expected gender roles. The author details all kinds all female relationships: mother/daughter, mother-in-law/daughter-in-law/, aunt/niece, mistress/servant, matchmaker/client, cousins, biological sisters, sworn sisters and laotongs. Each relationship is multifaceted with its own unique rules. Although these relationships seem locked away in distant history, the complexities and intricacies of these female relationships are very much alive today in daily life and in women’s literature.

From start to finish, Snow Flower and the Secret Fan is a stunning novel that informs with historical facts, enlightens with intensely affecting prose, entertains with suspense and triumph and gracefully astonishes readers with grotesqueness, eroticism and brutality. Joy, sorrow, love, hate, jealously, compassion, life, death…it all exists in Lisa See’s wonderfully haunting and mesmerizing tale of female friendship. This novel is not just an example of great women’s literature it is a flawless novel within the canon of World Literature.

Book Clubs in Moderation

Today is my favorite day of the month – Book Club Day. This is the one time monthly when I hire a babysitter and head to a local coffee shop for an evening out with the ladies – an evening of thoughtful debate, great conversation, ridiculous but splendid non-book related tangents and a plethora of laughter. For the past few months, I have been posting my thoughts on our monthly selection the morning of our meeting. But since my post is typically a long-winded over-the-top ranting that lambastes the book and ridicules the author, it has been requested that I wait till after the book club meeting so that I don’t bias the discussion before it begins. A fair and reasonable request although I fear that I could be influenced my other book club members and forced to have an open-mind or even concede on a few of my assertions. But probably not, since I hated Little Bee last month and left the discussion feeling absolutely assured that I was right despite the numerous people who disagreed with me.

So instead of sharing my opinions (my, oh so many, strong opinions) on Lisa See’s Snowflower and the Secret Fan, I decided to think about my role as a book club moderator. About fifteen months ago, a bright and friendly attorney asked me, since I am a librarian, to take over for her as the moderator of a small but established book club. With little thought, I started facilitating book selection and moderating meetings. I did no research on the role of the book moderator or how to be a good moderator. Just read the book, brought some questions, lead the discussion and the let tangents fly. Our book club looks like most book clubs—some discussion about the book, a little debate about the issues in the book followed by hilarious conversations about kids, in-laws, husbands, ex-boyfriends, sex, food, Facebook and traumatic childhood memories. Really no subject is taboo. Each month, a good time is had by all; news of our fun spreads; and, we pick up a new member the following month. So based on the general happiness of the participants, I figured I was moderating like a good moderator should…but this might not be the case, according to a guide published on About.com on “How to Lead a Book Club.”

The article, written by Erin Collazo Miller, lists nine steps and two tips on how to be an effective book club moderator. Some of the advice is basic like: "Read the book; write down important page numbers; and come up with eight to ten questions about the book. Then, she advises book club moderators to allow others to comment first. Fascinating concept that I never not once tried and not sure if I would ever have that kind of willpower and self-control. I must admit in most cases I dominate the conversation. But in my defense, I am the mother of four and not a single one of kids bothers to listen to me. So when I have a trapped audience that seems to be listening, I exploit the opportunity to talk, talk and talk some more, sharing every trivial and random thought. Book Club tends to become The Adventures of the Garbageman’s Daughter Live, full of ridiculous anecdotes and raucous tangents, which according to Miller, I am suppose to be controlling.

She writes: “Rein in tangents… A little off topic conversation is fine, but you also want to respect the fact that people have read the book and expect to talk about it. As the facilitator, it is your job to recognize tangents and bring the discussion back to the book.” I suppose she would not approve of my one to three minute monthly tangent about purple news from the world of Prince. No one cares, but for a moment each book club it feels like is 1984 again. Then, we move onto the next tangent which normally involves my blog, my kids or my bad hair in some way.

But eventually, we get back to the book. So tonight when we return to the book, I should remember Miller’s tip, “Do not make dismissive statements toward other people's comments." Yeah, I have to say that one never occurred to me either. Sometimes people are just wrong and they need to know it. But I could soften my approach considering last month one of the moms sitting beside me begged for me to not chop off her fingers like the scene in Little Bee. Really she was never in any danger. She didn’t like the book either, so her fingers were safe.

So perhaps if I follow these tips tonight, there will be no need for impromptu foot-binding.

Little Bee Fails to Sting: A Few Thoughts on Chris Cleave’s Latest Novel

This post contains a small amount of spoiler information.

A few weeks ago, I posed the question: Is it possible to read too many depressing British novels? Of course, the answer is “no.” However, I have definitely reached my threshold on British literary rubbish disguised as literary fiction and riveting fodder for book club groups. Chris Cleave’s Little Bee fits in the category of good intentions dressed up as literature and is just one more book that can be added to my list of “not good books” that I completed for book club despite my desire to ditch the book in favor of something more likeable and moving. (No offense, selector. You did a great job selecting a book of the perfect length with hot topics that will lead to an interesting discussion. You know I would be complaining even if we would have read Lolita like we originally planned. Blame the author not the selector.)

It should have occurred to me that there was something stinky in Nigeria when this book was being promoted with this caveat: “The publishers of Chris Cleave's new novel 'don't want to spoil' the story by revealing too much about it, and there's good reason not to tell too much about the plot's pivot point. All you should know going in to Little Bee is that what happens on the beach is brutal, and that it braids the fates of a 16-year-old Nigerian orphan (who calls herself Little Bee) and a well-off British couple--journalists trying to repair their strained marriage with a free holiday--who should have stayed behind their resort's walls…”

When the publisher does not want to give a summary that means there just isn’t much substance there to preview. Actually, there are a lot of ridiculous confrontations and melodrama that occurs throughout the novel but nothing that amounts to a logical plot. During the first three chapters, it appears that Cleave creates a thought-provoking, intriguing novel about the treatment of refugees at immigration detention holding centers. He builds up tremendous suspense about the much touted scene on the beach that brings Little Bee into the lives of Sarah and Andrew, a British couple who have a precocious four-year-old Charlie as well as a troubled marriage due to her affair with Lawrence, a weaselly government employee who is married with children.

After the beach scene (which is not as monstrous and barbaric as the publisher’s blurb intimates) occurs, the book falls apart. Yes, the violence is brutal but it seems to be too unbelievable that mercenaries would perform slow torture and sadistic bargaining opposed to just killing everyone on the beach. Furthermore, why would anyone go to Nigeria to repair their marriage? Andrew and Sarah are both journalists, so they could have been there for work. But, Cleave chooses to have the struggling couple go to a dangerous beach for a second honeymoon—just ludicrous. Since the remainder of the novel hinges on the absurdity of the beach scene, Cleave’s strong start to his novel unravels as he strings one confrontation or melodramatic moment after another to keep the book moving. Even in flashbacks that reveal Sarah and Andrew’s life together, Cleave creates histrionics that just are unbelievable. For instance, the scene where Lawrence introduces his mistress to her husband is hauntingly awkward and darkly comic, but in reality neither the wife nor the husband would have allowed Lawrence to complete his introduction.

But, their meeting is nowhere near as incongruous as the calculating and manipulative banter between Lawrence and Little Bee. Following Andrew’s suicide, Lawrence quickly usurps the dead man’s side of the bed and becomes a possessive fixture in Sarah’s life, which not only makes Little Bee uneasy but makes her equally possessive and aggressive. Little Bee’s response to Lawrence’s threats seems incompatible with her saccharine naiveté. Would a sweet sixteen-year-old Nigerian who seems so ignorant of both British and adult ways really threaten and blackmail a male government employee? Perhaps Cleave is trying to make Little Bee multidimensional, but instead of roundness he creates illogical bipolarity. She deviates from strong to weak with no shades of ordinary in between.

Although Cleave never allows Little Bee to materialize into a believable character, he succeeds in making Sarah the perfect cheating bitch and irresponsible mother who has moments of selflessness, compassion and benevolence. She is neither fully could good or fully bad and possesses a believable amount of ambivalence. Although readers may not like her, her complexity helps redeem the novel. Sadly, she would be a more interesting character if the two men she vacillated between were more distinctive. Andrew and Lawrence are pretty much same man. They both are cowards with very little self-confidence or raison d'être. With his rendering of both men, it is like Cleave looked to American sitcoms writers who only know how to write men as buffoons and subordinates to their smart wives. It is like American comedic writers have forgotten how to write strong men and this is also the case with Cleave. There is nothing manly or attractive about Lawrence and Andrew’s only redeemable quality might be the documentation about Nigeria that he compiled.

The incongruities in Little Bee’s character and the pale sketching of Lawrence and Arthur makes the characterization in this book very flawed. But at the same time, the characterization is probably the best part of this book in comparison to dialogue and plot, which are shoddily put together. The ending of the book is as ridiculous as all the other melodramatic moments in this book. It is a shame that the plot components are not more evolved because it appears that Cleave is trying extraordinarily hard to write an important book about brutality in Africa and the conditions that refugees face when entering England. His research fills his novel; his passion for the topic resonates; his dark wit shines at moments in this novel; and, his awareness of a writerly style necessary to propel a book from competent storytelling to high art is evident. Sometimes his comic moments are just too forced. For instance, the ridiculously long list of suicide methods that Little Bee would employ if the men came to get her is insanely overwrought. Cleave also overloads his book with metaphors. After I read the lovely extended use of the British pound as metaphor, he quickly follows up with nail polish and scars as metaphors – just too much in a small literary space. Metaphors need time and space. No need to show his entire literary prowess in the first 30 pages. But, I really do admire Cleave’s effort with this book. Little Bee would be really great with a different plot, fully developed characters, more realistic dialogue, less metaphors and an alternative ending.

A Few Notes and Arbitrary Thoughts about The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Publishers must think that readers in America and Great Britain are either prudish or simple or both. Someone in the publishing world decided that readers would not buy an English translation of a book with the title Men Who Hate Women, which is the original name for the first novel in Stieg Larsson’s crime thriller trilogy. Marketers probably believed that The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo was sexier, more appealing and perhaps a more mysterious title that would pique readers’ interests. Perhaps a sexy title would distract from all the problems in this strange mess of a book (that oddly entices, repulses, intrigues, and bores me in an alternating sequence.) This book has so many problems that it is best to get them out of the way immediately:

1. Granted the title is catchy and provocative, but it is hugely misleading. Although the rail-thin, emotionally damaged girl with the dragon tattoo, properly known as Lisbeth Salander, is a crucial part of the novel, she is by no means the main protagonist and plays only a moderate role in the novel’s plot, suspense, and action. This book is truly about men who hate women. Salander, who at one point is described as the perfect victim, is an example of a female that has been hated by men specifically and exploited under a patriarchal order her whole life. But, she is just one of the many characters in this book.

2. This 590 page book is about 300 pages of unedited, unnecessary rubbish that meanders and takes up space. The intended financial intrigue is anything but intriguing and could be completely cut from the book, particularly in the last few chapters following such a thrilling climax. Plus, the entire detailed family lineage is cumbersome.
3. Alone Salander and Michael Blomviskt are emotionally dysfunction flat characters. The story drags through their introductions and personal travails. Together, they ignite the novel and make pages practically turn themselves. It should not have taken 300 pages for the characters to meet.

4. With the exception Henrik Vanger, there are no positive portrayals of men (even Blomvist is severely flawed). And, the villains are just pure evil. The best villains in literature are complex with a streak of good that is dominated by their more sinister ways.

5. The plot and subplots reach a ridiculous level of absurdity and improbability, but yet the ride into ludicrousness is quite exhilarating.

6. The references to technology will eventually make the book feel dated before its time.

7. The relationship between Erica Berger and Blomviskt is unbelievable and poorly sketched. It is not likely that any husband would stand for his wife sleeping with another man that regularly for such a sustained period of time. Larsson  gives us an on-paper scenario of the relationship without the complexities of human emotions. Likewise, most of the supporting cast members are either cardboard or tissue paper.

8. Finally, the biggest turn off for me and the main reason why I will not read the remaining two books: Excessive sexual violence with gratuitous details. Larsson’s portrayal of violence against women (and some men) is fascinating and I believe well-intended for advocacy and education, but the book would have been brought to a closer level of literary fiction if the violence would have been toned down, and the brutality would have been discussed in different terms. All those terrible things could have occurred with less gruesome depiction.

Although I am sure there are more things that I could list, why be nitpicky? Once readers get beyond a few stock supporting characters and the boring financial plot, they can devour this wonderful mess of a book that is an absolute page-turner in parts. Without a doubt, this is a mysterious and exhilarating crime thriller that may be more sophisticated than some of its contemporary peers. There are numerous umbrella themes in this novel that kept me hooked. (Book Club Moms, start thinking about these topics that we’ll be discussing tonight.) Here are some the best and most interesting themes, characters and events in this novel:

1. Sexual, physical and emotional abuse against women and children is the most dominant theme in the book. Although Larsson goes to great length to provide gory details, he is not necessarily being exploitative of women and children. With the inclusion of the sexual assault statistics at the beginning of each section, Larsson is educating his readers. He is absolutely writing a parable of sorts (albeit twisted, complex and gratuitous at times). He seems to be taking an approach of advocacy against the violence towards women opposed to portraying it for commercial gain. (There is no doubt that is a debatable assertion.)

2. Although Lisbeth Salander is not the heart of the novel as the title suggests (Or, is she? A point worth discussing), she is a fascinating anti-hero. She is a young woman who is emotionally crippled and has been declared a ward of the state due to incompetency. But at the same time, she is a highly functional dysfunctional person. She is firm on her convictions: a bad life doesn’t give a person an excuse to abuse another person; if you have a problem fix it yourself and do what it takes to get the job done even if it means breaking the law. She is simultaneously simple and complex. But, it could be argued she is far simpler prior to meeting Blomvist. Her character really borders on cliché in the first half of the book. Was any one surprised that an attractive tattooed, leather-wearing girl with multiple piercing and nearly shaved hair was bi-sexual? That is a stock character from the 1990s. She becomes a far more original character when she inexplicably, unwittingly and unwillingly falls in the love with Blomvist. Salander is a new kind of feminist.

3. The romance between Salander and Blomvist buoys this book to a different level. Perhaps crime thriller aficionados did not take much notice of the romance, but it was really the only thing that motivated me to continue reading. I was only moderately interested in Harriet’s disappearance, vaguely interested in the serial killing subplot, didn’t really care about the crazy Vanger clan, was terrified by the violence and was completely bored by the Wennerstrom affair. Salander and Blomvist keep the book moving and their chemistry is complex, sexy, fascinating and passionate. Larsson’s masterfully pairs two damaged, unconventional protagonists to make a perverse super couple that solves crimes and helps to heal each other to some extent. The twists and turns of their relationship were more intriguing and mysterious than the mystery they were solving. The condition of their relationship on the final page of this book made me want to read the second book until I read the prologue of The Girl Who Played with Fire.  All the violence starts up again, so I’ll just have to find a summary of the next two books to see what happens to Salander and Blomvist.

Other important things to consider: the link between Nazism and violence against women and children; the role of parental guidance or lack of it in the lives of these characters; friendship and trust; religious fanaticism, privacy, and journalistic ethics.

Although The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is a highly flawed book, it cannot be dismissed as a genre read. Larsson tackles enough serious issues in this novel for to be considered social commentary. If it wasn’t for book club, I would have never read this book. But, I guess it doesn’t hurt to leave my comfort zone every ten or twelve years. Now back to E.M. Forster’s Howards End.

Tastes Like Broccoli: Review of Out Stealing Horses by Per Petterson

I like broccoli. By no means is it my favorite vegetable that honor belongs to brussels sprouts, but I rank it high above green beans. Sometimes I just move the broccoli around on my plate until I am ready to eat it. Sometimes, especially in stir-fry, I just leave it on my plate for no reason other than I would rather eat the carrots and bell peppers. Sometimes I come back to it. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I need a little cheese or butter to make the broccoli go down a little better. Broccoli is good for me and really is a fine tasting vegetable.

My feelings towards broccoli can also be applied to my experience reading Out Stealing Horses by Per Petterson, a literary work that nourishes me with both a compelling narrative and a nuanced literary style. But, like my desire for broccoli, my enthusiasm levels for this book wane substantially. Sometimes I want to devour and sometimes I want to leave it. Sometimes I prefer something with a different flavor. But, every time I come back it, Petterson's prose sustains and enriches me.

Out Stealing Horses is not a quick beach read or even a practical novel for busy moms who do not have long stretches of time to read. Fortunately, due to the brevity of this detailed-filled and weighty book, not many long uninterrupted sessions are needed, but sporadic readings do not work well with this novel, a slow and quiet work of literary fiction.

Petterson's novel develops as slowly and quietly as the secluded and tranquil environment in Eastern Norway that becomes home for Trond Sander, a 67-year-old city dweller, who no longer has an interest in society after the death of his second wife and his sister. His plans to cure his loneliness and melancholy through solitude, communing with nature and by engaging in hard physical labor. He shows no remorse about not communicating with his two adult daughters from his first marriage and has no interest in making new friends. He is content listening to World BBC on his radio and re-reading Charles Dickens novels, a life-long passion. He functions adequately with his emotional malaise until one night he meets his (many miles away) neighbor and his past comes back to hit him with the same force of the car accident the killed his wife three years prior.

The man who steps out of the shadows is Lars, the brother of his best childhood friend. Their encounter disrupts Trond's tranquility and gives him an emotional jolt of remembrance. Seeing Lars catapults him back to the summer of 1948, when he was fifteen-years-old and participated in the playful game of stealing horses, which is simply borrowing the neighbor's horses for a joyful gallop across the countryside with his favorite childhood companion, Jon. But the glory of the pastoral summer did not last long when Trond and Jon's game of stealing horses ultimately leads to Lars accidentally shooting his twin brother by the name of Odd; this tragedy triggers Trond's coming of age as well as the loss of both his best friend and his father.

Petterson slowly allows the story to unfold through subtle alternating between Trond as an old man, who is tightly-wound, spiritually vacant, and emotionally numb and Trond as a young man, who is coming to terms with his forced manhood and the issues of sexuality, adultery, wage-earning, and war time activities. When chronically listing the events of the story, there are many intense and action filled moments in this novel. But, Petterson prefers to tell the story in way that conceals any excitement or adventure. He conveys the details of a shooting during an act from the Norwegian Resistance Movement after World War II with the same snail pace as he recounts timbers falling in the forest. Nothing moves swiftly in this book, which is part of its charm and its tediousness. (I recommend reading this book in an upright position and armed with caffeine. Read only at bedtime, if you want to fall asleep immediately).

Much like my ambivalent feelings towards the novel's pacing, I have mixed feelings about the protagonist. On one hand, he is a tragic man who evokes sympathy and empathy. He is a victim. As a boy, he is abandoned by his father. He is a man scorned by his first wife and becomes a mourning hermit after his second wife's death. He knows pain and sadness. But, is that pain and sadness a good enough excuse to repeat his father's mistake of disappearing without making his children aware of his location, situation or intentions? Trond as an old man is emotionally impotent. When he had the chance to resolve the mystery of his childhood by asking Lars: "Did you take the place that was rightfully mine? Did you have years out my life that I should have lived?" He didn't do it. When he had the chance to make things right with his daughter, the most he could do was promise her that he would get a telephone. Trond is a man of inaction and leaves his past and present unsettled perhaps purposefully, perhaps intentionally but most likely out of fear. Because of his hesitation and reticence, Trond's story plays out nothing like the Dickens' novels that inspire him. There is no nice and neat Dickensian ending, where all the characters end up where they should be and with the good people who love them. Trond remains alone and unsettled -- very Norwegian and Post-Modern.

Overall, I appreciate this novel for its artistry and restraint in language (this probably should be attributed to the English translation), and its compelling story. But, I did not fall in the love with this novel because I failed to connect to the characters, setting or time period. This novel falls in three major genres: a boys' coming of age tale, a father-son drama, and a personal history (told from an old man's perspective). Truthfully, as sexist as it may be, I tend to not embrace stories with male protagonists; probably the reason why I didn't like Moby Dick or Catcher in the Rye. Perhaps I would have been more likely to latch onto this story if it was told from a feminine perspective. I certainly have an obsession with mother-daughter tales, and Moll Flanders remains my favorite bildungsroman. I love to fall in love with books; it just didn't happen in case. Out Stealing Horses is a nice book with adequate flavor; it is a book that I will not savor for very long or have any desire to re-visit. But like broccoli, it wasn't the best or the worse thing to consume. So if you have nothing else on your plate that interests your palate, give Per Petterson's novel a try.

Author's Note: For our book club thumbs up/thumbs down survey, I give it a firm thumbs in the middle. Ladies, have a productive and entertaining meeting without me. I'll be back for July's meeting to discuss The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. I am starting the book today and am dreading going so far outside of my comfort zone with crime fiction, but the reviews are good and it has won awards. So, I am not taking that big of a risk. Thank you so much for not torturing me Twilight.

Excessive Thoughts on T.C. Boyle's Tortilla Curtain

Author’s Note: This post contains spoiler information about T.C. Boyle’s Tortilla Curtain. If you do not wish to know the ending, do not read this entry. I also caution you to stay away from the amateur book review hour at Amazon, loaded with spoilers. If you are a high school student or undergraduate looking for a summary to help you with your quiz or paper, get off the computer and go read the book. If you are in book club that I moderate, here is what I promised. Have a great meeting without me, and I apologize I will not be there to instigate tangential conversations on husbands, sex, thumb-sucking, potty training, sex, television shows, other books, ex-boyfriends, mother-in-laws and Prince. (If you are in a different book club, feel free to use any of my statements, but do not judge us for our tangents. The laughter thwarts our crying and minimizes our wine drinking).

When I closed the book cover of T.C. Boyle’s Tortilla Curtain for the last time, I felt like I do when I eat an entire bag of Dove chocolates for breakfast --- satiated, enriched, and nourished. Wonderful sensations overwhelmed me after reading this great book that challenged me, moved me, made me feel deeply for the characters, and prompted me to admire the author’s application of satire and social realism. But just like when I eat an entire bag of candy, the euphoria passed and the stomachache started….triggered this time by abyssal reviews, not sugar shock.

Time Magazine writes “This is weak, obvious stuff, worth a raised eyebrow and a shrug.” The review in New Statesman & Society states: “Boyle explores powerful issues through his parallel characters, but they operate just shy of caricature. They are more symbolic figures than real inhabitants of a state wallowing in economic downturn. The Mexicans are naive, but essentially good, while their Anglo counterparts grow increasingly ugly with rage.” And if those reviews weren’t harsh enough, World Literature Today wrote: “Perhaps if he had taken a harder-edged look, in the manner of Steinbeck, instead of the sometimes facetious one we find here, the results would have been more deeply affecting.”

The critics are right, and I have been duped into loving this book, being moved by this book, feeling deeply for these characters that might be nothing more than caricatures. It is true that Boyle’s message is simple: Mexicans are hard working and just want a shot at the American dream, and suburban whites are unemphatic, uncompassionate, and inconvenienced by illegal immigrants until they need some manual labor done for less than U.S. minimum wage.

Even though I grew up in a nearly all-white community (except for the one adopted black boy and the two adopted Vietnamese kids) and I currently live in a well-educated, affluent city with a miniscule Mexican population, I know that immigration is more complicated of an issue than the good and innocent Mexicans versus the empirical, greedy whites. So, why did I fall for this novel? Perhaps the characters are not as “flat” as the critics claim them to be. I would argue that three out of the four characters are somewhat plump if not fully round characters that are simply trapped in novel with a basic plot, a simple polemic, and puerile symbolism.

So, what do I mean by flat and round characters? These terms come from E.M. Forester’s Aspects of the Novel, and the definitions are simple. Flat characters are straight forward. They are what they are, and do not experience any changes throughout the book. These are typically characters that symbolize some type of idea like good or evil. Round characters are fully developed, thoroughly complex emotionally and socially, and undergo some type of conflict, change, and development for better or for worse. The most famous creator of flat characters is Charles Dickens. (FYI: Never call Charles Dickens’ characters flat while studying Victorian literature in England even if you have absolutely nothing else to say because you were out clubbing instead of reading Oliver Twist. The British are in denial, and they really don’t need more to put them in a dour mood. The bad weather and the bad food are plenty).

So, why is Boyle lambasted for having flat characters and not afforded the same praise as Dickens as a socio-political novelist? And, how flat are the characters? Let’s quickly review the characters:

• Kyra Mossbacher is the flattest, most evil and least interesting character out of the four main characters. She is basically a dog-loving Cruella de Vil who has no compassion for immigrants and wants to wall out anyone who is different from her. She is an uninteresting caricature who slows the book down every time she shows a multi-million dollar house or complains about the illegals at the labor exchange, who are causing property values to drop. Does she have any redeemable qualities?
• Delaney Mossbacher is easily the character with the most potential for change and has the power to influence the most lives in the Topanga Canyon. As a perceptive nature writer, he holds dearly onto progressive liberal views about man and nature living harmoniously, but struggles with his views on immigration. He knows that the hysteria about illegals is racist; he knows our country is a land of immigrants. But at the same time, he is barely ruffled when he nearly kills a man with his car and throws $20 at him to make him go away once he realizes he is an illegal immigrant who won’t press charges or sue. He is far more devastated that a coyote jumped over his six foot fence and killed his two dogs. What are Delaney’s redeeming qualities? If Delaney would have been more complex and would have not sheepishly joined the xenophobic frenzy, would have the outcome been different? What other options did he have? We live in a community that is indisputably green and full of environmentalists and naturalists but is nowhere near the border; do you feel any of Delaney’s sentiments in our community? I don’t know much about immigration viewpoints in our community; I just know that I fear being mulled to death by wildlife far more than immigrants. (Not for comic effect, truly my most irrational fear).
• Cándido Rincon is less flat than Kyra, but he is essentially a caricature with an impeccable work ethic, fiery temperament and tragic childhood. Cándido becomes a symbol that Boyle uses to represent the entire Mexican culture, particularly Mexican males. He gives Candido a great sense of pride, determination, and anger; he is both protective and sexist. He is religious and traditional, particularly towards women working and his first-born child being a son. Boyle takes no risks with Cándido. He might as well be made out of cardboard. What are his redeeming qualities, and what steps could have Cándido taken to make the tragic outcome different?
• América Rincon is the most tragic character in the novel, and her story keeps the novel moving. As a pregnant seventeen-year-old from a small Mexican village, she starts out innocently looking for the American dream complete with a T.V., a tree in the yard and a place to raise chickens. Until crossing the border with the father of her unborn baby and the former husband of her oldest sister, she led a sheltered life in safety of her father’s protection. She left her father’s protection to give her baby what the United States of America could offer. In pursuit of the American dream, she experiences great personal triumph by earning her own money. Readers feel her hope and pride right alongside her. We want to see this potential heroine succeed, but instead her money is stolen and she is raped, leaving her with a sexually transmitted disease, unable to seek medical attention or contact her mother and sisters for help. Her dream only continues to unravel more as the labor exchange is closed, thugs rob Cándido of his money; she is forced to eat garbage in the city; and, live in the wilderness of the canyon like an animal; her mental condition deteriorates to a near catatonic state; and, she gives birth to a blind baby (caused by her gonorrhoea) who drowns in a mudslide. Wow, that is a lot of contrived devastation to pull at the heartstrings, but her story is gripping, heart-wrenching and thought-provoking from cover to cover.

Boyle uses characters that range from completely flat to symbolically round to make his political points. What other techniques does he use to elucidate the story? Symbolism, multiple points of views told in alternating chapters, and third person omniscient narrator.

• Symbolism: Boyle’s use of the coyotes to symbolize the immigrants and the community wall to represent border control is so blatantly obvious that it is unchallenging to the readers and somewhat insulting. Are there any other symbols that are not as obvious? What about the cat, the baby, the materials from the doghouse?
• Third person omniscient narrator is used by Boyle to convey a sense of neutrality, but all of the narrator’s smug foreshadowing titbits are just annoying and distracting. Did you notice the narrator’s foreshadowing? Did you think the narrator was completely neutral in the storytelling?
• Multiple points of views in alternating chapters: By no means is Boyle as gifted as Barbara Kingsolver in the Poisonwood Bible, but he definitely could teach Julia Alvarez a thing or two. In Saving the World, the alternating between Isabel and Alma’s stories did nothing to move the novel forward and were marginally linked. In contrast, Boyle’s use of alternating chapters about Cándido/ América and Kyra/Delaney keep the entire book together and conceal how simple the story really was. At the conclusion of each chapter, Boyle is able leave the readers in a state of suspense. Readers rapidly get through the next chapter to get back to the other story. He sprinkles the characters marginally into each other stories in order to keep the reader interested and not willing to skip one half of the novel (which is possible in both Larson’s Devil in the White City and Alvarez’s Saving the World, but probably better just to skip her whole novel .)

It is a truly skillful author that can use structure and form to make a simplistic idea and rudimentary symbolism seem like great literature. It is unfortunate that when Boyle broke the narrative structure and put the characters together in the final chapter, the entire novel collapsed. The ending reads like Boyle got bored with his characters, and just wanted to call it a wrap. So, he created a bunch of drama with the gun, the mudslide, and the river in order to the kill the baby (who symbolizes the American dream) and so that the brown man save the white man.

The conclusion is so heavy handed that the simplistic message probably eradicates any complexity that did exist in the book. Perhaps with a different ending, this book would not have been so widely panned by literary critics. So although I agree with critics that this novel is not literary fiction, I still love this book because it made me think; it made me feel; it made me focus on literary style and structure. I give it a big thumbs up and would recommend it to my patrons.

So, there you have it, 1,914 words that I wrote for you just for fun. Oh, it just would have been easier to have found a babysitter.