by ELG Gray

The Town

Page turner: 6/10
Heart tugger: 6/10
Thought Provoker: 6/10
Overall: 3 stars

I have been so very delinquent. I probably finished reading The Town about 3 months ago. Once a week I think, ‘I REALLY should write the review’ and compose a summary in my head of what I want to say. And yet, clearly, procrastination has prevailed. Not to mention the other two reviews I’m sitting on. But anyway…

The Town is the third in Conrad Richter’s ‘The Awakening Land’ trilogy, recounting the later stages in the life of Sayward Wheeler, the quintessential American Pioneer, and her flock of children. And it actually was quite a fascinating read just after The Magnificent Ambersons. In many ways, though it is the third in Richter’s series it is an entirely apt prequel to Tarkington’s work. If I had known, I would have read them that way ‘round.

In any case, The Town follows the ‘progress’ of a small frontiersman’s town to a more bustling American mid-western town of the 19th Century. Sayward’s generation represents the heartiness, the pluckiness, the determination and grit of the Original Pioneers. Her youngest child (and really the book’s protagonist), Chancey, is the youthful embodiment of technological progress, pacifism, and gentleness. Though this is not the gentility that starts off the Ambersons, by any means. It’s a big deal that the Wheeler’s town house has more than 2 rooms, to put things in context. Chancey is the youngest of many kids, and is born with some unspecified illness making him an invalid, until suddenly he isn’t any more because he finally realizes that maybe there isn’t anything physically wrong with him any more. There is pampering and babying, but also a smidge of negligence and certainly an inability for anyone in his family to understand him, or his point of view. So at first you feel for him. But slowly (and I choose to believe this is Richter’s point) you start to find him pitiable, and a bit cloying. Somehow Sayward, seen by her son as an old stick-in-the-mud is in fact the more dynamic, the more able to continue to adapt to change than the supposedly modern son. That’s sort-of the whole book. The relationships, which are probably Richter’s focus, to me were OK. Interesting but OK. It’s a slim read, though, so I suppose there isn’t a huge amount of time for more.

What makes the book a great deal more interesting, was just the history. The insight into what life was like for the American Pioneers entering, taming, and building the so-called wilderness for the first time. (Native Americans feature briefly in the book in a highly stereotyped way, so make no mistake this is the white man’s view.) In fact, those three words really characterize Richter’s three books – (entering) The Trees, (taming) The Fields, and (building) The Town. I did read ‘The Trees’, the first in the triliogy, and enjoyed it immensely, again just from the detailed look at day-to-day life in the woods and the existence that families managed to scrape together. Try as I might, getting my hands on The Fields proved to be nearly impossible (for any price I deemed reasonable), but from the reviews and articles I’ve found I believe my characterization is fair.

So read this book to discovery more of the history of the American white-man moving westward. You’ll glean a bit about human relationships and progress, but read it to learn what life was like in an age that is very, very hard grasp in the 21st century. And maybe we’ll learn a bit about what real work is like. Or that’s what Richter would have wanted!

03.23.14

by ELG Gray

Rabbit at Rest

Page turner: 5/10
Heart tugger: 7/10
Though provoker: 6/10
Overall: 3 stars

Returning after a holiday hiatus: Rabbit at Rest. Once again, I feel that I have a missing category for ‘language’ or ‘vividness’ as John Updike is a master at both. I was sucked into Harry ‘Rabbit’ Angstrom’s semi-retired world utterly. It just didn’t ‘wow’ me. But maybe I’m being harsh after a fun-in-the-sun vacation.

My edition of Rabbit at Rest

Rabbit at Rest is, I learned, the fourth novel in a series of books following the life of Harry Angstrom, a decade at a time. In ‘at Rest’ Rabbit is in his fifties, has heart troubles, and is facing mortality for the first time in his life. To be honest, Rabbit is a bit of an ass: a womanizer, an attention seeker. A not-so-hot father. But then, the people around him aren’t exactly ‘winners’ either, and so it is easy to empathize. And very easy to feel like Brewer, Pennsylvania is a real place.

Much of this book is an indulgence in nostalgia. Full of poignant memories of past affairs (both sexual and innocent), triggered by simply driving down the street. Rabbit faces them to the extent his character is able – his moral code is willowy at best. And, as the nickname perhaps belies, he does have something of a tendency to flee. And to hump – almost indeterminately. But he bends rather than breaks. And he does love, in his own way.

At some point I will read one of the earlier Rabbit books (I think Updike won more than one award for the series) at which point I will be clued in a bit more on the nickname. But apart from that, I can confirm that the novel stands on its own. In fact, I think I’m rather pleased I read it first.

What I like about Updike’s work (which I had never read before) is a rawness that feels so real. It does what it does SO well … but somehow I am left wanting a little bit more from him. From Rabbit. And *certainly* from his son, Nelson, and his wife, Janice, neither of whom win family-member-of-the-year awards.

Rabbit at Rest is an excellently constructed novel. I liked it. And I liked the window in the world of Harry Angstrom. For all his flaws, I liked him too. I LOVED the way Updike wrote the book. So if nothing else, I’m going to go in search of some more Updike work and see how I get on.

02.11.14

by ELG Gray

Brave New World

Page turner: 8/10
Heart tugger: 7/10
Thought provoker: 10/10
Overall: 5 stars

Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley, is brilliant.

In my head, I thought it would be a sort-of precursor to 1984: author creates totalitarian regime for political point. Point made well and clear, and good story along the way an added bonus. (Not to diminish from 1984, which I will certainly get to and give proper consideration in due course!) A Brave New World is so much better than that. Huxley, in 1932, publishes a book that creates an entirely different planet- full of crazy rocket technology, syntethetic experiences, and sky scrapers- that hasn’t, really, aged. And this new planet isn’t really the result of an intentially extreme political party gaining world dominination. Instead, it is an entirely new culture. A new world. One that I had never even considered feasible.

The brave new world which Huxley writes about is a world of ‘decanting’ rather than ‘birth’; where happiness, consumption, and stability reign at the price of passion, liberty, and independence. Imagine a world where ‘pneumatic’ is the highest of compliments. It’s so very, very backwards from what we all take for granted. But it takes not-very-long before you get into it. Even as I read about the conditioning that people go through in order to create this society of solidarity (think Pavlov … on crack), I felt for them. You feel the pressures of thier invisible constraints. And you empathize.

The appropriately eerie cover from my edition of Brave New World

Really, I think this book should have been in the curiculum on one of my university anthropology courses. Talking about seeing things through different lenses. It’s nurture trumping nature – but playing by totally different rules.

Meanwhile, it’s still a good story. Lots of sex (not too explicit), drugs, love, death, and a bit of adventure. And the accessories of the world itself is more novel and fascinating than plenty of ‘modern’ science fiction books.

It’s also incredibly well written. Concise but descriptive. Clever but functional. And, not to be too blunt, a very readable length. Well edited.

Brave New World is really a commentary about what happens ‘for the sake of progress’. When technology gets us so far – then what? You can see why what happens happens. And simultaneously you can totally comprehend the perspective of ‘ancient’ Shakespeare (his works feature) and of the folks of a ‘Savage Reservation’ whose way of life resembles that of Native Americans at the turn of the 20th century. Sort of.

I will admit that by a somewhat surprising turn of events the two main locations of the book- London and Malpais, New Mexico – are places that I hold rather personal connections with. But that probably just makes it a cheeky 6 stars for me, and a 5 for everyone else. So, if you are looking to read a Great Book, getting many virtual brownie points for high school English teachers the world over, go with Brave New World.

12.01.13

by ELG Gray

Offshore

Page turner: 6/10
Heart tugger: 5/10
Thought provoker: 6/10
Overall: 3 stars (but on the low side of 3)

I liked Offshore, which won the Man Booker prize in 1979. I was tickled by the tendency of the characters to refer to each other by the names of their boats; and particularly pleased by the character, Maurice, who changed the name of his boat to Maurice in response to this.

The book is about a small group of people who live in house boats at Battersea Reach on the Thames, London in the early 1960s. Quite pleasingly, I coincidentally discovered that the modern-day bus route 319 passes has a stop at Cheyne Walk, right where the characters are traipsing about.

The characters are, to say the least, an eclectic bunch. The best two, by far, are the 11 and 6-year-old daughters of Nenna, the abandoned wife. They are both feral and precocious, which is an improbable and impressive combo.

The trouble is, I just didn’t quite ‘buy’ any of the characters. They were a bit too … out there. Some of their inner monologues are clever and convincing, but as a set, I just never quite got Into the book. I never saw myself amongst them. And so, in spite of the fact I actually KNOW where the book takes place, I kept getting tangled in location, time, and events. Which is actually a bit embarrassing given that nothing particularly unusual or exciting happens. Yes, one of the characters is a male prostitute, but the author, Penelope Fitzgerald, steers clear of any sordid details. So the characters – apparently doing deep-and-meaningful things – to me just seemed to be bopping about.

As it is an award-winning book over a certain age, my edition of the book has an introduction. I usually try not to read them until after I’ve reviewed, so that I’m not unduly influenced. But this time I did, and I am going to borrow the term ‘tragi-farce’, which describes the tone of the book well. It’s dark, but not depressing. It would make an excellent Christopher Guest film.

*Anything* after 17 days of Ulysses would be a pleasure, but on reflection while I liked Offshore (and enjoyed my personal connection to it), I would think it was average overall. And the ending was thoroughly unsatisfying (again, fab for a movie, but…)

11.13.13

by ELG Gray

Gilead

Page turner: 6/10
Heart tugger: 8/10
Thought provoker: 7/10
Overall: 3 stars

Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson is the warmest-and-fuzziest book I have read thus far in my great book quest. I would not go so far as to say it is Happy, but it is much more heart warming than the previous 8 I have read. The biggest difference is that the narrator of the book is a content, and his contentment sets the tone for the story.

The narrator is a 76-year-old man named John Ames, writing to his 6 year-old son about all the things Ames would like to be able to tell him as an adult, but can’t because of the very great age gap between them. Whilst there is something bittersweet in such an undertaking, Ames is so happy to have a son and a family at all that I was much more impressed with the warmth and love of the endeavor than the morbidity of it.

For all its warmth (perhaps because of it), Gilead is really the ramblings of an old man. It’s a journal. There are no chapters. The style and tone adds charm, but also makes it occasionally tedious. Especially given that the man is a Congregationalist Reverend (whose father and grandfather were also Reverends), prone to philosophical debates and conjectures. Refreshingly he isn’t one to proselytize, but it can get a bit heavy. Several times I had to stop myself from skim reading. Prepare yourself for the inevitable conflict about predestination. He doesn’t like it, either.

So the book is about religion, and love, and parenthood. It is about loss and friendship and family. It tells a story (or set of stories) about a small-town in the Midwest and its history. Gilead, by the way, is the name of the fictional Iowa town. Set between 1880 and 1957, it touches on the events of both World Wars, and recounts a great deal about its Civil War legacy and abolitionist heritage. It’s a nice book, and if nothing else a very interesting chronicle of a life that lived to see huge technical and social change. Plus, you cannot help but to like Reverend Ames, who is clearly a very, very nice man.

What makes it award-winning, I suspect, is that it tackles a really interesting concept: what a parent wants to teach a child. Knowing you are not going to be present for most of your child’s life – what do you say? Are you selfish? Philosophical? Instructional? Supportive? Robinson, I think, does a lovely job of exploring all of the above.

It’s just that Gilead just didn’t wow me. I got through the book pretty quickly, but mostly because I had 6 hours of train-time over the last several days. I liked reading it, but it didn’t really compel me to keep going. I didn’t Need to know. Throughout, the book inspired me, and touched me, but didn’t – quite – move me.