Book Review: The Yard

The Yard: A Novel by Alex Grecian (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 2012. 421 pp)

Alex Grecian is the author of the long-running and critically acclaimed graphic novel series Proof. The Yard is his first novel.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from G.P. Putnam’s Sons. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising”

Victorian Murders

“Nobody noticed when Inspector Christian Little of Scotland Yard disappeared, and nobody was looking for him when he was found” (1).

The year is 1889, and a wave a murders has swept across Victorian London. The culprit? None other than Jack the Ripper. Jack the Ripper has concluded his murdering spree, but the police’s inability to actually apprehend him results in an unnerved public. Scotland Yard, newly created, has twelve inspectors known as “The Murder Squad” that investigate thousands of murders every month. The Yard captures the dark, gritty nature of Victorian England, and the murders therein.

Walter Day, the protagonist of the novel, has recently been appointed as an inspector. But, he has a rough first day on the job when his colleague Christian Little was found in a trunk, stabbed repeatedly. The last thing the newly created Scotland Yard needs is another serial murder, but it looks like this one is targeting police officers. Walter, in Holmesian fashion, is joined by Dr. Kingsley, a forensic pathologist. With his help they work a few clues to try to prevent another murder of a fellow policeman.

Meanwhile, another murderer is on the loose, targeting men with beards and slicing their throats. In addition, a chimney sweep is buying little boys only to allow them to die under his care. Jack the Ripper has inspired a plethora of serial killers, creating a new genre of crime for the Scotland Yard detectives to try to solve. The strange murders are known almost immediately to the reader, but Grecian takes special care to cultivate a story where the protagonists take a while to catch on, only causing the reader to get more and more aggravated. The question is, will the policemen actually solve the case, or will the face another epic failure similar to the Jack the Ripper case?

Villainous Perspective

The reader regularly follows the villain’s perspective, thereby knowing the inner-workings of the murders themselves. The reader discerns the guilty parties not that far into the book. Meanwhile the police are under great stress trying to rebuild the reputation of The Yard, while not being able to solve new cases. The reader is rooting for the team to make a good name for themselves, while knowing more than the protagonists do. The narrative grips the reader.

The fast-paced nature of the book also kept the reader entertained, wanting and waiting to know more. Though it may not be the best literature out there, it’s a good read due to the thriller-like nature. Alex Grecian has found a James Patterson-esque formula in which corpses keep turning up, the reader knows more than the book’s protagonist. If you enjoy Sherlock Holmes, or perhaps once treaded the pages of The Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew, this fast-paced literature is for you. At the same time, however, if you’re looking for some historical fiction to stimulate your brain, perhaps this one might be a little disappointing.

Verdict: 3 out of 5
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Posted By: Andrew Jacobson

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Book Review: Cain

Cain: A Novel by José Saramago; translated by Margaret Jull Costa (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2011. 176 pp)

José Saramago was a Nobel Prize-winning author from Portugal. He passed away at the age of 87 on June 18, 2010. Although Saramago did not receive widespread recognition until he was 60 years old, he has been highly prolific in the years since. Blindness, one of Saramago's most highly regarded books was made into a major motion picture in 2008. He is survived by his wife Pilar Del Rio and a daughter from a previous marriage.

Margaret Jull Costa translates Portuguese and Spanish fiction and poetry. For her work she has won the Portuguese Translation Prize, the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award, the Oxford Weidenfeld Translation Prize, and the Times Literary Supplement Translation Prize.

The Old Testament Is Rated NC-17 

Have you ever thoroughly read the Old Testament? Have you spent time in the gory details? When fully diving into the stories, they can unsettle. Without holistically considering Scripture, God can seem like a vindictive deity perfectly willing to commit genocide for superfluous reasons. If we never focused on God’s attributes of grace, how would we conceive of the Christian deity? To a certain extent, José Saramago’s Cain answers this question.

The Lord of Forgetfulness 

Cain sacrilegiously details the narrative of the Old Testament. Saramago commences the story at the end of the creation narrative. The lord—note the lower case—completes creation but does not perceive it as good:

“When the lord, also known as god, realized that adam and eve, although perfect in every outward aspect, could not utter a word or make even the most primitive of sounds, he must have felt annoyed with himself, for there was no one else in the garden of eden whom he could blame for this grave oversight, after all, the other animals, who were, like the two humans, the product of his divine command, already had a voice of their own, be it a bellow, a roar, a croak, a chirp, a whistle or a cackle” (1).

Photo by Nick Thompson

Beginning the book with the passage above, Saramago sets the stage for the lord as a bumbling and far-from-perfect character. After the excommunication of adam and eve from the garden of eden, the lord recedes into the background as the young family births cain and abel.

The lord does not reappear until cain and abel have grown into their respective vocations. Seeking a deeper connection with their creator, the sons offer first fruits as a sacrifice.

“The smoke from the meat offered by abel rose straight up and vanished into infinite space, a sign that the lord accepted the sacrifice and was well pleased, but the smoke from cain’s vegetables, nurtured with just as much love, hardly rose up at all and dispersed when it was barely a few feet above the ground, which meant that the lord had rejected it out of hand” (23-24).

Clearly, cain internalizes this rejection and retaliates by murdering his brother. Recognizing this injustice, the lord accuses cain. But cain refuses to let the lord off the hook. To cain, the responsibility for abel’s murder falls solely at the feet of the lord. If the lord recognized the gracious offering cain provided, no harm would have occurred.

Cain the Wanderer 

Nevertheless, the lord inflicts cain with a peripatetic lifestyle. But, showing an element of what Christians would call grace and what cain would call a curse considering its effect on his life, the lord marks his forehead, thereby promising protection.

At this point, the plot unfolds rather bizarrely. Cursed to wander the earth, cain unsuccessfully attempts to establish himself in the land of nod, only to time travel to the major events of the Old Testament. Coincidentally, these major events make the lord seem like a cruel tyrant.

“His eyelids were just beginning to droop when he was startled into wakefulness by the voice of a young boy calling, Father, this was followed by a much older voice asking, What is it, isaac, We have the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for the burnt offering, and the father replied, The lord will provide a lamb as the burnt offering” (68).

Photo by Kuzeytac

Through these visitations, one must note Saramago only chose the most difficult passages in Scripture while glossing over the stories where the lord exhibits grace. Cain comprehends with great horror the difficult nature of a jealous and vindictive lord.

“I have learned one thing, What’s that, That our god, the creator of heaven and earth, is completely mad, Do you dare to call the lord god mad, Only a madman unaware of what he was doing would admit to being directly responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people and then behave as if nothing had happened” (116).

A History of Misunderstandings

As the previous quotation indicates, the novel, Cain, is not for those unable to cope with an extremely unorthodox retelling of the biblical narrative. While the character cain acts as a protagonist, the lord represents the antagonist. But, Cain merely is not an elocution of atheism. Saramago carefully submits the notion of miscommunication as the core theme in the story.

“The history of mankind is the history of our misunderstandings with god, for he doesn’t understand us, and we don’t understand him” (78).

Scripture contains complicated narratives about which too many modern Christians gloss over. With Cain, Saramago speaks directly toward the problematic notions of God’s character found in these ancient texts. Truthfully, God kills countless people in the Pentateuch and Saramago considers these actions from a literal and humanistic level.

If you enjoy literary fiction and are willing to encounter an unorthodox and perhaps offensive retelling of the biblical narrative, check out Cain.

Verdict: 4 out of 5

Have you read other unorthodox retellings of Bible stories? How do such stories make you feel? Does the story need to be orthodox for you to enjoy it? Is there value in retelling Bible stories in sacrilegious ways?
Share your thoughts below.

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Posted by: Donovan Richards

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Book Group: In Cold Blood

In Cold Blood: A True Account of a Multiple Murder and Its Consequences by Truman Capote (New York: Random House, 2007; originally published in 1965. 343 pp)

A Brief Recap 

“Mister Clutter was amused. ‘I’m not as poor as I look. Go ahead, get all you can,’ he said. Then, touching the brim of his cap, he headed for home and the day’s work, unaware that it would be his last.” (13). 

Reading like a precursor to one of the many CSI crime television series, the quote above summarizes the feel of In Cold Blood incredibly well, a novel where both innocence and brutality collide, where beauty meets tragedy. 

In Cold Blood highlights the grisly murders of the Clutter Family in Holcomb, Kansas. Four people with fatal shotgun wounds to the head. No apparent motive. No apparent suspect.

A lead appears only after a tip from a prison inmate. The inmate, having worked for Mr. Clutter on the farm, shared stories of the rich farmer with two convicts. In typical prison grandeur, these inmates—the prurient Dick and the unstable Perry—boasted of the eventual robbery and murder of the farming family.

With a lead, Dick and Perry soon find themselves caught. After a quick trial and verdict, the pair resides on death row with the gallows looming.

A Nonfiction Novel 

Andrew: In Cold Blood reads like fiction but presents reality. What were your thoughts, Donovan, on the truth-value of this book?

Donovan: For starters, the nonfiction nature of In Cold Blood makes for a frightening tale. It is easy to set aside violent fictional stories due to the widely understood falseness of a tale. However, the Clutter family senselessly died in real life at the hands of Dick and Perry.

“Somehow he haunts me the most, Kenyon does. I think it’s because he was the most recognizable, the one that looked most like himself—even though he’d been shot in the face, directly, head-on. He was wearing a T-shirt and blue jeans, and he was barefoot—as though he’d dressed in a hurry, just put on the first thing that came to hand. His head was propped by a couple pillows, like they’d been stuffed under him to make an easier target” (64).

I find affinity with an historical individual. Just as I breath, think, eat, and sleep, so too did Herb, Bonnie, Kenyon, and Nancy Clutter. For this reason, the grisly end of this family conjures horror because I can imagine myself in their shoes.

Donovan: How about you, Andrew. Any thoughts on this “non-fiction novel”?

Andrew: It should be known that Capote wrote In Cold Blood as a literary experiment, as an attempt to see if he could write a nonfiction “novel”, one that read like fiction, but was, in fact, nonfiction at its core. As a result of his experiment, it is incredibly hard for the reader to decide whether or not In Cold Blood is a journalistic report, an actual novel, or something in between.

The Purpose of Setting 

Andrew: Donovan, you mention the real-life nature of the case as frightening. Does Capote add anything else to the novel to instill fear in the reader?

Donovan: Certainly. Another cause for horror resides in Capote’s mundane portrayal of murder in the book. Capote masterfully interweaves non sequiturs about life in rural Kansas. As a result, the horrific actions of two individuals settle among descriptions of mundane tasks.

Photo by Trey Ratcliff

For example, Capote depicts Alvin Dewey, the FBI the investigator on the case, meandering often around the crime scene:

“The detective moved from room to room. He had toured the house many times; indeed, he went out there almost every day, and, in one sense, could be said to find these visits pleasurable, for the place, unlike his own home, or the sheriff’s office, with its hullabaloo, was peaceful. The telephones, their wires still severed, were silent. The great quiet of the prairies surrounded him. He could sit in Herb’s parlor rocking chair, and rock and think” (152-153).

Instead of a yellow-taped crime scene, the detective explores the Clutter household finding the serenity of the Kansas countryside pleasurable.

Donovan: What are your thoughts on In Cold Blood’s setting?

Andrew: In all honesty, Donovan, I disagree. I think Capote meant to use the setting as a contrast to the murders.

In creative prose, it seems as though Capote made some artistic choices within the book. The setting, true to reality, is in a beautiful place, which he intentionally juxtaposes against the brutal murder of an entire family. The book begins and ends with striking descriptions of the landscape; the serenity of the plains becomes an unlikely setting for an eerie tragedy.

“This hitherto peaceful congregation of neighbors and old friends had suddenly to endure the unique experience of distrusting each other; understandably, they believed that the murderer was among themselves” (88).

Fragmenting the community, the murder sows seeds of extreme suspicion among the entirety of the previously peaceful and placid town of Holcomb. Much like in Steinbeck’s East of Eden, the reader is able to see their allegorical fall, where sin enters the community, and the first time the community is forced to reconcile with the presence evil.

Wherefore Art Thou, Protagonist? 

Andrew: Donovan, did you find a protagonist in this book?

Donovan: Not really. In fact, it felt like Capote worked tirelessly to keep everyone situated in a moral gray area.

Truman Capote

Despite the clear evidence linking Dick and Perry to the murders, Capote refuses to let the citizens off the hook. As pious Christians opposed to capital punishment, the citizens hypocritically seek retributive justice.

Perry, the murderer, notes:

“Those prairiebillys, they’ll vote to hang fast as pigs eat slop. Look at their eyes. I’ll be damned if I’m the only killer in the courtroom” (289).

Donovan: Were you able to find a protagonist, Andrew?

Andrew: It’s incredibly hard for me to pinpoint a definitive “protagonist” as a result of the great suspicions in Holcomb. Because everyone is a suspect, it was hard for me to root for any one person. It could be argued that Alvin Dewey, the FBI agent in charge of the murder investigation is the best protagonist, but it’s hard to say. 

Perry Edward Smith and Dick Hickock are assumed to be the murderers (the antagonists), but Dewey assumes it must be someone close to the family. However, just as it seems that the murder investigation is going nowhere, Dewey finds the truth.

“The crime was a psychological accident, virtually an impersonal act; the victims might as well have been killed by lightning. Except for one thing: they had experienced prolonged terror, they had suffered. And Dewey could not forget their sufferings. Nonetheless, he found it possible to look at the man beside him without anger—with, rather, a measure of sympathy—for Perry Smith’s life had been no bed of roses but pitiful, an ugly and lonely progress toward one mirage or another.” (245)

What’s truly interesting about the novel is that Dewey finds it nearly impossible to condemn the two men responsible for killing an entire family, as they have also suffered in other ways. To Perry and Dick, the Clutters represent what they never had in life, and though they liked the family, they still murdered them.

“I didn’t want to harm the man. I thought he was a very nice gentleman. Soft-spoken. I thought so right up to the moment I cut his throat” (244).

The murders were not due to the hatred of the family, but rather because the family represented everything the two gentlemen could not attain in life. Dewey offers no absolute moral judgment on any scenario. Dewey finds it difficult to press condemnation, perhaps because the novel is set in paradise. Because of the easygoing nature and the near perfection of the town, it is difficult for any of the characters to recognize evil.

Has the Jury Found a Verdict? 

Andrew: Any concluding thoughts, Donovan?

Donovan: I enjoyed In Cold Blood, Andrew. I would recommend it. For starters, the book brings clarity to Capote, a critically acclaimed film starring Philip Seymour Hoffman based on the making of this book. In present times, In Cold Blood might not seem like a genre-defying masterpiece. But it was ahead of its time.

Donovan: What did you think, Andrew?

Andrew: Overall, In Cold Blood was thrilling. At times, it was a slow read, but the suspicion among the characters made it incredibly intriguing. Reading like an NCIS or CSI investigation, it was simply fun. I think that Capote succeeded in writing a nonfiction “novel”, as it read well, sounded like a genuine story, and kept me entertained as a reader. I think Capote deserves high praise for bringing a real-life event into a brilliant light.

Donovan’s Verdict: 4.5 out of 5

Andrew’s Verdict: 4 out of 5
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Truman Capote, born Truman Persons, was an American novelist best known for Breakfast at Tiffany's and In Cold Blood. Capote died in 1984.

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Book Review: The Hypnotist

The Hypnotist: A Novel by Lars Kepler; translated by Ann Long (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2011. 528 pp)

Lars Kepler is the pseudonym for the husband and wife team of Alexandra and Alexander Ahndoril, and The Hypnotist is their first novel. The couple has written three Lars Kepler books, The Hypnotist (2009), The Paganini Contract (2010), and The Nightmare (July 2012).

Alexander Ahndoril’s previous novel, Regissören, about the film maker Ingmar Bergman received wide critical acclaim. His latest book Diplomaten (2010), deals with the Swedish diplomat Hans Blix.

Alexandra Ahndoril has previously published three books: Stjärneborg about astronomer Tycho Brahe; Birgitta och Katarina about Holly Birgitta; and Mäster about August Palm. Married in 1996, the couple has three daughters and lives in Stockholm, with a summer home on the west coast of Sweden.

Steig Larsson-y 

Lars Kepler is the next Steig Larson. If you’ve ever read The Girl With A Dragon Tattoo Trilogy, you know how gripping and nail-biting the stories are. In The Hypnotist, Lars Kepler sets a murder case in his  home country of Sweden, with suspense at times rivaling the Steig Larsson novels.

The Hypnotist opens with an entire family brutally murdered. The only surviving witness is the teenage son. Unfortunately and understandably traumatized, the child’s fragile psyche leaves investigators wary of interviewing him. Joona Linna, head detective on the case, convinces Erik Maria Bark, a physician and former hypnotist, to dig into the boy’s damaged mind to ascertain clues about the case.

“‘They had all been attacked with a knife,’ Joona Linna says. ‘It must have been sheer chaos in there. The bodies were...they were in a terrible state. They’d been kicked and beaten. They’d been stabbed, of course, multiple times, and the little girl...she had been cut in half. The lower part of her body from the waist down was in the armchair in front of the TV’” (11).

Likable and Fallible 

Photo by Greg McMullin

Erik, however, though a competent psychiatrist, is reluctant to delve into the practice of hypnotism. A narcissistic, lugubrious, and guilt-ridden man, Erik recoiled from hypnotism several years earlier because of a tragedy that ensued after a session with a patient. Erik is addicted to painkillers (reminiscent of the TV doctor House) and his son, Benjamin, carries a disease which requires much attention. Worse, his wife, Simone, seems to dislike Eric. Kepler introduces us to characters that are excessively flawed, which only causes the reader to root for them more.

Erik Bark eventually breaks his vow on hypnosis after detective Joona convinces him to do so. He hypnotizes the son, Josef, who almost instantly confesses while hypnotized that he killed his entire family. The subconscious mind, however, is a precarious and unstable labyrinth, and the characters in the novel ponder whether or not it is true.

Hypnosis Turned Awry 

Photo by Elley Inad

But, just as the horrendous murder case is about to close, Josef escapes from the hospital. Erik’s son Benjamin is kidnapped while his wife is drugged and forced, temporarily immobile, to watch her son be dragged away by a masked stranger. Could it be the boy, Josef?

“She tries again to get up, but she can no longer move; it’s as if she has no connection with her legs, no sensation at all in her lower body. There is a strange fluttering sensation in her chest, and she feels short of breath. Her vision disappears for a few seconds, and when it returns it is cloudy. Someone is dragging Benjamin along the floor by his legs. His pajama top has worked its way up, and his arms are windmilling slowly, in confusion. He tries to hold on to the doorframe but is too weak. His head banks against the threshold. He looks Simone in the eye. He is terrified; his mouth is moving but no words come out. She reaches sluggishly for his hand but misses it. She tries to crawl after him but hasn’t the strength; her eyes roll back in her head; she can see nothing and blinks and perceives only brief fragments as Benjamin is dragged through the hallway and out onto the landing. The door is closed carefully. Simone tries to call for help, but no sound comes; her eyes close, she is breathing slowly, heavily, she can’t get enough air. Everything goes black.” (167).

Joona and Erik then embark on a mission to save his son and catch the killer, and plot-twists abound.

To Hypnotize or Not to Hypnotize 

Photo by Alexander Bolotnov

At over five hundred pages, it would have seemed that The Hypnotist would be a long read. That’s why it sat on the lower shelf of my bookcase for a few months. I finally mustered up the courage to pick up the book, and I found that it was what one would call a “page-turner”. The novel flowed quickly, with chapters rarely exceeding three pages. Moreover, the content, with its innumerable plot twists and scenes of gore, never ceased to entertain.

The book offers an interesting idea in regard to hypnotism and its uses. I hadn’t given much thought to hypnosis before, as it normally is what I think of when I go to a magic show, where someone, under hypnotic suggestion, inadvertently eats a raw onion or takes off their pants much to their later chagrin.

But, hypnosis has a very different meaning in the novel. Hypnosis is used as a means to delve into the subconscious of a person, in order to extract information either repressed due to a traumatic event (a mass murder) or because the individual is simply unwilling. This begs the question whether or not authorities should engage with a witness in this way. It makes one wonder if it is even ethical to extract information from a witness via hypnotism or if hypnotism is even reliable.

If you’re in the mood for the next “Steigian” novel, I recommend The Hypnotist to you, as I’m sure you’ll be up late at night reading far too long just as I was.

Verdict: 4 out of 5

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Posted by: Andrew Jacobson

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Book Group: My Name is Red

My Name Is Red by Orhan Pamuk; translated by Erdaǧ Göknar (New York: Knopf, 2001. 536 pp)

Set in Istanbul during the Ottoman Empire, My Name Is Red functions as a murder mystery at its core. In its simplest construction, the plot of this novel seeks to find out who-done-it. Yet, the strength of this prize-winning story lies not in its plot but in its poetic language and descriptive setting.

The main characters frequent the miniaturist scene painting illustrations for the Sultan. With a recent commission from the sovereign causing uproar, a murder occurs and the victim’s associates become the most likely suspects.

Andrew: This novel has an intriguing narrative structure. How do you feel that impacted the novel as a whole?

Donovan: My Name Is Red uses an unusual technique with every chapter narrated from a different character. Thus, while the story unfolds, we interpret the happenings through the framework of that specific character. In other words, the murderer dictates plot lines one way while the protagonist responds in a different way.

With the murderer narrating certain parts of the story, keeping his identity secret offers a glimpse at the virtuosity of Pamuk’s writing. Obviously, such a technique could never work with an illustrated story, but the text hides the identity and the murderer schizophrenically shifts into a different voice when speaking.

“Now I am completely divided, just like those figures whose head and hands are drawn and painted by one master while their bodies and clothes are depicted by another. When a God-fearing man like myself unexpectedly becomes a murderer, it takes time to adjust. I’ve adopted a second voice, one befitting a murderer, so that I might still carry on as though my old life continued. I am speaking now in this derisive and devious second voice, which I keep out of my regular life. From time to time, of course, you’ll hear my familiar, regular voice, which would’ve remained my only voice had I not become a murderer. But when I speak under my workshop name, I’ll never admit to being ‘a murderer.’ Let no one try to associate these two voices, I have no individual style or flaws in artistry to betray my hidden persona” (112).

Donovan: One of the narrative techniques Pamuk uses is personifying different objects and animals, such as a tree, a coin, a dog, or even the color red. What did you think about narrating inanimate objects?

Andrew: While I felt that it was artistically executed, I felt that the personifcation didn’t add much to the novel. While it was interesting to know the dog’s thoughts or what a coin knew about the murderous situation, it was obvious to me that the inanimate objects didn’t commit the murder. On the other hand, it was intriguing, as each view offered something new, especially that of the dog.

“I’m a dog, and because you humans are less rational beasts than I, you’re telling yourselves, ‘Dogs don’t talk.’ Nevertheless, you seem to believe a story in which corpses speak and characters use words they couldn’t possible know. Dogs do speak, but only to those who know how to listen.” (11)

Andrew: What was the theme that you enjoyed the most in the novel?

Islamic Miniaturist Painting

Donovan: For me, the most interesting idea in My Name Is Red surrounds the notion of sacred versus secular. A tome filled to the brink with the art forms of the Ottoman Empire, Pamuk describes the tension between the art forms of the Old Masters and the new Western influences from Europe. By commissioning illustrations in a Western style, the Sultan conjures a deep divide between conservative and liberal ideals.

Much like modern-day Istanbul, the characters in My Name Is Red live the fine line between pious conservatism and a careful acceptance of the new. Pamuk notes this tension nicely when he writes,

“The poverty, plague, immorality and scandal we are slave to in this city of Istanbul can only be attributed to our having distanced ourselves from the Islam of the time of Our Prophet, Apostle of God, to adopting new and vile customs and to allowing Frankish, European sensibilities to flourish in our midst” (80).

Donovan: How about you?

Andrew: I found that the notion of color throughout the novel was most enjoyable. As a reader, we are to look at color as a means to solve the mystery itself.

“Try to discover who I am from my choice of words and colors, as attentive people like yourselves might examine footprints to catch a thief. This…brings us to the issue of ‘style,’ which is now of widespread interest. Does a miniaturist, ought a miniaturist, have his own personal style? A use of color, a voice all his own?” (17)

Pamuk uses color amid the artistic Islamic miniaturist painters to help us decipher not only the murder, but the qualities of the characters themselves. Color also serves as a dialogue for artistry in the novel. While Turkish painters paint in one style, Frankish painters paint in another. Pamuk explores these differences in style, perspective, and color, asking all the time if one is more holy or righteous than the others.

Andrew: So what’s the verdict? Did you like My Name Is Red?

Donovan: Given the concepts and writing style, I understand why My Name Is Red receives such high praise. Yet, I did not thoroughly enjoy the book. I found the first half of the story to entertain and awe, but the second half felt bogged down with dense descriptions of art and Turkish culture. Had I known more about these subjects, I am certain that my evaluation of My Name Is Red would be higher. Thus, I recommend the book specifically for people interested in Turkish culture and art.

Andrew: Setting off with the goal of reading something from the Eastern canon of literature, I’m glad I read My Name Is Red. Much like you, I didn’t thoroughly enjoy the book, most likely because I’m used to the Western style of storytelling. I understand why it received such high praise, but I feel as though a cursory knowledge of Islamic miniaturist paintings and the cultural nuances would have helped me as a reader considerably. If the reader, like me, is interested in expanding horizons into the Eastern way of thinking, I recommend My Name Is Red , but be forewarned, it will be a rough journey.

Donovan’s Verdict: 3 out of 5

Andrew’s Verdict: 2.5 out of 5

Born in Istanbul in 1952, Orhan Pamuk spent his early years dreaming of becoming an artist. Educated at American Robert College and Istanbul University, Pamuk decided to become a novelist at the age of 23. His debut novel, Cevdet Bay and His Sons, won him the Orhan Kemal and Milliyet literary prizes. While serving as a visiting scholar at Columbia University, Pamuk wrote The Black Book which gave him international acclaim. In 2002, Pamuk’s novel, My Name Is Red, earned him the IMPAC Dublin literary award. Pamuk has won many prestigious awards including the 2006 Nobel Prize, the Richarda Hucka Prize, and was named among the world’s 100 intellectuals by Prospect Magazine, and one of the 100 most influential persons by Time Magazine.

Erdaǧ Göknar is the Assistant Professor of Turkish Studies at Duke University. He holds a Ph.D. in Near and Middle Eastern studies from the University of Washington and an M.F.A in creative writing from the University of Oregon. A Turkish-American scholar, he is currently a fellow at the National Humanities Center where he is writing a critical analysis of the Turkish novel and Orhan Pamuk. He is the recipient of two Fulbright awards, the IMPAC Dublin literary award, and an NEA translation grant.
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Television Show Review: Dexter

Dexter: Season 6 developed by James Manos, Jr. (Showtime Networks, John Goldwyn Productions, The Colleton Company)

Starring Michael C. Hall, Jennifer Carpenter, Lauren Vélez, David Zayas, James Remar, and C.S. Lee.

I Might Be an Anglophile

Without intentionally positioning myself as an anglophile, I appreciate the reserve under which English television operates. No matter how massive the hit, English writers and producers understand that quality trumps quantity. As such, these television professionals would rather sacrifice paychecks than integrity. Not so in the good ol’ U.S. of A.

Case in point, the best episodes of Showtime’s hit series, Dexter, exist in its rear-view mirror. With Season 6, the viewer continues on a plot development holding pattern. The setting remains the same—a vividly colored Miami where sins are flaunted for all to see; the characters stunted—a continued exploration of dark passengers among the levity of Miami P.D.’s homicide unit.

Bad Faith, Good Faith

In Season 6, the crew encounters another serial killer. As a brief aside, at what point must we conclude that something is wrong with Miami? Realistically, serial killers are a rare breed in the sea of homicides. For Miami to continually function as the hot bed for killing sprees seems extremely unrealistic.  At any rate, the murderers (Edward James Olmos and Colin Hanks) are labeled the Doomsday Killers (or DDK) because they stage the apocalyptic imagery of Revelation in their gory murders.

The allusions to religion are not limited to evil representations. While Dexter competes with Miami P.D. in the chase for the Doomsday Killers, he meets Brother Sam (Mos Def), a reformed felon deeply committed to Jesus Christ, who uses his business—a car repair shop—to provide meaningful work for recently released convicts. Brother Sam’s faith compels Dexter to attempt to see the good in people.

Befriending Brother Sam, Dexter questions the maxims by which he governs his life. Is it possible to banish his dark passenger? Does faith in a higher power really work? I must give credit to the writers for exploring these themes.

A Stagnant Series

But, such thoughts don’t alter the laziness surrounding the rest of the season. First, Season 6 reveals the killers in the first episode. As such, the mystery of a cat-and-mouse game between police and murderer is non-existent.

Second, Season 6 portrays excellent plot twists but I feel like these moves are seasons late. There has been no character growth in the past couple seasons and Miami no longer intrigues as a setting. As a result, the plot twists feel forced, disingenuous, and tardy.

Dexter continues to entertain but I miss the unadulterated, concentrated awesomeness of the show’s first seasons. Had this show been developed in England, I can guarantee that it would have never made it to Season 6. With stale plots and settings, Dexter’s best episodes are long gone.

Verdict: 2 out of 5

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Posted by: Donovan Richards

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Book Review: The Yiddish Policemen's Union

The Yiddish Policemen's Union: A Novel by Michael Chabon (New York: HarperCollins, 2007. 464 pp)

One of the most celebrated writers of his generation according to The Virginia Quarterly Review, Michael Chabon was born in Washington D.C. He earned his B.A. from the University of Pittsburgh and his M.F.A from the University of California, Irvine. Chabon published his first novel, The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, from his master’s thesis at the age of 25. His third novel, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, won the 2001 Pulitzer Prize. The Yiddish Policemen’s Union won Chabon the Hugo Award and the Nebula Award. He is married to poet Lollie Groth.

Sitka: In Memoriam

A calm morning toward the end of an Alaska cruise, our ship sidled into port outside Sitka, Alaska. My dad yelped two registers too high on the deck and I hurried outside. Two humpback whales had just breached the surface, gulping air before another descent into the sapphire depths. In the background, the steeple of the Orthodox Church outlines the brief skyline of this small Alaskan town. I vividly remember this day spent in Sitka. Well, the Sitka in Michael Chabons’s, The Yiddish Policemen’s Union exists in stark contrast with my memories.

Detectives Investigate Murders

Photo by Harvey Barrison

A hard-boiled, noirish thriller, Michael Chabon’s The Yiddish Policemen’s Union explores an alternate history of Alaska. The principle character, Meyer Landsman, is a Jewish homicide detective from Sitka, Alaska. Landsman is a divorced, depressed policeman who self-medicates with alcohol and throws himself into homicide cases with reckless abandon.

One morning in his dirty, ill-maintained residence, Hotel Zamenhof, Landsman’s landlord notifies the detective of a murder on the premises. On top of the near vicinity of the crimes, Landsman finds intrigue in the victim’s pseudonymity, the style of execution, and the simulated game of chess in the room.

Collaborating with his partner, a half-Tlingit, half-Jew named Berko Shemets, and his ex-wife/commanding officer, Bina, Landsman unravels the clues in this murder mystery through the sprawling metropolis of Sitka.

In the process of solving a murder, Landsman unveils diabolical plots from the Jewish Diaspora and the American government.

What Would Happen If Israel Didn’t Exist?

Interestingly, one of the crucial characteristics of The Yiddish Policeman’s Union—and a thread I glossed over in the early portions of the novel—is the alternative history of Alaska.  Chabon imagines a world in which the post-World-War-II state of Israel evaporates in the late 40s. As such, the Jewish state relocates to Sitka, Alaska where the United States harbored refugees during World War II. Not officially American citizens, this Jewish political state evolves into an urban center with a complicated relationship with the United States.

“Landsman straps an extra clip to his belt and drives out to the north end, past Halibut Point, where the city sputters and the water reaches across the land like the arm of a policeman. Just off the Ickes Highway, the wreck of a shopping center marks the end of the dream of Jewish Sitka. The push to fill every space from here to Yakovy with the Jews of the world gave out in this parking lot. There was no Permanent Status, no influx of new jewflesh from the bitter corners and dark alleys of Diaspora. The planned housing developments remain lines on blue paper, encumbering some steel drawer” (179).

Having visited Sitka, this image of a bustling metropolis conflicts with the experience of a small town with a central Orthodox Church. I found it hard to disassociate reality with Chabon’s alternative. Nevertheless, once I accepted the novel’s backdrop, the setting became imaginative and intriguing.

A Character on the Verge

In addition to the strange retelling of history, I found the way Chabon painted the protagonist to be compelling. The reader commiserates with Meyer Landsman. With every mistake, Landsman reveals the insecurities we all feel when we don’t succeed. His marriage has failed; his job is always in flux; his status in the United States is in question; and his life lies in the balance. Suicide is always an option:

“Landsman, the son and paternal grandson of suicides, has seen human beings dispatch themselves in every possible way, from the inept to the efficient. He knows how it should and should not be performed. Bridge leaps and dives from hotel windows: picturesque but iffy. Stairwell leaps: unreliable, an impulse decision, too much like an accidental death. Slashing wrists, with or without the popular but unnecessary bathtub variation: harder than it seems, tinged with girlish love of theater. Ritual disembowelment with a samurai sword: hard work, requires a second, and would smack, in a yid of affectation. Landsman has never seen it done that way, but he knew a noz once who claimed that he had. Landsman’s grandfather threw himself under the wheels of a streetcar in Lodz, which showed a degree of determination that Landsman has always admired. His father employed thirty 100 mg tablets of Mebutal, washed down with a glass of caraway vodka, a method that has much to recommend it. Add a plastic bag over the head, capacious and free of holes, and you have yourself something neat, quiet, and reliable.
But when he envisions taking his own life, Landsman likes to do it with a handgun, like Melekh Gaystik, the champion of the world. His own chopped Model 39 is more than enough sholem for the job. If you know where to put the muzzle (just inside the angle of the mentum) and how to steer your shot (20 degrees off the vertical, toward the lizard core of the brain), it’s fast and reliable. Messy, but Landsman doesn’t have any qualms, for some reason, about leaving behind a mess” (153-154).

A Wrench in the Case

Photo by Eric Gjerde

Despite the absorbing character of Landsman, I found The Yiddish Policemen’s Union a somewhat difficult read. As mentioned earlier, I began the book without knowing the alternative history of Alaska. As such, my view of Alaska combatted the view in the book for the first 100 pages as I attempted to understand the strange setting.

Second, the use of Yiddish required a dictionary close at hand. Chabon leans on the language just enough that I never felt truly comfortable with the prose.

Yet on the whole, I enjoyed The Yiddish Policemen's Union. Michael Chabon executes the hard-boiled, noirish thriller genre well. With a compelling plot and captivating characters, The Yiddish Policemen’s Union is worth a read.

Verdict: 3.5 out of 5

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Posted by: Donovan Richards

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Book Review: The Fates Will Find Their Way

The Fates Will Find Their Way: A Novel by Hannah Pittard (New York: Ecco Publishing, 2011. 256 pp)

Hannah Pittard’s fiction has appeared in McSweeney’s, the Oxford American, the Mississippi Review, BOMB, Nimrod, and StoryQuarterly, and was included in 2008 Best American Short Stories’ 100 Distinguished Stories. She is the recipient of the 2006 Amanda Davis Highwire Fiction Award and has taught fiction at the University of DePaul and the University of Virginia, where she was also a Henry Hoyns Fellow.

Telephone!

It begins as early as preschool with children congregating in a circle. The teacher kneels and whispers information to a girl urging her to motion it onward to her neighbor’s ear. As the children intake, comprehend, and transfer information, the meaning quickly loses significance. Upon revealing the information at the final child, the group chuckles at the distance between the final conclusions and the teacher’s original message. The game of telephone teaches us the ease by which information disintegrates.

Beginning with a group of parents activating the telephone chain, Hannah Pittard introduces her novel, The Fates Will Find Their Way with a clear reference to the misinformation of gossip.

The Void of Life

Set in an unspecified suburb, The Fates Will Find Their Way depicts a group of male friends and the lives they lead in the wake of the disappearance of Nora Lindell, a fellow classmate. With time providing the chill of the cold case files, the group of boys must fill in the blanks in their collective psyche.

Did Nora jump in a stranger’s car never to be seen again like the awful scenarios exhibited often in the movies? Pondering the scenario, the boys think,

“They drove away together. It was an adventure, perhaps. But the experience that Nora had no doubt hoped would be intriguing turned quickly into something more menacing than mysterious. Almost immediately after she got in, she probably wanted to get out. It’s the stuff of fantasies, not of real life. In fantasies, you can get into strangers’ cars” (15).

Maybe Nora’s bones are buried in river sediment two counties down.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Did Nora run away buying a plane ticket to a warm location? As the boys grow up and get married, they still meet and discuss the possibilities,

“We liked to imagine that she’d picked Arizona for the Grand Canyon and the warmth. Maybe she’d though it was possible to live in it, in the canyon. But she never admitted that to anyone, not once she got there and saw how wrong her fantasy had been” (69).

As the group of boys transitions to men with wives, children, and real jobs, the obsession with the disappearance of a teenage girl shifts into slightly creepy territory.

“Like our mothers, our wives were troubled by our refusal to let Nora Lindell go. They thought, perhaps rightly, that it was an indulgence from which only jealousy and regret could come” (191).

The Fates Got Lost on the Way

Photo by Grant Hutchinson

In all honesty, that’s about it for a plot. Pittard metaphorically links the lives of these boys to the fates of Greek mythology suggesting that this collective desired to control the lives and deaths of those surrounding them.

Even though she mentions specific names of these boys, no protagonist steps forward. In turn, the reader is left with understanding the boys as the protagonist. Sadly, this step left me indifferent to the plight of these characters. Without much connection to any of them, let alone a clear link to why they valued Nora, the narrative frustrated me.

This realization, coupled with the suspension of belief around boys and gossip, left me unimpressed with this novel.

In the end, I found The Fates Will Find Their Way a quick read about gossip and what it means when a group transforms an unexplained event into a fantastical life story. Artistically, I understand where Pittard is going with the novel, but I didn’t enjoy it. Yes, humanity tends to mold information into an understandable box in our mind. No, I do not recommend this book.

Verdict: 1 out of 5 stars
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Posted by: Donovan Richards

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