Book Review: The Queen's Lover

The Queen's Lover: A Novel by Francine Du Plessix Gray (New York: Penguin Press, 2012. 259 pp).

Francine du Plessix Gray (b. 1930) is a Pulitzer-prize-nominated writer and literary critic. She is most known for her works, Them: A Memoir of Parents, and At Home with the Marquis De Sade: A Life. For the former, she received the National Book Critics Circle Award.

High Society Problems

When I was in high school, we, as a class, were forced to read the dreaded Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. I didn’t connect with the book at all, and didn’t care to. I never liked the novel because it was both dry and boring in my opinion. I didn’t care enough of aristocratic high society problems to even give the novel a chance. Similarly, The Queen's Lover by Francine Due Plessix Gray explores some of those same problems in a work of historical fiction, and I found myself running into the same problems I had with Pride and Prejudice.

A Masquerade

Told in memoir-type format, the novel reads more like a journal—so realistic I found myself wondering how much of it was true. The Queen’s Lover begins at a masquerade ball in Paris in 1774, where Swedish nobleman Axel Von Fersen meets a dashing young woman.

Photo by Mark Sebastian

“My new friend also had grown aware, quite suddenly, of the band that had gathered about her; and without saying good-bye, as impulsively as she had begun our conversation, she wheeled around and swiftly walked away, briefly lifting the gray velvet mask off her face with an exasperated gesture, as if it were smothering her and she needed to inhale a deep breath of air. It was in that split second that I realized who she was—that I recognized her as Marie Antoinette, Archduchess of Austria-Hungary, beloved daughter of the mighty Empress Maria Theresa, and now the wife of the notoriously timid, reclusive Dauphin Louis-Auguste, who might at any moment become the king of France” (16).

An Affair and a Revolution

Photo by Panoramas

Marie Antoinette soon becomes Queen of France, and the encounter at the masquerade ball launches a life-long affair spanning the course of the French Revolution. Fersen, through his ties with Antoinette, becomes close with King Louis XVI, and the entire royal family. Fersen would like nothing more than to stay at the side of his beloved Marie-Antoinette, but the American Revolution tears him away. He is one of the first to enlist in France’s group of militiamen to fight for America’s independence. Much changes while Fersen is gone, as in 1789 the Bastille is stormed. At this point in the novel, it read less like the dry Pride and Prejudice of my youth, and more like exciting historical fiction. 

The revolutionaries hate the king,

“He was indeed witnessed to have eaten, for breakfast alone, four veal cutlets, a chicken, a plateful of ham, half a dozen eggs, and a bottle and a half of champagne. It is at this point that the king’s enemies began to refer to him as ‘the fat pig’” (79).

However, Fersen provides a different portrait of the king, Fersen shows the king to be loving and compassionate, and holds deep affection for his lover Antoinette's husband. As a result of this compassion, Fersen devises an escape for the family and their young children (who are suspected to be Fersen’s children). The attempt, however, fails, and Fersen is forced into captivity while he waits for the King and Queen to face the guillotine.  

While the novel started out in aristocratic, high-fashioned prose akin to that of the famed Jane Austen novel, I found that The Queen's Lover ended up being much more dramatic, more exciting, and more riveting for me in the end. Francine Due Plessix Gray did a fantastic job writing a memoir of historical fiction, where it was believable in every way.  She did so well crafting the novel that I may even give Jane Austen a second chance.

Verdict: 3.5 out of 5

Posted by: Andrew Jacobson

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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: The Lacuna

The Lacuna: A Novel by Barbara Kingsolver (New York: Harper Collins, 2009. 507pp)

Barbara Kingsolver (b. 1955) is an American novelist and essayist. Her best known works are The Poisonwood Bible, and Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life. All of her published books have been on The New York Times bestseller list, and she has been nominated for the Pulitzer Prize and the PEN/Faulkner award.

Expectations

Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible has often been described as a book club classic. Ten years later, Barbara Kingsolver has released The Lacuna. As a piece of historical fiction, I expected something behemoth, something filled with wonder, something akin to the masterpiece that is The Poisonwood Bible. The Lacuna came close, but it left something behind for me. Perhaps my expectations were too high based on Kingsolver’s past.

A Nobody in the Presence of Somebodies

Photo by Fisita

The Lacuna documents the journey of a young boy, Harrison William Shepherd from 1929 to 1951. When we first meet him at twelve years of age, he’s living on a hacienda with his over-dramatic mother who is a gold-digger, to say the least. Ever on the prowl for a richer husband, she is never content. His father is American, and is the dull-witted type we’ve come to know in sitcoms like The Simpsons or Family Guy.

Harrison is an accidental onlooker to some important history—he runs into Frida Kahlo at a market, and returns home with her to help her with his baking skills. Frida’s husband is the famed muralist, Diego Rivera, and their marriage is somewhat volatile. Soon, Harrison becomes a baker and typist for the household, leaving his own capricious home behind.

“It was like mixing the flour for pan dulce: how could it be so different? The powder they called cal has the same fine grind, floating up in white clouds around the boys when they dumped bags of it into the mixing buckets. Their eyelashes and the backs of their hands were white, and the edges of their nostrils, from breathing it. They were dumping powder into water, not the other way around” (71).

Using his baking skills, Harrison begins mixing plaster for Diego Rivera’s murals. Soon after  establishing himself as a plaster mixer, who joins the household? None other than communist Leon Trotsky. If you know your history, Trotsky finds an untimely end by one of Stalin’s agents. Harrison witnesses the murder. Throughout all the history-in-the-making scenarios of which Harrison is a part, he keeps a journal. His journal (you guessed it) becomes the novel, The Lacuna, which he tries to publish as an adult later in the book.

Disappointment

Photo by Luiz Fernando

Now comes the point where my disappointment surfaces. I completely understand Kingsolver’s motive in wanting a fictional “onlooker” to be the narrator and “writer” of the novel. However, the experiences of a fictional, shy, boring-as-watching-paint-dry, loner child are hard to merge with the experiences of famed artists and communist leaders. 

Should the novel have utilized the famous artists as main characters, perhaps even narrators, I would have found much more enjoyment in the novel. Harrison is frankly too dull to tell the tale. Moreover, juxtaposed against such vibrant, larger-than-life characters of history past, he fades into the background.

Though it would be easy to completely toss Harrison into the literary garbage can, he does supply some wonderful thoughts on connecting history. Through his eyes, we see richly imagined history in an epoch where circumstances and people were viewed in black and white. Kahlo was known to be unstable bi-sexual, and her husband a womanizer. As Harrison says, 

“What we end up calling history is a kind of knife, slicing down through time. A few people are hard enough to bend its edge. But most won’t even stand close to the blade. I’m one of those. We don’t bend anything” (360).

The point Kingsolver is trying to make is that the most unimportant people do affect history. Harrison Shepherd assuredly did make an impact (albeit fictitious) in the lives of the painters and communist leader. However, I have to agree with Harrison; he is unimportant and boring. He didn’t stand close to the blade from my perspective. 

While The Lacuna does recount some important history with larger than life people, perhaps the vessel telling the story could have had a bit more of a commanding presence. Harrison falls into the shadows. 

If you enjoy historical fiction, I still highly recommend this novel as it is illuminating to say the least. But, if you like compelling main characters, perhaps it’s best to try something else.

Verdict: 3 out of 5
What do you think? Does Harrison really fall into the background? Did you enjoy the history present within the novel? Share your thoughts below.
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Posted by: Andrew Jacobson

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Book Review: Watergate

Watergate: A Novel by Thomas Mallon (New York: Pantheon Books, 2012. 448 pp)

Thomas Mallon is an American author whose notable works include Henry and Clara, Bandbox, and Fellow Travelers. A specialist in non-fiction, Mallon focuses his studies on plagiarism, diaries, and the Kennedy assassination. A contributor to The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, and The New York Times Book Review, Mallon earned his Ph.D. in English and American Literature from Harvard University. He has received the Guggenheim Fellowship, the Rockefeller Fellowship, and the National Book Critics award for reviewing. Currently, Mallon directs the Creative Writing program at George Washington University in Washington, D.C.

The Passive Voice 

A writing technique I learned much too late in my academic life, I still struggle with active voicing. By preferring active verbs over passive verbs, a writer provides strong and compelling language for the reader. As a simple illustration, consider these two examples:

1. George passed the ball; 
2. The ball was passed by George. 

In the active voicing, the first sentence offers clear and precise prose describing an action by a character. In the passive voicing, the second sentence presents George as a background character. Even though both sentences describe the same action, the active sentence feels clearer.

Much like sentence construction, character development requires activity. Author Donald Miller once tweeted,

“If a character in a movie doesn’t know what he wants, the story drags. The same is true in life.”

Truthfully, passive characters create a boring story.

Sadly, in Thomas Mallon’s work of historical fiction, Watergate, the characters appear passive as if the mounting evidence surrounding the Watergate scandal influences the characters into action, rather than characters influencing Watergate.

A Scandal from the Top 

Richard Nixon

Born over a decade after the events occurring in the wake of a June 1972 break-in of the Democratic National Committee (DNC) headquarters, I honestly admit to no rooting interest in the well-known controversy of Watergate. Housed within the acrid partisanship which permeates American society, the feelings of those who experienced the events must certainly equate to the party lines. As such, I do not accept Richard Nixon as the scapegoat for everything wrong with Republicanism or a victim of liberal politics.

Interestingly, Mallon decides to unveil the events of Watergate through a series of chapters containing multiple protagonists. With each chapter skipping a month or more ahead, Mallon reveals the dramatic events through susurrus dialogue between offending parties.

The Connecting Glue 

If I had to name a main character, Fred LaRue would earn the title. Present during the initial planning of the break-in and a crucial actor in the subsequent cover-up, LaRue forges the perfect bridge between the administration and the burglary.

“LaRue sat on the bed for a moment, silently reviewing the algebra that governed the room on the other side of the wall. Magruder hated Liddy. Mardian hated Magruder. Ehrlichman hated Mitchell. Mitchell hated Colson. And that was all before Friday night. He himself was a kind of lotion, a soother, the one most generally trusted because he was the one least thoroughly known” (41-42).

A Complicated President

President Nixon remains a complicated character, at times scurrilous and at others a fragile product of unalterable forces. Mallon illustrates this dichotomy well; he utilizes the First Lady, Pat Nixon, to describe the early days of the presidency:

“’I’m remembering a day late in ’68. A few weeks after the election. We were going from New York to Key Biscayne, and Johnson gave us Air Force One for the trip. We got on it together for the first time. And you know what he did? Dick?’
‘Tell me.’
‘He picked me up by the waist and spun me around. Twice. He hadn’t done that when we got the house in Whittier or even the one on Tilden Street, just a couple of miles from here. But that plane. That was carrying me over a threshold he could appreciate’” (216).

Here, Mallon carefully balances Nixon as a loving husband with Nixon as a power hungry politician.

Characters Influenced by Circumstance 

Watergate in 2 Covers

Despite these interesting character traits, passivity, like strong glue, connects the characters. Nobody truly feels guilty for the Watergate events because no single person feels directly responsible. With each character carrying substantial amounts of doubt, the circumstances surrounding the Watergate scandal act as the primary influencers in Mallon’s story. As an example, Rose Mary Woods, Nixon’s personal secretary cites the argument from authority as a defense against her guilt.

“If she passed the money on, would she be committing a crime? Would the lack of a specific instruction to have done so make her less guilty—or more? All her instincts spoke of the danger and foolishness of what she was about to do, but if this was the boss’s chosen course, she wasn’t going to second-guess him” (188).

By relaying guilt to her boss, Woods defends her actions as if she is incapable of defying orders. Interestingly, guilt exists in defying orders but not in covering up the scandal.

Ultimately, the same difficulties with a passive sentence exist in the characters of Watergate. A compelling character must act. Readers find entertainment in a driven character; they do not enjoy a character left swaying in the winds of lassitude. Even if Mallon intended to illustrate the nature of the political beast consuming the Nixon administration through no action of the characters, passiveness created a frustrating read. If you are interested in the Watergate scandal, Watergate might be an entertaining read. However, it did not do enough for me.

Verdict: 3 out of 5

What do you think? Did you experience Watergate? Do your political leanings influence your perception of Nixon? Can a passive character be intriguing?
Share your thoughts below.

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Posted by: Donovan Richards

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Book Review: Honolulu

Honolulu by Alan Brennert (New York, St. Martin’s Press, 2009. 360 pp)

Born in New Jersey and raised in Southern California, Alan Brennert received a Bachelor’s degree in English from California State University at Long Beach. In addition to novels, Brennert writes short stories, screenplays, teleplays, and musicals. For his work on L.A. Law, he was awarded an Emmy in 1991. During his career, Brennert has also won a People’s Choice Award and a Nebula Award.

I love Hawai’i

Hawai’i is one of my favorite places. I visited several times during my childhood, and even spent my honeymoon on the secluded tropical paradise of Kauai. Last year, I read and briefly reviewed Moloka'i by Alan Brennert, and absolutely loved it. To review, Moloka’i was a famous leper colony from 1873-1969. I was enamored with the story of people struggling with Hansen’s disease and dealing with the separation from families amidst the beautiful backdrop of the Hawai’ian paradise and culture.

Naturally, I thought Brennert’s next book, Honolulu, would provide another great read. Moreover, I’ve actually been to the city of Honolulu, so I thought I would resonate with its setting more readily. Honolulu is a tale of a Korean “picture bride” (one who is given in long-distance marriage based only on a picture) who escapes to Honolulu in search of a better life, but doesn’t necessarily find it.

The Life of a Korean Picture Bride

As the plot unfolds, Regret (the main character’s given Korean name) encounters physical abuse by her given husband in a rural Hawaiian town on the outskirts of Honolulu. She leaves him—only after a miscarriage from a beating—and travels toward Honolulu. There in the city proper, she settles as a seamstress, meets a new husband, starts a restaurant business, and earns an education.

And, there you have it. That’s the basic plot of the book. Honolulu was a decent read, but I was extremely disappointed having read Brennert's previous book Moloka’i. So, in an effort to explain why this book didn’t work as well, here’s a pointed list of what to do when writing historical fiction.

What Not To Do

1. If your book is entitled “Honolulu” and actually covers the period during the Pearl Harbor bombing, don’t limit the description of the most famous event in the city of Honolulu to a mere single paragraph.

2. Pick a character that is going through extreme struggle (like Regret did with her husband’s abuse) and stay with it for a while. Sure, an abusive husband is an absolutely terrible thing, so don’t dismiss it to talk about being a seamstress for several hundred pages.

3. Spend time on the culture where the book is set. There were times that Queen Liliuokalani (the last queen of Hawai’i) was mentioned, but in truth, not much was described in terms of the surroundings, or the culture of the time. Yes, a few traditional Hawaiian words were given their respective etymologies, but that doesn’t constitute a great description of Hawaiian culture.

4. Small business ventures do not constitute entertaining reading.

5. If you know how to write historical fiction, like Moloka’i, stick to what works—use the gripping stories of the characters firmly based in a historical context. Wide acclaim for one novel shouldn’t equal lazy writing on the next.

In synopsis, the book was interesting, but I never felt particularly moved as I did with Moloka'i. Therefore, I know that Brennert can do better, as he does write good historical fiction based in the beautiful islands of Hawai’i. If you, like me, find a fondness for Hawai’i—this book can work. Honolulu does provide some historical and cultural background, and gives you a sense of how the islands functioned in the past, but in comparison to his other novels it ultimately failed. I suggest that if you decide to read one of his books, stick to Moloka’i.

Verdict: 2 out of 5

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Posted by: Andrew Jacobson

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Book Review: The Blasphemer

The Blasphemer: A Novel by Nigel Farndale (New York: Crown Publishers, 2010. 384 pp)

Best known for his interviews in the Sunday Telegraph, Nigel Farndale is a British author and journalist. Farndale went to Barnard Castle School before receiving a master’s degree in philosophy from Durham University. On top of his work for the Sunday Telegraph, Farndale contributes articles to the Sunday Times, Country Life, and Spectator. Of his five published books, Haw-Haw: The Tragedy of William and Margaret Joyce was shortlisted for both the 2005 Whitbread Prize and James Tait Black Memorial Prize. Additionally, The Blasphemer was shortlisted for the 2010 Costa Novel Award. Farndale lives between Hampshire and Sussex with his wife and three sons.

The Lifeboat

The lifeboat example, a classical Philosophy 101 illustration, depicts a scenario in which you reside safely in a lifeboat surrounded by a sea of drowning passengers. While the hope of you – the lone lifeboat resident ­– is to save as many as possible, only one more person can safely board. Amongst the drowning treads your spouse, a brilliant physicist, and a poor child. Who should you save?

Daniel Kennedy – a zoologist, Dawkinsian atheist, and protagonist of The Blasphemer – would first choose to save himself. As a downed seaplane off the Galapagos Islands fills with water, he swims past his struggling, common-law wife, Nancy, in order to reach the surface. Although Daniel fills his lungs with air in order to swim back down to the sinking wreckage in order to save Nancy, the psychological damage is done.

Later, while Daniel attempts to swim approximately 14 miles to the Galapagos Islands hoping to find help for his fellow survivors, he is compelled forward by a vision of a man, an apparition, or more logically a hallucination.

Fight, Flight, and Faith

Farndale’s book discusses weighty subjects. Following Daniel’s great-grandfather, Andrew Kennedy, through the First Great War and detailing Daniel’s detective-natured father, Philip, the Blasphemer narrates three familial generations through war, terrorism, and foundational belief.

In between the tensions of modern science and ancient religious tradition, Farndale crafts his characters:

“Perhaps you are right. Perhaps that is why God makes angels, immaterial beings whose identity resides in the world of thought. The unseen world. The abstract world. They are creatures that can’t be explained away by scientists.”

“Thought you sad men make angels.”

“No. I said that Darwin said that men make angels.”

“So you do believe in them?”

“They have been described as the most beautiful conceit in mortal wit, and I would go along with that” (177).

Although the tome begins slowly, the story compellingly unfolds into a page turner. Farndale’s characters provide depth in the storyline and the motifs from each era unite nicely.

Foundational Faith

Ultimately, the Blasphemer is a cinematic story surrounding belief. While some create a dichotomy between faith and reason, Farndale suggests that faith is a necessary aspect of reason. When placed in stressful and life-threatening situations, humans react in different ways. Some safe themselves, some save the most talented, and other are self-sacrificial. In all of these instances, actions exist on a foundation of faith. As one of the better books read last year, I recommend this book. 

Book Review: Easter Island

Easter Island: A Novel by Jennifer Vanderbes (New York: The Dial Press, 2003. 320 pp)

Jennifer Vanderbes graduated from Yale University with a B.A. in English Literature and received her M.F.A in Creative Writing from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. She has obtained both the Guggenheim and Cullman Fellowship and has taught at both the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and Columbia University. Easter Island, her first novel, obtained the honor of “best book of 2003” by the Washington Post and Christian Science Monitor. Her most recent novel, Strangers at the Feast was published in August 2010.

The Locals Call It Rapa Nui

A solitary land mass with its closest neighbor over 1,200 miles away, Easter Island is famously known for its moai statues – monolithic figures erected throughout the island. Along with the rongorongo – a series of undeciphered written tablets found in the caves of Easter Island – the moai remain in imaginations worldwide for the mysterious nature behind their creation. Perhaps obviously but nevertheless in need of stating, this famed island provides a backdrop for Jennifer Vanderbes novel of the same name.

Island Studies

Easter Island navigates parallel stories told in different eras. In one narrative, Elsa Beazely sails to this island with her sister, Alice, and her husband, Edward, an anthropologist. Elsa’s relationship with Edward is one defined more by convenience since he provides ample security and allows Elsa to care for her sister who suffers from a mental condition. While on Easter Island, Edward studies the moai attempting to answer the curious question of how they were formed, transported, and erected around the 18-mile-wide island. During this time, Elsa attempts to translate the rongorongo with the help of the island’s native inhabitants.

Photo taken by Ian Sewell, July, 2006. 

In the parallel storyline, Dr. Greer Farraday travels to Easter Island officially to study island botany but mostly to escape her crumbling life stateside. Still mourning the loss of her husband, Greer dives into her work attempting to understand how such a lonely island accumulated its plants and how its plant life transformed over the centuries.

With both narratives, the central theme surrounds the desire to explore, learn, and simultaneously escape the civilized world. Both Elsa and Greer regret the poor outcomes of their lives.

Vanderbes writes,

“I’ve thought the world would still be entirely unmapped were it not for the impetus of a broken heart” (8).

Mysterious Island, Mysterious Narrative

However, I found Easter Island insufficient on the whole. Although the narratives build toward each other as the story moves, I found myself indifferent to Elsa’s part. Whenever a Greer chapter would end, I frustratingly read a chapter about Elsa awaiting further unveilings in Greer’s storyline. Moreover, I found the conclusions of both stories to be incomplete. I needed to make assumptions about the storyline because the conclusions were not sharply stated. Sometimes when a book includes two separate stories, I hope for the two stories to tie nicely at the end.

Additionally, Vanderbes writes some extremely technical passages on the subject of botany. While a part of me finds the subject intriguing, its addition in a novel is somewhat odd.

On the whole, Easter Island is a moderately entertaining novel. Like its namesake, the novel remains a mystery. The careful descriptions of the island kept me entertained as I struggled through the dual narratives and technical botanist language. I recommend this novel for those interested in Easter Island.

Book Review: Water for Elephants

Water for Elephants: A Novel by Sara Gruen (Chapel Hill: Algonquin Books, 2006. 350 pp)

A Canadian-born dual citizen, Sara Gruen lives in North Carolina with her husband and three children. With a background in technical writing, Gruen is a devoted animal lover who has written numerous books dedicated to the relationship between animals and humans. While Water for Elephants tops the best-seller list, Gruen’s books also include Riding Lessons, Flying Changes, and The Ape House.

Step Right Up

Water for Elephants follows the life of Jacob Jankowski, an almost Ivy League educated veterinarian working in the Depression era circus industry. Although Jacob intended to follow in his father’s footsteps as a small-town veterinarian, an unfortunate accident left him orphaned and unable to afford his final classes.

With no hope for a future and an empty wallet, Jacob jumps on the circus train hoping for a fresh start. After he’s hired, Jacob finds himself immersed in circus culture befriending a motley assortment of characters. As the story unfolds, Jacob begins to fall in love with Marlena, a circus performer and wife of Jacob’s tumultuous boss, August. Despite attempts to curb these feelings, Jacob’s desire for Marlena unfolds a narrative of danger and intrigue.

The Great Depression: Where Sin and Whiskey Flow

The setting of Water for Elephants reminds me of the HBO show, Carnivale. From bootlegged whiskey to morally dubious characters, Gruen creates a gritty circus world. Most of the plot movement surrounds the circus train as the show travels from one city to another. In turn, the activity in the book includes the sights, sounds, and dangers of a moving train. I felt the rhythmic clatter of the rails and the dark, forested oblivion merely a stone’s throw from the track.

In Conflict

Even though Gruen successfully transported my mind into the Great Depression circus business, I found a few elements lacking. First, the portrayal of the inevitable conflict between Jacob, Marlena, and August never convinced me enough to take a rooting interest in the matter. As the story unfolds and couples fall in and out of love, I hardly cared. Of course, Gruen carefully points the reader toward the protagonist and against the antagonist but it always seemed forced, as if the story had to be written the way it was. In other words, where I wanted to be surprised, I found a formulaic love story.

Second, Gruen employs a dual narrative where the reader follows the story of Jacob in the Depression era and the modern, 90 or 93 year-old Jacob living in a nursing home. As the book unfolds, I became increasingly annoyed with the “cut-away scenes” in the nursing home. Not only is 90 year-old Jacob crotchety and annoying, but also these cut scenes broke apart an immersing story with excellent flow.

Water for Elephants is an entertaining-but-flawed read. The carefully researched depiction of the circus industry truly immerses the reader in an historical setting, yet the narrative teeters on the cliff of a formulaic love story and the scenes with the 90 year-old Jacob hinder the flow. Nevertheless, the book entertained me and I recommend it to those interested specifically in the dirty and gritty stories of the Depression era circus industry.

Book Review: The Last Town on Earth

The Last Town on Earth: A Novel by Thomas Mullen (New York: Random House Trade Paperbacks, 2006. 432 pp)

Born in Rhode Island, Thomas Mullen graduated from Oberlin College. His first novel, The Last Town on Earth received the James Fenimore Cooper Prize for excellence in historical fiction, Best Debut Novel of 2006 by USA Today, and the Chicago Tribune best book of the year. Mullen currently resides in Atlanta with his wife and two sons.

Having thoroughly enjoyed The Many Deaths of the Firefly Brothers, I decided to take a stab at Mullen’s debut novel, The Last Town on Earth. Set in the dense forests of the Pacific Northwest, a small town named Commonwealth quarantines itself in an attempt to avoid the flu epidemic of 1918. With guards posted, the unique and semi-socialist settlement believes that families and jobs will safely continue as the outside world suffers from World War I and the Spanish flu.

Being a Pacific Northwest native, I always have suspicions about using my region as a setting. My knowledge of the area allows me to criticize flawed descriptions of Western Washington. For example, I am thoroughly bothered by the song, “Hello Seattle” by Owl City because the lyrics contain a baffling line about manatees swimming in the Puget Sound. In case you were wondering, manatees live in warm waters near the equator. Mullen, however, finished his homework. His description of Washington State and the small logging towns in the Cascades is remarkably accurate and illustrative.

While the narrative in the Last Town on Earth carefully builds, I particularly gained interest in Mullen’s depiction of early twentieth century labor strife and counter-cultural communities attempting to create flourishing lifestyles for all town members.

Considering the treatment of employees in our modern times, many workers discover small injustices in policy implementation by management. Yet these injustices and oversights pale in comparison to the volatile scenes merely a century before in Everett, Washington. Known as the "Everett Massacre" (massacre is a slight misnomer since only 7 people died officially), a workers union known as the “Wobblies” had a violent confrontation with local authorities. In placing a main character in this discordant event, Mullen brings this historical footnote to life. It is of crucial importance that we remember the lengths workers took in order to ensure the rights that workers now enjoy.

The Last Town on Earth not only details early labor disputes in the Pacific Northwest, it also explores the progressive communities that sprouted up throughout the Pacific Northwest in the early 1900s. Home to the protagonists in the story, the settlement of Commonwealth contains a timber mill owned by Charles Worthy, a visionary convinced that a business can be successful when workers are paid a fair wage and treated like human beings. His wife, Rebecca, teaches the town’s children in the lone school and participates both in anti-war rallies and suffragist movements. Given the historical setting of World War I and the Spanish Flu, Commonwealth’s neighbors see the town as enemies on a physical and philosophical level. Nevertheless, Mullen depicts the ideals of Commonwealth in the utmost positive light as they battle the exterior pressures of the world when he writes:

“But as they walked in silence, they came to the same strange realization: the closed-off town of Commonwealth was precisely this place. There was no war, no pestilence. People around the globe were dying, dying from flu and pneumonia and aerial bombings and bayonets, but in Commonwealth, the last town on earth, people were safe. This was the place to run to, and they were already here. All they could do was wait” (p. 42).

While slow in parts, the Last Town on Earth investigates the heart of a particular historical context. Understanding the regional history that Mullen depicts, I am sufficiently impressed at Mullen’s attention to detail. The book is both thought-provoking and entertaining; Mullen’s writing style is erudite and clear. I highly recommend this book.

Book Review: The Many Deaths of the Firefly Brothers

The Many Deaths of the Firefly Brothers by Thomas Mullen (New York: Random House, 2010. 397 pp)

Born in Rhode Island, Thomas Mullen graduated from Oberlin College. His first novel, The Last Town on Earth, received  the James Fenimore Cooper Prize for excellence in historical fiction, Best Debut Novel of 2006 by USA Today, and the Chicago Tribune best book of the year. Mullen currently resides in Atlanta with his wife and two sons.

“Large than life, she’d heard someone say. What can be larger than life? Death, or is that smaller? People do tend to become larger in death, their finer qualities extending outward like an endlessly serialized tale, their flaws and foibles forgotten, their stories continually retold. Larger than death. She thought about that and smiled, here, late at night, in a graveyard” (395).

Mullen’s pen – or for those who appreciate realism, his keyboard – speaks to a profound truth. Those people we remember fondly or infamously will inevitably become caricatures of who they really were. For me, Randy Johnson’s fastball gains speed and Ken Griffey, Jr. roams a larger territory in centerfield as the memory fades. Someday, the exploits of these players will become as legendary as the mythical feats of Babe Ruth himself. Similarly, The Many Deaths of the Firefly Brothers points readers to the intersection between fact and fiction.

Placed in the murky depths of the Depression Era, the fictional account of Jason and Whit Fireson (known as the Firefly Brothers) fits neatly between the bloody shenanigans of Al Capone and John Dillinger. As reputations grew, the exploits of these mobsters became fabled. In the case of the Firefly Brothers, it seems that death holds no power over them. Fittingly, the book starts with Mullen writing:

“It all began when they died” (p. xiii).

Whether they are running from death or running to death depending on your interpretation, The Many Deaths of the Firefly Brothers reads as a mystery novel because, the brothers’ actions in the book are shrouded in the mystery of life and death.

Despite the supernatural elements of multiple resurrections, the perspective in the book is down-to-earth. Upholding the tension between fiction and fact, the historical reality of the relationship between the poor masses and the banking elite frame our protagonists as either victims of trying times who rob banks to make ends meet, or as social heroes rebelling against institutional evils.

On a personal level, the Depression left the family of the Firefly Brothers fatherless and in a complete mess. The government indicted their father – having lost his business to his creditors – on charges of murder. While the novel carries its fair share of Tommy Guns and speakeasies, the weight of broken relationships and a struggling family generates the backbone of this book.

Ultimately, Mullen fashions a page-turner out of Depression Era mobsters. Whether the narrative is intended to be fact, fiction, or something in between, The Many Deaths of the Firefly Brothers depicts a broken family trying their best with the circumstances provided to them. This book is a nominee for my book of the year and I recommend it to everyone.