January Pick: Mayhew's The Dry Grass of August

When Jubie climbs into the back of the family car, jammed between her sister, baby brother, and family maid Mary, she has no idea that the trip to the beach will change her entire life. Paula, Jubie’s mother, is taking her children to visit her brother, and decides to take Mary with them. The idea of having that much time with just the children on the road terrifies Paula, so she quiets her fears about taking her black help through segregated Georgia and gets everyone into the station wagon.

Jubie loves Mary and sees her as more of a mother and support system than she sees Paula, but at the age of 13, she has little understanding of the roles bigotry and racism play in her world. To her, Mary is the only person who hugs her after her father beats her. She has no idea that to the adults around her, Mary is not a person, but a means of assistance. Paula plays to the notion of respect, forbidding her children to use the “n” word around her and trying to talk to Mary like an equal, but when she has the opportunities to stand up for Mary – and all black people – to her friends, she plays dumb. Jubie instinctively knows that her mother is wrong, that there is tremendous injustice in her home, but she has few tools to combat it.

As Anna Jean Mayhew describes the slow trip through Georgia, she reveals a backward, racist South, one that is reeling from the landmark court decision of Brown vs. Board. The fear for and of black people in these small, isolated towns palpitates off the sweating cement with the heat. Told from the perspective of 13-year-old Jubie, Mayhew’s narrative places the reader in the unique position of learning as Jubie learns. Granted there are still hurdles in our day, but segregation is long behind us, and many readers have no concept of what life was like during that turbulent, discriminating time. As Jubie discovers what it is like for black people to live in this environment – and what this bigotry means for whites – the reader learns, too. The story is a subtle one, made all the more nuanced by age of the narrator, and Mayhew does a stellar job of creating vibrant characters with complex problems to draw us into her story. Similar to The Help in its assessment of race relations, The Dry Grass of August is a powerful story about a young girl’s devotion.

Purchase the novel.

Thoughts about the Marriage Plot

Very interesting article at the Boston Review about the Marriage Plot.

December Picks: Eugenides The Marriage Plot and Nicholls' One Day

This month we tackle the post-graduate slump and the perils found within. Both our novels – Eugenides’ The Marriage Plot and Nicholl’s One Day – follow relationships begun in college to explore a variety of challenges – both literary and practical – that face the post baby boomer generations.

Eugenides’ The Marriage Plot is an intense book, one that harks back to the glory days of the “idea novel,” novels that weren’t afraid to get their hands dirty with discussions of religion, relationships, the role of literature and other perennial questions of the human condition. Oh, and to add real icing to the cake, it also has an absorbing plot. For those of you who are tired of the post-modern novel that drones on about “experience” without anything major happening will be delighted with this pick. In addition to following the relationship hijinks of Madeline Hanna and her efforts to find her place in the world after graduating from Brown, Eugenides also makes a strong argument for the value of reading literature itself versus reading books about literature. The subtle criticisms of the “lit crit” crowd were particularly hilarious. Eugenides makes us remember what it is like to read a challenging, thought-provoking book that is as precise in its evocation of time and place as it is in its ability to capture the major issues of that time into a digestible, revealing portrait.

On the other hand, Nicholl’s One Day is the version of the story without the in-depth social commentary and assessment of literature. Like Madeline, Mitchell, and Leonard in Eugenides’ novel, Dexter and Emma have graduated without many plans. Touching base with them on the same day for the next two decades, Nicholls explores their development, issues, and seeming inability to “get it together.” Some have argued that the ‘one day’ technique is disjointed and hinders deep understanding of the characters, to which I say: “utter nonsense.” This method allows Nicholls to move quickly though Emma and Dexter’s life, to follow the trajectory of their long and very confused relationship, in a timely, yet precise manner. The result is not only a complete picture of a single relationship between two millenials, but a convincing representation of a generation. For the children of baby boomers who have never known want (though I suspect we might catch up now) and were cosseted with promises of grand lives post college with glitzy careers, tons of money, and never-ending praise, the real world is like a bath of ice water. Nicholls’ Emma and Dexter are perfect examples of how difficult it is to come to terms with one’s own “average-ness” and how growing up can be a painful process.

Purchase The Marriage Plot.

Purchase One Day.

Friday's Catch on Thursday

Tea Obreht did not win the National Book Award, which is just wrong, but Stephen Greenblatt did.

Did Jane Austen die of arsenic poisoning? There is some evidence to suggest that she did.

Hilary Mantel will publish two follow-ups to her Booker Prize-winning novel Wolf Hall, making a trilogy out of what had originally been planned as a two book series.

I was pleased to notice that none of these book collectors were displaying an e-reader.:)

November Picks: Caleb's Crossing and The Mayflower

I guess I can blame Thanksgiving, but November always puts me in the mood to learn about American history. For my selections this month, we journey to Puritan New England in Geraldine Brooks’ latest novel Caleb’s Crossing, a beautiful story about the first Native American to graduate from Harvard. To provide some context for this tale, I have chosen Nathanial Philbrick’s Mayflower, the history of the Pilgrim landing at Plymouth Rock and the pitfalls they met as they tried to create a new society in a rugged world. Philbrick continues the narrative through King Phillip’s War, a series of engagements between English settlers and Native Americans that ended the stilted peace that had existed between the two peoples

Though the novel is titled Caleb’s Crossing, the story is told from the perspective of Bethia Mayfield, the knowledge-hungry daughter of a Puritan minister. The novel is told as a series of journal entries and flashbacks that include more information about Bethia and her experiences than they do about Caleb’s. Caleb at times appears to be a minor character, but this potential mis-titling of the story, should not be off-putting. Brooks is a brilliant storyteller, and she perfectly captures the constriction of Bethia’s Purtian world, as well as the challenges of Caleb’s crossing into both Christianity and Puritan society.

Bethia first meets Caleb when he lives with this tribe on the island now known as Martha’s Vineyard. Bethia, feeling confined and misunderstood by her father - who has decided that she shouldn’t be provided the same education as her dullard brother - escapes daily from her small cottage to enjoy the freedoms of the wild, peaceful island. She meets Caleb on one of her rambles and they begin an unlikely friendship, one that will last their entire lives. Caleb teaches her about the natural world and Bethia teaches him English and about religion. This primer stands him in good stead because when it becomes clear that the Native Americans on the island will need an educated representative with the Puritans, he is conscripted to live with Bethia’s family and be prepared for matriculation at Harvard. Various hardships ensue, but Caleb eventually makes it to Harvard and graduates, while Bethia struggles on her own path.

This is a subtle novel with a slow, steady pace, a moving portrait of an intelligent girl, and a hymnal to the beauty of Martha’s Vineyard. It is also an investigation of the racism and intolerance that plagued relations between Native Americans and English settlers before, during, and after King Phillips War. Caleb’s Crossing is not the 21^st century version of Puritan New England, but a faithful depiction of what life was actually like in 17^th century America. Brooks' illustration is clear, historically accurate, and completely absorbing. Brooks has a talent for creating delightful texts of seamless history and literature, and her fans will be fascinated by her latest achievement.

The Mayflower

Nathanial Philbrick's The Mayflower follows the Pilgrim's adventures from the early days in England to after King Phillip's War. The history is detailed, thorough, and clear. Each chapter presents the information in a balanced way and finishes with convincing analysis. The characters from history jump from the pages, and Philbrick succeeds in making the Pilgrims' trials and tribulations real for the reader.

The book is equally divided between the founding of Plymouth colony and King Phillip's War, a lesser known war to modern Americans, but, according to Philbrick, one of the shaping events of our early history.

King Phillip's War is considered to be one of the most bloody wars in North America. To provide contrast: America lost less than 1% of its male population in World War II, 4-5% during the Civil War, but Plymouth colony lost 8% during the 14 months of King Phillip's War. Clearly, this was a devastating engagement, and despite the heavy loss, it did not correct the "Indian problem" but heightened the issue. The thick barrier of 'friendly Indians' was eliminated, laying the colony open to attack by other, presumably unfriendly, Indians farther West. While some of the Indians that fought in KPW were obviously hostile and resentful of the Pilgrims, many were friendly and relied heavily on them for trade, goods, and income. Many of these were also recent Christian converts, named Praying Indians, and they, particularly the Praying Indians on Nantucket Island, stood staunchly against King Phillip and his plans for supreme power in New England. The myth that KPW was strictly Pilgrim versus Indian is not true.

Philbrick illustrates the inconsistencies of the fabled story of Thanksgiving and corrects other misconceptions. The Indians and the Pilgrims did work together at the beginning, but it was not as beautiful and peaceful as the story the elementary school children learn would suggest. From the beginning, there was controversy between the Pilgrims and the Indians over land and resources; though for the first few decades there was a peace, largely architected through Massoit, the leader of the Pokanokets and Edward Winslow. However, even this was tenuous, as Massoit, though powerful, could not speak for the entire Indian population. This initial peace, made between friends out of a shared need for resources, ended in the next generation when Winslow's son and Massosoit's son, King Phillip, realized that there was not enough room for both Indian and Pilgrim interests.

Our perception of the Pilgrims is largely the product of subsequent generations' memories or views of the true history. In the late 1600s, Thomas Faunce, elderly and feeble, wanted to return to Plymouth to see where his father first landed. He assigned a large rock near the original colony as the first landing spot for the Pilgrims. As a result of Faunce's assignation, the myth of Plymouth Rock was born. Philbrick makes clear that there is no mention in the journals written by Pilgrims from the Mayflower of a landing on a rock; in actuality, the Pilgrims most likely pulled their small landing boats onto the beach. Nevertheless, Faunce's 'memory' was too romantic a notion to ignore. In another way, the myth of Thanksgiving sprang out of the need for a shared history during the Civil War. Lincoln commemorated this day to provide a means for the North and South to find common ground during the war. Prior to this, Thanksgiving was celebrated, in a way, on Founder's Day, which was in December.

Today, many of these realities of this early life in New England have been wiped away to make room for patriotism and myth-making. As Philbrick says, history makes an odd jump from Plymouth Rock to Lexington and Concord, with no real attention made to the steps in between. Philbrick's book attempts to fill in some of this forgotten area.

Purchase Caleb's Crossing.

Purchase The Mayflower.

Nel Rand's Mississippi Flyway

I recently received Mississippi Flyway from my editor at BlueInk Review, an online review site that reviews self-published books. My review is also available on that site, but I wanted to post it here to spread the word about this wonderful debut novel.

Nel Rand’s debut novel is a picaresque tale that takes the reader down the Mississippi River and through the haunted past of its main character, Ellie. Ellie is recovering from divorce when her estranged father, Tiny Moon, a 300-pound gambler and eating contest champion re-enters her life. Despite her efforts to remember her deep-seated anger for Tiny, Ellie finds herself drinking wine with him and relaxing for the first time in months. When he asks her to join him on a trip down the Mississippi River, she readily accepts. But she soon discovers that this is no vacation: Tiny is running from a depraved sheriff with a penchant for murder. What begins as a trip to reconnect with her father on a rollicking ride down the Mississippi Flyway, ends up as a journey through suppressed memories that hold the key to her future happiness.

Rand’s characters fly off the page and though Ellie and Tiny are the primary focus, some of her ancillary characters – especially Tiny’s friends, the gamblers, madames, and moonshiners they meet along the way – are expertly drawn. Rand creates a believable world, taking time to develop atmosphere and complicated characters. The descriptions of the natural world, particularly depictions of the birds on the Flyway, are stunning. The novel’s twin storylines – Ellie’s journey through her past to discover elements of her childhood long forgotten and Tiny and Ellie’s escape from the law – intertwine in fascinating ways. The two together provide the novel with a complex narrative that will engage a variety of readers.

The novel is partially told in flashback, with memories of Ellie's childhood inserting themselves into her journey with Tiny. The flashbacks provide nice context and necessary information about Ellie's family, but the decision to reveal a key plot point early in the novel about Ellie's relationship with Tiny undercuts the reading experience. Ellie’s story is built around a hidden secret in her relationship with her father, and the novel would have benefited from a later disclosure. Still, this is a powerful tale of redemption and forgiveness, one that is as satisfying as it is thought provoking.

Purchase the book.

Readable Literature?

I depart from my regularly scheduled “Friday’s Catch” to throw my two cents into the ring about the Booker-literature-readability debate that has been raging this week. The Booker judges’ choice to select books that are fast paced with the “ability to zip along” has prompted a furious response from literary critics. There seem to be two points at issue: 1. Literature does not “zip along” and 2. The ability of a novel to “zip-along” and be “readable” should be the sole criteria for determining quality reading material. These two points are ridiculous. Literature can, and often does, “zip along,” and the notion of “readability” as the sole determining factor for a good book is severely, painfully, limiting.

The efforts of the past years to elide literature with genre fiction or popular fiction have grated on me, but the Booker committee's slump towards mediocrity has made me see red. Primarily, because I always held that Booker selections were literary novels that were highly-readable, intensely satisfying, “books that have it all.” I found Possession and Atonement to be two of the most delightful literary novels in the past twenty years, and The White Tiger was a hilarious romp through modern India that I found myself “zipping” through. Perhaps my tastes are not the norm (though book sales would argue with me on the above mentioned selections), but there are certain standards of excellence that should not be diminished, and the Booker Prize is one. Literature can, and should, stand on its own, and be respected as its own genre, without pressure to conform to lesser standards of reading quality.

But what are lesser standards of reading quality and what is literature? The notion of literature or literary novels can be elusive. Some people cite examples of literature – Emma, The Divine Comedy – without giving a definition of what the term is. In my opinion, literary novels are novels in which language is finely tuned to evoke strong emotions from the reader, characters are complex and elucidate truths about the human condition, and the themes with which the novel grapples are large and purposeful. On top of that, it would be great, in my humble opinion – because I like stories – that the novel have a riveting plot, but this is not necessary. Literature is a mirror for the world and isn’t obliged to double as story time around the campfire, though, many of the best novels have all four criteria. (Imagine Gatsby without the car chase, for example. Right, neither can I.) Jeannette Winterson’s attempt to define literature as being solely language based – “If the language has no power, forget it.” – is too limiting for me. Perhaps she would argue that if the language is working, the other elements will fall into place, but this strikes me as another way to describe poetry. Poetry is dependent on language; the novel has other tricks up its sleeves. She cites Jane Austen as an example of a writer who is read today for her language. Yes, her language is brilliant, and I wish I had her wit, but who among us would have warmed as much to Pride and Prejudice without Elizabeth Bennett?

Literature can be narrowly or broadly defined depending on how political you want to be, but what it is not is merely a story. There are many books out there that are merely stories, and they are lovely. I read them all the time, but they do not make me sit back and reflect on my life as a great novel does. Reading Emily Giffin will never prompt me to assess my peers like reading Jane Austen. Nothing against Giffin, she is beloved by many, but let us not confuse our categories. As readable as Giffin is, she will never be Jane Austen. We do ourselves few favors by trying to conflate the two.

The previous comparison seems obvious – clearly Giffin is not Austen - yet this is what we are trying to do to literature on a grand scale – pare it down, make it more readable, more accessible, more like genre novels – and we appear fine with this. The calls from major American critics to write more genre novels or put a zombie in your literary novel is taken with a laugh, but are we aware of what we’re saying? Once again, the pull is downward, and writers who could turn out beautiful, complex novels that inspire us are turning towards the grocery-store line and writing about vampires. Don’t get me wrong, I love a vampire novel as much as the average tween, but I emphatically do not love them in the place of something smart. (And, yes, I will say it: the last smart vampire novel was Dracula.)

If the critics – and specifically for this conversation, the Booker judges - do not continue to make us aspire to read great novels, then where will we be? It would be a dull world with only the Twilight series and James Patterson, especially if those novels are only available on a contraption, but I digress into another gripe. The waters have not been completely diluted, there are still remarkable literary novels coming out every day, but a troubling trend has emerged, one that we should heed.