Sunday, September 20, 2020

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier (5 stars)


Saw this one on a goodreads list of best novels, I'd never heard of it before, but it is well known as a Gothic suspense and even won an award as best novel of the century. It's very impressive, I can see why.

It's just so impressively dark, in a loveless, jealous second marriage way. On the surface our nameless narrator has landed an amazing catch: husband and incredible estate. But it's wrong, very wrong, we just don't know why exactly for a long time. The suspense is incredible.
He likes me in the way I like Jasper [the dog]
Manderlay, modeled on the real-world Menabilly in Cornwall is as big a character in the novel as any other. The descriptions of the estate, the beach, and the gardens are amazing, building an incredible atmosphere of suspense from this foggy, wet, and treacherous environment by the sea. And suffusing every part of Manderlay is Rebecca, the first wife who died in a tragic accident:
Her footsteps sounded in the corridors, her scent lingered on the stairs. The servants obeyed her orders still, the food we ate was the food she liked. Her favorite flowers filled the rooms. Her clothes were in the wardrobes in her room, her brushes were on the table, her shoes beneath the chair, her nightdress on her bed. Rebecca was still mistress of Manderley.

When the reveal comes it's amazing. And the change it wreaks in our narrator is spectacularly written. Apparently it was too much for Hitchcock, he watered it down for the movie version!

In the version I read there's an excellent analysis in an afterword that I'm tempted to quote from, but too many spoilers. Interestingly though, du Maurier applied parts of her life and character to multiple women represented in the novel.

Loved it.

5 stars.



Sunday, September 6, 2020

Solaris by Stanislaw Lem (2 stars)


A classic, but I'm not sure why. I haven't seen any of the movies. The premise is amazing, original, loved it: a huge planet-scale intelligence that's doing it's own thing and doesn't seem to know or care about humans. 

Spoilers ahead.

When humans build a habitat on the ocean the planet creates a replica of the human they have most injured in their lifetime. This part was amazing, the suspense was great, the tension of what the other men were dealing with was incredible, the killing and rebirth sequences were amazing. The narrator is terrified, not knowing the consequences for not playing along. Here we have outstanding structure for a rollicking horror story, amazing stuff.

But he blows it, completely.

We get these extensive detailed descriptions about the structures made and destroyed by the planet:

the hardened planes on which the layers of ductile matter rising from below have accumulated, while at the same time the deep-ocean geysers mentioned above condense and transform into mobile tentacle-like columns; clusters of them reach toward loci of construction that are strictly determined by the dynamics of the whole, recalling some sort of immense gills of an embryo growing a thousand times faster than normal, and streaming with pinkish blood and a green water so dark it’s almost black.

 delivered in the most boring way possible: the narrator reading scientific summaries in the habitat library. Why not first-person? I don't want to read a book about someone reading scientific papers. This is boring AF:

Its extensors and mimoids were seen as tumorous growths; the processes that moved its huge fluid body were examined for indications of chaos and anarchy, to the point that this orientation became an obsession, and the entire scientific literature of the following seven or eight years, though of course free of expressions explicitly indicating the feelings of its authors, nevertheless was like one long barrage of insults—revenge taken by the gray leaderless masses of solaricists upon the unchangingly indifferent object of their intensified research, which continued to pay no attention to them whatsoever.

yawn. OK but eventually he has to get back to the creepy mimics, right? And reveal what the mimics were for the other men?....OK more boring papers, nothing happening. OK the mimics are gone. The end. Flips table.

2 stars. 

Friday, September 4, 2020

Hard to be a God by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky translation by Olena Bormashenko (1 star)


Very meh. It's interesting because I see some people saying this is legendary among Russian speakers, and some quotes apparently made it into common language and usage, which is the hallmark of a true classic. A fair bit of it is like watching two drunk people have what they think is a really deep and meaningful conversation but to anyone sober it's just boring. 

Perhaps too much is lost in translation...but I loved roadside picnic by the same translator? I suspect the part that doesn't do well in the translation is the humour. It swings between fairly heavy handed, hey don't kill all the scientists and intellectuals or you will destroy society philosophy:

No country can develop without science—it will be destroyed by its neighbors. Without arts and general culture, the country loses its capacity for self-criticism, begins to encourage faulty tendencies, starts to constantly spawn hypocrites and scum, develops consumerism and conceit in its citizens, and eventually again becomes a victim of its more sensible neighbors.

and Monty Python moments:

Is it true that you have hemorrhoids?

I get that this was an incredibly important subversive text of its time, wrapping up a political message in sci-fi. but it doesn't hold up well through time or translation. It's only very notionally sci-fi too, the main character is an alien, but you wouldn't know it without him telling you and the occasional demonstrations of advanced technology that don't fit the otherwise medieval world.

It certainly isn't without quotable moments:

And if the fates decreed for one of them to be born or become a master, he didn’t know what to do with his freedom. He would again hurry to become a slave—a slave of wealth, a slave of outlandish excesses, a slave of his slaves. The vast majority of them weren’t guilty of anything. They were too passive and too ignorant. Their slavery was the result of passivity and ignorance, and passivity and ignorance again and again breeds slavery.

Everyone is free to understand this in his own way. For us scholars, evil is in ignorance, but the church teaches that ignorance is a blessing and that all evil comes from knowledge.

there will always be the ignorant masses, who admire their oppressors and loathe their liberators. And it’s all because a slave has a much better understanding of his master, however brutal, than his liberator, for each slave can easily imagine himself in his master’s place, but few can imagine themselves in the place of a selfless liberator. That’s how people are, Don Rumata, and that’s how our world is.”

“Cruelty is power. Having lost their cruelty, the princes would lose their power, and other cruel men would replace them.”  

1 star.



Wednesday, August 12, 2020

We Were Eight Years in Power: An American Tragedy by Ta-Nehisi Coates (4 stars)

 

I came to this book because I heard an African American activist say on a podcast something like: 

White people tell me all the time that they support racial equality and that they "would have voted for a third Obama term if they could". That's the whitest possible thing to say.

I was hoping this book would shed some light on what is behind that sentiment, and I wasn't disappointed. I think this series of quotes is the explanation:

“There are no more,” the comedian Sinbad joked back in 2010. “There are no black men raised in Kansas and Hawaii. That’s the last one. Y’all better treat this one right. The next one gonna be from Cleveland. He gonna wear a perm. Then you gonna see what it’s really like.” Throughout their residency, the Obamas had refrained from showing America “what it’s really like,” and had instead followed the first lady’s motto, “When they go low, we go high.”

What proved key for Barack Obama was not that he was born to a black man and a white woman, but that his white family approved of the union, and approved of the child who came from it. They did this in 1961—a time when sex between black men and white women, in large swaths of the country, was not just illegal but fraught with mortal danger. But that danger is not part of Obama’s story. The first white people he ever knew, the ones who raised him, were decent in a way that very few black people of that era experienced.

He had an ability to emote a deep and sincere connection to the hearts of black people, while never doubting the hearts of white people. 

What Obama was able to offer white America is something very few African Americans could—trust.

So not only was this guy one of the most incredible leaders, orators and politicians of a generation, but his upbringing uniquely positioned him to be able to appeal to white voters. So of course you would have taken Obama for a third term. If as a white voter, Obama wasn't good enough for you, it's unlikely that any person of colour would ever get your vote.

In the contest of upward mobility, Barack and Michelle Obama have won. But they’ve won by being twice as good—and enduring twice as much. 

And your vote doesn't cost you anything personally. You had to give it to someone. Another podcast "rich white parents" introduced me to the concept that the only time rights for African Americans advance is when their objectives happen to overlap with those of white people. Such was the case with Obama given his obviously strong leadership and suitability for president.

It’s likely that should white supremacy fall, the means by which that happens might be unthinkable to those of us bound by present realities and politics.

For someone who didn't grow up in the US and with limited American history knowledge this book was a difficult read, and generally pretty dense, but still approachable. I didn't know the names Du Bois, Garvey, Dyson and even those I did recognize: MLK, Malcolm X, I learned more about their world view and how they fit into the the bigger picture.

The historical context in the earlier essays is interesting, as is Coates' narration and background for each of the published essays that goes along with each. What really got to me though was that “We were eight years in power” was the lament of Reconstruction-era black politicians as the American experiment in multiracial democracy ended with the return of white supremacist rule in the South. And how Coates draws a depressingly strong connection between that reaction and the election of Trump.

For some not-insubstantial sector of the country, the elevation of Barack Obama communicated that the power of the [white person] badge had diminished. For eight long years, the badge-holders watched him.

Only Obama, a black man who emerged from the best of white America, and thus could sincerely trust white America, could be so certain that he could achieve broad national appeal. And yet only a black man with that same biography could underestimate his opposition’s resolve to destroy him.

“If Republicans didn’t cooperate,” Obama told me, “and there was not a portrait of bipartisan cooperation and a functional federal government, then the party in power would pay the price and they could win back the Senate and/or the House. That wasn’t an inaccurate political calculation.”

Barack Obama delivered to black people the hoary message that in working twice as hard as white people, anything is possible. But Trump’s counter is persuasive—work half as hard as black people and even more is possible.

Trump’s dominance among whites across class lines is of a piece with his larger dominance across nearly every white demographic. Trump won white women (+9) and white men (+31). He won white people with college degrees (+3) and white people without them (+37). He won young whites, age 18 to 29 (+4), adult whites, age 30 to 44 (+17), middle-age whites, age 45 to 64 (+28), and senior whites, age 65 and older (+19).

Four years later, an incumbent Obama lost in ten counties in West Virginia to Keith Russell Judd, a white felon incarcerated in a federal prison who racked up more than 40 percent of the Democratic primary vote. A simple thought experiment should be run here—can one imagine a black felon in a federal prison running in a primary against an incumbent white president doing the same?

It is as if the white tribe united in demonstration to say, “If a black man can be president, then any white man—no matter how fallen—can be president.”

It does not take much to imagine another politician, wiser in the ways of Washington, schooled in the methodology of governance, now liberated from the pretense of anti-racist civility, doing a much more effective job than Trump.

  I feel significantly more enlightened after reading this book, but I know I still have a lot to learn. (4 stars)

Monday, July 20, 2020

Boy Swallows Universe: A Novel by Trent Dalton (5 stars)

A simply spectacular novel.

We view the world through young Eli's eyes: the characters are all fascinating, and the setting is unique. It's very much auto-biographical and characters are based on real-life people, which I think definitely helped make them feel so unique and interesting.

Frequently I found myself on the edge of my seat as Eli struggled through life in Brisbane's suburbs as the son of a drug dealer and mixing with heroin importing gangs, making terrible life decisions, and decisions born out of poverty and desperation. 

Much of this book reminded me of The Goldfinch where Theo gets led astray by Boris in suburban Vegas, making bad choices that set him up for failure. Just like in a horror movie I found myself screaming, "nooooo! don't do that!".

That makes it sound dark and desperate, but it isn't. The amazing feat of the writing is that Dalton creates Eli's character with a calm acceptance, a uniquely Aussie self-deprecation and matter-of-factness, a cute and naive romantic crush, and a lot of fairly dark humour about his situation.

The toilet’s floor space is just long enough and wide enough to accommodate a porcelain toilet and an opening door and the floor is currently holding an inch-deep pool of my father’s piss.

Nothing connects a city quite like South-East Asian heroin. 

There's drug dealers, an alcoholic father, a mother in prison, domestic violence, gang violence, ex-cons as mentors, and a ruthless bikie anti-hero. But somehow it's...funny. And beautifully poetic:

August is one year older than me but August is one year older than everybody. August is one year older than the universe.

True love like this asks lovers to cast aside what is meant to be and work with what is.

‘You’re not a pussy. Don’t you ever be ashamed of crying. You cry because you give a shit. Don’t ever be ashamed of giving a shit. Too many people in this world are too scared to cry because they’re too scared to give a shit.’

There's plenty of bad stuff, but there's also some glorious uniquely Australian suburban life moments that hit me right in the homesickness spot:

with the frozen food section August and I hang out in on the hottest summer days, debating which ice block is more bite for your buck out of a Hava Heart, a Bubble O’ Bill and, the unchallengeable masterpiece, the banana Paddle Pop.

watching Brisbane’s relatively new and promising rugby league outfit, the Brisbane Broncos, playing Mal Meninga’s near-invincible Canberra

and many mentions of Dunlop KT-26s. The classic shoe of my childhood.

It turns, very surprisingly, into a thrilling page-turner at the end. I suspect fans of literary fiction will find this somewhat disappointing, but I thought it was great, and raced through to the end.

There's just a hint of the supernatural that runs through the story, but we never definitively learn one way or another if this is a coping mechanism invented by Eli and August, or something more fantastic. The logical explanation is the former, but interpretation is left to the reader.

5 stars.

Friday, July 10, 2020

Crown of Thunder by Tochi Onyebuchi (2 stars)


The follow on book from Beasts Made of Night. Unfortunately this one is worse, having built the world it falls apart completely into a tedium of endless fight scenes between characters whose motivations make no sense and I couldn't care less about.

Spoiler:

Taj's best friend changes his loyalty for literally no reason at all. Then changes it back, hey I was on your side all along! Why would Taj trust him the second time? There's not even any discussion about why he betrays Taj in the first place.

So many other problems with this book, my highlights are all like "What? How did she escape?" and "Laaame" but it's been too long and I can't be bothered to go dig them all up.

2 stars.

Friday, July 3, 2020

Beasts Made of Night by Tochi Onyebuchi (3 stars)


Sins are visible manifestations of guilt that can be extracted, fought, and eaten by an enslaved underclass of sin-eaters who spend much of their time consuming the sins of the rich. WHAT A CONCEPT! DAMN! Unfortunately the execution is lacking. The world building is quite good, and the cover art is amazing, but that's about all we get.

We don't get good characters, there's no reason to really care about any of them. Their motivations are unknown. Taj tells us he's in love with someone and it comes as a surprise because despite being inside his head there was no build-up to that statement and if feels unbelieveable.

We don't get good pacing, time seems to expand and contract all over the place. Taj breaks ribs and an ankle and then seemingly in the same day is back to super-athletic fighting of sin-beasts and it's never mentioned again. All of a sudden Taj is an important member of the royal household, how did that happen?

The ending is a ridiculous cliffhanger, but the next book was out, so I was less mad than people who read this when the first one came out :) The world was just good enough to make me want to see if the next one was any better.

3 stars.