Kabul Beauty School, by Deborah Rodriguez

kabul-beauty-school1As opposed to The Bookseller of Kabul, I really enjoyed this book. It is about an American woman who goes to Afghanistan with a relief group. She’s a hairdresser, not a medical professional or any other professional whose skills were immediately needed in the war-torn country, but she soon finds her niche. Beyond catering to Westerners who want a little salon pampering, Deborah is able to help form (and later basically take over) a beauty school for women. A salon is one place where men are not allowed in their culture, and therefore Deborah’s efforts really help to find women a place for good employment.

The whole book is filled with stories, good, bad, funny, terrifying, depressing. Deborah is not afraid of Afghan culture. She embraces it, though she is not blind to the problems over there. Rather than judge the whole culture as totally worthless (like Asne Seierstad seems to do), she is compassionate and caring. She wants to help people. She tried to understand where they are coming from and overcome cultural barriers. I was impressed by her courage, and glad to hear a very balanced memoir about Afghan culture. This is what I was looking for the first time I read a book on Kabul (and what I obviously didn’t get). Kabul Beauty School does not gloss over any of the horror stories, but it also doesn’t chalk it up to “oh, they’re from the Middle East, that’s why they’re like this” either. And it doesn’t dismiss the inspiring stories.

I learned sooooo much in this book, far more than I expected. I came to care about just about everyone in it. There are people whose stories aren’t done yet, or people who’ve dropped off the face of the planet and have never been heard from again, and I wish I could hear they’re okay. Memoirs aren’t really like that, though. There are no closed endings – real life goes on. But in spite of my fanciful wishes to know everything, I was extremely impressed every moment of this book. Deborah Rodriguez isn’t a professional writer, so the prose is clear, simple, and oftentimes sounds just like conversation. It was the perfect tone for this book – unassuming and unpretentious. She didn’t have political agendas that she forced on the reader the whole time. She didn’t go in for scare tactics to sell her book. She didn’t exploit the people around her. She was a wonderful storyteller. Many times I laughed out loud for five minutes at a time. I really recommend this book to everyone. It’s fast and fun and easy to read, and gives an honest perspective on a part of the world few of us know much about.

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The Other Boleyn Girl, by Philippa Gregory

tobgcoverThere can’t really be any spoilers with this book, as it’s at least loosely based on historical fact. King Henry VIII cheats on his first wife, eventually annuls their marriage, marries Anne Boleyn, only to chop off her head a few short years later. Stuff I learned in high school. Henry VIII’s six wives: “Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived.” I always remembered that. For some reason, while most of history bored me in school, the fate of Henry VIII and his wives fascinated me. I haven’t paid the story any attention for a long time, but this book caught my eye awhile back and I’ve finally gotten around to reading it.

The events above are played out over the course of fifteen years in The Other Boleyn Girl. They’re told from the point of view of Anne’s sister, Mary. Mary Boleyn has been rather ignored in history compared with her much more famous sister, and Gregory decided to make this a fictional account of her life throughout this time period. Some things in there are fact, some are not, some are disputed. I imagine any historical fiction piece based on a person who left almost no legacy would lead to this same ambiguity. But, accurate or not, this did make fun reading.

I didn’t know, when I picked it up, that a lot of this book would be in the form of romance novels. I’m not a romance novel reader for the most part, and it was intriguing to see the way Gregory tried to set up “romance” scenes without resorting to present-day language. I must admit, after awhile, I got pretty bored. There are a couple hundred pages right in the middle of the book that are the same thing over and over and over again. The book in itself is quite long – 735 pages – and I think it could have done with some sheering. That was my biggest complaint. The beginning third and the ending third were real page-turners, and sucked me into the book enough to want to keep going continuously. Just the middle felt very repetitive. Like Gregory didn’t want to jump through years without saying anything (the book is not set up in chapters, but in season quarters – ie Spring 1522, Summer 1522, etc) but nothing new happened for a few years, so that each season section would last a page or two, and yet they couldn’t be skipped. Quickly six or seven years passed without me realizing it.

My only other real complaint (other than the petty fact that she says “the other Boleyn girl” way too many times in this novel) was that Mary’s character didn’t seem fully thought out. Her stance on the world around her fluctuated without any real reason, not like a real person who might be conflicted but like a fictional character who is created to feel one thing, but then must alter for real life events that occur in the book. I felt more as if she was fit into the story rather than this being her story come to life.

Other than that, it was a fun book, tasteful for the most part, and I did learn things (never heard of the sweating sickness before, for instance), but it was certainly not life-changing or deep in any way. It made me want to go back and read more about Henry VIII and his wives. However, I doubt I’d read others of her novels (she’s got four sequels to this one, I think). There’s also a movie based on this book, which I haven’t seen, and I’m undecided at this point if I’d like to. [Updated: I did watch the movie, and it was fine. Nothing special, but not bad either.]

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The Witch of Blackbird Pond, by Elizabeth George Speare

SpeareWitchBlackbirdPondThis story is about Kit, a teenage girl who travels from Barbados to Connecticut after her last remaining relative on the island dies. Once in Connecticut, she’s met with suspicion from the entire community she comes to live in. They are Puritans, and this is the 1600s. The fact that she can swim and read automatically singles her out as a witch. Only the powerful presence of her uncle in the community protects her. She befriends a Quaker on the edge of town, an old woman who is already suspected of being a witch, and eventually she herself is accused and brought to a hearing for witchcraft.

The book is remarkable for several reasons. First, the descriptions of setting: the boat she travels on, Barbados, 1600s Connecticut. Second, for all the other descriptions. Ms. Speare must have done tons of research. The reader peripherally hears about all the things people had to do to survive back in a time where they had none of our conveniences and no money on top of it. The way they had to cook, how they had to make candles for the winter, how they had to make their own thread for sewing, etc. It was fascinating. It was historical fiction without dragging on me like a history textbook. Even the politics didn’t drag on me. And above all, the book evoked a great breadth of emotion, which is impressive because it really is hard to connect to characters who don’t share any commonalities with you. These characters, despite working in ways almost incomprehensible in modern society, were perfectly relate-able.

I learned that I would not have wanted to be part of the Puritan society. What a mess! But at the same time, Ms. Speare opened me up to the society so long that I began to see the good things in it, too. It isn’t so black and white. Even Kit, who is supposed to be the counterpoint to the Puritans, can’t be considered all-good in her way of life – she had her own personal slaves in Barbados, for instance, and never thought about her slaves as people. Overall, I think the best part of the book was really feeling immersed in a culture from history, learning more from this than I ever did from history books. Stuff I’ll remember, too.

Oh, and it reinforces my desire to go to the Caribbean.

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The Thirteenth Tale, by Diane Setterfield

200px-ThirteenthtaleI was going to try to do this without spoilers, but I don’t think that’s possible – my feelings on the book will give away the answer to the mystery. So I proceed by giving you ample warning. I will try to keep spoilers to a minimum, but really, only one matters: Is Vida Winter telling the truth, or is she not.

First, let me explain the premise of the book. The narrator, Margaret Lea, is contacted by famous author Vida Winter to write up Miss Winter’s biography. Miss Winter has had numerous biographers in the past, and she’s never told them anywhere near the truth of her life story. She’s a storyteller. She makes stories up. That’s how she presents her life, too, though now she claims she wants to tell someone the truth (she’s about to die). Miss Lea has never even read a book by Miss Vida, and she’s not sure she wants to take on the assignment. She’s only an amateur biographer, who deals with dead people and library archives. Her publications amount to a couple essays. She has no idea why Vida has contacted her, but she decides to go and see what all this is about.

So Vida Winter proceeds to tell her life story. Most of the book is contained in this story-within-a-story, and I found it much more interesting than the surrounding plot. Actually, when I first started the book, I’d almost given up on it before it got interesting. It’s really slow to start. It wasn’t until page 45 that I perked up. At page 50, I’d planned to turn my back on it if it didn’t get better. But after page 45, my interest was captured and held.

The mystery, of course, is whether or not Miss Winter is actually telling Miss Lea her true life story. She starts with the story of her parents, a really bizarre, twisted tale of kids with horrible sadistic tendencies. A rather gruesome scene of a 14 year old brother cutting his 5 year old sister’s arm with a rusty wire, and how she likes it and does the same to her other arm. Yeah. It wasn’t a gross scene – it was actually tastefully done, at least as much as one can expect with a gruesome scene like that, sort of reminded me of the ghost scene at the beginning of Wuthering Heights – but it certainly didn’t sound believable at all. I suppose maybe things like that might happen in real life, but usually, they don’t, and not everything that happens in real life is actually believable in fiction (ironically). Immediately, my thought was, “Okay, if this turns out that Miss Winter is lying, I’ll be okay with that. If this is supposed to be true, this is a stupid book.” And this is where I can’t go any further without a spoiler. In the end, I was partly satisfied. If you think about it, how could Miss Winter even know what her parents were like as 14 and 5 year olds? Even if she’s telling the truth about everything that happened in her lifetime, everything else is speculation, right? Sure, her mother may have gone to the asylum as an adult because she cut herself. Sure, she may be the daughter of an incestuous relationship. But to go into great detail about the rusty wire? Might that not have been an embellishment of the storyteller?

Only by telling myself that a lot of this was embellishment can I go through to the end and be satisfied. Only by reminding myself that The Thirteenth Tale is not meant to be realistic or literary, just fiction. There are so many layers of truth and fiction that, in the end, does it even matter?

So overall, I liked the book. It was decently written (though I got irked with a whole lot of second-person and a couple scenes that seemed to be solely for shock value), and closed cleanly. It isn’t a book that will end up on my bookshelf to reread in years to come, but I was reasonably satisfied and I was certainly entertained.

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The Lost Stradivarius, by John Meade Falkner (audio)

stradivariousYes, I suppose there are some spoilers in this review.

Contrary to my previous assertions that I don’t like audiobooks, I actually enjoyed this one. Of course, it was a lot shorter than my last attempt with Librivox, and that helped, but I’m sure the story and readers helped as well. The Lost Stradivarius is about a young man at Oxford, John Maltravers, who begins to experience strange phenomena after his best friend, William Gaskell, brings over some music he got in Italy on a trip. The particular music that causes the trouble is part of the Areopagita suite – the Gagliarda (let me just say here that I really appreciated that at least one Librivox reader, Karen Savage, pronounced these properly). Each time the two men play the Gagliarda, they hear the sound of someone sitting down in the wicker chair that’s in the room, and eventually, John actually sees the ghost. This sets off a span of events that eventually culminates in the discovery of an antique Stradivarius violin.

The discovery of this violin is not a good thing – John becomes moody, secretive, and withdrawn. He lives out a few short years under the powerful influence of the violin and the Gagliarda, which he plays almost constantly. Most of this time, he spends in Naples, neglecting his wife, his newborn son, his sister, and all business affairs. While it is never expressly said, the reader is led to believe that the violin is haunted with an evil spirit.

I thought the writing in this book was absolutely beautiful, and I wish I could read a print copy of it. There isn’t one available in our library, and I’m not a big fan of being glued to the computer to read it on Gutenberg. I was very impressed, however, with the language, with the way Falkner wove metaphor into sentences without overdoing it. Every sentence seemed to be active, alive, radiant. Just as a quick example of something I remember offhand:

The moon showed that blunted and deformed appearance which she assumes a day or two past the full, and the moisture in the air encircled her with a stormy-looking halo. … The glaucous shrubs that grow in between the balusters were wet and dripping with the salt breath of the sea…

Just beautiful! I was completely enthralled by it. As for the story, I was drawn in immediately. I thought the first half of the book was much stronger than the second half. The problem was – the book is written as a letter from John’s sister to his son, and at the beginning, she knows everything John has been through at Oxford, and narrates it from his point of view, but as he moves into the moody, secretive side and begins to spend all his time at Naples, she starts narrating from her own vantage point. The last chapter is a note from Mr. Gaskell, revealing further details from John’s confessions, things his sister didn’t know. And there are mysteries never solved, where both narrators say, “I never could figure this out.” While Mr. Gaskell’s narration fills in some gaps, it felt a little too much like a device to me. It seemed almost as if Falkner was afraid to say what he wanted to say with this book (particularly in the sections he left completely unsolved). It was too pagan or too unconventional or too something, and he just avoided it altogether. I like being “in the moment” with books, so I really enjoyed the ghost story from the beginning, and was a little disappointed at the second half. Not so much that I wouldn’t recommend the story, though – I did like it. I just wish he’d kept writing the book all the way through the way he did at the beginning. Thankfully, the beautiful language was consistent all the way throughout. I’m interested in seeing what else he wrote.

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We, by Yevgeny Zamyatin

evgheni_zamiatin_weSpoilers.

This is one of the weirdest books I’ve ever read. I finished reading it a couple days ago; I’ve been pondering it since and still I can’t make heads or tails of it. Seriously, I think about three quarters of the book went straight over my head. Not just in the thematic, symbolic way of things, but in the plot. Really, the general plot was fairly simple. The book takes place many centuries in the future, with a race of people who work like mathematical machines. They live inside a city covered by a glass dome wall, and all of their buildings are translucent. They eat petroleum-based food. There is absolutely no nature inside their city – in fact, none of them have ever seen even the sun undiluted. Everything runs on a time table: you chew 50 times for each bite (at the same time as everyone else), you sleep at the same time as everyone else, you have personal hours at the same time, etc. Everything is regulated, down to the days and hours you’re allowed to have sex, and with whom. There is no freedom, and this is thus equated with happiness. With freedom, there is no happiness – or so says the philosophy of this society.

Apparently this book, in one sense, is a retelling of the Garden of Eden story, from an obviously dystopian rather than utopian viewpoint. Jason pointed that out to me from some criticism he’d read, but I doubt I would have caught that on my own (though it seems obvious now that he said it). The main character, D-503, is a perfect little cog in the system, until he runs across I-330 and falls in love. He considers this a sickness. Even dreaming is a sickness. D-503 becomes severely sick: he develops a “soul.” His semi-girlfriend, I-330, is part of a rebel group called MEPHI which is bent on freeing the people in this metropolis. They create mass chaos at one point, when they finally reveal themselves, and later blow a hole in the glass wall. I won’t tell anyone how it ends, though; that’s enough spoilers.

It seems pretty straightforward, yes? I don’t know, maybe I’m just not good at the science fiction thing. There were several problems, I think, that contributed to my absolute ignorance. First, this is translated from Russian, and I think maybe I would have understood it better in its original language. Too bad I can’t read Russian. Second, it is written in the form of D-503′s diary, which makes the narrative scant. D-503 is unaware what his readers do and do not know about their society, so there are things that he takes for granted, which is all well and good for the book’s style but doesn’t help the reader any. Third, the race of people seem to be quite different from humans now, so I was confused sometimes. For example, D-503′s assigned girlfriend, O-90, really wants to have a baby, but she’s too short of the “maternal norm.” No, I don’t know where she falls short, or if it’s literally a height thing. But either way, this is a very big deal for her, and she really wants a baby, and at one point she induces D-503 to give her one. Now D-503 and O-90 have their sex days every couple days, so I’m not sure why on this one instance, she can yell, “Give me a baby!” and he just does, without question or uncertainty. I don’t know what is physically different about these people that makes that possible. But I take that for granted as something I simply don’t know about their race. But then, what appeared to me to be only a week or two later, O-90 is round and about a month off from having the baby. At that point, I don’t know if I’ve mistaken the timeline and it’s really been 8 months instead of 2 weeks, or if they’re just different physical beings and have their babies in rapid time periods (Oh man, I wish I could have had 6-week long full pregnancies!). It’s this sort of confusion that plagued me throughout the whole narrative.

We, along with 1984 and Brave New World, were at one time considered the “definitive trilogy” of dystopian novels (they may be now, too, but I’m not sure, the essay I read was from 50 years ago). While the latter two are political, I’m not sure if this one is. It might be. But frankly, I missed so much of the plot that there was just about no way I could read on two levels to try to tell what the meaning was behind the metaphor. I don’t think if I read it 10 more times that I’d understand it much better. I’d probably need to be back in a college class with an expert or to sit around doing research on my own to get a grasp of what’s in there. I’m not knocking the book, though. It appears to be well-written (though it’s hard to tell, considering it’s a translation), and there’s certainly a lot of depth. It’s science fiction, but it defies its genre, and I really respect that. It isn’t often that a book goes over my head, so that increases my respect for it, and I wasn’t bored reading it, even if I was often confused. So overall, I’d say this is a good book, even if it’s one of the weirdest, most disorienting things I’ve ever read.

Note: This book was reread and re-reviewed in October 2011, with far more insight than I had here in 2008.

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Number the Stars, by Lois Lowry

number_the_starsFor some reason, this one grabbed my attention when I was helping my kids pick out library books the other day. Normally I don’t read books on the Holocaust so much – they’re often too depressing for me – but I thoroughly enjoyed this one. I’m not a history person, so I retained very little from school about the details of WWII. Mostly the war was presented through very politics-based viewpoints, and I tend to tune that out. This book, however, gives the war and the prejudice against anything anti-Germany a very different perspective.

The book is about two families who live in the same apartment complex in Denmark, the Johansens and the Rosens. The Rosens are Jewish. Annemarie Johansen and Ellen Rosen, both 10, are best friends and do everything together. When the announcement comes that the Jews are to be “relocated,” the Johansen family does everything they can to protect the Rosens, first hiding Ellen and later trying to help her family escape to Sweden.

I learned a lot of details about the war that I never would have found out otherwise. There’s an afterword which talks about what is fact and what is fiction in the book, so that some of the more far-out elements are revealed actually to be truth. For example, its true that Danish fisherman helping to smuggle Jews were given handkerchiefs to divert dogs trained to sniff out human scent. Apparently Swedish scientists found a combination of dried rabbit’s blood and cocaine to put on the handkerchiefs, so that the dogs would be attracted to them but would temporarily lose their sense of smell at the first whiff. There was a lot of little informative tidbits like that that I liked. Plus, this book really showed the pervasive fear that was prevalent in countries taken over by the Nazis, without anything gory or wholly shocking. I can only read so many books about concentration camps, you know? But this book is very balanced. There is a lot of fear, much of it generalized and unspecific, an ignorant something’s-wrong-and-I-don’t-really-know-what sort of fear. The book is extremely suspenseful, and the tone is ultimately triumphant. I think it has equal merit for adults and children, written in a way to appeal to both. I was very impressed.

Posted in 2008, Children's, Prose | Tagged , | 2 Comments