Suspense and intrigue, but nothing so desperately out of the ordinary in this war story - and yet, it didn't matter. There was so much tactile and sensual beauty in the words and in the structure they built - this tale felt utterly unique.
I was pulled in. It was if there had been no other family trying to survive a devastating war before. There had been no resistance groups or behaviors before this novel. There had been none of the painful irony of children playing adults in an underground that feels like a naive game of pretend. Never before have mothers hidden their true selves from their children in order to protect them. And it seems as if there has never been a daughter, in all of recent literature, that has found compassion for her monstrous mother, too late - much too late.
Joanne Harris has skillfully woven the present day with the dark days of World War II in the Loire Valley. A father is killed in battle and a mother, battling debilitating migraines and her own personal judgments, is left to keep her family alive, waiting for the war to be over.
The farms and orchards are the mother's sole pleasure and cooking and preserving her art. But she also has a scrapbook she keeps, mingling recipes, truths, and secrets. Her youngest child possesses that book, and also the key to events that have strangled the village.
There are twists, deceptions, and heroics that tumble into a fictional world that feels all too real.
Photo credit: http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1388374999l/15096.jpg
"Love is Blind and Deaf" by Jonathan Safran Froer can be read in the June 7, 2015 issue of The New Yorker.
First Line: "Adam and Even lived together happily for a few days.
Last Line: "They wouldn't be so restless if they weren't so close."
I was so excited to read a tale about Adam
and Eve – some of my favorite folks! And what I found here was a false
story. It wasn’t just false because the facts were not accurate, but
also because there was no truth to the fantasy being shared. There are
no Seven Dwarves or a poisoned apple but we BELIEVE. There ARE these
dwarves, and we care whether or not Snow White eats the apple. Here?
This Garden of Eden? I did not believe. Nor did I care to.
photo from http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/1/14/Jonathan_Safran_Foer.jpg/220px-Jonathan_Safran_Foer.jpg
"Quaestio de Centauris" by Primo Levi (translated by Jenny McPhee) can be read in the June 7, 2015 issue of The New Yorker.
First Line: "My father kept him in a stall, because he didn't know where else to keep him."
Last Line: "This odd apparition swam vigorously towards the east; the sailors shouted at it, at which point the man and the gray rump sank under the water, disappearing from view."
This one was a definite contrast to Froer’s
story. I actually believed in centaurs and in their feelings and living
circumstances. The long backstory gave history, characters, and set-up
that were truthful. I did not question the existence of a centaur
living in some young man’s barn. But I did not feel the sudden,
bursting ending was congruent to the beginning. It felt jarring and out
of place. Like two different stories within the one tale…
photo from http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/7/7e/Primo_Levi.gif/200px-Primo_Levi.gif
The story can be found here in The New Yorker, May 4, 2015.
First Line: "It was the month of June, the morning sun was emerging from the clouds, and Alain was walking slowly down a Paris street."
Last Line: "Then they walked toward the museum."
This is the first Kundera I have read since college. When I went back to my beloved literature textbook, there was only one piece in there - "The Hitchiking Game" - and it had been ripped out! Why? Was I upset with the story? It obviously stirred something in me. The idea that once you play the game you can't go back to where you once were?
I was upset with "The Apologizer". There is a lot that I did not agree with on a personal level - the personality and purpose of Eve, our agency in coming to this Earth, the "unalienable" rights we have, the purpose of abortion, the purpose of sexuality, the idea of apologizing for living...
I first revolted against the style. The story begins with a series of thoughts, ideas. Then it shifts into a seemingly unrelated backstory using a different tense and point of view. And finally we are led to the real story - everything else having just been introduction and support. Then when I understood their purpose to the story, I wasn't closed off - I became curious, but with a hearty dose of hesitation.
All the pieces are brought together for a well-crafted short story full of organic symbolism and natural imagery.
But I still struggled with the ideas. And I know that that is okay - sometimes even necessary. For a story is to make us ask questions, not to pose solutions. And the hatred was heavy... It was so thick and desperate.
A mother who doesn't apologize or hold herself accountable, but blames and assigns feelings and intents to make herself the victim. A son who just wants to be loved by his mother - so much so, that he is willing to have an enabling, codependent relationship with her ghost: "Isn't it lovely, apologizing to each other?"
Well-written. I reacted to the ideas with in it in an emotional way. I left the story, still feeling. Frustrated with the things we make up to make our world feel safe or at least "known" to us - when in fact, we can never really KNOW someone else and their minds and hearts. Which is the importance of hope and the fight against despair..
Kundera must have done something right for I am incited. Ugh. Again.
