New Century Reading

The Land of Dreams

Hey, you guys! Guess what! I have illustrations for this post!

The Land of Dreams was originally published in Norway in 2008 and only just appeared in the U.S., translated by Tiina Nunnally, this year. What a shame, since it's the first in a trilogy called the "Minnesota trilogy" and set on the North Shore of Lake Superior. It's sort of a murder mystery, part of the Scandinavian crime novel scene, and yet that's only part of the book.

It opens with "forest cop" (police officer for Superior National Forest) Lance Hansen discovering the site of a gruesome murder at this location:

Father Baraga's Cross near Tofte. Kind of a striking backdrop for a murder, no?

Lance isn't directly involved in the murder investigation, as the murder victim is a Norwegian tourist, so the case goes to the FBI and to a detective from Norway, who tells part of the story. But finding the murder scene sends Lance, a historian by avocation, searching through the community's history to see what other murder may ever have happened, and in doing so he uncovers some very uncomfortable truths about his own family.

Along the way, he shares a great deal of history specific to the North Shore--perhaps more than necessary, although it's very vivid. And lots of description of places like this:

And this, Grand Portage National Monument:

I wanted to like this book more than I did--and I did like it--but the pacing was really slow in spots, and some of Lance's actions were head-scratchers, not justified by the characterization. That said, I so enjoyed author Sundstol's vivid writing about this beautiful part of my home state. Norwegian himself, Sundstol lived on the North Shore for two years, and he totally gets it, the place and the people. So I'll happily look for the next instalments of the trilogy, which hopefully won't take five more years to arrive.

A Literary Christmas

Granted, it's a little early for this suggestion, but here's a lovely Christmas gift idea. This slim anthology, published by the British Library, is a holiday charmer, with poems and excerpts from fiction and memoirs. Best of all--and why buying the print copy is a better idea than the Kindle version--is the use of vintage illustrations.

Authors represented include Dickens, Emily and Anne Bronte, P.G. Wodehouse, Louisa May Alcott, George Eliot, and Samuel Pepys, among others. The nice thing is the variety. I half expected a volume full of treacle and saccharine (I'm looking at you, Louisa May Alcott), and there is some of that. But there's wistfulness and sadness, humor (thank you, P.G. Wodehouse), and even a chilling macabre poem.

This goes on the admittedly short shelf I've devoted to "books to re-read around the holidays." It will make a lovely tradition.

Pilgrim's Wilderness

I don't read a lot of nonfiction, but it's undeniable that sometimes truth is stranger than fiction. If someone tried to write the story of this family as a novel, it would likely be derided as grotesque and melodramatic. You know what they say about truth being stranger than fiction.

This is a dense, complex story, hard to summarize, but I'll try. Bob Hale, a.k.a. Papa Pilgrim, brings his breed up McCarthy, Alaska, in the hopes of raising his family in a simpler time, where he can focus them on God's word without outside influences. He means business: the oldest kids are in their 20s and not allowed to meet people outside the family. That doesn't set off any warning bells, does it?

But right off the bat, Papa Pilgrim finds himself at odds with the National Park Service over a road he bulldozes inside park boundaries to gain access to his homestead. At first, the lightly populated community of McCarthy takes his side; they think government interference in their lives is wrong, and they admire the man who stands up to the Park Service. But as Papa Pilgrim's weirder ways become apparent--he thinks nothing of stealing from his neighbor, poaching animals out of season, etc.--they become less supportive.

But when another religious family moves in and befriends the Pilgrim family (that's what they call themselves, not the Hale family), they get close enough to discover some disturbing things: namely, almost none of the kids (including those in teens and 20s) can read or do simple math, bruises that don't seem easily explained away, and worse, a night-time relationship between Papa Pilgrim and his oldest daughter, Elishaba.

After that, the family begins to unravel as the older children start to realize that not all families live like theirs does, and what's more, what they thought of as God's will is viewed as fairly evil by other God-fearing people.

Much happens after that. I won't detail it. It's worth a read, although highly disturbing. Even once Papa Pilgrim has finally been hauled off to jail, the family's continuous request of him to repent to avoid hell shows that while not losing their faith, they have finally learned that much of what Papa raised them to believe is wrong.

The heart-wrenching image for me at the end of the book is Mama Pilgrim, living alone in a cabin near the other religious family, who have taken her kids in and really gone far above and beyond in giving them a normal life and helping them recover from their trauma. Author Kizzia makes it clear that Mama Pilgrim was the original victim, married to Papa when she was just 16, and having been beaten and emotionally abused all their married life. Rather than ask, "Why didn't she do something to save her kids?" it's all too apparent she didn't have the psychological fortitude. Oh, and--15 kids. But as the older kids began to rumble with rebellion, she immediately supported their efforts and ultimately helped some escape. Her living apart from them makes sense--she's in dire need of recovery herself and has little to give to the younger children, and she's found an amazing place for them, nearby, where she can visit and where they are loved and well cared for. But after all that, to be alone with decades of horrendous memories--I feel for Mama Pilgrim.

Author Kizzia owns a cabin in McCarthy and met the Pilgrims on more than one occasion as the story was unfolding. His authorship gives a good picture of the community itself from an insider's point of view.

Dog Songs

Oh, you guys, I loved this book. Just loved it. It would be a perfect gift for any dog-lover in your life. Oliver is, of course, a wonderful poet anyway, but her love for dogs shines through. Many of the poems are deceptively simple on the surface:

Benjamin, Who Came From Who Knows Where

What shall I do?
When I pick up the broom
   he leaves the room.
When I fuss with kindling he
   runs for the yard.
Then he’s back, and we
   hug for a long time.
In his low-to-the-ground chest
   I can hear his heart slowing down.
Then I rub his shoulders and
   kiss his feet
and fondle his long hound ears.
   Benny, I say,
don’t worry. I also know the way
   the old life haunts the new.


So, if you know a dog-lover or are one yourself, this is the right Christmas gift. Also? Illustrated with the sweetest black-and-white drawings.

David Copperfield

Well,it wasn't exactly an action-packed section, but there was at least some movement, right? Davy finishes his visit to the Peggottys, and we learn that Steerforth has a darker side, and that he probably has a thing for Little Em'ly. Nice of him to buy the boat, but somehow I don't think it's a fully charitable move. Still, his spoken frustration at not having a family like the Peggottys gives him a glimmer of sympathy. Except we know from what Davy said earlier...ah, I guess we'll have to wait.

Lots of people make cameos in this section, even a crazy man in the attic of the home Davy used to live in. And Mr. Chillip, wit his "tall, raw-boned, high-nosed wife; and they had a weazen little baby, with a heavy head that it couldn't hold up, and two weak staring eyes, with which it seemed to be always wondering why it had ever been born." Egad.

Not so happy to see the highly respectable Mr. Limmiter, as I am quite convinced nothing good comes of his presence.

Nice to see Aunt Betsey again, and I suspect she would highly approve to day's farm-to-table movement. But it's clear she has something she hasn't told Davy, between her hesitance to say no one else has a claim on her estate, and her dashing off with the shadowy figure, returning minus most of the money in her purse. Aunt Betsey! What's going on? You don't seem like the type to have anyone scare you!

What's more, Davy has finally decided on a profession, and we get to meet Mr. Spenlow, and I must say his habit of blaming Mr. Jorkins for all the tough decisions seems a wise one.

But then we come to Davy's first dissipation, and his calling it that seems to imply there will be more than one. Hopefully the fate of the previous occupant of Davy's new home will not have an effect on Davy himself. After all, how often does he want to wake up feeling like this:

"How, as that somebody slowly settled down into myself, did I begin to parch, and feel as if my outer covering of skin were a hard board; my tongue the bottom of an empty kettle, furred with long service, and burning up over a slow fire; the palms of my hands, hot plates of metal which no ice could cool!"

Not to mention how horrified Agnes was by his behavior at the theater.

Well. Just as things seem to be starting to go somewhere, we now pause for the holidays. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and we'll see you back here on Jan. 6 with chapters 25-27.

Five Days at Memorial

Here's a book to bring you down at the holidays. Or any day. Just when you think you've heard everything bad that happened after Hurricane Katrina, Sheri Fink comes out with the story of five days of misery and ethically difficult decisions at Memorial Hospital. Including discussion of euthanizing patients who have DNR requests and aren't doing well.

The first part of the book is an exhaustively researched account of the five days following the hurricane, as staff and patients wait for help and evacuation. Power goes out, generators fail, someone pretending to be a military evac leader actually is a thief, and the sound of gunshots and rumors of riots outside the hospital walls, combined with the intense heat and humidity no longer handled by central air, understandably take their toll on patients and staff alike.

But the problems are deeper than that. In spite of the fact that Memorial Hospital, opened in 1925 and flooded in 1926 and 1927, has no serious evacuation plan. It doesn't appear the city of New Orleans nor the state of Louisiana have one regarding medical facilities either. Spotty communication, as cell phones die off, is made worse by erratic and contradictory reports from the outside: "Yes, we're evacuating you today. No, not today. Sickest patients first. No, only those able to walk first."

An example of the mess of events:

"Other Tenet [Memorial's parent company] executives attempted to convince government officials to prioritize the evacuation of Memorial adn the company's other marooned hospitals. Staff at every agency seemed happy to nudge another agency. Someone from a senator's office offered to appeal to Gov. Kathleen Blanco and the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services. But people at the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services directed Tenet to contact the head of the appropriate hospital association. That association, the Federation of American Hospitals, appealed to the US Department of Health and Human Services, which appealed back, on behalf of patients in general, to the Federation, the American Hospital Association, the nation's hospitals, and the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Billionaire Ross Perot, whose son was a Tenet contractor, appealed to the Coast Guard and the Navy. There was no locus of responsibility. Fingers pointed every which way, much as they had when New Orleans flooded in the 1920s"

What a clusterf!ck.

It should come as no surprise, then, that one staffer's comment that "We will leave no living patients behind" eventually became the crux of legal action and accusations of murder and euthanasia.

This is not a book for the faint of heart. I was frustrated and outraged while reading it--how could they be so poorly prepared? How could New Orleans and LA not have better plans in place? Hurricanes are not exactly unknown quantities in that part of the country.

Five Days also explores the gray area of euthanasia, including how it's handled in other countries. The story at Memorial is very complex and very cloudy.

I give Sheri Fink many thumbs up for going so indepth to explore this frightening piece of recent history. That said, the second part of the book, which documents the legal battles that happened later, tends to drag. Fink frequently brings up things she's already discussed in the first part of the book, things that could have been summarized rather than fully examined for a second time. How many times do we need to be reminded of the quote about "No living patients"? Not this many.

It's a quibble. It's not an easy read, but it's an important one, and I can only hope all hospitals take its message about the necessity of disaster planning to heart.

The Testament of Mary

I'm a big fan of Colm Toibin, but The Testament of Mary is not one of my favorites. This is the story of Christ and the crucifixion through the eyes of his mother. I thought that would be a provocative and interesting take on the story, but instead I found a chilly tale of a woman who seemed ashamed of her son, who seemed to think he was a fake.

I'm not a strongly religious person, so I didn't take offense at that, but it struck me as being at odds with the Biblical version. I expected more about her agony at his death and the agony of his being dead for three days, then the maternal loss when he rises and leaves her for heaven. But instead we have a bitter woman who doesn't seem to have much love for her son, or for anyone around her.

I dunno. Not what I would hope for from Toibin.

My thanks to the publisher for providing me with a review copy, though.

David Copperfield

It seems to me this was another transitional section, firmly pulling Davy--young though he still is--out of school and preparing to face the real world. Yet it felt a bit more sinister, even though it starts cheerily enough with Aunt Betsey giving him leave (and money!) to visit Peggotty and her family. But then we see the young Mrs. Strong clearly pining away for her cousin in India, and we see Mr. Wickfield notice this and move to separate her from his daughter, Agnes, and we see Davy seeing all of this.

Then Steerforth makes another appearance, and Davy (the grown-up narrator version) finally admits that, perhaps, Steerforth is about to reveal himself to not be all young Davy has thought.

Ham and Little Em'ly? Why does that seem destined to fail? Because Davy told us early on that she's got some bad times ahead of her, or because of Steerforth's attention?

There are other little clues too, such as when Davy takes the coach and has his "first fall in life"--really, Davy? I would have thought that was back when your mother married Mr. Murdstone, leading to all kinds of dreary events. But, then, youth is likely to not look back that way, and he's now determined to be taken seriously as an adult, and this little maneuver on the part of the driver is a setback of sorts.

Then there's the highly respectable Mr. Littiman at the Steerforth home. Surely this will not be his last appearance, since so much is made of his respectability. In my edition, there's a note that points out that the repetition of "respectable" in this case anticipates Mr. Vholes, that oh-so-respectable lawyer in Bleak House. It's worth noting that Mr. Littiman does not seem troubled at all by the east wind of January.

If you follow me on Twitter (@amycrea) you may have seem some discussion over the past couple of weeks, where readers are getting impatient. I'm torn. It took me a while to "get" Bleak House, but once I did, I ended up loving it. Still, I'm anxious for something more to happen. A lot of setting up is going on, a lot of--well, not foreshadowing, since Davy doesn't bother with subtlety but just tells us flat-out that bad things are coming.

What do you think? Next week, chapters 22-24, and then our two-week break.

Submergence

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I hardly know what to say about this lovely, slim book. Except this: although it's short (209 pages), it's not a quick read. Don't look at it as something to toss off over the weekend. I read it on deadline for book club and wish I'd had more time to slow down and savor it.

James More, a descendant of Thomas More, is an intelligence officer posing as a water expert in Africa in order to gain access to al-Qaeda. He's been taken hostage and treated brutally.

At the same time, Danielle (Danny) Flinders, a biomathematician whose special interest is the life that develops and survives in the deepest depths of the ocean, is preparing to dive in a submersible to the ocean floor.

What do they have in common? An affair they had together in a small, lovely French hotel in a remote location. It's blossomed into something more than a one-night stand, and as each of them, thousands of miles apart, contemplate their current status, they also reflect on each other and the moments they shared.

I'm making this sound hopelessly romantic and gooey, and it's anything but. This is a book that explores its title as a theme in many ways: romantic, human condition, religion and fanaticism. Their careers are not romanticized, as any of the torture scenes with James makes clear, or this passage about Danny's fascination with deep ocean life:

"An aquanaut is someone who explores the ocean in the same way an astronaut explores space...Because in many ways the ocean is more hostile than space. Space flight is a journey outward. You can see where you are going, which is why the crews in spaceships generally sit in swivel chairs facing a giant window or screen. Space is about weightlessness and speeds never before achieved by machines and that can scarcely be felt...Ocean flight is, by contrast, a journey inward. toward blindness...There will never be a Neil Armstrong moment in the ocean. There is nothing to light the way, no prospect, no horizon; even encased in a metal suit the human body is too liquescent to contemplate stepping out onto the deep sea floor."

A lovely book, meant to be lingered over.

 

David Copperfield

Well, I've said it before, I'll say it again: what on earth was the bookstore Micawbers thinking when they picked that name? Things are going to have to take a mighty turn for that financially imprudent family, or I'm going to be scratching my head a very long time about that choice of name.

What an odd little section this was. Or maybe it's just because we had a break. Now we have the family of Dr. Strong and that poor Mrs. Strong, so clearly in love with someone else, so clearly having been pushed into marriage by her overbearing mother. Then the Heeps--what to think of them? They spend so much time announcing their "umbleness" that I start to think they protest too much. Davy certainly doesn't like the idea of Mr. Micawber hanging out with them, although given that both families are in umble circumstances, I'm not sure what harm he thinks could occur.

It seems like this is all setting up for something in the future, because in the brief final chapter of this section, Dickens jumps ahead several years, during which time little of note seemed to have happened--Davy fights the butcher boy and loses; Davy falls in love with Miss Larkin, who returns the favor by marrying the hop man; Davy fights the butcher boy and wins.

What do you think of this section? Is it mostly transitional to something bigger? Is this the last bit of calm for our little Davy?

Next week, chapters 19-21.