PIAF, what a great acronym, has published its Top Ten Book Club Reads. It looks to me to be a great list, and contains some titles that we have already suggested or might like to consider for our next round, such as Joan London's The good parents, Sebastian Barry's The secret scripture, Arnold Zable's The sea of many returns, and Kate Grenville's The lieutenant.
Have a look at the full list - there are also books set in the Baltic, Afghanistan and Bosnia - and see what you think...
Friday, 27 February 2009
Wednesday, 25 February 2009
Nam Le's The boat
How should a bookgroup discuss a short story collection? Discuss each story in turn? Have each member comment on her favourite? Do a general free-for-all? This week eight Minervans met to discuss Nam Le’s highly lauded collection of seven short stories The boat. We haven’t discussed many short story collections over our long years of existence and so don't have a tried-and-true plan of attack. Our most recent one was Tim Winton’s The turning but it was quite a different book to discuss because of the strong links between the stories.
The group as a whole was bowled over by The boat. We were impressed by his versatility and most of us felt that the language and style were highly differentiated from story to story to suit the particular characters and setting of each. For example, the language and sentence structure of the first somewhat autobiographical story “Love and honour and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice” was quite different from that of the second story, “Cartagena”, set in Latin America. The narrative voice varies too from 1st to 3rd person, and from male to female points of view. Several stories though rely on a fairly familiar "present interspersed with flashback" narrative structure. An exception to this is the very different, and more obviously poetic, "Hiroshima".
Besides the language, Nam Le’s versatility is on display in the variety of his protagonists and settings. The subjects range from an 8 year old orphan girl in Hiroshima to a middle-aged painter in New York, from a 14 year old hitman in Colombia to a 35-year old American woman visiting Iran. Despite this diversity, though, we noticed that survival seemed to be a strong underlying theme in the stories. This is probably not surprising in a writer who came to Australia from Vietnam as a boat refugee.
In addition to discussing specific stories in some detail, we also discussed the story endings and their clarity or lack thereof! Some felt they were more oblique than they need be and would have liked a little more clarity. The story that was particularly referenced in this discussion was “Tehran calling”, with many of the group being unsure about what exactly happened, and some feeling that this detracted from it. Others were less concerned about the open-endedness...or perhaps felt they knew what happened! "Meeting Elise" was another whose ending generated some discussion about its intent.
An issue we didn’t discuss but one that I can’t resist raising is that of the autobiographical aspect of the first story. That story is so close to Nam Le’s own life that it is tempting to read it AS his life. A character says to the fictional Nam that “instead, you choose to write about lesbian vampires, and Colombian assassins, and Hiroshima orphans – and New York painters with haemorrhoids”. One reviewer, Hari Kunzru in The Scotsman, wrote that “Sure enough, The Boat, contains all these stories, minus the lesbian vampires, who presumably got lost in the edit”. Does he know this for a fact? Did the real Nam Le write such a story or is it only the fictional one who did? Is this a case of life getting mixed up with art? In an interview on the ABC’s Bookshow Nam Le admits to a story about lesbians but says “the vampires I needed to leave some interpretive distance, I reckon”. I like to think of it as Nam Le’s little joke – but I may be wrong!
Now, any one else like to comment?
The group as a whole was bowled over by The boat. We were impressed by his versatility and most of us felt that the language and style were highly differentiated from story to story to suit the particular characters and setting of each. For example, the language and sentence structure of the first somewhat autobiographical story “Love and honour and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice” was quite different from that of the second story, “Cartagena”, set in Latin America. The narrative voice varies too from 1st to 3rd person, and from male to female points of view. Several stories though rely on a fairly familiar "present interspersed with flashback" narrative structure. An exception to this is the very different, and more obviously poetic, "Hiroshima".
Besides the language, Nam Le’s versatility is on display in the variety of his protagonists and settings. The subjects range from an 8 year old orphan girl in Hiroshima to a middle-aged painter in New York, from a 14 year old hitman in Colombia to a 35-year old American woman visiting Iran. Despite this diversity, though, we noticed that survival seemed to be a strong underlying theme in the stories. This is probably not surprising in a writer who came to Australia from Vietnam as a boat refugee.
In addition to discussing specific stories in some detail, we also discussed the story endings and their clarity or lack thereof! Some felt they were more oblique than they need be and would have liked a little more clarity. The story that was particularly referenced in this discussion was “Tehran calling”, with many of the group being unsure about what exactly happened, and some feeling that this detracted from it. Others were less concerned about the open-endedness...or perhaps felt they knew what happened! "Meeting Elise" was another whose ending generated some discussion about its intent.
An issue we didn’t discuss but one that I can’t resist raising is that of the autobiographical aspect of the first story. That story is so close to Nam Le’s own life that it is tempting to read it AS his life. A character says to the fictional Nam that “instead, you choose to write about lesbian vampires, and Colombian assassins, and Hiroshima orphans – and New York painters with haemorrhoids”. One reviewer, Hari Kunzru in The Scotsman, wrote that “Sure enough, The Boat, contains all these stories, minus the lesbian vampires, who presumably got lost in the edit”. Does he know this for a fact? Did the real Nam Le write such a story or is it only the fictional one who did? Is this a case of life getting mixed up with art? In an interview on the ABC’s Bookshow Nam Le admits to a story about lesbians but says “the vampires I needed to leave some interpretive distance, I reckon”. I like to think of it as Nam Le’s little joke – but I may be wrong!
Now, any one else like to comment?
Thursday, 29 January 2009
Edith Wharton's The house of mirth
Six Minervans kicked off 2009 this week with a meeting at Gerda's. It was a hot night, but we stayed cool sitting in her back room, with its open hopper windows, sipping ginger punch and white wine. We also discussed The house of mirth, before adjourning to the lounge-room to watch the last few games of Jelena Dokic's quarter final match against Safina in the Australian Open. She lost, but we were proud of her!
Anyhow, the book. All who read it enjoyed it, some with qualifications. We started off with a discussion of the title - its biblical source, and what the word "mirth" connotes to us today. A couple thought the book was a bit wordy ("enough already" was the actual phrase spoken), and at least one thought it a little melodramatic and felt that its seams showed somewhat (that is, it was clear that it was a serialised novel). However, we all felt that she depicted the impact of the tight social strictures on women very well and that Lily Bart was a sympathetic, complex and well-drawn character. We were all glad we didn't live back then. Some of us were surprised to discover such a rigid society in the USA which has always promoted itself as the land of freedom where all can pursue happiness equally. Clearly this was not the case in early 20th century New York! There was a lively discussion about whether Lily was naive in trusting Gus Trenor or whether she used her wiles one time too many. Regardless of our attitude on this one, we recognised that Lily was in a pretty invidious position in that society and we all agreed that Gus behaved abominably.
We were less sure of Lawrence Seldon. Someone asked whether he was meant to represent the other half of the biblical quote alluded to in the title - the half that praises the serious life, expressed in Ecclesiastes as "the house of mourning" - but we didn't in the end feel that was quite it. Perhaps it is simply that his dual role as character and observer/commentator got in the way of his development as a fully-fledged character. We found Rosedale, the Jewish businessman, to be an interesting character. In this book as in many 19th century novels, it's clear that Jews were generally maligned by "society" and yet, while he never stopped being the businessman, he also showed compassion to Lily when the rest of her so-called friends forsook her. (Edith Wharton has been accused of anti-semitism, but her portrayal of Rosedale in this book doesn't really bear this out.)
Finally, we agreed that it is a "true" tragedy: Lily is a heroic character who, despite her dignity and sense of morality, is brought down by a combination of her own flaws and those of the society she lived in.
And now, perhaps other Minervans might like to add their comments...
Photo: Edith Wharton 1915 (Source:En.Wikipedia)
Anyhow, the book. All who read it enjoyed it, some with qualifications. We started off with a discussion of the title - its biblical source, and what the word "mirth" connotes to us today. A couple thought the book was a bit wordy ("enough already" was the actual phrase spoken), and at least one thought it a little melodramatic and felt that its seams showed somewhat (that is, it was clear that it was a serialised novel). However, we all felt that she depicted the impact of the tight social strictures on women very well and that Lily Bart was a sympathetic, complex and well-drawn character. We were all glad we didn't live back then. Some of us were surprised to discover such a rigid society in the USA which has always promoted itself as the land of freedom where all can pursue happiness equally. Clearly this was not the case in early 20th century New York! There was a lively discussion about whether Lily was naive in trusting Gus Trenor or whether she used her wiles one time too many. Regardless of our attitude on this one, we recognised that Lily was in a pretty invidious position in that society and we all agreed that Gus behaved abominably.
We were less sure of Lawrence Seldon. Someone asked whether he was meant to represent the other half of the biblical quote alluded to in the title - the half that praises the serious life, expressed in Ecclesiastes as "the house of mourning" - but we didn't in the end feel that was quite it. Perhaps it is simply that his dual role as character and observer/commentator got in the way of his development as a fully-fledged character. We found Rosedale, the Jewish businessman, to be an interesting character. In this book as in many 19th century novels, it's clear that Jews were generally maligned by "society" and yet, while he never stopped being the businessman, he also showed compassion to Lily when the rest of her so-called friends forsook her. (Edith Wharton has been accused of anti-semitism, but her portrayal of Rosedale in this book doesn't really bear this out.)
Finally, we agreed that it is a "true" tragedy: Lily is a heroic character who, despite her dignity and sense of morality, is brought down by a combination of her own flaws and those of the society she lived in.
And now, perhaps other Minervans might like to add their comments...
Photo: Edith Wharton 1915 (Source:En.Wikipedia)
Sunday, 11 January 2009
Susan Duncan's Salvation Creek
Never fear, this is not another long review. I know Sylvia has read this book as it's been going around our patchwork group - has anyone else? It's a memoir by a woman who lost her husband and only brother to cancer in the SAME week and who, as a result, but over some time, made some major changes to her life including moving to live in a boat-only-access part of Pittwater in Sydney. She's very honest about her feelings - and her failings - and comes across as a pretty spunky warm-hearted and generous woman. She also writes beautifully about life on Pittwater. And, recent reprints contain the recipe for her wonderful-sounding, and apparently easy to make, Lemon Cake.
One of the pieces of advice she imparts - not didactically but as a message to herself - is something she remembers her uncle telling her. He says, "You've got to watch your noodle all the time. Turns on you in a flash, fills you with crabby, unhelpful little ideas if you're not constantly vigilant". It's what I call self-talk but her uncle's way of saying it is so much more poetic.
Her next book is now out, The house at Salvation Creek. Anyhow, if you like memoirs, if you like reading about people who make major changes in their lives, and if you are interested in women who are roughly our age, you'll probably enjoy this (if you haven't read it already).
One of the pieces of advice she imparts - not didactically but as a message to herself - is something she remembers her uncle telling her. He says, "You've got to watch your noodle all the time. Turns on you in a flash, fills you with crabby, unhelpful little ideas if you're not constantly vigilant". It's what I call self-talk but her uncle's way of saying it is so much more poetic.
Her next book is now out, The house at Salvation Creek. Anyhow, if you like memoirs, if you like reading about people who make major changes in their lives, and if you are interested in women who are roughly our age, you'll probably enjoy this (if you haven't read it already).
Tuesday, 30 December 2008
Maybe its worked!
Seems your invitation was what was missing Sue. OK - have deleted my personal blog so maybe now I can cope. Not sure about ever writing a review but at least I can follow all yours!
Happy reading - am just over half way through a Fraction of the Whole and at this rate - spending hours on the computer instead of reading - I'll barely have time to try read our next book, but will be well prepared for May or whenever.....
Happy reading - am just over half way through a Fraction of the Whole and at this rate - spending hours on the computer instead of reading - I'll barely have time to try read our next book, but will be well prepared for May or whenever.....
Monday, 29 December 2008
Sebastian Barry's The secret scripture
Just having a go at a little personal review!!
I wanted to read this book because I heard great things about his previous one, A long long way, and both it and this one were shortlisted for the Booker prize. The book is set in Ireland in contemporary times, with flashbacks to the 1930s, and is told through the voices of two characters: Roseanne, a centenarian who has lived in a mental institution for 60 years or so, and Dr Grene, a psychiatrist at the institution for 35 years. As Roseanne writes her life-story, which she hides under boards in her room, Dr Grene investigates the reasons for her being there with a view to deciding her future. What falls out is a tortured story of religion, family and politics at a time in Ireland when sides had to be taken, rules took precedence and humanity was in short supply.
I loved the book, though had some reservations. The ending was a little contrived and I think he got Roseanne's voice better than Dr Grene's, despite the fact that he's a male writer. Particularly towards the end, Dr Grene's voice felt a bit forced, as though even Barry knew his plot resolution was a bit too neat and didn't quite know how to do it.
What I liked was the language, the characters (though most are loosely drawn) and the themes. I loved the musings on "truth" and "history". This is not a new idea, but I liked the way he mused here. I also liked its relationship of truth to health, that Roseanne's "truth" was a healthy one.
Roseanne is an interesting narrator. I would call her reliable not because she tells us the correct facts necessarily (as it appears that she may not have) but because, as Grene says at the end, she tells us "her" truth and this truth "radiated health". It may not hold up in a court of law but it gets to the heart of who Roseanne is. It is "vexing and worrying", though, as Roseanne says, when different people's truths (such as Fr Gaunt's and Roseanne's) cross each other. How true is Father Gaunt's anyhow? His conveys the facts but contains no humanity, let alone empathy. He has no idea of who Roseanne is, but he does know the "law" (of the church at least).
This is my favourite aspect of the book - the issues it raises about truth - and I love the little touch re "truth" and health/psychological cure. It makes me think that we should always keep a look out for two truths – the facts and inner meaning - and decide which one should take precedence in any given situation. In a court of law the facts perhaps need to take precedence but we should also heed the "hidden inner" truth as well. When dealing with our relationships perhaps the "hidden inner" truth is the one we should look for, as in WHY is this person saying or doing this, not WHAT did they say or do.
The language is beautiful and poetic. Poetic usually means two things to me, mostly in combination - language that is rich in imagery, as Barry's is, and language that has a strong rhythm that is often though not always based on breaking the rules of prose. Barry has great rhythm - it doesn't tend to break the rules (it doesn't, for example, have a lot of sentence fragments) but he uses punctuation and long sentences interspersed with short sentences to give a lovely flow. He also uses repetitions. Take this near the opening - it almost reads like blank verse:
"That place where I was born was a cold town. Even the mountains stood sway. They were not sure, no more than me, of that dark spot, those same mountains.
There was a black river that flowed through the town, and if it had no grace for mortal beings, it did for swans, and many swans resorted there, and even rode the river like some kind of plunging animals, in floods.
The river also took the rubbish down to the sea, and bits of things that were once owned by people and pulled form the banks, and bodies too, if rarely, oh and poor babies, that were embarrassments, the odd time. The speed and depth of the river would have been a great friend to secrecy.
That is Sligo town I mean."
He sets a powerful tone in these opening few paras - the rhythm is slow but with just an edge of awkwardness that catches you off guard. And the language conveys something untoward - "cold", "dark", "black", "rubbish", "secrecy". These are not repeated but, used in combination in such a few concentrated paras, they give us a sense of the story to come. I found this opening quite wonderful and it engaged me quickly.
I was a little unsure of Dr Grene. As I read it I kept wondering what the point of all the Bet stuff was...even though I did find a lot of it quite moving. It was mainly towards the end that he started to lose me...when he started to more actively investigate Roseanne's history. From a plot point of view it was logical and understandable, but the voice seemed to lose it a bit - it became a little prosaic, ordinary in some sense that seemed to lose Grene's particularity.
In Dr Grene's choice in the last para of the bright and open rose rather than a uniform neat one, we can see an acceptance of being open to many truths, to the imperfections of the world (as Roseanne appears to be) than to that neat, dry version of the world that we get from Fr. Gaunt. I think this softens the neat plot conclusion somewhat - as does the fact that despite this neatness, he doesn't go in for the full cliched emotions that would be drawn out in a simple genre book.
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