Review: Tampa

3 stars. English teacher Celeste Price has a singular sexual obsession: 14-year-old boys. This obsession, which she attributes to her first sexual experience, consumes her. She spends time ogling boys in malls, fantasizing about her students and masturbating to videos of boy bands. In a relentless effort to indulge her cravings, she begins an affair with one of her students, unable to foresee the consequences beyond her own sexual satisfaction. Tampa details this affair from Celeste's perspective, ending in an inevitable and stunning conclusion.

First things first: this book is not for the faint of heart. It should be obvious from the synopsis that the subject matter here is incredibly disturbing. I cannot imagine what sort of mindset Alissa Nutting had to put herself in to put pen to paper here - there is a level of detail in the writing, an extremeness to Celeste's fantasies and urges, that feels too specific to be inaccurate. Because of this it takes a moment, after closing the book, to shake it off and recover. I was made deeply uncomfortable, and I have a really high tolerance for this sort of thing.

I suppose one of my biggest questions here is: why? I consider myself to be open-minded and, in fact, very interested in all types of forms of literature. Even writing without an apparent purpose. Sometimes a poem is just a poem for the sake of it, and I don't hate that. But I found myself really wondering about the intentions here. Provocation? Exploring the taboo? Pushing boundaries? Inhabiting a truly disturbed mindset? Depicting the rarely-depicted female-on-male abuse? All of the above? To what end? 

Don't get me wrong - Tampa is fascinating. It's dark and explicit and brave. I would say that Alissa Nutting is an author with a twisted mind and I would mean it as a compliment. Did I particularly enjoy reading this? No ... not really. I struggled with it. I cringed at it. I recoiled from it. It's like Notes on a Scandal's mean, ugly stepsister (side note: I LOVED Notes on a Scandal). But it's utterly unforgettable. Improbabilities aside, it successfully captures and explores something interesting through a very, very distinct, explicit lens. 

Tampa on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: Cloud Atlas

5 stars. This book is the most beautiful, breathtaking gut punch. It's a piece of literary genius; philosophical and compelling. It made me feel small - in a good way, like when I visit New York or Tokyo or stand next to the ocean. I was captivated, almost against my will, and I can't wait to read it again and again and again.

Allow me to write a longer summary than usual. It will help me sort through the plot and the themes. SPOILERS TO FOLLOW.

Cloud Atlas collects the stories of six individuals and presents them in a puzzle box. The first story, THE PACIFIC JOURNAL OF ADAM EWING, takes place in the mid-1800s and follows a notary traveling from the Chatham Isles to California. HIs narrative ends abruptly and the book shifts to LETTERS FROM ZEDELGHEM, a collection of letters from a bisexual composer to his lover, reporting on his many amusing exploits of the 1930s. This composer encounters a copy of Adam Ewing's journal and is fascinated.

The book then shifts again to HALF-LIVES, THE FIRST LUISA REY MYSTERY, a pulpy thriller about a feisty journalist and her quest to expose a corporation for playing fast and loose with the safety precautions on their nuclear reactor. Rey, in the midst of dodging 1970s clichés and cliffhangers, comes across the composer's letters from the previous section and is desperate to find the rest.

Falling into place, yet? I know, it's great.

Leaving Luisa's fate unknown, we shift to modern times to read THE GHASTLY ORDEAL OF TIMOTHY CAVENDISH, the memoir of an elderly publisher who gets trapped in a nursing home against his will (and ... is sent the first half of a manuscript about Luisa Rey). Cavendish is colorful and - honestly, a little grotesque - but we root for him all the same.

Number five reveals AN ORISON OF SONMI-451, the transcript of an interview with a clone from the far future. Sonmi has "ascended" - she has taught herself to think and feel, and in her own transcendent way attempts to right the wrongs she sees in the world. She also enjoys the first half of the movie version of Cavendish's ghastly ordeal.

Lastly we read SLOOSHA'S CROSSIN' AN' EV'RYTHIN' AFTER. Civilization has fallen. The human population has fractured into isolated tribes living off the earth and avoiding savages. Zachry, a goatherder, worships Sonmi like a god, though he and his people don't understand her origins or the true context of her declarations. 

And then we switch back to Sonmi, who declares in the last moment of her interview that she'd like to watch the rest of the movie about Timothy Cavendish. Cavendish escapes his nursing home prison and reads the second half of the manuscript about Luisa Rey. Luisa survives several ridiculous threats, including a hit man, a bombing and a shootout on a boat to obtain the rest of the composer's letters. The composer, in the last moments of his life, reads the final chapters of Adam Ewing's journal, who closes with “My life amounts to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean. Yet what is any ocean, but a multitude of drops?” 

There is, admittedly, a ton to unpack here. My observations and thoughts are as follows:

First - David Mitchell can write anything he wants. Each segment of this book is carefully crafted and completely different. Each character has a distinguishable voice (in some cases, literally) - which is so rare! He emulates styles and forges his own. He can be irritating, and meta as hell, but Cloud Atlas is so fucking impressive. I would've loved to study this in college just so I could discuss and understand everything about it from the word choice to the philosophical questions to the structure.

Second - theeeeeeeeeemes. Theme city. Themes everywhere, as far as the eye can see. Mitchell infuses his work with explorations of the primitive vs. the civilized; nature vs. nurture; sacrifice; power; slavery; mortality ... and all of them - for the most part - bonk you on the head: "Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future." "Unlimited power in the hands of limited people always leads to cruelty." Etc. Yeah, there isn't a lot of subtlety here. But it's not bad. It's just heavy and philosophical and leaves you full of joy and sadness at the same time.

Cloud Atlas isn't perfect, I know. It requires commitment and patience and a high tolerance for tricky dialogue, and at times is a little too clever for its own good. It was a rewarding read for me, though, almost comforting. I think I understand the questions it asks and tries to answer. I can't wait to read it again and pull out the details I missed - and to just fall into that world again, even for a moment. After all, “Books don't offer real escape, but they can stop a mind scratching itself raw.” 

Cloud Atlas on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: The Handmaid's Tale

When I started this blog, I had been posting reviews on Goodreads for about 6 months. In the interest of having all of my book writing in one place, I will post one of these old reviews every Friday. They weren't written with a blog in mind, so please forgive the lack of summary and off-the-cuff tone.

4 stars. What can be said about this book that hasn't already been said? It's awkward to even attempt an analysis - I doubt I could draw a unique conclusion from The Handmaid's Tale even if I spent years trying. Not only has this book been picked apart word by word since its publication, it's also a fairly easy book to analyze. The message is clear. The message is loud.

And yet ... one size does not fit all. The beauty of this book - of all books, really - is that every single reader can interpret something entirely different. What I found to be a deafening warning could be an ideal aspiration for another. Let's hope not, but it could be.

Rather than jump into all the pushing and shoving, instead of extrapolating comprehensively about the overarching themes of this book, I'll just point out a few things that stuck with me, with me personally, when I finished reading it.

First of all, men are barely in this book. We have male characters, and it would seem that a primary focus of the new society is the relationship between men and women. But our protagonist attaches much more significance to the actions of women. She observes more closely - and is much more critical of - the behavior of her female counterparts. This does not mean that she discounts the importance of men; she acknowledges her need and desire for them and also the fact that she is oppressed by them. But complacency comes in many forms, and the women of Gilead, under Atwood's eye, are guilty of oppression just as much as the men are.

Secondly, Atwood's choice of the color red is brilliant. Red symbolizes anger, lust, sin, sexual sin specifically, and adultery. It's also visually striking - the opposite of camouflage. It can be powerful and attractive and distinctive. It's intense. The color red, though, also symbolizes menstruation and fertility - holiness, in the eyes of Gilead's society. Here Atwood demonstrates the hypocrisy of this society's "ideals."

Lastly (and I know this isn't a particularly unique response - see first paragraph above), my reaction to this book was incredibly emotional. I suppose at the end of the day, upon finishing the epilogue, I felt ... hurt. My feeling were hurt. I know that seems lame and petty and like something a twelve-year-old would say, but I felt the accuracy of Atwood's forecast and I felt the fear and the pain and the idea of "wow, I can see this happening."

Disclaimer: I am extremely lucky and have been afforded a tremendous amount of privilege in my life. I do not mean to position myself as a victim. But I'm a woman, so I have faced and will always face the risk of being considered "less." Reading this book triggered a lot of feelings about that, but under all the anger and fury and resentment and determination, it just fucking hurt.

Remember when I said that there is pretty much no room for commentary on this book because it's so universally-analyzed? Whoops. Bottom line: this is one of the most important books of all time and everyone should read it.

The Handmaid's Tale on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: My Brilliant Friend (The Neapolitan Novels #1)

When I started this blog, I had been posting reviews on Goodreads for about 6 months. In the interest of having all of my book writing in one place, I will post one of these old reviews every Friday. They weren't written with a blog in mind, so please forgive the lack of summary and off-the-cuff tone.

5 stars. Visiting art museums as a child, I always preferred narrative art over portraits and landscapes. I liked putting together the visual clues, drawing inferences from the content, and using my imagination to fill in the rest. Like a typical child, I was attracted to the excitement, the illustrations, the battle scenes, the hidden elements that truly tell a story. Very occasionally, though, I'd come across a portrait that mesmerized, or a landscape that took my breath away. I remember viewing Whistler's Symphony in White, No. 1: The White Girl at age 10, and being totally and completely captivated. She's so pretty, so magnetic, and I saw layers and layers of personality in her face. Just as Whistler's portrait held surprising depth for me at age 10, this book is, perhaps, one of the most unexpected page turners I've ever encountered.

A lot happens in My Brilliant Friend. Many things occur. And yet it doesn't feel action-packed. I'm aware that some readers give up halfway through this book, frustrated with the lack of forward movement. Sometimes it dragged for me, too. But as I really consider this story and its complexities, I realize that it is, in fact, a narrative portrait - not thrilling at first glance, but layered and personal, allowing the reader a very intimate and very in-depth look at a somewhat unreliable narrator's portrayal of her childhood, her family, her surroundings, her development, her education, and her closest friendship.

Most importantly, her friendship. The most precious and terrifying relationship in her life. This is a novel truly about Elena's friendship with Lila. She's painfully aware of the impact this friendship has had on her life, on her formative years, and how this friendship has shaped her attitude and her priorities and her idea of success, and she spends a lot of energy attempting to capture the details. From anyone else's pen, this might be repetitive, cliche, or boring, but coming from Ferrante and her incredible translator, the story is engaging, wonderful, and from my perspective, easy to relate to.

Yes - to be a woman is to compete with other women. At least, in my experience. The "frenemy" concept is real. The constant comparison is real. The jealousy, the manipulation, the drive to be better, the validation that comes from the approval of your friend. The roller coaster of feeling superior only to be dashed by her inevitable success. The race to be first - first at anything. All real. I don't know about other women, or other men, but all of this was commonplace in my childhood and adolescence. And while I suppose I've matured, and those around me have grown up as well, thinking about it - remembering - brings up the same intense emotions as it did back then. The same anger and fear and the need to be better.

My Brilliant Friend is beautiful. It's a work of art. It moved me and made my heart beat faster. It's full of fascinating details about Naples and poverty and politics and religion and tradition. And I can't finish without addressing the fact that this book includes as much about masculinity as it does femininity. Elena's observations are honest and strong.

My Brilliant Friend on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: The Secret History

When I started this blog, I had been posting reviews on Goodreads for about 6 months. In the interest of having all of my book writing in one place, I will post one of these old reviews every Friday. They weren't written with a blog in mind, so please forgive the lack of summary and off-the-cuff tone.

4 stars. What could I possibly say about The Secret History that hasn’t already been said? There’s so much in Donna Tartt’s writing - so much detail, so much exposition, so much meticulous plotting. One of her gifts - truly - is that she includes all this in a way that feels completely natural. It’s brilliant, and weird. It left me feeling worn out maybe a little confused, in a good way.

I mean … it’s completely incredible, deeply intellectual and … full of first world problems. It epitomizes the use of sophisticated language and smacks you in the face with privileged stupidity. It’s carefully fleshed out and sharply thorough and somehow the lack of character development feels okay. What am I even saying? How can I even describe it? Like I said, it feels natural. It’s wrong and it’s right.

The Secret History is a smooth, robust, heavy book written without any obvious effort; the words birthed from a mind soaked in literary thinking.

The Secret History on: Amazon | Goodreads