Book #27

Reviewer: Inspirationalreads

I too am aware of being in incestuous waters, a woman writer who is writing about a woman writer who is writing …  We may pretend otherwise, but to many writers this is the richest territory we can imagine… This matters, the remaking of an untenable world through the nib of a pen; it matters so much I can’t stop doing it.

Unless is the last novel from Pulitzer Prize winner Shields, written shortly before her death in 2003, and is often claimed as her most personal.  Reta Winters is a writer,  living a charmed life of moderate professional success, loving family life and a full and supportive circle of friends.  When her eldest daughter decides to abandon her studies, family and friends for life on a street corner, holding up a sign saying only “goodness”, Reta brings her writerly contemplation to bear on the situation and its repercussions on her life.

Told from Reta’s perspective, the story of daughter Norah and her withdrawal from society is a vehicle in which Shields is able to voice her opinions on being a female, particularly a female writer.  Incestuous waters indeed.  There is a ongoing comment about female literature, how it is compartmentalised and trivialised, Reta often writing imaginary letters to convey her strong opinions on the subject.  But what does this have to do with a daughter who does nothing but hold up her sign of “goodness”?  The link is of her removal being Norah’s giving over the power in a sense of helplessness does relate to Reta’s musings on the subject, but her role in this story itself is trivialised.  The catalyst itself that feels rendered secondary to what feels like what Shields is trying to say rather than what it has evoked in the character of Reta.

This is important stuff, not only to Reta or even to Shields.  I did not find out that this was the author’s last book, written so close to her time of death until I had finished the book but there is the feeling that this is something that she really felt needed to be said about her profession and her role as a female writer in it.  The feeling of personal really is the correct description for this book.  At times I felt that this message of dismissing the power of feminine literature uncomfortable, the message too unflinching.  But learning more about Shields has leant a lot of credibility to it as well.  She was a noted Jane Austen fan and also wrote a biography before her death.  As a Pulitzer Prize winning female author, and a student and fan of one of the most visible female authors ever, these thoughts were obviously something she needed to say before she died, something she had to say on behalf of herself and those female writers who came before and to those who have and will come after.

I almost dismissed this novel as one of a display of great writing but one where the story was lost for the main agenda of its author.  I was reading to find out about Norah, what caused her self-exile and what would happen to her eventually.  And the reader is given these things albeit as a secondary to the main message.  But the message is powerful, so-much-so that this inexperienced part-time blogger feels too inadequate to properly convey.  One of the most important things I have read in a long time.

Book #302

Reviewer: Inspirationalreads

The Cement Garden is McEwan’s first novel, and while there is not much to link it to his later and more well known novels such as Atonement or On Chesil Beach, his familiar unsettling touch and straight forward prose is clearly evident and should be welcome signs to McEwan’s fans.

Told from the perspective of 15 year old Jack, the story opens shortly before the death of his father. He is the second of four children ranging from six to 17 years old, there is a distance between the children and their father which is more than made up by the uncomfortable closeness of the children, particularly Jack and his two sisters, 17 year old Julie and 13 year old Sue.  And so, we come to a disclaimer that is becoming quite a regular feature in my reviews; this short novel is not for the faint-hearted or easily icked-out.  The uncomfortable tone of this story kicks off right from the start and it begins with the game of doctor Jack and his two sisters are playing in the opening passages.  When the children’s mother also passes away not soon after their father, the children decide to bury their mother in cement in their basement to prevent them being put into care and possibly separated.

What happens next is a predictable spiral into chaos and disorder.  The children are ill-equipped to look after themselves or each other and each reacts to this horrible turn of events differently.  Tom, the youngest at 6, regresses into baby-like behaviour.  Sue withdraws into her books and diary.  Julie at 17 attempts to take on the running of the household, not always successfully.  And then there is Jack.  Even before the passing of their parents, Jack was already unsavoury (I really can not think of a better word). It is through Jack’s eyes and the presence that Jack imposes on his surroundings that McEwan brings his skill of unnerving.  Jack goes out of his way to stay unwashed, revelling in the impact his acne-ridden image has on his mother and siblings.  He is unhealthily interested in his sisters but stays on the fringes, his observations more from his peeping and spying than from the intention of looking out for his family.

What I have been skirting around is that there are incestuous overtones going on here.  All right, there is actual incest that occurs in The Cement Garden.  There, I’ve said it.  Kind of a spoiler but not a huge one as it occurs very early on and seems to be one of the key things associated with the story.  Which is a shame as it seems to be a major thing when really it is a factor in this disturbing tale.  While it is right up there in uncomfortable stakes, it is more the idea of the blurred lines of what should and should not be for these children who are put into a very adult (and a macabre one at that) situation.  While it is predictable that the wheels will come off, it is what happens along the way that is is interesting; interesting, awful, tense  but like the proverbial train wreck, hard to turn away from.

Yet, for all this there is a forced feeling to it all.  It is an interesting situation that these children are in but I found myself thinking more about the motivations of McEwan rather than that of our characters.  I thought more about what he was hoping to achieve with it all, then let myself be carried away by the story itself.  There is an emotional aloofness, an almost calculated feel to it.  I admire it for the technical brilliance that is always evident in McEwan’s work and this his first, is no exception.  A small part perhaps is down to me wanting to distance myself from something so abhorrent to me,  that these characters are so odd and the situation so perturbing that I found myself reading from afar rather getting right into the story.  But also, the style of writing is distancing and cold itself, of which I suppose I should be thankful but ultimately did not really allow me to enjoy it fully.

This is a quick read, interesting in parts and a quite easy one to cross of the list if you don’t mind being creeped out a little.  Sorry, creeped out a lot.  McEwan seems to be quite popular among the film community as this is one of six of his novels that have been adapted to film, Enduring Love and Atonement included and both on the list.  So, not highly recommended by me but being a quick read works in it’s favour.

Book #23

Reviewer: Inspirationalreads

Set in modern day Mumbai, the family matters at hand are those of Nariman Vakeel, his two step-children, his daughter and her family.  Currently living with his step-children Coomy and Jal, the ageing Nariman falls and breaks his ankle causing an increase in his care and an increase in resentment from Coomy and Jal, with Coomy becoming more and more desperate to be rid of the old man.  Roxana, Coomy and Jal’s half sister and Nariman’s daughter, lives with her husband and two children in a tiny apartment, and it is here that the scheming Coomy successfully off-loads Nariman.

When the two week stay becomes four and then six, family relations become strained.  Roxana’s husband Yezad becomes increasingly suspicious of Coomy and Jal.  Roxana is torn between the love and obligation she feels towards her father and understanding her husband’s frustration, their living arrangements less than ideal before Nariman arrived and the strain of another mouth to feed and body to house proving too much.  For Coomy, it is the desperation at stopping her step-father from returning that takes her schemes to new heights and her brother Jal, an unwilling participant in all of these plans is guilt-ridden about the whole thing.  At the centre of it all is Nariman; with his body betraying him, it is his mind that he lets wander, remembering his past and the road to his current situation.

There is so much that is familiar in this story and so much that is exotically foreign to me.  Mistry’s words creates so vividly the colour, smell and feel of Mumbai.  Beyond the physical surroundings,  the Zoroastrian religion plays a big part, what it means to them to maintain their Parsi heritage and all that this involves.  In creating this setting we also have our colourful side characters adding levity with their humourous idiosyncrasies and each playing their role in contributing to the turn of events.  The world created is full and distinct, where I felt that I was plunged into somewhere that I could clearly imagine despite never having stepped foot in India, never having known about the  Zoroastrian religion, so much of it alien to what I know and have experienced.

For all this difference to me and my physical world, there is much of the actual family issues that I could relate to. Nariman also has Parkinson’s and as he ages and starts to fail physically it isn’t rage and anger he feels but the need for reflection and from this regret.  His awareness of how burdensome he has become is heartbreaking, as is the toll that his presence is taking on Roxanna and her family.  The financial struggle of this family is all too familiar.  As is the idea of dashed dreams, wanting more for your children and being worn down by the daily grind.  These are not themes particular to this part of the world; these are some of the most basic of human concerns. Yet for all this understanding of their situation, it is never allowed to become mundane and too commonplace as there are still touches of melodrama, especially with Coomy and her scheming. She is a great character, faintly ridiculous but ultimately proving to be the antagonist of our story.

This is a very full and rich novel.  Complex in some respects but simple and familiar in others, all things that can describe families everywhere.  Highly recommended to those who love India, enjoy great characterisation or who have family matters of their own.