Category: Books

By Carolyn Williams

There were many reasons I was dying to see Joe Wright’s “Anna Karenina” adaptation this holiday season. One, it’s my favorite novel. Two, I love Tom Stoppard’s writing, and three, I really like Russian history. But more than anything, I figured that with such an epically awesome plot, what could really go wrong?

A lot of things went wrong.

The complex storyline of Tolstoy’s “Anna Karenina” has been reduced to a succinct two-hour run time, but most of the cuts are tastefully done. The film opens in Moscow on the marital troubles of Stiva (Matthew Macfadyen) and Dolly Oblonsky (Kelly Macdonald). Unfortunately, Stiva has been caught sleeping with the children’s governess and in swoops his sister, Anna (Keira Knightley), from the glittering cultural center of St. Petersburg, to reconcile the pair. Disinterested in her own marriage to the dull civil servant, Karenin (Jude Law), Anna quickly repairs the surface-level damage within one unhappy family. She is afterwards convinced to attend a ball, where Dolly’s little sister, Kitty, expects to be proposed to by the dashing young officer of the moment, Count Vronsky (Aaron Taylor-Johnson).

Meanwhile, Stiva’s best friend, the wholesome farmer, Levin, has come into Moscow for the express purpose of proposing to Kitty as well, only to find her interest completely dominated by Vronsky, who, in turn, is captivated by the sophisticated and aloof Anna. Our heroine arrives at the ball dressed daringly in black and completely steals Kitty’s frilly white thunder. One passionate dance seals the deal, which breaks Kitty’s heart and paves the way to Anna’s ruined reputation.

To describe “Anna” in three hundred words or less is criminal, but basically, Vronksy and Anna, once they’ve begun their affair, cannot be kept apart, and are forced to make brutal choices and undergo heartbreaking sacrifice, with their decisions informed by strict nineteenth-century Russian convention. As a woman, Anna is specifically condemned by her peers for doing publicly what everyone else does privately. One character puts things in perspective for the film’s modern audience, as she says “I’d call on her if she only broke the law, but she broke the rules.”

One might say Wright broke a couple of rules in making this film too, but not in a positive way. In an obvious attempt to distance himself from traditional literary adaptations, Wright has set the action of the film in a falling apart theatre and most of the scenes take place on stage or in the wings. Though the film is, at times, visually breathtaking, after the first hour, I couldn’t help but feel Wright was trying too hard. The choreographed movements of the extras certainly lend to the feeling of circumscribed social rules, but they simultaneously anesthetize much of the human flaw, which is so huge a part of the story.

It doesn’t help that Wright gets little support from his lead actors. Taylor-Johnson gives a wholly superficial performance as Vronksy and you almost feel bad watching Knightley try (and fail) to carry their whole romance herself. Maybe in a different version of this story, she could have given a better performance; I’m really not sure. Fortunately for everyone, McFayden’s Oblonksy delights us as he mischievously offers warm-hearted comic relief in spades.

The plot of “Anna Karenina” is moved largely by an undeniable love, but Wright has minimized that love almost beyond recognition. His film feels more like a story you know you’ve heard before, but somewhere along the line, someone who was only half-listening misinterpreted some critical information. But hey, if nothing else, at least it’s got a shot for Best Costumes this Oscar season, right?

Carolyn Williams
Writer

Pulitzer Prize winner Junot Diaz’s third book, “This Is How You Lose Her,” is of that rare, awesome breed which combines readability with literary merit. This is the first book in a while that I have been genuinely unable to put down.

For anyone unfamiliar with Junot Diaz’s rather unique style, here’s an excerpt from page one of the first short story in the collection, “The Sun, the Moon, the Stars:”

“See, many months ago when Magda was still my girl, when I didn’t have to be careful about almost everything, I cheated on her with this chick who had tons of eighties freestyle hair … Magda only found out because homegirl wrote her a fucking letter. And the letter had details. Shit you wouldn’t even tell your boys drunk.”

So there you have it. If this sort of writing doesn’t appeal to you, it’s probably best you stop reading here. But if this small sample whets your appetite, the collection only gets better as it goes on.

Diaz focuses eight out of nine of these stories on Yunior, whose misadventures in love are referenced in the title, and who figures both in Diaz’s first collection, “Drown,” and his acclaimed novel, “The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao.” Yunior, like Diaz, is a Dominican author and professor living in the Boston area, but the stories deal more with his coming of age and coming to terms with himself than the actual business of falling in and out of love. Romantic relationships play heavily throughout, but there is much more emotional writing of loss and familial love as well.

Yunior, though he tries to avoid it, has inherited the “cheating gene” of his father and older brother, and, well intentioned though he may be, cannot stay faithful to the women in his stories. He’s far from heartless, though. He bemoans his condition, spends the final story in the collection, “A Cheater’s Guide to Love” trying to get over a lost love interest for years, but he can’t shake this family curse.

Whether he’s demonstrating his status as a Dominican outsider in a white America or personally proving just how hard a good man is to find, Yunior’s voice is what makes this collection so excellent. Diaz’s interplay of English and Spanish, or slang and literary reference, are so unusual they become addictive. A great narrative voice can really make or break a book, and Yunior’s seals the deal for “This Is How You Lose Her.” I seriously cannot recommend it enough. As Yunior, that consummate cheater in love would say, “the half-life of love is forever.” And trust me, that’s pretty much how long you’ll be in love with Diaz’s book.

Carolyn Williams
Writer

For millions of fans who have been waiting five years for the next novel from J. K. Rowling, author of the beloved Harry Potter series, her first work for adults, “The Casual Vacancy,” will be a bit of a disappointment.

In a drastic departure from the world of magical face-offs between good and evil we’ve come to expect from her, Rowling has chosen to write about a conventional, albeit imagined, British suburb called Pagford. In this seemingly idyllic vestige of simpler times, generations of families live within walking distance and everyone knows everyone else’s business. So, naturally, the small town is thrown into a tizzy at the unexpected death of Barry Fairbrother, and the subsequent empty spot on the Parish Council this death occasions; the formal term for such an opening is the titular casual vacancy.

But surprise, surprise, Pagford isn’t quite as nice as its shiny veneer would suggest. Due to an extremely unpopular land sale in the 50s, its borders include an addiction clinic and a subdivision of government housing called the Fields, which the painfully polite Pagfordians simply want nothing to do with. Chairman of the Parish Council, Howard Mollison, (an obnoxiously pompous figure, complete with simpering wife/lackey), sees his opportunity to finally do away with those pesky blue collar families, now that his greatest political opponent, Fairbrother, is out of the picture. A general struggle between many supporting characters ensues for the open council seat, and we are introduced to about 15 separate but interlocking characters who partake in the drama, ranging from the spunky but crass Krystal, a teenage resident of the Fields, to Samantha Mollison, the chairman’s sarcastic, bored daughter-in-law, to Gavin Hughes, whose unbearable timidity has him vacillating for most of the novel between an unhappy relationship with his social worker girlfriend, and an unrequited crush on his recently deceased best friend’s widow.

One of the biggest problems with “The Casual Vacancy” is Rowling’s obvious desire to distance herself from her past writings. Pagford is rife with drug addicts, adulterers, angsty teenagers and general unrest, to a degree that’s just unrealistic. Parts of this suburban setting and fairly mundane plot line are reminiscent of Tom Perrotta (“Little Children”), America’s suburban writer-du-jour. But, honestly, Perrotta does this setting much better; he makes suburban malaise and domestic disputes believable. Sure, the all-too-perfect façade of suburbia hides lots of secrets, but this is extreme. Every house on the block is not concealing stolen computers or bags of heroin. Pagford is a weird cross between “Weeds” and Wisteria Lane, a kind of Bermuda Triangle for paranoia and creepy secrets.

At least we can imagine the coronary Aunt Petunia would be sure to have if surrounded by so much juicy gossip. Between the stifling storyline and plodding pace, it would be a relief to see the loathsome Dursleys again–at least we know they’re good for a laugh. All in all, though, it’s admirable to see Rowling writing again after setting such an impossibly high standard with the success of Harry Potter, we also know quite well how very capable her imagination is, and “The Casual Vacancy” definitely falls far short of the mark.

Carolyn Williams

Writer

Jennifer Egan’s fifth book, “A Visit from the Goon Squad,” has been met with overwhelmingly popular and critical approval, earning it last year’s Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. Whether or not to call this work a novel or a collection of interrelated short stories is still up for debate among critics, but regardless of how she does it, Egan’s work here is engaging from start to finish.

Set largely in New York City, but also in a few different spots (California and Italy, to name a few), Egan relates a story of time and life set to the background of the music industry. Time is the eponymous “goon squad” as it shifts back and forth fluidly throughout the work, and it’s the story’s main impetus. Egan has said in interviews that her inspiration for the story was drawn from “The Sopranos” and Proust’s “In Search of Lost Time,” a bizarre combination that, weirdly enough, an informed reader can’t help but buy.

Summarizing is definitely difficult, as the 13 chapters can be read as individual works, set over 40 or so years. Characters move in and out of the work, sometimes playing leads, and other times unassuming supporting roles. Narrative privilege shifts, as does the style of writing. This is not a minimal change–we’re talking about first to second-person switches, a chapter communicated via PowerPoint slides and text-speak as a legitimate form of literature, perhaps suggesting this format as the new doublespeak (this particular chapter is set in an Orwellian New York future, after all).

We begin with the 30-something kleptomaniac Sasha who goes on a date with Alex. Alex later works for Bennie, who conveniently was  Sasha’s former boss. Bennie himself was a shoddy bassist before getting into the music business and used to be married to Stephanie who works in PR. The connections go on and on. These are evolving and living characters, told sympathetically, but not to the point of sweetness; they’re trying, and sometimes failing, but that’s pretty typical, and Egan lets us choose whether or not they deserve the blame for their often laughably unexpected situations.

Egan’s greatest strength in “A Visit from the Goon Squad” is her ability to inject her delightfully barbed humor into her description and dialogue without seeming to try too hard. It’s sarcastic and modern, and, though it perhaps gets a little derailed towards the end, it keeps those pages irresistibly turning.

Carolyn Williams
Senior Writer

“The Ruins of Us,” Keija Parssinen’s debut novel, echoes back to her childhood in Saudi Arabia. A third generation expatriate, Parssinen’s heroine, Rosalie, channels the author’s obvious love of her youthful home, and demonstrates a serious understanding of a culture which seems exotic at best, and crazy at worst, to most of her American audience. Parssinen’s success in this novel is making the setting accessible, which is important because of how it defines the characters who make it their home.

Rosalie, a 40-something wife and mother of two, begins “The Ruins of Us” by telling the reader that she has it all: a devoted husband, a nearly grown up son and daughter, fantastic wealth and a home in the beautiful, unforgiving desert she loves. That is, until she discovers that two years ago, her husband, Abdullah, took a second wife and wants them all to be a happy, traditional family together.

Rosalie’s desperate search for an escape from the half-life she is revealed to be living takes up much of the beginning of the novel. Abdullah’s polygamy is legal in Saudi Arabia, and divorce, though possible, will take away Rosalie’s children and life as she knew it for nearly 30 years. An expatriate college dropout without any particular talents or money, Rosalie finds herself with her back to a wall, yet she cannot help but love her husband and mourn the loss of their life together.

Aside from Rosalie’s struggle with herself, Abdullah is forced to take a look at his flailing family: his fiery first wife, whose life he has upended; his independent daughter, Mariam, hoping to change her world for the better with feminist journalism; his radically devout son, Faisal, who wants to put things back to the way they were on the Arab peninsula before Westernization; and the promise of a new life with his second wife, who remains mostly a blank throughout the novel. Rosalie and Abdullah’s crisis is observed by their old college friend, Dan, who went through a divorce recently, and despite missing his old life, cannot help but nurse a longtime crush on the spirited Rosalie.

Everything comes to a head in an escape attempt, Big Brother-type government intervention and a kidnapping. “The Ruins of Us” does not necessarily end in a way that will satisfy all audiences, but the unbiased reader will agree that the ending serves the book’s purpose well. Though slow to start, the novel definitely picks up speed and interest as it progresses, as likeable characters take shape and dramas unfold. Most importantly, the backdrop of exotic Saudi Arabia manages to keep everyone on their toes.

By Carolyn Williams

Staff Writer

“The Wrong Blood” by Manuel de Lope is a story both sweeping and personal, about two women of different backgrounds brought together by similar circumstances during the Spanish Civil War. First published in Spain in 2000 as “La Sangre Ajena,” John Cullen’s 2010 English translation conveys languid, unusual, intense language like “roses as plump as a wet nurse’s breasts,” and preserves the emotion beneath the text, a true feat in translation.

The primary storyline, which deals with the Civil War time period, focuses on María Antonia Etxarri, an innkeeper’s daughter who, while waiting one night on a squadron of rebel soldiers, feels with a level of certainty, that she will be raped. Sure enough, a sergeant takes her to bed, and for the rest of her life she is never entirely sure whether or not she gave her consent. Either way, the events of that night alter her irrevocably. She enters service and begins to work for Isabel Herraíz, a young war widow who, like María Antonia, finds herself pregnant and without a man. At her estate, Las Cruces, they form a pact which the young, recently lamed Doctor Castro witnesses. This secret forms the backbone of the novel.

Interwoven with the wartime story is one of Miguel Goitia, Isabel’s grandson, set a few decades later. He has come to Las Cruces for an extended stay in order to study in peace and solitude as he prepares for his bar exam, a guest of the current owner of the house, the now-elderly María Antonia, who inherited it after Isabel’s death. With little knowledge of his family’s history, and only hazy memories of his deceased grandmother, Goitia studies on a regimented schedule, eats at specifically appointed times and interacts with almost no one, all of which is quietly observed by his interested neighbor, Dr. Castro.

Castro, starved for human companionship so many years after a motorcycle accident that left him permanently crippled, attempts to cultivate a relationship with Goitia, hoping for a friendly camaraderie with a fellow intellectual. Rebuffed by the intense young man, Castro is not discouraged, but continues his careful study of Goitia, reflecting on the history of the youth’s family to which he was witness, and, more importantly, certain secrets that now only he and the elusive María Antonia know in full.

The mysterious family secret around which the book revolves is built up so that it is hard to miss, but the overall effect of the book is satisfying. A story of family and war, “The Wrong Blood” is the kind of novel that operates on two levels: a surface of beautiful language and vivid description underlain with an intense, emotionally striking plot.

By Carolyn Williams

Staff Writer

Peter Høeg’s “The Quiet Girl” is billed as a new thriller to match the success of his 1992 novel “Smilla’s Sense of Snow.” However, where Smilla was a high caliber bestseller, “The Quiet Girl” has been met with a very mixed reception in Denmark, and the English translation by Nadia Christensen has failed to accrue the enthusiasm of its predecessor.

“The Quiet Girl” stars middle-aged clown Kasper Krone as a protagonist of sorts, whom Høeg gifts with the ability to hear peoples’ essences, making Kasper able to learn countless useful snippets of personal information and intrinsic qualities immediately upon “hearing” their unique sound. This interesting bit of magic realism aside, Kasper is also world-renowned for his illustrious circus career and simultaneously dealing with his father’s terminal illness, as well as being up to his neck in debt, a womanizer, and wanted in multiple countries for fraud. He also moonlights as a children’s therapist, capitalizing on his innate ability to hear into the souls of others, which apparently comes even more naturally with children. This is how he first meets the quiet girl of the title, a 10-year-old nymphet of whom Humbert Humbert would be proud, named KlaraMaria.

For some reason, KlaraMaria’s essential sound is quieter than anyone else Kasper has ever encountered. So when, after disappearing from his life for some time, KlaraMaria returns to Kasper in some definitely suspicious circumstances, he recognizes her immediately. And when she slips him a note which leads him to believe she has been kidnapped and abused, Kasper jumps quickly into action to rescue this precocious and obviously special child. Lying with terrifying ease and jetting around Copenhagen so quickly readers may well become nauseous, Kasper tries to follow KlaraMaria’s maddeningly faint trail, while also dodging police and members of the enigmatic “Department H,” which he has been warned to leave alone. Trying to connect the dots between KlaraMaria, his ex-lover Stina, some children with very questionable abilities and avoid incarceration, Kasper attempts to piece together this mystery and see how everything can possibly fit together.

One of the issues with “The Quiet Girl” is the convoluted plot and sporadic storytelling style employed by Høeg. Honestly, parts of the novel seem more like James Joyce than a modern thriller. Following the path of the characters is definitely a challenge, and reading it in translation may be a contributing factor. Christensen has clearly taken on a challenge in working with “The Quiet Girl,” but without knowing Danish or having a solid understanding of Copenhagen’s layout, the book loses much of its entertainment value. Considering its lukewarm reception at home, Høeg might have confused more than just his foreign readers. After virtually disappearing from the literary world for 10 years and producing several lesser novels, Høeg still fails to match his achievement in “Smilla’s Sense of Snow.” “The Quiet Girl,” though possibly misunderstood, is ultimately disappointing.

By Carolyn Williams

Staff Writer

The title pretty much says it all in Anne Fortier’s “Juliet.” A beach read at best, Fortier’s attempt to reinvent Shakespeare’s star-crossed lovers has moments of real intrigue, but the overall effect is spoiled, unfortunately, by her own over-complicated plot.

The main problem with the novel is the heroine, Julie Jacobs. Fortier sets her up to be a Cinderella type of under-appreciated chorus-girl-turned-star, but it’s hard to get past her awful personality, let alone enjoy her first-person narrative.

Julie Jacobs, she tells us, has spent her entire life stuck in the shadow of her beautiful, smarter, and more popular fraternal twin sister, Janice. The twins were born in Italy, orphaned in their early childhood, and raised by a well-meaning aunt. Counting on inheriting equal shares of said aunt’s considerable estate upon her death, Julie is shocked to hear that Janice has been given the entire estate, and that she has instead been left a ticket to Siena, Italy, and instructions to meet with her late mother’s bank manager, where some fabulous treasure supposedly awaits her.

After whining her way across the Atlantic, Julie, who has recently learned that her name was originally Giulietta Tolomei, bursts onto the scene in Siena. Naturally, she meets a sort of a fairy godmother along the way, who sees to it that she is outfitted in designer clothes and given a total makeover, then sent marching off to the bank to see what her mother has left her from beyond the grave.

In her mother’s vault, Julie discovers a silver crucifix, a large sheaf of old documents, and a battered copy of Romeo and Juliet. The oldest of the documents is the journal of Maestro Ambrogio, a painter in Siena who recorded his encounters with a pair of star-cross’d lovers, namely Giulietta Tolomei and Romeo Marescotti. Julie’s mother, it would seem, had been researching the history of Shakespeare’s play before her death, and had traced it successfully back to Siena in 1340, and its female lead just so happens to share the name of one of her daughters. The treasure, then, is determined to be a pair of priceless sapphires called Juliet’s Eyes, said to be set in the statue of Juliet built by her grave. The only problem is, of course, that nobody knows where Juliet’s grave is.

Meanwhile, of course, the real question remains, where is Julie’s Romeo? Julie herself spends a good deal of time analyzing this mystery, and while she suspects a certain dark stranger on a motorcycle, she is distracted by the brooding Alessandro, who, she suspects, is playing the role of Paris.

Fortunately for her audience, Fortier’s “original”, that is, Maestro Ambrogio’s supposed journal, which for about half of the book runs parallel to the modern plot, is exciting and unique, with enough of a connection to the Shakespeare play to make his plagiarism several centuries later seem plausible, without becoming predictable in the way Julie’s version does. This more entertaining section makes bearable the treasure hunt and search for Romeo, which regrettably become increasingly convoluted as the book progresses. Amusingly for the reader, Janice makes a return in the final act, once again stealing the insufferable Julie’s little-deserved thunder. Fast-paced at times, and at others painfully drawn-out, “Juliet” misses its mark.