Book #76: War Dances by Sherman Alexie
February 17, 2014
Another snow day today. This day, President's Day, was originally going to be a day off for our students, but a workday for teachers. Then, it became a makeup day for a previous snow day. But right now, it's snowing pretty heavily outside; this is probably one of the bigger storms we've had this year. So now everybody has the day off. I wish I could say that I'm tired of snow days, but teachers can be just as bad as the kids when it comes to these. But of course, my entire day isn't going to be all about slacking. After this post, I'm planning to clean and finish up some homework for my class this evening (I don't have any reason to believe at this point that it will be canceled). Still, who doesn't love a suspension of the usual routine, and the lovely (though somewhat anticipated) surprise of a snow day? I know I do; I always find myself waking up early, involuntarily, on mornings when snow has been expected. I was up today at 4:45, dismayed when nothing had started happening yet. My alarm was set for 5:30; I woke up again just a few minutes before that, when I got the call that school had, indeed, been canceled. Guess that storm blew in quick, and it's still going!
Anyway, so of course I wanted to finish up a short book that I've been reading. I consider Sherman Alexie to be one of my favorite contemporary authors. When I saw this book sitting on a clearance table at an independent bookstore, I of course snapped it up without hesitation. I think this is the first collection by him that I've read that's been a mixture of short fiction and poetry. I'd only read a few of Alexie's poems prior to this; I think that I have an appreciation for poetry, but I'm not an enthusiast. I found myself wondering which of the poems in this book would be good to use with my students, ones that don't have sexual references or any "serious" curse words. When I attempt to instill an appreciation for poetry in my students, I have to show them the kind of poetry that I have a personal appreciation for; I think they'll connect more with Alexie than, say, Emily Dickinson. Still, I think that a good poem is very brief, and crams as much of an emotional punch into as possible. Or is heavy enough to leave you reeling. One poem that I loved in this collection was the very first piece, "The Limited," describing his helplessness at not being able to stop a fellow human being from going after an innocent dog with his car, and how he feels that his poetry probably doesn't have the power to change people, either. But I think poetry can. My favorite poet is Langston Hughes, and "A Dream Deferred," for me, is an example of a perfect poem, one that can change a reader.
The short stories dealt with some familiar themes that I've read in Alexie's work. Racial issues, obviously, were prominent in some of the works. In the first short story, "Breaking and Entering," a light-skinned Spokane man in Seattle kills a black teenager who breaks into his home. The death is an accident, but the light-skinned protagonist is called out by the teen's indignant mother for further perpetuating racial violence. He in turn is defensive, for he himself is part of the downtrodden minority, yet that doesn't alleviate the guilt that he feels for killing the kid...even though the young man had no business breaking into his home in the first place. It makes me think of the whole thing with Trayvon Martin's death, how most people felt that in the end, George Zimmerman was not justified in killing him; I think that George Wilson's killing of Elder Riggs was a bit more of a tricky situation, as Wilson was clearly acting in self-defense. Still, it raised the same kind of tension in the story as Martin's death and Zimmerman's acquittal had only fairly recently. Keeping in mind that this book was published in 2009, I almost would have thought that Alexie had based it a little on those real-life events.
Like in The Toughest Indian in the World, not all of Alexie's protagonists are Spokane, or even any sort of Native American. "The Senator's Son" is about a privileged white guy, but the theme of the relationship between the father and son, how complex and full of violence and love and heartbreak it was, is a common one in Alexie's works. The story also dealt with violence against gay people, and loyalty among friends (and political party lines). I know gay people who are Republicans, like Jeremy in the story, but I don't know if any of them would sacrifice their own, I don't know, sense of justice or need for closure by not coming forward about such a brutal attack.
My favorite story of the collection was "The Ballad of Paul Nonetheless," another probably-white protagonist. This guy is straight-up upper-middle-class Pacific Northwest all the way. He's a total hipster, a successful vintage clothing dealer who wears fancy, famous suits; a dandy. I bet he even has whimsical facial hair. You know, the whole "the spirit of the 1890's is alive in Portland" thing. Paul has these random run-ins with a gorgeous woman; he is most attracted to her trendy red Pumas (in 2014, Jordans are back in a big way). As he thinks of this woman, on and off, over the course of several months, his marriage has been falling apart and ending. He is no longer turned on by his wife, even though she's perfect. He reflects on how much he loves popular culture, pop music, and he seems like he's someone trying to unearth the newest old thing, like he'd be one to set up his own chicken coop just because his neighbors were doing it, too. I wonder if his lust for excitement, in this way, led to the end of his marriage, like he'd worn out his wife and gotten tired of her. I don't know.
Alexie's works are always entertaining and insightful. My favorite short story collection, and his first published, The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven, dealt more with life on a reservation, probably more a reflection of his earlier life. These stories, whether they're about Indians who are successful (more or less) off the rez, or other men in the modern world dealing with their modern problems, seem to be more of a reflection of his current life, as a husband and father. I want to read more works by Alexie. I want to get one or two of his collections of poetry (I simply love the title I Would Steal Horses, and will purchase that book in the near future for that reason alone), and I want to read another one of his novels. With each work of his that I read, I become more and more convinced that he's one of the most important authors of our time.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Friday, February 14, 2014
Book #75: Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret
Book #75: Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret by Judy Blume
February 14, 2014
Okay, so I read a Judy Blume book or two back when I was the appropriate age to do so. In my own defense, I am a teacher, though this particular book would not be appropriate for any of my current students (all boys, age 12-17). I've written in this blog of my professional interest in YA literature, and of course several of the books on this "challenge" have been of that genre. Just because I'm no longer taking a course on it doesn't mean I won't read one every once in a while. And Judy Blume, of course, is one of the first great YA authors. Her most famous books (this one being probably her very best known) are aimed at adolescent girls, of course.
So I felt that this book had a lot in common with another Blume text that I remember reading years ago, Just As Long As We're Together. The main character in both books is waiting for (then gets) her first period. There's also conflicts with best friends, and some realistic family drama throw into the mix. I think that ...Together is quite a bit longer than this book, and I think I enjoyed this one more, if my memory serves me (though I think I read the other book more than once).
So, I saw some similarities between myself at age 11-12 and Margaret. Like her, I found myself thrown in with a new group of friends in the 6th grade. My family didn't move, but my school district restructured, and I found myself in a middle school class with mostly kids that I'd never met. I didn't eagerly await my period, though it was a topic of conversation amongst my friends. I also got my first period on the first day of summer vacation after 6th grade, same as Margaret at the end of the book.
Okay, so I'm making the book sound really stupid and boring, but unless you've been a young adolescent girl, you wouldn't get it. And that's not all that the book is about, of course. I was unlike Margaret in that I did develop early; but then again, this is a different time, and I definitely wasn't the only girl in my class wearing a bra by 6th grade. I found the animosity towards Laura to be interesting; the girls were obviously all jealous of her, so they (Nancy especially) would spread vicious rumors about her. Laura at one point tells Margaret that she's sick of people judging her for her body. Decades later, I'd like to think that young girls today would know better...but while the hormones that we eat have caused more girls to develop sooner, I don't think girls are any nicer than they used to be. If anything, they're more vicious and cruel; I don't think very many people would argue with me there.
I had a close group of friends, like Margaret, but I remember hating 6th grade. Maybe it had to do with my parents getting divorced that year. Their splitting up wasn't so much the issue; I always thought they should have done it sooner. But all the shit that goes along with divorce; I wasn't a happy kid that year. And I felt weird. I had friends, but I felt awkward around my classmates. I guess I've always been a little awkward around other people, though I'm no longer a self-conscious child. Margaret seemed like a fairly confident child, though she did bristle under her friend Nancy's somewhat overbearing ways. She didn't think that she was ugly; she would pray to develop breasts, but she didn't hate herself. It's kind of like Margaret had such a similar life to me, but much happier. Definitely a happier family life, even with the awkward situation with her mother's Bible-thumping parents.
I used to hate the title for this book, but now that I've finally read it, I can appreciate the spiritual and religious dilemma that Margaret takes on in this book. That's what really set this story apart from ...Together (I probably related more to Stephanie, because she deals with her own weight issues), giving it more depth. Even though this is a quick read, Margaret's reflections on her personal relationship with God are compelling. For a year-long project for her eager-to-please first year teacher Mr. Benedict (one thing that I could appreciate about this book that I never would have understood as a young reader was this character), she decides to address an issue that's always been present in her family. Her mother was raised Christian, her father Jewish. They decided, when their parents balked at the idea of them marrying outside their respective religions, to elope and be nothing. Margaret, of course, communicates with God, though she doesn't attend church or temple or anything. She feels pretty confident that she has a good relationship with God. She prays when she is scared, when she is grateful, when she wants to vent about her lack of boobies. She prays every night, it seems.
Well, for the project, Margaret decides that she will make a choice about which religion to be. She attends temple with her grandmother Sylvia (with whom she has a very close relationship) in New York; she goes to Christmas Eve services with Nancy and Sunday church with another friend (Janie, I think). Her initial intention for doing this is simple and pragmatic: she has to make a decision about whether to join the local YMCA or JCC; she has to join one or the other, it's said. Yet her spiritual journey has a deeper meaning, of course. She reports to God that she doesn't feel anything, that she doesn't feel him there when she's at these places. She ends up feeling confused about her beliefs, even renouncing God for a short time (but the miracle of her first period brings her back...you gotta love kids); seeking God through religion made her more confused than praying her own way.
I am not a fan of organized religion myself. I feel like I, too, have sampled different varieties over the years. I'm not quite as spiritual as Margaret; I might pray every once in a while. My beliefs about God boil down to this: if he's watching and expecting me to be a good person or something, I think I'm doing everything right. My goal in life is to help other people, to do my part to make the world better, and I think that, if there is a judgment day, I would have nothing to be ashamed of. And if God is the reason for my good fortune in life (because, as I recently told my sister, I feel very happy and fortunate), than I am very grateful. I have respect for religious beliefs of others, unless they're being rammed down my throat, or they're trying to get money from me. But I know about history to know how much religion ties in to politics and power; the Catholic church practically ruled all of Europe for hundreds of years. Church and state are theoretically separate in the U.S., but religion still ties in with power, of course. When I see people preaching hate, or stinking rich televangelists asking for money, I just feel disgusted.
The best message of this book is to approach religion in your own way. In this, Margaret's parents were wise. They seemed like happy, secure people. Hell, her dad even had his Playboy magazines lying around the house, and didn't make a huge deal about his daughter seeing them (though they weren't nearly as risque back then than they are now). Being happy and secure is the best way to raise happy, secure children. So there's the difference between young me and Margaret Simon. I was going through changes with an unstable home life; Margaret was facing the same changes with a supportive, loving family behind her. I do feel, though, like the difficulties of my early adolescence have made me a stronger, more sensitive person. And besides, at least I had boobs.
February 14, 2014
Okay, so I read a Judy Blume book or two back when I was the appropriate age to do so. In my own defense, I am a teacher, though this particular book would not be appropriate for any of my current students (all boys, age 12-17). I've written in this blog of my professional interest in YA literature, and of course several of the books on this "challenge" have been of that genre. Just because I'm no longer taking a course on it doesn't mean I won't read one every once in a while. And Judy Blume, of course, is one of the first great YA authors. Her most famous books (this one being probably her very best known) are aimed at adolescent girls, of course.
So I felt that this book had a lot in common with another Blume text that I remember reading years ago, Just As Long As We're Together. The main character in both books is waiting for (then gets) her first period. There's also conflicts with best friends, and some realistic family drama throw into the mix. I think that ...Together is quite a bit longer than this book, and I think I enjoyed this one more, if my memory serves me (though I think I read the other book more than once).
So, I saw some similarities between myself at age 11-12 and Margaret. Like her, I found myself thrown in with a new group of friends in the 6th grade. My family didn't move, but my school district restructured, and I found myself in a middle school class with mostly kids that I'd never met. I didn't eagerly await my period, though it was a topic of conversation amongst my friends. I also got my first period on the first day of summer vacation after 6th grade, same as Margaret at the end of the book.
Okay, so I'm making the book sound really stupid and boring, but unless you've been a young adolescent girl, you wouldn't get it. And that's not all that the book is about, of course. I was unlike Margaret in that I did develop early; but then again, this is a different time, and I definitely wasn't the only girl in my class wearing a bra by 6th grade. I found the animosity towards Laura to be interesting; the girls were obviously all jealous of her, so they (Nancy especially) would spread vicious rumors about her. Laura at one point tells Margaret that she's sick of people judging her for her body. Decades later, I'd like to think that young girls today would know better...but while the hormones that we eat have caused more girls to develop sooner, I don't think girls are any nicer than they used to be. If anything, they're more vicious and cruel; I don't think very many people would argue with me there.
I had a close group of friends, like Margaret, but I remember hating 6th grade. Maybe it had to do with my parents getting divorced that year. Their splitting up wasn't so much the issue; I always thought they should have done it sooner. But all the shit that goes along with divorce; I wasn't a happy kid that year. And I felt weird. I had friends, but I felt awkward around my classmates. I guess I've always been a little awkward around other people, though I'm no longer a self-conscious child. Margaret seemed like a fairly confident child, though she did bristle under her friend Nancy's somewhat overbearing ways. She didn't think that she was ugly; she would pray to develop breasts, but she didn't hate herself. It's kind of like Margaret had such a similar life to me, but much happier. Definitely a happier family life, even with the awkward situation with her mother's Bible-thumping parents.
I used to hate the title for this book, but now that I've finally read it, I can appreciate the spiritual and religious dilemma that Margaret takes on in this book. That's what really set this story apart from ...Together (I probably related more to Stephanie, because she deals with her own weight issues), giving it more depth. Even though this is a quick read, Margaret's reflections on her personal relationship with God are compelling. For a year-long project for her eager-to-please first year teacher Mr. Benedict (one thing that I could appreciate about this book that I never would have understood as a young reader was this character), she decides to address an issue that's always been present in her family. Her mother was raised Christian, her father Jewish. They decided, when their parents balked at the idea of them marrying outside their respective religions, to elope and be nothing. Margaret, of course, communicates with God, though she doesn't attend church or temple or anything. She feels pretty confident that she has a good relationship with God. She prays when she is scared, when she is grateful, when she wants to vent about her lack of boobies. She prays every night, it seems.
Well, for the project, Margaret decides that she will make a choice about which religion to be. She attends temple with her grandmother Sylvia (with whom she has a very close relationship) in New York; she goes to Christmas Eve services with Nancy and Sunday church with another friend (Janie, I think). Her initial intention for doing this is simple and pragmatic: she has to make a decision about whether to join the local YMCA or JCC; she has to join one or the other, it's said. Yet her spiritual journey has a deeper meaning, of course. She reports to God that she doesn't feel anything, that she doesn't feel him there when she's at these places. She ends up feeling confused about her beliefs, even renouncing God for a short time (but the miracle of her first period brings her back...you gotta love kids); seeking God through religion made her more confused than praying her own way.
I am not a fan of organized religion myself. I feel like I, too, have sampled different varieties over the years. I'm not quite as spiritual as Margaret; I might pray every once in a while. My beliefs about God boil down to this: if he's watching and expecting me to be a good person or something, I think I'm doing everything right. My goal in life is to help other people, to do my part to make the world better, and I think that, if there is a judgment day, I would have nothing to be ashamed of. And if God is the reason for my good fortune in life (because, as I recently told my sister, I feel very happy and fortunate), than I am very grateful. I have respect for religious beliefs of others, unless they're being rammed down my throat, or they're trying to get money from me. But I know about history to know how much religion ties in to politics and power; the Catholic church practically ruled all of Europe for hundreds of years. Church and state are theoretically separate in the U.S., but religion still ties in with power, of course. When I see people preaching hate, or stinking rich televangelists asking for money, I just feel disgusted.
The best message of this book is to approach religion in your own way. In this, Margaret's parents were wise. They seemed like happy, secure people. Hell, her dad even had his Playboy magazines lying around the house, and didn't make a huge deal about his daughter seeing them (though they weren't nearly as risque back then than they are now). Being happy and secure is the best way to raise happy, secure children. So there's the difference between young me and Margaret Simon. I was going through changes with an unstable home life; Margaret was facing the same changes with a supportive, loving family behind her. I do feel, though, like the difficulties of my early adolescence have made me a stronger, more sensitive person. And besides, at least I had boobs.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Book #74: The World Without You
Book #74: The World Without You by Joshua Henkin
February 13, 2014
When I started this book, I found myself thinking, Allrighty, then, another family story. And to be perfectly frank, I didn't find the story of the Frankel family to be entirely...I don't know. Profound? Entertaining? This was a book, a story, that had some potential, but Henkin was trying to tell too many stories, and they all kind of got lost in each other.
The story surrounds the Frankel family on the Fourth of July weekend (or rather, from about July 2-5, 2005). They're a Jewish family, and they're getting together for the one-year anniversary of Leo's death, for his unveiling. The family has spread far and wide. Clarissa and her husband Nathaniel (who are trying to have a baby; I found myself not really giving a shit about either one of them, her frustrations with her infertility or him with his apprehensions about possibly becoming a Nobel Prize winner or something) live in New York City (as their parents do); Lily and her long-time boyfriend Malcolm live in D.C. (don't know what her deal is...she's kind of a bitch, but also the character I found myself most connecting with, as weak as that connection was); Noelle and her husband Amram live in Israel; and Thisbe, Leo's widow, lives in Berkeley. The book, at various points, follows each of the three Frankel sisters, and their parents, David and Marilyn, who are announcing their separation that weekend. I think the book should have stuck to either David, Marilyn, Noelle, or Thisbe; Thisbe would have made for the best protagonist, I think. The young widow and mother, who feels so awkward around her dead husband's family, and is hiding the secret of her new boyfriend...I definitely wanted to see more of her story.
But what really drove me nuts as I read this book was how dated it seemed. Not that it took place in 2005, but all the Bush-bashing. See, Leo had been a journalist who had died in Iraq. He'd apparently been kidnapped by terrorists, then shot. Marilyn (and Lily) had refused to allow President Bush to make Leo a national martyr; they'd even gone so far as to campaign vigorously for John Kerry, and had been dismayed at his loss. And there was still many bad feelings about it in this book, this attitude that the country was going to hell with Bush at the helm. Look, I was only 13 when Bush was elected. I didn't like him at all, and when I was young and stupid, I may have believed some of the idiots at the time who blamed him for everything. There are always stupid, greedy people in power; there's nothing usual in that. So, I don't know, maybe in a few years this book will seem like an interesting look at the state of our nation during that time, a time when we were losing the war and the national pride that we'd all had after 9/11 was waning.
The characters in this book aren't exactly unlikeable or anything. But there was something I didn't like about the whole Frankel clan as a whole. Maybe I thought they seemed like snobs, or that they were trying too hard to not seem like snobs. I don't find families that are rich and successful to be particularly interesting. I used to think that I would like living in New England, but now, even though I've only spent a very little bit of time there, I find myself feeling, I don't know, a bit repelled by the East. I've always kind of felt that way about the Deep South, but with all the literature I've read that takes place in New England...I guess I'm just a Midwesterner when it comes down to it.
I didn't hate this book, but after trudging through it, I didn't really get anything out of reading it. Perhaps this book would speak more true to the experiences of families during the war in Iraq if it was about a working-class family who'd lost a soldier? Not to take anything away from families who lost someone who was a journalist, someone who was also just trying to do their job, in such a way. But let's look at it realistically; maybe a few dozen, at most, journalists have been killed in Iraq, versus thousands of U.S. soldiers. And haven't there been stories about the experiences of the journalists told? And in this case, it wasn't even the victim, but his family...even though they've all gathered for Leo, all of their stories are focused on themselves.
Nothing wrong with that. In that way, I do appreciate that this book shows how all of these individuals are moving on from a family member's death. Hey, maybe the book would have touched me more if it had focused more on that fact, and not included the political stuff. And maybe not all of the different stories, in such a disjointed fashion. It would have been one thing if one character had been the main focus, and the other characters' shit had been presented in that frame. That would have made for a rich, realistic family story. But the fact that the book really didn't have a single focus, it was just sort of these people having this important event...I found myself thinking that this book would actually have made a really great stage play.
February 13, 2014
When I started this book, I found myself thinking, Allrighty, then, another family story. And to be perfectly frank, I didn't find the story of the Frankel family to be entirely...I don't know. Profound? Entertaining? This was a book, a story, that had some potential, but Henkin was trying to tell too many stories, and they all kind of got lost in each other.
The story surrounds the Frankel family on the Fourth of July weekend (or rather, from about July 2-5, 2005). They're a Jewish family, and they're getting together for the one-year anniversary of Leo's death, for his unveiling. The family has spread far and wide. Clarissa and her husband Nathaniel (who are trying to have a baby; I found myself not really giving a shit about either one of them, her frustrations with her infertility or him with his apprehensions about possibly becoming a Nobel Prize winner or something) live in New York City (as their parents do); Lily and her long-time boyfriend Malcolm live in D.C. (don't know what her deal is...she's kind of a bitch, but also the character I found myself most connecting with, as weak as that connection was); Noelle and her husband Amram live in Israel; and Thisbe, Leo's widow, lives in Berkeley. The book, at various points, follows each of the three Frankel sisters, and their parents, David and Marilyn, who are announcing their separation that weekend. I think the book should have stuck to either David, Marilyn, Noelle, or Thisbe; Thisbe would have made for the best protagonist, I think. The young widow and mother, who feels so awkward around her dead husband's family, and is hiding the secret of her new boyfriend...I definitely wanted to see more of her story.
But what really drove me nuts as I read this book was how dated it seemed. Not that it took place in 2005, but all the Bush-bashing. See, Leo had been a journalist who had died in Iraq. He'd apparently been kidnapped by terrorists, then shot. Marilyn (and Lily) had refused to allow President Bush to make Leo a national martyr; they'd even gone so far as to campaign vigorously for John Kerry, and had been dismayed at his loss. And there was still many bad feelings about it in this book, this attitude that the country was going to hell with Bush at the helm. Look, I was only 13 when Bush was elected. I didn't like him at all, and when I was young and stupid, I may have believed some of the idiots at the time who blamed him for everything. There are always stupid, greedy people in power; there's nothing usual in that. So, I don't know, maybe in a few years this book will seem like an interesting look at the state of our nation during that time, a time when we were losing the war and the national pride that we'd all had after 9/11 was waning.
The characters in this book aren't exactly unlikeable or anything. But there was something I didn't like about the whole Frankel clan as a whole. Maybe I thought they seemed like snobs, or that they were trying too hard to not seem like snobs. I don't find families that are rich and successful to be particularly interesting. I used to think that I would like living in New England, but now, even though I've only spent a very little bit of time there, I find myself feeling, I don't know, a bit repelled by the East. I've always kind of felt that way about the Deep South, but with all the literature I've read that takes place in New England...I guess I'm just a Midwesterner when it comes down to it.
I didn't hate this book, but after trudging through it, I didn't really get anything out of reading it. Perhaps this book would speak more true to the experiences of families during the war in Iraq if it was about a working-class family who'd lost a soldier? Not to take anything away from families who lost someone who was a journalist, someone who was also just trying to do their job, in such a way. But let's look at it realistically; maybe a few dozen, at most, journalists have been killed in Iraq, versus thousands of U.S. soldiers. And haven't there been stories about the experiences of the journalists told? And in this case, it wasn't even the victim, but his family...even though they've all gathered for Leo, all of their stories are focused on themselves.
Nothing wrong with that. In that way, I do appreciate that this book shows how all of these individuals are moving on from a family member's death. Hey, maybe the book would have touched me more if it had focused more on that fact, and not included the political stuff. And maybe not all of the different stories, in such a disjointed fashion. It would have been one thing if one character had been the main focus, and the other characters' shit had been presented in that frame. That would have made for a rich, realistic family story. But the fact that the book really didn't have a single focus, it was just sort of these people having this important event...I found myself thinking that this book would actually have made a really great stage play.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Book #73: A Reliable Wife
Book #73: A Reliable Wife by Robert Goolrick
February 4, 2014
I've had this particular book on my library ebook "wish list" for several months. Any time that I thought it would be time to check it out, it was never available, so I would move on to something else. But I'd been wanting to read this book since reading the synopsis on the library's website, so last week I broke down and put it on hold. And so, I was finally able to check it out for myself.
I was interested in reading about the hidden motives of Ralph Truitt and Catherine Land, two people who marry when they barely know each other. There was a shady plot, on Catherine's part, but Ralph's motivation was much more honest. He, a very wealthy businessman in very northern Wisconsin in the very early part of the 20th century, put out an ad for a wife because he wanted two things: a sexual partner, and someone who could lure his estranged son (or not-son) home to him.
I sympathized with Ralph because, even though he committed atrocious acts against young Antonio years before, he had been trying to find the boy and atone for it all. I did find myself wondering, though, how Ralph would have gone about it if he weren't so fabulously wealthy. He used his money to draw Antonio to him (though it was Antonio's desire for revenge that brought him back); he basically admits at one point that he doesn't love Antonio, but he does want to love him, and wants to try to make things up to him.
Catherine is brought into the mix as Antonio's partner in the scheme to kill Ralph. Catherine responds to Ralph's ad; she presents herself as being a simple, honest woman, when she is anything but. When her past life is revealed, she is another character to sympathize with. Indeed, the three principal characters of this book, while all morally reprehensible in many ways, are also all victims of circumstance. Catherine was a prostitute, but it was desperation and love for her sister that drove her to do it. Antonio was greedy and selfish, but he had suffered a traumatic childhood. And Ralph had caused Antonio's suffering, but he had been treated cruelly by his wife (whose affair had resulted in Antonio's birth), and had lost his sweet mentally handicapped daughter, and had had a very complicated relationship with his mother. In trying to atone for his own sins, Ralph had not had a lover in two decades. But he was a sexual man by nature (something that his mother had taught him was wrong), and getting a wife helped him there, obviously.
So Catherine is planning to poison Ralph, and she even begins to do so, with arsenic, after an attempt to go to St. Louis and bring Antonio home (Ralph not knowing that Catherine was his son's lover, at least not until his private detectives met her; he knew all about her long before she realized it). Ralph's even ready to let her do it; he basically gives her permission, because after realizing that Antonio would never forgive him, he felt that he had nothing. But Catherine felt bad; she and Ralph actually fell in love with each other. And why not? They'd both been hurt, and they'd both opened themselves up to one another. Even as they lied, they were honest with each other in other ways. The premise of their relationship was twisted, but it was believable that, in the midst of all the craziness, in the middle of winter in very northern Wisconsin, where people in the countryside go crazy and commit acts of insanity, that these two could fall in love.
When Antonio arrives at Catherine and Ralph's home, the whole situation becomes even more twisted. It ends violently and suddenly. The entire book keeps up a quietly intense tone, and even the descriptions of Ralph's attempt to beat Antonio to death (after walking in on him raping Catherine in the greenhouse) and Antonio's drowning are almost calm in their tone. Catherine and Ralph reconcile with how it all went down, and she's going to have his baby. And that's that.
An interesting story, and a pretty quick read as well. This book is another one that echoes the message that has resonated so loudly for me: that living with regrets, that not letting things go, is poison for you. The book pretty much includes that very metaphor. It made me think of Wuthering Heights, for its harsh country setting and its haunted characters. I like to think that at this point in my life, I've living with my eyes forward. I was thinking the other day about how much I've changed in recent years, since graduating college or since moving back to my hometown. I've let go of a lot of shit from the past, and I've made some exciting personal discoveries about myself. I don't know if I can attribute all of these changes and revelations to the lessons I've learned from reading, but it certainly doesn't hurt. At worst, it's validating what is becoming a philosophy for my life. I can honestly say that I am a happy person and I look forward to the possibilities of my life. Contrast that sharply with someone like Antonio, who simply cannot let go of the past, who cannot see the possibilities of his life (especially with Ralph's money at his disposal; he knew that at that point, Ralph would give him anything). Worse, he can see them, but he doesn't think they are possible for him, he doesn't think he can get rid of the pain of his past. What I wish everyone would realize is that the pain of the past can be forgotten. Even if it's difficult, it can and must be done in order to live a good life. It's worth it.
February 4, 2014
I've had this particular book on my library ebook "wish list" for several months. Any time that I thought it would be time to check it out, it was never available, so I would move on to something else. But I'd been wanting to read this book since reading the synopsis on the library's website, so last week I broke down and put it on hold. And so, I was finally able to check it out for myself.
I was interested in reading about the hidden motives of Ralph Truitt and Catherine Land, two people who marry when they barely know each other. There was a shady plot, on Catherine's part, but Ralph's motivation was much more honest. He, a very wealthy businessman in very northern Wisconsin in the very early part of the 20th century, put out an ad for a wife because he wanted two things: a sexual partner, and someone who could lure his estranged son (or not-son) home to him.
I sympathized with Ralph because, even though he committed atrocious acts against young Antonio years before, he had been trying to find the boy and atone for it all. I did find myself wondering, though, how Ralph would have gone about it if he weren't so fabulously wealthy. He used his money to draw Antonio to him (though it was Antonio's desire for revenge that brought him back); he basically admits at one point that he doesn't love Antonio, but he does want to love him, and wants to try to make things up to him.
Catherine is brought into the mix as Antonio's partner in the scheme to kill Ralph. Catherine responds to Ralph's ad; she presents herself as being a simple, honest woman, when she is anything but. When her past life is revealed, she is another character to sympathize with. Indeed, the three principal characters of this book, while all morally reprehensible in many ways, are also all victims of circumstance. Catherine was a prostitute, but it was desperation and love for her sister that drove her to do it. Antonio was greedy and selfish, but he had suffered a traumatic childhood. And Ralph had caused Antonio's suffering, but he had been treated cruelly by his wife (whose affair had resulted in Antonio's birth), and had lost his sweet mentally handicapped daughter, and had had a very complicated relationship with his mother. In trying to atone for his own sins, Ralph had not had a lover in two decades. But he was a sexual man by nature (something that his mother had taught him was wrong), and getting a wife helped him there, obviously.
So Catherine is planning to poison Ralph, and she even begins to do so, with arsenic, after an attempt to go to St. Louis and bring Antonio home (Ralph not knowing that Catherine was his son's lover, at least not until his private detectives met her; he knew all about her long before she realized it). Ralph's even ready to let her do it; he basically gives her permission, because after realizing that Antonio would never forgive him, he felt that he had nothing. But Catherine felt bad; she and Ralph actually fell in love with each other. And why not? They'd both been hurt, and they'd both opened themselves up to one another. Even as they lied, they were honest with each other in other ways. The premise of their relationship was twisted, but it was believable that, in the midst of all the craziness, in the middle of winter in very northern Wisconsin, where people in the countryside go crazy and commit acts of insanity, that these two could fall in love.
When Antonio arrives at Catherine and Ralph's home, the whole situation becomes even more twisted. It ends violently and suddenly. The entire book keeps up a quietly intense tone, and even the descriptions of Ralph's attempt to beat Antonio to death (after walking in on him raping Catherine in the greenhouse) and Antonio's drowning are almost calm in their tone. Catherine and Ralph reconcile with how it all went down, and she's going to have his baby. And that's that.
An interesting story, and a pretty quick read as well. This book is another one that echoes the message that has resonated so loudly for me: that living with regrets, that not letting things go, is poison for you. The book pretty much includes that very metaphor. It made me think of Wuthering Heights, for its harsh country setting and its haunted characters. I like to think that at this point in my life, I've living with my eyes forward. I was thinking the other day about how much I've changed in recent years, since graduating college or since moving back to my hometown. I've let go of a lot of shit from the past, and I've made some exciting personal discoveries about myself. I don't know if I can attribute all of these changes and revelations to the lessons I've learned from reading, but it certainly doesn't hurt. At worst, it's validating what is becoming a philosophy for my life. I can honestly say that I am a happy person and I look forward to the possibilities of my life. Contrast that sharply with someone like Antonio, who simply cannot let go of the past, who cannot see the possibilities of his life (especially with Ralph's money at his disposal; he knew that at that point, Ralph would give him anything). Worse, he can see them, but he doesn't think they are possible for him, he doesn't think he can get rid of the pain of his past. What I wish everyone would realize is that the pain of the past can be forgotten. Even if it's difficult, it can and must be done in order to live a good life. It's worth it.
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