Not Your Mother’s English Mystery

It didn’t hurt that Tokarczuk, at 59, qualifies as an “old lady,” as does the main character of her book.   She didn’t disappoint. 

This novel is grounded in the reality of a bitter winter in a small hamlet in the Polish forest. As the year progresses, we get to know Janina whose interests fly above the solidity of this setting.  She is a reader who, with a friend, is translating the metaphysical poet William Blake.  She is a vegetarian and aggressive animal rights voice in a land of hunters.  She is a retired engineer who satisfies her craving for order with an extensive knowledge of astrology.  She is an old woman ignored by those in control.

Through all of this runs the thread of the four mysterious murders.    Are they revenge killings by the hunted deer as Janina proposes?  This edgy novel raises serious questions and is not content with expected answers.  The title is a reference to a poem by William Blake which encourages us to question, or plow up, the ossified ways of society.  Tokarczuk excels at this.  Originally written in Polish in 2009, the book was translated into English in 2018 and won the Nobel Prize for Literature that year. 

Vine and fig tree?  Where had I just heard that phrase?  It was in a line from Amanda Gorman’s inauguration poem.  Originally from the Old Testament, the phrase was popular in the 18^th century when it signified peace, freedom, and patriotism.  George Washington used it when he wrote about his new country-to-be, “everyone shall sit in safety under his own vine and fig tree, and there shall be none to make him afraid.”  And Napoleon when he was encouraging his troops, “each of you…under his own vine and fig tree, will be enjoying the property won by your valor.”

That phrase is so not the right tone for this forward looking, energetic and optimistic poem.   Many have talked about the meaning or her presentation, but I especially like how she played with the words:

And the norms and notions  
Of what just is  
Isn’t always just-ice

(There is that idea about questioning norms again.)

We lay down our arms  
So we can reach out our arms

And the vivid images:

 It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit,
 It’s the past we step into
 And how we repair it 

Having a nod to literature by our new president after having four years of a president who didn’t read was a pleasure.  Having it be one of the highlights of the inauguration was best of all. 

This year because of Covid, there are just Zoom meetings which I haven’t participated in.  But on my daily walks, I did listen to one of their chosen books, The Color of Air by Gail Tsukiyama.  This pleasant story shows the importance of friendship and community to a close-knit group of Japanese who had been brought to cut cane in the sugar fields of Hilo in the early 1900’s.  Tsukiyama is interested in the weight past decisions and experiences continue to exert on their present lives.  Unlike Tokarczuk who sees the stultifying side of tradition, Tsukiyama shows us the comfort people take in ritual and “the old ways” as help in coping with the passing of time and the uncontrollable Pele.   

Tsukiyama tried hard to make this a “Hawaiian” book and the repetition of mangoes, sweet bread, tropical breezes, etc. became tiresome as did the overuse of the Pidgin “yeah.”  I did learn things about the sugar cane and was startled to learn that plantation owners rode horses and used whips on the Japanese, and presumably Chinese and Filipino workers, well into the 1930’s.  All this is told against the backdrop of a real-life eruption of Mauna Loa.

At the end of Clarissa’s day, we have seen her past, present, fears, and contradictions flow together as a whole cloth.   She is a woman who takes joy in the ordinary things, “…that one should wake up in the morning; see the sky; walk in the park…. how she had loved it all…”    Woven with the weft of her happiness is the warp of the darker sides of life.  Clarissa is aware of approaching age; she is in her fifties and has been ill.   Her path crosses with the heart-rending story of a suicidal soldier with PTSD and his young, isolated war bride.

The secret for me is to read this novel a little at a time.  The bloom comes off the slow pace, lack of plot and action.  But for a while each day, I can immerse myself in the metaphorical language, savor the poetry, enjoy the sharp observations, and participate in the memories of wonderfully drawn characters.