Except for one unsuccessful foray onto the mainland, Moses Sweetland has lived on a tiny island off the coast of Newfoundland all his life.  Its population has dwindled along with the cod industry, and the Canadian government will pay all residents to be resettled on the mainland.  Then, all services, electricity, ferry, will stop.  The one stipulation of the generous buyout offer is that all residents must agree.  Moses refuses to go.

What makes him want to stay is one of the major questions of the novel.  The charming curmudgeon is a common trope in literature, but Moses doesn’t have the charming part.  Neither does the island itself.  He is taciturn and acerbic; the island is rainy, cold, and bleak. 

But Moses earns our respect.  The island which we see as unattractive, he sees as home.  It is his environment and he lives in it skillfully, trapping, fishing, and gardening.  We see a deep-seated love for his neighbors in his willingness to help even the most stubborn and unlikable, and in his affection for the autistic nephew he treats as a son.  His memories of dead family members and friends keep them alive.  

Habitats, and worlds, disappear every day.  Included in this story is the plight of immigrants who have been set adrift in the fog by their smugglers.  We can also think of rising sea levels which are eating away coastal communities; condos or small neighborhoods being bought up by developers; people whose lifelong jobs have been computerized.

Michael Crummey is a poet as well as a novelist and his lively language is one of the better parts of the book.  Some is very salty; there is lots of “Newfoundlandese,” the idioms of the place, and there is the sharp and funny repartee between Moses and his neighbors. The names are ironic.  Sweetland (also the name of the island) is anything but, and Moses refuses to join his people, never mind lead them anywhere.

Maybe because we are presented with unattractive characters in an unattractive setting the focus of the book is all the sharper.  We see the pain of anyone forced to leave any home against their wishes.  The question of whether anything could or should be done to help them looms.

For years before she was forced to leave, there had been a serious economic depression.  People lost their jobs and homes; there was rioting and looting.  “Something must be done!” people said.  The government stepped in with PACT, The Preserving American Culture and Traditions Act.

“PACT is more than a law.  It is a promise we make to each other, a promise to protect our American ideals and values; a promise that for people who weaken our country with un-American ideas, there will be consequences.”

Un-American would come to be defined as objecting to the protections of PACT…  or refusing to report neighbors for “unusual” behavior… or being appalled at the “consequences” which included the removal of children from suspect parents… or looking Asian.  Bird’s Chinese mother, a poet, one whose words were chosen by the resistance, was a prime target of the government removal program. She left the family so Bird would not be taken from his father.

This lush story is full of fairy tales, poems, etymology, and descriptive meanderings.  It is just right for readers who love to conjure up a complete picture of the characters and setting.  Those who prefer plot and action will find it tedious and wordy. The subjects, separation of children from parents (like at the Mexican border) and targeting of the Chinese (think Covid) are not just current but have strong historical roots in our country.  The premise that art can fight ignorance and oppression is a hopeful one.

As in her first Matthew Venn mystery, Cleeves pairs the thoughtful, organized, careful inspector with the looseness of an artistic community run by his creative husband.  She explores the relationship of this gay couple and Venn’s strained relationship with his widowed Evangelical mother.  Cleeves’ supporting characters are equally strong.  Detective Sergeant Rafferty, an escapee from an abusive marriage, enjoys a good party and worries about her teenagers.  Detective Constable May, who tries not to be too old school macho, notices a coolness in the wife he dearly loves.

Cleeves continues to write about the treatment of mental illness.  In this case it is depression and suicide that form the backdrop as she describes the British government’s difficulty in providing treatment. 

But the subject matter doesn’t intrude.  This is a good story!  A fast-paced captivating plot with lots of twists keeps the reader quickly turning pages.

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Sometimes it doesn’t take many words…

Twenty years later in England at the start of World War Two, Elinor hones her skills and once again works to defeat the Germans.  She excels at her job but is caught between competing factions of British Intelligence.  

After the war, she is given a grace-and-favor home from the government in the quiet countryside, but peace is not yet to be.  Her neighbors, a hard-working young couple with a charming little daughter, are bullied by his violent family.  Elinor calls on her training and connections from two world wars to help them.

Three different stories set in three different times, World War I, World War II, and the late 40’s, make up this engaging novel.  Elinor White, multi-lingual, capable, and likeable, is an equal to Winspear’s popular Maisie Dobbs.

Five years ago, Tim had taken his good friends, his best man and groomsmen, on a camping trip for his bachelor party.  He never returned.  Now, for the fifth time, Tim’s father, his friends, several experienced searchers, plus a cadaver dog named Daisy will conduct a final search, and Frankie will join them.

From the beginning, they know that something is wrong.  Food disappears, there are the un-animal like shrieks at night, and there are unlikely accidents.  Soon the situation is dire.  More than one member of their group of eight needs to be evacuated and the lack of supplies is dangerous.  Who or what is stalking their group and what is the connection to the missing bridegroom? 

This exciting mystery with the unexpected ending is the second in the Frankie Elkin series and one of the more than twenty suspense novels by this NYT best-selling author.

But this is a novel, and after a while action is expected.  Soon it begins to unfold.  William’s second wife leaves him.  Next, through an online ancestry service, William discovers that he has an older half-sister who was a toddler when his mother abandoned her and married his father.  William and Lucy, although long divorced, have remained friends, and he turns to her for support in this time of turmoil.

But the action is secondary.  Like Strout’s other novels, Oh William deals with character and insight.  For example, Lucy talks a lot about feeling guilty for leaving William.  But she also tells, several times, that he had had multiple affairs during their marriage.  Why then is it SHE who feels guilty and takes the blame for the breakup?  Strout explores the lasting effects of childhood abuse and poverty, the difficulty in knowing the truth about ourselves, and the problems of understanding the relationships we see.

The article goes on to say that she is “swapping her ‘domestic goddess’ persona for something a little saucier: badass Martha, a hottie who, it would seem, will shuck her inhibitions as lightly as an ear of corn.”

Well!  On one hand, I want to say, “Go, Martha.” On the other hand, I want to say, “Still?  Must we push ourselves to look glamorous and thin even at 81?”  Back to hand one – why not look our best no matter what our age?  Maybe I can’t pull off the glamour look, but I don’t want to wear a kerchief and a dumpy black dress either.  If I believe that we should all try to learn and do new things, even in our 80s and 90s, I will have to say, “Good for you, Martha!” 

I also like that the Sports Illustrated cover helps expand the meaning of “geriatric” to include the possibility of beauty, health and sexiness.  At a party, I heard a young woman say that she was irritated to be referred to (at 35) as a geriatric mother.  I see her point, but only if geriatric is considered all bad.  If the word includes “picture on Sports Illustrated,” then I’m perfectly ok with it.

Energetic, supremely talented, simply “The Best,” she has left a legacy of music, instantly recognizable, that will be remembered for generations.

Lucy and her mother inhabit two different worlds, but for an interlude of five days, they meet in the neutral ground of a hospital.  Lucy drinks in the attention of her mother who she hasn’t seen in years. Her happiness and contentment rise from the page giving the reader the same feeling of peace and restfulness. 

The two gossip about the people they knew when Lucy was growing up.  We then meet these characters from the past and hear their own points of view; the novel moves back and forth always returning to the unifying element of the hospital room.  Lucy and her mother do not discuss their own relationship – how it was then or what it is now.  They don’t discuss the extreme poverty and abusiveness of Lucy’s childhood or her budding success as a writer.  Mom is not interested.

Little action happens, but through her concise prose, Strout manages to expose the realities of family relationships and the conflicting needs of its members.  She dares to suggest that for adults, there may be something more important than an intact nuclear family.

Through these separate stories, various subjects are explored.  Should we ruthlessly pursue happiness (anything is possible) or dutifully accept our lot?  Strout is also interested in how little we know about the realities of the lives of our friends and family except for the little bits that we happen to share.  She continues to explore the subject of loneliness within apparently compatible relationships.  There is the lasting impact of poverty on children’s lives. 

Some of the language is just beautiful.  A character yearns for a glimpse of a forbidden and secret love. “(He would) risk all to be near the white dazzle of the sun that somehow for those moments seemed to leave the earth behind.”  The outpouring of a stream of consciousness at the end of the novel builds tension and wonder, leaving the reader satisfied even if the outcome is uncertain.   

Jarrett was with Lexington the day the colt was born.  Both the young boy and the horse were especially gifted.  Lexington, a natural star, outpaced the competition from the first race.  Jarett, a natural trainer, brought out the very best in his charge, enabling him to win a fortune for their master.  The care of the horse and life on the plantation is told in detail.  As Lexington is bought and sold, so is Jarrett.  He counts himself lucky to be allowed to stay with the horse.  His plight as one of the enslaved trainers puts a spotlight on a category of unrecognized people who brought wealth and fame to their stables.

A parallel story told in the present time begins when a black art student rescues a painting of a horse from the “free” pile at a curb. He coincidentally meets a young white scientist from the Smithsonian (she is an osteo preparator, someone who cleans and assembles animal bones) who is working on a neglected horse skeleton.  It is Lexington they both have found and they are drawn to discover his story.  As their own relationship grows, we see that the racism of the 1800’s is alive and well in Washington D.C.

Brooks says she started to write a novel about horse racing but soon realized that her story needed to include the other kind of race as well.  I wish she had chosen one to be predominant rather than presenting two equally detailed main subjects. The book felt crowded. Nonetheless, it is a very enjoyable read that presents lots of horse/racing information, several compelling story lines, plus well developed, very likable characters, including the horse.

A bit of fun information is that Brooks herself owns a horse with the memorable name of Screaming Hot Wings.

Is Muo familiar with psychoanalysis because he studied it or because he was the recipient?  He says the first, but there are hints it is the latter.  Why is he travelling around the countryside?  He is looking for a virgin.  Because this is the price of getting his beloved, a political prisoner, out of jail.  Although it is illegal to bribe a judge, it is the way business is done, and this particular judge has plenty of money, but no virgins. 

The plot travels at a very leisurely pace.  We listen in on some of the dreams recounted.  We read exact descriptions of everything seen, felt, encountered.  They are possibly poetic.  They are possibly making fun of the pretentious intellectual or the aspirations to become one.   

Why read this?  It is tongue-in-cheek funny, although the humor is a little weird.  There is the wild panda reserve called Observation Post of Panda Droppings; the aphrodisiac chapter about sea cucumbers, the description of two bicycle riders, “(he) peddling against the wind, hunched over the handlebars, raincoat flapping, and she on the rack behind him, knitting a sweater that streams like a scarf behind her.”

Some of the best parts are the casual descriptions of everyday life in China after the Cultural Revolution is over, the filthy urinals, overcrowded trains, long queues, mahjong parties, music listened to, food eaten.  As befitting a story about Freud, it is full of subtle sexual symbols and not so subtle sex.

In this story of a quest, our quixotic hero overcomes obstacles and perseveres in the face of adversity hoping to find a virgin in the rural provinces of southern China.

Ernaux begins this novella with “From September last year, I did nothing else but wait for a man:  for him to call me and come round to my place.”  Written as a memoir, the book tells the story of a young woman obsessed with an older married man.  It isn’t a book that details sex, but a book about the feeling of a passion that consumes the waking hours, the thoughts, the dreams, the hopes of a young woman. She writes, “to find out whether other people have done or felt the same things…for them to consider experiencing such things as normal.”  She is not interested in justifying or explaining, just portraying. The details of her feelings become tedious.

Although Ernaux and Nabokov both write about erotic passion, I think other strong emotions such as grief or rage can consume a person in the same way, demanding the subject be thought about again, again, and again.

But in Louise Penny’s latest, A World of Curiosities, the battle is joined.  There has always been a touch of saintliness (or more) about Inspector Gamache, his rescues of fallen angels and lost souls, the heroic Quebec Sureté team that he leads. 

Gamache knows that evil exists.  He has seen it in the eyes of too many he has put behind bars.  And one of them, from the iciest part of Dante’s hell, has escaped and sent the message.  I am coming for you.

The story starts with a graduation honoring two young women with ties to Three Pines and the Gamaches. There is a tinge of sadness to the occasion which also commemorates an event of the past, a massacre of young women who had dared to attend that very engineering school. 

A back story introduces two main characters, children then, who had been abused and pimped by their business minded mother who is found dead.

Odd things start to happen.  A hundred-year-old letter is delivered; a bricked up hidden room is found; a painting with cryptic messages appears.  “Curiouser and curiouser.”  Before long, curious is no longer the right word; the first murder happens.  Gamache starts to unravel the puzzles and finds a diabolical plan of revenge aimed directly at him and his family.

He lists some of the most colorful prose he has recently read. How have I missed this?  Here are some excerpts:

A comment on a movie: “Allegedly, it’s based on true events, in much the same way that ‘Pinocchio’ is based on string theory.”

Much was political and this time, Ron DeSantis was the butt of several comments: “There are universities like Harvard and Yale, which DeSantis attended but did not inhale.”  Or, “He might unplug your life support to re-charge his cellphone.”(Yeow!)

A quote from David Brooks: “The G.O.P. is a working-class populist party that has no interest in nurturing highly educated boom towns.  The G.O.P. does everything it can to repel those people—and the Tesla they drove in on.”

One of the easiest things you can do to continue to find the book of your choice on the shelf is to check out a banned or challenged book from your local library.  Libraries keep statistics!  To find a suggestion, look at The American Library Association website.  They publish a list of the ten most challenged books each year.

Her small hometown has little to offer an artistic child other than the church and its hymns.  But Thea is lucky.  There is the town doctor who appreciates her intelligence; the German-trained piano teacher who recognizes her musical ability; the deep feeling Mexican guitar player who sings with her; a mother who keeps six siblings out of the way; and finally, the railroad man who falls in love with her and because of a twist of fate offers her a start.

Through a combination of good fortune and hard work, her talent unfolds.  As she moves into the world, Thea draws the necessary mentors to her.  That they are all men shows Cather’s recognition of where, in those times, powerful help could be found.  Finally, it is Thea herself who must draw from within to achieve what she envisions. 

The first section of the book is filled with lovely descriptions of life on the prairie around Colorado and must have done much to romanticize the American view of the West. “…a little rabbit with a white spot of a tail…It seemed to be lapping up the moonlight like cream…the sprawling old house had gathered them all in, like a hen, and had settled down over its brood…the days were bathed in sunlight and the air was clear as crystal…the desert glistened with light…the scarlet sage bloomed…”

The lark (of the title) introduces the natural world and is an apt image. We think of Thea, a girl of the prairie, with her beautiful voice. Shakespeare and Chaucer thought of the lark as a symbol of morning, or awakening, appropriate for someone at the start of a musical career.

Cather talks a lot about specialness, the quest for perfection, the discipline and sacrifice necessary to make a first-rate professional artist.  She may have specified “artist” because that was one of the few alternate roles available to women at that time.  I think that today, we might enlarge that word to encompass other gifts as well (gymnastics, math, chess).   Her point, that the bigger the talent the more it demands and takes over a life, is true for any of them. There is a made-for-television movie of Song of the Lark produced for Masterpiece Theater in 2001.

Sunshine music festivals and civil rights marches, however, are not what come to mind for him.  He remembers happiness that disappeared, the loss of his two best friends to suicide, and the disorientation, depression, and grief that followed.

This is not a typical Murakami.  There is no magical realism and no unexplained coincidences; rather, it is a straightforward story dealing with loyalty, choice, and love.  On one side, there is Naoko, a damaged young woman to whom Toru is attracted and wants to help.  On the other is Midori, a vibrant sexual woman with whom he has also fallen in love.  Guilt and honor force him to a standstill as he tries to find a way forward.

The lyrical language contrasts the quiet of the rural areas with the cacophony of Tokyo, continuing the contrast of the book between peace and escape, and anxiety and activity.  “Some houses had laundry drying in the sun…firewood out front piled up to the eaves, usually with a cat resting somewhere on the pile…the moonlight cast long shadows and splashed the walls with a touch of diluted India ink.”

Emerging from the story is a criticism Murakami has made before about the falseness of society and the intense pressure to succeed and keep up appearances.  The students who die are beautiful young people with excellent grades who on the surface fulfill all the expectations of school and family.  In the background of this culture of forced conformity plays the music of the 60s and overtones of the US cultural revolution.  There are both a playlist and a movie based on the book.

When DI Venn investigates a body found on the beach, he soon realizes that the murdered man has connections to his husband’s community center, a venture that combines an art workshop with a day shelter for learning disabled adults. Before long, two vulnerable women with Down’s syndrome are missing.  Continuing to appear in the investigation are the glad-handing leader of Matthew’s ex-church and his subservient wife.  It is an intricate plot with sympathetic characters.

This book, along with both of Cleeves’ other detective series, have been made into television programs (The Long Call, Vera and Shetland) available on BritBox, Acorn, etc.  I found Vera and Shetland on disk (not streaming) from Netflix.  These are fast-moving exciting shows.  So fast, that when they are over, I am not sure what happened. 

Ah – the joys of reading the mystery instead.  I can move along at my own pace, even turn back the pages if necessary, and thoroughly enjoy an excellent story.

One morning, a white man, Anders, wakes to see that he has turned “a deep and undeniable brown.”  He feels like a stranger to himself; he is deeply shaken; he calls in sick, he won’t leave the house.  The color does not change back and eventually he tries to resume his life.  He goes to work; he calls his girlfriend; he tells his father. 

But Anders isn’t alone.  There are rumors of others turning dark and the rumors are true.  Soon, the nation is in turmoil as more whites turn dark brown.  Hamid’s riff on skin color, appearance, and sense of self, probes the depths of feeling this change exposes.  “I’d rather kill myself,” says his boss when he looks at Anders.  It took me awhile to realize that no one in the story felt that turning brown was a good or even neutral thing.  They all felt that no longer being white was a loss.  I’m still thinking about the implications of that. 

As more and more people turn dark, a sense of panic sets in.  There are echoes of the pandemic – hoarding, violence, isolation.  His girlfriend’s mother turns to right wing television, believing that “we” are winning, and “they” will disappear.  Anders’ father takes him in, feeling a visceral need to protect this son although he no longer looks like one.  For Oona, the girlfriend, these deaths of identity echo the recent deaths of her father and brother.

This story has a happy ending.  But one of the reasons it is happy is that everyone is now the same color.  Hamid leaves so much unsaid, leaving the implications of the plot to emerge slowly.

From the very first sentence, I thought of Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, a comparison, I believe, Hamid meant to evoke.  In it, a young man wakes up to find that he has been turned into a cockroach.  He also can hardly look at himself, waits to return to normal, won’t go to work, etc.  The points of the two stories are different but the openings are equivalent, Hamid implies.  In one, a person wakes up dark brown; in the other he wakes up a cockroach.  This innocent appearing novel has driven its accusation home.

Dai Sijie uses this desire as the basis of Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress. During the Chinese Cultural Revolution of the 1960s, two teenage boys are sent to the mountains for reeducation for the crime of having parents who were professionals.  The boys live among the peasants, joining them in hard labor, sometimes dangerous, sometimes repulsive.

Then, two pivotal things happen.  First, they find and appropriate a hidden cache of forbidden books (Western novels!) which they read for the first time. 

“We were seduced, overwhelmed, spellbound by the mystery of the outside world, especially the world of women…with the ardour and earnestness of my eighteen years, I fell in love with one author after another…I would never have understood the splendour of taking free and independent action as an individual…”

Second, the boys fall in love.  She is the beautiful daughter of the local tailor and Luo, the leader of the two, resolves to read the books to her.  The power of literature is felt by all three in ways they could not have imagined.

This short easy-to-read novel, based on events in the author’s own life, is full of information about a particular time and place in history, plus the universal experience of coming of age.

And for the word lovers among us: The title reminded me of that obscure, interesting word synecdoche which means a part of something representing a whole. For example – what will the White House do to prevent bank failures? (“White House” representing “Federal government.”) In the case of our novel, Sijie uses “Balzac” to represent “great literature” and the ability it has to change lives.

In this current novel, she looks at the political ideals of 18-year-olds from the perspective of middle age and recognizes how one impassioned behavior can affect the trajectory of a lifetime. 

Venice still casts its spell; Brunetti decides that deceit can be an excellent tool; Signorina Elettra is disappointed in the computer skills of Interpol; Sara, a stray dog, taken in by the next-door convent, provides the key to the mystery.

Leon develops the biblical quote in the title by using two garden images.  There is the peace and fruitfulness of the well-kept, orderly garden of the nuns and their Buddhist helper which is the ideal.  There is the ugly chaotic overgrown garden which is the reality the police deal with every day.

At the end it is Sara who enjoys both gardens plus her new home. “In the manner of Saint Francis, she considers humans to be her brothers and sisters, and thus she passes her days in harmony with both nature and mankind.”

Here is something fun to end with:

Since then, in the 1930’s, the electron microscope has been developed, allowing scientists to see deep within the molecular structure of cells.  Living beings too tiny to see had their cell walls, nuclei, various individualized parts laid bare for analysis.  Genes, DNA, eventually whole genomes themselves were part of an intense transformation in the thinking of molecular biologists.

In The Tangled Tree, David Quammen painstakingly explores the changes of the last fifty years.  His hero is Carl Woese, a name that has not yet broken into the national consciousness but whose work is as astounding as Darwin’s.  Classification of living beings has always been the stuff of biology as scientists try to understand how life started four billion years ago and how forms are related.  In the 1970s Woese proved that there are three major classifications of life, not two: bacteria, archaea, and eukaryotes (our own category, all life that can be seen).  Quammen, in a friendly breezy style, makes us understand and care about why this was such an outstanding achievement.

But Woese  generated still additional excitement when he helped prove that heredity was not just vertical (like a tree) with traits passed down from parents to offspring, but moved sideways as well.  Cells were able to choose helpful parts from other cells, even of different species, and appropriate and replicate them.  Branches of the tree merged with other branches and mosaic was the image that finally emerged.

Quammen’s forte is explaining arcane scientific concepts to the general public and generating excitement about them.  As a non-scientist, I was on overload, but Quammen shifted my view on how life worked, and still does.  I won’t remember the names or details, but here are some general concepts that will stay with me from this extraordinary provocative book:

The ratio of tiny unseeable life forms to complex, seeable life forms is astronomical.  I am supported and constructed by an incomprehensible number of living invisible beings.  Some of their traits have been incorporated into my genome and are heritable.  Some of these other life forms are a part of “me.” 

In the 1960’s, scientists thought that all life derived from two kinds of bacteria, those with a nucleus and those without.  But no, they have since discovered that there is a third form, the archaea, which is different, and can live in inhospitable conditions such has boiling sulfur springs.  This realization has implications for finding life on other planets and understanding early life here when our atmosphere was hot and composed of hydrogen and helium instead of oxygen.

Evolution is not driven solely by mutations and inheritance (vertically) but by gene transfer, cells changing one another now (horizontally – think viruses or antibiotic resistance).

As always, I am impressed with the behind-the-scenes unpleasant arduous work that scientists do to tease out just one more small piece of information.  It is the accumulation of this patient research that leads to the scientific headlines that challenge our thinking about who and what we are.

There are lyrical descriptions of the English countryside, of sun and storms, of the talented falconers, but it is the bird, Mabel, that she returns to again and again.

“She filled the house with wildness as a bowl of lilies fills a house with scent…café-au-lait front streaked thickly with cocoa-coloured teardrops…two wild, wide eyes stare at me…scaled yellow toes and curved black talons…reptilian…snakes her small head from side to side…”

Raising and training Mabel becomes Helen’s life.  There is meticulous attention to the description of the hawk– how it moves, how its appearance (fluffed feathers, upside down head), expresses its emotions, what its eyes rivet on when outside, almost how it thinks.

These physical details are a large part of the book, but a story about raising a wild non-social animal in captivity and using it as a balm for human pain raises ethical issues.  Macdonald’s treatment of death in nature (the hawk is a predator and she a hunter) is straightforward.  Killing and death are integrated into life and not separable.  The emotion of human grief however is not easily pigeonholed and the pain of it suffuses and changes everything.

A third section, in addition to the descriptions of raising the goshawk, and dealing with her grief, is a synopsis of The Goshawk by T. H. White, author of The Once and Future King.  Although White did a terrible job of raising his hawk, Macdonald offers a sort-of homage to him, the author of a book that introduced her to hawking when she was a child, and who used his hawk, as she did, to try to overcome personal difficulties.

The attraction of the wild and need for the natural world are concepts that emerge from the story.  All are part of a whole and other living things need our empathy and respect, not attempts at mastery.

Our most recent visit was to the Honolulu Museum of Art where we viewed original paintings by Constance Gordon Cummings, a 19^th century adventurer and cohort of Isabella Bird.  We have also been to The Bishop Museum where we were allowed to see carefully preserved copies of drawings by the artists on Captain Cook’s voyage to Hawaii.

Cummings, a single woman, a wealthy privileged Scot, was both a talented painter and writer who travelled around the South Pacific, Asia and even Yosemite.  Of the several books she published about the South Seas, the one I read is A Lady’s Cruise in a French Man-of-War.  This charming travelog is written in the form of letters and describes details of everyday life in Tonga, Samoa, and Tahiti as they were in the mid-1800s. 

She tells how they made cava (by chewing a dry root then soaking the remains).  She describes jewelry (two or three large pearls fastened together with finely braided human hair).  She compares the huge stone memorials to those seen all over the world and asks the same question about how they could possibly have been transported. She disliked the “vulgarizing influence” of the white merchants and sailors “Proud was the man who became possessed of a pair of trousers, to be displayed alternately on the legs or arms”.  She approved of the missionaries who had Christianized the natives and driven out cannibalistic practices and night time orgies.

Cummings has also written a book about Hawaii, Fire Fountains: The Kingdom of Hawaii, which can be read at the Honolulu library but is not available for circulation.  A good rainy-day project that I look forward to.

Odie, Odysseus, and three other children travel by canoe down the Minnesota River, each of them looking for a different kind of home. Setting the scene perfectly is the epigraph, a quote from The Odyssey, “Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story.” 

Odie, the storyteller and musician of the group, is the instigator of this mythic, fairy tale-like adventure.  The four orphaned children have escaped from a school where Native American children were sent to be “civilized” but found cruelty and misery instead.  Only one of the four travelers is an Indian, symbolically mute. On the trip down river, they encounter their Cyclops who temporarily imprisons them.  They also encounter their siren, but she is more angel than wicked enchantress.  Finding the allusions to the Odyssey, the Wizard of Oz, other books and fairy tales is a large part of the fun of this novel.

For those with access to Spotify, there is a playlist of the songs played by Odie on his harmonica.  They were beautifully chosen to represent the time.  Some of the most reminiscent renditions come from the Library of Congress, sung by the likes of Woodie Guthrie, Pete Seeger, Bill Monroe, and Ella Fitzgerald.

Quirky is overused when it comes to the world of Haruki Murakami, but for his novel After Dark it is appropriate.  Under the superficial oddness, however, something rock solid glimmers.  He is interested in people as self-contained individuals who are at the same time part of a collective entity.  Is there a time of night when the barriers between people are porous? 

Lonely Mari sees herself as second best to a beautiful sister.  Jazz trombonist Takahashi understands that he is a player who is only adequate.  Kaoru, running from trouble, fears she will never be safe.  Eri, the sleeping beauty, doesn’t care to wake-up and has been sleeping for two months.  Ordinary people meet after dark one night and help each other move towards connection and strength.

I didn’t realize that making playlists connected to books is a “thing.”  After Dark is suffused with references to jazz (Murakami used to own a jazz club) and sure enough, there is a playlist on Spotify.

For those not yet familiar with Murakami, there is a visual taste available on Netflix, Tony Takitani, based on a short story published in The New Yorker.  A lonely artist marries a woman with a compulsion to buy designer clothes.

Griffiths uses the story within a story technique to give depth and a hint of the supernatural to her novel.  It begins when Clare uses “The Stranger,” a Gothic murder mystery, to illustrate points to her creative writing class.  Excerpts continue throughout the novel.  Two murders at Clare’s college echo scenes from the short story.  She has lost one of her best friends plus the head of her department.  When Clare opens her diary to write about these terrible events, she is chilled to see someone else’s handwriting.

DS Harbinder Kaur of the Sussex Police Department, age 35, proud of her job, is unmarried and lives with her traditional Sikh parents.  She enjoys her mother’s excellent curries and puts up with her veiled inquiries about possible husbands and grandchildren.

Two smart women, Clare and Harbinder, gain each other’s respect as they try to figure out why the events of a ghost story have infiltrated their lives.

In a parallel story, a small bird, probably the same Satan, observes Pontius Pilate as he agrees to sentence three troublemakers to death in Jerusalem, a city ruled by Rome, another oppressive state with an autocratic ruler.

In the Moscow plot, Satan and several of his followers harass the writers in their luxurious club and take over the theater where they put on a black magic show that rains money.  The egalitarian communist comrades shove each other out of the way to grab as much as they can, but alas, the money turns to illegal foreign currency a soon as they leave the theater. 

The reader is introduced to the comic relief, Behemoth, a witch’s cat writ large.  He is an enormous black tom who walks on his hind legs and speaks, tries to pay to board the trolley, gilds his whiskers for the ball but refuses trousers (cats don’t wear pants), and enjoys cold double distilled Moscow vodka.

Midway through the novel, the two main characters, the Master and Margarita, are finally introduced to the reader.  He is a gifted writer whose extraordinary novel about Pontius Pilate has been rejected by the writers’ guild.  She, a woman whose privileged lifestyle is the envy of most of Russia, gives it up for the love of him.  When they are separated, Margarita, like Faust, makes a bargain with the conveniently present devil so they may become reunited.

At the same time, two thousand years earlier, Pontius Pilate is plotting with the head of his secret service to murder Judas.

Bulgakov has plenty to say about the Russian people and humanity in general. This provocative novel can be read as a straightforward story filled with magical realism and fantasy.  It can be read as a political satire so skewering the book could not be published during the author’s lifetime.  It can be read as a philosophical treatise exploring the collaboration between good and evil.

The Master and Margarita is found on the lists of great Russian novels along with War and Peace and The Brothers Karamazov.  It is fun to take on the challenge of a “great” once in a while, but my reading buddy and I could not have done it without the help of the online resource LitCharts.  It provided chapter summaries and analyses, and enabled us to keep track of those long Russian names that keep changing.

During a time of winter famine, the band’s chief made an unpleasant decision.  Two old women of the tribe were to be left behind to give the younger ones a better chance of survival.  The women had been enjoying the help accorded to them as the oldest and least able members, but now they would pay the price of being perceived as weak.

It wouldn’t be a story if the abandoned women gave up, so we see them resurrect skills and memories of how to feed themselves and keep warm.  Wallis gives many details on how the natives sustained themselves in the hostile environment.  Athabascan stories often had morals and were used for teaching.  In this case, there are several.  The young are to value and respect the old; people will rise to the occasion when necessity demands; but also, in this frigid land, the old have the responsibility to continue to participate and be of service to the group.  Retirement is not an option.

At Shangri-la in Hawaii, Doris Duke’s magnificent collection of Islamic art, we saw a series of drawings illustrating these four-line verses with the words written in Farsi along the sides and a translation into old English along the bottom.

With Eternity, zealot, how long wilt us ply?   						     
From my thought, root and branch, I have long put it by.  
Drink wine, for there’s nothing its place can supply;  					             Each knot of perplexment after wine doth untie.   	

First the story must well up from the unconscious and clamor to be told.  Building on this necessary starting point which cannot be controlled, comes the work of turning the idea into a manuscript, which very much can be controlled.  He tells of hard work, physical and mental, discipline, patience, and the importance of reading widely.

Murakami’s novels contain elements of magical realism, but he may not think of them as such because unexplainable epiphanies are part of his real life.  When watching his favorite underdog baseball team, he saw the batter connect with a satisfying crack and at that moment his mind opened and he “knew” he would write a novel despite never having thought about it beforehand.

This engaging collection of articles published as chapters, such as “Who Do I Write For?” will appeal to the reader who has enjoyed Murakami’s quirky, inciteful novels.  It will also appeal to anyone who has ever thought about turning an idea into a novel, short story, or article – the would-be writer.

The plot, all of it, is told in the first paragraph.  Violet’s husband Joe has taken a very young woman, Dorcas, as his mistress.  When she tires of him, he kills her.  Violet, full of rage, tries to stab the girl in her coffin. Whew!  But this is not a violent novel filled with nasty characters; it is a heart-breaking tale about vulnerable struggling people.

The story is told from Violet’s point of view, then it is retold considering her upbringing.  The story is told from Joe’s point of view in the present, then retold considering his past.  The story is told from Dorcas’s point of view, then retold considering her childhood. All in gorgeous musical metaphorical language.  Individuals take turns playing solo, taking the lead.  Each time the plot, or theme, reappears, it is related slightly differently, underlining the major influence of the city and jazz.

We learn a lot about the black experience of the time – men beaten down by racism, women working at menial jobs, children searching for unknown parents; but the desire for love, completeness, and connection that emerges is universal.  When Joe and Violet, together again at the end, dance to music floating through the window, there can’t be a dry eye.

Throughout the book is the omniscient narrator who interrupts the plot to comment.  But can we rely on this narrator to tell us the truth? When the story is over, the narrator is not finished and speaks for an additional chapter.  Critics have different ideas about who or what this narrator is.  I would suggest that it is “book” itself as an object or art form that talks directly to the reader about the lack of one true reality and differences in interpretation.  No two people will read – or live – the same experience.

The ending of the novel is wonderfully ambiguous, “If I were able I’d say it.  Say make me, remake me.  You are free to do it and I am free to let you because look, look.  Look where your hands are. Now.”  Is the book talking to the reader?  Or to the lovers?

The stories are unrelentingly depressing.  It is even more painful to realize that similar articles can be read in Al Jazeera.  Together, they are a representation of a country in chaos.

Is this a collection someone should read?  It is very informative as news about Haiti is not easily found; if you like to read for information, you will get it.  Is it well-written?  Most of the stories are tightly constructed around one emotional incident, as a short story should be. 

Often, Danticat creatively broaches her subject by describing the aftermath of a horrific incident.  In “The Gift,” a woman meets her lover after an earthquake has killed his wife and small daughter and he has lost a leg.  He is wracked with guilt and remorse and can no longer be with her.  She goes home alone and pours a glass of wine from a special bottle they had put aside to enjoy together.  It has gone brown and rancid. 

My favorite story reminds the reader that amidst all the misery particular to a devasted country, there are also the normal problems of life.  In “Sunrise, Sunset,” a grandmother’s Alzheimer’s makes staying at home untenable at a time her daughter suffers from postpartum depression.  Is her dangerous behavior to the new grandson one of the last gifts she will be able to give her beloved daughter?

Danticat has used her talents to express anguish over the state of the country she was born in.  If the first step in solving a problem is to recognize it, she makes her reader do this in a vivid unforgettable way.  Read all at once, the collection is almost numbing in its sadness, but the individual stories are haunting and memorable.

Has he disappeared because of a love triangle?  Maybe it was because a British matron has ensured her daughter and her estate stay in “good” hands?  Not until the very end does Grant solve this mystery with its unexpected ending.

Sometimes when the tension in a mystery builds, I like to skip to the end and have a peek at “whodunit.”  I can then read in a leisurely manner and enjoy the other offerings, such as character and setting, and not gallop through the plot.  In this book, it was lots of fun to do that and enjoy the very discreet, almost imperceptible clues that Tey drops throughout her story.

She is one of those British authors whose intricate plots and comfortable English characters have made her one of the favorites in this genre. In the past, I would have easily given her an A+.  Now, there is a little twinge when I read about the privileged closed world of the British upper class.  I’ve been reading too much Morrison and Danticat.