Ethereal, dream-like, accepting of their fate. South Korean working class literature.
Two young people work in an electronics market and slowly developEthereal, dream-like, accepting of their fate. South Korean working class literature.
Two young people work in an electronics market and slowly develop a friendship.
We meet Eungyo as she is following her shadow, causing her to become separated from the group she is with. Mujae follows her and stops her. Shadows rise and seem to lure one to follow it, something that others try to prevent, for it feels death-like.
Although it is never explained the constant mention of human shadows and their various behaviours provoke the readers imagination to ascribe meaning. Ill heath and approaching death cause it to rise, and perhaps thoughts, reaching the limit of what one is able to endure. One shouldn't follow it.
Their bond is formed as the environment within which they work is threatened with demolition. There is a subtle interdependency between the market traders, repairing and selling electronics, so when people who have worked there for years suddenly disappear, it unsettles the tenants.
Rumours and false media reports hasten their demise. They hold onto rituals, sharing soup, drinking rice wine, telling stories.
Do you know what a slum is, Eungo? Something to do with being poor? I looked it up in a dictionary. What did it say? An area in a ity where poor people live. Mujae looked at me. They say the area around here is a slum. Who? The papers, and people. Slum? It's a little odd, isn't it? It is odd. Slum. Slum. We sat there repeating the word for a while, and then I said, I've heard the word, of course, but I'd never thought of this place as a slum.
This short novella witnesses the various encounters between these two, the stories they recount which often include shadows they've witnessed, the simple soups they consume, the songs they sing. Shadows, soup, songs, survival.
My home was described in the news as 'a slum'. This was an outside view; I wrote my novel to show it from the inside
The novel was inspired by the effect on ordinary working class people affected by Korea's eviction-centered-redevelopment policies, where the government removed residents and vendors by intimidation and force. Redevelopment involved a complex web of often obscure relationships between corporations and government, wealthy landowners and hired thugs, low-income tenants and the police.
Hwang Jungeun's debut novel, translated by Jung Yewon was a critical and commercial success in South Korea with its mix of oblique fantasy, hard-edge social critique, and offbeat romance. Won the prestigious Hankook Ilbo Literary Award and the Korean Booksellers’ Award. Mentioned by Han Kang as South Korea's rising literary star. ...more
Totally brilliant and original, what a voice, a narrative and an insight into a woman's desire for fulfilment.
If you have read or were considering reaTotally brilliant and original, what a voice, a narrative and an insight into a woman's desire for fulfilment.
If you have read or were considering reading Marlon James Booker winning A Brief History of Seven Killings, then this is the Yin to his Yang, this is the feminine yearn to his masculine desire.
Zora Neale Hurston tells the story of Janie, a girl raised by her Nanny, who was an ex-slave and therefore wanting to protect her daughter and grand-daughter from the things she feared, which amounted to marriage to a man with land or money or to live in the wings of a good, white family. Unable to protect her daughter, who was raped by her schoolteacher, her focus moves to Janie, whom the daughter leaves her with. And as soon as adolescence beckons she arranges for her to marry an older farmer with land. Janie dreams of love and fulfilment and doesn't find it in marriage and is reprimanded by her grandmother for her romantic notions.
She moves on and marries Joe Sparks who takes her to a new town in Florida, a town built by black people for black people. It isn't as Joe expects, so he sets about continuing its creation, getting himself elected as mayor and becoming a wealthy man. His wife Janie becomes a showpiece, working in the shop, but he curtails her interactions with the community, thwarting her ability to be herself, even making her cover her hair due to his jealousy.
Finally, her quest will become fulfilled, though not without its share of lifes ordinary and extraordinary sufferings, when she meets Tea Cake and they manage to ride lifes rollercoaster of events and emotions, working together to deal with the demons and living their dream.
Zora Neale Hurston's depiction of Janie's life provides a wonderful insight into the character and consciousness of a woman of her era, drawing from her own experience, though the character of Janie has a different personality to Hurston, providing a look not so much into the experiences, but of the yearnings and emotional life of women, their quest for fulfilment and self-discovery and though it's not without obstacles, allows a little light to shine on those moments where her life does reach that bitter-sweet destination, leaving wisdom in its wake....more
It is 1947, in the province of Punjab, which sits between India and Pakistan, an area where Hindu, Sikh, Muslim and others live side by side. Tension It is 1947, in the province of Punjab, which sits between India and Pakistan, an area where Hindu, Sikh, Muslim and others live side by side. Tension is mounting as political events cause rifts between friends and neighbours as many of the Muslim population support the area becoming part of Pakistan and many Hindu fear for their lives, while the same tensions exist among Muslims living in the predominantly Hindu parts of India.
They are all living on the cusp of Pakistan’s creation and the brutal partition of the two countries, which will split Punjab in two, the west becoming Pakistan, the east India, triggering the largest mass migration of humanity in history, affecting 10 million people.
Asha and Nargis are neighbours and best friends, they go to school together and spend time in each others homes, sharing their excitement at the future, especially as they are close to marriageable age and they know it’s something their parents are considering on their behalf. After he walks her to school for a week, Asha slowly becomes close to Nargis brother Firoze, a relationship that was unlikely to be accepted by their families even without the changes that Partition is threatening to bring.
It was too quiet for hope, and then too loud for safety. She thought of the people she had lost, of the affection, the smiles, the belonging she could never again take for granted. It was the end of a life, and as she stood there, shivering in the brief night-time chill, it dawned on her that it was the end of her childhood.
The thing they all fear most, that some desire most happens and Asha’s family leave their past behind and head for Delhi. Firoze helps them to escape and Asha leaves with a secret she has kept from everyone, the future unknown.
‘Suddenly those who read, those who had access to news, learned to differentiate. People spoke of ‘those Muslims’ and ‘those Hindus’, of separatist and patriots, of a Hindustan for Hindus and a Pakistan for Muslims. They spoke of two nations, they mourned the martyred, the shaheed.’
We follow the life of Asha and all that happens to her, the sacrifices she makes, the effect of the secrets she holds and watches as the family she raises and lives among move far from the childhood and attitudes she has known. She makes peace with what has happened and accepts her new life, until 50 years later, when old memories resurface as she visits her daughter and grand-daughter in New York, who are in conflict as Asha’s Indian grand-daughter has fallen in love with Hussain, a young Muslim originally from Pakistan.
One of the most touching scenes in the novel, one that must have encapsulated the thought processes of so many, was when a grandmother from Pakistan asks Asha about Delhi because she too had been severed from her roots. That and the frequent, evocative references to the way she would make tea or other subtle habits that retained within them, the essence of where she had come from – representing those seemingly insignificant things people miss, that when they encounter again, provide immense nostalgic pleasure. Radhik Swarup evokes these memory inducing touches without sentimentalising, we sense it at a primal level, as those who have ever left home for an extended period will recognise.
‘But I want you to tell me about India. I want you to tell me what changed in Delhi after I left.’ ‘It’s changed. There are new shops, new roads, new names.’ She saw the woman’s face fall, and she leaned forward, taking her hands in her own. ‘But in spirit it remains the same. It’s still a village at heart; noisy and intrusive. There are still the narrow lanes that cross the magnificent boulevards, still the shanties beyond the grand circuses. It’s still impossible to keep things secret.’ The woman closed her eyes, considered Asha’s words, and a slow smile spread on her face. ‘In that case’, she said, ‘all is well.’
An often heart-breaking story of the impossibilities of love to survive political and religious differences and events, the way it changes lives, how people cope and the deep compassion required if it is ever to be overcome....more
Zek and his Guadeloupean wife Marie-Hélène live in a small fictitious town of Rihata, with their six children and another due any day. Neither are hapZek and his Guadeloupean wife Marie-Hélène live in a small fictitious town of Rihata, with their six children and another due any day. Neither are happy, Zek has never been able to get over the feeling of being looked down on by his father, even though he is long dead, resentful of his brother Madou, who found favour without having to do anything.
Influenced by a father who made no pretence of his preferences, Madou had soon considered Zek as a person of limited ability and in all ways inferior; although this did not exclude a certain brotherly affection.
And now Madou is coming to Rihata, he is a political Minister and coming to conduct negotiations, his presence causing many to feel uneasy, a disruption in the sleepy town where not much usually happens.
It is a novel of discontent, of the effects of selfish behaviour, which none are immune to or able to rise above. Contentedness is within their reach, but so is temptation and the effect of indulging it ricochets through all members of the extended family and the rulers of the country.
In A Golden Age, Tahmima Anam's first book in this Bangladesh trilogy the focus is on Rehana, the mother of Maya and Sohail and most of the book takesIn A Golden Age, Tahmima Anam's first book in this Bangladesh trilogy the focus is on Rehana, the mother of Maya and Sohail and most of the book takes place from March to December 1971, during the Bangladesh War of Independence. It shows how families, neighbours, ordinary citizens coped with war, how they got involved and the effect it had on them all.
Now, in The Good Muslim it is some years after the war and Maya has just returned to Dhaka, to the family home and over the course of the novel we discover her reasons for leaving, her disenchantment with how the war has affected her brother, who is not the same person as he was before. He becomes religious and inaccessible to her, any attempt to influence him, futile.
It is the same family, but Rehana is more of a background figure, the home has been taken over by women wearing the bhurka, there are sermons on the roof and Sohail's son Ziad running around the place looking and acting more like the son of a servant boy (there is one scene where Maya takes him shopping for sandals and though his neglect is obvious, she is insulted when the shoeseller assumes he is the child of a house servant).
Once she had given everything for her children. Now she was in retreat from them, passively accepting whatever it was they chose to do: turning to God, running away, refusing to send their children to school. There was nothing of the struggle in her any more.
They are living in the newly independent Bangladesh, now under a Dictator and the shadow of war hasn't left them. There are men living among them who the population wants tried for war crimes, there are all the young women, shamed by having been made one of the spoils of war,viciously raped, many of them pregnant and unwanted, being put on flights to Pakistan.
Bangabandhu had promised to take care of the women; he had even given them a name - Birangona, heroines - and asked their husbands and fathers to welcome them home, as they would their sons. But the children, he had said he didn't want the children of war.
Maya has become a doctor and put her own personal life on hold, she has seen too much and doesn't feel capable of fulfilling any other role.
She had told herself many times that marriage could not be for her. Or children. She saw them comin into the world every day, selfish and lonely and powerful; she watched as they devoured those around them, and then witnessed the slow sapping of their strength as the world showed itself to be far poorer than it had once promised to be.
It's a sad picture of post-war trauma and the difficulties people have in returning to family life and love after all that they have experienced. It's not quite as engaging as A Golden Age, which was the novel of action, this is the novel of aftermath, a much more sombre undertaking....more
What an opening line. Tahmima Anam'sA Golden Age plunges you right into the twin events that form the basis o
Dear Husband, I lost our children today.
What an opening line. Tahmima Anam'sA Golden Age plunges you right into the twin events that form the basis of Rehana's character as a parent, fiercely protective and determined to have them near her. The death of her husband and her fight to keep her children, when her dead husband's brother and his childless wife claim they could take better care of them.
The first chapter begins with that day in 1959 when the court gives custody to her brother and sister-in-law, who live in Lahore,(West Pakistan) over 1000 miles and an expensive flight away from Dhaka (East Pakistan). The novel then jumps forward and is set in 1971, in Dhaka, the year of its war of independence, when East separated from West and became Bangladesh (when you look at the area on a map, they are geographically separate, with no common border, India lying between them).
In 1971, Rehana's children, Maya and Sohail are now university students and back living with their mother after she discovered a way of becoming financially independent without having to remarry. Despite her efforts to protect them, she is unable to stop them becoming involved in the events of the revolution, her son joining a guerilla group of freedom fighters and her daughter leaves for Calcutta to write press releases and work in the nearby refugee camps.
He'll never make a good husband, she heard Mrs Chowdhury say. Too much politics. The comment had stung because it was probably true. Lately the children had little time for anything but the struggle. It had started when Sohail entered the university. Ever since '48, the Pakistani authorities had ruled the eastern wing of the country like a colony. First they tried to force everyone to speak Urdu instead of Bengali. They took the jute money from Bengal and spent it on factories in Karachi and Islamabad. One general after another made promises they had no intention of keeping. The Dhaka university students had been involved in the protests from the very beginning, so it was no surprise Sohail had got caught up, Maya too. Even Rehana could see the logic: what sense did it make to have a country in two halves, posed on either side of India like a pair of horns?
Rather than lose her children again, Rehana supports them and their cause, finding herself on the opposite side of a conflict to her disapproving family who live in West Pakistan.
As she recited the pickle recipe to herself, Rehana wondered what her sisters would make of her at this very moment. Guerillas at Shona. Sewing kathas on the rooftop. Her daughter at rifle practice. The thought of their shocked faces made her want to laugh.She imagined the letter she would write. Dear sisters, she would say. Our countries are at war; yours and mine. We are on different sides now. I am making pickles for the war effort. You see how much I belong here and not to you.
Anam follows the lives of this one family and their close neighbours, illustrating how the historical events of that year affected people and changed them. It is loosely based on a similar story told to the author by her grandmother who had been a young widow for ten years already, when the war arrived.
When I first sat down to write A Golden Age, I imagined a war novel on an epic scale. I imagined battle scenes, political rallies, and the grand sweep of history. But after having interviewed more than a hundred survivors of the Bangladesh War for Independence, I realised it was the very small details that always stayed in my mind- the guerilla fighters who exchanged shirts before they went into battle, the women who sewed their best silk saris into blankets for the reugees. I realised I wanted to write a novel about how ordinary people are transformed by war, and once I discovered this, I turned to the story of my maternal grandmother, Mushela Islam, and how she became a revolutionary.
It's a fabulous and compelling novel of a family disrupted by war, thrown into the dangers of standing up for what they believe is right, influenced by love, betrayed by jealousies and of a young generation's desire to be part of the establishment of independence for the country they love.
A novel in three acts that centre around the middle sister whose behaviour goes relatively unnoticed by those around her until she decides to become vA novel in three acts that centre around the middle sister whose behaviour goes relatively unnoticed by those around her until she decides to become vegetarian, because "I had a dream".
I'm already under the spell of Han Kang, having read Human Acts earlier this year, an extraordinary and unique book and I find The Vegetarian equally compelling, perhaps even more disturbing, a visceral, disturbing depiction of the fragility of the mind and the strange mechanisms, illusions we attach to in order to cope.
The Vegetarian reminded me of the distressing yet refined style and experience of reading Yoko Ogawa's novel of interlinked stories Revenge and the shock and compulsion of Ken Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.
The book is structured into three parts: I. The Vegetarian - right from the beginning Kang draws up the husband and wife characters with such precision, skill and intrigue, I was completely hooked from those initial pages. But the uneventful life changes suddenly with her decision to become vegetarian, bringing out the worst in everyone.
Before my wife turned vegetarian, I'd always thought of her as completely unremarkable in every way. To be frank, the first time I met her I wasn't even attracted to her...However, if there wasn't any special attraction, nor did any particular drawbacks present themselves, and therefore there was no reason for the two of us not to get married.
II. Mongolian Mark - this is a reference to a kind of birthmark that disappears post adolescence, it become the infatuation of Yeong-hye's narcissistic brother-in-law, the obsessive video artist who is inspired to create what he perceives will be his greatest work, if he can convince his sister-in-law to become the subject of his oeuvre, and balance the fine line between art and pornography.
'Will the dreams stop now?' she muttered, her voice barely audible.
III. Flaming Trees Yeong-hye is in a psychiatric hospital, her sister her only visitor, the visits and the realisations she is having take their toll on her and she begins to understand her sisters descent from being human into believing that she is like or wishes to become a tree, that all she needs is sunlight and moisture, slowly depriving her human form of sustenance.
This pain and insomnia which, unbeknownst to others, now has In-hye in its grip - might Yeong-hye have passed through this same phase herself, a long time ago and more quickly than most people? Might Yeong-hye's current condition be th natural progression from what her sister has recently been experiencing? Perhaps, at some point, Yeong-hye had simply let fall the slender thread which had kept her connected with everyday life.
It's a sad tale of a woman's descent into madness and how it affects those around her and has the reader wondering if this was brought about by the effect of attitudes and behaviour towards this one woman or whether this was something that was in her all along, something that is in everyone and under certain terrible circumstances can degenerate a sensitive human being into such a state....more
Young Arte lives in Florence at the beginning of the 16thC and dreams of becoming a painter, a wish indulged when her father was still alive, but scorYoung Arte lives in Florence at the beginning of the 16thC and dreams of becoming a painter, a wish indulged when her father was still alive, but scorned by her mother after he dies, a young woman must marry to ensure the continued protection and support of the family, her passions and love are secondary, not deemed important.
Arte rebels against this idea and seeks an apprenticeship with an artisan, only to be laughed at and scorned by the community, until one young artisan offers her a challenge, he thinks she won't achieve, and then must fulfil his promise to let her become his apprentice. Although she is of noble birth and he of humble origin, he discovers they share a common motivation to want to pursue art in their lives.
Eventually he takes her to meet a client, one whom he often makes a portrait of. Life begins to change for Arte!
A woman is working in an asylum centre as a translator and is called in to translate an interview due to the unavailability another person. She uttersA woman is working in an asylum centre as a translator and is called in to translate an interview due to the unavailability another person. She utters the word, she has all but banished from her vocabulary. Yes. Now she faces the man with the voice she recognises, the man who snapped his fingers and changed her life, in their country, years ago.
One last interview with an asylum seeker who's a bit of a problem, said my interlocutor, who was not anyone I knew. He went on It's a Colonel from the Theological Republic. But - I read your file. "Refuses to do any simultaneous translation for military or government personnel from her country of origin."
Fariba Hachtroudi's novella is a dual narrative, switching between two characters as they experience the present and remember the past in flashbacks, a kind of first person stream-of-conscious dual narrative that is tense and withholding, though ultimately revealing.
We know bad things have happened, but no one wishes to relive or explain them, their thoughts rarely go there. They both live with fear, paranoia and suffer from separation, from the memory and pain of love. However they seek answers, atonement and their brief meeting will move them closer to it.
They both live in isolation and with the memory of a great love and yet they have this terrible connection, which requires them to move past if they are to be of any benefit to each other. Can one overcome the memory of torture, the victim and the perpetrator?
It's a book that would benefit from being read twice as the narrative isn't chronological, the characters and their loved ones are revealed slowly so thoughts shared in the beginning without reader knowledge add more to the story if we flip back and reread them.
Though a short novella, it requires concentration and acceptance that the threads will become clear, and yet even while things are unclear, there is a mounting tension and discomfort that is hard to articulate, but is testament to the profound, tightly woven writing style of the author, this her first English translation.
Fariba Hachtroudi was born in Tehran, leaving Iran after the 1979 revolution. An account of her return to Iran after 30 years in exile was the subject of a memoir Twelfth Imam's a Woman? ...more
Human Acts is the author Han Kang's attempt to make some kind of peace with the knowledge and images of the Gwangju massacre in South Korea in 1980. HHuman Acts is the author Han Kang's attempt to make some kind of peace with the knowledge and images of the Gwangju massacre in South Korea in 1980. Her family had left that city just one year before when she was 10 years old, when the 10 day uprising occurred, but she became aware of it through the overheard, whispered conversations of her family and the silence that surrounded them speaking of the home where they used to live, she learned three young people from that household had lost their lives, one, a boy Dong-Ho probably shared the same room she had lived in for many more years than he had.
What made the events sear into her mind and perhaps permanently affect her psyche, was the forbidden photobook that was given to her family, books circulated secretly to let survivors know what had really happened, a book her parents tried to hide from their children, but one she sought out, opening its covers to images she would be forever haunted by.
Asked why she felt motivated to write this book (my thanks to Naomi at The Writes of Women for her post on the author/book discussion at Foyles Bookshop), which begins with the immediate after-effects of the massacre, the very real logistical management of the bodies, the bereaved, mass memorial rituals and the burials and goes on to enter the after death consciousness of one the victims, seeing things from outside his body; she said that that experience of seeing those images left her scared, afraid of human cruelty, struggling to embrace human beings.
It left her with two internal questions below, which were her motivation to enter into this experience and try to write her way out of and the external events of that massacre of the past in her birthplace of Gwangju and then the more recent social cleansing that took place in the Yongsan area of Seoul in 2009:
1. How can human beings be so violent? 2. How could people do something against extreme violence?
Human Acts, which seems to me to be an interesting play on words, is divided into six chapters (or Acts), each from the perspective of a different character affected by the massacre and also using a variety of different narrative voices.
The opening chapter entitled The Boy, 1980 introduces us to Dong-Ho, but seen from outside himself, written in the second person singular narrative voice 'You'. It is after the initial violence in the square and something has driven this boy, initially searching for the body of his friend who he witnessed being shot on the first day, to volunteer and help out, confronting him in a visceral way with so much more death and tragedy than he had escaped from on the day itself.
We meet the shadow of his friend in the second chapter, as he exits his body, but is unable to escape it, he tries to understand what is happening around him and observes his shattered body and others as they arrive, until something happens that will release him wherupon he senses the death of those close to him, his friend and his sister.
The following chapters skip years, but never the prolonged effect of what happened, the events never leave those scarred by them, the narrative works its way back to the origins of the uprising, to the factory girl, the hard working, little educated group of young women trying to improve their lot, to obtain fair wages and equal rights, the become bolder when they meet in groups and speak of protesting, they educate themselves and each other and feel part of something, a movement and a feeling they wish to express publicly, with the naive assumption they won't be arrested or killed.
It brings us back to humanity's tendency to group, to find common interests, to progress as a team with common interests, to support each other and to the tendency of those in power to feel angry, threatened and violent towards those who have an equal ability to amass support, regardless of the merits of their cause.
Han Kang so immersed herself in these stories and events, that it is as if we are reading the experience of a holocaust survivor, a torture sufferer; we know only a little of what it must be like to live with the memory and the reluctance to want to share it and the heavy price that some pay when they do.
I remember Primo Levi'sIf This Is a Man / The Truce, a memoir, and his words, which could easily have been a guide for Han Kang herself, in the way she has approached this incredibly moving, heart-shattering novel. It seems a fitting note on which to conclude this review, to recall his words and his intention in setting things down on paper.
I believe in reason and in discussion as supreme instruments of progress, and therefore I repress hatred even within myself: I prefer justice. Precisely for this reason, when describing the tragic world of Auschwitz, I have deliberately assumed the calm, sober language of the witness, neither the lamenting tones of the victim nor the irate voice of someone who seeks revenge. I thought that my account would be all the more credible and useful the more it appeared objective and the less it sounded overly emotional; only in this way does a witness in matters of justice perform his task, which is that of preparing the ground for the judge. The judges are my readers. Primo Levi
The cover is an apt metaphor of the book, where water plays a significant role in multiple turning points in the novel and the image of a woman half-sThe cover is an apt metaphor of the book, where water plays a significant role in multiple turning points in the novel and the image of a woman half-submerged, reminds me of that ability a person has of appearing to cope and be present on and above the surface, when beneath that calm exterior, below in the murky depths, unseen elements apply pressure, disturbing the tranquil image.
The prologue mentions the maternal instinct of a mother, to sacrifice for her young, describing the aptly named moon bear due to the white shape on its chest, an animal that is hunted for medicinal purposes and capable of going to extremes in order to protect its young.
Structured into five parts, the book is written in the first person by an unnamed narrator, and opens from within a cell. We understand the protagonist is a woman who for her crime often receives hate mail from mothers and marriage proposals from men. She mentions atrocities from the civil war in her home country, stories she says she was detached from, suffering that was not hers.
'They think that maybe growing up in a war-torn land planted this splinter of rage within me, like a needle hidden in my bloodstream. They think that all those years later, it was this long embedded splinter of repressed trauma that pierced the muscle of my heart and made me do this thing.'
From here, she begins to narrate her story, her confession:
We arrive in a hill city of Kandy in Sri Lanka where she recounts her solitary, yet idyllic childhood, among the scent of tropical gardens, a big old house, 'sweeping emerald lawns leading down to the rushing river' overlooked by monsoon clouds.
Her father is a historian, her mother elegant, beautiful, prone to mood swings, making her feel awkward, tongue-tied and self-conscious, unlike when she is in the garden with Samson, or in the kitchen with Sita, domestic servants with whom she feels more like herself.
Lulled by lyrical descriptive prose into this dreamy, idyllic childhood, albeit with somewhat detached parents, there develops a feeling of something being not quite right, the child's perspective clouds reality, something haunts her and the reader, a sense of unease.
Tragedy hits the family and the girl and her mother move to America to live with her cousin, Aunt and Uncle.
Having always looked towards her cousin as the epitome of modern, something she aspired to, it is a shock to learn of her upcoming arranged marriage, she agrees to be bridesmaid, despite strong feelings to the contrary, grateful that her mother, though troubled, knows better than to push her daughter in this direction.
'I am grateful for this. Amma might throw plates, lock herself in the bathroom for hours, and cut her wrists. She might scream and yell, but this is something she could not do, this selling of a child to the highest bidder. For once we are united.'
She will fall into the way of life of those who surround her, reinventing herself, almost becoming like one who was born there, if not for that backwash of childhood, that sometimes pushes its way back into her life, threatening to sweep her out of domestic bliss like a freak wave, dumping her mercilessly on the foreshore. As strange memories resurface, her carefully created new world begins to fall apart at the edges as she frantically tries to keep all that is precious to her together.
What Lies Between Us is powerful, accomplished novel of parts that could be whole stories in themselves. Munaweera's deft, lyrical prose lulls and transports the reader into an idyllic childhood of sweet-smelling tropical scents and beauty, open vistas, an enchanted natural world, only to be pulled up short by signs of disturbance, until in an instant they become tragic.
Slowly mother and daughter adapt to the new way of life, except the past will never leave them, it haunts them, consciously and sub-consciously, destroying precious moments and threatening to derail their lives completely.
Like Toni Morrison's God Help the Child it is a novel highlighting the effect of childhood on an adult, how the past continues to affect the present and can take everyone along with it. It blinds us, and like an invisible cloak with far-reaching tentacles, it can reach into every pocket of our lives, dampening and rotting the good.
Heartbreaking, compelling, so unfair, it is also a story representing the very real cost of ignoring mild disturbances of mental health, portraying how easily they can evolve and transform into horrific tragedy, when left untreated or ignored, not to mention how unforgiving and despicable humanity can be in dealing with those affected by it.
Highly Recommended.
Nayomi Munaweera’s debut novel, Island of a Thousand Mirrors was long-listed for the Man Asia Literary Prize and the Dublin IMPAC Prize. It won the Commonwealth Regional Prize for Asia. I've ordered a copy and plan to read it this year as well. She and her family left war-torn Sri Lanka when she was three years old and moved to Nigeria and eventually to America....more
A mysterious novella that begins in a quiet humble way as we meet the young widow Yasuko whose husband, the only son of Meiko Togano, was killed tragiA mysterious novella that begins in a quiet humble way as we meet the young widow Yasuko whose husband, the only son of Meiko Togano, was killed tragically in an avalanche.
Yasuko has stayed close to her mother-in-law who is like a peripheral character, but as the story ventures further, it becomes apparent she is manipulating events and that this is not the first time in her life she has done so. Yasuko wants to move on with her life and the two men who are in love with her become part of the triangle of deception.
Mieko is a poet and an essay she wrote called 'The Shrine in the Fields', resurfaces, which intrigues the two men. It is a reference to a location in the Japanese classic The Tale of Genji that comes in connection with the Rokujo lady.
"She has a peculiar power to move events in whatever direction she pleases, while she stays motionless. She's like a quiet mountain lake whose waters are rushing beneath the surface toward a waterfall. She's like the face on a No mask, wrapped in her own secret."
At this point, it is worth knowing a little about the plot of The Tale of Genji and the 'Masks of No' from the dramatic plays, as we realise there are references and connections to what is unfolding here.
It may be that Masks, is in fact an allegory to one or more chapters of The Tale of Genji, something that made remember reading Sjon's The Whispering Muse which did a similar thing with the Hellenistic poet, Apollonius of Rhodes, The Argonauts.
Masks is an enchanting read, that begins as a straightforward narrative and becomes an intriguing multi-layered tapestry of long held deceptions and narcissistic conspiracies that will haunt the lives of these characters and shock the reader.
An intriguing, thought-provoking read, that expands our literary horizons! ...more
After reading a number of equally excellent books concerning daughters, mothers and grandmothers, it is great to read about the special connections beAfter reading a number of equally excellent books concerning daughters, mothers and grandmothers, it is great to read about the special connections between a daughter and her two fathers, for Edwidge Danticat's writes of both her father Mira, who left Haiti for New York when she was 2 years old - and her Uncle Joseph, who treated her like a daughters for those nine long years that followed before she and her brothers Bob were able to join their parents and the two new brothers that had arrived in the meantime.
The book opens as she discovered she is pregnant for the first time and it is the same day she learns her fathers coughing is a sign of an in curable illness, one that will take him too soon. We learn of the close relationship between the brothers, expressed through some of the more poignant times in their lives, set against a backdrop of a deteriorating political situation in Haiti which becomes a catalyst to a devastating end.
It is a credit to the author that we read something of her life, her early childhood, without putting herself forward as the main character of interest, it is a story of the extended family and the men who tried to lead them to live in safety. The two brothers chose different paths, one chose to leave, the others to stay and though they were separated for 30 years their relationship remained strong and they saw each other as often as they could.
A wonderful book, an honest portrayal of lives, where joy and struggle go hand in hand, where fear is never far from the front gate and sadness its companion , yet full of hope and spiritedness as an eighty one year old man refuses to just let thugs take all that he has, even though risking his life, he continues to do what is necessary in his own country to ensure justice. And so tragic what follows.
Absolutely brilliant, astonishing, loved it, it was my Outstanding Read of 2016.
Telumee is the last in a line of proud Lougandor women on the French AAbsolutely brilliant, astonishing, loved it, it was my Outstanding Read of 2016.
Telumee is the last in a line of proud Lougandor women on the French Antillean island of Guadeloupe. In the first part we learn about her people, her mother Victory,
"a laundress, wearing out her wrists on flat stones in the rivers, and her linen emerged like new from under the heavy waxed irons"
her father, his life cut short in a fatal stabbing,
"Angebert, had led a reserved and silent existence, effacing himself so completely that no one ever knew who it was died that day. Sometimes I wonder about him, ask myself what anyone so kind and gentle was doing in this world at all."
the man who pulled her mother out of her grief, and out of her daughter's life
The fact is that a mere nothing, a thought, a whim, a particle of dust can change the course of a life. If Haut-Colbi had not stopped in the village my little story would have been different."
and her grandmother Toussine, 'Queen Without a Name', to whom her mother sent her to live,
My mother's reverence for Toussine was such I came to regard her as some mythical being not of this world, so that for me she was legendary even while still alive."
Every change of home, village, or great journey takes them across the Bridge of Beyond, a symbol of change and the unknown, the other side.
Telumee narrates the story of her life, in small details, in melodic, incantatory prose that lures the reader in, consuming her story with great pleasure.
As she passes through various stages of life, she is guided but never pressured by her grandmother, remembering her stories, her songs, her advice,
"My little ember", she'd whisper, "if you ever get on a horse, keep good hold of the reins so that its not the horse that rides you." And as I clung to her, breathing in her nutmeg smell, Queen Without a Name would sigh, caress me, and go on, distinctly, as if to engrave the words on my mind: "Behind one pain, there is another. Sorrow is a wave without end. But the horse mustn't ride you, you must ride it."
She will fall in love, leave to work in the kitchen of wealthy white family, build her own home, experience both profound happiness and the depths of despair, brush up against madness and find its cure, and always the reassuring presence of her grandmother.
Sometimes old thoughts arose in me, shooting up like whirls of dust raised from the road by a herd of wild horses galloping by. The Grandmother to try to whistle up a wind for me, saying we should soon be going away, for the air in Fond-Zombi didn't agree with my lungs now.
As Jamaica Kincaid articulates well in the introduction, The Bridge of Beyond is not a conventional novel, and it never tries to be. It is a fluid, unveiling of a life, and a way of life, lived somewhere between a past that is not forgotten, that time of slavery lamented in the songs and felt in the bones, and a present that is a struggle and a joy to live, alongside nature, the landscape, the community and their traditions.
The cultural traditions and historical events from which this work of art springs cannot be contained in a strict linear narrative. In fact, such a device might even lend a veneer of inevitability to them. For the narrative that began with a search for fresh water on an island one Sunday morning has no end - it circles back on itself, it begins again, it staggers sideways, it never lurches forward to a conclusion in which the world where it began is suddenly transformed into an ideal, new world. Schwarz-Bart's prose awakens the senses and enlarges the imagination; it makes me anxious for my own sanity and yet at the same time certain of it; her sentences, rooted in Creole experience and filled with surprising insights and proverbs, resonate in my head and heart." Jamaica Kincaid
It is one of the best books I have read in a long time, coming from a place of love and appreciation that reaches far back, acknowledging the gifts of all, that make up who we are. Outstanding....more
Completely original to narrate a collective story of Japanese mail order brides and the many experiences around common themes, never once referring toCompletely original to narrate a collective story of Japanese mail order brides and the many experiences around common themes, never once referring to one single experience, we assume the narrator was one of them, but we do not know which of the experiences relates to her.
Apart from the initial boatride over the seas from Japan to the US, there is little joy or fun, they discover they are the lowest of low in the pecking order, equivalent to slaves, seen as hard workers, quiet, submissive, some take in in their stride, others fall by the wayside.
Ans as if it couldn't get any worse, war happens, and they discover they are the enemy, they will be regarded suspiciously and then sent away. This part is narrated by "them", the communities within whom they have existed alongside, but never been really a part of, certainly not appreciated, at least, not until the Orkies and Arkies move in, who are not quiet and hard working like the Japanese.
It is a lament, a long sad narrative of a life of toil and disappointment that is endured and a disappearance that is unwarranted, a tribute to those who breamed of a better life, travelled across the ocean to find it and were betrayed bitterly. ...more
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