Re-reads

The Night of the Hunter – Davis Grubb

The tone and atmosphere that envelopes this book is unique and effective. What Grubb establishes is a world far apart from ours. His novel takes place in the Ohio River Valley of West Virginia during the Great Depression. It’s an already impoverished area which holds onto strong fundamentalist religious beliefs. The story he tells is a child’s nightmare with the surrealistic elements of nightmares. What is the basis for the fears the very young have – of a monster in the closet, under the bed? John, at age nine, has to live in an all-too-real nightmare, and there is nobody he can share his burden with. His monster – the Preacher – wants to know where $10,000 in stolen money is hidden, and he knows that John knows where it is. But John has sworn a solemn oath to his father not to reveal the secret – no matter what. This is a boy burdened by a responsibility far too great to bear, and we watch with apprehension the effects on him. That’s the story, and Grubb’s artistry in telling it is remarkable. His  prose is rough-hewn, as if carved out of wood, which is exactly what it should be, and the people speak in the vernacular of their time and place. There are elements of a fable, of a gothic fairy tale, of a religious allegory concerning good and evil. We’re presented with a conflict between Love and Hate, those two words etched on Preacher’s fingers. Read this one – it’s an experience. 5

The Gypsy Moths - James Drought

This is the weakest of my deletes. I can briefly sum up its virtues. It’s an easy read, the scenes of parachute jumping are fairly interesting (Drought was trained as a paratrooper). And it’s short. But the first person narrator is limited in what he knows about the relationships in the family he and two other stunt jumpers stay with; there are dire problems between Mr. and Mrs. Brandon, the narrator’s aunt and uncle, but we never find out what they are. Also staying with them is a college student named Annie who wears the label “love interest” for our young narrator. (BTW, I’m not using the narrator’s name because I don’t recall it; he’s always referred to as “Kid” by the other jumpers). As for those two guys, we never know why Rettig has a death wish, which he carries out after, apparently, having, on his first and only night with the Brandons, a tryst on the sofa with the wife. (There’s a lot I don’t know, right?) Browdy, the third jumper, is only interested in profits. Anyway, after the fatal first jump there’s a second one the next day (to cover funeral expenses) in which the Kid does the dreaded Cape Trick. On the way down he chooses Life over Death. He and Annie decide to get out of the Brandon house, and to take a train to parts unknown. The End. The movie version, directed by John Frankenheimer, was, as I recall, good. It starred Burt Lancaster as Rettig and Deborah Kerr as Mrs. Brandon. Obviously, with those big stars, the script filled in the gaping holes that are present in this amateurish first novel. 1 (delete)

Little Man, What Now? – Hans Fallada (German)

A novel about love and money. Great topics, handled exceedingly well. Fallada presents us with a young couple, Hans and Bunny, who are both believable and appealing. (Especially Bunny – one of the strongest female portrayals in fiction.) That they love one another is presented simply and yet with depth. That’s the key element that marks this novel – it’s simply written and yet achieves depth. I cared about these two, from the first page to the last. The aspect of money comes in because they have very little. The novel was published in Germany in 1932, in the midst of that country’s economic collapse. While prices skyrocketed, wages were low and jobs scarce. This brought out the worst in many (especially those in charge) and the best in others. The novel begins with the couple finding that Bunny is pregnant; Hans promptly proposes marriage (this is not forced on him; they are already fully committed to one another). We follow them as Hans tries to find work, and then to hold onto a position as a salesman at Mandels Department Store. They move from place to place, always trying to make ends meet. When the baby is born, the pressure increases. The novel was immensely popular in Germany; it spoke to millions. The words “Nazi” and “Communist” appear a few times, but the book doesn’t concern itself with politics. Hitler’s name is absent, and, though a few characters happen to be Jewish, anti-Semitism is also not an issue. Again – this novel is about love. I can’t think of anything I’ve read about that emotion that rang so true. Fallada doesn’t give us romanticism; rather, he makes us believe in a bond that cannot be broken. At the end, Han’s self image as a man is shattered – but Bunny will stand by him. Of course she will. This ending is powerful, it left me shaken. I can only hope these two make it – somehow. 5

Angel – Elizabeth Taylor

Angelica Deverell is her name, and we follow her life from age fifteen to her death some five decades later. She’s the author of long novels teeming with opulent fantasy. These novels have no literary merit, but are wildly popular with a certain set of readers, and they make Angel wealthy. She’s a person who, since childhood, escaped into fantasy worlds; she didn’t accept the shabby one she was born into, or its people (including her mother). She sees herself as someone grand, and she fully lives out that role. Reality is rejected, or twisted, to suit her tastes. That she succeeds in self-deception is a mark of a strong personality, and Angel is definitely formidable. A force, one fully capable of plowing over anything or anyone in her way. But how long and faithfully can one carry out self-delusion? That’s the bare outline of the unique story that Taylor tells with ease and artfulness. It’s a complex tale, with many events, many characters. The depth with which those secondary characters are developed is one of the books achievements. This novel is full of remarkable achievements. One of which is the fact that I came to care about Angel, with all her enormous flaws (of which an oblivious selfishness is one). I even felt protective of her. 5