A Gathering of Old Men – Ernest J. Gaines

The setting for this novel is rural Louisiana in the 1980s. When a white racist is shot and killed by a black man a dozen elderly black men bring shotguns to the site where the body lies, and when the sheriff arrives each claims to have done the killing. They’re also, one after another, given the chance to express their long-standing grievances. Besides the brutality and humiliation they’ve experienced, they want to be granted the status of men. The section of the book in which this subject is expounded is effective, though it’s like a chorus of disconnected voices. Novels need a plot, and here weaknesses emerge. The man whose son is killed is a Cajun named Fix who has a long history of violence against Blacks (including lynching); surely he and others of his ilk will arrive on the scene to seek revenge. But Gaines introduces another of Fix’s sons who’s a star running back at LSU; he’s paired in the backfield with a black named Cal (they’re called Salt and Pepper by adoring fans). He urges his father not to take action: times have changed, let the law sort things out. Though his father bitterly complies, some – led by the loutish Luke Will – arrive with shotguns, and a battle with the old men ensues. My problems: it seemed that the progressive son is primarily an antidote to the book’s anti-Cajun tone. And Luke is a caricature of the Ignorant Southern White Brute. The identity of the man who did the killing that set everything off comes as an unnecessary surprise twist at the end. The shootout scene is unconvincing. And why does Gaines have a white woman be the person who devised the whole plan to have this gathering? She’s undeveloped, especially regarding her motivation. Her white boyfriend is also a weak presence, yet the two of them are given the closing page (their hands intertwine). Their role may be to represent an enlightened viewpoint, but it seemed like waffling by Gaines. Possibly his position as a creative writing professor at USL in Lafayette, LA caused him to temper his anger.

Sweet Bean Paste – Durian Sukegawa (Japanese)

In browsing the library stacks I happened to notice this title, and I knew it had to be the novel that the wonderful film Sweet Bean was based on. I was pleased to find that the film was a faithful adaptation – which means that I also liked the book. It’s very simply written, but is concerned with what matters in life. An elderly lady, Tokue, had contracted Hansen’s Disease (leprosy) when she was fourteen, and had lived the rest of her life in a sanatorium. Up to recently it was a forced confinement, but the law in Japan had changed and she was now allowed out in the world. She comes to a shop that makes and sells dorayaki, a pancake filled with sweet bean paste. The cook – Sentaro – is an unhappy young man, and his efforts to make the dorayaki are uninspired. But, for Tokue, making dorayaki is an art, a passion. Sentaro employs her, despite misgivings about the signs of the crippling disease which she still retains; he worries that customers will be scared off. A young girl with a canary is in the mix, and the three are on the covers of both the DVD and the novel. Obviously, the director of the film, Naomi Kawase, recognized the value of the source. For Tokue to be allowed to be a part of the world means a great deal to her. And her ability to appreciate, with all her senses, the dorayaki, the cherry blossoms, the sight of young girls – all of life – is a message that has force. Though that message is imparted in both book and film, Kawase made subtle changes to the ending that, for me, make her version the better of the two. Sukegawa closes by trying overtly to impart meaning. In the film no such attempt is made, but feelings still come across strongly. We don’t have to be told – we “get it.” Also, Sukegawa leaves Sentaro’s future up in the air, whereas the last scene in the film gives him a path that could lead to someplace satisfying.

Five Came Back – Mark Harris

Five top Hollywood directors served in the armed forces in WWII – Frank Capra, William Wyler, George Stevens and John Huston. Their task was twofold: to document and to propagandize. Though they didn’t engage in any combat, two were injured. Wyler lost most of his hearing, and Stevens was emotionally scarred by what he saw when allied troops entered the prison camp at Dachau. The film he made of the atrocities committed there has been screened one time: for the judges at the Nuremberg Trials. (Many years later Stevens tried to watch it himself, but turned it off before the first minute had passed.) The problem I had with this long book reflects the same problem that the general public had: after the war they didn’t want any more of that subject. Since the activities of the directors on the front constitute most of these pages, I did a lot of skimming. What interested me were the portraits of the men, and their film making before and after their service. And the gossip Harris throws in could get juicy. (One example: Ford considered John Wayne a shirker, and he let the Duke know it.) Capra’s first film on returning was It’s a Wonderful Life. Surprisingly, the public at the time didn’t like it; though they might not want to see another movie about combat, they also rejected a sentimentalized version of life (which also bothers me about the movie). Capra was washed up as a director, whereas the other men had long and distinguished careers. The tone and subject matter of Steven’s work changed; he had been known as director of comedies and musicals (he did Swing Time), but after the war he turned somber (as in A Place in the Sun). A good bit of space is given to the film that Wyler made upon returning: The Best Years of Our Lives. It was deeply felt – Wyler could relate to what all three men in the movie were going through. He worked long and hard to produce a masterpiece.