Amongst Women – John McGahern

This was the Irish writer’s next to last novel. I had read his final one – By the Lake – and loved it. This one doesn’t evoke love. It’s much harsher, and, though well-written and engrossing, I was left feeling there were gaps that should have been filled. I wound up not understanding what made the main character, Moran, tick. This small-scale farmer could be good natured, charming, amusing, but too often his mood would abruptly change, and he would say things that were extremely hurtful. Where did this cruel streak come from, what provoked it? Was it his youthful participation in the Irish War for Independence, in which he committed violent acts? (Not, in my opinion, a sufficient reason.) The objects of his affection and his cruelty are his five children and his second wife (we know nothing of his first wife, the mother of the children). All in his family are acutely aware – and apprehensive – of his potential black moods, yet are overly grateful for his good ones. He exercised a sort of tyranny over people, yet “Daddy” – at least for the women – is a great man, and they love him. He never uses physical force on the women, though he did on his two sons (both of whom rebel; one breaks ties almost completely). While I didn’t understand Moran, the women came across strongly. Especially Rose, the wife, who is constantly put in a position of peacemaker. Anyway, in closing, I offer my feeling about Moran: he didn’t deserve the love and respect he received from the women in his life. But at least I was interested enough in him and the others to form a strong opinion.

Re-reads

The Big Love – Tedd Thomey

Actually, the cover cites Mrs. Florence Aadland as the author – the book is “As told to Tedd Thomey.” He did the writing, but in her voice. We occupy Florence’s mind – exclusively, with, I believe, no intrusion by Thomey – as she tells the story of her fifteen-year-old daughter’s affair with an aging Errol Flynn. Did Thomey use a tape recorder? Or just take notes? Did Mrs. Aadland approve of what he had written? I think she must have, since she’s listed as the author. This book brought to mind Jean Stafford’s A Mother in History. I objected to Stafford’s attitude toward Lee Harvey Oswald’s mother; she gave us nothing but a hatchet job. But Thomey seems not to include an authorial opinion on Florence Aadland. He lets her emerge. It’s obvious to the reader that she engages in a distortion of the truth to make what occurred seem justifiable. It’s fascinating to see a mind in motion, trying to turn what is lurid into a “big love.” Readers will judge Florence Aadland harshly. She deserves it, for her bad choices. Anyway, she’s fully punished for any mistakes she made. This book is about ambition, and the lure and power that celebrity yields. It’s about victimization when the victim is complicit. Though told in told a most simple way, it can be seen as an American tragedy. 4

The Magic Christian – Terry Southern

Short, even for a novella. Yet I couldn’t make it to the halfway point. The fabulously wealthy Guy Grant devises outlandish projects that reveal how low people will stoop to get money. Well, what’s new about greed, in a society where money is so important? To demean people struck me as cruel. The book is supposed to be comic, but it’s just self-indulgent, juvenile nonsense. I must have been juvenile to have once liked it. (delete)

Things Fall Apart – Chinua Achebe (Nigerian)

Written by a Nigerian in English, this novel presents us with a rich and complex native African culture. Achebe doesn’t glamorize or sanitize it; it has its good and bad aspects. As for the good, their system of dispensing justice when disputes arise seems sound. But women are decidedly subservient (a role they accept). And some beliefs lead them to brutal acts, such as disposing of twins at birth in the Evil Forest. They are not a peaceable people, though wars between tribes are rare. Many gods, in many forms (quite a few malignant), influence people deeply. Their culture is rich in verbal myths, in origin stories (such as how the turtle got its uneven shell). This is a cohesive society in which there are no un-believers. Then, in the last third of the novel, white missionaries arrive and exert a divisive influence; they slowly but inexorably undermine the old beliefs. This constitutes things falling apart. After the missionaries a governing body arrives, and they use force to exert their dominance. Though a novel, this is mainly an anthropological study because the main character, Okonkwo, is one-dimensional, and evokes no sympathy; also, there isn’t any plot to speak of. Still, I can see the importance of the work: it makes a foreign culture come to life. As for the prose, it is admirably simple, straightforward, strong. 4

The Silent Cry - Kenzaburo Oe (Japanese)

A huge letdown after A Personal Matter. Doubts set in at the halfway mark and were fully confirmed at the end. The book is over-populated, over-written, over-plotted. There’s much agonizing, and Oe constantly leads the reader to believe that profound revelations will be revealed. They never materialize. What we get is pretentious, awkward, false in its portrayal of human nature. And, worst of all, foolish.

Friend of My Youth - Alice Munro

Many of these stories meander around the emotions of women; they’re baggy, unfocused and too long. Munro experiments, goes through stages, and this was one of her stages. Despite being baggy and unfocused and long, “Wigtime” and “Differently” succeed in part because the characters and situations are engrossing; but it’s the muted mood of melancholy suffusing these stories that give them resonance. “Pictures of the Ice” is the most straightforward piece (which is the approach Munro should stick to). It begins with an enigmatic premise; the ending resolves the enigma perfectly. Three very good ones.

Warlock - Oakley Hall

Hall takes the stereotypes of the wild west – characters and situations we’re overly familiar with – and deepens them, gives them complexity. The real humans behind the stereotypes emerge. Hall is concerned with moral choices, difficult ones; the west of the 1800s provides an ideal backdrop to explore right and wrong. This is a long book, with many characters, many plot threads; it provokes thought and at times it surprises – but the changes people go through are convincing. At the novel’s core is Johnny Gannon, a man engaged in a lonely struggle with himself – a struggle that I became intimately involved in. *

 

Anthills of the Savannah - Chinua Achebe

Achebe wrote Anthills more than twenty years after his previous novel, and he had clearly lost it. Lost what? – his ability to write well or his desire to do so? The book is sloppy in both its construction and the prose; the characters are wooden and unconvincing. What pervades this undertaking is a sourness. The sourness is justified (Achebe was writing about the politics of Africa), but he presented his story artlessly. I stopped reading at the halfway point.

The Vet’s Daughter - Barbara Comyns

Weird. The almost childish presentation (through the first person sensibilities of Alice) contributes to that effect. The characters and their actions are relentlessly strange, often menacing; the father is a monster. Then Alice starts levitating. Comyns served up too many oddities for my taste; nobody was real, so I began to read inattentively. At the end I had no idea who the man with the ginger mustache was. And it seems that I was supposed to know. Oh, well.

The Arrow of God - Chinua Achebe

The Nigerian author has written one of those books which I consider necessary. He gives the Western reader insight into a sensibility foreign to us. We’re presented with a world of gods and spirits and rituals and societal customs. The native priest Ezeulu is a complex and imposing figure; at times he commands respect, at others he elicits aversion. Though he’s a man of strong will and wisdom, his pride and inflexibility will lead to his downfall – and to the downfall of the native religion. The novel is about the end of the old ways, as embodied in Ezeulu. Christianity, with its more potent god, becomes dominant. The last sentence has the people offering the yams they harvest not to Ulu but “in the name of the son.” *

Lions, Harts, Leaping Does - J. F. Powers

Powers’ work is unique in both his subject matter and prose style. He writes about the Catholic clergy, but he’s concerned with their daily lives. Lives which often involve pettiness and annoyances and meanness and stratagems. Stratagems for getting a desk for one’s room from a stingy pastor; annoyance at a housekeeper who has taken on the unwanted role of wife. These men do consider their actions and thoughts and feelings in a religious light, but they’re regular people, like you and me, and their faith doesn’t bring peace and serenity (or does so only with great effort). Sadness and arid disappointment permeate the book; even the humor has a bitter edge. The prose is carefully crafted, with a cadence that the reader needs to get in step with; though lovely, it becomes an object of attention (this is true in some stories more than others; I prefer the direct style). Powers strays occasionally outside the religious world, and he seems quite at home there; more expansive, actually. There are too many constricting boundaries when writing solely about cloistered lives. Read these stories; but also read Powers’ wonderful novel, Morte de Urban.

The Spoilt City - Olivia Manning

The second of the Balkan Trilogy. As with the first (The Great Fortune) the setting is Bucharest. World War II has broken out and the city is in disarray as its residents face an imminent invasion. But unfortunately Harriet and Guy Pringle get most of the attention, and they’re not particularly interesting. Guy remains vague; this is an autobiographical work, and Manning seems to be walking on egg shells when dealing with her husband (probably because he’s an ass). Yaki is still the most alive, multi-dimensional character, and Bucharest is still a fascinating place, but they get second billing.

Friends and Heroes - Olivia Manning

This last novel in a trilogy has Harriet and Guy in Greece, with Guy’s difficulty getting a job the main focus. He’s still vague (sigh). There’s a suggestion of Harriet having a fling with a handsome young fellow, but we know she’s too proper to do it. The book takes on aspects of a romance novel, and Yaki is gone, so I stopped reading about the bland and tiresome Pringles.

A Man of the People - Chinua Achebe

The problem with this novel is that Achebe mixes politics with romance, and the romance part is weak. Nanga, the corrupt political boss, is a forceful, repellant character. The narrator is a good (and amusing) observer – until he falls in love. When the emphasis changes to the love affair, the book suffers.

The Collected Stories of John O’Hara

There are lessons to be learned from O’Hara: how to entertain (all the stories capture and hold one’s attention); how to use dialogue (it’s naturalistic and reveals character); and how to make an ending resonate. There’s a revelatory jolt at the close of the best of these stories, such as “Can I Stay Here?” What is revealed lingers with you. This isn’t a trick ending; it flows from under the surface of what has gone before. The problem is that O’Hara often doesn’t have that moment. All else is there – the entertainment, the good dialogue; but, without an ending of consequence the story is merely good; there aren’t enough very good ones in this collection. The longest (a full-fledged novella) is the worst piece of writing in the book. Surely the editor, Frank MacShane, could have made a better choice. On the flip side, “Over the River and Through the Woods” belongs in any anthology of the best American short stories. Young writers should read O’Hara and recognize his virtues. 

Alfred and Guinevere - James Schuyler
Unique, beautiful. Childhood captured with a deft touch. Economy of words – Schuyler relies mostly on conversation to achieve his ends. Humorous, appealing. (I love those kids, especially Guinevere.) Light as a frothy cloud, the sun sparkling through. Just plain wonderful. *

Heart of a Dog - Mikhail Bulgakov (Russian)
Dark science fiction, done with bravado. The first part, when the dog is a dog (but we share his thoughts) is better, partly because of the amazing fact that this, indeed, seems to be how a dog would think. The man/dog creation doesn’t have the vigor of the dog alone. As if to compensate for this, the author turns to societal issues. The book holds up to the end – dense, imaginative, strong and brutal – but ultimately it’s a curiosity by an author with plenty of talent.

No Longer at Ease - Chinua Achebe
I thought Achebe’s Things Fall Apart was excellent, and this is as good, though dealing with a totally different world. The book takes place in modern Africa and is about money, obligations, relationships, morality. At no point did I find it less than convincing and absorbing – all was right: characters, scenes, motivations. Achebe writes with directness and economy; no wasted words. The book is deserving of respect for its intelligence and maturity. *

Dead Souls - Nikolai Gogol (Russian)
The Guerney translation was recommended, so I reread the book. This time around it remained vital, teeming, funny, alive. It’s mostly composed of set pieces in which Chichikov is at someone’s house, trying to buy dead souls. In this way we get a diverse view of Russian types, and they come across as gargantuan eccentrics. Gogol the writer (and person) is the most eccentric of all, quirky and undisciplined; his mind pops about, describing in loving detail the food at a meal, or smells, or the interior of a room. Primarily, though, his world is dense with human emotions – mostly greed and suspicion and dishonesty (though sex in any form – love or lust – are conspicuously absent). All this takes place in a dreary but imposingly vast Russian landscape. The problems began near the end (a section which wasn’t – wisely, I believe – included in the first version I read). Gogol dropped the framing device (buying dead souls) and Chichikov is placed off stage. There’s a loss of focus and momentum; Gogol makes asides, clowns around, assumes a grandiose language, but a context for his antics is missing. Confusion and aimlessness set in. What had sparkled and leaped ends in a long drawn out morass. But the bulk of the book has great exuberance and is wonderful in a way that only Gogol can be wonderful. I understand why Nabokov admired him so much. *