Places Where I’ve Done Time – William Saroyan

Saroyan’s approach in this autobiography, which he wrote at age sixty-four, is inventive and, for a while, quite effective. He takes places (The Typing Class at Tech High, Fresno, 1921 or The George V Hotel, Paris, 1959) and devotes a few pages to his experiences there. He skips around in time; we may finish a piece when he’s a boy, then, in the next one, he’s an old man, and in the next he’s in his thirties. A kaleidoscope look at his life emerges. The first half of this book is jaunty, entertaining, often humorous. Then the mood changes. My theory is that Saroyan wrote these snapshots in sequence, and his enthusiasm for the project waned. Maybe depression set in – I get that sense. He achieved success as a writer, and he did it without any advantages – almost no schooling, an upbringing in poverty (he spent his early years in an orphanage). But it becomes obvious that this much-sought-after success didn’t make him happy. What emerges is a man who has a serious gambling problem; he was married, and in writing about his ex (the “little woman”) he can be caustic with hatred. He fills much of the second half of the book with the names of hotels, many in foreign cities (Dublin, Moscow, Bucharest); he seems most at peace when he’s walking the streets of a new place – always alone. One of the problems with this second half is that he turns to philosophizing about Life. His conclusions are affirmative, but it’s always a mistake to make wise proclamations (especially when mixed with resentments). Last note: I don’t believe Saroyan revised his work. What he put down on paper the first time was what the reader gets. In My Name Is Aram the stories seem to have been tossed off in one sitting. Readers at the time took to his sweet, naive, colorful immigrant characters (mostly children) who embody simple virtues, but for me they’re mawkish. Places is  not mawkish, the writing is good, and it succeeds – at least for a while. I wish he had been able to retain the spirit of the first half, but, sadly, I suppose we all have to live with our state of mind.

Winter Notes in Summer Impressions – Feodor Dostoevsky

When Dostoevsky was forty-one he traveled to various cities in Europe. This book is definitely no travelogue; in his “In Place of a Foreword” he admits that he stayed for a very brief time in the many places he visited, and therefore had no right to draw conclusions. Yet he does draw many conclusions regarding social/political matters. He concentrates on Paris, though there’s a bit about London. He does not look approvingly at what he sees in either city. I found his thoughts of little interest, especially since they refer to conditions in 1862, and so I won’t go into them. What did interest me is the image of Dostoevsky that emerges. When I think of the author of Crime and Punishment and The Brothers Karamazov I conjure up a grim, brooding presence. In this book he comes across in an amiable light, someone with whom I could have pleasant conversation (though it would be devoted to Ideas). He even has a sense of humor. The mild enjoyment I got out of this slim volume derives from getting to know the man better.

The Savage State – Georges Conchon (French)

Conchon served as Secretary General of the Central African Republic from 1958 to 1960, so I expected an insider’s view of race relations. I suppose I got that (and the relationship is depicted as very bad). But this is a novel, so how about creating credible characters? The main one, Avit, arrives in Africa as a representative of UNESCO, and discovers that his wife, who had run away with another man while they were living in Paris, is now in Fort Jacul (small world, isn’t it?), as is her lover. But, when he happens to meet this lover, he finds that Laure has left the guy for Doumbe, an African government official. Avit comes across as an overly emotional boy who flounders about indecisively (one wonders about the hiring practices at UNESCO), and when we enter Laure’s mind we wonder at how such a mature, self-assured woman would marry a kid. And, considering her dubious track record of skipping from man to man, how she did she get to be so stable and wise? Doumbe is a noble prop, wrestling with his love for Laure and the censure that their living together is bringing down on him from the natives. I believed in nobody, and after laboring past the halfway point I called it quits. Last note: after writing this review I learned that The Savage State had been awarded the Prix Goncourt in 1964. Big sigh . . .

The Possessed – Fyodor Dostoyevsky (Russian)
When I was reading this as a comic novel, for more than half its 700 pages, I thought it was wonderful. Dostoyevsky assembles a cast of people who are twisted in some way – mad, delusional, malignantly manipulative, etcetera – and sets them to work on one another. The book is in the Victorian tradition, complete with set scenes on a grand scale; there’s a Gala held to raise funds for the Aid of Needy Governesses which turns into a fiasco, complete with pratfalls. The melodramatic pot-boiler of a plot (about an undercover attempt to overthrow the whole of society) is run by a ragtag handful of bunglers. Possibly Dostoyevsky was commenting, in a cynical fashion, on the errant tendencies in the Russian character. At any rate, it was vivid, vigorous and entertaining. My first stirring of unease came in a long dialogue Stavrogin has with a priest; it involves a confession and a discussion of faith and the soul and God’s forgiveness. Suddenly we’re in Crime and Punishment territory. This change in tone slowly takes precedence. Dostoyevsky tries to force elements that are comic into a serious mold. The result is still comic, but foolishly so; the book becomes a nonsensical jumble, and two hundred pages from the end I had enough. I truly believe that for much of the book Dostoyevsky was having fun; if I was, how could he not be? Maybe he couldn’t separate himself from his reputation as one who probes into profound matters. Who knows?

Cranford – Elizabeth Gaskell
Cranford is an English village which, Gaskell writes in the first sentence, “is in possession of the Amazons; all the holders of houses, above a certain rent, are women.” Yet these Amazons are not warriors; they’re spinsters or widows concerned solely with local matters, and the rare conflicts that take place are conducted with slights and snubs. Cranford began as stories that appeared in the mid-1800s in Household Works, a magazine edited by Charles Dickens. Their quiet charm made them very popular and they were collected to make up this slim volume. Gaskell’s benevolent attitude toward her elderly ladies can become a bit saccharine, but that’s countered by the sly humor she directs at their preoccupation over matters of status and propriety. My enjoyment of the book was probably due in part to what readers long ago found pleasing: it offers escapism. Cranford is a safe retreat from worldly turmoil.

The Breaking Wave – Nevil Shute
This unusual war novel involves a Wren in the British navy who works behind the lines maintaining guns on ships that will take part in the D-Day invasion. Except for one flyover by a German plane, there are no battle scenes. For Janet Prentice war will have a lasting appeal. She’s young, involved in an event with a vital purpose; added to that, she falls in love for the first and only time in her life. But war’s dark side hits her hard. Though she’s unscathed physically, she deals with guilt (involving that flyover by the German plane); she comes to believe that she killed seven innocent men. Shortly afterwards she loses Bill, the man she loves, then her father. She sees their deaths as retribution for her actions, and she conceives the idea that she’s fated to lose five more things she loves. She’s not deranged; in the months before the invasion exhaustion and stress have eroded her emotional resources. When the dog Bill had entrusted to her is crushed by a tank she breaks down. It’s a case of PTSD before that term was in use. The war is over for Janet. She goes through years of caring for others as they die: first her mother, then a distant relative. She repeatedly tries to rejoin the Wrens, but is rejected. Though the bulk of the plot is devoted to her, the first person narrator is Alan, Bill’s brother. The book opens twenty years after the war, with Alan returning home to a sheep ranch in Australia; on the morning of his arrival he learns that his parent’s live-in maid had committed suicide. Her name – or the one she gave them – is Jessie Proctor. What follows, in flashbacks, is Janet Prentice’s story. To make Alan the narrator of this story (he only spent one day with her and Bill) seemed like a dubious contrivance, but it didn’t interfere with my reading because the Janet that emerges is strong and authentic. More so than Alan, who is the other central character. I was disappointed in how Shute wraps things up; I couldn’t accept the final entries in Janet’s diary. In this book you have to take the good with the not-so-good. And the good is not just engrossing, but it goes deep.

Kept in the Dark – Anthony Trollope
In an ideal marriage, by Victorian standards, a wife should be pure as the driven snow, a husband should be a stalwart and benevolent Master. Though these roles are antiquated, what gives this book relevancy today is the fact that jealousy and possessiveness are constants in human nature. Trollope creates a situation which is analogous to a tightening noose. A year before her marriage to George Cecilia was engaged to a charming reprobate; when she began to discern Sir Francis Geraldine’s true nature she broke things off. Then she meets and marries George and they live in conjugal bliss. But Cecilia never tells him of her previous engagement. Though she’s innocent of any wrongdoing, she never summons up the courage to divulge something that she finds distasteful. To further complicate matters, George knows and despises his wife’s former suitor. Sir Francis, with malicious intent, sends George a letter in which he reveals his relationship with Cecilia; he tells no lies, but he implies that he and Cecilia still have a sort of understanding. At first George believes the letter is a complete falsehood; when Cecilia admits that the facts in the letter are true, suspicions arise in George’s mind. How could she have been close to such a despicable man? Why has Cecilia kept him in the dark about Sir Francis? What secret has she been hiding? Distrust and a feeling of being duped consume George, and his response is to institute a complete separation. Though Trollope tries to give George a basis for his emotions, his harshness toward someone he purports to love puts him in a bad light. The two strongest characters are the villains; the book is most alive when Sir Francis and Francesca Altifiorla are in action. Interesting, isn’t it, how evil is more compelling than virtue? This slim volume may have been Trollope’s last work; it was serialized in Good Words magazine in 1882, the same year he died. I read it in a republication as it first appeared (in cliffhanger installments, and complete with typos). As always with Trollope, those readers long ago were rewarded. Not a masterpiece, but a good read in which one forms opinions about the situation and the protagonists.

The Brothers Karamazov - Fyodor Dostoevsky (Russian)

Dostoevski deals with the essentials of life, particularly with moral questions. Since he wanted to communicate with the common man, he presents his ideas in a straightforward way. On the most basic level, he entertains – we want to know what happens next. He can surprise, he uses ambiguity, he writes with passion. He gives the devil his due – literally; the evil side of man is on full display. Nobody, good or bad, is treated superficially. One problem is the operatic level of the emotions. Sometimes characters come across as fanatics, hysterics. Maybe the Russian personality is prone to extremes (also, the events these people are involved in would produce intense emotions). The ending leaves much unresolved. Yet The Speech at the Stone is so strong and encompassing that, when it’s over, all is completed. *

Saturday Night and Sunday Morning - Alan Sillitoe

This look at the British working class rings true. Arthur Seaton stands solid at the center of the novel. He has so many faults that I rather disliked him. This presents a problem for a novelist, who needs a sympathetic reader. Ultimately, what wins out is the factor of honesty – okay, I decided, that’s Arthur, take him or leave him; whatever, he’s real. Sillitoe’s writing flows nicely, particularly the naturalistic dialogue. Besides the swaggering Arthur, we have an equally strong female, Brenda; when Doreen arrives, I felt that she was a weak link, but as Arthur gets more serious about her she takes on substance. All in all, an engrossing, thoughtful and rebellious book. One nagging flaw has to do with plausibility. Arthur and Brenda (a married woman) carry on their long term affair with little effort to conceal it; though he gets the beating he deserves, it comes awfully late in the game. Is her husband a fool, and are people so reluctant to gossip? Still, as Arthur likes to say, It’s a great life if you don’t weaken. *

Home Free - Dan Wakefield

In the opening pages a college student (Gene) and his young professor (Lou) have sex after a few lines of dialogue. I could never free the character of Lou from the easy lay she was. Gene seems equally shallow, and a weakling to boot; I didn’t respect him. Wakefield tries to recreate the aura of that time in life when you’re in love, have dreams etc., but it doesn’t come off. Gene and Lou’s friends are no more than colorful fabrications (the “Coaches” fall flat). At the point of the inevitable breakup and its effect on Gene, I stopped reading. I didn’t care.