Re-reads

White Noise – Don DeLillo

I can understand how my younger self (how much younger?) was impressed by this novel’s inventiveness and energy and originality. All of those virtues are indeed present. But on this reading I didn’t buy into much of what DeLillo doles out. He tackles Big Issues, but he fails to succeed in saying anything that meant much to me. As for the major issue of Death – fear of it – I was never convinced that the characters were feeling dread. Instead of imparting that emotion, what we get are long stretches of esoteric verbiage. Though seemingly on a high intellectual plane, I found it to be a lot of white noise. And – if DeLillo is so intelligent – how do we account for the book’s silly shootout ending? His considerable talent is used best in the down-to-earth section concerning the evacuation (due to a toxic cloud) of the Gladney family to a Boy Scout camp. And there’s humor in the book, some good portrayals (I especially liked eleven-year-old Denise), plenty of linguistic vitality. But I think my younger self believed that DeLillo was insightful, even profound. Many critics felt this way, as did those on the committee that gives out the National Book Award. DeLillo was also a believer: he would continue on an elevated track rather than a down-to-earth one. I’m giving the book a 3 for its good points, but I’m tempted to drop it to a 2 for the bad ones.

Murder for Profit – Willam Bolitho

I only read the first section – about the murders committed by William Burke – and couldn’t go on (there are five other mass murderers studied). Not that it wasn’t done well – the problem is the reverse: It was done too well. When younger, I must have had a stronger stomach for an examination of brutality. In Edinburgh, Scotland in the mid-1800s there was a need for corpses for scientific study. Body snatchers dug up fresh graves and sold the remains to doctors. Burke hit on an idea: why bother with the digging? Why not just lure people off the teeming streets, kill them and sell the bodies? They had a willing (and generous) buyer in the esteemed Dr. Knox. Burke didn’t act on his own: he had an accomplice in Hare, and the wives of both men were participants. Bolitho examines the psychology of this grisly bunch (particularly Burke), and the manner in which matters progressed from that initial idea to a thriving business (we’ll never know how many victims there were). The setting in of boldness in their actions ultimately led to their downfall. But only Burke faced the gallows. Scottish law allowed Hare and the women to go free. As for Knox – who knew he was receiving the victims of murder – he was too high up socially to be punished (though in the mind of the public he was disgraced, and he lost everything). There’s no explicit gore in this account, but the horror of the acts come across with a disturbing power. The writing is elegant, though often intricately constructed. I found myself rereading a sentence over and over, trying to decipher the meaning. Maybe, when I was younger (and sharper), I didn’t face this difficulty. In the first paragraph of the Burke section Bolitho points out that mass murder has always been a part of history, carried out by leaders as they accumulated wealth and power, built empires. I’m giving this book a 4 because the little I read got to me in a visceral way.

The Vendor of Sweets – R. K. Narayan

Narayan was a storyteller, no small virtue in a novelist. He could engage a reader, carry him along with ease. His prose is smooth – no bumps. But, more importantly, the characters and situation he creates are interesting. Nothing bizarre about either; rather, they’re quite relatable (even though the setting is India, and contains elements foreign to western sensibilities). A widowed man, Jagan, desires peace and contentment, but those goals are undermined by the behavior of his errant son. He’s glad when the boy heads off to America. But Mali returns with a wife (actually it turns out that they aren’t married ) and an idea of making a fortune off a novel-writing machine. He pressures his father to invest a large sum of money in this plan. That the son shows no love or even respect for his father – he sees him merely as a source of funds – stuck me as strange. Was Jagan lacking in some way in how he brought the boy up? We’ll never know the roots of what went wrong in the relationship, but I didn’t find that to be a problem. The indeterminate ending, with Jagan making a drastic life choice that may (or may not) give him the serenity he desires, was also acceptable to me – even right. After all, loose ends prevail in life, and there’s no need to neatly tie them up. At least, that’s the terms that Narayan is able to establish. This novel rates a solid 4.

A Mother in History – Jean Stafford

This is an account of a three day interview Stafford conducted with the mother of Lee Harvey Oswald. After sections appeared in McCall’s magazine, it came out in book form two years after the assassination of President Kennedy. Maybe I read it then. Why did I consider the book worthy? This time around I see absolutely no value in it. It’s a lazy effort, devoid of substance or insight, written merely for an easy buck. Since only one interview was tape recorded, and Stafford recreates (at length) what Mrs. Oswald says, how much is a true transcription of her words? What we get in Stafford’s portrayal is a woman spouting disjointed conspiracy theories. An addled, embattled woman who feels that she – her perceptions regarding her son and what occurred – are being ignored. But let me pose a few questions: Who among you believe that Lee Harvey Oswald was the lone assassin, acting on his own, with no backing? That Oswald’s claim, after his arrest, that he wouldn’t be a “patsy,” had no basis? That Jack Ruby killed him solely because he was distraught over the death of Kennedy? That the conclusions in the Warren Commission Report are fully valid? Or do you believe that the truth of what happened on that November day in Dallas will never be revealed? Mrs. Oswald had a tough, hardscrabble life. The events involving her son must have been emotionally crushing. My resentment toward Stafford has to do with her attitude toward the woman – who amused and bored her. Her asides are full of sarcasm, ridicule, disdain. Whatever Mrs, Oswald’s faults may be, Stafford’s fault lies in her lack of sympathy, pity, understanding. This is not a fair account of a mother in history. It’s a cruel hatchet job, and thus worthless. (Delete)

Fiasco - Stanislaw Lem (Polish)
An unusual reading experience. A third of the book was completely beyond my understanding, a third I partially understood, a third was fully intelligible. I didn’t object to the incomprehensible parts because the novel takes place in the distant future, and I have insufficient knowledge of science to grasp advanced technology. What grounded things for me was that the characters think and act like people of today (one of the points Lem makes is that human nature remains the same). Taken as a suspenseful space adventure, the book works. We send a spaceship to another solar system; our goal is to make contact with the planet Quinta, which gives strong indications of supporting a form of intelligent life. This is a reverse of the novels/movies in which Earthlings are visited by aliens (usually bent on harming us). To the mysterious Quintans we’re the feared invaders. And, as it turns out, we fully fit that role. The climax, when Earthling meets Quintans, needed impact, but I was left confused and disappointed. I don’t think Lem could bring a credible resolution to the conundrum he had created, nor do I think this bothered him. The reason to read this erratic and eccentric book is to engage with the author’s mind. It’s not outer space that Lem explores but the nature of man and his future. His conclusions are thought-provoking and ominous.

The Devastating Boys - Elizabeth Taylor
“Flesh” is the standout success in this quality collection. After I read three stories (good ones) about women who are unhappy, insecure and timid, along comes brassy Phyl; her first words, to the barman at the resort hotel where she’s spending a post-hysterectomy vacation, are “Evening, George. How’s tricks?” She makes friends with a lonely widower who’s reinvigorated by her easy acceptance of life. Though Phyl is satisfied with her husband in London, she decides to have a one-night fling with Stanley. What harm will it do? Her husband will never know, and it will give Stanley pleasure. Infidelity as an act of kindness, and Phyl is definitely kindhearted. An attack of gout derails their plans; Stanley is mortified. In answer to his question, “How can you forgive me?”, Phyl says, “Let’s worry about you, eh? Not me. That sort of thing doesn’t matter much to me nowadays. I only really do it to be matey.” Though Taylor often writes about people leading muted lives, her range is impressive. The little girl who bustles “In and Out the Houses” isn’t as innocent as she initially seems; on her daily rounds she cunningly drops bits of gossip meant to create dissent and jealousy. And in the aptly-titled “The Fly-Paper” the reader is led into a trap; the ending is a shocker. The other stories stay at the level of good or pretty good; some are too slight, others trail off inconclusively. Yet in all of them Taylor establishes an intimacy between her characters and the reader. This was her gift. *

The Bachelor of Arts - R. K. Narayan
Chandran, the main character of Narayan’s second novel, is a university student. He comes across as a likeable boy, nothing unusual about him. After he graduates he dawdles through life, without purpose or direction. Then he sees a girl on the beach and romanticizes about her to the point where he must have her as his wife. His feelings are perplexing to the western reader because the two never speak a single word to one another. Yet he’s madly in love. When her family turns down his marriage offer, Chandran is in such despair that he flees to the city of Madras and becomes a sanyasi (a holy man who renounces the world). With a shaved head and dressed in a cheap loin clothe and an upper covering dyed in ochre, he wanders about accepting coins or food or a place to stay for the night. Often he goes hungry and sleeps in the open. My reaction to this plot twist was “Oh, no.” The Chandran I knew – the person Narayan had created – would never act in such a way. Without much ado Chandran recovers his senses, returns to Malgudi, gets a job, meets a new girl he cares for; all seems to be going smoothly. Then comes an ending so inconclusive that I searched for traces of a few missing pages. (I did a bit of research and found that events are carried forward in the next novel.) Despite these two glaring missteps, Narayan has a benevolence that’s appealing; neither his characters nor his humor come with barbs, and his prose is easeful. Still, there isn’t whole lot to this book. I found it most interesting when it deals with the cultural beliefs surrounding marriage. In Hindu India (circa 1930s), besides not getting to know one another, the horoscopes of the two prospective mates must match up; the amount of dowry offered by the girl’s parents plays a big role, as does each family’s prestige; people are judged by their skin color (a dark complexion is a drawback). Also, by age sixteen a girl is considered to be over the hill. Fourteen and fifteen are the proper marriageable ages.

The Ballad of the Sad Cafe - Carson McCullers
McCullers assembles a group of grotesques and puts them in deadly conflict in a backward Southern town. We enter a strange, gothic world, one in which things are darker, denser than normal. The prose is as sinuous as the tale it tells. Accompanying this novella are stories, including McCullers’ wonderful “A Tree, A Rock, A Cloud.” *

The Man-eater of Malgudi - R. K. Narayan
This book, by an author I greatly admire, was a disappointment. I was surprised at its slapdash quality. The prose was amateurish and the plot trailed about, taking various directions and then abandoning them. The death at the end was gimmicky. There was some sweetness here, a benevolence I like about Narayan, and many parts were appealing – characters, scenes – but it didn’t add up to much. And Narayan’s novels usually do.

The Talented Mr. Ripley - Patricia Highsmith
As a psychological study, this is outstanding. Mr. Ripley is a sick individual, yet Highsmith makes him understandable and even sympathetic; we wind up rooting for this double murderer. Especially impressive is the author’s handling of Ripley’s ambiguous sexuality. His problems are presented subtly, just enough to suggest something really creepy. The intricate plot is handled well – it works on a logical level. The glaring problem was the sloppy prose; did anyone (Highsmith or her editor) care about fixing it up?

In a Free State - V. S. Naipaul
This book takes an unusual form; it’s composed of sections connected only by the theme of cultural alienation. Its main worth is that Naipaul makes us understand that condition. Two of the sections, about an Indian in America and someone (I’m not sure from where) in England, are quite effective at portraying estrangement. Both are told in first person, which gives them a needed liveliness. The longest section, for which the book is titled, is tiresome. If anyone wants an example of the faults of over-description, this is the text to use; it buries Naipaul’s story and characters. The African landscape is described in detail, but try as I might I couldn’t see the places; what it amounts to is a lot of empty, boring words. Authors, please – just create a telling image and be done with it. A tree doesn’t matter to a reader unless it falls on someone’s head.