Water for Elephants (Sara Gruen)

I picked up Water for Elephants on a whim because I liked the title and the premise was cool: Old-timey circus workers rescue a trained elephant from cruelty. I understood that, while the story was fiction, the author did some research and incorporated several real-life incidents. So, based on this, I actually crossed the threshold of a physical Barnes & Noble, picked Water for Elephants off a wooden shelf, and presented my plastic card to a human cashier. For all this effort, I truly hoped the novel would be superb. In some ways, it was.  But overall, no.

Water for Elephants is the story of the struggling Benzini Brothers circus, for which the main character and narrator, Jacob Jankowski, works as a veterinarian. Jacob falls in love with Marlena, a kind and beautiful performer. Unfortunately, Marlena is married to the violently temperamental animal trainer, August. When the circus acquires an elephant, Jacob and Marlena struggle together to defend the sweet pachyderm against August’s rages. The story divulges the slimy underbelly of circus life, including gross mistreatment of both human workers and animals, right up to the stunning climax when Marlena ends August’s reign of terror.

Photo from www.nonhumanslavery.com

Gruen alternates the novel’s setting between a contemporary nursing home where 93-year-old Jacob now lives in a state of semi-dementia, and the 1931 traveling circus. In the nursing home, as Jacob waits for his family to escort him to a modern circus, he wafts in and out of lucidity and mentally revisits his old Benzini Brothers days. Although the flashback technique feels a little worn and, in Gruen’s hands, contrived, it does set up a finely constructed and sentimental ending, which is one of the novel’s strengths.

Aside from the tender conclusion, the story itself has other redeeming qualities. The plot is engaging enough to keep you reading, especially as it nears the climax. Also, Gruen exposes the abuses that occurred in depression-era circuses and, which I fear, probably still exist to some extent. Several scenes are emotionally excruciating, but responsible consumers should be aware of ugly realities.

Unfortunately, Water for Elephants also disappoints.  First, the characters are shallowly constructed. I didn’t walk away with a lasting identification with any of them, and in fact, by the time I wrote this post, I had to look up all of their names. Also, Gruen’s writing style is flat and unmemorable. While the premise was promising, her blasé rendering diminished what might have been a great novel in the hands of a more skilled wordsmith.

Photo by Lynne Harty (saragruen.com)

If you care about animals, you want a good story, and you’re not a finicky reader, then step right up! Water for Elephants will entertain and amaze, and it may even spur you to reconsider your attitude toward traveling animal shows. But if you’re hungry for something profound and beautiful, then move along, folks. There are lots of bigger, better shows out there.

Check it out on Amazon!

Fairy Tale Interrupted (RoseMarie Terenzio)

My sister suckered me into another JFK Jr. book. And I liked it. The first one, What Remains, was a lovely read by Carole Radziwill, the wife of John Junior’s cousin. While John isn’t the primary player in that memoir, RoseMarie Terenzio’s Fairy Tale Interrupted is unquestionably John-centric. Terenzio was John F. Kennedy Jr.’s personal assistant and was therefore privy to practically every detail of his life. And she shares a lot of that detail. Her stories are neither all-out scandalous nor across-the-board flattering. Instead, she describes John as someone both good and bad like most every man, but simultaneously so overtly unlike any other man. Overall, he comes off favorably, as someone who, despite his birthrights of extreme pressure and privilege, remained publically loved and privately liked.

Terenzio tosses in some tidbits on her own life too - family and friends, successes and failures, her struggle to be taken seriously - much of which is moderately interesting. But it’s not the reason you’ll read this book.

Map of JFK Jr.'s crash site (from jfkjr.com)

Although Fairy Tale Interrupted lacks the linguistic grace of What Remains, the writing quality isn’t horrible. Maybe Terenzio penned it herself, but it has a ghost-written vibe. No matter. If you want JFK Jr. stories more than pretty words, this book is for you. Terenzio dishes. She describes her awkward introduction to John and the development of their gibing relationship. She discusses his parentage over George magazine, his maneuvering for its legendary covers, and the personal burden he bore over its financial and popular struggles. She talks about John’s charm, his temper, his ditziness, his stalkers, his mountains of crazy mail...about Carolyn Bessette’s big heart and calming influence...about the ups and downs of their courtship, the top-secret wedding planning, and their often angst-ridden marriage...about their insatiable smoking habit, their high-fashion circle, and the intense pressure of the paparazzi, to which John was accustomed, but which drove Carolyn to tears and stole her natural joy.

Of course, Terenzio also tells the story of John and Carolyn’s deaths, and her perspective as both intimate friend and critical employee means that you’ll get the kind of detail you simply can’t find elsewhere. From her, you’ll learn the unsettling personal events immediately preceding their fated flight. You’ll better understand how the sudden loss handicapped George’s PR, provoked the media’s worst instincts, and roused the public’s best sentiments. But you’ll also see the up-close-and-personal side - how their deaths debilitated RoseMarie, as her entire raison d’etre was gone.

RoseMarie Terenzio

While you’ll never find Fairy Tale Interrupted listed in a roster of the literary greats, it is an impressive chronicle of John F. Kennedy Junior insider information. You’ll be humored and touched by Terenzio’s simple, heartfelt remembrances of one of the world’s most iconic men.

Check it out on Amazon!

The Giver (Lois Lowry)

The Giver is a Newbery medal-winning juvenile fiction featuring Jonas, a preteen boy of unusual equanimity who lives with his family in a highly controlled community. The town’s systematic management results in what appears to be, in many ways, a nearly idyllic environment. Families, with rare exceptions, get along well. There is gender equality and a fair amount of autonomy. People enjoy their work. All needs are met. Crime is rare, and personal contentment flourishes.

When the community’s twelve-year-olds are assigned their careers, Jonas is named the new Receiver, a position of singular distinction and great honor. In this role, he must receive and safely guard all ancient memories of the society, never sharing them with the other members of the community, because the memories will threaten the peace. As Jonas receives these memories, he begins to understand the enormity of the sacrifice required to sustain their ordered society. The more memories he receives, the less he can conform with the society and, in small ways, he starts to buck the system. Finally, he makes one huge move that will alter not only his life but the entire community irreparably.

  

"But suddenly Jonas had noticed...the apple had changed."

Based on the rave reviews I’d heard (from friends and family, on NPR, and on Amazon), I was expecting The Giver to be great. Instead, I found it, on the whole, only pretty good. The premise is spectacular, and the story will make children and adults reconsider much of what’s important and beautiful in our flawed world. But the book is undersatisfying because of what the author omits. First, Lowry fails to portray the community’s system as wholly undesirable. I admit, this may be deliberate and not an entirely bad move; the ambiguity can spur discussion and debate in a classroom of young readers. Nevertheless, I was hoping for a deep, dark dystopia. Yes, the story is written for a juvenile audience, and maybe that’s why Lowry keeps it fairly light. But I think that middle-school kids can - and should - handle more intense material. Ironically, and probably unintentionally, Lowry treats her audience like Jonas’s community: She overprotects them, and as a result, they lose an opportunity for emotional growth.

Worse yet, Lowry completely ignores huge and crucial elements of the story. We never see what happens within the community upon Jonas’s final rebellion, and we hardly know what becomes of Jonas either. Just when the book should ramp up, it ends. Maybe Lowry intentionally keeps the book short for her young audience, but if so, she underestimates them again. Children will read a long book if it’s great, and The Giver should have, could have been incredible. Perhaps Lowry will extend it into a series. Unfortunately, I’ve seen no indication of that so far.

Lois Lowry

Lowry’s writing style is perfectly appropriate for preteens. It’s simple but not childish, always clear, well-paced, and engaging. Without question, The Giver will help children and adults understand the importance of diversity and discomfort, as well as the drawbacks associated with heavy controls. Also without question, its premise could have been even more poignant if Lowry had gone bigger and bleaker. I’m casting my ballot for a redeeming sequel.

Check it out on Amazon!

Beginnings: The First Love, the First Hate, the First Dream...Reflections on the Bible's Intriguing Firsts (Meir Shalev)

Meir Shalev had already enchanted me with his storytelling genius, his easy charm, and his unobtrusive humor through his memoir, My Russian Grandmother and Her American Vacuum Cleaner. So, even though Beginnings was an entirely different genre on an entirely different topic, I was pretty sure I’d enjoy it.

Maybe it was the less personal subject matter, or maybe the translator (Stuart Schoffman) wasn’t as great, but Beginnings didn’t thrill me as much. Don’t get me wrong - I liked it. But it’s not as magical as My Russian Grandmother. Shalev’s voice is still friendly and sharing, and his wit still shows up, although more sardonically and less frequently. With My Russian Grandmother, it’s like Shalev amuses you with his stories over pizza and beer. With Beginnings, you picture him at a university lectern. Same nice guy, radically divergent circumstances.

In Beginnings, Shalev reviews several of the most familiar Bible stories, but his thorough analysis deepens and freshens them. With an easy, approachable style, he offers backstory and perspective that you probably never heard in synagogue or church. He does some small moralizing, but no proselytizing. His discussion feels more intellectual and literary than religious.

Genesis 1:1, from an illustrated 1932 Polish Torah

Here are a couple of my critical observations. First, don’t let the title fool you. “The Bible’s Intriguing Firsts” turn out to be, in many cases, Shalev’s setup for “the first important” and sometimes even “the most important.” For example, the “First Law” chapter only briefly mentions the actual first law in the Bible. Shalev then segues into a lengthy (albeit interesting) discussion of the Ten Commandments. Similarly, since the first king mentioned in the Bible is not a primary player in Hebrew history, Shalev analyzes King Saul instead, and then continues with a thorough discourse on King David.

Also, be aware that Shalev doesn’t treat the Bible as the unquestionable truth, nor does he approach it as fiction. Instead, his stance seems somewhere between: The Bible is a work of literature to be greatly respected and generally accepted, but questioned where questions beg the asking. Throughout the book, he draws conclusions that seem to be a stretch, but for all we know, may be true (for example, that Joseph was gay and was sexually assaulted by his brothers). For context and evidence, Shalev often cites historical documents, rabbinical writings, and other extra-biblical sources.

Meir Shalev (copyright Bastian Schweitzer)

If you’re idealistic about the biblical example, or if you’re a champion for the infallibility of scripture, you’ll be disappointed with several of Shalev’s opinions. He criticizes our old heroes, particularly their treatment of women and animals, and he decries God’s undue violence in dealing with His humans. Some of Shalev’s opinions might even be considered heretical, whether you’re Jewish or Christian or both.

But if you’re not pre-stocked with rigid convictions, or if you welcome challenging ideas, you’ll eat this up. Beginnings is rich with novel interpretations, and for a scholarly text, the discourse is surprisingly accessible. It’s a good opportunity to see the serious side of Shalev.

Check it out on Amazon!

We Need to Talk About Kevin (Lionel Shriver)

When I heard an interview with Lionel Shriver, the author of We Need to Talk About Kevin, on NPR, I was fascinated not only by the discussion of the too-pertinent story of Kevin Khatchadourian, a teenager who shoots up his school, but also by Shriver’s own non-pandering demeanor. I knew immediately that I liked this author and wanted to read her book.

The story is written as a series of letters from Kevin’s mother, Eva, to her her estranged husband, Kevin’s father, Franklin. The dense and formal prose is somewhat unexpected and intimidating, but it establishes Eva’s character perfectly: She’s a highly successful travel writer by trade, and she can be conspicuously cosmopolitan and condescending.

Eva misses Franklin, and her letters read like a sort of self-therapy. She recollects the entire marriage, beginning with their indecision, and finally, decision to have a child. Her monologue is largely philosophical, especially in the beginning. Although the story moves slowly until her pregnancy, you should read these early chapters with patience and care, as they establish the critical dynamics of Eva and Franklin’s separate relationships with Kevin. Once Kevin is born, the story gains momentum with astounding episodes of his schemes and deviances.

Eva’s character is brilliantly complex. You probably won’t think, “Gee, I like this girl!” But still, you will feel some empathy - even genuine sympathy - for her, as she is shockingly honest about her most unflattering thoughts. Yes, she can be pompous, but she wants and tries to be a good mother to Kevin despite her inclinations toward the opposite, and despite his repellant behaviors, as he deliberately and systematically destroys any semblance of her formerly pleasant life.

Franklin, on the other hand, is simple, and pathetically so.  He’s a good-hearted, true-blue kind of guy, the type of person you’d want for your kid’s elementary school teacher, but probably not for your psychoanalyst, and certainly not for the father of the sociopathic teenager next door. Undiscerning of anything outside his cheery, perfect-family bubble, he quickly evolves into Kevin’s oblivious lackey.

From conception, Kevin doggedly commits his existence to the discomfiting of others and the destruction of expressions of love. He seems inherently evil and utterly unlikeable. But through one small event in a novel full of horrible acts, Shriver complicates his character and uncovers the tiniest goodness - or at least normalcy - in him. This is the one thing that keeps the reader in awe of Kevin despite the inevitable revulsion.

I wonder if Kevin’s behavioral profile is similar to that of real-life mass murderers.  Can a person actually be as staunchly hostile as Kevin is from birth?  I don’t know how Shriver researched the story, and I’m too lazy to do the work myself, but if you can knowledgeably answer my question, please comment!

Shriver’s erudite prose requires that her reader is no dummy. The language may be daunting at first, but the telling is so eloquent and detailed, the vocabulary so precise, that, if you don’t rush, you’ll get an alluring view into the psyche of one of modern literature’s most multidimensional protagonists.

Lionel Shriver (photo by Walnut Whippet)

If your edition of Kevin includes the “p.s.” in back, don’t skip it!  In three separate sections, Shriver writes a quirky little bio, discusses the book itself, and briefly summarizes several other novels she recommends (including only one of her own). Her written voice is classy and sassy. I admired her writing so much that I also must respect her literary opinion, and I therefore added several of her recommendations to my Better-Read-That list.

Look it up on Amazon!

The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin

After reading Walter Isaacson’s biography of Benjamin Franklin, I fell in love (with Franklin, not Isaacson) and needed more from Ben’s own pen. So I searched out his autobiography, and found it - glory to God - for FREE in iBooks!  After a respectable waiting period on Isaacson’s behalf, I downloaded my way into Franklin’s 18th century reminiscences.

The charm of Ben Franklin’s autobiography is its informal, first-draft feel. It reads like a letter to a friend. In fact, he starts it, “Dear son,” with a similar purpose as Solomon’s Proverbs: to impart knowledge and wisdom. But the challenge of this book is the linguistic style, which can be tricky for modern readers, especially for those unaccustomed to non-contemporary English. Even I had to backtrack a few times for understanding.  

William Franklin, Benjamin's son

In content, the autobiography is a de-uglified miniature of Isaacson’s epic. It addresses several of the same incidents, but it reads more like a series of anecdotes. There’s precious little backstory, and unsurprisingly, Franklin omits most of the unflattering stuff. Still, in his discussions on virtue, industry, and religion, he’s frank about his shortcomings. He emphasises his lessons learned, and as intended, palatably and powerfully delivers a bit of timeless wisdom.

I liked the first half of the book the best, when Franklin describes his time as an apprentice and printer, including his business relationships and professional strategies of varying success. He also touches on the Junto, his philosophical club. I would have given a big toe for a spot in that group, but alas, there were no members of the female inclination. I’d like to talk to Franklin about that gaping omission.

As Franklin transitions into his political career, the content interests me less, but several interpersonal accounts are entertaining enough, especially when he takes a tattling “I’m surrounded by idiots!” tone. Unfortunately, he writes nothing about his familial squabbles (and there were plenty) or his girlfriends (and there were plenty). Probably he found these things too personal or unflattering, or maybe he thought them less important than his career path. Or, perhaps, since Franklin was famously committed to delivering useful inventions, he considered those aspects of his life useless to his purpose of imparting wisdom, although if that were the case, I would disagree.

A meeting of the Junto

The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin is much shorter and less inclusive than Isaacson’s biography. If you’re as wildly in love with Ben as I am, read it as a companion to the biography to get a broader understanding of his wit, his writing style, his learning and teaching mechanisms, and his thought patterns. If you’re less passionate about the man and just want the general gist of Franklin without committing to 500 pages of Isaacson, then this sweet little volume should suffice.

Check it out on Amazon!

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Stieg Larsson)

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo isn’t the type of book I’d normally choose for myself. I’m generally indifferent toward crime novels, and the only ones I’ve read - including this one - have been gifts. But when a colleague left this book on my desk, I didn’t even know its genre. I went into it blindly, but I finished it wide-eyed.

Honestly, it started kind of slowly for me. It’s top-heavy with finance talk, which historically has bored and befuddled me, so the intrigue was a little muddy in my mind. But around the halfway point, the plot comes together and the discussion moves toward family friction, religion, sex, and secrets. I was all there.

The gist of it is this: An old Swedish business tycoon, Henrick Vanger, hires Mikael Blomkvist, a middle-aged financial journalist, to sleuth out the murderer of his niece, Harriet, who had disappeared thirty-six years earlier, when she was a teenager. Mikael initially works by himself but later teams up with Lisbeth Salander, a scrawny young ward of the state with multiple tattoos and piercings and dyed-black hair. As the investigation grows more complex, so does their personal relationship.

Although Mikael is the apparent team lead, Lisbeth has an unusually brilliant mind and one very special skill. I’ll bet that Lisbeth could have easily carried the investigation with Mikael, or practically anyone, as her assistant. Perhaps Lisbeth will be the clear leader in the sequels (The Girl Who Played with Fire and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest, both of which my friend subsequently left on my desk - Yay! No spoilers, please!) 

Noomi Rapace as Lisbeth Salander

Larsson submitted his manuscripts for this series shortly before his death in 2004. Written in Swedish under the original title, “Män som hatar kvinnor,” which translates to “Men who hate women,” the story features horrific misogynistic acts. Some scenes are unsettlingly violent, but they effectively establish the evil dynamic underlying the entire plot. Larsson also includes a substantial subplot with a secondary mystery for Mikael and Lisbeth to solve - and to profit from.

I, of course, read the English translation, and as usual, I wish I could report on the author’s true stylistic tone. I can say that Reg Keeland’s translation is clear and effectively dramatic, if not poetic or linguistically inspired. Contrary to the descriptions on the back cover, I did not find the The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo “mesmerizing” or a “blazing literary sensation,” but it was an engaging, intelligently plotted story that delves into misogynism, sexual abuse, societal prejudice, religious fanaticism, and Naziism.

Stieg Larrson

I understand that movies have been made of this story, a Swedish version and an English version. Naturally, I haven’t seen them. Some people have told me that the English movie is good. Others have said that the Swedish one is okay, but to skip the English version. Still others have recommended that I not bother with either. If you’ve seen the movie(s), what did you think? Is either of them worth my time and money, or should I let the book suffice?

Check it out on Amazon!