clairealex's reviews
729 reviews

I had to keep reminding myself it was written in the 1950s, ten years before Stonewall. There was not much to locate it in time. I haven't decided if that is good--ie, makes it universal, or bad--missing its grounding in history.

It was an intense study of the self-hatred promoted by the homophobia of the times and its disastrous effects of partners, both male and female. There were stereotypical characters, but the two main ones were well developed.

It was a page turner, starting with something like this: tonight is the last night before the worst morning in my life. I liked the use of flashback to tell the story ( I seem to say that a lot.) The transitions of time were clear.

In this book, Erdrich returns to the reservation of Tracks and other earlier books. This one picks up the story of Fleur Pillager, who has been a mysterious presence in the other books, as I recall. In fact, this book makes me want to reread the earlier/later ones with this knowledge to enrich the reading.

A dual plot progresses in a parallel fashion to become intertwined at the end is a spectacular way. It is rare that a book ends as well as it begins--this one does. The characterization is rich and the style exquisite.

I might not have finished it apart from it being a group read. There seemed too many subplots and issues. I often appreciate description that stalls action to increase suspense, but in this novel I did not. Especially when the couple were driving to the hearing, the long list of chain restaurants seemed intrusive.

One thing that was effective though, was filtering doctor talk through Josh's consciousness, showing how poorly it was understood.

I cared only about Dr Stokes. For the novel to be truly effective I would have had to care about Josh and Dori as well.

Alas, the world we live in makes Josh and Dori winning the case too believable. I saw signs of Darlene's loss early on, but kept hoping otherwise.

I am not fully sure whether I disliked the novel or that I disliked the people and events. I have read other novels about uncomfortable subjects, though and liked them, so I think it the novel itself I dislike. Purposely harming one's child, "news" manipulating public reaction at the suggestion of a lawyer, a lawyer twisting testimony--these may be realistic, but make for a very dark novel. And the hint of Josh's growth too slim to believe at the end.

The book starts with the author as a child at Four Corners, posing for the photo of being in four states, then "four corners" becomes a metaphor for being everywhere and nowhere.

More personal journey than travelogue, more memoir than ethnography, it was an interesting read. At first two warring ideas held back my enjoyment: the stupidity of putting one's self to such risk clashed with my enjoyment of adventure and survival. But gradually I got more in tune with the inner struggle and could be more sympathetic and appreciate Salak's learning. And we did see peoples and places along the way.

Written as a collection of graphic essays by various authors/artists. Thus it is not a chronological history. There is repetition (not a bad thing...events reappear with variations in different contexts) and mixed quality. Some of the art work adds great meaning to the text. A good introduction.

Generally, I like the slow pace of 19C novels, the extended description of setting and person. I like getting drawn into the fictitious world. I like the battles of wits and psychological studies. And this novel has those.

I like that the novel is narrated as if it were a memoir, written (we learn at the end) ten years after most events.

I dislike the hints of Beauty and the Beast mythology in Jane and Rochester. Yes, he does get tamed and become likeable; but I get tired of seeing women put into the civilizing role.

I tolerated the moralizing via various characters as part of 19C until we came to St John. He was just too preachy and went on way too long. At first I shrugged it off as part of his character, and I hypothesized that Bronte was mocking him in presenting it to excess, especially when he claims that he has God's will for someone else, for Jane, who had no such internal push to become a missionary. Then I came to the ending of the novel and wondered why it ended with him, his anticipation of death told in Revelation terms. Was this meant to elevate him? To make this the lesson for all from the novel? Was it meant to say he had never changed? That it did say, but why end thus? Is even the end part of the mockery of his approach to life--mocking importance to a self important man?

Another place that did not work for me was Rochester's narration of his past to Jane after the wedding has been called off. Mere telling went on way too long.

I also could not believe that the feisty Jane could be almost persuaded by St John. Yes Bronte did try to make it believable by Jane's saying that she was docile and obedient until a certain level of resistance had been reached and then she would fight back. And as a child she had been excessively obedient, but then she had grown out of it. So I wasn't convinced that she remained in character. Of course, her being almost persuaded did add to the drama. It would have done so more had it been believable.

In spite of features, which to me seemed faults, overall it was a good read.

Death as an issue is not what one expects to find in young adult fiction. It is central to this coming-of-age story and adroitly handled. Accompanying this central issue are the expected themes: sexual awakening, conflicts with parents, identity issues, choices to be made.

Early in the book we see Donna, the narrator whose father has recently died, deciding to become a mortician. We follow her thinking on this as she navigates the world of senior year at high school.

The ending, though predictable to adults, may not be predictable to the intended audience. And although I expected the resolutions, my interest was held to see how they would be effected. And for once, changes in the characters' attitudes were adequately motivated and believable.

As with all historic fiction, the more one knows about the period, the richer the read. And when I don't know, I am prompted to learn the history. This novel is set during Argentina's military dictatorship, 1976-1984 or so, a time of repression, witch hunts, and people disappearing.

Distance is created by two things: The perspective is of an elder, reflecting on life, on past actions, philosophizing. And often the narration slips into the voice of a ten-year-old boy who is somewhat removed from politics by his age, though he hears and reports enough for readers to understand. He is also wise and witty; he and his five-year-old brother cook up some entertaining episodes.

Generally the philosophizing fits right in and is unobtrusive. However, near the end there are three short chapters that feel more like essays than story. That is the only flaw I've found with the book. I especially appreciated musings on memory and time, like this one:"Sometimes there are variations in what I remember. . . . These variations . . . mean I'm remembering something I hadn't noticed before; they mean I'm not exactly the same person I was when last I remembered" (5).

Although I resent books that merely capitalize on classics (the ...and zombie variety), I value books that attempt to show the fictive world from the perspective of the victimized when what we had before was the version of the victor (the retelling of Beowulf as Grendal's Dam for example).
Wide Sargasso Sea falls into the latter group. Jean Rhys writes what might have been the story of the mad woman, Bertha, in the attic of Jane Eyre. I had read it once before, but my reading of Jane Eyre was very distant; this time it was recent and in some ways filled in gaps as this book filled in gaps in the earlier work, expanding the time Rochester was in the West Indies, betrayed by his family into a marriage for money.

The point of view shifts are handled well in parts 1 and 3, but are signaled too far into the changes in part 2; still the shifts have value. By shifting the narration from Antoinette (later to be named Bertha by Rochester, called Bertha Antoinette Mason in Jane Eyre) to Rochester Rhys gives us two perspectives on Jamaican life. Antoinette, a white Creole, an outsider to the black Jamaicans, though puzzled by the attitude of the ex-slaves, is more of the culture. Rochester's middle portion shows him as totally outsider, uncomprehending.

Various versions are told, and at this read I have not resolved if any is meant to be "the" truth. Although there is madness in Antoinette's family history, there is some possibility of it having been caused by external circumstances, likewise with her madness in part three. Regardless of which version is given credence, the Antoinette/Bertha character draws more sympathy.

It is a short, but rich, novel. Valuable in itself, but also a valuable expansion beyond the European version.