Tuesday, July 30, 2013

The House at Tyneford

From the opening lines, the reader understands that this will be a sad, sad story. Before the opening lines, in fact, with the prologue of sorts: "Please treat the church and houses with care; we have given up our homes where many of us have lived for generations to help win the war to keep men free. We shall return one day and thank you for treating the village kindly. - notice pinned to the door of Tyneford Church by departing villagers."The opening lines tell the reader that the house has fallen to ruin, pockmarked by bullets and succumbing to them and ravages of time. All of this before we even meet our protagonist, Elise, a 19-year-old Austrian Jew on the brink of being separated from her family, sent to the safety of England to become a parlour maid. This, from a girl who has never drawn her own bath. We are prepared for tragedy from the outset but, just as Elise could not be prepared for her future, we are not prepared for the succession of tragedies contained within this book's pages.

The House at Tyneford is a haunting story, in no small part because the reader knows that, even if these characters have been created entirely by Natasha Solomons to exist in this fictional space, real people did live these horrors, or if not exactly these, than others which are similar - or worse. Ultimately, this is a story of resilience and survival and love. It is what people can do - and do to one another - when they are pushed beyond the limits of what seems possible. In that way, The House at Tyneford, shares much in common with Suite Franรงaise or Roses (Leila Meacham) or even Gone with the Wind - each defined by a woman whose life and love is irrevocably altered by war.

Even the author's note is tinged with tragedy. Tyneford, Solomons writes, is based on the ghost village of Tyneham which was requisitioned by the British army in December 1943. Every man, woman, and child was turned out, never to see their homes again. The shops and homes were used for target practice, then left to the vagaries of the wind and rain. The protagonist, too, was inspired by a living person: the author's great aunt who, like Elise, left the only life she had known to enter domestic service in English.

Four stars.

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Dear Girls Above Me (Inspired by a True Story)

I'm pretty sure I have USA Today to thank - or blame - for bringing this book to my attention. The premise is this: Charlie McDowell, a rather hapless, and aimless, guy in his late 20s, discovers that he can hear practically every word spoken by the people in the apartment directly above him. (Also everything they do.) Unfortunately, these people appear to be two of the dumbest bipeds since the beginning of time. Example: Isn't it weird that we use the same word for the devil as we do for the most fab fabric? Charlie deduces they do not know the difference between satan and satin. In any case, he names the girls Cathy and Claire and then starts a Twitter account in which he pens 140 character missives to them, hence the "Dear Girls Above Me." Said account becomes wildly popular and then inspires this book. (It probably doesn't hurt that his mother is an Oscar-winning actress.)

Here's the thing: there's just not enough material here to be a full book. It's a rather "fab" idea for a Twitter account, and the account is really funny, but in book format, it really starts to drag and is not helped any by McDowell's insertion of childhood anecdotes about, say, Disneyland. Said anecdotes do nothing to move the story forward and usually left me scratching my head - and skimming quickly to find the next interesting bits. As the review on the cover says, "By introducing us to the memorable American folk heroes known as the 'the girls above him,' Charlie McDowell sneakily does one better: he introduces us to Charlie McDowell..." The problem, for me at least, is that I don't really care that much about Charlie McDowell; I'm more interested in Cathy and Claire who remind me way too much of a girl I went to school with for years who once asked, in front of the entire class, how she could have possibly gotten a negative score on an AP prep exam. Her name also began with a C.

Unless you really enjoy the intimate details of total strangers' daily lives (and childhood),  I'd recommend giving Dear Girls Above Me a wide berth.

Sunday, July 21, 2013

Turn Right at Machu Picchu: Rediscovering the Lost City One Step at a Time

For years I looked forward to the arrival of the "Best of..." books, and in particular the Best American Travel Writing. Let's be honest: reading and traveling are only two of my very most favorite things to do - and not necessarily in that order - so naturally reading about traveling ranks pretty high. It's a genre I've mined pretty well, from Paul Theroux to J. Maarten Troost to David Quammen. Mark Adams is as good as any of them. I will say it plainly. I loved Turn Right at Machu Picchu.

I have never had any great, burning desire to visit Machu Picchu. This feeling was more or less confirmed a couple of years ago after my parents returned with tales of toilet paper-less hotels, restaurants with dirt floors and, yes, guinea pig on too many menus. I, therefore, rather foolishly determined I wouldn't read Turn Right at Machu Picchu when I first heard about it a year or so ago. But, its cover beckoned to me recently and the paperback version was slim enough to make for good airplane reading.

Much of what makes this book so wonderful is that Adams (like Quammen an editor at a outdoor/adventure magazine) weaves together three stories that, on the surface, are quite unrelated. The central narrative is Hiram Bingham III's early 20th century expeditions to Peru that included his "discovery" of Machu Picchu. (And, yes, Bingham is directly related to the Hiram Bingham of Hawaiian islands infamy. Imperialism coursed through his veins.) In stumbling across the details of Bingham's expeditions, Adams decided to retrace the original route, which entailed some serious hiking/camping/being off the beaten path. As in, for example, a total lack of, uh, facilities (which actually makes for one hilarious anecdote in particular).

The third narrative is of the colonization of Peru by the Spanish in the 1500s. This is, undoubtedly, the most serious; yet, Adams approaches the history, which could be circuitous and hard to follow, with decided humor. (I especially liked the anecdote about the Inca's investiture which includes the description, "Imagine a presidential inauguration held during Mardi Gras, at which the taxidermied remains of Thomas Jefferson and Dwight Eisenhower were incorporated into float themes, and you'll get some idea of the horrified reaction the Spaniards had to this spectacle." p. 70)

What I'm saying is that it does not matter if you've visited Machu Picchu ten times or if you wouldn't go near it with a ten foot pole. Read this book. It's just that good.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

The Corpse with the Silver Tongue

When I reviewed And the Mountains Echoed a couple of weeks ago, I mentioned that author Khaled Hosseini was a headline speaker at a conference I was attending. I did not mention that the conference was a kind of heaven for bibliophiles and that the exhibit hall was populated with publishers eagerly offering complimentary copies of their latest titles (and in more than a few cases advance copies of books to be published later this year). The Corpse with the Silver Tongue is one of the complimentary titles I picked up, with a promise to the publisher that I would post a review to a website of my choosing.

So...

Somewhat in the style of Agatha Christie, our detective, Cait Morgan - who is really a criminologist rather than a pure detective - happens to be in the south of France when an old acquaintance (a smooth talking former ad man whom Cait used to work for and now loathes) drops dead at the dinner table. As with many good mysteries, and this is a fine one, one death is never enough. Cait is then plunged headlong into the mystery surrounding an ancient Roman necklace that disappears almost exactly at the moment its owner meets his maker. Thus the crimes, suspense, and story all build.

The strongest aspect of this novel is the plot. At its height, it's a gripping page turner, the outcome of which will not wait to be known. (I read more than one chapter from the backseat of a rush hour cab...and I'm normally prone to motion sickness!) In this way, it's similar to Once We Were Brothers (the two mysteries also share a connection to World War II history) or Bury Your Dead. On the whole, however, I enjoyed Corpse less than either of those books. The reason is Cait Morgan. I found our criminologist/detective to be overly present, to the point of distracting from the story. This is especially true where the reader is privy to her private thoughts (such as the incessant refrain that she must lose weight or quit smoking - but probably won't). Worse is Ace's over-reliance on italics to emphasize a word a point. On certain pages I couldn't help but count the number of italicized words, to the point of needing to go back and re-read the page to focus on what I'd missed with all my counting!

Worse than either of these faults - and the first one, especially, is not so different from some of the faults I identified with Once We Were Brothers - is Cait's naivete, nay recklessness, at a key moment in the story. At that moment, she lost all credibility with me as either a criminologist or a detective and my patience - and interest - waned.

The Corpse with the Silver Tongue is author Cathy Ace's debut novel. The actual mystery, as I said, was good. Perhaps like a fine wine, Ace will also grow better with age. 

Friday, July 12, 2013

Hell on Wheels: Wicked Towns along the Union Pacific Railroad

Ah, the American West. From Little House on the Prairie to John Wayne, there's not an angle that hasn't been examined. As the second half of it's title indicates, Dick Kreck's Hell on Wheels: Wicked Towns along the Union Pacific Railroad is the story of the hard-drinking, straight-shooting, vice-filled little places where early railroad men lost their money - and sometimes their lives. As Kreck so succinctly notes, the Union Pacific "employed thousands of Civil War veterans, tough, battle-hardened men who knew the joys of whiskey-drinking and fighting and partook of both whenever they could" (p. 111).

Still, it would be accurate to say that Hell on Wheels is more about the role of the railroads in how-the-west-was-won than it is about any individual hell-on-wheels town that popped up as the rails went down. In the space of only thirty years, the West - with its millions of bison and war-whooping Indians and unbroken vistas of prairie grass - vanished. And so, as interesting as these little towns might be, my favorite chapters were the early ones that described the early settler experience with the west (my God, I would have been a terrible pioneer) and especially the overland journey before the railroad came, when wagon trains stretched miles long across the prairie. (What can I say; I played a lot of Oregon Trail as a kid.) 

Hell on Wheels is eminently readable. Kreck makes liberal use of primary sources and, even more delightfully, period photography. Yet, with few exceptions, this book fails to capture the spirit of the men - and they were almost all men - who made the railways and the company towns and, in doing so, tamed the West. History buffs will enjoy it, but those looking for a raucous good read about the West, will enjoy Doc far more.

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Follow the Money: A Month in the Life of a Ten-Dollar Bill

It's been a rather dismal week for reading. I blame it on the holiday weekend (which meant good food and good company, but little time to read), the erratic stateside delivery schedule of Paris Match (which kindly assured that after receiving no magazine for weeks, I can read a solid month's worth in one go). Also - unfortunately - I blame a really bad selection (which was, even more unfortunately, the only one I packed for the aforementioned holiday weekend): Follow the Money: A Month in the Life of a Ten-Dollar Bill by Steve Boggan.

Several years ago Boggan, a British freelancer, was commissioned to do a story following a single ten pound note around England for as long as possible. As long as possible turned out to be seven days, for on the seventh day the note was banked, but not before having made a circuit of London bars, Hampshire pubs, and markets, golf clubs, and even a dinner party where the bill in question was, according to Boggan, used to sniff cocaine. Anyhow, Boggan had so much fun the first time that he decided to replicate the experiment in the US with a ten dollar bill.

He determines to begin in Lebanon, Kansas, a tiny, dying farm town (population 218) whose claim to fame is having been declared the geographic center of the United States...in 1918. Follow the Money is the story of the people and places Boggan encounters as his bill makes its way from the plains of Kansas onward through Hot Springs, St. Louis, Chicago, and Detroit.

I quit half-way through. First, it's boring. The reviews were great and the book's cover boasts The Sun review prominently "A laugh-out-loud triumph." I didn't laugh once. I found Boggan to be irritating and, frankly, a bit boring. I mean, he came to the U.S. for a month and only brought two pairs of underwear, which he then tries to wash in various hotels rather than simply buying more...and needs to tell his readers this. Seriously? I also wasn't impressed with his let's-turn-follow-the-money-into-middle-America-travelogue approach. Or rather, that approach might have been okay if it weren't for the eminently more readable (and truly funny!) The Lost Continent: Travels in Small Town America by Bill Bryson. I read this well before I began blogging about my reading list, but I've found a great review of it on another blog.

In short, skip Follow the Money. Read The Lost Continent if you're in the mood for an ambling journey across middle America. Or don't read it if you're not. But I wouldn't bother with Follow the Money in either case.

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

And the Mountains Echoed

Khaled Hosseini was the plenary speaker at a conference I attended this past weekend. That sentence does not convey how excited I was to hear him speak about his latest book, And the Mountains Echoed, which I happened to be reading over the weekend. (I've been on the library's waiting list for months. It really was pure coincidence.)

He opened his talk by describing the plot in a single sentence: "the course of a life is altered and there are so many unforeseen consequences." It goes without saying, I think, that some of the consequences are positive and some are negative. At its heart, And the Mountains Echoed is the story of the separation of two siblings and the ways in which their lives diverge from the point of that separation. It is told in so many rich voices, not only of the siblings, but of so many other individuals whose paths they cross and whose lives are impacted, directly and indirectly and in ways both large and small. Speaking of his characters, Hosseini told his audience "I derived a lot of satisfaction and pleasure from creating these characters" and his love for them, even when they are not lovable, comes through in the writing. Yet, if there is a weakness, I would argue that it is the array of characters - that is, I rarely felt that a character's story was as fully fleshed out as I would have liked.

Although the subject matter is heavy - the reader knows from the first pages, if not simply from the name on the cover - that this will be a heartbreaking book at times, it is a pleasure to read. And the Mountains Echoed relies on many modes of storytelling - a fable at the beginning, an interview in a literary magazine, a letter written to a friend - that make for an engaging read. Hosseini said that these devices were partly out of necessity, as a way of spanning decades efficiently, "I had to find ways to advance the story that didn't feel laborious," and as such he labeled some of these devices tricks. Whatever you call them, they are the reader's friend.

Hosseini said that And the Mountains Echoed is the book he is proudest of, that he worked harder on it than on the previous two. I certainly found it the best. As I read, I found myself flipping back, re-reading chapters or pieces of chapters, pausing to think about the characters and, certainly, about chance and choice and the many ways in which the course of a life is altered, one path taken and another forgone, and how the consequences of such divergences cascade down through the decades, gently shaping sop many lives along the way.