Review of RED FAMINE: STALIN'S WAR ON UKRAINE by Anna Applebaum

 4 Stars

Because of events in Ukraine, my book club decided to read a book that would help us understand current relations between Russia and Ukraine.  This is the book most recommended for background information.  The author’s thesis is that the 1932-33 famine, that was worst in Ukraine than in other Soviet grain-growing regions, was a product not so much of poor weather conditions but of government policies.

Applebaum begins in 1917 with the Ukrainian revolution which she argues influenced Soviet views of Ukraine.  Lenin, and later Stalin, needed Ukraine’s grain to feed his people or they would question the Soviet system and demand change, so Ukrainian national movements which could lead to the loss of Ukraine were seen as a threat to Soviet power.  The book suggests that leaders were always focused on getting Ukrainian grain and undermining any expressions of Ukrainian nationalism. 

The book outlines Stalin’s decision to create collective farms as a response to grain shortages.  Collectivization would, he believed, increase the food supply, and state-controlled agriculture would also eliminate the kulaks, prosperous land-owning peasants, who were a threat to socialism.  Because collectivization was Stalin’s signature policy, it could not be seen as failing.  Any failures (activism against the policy) were attributed to class enemies and foreign influences so Stalin’s paranoia about the counter-revolutionary potential of Ukraine grew. 

A lack of rainfall contributed to the famine of 1932-33 but Applebaum argues that policy decisions were responsible for starvation and deaths.  Grain collection quotas were unrealistic and when they weren’t met, all grain was confiscated, even that reserved for consumption and seeding.  Farms and entire villages were blacklisted and severely sanctioned so eventually even kerosene, salt and matches needed for cooking food could not be purchased.  Borders were closed to prevent peasants from leaving to find food in cities or other countries.  Violent searches were conducted to confiscate food.  And, of course, there were always propaganda campaigns. 

Stalin’s agricultural policy could not be blamed for food shortages, so Ukrainization (development of Ukrainian language and culture) was blamed:  nationalist elements had infiltrated the state apparatus and sabotaged grain collection.  So the Ukrainian Communist Party was purged, the Russian language made primary in public life, educators systematically fired, Ukrainian schools and institutions closed, churches shut, writers banned, and even monuments destroyed; in essence, the intellectual class was eliminated.  There was a systemic assault on the very idea of Ukraine.

The chapters describing the effects of the famine are heart-wrenching to read.  Both the physical and psychological effects of starvation are detailed.  Witness stories about personality changes, family abandonment, and the loss of trust and empathy are included.  I was horrified to read about widespread cannibalism and necrophagy. 

Because about 3.9 million Ukrainians died, there was a labour shortage after conditions improved so a mass resettlement programme was started; Russians and Ukrainians from problematic border regions were moved into empty villages.  In a decade, over 1 million Russians migrated so Russification occurred. 

A section I found most interesting was the chapter describing the lengths to which the Soviet government went to cover up the famine.  Public speech was curtailed, village death registries were destroyed, the 1937 census was abolished because it showed such a drastic population decrease, and foreign visitors and foreign press were controlled and manipulated.

The last section of the book focuses on explaining how word of the famine eventually reached the outside world.  After World War II, the Ukrainian diaspora spread the oral stories which contradicted official denials, and Gorbachev’s policy of glasnost allowed discussion.  The author concludes by arguing that the Sovietization of Ukraine and the Holodomor meet the general, if not legal, definition of genocide.

The book suggests that techniques used in the Soviet past have not been abandoned by Russians.  In 1919, Lenin had his forces enter Ukraine in disguise and called them a liberation movement; in Russia’s invasion of Crimea, masked soldiers in unmarked army uniforms were used.  Propaganda and disinformation campaigns have always been common; for instance, the invasion of Crimea was described as a defense against the cultural genocide of Russian speakers by Ukrainian Nazis.  Stalin’s secret police fabricated criminal charges against those who didn’t support policies, and that tactic continues to be used against Putin’s opponents.  Dissenters were ordered killed by Stalin, and a number of Putin’s critics have died in violent or mysterious circumstances.  Information about the Holdomor was strictly controlled so citizens were ignorant of events in Ukraine; Putin has cracked down on media outlets and individuals, imposing prison sentences of up to 15 years for those spreading information that goes against the Russian government’s narrative on the war.

I had wondered why Putin and others in his government have labeled the Ukrainian government and its leaders as “Nazis.”  This book offers one explanation.  During their occupation of Ukraine, the Nazis used the famine to promote hatred of Moscow, especially amongst rural Ukrainians whose efforts were needed to feed the Wehrmacht and Germany.  Since the Russian state argues that the Holodomor never happened, they claim only “Nazis” would speak of it.  “The memory of the Nazi occupation, and the collaboration of some Ukrainians with the Nazis, also meant that even decades later it was easy to call any advocate of independent Ukraine ‘fascist’.”  And any criticism of the Soviet government was “an anti-Soviet, Nazi propaganda drive that also had links to Western intelligence.” 

“Much later this same set of links – Ukraine, fascism, the CIA – would be used in the Russian information campaign against the Ukrainian independence and anti-corruption movement of 2014.”  (Now the Kremlin has alleged that the United States and Ukraine are conducting chemical and biological weapons activities in Ukraine.)  Of course, calling Volodymyr Zelenskyy and his government Nazis is an attempt to delegitimize Ukraine in the eyes of the Russian public, which considers its war against Nazi Germany its greatest moment. 

Once again, as in the past, Ukraine is being perceived as a rightful part of Russia.  Putin wants to build a Russian empire which must include Ukraine which he thinks of as an illegitimate country that exists on rightfully Russian territory populated by rightfully Russian people.  In a speech, Putin stated, “Ukraine is not just a neighboring country for us.  It is an inalienable part of our own history, culture and spiritual space.  Since time immemorial, the people living in the south-west of what has historically been Russian land have called themselves Russians.” 

Once again, forces in Ukraine are perceived as a threat.  As the book points out, since 1917, Soviet citizens were taught to distrust Ukrainians.  A sovereign, stable Ukraine successfully integrated with the West could have Russians asking for similar changes.   Putin fears a Maidan Uprising against his own government.  Bringing Ukraine to heel — demonstrating that a pro-Western protest movement in Russia’s historical heartland cannot succeed — is vital to protecting his own government. 

This book examines some of the historical reasons for bad feelings on the part of Ukrainians toward Russia.  Ukrainians have been warned that “’Only an independent Ukraine can guarantee that such a tragedy [the Holodonor] will never be repeated.’”  Could that be one reason why Ukrainians are fighting so valiantly and with such determination against the Russian invasion?  

 

Review of THE HONEYBEE EMERALDS by Amy Tector (New Release)

 3.5 Stars

If you’re looking for a lighter read in these dark times, The Honeybee Emeralds is a good choice.

Alice Ahmadi, 23, is an Iranian Brit interning in Paris at a floundering expat magazine, Bonjour Paris.  She discovers a magnificent diamond and emerald necklace in the basement of the building.  Lily, the editor, sees an opportunity to save the magazine with a cover story about the necklace’s provenance.  They assemble a team to help them:  Luc, the owner of Bonjour Paris; Jacob, a well-known writer and college friend of Lily; Daphne, an art expert and Lily’s best friend; and Alexander, an Icelandic perfumer with a shop next to the magazine’s office.  This Fellowship of the Necklace, as Alice thinks of them, finds connections to several historical figures; their search is complicated by the fact that a rival magazine seems also to be working on a story about the necklace. 

Almost from the beginning, I knew where the solution to the mystery would be found.  A logical source of information is ignored and that’s a big clue.  I found it improbable that six supposedly intelligent people would disregard a source that is so obvious.  Nonetheless, the research that the team members undertake is interesting.  Though I found it unlikely that a necklace could be connected to these “three extraordinary women,” the author clearly did research to try to make the connections credible. 

Several events reveal a contrived plot.  Never in the decades that pass would a person look for the necklace in the most logical place?  Someone would take personal items after the death of a loved one but not look at them?  The gathering of everyone in the basement at the end seems forced.  Yet the character who messages everyone for that meeting wonders “Who else was down here”?

Characters are well-developed.  The focus is on the female characters, each of whom has personal issues with which to contend.  For instance, Lily has unresolved romantic feelings for Jacob; Daphne’s marriage is disintegrating; and Alice suffers from a lack of confidence.  Each of these women proves to be dynamic:  they learn something about themselves as they learn about the necklace.  And the women to whom the necklace belonged are also interesting.  The information provided left me wanting to learn more about them. 

There are some wonderful touches of humour.  Having smelled hákarl on a trip to Iceland, I loved Alexander’s explanation for becoming a perfumer.  Alice’s identifying people as characters in The Lord of the Rings is a great touch:  “She wasn’t Legolas or Frodo or even Samwise Fucking Gamgee – she was Gollum.”  Alice comes to trust one of the men but in a way so in keeping with her personality:  “he was there and present, as immovable as a glacier . . . although the whole point of glaciers was that they moved.  Also, weren’t they melting?”

There is also romance.  Fortunately, for a reader like me who does not enjoy romance novels, the romance is more implied than detailed.  There are hints at possible romantic relationships in the future and chaste kisses rather than steamy loves scenes. 

Though there are weaknesses in plot, there is much to enjoy.  I loved the literary allusions.  Though I couldn’t help but think of Dan Brown novels, this one has more depth.  We all need some escapist literature, and this book is among the best I’ve read recently. 

Note:  I received an ARC from the publisher in return for an honest review.

Review of WHO IS MAUD DIXON? by Alexandra Andrews

 2 Stars

I picked up this book because of its many rave reviews.  Did I read the same book?  Its plot is so contrived and predictable and peopled with characters that left me totally indifferent. 

Florence Darrow loses a job at a publishing company because of bad behaviour and poor judgment, only to be hired as a personal assistant for Helen Wilcox, a novelist whose tremendously successful debut novel was written under the pseudonym of Maud Dixon.  Though she cannot reveal to anyone that she knows Helen’s penname, Florence is happy to take the job, hoping she will be able to pick up some tips to help her write her own novel.  Helen suddenly decides they need to take a research trip to Morocco.   When the two women arrive in the North African country, there’s a car accident (which the preface reveals) which leads to disappearances, mistaken and stolen identities, and murders. 

Neither Florence nor Helen is likeable; though characters need not be likeable, I do want them to be interesting but the women are not that either.  Helen is reclusive, mercurial, and has little regard for others.  Though she is only 32, why does she behave and sound like someone twice her age?  Florence is self-centred, amoral, insecure, full of resentment, and desperately ambitious.  It is her inconsistent behaviour that is problematic; for instance, she graduated summa cum laude but when she speaks of social mores, she pronounces mores “like s’mores”?  Her questions about writing and literature are so simplistic.  And she’s so simple-minded and short-sighted that she can’t foresee complications that might arise if someone in today’s interconnected world attempted identity theft or concealment of a crime?  Since I could not care less about what happens to either of them, there was no suspense in what is supposed to be a thriller.

Descriptions of Morocco suggest the author read a guide book.  They are certainly not evocative.  Only major tourist sites are mentioned, as if the author relied solely on Google, as Florence is wont to do.

The author is described as an editor so I was surprised that this book needs major revision.  Characters are included for little reason.  For example, Florence’s friendship with Lucy seems irrelevant.  Nick too is just another disposable character.  And the reader is supposed to believe that Florence meets a childhood friend in Morocco? 

At one point Florence mentions that she “tended to look down on books that owed their success to the dramatic machinations of plot.”  It is cheap plot manipulation that is used over and over again in the novel.  There are so many over-the-top coincidences that require so much suspension of disbelief.  Besides Whitney’s appearance, there’s Florence’s oh-so-convenient remembering how to reset a computer password and her miraculous ability to unscrew a brass towel rack.  It takes police an inordinate amount of time to arrive.  Florence doesn’t ask the important questions and believes the most facile explanations?  Helen gives Florence access to her bank accounts on her first day at work?  Clues are so heavy-handed that Florence’s cluelessness is unbelievable.

The one positive aspect is the deft prose.  The cooing of pigeons “had the aggressively soothing tones of a nursery rhyme in a horror movie.”  When Florence feels she is being regarded dismissively, she “wanted to take those expectations and twist them like a pinkie finger until they snapped.”  Helen certainly has some wonderful, witty remarks. 

So many reviewers have commented on how the novel is cunningly plotted.  I cannot agree.  A reader does not have to be particularly astute to see through the preposterous plot.  The book requires so much avoidance of critical thought that it held little enjoyment for me. 

Review of FRENCH BRAID by Anne Tyler (New Release)

4 Stars 

At the beginning of this novel, Serena and James compare families, and Serena realizes hers is a narrow, not-open family which James describes as giving “’a whole new meaning to the phrase “once removed” when Serena  doesn’t recognize a cousin.  An in-law thinks of the family as “’narrow and unfriendly and judgmental.”  That family, the Garretts, is the focus of this book.

Beginning in 1959 and ending in 2020, the book zeroes in on various members of the family beginning with Mercy and Robin, a rather mismatched couple who have three children:  Alice, Lily, and David.  Eventually, we meet the next generation as the three Garrett children marry and have children of their own.  As time passes, the family becomes more and more disconnected; though there are not that many extended family members and though they live fairly close together, they get together only for weddings and funerals.  The novel examines how the family comes to be so fractured.

This is very much a character novel.  Each character whose perspective is given emerges as a round character with traits, flaws, and eccentricities made obvious.  For example, Alice is the serious sibling who believes she knows best while, Lily is the wild child and David is the sensitive one.  Once their personalities are formed, they behave consistently.  Alice is the one who always likes to take charge and makes judgments about others whereas Lily often behaves unconventionally. 

The characters are not always likeable, but the reader can usually empathize because s/he understands their personalities and motivations.  Mercy, for instance, is not maternal; Alice thinks of herself as “older than her mother” and Lily doesn’t feel that “Mercy was any kind of mother.”  Alice prepares the meals and worries when her 15-year-old sister is besotted with a 21-year-old.  When her last child leaves home, Mercy slowly moves out of the house and spends more and more time in her studio pursuing her dream of being an artist.  She suffers from “that helpless, sinking, beleaguered feeling, that weighted feeling of everything crowding in on you and strangling you and demanding from you, all at the same time.”  Looking after a cat proves to be too much for her, and she doesn’t want a houseplant because it’s “’too much to take care of.’”  I found myself identifying with her desire for freedom from responsibilities, to live a “suit-herself life,” just as I cringed at some of her negligence. 

The family is dysfunctional but only to an extent that all families can be dysfunctional.  They are not filled with animosity or anger, though they don’t always like each other.  Lily when she was a child thought of her brother as self-centered and a nuisance and as an adult thinks of him as self-centered, close-mouthed and secretive.  According to Lily, “Alice was the difficult one while Lily herself was easy, meaning carefree and relaxed.”  Of course, Alice sees herself as the easy one, meaning sensible:  “each of them meant something different.”

The family members just don’t communicate about the important things and go to great lengths “so as not to spoil the picture of how things were supposed to be.”  Mercy’s children know that their mother has moved out of the family home, but they never discuss it and never let on to their parents that they know, just as Mercy and her husband never honestly discuss the change in living arrangements.  One Garrett grandchild is gay but in forty years has never revealed his sexuality, though he eventually realizes everyone knows because no one ever asks about his getting married and one cousin “abruptly switched channels when somebody onscreen called somebody else a faggot.”  Though both Alice and Lily wonder about why David distances himself from his parent and sisters, they never broach the subject with him.

The reason for David’s distancing which is revealed in the last chapter is not some horrific trauma.  And isn’t that the way it is in real life?  It is often ordinary moments and events and our interpretation or misinterpretation of those that shape us.  A character may act out of kindness only to learn that s/he has been hurtful.  An unintentional “’minutest reaction’” can shape an entire relationship. 

It is the insights into family dynamics that make this an exceptional novel.  Family relationships may be difficult because families are comprised of people with different “styles of being,” but it is impossible to totally escape from family:  families are like French braids in that even when unwound “’the ripples are crimped forever.’”  So genuine connections, though perhaps only momentary or for short periods of time, are possible.  I love the conversation about family that ends the novel:  “’This is what families do for each other – hide a few uncomfortable truths, allow a few self-deceptions.  Little kindnesses. . . . And little cruelties.’” 

With its unobtrusive style, realistic dialogue, non-judgmental attitude, focus on an ordinary family, and wise insights, this is a typical Anne Tyler novel.  And that makes it one that is enjoyable and relatable. 

Note:  I received a digital galley (provided by the publisher via NetGalley) so quotations may not be exactly as they appear in the final copy. 

Review of ONE LEFT by Kim Soom

 3.5 Stars

This is the translation of the first Korean novel about comfort women.  (The original was published in 2016; the translation, in 2020.)

The protagonist is a 93-year-old woman known simply as She.  Though she had “a dozen Japanese names and more than one Korean name,” she doesn’t remember her real name.  When she was 13, she was kidnapped and taken to Manchuria where she was forced to become a comfort woman for Japanese soldiers.  “During her seven years at the comfort station, thirty thousand Japanese soldiers came and went from her body.” Now she lives a largely invisible life in a dilapidated house in a neighbourhood with few inhabitants, always fearful that her past will be exposed.  She sees a newscast that a comfort woman, believed to be the last survivor, is dying; this news triggers her flashbacks to her time in Manchuria.

This novel uses an interesting technique.  Though the protagonist is fictional, her descriptions of events and even bits of dialogue are footnoted to documented testimonies of actual survivors.  So though the book is classified as fiction, it is based on non-fiction accounts. 

More than 200,000 women were forced into sexual slavery, but only 10% survived.  The conditions at the comfort station were horrific.  Besides being sexually exploited, the girls were physically abused and induced into opium addiction.  They suffered from sexually transmitted diseases (washing and reusing condoms) and trauma that often left them physically maimed, unable to bear children, and psychologically scarred. 

Those women who survived and made it home kept quiet.  It was not until 1991 that a woman spoke up and then others also came forward with their stories.  Those who registered did receive some government compensation, but were still stigmatized.  One woman who is able to build a house with government assistance is still an outcast; “the neighbor had called her a dirty cunt and said she sold her pussy to have that house built.”  The protagonist has told no one about what happened to her; “Her wish is to live and die quietly without troubling anyone and without being treated with disrespect.”

The protagonist’s emotional and psychological scars are obvious:  “Whenever she thinks about herself, shame fires up first.  It’s humiliating and painful to remember who she is.  In the process of trying not to examine and reveal herself, she has forgotten who she is.”  Marriage was not a possibility for her:  she hated men; the mere sight of them made her shudder.”  Because of her secrecy, “she’s long since lost all sense of attachment or kinship to anyone.”

The comfort women were shamed, marginalized, and silenced in Korea.  And the Japanese government was reluctant to admit that women were coerced into becoming comfort women.  In the Foreword, it is stated that “Emperor Hirohito had been directly involved in all military activities, including establishment of the comfort women system.”  Also Kishi Nobusuke, the maternal grandfather of Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe, is identified as a war criminal. 

The book’s subject matter is relevant today.  Uighur camp detainees in China have made allegations of systematic rape.  Conflict-related sexual violence has been reported in a number of African countries; in fact, the protagonist watches a television program which discusses rebel forces assaulting women to assert their power.  Muslim women in southeastern Bosnia and Herzegovina were subjected to systematic and widespread gang rape, torture, and sexual enslavement by Bosnian Serb soldiers in the 1990s.  And sex trafficking is a problem in many countries, including Canada. 

The book is not an easy read because of its subject matter.  The writing style doesn’t help either; it is often chunky and disjointed.  Nonetheless, I think it is an important book.

Review of OCEAN STATE by Stewart O'Nan (New Release)

 4 Stars

This novel begins with a shocking statement:  “When I was in eighth grade my sister helped kill another girl.”  The rest of the book focuses on the events leading to the murder (in the autumn of 2009 in a small coastal town in Rhode Island) and its repercussions. 

The perspective of four women is given:  Angel Oliviera is the accused; Carol is her mother; Marie is  her younger sister; and Birdy is the victim.  Angel has been in a relationship with Myles Parrish for three years when he secretly begins seeing Birdy.  When two teenagers become intensely obsessed with the same guy, chaos is not unexpected.

The book can be described as a character study of these four women.  Each emerges as a flawed, realistic character.  Angel, for example, is beautiful, athletic, and popular; Marie describes her as “strong and confident with a wicked tongue.”  Her weakness is being easy to anger.  Angel’s fear is losing Myles who “was her first . . . her only.”  She suspects she will lose Myles to some rich girl once he leaves for college the following year while she stays behind, working and attending community college part-time.  In the meantime, she is desperate to hold on to him.

Carol is a divorced, single mother who works as a nurse’s aide in a seniors’ care facility.  She struggles financially.  She wants her daughters to have a better life and not repeat her mistakes, but her questionable choices do little to provide stability.  She has a history of choosing unreliable men, two of whom she continues to see despite their tendency to violence.  She often drinks to excess.  Marie states her mother “was lonely and didn’t know what else to do.” It’s obvious that she is seeking excitement and romance, though financial stability also appeals.  She acknowledges that she is self-absorbed and so has failed to see what’s been going on:  “She’s been too busy, too caught up in Russ and Wes and trying to figure out the rest of her life to understand what was going on with Angel and Myles and this other girl.”  Nonetheless, she supports Angel and tries to get her a good lawyer.

Birdy is a good girl who is close to her mother, though she changes once she becomes besotted with Myles.  She starts sneaking around and lying; at one point, she wonders “if there’s anyone she won’t lie to.”  Rather insecure, she falls for Myles’s charm and soon becomes desperate not to lose him to her rival.

Thirteen-year-old Marie is the opposite of her sister whom she idolizes.  Despite Angel’s less than angelic behaviour towards her, Marie keeps her secrets.  She thinks of herself as a nerd, someone who does well in school but has no real friends.  She is kind-hearted but not perfect because she does act out.  She is described as being “afraid of everything.”  Often left at home alone, she spends her time over-eating.

In many ways, the book is about what people will do for love.  Angel’s actions are extreme in this regard, but others also crave love and affection.  Marie describes Carol as not being able to “stop wanting to be in love.”  Birdy is willing to end a relationship with someone just so she can be with Myles.  Marie thinks of herself as “the needy keeper of secrets”; wanting her sister’s love, she acknowledges inadvertently playing a role in events.  In her closing monologue, Marie gives further details about what she has done because of love. 

The title is perfect.  Rhode Island is nicknamed the Ocean State so the title is a nod to the setting.  However, it also refers to love.  I thought of “Love is an Ocean” by Earth and Fire:  “Love is an ocean always in motion/Endless and ever so deep.”  And of course, love, like the ocean, is often stormy and unpredictable. 

I thoroughly enjoyed this book.  It caught my attention from the first sentence and kept it throughout.

Note:  I received a digital galley from the publisher via NetGalley so quotations may not be as they appear in the final copy.

Review of THE FOX by Sólveig Pálsdóttir

 3 Stars

This is the first book I’ve read by this Icelandic author.  Though it is the first to be translated into English, it is apparently the fourth in a series featuring Guðgeir Fransson. 

Guðgeir has been suspended from the Reykjavík police force because “He had made a serious mistake and had then made an error of judgement in keeping quiet about sensitive information that concerned him at a personal level.”  A colleague lost his life and Guðgeir’s marriage is in tatters.  He has taken a job as a security guard in Höfn, a small town in southeastern Iceland.  While living in exile, he is trying to repair his relationship with Inga so when his year-long contract is over, he can hopefully return to his family and job. 

Guðgeir becomes aware that a Sri Lankan woman, Sajee Gunawardena, has disappeared.  She arrived in Höfn believing she had a job in a salon waiting for her.  That job does not exist, and though she stayed at a local hostel for a night, she has not been seen since and there is no evidence of her having left town.  Guðgeir decides to investigate, though of course he can only do so unofficially.

The story is narrated from two perspectives, that of Guðgeir and Sajee.  The reader learns that Thormóður, the owner of the hostel, has taken Sajee to Bröttuskriður, a remote farm home to Selma Ísaksdóttir and her son Ísak.  Sajee believes she will work there for a short while as a cleaner and a companion for Selma, but it soon becomes clear that she is like the fox that Ísak keeps tethered and muzzled. 

The setting creates a foreboding atmosphere.  The farm is remote and isolated; the farmhouse is grey so “its walls blended in with the grey basalt of the scree behind it.”  All the windows have “curtains in a coarse, dark material” except the “narrow basement windows which had been covered with black plastic.”  The mountain looming over the farm “resembled a vast fist with sharp nails at the ends of long claws.”  Sajee is told about the Hidden People who are described as being good “’unless they’re mistreated . . . [and then they become] merciless in getting their own back.’”  Believing in spirits but unfamiliar with Icelandic folk culture, Sajee is made uneasy, as is the reader.

The behaviour of Selma and Ísak also adds to the unease.  Selma, with her mercurial temperament, is prone to sudden, unpredictable changes of mood.  She may have mental health issues; an acquaintance describes her as “a bit odd.  Half crazy, I suppose.  She went through some terrible shock when she was young.’”  Except for a brief time at university, Ísak “’was always very reliant on his mother, and maybe he found it difficult to get on with other people.  He was always on his own.’”  A comment made by Ísak about his mother is disturbing:  “’She wanted to get rid of him because he’d put her in this position.  It was pure desperation, you understand?’” 

Guðgeir emerges as a likeable character.  His complete backstory is not known, but he seems like a decent man.  He obviously regrets his past mistakes and is determined to repair his fractured relationship with his wife.  He loves Inga and his two children.  When he learns about Sajee, he becomes concerned for her welfare and persists in trying to find her, even calling on former colleagues to help.  Silenced, a second book in the series has been translated, and I’m interested in finding out what happens to him. 

The writing style sometimes seems clunky, but that may be the translation.  I will keep an eye out for Sólveig Pálsdóttir.

Review of PEOPLE LIKE THEM by Samira Sedira

 4 Stars

This novella by a French-Algerian writer was inspired by a 2003 murder case in France.          

The narrator is Anna Guillot whose husband Constant is on trial for brutally killing Bakary and Sylvia Langlois and their three children.  There is no doubt of this guilt because he describes the murders in gory detail.  What is not clear is his motivation.  Why would a man whom everyone describes as normal kill five people?  Throughout the story, Anna addresses her husband directly.

The setting is Carmac, a small, isolated, seemingly idyllic village.  The order of the village is disrupted when the Langlois family moves in because Bakary is Black when “we’d never had any Black people in Carmac.”  He is also wealthy and sophisticated and this confuses some inhabitants:  “In their minds . . . a Black man couldn’t be the head of a company.  The Black man worked for the white man, not the reverse.”  The townspeople have difficulty accepting differences.  German tourists, for example, are mocked.  Anna explains, “Here, we laughed openly at Germans, because it was allowed – the war gave us that right.  Same for the Dutch and the Belgians.  We basically viewed them as an extension of the Germans.”  This theme of difference, as suggested by the title, is central.  Even though the Langlois family welcomes villagers into their home, there is always an undercurrent of jealousy and mistrust. 

Constant is developed as a round character with hopes and dreams, and strengths and weaknesses.  Anna describes his early years when he is a promising pole-vaulter.  An accident ends his dreams:  “you had never pictured your life without sports, which made reframing your future more complicated than you had imagined.”  Constant is able to begin anew but Anna realizes “something inside you had broken.  Something that you had eventually put back together but whose delicate equilibrium risked giving way at any moment.”    He and Bakary become friends but their friendship sours for a number of reasons, and Constant feels angry and humiliated.  His pride is injured by what he sees as acts of condescension.

Is Constant motivated by his injured pride and his feeling that he has lost everything?  Would he have reacted differently if Bakary were White?  Though he claims “It’s got nothing to do with racism, they’re words, they’re just words,” Constant did call Bakary “’the Darkie,’ ‘the African upstart,’ and even ‘the ape swimming in cash.’”  He admits, “I couldn’t stand to be scammed by someone not from this country.”  And to wash off the blood of the victims from his hands, he goes to a frozen river because “’My blood mixed with their blood.  I couldn’t handle it.’”

Providing the perspective of the murderer’s partner is useful.  Anna describes her situation:  “A murderer’s wife is reproached for everything:  her composure when she should show more compassion; her hysteria when she should demonstrate restraint; her presence when she should disappear; her absence when she should have the decency to be here; and so on.  The woman who one day becomes ‘the murderer’s wife’ shoulders a responsibility almost more damning than that of the murderer himself, because she wasn’t able to detect in time the vile beast slumbering inside her spouse.  She lacked perceptiveness.  And that’s what will bring about her fall from grace – her despicable lack of perceptiveness.”

The author’s message, as stated in the “Author’s Note” is that “There’s no such thing as monsters.  Only humans.”  Anna comments that, though she doesn’t understand how her husband came to murder five people, she does understand that “no one around you was innocent.  We stood back and let it happen.  Like a chain reaction, each of us contributed to an outcome.  A horrific act.  A tragedy.  Our tragedy.” Bakary contributes to the sequence of events through his shady financial scheme.  And Anna, for example, doesn’t react when she hears Constant call Bakary a “Fucking ape.” 

In fact, the word silence appears 28 times in the novel.  To me, that repetition suggests that when we do not speak up, we acquiesce; what we walk past is what we tolerate.  Constant doesn’t object to his parents’ disapproval of Anna:  “The unfairness with which I was treated was doubly painful since you never objected in the slightest to the unspoken threats your parents allowed to linger in the air between one silence and the next.”   No one objects to the foul language of the young men in the bar so the silence allows their conversation to continue “naturally.” 

This is a short, quick read but it is very thought-provoking.  Did racism play an insidious role in the murders?  Are we all capable of murder?  If “’One can be more criminal than one knows,’” are there lessons that we all need to learn about acceptance, forgiveness, and not remaining silent?

Review of FIVE LITTLE INDIANS by Michelle Good

 4 Stars

I’m a latecomer to this national bestseller which won the 2021 Governor General’s Literary Award for Fiction, was on the longlist for the 2020 Scotiabank Giller Prize, and was on the shortlist for the 2020 Rogers Writers’ Trust Fiction Prize.  It has also been chosen for Canada Reads 2022. 

This book, which depicts life for five young people once they’ve left a residential school, should be read by all Canadians.  Left without skills, support of any type, and families, they struggle to come to terms with their pasts while trying to survive in a world for which they are woefully unprepared.  As the five connect over several decades, we see how they’ve been traumatized by their experiences.

Kenny yearns for a family, but he has difficulty maintaining a stable family life.  His restlessness suggests his trying to outrun his memories of the place that stole so much from him.  Lucy, who developed an obsessive compulsive disorder to help her cope, has a goal to become a nurse, though she has a number of obstacles to overcome.  Maisie suffered sexual abuse and that impacts her ability to have a healthy relationship with any man.  Feeling unworthy, she engages in self-destructive behaviour.  Clara has survivor guilt; she is haunted by a friend who didn’t survive at the school.  She becomes an activist working to help others, but when offered spiritual healing for herself, struggles because of remembered threats of eternal damnation for those who practiced non-Christian beliefs.  Howie’s anger gets the best of him and he spends years in prison.

Of course, it is not just the children that suffer.  Kenny manages to escape the school and returns home, but he discovers his mother is no longer the same person because her only child was wrenched from her.  In fact, the entire community has been devastated by the loss of its children.  The next generation is also impacted.  Though Kendra does not attend residential school, both of her parents did, and her relationship with her father suffers because of his personal demons. 

I appreciated that the actual abuse at the school is not directly shown.  Describing the abuses was not the author’s intention; her indirect references are sufficient for the reader to understand what the children endured.  Her focus is on showing the long-term impact of that emotional, physical, and sexual abuse.  The author also does not focus too much on the individual racism the five encountered once outside the school.

The subject matter is so important that I was disappointed that the literary quality is not always the best.  The dialogue often sounds flat and unnatural; I wondered if the simple prose and speech patterns are to reflect the grade school education of the five characters for whom English was second language.  There are sudden shifts in narration from third to first person.  Timelines are somewhat confusing; sometimes, little time passes between chapters whereas decades pass between others.  I listened to an audiobook so perhaps I missed something, but how can Kenny show Howie how to escape after he returns from an extended stay in the hospital when Kenny himself escapes the day Howie is taken to the hospital?

Though there are weaknesses in writing quality, I’m giving the book 4 stars because of the value of its subject matter.  I have no doubt that the author has realistically shown the legacy of residential schools.  For this reason, as I stated at the beginning, this is a book that all Canadians should read:  “The devastating legacy of the residential schools endures across generations of Indigenous families and belongs to a larger history of systemic racism, discrimination, and injustice that Indigenous peoples have endured and continue to face in Canada.”

Review of THE FELL by Sarah Moss (New Release)

 4.5 Stars

I’ve read three other novels by Sarah Moss (Ghost Wall, The Tidal Zone, and Summerwater) and have loved them all.  The Fell is another excellent book. 

The Fell is set in November 2020 in the Peak District during a strict Covid lockdown in the U.K.  Kate and her 16-year-old son Matt are in the middle of a two-week mandatory quarantine period because of an exposure to Covid-19.  Kate is an outdoors person, someone “who needs to be out the hills every day no matter the weather,” so one late afternoon, after a week of quarantine, she sneaks out for a walk on the moors, certain that she will meet no one.  She leaves without telling Matt, believing that she will return before he even knows she’s gone.  Unfortunately, Kate falls and is injured. 

I loved the book’s structure.  Chapters alternate among four characters whose perspectives are given in interior monologues.  Besides the viewpoints of Kate and Matt, the reader gets to know Alice, a wealthy widow who is immune-compromised and lives next door to Kate, and Rob, a volunteer with the local search-and-rescue team. 

Each of the four characters is faced with a conflict around a question:  What is the right thing to do?  The quarantine has crushed Kate’s spirit and left her struggling with her mental health; she knows she isn’t supposed to leave her property but she believes she will expose no one and that no one will know that she has broken the rules.  Matt, when he realizes his mother is missing, struggles with reporting her missing when doing that could result in a major fine.  Alice must maintain social distancing because of her health but wants to help Kate and offer comfort to Matt.  Rob is divorced and has limited time with his daughter; when she is staying with him, he is called for a search mission and so is torn between his family responsibilities and helping his team find a stranger who has gone missing.

Because of the interior monologue format, the reader comes to know each of the characters intimately:  the important relationships in their lives, and their hopes, fears, and regrets.  Kate’s chapters also include imagined conversations with a raven that she encounters and accompanies her on her walk.  We see the impact of the pandemic and restrictions on individual lives, its emotional toll.  Alice, for example, knows she has no right to feel imprisoned in her “comfy house, mortgage paid off” but she misses human connection and human touch:  “No one’s touched her in months . . . Maybe she’ll die without ever touching another human, maybe she’s had her last hug, handshake, air-kiss.”  She decides that when restrictions lift, she will go to a spa and “have a massage, feel another person’s hands on her skin for as long as she wants to – two massages, or three – to be touched!” 

The book also examines the consequences of actions.  Kate’s actions, for instance, affect others.  Matt worries about Kate, as does Alice, and Rob loses time with his daughter because of Kate’s decision to go for a walk.  Kate’s choice will leave the reader both disagreeing and empathizing.   Though financially stressed, Kate knows she is not as badly off as others; she is safe in her home and not facing domestic abuse like other women.  Nonetheless, her mental health is suffering:  “the longer this goes on the less she objects to dying.”  Are the rules more important than her sanity?

I appreciated the novel’s balanced view; it recognizes both the need for Covid measures and the negative effects of Covid protocols.  Kate “doesn’t disapprove of lockdown or masks or any of it.”  While working at a café, she expects people to wear masks properly to protect others:  “it’s not as if it’s hard to wear a mask over your nose as well as your mouth for five minutes while you buy your bread and milk, is it?”  She’s “always been the one who says something [about wearing a mask properly], someone has to, what you walk past is what you tolerate.”  At the same time, she believes “indoor transmission is the problem, if the people in charge had any sense they’d be setting limits on how many hours you can spend inside, shooing people out into the wind and the fresh air instead of locking us in.”  She worries about life after the pandemic:  “And of course life won’t go back to the way it was, it never does and rarely should.  There will be holes in the children’s education, a generation that’s forgotten or never learnt how to go to a party, people of all ages who won’t forget to be afraid to leave the house, to be afraid of other people, afraid to touch or dance or sing, to travel, to try on clothes.”   And she worries about the long-term effects of isolation:  “no one knows how to unlock the cage and we’re all forgetting how to go back to the group.”

Though serious, there are some touches of humour.  Kate asks the raven, “Are you a spirit guide or my mother?  Oh God what if it’s both?”  And I couldn’t help but admire the author’s wordsmithing:  Kate has seen ravens around lambs and comments, “I’ve seen you at dying lambs, Raven, your kind.  Your unkind.”

I hesitated to read a pandemic novel, but I’m glad I read this one.  It captures the emotions we’ve all experienced:  the anxiety, depression, fear, and helplessness.  It reflects our waiting for the pandemic to end and “the appalling uncertainty of hope, the risk of letting yourself believe there might be good times again.”  In a strange way, the book was a comforting read because it shows that we are not alone in our frustrations.  Perhaps all we can do is to try our best because life has “to be lived, somehow.”  We might, like Kate, make mistakes, but “we all need saving from the consequences of our own idiocy once in a while.”

This is a short book covering a short time period, but it is not short on quality. 

Note:  I received a galley from the publisher via NetGalley.