Joe C
A meandering psychological thriller; the intensity lags in places (I spent some 50 pages wondering if I had already made it past the real climax of the novel). But the book's acclaim is well-deserved if only on the basis of its gripping set of characters, a particularly impressive feat, given their essential unlikability and the distance between the narrator, Richard Papen, and the college friends he never seems to truly know. (Whether he knows himself and presents himself honestly is yet another open question.) A book I will likely still be thinking about for some time.
I have a lot of feelings about this book. The first hundred pages won me over completely. Courtenay beautifully captures the worldview of a precocious and horrifically mistreated child, sandwiched in the tight space between British, Boer, and black in 1930s-40s South Africa. I became less enamored of the book as Peekay aged, continuing in the role of indefatigable hero but without increasing awareness of the suffering of those around him. Black South Africans remain mystical secondary characters, good-hearted and simple. Every character around Peekay is fascinating but static; with black characters this was particularly uncomfortable for me as a reader because Peekay interprets them through racist (though kind and well-meaning) eyes. And while this book can absolutely be read with Peekay as an unreliable narrator of his own story, acknowledging that possibility does not make this any more comfortable.
I'm still processing the somewhat shocking finale. Peekay finishes his journey to adulthood with an act of crass revenge on the first tormentor of his childhood, although admittedly he acts initially in self-defense. It's a conclusion that beautifully calls into question the entire heroizing narrative. But, like the book's depiction of black Africa, it left me with an uncertain taste in my mouth because of the possibly more straightforward interpretation - defeat and humiliation of one's enemies is the ultimate demonstration of one's manhood.
I read this book after one of my US History students told me he had read it and wanted somebody to talk about it with (huge teacher win!). Talking through Salinger's classic with a 16-year-old helped me frame my thinking from the correct perspective. Holden Caulfield may not be the most charismatic protagonist, but the further you get into his thinking, the more fascinating he becomes. Holden's narration is at its most intriguing when he makes seemingly casual references to traumatic episodes in his life. Even at the end of the novel when he has revealed so much, Holden still feels like a stranger, perhaps, as he continually suggests, even to himself.
Rand's crowning work is little more than a modern morality play. The good guys (and they're almost all guys) are tall, handsome, strong, charismatic, and intelligent. The bad guys (also almost all guys) are bloated, sniveling, conniving, slothful, and perverse. The conclusion of the novel, both in terms of its plot and its philosophy, is inevitable within its own constructed reality. If Rand's purpose in writing Atlas Shrugged was, as she stated, to convince her readers of her “objectivist” philosophy, her methods were poorly chosen. Unless you come to this book already sharing Rand's view of the world, you will likely find yourself (as I did) revolted by her rejection of compassion, disturbed by her unabashed racism, and incredulous at her overly simplistic characters and their apparent motivations.
That said, I found the book enjoyable enough and certainly worth reading, given its significance for modern American political thought. The plot is compelling enough to have kept me wanting to read on and through a thousand pages of diatribe, Rand forces each reader to come to terms with her political philosophy. For me, personally, this has forced me to reluctantly adjust the way I think about the role and purpose of government, even if I'm a long way from accepting Rand's views. Her impassioned defense of personal agency hit home with me as well, but her static, predestined characters send a mixed message that undermines her intended effect.
Three stars.
Phenomenal, compelling account of some of the women who built the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and established a meaningful place for themselves within a polygamous, patriarchal culture (sometimes by resisting and rejecting it, but just as often by defending it and making it work for them). Ulrich brings her subjects to life, drawing primarily on their own diaries and allowing these too-often-forgotten women to speak for themselves.
A fantastic, strange, absorbing story. The writing is sometimes clunky, with off-putting casual misogyny. Much more different than the films than I had expected.