Tag Archives: Andrew R. ’17

The Game of Love and Death by Martha Brockenbrough (review by Andrew R. ’17)

The Game of Love and DeathThe Game of Love and Death by Martha Brockenbrough
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

In The Game of Love and Death, the deities Love and Death come together to play a high-stakes cosmic game of strategy. The board: Jazz-Age Seattle, still deeply rooted in racial prejudice. The pawns: Henry, an affluent white high-school student, and Flora, a black jazz singer (and, improbably, airplane pilot). The objective: for Love to manipulate Henry into winning Flora’s heart, and for Death to twist Flora into rejecting his advances. The stakes: the pawns’ lives. It’s the perfect premise for a historical-fiction-romance-supernatural genre mashup, but from the first chapter it’s clear that Brockenbrough can’t quite pull off the ingenious plot she’s cooked up. The characters are sadly underdeveloped: Henry’s sole obsession is Flora, Flora’s sole obsession is flight, Love is maddeningly altruistic, Death is irrationally destructive. Worse, we’re granted near-omniscience when it comes to the plot, making the entire novel read like a tiresome textbook example of dramatic irony. (Case in point: Henry is convinced that his infatuation is true love, whereas we know from page one that it’s a ridiculous idea planted in his head by a manipulative deity.) Thanks to the wild originality of this novel’s premise, the jacket blurb makes excellent reading; the book itself, though, is a disappointment.

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X: A Novel by Ilyasah Shabazz (review by Andrew R. ’17)

X: A NovelX: A Novel by Ilyasah Shabazz
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

The premise of Ilyasah Shabazz’s most recent novel, X, is so unusual as to seem off-putting at first: in a narrative geared specifically toward young adults, a fictionalized Malcolm X plays out the early part of his life, starting with his exodus from Michigan to Boston and ending just before he begins the outspoken racial and religious activism for which we remember him today. The story is doubly odd because the author, the daughter of Malcolm X himself, has taken the liberty to novelize her famous father’s turbulent life—and in the first person. I’m not sure how, but Shabazz has taken this dubious stew of almost overambitious narrative points and crafted a surprisingly engaging story, which, although it contains hallmarks of the young adult genre like forbidden love and coming-of-age internal conflict, also features pacing and setting that are remarkably sophisticated for a YA novel. (Most of the first six chapters takes place on a largely uneventful train ride, and it takes a measure of patience to get to the meat of the book.) The protagonist Malcolm, even if he bears suspiciously little resemblance to the more weathered and polarizing Malcolm X most of us are familiar with, is a memorable and magnetic character, and this narrative of his life is strange in concept but impressive in execution.

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The Darkest Part of the Forest by Holly Black (review by Andrew R. ’17)

The Darkest Part of the ForestThe Darkest Part of the Forest by Holly Black
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The tiny town of Fairfold teeters right on the border between the human and faerie worlds, and its inhabitants know it. On one side of this border are the local public high school, the general store, the partying teenagers, the clueless tourists; on the other side are vicious monsters made of twigs and dirt, goblins who bathe in human blood, and a horned prince lying dormant in the middle of the woods. Not your typical story-book creatures, these faeries, but, as long as they’re not provoked, they’re willing to live in a fragile balance with their human neighbors—until local teenager Hazel and her brother Ben, wishful monster hunters extraordinaire, upset that balance beyond repair. Holly Black’s masterful world-building is on display in the court of the faerie king (modeled off the legendary German Erlkönig) and on the ominous small-town streets of Fairfold, but the novel’s real creativity lies in the intersection between the two worlds. The border separating the humans and faeries, it becomes clear, is frighteningly porous, and the influence of faerie magic in Fairfold is stronger than its inhabitants would like to admit… Black never relinquishes nuance in her characters in favor of plot, and as a result the novel feels neither simplistic nor rushed. Here is YA fantasy at its best: a world that seems as real as, or realer than, our own.

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Hold Tight, Don’t Let Go by Laura Rose Wagner (review by Andrew R. ’17)

Hold Tight, Don't Let Go: A Novel of HaitiHold Tight, Don’t Let Go: A Novel of Haiti by Laura Rose Wagner
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Hold Tight, Don’t Let Go begins with a strangely subdued account of the catastrophic earthquake that killed more than 100,000 Haitians on January 12, 2010. Over the course of a few pages, the teenage narrator, Magdalie, witnesses the almost instantaneous leveling of the city of her childhood. But the reader can’t comprehend the magnitude of the tragedy until, months later, Magdalie forces herself to sit down and pour her memories onto the page, even as she admits that, “It doesn’t change anything if I write it down or not … It doesn’t change a thing.” Only here does the reader stop and say, Oh—she is upset, she is scarred, this is a tragedy. It hurts to read the passage: we feel Magdalie’s pain. The rest of the novel follows a similar trajectory. Intense emotion is the most important element of a story that deals with a disaster on this scale, and while that emotion is very often deferred by stumbling plot-lines and flat characters, it’s never forgotten. Sooner or later, the author’s point hits home, and we can’t help but feel empathy for Magdalie and the hundreds of thousands of real-life Haitians in her situation. In that respect, at least, Hold Tight, Don’t Let Go is a success.

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Love Medicine by Louise Erdrich (review by Andrew R. ’17)

Love MedicineLove Medicine by Louise Erdrich
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Louise Erdrich’s Love Medicine, a sort of novel-in-stories that unflinchingly paints a portrait of Native American life in the modern world, opens with a beautifully elaborate family tree: the names get progressively more Catholic, the adoptions and marriages and remarriages more convoluted, as the generations pass. It’s a fitting way to begin this collection. Almost every person on the tree is featured either as a narrator or as a protagonist of one of the stories, but in my mind the three members of the oldest generation mentioned are the real heroes of Love Medicine. The lives of Nector Kashpaw (introduced in “Wild Geese” as a brash young tribesman), his future wife Marie Lazarre (still a teenager in “Saint Marie”), and their sometime ally Lulu Lamartine (who comes of age in “The Island”) are chronicled in full, from adolescence to old age, and it’s their obsessions and fatal flaws that ultimately give the book wings. Love Medicine has a rocky start: its younger characters, not nearly as complex or engaging as their grandparents, open the collection in a less-than-impressive introductory sequence. But the later stories are beautifully enough rendered to do their subject, the Ojibwe nation, proud.

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Bone Gap by Laura Ruby (review by Andrew R. ’17)

Bone GapBone Gap by Laura Ruby
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Laura Ruby’s Bone Gap, while almost effortlessly unique in its setting and characters, too often gets bogged down in the tropes of other genres—especially star-crossed romance and magical realism—to feel entirely convincing or satisfying by the last page. The rural Illinois town that protagonists Finn and Roza inhabit is summed up in consistent, symbolic motifs, which Ruby invokes whenever possible: bees, cornfields, gossip, and (most effectively) the “gaps” of the title. As successful as these images are, other aspects of the novel fall flat, ultimately distracting readers from the complexity of the setting. Classic scenes of teenage social cruelty, for instance, feel painfully out-of-sync with a rural setting that is otherwise frozen in the past, and incessant references to Craig Thompson’s graphic novel Blankets quickly grow stale—especially since Ruby seems oddly reluctant to refer to that novel by name. Perhaps most disappointing are the author’s halfhearted attempts at magical realism in certain scenes, which more frequently reek of coincidence than true enchantment. Roza and Finn’s shared story has plenty to commend it, especially to fans of less traditional YA fiction, but its restless shifting between disjunct genres rendered it difficult both to follow and to enjoy. – Andrew R. ’17

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I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou (review by Andrew R. ’17)

I Know Why the Caged Bird SingsI Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Maya Angelou, the beloved and decorated author who passed away just under a year ago, is known equally well as a poet and a memoirist, but reading I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings has left no doubt in my mind as to which part of her legacy is more accurate. Dr. Angelou was a poet. Yes, Caged Bird is a prose memoir, one that spans Angelou’s adoption by her grandmother (at age three) to the birth of her first child (at age 17), but the book is written like no autobiography I have ever encountered: the language possesses a lyricism and a flow that very little poetry, much less prose, can lay claim to. In fact, Caged Bird often felt like a long, simple poem, free of the intimidating erudition that so often accompanies book-length verse. Although Angelou writes in the voice of maturity, her narrative convincingly portrays the confusion of a young black child in the Deep South—and the portrait of racism that results is painful and jarring. Caged Bird is more than the sum of its parts: it’s not a poetic memoir or an autobiographical poem, but a beautiful and frightening vision of our country’s past. – Andrew R.’17

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World and Town by Gish Jen (review by Andrew R. ’17)

World and TownWorld and Town by Gish Jen
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Gish Jen is a wittier Amy Tan: her novels and stories, usually told through the perspective of first- or second-generation Chinese immigrants to America, fearlessly tackle religious issues, the mystery of death, and the folly of American culture, all without forsaken the signature lightness and incisiveness of her prose. World and Town is split into five narrative sections. One follows Sophy Chung, the daughter of Cambodian immigrants, who takes refuge in fundamentalist Christianity to escape her past sins; another follows Everett, the scorned and scornful backwoods lover of a born-again evangelist. The majority of the book, though, is from the perspective of Hattie (Hăi dì) Kong, an aging immigrant whose existence in the Southern town of Riverlake is somehow more American than any of its native inhabitants. As Hattie struggles with her religion and heritage (and messes with those of her neighbors—she can’t help herself), Riverlake becomes so vivid and complex that it feels as real as life to the reader, and sometimes realer. While Sophy’s and Everett’s narrative voices were not always convincing, World and Town was as a whole engaging, even addictive. Strongly recommended for readers who enjoy having their beliefs challenged and their prejudices called out. – Andrew R. ’17

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The Crystal Fountain and Other Stories by Malachi Whitaker (review by Andrew R. ’17)

The Crystal Fountain & Other StoriesThe Crystal Fountain & Other Stories by Malachi Whitaker
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Sometimes being forgotten is almost an honor in the literary world. It’s an invitation to be rediscovered decades after one’s death, then to enjoy revival as a cult favorite before breaking triumphantly back out into the mainstream market. When I read my first Malachi Whitaker short story, “Landlord of the Crystal Fountain,” I was sure I’d stumbled upon one of these forgotten masters: despite the near-impossibility of finding any of her work, which hasn’t been collected since the mid-1980s, the story’s flowing language (not to mention its intriguing title) indicated that Whitaker’s work deserves much more attention than it’s been given. The Crystal Fountain and Other Stories is one of very few collections by Whitaker that’s still in circulation, so I sought it out and devoured all its stories over the course of a few days, searching for the quality that had made the title story so appealing. What a disappointment to discover that the other stories were nearly indistinguishable in their plots: rural Britain, lonely working-class woman, innocent dreams developed for several pages then suddenly crushed. That’s not to say the stories weren’t enjoyable, but, unlike “Landlord of the Crystal Fountain,” they weren’t quite worth the effort taken to procure them. – Andrew R. ’17

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Fortress Besieged by Qian Zhong Shu (review by Andrew R. ’17)

Fortress BesiegedFortress Besieged by Qian Zhong Shu
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

It’s a sad fact of English-language literature that the number of books translated from English and shipped around the world far outstrips that of books translated into English from other languages. That means the pool of books available to American readers in translation from, say, Mandarin is relatively limited—only works of scholarly interest, unusual acclaim, or specifically Western appeal make their way to our libraries. Fortunately, Qian Zhongshu’s classic Fortress Besieged meets all three criteria. Not only has it been the object of intense study and widespread consumption in the seventy-five years since its publication, but its consistent references to Western proverbs and literature make it uniquely relatable to an American audience. (The excellent translation by Nathan K. Mao and Jeanne Kelly also helps.) The reader follows Fang Hung-Chien, a graduate student returning home from Europe, as he stumbles through a sticky love triangle, an exhaustive trip to China’s interior, and finally a bitter and loveless marriage. The author’s intent sometimes seems to be to poke fun at every subject he can come up with, from the Chinese to the Jews, from government officials to university professors, from bachelors to husbands to women of every age. None of this, though, changes the novel’s unique and undeniable cultural value. – Andrew R. ’17

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