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"When I get a little money, I buy books. And if there is any left over, I buy food." --Erasmus

I probably shouldn’t even be writing this review, as I didn’t finish it. Well, I got through 350 pages before throwing in the towel, but only because I had nothing else to read with me at the time. I was intrigued by the premise, about a young Russian girl in China in the 1920s, and her relationship with a native Chinese. But from there, it quickly went downhill.
First of all, the prose is pretty overwrought, littered with one-word, repetitive sentences that were very choppy. There were lots of writing clichés (of the “he could feel into her soul” variety”). The writing actually gave me a headache at some places.
There were also problems with the plot and characters. I simply didn’t feel emotionally invested in any of these characters’ stories, particularly Lydia, who grated on my nerves (and if the author mentioned her flame-red hair one more time, I thought I was going to throw the book at the wall!). She didn’t ever seem to be her age, and I didn’t find her relationship with Chang to be all that believable. Nor did I really believe her mother’s character, which was more cliché than anything; and I though Theo Willoughby’s story was really random and out there, and not truly important to the plot—which I kept searching for, but in vain. Take these characters and put them in a different setting, and you would probably have the same novel, honestly.
A lot of things happen in this novel, but it seems to be more inertia than anything—a lot of it doesn’t seem to advance the plot by much. Plus, there were a lot of inconsistencies—Lydia and Valentina can hardly afford to feed themselves, but the rabbit SunYat-sen is in absolutely blooming health. There’s a lot of gratuitous violence, too. Nor does the author seem to know much about Russian or Chinese culture and history. A huge disappointment, especially since this novel seemed promising.
Miss Buncle is a pretty average, middle age woman living in an English country village. One day, she decides to write a novel about Silverstream, the village she lives in. The books is published, and instantly becomes a bestseller—with adverse effects in Silverstream, for its inhabitants are furious that someone has dared to write about—caricature—their lives.
This is an extremely funny book, poking fun at the provincialism of the average English country village in the 1930s. The characters are a howl: Mrs. Featherstone Hogg, who of all the inhabitants of the village is the most enraged; Mr. Hathaway the vicar; Mrs. Greensleeves, the widow who only chases after the vicar because she thinks he has money; Miss King and Miss Pretty; Colonel Weatherhead, the town’s confirmed bachelor; and others, including Doctor Walker and his wife, and Sally Carter, who seem to be the only people not offended by Disturber of the Peace (sounds like the title of a mystery, but no matter). Miss Buncle’s descriptions of her characters are somewhat cruel, but truthful nonetheless. This novel is hysterically funny as well—I had stitches in my side by the time I got to the description of the film that Mr. Abbott and Miss Buncle go to see.
It’s claimed over and over again that Miss Buncle is a simple creature; but maybe she really does know what she’s doing all along? I think she’s a lot smarter than a lot of people, including Miss Buncle herself, give her credit for. As events unfold, and life imitates art, so to speak, it becomes clear that truth really is stranger than fiction.
This is Persephone #81
The Fraud is a novel with a complicated plot. It opens in 1735, and closes in the 1780s, so it covers a lot of ground. Growing up, Grace Marshall had every intention of becoming a Painter; but her brother Philip was the one who was permitted to take his Grand Tour to Europe to study art. Many years later, he comes back from Grace—as Filipo de Vecellio, conquering the world of portrait painting in London. He enlists his sister’s help in his deception, and Grace becomes Francesca, housekeeper to the famous portrait painter. It’s a remarkable self-sacrifice that Grace makes, but she does it for love of her brother—who, in time, she ends up hating.
There’s a whole lot going on in this novel, some of it crucial to the plot, some of it not (I won’t go into specifics, but sometimes I felt as though the author thought “what’s the worst thing that can happen in this situation?” and made it happen to her characters). I also didn’t really believe in Grace’s relationship with James Burke (because honestly, would someone like him really have behaved the way he did in real life?) There are lots of run-on sentences, and the author seems fond of Capital Letters.
It’s a good story nonetheless, well researched, that takes place in the art galleries and auction rooms of London at a time when English art was beginning to be taken seriously. There’s a huge amount of detail here—right down to the very materials used to mix paint! Well-drawn (if I may use the pun) are the characters—Grace’s passion for her art is almost palpable, and Philip’s boorishness is maddening at times. Technically the book is well written, though the jump back and forth between Grace’s narration and the omniscient narrator may be a bit jarring at first (as it was to me). It’s a novel of passion, of obsession, and of money—above all things, money, which drives the motives of most of the characters of this novel.
New York: The Novel is an ambitious book. Covering nearly 350 years of New York, and by extension American history, this book is the story of about a half a dozen families living in the city at various points throughout its history: the Dutch van Dycks, English Masters, Irish O’Donnells, German Kellers, southern Italian Carusos, Jewish Adlers, and the descendants of the slave Quash, who are given the last name River. The novel opens in 1664, when New Amsterdam is bought from the Dutch by the English and becomes New York, and ends in the summer of 2009.
New York is the third of Rutherfurd’s books I’ve read, after Sarum and London. His previous two books covered all of English history, from prehistory to the present; New York only covers about 350 years. There are good and bad things about focusing on such a (relatively) short period of history. On one hand, it’s a lot easier to keep track of the generations through the years, and there’s a lot more room for character development. On the other, I really wish that Rutherfurd had covered Manhattan history during the time it was owned by the Dutch.
The focus of the novel is on the Revolution and Civil War, particularly the Draft Riots of 1863, and the financial panic of the turn of the last century. The Great Fire of 1835 is ignored, as are the (often confusing) politics of Tammany Hall, the Astor Place riots, the amalgamation of the Boroughs, the General Slocum disaster in 1904, or the building of the subways. I realize there’s a lot to cover in a novel of this scope, but some mention of these defining moments of New York history would have been nice. The longtime tension between the Irish Catholics and native-born New Yorkers is downplayed, and it seemed a little odd to me that someone like Sean O’Donnell wouldn’t have run into at least some prejudice on his way up out of the Five Points. Or that Mary O’Donnell would go from being a maid in the Masters’ house to being one of Hetty Master’s best friends in society.
On the other hand, there’s a lot of territory to cover in this 860-page novel, so it’s also easy to understand why an author might have to be picky and choosy about what to include and what to leave out. The parts of the novel that the author does cover are well-researched, especially the chapters on the Revolution, the Draft Riots, the great blizzard of 1888, the financial bits, the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire in 1910, the blackout of 1977, and 9/11.
As I’ve said, because this book covers less time that some of Rutherfurd’s other books, there’s less to keep track of in terms of family history. The Master family, for the most part, are the focal point of the novel. The story follows them, as merchants and Wall Street men, from the early 18th century to the present, so I really enjoyed following their story through the centuries. It was also interesting to witness New York growth through the years, from sleepy 17th century village to bustling 21st century metropolis. It’s also a fascinating story about the American dream, of a half a dozen families living that dream in one of the greatest cities in the world. For an excellent narrative history of New York (at least up through the 1960s), try Edward Robb Ellis’s The Epic of New York City.
Boudica: Dreaming the Eagle is the fantastic story of Boudica, warrior queen of the Iceni tribe (or Eceni, according to Manda Scott). This novel is the first in a series, and covers Boudica’s (called Breaca) early years, from the age of eight to 21, when she faced the Romans in battle. Other major characters in the novel are Ban, who later goes to the Continent and experiences a sort of rebirth as a Roman citizen; and Caradoc (Caractatus), leader of the Catuvellauni, with whom Breaca has a tentative alliance.
You could say this book is divided into two parts, with the first half devoted to the struggle between the Iceni and Catuvellauni, and the second to the struggle between the native Britons and the Romans.
It must be very tough to write a novel about a people whose culture was oral and not written. The Romans wrote about Boudica, but their opinions were hardly objective. Not much is known about Boudica, and even less is known about her childhood, so a lot of this novel is, as the author admits in her note at the end, fictional. But Scott does a fantastic job with what little information she does have, and her characters seem real and believable. Her information about the Romans is a little more complete, because they, of course, left written records. The historian Dio Cassius described Breaca as having flaming red hair, and boy, does Manda Scott run with that.
I took a real chance when buying this book, because I’d never even heard of the author before and didn’t know if I’d like a 700-page novel about Roman Britain. And, at first I was a little wary of the “dreaming” concept that drives the book. But I was pleasantly surprised. The dreaming isn’t over-the-top, and the animal imagery is simply amazing. The story takes a little while to gather momentum, but reading through the first 50 pages or so yields a really rich, rewarding reading experience. This is a very strong start to what promises to be a very engaging series.
The Lacuna is an extremely difficult novel to explain. It covers a lot of territory, and a lot of topics. It’s difficult to know where to start. It’s a novel about a young man named Harrison Shepherd, a Mexican-American who grows up in Mexico and later lives in North Carolina. From the age of thirteen, when Harrison finds himself mixing plaster and cooking food for Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo, up through his thirties, when he is a famous author and suspected Communist, this novel is, as the back of the book states, a coming of age story. But it’s much more than that as well.
As I’ve said, this is a tough novel to describe. In high school (about 10 years ago), I read everything Kingsolver had written up to that point, and I can say that this book is very much unlike any of her other novels, both in subject matter and style. But just the same, I loved this novel. Lacunae are voids, pieces that are missing; and it’s hard for me to grasp exactly what this means. It’s because of this that The Lacuna is a thought-provoking novel, one that had me thinking about it and its characters long after I’d put it down. It’s definitely bleak in parts, but Kingsolver’s writing is magical, contrasting the warmth of the Mexican climate with the coldness of the United States during the 1950s. There’s also, sort of, an anti-American bias in this book; the United States certainly doesn’t come across very well.
The characters are also amazing and well-drawn, though Shepherd seems to be more of an observer in this novel as opposed to an active participant (much, as he says early on, like viewing the world through a camera lens). But there are other, interesting characters in this book, including the prickly Frida Kahlo, with her morbid sense of humor; and Violet Brown, Shepherd’s middle-aged stenographer, with her archaic grammar. I though the newspaper clippings and reviews to be a little bit too much, but I really, really loved the rest of this novel.