Wolf to the Slaughter by Ruth Rendell

Recently I heard someone complaining about a book, saying after reading and enjoying it they still weren’t really sure about the title. That is kind of the way I feel about this story. Usually, titles have some sort of tie-in with the actual story, at least in a vague way. This is a murder mystery, and the concept of a wolf being slaughtered sort of ties in with that, but it is otherwise a pretty obscure connection.

Ruth Rendell has written several Wexford mysteries; stories that focus around the investigations of the police station that is overseen by Detective Wexford. A young woman has disappeared and the team of detectives attempt to discover what has happened with only a missing person report and an anonymous note to go on. I have read Ruth Rendell stories before and I consistently enjoy them very much; well written and oh so British.

Middlesex By Jeffrey Eugenides

This book was surprising to me; I didn’t know what to expect and had heard very little about it. Apparently, I am in the minority, as it has been a selection for Oprah’s Book Club in the past and won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.

Middlesex is the story of three generations of a Greek-American family living in Detroit as told by Calliope or Cal. Calliope, later Cal is of the youngest generation in the story, raised as a girl, but becoming masculine as an adolescent. Cal is the product of frequent genetic mutations of a close-knit Greek community that hails from a very small town. In 2010, it is no surprise to us that inbred communities tend to have abnormal genetic traits, but of course, Cal’s ancestors had no way of knowing that this would be the case.

As I read this story, I’m tormented not by how unusual and painful Calliope’s puberty is, but how normal and painful it is. How different am I really from Cal? The feeling of alienness in one’s own body, the shame of being imperfect and different from other girls- I don’t think any of this is so unique. Perhaps that is the point; interesex individuals and hermaphrodites aren’t really so different from those of us who only exhibit characteristics of one sex.

The book feels like a cross between Forrest Gump and Lolita, the single male narrator that covers several decades in history while trying to explain a sexual situation that is foreign to most. The book is a startling contrast of the tragic and the comic, and Eugenides himself points out, but that seems to be the case with most things.

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro

This is a difficult book to review, because aspects of the plot are quite mysterious for long periods of time, and I would be doing the reader a great disservice by revealing many details. The protagonist of the novel is Kathy who is now 31 years old. Never Let Me Go is written as a memoir might be; the bulk of the novel tells of her childhood and her friendships at Hailsham. Though the children’s lives could be described as sheltered and idyllic, the reader is aware that this is simply a façade.

In many ways, this is a science fiction novel; the students of Hailsham exist in a world that differs from our own, even though the similarities are abundant. I might refer to this as “light science-fiction” – more than anything it is a relationship/friendship drama. I think that this is all for the better; there are many, many, many books that talk about the conflicts of relationships and friendships (almost every book). Ishiguro’s book introduces another element to this fiction equation, but without making the story unrelatable.

Though this is a side note, I am always impressed with authors who choose to write novels with protagonists of the opposite sex. In this case, Ishiguro is a male with a female narrator. (The Harry Potter series is another excellent example of this phenomenon) My point in mentioning this is that I think Ishiguro does an excellent job. The attitude of the narrator seemed plausible and natural.

I based my selection of this book on the fact that I really enjoyed Ishiguro’s Remains of the Day, and I didn’t really know what to expect. In many ways, the books are similar, personal dramas with disturbing back stories (Remains of the Day’s protagonist was employed by a Nazi/Nazi sympathizer). And more importantly, both books are touching, well written novels that readers will enjoy.

(Also, I didn't realize until I finished this book, but it is being made into a movie. I want to see it, but knowing me, I'll wait until it comes out on DVD)

Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier

This novel begins in Monte Carlo when our unnamed heroine meets Max DeWinter (Maxim), a handsome widower. Rebecca is his recently deceased wife. The two marry after a very brief courtship and they return to his elegant estate, Manderley. Rebecca’s presence is still very strong in the house, and our heroine gradually learns more about her predecessor and her husband’s past. It is easy to relate to the awkwardness that the heroine must feel, constantly being compared to the graceful, beautiful Rebecca.

For as long as I can remember, awkward situations in television, movies and books have embarrassed me. There were scenes in the first half Rebecca that just made me want to cringe; Du Maurier’s heroine is so naïve and innocent that her actions just seem foolish. I am embarrassed for her. I had to stop multiple times to remind myself that it is fiction.

Without going into too much detail, I felt conflicted near the end of the book. I’m of the opinion that domestic violence is never okay and people never “deserve it.” Yet it is written in a way that portrays this in a sympathetic light. Other popular books that are out now (for example the Twilight saga) also seem to be sympathetic to people who are moderately aggressive in relationships, and I wonder if I only hold this opinion because I’ve recently been thinking about the effect of abuse in literature. I would be curious to hear whether others who have read Rebecca are similarly conflicted.

Review: The Believers

The back cover of The Believers by Zoe Heller introduces the book thus: “When a stroke fells radical New York lawyer Joel Litvinoff, a secret is revealed that forces Audrey, his wife, to reexamine everything she believed about their forty year marriage.” I was able to guess from reading this description what his secret was – I bet you can too. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite so obvious from reading the beginning of the book that something was going on, so I think that the fact that this was included on the book’s cover is a bit of a disappointment. There is potential for the family’s revelation to be a big surprise, and some crafty re-wording could have prevented this giveaway.

But I don’t want to dwell too much on my qualms here, because it didn’t really detract from my enjoyment of the novel, and it is at least quite descriptive of the plot. Though Joel’s wife Audrey does little to continue her life as Joel lingers in a coma, their children do move forward. By the end of the novel, the family isn’t really revolving around their absent father anymore; rather, each child has been subtly influenced by his illness.

Based on the title, I mistakenly believed that this book would be more about the religious beliefs of the family. While that does play a part in the story, I have since interpreted The Believers as referring to a much broader kind of belief. The characters reconsider their beliefs on family, lifestyle, love, death, and yes, religion.

Audrey spends most of the novel acting angry and cruel, with rare moments of affection and sympathy bestowed upon her loved ones. Even though her outbursts are often shocking, I think this is how I prefer her to act. After all that happens in the course of the book, if Audrey isn’t a little bit justified in acting like a jerk, I don’t know who is. If her nasty remarks make me uncomfortable, it’s probably just because I’m a little jealous that she can get away with it. Near the end of the story, she seems to regret her harsh past, but I don’t.

Everything Matters! by Ron Currie Jr.

The review of this book that I read said something like “this book is good enough to forgive the exclamation point in the title” (I’m paraphrasing here, but I don’t remember where this review was published). I’m inclined to agree. I don’t know if I would have thought much about the punctuation if it hadn’t been pointed out, but I agree that it was an insightful and engaging book.

The book is about Junior Thibodeau, who hears voices starting when he is a fetus. Among other things, the voices tell Junior that the world is going to end when it collides with a comet when he is 36 years old. Knowing this, Junior frequently wonders whether anything he does will really matter. Of course, if you read the title of the book, you’ll get a general idea of where Currie is going with the story.

Of course, any human could apply this dark outlook to life. We know that the world will end someday; we know that we will all die someday, and we know that everyone else that we know will also die. Why is it remarkable that Junior asks himself about the meaning of life, if all people could potentially ask themselves the same questions? Most people are far enough removed from the eventual apocalypse that it doesn’t really occupy much of their time (and those who constantly think about it are a subject of concern in the mental health field). Junior is not so lucky, he knows that the world will end in the relatively near future, and a voice is available to remind him regularly.

I can usually measure the success of a book by how emotionally involved I feel with the characters, if it makes me cry, that’s even better. Some of the instances of drug abuse and neglect that take place during the childhoods of Junior and his brother, Rodney make me feel a little sick to my stomach. This is one of my markers of good storytelling. Currie succeeds in creating a group of characters that I love because of all their flaws and prejudices and anger.

Mostly due to speculations about a possible apocalypse in the year 2012, the end of the world is getting a lot of attention right now. Hopefully, this won’t affect your decision to read this book one way or the other, as it is not related to these speculations. It’s really just a good book about the ways that your decisions and relationships can either improve or destroy your life.