Iceland - Jim Krusoe

Finding an odd book is not that hard; many I have read are at least somewhat out of the ordinary. Much like the country is far away from pretty much everything else, the novel is nowhere approaching ordinary.


Iceland was published in 2002.  The protagonist, Paul, repairs typewriters.  While it isn't clear exactly when this novel takes place, other than it seems to be relatively modern day, which would make the typewriter repair business not a particularly lucrative one.  Paul, though, has more pressing concerns.  He needs an organ transplant (which organ is never made clear, nor what exactly is wrong with his), so he goes to an organ facility, in which available organs are kept floating in a swimming pool.  The organ caretaker, Emily, swims in the pool to keep the organs functional.


It will get even more weird from here.


Paul and Emily end up having sex on the diving board (and apparently elsewhere around the pool, although this only becomes apparent in later sections of the novel).  Unfortunately, Paul, now in love with Emily,  loses contact with her and ends up on an adventure that will take him to Iceland, see him lose a family in a volcano, spend time in prison and a piano bar, and a lot else, in what is a pretty slim novel.


Krusoe spends little time with what we would normally consider the big events in life; they don't seem to interest him as much as the details.  Paul is mostly a passenger in his life, but he does have desires, and in his own way, finds a path to them, even if it takes him years.  This is kind of comic, alt-universe Murakami - weird stuff happens that no one seems to notice is weird, and its never very clear where things are headed, but eventually it gets there. 

John Henry Days - Colson Whitehead

A small town has a festival honoring John Henry, who may have existed, and who may have entered into a duel with a machine near this town long ago.  While the ending is always the same, the actual story seems to exist in infinite versions.  Many of those are presented here with someone obsessed with all the versions of John Henry in song; someone else has a fascination with railroad stamps; another is trying to win a contest of his own and survive off junketing expenses a long as he possibly can.


Whitehead writes from several different viewpoints in this book, alternating from chapter to chapter.  While the expense account loving magazine writer J Sutter is the main character, he often rides on the periphery of the story, which really, is about John Henry.  We even get a few chapters from Mr Henry's point of view, a mythical (?) black man looking for recognition in a white world.  Race is outwardly a minor component here, but J Sutter is an African American as well, and lives with problems associated with that day in and out.  John Henry died in a race against a technology that if it didn't get him that day, would surely come back soon after and be better than before, until it would defeat him.  Sutter's problems are more subtle, and he ultimately figures out that he, unlike, Henry, has a bit of a way out.  Not that all the foreshadowing is wrong about how this ends;  like most mythology, there has to be something tragic.  But it might not be quite as expected.


There is a lot to like in this book.  If you are looking to identify, or become familiar with a character, this isn't for you - even J Sutter is hard to define by the end - he's too worn out to give much of himself, and he disappears for large chunks of the novel.  But the other characters who fill in are endlessly interesting, from the various fanatics, to his colleagues and the various town members whom all are involved in the goings on.  For a book that hangs on postage stamps, it is unique take on American mythology and its effects on us all in defining who and what we are.

Under the Skin - Michael Faber

If there's a category for sci-fi vegan satire, I suppose this would be the classic.  I went into this completely unaware of what this was about, and still wasn't quite sure after having read probably one third of the book.  Faber, who wrote  The Crimson Petal and the White, which is a fantastic, and very sexual, Victorian tale, does things quite differently here.  The protagonist, Isserley, is, in the beginning, very detached from anyone she encounters.  The writing is done in a very dispassionate manner.  On a side note, I did see the film version of this book not too long ago;  I didn't have too much faith in it going in, but it was actually a good film.  While the very basic story outline is the same, the details and the progression of the story are radically changed.  Given that the film is heavy on visuals, and sound, it worked on its own rather than trying to recreate the novel.


So, we have Isserley, a young woman who drives her car along the highways in remote Scotland searching for hitchhikers. Isserley, though not particularly attractive, has large breasts (this is important!!).  We soon learn that she subdues the hitchhikers, after finding out if they are suitable for her mysterious purpose. 




That purpose is to feed the starving population on her home planet.  Isserley is an alien, who through surgery, has been made to look like a human female.  Unused to walking on two legs, she is in constant pain, but she takes pride in her work.  The humans she captures are essentially treated like livestock - tongues cut out, castrated, fattened up and then slaughtered for food sent back home.   Initially Isserley regards humans, as well, sub-humans, as they are just a source of food.  However, she becomes gradually more sympathetic to them, and is horrified when she discovers all that actually happens to them.


She also begins to realize her lowly status among her own.  Condemned to appearing as a freak, toiling in gruesome work for the benefit of the upper class far away, who have destroyed the ecological balance on their own planet.  Faber goes after a lot of things here; sexism, corporate greed, consumerism and a host of others along the way. 

Zeroville Steve Erickson

 

“The Searchers is one wicked bad-ass movie whenever my man the Duke is on screen, evil white racist honky pigfucker though he may be.”


Plot: Ike Jerome (Vikar)  arrives in Los Angeles in 1969 just at the time of the Tate-LaBianca murders.  Vikar is obsessed with movies and will eventually parlay that obsession into work as a film editor.  As he travels through the 1970's and the emergence of a New Hollywood, Vikar encounters a wide range of Hollywood's movers, as well as others who share his fascinations to a varying degrees.  Near autistic, Vikar has a hard time comprehending the non-movie world, though he does develop into a fan of punk. 


Why read it: This is a movie lover's book, where you can have characters going into deep conversations on a whole range of movies going back to the 20's, arguing over what some may consider arcane aspects (there's a nice section on what film editors actually do).  Vikar has father issues (when your real name is Isaac, one might guess that to be the case).


A few years ago, I read Easy Riders and Ragin' Bulls, a history of Hollywood film from the late 60’s to early 80’s, when a group of new filmmakers, Scorcese, DePalma, Spelberg, Coppola, and the rest,  radically changed the ways films are made.  Zeroville follows roughly the same time period and involves many of the same characters, just in fictional, or thereabouts, mode.  However, Zeroville goes beyond that, regretting the loss of the old Hollywood and the movies that were made, despite the rigidity of making movies within the existing system that prevailed then.  If you have any love of 20^th Century film, this is a book for you – its filled with discussions, references, and criticisms of a vast catalog of movies, both from Hollwood and other places.  I was tempted to list them all at one point, but it was too daunting a task.

The hero of the story is Vikar, a strange man (“cineautistic”), who arrives in Hollywood in 1969 with a shaved head bearing a large tattoo of Elizabeth Taylor and Montgomery Clift from A Place in the Sun.  A repressive childhood (“God hates children.  He killed his own child.”) has left Vikar with one passion in life, film.  He manages (after being considered a potential suspect in the Manson murders) to find work building sets and from there getting involved in editing.  He also comes across Viking Man (essentially a renamed John Milius), a member of the new Hollywood, who helps Vikar (and names him as well) understand the odd world he inhabits.  Vikar yearns for the magical Hollywood of old and has a hard time understanding the new – his tattoo is constantly mistaken for Natalie Wood and James Dean, which confounds him to no end; after all this is Hollywood, how could they not know?  Still, Vikar establishes himself as a success in the new Hollywood.  Vikar’s personal life is barebones; he has difficulties connecting to other humans in general, with some exceptions – there’s a rather Taxi Driveresque relationship with a young girl Vikar runs into off and on (her mother is an unstable actress with a fractured relationship with Vikar).  Vikar does also find something in 70's punk - "I Wanna Be Your Dog" touches him like nothing else.

The ending drifts off to its own ambiguous end.  At first, I was a bit put off, as it didn’t seem to fit well.  Much like the hero, the book seemed to just exhaust itself.  Maybe that’s the point.   But I can read about film until the cows come home, and when it is done intelligently and passionately, as many of the characters do here, I'm in literary heaven.

Fuck continuity.  Indeed.

I would imagine if you like this, Suspects would also be worth a try.

The Narrow Road to the Deep North - Richard Flanagan

Flanagan upends ideas about heroism and bravery in this story, which uses the construction of the Burma Railway by Australian POWs in WWII.  Large sections of the book take place during this, and it is horrific stuff.  Disease and starvation are rampant among the prisoners, who are forced to work grueling schedules in intolerable conditions.  Their leader is Dorrigo Evans, a surgeon, who by rank, and attrition, is suddenly responsible for life and death decisions for all the men.  However, his range of decisions available are few, and their Japanese guards often demand them quickly.  Evans tries to save the most vulnerable of the soldiers by getting them days of rest when he can, but it all seems futile as more and more of them end up dead.




As a straight narrative, this is a gripping read.  What makes it rise above that, though, is Evans.  Although he is apparently a natural leader, respected by all his men and even his captors, he feels inadequate for the task.  This feeling will follow him for his entire life, even as he is celebrated back home as a hero, and for his skills as a surgeon.  Evan's personal life is marred by serial illicit affairs with several women despite his longtime marriage and family, and he seems emotionally empty for much of his life.  He is haunted by the one great love of his life, shortly before he heads off to war, with a woman married to his uncle.  This affair, and the complications that arise from it, both during his time in Burma, and after, will shadow him through everything he does.


The contrast between life as prisoners and Evan's civilian life is jolting.  The Burma sections are the ones most vivid - men on the verge of death with every step they take a monumental burden, surgeries attempted with a lack of supplies, medicine, and in one case, a lack of enough patient.  The scenes in Australia are more ephemeral - there's a section where Evan's is attempting to rescue his family from a wildfire which seems surreal.  We also get some of the post war history of one of the Japanese, who, despite is brutality during the war, is able to blandly assume a normal life after it.  I assume this is there to demonstrate the peculiarities of our roles during extraordinary times, and how those roles may be of no relation to the rest of our lives.


This can be a difficult book to read at times - the prison camp scenes are graphic, but it is well worth the effort.

El Payaso

Exposing Trump as the most awful, embarrassing excuse ever for a presidential candidate is almost easy;  I suppose that’s part of his plan.  You become almost immune to his constant hatred, bigotry and ignorance.  Yesterday’s press conference being a prime example – 40 minutes of a temper tantrum railing at the press for doing their job of asking questions, and showing Trump for the snake oil salesman he is.  The checks just happened to go out last week indeed……

Asked recently about what he looks for in potential Supreme Court nominees, Trump replied, “Well, I’d probably appoint people that would look very seriously at her email disaster because it’s a criminal activity, and I would appoint people that would look very seriously at that to start off with.”  Ignoring the irony of that statement based on yesterday’s press conference, it does make obvious Trump has no idea what the Supreme Court does, how it works, or much else about it.  But that’s par for the course with him – no policy, just a bunch of rambling statements that change day to day. 

Anyway, the article below is about Trump and his blowup at the judge overseeing his Trump University case.  Another ignorant, racist rant, but one that shows the true depth of his awfulness.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/volokh-conspiracy/wp/2016/05/29/on-donald-trump-and-the-rule-of-law/

The Silent Cry - Kenzaburo Oe

Plot:  Soon after the suicide death of his best friend and the institutionalizing of his child, a young man returns to the village in rural Japan of his youth along with his wife and brother in order to sell a building on the family property to a Korean store owner.  As his brother initiates an uprising among the locals, our hero becomes more depressed and unable to do much of anything. Events long in the past continue to resurface and are subject to competing interpretations.


Why read it?:  An unrelenting work of despair, The Silent Cry is an awesome work.  Its dense, not easy, nor fun, to read.  But it will affect you like few other works.


A few years ago, I read Nip the Buds, Shoot the Kids, Kenzaburo Oe's first novel.  I had bought it for one of my daughters sometime before, but I don't believe she ever read it.  It didn't make a great impression on me, truth be told; it was a very Lord of the Flies style story of young boys fending for themselves.  In this case, though, it is a group of reform school boys abandoned in a remote village by the townspeople, who all leave when a plague outbreak occurs.  Unlike Flies, the boys here stay together for the most part; its the villagers who pose the biggest threat.  The boys actually manage ok on their own, but vandalize the village while left to themselves.  The villagers eventually return and are not only mad about the vandalism, but worry about what will happen if everyone finds out they abandoned the boys. Its an unsettling work that ends without much resolution.




Anyway, a few months back, I spotted The Silent Cry on a Goodwill shelf.  It sat at home for awhile before I picked it up.  Life will never be quite the same......




Few books start as full bore as this one does.  Even fewer, perhaps none I have ever read, are able to keep it up for their entirety.  The Silent Cry does.  There's no escape within, even for a moment.  This is not a fun, or even enjoyable, book to read.  But it is brilliance, in the way that There's A Riot Goin' On is as well.  No escape, not even for a second.




The hero, Mitsu, is a mess.  A young Tokyo translator, with a wife and a severely mentally handicapped son, who they have institutionalized, Mitsu is also dealing with the suicide of his best friend (as Oe will remind us over and over, he painted his  entire head red (actually crimson, there is a lot of crimson in this book), stuck a cucumber up his anus and hanged himself). Mitsu's immediate family has a checkered history:  his older brother was killed as a teen under hazy circumstances years earlier, a younger sister, also mentally handicapped, committed suicide, and their father disappeared in China during WWII.  Mitsu himself is blind in one eye, the result of rock being thrown at him by fellow students when he was a boy.  Mitsu soon finds himself, by choice, in the hole being dug for their new septic tank, furiously trying to make the hole cave in on itself.  Oe puts in his characters in holes in the ground a few more times before the end.  Haruki Murakami does the same thing in A Wind Up Bird Chronicle, I'm assuming not by chance. Murakami, who writes about the next generation of Japanese, zeroes in on many of the same ideas of Japanese culture, just a bit more mature - his characters have overcome the guilt, but often feel lost and aimless in a society that favors conformity.  Mitsu, not being a man of action, fails at that, like most everything he seems to do.




Mitsu's younger brother Taka, arrives from the US, where he is a student at Columbia.  Taka had been a leader of student protests (against the Japan-US Security treaty in 1960) and is in many ways the opposite of Mitsu; Taka lives a life of grand external actions.  Both brothers, however, are driven by their family's long history back in the home village.  Along with Mitsu's wife, who has started drinking whisky by the barrelful, and a couple of Taka's acolytes(who also manage to pin the nickname Rat on Mitsu, who actually agrees with it), the two brothers head off to their ancestral home, where they plan to sell the family storehouse (as the intro to the book explains, its much more than that, but hard to describe;  its big, its old and its neat) to a local Korean who owns a chain of supermarkets and wants to move their storehouse to Tokyo and make it into a restaurant.


We get a lot of the interplay between Mitsu and Taka - each has their own version of the family history - two important events are a peasant uprising in 1860 involving their great  grandfather and his brother - the grandfather representing the existing social order and his brother the fight against it, yet still maintaining their blood loyalty; and the death of their older brother at the hands of the Korean slaves years ago.  The differing interpretations of these events drives much of what happens in the novel, as Taka undertakes his own revolt, while Mitsu festers in his own pool of shame and guilt and despair.  Of course, Taka does too, setting things up for a nasty climax.




A truly difficult read, because of the overwhelming sense of despair in all the characters, none of whom can seem to find redemption in anything they do.  While I am not familiar with Japanese history and culture to be cognizant of all that is going on, the themes are universal. There is some small hope at the end, but that is only brought about by great sacrifices.


A brilliant novel.