Book 41: Life Goes On

Life Goes On

Hans Keilson

Life Goes On is one of that peculiar class of novels published in Germany on the very eve of Hitler's ascendance, and it dissects the effects of the country's economic unraveling during the Weimar era through the autobiographical lens of Hans Keilson. Though Keilson was Jewish and fled Germany a few years after the Nazi takeover, politics plays very little part in this novel of everyday life, which focuses more on individual lives and reactions than on macroeconomics and international, or even national, politics. Socialists are given a brief cameo, likely make briefer by the book's post-January 1933 publication date, but the story focuses on a middle-class, moderately successful shopkeeper and his small family. The occasional use of "Mother" and "Father" in place of personal names do humanize the story, but often present confusion, particularly in the early pages where readers may struggle to grasp who the main characters are, and how many they are in number. The characters are at once specific and generalized, and though the adult couple will appeal as a stand-in for a certain class of Germans, their son Albrecht is a bit more difficult to pin down. He grows significantly throughout the course of the book, but remains consistently out of reach and difficult to relate to, perhaps because of his frequent apathy and inability to understand the forces at work around him. The novel itself is similarly difficult to digest as the narrative progresses at a pace that echoes the general apathy of the time, which, unfortunately, can make it a bit boring. Time flows at an inconsistent speed, with few pivotal events to serve as guideposts or break the spell, and while this method of storytelling may reflect the times themselves, it hardly makes for compelling, page-turning consumption. In its execution as well as its content, the book is a time capsule, an almost stream-of-consciousness work that explores the tepidness of interwar Germany in both style and content. Life Goes On is most compelling as a product of its times, an intensely personal view of pre-Nazi Germany that may fail to fully captivate or resonate with modern audiences.

Grade: B+

Book 40: The Absolutist

The Abosolutist

John Boyne

The most poignant images of World War I, forgotten as it is, remain with us today, as we imagine young men gearing up for horrors they- and the world- couldn't possibly expect, only to be mown down by the hundreds of thousands while racing from trench to trench in an often futile battle for inches or yards. All wars, and many other situations besides, breed fear, but something about the First World War seems especially suited for the study of fear and its effects on human emotions and behavior. Fast-forward to today's expanding exploration of queer narratives, modern sensibilities about pacifism and non-combatants, and add it to the continuing fascination with the trenches, and John Boyne's novel The Absolutist is one result, a not-quite-revisionist story of love, fear, and the lasting effects of war and associated guilt. The first-person narrative moves seamlessly from past-tense 1919 to present-tense 1916, with each tense lending an appropriate sense of reflection or urgency, respectively. The novel is imbued with a sense of regret and sadness, not unique to war narratives and indeed hardly unusual for a book about World War I, and it becomes obvious from the beginning that this regret will serve as the driving force behind the story, and little clues scattered throughout allow the reader to slowly put the pieces together just before the narrator does, producing a sometimes-satisfying, sometimes-frustrating conversation between the reader and the book. Following the story just ahead of the actual story can help put various pieces into their emotional context, but it also results in some intended big reveals losing the punch that would make this novel absolutely excel. By the time the war story reaches its inevitable conclusion, that conclusion feels not only inevitable but painfully obvious, putting the book off-pace and robbing it of the raw emotional power on which it relies.

That this is followed by an entirely unsatisfactory and utterly off-putting coda does a disservice to the book's characters and readers alike, forcing a particular reading of the novel that may not please all readers. There certainly isn't anything wrong with an author taking a particular view of a work, or indeed a character reacting in an understandably reactive, self-pitying way to a turn of events, but the final lines of The Absolutist seemed to me to be a particular critical reading shoehorned into the novel. This does an enormous disservice to readers, who are thus prevented from honestly reacting to a heretofore ambiguous chain of events and who are instead forced to glean a specific moral meaning to the story, one which I simply did not believe had been there. The narrator (and author, and even many readers) may indeed have believed it, but the way in which John Boyne portrays that realization unfairly casts a stone-hard interpretation on the preceding novel, which would otherwise serve as an intriguing point of contention. By setting a queer story in an overtly un-queer time, Boyne invited controversy and debate, and the war narrative's closing line of dialogue seems to set up a forever-ambiguous point of personal contention for the narrator and for readers alike, only for this delicately balanced nuanced to be blown away, somewhat literally, by a clumsy epilogue. The utterly silly post-facto framework could even be excused if not for this great literary sin, which immediately re-casts the novel, which should be placed in nothing sturdier than sand, into solid stone. It may be difficult to separate my personal (and, obviously, quite unfavorable) reaction from Boyne's intent and actual words on the page, but the effect of reading the final pages greatly diminished the novel in my eyes, turning something beautiful and poetically tragic into self-serving whining. Again, this is not uncharacteristic for the narrator or the book's various genres (war story, novel of mourning, etc.), but its handling seems to unfairly foreclose discussion and debate. Expected sad ending aside, this ending is simply rotten.

Does the poorly executed conclusion sully the entire reading experience? Not necessarily. IT does force readers like me to reconsider their reactions, and it invites re-readings and re-examination, if not in the way Boyne may have intended. It is difficult to erase what was to me a terrible ending, but Boyne does successfully juggle real-time war and retrospective pathos throughout the book. He often tips his hand just a bit too early, but the cards are solid, and the characters are realistic and generally sympathetic, even if they appear a bit convenient to modern readers and contemporary politics. The book feels like, but functions well as, an old war story tailored for the present generation. The Absolutist is, despite a lackluster finish, a compelling story of love and betrayal, life and loss, the First World War and its aftermath for its soldiers and for those they sometimes left behind.

Grade: A-

Book 39: Escape from Camp 14

Escape from Camp 14: One Man's Remarkable Odyssey from North Korea to Freedom in the West

Blaine Harden

North Korea is, by nearly all accounts, a harrowing place to live, where residents are bound by the twin (and linked) oppressors of government and hunger. Society is strictly arranged into the haves and have-nots, and the lowest of all are imprisoned in the country's forced labor camps, where Shin In Geun (now Shin Dong-hyuk) was born and spent much of his early life. Blaine Harden, an American journalist, has written an English biography of Shin, based in part on Shin's previously published Korean autobiography and on extensive interviews. As a well-traveled journalist, Harden understands and acknowledges upfront the difficulties inherent in writing a factual account of torture in the world's most secretive, and closed, society. He calls overt attention to one major revision on at least two occasions, and though he does not attempt to explain the difficulties inherent in relying on human memory, he seems eager to present his story for what it is: a survivor's account, laced with relevant facts and analysis about North Korea and its defectors. While it's clear that Harden feels very strongly about human rights in North Korea (and he goes out of his way several times to remind readers of the fact), he doesn't go through pains to present Shin as a martyr, and the book, while sympathetic to Shin, does expose some dark moments in his history. Harden recognizes the differences between this story and others, and plays to its strengths, drawing on common conceptions and known facts about North Korea to build context, though some of these forays come at the expense of fluid storytelling.

Because the mere existence of the book, and Harden's prologue beyond that, gives away the story's ending, the story isn't played for suspense, which is wise, as Harden resists the urge to insert unnecessary tension. He doesn't, however, always avoid excessive theatrics or moralizations, which can occasionally intrude upon the bare-bones nature of the story and, indeed, most of its telling. His contextual explanations, while helpful, are inserted in the midst of narrative passages, and while the integration makes sense, they often break into (the brief) chapters just after those chapters began, disrupting the flow of the narrative and occasionally presenting more of a distraction than a useful addition. He often takes a big-picture view that conflicts with his laser focus on Shin's experiences, and the tension between them is often unresolved after the mid-chapter interludes. The writing itself is simple and straightforward, and Harden's restraint serves the story well. It is the power of Shin's story, and not Harden's prose, that keeps the reader effectively engaged, as is appropriate. The details themselves are predictably harrowing but are treated with a distance that reinforces the emotionless calculation that Shin relied upon for survival. Despite the obviousness of the eventual conclusion, Harden occasionally tips his hand too early and often, particularly while recounting Shin's travels beyond Camp 14's fence. The photographs are supplemented with a strange, comic-style group of illustrations depicting scenes from Camp 14 that don't quite seem to do justice to the situation. Escape from Camp 14 is a stark, straightforward account of a man's escape from North Korea's prison camps, free of unnecessary embellishments and possessing few, but generally justifiable, distractions.

Grade: A- 

Book 38: Norstrilia

Norstrilia

Cordwainer Smith

From its wealth of ideas alone, it is obvious that Norstrilia was destined to be an influential work of science fiction. Its central plot and many of the surrounding details of the setting- which pertain to diverse subjects such as genetic modification, near-immortality, and the economics of scarcity- cover many traditional science fiction tropes and pet subjects of the genre. The book can become a bit difficult to follow at times, burdened by the weight of its ideas and a loose sense of the importance of plot, but it is nonetheless worth reading for the power of its concocted reality. The inherent humor within the book, tied largely to a critique of monopolistic economic practices and an interesting twist on the Abandoned Old Earth trope, would be better received if the plot were a bit sturdier, but overall the plot is sufficient to buoy its ideas- if just barely. Norstrilia is worth reading for these ideas and for its insight into the mind of its author, but as a book laden with characters and narrative, it falls a bit flat.

Grade: B

Book 37: Nightfall

Nightfall

Isaac Asimov and Robert Silverberg

This novel is a continuation of the famous short story, taking its conceit a bit further and exploring in more depth what happens when complete solar darkness comes to a world that experience perpetual light for hundreds of years at a time. The novelization bears many similarities to the original story, but manages to flesh that story out in greater detail, further exploring the nature and believability of information (and misinformation) and the foundations and consequences of religious beliefs. The setting is set in compelling detail; because it is largely a proxy version of Earth with a slightly different solar arrangement, its characters and cultures are accessible. This magnifies the importance of the central problem- what happens when the sun sets on a world of perpetual light?- and allows the plot to unfold as an extended thought experiment that ultimately shines a mirror on our own societies. The book can seem a bit heavy-handed at times, but operates with enough ambiguity to provoke genuine introspection on behalf of the reader; moreover, much as it may seem distasteful to some readers (as it was always bound to be, tied so closely to religion), the ultimate resolution is realistic and offers yet more (pleasant) ambiguity. As with much classic science fiction, the characters sometimes seem drawn strictly from stock molds, but as this is a novel of Ideas the lack of truly original characterization isn't too troublesome. Also appreciated is the novel's focus both on the buildup to and outcome of disaster- readers feel an almost tangible sense of doom throughout the novel's opening section and are strongly invested in the story by the time disaster eventually rolls around. Asimov and Silverberg's continuation of Nightfall doesn't radically alter the source material but does provide an introspective, thoughtful expansion of its ideas that should please many science fiction fans.

Grade: A-

Book 36: Shadow and Light

Shadow and Light

Jonathan Rabb

This book, set a few years after the events of Rosa, continues the story of German detective Nikolai Hoffner and, in a way, interwar Germany. This installment takes place in the 1920s and, as its title suggests, uses the burgeoning German film industry as historical decoration. Though the book does a good job of focusing on its main character and his sons, who play an expanded role in this novel, Rabb's eagerness to evoke the era occasionally gets in the way of the narrative. Readers can feel the almost unseemly effects when major historical developments are dropped right into the primary narrative path, and though Rabb has clearly done a significant amount of research the details sometimes feel a bit too convenient. Just as in the previous installment, major historical figures make cameo appearances that feel too unlikely to contribute to a sense of realism, as was likely the author's intention. Likewise, Rabb goes a bit too far overboard at times in pursuit of shock value, and the horrors he depicts (though secondhand) feel a bit sadistic even for a series predicated on murder mysteries. The images do leave a lasting impression and certainly paint the right-wingers in a sufficiently horrifying light, but at times they feel exaggerated, more like props to prove a point than essential parts of the story's fabric. Nonetheless, Rabb's vision of Weimar-era Berlin is captivating, and the central stories compelling enough to maintain the reader's attention. Hoffner himself seems drawn straight from life (though biographical details are occasionally revealed in clumsy information dumps) and, ironically for a fictional character, provides a sense of realism when history seems exaggerated to suit the author's needs. Shadow and Light is far from revelatory, but provides a sufficiently interesting mystery that continues the development of its compelling lead detective in a unique historical setting.

Grade: B

Book 35: Fire Watch

Fire Watch

Connie Willis

After reading Doomsday Book and the eponymous story in The Best Time Travel Stories of the 20^th Century, I knew that I had to read more Connie Willis...and I was absolutely right. I don't know what it is about her stories, but Willis continually finds ways to amaze me. Perhaps it is her range- from time travel to post-apocalyptic landscapes to a more typically futuristic space station, Willis pulls it all off seamlessly. Perhaps the power of Willis's talent lies in her ability to make the science fiction conceits almost vanish behind the raw emotional power of her stories: despite sometimes employing standard science fiction tropes, these are not (merely) gee-whiz-wow tales. Willis writes fiction that should be considered alongside the work of the lit-fic critics' darlings, haunting stories that stay with you long after you turn the final page. To choose standouts in a collection like this feels at best like a hilarious understatement, but the stories that have had the strongest effect on me are the horrifying "All My Darling Daughters" (I was continually shocked by the brutality of this story, yet couldn't stop myself from reading forward) and "A Letter from the Clearys," which might actually be more devastating despite employing a far more subtle emotional touch. Fire Watch may have been Connie Willis's first published group of short stories, but it is simply superb, the work of a living master.

Grade: A

Book 34: Mathletics

Mathletics: A Scientist Explains 100 Amazing Things About the World of Sport

John D. Barrow

In a way, everything kind of boils down to mathematics. As someone who is normally sports-crazed, and even more so in an Olympic year, the intersection of physics and human physicality is one that has always fascinated me. When I saw Mathletics, therefore, I needed no second look to immediately yank it off of the shelf. Within, I found a group of loosely related, not-at-all organized tidbits about math and its effects on aspects of numerous sports, a marginally disappointing collection that nonetheless lived up to its billing, if a bit too literally. It's unclear who Barrow's intended audience is, and his general audience may be put off by the complex mathematical calculations and "trust me" attitude. Surely more of the math could be put in layman's terms? The frenetic pace of the book doesn’t help much, either. Though Barrow's inclination to organize the book as a series of vignettes is appreciated, readers are whipped back and forth between types of questions and types of sports, never able to gain a foothold on the subject at hand before the next approaches. And, most disappointingly, the book minimizes the magic of sports and fails to capture the intangibles that make sports so enjoyable and unpredictable. Sure, this is a book about the hard math behind human achievement, but in execution it sucks more of the life out of the subject than may have been necessary. Chapters on certain subjects, such as the real weight of individual events in sports such as the decathlon and modern pentathlon, are enlightening and intriguing, but most of the book passes by in a flurry of numbers and variables, without many conclusions actually sticking in the reader's mind. Mathletics lives up to its billing, but it's a billing that sells the subject matter short, and one that might alienate the most interested readers.

Grade: B-

Book 33: The Best Time Travel Stories of the 20th Century

The Best Time Travel Stories of the 20^th Century

Edited by Harry Turtledove and Martin H. Greenberg

Time travel is a tricky and multifaceted concept, and the idea of an anthology consisting solely of stories that consider the concept and (crucially) its potential ramifications was immediately alluring to me. I'm not qualified to determine whether these stories represent the best of the subgenre's many offerings, but I've encountered enough fiction to know that this collection represents a fine and varied representation of time travel stories. While there are the usual expected duds, as with any short story collection (Robert Silverberg's "Sailing to Byzantium" was absolutely inscrutable to me, despite the promise of a great premise lurking somewhere within), the proportion of mind-blowing greatness to said less spectacular fare was pleasantly high. Almost every story represented a fresh take on the core concept, and the book has a good balance of stories that alternately provide humor, emotional insight, fear, and/or sheer wonder. The best of the bunch, for me, was Connie Willis's "Fire Watch." Though it represents a fairly straightforward narrative, something about the story grabbed me immediately and still hasn't let go; it is a sterling example of the ways in which science fiction can, because of (not despite) its clever conceits, explore the depths of human emotion and the fundamental nature of humanity. Bradbury's classic "The Sound of Thunder" is present, but the omission of "All You Zombies" is a mystery to me. Regardless, The Best Time Travel Stories of the 20^th Century is a riveting collection of top-notch fiction that transcends genre while representing it admirably.

Grade: A

Book 32: Out of the Past

Out of the Past: Gay and Lesbian History from 1869 to the Present

Neil Miller

Gay and lesbian history is still very much in flux in the contemporary United States, as evidenced by recent and foreseeable election results and court cases. Neil Miller's attempt to distill American and, to a lesser extent, western queer history is admirable in its scope, even if that scope is primarily limited to the period between 1870 and the mid-1990s. Though he focuses on the United States, Miller occasionally (but perhaps too-briefly) forays into Europe and, in one welcome instance, Japan, allowing the reader to glimpse other gay cultures and the influence they had on one another. One major problem in writing the history of a subculture, especially one as consistently castigated as various gay communities, is the temptation to retroactively define various individuals' sexualities. He admirably acknowledges the difficulties inherent in labeling those who never labeled themselves, and when focusing on particular individuals (as he often does), he presents contextual evidence for the assumptions he, alongside others, has made. His history is less of an effort to claim famous historical figures or events for homosexuality and more of an attempt to trace the development of homosexual community and societies' views thereof. Importantly, the book tracks different definitions of homosexuality, often in conjunction with greater contextual histories that capture the feel, gay and otherwise, of settings such as the Old West, interwar Europe, and San Francisco after World War II. Miller includes both grand histories of gay movements and intimate personal biographies of queer figures (suspected, admitted, or otherwise) that personalize his book, which avoids the dry, de-personalized, and sanitized feel of most sweeping histories. Equally accessible to history majors and more casual readers, Miller's book is peppered with literary excerpts and first-hand accounts that serve as useful suggestions for further reading and as miniature glimpses into the history that Miller recaptures throughout his book. Out of the Past presents a thorough and accessible overview of gay and lesbian history; though not without its flaws, it certainly is a more than adequate introduction to the topic for gays and straights alike.

Grade: A