Book 40: Alone in Berlin

Alone in Berlin

Hans Fallada

It's understandable enough that much of the literature surrounding the Second World War centers on resistance to the existing regimes, and that most of these works devote their time to the small success of well-organized movements, partisan fighters, or good people helping to hide Jews or other undesirables from their persecutors. In Alone in Berlin, Hans Fallada draws attention to less successful efforts at resistance and paints a picture of wartime Germany in many more shades of gray than the stark black and white preferred by many of the era's chroniclers. Though the thrust of the main plot is occasionally lost as the narrative gets sidetracked, the novel offers a reasonably comprehensive view of the lives of a few normal and ordinary Germans who participated in small acts of resistance to the mighty Reich. Fallada's willingness to expose the near futility of his heroes' actions does not ultimately betray his underlying faith in human decency, but instead contributes to the book's thorough realism. Readers get the sense that Alone in Berlin reflects, as the book's afterword puts it, "the banality of good."

The range of characters explored in the book grounds Fallada's examination of Berlin in wartime, contributing to the book's sense of comprehensiveness despite the centrality of one couple's story. Fallada is also willing to look at the past from different points of view, and while the moral timbre of the book is never in doubt, significant attention is given to less savory Party and Gestapo members as well. Shifting tenses can be a bit distracting, but a preference for the present tense lends the story a sense of urgency and contributes significantly to its superb sense of setting. Though the plot lags at times throughout the middle of the book, an extremely well-executed (and lengthy) denouement transforms the book from a good novel into a brilliant one. It is here that Fallada unleashes a biting satirical tone, as well as displaying a deep sense of empathy and compassion. A well-placed interlude provides a break from the heaviest moments and the book's final sections most fully explore its central themes, presenting a thoughtful and relevant commentary on the efficacy of even the smallest acts of human decency. Alone in Berlin has small slips, but recovers in fine fashion to present a realistic and thorough view of Berlin during the Second World War as well as a moving commentary on human action, inaction, and, above all, decency in the face of overwhelming evil and overwhelming odds.

Grade: A

Book 39: The Ball Is Round

The Ball Is Round: A Global History of Football

David Goldblatt

This ambitious book attempts to provide a complete and nearly universal history of soccer, an appropriate book to turn to during the World Cup. Goldblatt begins with the origin of kicking games throughout the world and traces the development of association football from its first codifications in 19th-century Britain to the spectacle and glamour of today's most popular Premiership sides. More importantly, Goldblatt not only acknowledges but also draws significant attention to the development of the game in various countries and regions, although coverage outside of Europe, Latin America, and Africa is slim to virtually nonexistent. Goldblatt does, however, seek to put soccer in a wider historical context, and indeed this sport-specific history could successfully substitute for a more comprehensive history of the world (or at least Europe, South America, and post-World War II Africa). It is in establishing and exploring the connections between soccer cultures and the greater arcs of history that the book shows its greatest strength, as the body of the work supports the author's initial thesis that separating the world's game from the world's history would ultimately prove a fruitless pursuit.

Despite clocking in at a hefty 900 pages, it is clear that The Ball Is Round could easily suit both devoted history buffs and more reluctant soccer fans. The writing is clear and avoids excessive political or literary rhetoric, allowing enough small moments of humor to keep things interesting but (apart from an extremely excessive use of the word "ludicrous") rarely succumbing to or exulting in its own cleverness. The obvious exception to this notable- and welcome- restraint is in the well-intentioned asides that chronicle important matches in the game's history. It is here that Goldblatt chooses to (attempt to) flex his literary muscles, and often they prove almost hilariously ill-constructed. Full of quite unnecessary flourishes, these match reports often fail to illuminate both the particulars of the match in question and its wider importance; thankfully, the supporting text is usually sufficient to fill in the gaps. Apart from these missteps, however, the book is remarkably readable and accessible both to longtime fanatics and newly minted fans. Its heft ensures that it is not for the faint of heart- nor is it a casual introduction- but the book is almost pathologically thorough in chronicling important figures and developments in world soccer. An impressive achievement that straddles the line between academic information and pop culture history, The Ball Is Round should prove satisfactory for those fans who want to dive headfirst and deeply into the history of the world, as experienced through soccer.

Grade: A

Book 38: The Bluest Eye

The Bluest Eye

Toni Morrison

From beginning to end, this is a story of misery, told beautifully in a series of stories from a variety of viewpoints. The Bluest Eye examines the concept of beauty as it was in 1940s Ohio, among blacks across various classes but concentrating mostly on the poor and their struggle to get by. An opening homage to the "See Spot Run" brand of children's books frames the story nicely, as does a summarizing passage from a part-time narrator and protagonist. This first glimpse of the fate about to befall poor Pecola gets the large mystery of what will happen out of the way and allows the book to, as the narrator herself suggests, explain why and how events unfold as they do. The opening suggests also the scope of the book, which looks beyond the main story to its constituent parts and to the lives that conspired to bring Pecola and her tragedy about. Shifting settings and characters root the story without providing undue distractions, and the book explores a much greater story than its initial scope suggests. Morrison's ear for dialogue and her skill in recreating it are evident, as is a fervent desire to provide all sides of the story. While the background pieces do contribute and add to the breadth and depth of the story, The Bluest Eye can at times get a bit off track. Morrison writes beautifully, but it seems that the narrative innovation never quite works to effectively explore the themes behind the novel. The Bluest Eye is undoubtedly an important inside look at African-American culture just before the great upheavals of the 1950s and 1960s, but its beautiful writing and thoughtful architecture don't quite work for either the story at hand or the themes that lie just beyond the book's reach.

Grade: B+

Book 37: The Blackwater Lightship

The Blackwater Lightship

Colm Tóibín

Colm Tóibín is certainly aware of the assertion that all unhappy families are unhappy in their own way, and in The Blackwater Lightship he presents one that is marred by over fifteen years of resentment. This is a novel about understanding and forgiveness, a well-written book that explores the ways in which the past can haunt us and how it continually affects who we are at the present. One of the risks run in presenting a story populated (by definition) with people who harbor a deep sense of having been wronged is that such characters- and, indeed, such people- are often cold and unlikable, which is often the case in this novel. Main character Helen is vividly realistic, for example, and as her backstory is carefully revealed it becomes obvious that Tóibín has put a great deal of thought into creating his characters. She is not, however, terribly likable, and none of the characters who are stuck together for this long weekend can provide any real comic relief- or even a break from the resentment that comes to dominate the book. Some authors are able to create powerful narratives despite a lack of lighter moments (like Cormac McCarthy in The Road), but the characters in The Blackwater Lightship are often simply being rude and petty, perhaps simply for the sake of doing so; by the time the inevitable redemption begins to come around, readers may not care what happens to these petty people.

This is not to say that The Blackwater Lightship is without its merits, however. Any one of these characters could have sprung directly from real life, and the tangled web of the past has been slowly and deliberately constructed to make them who they are. And as cliché as the scenario (a group with a complicated history, plus newcomers from a different world, are forced to spend the weekend together) is, the undercurrents that run throughout the book make it unique and give it its own vibrant feeling. Tóibín's prose is simple and exact, relating what's there and not relying on fancy language to create or maintain assumptions: the characters and the situation speak for themselves. Though it's not always pleasant and can rely a bit heavily on well-tread literary ground, The Blackwater Lightship is a well-written glimpse into the lives of a group of realistic and thoroughly understood characters that provides insight on the power and consequences of unrepentant, raging resentment.

Grade: B+

Book 36: The Third Policeman

The Third Policeman

Flann O'Brien

Allowing one's story to slowly slide into the realm of the absurd opens up a world of possibilities, but if the world presented strays too far from any beaten path readers may be jettisoned left and right. It's a fine pancake, as the policemen in The Third Policeman might say, and one that this author manages, for the most part, to navigate successfully. The book begins normally enough, evoking a very straightforward story in the vein of nineteenth-century narration, complete with an overly academic narrator and delightful footnotes supporting his pursuit of the mad philosopher de Selby. Even here, however, O'Brien slips subtle hints that all might not be as it seems; and indeed, once things begin to get truly bizarre the firm establishment of this dry narration helps ground the narrative. This grounding is also accomplished when O'Brien begins each chapter by stepping outside of the main story and into often hilarious pseudoscientific asides, which balance the just barely plausible with the outright absurd in surprisingly thought-provoking ways. These asides and footnotes are, however, only distractions, and their humor only offers a temporary fix for the often wayward plot, which can sometimes send heads spinning in unpleasant directions.

This conflict between the charmingly odd and the outright insane marks The Third Policeman, and it is not only evident in its structure. Some pieces of the plot are truly original and thought-provoking, while others will produce deserved laughs. Some developments, however, are just baffling, seemingly absurd for their own sake and appearing to serve no greater purpose. It seems as though O'Brien has a tendency to get carried away by his own ideas, to the point where reading becomes laborious and all traces of the plot- and readers' interest- disappear. It is regrettable that the author allows himself to just carried away by his own ingenuity, as he possesses that particular characteristic in spades. From the elaborate set of commentaries he creates for the fictional de Selby to his deftly employed twisted logic, Flann O'Brien weaves a wandering story that becomes, with its last gasp, a poignant morality play. The path he charts in The Third Policeman is sharply written and often amusing, but it takes a few too many wayward steps to be entirely enjoyable.

Grade: B+

Book 35: Hitler's Canary

Hitler's Canary

Sandi Toksvig

The history of the Danish resistance to the Nazis during World War II is nothing short of extraordinary, with a significant portion of the country's ordinary citizens not only refusing to capitulate but also organizing the flight of most of the country's Jewish population to neutral Sweden. Hitler's Canary is a charming little book inspired by the memories of Danes who grew up in that trying period, focusing on a likeable schoolboy, Bamse, and his increasing awareness of the world around him. As a book primarily aimed at a younger audience, Hitler's Canary can oversimplify at times, and despite its promise to explore how not all Danes were good, nor Germans evil, nuance can be a bit difficult to come by in the book. This, however, does not detract excessively from the quality of the novel, which delivers an important story through Bamse's scared and simple eyes, which see things perhaps more clearly than do those of the adults around him. His narration is constructed carefully, divided into three acts to complement the Skovlund family's deep association with the theater. Indeed, acting is used to great effect in the novel both literally- in a surprisingly humorous moment of tension- and metaphorically- as Bamse and those around him learn how best to deal with troubled times. The book ends rather abruptly, but offers an intriguing and chronologically comprehensive view of wartime Denmark from the initial invasion to the country's massive Jewish exodus. Hitler's Canary is an excellently written, detailed, fun, and serious story of courage and growing up that will inform and entertain audiences of all ages.

Grade: A

Book 34: Bog Child

Bog Child

Siobhan Dowd

With the recent apology from Britain about the Bloody Sunday murders and with my internship finding me diving ever deeper into Ireland's tangled political divisions, it's difficult at times to understand the impact of the Troubles, which are of course not that long past. Bog Child is a coming of age story set against this difficult background, and it is all the more poignant because its story spans the border between the North and the Republic as well as the border between peace and war, ever porous in a politically charged, guerilla-style fight. Readers get the feeling that Fergus, who rests carefully on the edge of the opposing forces, is not placed there at the whim of the author but instead represents, in a way, a kind of majority strained between the personal and political and wishing, above anything, for peace. Very occasionally tending toward a firm, if not exactly heavy, moral sensibility, Bog Child firmly roots its philosophy in a story and a likeable and extremely realistic main character. Readers sympathize with Fergus and can fully understand the choices he makes, which seem to be the right ones but in which a hint of ambiguity lingers.

This ambiguity between right and wrong, and its clever deployment among morally sound choices, is embodied more strongly in the backstory carefully intertwined with Fergus's last childhood summer. It, too, follows themes of sacrifice, and despite a seeming clarity it offers, upon reflection, not moral platitudes but merely a satisfaction that the moral high ground was taken, with a hint of doubt hovering over the matter nonetheless. This trend toward certainty makes the novel powerful in that it echoes life in its managed complexity- morality in Bog Child is neither black and white, nor impossible to strive for; it is neither mandatory nor irrelevant. It's messy and complicated and, set against a chaotic background of both political and personal consequence, surprisingly tranquil. This book is at once compelling and meditative, full of insight yet incessantly driving its characters forward. The prose is clear and careful without drawing attention to itself, and the book is easy to read without being silly or empty. Dowd can become a little overly moralistic at times, but her exploration of sacrifice and the meaning of peace in Bog Child offers a contemplative and realistic view of the Troubles and of the importance of morality in morally ambiguous times.

Grade: A

Book 33: Marching Powder

Marching Powder: A True Story of Friendship, Cocaine, and South America's Strangest Jail
Rusty Young

An admitted drug trafficker may not seem like the kind of character one would expect to feel great sympathy for, but that is just the beginning of the vast weirdness explored in Marching Powder and is, indeed, one of the book's most normal aspects. The book chronicles the experiences of Thomas McFadden, an English cocaine trafficker who had the misfortune to be caught in the act in Bolivia, tracing the path from his ill-fated endeavor to his release from the bizarre world of La Paz's San Pedro Prison. Though there is nothing earth-shattering in this well-written, straightforward account, it provides a series of linked anecdotes that together draw readers into the alternate reality within San Pedro, which includes a surprisingly robust economy and a thriving cocaine business. Young is not out to shock with traditional hard-times prison stories, and Thomas is constructed as a likable guy, himself shocked at the conditions inside the prison and far from a hardened criminal. Told from Thomas's first-person point of view, the book charts his journey from jet-setting businessman to influential prison tour guide and presents San Pedro from a perplexed outsider's perspective. This allows readers to adjust to conditions alongside Thomas and to learn, as he does, the rules of this incarcerated life. Compelling and refusing to resort to familiar gross-out stereotypes, Marching Powder is an enthralling book successfully evokes and embeds the reader within an entirely foreign, but surprisingly familiar, world.

Grade: A

Book 32: Kafka on the Shore

Kafka on the Shore
Haruki Murakami

Most fiction can be divided based on its priorities: some books try to yank readers out of dull lives, others just want to tell a good story, and a few attempt to answer the ultimate question, asking, "What is the meaning of life?" It is in this ambitious third category that Haruki Murakami and his often mystical Kafka on the Shore can be placed, though the novel is remarkable for its readability. Following the stories of two vastly different men, the book often moves effortlessly, pulled along in an unseen current like its characters and, indeed, the Greek tragedies to which it so often alludes. In these not quite parallel stories, Murakami explores the nature of fate and, accordingly, leaves much to be explained. Rather than resorting to obscure language and pretense, however, the author (and his vivid, excellent translator) provide a metaphysical exploration within what is first and foremost a pair of stories. The characters are never forgotten (save for one utterly baffling chapter near the end) and are crafted with care- one gets the feeling that they take priority over the questions raised through their existence, that they exist for their own sake rather than to drive the author's expression of a point of view.

This vivid realization of characters and a continually compelling plot threaten to overwhelm the philosophical musings that lie beyond the book, a pleasant reversal of my experiences with many Deep Books. The constant themes are woven throughout the narrative and an unexplained, but inexplicably appropriate, strand of the fantastic threatens to undermine the story at times, yet Kafka on the Shore remains readable. Murakami is incredibly deliberate, deploying subtle changes of tense and providing small details even for supporting cast members, but it nonetheless becomes easy for readers to get lost in the story even when alternating between two stories and styles. This, then, is a book that succeeds despite its ambitions. Just when the fantastic elements begin to seem overwrought, the story settles and dreams illuminate, rather than interrupt, the book's reality. Just when the potent narration threatens to overwhelm the action and the philosophy to interrupt the story, Murakami eases up and returns to the concrete, gradually inoculating readers in the meantime so the book's concluding journeys and (subtly presented) revelations can proceed as they must, with a hint of otherworldly magic. In the end, even skeptical readers won't require the intricacies of the book's mysteries to be concretely explained, lest the explanations detract from the experience. Kafka on the Shore is an odd success, at once meticulous and free-flowing, serious and silly. It is a book that will reward careful reading while providing entertainment, a rare case where subtlely, intelligence, and a knowledge of storytelling technique create a deep and intensely enjoyable novel. Ultimately, Kafka on the Shore is an exquisitely crafted and clear conundrum.

Grade: A

Book 31: The Dead Republic

The Dead Republic
Roddy Doyle

This book marks the conclusion of Doyle's The Last Roundup trilogy, which chronicles the life and times of sometimes (Irish) republican, always interesting Henry Smart and, along with him, many of Ireland's 20th century growing pains. By the time this novel opens, Henry has had enough adventures to fill a lifetime, and the youthful exuberance that began to fade in Oh, Play That Thing! has given way to a more reflective, sober tone and a much calmer pace as Henry, though still full of energy, begins to seriously reflect upon his life. The prose still moves with occasional fits and stutters, a combination of Doyle's frenetic pacing and Henry's memory lapses, but the action proceeds, for the most part, at a reasonable clip. Doyle returns his star character and his readers to an Ireland changed by 30-odd years of relative stability, on the eve of the Troubles, and Doyle searches for the reasons behind the fighting. Henry's position as one of the original republican heroes of the GPO puts him in a unique position to view and criticize his heirs as, yet again but with much greater believability, he is thrust into the middle of history's important events. The author, however, employs thoughtful restraint and strains credibility most when describing outside events (such as a secret, complicit peace process behind the current violence), still an improvement over implausibly placing Henry in their midst. There is, too, a subdued element of magical realism, but it adds to the mythos surrounding Henry and helps cement his status as Ireland's own eyewitness.

With its more relaxed pace, action in The Dead Republic occasionally slows to a grinding halt, but conversations are crisp and Doyle manages to make sense out of a historical whirlwind stretching from the 1950s to the present day. The hints and forward glimpses of coming action are again deployed here, alternately to intriguing and annoying effect. Also evident in both supportive and detrimental ways is that Doyle is incredibly deliberate, taking care in crafting his characters and narrative but not always to the benefit of his work. Occasionally, it seems as though he is too aware of the scope of his book which, when given the chance to stand on its strengths of character development and attention to historical detail, often speaks for itself. The Last Roundup trilogy is Roddy Doyle's attempt at a sort of Great Irish Novel, and he has created a worthy main character in defiant Henry Smart, a man who by the end of his story has seen the promise, successes, and failures of the Irish Republic both as a native and prodigal. The Dead Republic may at times be too deliberate and too overreaching, but it provides a careful and worthy end to the story of a wonderfully rounded and indeed unforgettable Irish hero.

Grade: A-