Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Stuff: Compulsive Hoarding and the Meaning of Things

mandy — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

I was pleased as soon as I ran my fingers over the pleasantly matte dust jacket of Stuff. My pleasure only grew once I dove in: authors Randy O. Frost and Gail Steketee smoothly meld case study and psychological analysis for an engaging read. Throughout their account, they also include a broad (though never deep) smattering of speculations about the anthropological, neurobiological, and political aspects of hoarding.

The case studies are fascinating and eclectic. The most extreme is a dire, almost sensationalist account of a cat-hoarding cult that sprung up around a psychiatrist in New York City in the 1970s, involving many of the psychiatrist's patients and hundreds of cats. A more pedestrian example is the story of a woman who got into the habit of ordering magazines in stacks of three, so that she could touch only the top and bottom copy, leaving the middle copy pristine.

The authors' analysis is insightful, accessible, and deeply resonant. Drawing on sources as diverse as the writings of Jean-Paul Sartre and the television special Affluenza, Frost and Steketee muse about the nature of self-worth, meaning, and identity in a consumer age. They sensitively acknowledge the profound significance of hoarding to those who practice it—whether it is the woman who believes that she will lose her memory in the absence of physical reminders; the man with ideas for reusing even the most ragged, cast-off item; or the woman whose stacking behavior began as a way to wall off a room in which she was raped. One chapter at a time, the authors piece together a framework for understanding the beliefs and desires that underlie hoarding—difficulty with so-called “executive” functions such as planning and decision-making; an attempt to preserve memories and opportunities; and, perhaps, an advanced capacity for seeing meaning, beauty, detail, and potential in material objects.

Narratives such as Stuff walk a difficult line, acknowledging the very real havoc that psychopathology can wreak on human lives, without casting it as an extra-human phenomenon that renders its bearers worthless, incomprehensible, monstrous, or undeserving of autonomy. Throughout their book, Frost and Steketee try hard to emphasize the humanity of their subjects—so hard, in fact, that they wind up sounding like they are trying to convince themselves. The book radiates an uncomfortable combination of identification and disgust—for example, the authors joke that they notice their colleagues tidying their offices out of the fear that they too will be labeled “hoarders” by the experts.

As another example, consider the following description: “Some theorists have posited that people with hoarding tendencies form attachments to possessions instead of people.... Hoarders...are remote and suspicious. Irene, however, defied this categorization.... She had a quick wit and a well-developed sense of humor. It was easy to see why people liked her.” The authors continue, “It is no coincidence that most of the people described in this book are highly intelligent. Although hoarding is considered a mental disorder, it may stem from an extraordinary ability.” I appreciate the nuance—I would rather explore hoarders' heightened sensitivities than flippantly label them damaged goods. However, this “madness equals genius” move merely reinforces the idea that human lives are only valuable as long as they are “productive” or otherwise gratifying to an external observer. What if Irene had not been personable, or “articulate and insightful,” as she is later described? Would we then be justified if we failed to relate to her, or to see her life as worthwhile?

Like many human traits, hoarding can be extremely debilitating—at times even fatal. And, as the authors point out, perhaps it is also a form of artistry. However, it is essential to tell the story of both the disorder and the gift without sensationalism and without thank-God-it's-them-and-not-me relief. Frost and Steketee strive for this balance, but in the end it eludes them.

Written by: Ri J. Turner, March 8th 2011

Solo

tina — Sat, 05 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Rana Dasgupta

Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Initially, it was the synoptic descriptions of Solo that drew me in. I saw phrases like “enigmatic,” “thought-provoking,” and “demanding,” along with geographical settings such as Berlin, Bulgaria, and New York City. The cover artwork interested me as well. It depicts the white silhouette of a man against a seafoam blue background; he has a cane and his upper body is dissolving into birds. I hadn't read much fiction in recent months, so I was eager to jump back into the storytelling pool with this book.

Solo begins sadly and remains sad throughout. Ulrich, an old Bulgarian man nearing his 100th birthday, is completely blind and relies on the charity of his neighbors to exist. He has nothing to do except relive his life, one memory at a time. Ulrich was born and raised alongside the timeline of the twentieth century and each of his dreams has been thwarted by the major events of the times. Even after managing to leave Bulgaria to study chemistry in Berlin, he is called back to his home country to face its ruin at the hands of Russian Communists. Ulrich never leaves the country again.

The second half of the novel concentrates on Ulrich's “dream children,” Bulgarian siblings Khatuna, Irakli, and Boris, an orphan and violin prodigy. Each has a sad beginning in their native Bulgaria and they find their respective ways to the United States (echoing Ulrich's own frustrated attempts to leave Bulgaria). In America, their lives entangle messily. Which of them will find happiness? Khatuna, Irakli, and Boris are Ulrich's dream of the twenty-first century, where there is no need for any of the old failures of twentieth century Bulgarian life.

In an interview, author Rana Dasgupta (a British-Indian who has lived largely in the U.S. and India) referred to the “self-absorbed” nature of America and India, countries he believes behave as if they’re “the only countries in the world.” This is why the author chose Bulgaria, a small and “uninteresting” country, as the setting of his second novel. Small it may be, but the milieu is anything but uninteresting. The characters, down to those who make the briefest of appearances, are fully realized. More than once I became tearful at the transpiring events. The prose is fine, strong, and pretty. I enjoyed Solo very much and recommend it to any fan of literary fiction, history, or armchair travel.

Written by: Natalie Ballard, March 5th 2011

Buddha's Orphans

admin — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Samrat Upadhyay

Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

I’ve been behind the ball in the sense that I haven’t had a chance to read any works by Samrat Upadhyay. Upadhyay is a Nepalese-American writer, who has already published three full-length works of fiction, including Arresting God in Kathmandu, The Royal Ghosts, and The Guru of Love. His latest novel is called Buddha's Orphans, and since it was just published, I felt it would be the perfect place to address my reading oversight.

Buddha's Orphans is exemplary of a book that entwines the political upheaval of Nepal with a personal love story. The emotional core is the fragile romance that blooms between Raja, an orphan, and Nilu, who hails from an upper-middle class background. One might read the novel through the frame of a Jamesonian allegory, but there are really too many layers and too many subplots to consider that already fracture our understanding of the novel, where post-colonial allegory is perhaps one of many competing concerns.

What makes Upadhyay’s novel a success is not so much the romance narrative itself, but the concluding arc in which Upadhyay makes clear that Raja’s experience is not singular. Indeed, there is an incredibly interesting repetitive narrative motif that emerges toward the novel’s end that makes it unclear whether a certain portion is occurring in one time period or another. Yet the point is dynamically made: the “orphans” that populate the novel are many in form and character, and the novel imagines a way in which to interrogate the cycle of expectation and caste that are the mainstay of other works situated in the field. Indeed, Raja and Nilu embark on a love marriage, rather than the more traditional forms that arise out of arrangements and matchmakings.

There is also a very interesting occupational trajectory for Raja, as he begins to work for a publishing company that produces tourist guides. Here, I couldn’t help but think about the way Upadhyay “domesticates” the Nepalese fictional terrain so that we might move beyond the touristic gaze that reduces the local population to “local color,” so quaint as to be purchased through trinkets and souvenirs. To be sure, Upadhyay does grant the reader uninformed of Nepalese contexts an engaging narrative, but it is not without its political heft and Raja continually considers the nature of his own political activism and his desire to produce social change.

Given the additive impulse that still sustains many of our teaching interests in Asian American literature, Upadhyay offers us a narrative which calls attention to a country often overlooked with the pan-ethnic rubric that situates the field. In this regard, his works are a welcome addition to syllabi looking to extend into national territories deserving of more representational inquiry. I enthusiastically look to catching up on his previous works!

Cross-posted at Asian American Literature Fans

Written by: Stephen Hong Sohn, August 16th 2010

Dreaming in Hindi: Coming Awake in Another Language

admin — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 01:00:00 +0000

By Katherine Russell Rich

Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Katherine Russell Rich never dreamed she would leave her job as a tough-skinned editor in the edgy world of New York City’s magazine publications. Then she was faced with two rounds of cancer—the second bringing her to the brink of death. Just as she came out on the other side of her illness, she was handed a pink slip. A firm internal voice urged her to seek a more artistic life. Little did she know that this voice would take her halfway around the world.

Russell Rich’s first visit to India came by accident. A newspaper editor called with a writing assignment, and Russell Rich promptly lied saying she would be in India. The editor called her bluff by suggesting she write an article about the trip, so she stepped out of her chaotic world and made the journey.

Never in her life had she been to such a place. The smells and colors, the markets and people, and the languages and landscapes swirled inside her head and heart. After returning home, Russell Rich sought out a professor to give her lessons in Hindi, and not long after this, she applied and was accepted into a year-long, intensive, language learning program in Udaipur, Rajasthan. Dreaming in Hindi was born of her experiences there.

The events that took place while Russell Rich learned Hindi transformed what would have been a purely academic book on language learning into a touching and passionate memoir. The book is filled with startling, poignant, and hilarious stories that include a fellow American student being sent home for writing death threats against a Hindu girl who rejected his advances in his school journal, accidentally appearing half-naked in a temple because she did not correctly drape her sari, and developing a close friendship with the Hindu women in the home in which she lived.

Dreaming in Hindi struck a cord deep in my heart, and I found myself longing to visit the country that Russell Rich describes. This book gives us permission to step out of our comfortable boxes, try something new, and perhaps, change our lives.

Written by: Ann Hite, November 27th 2009

Animals Make Us Human: Creating the Best Life for Animals

admin — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 23:20:00 +0000

By Temple Grandin

Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

I used to work at a college with a woman who had Asperger syndrome. Because we were both far more interested in animals than humans, we would convene every morning to discuss what sorts of dogs we’d seen during our respective commutes. “I saw a large German Shepard out for a walk,” she would tell me with as much as emotion as she ever showed. In response, I would tell her stories about my cat. Without fail, she would ask about him every single day.

After spending a year of my life comparing notes with my co-worker, it was reassuring to come across the work of Dr. Temple Grandin. Grandin, a doctor of animal sciences who has a type of high-functioning autism, is widely regarded for her work to improve humane treatment of animals, including livestock. A visual thinker, she often compares her own cognitive abilities to those of animals. She has said, for example, that animals are highly sensitive to sensory detail in the same ways that she is. While not a radical animal rights advocate, Grandin is the best mainstream ally that a soft sciences vegan like myself can find. In Animals Make Us Human, she explores the ways in which humans can create the best existence for the animals in their lives.

Grandin believes that we are responsible for animals. In order to best provide for them, she lays out practical guidelines about healthy environments and debunks myths about animals’ “natural states.” She tackles a broad range of topics, from providing positive reinforcement to cats to distinguishing between captive and companion animals. She questions Dog Whisperer Cesar Millan’s alpha dog theories while admitting that his work has created a functional—if unnatural—environment for rescue dogs. Grandin’s unique blend of scientific writing and layperson language makes her writing uniquely interesting and accessible. In one paragraph, she will explain different types of dog aggression. In the next, she will chastise a human’s behavior and write, “What that lady did was terrible.”

Grandin and I fundamentally disagree on ideas like “humane slaughter,” since I don’t believe any slaughter is humane—let alone necessary. We also disagree about zoos. While she feels that zoo enrichment programs have made conditions better for animals in captivity, I can’t go near park gates for fear I’ll either start hysterically sobbing, trying to free the animals, or both—the former having already happened far too many times in my life.

Grandin also acknowledges in the book’s Afterword that she continues to work in the industry instead of protesting from the outside because, in her lifetime, conditions have radically changed. She continues to eat meat based on the conditions she saw at the beginning of her career in the 1970s. I find this a bit frustrating since thirty years later, factory farming has exploded in the Americas, and the treatment of farm animals has become shockingly bad in many places. It’s never too late to reevaluate.

I respect Grandin’s work because as much as I’d prefer that factory farms be outlawed tomorrow, I believe her advocacy does improve life for many animals. Unlike some scientists in her field, she firmly believes that animals have emotions that must be respected. My own personal convictions aside, Grandin’s books about animal-human relationships are one step forward for people who never before considered animal welfare from a practical standpoint.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, October 25th 2009

Stepmonster: A New Look at Why Real Stepmothers Think, Feel, and Act the Way We Do

admin — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 16:55:00 +0000

By Wednesday Martin

Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Wednesday Martin lists Step-Dilemma Number One as “The Myth of the Blended Family” in this emotionally charged look into the real experiences of stepmothers: Stepmonster. She writes, “The blended family myth depends on and derives its potency from another myth, a notion just as widely embraced, just as dearly cherished, and just as fantastical–namely, that all women should love all children all the time.”

Interviews with stepmothers of all ages and experiences revealed to her how common some of the feelings and contradictions are for anyone who takes on this role. Pulled between a new marriage, the ex, and children who aren't mature enough to perceive the complexities of the situation everyone is in often make for a powder keg of negative feelings that are utterly taboo to express. Unlike new mothers, who can share their burdens by commiserating about how rough it is to lose sleep, stepmothers are faced with looks of horror if they dare admit any aspect of their new lives might be less than perfect–or a complete disaster on a daily basis.

Stepmonster came about after this Yale-educated woman with a doctorate in comparative literature married a man with two teenage daughters and, (surprise!) had a rough time adjusting and overcoming the desire to make everything… blend. She uses her own nine year experience as the kindling for an in-depth study into the half-truths and sociological myths underlying–and thereby negatively effecting–women who attempt to situate themselves into the stepmother role. Fairy tales, sociobiology, and a genuine understanding and empathy all make this an essential read for anyone about to enter into, or already steeped in, the maze of the stepmother role.

As an adult stepchild, I have recently become very close with my own stepmother after years of virtual estrangement. Reading this really opened my eyes to a lot of my own behavior as an adolescent that kept her at arm’s length without my having even been aware of it. The nature of a divorce and remarriage is so intricate and emotionally complex, and involves so many aspects of the both new partner’s self-image and the formulation of the pre-existing children’s identities, that it is daunting to unravel.

Our culture has a tendency to be overly child centered. Mothering my four year old twins, I see that my rose-colored glasses about what it is like to raise children were idealized, fantastical notions of nurture over nature. I believed if you treat a child like Buddha, Buddha they will be. Reading this book only gave me a glimpse into how difficult it might be to negotiate one's position in a dynamic already haunted by past family habits; a family that did not manage to successfully work things out.

This book is an important addition to the literature of motherhood that has been so popular in recent years. As we allow ourselves to admit that motherhood consists of messes and calamities alongside the miracles and tears of joy, we must also admit that “blended” families are not formed overnight, if ever. Some children never forgive their parents for perceived injustices of childhood, and sometimes, it is not the parents' job to fix everything for their children.

Written by: Jen Wilson Lloyd, September 21st 2009

Just Like Family: Inside the Lives of Nannies, the Parents They Work for, and the Children They Love

admin — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 09:18:00 +0000

By Tasha Blaine

Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Like Tasha Blaine, I once took a job working as a nanny. Also like the author, I thought it would be a relatively easy gig that would allow me the freedom to write while working in a nice, supportive environment. We both quickly realized that working as a nanny is one of the most intense, draining, undervalued, and emotionally taxing jobs in our modern society.

In Just Like Family, Blaine combines her personal insights, her MFA, and several years of research to closely follow the lives of three different nannies in three different cities over the course of one year. The portraits she paints read more like a novel than the sociological study they really are, and that makes her book as entertaining as it is informative. There is Claudia, a young mother who came to New York City from Dominica and still dreams of a career in nursing; Vivian, a college educated career nanny in Massachusetts running for nanny of the year; and Kim, a nanny with twenty years of experience who accepted a live-in position in Texas on the eve of her second divorce.

It is the intimacy of these stories that make the book so compelling. That level of absorption allows a unique opportunity for Blaine to educate readers about how complicated it is to work in such an emotionally intense environment. A nanny is not only charged with raising young children, but must navigate the complexities of another family from the inside, all the while enduring the stresses and hardships of a primary care giver in a society that still holds childcare near the bottom rung of the economic food chain.

Whether or not to have children, and then how to go about raising them, will be a central issue of feminism as long as a feminist movement is necessary. Childcare is simply not very highly valued here in the United States. It is not monetarily valued, and it is not socially valued. The author Ann Crittendon said that someone once asked of her, “Didn’t you used to be Ann Crittendon?” when she was home with her first child. I know how she felt.

When I decided to stay home with my twins, I found that even those closest to me suddenly treated me as though I’d died and been mysteriously replaced by a cardboard mommy cutout. Having no idea how completely consuming it is taking care of small children, they assumed my sudden loss of interest in pop culture (and personal hygiene) must have had more to do with my giving up on life than with not having time to spare for it.

There is a widespread cultural bias against the work of childcare that completely ignores how much time and energy it takes to raise a child. And in a culture where human resource and intellect is fast becoming the most important currency, it is astonishing that childcare is dismissed as something less than absolutely crucial to our survival. If I could afford a nanny, believe me I’d have one, but I’d be a much better employer for having read this book.

Written by: Jen Wilson Lloyd, August 3rd 2009

Young Woman and the Sea: How Trudy Ederle Conquered the English Channel and Inspired the World

admin — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 09:05:00 +0000

By Glenn Stout

Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

From 1922 through 1925, Gertrude “Trudy” Ederle was widely considered to be the best female swimmer in the world, and had no trouble competing, and winning, against men either. In 1926, at the age of nineteen, she became the first woman to swim the English Channel, shattering the previous record by two full hours.

Young Woman and the Sea is the story of Trudy Ederle told by sportswriter Glenn Stout, but it is more than a biography. Using interspersed chapters, Stout gives readers lessons on the history of swimming, the English Channel, and those who came before Ederle in women’s swimming and in the swimming of the Channel. The main focus of the book is Ederle, but it is also the story of those who helped make it possible for her to succeed so greatly.

In the early 1900s, women weren’t taught, or often allowed, to swim. It wasn’t seen as proper and few thought that women were physically capable of even doing it. The Women’s Swimming Association, founded in 1917, had a mission to change that view. Part of that mission was recruiting young girls to train, and, in 1918, Ederle became one of them. Ederle in particular challenged the psychological and scientific reasoning that women were not, nor could ever be, as strong as men.

Ederle’s first attempt at the English Channel was in 1925, but a sexist coach—who is rumored to have poisoned her—sabotaged her efforts both mentally and physically. One year later, under the guidance of a new coach, Ederle swam the Channel better than anyone before her, making the phrase “weaker sex” sound old fashioned.

After Ederle, more women crossed the Channel, one within days of her successful attempt, and more women’s sports, which had seemed so controversial before, were added to the Olympics. More women also began to turn professional, reaping the same financial benefits as professional male athletes, thanks to a change in attitudes toward female athletes.

Ederle was a celebrity at a time when few knew what that term meant. However, soon after her historical swim, she slipped into obscurity almost as easily as her fame began. One of the reasons Stout gives for her being so quickly forgotten was that the changes she inspired became so pervasive so quickly.

The story of Trudy Ederle is important and should be told often. It would be wonderful as a young adult or children’s book because of its inspirational messages of equality and perseverance. Ederle’s reasoning behind swimming the Channel may have had more to do with personal goals than gender equality, but she sure helped things along. Young Woman and the Sea is a charming read and an important reminder of how thankful women today should be for women like Ederle who have come before them.

Written by: Jill Hindenach, July 28th 2009