Random House

Luka and the Fire of Life

mandy — Sat, 05 Feb 2011 16:00:00 +0000

The world according to Salman Rushdie post-fatwa is a very bad place. If his books from this era are anything to go by, most people are judgmental, small-minded, and intolerant. In this book, and its prequel Haroun and the Sea of Stories, Rushdie is passing that same worldview on to his sons. Buried under verbal twists and turns and puns and slapstick, Luka and the Fire of Life is about a boy undertaking a quest through a mythical world (created, it seems, by his father’s stories) to save his father’s life. He braves great challenges and finds courage he did not know he had. Ostensibly, Luka is on a quest to find his own voice, but the voice he actually finds his father’s.

While I was reading the book, I kept trying to imagine a twelve-year-old boy reading it, but I couldn’t. The references to video games are a bit sad—like a sixty-year-old father trying to appear cool by getting into what his pre-teen son likes—and wouldn’t fool any kid. The adventures were too wordy and too weighty to really pull me along, let alone a mile-a-minute boy. Luka and the Fire of Life left me with an overwhelming sense of a man desperate to prove his own relevance—to everyone, but maybe mostly to his son.

And where is Luka’s mother in all this? Soraya is a flat character, given to pronouncements about how hilarious the men in her family are, more often tut-tutting than actually speaking. She sits uselessly by Rashid’s bedside while her son goes out to save the world. I wondered what kind of quest Rushdie would think of for her if he could. She does appear in an alternate form in the fantasy world, helping Luka on his way, but she does not present any counterweight to his father or his father’s image of the world.

Rushdie was at his peak with The Satanic Verses, a book I believe was as close to genius as anything written in this generation, when Rushdie was forced into hiding. It is impossible to imagine the impact a worldwide death sentence would have on a creative mind, but if Rushdie’s books of this era are any indication, then the fatwa killed the spark built in Rushdie’s early work.

I remember the hate and the close-mindedness of the fatwa; for many in the West, it may have been one the first glimpses of the power and reach of extremist Islam. But I also remember the courage of the many who stood with Rushdie and protected him in those years. I remember rallies at University and writers and others risking their lives to stand up for Rushdie. Where is that alternate worldview in his books? Tragically for his readers, Rushdie seems yet to see this side of this momentous event.

It seems like today—when religious extremisms and hate seem to be winning the war of words, when secularism and so-called blasphemy can get even the Governor of Punjab killed—Rushdie could help us see the other realities. He could show the world beyond it and behind it, not just point us through it, as if it were the only truth and, like it or not, we have to navigate it, with just a dancing bear and a singing dog and a few words of advice from an aging storyteller. I want the Rushdie of The Satanic Verses back; he really knew how to cut the legs out from under the small-minded power of intolerance.

Written by: Khadijah Fancy, February 5th 2011

Mary Tudor: Princess, Bastard, Queen

alicia — Thu, 09 Dec 2010 12:00:00 +0000

By Anna Whitelock

Random House

Pay cable offers us a whole new realm of addictions and one of the most recent was Showtime's production of The Tudors. The program, now ended with the inevitable death of King Henry (no spoilers in history), portrayed the complicated realm of the Tudor Dynasty, which included two notable queens—sisters Mary and Elizabeth. This historic era, because of Queen Elizabeth, offers us a space to enter and critique how women were used for political gain, often not their own.

Anna Whitelock offers a similar proposition when she explores the life of Mary Tudor—a life often derided in British history. Daughter of Katherine of Aragon and King Henry, Mary later becomes known as Bloody Mary and as an overzealous threat to her own country.

Though historians have depicted the facts of the dynasty and the royal successions, Whitelock's argument is that historical texts have typically overlooked the fact that the value and vision of Mary and her contributions to history are greater than simply a slaughter of the non-Catholic community.

What makes Whitelock's book powerful is both its impeccable timing (the Tudors are the new pink) and its nuanced look at how women were political tools and machines simultaneously. The complicated graces involved in diplomacy, governed by the social mores of the time, lent to women having more space to enact persuasive maneuvers and machinations. This look at power in an era where even royal women seemed quite powerless (and were publicly thought of as weaker and merely vessels) is refreshing.

The truth of the matter, is, however, that Mary's story is also a sad one. Tossed about from prince to prince even as young as two and a half as a political token, a seal of trust and betrothal between men's nations, Mary's life is much more than the violent persecution of non-Catholics under her reign.  Whitelock frames the well-known history with a lens that offers just what she promises—a new look at Mary with perhaps the sympathy or value she's often been denied. Further, the story becomes timeless as Whitelock profiles just how close Mary and her indomitable mother, Catherine of Aragon, were. The strength of relationships between women is perhaps even more valuable in an era where there was little power to be held elsewhere.

The book is a generous read, even for those not familiar with Tudor history. As you read, you will recognize the political trumps and trollops that are not unfamiliar to us today. Described with the flourish they deserve, yet written clearly and in such a manner that all characters and dates can be digested, Whitelock's biography is an excellent lesson in the lives of powerful women, fortune and politics.

Written by: Dr. Julie E. Ferris, December 9th 2010

This Is Where We Live

barbara — Mon, 08 Nov 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Janelle Brown

Random House

This Is Where We Live is the second novel of Janelle Brown. It is the tale of a struggling filmmaker, Claudia, and her marriage to Jeremy Munger, a struggling musician. A couple in their thirties who are also new homeowners, the Mungers deal with the financial burden of their home and the shortcomings of their luck in the ways of talent in different ways. While Brown has a funny and insightful writing style, the novel ultimately falls flat. Formulaic, harsh on women, and with underdeveloped characters, Brown’s novel could have been far more powerful, but instead stayed within the safe boundaries of the “chick-lit” genre.

The strength in Brown’s book was in its ability to inspire the readers to think about their own life choices. I thought that the struggles the Mungers faced were very relatable, particularly in facing the realities of financial hardship. Brown explores the question of what happens when people with creative aspirations give up on their dreams and deal with “reality.” The dialogue was honest and witty, and presented a great account of struggling to be an optimist in a world that has become obsessed with predictability.

The women in the novel were quite problematic. Brown reinforces a few binaries recycled from romantic comedies. Conveniently, in the midst of a quasi-quarter-life crisis moment for Jeremy, his wildly artistic and unpredictable ex-girlfriend, famous artist Aoki suddenly reappears. Aoki represents everything that Claudia is not. She is impulsive, confident, sexual, and just as Jeremy remembers her from his days dating her while he was a part of a successful rock band. Claudia represents the polar opposite: stability, comfort, and reality. The female characters are one-dimensional, lazy vehicles for two cliché stereotypes of women. Brown pits comfort and stability against the unpredictable and artsy woman, an epic battle already examined in many a romantic comedy. Thus, in focusing on the romantic struggles of Jeremy, the characters are left underdeveloped.

I did enjoy how Brown left loose ends, and how the tone of the book is not happy or sad. Despite its flaws, This Is Where We Live is a great easy and lazy read, particularly for an intelligent woman on the beach. While I predicted the plot and outcome of the novel before I even opened the book, Brown’s charming wit shined through this formulaic tale. However, the astounding number of cliches overpowers the funny and unique moments of the book, such as Claudia’s relationship with an elderly neighbor or her stint as a film teacher. Despite its honesty and ability to reach out to readers, This Is Where We Live is rendered mediocre because of its inability to stray from the formula.

Written by: Sara Yasin, November 8th 2010

Sacred Hearts

admin — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Sarah Dunant

Random House

Sarah Dunant's first historical novel, The Birth of Venus, captured my attention right away with one of the best openings I've ever read. I picked up Sacred Hearts hoping for something equally brilliant. While I enjoyed the book, it is not one that will make your heart race; instead, you should immerse yourself in it, let it surround you so you are living with the nuns, at their pace. Enjoy the opportunity to sink into another life and time.

Set in Florence in 1570, Sacred Hearts takes place within the walls of a convent. Young Serafina has been banished there by her family, to keep her from the man she loves. She is furious, and determined to escape.

Suora (Sister) Zuana is the convent's dispensary mistress, their only healer. She sees in Serafina more than just an unwilling novice. Though she carries out her duties (novices who wail through the night are sedated), Zuana's own troubling thoughts are rekindled. An educated woman with no dowry, she had no choice but to enter the convent. Her active mind clashes with the philosophy of convent life, and so she has had to dampen many of her more critical instincts.

Serafina arrives at a time when change is rocking the convent, the city, and the continent. There are many calling for stricter rules in these houses built for women and maintained by them. Abbess Madonna Chiara, Zuana's old friend, walks a fine line between hobbling her flock and appeasing the more radical members like Suora Umiliana, who believes they have a saint living among them.

All this excitement is tempered by the sedate atmosphere of convent life. Dunant has done an excellent job of crafting their world apart from the world. The convent is an insular place, where peace is maintained through quiet and routine. The disorder Serafina brings sends ripples through the convent, creating opportunities for some, and trapping others. The historical context of Florence in the early 1570s plays a large role in how the convent will, ultimately, change.

As for Serafina, her focus is solely on the man she loves. Her feverish desire turns to despair when their plans fall through, and the fever begins to consume her. Umiliana urges her on—deprivation will bring her closer to God, she insists, against Zuana's medical opinion.

The novel is a tapestry depicting the fight for balance and supremacy, woven with the threads of God, science, authority, family, love, and community.

Sacred Hearts makes it possible to both love and hate the convent system. Women enter for many reasons—poverty, tradition, disfigurement or disability, lack of a husband, to escape a bad husband, or even the opportunity for a different kind of freedom. Had Zuana married, she would be a wife and mother with no time to pursue her studies. Madonna Chiara has become a successful leader and politician, dealing with Church officials and the wealthy and powerful families of the nuns. The convent frees them of society's usual demands, creating a space for them to grow in other ways.

At the same time, there is much to rail against. Many of these women have been victims of society. Many, like Serafina, are not given a choice about entering the convent. Many fear the boredom—what is there to do for the rest of your life, trapped behind the walls? Add the usual feminist complains about religion (Chaiara is Abbess, but only a male priest can conduct services and give them the Eucharist.) and it sounds unbearable.

Dunant addresses this complaints in subtle ways, adhering more closely to the matters that concerned the women of the time. My fellow atheists may always be uncomfortable with topics like these, but Sacred Hearts affords us all a rare glimpse into the circumstances of these women.

Written by: Richenda Gould, July 23rd 2010

Letter to My Daughter

admin — Mon, 24 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By George Bishop

Random House

I admit that I am influenced by book titles in my choice of books to read. In that sense, Letter to My Daughter was somewhat off putting for me. I was expecting a somewhat predictable story of a mother writing a letter to her daughter. Fortunately, I overcame my reticence, and upon reading the first couple of paragraphs I found myself immersed in a riveting story.

The novel begins in present day Baton Rouge, Louisiana; a mother (Laura) has started writing a letter to her daughter Elizabeth to alleviate her anxiety and worry. Her teenage daughter has just left the house after yet another argument with her mother In her letter, Laura has decided to tell her daughter about her own troubled adolescent years and share secrets about her past she had previously been unable to confide.

As we read Laura's letter, we travel back in time to the late '60s. Laura’s parents are conservative Southern Baptists who don’t approve of her relationship with Tim, a Cajun boy from the other side of town. Laura continues to see Tim against her parents wishes until one fateful day when Laura’s life is changed irrevocably. At the risk of giving too much of the plot away, the novel touches on themes of prejudice, young love and sexuality, the Vietnam War, mother-daughter relationships, and the challenges of being both a teenager and a parent in an increasingly complex world.

You don’t have to be a parent or a teenager to relate to this story. Once I started reading Letter to My Daughter, I found it difficult to put it down and ended up reading it in just two sittings. Don’t be put off by the title of this book as I was; the author has created an unforgettable story that will stay with you for days after you turn the last page.

Written by: Gita Tewari, May 24th 2010

Paradise Beneath Her Feet: How Women Are Transforming the Middle East

admin — Tue, 11 May 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Isobel Coleman

Random House

At first I hesitated to write this review. I am a non-Muslim, Western woman writing a review of a book written by a (presumably) non-Muslim, Western woman about Muslim women in the Middle East. As I read the book, however, I became much more comfortable with the idea. Isobel Coleman’s book, Paradise Beneath Her Feet, is the result of nearly ten years of research and personal interviews with women from Iran, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, and Iraq. The book reads more like a report of women’s activities in these countries with only the occasional judgment from the author (“Linking feminism with the ‘heresy’ of the West is good politics, and helps turn patriarchy into patriotism.”) instead of one woman’s opinion on an incredibly complex and historical struggle of which she is not technically a part. (Most of the judgments, save for the previous quote, are of other Westerners who offer ignorant assessments of Muslim/Islamic feminism.)

Each country merits its own chapter, which I believe will help delineate the great differences in women’s rights struggles from place to place. Treading lightly on the tricky ground of reporting Middle Eastern policy to Westerners, Coleman quotes often from direct, one-on-one interviews she held with each subject. This removes opportunities for judgment from the author and instead allows the reader a rare, unbiased glimpse into parts of the Middle East. Within each country’s chapter, Coleman also interviews those from both rural and urban settings, highlighting the great difference in mindset between women, men, and religious leaders in different locations. The research is truly meticulous, and any reader interested in this subject matter would do well to read this book not only for the scope of knowledge, but also for the depth.

One fantastic example of grassroots change Coleman highlights is the National Solidarity Program (NSP) in Afghanistan. An Afghani alum of the World Bank, Ashraf Ghani, spearheaded this initiative to give agency for change to local governments. Localities must elect members of a community development council, which will then receive money from NSP to improve conditions for its residents. The catch? Women must be involved in decision making and benefit from some of the money.

This was not a completely objective report, however. Coleman states in the beginning that the greatest struggle she, and anyone else knowledgeable on the subject matter, saw within this movement of women’s rights in the Middle East was the role religion should or should not play, whether or not the intention behind change matters if the end results means equality for women. Coleman definitively concludes that religion must play a role in the battle for women’s rights in order for the change to be organic and sustainable, especially in rural areas where the majority of the female population in most of these countries lives. A few pages into the book’s introduction, she states (some may argue wrongfully so) that "[s]ecular feminism-both in the Middle East and in the West-has always been the province of urban elites and intellectuals, and that has long been its greatest weakness."

Considering the subject matter, Paradise Beneath Her Feet is an incredibly enjoyable read, which I hope will encourage more people to consider perusing this seemingly dense account. I read it on a red-eye flight to California after three hours of sleep and couldn’t put it down.

Cross-posted with Gender Across Borders

Written by: Colleen Hodgetts, May 10th 2010

A Truth Universally Acknowledged: 33 Great Writers on Why We Read Jane Austen

admin — Sat, 23 Jan 2010 17:01:00 +0000

Edited by Susannah Carson

Random House

Why do we read Jane Austen? Beyond the books themselves, films and BBC miniseries adapted from classics like Pride and Prejudice draw large audiences. Are we drawn in by Austen's characters, delightful yet no-nonsense writing style, or detailed unveiling of social dynamics? Maybe it's the happy endings that keep us coming back. Or is it the sheer joy in her snarkiness, snugly couched in proper language?

Anyone who enjoys Austen's work, from the casual reader on to the obsessed "Janeite" could likely come up with her own answer. In A Truth Universally Acknowledged, editor Susannah Carson gathers a tumult of theories and stories about the love of all things Jane. Only ten of the thirty-three essays appear to be penned specifically for this volume, including a thoughtful personal essay by Margot Livesey, a well contextualized and nicely written John Wiltshire piece exploring the film adaptation issue, and a shallow lark by Amy Heckerling (known for her Emma-inspired film Clueless). The rest is re-purposed: for example, Amy Bloom's accessible, friendly introduction to a 1992 edition of Persuasion; E. M. Forster's droll, well-known 1936 essay "Jane Austen: The Six Novels;" and an entertaining but predictably sexist Martin Amis piece.

The book kicks off with a foreword by Harold Bloom. Like a number of writers included in this volume, it's possible he was included mainly to pump up the star power of Carson's contributor list (Jay McInerney, anyone?) Bloom is one of the world's foremost literary critics; featuring him first, however, implies that his angle is one Carson cherishes. He uses the opportunity to declaim—with no proof whatsoever—that "Austen has no more a political or social agenda than she has a religious one... Those who now read Austin 'politically' are not reading her at all." Such pompous and dismissive declarations, handed down from on high by a guy, completely ignore how the personal really is political.

Austen's work is intimate, feminine, and intensely personal. She reveals the stark realities of being a woman in Regency England, where marriage carried utmost importance. Marry wrong or get caught shacking up, and you might end up exiled from all those you previously socialized with, including your family. The Bennett sisters in Pride and Prejudice must marry appropriate gentlemen not just to secure their own futures, but so that their parents won't be kicked out of their home. Girls who fall for rakish rogues, like Marianne in Sense and Sensibility or Lydia in Pride and Prejudice threaten their own happiness and the potential for their sisters to marry. Anna Quindlen's essay on gender in Austen, included in the book, examine some of these issues.

The primary problem with A Truth... lies not in the writing, but the editing. Shoehorning thirty-three essays between two covers does not an effective anthology make. The book could have used more direction, more selectivity, and a stronger guiding hand. If you're enough of an obsessive "Janeite" to fully comprehend all the essays included here, chances are you've already read many of them. If not, you may feel lost in some chapters and bored by others. A starry-eyed love of Austen often trips up many writers; reading A Truth... sometimes feels like perusing a fanzine written by grad students. The editor makes no bones about her own fan-girl status. "Opening the cover to this volume," she opines on her work, "is like opening a door to all the clamorous merriment of a book club meeting." Clamorous merriment? She even rocks a saucy yet precious Elizabeth Bennet-esque hairdo in her author photo.

Still, A Truth Universally Acknowledged may inspire the reader to examine more closely Austen's work—and the many novels and films it has inspired. It would make a great gift for the Janeite in one's life, and if we read with great patience, the rest of us may come to value its wide range of essays.

Written by: Tiffany Lee Brown, January 23rd 2010

Sisters in War: A Story of Love, Family, and Survival in the New Iraq

admin — Sat, 09 Jan 2010 17:01:00 +0000

By Christina Asquith

Random House

Sisters in War is a brilliant, convincing, and powerful story of three women from the same Iraqi Shia family: Zia is twenty-two years old, university educated, an outspoken and brave young woman when the story begins with the invasion of Iraq in 2001. Her younger sister, Nunu, a university student, is a quiet and traditional Muslim woman who hopes for an arranged marriage with a suitable man. Their Mamina, a schoolteacher, reminisces about the proud Iraqi tradition of equality for women in the 1950’s and 1960’s. She recalls the times of General Kassim who believed in equality, freedom and creativity for all: women, men and children alike. Since 1979, Mamina and her Ph.D. educated husband, Baba, have lived in Iraq under Saddam Hussein’s control.

The story of this Iraqi family is interwoven with the historical account of the events in Iraq during the American invasion as experienced by Heather and Manal. Heather was an idealistic and ambitious employee of the White House, whose office had already overseen $350 billion dollars in federal spending on national security programs when she understood that she could not overcome anti-American sentiment in Iraq from behind her desk in Washington, D.C. Manal was an educated, veiled woman in her twenties, an outspoken American aid worker who laced her powerful speeches in the United States with Muslim slang.

Both women traveled to Iraq where against all odds they became strong advocates for Iraqi women’s rights. They risked their own lives trying to help Iraqi women survive in their own country. They also founded the first women’s center in Baghdad.

These stories serve as a basic thread of Iraqi women’s lives, their hopes and dreams, and amongst them is Zia’s romance with Keith, an American contractor working in Baghdad. Zia supported her entire family working in the U.S. Headquarters as a translator from Arabic into English.

Zia and Nunu become the target of violent Iraqi militants. In a destroyed country, whose people experience the lack of every imaginable commodity, the dream of their liberation loses its significance. People are afraid to go out, women prone to abuse by any passing man yet unable to escape the restrictions of Iraqi society, are unable to continue their normal lives. Experiencing violence and harassment many of them fall into deep depression, giving up all their hopes and optimism for the future.

In spite of all the hardship, fear and death threats, the story has a happy ending. Zia manages to leave Iraq for Washington, D.C. in 2005, but her sister and Mamina have to stay in the horrifying, bloody city where suicide bombers kill hundreds of innocent civilians in every day attacks. Luckily, all three women are reunited at Sacramento International Airport in the summer of 2008 and Baba might be able to join them in the future. Zia’s love story is crowned by her marriage to Keith. Mamina, Zia, and Nunu are finally together and will share their lives together, hopefully in peace.

Christina Asquith, a journalist who spent two years in Baghdad working for The New York Times shortly after the start of the Iraq war, has written a sincere, thought-provoking, and timely account of the lives of Iraqi women from 2001 to 2009. This true story is engaging and very well written; in fact, I felt I was reading a novel rather than the non-fiction intimate description of the true events in Iraq. It is not only a story of women fighting for their liberated lifestyle. It is a story of Islamic traditions, religion, power, and politics versus American lifestyle, American power, and American beliefs.

In a subtle manner it recognizes the failure to understand, to want to understand the Muslim world by Americans and vice versa. Indeed, in her extraordinary book, Asquith filled in many pieces of the Iraq puzzle that needed to be deciphered.

Written by: Anna Hamling, January 9th 2010

Rapacia: The Second Circle of Heck

admin — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 23:26:00 +0000

By Dale E. Basye

Random House

To paraphrase Sartre, heck is other people. For Marlo and Milton Fauster, it’s each other. The Fauster siblings are polar opposites; Milton is bookish and bullied while Marlo is tough and angsty. Both are intelligent, and after their deaths, become trapped in Heck, the underworld school run by Bea “Elsa” Bubb, the demon principal. Rapacia: The Second Circle of Heck is the second book in the Circles of Heck series.

Rapacia focuses on Marlo, who died at the end of the first book. In the underworld, she is met by Principal Bea “Elsa” Bubb and Assistant Principal, the Grabbitt, a large metal rabbit with a penchant for rhyming and tempting greedy children. In short order, Marlo has to deal with a malfunctioning assistant principal, an evil math teacher, mean girls, and a plot to steal diamonds made from the tears of angels. Bea “Elsa” Bubb spends her time trying to outdo Lillith Couture, the Devil’s Advocate (and girlfriend). Milton, reanimated, takes on figuring out what happened to the boy who accidentally killed him in the last book, and his newfound fame as the reanimated boy, bringing him unwanted attention from the most unlikely places. I have not even mentioned Mallvania, the great mall that functions as both a lower circle of hell and a lower circle of heaven.

I enjoyed this book immensely, much more than I thought I would. It teaches children about the pitfalls of greed, the importance of team work, and learning to love yourself for who you are. It just does it with a truly twisted sense of humor and often laugh-out-loud point of view. The concept of hell as a middle school is a wonderful twist on Dante’s circles of hell, one that reaches anyone who has ever been in school. The book thinks nothing of making a joke, like Mallvania having a “Jesus Christ Superstore” or almost lawyer named Algernon Cole giving out coleslaw instead of business cards. The book takes all of these absurd jokes and runs as far with them as possible, which is the biggest problem with the novel: its inability to end a joke, which go from funny to one step too far.

With its tendency to take things too far, it’s a bit dark for children, but definitely worth the read. I laughed, I felt for Marlo and Milton, and I anxiously await the next book.

Written by: Taylor Rhodes, September 18th 2009

Mistress of the Monarchy: The Life of Katherine Swynford, Duchess of Lancaster

admin — Sun, 12 Apr 2009 10:48:00 +0000

By Alison Weir

Random House

Mistress of the Monarchy is a biography of Katherine Swynford, the Duchess of Lancaster. Swynford was the long-time mistress and eventual third wife of John of Gaunt. She also became the ancestor of every English monarch since 1461 as well as such notable personages such as George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Franklin Roosevelt, Princess Diana, Sir Winston Churchill, and George Bush.

Author Alison Weir is a prolific historian who has authored many books, non-fiction and novels, about members of the royal family. Weir did a meticulous job in researching this book, but despite her efforts, little information about Katherine has survived. So she describes those who surrounded Katherine, including her brother-in-law Thomas Chaucer, and the particularities of the time.

The most interesting aspect of the book is the insight she provides into life in the 1300s. The cultural trends she describes, from the tendency to marry young (Katherine married between twelve and thirteen years of age and had her first child one year later) to the debilitating effects of the Black Death gives readers a vivid insight into the challenging environment people lived in at that time. Weir describes the vast wealth and luxury of the noble class, the resentment of the common people, the difficulties of battle, relations between states and high-ranking people, moral codes, lawlessness at the borders, the importance of religion and the roles of women.

The main details readers can infer about Katherine is that she was beautiful, intelligent, accomplished, discreet, good with children, didn’t abuse her influence and kept on good relations with people. While the book opens with an intriguing scene in which John of Gaunt rode around estates with mistress, holding her bridle in public (a public sign of his possession of her) and in the presence of his own wife, Weir doesn’t return to this sense of confrontational scandal later in the book. Besides the fact that the affair and the later marriage were scandalous, the focus remains on Katherine’s discretion and devotion.

Given the lack of information available about Katherine, the title used in the UK version, Katherine Swynford: The Story of John of Gaunt and His Scandalous Duchess, gives a more accurate impression of the book. The figure of John of Gaunt comes through more clearly than does Katherine, as do his first two wives and his dealings with various heads of state. Readers see his love for his first wife, his propensity toward promiscuity, his religious repentance and renewed devotion to his second wife, his bravado in battle, his relations with his relatives and children.

The strength of the book lies in the detailed historical research, the sense of place and time and the resurrection of a forgotten matriarch. Occasionally, the voice loses its vigor, descending into extensive genealogical information or architectural descriptions. Since Katherine’s main contribution to history was her romantic liaison and her descendants and the available details of her personal life are few, there is little narrative arc or tension to propel readers through the book. For those with an interest in the middle ages or in royal history, this is a valuable reconstruction of an overlooked woman and a fascinating historical period.

Written by: Jessica Jacobson, April 12th 2009

The Life You Can Save: Acting Now To End World Poverty

admin — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 22:45:00 +0000

By Peter Singer

Random House

For his writings against speciesism, most notably Animal Liberation, some people think of Peter Singer as the father of the animal rights movement. Singer is also an accomplished philosopher, ethicist, writer, and bioethics professor. But with academic notoriety comes controversy; Singer has long balanced criticism for his utilitarian ethics perspectives while acting as an advocate for the rights of animals and poverty-stricken people. In his new book, Singer expands his ethical arguments in favor of eradicating poverty and lays a theoretical foundation for ending extreme poverty and the powerlessness that it both causes and reinforces.

Drawing on the general facts relating to poverty, Singer breaks down ethical arguments about how to give and why. Every chapter begins with an exercise in "practical ethics." The reader is forced to examine contradictions in generosity and weigh the moral imperatives of saving a single life versus many lives. Singer offers a variety of tips for creating a culture of giving; for example, joining forces with like-minded philanthropists to rally enthusiasm, or doing away with anonymous donations to encourage more conversation about giving money away. Repeatedly, Singer asserts that as privileged people in the developed world who are universally better off than those battling poverty in the developing world, it is our moral obligation to equalize the masses.

The problem with The Life You Can Save is that poverty is not a one-dimensional issue that can be addressed with only large-scale measures. Singer writes about poverty in broad, sometimes offensively simplistic terms, relegating the cultural, socioeconomic, and regional specifics of poverty and its causes to appendix notes. While explaining what poverty is, Singer seems to forget the root causes and how so many of the supposed solutions of today (such as creating assets through investing and relying on large organizations) are built on models that brought us to our current global dilemmas (capitalism and corrupt governments). It is clear that Singer hopes to galvanize people to believe they can be part of the big-picture solution, but there is also something to be said for small scale alternatives that address the unique needs of specific continents, countries, cities, cultures, and people. To criticize residents of developed countries instead of oppressive oligarchies seems humorously shortsighted.

Singer does the predictable chastising of the spectrum; from "Don’t Be Evil" Google co-founders who use private planes to everyday people who needlessly buy overpriced bottled water and name brand coffee, Singer finds fault with every measure of wasteful spending. At the same time, he uncritically celebrates investment capital and the philanthropy of upper class white Americans like Bill and Melinda Gates and minister Rick Warren. Should a technology monopoly and homophobia at home be ignored when guilt-ridden white people send loads of money, vaccines, and church folk to Africa? Why are the majority of Singer’s examples white American men? Forgive me if I’m unconvinced and uncomfortable with the idea that one homogeneous group of leaders has all the answers.

In line with modern publicity, you can visit The Life You Can Save website to find the book in many languages and to learn about anti-poverty organizations that you can donate to. Then again, if you’re savvier than Singer assumes, you can also use the power of the Internet to find other ways to redirect your cash to the people in need.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, April 6th 2009

Things I’ve Been Silent About

admin — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 16:47:00 +0000

By Azar Nafisi

Random House

Things I’ve Been Silent About is the second memoir for bestselling author Azar Nafisi. Offering a larger lens into her life than Reading Lolita in Tehran, Nafisi tells her life’s story and the story of her country of Iran. Interspersed throughout her memories are references to poems and novels that had a profound impact on her, as well as memories of revolts and protests preceding and following the Iranian revolution.

A captivating theme in Nafisi’s memoir is the interwoven relationship between myth and reality. When the realities of Nafisi’s life are illogical, irrational, and uncontrollable, she retreats to the world of fiction. As a child, she finds comfort and escape from her severely depressed mother in the stories she creates. She constantly has her head in a book, obsessed with ancient tales and, eventually, modern literature. Fiction is the reliable fixture that offers a comforting presence in her life. Her mother’s mythical versions of reality—which she tyrannically imposes upon her family—make Nafisi’s quest for truth more urgent. Her quest expands as a result of the seemingly nonsensical nature of post-Revolution Iran, which saw the promise of equality replaced by the rise of authoritarianism and the depletion of women’s rights.

Nafisi’s memoirs hold true to the saying that the personal is political. She tells the history of the Iranian Revolution through her story. These profound insights are weakened by the battle she continuously wages with her mother’s ghost. The magnitude of resentment and unresolved issues towards her mother that she writes about threaten to make an otherwise powerful story into an unreadable epic of self-pity.

The memoir is also weakened by Nafisi’s profuse obsession with proving her critics wrong—the same literary critics that found Reading Lolita in Tehran to be an orientalist work relying on Western stereotypes to portray Iran. She goes to great haste to strengthen her father’s political stances; she too often repeats his love of Iran, critique of the Shah’s regime, and desire for revolution. Yet she never acknowledges that her family’s economic and political privileges situate them in a less vulnerable position than many other Iranians. Instead, she portrays herself as the victim and the martyr at many points in her life.

However, the dynamic relationships between myth and reality—and the personal and political—are the redeeming factors that ultimately make Things I’ve Been Silent About an enlightening and moving memoir.

Written by: Arwa Ibrahim, March 25th 2009

Learning to Drive: And Other Life Stories

admin — Tue, 30 Oct 2007 16:52:00 +0000

By Katha Pollitt

Random House

Aside from the fact that I have two wonderful roommates (one being my male partner) and a massive dog-like cat, I don’t have sleepovers much anymore. I’m a night owl who likes to take walks after midnight and eat in bed, but aside from my usual default companions, the closest thing to a sleepover I’ve had this year was reading Katha Pollitt’s feminist confessions about editing paperback porn, Googling an ex, and ignoring fashion and beauty standards after turning forty. As an admirer of those who confess, I love demolishing formal social boundaries. I want to know the details of our lives, and I want to hear about the ultimately shared experiences of being a woman. I kept Pollitt’s essays in my bag or by my bedside all week as I meditated on her prose. Every chapter before bed felt like a revelation from a close friend, and I was hooked on our truth telling.

Because I found this easy read so genuinely delightful, I’m amazed at some of the bad press it received. I think—and Pollitt said as much herself in an October 2007 interview with the Guardian—that the negative reviews of her book are a decidedly bizarre form of literary gossip instead of legitimate analysis it deserves. Why are critics dissecting a writer’s political views—not to mention her literary aptitude—based upon her complicated feelings about post-partum ennui, oral sex, and her father’s cremains? Don’t people already know that Katha Pollitt is a feminist much like the rest of us are or hope to be: confident albeit sometimes confused in a destabilizing postmodernity, anxious about love while happily independent, set free but forever bound by motherhood? Separating Pollitt’s politically savvy Nation column and personal writing is certainly possible, but why bother? Does anyone even attempt to separate private lives and public personas anymore?

More to the point, with a gifted writer like Pollitt, there is simply no need to thin-slice. You don’t have to know a thing about the history of American social justice to enjoy anecdotes about the miscellany people try to hock on the streets of New York and leftist study groups. This collection can be taken as pure entertainment or distinctively thought-provoking sentiments from someone who has weathered uniquely female storms. Using vivid descriptions of her last forty-plus years of entrenchment in the feminist/political spectrum, you recall that our writer is a poet as well as a fiery columnist. If you’re lucky, you also remember that feminism is complicated, and that memoirs about living through it matter.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, October 30th 2007

Take Off: American All-Girl Bands During WWII

admin — Thu, 26 Jul 2007 19:01:00 +0000

By Tonya Bolden

Random House

To all naïve readers who still think Kathleen Hanna, Courtney Love or Liz Phair were doing anything new by boldly storming their way into previously male territory, may I suggest Tonya Bolden’s Take Off? A quick and easy read, complete with photos, newspaper clippings and an obsessive amount of research, Take Off chronicles the rise and eventual fall of “all-girl” big bands of the World War II era, proving once and for all that every female musician from Nancy Wilson to the Go-Go’s to any number of riot grrrls would still be just singing in the shower were it not for the brave and brilliant contribution of the swing musicians who fought sexual and racial discrimination in order to prove, in no uncertain terms, that “girl musicians…are as much the masters of their instruments as are male musicians.”

Take Off (which is slang for an improv solo) tells an abbreviated story, for sure, but nonetheless lays it out: 16 million American men served in World War II, and their absence created room for more than just Rosie the Riveter; it also allowed space for The Hour of Charm All Girl Orchestra, Ada Leonard (a former stripper) and her All-American Girl Orchestra, and The International Sweethearts of Rhythm, among others. And while _Take Off _will never be confused with a hard-hitting piece of feminist scholarship, Bolden does offer tentative critiques of the ways in which patriarchy forced the hands of the women she chronicles, explaining, for example, that as female musicians got bolder and player harder music, they compensated by dressing softer, trading in their simple skirts and blouses for strapless gowns with hem-to-hem ruffles the musicians had to iron on their travel suitcases. She also dedicates significant time detailing race relations of the time and the importance of single-race bands.

Bolden’s use of jazz-era slang throughout the book often feels a bit silly and heavy-handed, but Take Off _is still a commendable exploration of the women who worked to dismantle the myth that “only God can make a tree, and only men can play good jazz.” And perhaps best of all, the book comes with a CD of some of the most exciting swing music to come from the WWII era, reason enough to buy this book! While _Take Off is hardly definitive, it takes a necessary step in establishing that contrary to public opinion of the time, not all “women like violins.”

Written by: Lily-Rygh Glen, July 26th 2007