Tag Archives: Ruth Ozeki

Women’s Prize for Fiction 2022

And the winner is …

The Book of Form & Emptiness by Ruth Ozeki

Congratulations to the winner.

I posted my review of the winning book a few days ago, full of its praises. You can find that post here.

27 years of the Women’s Prize

Here are forty-two brilliant books, all written by women, from the short- and long-list for this year and all the previous winners. I have included links to the books I have reviewed on Bookword Blog. 

The six shortlisted books for 2022:

The sixteen longlisted books in 2022:

Previous winners of the women’s fiction prize. 

Susanna Clarke: Piranesi (2021)

Maggie O’FarrellHamnet (2020)

Tayari Jones: An American Marriage (2019)

Kamila Shamsie: Home Fire  (2018)

Naomi Alderman: The Power (2017)

Lisa McInerney: The Glorious Heresies (2016)

Ali Smith: How to be Both (2015)

Eimear McBride: A Girl is a Half-formed Thing (2014)

A.M. Homes: May We Be Forgiven (2013)

Madeline Miller: The Song of Achilles (2012)

Téa Obreht: The Tiger’s Wife (2011)

Barbara Kingsolver: The Lacuna (2010)

Marilynne Robinson: Home (2009)

Rose Tremain: The Road Home (2008)

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: Half of a Yellow Sun (2007)

Zadie Smith: On Beauty (2006)

Lionel Shriver: We Need to Talk About Kevin (2005)

Andrea Levy: Small Island (2004)

Valerie Martin: Property (2003)

Ann Patchett: Bel Canto (2002)

Kate Grenville: The Idea of Perfection (2001)

Linda Grant: When I Lived in Modern Times (2000)

Suzanne Berne: A Crime in the Neighbourhood (1999)

Carol Shields: Larry’s Party (1998)

Anne Michaels: Fugitive Pieces (1997) 

Helen Dunmore: A Spell of Winter (1996)

Here is the link to the website of the Women’s Prize for Fiction: https://womensprizeforfiction.co.uk

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The Book of Form & Emptiness by Ruth Ozeki

I loved reading this book. Previously I had read and hugely enjoyed A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki. It was a great pleasure to settle down with her new novel for hours at a time. But I have been puzzled about how to present it on this blog. It is so full of ideas, of writing skill, of adventurousness, of themes that resonate with our predicaments at the moment that I haven’t known where to start. 

The Book of Form & Emptiness

Perhaps a good place to start is with the story, for the narrative drive is strong in this book, despite everything else she gives us. Benny Oh is twelve when his father dies, killed by a rubbish truck in the alley behind his house. Benny lives in a city near the Pacific coast of the US. Locations in this novel are vague, unlike the timeframe: Trump’s election as President features, for example. But we are never given the name of the city Benny inhabits.

Benny’s father was a Korean-Japanese jazz clarinettist. His mother is Annabelle, who works as a scissors woman, clipping newspapers for a media organisation. Benny is mixed race, and one theme of the novel is how he negotiates this in present day America. 

Grief overcomes mother and son. Benny hears voices, or rather voices speak to Benny, things speak to Benny, but he resists them. The scissors that tell him to stab his teacher, for example, he can only resist by stabbing himself. This reaction brings Benny to the attention of his school’s mental health services.

The significance of things, what they mean to us, their existence, their connection to the environmental problems of our world, these are also important themes of this novel. Annabelle becomes something of a hoarder, packing her news clippings in plastic bags, keeping Kenji’s shirts to make a memory quilt, storing her craft materials in the bath until the flat is stuffed with things and the only tidy space is Benny’s bedroom.

Then a little book, Tidy Magic: The Ancient Zen Art of Clearing Your Clutter and Revolutionizing Your Life, jumps into her shopping trolley one day, and leads her, and us, into a different world of ideas about things, especially domestic possessions. Ruth Ozeki is a Zen Buddhist priest. 

Meanwhile Benny’s behaviour having attracted the attention of child psychiatrists, means he spends time in a Pedpsych ward where he meets the Alef (see Jorge Luis Borges’s short story) who is following in the path of the Fluxus avant-garde art movement. I looked that one up too. One of the Alef’s messages takes Benny to the Library, where much of this novel is located. Here he meets the B-Man who is a Slavic poet in a wheelchair, the small librarian, and even Ruth Ozeki who is typing away in a remote corner of the library. 

An older woman sat in the other [carrel], typing very fast on her laptop computer. She looked to be in her fifties or sixties, part Asian like him, maybe, with black-framed glasses and gray-streaked hair. She must have sensed his presence, because she lifted her head and looked at him, and all the while her fingers typed on, never pausing. (141-2)

And now a word about one of the narrators

Some of the story is told by an omniscient narrator, where it concerns Annabelle’s actions, or slips into the concerns of the doctors, or librarians, or retells the life of the Zen Buddhist priest Aikon, who wrote Tidy Magic.

But Benny’s story is told to him by his Book. Benny introduces it:

Shhh … Listen!
That’s my Book, and it’s talking to you. Can you hear it?
It’s okay if you can’t, though. It’s not your fault. Things speak all the time, but if your ears aren’t attuned, you have to learn to listen.
You can start by using your eyes because eyes are easy. Look at all the things around you. What do you see? A book, obviously, and obviously the book is speaking to you, so try something more challenging.  … (3)

And the Book continues to tell Benny’s story, from Kenji’s death to the final pages which are a collaboration between Benny and his narrator some 500 pages later.

The novel is full of ideas about books, quotations from Walter Benjamin, including the story of his final, lost book as he fled from the Nazis to Spain; about the physicality of ‘real’ books; about writing and the writer (think the woman in the carrel in the library) and the reader; and about finding one’s feet in a shifting and dangerous world.

For example, Slavoj, the Slavic bottle-man ,who is writing an epic poem called Earth, tells Benny about writing poetry:

“Let me tell you something about poetry, young schoolboy. Poetry is a problem of form and emptiness. Ze moment I put one word onto an empty page, I haf created a problem for myself. Ze poem that emerges is form, trying to find a solution to my problem.”: He sighed. “In ze end, of course, there are no solutions. Only more problems, but this is a good thing. Without problems, there would be no poems.” (276-7)

We have taken in some jazz, some theories of poetry, the randomness of Fluxus, ideas about connectedness, and the ecological dangers we have created for ourselves. And I haven’t even mentioned the crows.

Ruth Ozeki has explained her title by reference to impermanence and interconnection in this interview extract:

The phrase “form and emptiness” comes from the Heart Sutra, one of the core Mahayana Buddhist texts. The line we chant is “Form is emptiness, emptiness is form.” Emptiness, in this sense, refers to impermanence, and the way all things, all beings, are impermanent and exist in a perpetual state of interdependent flux, or dependent co-arising. None of us—human beings, animals, insects, books, stones, trees—has a fixed, essential self or identity independent of everything and everyone else, and this sense of interconnectedness is, I think, what Benny comes to appreciate in the novel. His relationship with his mother. His relationships with his friends. His relationship with his book. [From the Lion’s Roar, Buddhist Wisdom for our Time, an interview with Nancy Chu. September 2021]

There is so much in this book, so many ideas, such a call for the recognition and importance of difference and connection that I would like to encourage readers to pick it up and enjoy it as I did. This generous novel seems to be bursting out of its pages. 

Ruth Ozeki

Ruth Ozeki: WikiCommons LMU Library: 2016

Born in 1956, Ruth Ozeki was brought up in Connecticut. Like Benny she has mixed parentage. She has worked in film and has now published four award-winning novels and a short memoir. Since 2010 has been a Zen Buddhist priest. She teaches creative writing at Smith College.

The Book of Form & Emptiness by Ruth Ozeki published in 2021, by Canongate. 546pp

Shortlisted for the Women’s Prize for Fiction 2022.

Related post

A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki (November 2013)

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A little outburst about favourite books and authors

As far as books are concerned I don’t do favourites. I couldn’t tell you about my favourite book and I don’t have a favourite author. The very concept of ‘favourite’ makes me churn. I risk being thought pedantic, again, but read my 5 reasons about why I dislike the idea so much and see if you agree.

171 heart.svg

  1. The idea of favourites is more appropriately applied to colours or animals or even numbers when you are six years old and trying to understand the vast and various world in which you find yourself.
  2. A favourite is claimed as if it were a personal whim – almost random and certainly something to be proud of. It’s to do with making a statement about one-self, not about the qualities of the books/authors. ‘I don’t know why, but I just love anything by John Smith.’ You’ve heard that kind of thing?
  3. To have a favourite book or author is to approach it with a lack of discernment, judgement and it values sameness above all. What does one expect from a favourite except the same again? As a child I read every Enid Blyton book going. Judith Lovell was ill and had left her entire collection in our dorm while she recovered in Dar es Salaam. We devoured them until we began to realise they were so much the same that they bored us. Formulaic was not a word we used at the time, but that’s what we thought of them. We invented a workshop where Enid Blyton gave the ideas to elves and they concocted books to her recipes. And then we gave up reading Enid Blyton and moved on to Malcolm Saville. That’s what you hope to get from favourites – more of the same.

    Blyton Bookshelf by Blytonite at en.wikipedia

    Blyton Bookshelf by Blytonite at en.wikipedia

  4. Having favourites is encouraged by Twitter, with its ‘favourite’ button. I expect lots of twits (as a friend calls us), use it to save the tweet for later, as I do. It’s as easy as ‘like’ on FaceBook. Which leads to difficult verbs such as ‘unfavourite’, ‘unlike’ or the dreaded (and dreadful) ‘unfriend’.
  5. 171 star.svgOn the other hand, to say ‘one of my favourites’ is okay. I don’t think I’m being inconsistent here. One of my favourite novelists is Anne Tyler, but there are so many good writers it would be silly to say she was the one above all others, especially as her many books are of variable quality. Yes really. All good, and some very good indeed. And one of my favourite books is Pride and Prejudice, another is H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald and another A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki and Binocular Vision by Edith Pearlman and Middlemarch by George Eliot and … One of my favourites means this is a book/author I recommend.

So, do you agree with me – fixing on favourite authors and books does not encourage bold readers?

 

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The Gift of Rain by Tan Twan Eng

I am a little in awe of novels set in the Far East, and especially if the action occurs during the war. Three other books come to mind that are worth reading: The Great Fire by Shirley Hazzard, A Pale View of Hills by Kazuo Ishiguro, A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki (reviewed here). Life seems to be experienced more at the extremes in these novels. The privations are fiercer, punishments are harsher and the deaths more violent.

63 tale

The Gift of Rain has been on my tbr pile for sometime, recommended by the wonderful blogger Annecdotalist and endorsed by a place on the longlist for the Booker Prize in 2007.

Rain, as a gift, is of course ambiguous as it is for the protagonist of this novel, Philip Hutton, who is blessed with the gift of the title. There are few certainties in his life, and he is pulled in two or more directions throughout the novel. He tells his story to a visitor as an old man. It is the 50th anniversary of the end of the Japanese occupation of Penang. His narration offers little in the way of criticism or regret or judgement, despite some horrific cruelty and barbarity and acts of extreme generosity and humanity.

I was born with the gift of rain, an ancient soothsayer in an even more ancient temple once told me.

This was back in a time when I did not believe in fortune-tellers, when the world was not yet filled with wonder and mystery. I cannot recall her appearance now, the woman who read my face and touched the lines on my palms. She said what she was put into the world to say, to those for whom her prophesies were meant, and then, like every one of us, she left.

I know her words had truth in them, for it always seemed to be raining in my youth. There were days of cloudless skies and unforgiving heat, but the one impression that remains now is of rain, falling from a bank of low floating clouds, smearing the landscape into a Chinese brush painting. Sometimes it rained so often I wondered why the colours around me never faded, were never washed away, leaving the world in mouldy hues. (13)

146 Gift rain coverThese are the opening paragraphs, setting up the expectation of change and wisdom from an older man’s perspective. There is a warning as well of the narrator’s acceptance of the relentless and unforgiving aspects of life’s events. Fate perhaps. The lofty and detached voice will come to relate some of life’s hardest suffering and challenges.

Philip Hutton grows up as a mixed race (English/Chinese) boy within an English family in Penang, Malaya in the late ‘30s. The tension between his dual ethnic heritages within his family is further heightened by his affiliation to the Japanese envoy, Endo-San, who takes him under his wing and teaches him the Japanese way. By the time of the Japanese invasion we have read of Philip’s experience of Japanese refinement and culture, the ethic of respect and loyalty and the skills of martial arts. He is drawn into these through his sensai.

It is clear to the reader, but not to Philip, that Endo-San while genuinely drawn to the young man is also exploiting Philip for his knowledge about the island to assist the invasion of Penang in December 1941. He has his own reasons for this betrayal. During the occupation Philip feeling guilty for all the information he gave his master, and in return for protection for his family, volunteers to join the Japanese occupier. His best friend joins the resistance. Again we read of the ambiguity and tension in Philip’s engagement with the occupying forces and his loyalty to his father, as well as to Endo-San. It is not a tension that the young man manages with ease.

Cheong Fatt Tze Mansion, Penang. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org

Cheong Fatt Tze Mansion, Penang. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons – http://commons.wikimedia.org

The Japanese were defeated, but not before they had stretched the loyalties and tensions between the Malay, British and Chinese communities, brutally removed any opposition and implicated Philip in some of their worst transgressions. We are continually invited to ask what options lay open to Philip, and once committed to one line of action how could he do the best according to his conflicting codes. Even fifty years later Philip’s reputation is mixed among the inhabitants of Penang, for he had been complicit in acts of atrocity in order to save some people.

The Japanese are also represented as conflicted. They are cultured, refined and very focused on economic and military domination of the Far East. Yet some of the most principled characters are Japanese. And it is made clear that many Japanese suffered from the war, not least the military personnel, and that some suffered for many lingering years to come. Philip’s visitor was the former lover of Endo-San, and she is dying from radiation sickness from one of the atomic explosions, Hiroshima or Nagasaki.

This is carefully plotted novel, and very long. We are presented with the backstories of many characters, revealing varied cultural customs and beliefs and their strengths and flaws when these customs are tested in the extreme conditions of war. We find many themes here: ambivalence, contradictions, nuance, uncertainty, divided loyalties, imperfect understanding, pride, face and cruelty.

The descriptions are rich, like the action. Here is Philip meeting Endo-San on the beach one evening.

I went down to the beach late. It was a timeless moment of the day, the sand still wet and silky from a downpour that had occurred earlier. Dark clouds were racing away inland, leaving the seaward sky clear. The moon was already out, a pale companion to the sun that was setting reluctantly.

Birds flew low along the surface, while some pecked on the beach for the almost invisible baby ghost crabs. I could not see them as the scuttled across the beach, only the tracks they left behind them, marking the sand like writing etched by a ghostly hand.

It was quite chilly, the wind carrying a trace of the rain that now fell almost as unseen as the baby crabs, as thought the clouds had been scraped through a fine grater. I solitary figure stood staring out to sea as waves unrolled themselves around his feet like small bundles of silk. I walked up to him, feeling the coldness of the water. (307)

An editor should have removed nearly all uses of ‘almost’ (twice in that passage). Almost is a writer’s weasel word I think – was it invisible or not, unseen or not? I’m not a fan of tightening jaws either, and there are lots of those. But these are very small gripes in the face of the overall achievement of this novel.

Tan Twan Eng (2007) The Gift of Rain published by Myrmidon 508 pp

 

Links to other reviews:

Sam Jordison reviewed it in the Guardian for the Booker Prize Club. He had some editorial comments but thought it an excellent first book.

And the blogger dovegreyreader scribbles enjoyed it too and had some questions for Tan Twan Eng, to which he replied. Here’s the post.

 

Any thoughts about this novel? Have you read it? Do you intend to read it? What have you heard about it?

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#readwomen2014

You will understand my title even if you don’t know what a hashtag is (a twitter thing) or have never heard that 2014 is the year of reading women. It started when Joanna Walsh, writer and illustrator, decided to call 2014 ‘the year of reading women’ and sent Christmas cards listing 250 names to encourage recipients if not to read women exclusively at least to look up some of the named writers. From this #readwomen2014 grew. She wrote on the Guardian blog about it: Will #readwomen2014 change our sexist reading habits?

100 BookshelfI’m not one of those who have decided to only read women writers, but I do want to do my bit to encourage people to read women, especially in the face of fewer women getting published, fewer women’s books being reviewed, and fewer women reviewers. (See the VIDA statistics for the record of different publications, aka the hall of shame). And there are days at a certain literary festival where there are no women featured at all. We need #readwomen2014.

Some reviewers, prompted by #readwomen2014 decided to read, and therefore review, only books by women in 2014. An American journal, Critical Flame, decided to go one step further and dedicate 2014 to women writers and writers of colour. This kind of action challenges the idea that white males set the standard and are the default position for how the world is to be seen in fiction: through the male consciousness. It encourages diversity.

It’s an attractive idea – expanding reading horizons. You could look at the gender balance of your recent reading*. Or of the books on your shelves. Or of the books in your local library. You could ask yourself how any imbalance has come about? How much is it to do with how you find out about books?

Last week I heard about a newly established mixed reading group, who picked their books for the first year, and not one of them was by a woman. And no one present had noticed.

83 BWPFF logo biggerSo in the spirit of #readwomen2014, and because this is my 100th blogpost, and because the Baileys Women’s Prize for Fiction 2014 will be announced this week, I am using my blog to wholeheartedly recommend reading more fiction by women (and, yes, to split an infinitive or two!). So here’s some suggestions from Bookword blog, with links to the posts.

Everything on my older women in fiction theme is by women. You can find these by clicking on the category link on the right. My review of Margaret Laurence The Stone Angel has been consistently one of my most read posts for over a year.

Elizabeth Taylor – novels and short stories (link to reviews by clicking on the category link).E.Taylor 1

Elizabeth Bowen – In the Heat of the Day.

Claire Cameron – The Bear (longlisted for the Bailey’s Prize).

Ruth Ozeki – Tale for the Time Being.

Jean Rhys – Good Morning, Midnight.

Ann Tyler – almost anything by her, and I reviewed The Accidental Tourist.

Carolyn Heilbrun – Writing a Woman’s Life for some non-fiction.

musselfeast_web_0_220_330Foreign fiction by women should not be ignored either. Try The Mussel Feast by Birgit Vanderbeke, translated by Jamie Bulloch. It has just been given a special mention at this year’s Independent Foreign Fiction Prize.

And Tove Jansson – The Summer Book.

*I checked my reading record over 12 months and it is 70/30 in favour of women. Perhaps I need to read more male writers.

 

More about #readwomen2014 in Guardian article by Alison Flood.

And for an excoriating post about the label ‘women’s fiction’ see Joanne Harris’s blog Capitalize This.

 

So: will your next book be written by a woman? Tell us one of your recommended reads by a woman.

 

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Interview with author, Roger King

How do writers decide to become writers? Especially when they get very little encouragement? And when they have exciting and worthwhile jobs doing other things? I only know one published author well enough to ask these questions, Roger King, whose most recent book is just out in paperback: Love and Fatigue in America. So here is another first for Bookword: after the guest blog an interview with a published author.

99 RogerI met Roger in the summer of 1983 when he had just published his first novel, Horizontal Hotel. We have been friends ever since, despite living in close proximity in West London (he could see into my garden), his move to the US, and meeting infrequently, usually in the British Museum. We always spend some time talking about books and writing. I am grateful to Roger for introducing me to the novels of Shirley Hazzard, especially The Great Fire. Definitely a recommended read.

I interviewed Roger and found out stuff I didn’t know despite 31 years of friendship and reading all his books. We had been on a damp tour of sailing berths and the coast in South Devon – Salcombe, Slapton Sands and a break in Dartmouth. The interview took place in a deserted Dartmouth tea room.

How did you get into writing?

I always wanted to be a writer. I was a sickly child at the age of 8-10, and conceived a project to capture what it was like to be a child before I was too old to remember. I was convinced that grown-ups were unable to imagine what it was like to be a child, and that in a few years I would also be unable to. I never wrote it. But I retained the idea of life being too valuable to be lived just once, that it warranted being turned over, digested and recreated in some new form – the considered, treasured life. I held onto that.

When I first met you, you were also working as an international development consultant with the UN.

I secretly always planned to be a novelist, despite first studying food science and then going on to a masters and a PhD in agricultural economics. It was a long detour that led through work in twenty countries. It did give me something to write about. When I finally started to write seriously, without any background in literature or the arts, I felt encouraged by such American writers as Henry Miller and Jack Kerouac, who drew on direct experience and were not intimidated by literary authority.

Who encouraged you?

No one encouraged me. Everyone thought it was a stupid idea. At school I scored high marks in creative writing but poorly in spelling and punctuation, so I came out mediocre. At thirteen we had to choose between arts and sciences and science was the practical choice. My father worked in a factory and my family saw education as a route to finding a respectable, secure job not self-expression.

At twenty-two I went to study in America and met a friend who was studying for a PhD in literature. She gave me a reading list of all the writers I should had read – I still have it. It was all self-taught. I started reading seriously but after forty years I am still filling in some embarrassing gaps in my literary education – though somehow I got away with teaching postgraduate English literature along the way.

At the UN, working in agricultural economics, international development and working to alleviate rural poverty, the people I knew thought writing fiction was trivial – decadent – in comparison with the work we were doing. I thought it could express a fuller, more complex truth. The jury is still out.

In my thirties I made a key choice by turning down a post heading a UN project at Oxford University – my perfect job in terms of my first career. After agonising, I chose instead to rent a cheap room and write my first novel. I then sent the manuscript off and went to work in Bangladesh and Sierra Leone. It was accepted by Diana Athill at Andre Deutsch. I didn’t know until my return. She was surprised not to have heard from me for months after the book was accepted.

Up to that time I was completely naïve about being a writer. I was 35 and had never met anyone who worked in publishing, or any published writers. I had no idea of whether I was any good, or how difficult it could be to make a career. It was beginners luck – it’s never been that simple again.99 photo cover

What are you most proud of in your writing?

I am most proud of having persisted. And of trying to do something new and thoughtful with each new book. I like to think there is more to be discovered for readers who spend more time with the books. I’m interested in doing more than just writing stories.

What are you most disappointed by?

99 Love & FThat it has taken so long to write five books, especially the slow progress of the last 20 years. [Readers of Roger’s most recently published book, Love and Fatigue in America, will be aware that he has been living with a severe form of ME in the last two decades. This book is described as autobiographical fiction on its cover.]

Sea Level is probably my favourite book, adventurous in form and written partly in poetic prose. It was an intuitive and a cogent way of writing, and tough to make it work, that is make it compelling and enjoyable. It requires the reader to read in imaginative ways, and not be led into the book simply by the linear logic of plot.

Since you have been based in America, you have frequently spent time in artists’ colonies. What do you get out of them?

They are a godsend to all artists. For a time, they take away all distractions and all other responsibilities and allow you to go deeply into your work. Everyone there is an artist and everyone is working. It is in the air that art is significant and important – away from the world where art can be seen as a marginal diversion.

Colonies put you in touch with people in other arts, which feeds into one’s own work.

It’s a mainly an American thing, not so much in the UK. But they are now proliferating around the world. Artists colonies have been essential to me because ME leaves me with scarce energy and at colonies any energy I have can go into work.

What about creative writing course? Can creative writing be taught?

Creative writing courses are a good way to step away from contingent life and be with like-minded people for a time. But there is a limit to what can be taught – and little to be gained without the writer starting out with an original voice and an original way of seeing the world. You can’t teach people that; that’s in the soul. There’s a danger of producing a multitude of irreproachably competent professionals with nothing much to say.

What are you working on at the moment?

I have just completed the first full draft of a new novel. It is the opposite of autobiographical, being fully imagined and researched. It has to do with memory and violence. It traces the widening rings of effect from cold war violence in Latin America and Asia and how it’s internalised in the personal lives of three people in the present day.

Recommended recent reads?

  • I enjoyed Ruth Ozeki’s A Tale for the Time Being, that leads from a life much like her own on a remote Canadian island to the interior life of a pacifist Japanese Kamikaze pilot in WWII. [I loved this too: see my review on this blog.]
  • Aminatta Forna’s The Hired Man, has gentrifying outsiders inadvertently opening the recent wounds of war in Croatia.
  • J.M. Coetzee’s, fascinating and unsettling Childhood of Jesus, brings a queasy humanity to religious fable.
  • I enjoyed the light-footed wit and originality of Eleanor Catton’s The Rehearsal, as much as I was irritated by her more showy and overstuffed The Luminaries.
  • Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch was also well stuffed, but a compelling pleasure.
  • James Salter’s All That Is is the work of the mature master.

99 Rogers pile

Roger’s published books:

  • Horizontal Hotel(1983)
  • Written on a Stranger’s Map(1987)
  • Sea Level(1992)
  • A Girl from Zanzibar(2002)
  • Love and Fatigue in America(2012) The link to the facebook page for this book is here. His web site is www.rogerking.org

 

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Five World Book Recommendations

It’s World Book Day – Thursday 6th March 2014. All over the country primary schools are alive with young people dressed as their favourite book character. I’m using World Book Day to recommend five reads from beyond the UK. (Nothing is implied by the order in which these are presented.)

82 WBD logo pink

1. Donal Ryan (2012) The Spinning Heart

This is post-crash, rural Ireland. Many people are suffering because of trickery and corruption, or because benefits and services have been reduced, or from the fallout from a murder and a kidnap. The format of the novel is original and effective: it is narrated through the individual voices of the many villagers who feature in the story.

This narrative form helps perceptions develop, especially of the man Bobbie Mahon. Some of the voices/characters don’t quite ring true, for example the two kidnappers. The men emerge as very focused on sex, as violent and physical. The women die young, or put up with a great deal from their menfolk, and some get on with life.

82 Spin HThe novel evoked the life of a small community in Ireland only glimpsed on my brief tourist visits.

Winner of the Guardian First Book Award 2013. Long-listed for the Man Booker Prize 2013.

 

2. Hanna Krall (2006) Chasing the King of Hearts

This was a hard, sometimes excoriating read. It follows the search by a Polish and Jewish woman Isabel for her husband in the second world war. I started it, left it, went back to it and read it from the beginning again.

82 Chasing

One of its themes is how war makes normal codes of moral behaviour quite redundant. For example, it is hardly shocking that Isabel allows a man who has raped her to describe himself as decent, because he didn’t demand more of her, turn her in or shoot her. Or that she volunteers to use her nursing skills to work with Mendel and survives. On the other hand a curious economy of exchange and favours emerges to which she is faithful, including bargaining with God. Nor does everything come good at the longed-for moment of reconciliation. War changes everything, even love.

The novella is written in a rather bland, flat style, which means that the accumulating atrociousness of the situation can be told as one thing after another. Teeth are knocked out, shoulders dislocated, escapes made, suicides committed, poison bought, names exchanged until nothing matters any more than anything else. This too is horrific.

Another novella from the excellent Peirene Press. Translated from the Polish by Philip Boehm

82 Lowland

3. Jhumpa Lahiri (2013) The Lowland

From India and USA

This family saga followed Subash and his family from childhood in Calcutta to old age in New Hampshire. There were two very different brothers and the reader is curious – how will their paths differ? The more outgoing Udayan, joins the Naxalites and is summarily executed in front of his parents and wife. Subash marries his wife Gauri because she is pregnant. The story then follows her move to the US, her frustrations with being a mother, and wife to her brother in law. She leaves for a career in California when the child, Bela, is still quite young,.

From this point the novel presents parenthood in various forms – Subash’s who lets everyone believe he is Bela’s father, Gauri’s who left her daughter behind, and Subash’s parents in Calcutta. Bela matures and we know that she will have to confront the truth about her parents, and how her life in America relates to her family’s roots in Calcutta.

Jhumpa Lahiri is a neat writer but while the novel is crammed with events, they are narrated in short paragraphs, with little differentiation between their significance. The questions about family, obligations, genetics, political action vs personal fulfilment, involvement in political murder –are hardly posed, simply offered.

Shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize 2013

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4. Ruth Ozeki (2013) A Tale for the Time Being

I loved this novel from Canada and Japan, which had some important things to say about the world and old women! You will find my review here.

Shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize 2013.

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5. NoViolet Bulawayo (2013) We need new names

From Zimbabwe and USA

Darling lives with her friends in Paradise a shanty town in Zimbabwe. Life used to be better, but during Mugabe’s rule it got worse. Darling and her friends view the adult world through eyes of innocence, games, tree climbing, thieving trips to the affluent suburb of Budapest. This section of the novel is very strong on Darling’s voice, on her ambitions, hopes etc.

She escapes to America, to live with her aunty, in ‘Destroyedmichygen’ and grows up fast as a strange talking illegal African girl. We get snapshots of episodes in her life: a wedding, an illicit trip to the mall, watching x-rated movies with school friends, and a discursive chapter on why people leave. What comes through are the pains of exile, of not living at home.

I enjoyed the strong voice here, the evocation of children’s lives in Zimbabwe. The feistiness and inventiveness of children living in poverty.

This is the fourth of my recommendations nominated for the Man Booker Prize 2013. What a good year it was for world books.

82 WBD logo grWhat books from around the world have you read in the last year?

 

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A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki

This is a strange and clever book, and I loved getting into it, losing myself in its stories and ideas. It would not have surprised me if this book had won the Man Booker Prize in October. It was shortlisted but frankly any one of the six could have won – they are all so good. One the attractions for me of A Tale for the Time Being is the great older woman: old Jiko, who is an anarchist, a writer, a Buddhist nun, a teacher, the grandmother of one of the protagonists, and 104 years old with a wicked sense of humour and penetrating wisdom.

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There are two main characters, both female. Ruth is the narrator (she shares a name with the author) and lives with her husband and cat on an island off the west coast of Canada – remote then. She is a novelist who has interrupted her writing of novels to compose a memoir of her mother, who had Alzheimer’s. She is blocked, perhaps by grief. Ruth is a Japanese Canadian, like her namesake. She finds a Hello Kitty lunchbox on the shore containing the journal of a Japanese teenager, Nao. The reader is invited to consider both Ruth’s life, and the story of the younger girl revealed through the diaries, and the connections between them. According to her diaries, Nao had a great life in silicone valley before returning to Japan, where she suffered terrible abuse at school, difficulties in her family and is considering suicide. (She calls suicide ‘graduating from time’ or ‘dropping out of time’.)

The two lives, Ruth’s and Nao’s, are connected through the journal, through writing. Everywhere in this novel the power of the written word is explored. Reading Nao’s diary allows Ruth to become connected to the younger woman. Nao reads her uncle’s letters and begins to understand his actions and his place in his mother’s life. Jiko herself says ‘Life is full of stories. Or maybe life is only stories,’ (p246). And what are we to make of the small folder paper returned to Jiko on her son’s death, as a kamikaze pilot, on which is written ‘remains’? They could not return an empty box. But what of Haruki does remain? Not just concrete things such as his watch and his letters, but the idea of him, in the memory of his mother, passed on to her granddaughter Nao, and through the medium of the novel, to us the readers.

Nao finds understanding through her contact with her grandmother and her uncle. She finds his letters, which illuminate the theme of people’s connection through writing and over time.

March 27, 1945

Dear Mother,

You will be happy to know that as I wait to die, I have been reading poetry and novels again. Old favourites by Soseki and Kawabata, as well as the books you sent me by your dear women writer fiends. Euchi Fumiko-san’s Words Like the Wind and the poems of Yosano-san in Tangled Hair.

Reading these women makes me feel closer to you. Did you share their racy past, my dear Mother? I applaud you, and will ask nothing further, knowing it’s unbecoming of a son to tease a mother so.

I find myself drawn to literature more now than in the past; not the individual works as much as the idea of literature – the heroic effort and nobility of our human desire to make beauty of our minds – which moves me to tears, and I have to brush them away, quickly, before anyone notices. Such tears are not becoming in a Yamato danshi. (p257)

The title, A Tale for the Time Being, is a gentle pun, or at least can be taken in more than one way. What a curious English expression time being is. It can be taken to mean now, which is also the meaning of Nao’s name, in Japanese. Now, or the time being, is a transitory moment, disappearing into the past as soon as you enter it. The time being is an impossible state to be in. But of course we are all living within our own time. We are time beings, none more than Jiko, who has managed 104 years.

Hi.

My name is Nao , and I am a time being. Do you know what a time being is? Well, if you give me a moment, I will tell you.

A time being is someone who lives in time, and that means you, and me, and every one of us who is, or was, or ever will be. (p3)

Another little play on writing and time is that Nao’s diary is disguised in the cover of Proust’s A La Recherche du temps perdu (In search of lost time). This is how the novel begins, and already readers, including Ruth, will see that Nao is a writer wgho can hold attention. She is also an adolescent, with all the seriousness and pomposity of her age.

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Eventually, it is the tsunami and the Fukushima disaster of March 2011 that impels Ruth’s involvement in Nao’s narrative. Is that how her diary came to be on the Canadian shore, washed there by the ocean currents? Did she exist? Did she survive?

The only jarring notes I found were the supernatural ones: the dream that resolved a plot complication (I find dreams are as unrewarding to read about as people’s accounts of them the morning after), and the mystical disappearance and reappearance of the writing at the end of the diary. But these moments still did not spoil my reading of this novel.

I enjoy novels that question and challenge and extend its very structure and form – following in the footsteps of Laurence Sterne. I like novels that play with ideas about time as Kate Atkinson does in Life after Life, (winner of Not the Man Booker Prize in 2013). A Tale for the Time Being has copious footnotes, mostly providing translations for the Japanese words and provides appendices and a bibliography.

I like novels that explore important topics, such as why writing is important, how people should and can relate to each other, the important of the natural world, the relationship of age to youth and what families can do for each other.

And who can resist a novel that adds writing to the range of superpowers in fiction? Nao is keen to make a connection with her reader. Towards the end of the novel, as her life is beginning to resolve itself she writes:

Anyway, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, except that I thought you would like to know. My dad seems to have found his superpower, and maybe I’ve started to find mine, too, which is writing to you. (p389).

I63 Hello K lunchbox 2f you have read A Tale for the Time Being please let us know your opinion and reactions. Did you enjoy it? Are you tempted to read it if you haven’t yet?

 

The next Readalong, in January, will be Offshore by Penelope Fitzgerald, first published in 1979. Hermione Lee has just published a biography of Penelope Fitzgerald. Join me in reading the novel!

 

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Filed under Older women in fiction, Reading