Fiction
- The Ceremonies by T.E.D. Klein
- A Partial History of Lost Causes by Jennifer Dubois
- Swamplandia! by Karen Russell
- Tree of Smoke by Denis Johnson
Non-Fiction
- Into The Silent Land by Martin Laird
- The Psychopath Test by Jon Ronson
- Pulphead by John Jeremiah Sullivan
- Still by Lauren Winner
Re-Reading
- The Unvarnished New Testament translated by Andy Gaus
The second installment in this month's What Should Kester Read? is The Complete Maus by Art Spiegelman. Like this month's first installment, Persepolis, Maus is a graphic novel. Like Persepolis, Maus is memoir mixed with history. And, like Persepolis, Maus is poignant, personal, profound and just about perfect.
Maus is Spiegelman's take on his father's account of living as a Jew under Hitler. Spiegelman's parents were both Holocaust survivors and, like all Holocaust survivors, were never quite the same. But Spiegelman's account is fascinating in that it deals with the fact that his parents were not altogether changed, either. He discovers that his mother struggled with depression long before being sent to a prison camp and that his father's angst may not be entirely attributable to that event. In doing so, Spiegelman shows how we are all shaped by circumstances, but not wholly shaped by them.
In telling his parents' story he also tells his own story. The choices he makes in sharing their struggles provide insights into Spiegelman's own struggle. And unpacking both stories helps to reveal how layered and complex all stories are. Just the simple fact of his turning the characters into animals (Jews are mice, Nazis are cats, Poles are pigs) brings about the complication of how to show someone is Jewish and Polish (mice in pig masks) or how to portray his own wife, who is French (a frog until her conversion, which changes her into a mouse). These solutions seem flimsy and yet their flimsiness seems intentional. Spiegelman writes as someone too close to the story he's telling and yet needing to tell it.
This, ultimately, makes for a great story. The fact that it's mixed up and complicated and confused is all part of it. Because the story of any tragedy and who we were beforehand and who we are now is all mixed up and complicated and confused. No metaphor is perfect. No words suffice. And this story is about that too.
What Should Kester Read? selections
- The Ceremonies by T.E.D. Klein
- Reamde by Neal Stephenson
- Swamplandia! by Karen Russell
- The Unvarnished New Testament by Andy Gaus
What Should Kester Read? selections
- Bone by Jeff Smith
- Maus I and II by Art Spiegelman
Other Reading
- Reamde by Neal Stephenson
- The Unvarnished New Testament by Andy Gaus
In case you're as late to the party as I am, let me give a brief book report on Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis. Beginning in the late 70's and wrapping up in the early 90's, it is a memoir, written in a graphic novel format, of Satrapi's upbringing in Iran, as well as her travels abroad in Austria. Raised by modern parents in a very traditional and often fundamentalist Iran, Satrapi is often confused and angry and her story is filled with angst. Satrapi offers up a personal history that is wrapped up in a country's history, and it is a history that too many of us (myself included) are too unfamiliar with.
As I said, the story is written in a graphic novel format, and to stunning effect. In a country where a few strains of revealed hair can mean a hefty fine (or worse), Satrapi's stark and simple black and white allows something as subtle as an arched eyebrow or curved lip to convey deep emotion. The phrasing of the storytelling is also sparse, which gives it the sense of being read through an interpreter. To be fair, the work has been translated into English, but a translation meticulously overseen by the author. The sense I get is that the tone and feel of the work in English is exactly what the author meant for it to be, blithe and funny and yet biting and fierce.
This is one of those stories that needed telling, because it's one that so few of us (at least in America) ever hear. But it is also a story that needed telling simply because it aches and yearns and gropes and groans and laughs and cries like all great stories do. It tells of universal truths by speaking of specific ones. It is a wonder and a pleasure to read; an impressive and important work.
I know this What Should Kester Read? thing is supposed to begin on the first of every month, but I was out of town, away from a computer, and just got back. So, beginning today, October 2nd, the first in a series of books selected by friends and/or blog followers. This month's picks by Alice (aka Heather).
- Bone by Jeff Smith
- Maus I and II by Art Spiegelman
- Persepolis I and II by Marjane Satrapi
My plan is to begin with Persepolis and end with Maus, with Bone as a sort of palette cleanser. Harrison wants me to read Bone first, so that he can find out if he is allowed to read it. We shall see. He shall have to wait. For now; Persepolis. Will post review upon completion.
My son, Harrison, is 7 years old and, for the past 2 or 3 of those years, has been not just someone I loved because he's my son, but someone I loved being around, simply because he's a joy to be around. He's an introvert, like his dad, and he spends a lot of time (too much time?) in his own head. As a result, the stuff that spills out into drawings and songs and stories and general observations is often strange and wonderful and hilarious. It's magic. My response to this spillover is often, "you're a weird little dude, y'know that?" My wife, Rachel, mentioned to me, awhile back, that Harrison might be taking this the wrong way and that I might want to be more clear. So, I sat down with him and said to him, "you know when I say you're weird, I mean it in a good way, right? I'm weird and your mom's weird and most of the most interesting people I know are weird. Weird is good." There was a pause in which I began to panic, worried that I had been damaging my son. Then he looked at me with his weird little half grin and said, "I know, dad, it's one of the things you love about me." I say all that to say, Threats by Amelia Gray is a weird little book.
David knows something has happened to his wife. He's pretty sure she's dead. Detective Chico believes she is dead. David is pretty sure he can trust Detective Chico. He's not sure that he can trust anyone else.
Most fiction that deals with loss, deals with it in a linear way, a way that tugs at heartstrings as we cue music. Threats deals with loss in a broken, confused, and disjointed way. An "I think I might be losing it" way. It doesn't try to make you sympathize with its main character, it tries to put you in his head. People who lose spouses don't cry in a poignant way that exudes quiet strength. They don't speak in insightful proverbs. They feel crazy and sweaty and angry and broken. Threats feels that way too. Which makes Threats far more than just a weird little book.
