©2022 All Rights Reserved Lynne Perednia

Shrines of Gaiety
By Kate Atkinson
Historical Fiction
Anchor

The apex of the Roaring Twenties during which nightclubs flourished and competed with each other for the patronage of the aristocracy, the underworld and those visiting the big city for thrills, girls leaving their provincial lives, a family that depends on each other but doesn't much like each other, a morose copper and the queen of night life released from six months in gaol all feature in Kate Atkinson's latest novel.

Shrines of Gaiety is a twisty tale that has the best features of both her Jackson Brodie novels and her historical works, especially Life After Life and A God in Ruins. This one begins with Nellie Corker leaving Holloway after being sentenced for violating liquor laws. The mother of six and owner of London's most popular nightclubs is greeted by her family, a throng of fans, the press and at least one policeman. With the copper is Gwendolen Kelling, a librarian from York who has come to London in search of two girls who ran away from home, but who really seeks to more fully live. She's going to spy on the Corker empire while searching for the girls.

Nellie's children includea WWI sharpshooter, the mysterious Niven; practical Edith, her mother's heir apparent dealing with an unexpected problem; two sisters who would rival the flightiest Bennet sisters; inept Ramsay who doesn't know who or what he likes; and the youngest, nearly feral Kitty. All play a role in what happens to their family empire after Mum is freed, especially with at least two factions trying to bring her down.

And, because this novel is written by someone who is a master of combining narrative threads of various characters, the relationships they form with Gwendolen and others is fascinating.

The others include that copper who was with her when Nellie Corker came out of Holloway. Detective Chief Inspector Frobisher has been assigned to Bow Street to clean house. He also has his eye on the Corkers. And spends a lot of time working because he doesn't know what to do for his depressed French wife, who is trapped in a world of her own pain.

The girls Gwendolen is looking for have stories of their own that convey what life could be like for girls who wanted more than settling for second best in York. Freda is ignored by her mother and thinks she may have a chance to become a famous dancer, performing in the spotlight every night. She convinces her hapless friend Florence to run away to London with her. Their stories show the dangers of shooting for the stars. 

But the heart and soul of this novel is Gwendolen. The former war nurse who became a librarian is an intrepid heroine who shines, even when she's not sure of where her heart is leading her. She represents what once was seen as the best of sturdy English sensibilities. As a portrait of was considered to be the genuine character of a nation, she anchors the serious commentary that in turn anchors the rompish aspect of the narrative. Both she and the novel are delights.

Review: 'The Deceptions'

 ©2022 All Rights Reserved Lynne Perednia

The Deceptions
By Jill Bialosky
Literary Fiction
Counterpoint

Some novels call out to certain readers to find them, so that those readers can be immersed in the feelings and ideas that make up the reason for the story. Such a novel for me is The Deceptions by Jill Bialosky.

The novel begins with notice of an upcoming book that promises to shed light on the relationship between two contemporary poets. The book, by a young woman academic, is entitled Vindication. Echoes of Mary Wollstonecraft are perfecty appropriate. For this is a story about a woman, about creativity, about communing with words and the poet's challenge to use words to make sense of ideas, emotions and events.

The novel then switches to the narration of a nameless woman, a middle-aged teacher whose latest book of poetry will soon be published. She isn't sure whether to look forward to or dread a promised review in The New York Times, especially if a certain misogynist writes the review. She is a person who is wrapped up in words, and has been for most of her life. She teaches classics to boys on the verge of manhood in a private Manhattan academy. Her husband is a research doctor. Their only surviving child, a son, is a college freshman in a small town.

As the story opens, she is anxious and her husband is angry. He focuses on television sports and they do next to nothing together. Of course it's been ages since they were intimate. How much of this is due to her anxiety about her book? About both of their concerns for their son? What about his work, which he doesn't like to talk about? And what about the Visiting Poet who was in residence at her school last year? What role does he play in her regrets?

To help steady herself, our poet spends as much time as possible in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It is a place she has frequented for much of her life, and she finds both peace and quests there. During her visits, the reader gets to see the works of art that are her focal points of concentration, and to ruminate on how the attributes of both the artwork and the diety portrayed propel her search for answers to what is causing her internal crises. These interior monologues, and a few conversations with museum personnel and visitors, are outstanding ways to work through the ideas that anchor Greek, Roman and Egyptian classical literature and dieties, and the way these ideas structure our culture today.

The classical references are especially apt because her upcoming book is a series of poems inspired by the myth of Leda and the Swan. That there is more than one way to view the story and Leda is woven into the monologues at the museum and the very fabric of the narrative. It's not an easy subject, but it is one that is tackled with heart and mind.

To compare and contrast our poet's family life, she has a longtime neighbor whose situation at times mirrors her own. Both couples had twins, a boy and a girl. Our poet's daughter died after one day. The other couple's daughter is like a foster daughter to her in their shared love of literature and the written word. Whereas it's not clear what happened between her and the Visiting Poet, her neighbor has fallen for her yoga instructor and knows she is now living her best life.

Before the novel ends, the reader finds out the mystery of the Visiting Poet, what kind of a book review is published in the Times and what our poet plans next. Because of the journeys she has undertaken at the Met, there is a solid foundation to her determination to be her own true self and to not be confined by the way a male-dominated society views the world.

Throughout The Deceptions, the author is willing to confront nuance, more than one way of looking at something and the lies people tell themselves, as well as others. As is noted while contemplating one statue of Heracles, pathos is an important aspect of this novel. Emotions are both acknowledged and projected.

The Deceptions is an engrossing, engaging novel. The reader does not have to be able to relate to every aspect of our poet's situation to connect with her thoughts and feelings. It is a novel that can stay with the reader for a very long time.

Review: 'White Horse'

 ©2022 All Rights Reserved Lynne Perednia

White Horse
By Erika Wurth
Horror
Flatiron Books

The late horror writer Peter Straub once told me, in an online interview, that he decided to write in that genre because of the freedom is gave him to write about all kinds of things. One short story of his in particular, about a boy who was bullied, showed me how true his statement was.

Among the indigeneous authors now writing in the horror genre, doing the same thing, is Erika Wurth. Her novel, White Horse, is ostensibly about what happens when a bracelet with power is brought to the protagonist. But this story is about a lot more, and it is a story told well.

Kari James has reached equilibrium in her once rowdy, rebellious life. She's still no pushover, but she has cleaned up her act and works long hours at two waitress jobs. Time off includes hanging out at the White Horse, a rundown Denver tavern that has a long history of catering to both urban and tribal Indians, reading horror novels and petting the saloon's cats while sipping beer or whisky. She's still recovering from the long ago deaths of her best friend and her mother.

That equilibrium is disrupted when her cousin Debby, who has a history of pestering Kari into not destroying herself, brings her a bracelet that belonged to Kari's mother. Her mother disappeared when she was two days old, and Kari has spent the last 30-some years angry at her. That her father suffered an accident that destroyed his brain in mourning her doesn't help. The moment Kari touches the bracelet, she sees ghosts from her past. First it's Jaime, her best friend who OD'd when they were partying hard, then her mother. Her mother's ghost is accompanied by the specter of evil following close behind.

Wurth is wonderful at describing what Kari and Jaime were like in their wild days, growing up in Idaho Springs, wishing for more, whatever that might be, and why Kari will always love heavy metal rock.

We'd hitched one Saturday night, ready for adventures of the kind that could not be had in a small town that sat at the bottom of a mountain, the trees swaying above our trailers, our dingy houses, our wild, furious hearts.

As the story progresses, Wurth uses the tropes of horror to tell the story of a young Indian woman who disappeared just when it looked like she had everything to live for -- a husband she loved, a new baby, a political cause. And this fits so well. The real-life monsters who abuse women, who kill them, who are frightened of them having a voice, are no less menacing than a grim paranormal creature of death. And because this is a horror novel, just as in magic realism, they are intertwined.

White Horse reaches its full narrative power as it becomes a story of individual indigeneous women and men who form alliances, who forge communities, who recognize their connections to each other as family.

Erika Wurth joins the company of such powerful storytellers as Stephen Graham Jones, Rebecca Roanhorse and Cheri Demiline, and authors who sometimes use the tropes of horror/magic realism such as the great Louise Erdrich, Richard Wagamese, Morgan Talty and Cynthia Letitch Smith.

They acknowledge the spiritual in life as well as the physical and emotional. They take full adantage of the folklore roots of horror storytelling to explore psychological aspects of the indigenious experience. They create characters to care about and insights into their experiences. This is storytelling to treasure.

Review: 'The Marriage Portrait'

 ©2022 All Rights Reserved Lynne Perednia

The Marriage Portrait
By Maggie O'Farrell
Literary Fiction
Knopf

She had
A heart—how shall I say?— too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

Browning's "My Last Duchess" was the first poem I studied in college that caught my attention and imagination. The story it tells of a young woman who seemed kind and interested in the world, who was not appreciated by a world-weary aristocrat, who died and who was not mourned, whose portrait was a curio among many for her widower, floored me.

How could anyone be that callous? How could anyone not appreciate kindness and beauty? How could "a nine-hundred-years-old name" be worth more than those qualities? Is the male ego that fragile? Is is an aristocracy thing?

These questions came back to mind while reading Maggie O'Farrell's latest historical novel. The Marriage Portrait imagines the life of Lucrezia di Cosimo de' Medici d'Este. The middle daughter of Cosimo and Eleanora de' Medici was married to Alfonso II d'Este, Duke of Ferrara, at the age of 13. This happened after her elder sister, also promised to Alfonso, died before the wedding could take place. Lucrezia died at the age of 16.

She is believed to be the subject of Browning's poem about a dead young wife's marriage portrait. The actual painting of her that inspired Browning, which was on display near his Italian home, although it was apparently painted some time after the marriage, makes one wonder what she was thinking. O'Farrell has some ideas.

In the novel, Lucrezia is unlike her sedate siblings. She is not only the opposite of sedate, she also is curious and desires to know things, to see things, to understand things. As a child, she crept down to the family's courtyard during the night when a tiger her father had commissioned to be part of his private zoo arrived. Mesmerized by the fierce, caged beast, she later gets to visit the caged animals with her older brothers and sisters. As the odd one out, Lucrezia is skilled at fading into the background, and does so to go to the tiger's cage. To stroke its magnificent fur. She is discovered doing so and is dragged away. Later, the tiger is killed when the doors to its cage and those of the two lions already in the zoo are opened. 

That part of the story is factual. But like deeds surrounding her eventual husband, whether her father had something to do with what took place is worthy of speculation. 

To anchor Lucrezia's fictional character to the real portrait, and subsequent fame through Browning's poem, O'Farrell's protagonist is a talented painter. Brushstrokes, use of color, the fascination of creating underpaintings no one but the artist will see are all fascinating and satisfying to the Lucrezia of the novel. The way that O'Farrell describes how these aspects of creating art giving meaning to her character's inner life show another interpretation to the complaints of the widower in the poem, who is peeved at not being on some mythical pedestal. Instead, the novel's Lucrezia is lost inside her art.

The truth is, though, that she is still caught in the microcosm of her painting: that is the only place she wishes to be. All other sights, all ther worlds, will be dissatisfying to her until she finishes it, until the painting is complete and will release her back to where she belongs. Here, in this salon, waiting for her husband to appear, an embroidery hoop in her hands.

Added into the mix are Alfonso's troubles with his Protestant mother, who has angered the Pope, and his desperation for a child. (The real Alfonso married twice more after Lucrezia's death but had no children.) If Lucrezia feels a bond with a different man, that could well be the last straw for an aristocrat accustomed to getting his way.

It is easy to see that a would-be empire builder, in an age when Henry VIII would be doing the same, only in public, would think murdering a wife could solve some of his problems and perhaps soothe his ego.

How much any of this is true is not the purpose of the story. It is the wondering about what drives people, what inspires or motivates them, what controls them, that makes The Marriage Portrait a fascinating look at how people with so many advantages can fail at life on such a grand scale.

Review: 'Haven'

©2022 All Rights Reserved Lynne Perednia

Haven
By Emma Donoghe
Literary Fiction
Little, Brown and Company

Three monks leave a comfortable monastery a thousand years ago to begin their own community. Two were chosen by the third, who dreamed of perfection in worship and contemplation in the wilderness, away from the evils of humanity. They find Skelling Michael and begin the work of making their prior's dream a reality.

In Emma Donoghe's Haven, Artt has traveled the known world and is now visiting an Irish monastery. The food is plentiful, the abbott has a comfortable family life, the monks are hard-working. But he is not content. He eats little and holds himself aloof. As a famous and mysterious figure, he is fascinating to young Trian. The growing lad, given to the monks when he was 13, is a pure soul who loves playing music with one of the older monks. Cormac came late to the religious life, after surviving both battle wounds and the death of his family to the plague. He is content to live out his days with his brothers.

But in his dream of a new brotherhood, Artt sees Trian and Cormac as his followers. Although he resists the title of abbott, it's clear he considers himself the leader because he is the one who was given the dream. While Cormac and Trian want to take care of the basics, such as food and shelter, Artt wants to make a cross of stone and an altar. Because they trust his extreme views as faith, they obey.

As the conflicts between reality (eating, shelter) and divine (worship, copying manuscripts) take root, Donoghe also delves into the practical. She chronicles just how Cormac and Trian solve problems of survival with the little at hand. This fascinating narrative of how people created what they needed to get by in pre-industrial times grounds the overlying parable of how one determined man tries to make his vision real.

And that's what Haven is, a parable that delves into the differences between faith and religious doctrine, between perception and reality, between being in charge and being a leader. As the author gives the reader looks at their situation from each character's perspective, it is clear that all three are sincere in wanting to serve God. But they all three approach this sincere wish differently, because of who they are.

Trian loves being one with nature. The idea of being like a bird, able to exist in air, on water and on land, appeals to him. Having grown up in a fishing family, he is adept at scaling the rocks of Skellig and swimming.

... he finds himself wondering what it would be like to be equally at home on land, in water, and in air. To be powered by the breeze, wheeling and soaring, free from the weight that keeps other creatures shackled to the earth.

Cormac is a builder, a gardener and a healer. He accepts people for who they are.

After recounting a story in which time passed by while a holy man listened to an angel's song, Cormac shows a love of humanity:

It strikes Cormac now what a sad story this is. To be soothed with music and given a heavenly reward, but in exchange you've lost a century and a half in a blink, and all your friends are dead and buried ... If he'd been Mochaoi, he'd have preferred to sweat over every beam of that church than to dream away his whole life in an afternoon. Once childhood is over, don't the years pass too fast already, rollling over a man as fast as waves?

Neither one of them are prone to judge.

Artt is all about judgment. The scores of birds on the island drive him crazy. Cormac's stories drive him crazy. The two monks' wishes to create music, shelter, heat and food sources, to not be adept copiers of manuscripts, drive him crazy. It soon becomes clear that all of humanity and nature drive him crazy. Artt appears to wish, above all, to be pure spirit in worship. His desire leads, of course, to acts of hubris.  Does he have a death wish for him and the two men he called to join him in this quest? As he tells one of the monks:

Why dread sickness and death at all, when we should rather trust God to do with us what he will?

Artt's ego is definitely involved:

Artt finds himself wondering if perhaps tales will be told about him. Is it arrogance to think it?

The way he punishes himself also is ego-driven. No wonder when one of the others falls ill, his brother prays:

Don't dare die on me, our first season. Don't leave me here alone with a saint.

The real Skellig Michael has been home to monks for centuries. It's probably better known now as a key location in the last three Star Wars movies. The setting serves the story well, whether Donoghe's initial aim was to explore how and why monks first settled on that beautiful, harsh, remote isle, or whether she set out to explore the differences between love of humanity and love of God. Regardless of the inspiration, Haven is a calm and forceful look at the nexus of faith and love.

Review: 'Marigold and Rose: A Fiction'

 ©2022 All Rights Reserved Lynne Perednia

Marigold and Rose: A Fiction
By Louise Glück
Literary Fiction
Farrar, Straus and Giroux

What is it like to become aware, to start to understand that there are things to see, to hear, to feel, to know?

Those ideas are explored in Nobel Prize-winning Louise Glück's Marigold and Rose: A Fiction. 

The Marigold and Rose in the title are twin baby girls. One is thoughtful and already shows she was born to be a writer. The other is beloved by all and draws people to her without even trying. They consider themselves half of a whole person, while always recognizing their differences. That they are different does not mean they are in conflict, and that is a lovely idea to see.

The slim volume begins with Marigold, the writer-in-residence, poring over an alphabet book of animals. It may seem like she is reading, at first, but Glück shows what the real situation is by revealing:

Of course she wasn't reading; neither of the twins could read; they were babies. But we have interior lives, Rose thought.

And oh how lively those interior lives are!

Besides the differences in themselves, they study Mother and Father in detail and love them for the different beings they are. And, just as they seem themselves as both a unit and as individuals, so they see their parents. It's a facile way of describing family dynamics that is more complex than first appearances seemingly reveal.

Marigold is a character who it would be fascinating to revisit throughout her life. Books are her great love, because she has already discovered one astounding truth about them:

Books did not judge you, Marigold thought, because they were full of animals. She knew from the dog animals did not judge you.

As someone who loves books because they don't let you down the way people can, and as a lifelong dog lover, oh how this resonates.

During the course of their first year, the babies disover and muse over the outdoors, incuding bunnies and flowers, Mother's feelings about a house compared to an apartment and going back to work, stairs and learning how to drink from a cup.

As throughout the work, the evening of their first birthday, when the party is over and night has fallen, is both descriptive and philosophical. Glück's poetical prowess shines in her writing and, because of the power of poetry, each word counts.

Review: 'My Government Means to Kill Me'

 ©2022 All Rights Reserved Lynne Perednia

My Government Means to Kill Me
By Rasheed Newson
Literary Fiction
Flatiron

A young man leaves his affluent Indianapolis home in the 1980s, lands in New York City and seeks well, not fame and fortune, but some of the lustier glories of the big city. And since he is a young Black gay man with unresolved sorrow in his heart, a flamboyant attitude and a quick mind, he can only be Trey Singleton in Rasheed Newson's My Government Means to Kill Me.

Trey is a teenager when his life in the Big Apple begins. He knows he stands out. Sometimes, he embraces it and sometimes, he acknowledges that it is not half of who he is.  From his first job as a bicycle messenger, Trey knows he doesn't fit in. He also knows he is going to have to take it if he plans to stay. There is an acknowledgement and honesty to Trey that is immediately endearing. 

Although he knows that "the average person was never going to bestow pity or mercy on me", he also quickly learns that "We are not so narrowly defined as society would have us believe."

Trey soon discovers Mt. Morris, a bathhouse that has not been closed down because of its mostly Black clientele. There, he cruises for quick sex and becomes friends with Bayard Rustin. This Rustin feels and sounds like the little I know of the real Rustin, whether he would ever have been in such a setting or not. Like all the real people mentioned in the novel, each chapter, or lesson, has a footnote when they are introduced that is factual. (Excuse me for a moment. Footnotes! Oh joy! Rapture! My nerdy little heart was delighted.)

Rustin is one of several characters who serve as anchors while Trey bounces around discovering the ups and downs of life in the big city. Rustin serves as both advisor and Greek chorus, telling Trey and the reader of how far things had come even back in the 1980s.

When Trey and his roommate can't pay rent, Trey plows through the old-fashioned kind of research, when one dug through paper documents in dusty basements. He then finagles his way into a rent strike against the landlord who is, of course, Fred Trump. The portrayal of that despot is both a clue into why his son turned out the way he did and a portend of things to come. It is brilliantly written, as are other setpieces with prominent conservatives of the era.

As Trey becomes more involved in his New York life, he is drawn toward activism. The rent strike is the tipping point. In this and all the outer things that happen to Trey, his observations about himself apply not just to the action at hand, but to him. To wit:

If we never meet our despicable adversaries, we'd never be forced to find out how brave, resilient, and cunning we can be.

This bit of wisdom applies to the trauma Trey carries from his childhood, when something happened that he was at least in part responsible for and which is the main reason he left home. In between episodes that portray 1980s New York City and the explosion of the AIDS crisis, Trey deals with his past. It will affect his future. And it will involve confronting demons, both those in his head and those in his family. But one of Trey's great strengths is his self-awareness and knowledge:

We could blame it all on our families, but then we'd never find the keys to unlock our cells.

This self-awareness and knowledge also leads to one of those big "oof" reading moments when the air can leave the reader's innards and tears may come to one's eyes:

What flesh-and-blood man was ever going to immediately recognize the inner beauty and value in me, then make the effort to machete his way through the thorny thickets of insecurities and defense mechanisms surrounding my heart?

As Trey becomes involved with ACT UP, the reason for the book's title comes to the fore. It is a brutal realization that this is how dire things were. And a reminder that we're not that far from seeing how dire things are close to being again:

The point is to let your bruised and bloodied bodies serve as evidence that the government means to kill you, if you so much as protest its bigoted policies.

The novel is not all doom and gloom though. Through all the ups and downs in Trey's life and those of his friends, there is a cheekiness, an earnestness and an honesty to the story that thoroughly anchors it. My Government Means to Kill Me is not only a brilliant historical novel of those times, it is a bold statement of how someone who could have been an outcast doesn't settle for being left out.