Premio Dardos award, great blog links!

"The Premio Dardos is a way to acknowledge the importance of bloggers committed to spreading cultural, ethical, literary and personal values, showing their letters and words."

Premio Dardos means prize darts in Italian...
Special thanks to LibraryCatsbooks.blogspot.com for the Award below....I appreciate her noticing and selecting the The Black Sheep Dances.  Be sure to check out her blog for great reviews and some very well-read (and well-fed) cats.

http://libraryscatbooks.blogspot.com/2010/06/premio-dardos-award.html

Now I'd love to pass the award on to some of my favorite blogs for their worldwide exposure to unusual books and authors.

Dorte in Denmark at http://2010globalchallenge.blogspot.com/ for encouraging world travel via books.

Uriah's UK crime discussions at http://camberwell-crime.blogspot.com/

Karen's European crime book discussions at http://eurocrime.blogspot.com/

Jose's blog in Spain at http://ignacioescribano.blogspot.com/

The Australian contributers (Bernadette and friends) at http://fairdinkumreviews.blogspot.com/

Kiwicraig's New Zealand blog at http://kiwicrime.blogspot.com/

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One other small item I forgot from last week:  The random drawing for The Language of Secrets selected Linda Henderson as the winner and I've know given the publicist her address to receive it.  Next giveaway coming soon!  I promise an international one this time!

For some great photography, check out the blog for http://www.davidnewsomphoto.blogspot.com/.  I reviewed his book Skip a few months ago, and his blog features updates of photos that specialize in unique views of water, light, clouds, and faces.  Great stuff!
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Finland is officially part of Scandinavia!

Since we had some recent questions regarding whether Finland should be counted as part of Scandinavia, for the purposes of the Challenge, we seem to have found the definitive answer from Diane, a publicist for HELSINKI HOMICIDE: VENGEANCE by Jarkko Sipila.  It is nominated for the Glass Key Award (excellence in Scandinavian crime fiction), and it is by a Finnish author. So, if Finland is considered part for purposes of the Glass Key award, we can assume Finland is considered part of Scandinavia in general.

Thanks for your help Diane! 

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Purge, literary fiction by Sofi Oksanen

This review for Sofi Oksanen’s book Purge is probably the most difficult I’ve ever done. I liked the book very much, but I’m terribly afraid of revealing spoilers, as the novel is so complicated and layered. I can easily describe it as one of my personal favorites, up there with Per Petterson and Tim Winton.

To begin, this book has nothing to do with eating disorders, and the only real complaint I have is that the cover art scarcely seems to apply to the complicated work within. After you’ve read it, you realize that the cover does in fact refer to details encountered, but I’m curious if the cover itself would dissuade readers from picking it up. A pretty measly complaint, to be followed by lavish praise!  However, I’m also known to pick out wine based on how artistic the bottle labels look, rather than whether it is any good or not, so maybe that's just me! 

That said, there are two interlinking threads in this story. One character thinks she’s escaping her small Russian village, allured by the glamorous Western world represented to her by elegant silk stockings worn by a visiting friend. Unfortunately, while Zara focuses on the material luxury represented by those stockings, she doesn’t see the wave her friend gives her, “it looked more like she was scraping at the air with red fingernails. Her fingers were slightly curled, as if she were ready to scratch.” Desirous of that ‘better life’, frustrated with her silent mother and her fragile grandmother, Zara thinks she can escape. Instead she’s kidnapped and chained, set up by that friend, and headed for a brutal world in Germany: a place that makes Vladivostok look much more beautiful.

In the meantime, Aliide leads a quiet life in Estonia, her days spent canning and cultivating her small garden and dairy animals, dwelling in the past. Since childhoood, her life was filled with pain, suffering, and loss.  Her village had suffered from Fascist and Communist occupation, with many citizens (including her own sister and niece) being sent to Siberia. The village itself was a complex array of loyalties…those that hoped for American intervention to save them, others loyal to Russia, and still others harboring German sympathies. Not even the simplest of farmers could trust one another: too much was at stake. The atrocities from all sides were fresh in everyone’s memories. The result was people who carried physical and mental scars, who were eaten up with regret and suspicion. Aliide was one of them, more damaged than most.

Eventually Zara makes an escape, and her path crosses with Aliide. Their new relationship is mistrustful and edgy, as neither knows the true identity or agenda of the other. As this developed, I was sure that “this” relationship was the core of the novel. I was wrong, and the way the story proceeds is not only unpredictable but shocking and ugly. No one is as they appear, and trust is unachievable. Because it turns out that Aliide knows far more about Zara than either realized, and the threads that connect them go back further than their chance meeting. Here unfolds the deeper part of the novel, the most disturbing, as we see that Aliide is not the warm-hearted savior we expected her to be, and her damaged psyche is revealed.

The underlying theme is that appearances can be deceptive. A person can appear good, or moral, or upstanding. But what they hide can be unimaginable, and they keep the deception up so well that they can convince themselves it doesn’t exist. Danger is present everywhere, but it can distract you with a beautiful appearance. This is well expressed in an introductory quote from Paul-Eerik Rummo: “The walls have ears, and the ears have beautiful earrings.” Such a simple quote, but it describes much of what the novel means.

This is a combination of crime fiction and historical fiction, and fans of both would be pleased. It was translated from the Finnish by Lola Rogers.

Special thanks to Martin Wilson from Grove/Atlantic for the Review Copy.

The Singer's Gun, Emily St. John Mandel

“Sometimes regular channels aren’t open to you, and then you have to improvise. Find your own way out. Think about it, Anton. What does it take to succeed in this world?”



“It’s never easy. You have to be creative sometimes. You have to make things happen for yourself.”


What does it mean to be a good person? Can you justify a tiny bit of crime, maybe by simply looking the other way, if your intent is good? Are you saving the world if you ignoring your own child? 

The Singer’s Gun is an incredible novel, one that has consumed me since I began reading it. Tension and suspense are mixed in with significant questions regarding morality and family honor in a world changed by 9/11. Anton is the protagonist, a man who wishes to wash his hands of his family’s criminal links, but finds that doing that requires its own sort of dishonesty. This novel discusses the complex links that connect us to our past and lead to our future. How desperate do we have to be to make a new beginning? 

The novel makes you consider all these things without ever getting preachy or dull. The stride is brisk, and the characters are all unique and compelling. As in real life, very few people are completely good or completely bad: this explores all the mysterious layers and inconsistencies of everyday life. Anton is appealing: after all, he adopts a one-eyed cat and shows up at his job reliably, long after he’s been quietly fired. Yet he’s lost, gripped by an inertia brought on by not wanting to do wrong but not having the courage to do “right”. 

What I really enjoyed, besides the completely unique characters, was that the plot continually rotates, changing viewpoints, so that you can observe scenes through another characters eyes and thus see their own justifications. It complicates the drama and adds tension. The author subtly weaves little threads of foreshadowing here and there to add another dimension. Some seemingly unrelated minor events appear that actually serve to rough up and texture the identities of the characters.  My only minor irritation was that the character Elena kept "looking at her reflection" in the window over and over...I don't know why I got hung up on that but in most of the scenes she appears in, there is some sort of comment on her looking at the glass.  I thought it was a nod to something about her character, something that would present itself later, but I don't think it did.  It was just a phrase that seemed to get overused in an otherwise perfectly written story.

I had heard raves about the author before:  now I know why!   I spent most of today’s unusual heat wave parked in front of a fan with The Singer’s Gun, and was sad to see it end. I should have savored it more! This one would be ripe for a sequel, because the moral ambiguities can never be completely resolved.

Special thanks to Caitlin at Unbridled Books for the Review Copy.

A Maxim, a poem by Carl Dennis

A Maxim

To live each day as if it might be the last
Is an injunction that Marcus Aurelius

Inscribes in his journal to remind himself
That he, too, however privileged, is mortal.

That whatever bounty is destined to reach him
Has reached him already, many times.
But if you take his maxim too literally
And devote your mornings to tinkering with your will,
Your afternoons and evenings to saying farewell
To friends and family, you'll come to regret it.
Soon your lawyer won't fit you into his schedule,
Soon your dear ones will hide in a closet
When they hear your heavy step on the porch,
And then your house will slide into disrepair.
Is this is my last day, you'll say to yourself,
Why waste time sealing drafts in the window frames
Or cleaning gutters or patching the driveway?
If you don't want your heirs to curse the day
You first opened Marcus's journals,
Take him simply to mean you should find an hour
Each day to pay a debt or forgive one,
Or write a letter of thanks or apology.
No shame in leaving behind some evidence
You were hoping to live beyond the moment.
No shame in a ticket to a concert seven months off,
Or better yet, two tickets, as if you were hoping
To meet by then someone who'd love to join you,
Two seats near the front so you catch each note.

-----Carl Dennis  (June 7, 2010 New Yorker magazine)

The Abyss of Human Illusion by Gilbert Sorrentino

The Abyss of Human Illusion is aptly titled, given that Sorrentino develops so many of his narrative pieces with the focus on the illusions in everyday life: the assumptions we make, or the events we mentally rehearse for but never act out. This collection is fifty-some short vignettes, not quite a collection of short stories, but still packing just as much of a punch. Most are just two or three pages, and what he can accomplish in so few words is amazing.

This was my first Sorrentino collection, and it’s honest and pure without being depressing. Even the parts about depression were somehow unsinkable. A great deal of humor is within it, a sweet humor as well as snarky realism. For example, in one section, an elderly man pities his upstairs neighbor, another elderly man with a crippled foot. They have no connection, but the downstairs neighbor imagines an entire life for the poor man above, embellishing it with sad little details about war injuries and ungrateful children that allow him to ignore the terrible noise the upstairs man makes. Finally, unable to stand the noise much longer, he goes upstairs and finds a scantily clad woman at the door, who looks at him disdainfully, as he is an old man. Thus the noise is explained and the downstairs neighbor is chastened. Isn’t that how it goes?

Another man is set to review his friend’s published poetry collection, one of several in a successful artistic career. He can’t make himself get to it, and keeps putting it off. Finally, he has to admit it to himself what prevents him: the realization that his friend is “an arrogant, selfish, cruel, egocentric yet charming man of sociopathic bent, to put the very best face on it, changed, oh yes, transformed his public presence into one of a subtly nuanced and delicate humility, transformed his entire life and world into the very picture of the sensitive artist.” And the larger revelation? His friend was a terrible poet in the first place. Immediately you imagine that the reviewer would justify the poet’s corruption if only he had more talent!

Sorrentino makes some pokes at my beloved New Yorker magazine (I feel kind of guilty for enjoying it so much!).  He makes more than a few allusions to famous people who lacked the talent to back up their legend, but I couldn’t place exactly who he meant (I’m sure they know!). He's uncanny at noting the little details that make each person tick.  In fact, given the seemingly trivial details he explores, you’d assume the stories would be longer. But it’s the specificity of what he describes that allows you to immediately know what he means without pages of descriptions. An amazing gift, because none of the pieces feel short-changed or hurried; all are exactly right.

The introduction of this novel is also quite touching as it is written by Sorrentino’s son, explaining how his father completed the work despite his debilitating illness, just weeks before his death. I’m eager to see if Sorrentino’s other novels are this style, as it’s an addicting style of prose.  Best of all, it's not so sophisticated that the reader feels ignorant (as frequently happens when I read some celebrated writers).

Special thanks to Esther Porter at Coffee House Press for the Review Copy.

Where I Stay, Andrew Zornoza

This is an cryptic collection of random thoughts, experiences, and photographs of the author's fictional journey through the Western US and Mexico.  This definitely isn't the scenic route:  Zornoza's travels take him to the edge of urban life, mainly concentrating on the rough roads and deserted highways that have been left in the past by time and progress.  The landscape is grey, gritty, and jagged:  much like the words he chooses to describe his interactions and his reactions to it all.

His observations are sometimes funny, sometimes tense, and often a bit obscure.  You get the impression that he has x-ray vision and sees beneath the surface of the locations, as well as the hardened exteriors of the people he meets.  He encounters the most diverse group of people imaginable, all lingering on the outskirts of city and suburban life, some intentionally and some without choice.  The black and white photographs heighten the sense of distance and reminded me of a Dust Bowl migration.  There's sadness within it all, yet the traveller continues.  Much like an epic quest, he keeps pursuing that which he cannot identify.

"There are cracks in the country-in its families and highways, houses and rivers, factories, cellar windows, truck stops, in the sounds of chattering televisions, in the plexiglass booths of pay phones by bus stations, in the crushed glass of parking lots..."

"The prairie was my cellar door.  I had removed everyone I knew or the people had removed themselves.  I replaced them all with a vast plateau, then mountains, dry desert, broken pieces of landscape that didn't quite fit together.  I found people in the cracks."

Zornoza's gift in this collection is the little surprises he throws out amid the descriptions of the raw landcape.  In his diary-like entries, he may explain what happened and where, but he may also throw out a mysterious phrase: "because if someone was making a movie of her, the movie would not be good.  She was a bad actress, but there was no movie, there was no acting."  I really enjoyed the photographs but more the pictures his words composed.  Sparse, with no unnecessary details or dialogue.  An excellent collection....It reminded me somewhat of Sam Shepherd's Day Out of Days.

Special thanks to Tarpaulin Sky Press for the Review Copy.

www.tarpaulinsky.com

Mixed Media

The Scandinavian Reading Challenge still has new participants joining...I'm amazed at the enthusiasm for this project.  Ken M. has suggested we discuss some unusual Scandinavian titles that we know of or may have enjoyed.  Some of the authors/titles have been widely discussed or seen in the media (i.e. Larsson).  Ken would like suggestions for more obscure titles in the genre that could be posted for others to find...is there a special 'hidden treasure' you know of that may be hard to find?  Please help!

In the news:  Henning Mankell was arrested by Israeli police for participating in the flotilla of boats trying to break through the Gaza blockade to provide food. 
http://www.cbc.ca/arts/media/story/2010/06/01/mankell-gaza.html
If you haven't seen the book Purge by Sofi Oksanen, look for it.  The review is coming soon, but I'll just say now that this is easily one of my top five books of all time.  It combines history with crime and incredible character structures and will knock you out.  I'm counting it in the SRC because part of it takes place in Finland (the majority in Estonia).  This brings me to: 

Some great reviews for the SRC,

from Jose in Spain:  The Silence of the Grave by Indriason
http://ignacioescribano.blogspot.com/2010/05/silence-of-grave-by-arnaldur-indriason_27.html
The Mind's Eye by Nesser
http://ignacioescribano.blogspot.com/2010/05/minds-eye-by-hakan-nesser.html
The Savage Altar by Larsson
http://ignacioescribano.blogspot.com/2010/05/savage-altar-by-asa-larsson.html

from Bernadette:  The Serbian Dane
http://reactionstoreading.wordpress.com/2010/05/04/review-the-serbian-dane-by-leif-davidsen/

from Colleen:
http://colreads.blogspot.com/2010/06/ice-land-of-valkyries-and-volcanoes.html



As always, http://www.eurocrime.co.uk/ has an amazing list of titles and completed reviews of Scandinavian Crime fiction. Please send me your blog links or review links to post monthly. 

I've now completed the Challenge myself with: Purge, Siamese, The Twin, I Curse the River of Time, Your Presence is Requested at Suvanto, and The Man from Beijing.  I actually read a few more but these have reviews on the sidebar.  Yay!  Still working on finishing the Aussie Author Challenge 2010 now, so my focus is going to be diverted a bit:  lots of Peter Carey to read!

I'm leaning towards an Eastern European Translated Works Challenge, starting in September. Since so many participants in the Scandinavian Challenge are done or close to completion, it might be fun to have a new one going rather than waiting for 2011. Title or author suggestions welcome.

Photo is unrelated, I just like it.  Only a cat would get a tattoo of itself.

Some new ARC's received make the next few months of reviewing look incredibly fun:

Beautiful Maria of My Soul -Oscar Hijuelos
The Long Song -Andrea Levy
Safe from the Sea-Peter Geye
Work Song-Ivan Doig
My Life as a Russian Novel-Emmanuel Carrere
Houdini Pie-Paul Michel
Beirut 39-Samuel Shimon
Winter Journey-Jaume Cabre
New World of Indigenous Resistance-Noam Chomsky
Mr. Toppit-Charles Elton
The Singer's Gun-Emily St. John Mandel
Life as We Show It-Pera and Tupitsyn

The giveaway for Dixon's The Language of Secrets ends at 9:00 pm Pacific time tomorrow (June 2nd).  US street addresses only (sorry!).  The next giveaway will be international!  SRC participants are automatically entered, others can enter by leaving a comment with email address.

On a personal note, I finally saw the film The Road.  The region I live in didn't have a showing so I had to wait for the DVD release.  My son who read the book with me refused to watch, as he feels no movie can compare to the book.  Usually I agree but I was really impressed with this film.  Much of the gore is gone and what remains is the father-son relationship that is tender and tough.  I highly recommend it, and it is not nearly as gory or violent as the movie trailers made it out to be.  It was strangely uplifting, not nearly as depressing and bleak as the book.  Not excessively so, anyway. The trailers appeared to focus solely on the first half hour or so, with additional scenes that weren't even in the final film. 

The Confessions of Noa Weber by Gail Hareven, translated literature

Winner of the Sapir Award for Literature and the "2010 Best Translated Book Award" by

Three Percent, a literary translation organization.

Noa Weber is a wealthy, single woman who late in life decides to write her memoirs. She’s been a single mother and a successful novelist, but her life is most marked by her obsession with a Russian Jew named Alek. Their relationship is filled with complications and at many times is completely one sided on her part: Alek has a full life without her. Noa’s life experience is more complex than most. Her attempt to recall her past motivations and experiences is problematic: “There’s a kind of lie in this linear writing which does not encompass all the details” she explains.

The novel reverses from her past to present in varying chunks, not always in chronological order. The events of her life are complicated by the social and political situation in Israel, and events in Russia as well. She is an atheist while her daughter is an observing Jew. Her mysterious relationship with her daughter is a sideline that adds to her complications and also makes the reader ask questions if this, in fact, is part of her “confession”.

The novel is beautifully written in an unanticipated way. She focuses only on relevant details to her story, so it proceeds at a quick clip that makes her seem self-absorbed. At times I found myself disliking Noa entirely, as she seemed so obsessively involved with Alek that she was completely heartless with everyone else, even to the point of neglect. She knows that too. His emotional and physical distancing from her doesn’t shake her: she is hooked: “Perhaps it is not him whom my soul loves that I am seeking, but simply my soul.” Yet her candor exposes more of her than might be shown if she presented herself as a more likable figure. In other words, her honesty is painful and risky. It’s as if she truly is in a confessional booth, stating her sins and but refusing absolution. And that dichotomy is what makes the novel so fascinating.

For example, she is remembering Alek and points to the weather as being the trigger for her memories: the smell of the rain, the warm wind, the “sight of the softened light refracted from the stone”. But she catches herself in her recounting, and in an aside, remarks “what did I just say? The warm wind and the softened light refracted from the stone in my longing? In the last analysis that’s romantic bullshit too. Setting the feeling in the ‘softened light of refracted from the stone’ to make it more photogenic. I loved Alek under the ugly neon of the hospital too, and in all kinds of other lights that can’t be poeticized.” She counters her memories in other reflections that alternate with humor and bitterness.

Thus the novel is unique and compelling because of Noa’s narrative voice. Never predictable and never easy, but worthy of the time and patience to find the truth between her memories and her reality.

This fiction novel was translated from Hebrew by Dalya Bilu. 

Special thanks to Megan at Melville House for this Review Copy. 

The Twin, Gerbrand Bakker, Archipelago Books

“Everything is different when you have a coffin in your living room.”

These are the kinds of sentences that fill The Twin: subtle, understated and crackling. This beautifully written novel shines with its character depiction of Helmer, a man who has made no choices in his life other than selecting the chickens for the farm. His home, the larger farm animals, his furniture and even his work clothes were passed on: choices that belonged to others.

However, the impending death of his father leads him to finally and uncomfortably assert his own will by moving the furniture, painting, and throwing out years worth of family relics. With this new and clean space, he finds that the things he can’t get rid of become more prominent. The house’s newly vacated space feels hollow, a reflection of the state of his heart and mind. He’s aware of his emptiness, and it’s illustrated when he buys a map to hang as “art” for his walls. The lack of anything attractive on the walls of his house makes the single picture lost and the emptiness all the more obvious. All he can do is look at the map and memorize the places he’d like to someday visit, an urge that seems impossible with all the burdens laid upon him since his teens.

He spends his days managing the meager farm, tending carelessly to his father and reeling from the thirty year loss of his twin brother Henk. For a time he allows a wayward teen to help as a farmhand, bringing new dynamics to his empty space.  The complexity of the novel isn’t simply the missing twin, that sort of story has been written countless times before. Rather, the theme is based on identity of self, not in relation to anyone else (his father or brother) but in the form of his own destiny. He appears to make no strides towards the independence he aspires to, and the contrast between his thoughts and actions creates a tension that is sometimes funny and sometimes brutal. Self-determination is an entirely unknown concept to Helmer, and throughout the novel you question if he ever can achieve it. Some could read a geo-political message in this, but I’d rather leave that out and focus on the beautiful writing and the descriptions that make you pause: in reference to an old log, “even a dead thing can be beautiful.” 

A symbolism that is repeated throughout the novel is of a solitary hooded crow that stalks Helmer through the windows and around the yard, silently glaring. Since crows generally represent sadness or death, I thought it was appropriate in many ways.  Yet the way Bakker concludes the story, and accounts for the crow's presence, was still an unexpected surprise.

This title was translated from the Dutch original by David Colmer.  It is available at Archipelagobooks.org or Amazon.com.

Special thanks to Jill Schoolman of Archipelago Books for the Review Copy.

The Best and Worst of Book Trailers, from Melville House

Megan at Melville House sent me the link as Melville House helped sponsor the Moby Awards,  an annual best and worst book trailer awards ceremony in New York (I would have easily given up one of my kids to get to go!).  Alas, no takers so I only got to read about it in this hysterical link.

All are amusing, but be sure to listen to the Sounds Of Murder trailer, awarded Least Likely to Sell a Book, and resist the urge to impale yourself on any nearby sharp object.  I couldn't believe it was for real.   Head Case has a great trailer, very funny.  The others are all fun to watch (worst waste of corporate cash?).

http://mhpbooks.com/mobylives/?p=15324

Giveaway by NancyO, Nesbo's Devil's Star

Nancy O (a SRC participant) has a giveaway at her blog for Nesbo's The Devil's Star!  Here's the link...

http://www.2010theyearinbooks.com/2010/05/for-all-of-you-scandinavian-fiction.html

Pretty cool, eh?

Who am I? Just for Fun!

If I were a...

I saw this on another blog I follow and thought it was cool. So here are my answers....

If I were a month, I'd be April.
If I were a day, I’d be Saturday.

If I were a time of day, I'd be 11 am.
If I were a font, I'd be Papyrus or Calibri.
If I were a sea animal, I'd be a mudkip.------look how cute!
If I were a direction, I’d be West.
If I were a piece of furniture, I'd be an antique secretary desk.
If I were a liquid, I’d be Shiraz.
If I were a gemstone, I'd be a torquoise
If I were a tree, I'd be an coast live oak.
If I were a tool, I’d be a ruler.
If I were a flower, I'd be a gerbera daisy.
If I were an element of weather, I'd be cool breeze
If I were a musical instrument, I'd be a kazoo.
If I were a color, I’d be blue-gray or teal.
if i were an emotion, I’d be hope.
If I were a fruit, I'd be a kiwi.
If I were a sound, I’d be baby giggles
If I were an element, I’d be water.
If I were a car, I'd be a Toyota Sequoia (my current ride).
If I were a food, I'd be a California roll.
If I were a place, I’d be the crest of Montano de Oro above Spooner's Cove.
If I were material, I'd be a soft cotton, worn and washed to softness.
If i were a taste, I’d be citrus.
If I were a scent, I’d be night jasmine.
If I were a body part, I’d be a heart.
If I were a song, I'd be "Life on Mars" by Bowie.
If I were a bird, I'd be a mockingbird.
If I were a gift, I’d be a leather journal.
If I were a city, I'd be Santa Barbara, CA
If I were a door, I’d be weathered but painted softly.
If I were a pair of shoes, I'd be barefoot.
If I were a poem, I'd be "Agony River" by Scott Wannberg.
 
Anyone wish to add their choices?

The Language of Secrets, Dianne Dixon, mystery

The Language of Secrets is a tightly wound mystery, with a plot unlike any other I’ve ever run across. The entire story is unusual and grabs you immediately. The main character had moved to London to pursue a career, and remained out of touch with his immediate family. After many, many years, he returns to California and tries to reconnect. He finds his parents have died, and when he visits their graves, he sees another headstone next to them. His. Showing that he died at age four. Immediately he’s bounced into a living hell of flashbacks, waking delusions, and disquietude that infects his own marriage. He has no idea who he is and what has happened.

Thus begins this twisted and complex tale that takes you through the lives of several members of his family. It is suspenseful and anxious…so much so that I felt nauseated at times. Perhaps it was the suspense of the missing four year, nearly the same age as my own child, which made me anxious. All I can say is that this story fascinated me by just how off-the-wall it was. I read a lot, and running into an utterly unique premise is unusual.

That said, it’s apparent that this is a plot driven story rather than built on solid characters. I felt a bit cheated that some of these amazing situations came from some rather superficial characters who seemed predictable despite the unpredictable plot. Some were so shallow that I could actually foresee their actions, and others exemplified tremendous character values yet no rationale for their behavior was given. It was the characters that detracted me from the story.

The story proceeds at a quick pace, and the only other “blip” that occurred was when one character’s almost unimaginable actions were explained, in an ‘aside’ by the author, where she attempts to justify the actions in light of the socio-political values of the time period. It was only two paragraphs, but it didn’t fit. She should have been able to show those details without such an invasive explanation. It felt a bit preachy, actually, and it derailed the pace. And while she tried to account for the actions, it wasn’t sufficient to overcome the initial doubt about the behavior, and effectively made her argument less powerful.

This is a intriguing book, and one that I will share with friends. The minor flaws it has doesn’t take away from this tremendous story and fascinating plot.

Special thanks to Judy Jacoby of Doubleday for the Advanced Review Copy.

She's provided me with a copy to giveaway of this title, ending June 2, 2010. See previous post for entry requirements.

Siamese, Stig Saeterbakken (Norway)

Edwin lives in his bathroom. A rocking chair placed within is his world, and a nearby dresser holds his cups of flat soda and boxes of Orbit gum. The floor is wrinkled with wrappers, and while he’s blind, an overhead fluorescent light illuminates his miserable existence. Once an exacting businessman, overseeing a convalescent home of deteriorating elderly people, he now sits in his own waste, deteriorating slowly as he chews gum and has conversations with Death. Screaming at Elna, his wife, is his only source of distraction from his roving thoughts.

Siamese examines the inner thoughts and outer actions of this strange pair, in the most intimate of ways. Elna is so involved in Edwin’s death (as it is he is more dead than alive) that she lacks the most basic grasp of common sense, unless it comes to deceiving Edwin. Edwin glories in his demise, cataloguing each symptom and detail with relish. It’s almost as if his decay proves that he existed in the first place, because in his constant reminiscing he often tries to analyze if he really did live. His thoughts are random, vulgar, and filled with hate. He asks himself: “Where is this road heading? What will become of everything? Will the future be like what’s already going on in my head? No, the world’s still out there. Nothing ever goes away, it just accumulates. Especially for me, who can’t see worth a damn, yes, I just sit here with a head full of stupid pictures…”

It’s clear that even in younger days, Edwin was far from kindly. He treated the patients in the rest home with distant efficiency but secretly thought they should be suffocated in their beds. He loses his job just as his sanity lapses: he attacks a nurse. From then on his busy career fades into the small, smelly room where he ruminates about prior patients and coworkers and pleads for Death to arrive soon to release him from his thoughts:

“Take it all, I mean it, don’t leave so much as a bedroom slipper behind, annihilate me, smash me into kindling, into dust, then vacuum me up, leave no evidence, I don’t want to be remembered for anything…I long for you to come and beat my thoughts into submission…they’ve plagued me long enough, do nothing but torment me,…all they can think about, all they remember, is themselves…But I don’t want to think about them anymore…letting them have their way with me is a worse defeat than death.”

Elna, for her part, remains distant from Edwin, as his still breathing corpse is no company and company is what she craves. A broken light bulb, necessitating a visit from the building’s young superintendent, finally gives Elna a chance. And the malevolent force that enters their miserable life changes everything.

Siamese is not a mystery novel, but at times I had to remind myself to breathe as the suspense built. A character study of two deeply connected but polarized individuals, it is fascinating to read and see how their actions push each other into reactions that are both ugly and frightening. It’s also terribly frightening: the helplessness and lack of contact along with the certainty of impending death gave me chills.

I look forward to more books by this author, as the reading of this was a complete escape.  Not pretty, but definitely fascinating.

The novel was originally written in Norwegian and was translated by Stokes Schwartz.

Special thanks to Martin Riker and Jessica Henrichs of Dalkey Archive for the Review Copy.

Need Input on Future Challenges: please add your two cents

The Scandinavian Readers Challenge runs through year's end but many of the participants have completed or are close to completing it already.  So I'm pondering some future challenges, and would love some feedback.

First, I was considering running a June only "Global Poetry Challenge" that would encourage reading of poetry, particularly lesser known or newly translated poets.  Rather than requiring a certain amount of reading, I'd ask participants to contribute phrases or quotes that they particularly enjoyed, and what they know about the poet.  Thoughts?  Interested?

Also, I've been chatting with Richard di Santo at Object Press about a future "French Translation Challenge".  As he describes it, it would "cover books originally written in French that have been translated into English, regardless of country of origin. The books could be from anywhere in the world, from any nationality, as there are a number of authors writing in the French language who are not French nationals (from Canada, Senegal, etc.)"  The great thing about a challenge like that would be that any genre could be included: crime, nonfiction, literary fiction and poetry.  It would also encourage reading translated works that are now being translated, and are more likely to be unknown by many readers.  New horizons, essentially.  Thoughts on this?  I would estimate it would start in September 2010 and run to December or into 2011, depending on response.  Please comment on your thoughts about this Challenge and whether you think you'd participate.

I had considered other challenges, but Australia is well represented in Challenges online now, as is many Asian literature titles.  Another option would be Russian translations (into English) or books about Russia...

Input appreciated!

Winner and New Giveaway: The Language of Secrets

Congrats to "Cal" who was randomly selected to win A Week In December by Sebastian Faulks.  She/he has 48 hours to confirm or another winner will be selected.

Next giveaway:  The Language of Secrets by Dianne Dixon.  Due to publisher restrictions, this is also a US only address (no PO boxes) giveaway.  Scandinavian Challenge Participants are automatically entered, so others must leave a comment (followers only please) in the comments for this post to enter.

This giveaway ends a bit later, as I will be out of town at the end of the month.  June 1, 2010 at 9:00 pm Pac time a winner will be selected and notified.

Review for this wonderful title coming up this week...it's a great story!

Additionally, I'm passing on the Prolific Blogger Award on to Nicole Trist at her Australian blog,

http://bookywooks.blogspot.com/  "Books, Books Everywhere". 

Article on Why Book Covers Vary by Country

http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2010/may/09/judge-book-by-cover

This link was in today's Shelf Awareness newsletter, and it's an interesting read about how European covers are so different from US ones.

Three Old Men, or Why Random Selection is Anything But!

I have all my books spread around the house, and most of the ARC's I get are mixed in with my own purchased titles.  So when I'm in the mood for a new book, I usually just pick a random mix, and keep one in my car, another by my desk and one on the nightstand.  So despite the random nature, I ended up with a strangely united selection of dying old men.  First is a book of poetry called Winter Garden by Pablo Neruda (a lovely collection, and he's classy and poignant as always), then Siamese by Stig Saeterbakken (a novel), and finally The Abyss of Human Illusion by Gilbert Sorrentino (short essays and perceptions).  While the tone and content is completely different on all of them, they are similar in that all are the words of dying older men (sadly, in real life in two out of three of the titles).  Somehow I feel like I'm visiting a bizarre rest home of especially profound, expressive and nuanced men...I imagine they'd drive the nurses wild with their prose (except Edwin, they'd run for their lives on soft, padded soles). 

Anyway, because of the surreal nature of reading all three at once, I'm going to put two away and finish Neruda and start with some other voices for now:  Linda Olsson's Sonata for Miriam (she wrote my beloved Astrid & Veronika) and Jo Nesbo's The Redbreast.  I think this will not only refresh me but make reviewing easier.  Reading the three men together diluted the impact of each one individually, and made them sort of morph together. 

My review of Neruda's Winter Garden is coming soon.  He's as lovely as ever, and exhibits the strangest combination of insight without self-pity, and composure balanced with emotion.  He must have been fascinating to be around.

Reporting at Wit's End- Tales from the New Yorker

Everyone that knows me knows I adore the New Yorker...some of it is a bit silly but I really love it when a reporter is able to do an in-depth article that includes volumes of research and subtle details that make you really know the subject.  For example, last month they had a very detailed and fascinating article about some Serbian diamond thiefs, the "Pink Panthers".  It didn't just cover their crimes, but went on to their upbringing, their techniques, the methods of searching for them, and on and on.  Most magazines are not willing to give up the space for such depth.

That's why Reporting at Wit's End "Tales from the New Yorker" by St. Clair McKelway, is such a treat for me.  It's a collection of the best articles New Yorker has offered, but in a totally inventive way.  It selects feature articles from different decades, the 1930s, 40s, 50s and concludes with two from the 1960s.  These aren't famous people biographies or even well-known articles, just well-written articles about subjects fascinating at the time. 

One is "Average Cop", a very long study of one of New York's finest, as he goes about his day, from a 1930s issue.  Big details and little details are combined to make a complete character study, and it's done uniquely: there's no mockery or subtle elevation of his character.  It's just about him.  As he is.  There's no effort made to push a political agenda or disclose social ills.  It's a simple story about a man, and it's fascinating.

From the 1950s, an article called "The Rich Recluse of Herald Square" about the death of an elderly hoarder, and her mysterious life.  Little details make it painful and tragic, and yet there's this strange sense of power that this woman and her sister had, in order to put the world in its place (and out of theirs).  Little pictures of human kindness abound.

This is a great collection, and one that I personally enjoyed very much. I thought it was interesting to see the changes in writing and social details between the decades discussed.  What was considered improper in the 1930s is handled without note in the 1960s.  A great supplement to American history for the 20th century.

Thanks to Kristina Jutzi of Bloomsbury for the Advanced Reading Copy. 

Prolific Blogger Award

thanks to Caroline Bookbinder for the lovely award!

She has a lovely blog:

http://carolinebookbinder.blogspot.com/

Thanks!!!

The News Where You Are, Catherine O'Flynn, British mystery

The News Where You Are, by Catherine O'Flynn, begins as a gentle character study of an aging news anchor, popular to viewers but something of a joke to his colleagues. Off the air, Frank Allcroft spends his time obsessively analyzing parts of his life: the legacy of his deceased father, his depressed mother, and his unfulfilling job. After the death of a close friend, he suddenly feels untethered and lost. To ease his conscience about the superficial nature of his job, Frank makes a habit of taking a personal interest in news stories that feature abandoned people. He explores parts of his town, old and new, and watches the march of time and its effects on the inhabitants and their attitudes. He visits the graves of those who die nameless or unloved, and in this he becomes involved in a mystery that actually wraps around his own obsessions with the past.


It’s at this point that the novel, set in small town England, becomes far less simple or gentle. By searching the themes of abandonment, the race of time, and the nature of friendship, the author creates a suspenseful, if untraditional, thriller that leaves you pondering how much of what we know-whether about friends or family-is actually real.

A main theme in Frank’s life is his late father, an architect, who was usually absent; Frank had consoled himself as a child by imagining that his father sacrificed his family for a greater good. His belief system is reevaluated when the buildings end up demolished. “As his buildings were bulldozed, one by one, Frank began to suspect that often what vanished revealed more than what remained.” His mother finds the demolition far easier to bear, and in most ways she is able to move forward despite her age and depression. She chides Frank: “Everything was a memento for you. Everything reminded you of something. Nothing was allowed to be forgotten. I can’t imagine anything worse”

Catherine O’Flynn writes in a beautiful prose that alternates between bitter and sweet, comical and tragic. At times she illustrates the pain involved in the most personal of disappointments without overwrought emotion. I appreciated that while Frank, the protagonist, is pensive, he never descends into the maudlin or pathetic. He still manages to go through his life with responsibility and acuity. Modern fiction is populated with plenty of self-absorbed and despondent characters, lost in messes of their own design. This novel is refreshing because Frank doesn’t fit that cliché; he keeps functioning and proactive, despite his inclinations to dwell in the past.

The denouement of the novel is complicated, and I won’t spoil it here. Much must be said, though, about O’Flynn’s fascinating voice and style of description as embodied in Frank. When Frank visits a dead man’s house, one who died alone and unknown, he imagines him “…diligently cleaning a house that would only be visited by strangers after his death. He thought squalor would have been less sad.” Or when observing a mental hospital converted into condos, he muses “who would choose to live in a place of former suffering? What level of hubris was required to feel so utterly undaunted by the past?”  Lines like those stopped me in my tracks, wondering how a mystery novel could be so deep and relevant and still retain its suspense.
The mystery is a introspective read, and it left me pondering more about the people I know who are alone, who appear to be lost, and in comparison those who seem to have it all. This novel reveals that nothing is so simple as appearances.  In all, I'd say this in the top five of books I've read in the last several years...it's that good.

Special thanks to Jason Leibman of Henry Holt and Company for the Advanced Reading Copy.

This title releases in the US in July 2010.

Man from Beijing Winner and New Giveaway: A Week in December

Congratulations to Ken M. for winning the Man from Beijing book giveaway.  I've contacted him and he'll have 48 hours to get me his mailing address.

The next giveaway is for A Week in December by Sebastian Faulks.  Though not a Scandinavian genre (it's British), all Scandinavian Challenge Participants are automatically entered.  Others can enter via comment.  The review for this title will be up next week.  Sadly, this one is US addresses only, and will be shipped by the publisher (no PO boxes please).  This giveaway ends on May 12, 9:00 pm Pac time.

Elegy for April, Benjamin Black, Dublin Noir

Crime fiction has no shortage of brooding crime-solvers, and it’s usually their vices and complications that make them so memorable. In Benjamin Black’s new novel, Elegy for April, the “facilitator” is Dr. Quirke, a pathologist who doesn’t investigate crimes as much as he observes the key players and encourages them to talk and communicate until the mystery is revealed. His perception and the way he moves people is the key to the solution, rather than typical detective techniques. Dr. Quirke is one of the most memorable characters I’ve run across lately, and this novel is an engaging read that constantly offers surprises and complications.


The biggest surprise to me is that it is not politically correct: Quirke is a raging alcoholic and the book begins with him leaving his treatment center, and he manages a few hours of sobriety. His drinking is stupendous, with blackouts and all, and yet the author doesn’t try and preach anything from it nor romanticize it. It’s a refreshing change that makes Quirke’s character that much more sympathetic. Other complications in his life, such as his relationship with his daughter and several women, also demonstrate conflict without resolution. He clearly doesn’t have all the answers, yet he’s able to help solve the disappearance of April with subtle questions.

Several things really struck me about this book, clearly an example of Dublin Noir. Sure, there’s rain in most of those style books, but Elegy for April features rain, sleet, mist, hoarfrost, fog, and drizzle. Black uses these weather features to illustrate twists to the plot and factors in the mystery, without ever getting cutesy or formulaic. Additionally, many scenes feature characters looking in or looking out of windows, and the symbolism of introspection and separation from the outside world is clear. This aspect of the main characters is especially telling, yet done subtly.

Lastly, the other symbolism in the story is the archetypical meanings of black and white, light and dark. Characters step into shadow, out of bright rooms, into shadowed corridors, under bright streetlights, and into gloomy booths. The contrasts between the light and dark are intertwined with the story and it creates an air of tension and suspense. Quirke himself uses the analogy of an ocean to observe:

“All around lay the surface of the ocean, seeming all that there is to see and know, in calm or tempest, while, underneath, lay a wholly other world of things, hidden, with other kinds of creatures, flashing darkly in the deeps.”

If this were ever made into a movie, I'd hope they’d film it in black and white to keep the feel and mood of it united. It’s set apart from other mysteries because much is left unresolved, as happens in real life. My only critique of it was that it ended rather abruptly after a tense buildup through the greater part of the book. I think I simply didn’t want to let go of the mood and characters. Altogether though, I enjoyed this and intend to seek out Black’s earlier books that feature Dr. Quirke.

Special thanks to Jason Liebman of Henry Holt and Company for the Advanced Review Copy. 

I Saw the Figure 5 in Gold, Charles Demuth

The Great Figure

I saw the figure 5
In gold
On a red
Firetruck
Moving
Tense
Unheeded
To going clangs
Siren howls
And wheels rumbling
Through the dark city.

William Carlos Williams (1883-1963)

Sour Grapes: A Book of Poems
Four Seas Company, Boston, 1921