Shortlisted for the Man Booker, this is an unusual “crime” novel. Young Roderick Macrae is in jail for three brutal murders and has written a memoir at the behest of his attorney, who hopes to use some of the information as mitigating factors in Roderick’s trial. Interspersed with the fictional memoir are additional statements by other characters in the story and medical and court reports. If you are looking for a book that grapples with moral ambiguity, look no further. I do not want to ruin the book, so I am not going to reveal the ending, but here is a case that pits the little guy against the powers that be, the downtrodden against the system, and the hopeless against those who hold all the advantages. Or is it? The reader will have to decide for himself. This book will leave you scratching your head, so if you prefer the end tied up neatly with a bow on top, don’t start reading His Bloody Project. This ending leaves the reader full of questions that remain unanswered within the pages of the book, but that is part of its brilliance.
I am afraid I will have to join the minority who did not like this one. The Washington Post reviewer calls it “plodding” and I would have to agree. One reviewer on Goodreads says it seems like the author read The Grapes of Wrath and decided it needed an update. I would have to agree with that as well. The characters are one dimensional, the prose is pedestrian, and there just isn’t enough story to maintain interest. Misery can’t be the only thing sustaining the story arc. I understand that writing about the Great Depression was a risk, because there was a lot of misery, but a load of terrible things happening doesn’t make a story. The main character doesn’t grow, the daughter runs hot and cold, and the dialogue was particularly lackluster. I haven’t even mentioned the historical inaccuracies–if you are going to write about Texas, you should probably do some research about it. Movies from the 1930s are easy to find and watching them might have helped with some of the dialogue. This is the third book by Kristin Hannah I have read and I have come to the conclusion I am not her ideal reader. Color me disappointed.
There are very few books that live up to the hype and this one does. The Thursday Murder Club delivers on so many levels–it’s a cozy, it’s an ensemble piece with multiple points of view, it’s hilarious, it’s a warning against underestimating the elderly. It is hard to believe that this is Osman’s debut novel, because it is freakishly well-written with both laugh-out-loud and teary-eyed moments. Best of all, he manages to write a mystery that doesn’t condescend to readers–keeping you on your toes until the very end. Even if you figure out whodunit, you will want to find out all about the loose ends. One can only hope that Osman brings back the crew for further installments. Can’t wait!
Joy. Pain. Choices. Love. Family. Secrets.
In her second novel, Sweeney does it again. She shows us a family; she shows us ourselves; she shows us an imperfect world with imperfect people who somehow manage to love each other and mean it. When Flora finds Julian’s wedding ring in an old filing cabinet, the ring that he supposedly lost fifteen years ago, she knows he has a secret, but she isn’t sure she wants to know what it is. Flora’s world is rounded out by her daughter, Ruby, and her best friend, Margot–who has secrets of her own. Flora’s marriage to Julian and her friendship with Margot have survived good times and bad and a cross country move from New York to California, but will her love for each of them survive knowing their secrets?
In artful prose and beautifully drawn characters, Sweeney lets the reader into Flora’s world, filled with the joy and the pain of discovery. The question for Flora and the question for us is: will we let the pain win, or will we choose the joy? You’ll have to read it to find out, and please do read it. You won’t regret it. Full disclosure–I received an e-galley in exchange for an honest review.
Discussion Questions for your book club:
- What do you think is Flora’s superpower? What is Margot’s?
- If you were Julian and Flora, would you have moved to California? What about if you were Margot and David? Why or why not?
- What do you think each of them gained by the move?
- What do you think about how Margot felt back in New York after working in California about the snobbishness of the actors? How has her perspective changed since she moved? What does she see that they don’t?
- Why is Julian’s scene with the tree important? What does it mean?
I have been reading Susanne Alleyn’s excellent book about writing historical fiction. Medieval Underpants and Other Blunders (2015) recently; though I find it helpful, interesting, and often quite humorous, there is one idea I would like to push back on just a bit–the feisty female. Alleyn writes that too often authors give their historical characters modern attitudes, and this is true. She quotes Hilary Mantel’s line, “Women in former eras were downtrodden and frequently assented to it.” While there is virtually no one who would argue against the first half of that sentence, I think the idea of assent should be examined more closely. Who assents to being downtrodden?
According to James C. Scott’s Domination and the Arts of Resistance (1990), part of the difficulty in dealing with the history of a subordinate group is that there is a public transcript of events and a hidden transcript, which the dominant group neither knows about nor may access. Further, the hidden transcript is not necessarily a part of the written record, or if it is written, it may exist in sources outside the norm, such as rumors, gossip, songs, rituals, euphemisms, or jokes. Actions may also be a part of the hidden transcript. A quotation from page 14 bears exact reproduction:
Tactical prudence ensures that subordinate groups rarely blurt out their hidden transcripts directly. But, taking advantage of the anonymity of a crowd or of an ambiguous accident, they manage in a thousand artful ways to imply that they are grudging conscripts to the performance.
The performance he refers to here is the dominant group’s version of reality. Add to this the now accepted view that history is written by the victors and the astute writer of historical fiction will see room for heroines who neither assent nor conform inwardly to the dominant group’s (i.e. men’s) conception of reality. They may even occasionally find ways to express their non-assent, as many real historical women–who had the means and opportunity–did. (See Christine De Pizan, Eleanor of Aquitaine, Heloise, etc.) If you are wondering why the short and by no means exhaustive list includes only well-known women of a certain class–they are the ones who had the opportunity. They are the ones that history records, and remember who is writing the history.
This is not to say that your feisty female doesn’t face limitations, of course she does. But, it would be ridiculous to assume that women were satisfied with the status quo and never sought to upend it, even if their resistance was in small acts. In her 1989 article, “The Return of the Repressed in Women’s Narrative,” Susan Stanford Friedman argues that women’s writing may be read as a form of disguised record of the forbidden. That women’s public writing had to disguise what they wanted to say more than their private writing. Women were protesting or “writing against the grain” from the beginning, and if they were writing against the grain, what else might they have done? In “History to the Defeated: Women Writers and the Historical Novel in the Thirties,” Diana Wallace points out that one of the many factors contributing to a boom in female authored and centered historical fiction in the 1930s was the renewed interest and demand for information about the lives of women in history. In addition, a surfeit of women who graduated from University after studying History, but who were denied entrance to other occupations, took up writing historical fiction. All of this brings to mind Catherine Morland, who observes somewhat dryly,
I read it [history] a little as a duty, but it tells me nothing that does not either vex or weary me. The quarrels of popes and kings, with wars or pestilences, in every page; the men all so good for nothing, and hardly any women at all—it is very tiresome: and yet I often think it odd that it should be so dull, for a great deal of it must be invention.Austen, Jane. Northanger Abbey accessed via Project Gutenberg, http://www.gutenberg.org/files/121/121-h/121-h.htm chapter 14.
Indeed, if women are not part of the public transcript, with the exception of outliers, what might the hidden transcript reveal about them, if only we had it complete? So, write your feisty female characters, keeping things as historically accurate as you can, without assenting to being downtrodden–no one assents to that.
Originally reviewed in 2017…
I started using NPR’s book concierge and decided to begin with this sweet, sad story of the run-up and beginning of World War I in Britain containing a cast of characters who are by turns loveable, laughable, pitiable, and enviable. Beatrice Nash is the new school mistress in the village of Rye, championed by Agatha, member of the governing board of the school and local grand dame. Her nephews, Hugh and Daniel, round out the main characters, with a supporting cast that includes a pompous American writer, the local gentry, the mayor and his wife, the vicar’s photographer daughter and more. The pacing is wonderful–just slow enough that the reader can savor the sweetness, because we, unlike some of the characters, know what is coming. Readers will want to cheer for Agatha, who is a heroine in the struggle for women’s rights, but without the rancor which so often accompanies that particular virtue. This is not a simple, beach read–it is far more than that. There are elements of class struggle, the upheaval caused by world events at the time, and even a few hints of secrets better left alone in a small village. All of this is handled with grace and care by Ms. Simonson, who leaves the reader with equal parts pathos and hope at the end.
This would be a wonderful book club selection, but it is just a great read that will leave one thinking and feeling about the sacrifices of the generations before our own and hopefully grateful for their fortitude in the face of what must have seemed like insurmountable losses.
Another volume of Cold War riches from recently declassified files! This entry follows the life of Donald McLean, one of the Cambridge
Four Five. Written by an insider, Philipps is the grandson of Roger Makins, former boss of Donald MacLean and the last person from the Foreign Office to see him before he disappeared and defected, A Spy Named Orphan is a sympathetic portrait of MacLean as a true believer whose alcoholism and personal difficulties may be traced to his split loyalties to Britain and the Soviet Union. MacLean is the star of this book, unlike others, in which he plays second fiddle to Kim Philby.
Philipps departs from the argument made by S. J. Hamrick in Deceiving the Deceivers (2004) that MI6 Knew about MacLean from 1949 and used him (and Philby) as a conduit of disinformation to the Soviets. Both books rely heavily on the Venona cables for evidence, but come to very different conclusions. Philipps contends that MacLean was successful in hiding his activities up until a few months before his defection, reverting to earlier arguments that the clubbiness of the British Intelligence Services blinded them to several spies right under their noses and that, combined with their unwillingness to look foolish again after Fuchs and several other debacles on both sides of the Atlantic, allowed MacLean to escape with Burgess in 1951.
Hamrick writes that we will likely never know for sure and because the principles have passed away and there are still classified documents that are unavailable, he is correct. Philipps, though, did have access to some documents declassified in 2015 as well as the personal papers of Donald MacLean’s brother Alan. Hamrick’s argument rests largely on supposition about what is missing from the historical record and the motivation of the British Security Services for keeping mum. What Philipps gives us is a portrait of a tortured soul who spied because he couldn’t stand the rigid class society he lived in.
Unfortunately, the sheer volume and type of secrets (atomic!) that MacLean passed during the years from 1938-1948 makes it very difficult to sympathize. Philipps also seems to think that MacLean’s raging alcoholism did not keep him from doing both his diplomatic and espionage jobs very efficiently. If true, the reader wonders what might have happened if MacLean had applied himself to improving Britain’s policies rather than giving its secrets to the enemy. Philipps tries to reconcile the depth of MacLean’s treachery by reminding the reader that the USSR was a wartime ally. Sure, but Stalin signed a nonaggression pact with Hitler, too. And the political purges and Lubyanka disappearances, of even his handlers, seem not to have caused Donald to question his loyalty to the Communist cause. Philipps tries to make MacLean seem ideologically pure, and it is true that Communism as an idea had been popular all over in the 1930s, but the Soviet incarnation, especially under Stalin, cannot possibly have been what the dreamers of the Depression had in mind. Definitely not a workers’ paradise.
This reader can only see MacLean as an anti-hero. Flawed and destructive, but not completely without redeeming qualities. It is a shame, really, that what many of his contemporaries praised as foreign policy genius was wasted in treason and awash in liquor. Philipps claims that he was animated by a desire for world peace. As a senior official in the Foreign Office he could have had a seat at the table to make that a reality. What might the world have become if MacLean and other powerful people had worked as hard for their countries and by extension, the world, as they did against them?
Though meandering at times, A Spy Named Orphan is a mostly readable account of Donald MacLean’s life. Perhaps a bit too admiring of him for this reader’s taste, nevertheless it is well-researched and includes personal anecdotes and details about his relationship with his American wife, Melinda, than are in other, similar sources. MacLean himself was betrayed by Melinda once the two were in Moscow–she took up for a time with Philby, a notorious womanizer. I guess sometimes what goes around actually does come around.
Isenberg is probably more famous for White Trash (2016), but this 2007 volume is a fantastic addition to the many books about the American founders. Gordon Wood argues in Revolutionary Characters that Burr is most useful as an anomaly, because he sheds light on the “real” founders. While admitting that Burr was cast as the villain by contemporaries, Wood claims that Burr’s lack of interesting surviving letters and his eschewing of classism and non-cultivation of his legacy have made it difficult to know much.
It is true that most of Burr’s papers were destroyed or lost. His edited papers and letters are contained in a mere two volumes where the other founders have provided posterity with much more grist for the history writing mill. Isenberg has painstakingly analyzed not only Burr’s surviving papers, but numerous letters by other contemporaries which mention Burr or are related to events in his life. She has included sources from all over the spectrum–Burr’s friends, his enemies, his champions and detractors, in an effort to present a fuller picture of Burr than has previously imagined.
Isenberg argues successfully that Burr was a man of his time with regard to politics, even ahead of his time with regard to women’s rights–an avowed reader and respecter of Mary Wollstonecraft who educated his daughter to the same standard others of his time would have a son. She makes clear that Burr did have a political philosophy, contrary to what some historians have written, and that though he was ambitious, his ambition was not overweening, and certainly did not override his principles, of which he had many. She successfully argues that his roles in both the 1801 election and the 1804 duel with Hamilton have largely been misconstrued both by the popular press and by the other founders, who were willing to paint Burr as a traitor in order to further their own political ambitions–Hamilton and Jefferson seem to be the most culpable, Madison less so. It is interesting to note that Wood largely agrees with Isenberg’s assertion that Burr’s lack of care over his own legacy in contrast to the other founders’ near obsession with theirs contributed mightily to the oversimplification of Burr’s role in the early Republic. Isenberg successfully shows that Burr’s land speculation and debts, for which he was so vilified, were not altogether unusual for men of his class. Speculation in the Western lands was a favorite pastime for those trying to make their fortunes; Burr was just not very good at it.
As James E. Lewis wrote in a review of Fallen Founder, the section on the Western Conspiracy is the weakest. The problem is that there is almost no way to know exactly what happened. However, Isenberg does a good job presenting some evidence that would tend to exonerate Burr of the most heinous of the treason accusations. The fact that most of the evidence against him was provided by James Wilkinson, known to have been a Spanish agent, would seem to indicate his probable innocence. Isenberg is also accurate in her recounting of the many filibustering expeditions into Texas and Louisiana during the years between 1803 and 1812. It is possible that Burr was involved in yet another unsuccessful speculation scheme rather than an armed rebellion. However, it was convenient for Jefferson to divert attention from his own behavior by hanging Burr out to dry (363-4). Burr’s biggest mistake seems to have been trusting Wilkinson, which is puzzling, since Wilkinson was widely regarded as possibly on the Spanish payroll as early as the 1790s (288).
In the last section, Isenberg makes the case that Burr deserves reassessment as a founder. He had flaws, but they all did; he was an extraordinary man living in extraordinary times, but he was neither angel nor demon.
I am still waiting for Burr the Musical!
Isenberg, Nancy. Fallen Founder: the life of Aaron Burr. Viking, 2007.
Lewis, James E. Journal of the Early Republic, vol. 28, no. 1, 2008, pp. 132–134. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/30043577. Accessed 27 Dec. 2020.
Wood, Gordon S. Revolutionary Characters: what made the founders different. Penguin Books, 2006.
I found this browsing in Half Price Books. I had read A Reliable Wife several years ago and was unaware of Goolrick’s second novel. A Reliable Wife is one of those books that stays with you for a long time–you keep thinking about it. Heading Out to Wonderful does not disappoint. Goolrick’s prose is beautiful: slow, but not too slow; revealing just enough as he unwinds a dark tale of love and obsession. If you are looking for a happy ending, don’t pick this up. I am not giving anything away here, the reader knows within the first few pages that Charlie Beale’s tale will end in tragedy, but can’t stop reading, hoping that maybe she is wrong and that it will all work out. If you read A Reliable Wife, you know that Goolrick is not that kind of writer. It will be a tale well told, but it will not end well.
Heading Out to Wonderful is written in the tradition of Southern Gothic novels with a cast of small town folks who ignore eccentricities among their own, but expect a certain adherence to unwritten rules. When a hillbilly marries the wealthiest man in town, she is still a hillbilly and Sylvan is peculiar to boot. Charlie comes to town in the wake of World War II looking for a place to call home. He settles in working as a butcher and everyone in town loves him, but one look at Sylvan is all it takes to unravel it all. Moody, haunting and beautifully crafted, Heading Out to Wonderful brings to mind the best of the 1940s Noir.
Lady Susan is frequently dismissed by scholars as a youthful creation of Austen, not worthy of inclusion among her mature works. Many point to it as an example of her younger self experimenting with an epistolary novel, which she abandoned, and which she did not revisit in her later writing. She revised Elinor and Marianne, which she had initially written as an epistolary novel and it became Sense and Sensibility.
Southam dates the writing of Lady Susan to 1793-1794, (45) and it survived because Austen herself made a fair copy in 1805 (Morgan Library). This places the composition of Lady Susan just before she began Elinor and Marianne and First Impressions and before she wrote Northanger Abbey, which from the note in the introduction by Austen herself, we know to have been finished in 1803, though begun earlier, probably 1797 or 1798. (Project Gutenburg)
Modern readers may appreciate taking another look at Lady Susan. It was first published in 1871 by her nephew, James Edward Austen-Leigh, as a part of his Memoir of Jane Austen. He was working from a different copy, as the Austen manuscript was in the possession of Lady Knatchbull, Austen’s niece. Austen-Leigh included Lady Susan and several other fragments in his second edition of the Memoirs. Though Lady Susan bears a closer resemblance to other 18th Century works, such as Tom Jones, than to Austen’s later novels, it is not the failure of the epistolary form that some claim. Lady Susan may actually bring to mind that masterpiece of the epistolary form and self-absorbed scheming, Les Liaisons Dangereuse. The subjects–adultery, manipulation, class based licentiousness are all very much present in Lady Susan. Austen’s writing is witty, and she calls upon the reader to exercise some discernment to determine who is telling the truth and when. While it is true that the epistolary form can be difficult and at times contrived, Austen’s effort is not as weak as some would have it. She is working in this novella with characters who are less refined perhaps than her later characters, but they are just as fully developed and the storyline is brought to completion, though with a little help from the slightly intrusive narrator.
Try reading it again or for the first time.
Southam, B. C. Jane Austen’s Literary Manuscripts: a study of the novelist’s development through the surviving papers. Oxford UP, 1964.
Morgan Library https://www.themorgan.org/collection/jane-austen/lady-susan
Project Gutenburg eBook of Northanger Abbey http://www.gutenberg.org/files/121/121-h/121-h.htm#link2H_4_0001
Some questions to consider:
- Which character in Lady Susan was your favorite and why?
- Why do you think that the Vernon children are never named?
- How well do you think Austen uses the epistolary form? Have you read other novels in this form? What are the limitations, what are the advantages for a storyteller?
- As she does in some of her other novels, Austen ends this one rather abruptly and the narrator fills in the reader about what happened. Which of the characters got what they deserved–how? Which did not?
- If you were writing a continuation, which character’s point of view would the story be from and why?
- Lady Susan is a sort of Austen anti-heroine. What do you think are her redeeming qualities?