I want to catch up on my Booker blogging this long weekend, so here goes: I loved Kamila Shamsie’s Home Fire. If I were a Booker judge, I’d have a hard time choosing between this and Autumn, both books that deal with the divisions in contemporary Britain, but with very different styles and strengths.
Home Fire is a reworking of the Antigone story, and Natalie Haynes’ review discusses its relationship to both Sophocles and Anouilh’s versions. I think I’ll be reading some Antigone when I’m done with the Booker list. (I swear I read Sophocles in grad school but can’t find a copy in the house). That link is all I knew about the book going in, so I was prepared for tragedy (yes) and a confrontation between the state and the individual/family/religion (yes). But Home Fire is very much its own thing and never felt like a direct retelling. I had a general sense of where it was going, but it was still full of surprises.
I want to write something about this but I’m short on time and inspiration. Publisher’s blurb:
As always when I listen to an audiobook, it’s hard to write about Days Without End in specific detail. But here is a line I rewound and replayed:
the little kingdom we have pitched up against the darkness
This is an image of the domestic life narrator Thomas McNulty builds with “handsome John Cole,” his companion, “my beau, my love.” Their kingdom recurs in periods of tranquility between horrors. It works as a description of the novel, too, I think, which is a strangely beautiful, humane and hopeful depiction of horror, which offers us love not as a fix for fear and violence and hatred, but as a force which will always exist alongside them, offering consolation. Continue reading
Most of the Booker longlist novels are on the short side (250-320 pages), and since I hadn’t read any in advance of taking on this project, I am grateful for that.
Let’s face it, I was never going to real all 866 pages of Paul Auster’s 4 3 2 1. But I was hoping to read a shorter novel’s worth, enough to get a flavor of the four branching timelines of Archie Ferguson’s life. I did not. Because I was bored.
I’ll say just a little about it, but here are two proper reviews if you’re interested: Tom Perrotta’s, which is positive, and Laura Miller’s, which is somewhat more critical and gets at some of why I am abandoning this 87 pages in (“Auster’s habitual style, which is a top-down, summarizing narration that closes like a fist around the proceedings”). Continue reading
I finished this book this afternoon, listening to the audiobook read by Bahni Turpin. As with my last Booker read, the panel’s choice echoed the day’s news all too well. The legacy of slavery is with us.
The Underground Railroad has already won a Pulitzer and a National Book Award, among others, so who needs to hear a lot about it from me?
The one thing I knew about this before I started reading was that Whitehead literalizes the railroad: it has underground stations, rails and trains, as so many of us imagined when we first heard about it as children. In some ways, this turned out to be the least interesting way in which Whitehead reimagines history. As Teresa writes in her review, the railroad functions almost like a time travel portal. Although the setting is clearly the ante-bellum US, it isn’t our US, and as Cora travels to different places, she travels through the ugly history of race in the US. There are places and episodes that evoke Jim Crow, eugenics and the Tuskegee experiments, arguments over gradual vs revolutionary change, respectability politics. Whitehead’s rails and Cora’s journey traverse a wider swath of American history than a more realistic novel could have.