To celebrate Hanukkah, my family lights the menorah for eight nights; my husband makes the most delicious latkes (potato pancakes), and I have always given our children books. When shopping for books by diverse authors this holiday season, remember to include Jewish writers. Their stories aren't just for Hanukkah. We can all learn so much about the world by reading about other cultures and key moments in history.
One of my favorite Jewish writers is Alice Hoffman, the author of more than thirty books, many of them national bestsellers. In her 2019 novel, The World That We Knew, a twelve-year-old girl flees Nazi Germany to France with the help of a golem, a magical creature whose existence is as much a blessing as a curse. Despite this touch of magical realism, the mostly realistic narrative doesn't stray far from the facts of history.
What I found most interesting was the exploration of mysticism and female agency within the Jewish faith. I loved how Hoffman adapted patriarchal practices to give her observant female characters more freedom and power. There are also strong male characters, both Catholic and Jewish, but women and girls drive the narrative. The female golem made me rethink what it means to be human and a mother. The magical elements enhanced the story without detracting from the heroism of the French Resistance nor the horrors of the Holocaust. The writing was sublime.
Although The World That We Knew was written for adults, most of the characters are teenagers and the narrative is fast-paced and hopeful so it would crossover well to younger readers. My one and only criticism is the title is way too vague. This unforgettable book deserved a title easier to remember so write it down now. Thanks, Cathy at Main Point Books, for the book recommendation!
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@Barrie Summy
If you loved All the Light We Cannot See as much as I did, you'll be delighted to hear that Anthony Doerr will be releasing a new and equally epic novel, Cloud Cuckoo Land, on September 28th. His latest book is structurally more complex as it is narrated in multiple voices from antiquity, the recent past, and the future. It’s an ode to ancient texts, to libraries, and most of all, to readers.
The historical storyline follows two teenagers on opposite sides of a walled city during the 1453 siege of Constantinople. Anna is an orphan who should be embroidering birds and flowers for Christian priests but instead sneaks off to learn how to read Greek. Beyond the fortified walls, Omeir is more concerned in the wellbeing of his oxen than in the plunders of war. A birth defect makes it easier for him to win the love of animals than of people outside his family, but of all the characters, Omeir is the least bitter and the most capable and generous.
The contemporary storyline is set in Idaho and alternates between a troubled youth, Seymour, who befriends a threatened owl, and an 86-year-old Korean War veteran, Zeno, who is struggling to translate fragments of an ancient Greek text. I found it interesting that the "contemporary" storyline was set in February 2020, right before the pandemic. Perhaps to avoid its absence from the narrative? Some savvy editor or perhaps the author himself might have adjusted the dates right before the galleys were printed. I'm guessing that the pandemic will divide literature like World War II did in the last century.
The futuristic story is narrated only from the perspective of Konstance, a teenage girl on an arklike spaceship to save humanity from the climate crisis. To avoid spoilers, I won't say much about this storyline other than it was the most compelling and had a brilliant plot twist that took even a seasoned reader like me by surprise. My only criticism was I would have liked to have learned more about Konstance's future. The other storylines were better resolved, but all three were woven together well.
Cloud Cuckoo Land was brilliantly crafted. Although the galley was 618 pages and covered equally weighty material, it was a fast read with short cliffhanger chapters and alternating narratives. I read most of it over one weekend, and it was a welcome escape from the current worries of the world, even though it dealt with many of them. Like Harry Potter and the Seraphina series, Cloud Cuckoo Land brought me back to the childhood joy of getting lost in the alternative universe of a book. Although Doerr's novel was written for adults, it would crossover very well to teenagers.
With its time hopping stories and linked motifs, Cloud Cuckoo Land reminded me of David Mitchell’s masterpiece, Cloud Atlas (was the "cloud" in the goofy title an homage?) The environmental themes were also similar to The Overstory by Richard Powers. Following a book through time reminded me of another favorite, People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks. Even so, Cloud Cuckoo Land was original and will appeal to all book lovers.
"Each of these books, child, is a door, a gateway to another place and time. You have your whole life in front of you, and for all of it, you'll have this. It will be enough, don't you think?"
To research a novel about Jewish refugees in the Dominican Republic during World War II, I've been learning Spanish. Unable to travel, I connected with a conversational partner in Spain through the language exchange website Mixxer. Salomé lives in Galicia in the northwestern corner of Spain. Like my rural state of Maine, Galicia's geographic isolation protected the large elderly population from the higher Covid infection rates of more urban areas. Our pandemic stats have been remarkably similar, even though I was fully vaccinated by May 1st, and Salomé was only able to receive her first dose today. Another key difference: 87% of Spaniards want to be vaccinated and only 4% are anti-vax.
Americans should learn about the benefits of universal health insurance from our European allies, who view health as a right of citizenship, not as a divisive political issue. Still, the pandemic dealt a hard blow to Spain too, especially at the start, and vaccine scarcity has created additional challenges. During these stressful times, Salomé and I have found that learning another language has been an excellent diversion.
We also share a passion for books. I recommended that Salomé read Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout, a Pulitzer prize winning novel set in a fictional version of my coastal town. For our bilingual book club, I've been reading The Carpenter's Pencil by Manuel Rivas, a Galician classic about the Spanish Civil War. This short (166 pages) historical novel was written in Galician/gallego, a regional language which is more similar to Portuguese than to Spanish. Galician was banned under Franco and become the language of the resistance but returned to the school curriculum after the dictator's death.
Nearly trilingual Salomé read the book in Galician, but I needed the English and Spanish translations. Both were excellent, but the Spanish version was closer to the original and had interesting footnotes to explain the history. Salomé gave me more context and found photos to illustrate the narrative. I'm learning as much history and culture as grammar and vocabulary from our two hour weekly video chats. Our international friendship has been the silver lining of the pandemic.
The old prison island in Ría de Vigo, Galicia reminds us of Alcatraz in San Francisco.
The Carpenter's Pencil shows the brutality of the Spanish Civil War from the perspective of prison guard Herbal and his political prisoner, Doctor Daniel de Barca, whom he is ordered to kill. Fortunately, the spirit of a murdered painter gets inside Herbal's head, educating and manipulating the guard. Herbal represents the harsh sensibility of the Franco regime while Dr. Barca is nearly a saint in his selfless efforts to minister to the physical and emotional health of his fellow prisoners. From inside prison walls, we can best understand the horrors of the Franco regime of 1936-1975. To balance the darkness, there is a lovely romance between Barca and Marisa, a rebel with a cause, whom Herbal secretly adores.
This most original novella has more depth than books twice its length. It took me 6 weeks to finish only because I read very slowly in my third language. Although I can now understand Spanish newspapers and podcasts, the more literary language of novels is still beyond my intermediate level of instruction. Every night, I read a few pages in English and then again in Spanish. Now that I've finished, I'm listening to the Spanish audiobook to cement my comprehension and to appreciate the beauty of the language. I now understand why young children often want the same bedtime story over and over again! I'd recommend The Carpenter's Pencil to everyone in any language since its empowering message transcends translation. Me encantó esta novela histórica, y recomiendo que todos la lean.
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@Barrie Summy
Although Small Island is now one of my favorite historical novels, I was so disappointed by how one character treated other people that I quit reading for several years. Abandoned by her white father and Black mother, Hortense was raised in Jamaica by relatives who nourish and educate her but skimp on love. Seeking a better life, Hortense steals her best friend's boyfriend, a dashing Royal Air Force veteran, to immigrate to London. Her husband, Gilbert Joseph is hardworking and ambitious too, but his patient kindness and good humor stands in sharp contrast to her judgemental pride. Their struggle against racism is a fresh spin on the classic British World War II novel.
In 1948 Hortense sails into London and discovers a dirty, bombed out city and a shabby husband that fail to match her dreams. The narrative then rewinds to the backstories of the four central characters. The Josephs' white landlady, Queenie, is a delightfully irascible character who dares to rent rooms to people of color when her racist husband, Bernard, fails to return home from war. In many ways Bernard's miserable story is the most poignant of all, surprising me. A masterful storyteller can make you feel empathy in unexpected places.
Author Photo by Angus Muir
The child of Jamaican immigrants in England, author Andrea Levy has so much compassion for all of her characters. Their personal histories help the reader understand how childhoods circumscribed by misfortune, poverty, racism, and/or lost love have shaped these flawed characters. They frequently misunderstand each other, but the reader can piece together their true intentions by knowing the full story.
The titular "small island" is Jamaica or Great Britain, but it is also a metaphor for how people can isolate themselves by their own prejudices. This realistic novel shows how systemic racism corrupts and hurts everyone in its path. The heavy theme is lightened by a full cast of quirky Dickensian characters. If you can get past the abrasive opening chapters, this brilliant book builds momentum as the characters make mistakes but slowly learn to be a bit more tolerant and forgiving. By the end, we are left with hope.
As a writer, I received a second gift: inspiration. When crafting an historical novel it's hard to decide when to start the novel. The contemporary reader may need more background to situate themselves in an unfamiliar time period, but starting with backstory and historical context can bog down the narrative. Although two of the main characters of Small Island are from Jamaica, it made more sense to open in London because the book is about immigration. The best known example of this narrative structure, in medias res, would be the Odyssey. If starting in the middle of a journey worked for Homer and Levy, maybe it could work for me!
There's also a BBC adaptation with an all star cast: Naomie Harris (mom from Moonlight) as Hortense, Ruth Wilson (Rose from Downton Abbey) as Queenie, David Oyelowo (MLK from Selma) as Gilbert, and Benedict Cumberbatch (Sherlock) as Bernard.
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@Barrie Summy
Can you believe that today is the one-year anniversary of the global pandemic?
So much has changed in a year, thanks to vaccines!
On this day last year, my family was in Costa Rica celebrating my husband’s recovery from a health crisis. Although the hole in his heart was repaired as a child, Henry has remained immune compromised, and in 2019, he needed two more heart surgeries. In early March of 2020, his cardiologists declared the surgeries a success so our family foolishly flew abroad.
When we left for vacation, there was no COVID in Maine and only one case in Costa Rica. In our isolated cabin with more birds than people on the mountain trails, we felt safe enough until WHO declared a global pandemic. Our March 18th flight home was a terrifying chorus of coughing passengers on packed planes. I have not traveled farther than 30 minutes from home since then.
To protect Henry and other vulnerable people in our community, we have been living under strict quarantine for nearly a year. We get all our groceries curbside and restaurant food takeout. We only enter buildings for medical appointments, although my husband has a lot of those. I learned how to cut hair.
Our singer-songwriter daughter had to cancel her live concerts and move back home, but we haven’t seen our son since last summer nor our octogenarian parents in over a year.
Selfie from a solo walk last summer at the Eastern Prom in Portland, Maine.
Congratulations in Japanese to Henry's remote Bowdoin students.
We’re fortunate to have work we can do remotely. Henry exercises alone at dawn on remote trails, and I meet a masked friend for a walk once a month. Since high risk people aren’t prioritized in Maine, Henry won’t be eligible for the vaccine until April. Our extreme social isolation has a high psychological cost paid in tears and sleepless nights. Too many people have died.
Only vaccination will save our family and yours from this pandemic nightmare. We are so lucky that our country will have enough vaccine by May for every American. I have been following the medical research closely, and scientists agree that the vaccines are safe and effective. Vaccines have already defeated polio and small pox. For herd immunity, at least 70% of us need to be vaccinated to protect the community and to return to life as we remember it.
Celebrating Passover, Easter, and Hanami with my family in New York in 2019.
When I heard that my age group would be eligible next month, I scheduled my first dental cleaning in a year, and then I called my recently vaccinated parents. My writers’ group is planning an outdoor masked gathering for two weeks after vaccinations. I’m counting the months until I can safely fly to the Dominican Republic to research my novel about Jewish refugees during World War II.
While I wait, I’ve been learning Spanish remotely. I can’t wait for the day when we will only talk about la pandemia in the past tense and the COVID vaccine will be as routine as the flu shot. After vaccination, where do you want to travel?
This post was sponsored by Do Our Part in support of vaccinations in Maine.
This historical novel by Nobel Prize author Mario Vargas Llosa is absolutely brilliant in content, craft, and (dare I say) execution. The Feast of the Goat (La fiesta del chivo en español, 2000) recounts the events leading to the 1961 assassination of Rafael Trujillo, the dictator who ruled the Dominican Republic for thirty-one brutal years. This political thriller not only describes what happened, but by getting inside the head of Trujillo and his assassins, we start to understand his motives and how an authoritarian leader can maintain control by psychological manipulation as much as by force.
Not only did Trujillo imprison, torture, and frequently murder any Dominican who opposed him, he was also responsible for the Parsley Massacre of 1937 that killed around 20,000 Haitian residents, including women and children. Trujillo escaped global condemnation by being the leader of the only country to welcome extra Jewish refugees fleeing Nazi Germany (the subject of my work-in-progress).
It's one thing to abuse your enemies, but Trujillo was also cruel to his most loyal supporters, the Trujillistas. In return for prestige and wealth, he destroyed their integrity and dignity. He even slept with their wives and daughters. People tolerated his abuse in return for the economic prosperity and political autonomy that brought their country out of a near colonial relationship with the USA. All this is true.
Vargas Llosa's novel is told in three alternating points of view; only the first one is fictional. Urania, the daughter of a loyal minister, has returned to the island 35 years after Trujillo's death to confront the ghosts of her traumatic past. She's a 49-year-old successful lawyer who lives alone by choice in New York City. Vargas Llosa occasionally interrupts her third person limited point-of-view narration with a second person voice (you/tú) to balances her accusatory perspective, like a conflicted conscience. This shift in voice and sophisticated vocabulary made the book too difficult for me to read in the original Spanish so I switched to the excellent translation by Edith Grossman.
The second point-of-view is Trujillo on the final day of his life, reflecting back on his past glories and challenges. Vargas Llosa is at his best getting inside this Machiavellian mind. Trujillo is not interested in acquiring wealth beyond using it to maintain power to achieve his goals. He has a love-hate relationship with the USA: he credits being the strong leader he is to his training as a US Marine but would fight to the death should the Americans try to re-occupy his country. He wants to purge Haitians from the Dominican gene pool, and yet his grandmother was part Haitian, and he is attracted to mulata women. As an antagonist, Trujillo is multidimensional and well-developed, a most intriguing villain.
The final point of view is a chorus of assassins, all of them real people with mostly true backstories. These loyal supporters one-by-one turned on Trujillo. They are willing to sacrifice everything to regain their freedom. As they wait in a car to ambush Trujillo, they recall their past trajectories. Every assassin has a uniquely horrific story, and by sharing it, we learn about the history of the regime and the personal nature of Trujillo's control. El chivo/the goat was the popular nickname for their evil leader.
"Trujillo had also killed with a method that was slower and more perverse than when he had his prey shot, beaten to death, or fed to the sharks. He had killed him in stages, taking away his decency, his honor, his self-respect, his joy in living, his hopes and desires, turning him into a sack of bones tormented by the guilty conscience that had been destroying him gradually for so many years." (p90)
"...Trujillo había matado también, de manera más demorada y perversa que a los que liquidó a tiros, golpes o echándolos a los tiburones. A él lo mató por partes, quitándole la decencia, el honor, el respeto por sí mismo, la alegría de vivir, las esperanzas, los deseos, dejándolo convertido en un pellejo y unos huesos atormentados por esa mala conciencia que lo destruía a poquitos desde hacía tantos años." (p124, es más lírico en español.)
Read The Feast of the Goat to understand the danger of authoritarianism, a lesson all Americans need to learn right now. We cannot take democracy for granted. Also, this historical novel is fun to read, more like a political thriller than a textbook, but as full of facts. The author brings Trujillo back to life before killing him and destroying his legacy. I'd strongly recommend this book to everyone. I really want to see the film adaptation with Isabella Rossellini playing Urania!
Bruny Rivera, gracias por recomendarme leer esta novela maravillosa.
Greetings from snowy Maine!
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@Barrie Summy
What I found most interesting was the exploration of mysticism and female agency within the Jewish faith. I loved how Hoffman adapted patriarchal practices to give her observant female characters more freedom and power. There are also strong male characters, both Catholic and Jewish, but women and girls drive the narrative. The female golem made me rethink what it means to be human and a mother. The magical elements enhanced the story without detracting from the heroism of the French Resistance nor the horrors of the Holocaust. The writing was sublime.
