|
|
Margaret Lea has little interest in living people, so when Vida Winter contacts her requesting her to write the famous author’s biography, she is perplexed. Luckily for her, and us, she goes to meet Ms. Winter, and before her unfolds a story that draws her in and consumes her every waking moment.
There are several really great things about this book. The first is its plot. I for one did not guess at all what was to happen, unless Margaret made a guess at it. There were several points where I was completely surprised at the turn of events. I was also very absorbed into the story, though it was layers deep. It is very compelling. The book is well-written and perfect for book lovers like me. Setterfield weaves in many 19th century classics, as apparently they are both Margaret’s and Ms. Winter’s favorites (as they are mine).
I have to admit that as much as I was interesting in the story Vida Winter was telling, and the plot relating to Aurelius, Margaret herself did not interest me. I can’t admit to understanding what she went through, but at times I did feel like she was far too melodramatic about everything. I suppose it was appropriate to the tone of the novel, but I wished she’d stop complaining so we could get back to the main mystery. This minor qualm is really my only problem with it, and perhaps someone who was more like Margaret or had a similar experience would feel that her behavior was perfectly appropriate – I can’t judge, but I personally was impatient with her character.
I’d recommend this, especially to someone who loves books or mysteries.
In this book, a subtly tyrannical, though hugely popular, woman named Freddie runs a theater school for young talents, although some of them turn out not-so-talented. The characters are enigmatic and interesting; they don’t quite reflect real life, it seems to me, although they try. My personal favorite is Jonathan, an extremely talented 9-year-old who only acts when it suits him to do so.
The book was okay, not one of my favorites. I didn’t feel connected to any of the characters in particular, and the story is not very interesting, to be honest; the theater school is poor, but that’s nothing new, though there is someone new thinking about investing; one of the teachers falls in love with the other; the children occasionally compete with each other, particularly Mattie with Jonathan, though not the other way around. The end feels unresolved to me, sort of as if the book was a snapshot of this particular school and these particular lives, but only the love affair really was interesting and went somewhere. I think I’ll get more out of this book once it’s discussed in class this week, but for now it’s left me somewhat discontented.
This collection of short stories (and they are short, only 3-4 pages long) is described as showing us familiar cities through an outsider’s view. Had they not told me that, I never would have guessed. There is very little of the “luminosity” of the title and more sex and depression than I would have ever wanted.
The first third of the novel is essentially full of orgies, including one which involves a 14-year-old girl, and in general I found it offensive the entire way through. It seems every woman can be won through a few sleek words. I don’t really see what this has to do with the title, either – I didn’t see any of the cities portrayed through these explicit scenes and images.
The second third of the collection is entirely depressing. Every story focuses on slime, poverty, or murder, sometimes all three with other depressing aspects of city life tossed in. I find it hard to believe that on visiting these cities I would be witness to a shooting every time, especially considering I have before. Again, did not find meaning in this, and the book seems to lack all luminosity at this point.
Luckily, the last third does manage to improve. A few of the stories pick up on the same horrible themes as the first two parts, but for the most part we finally see beauty juxtaposed with depression, which I can easily imagine and see in every city. ‘Stendhal and Flaubert in the Stomach’ was my favorite of the collection, followed by a couple others in which Aguilar alludes to Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I think that if the whole book had been more like the last third, the title would have made a lot more sense and I would have gotten more out of it.
Maybe I’m missing something, I honestly could not tell you, but I did not derive any potent message from this book, and I almost completely failed to see the “cities from an outsider’s point of view” like the back of the book promised. I hope that Aliform Publishing has better books, because this one certainly isn’t going to do very well. I received the book through the LibraryThing Early Reviewers program, and otherwise I really would not have got past the first story – I’m still wondering how I ended up with this book to begin with, as I can’t think what it would match in my library. I’m very grateful for the book, but hoping for one I can actually enjoy next time.
I’m on the fence about this book. I liked the story it told, that of an obedient Bangladeshi wife discovering herself and what she, and not her husband or male family, wanted. There were aspects of it that I didn’t like, though.
I definitely disliked the grammatically incorrect letters that Hasina, Nazneem’s sister, sent her. I liked and was interested in Hasina, as she comes across as very strong despite her many setbacks in life, but did her letters really have to be so grating? It made her sound provincial, which may have been the point, but I don’t think much would have been lost if they could have been written in plain English like the rest of the book. Perhaps this is a flaw only I could balk at, since I can’t stand so many errors in one place, but I genuinely was irritated, especially when there was an entire chapter of them.
Monica Ali liberally sprinkles the book with symbolism. Everything means something. I can’t say whether this is good or bad, only that I did get tired of having to work out what everything meant just to understand the impact of the book. I suppose it depends what kind of reader you are. If I was to study this book, I could write essays on it and I’m sure I’d appreciate it much more if I analyzed it to the hilt, but that doesn’t make it pleasurable, precisely. I think this may be part of the reason the book has been universally lauded.
I also am not a huge fan of Ali’s writing. I can’t pinpoint where this bothered me, but it felt sloppy at times, hard to follow, in other words, not suitably absorbing or moving. Particularly when the love affair came along. I knew that she did not love him, and that he did not love her. It just felt wrong for them to be together, not at all the way that Nazneen was describing. I felt that their affair was unrealistic.
I did enjoy the peeks into Islam. I’ve forgotten what little I ever learned, and I really liked learning a bit more. I’m inspired to read further.
Take this review with a grain of salt; I am not a Muslim, I do not understand the attitudes and feelings of Muslim women. I can only speak of how I feel as a woman in general, and try to understand from that perspective. Nazneen becomes an admirable woman in the end, and for that her transformation is real and endearing, which is the true reason this book should be praised.
This review includes spoilers, but does not really do more than state the obvious.
This book begins with the rather startling fact that the narrator, Cal, also known as Calliope, is a hermaphrodite, raised as a girl, and discovers that he is really a boy in his teenage years. It then goes on to trace two generations of Cal’s Greek family in order to trace the gene which made him the way he is, and how his family dealt with it.
I really liked this book. I loved the multi-generational aspect, seeing family traits come down, getting really involved with the characters. Most of the characters were very multi-faceted and believable, except perhaps Desdemona, who seems to me a rather stereotypical Greek woman. I liked how they reflected the times as the years passed. I really liked the combination of omniscient and third-person narration; Cal knows and tells all, but in such a way that when he’s not talking about his own life, he doesn’t really get in the way and lets the tale tell itself. I found it strange how omniscient he is; very unrealistic, but I allowed him to know everything and just accepted it.
Middlesex is fundamentally about being different, about awkwardness, and about being a teenager and wanting to be the same. Calliope/Cal struggles to fit in, wishes desperately that she could, and then decides not to. She becomes he and the ending is magnificent in the he finds peace and accepts who he is. Gender identity is the prevailing theme, but I think this goes much deeper, an extreme case of a teenager longing to be normal. Jeffrey Eugenides provides a perspective that will resonate with all readers who can remember that longing, wrapped in a riveting, enjoyable story of a Greek family caught between their home country and their adopted one.
|
|
Recent Comments