Every once in a while, when I’m craving a particularly effortless read, I pick up an Anne Tyler novel. Digging to America, my latest pick, opens with an airport scene as two baby girls from Korea arrive in America to be welcomed by their adoptive families: Jin-Ho by the Donaldsons (quintessentially American), and Susan by the Yazdans (Iranian immigrants). And in the first pages, as we explore the cultural and relational ramifications of these collisions of cultures, this seems to be what the story is about. But then, in our periphery, we catch a glimpse of something else: an unlikely relationship blooming between two of the grandparents, Dave Donaldson – recently widowed – and Maryam Yazdan – widowed for many years. Intrigued, we turn for a closer look, and lo and behold, the real story comes into focus: that of Maryam and her up-and-down journey toward acceptance, inclusiveness, and hope.
Tyler builds tension into every page by keeping us pleasantly off balance. She does this by creating full-bodied characters (she’s unflinching in including the bad with the good), who act and react in unexpected, yet completely credible, ways. She is a practiced student of human nature, and when I’m reading her work, I often find myself thinking, Yes, that’s true…people do do that. Tyler’s storytelling is seamless; her graceful prose, transparent. Just as good makeup draws attention to the face, not the product, so too do her words point to the story and not themselves.
Toward the end of her tale, Tyler writes a particularly whimsical chapter from the perspective of Jin-Ho (now age five). As a chapter, it’s an oddity, as the rest are related from either Maryam’s or Dave’s point of view, and I almost had the sense that Tyler wrote it as much to amuse herself as anything. But she pulls it off, and what emerges is a poignant story about belonging that is well worth reading.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Genoa Bay, book review
I like “fresh start” stories, and so when Genoa Bay, the latest by one of my most admired Christian novelists, hit the shelves, I was among the first in line. I appreciate Bette Nordberg’s fresh prose and have been especially drawn to her sensitive-yet-authentic portrayal of real-life issues such as domestic violence (Serenity Bay), marital infidelity (Pacific Hope), AIDS and homosexuality (A Season of Grace). With that in mind, I dove into the first pages of this beautifully-bound novel with much anticipation.
And I was off to a good start, with the enigmatic opening line: God talks to me. Thus, I was introduced to Brandy Beauchamp, a Navy widow with a young daughter, who leaves her comfortable life in Pensacola to tackle the renovation of a decrepit bed-and-breakfast in Genoa Bay, British Columbia. There, she catches the eye of another ex-patriot, Cliff, a divorced dad with twin boys, whose attention she returns with ambivalence. Her decision to open the B&B garners a different kind of attention, however, from the owner of the nearby marina, who wants to buy her land in order to develop a posh waterfront community. Overcoming increasing odds, Brandy must decide whether her dream is worth the price as she also learns to trust the Voice of God that guides her.
Throughout, Nordberg paints a pretty picture, deftly imbuing Genoa Bay, the novel, with a vivid sense of Genoa Bay, the place. But there are other elements that rub the sheen off the charm of this story. The strict linear narrative (even considering the occasional flashbacks) becomes predictable. Dialogue sometimes sags, as when it's used to tell the readers something the characters would already know. (The phone call between Brandy and her boss, for example.) More, though, as a lover of romance, I find the chemistry between the heroine and her love-interest lacking. Many of Brandy’s reactions to Cliff seem overblown and unsupported by the narrative - such as when she calls him an unusual man (in a mostly flattering way). I just don't see it.
Smaller issues should have caught an editor’s eye: the occasional (and confusing) inconsistency in verb tense; the naming two different boys “James;” the mention of Brandy’s 5-year-old daughter on the back cover, while on page one, she’s 7.
In his seminar, Writing the Breakout Novel, New York agent Donald Maass exhorts writers to create tension on every page - tension, as defined as those unexpected turns of plot and character that keep hungry readers turning pages. Genoa Bay lacked that kind of tension. It was a nice, gentle story, but little more.
And I was off to a good start, with the enigmatic opening line: God talks to me. Thus, I was introduced to Brandy Beauchamp, a Navy widow with a young daughter, who leaves her comfortable life in Pensacola to tackle the renovation of a decrepit bed-and-breakfast in Genoa Bay, British Columbia. There, she catches the eye of another ex-patriot, Cliff, a divorced dad with twin boys, whose attention she returns with ambivalence. Her decision to open the B&B garners a different kind of attention, however, from the owner of the nearby marina, who wants to buy her land in order to develop a posh waterfront community. Overcoming increasing odds, Brandy must decide whether her dream is worth the price as she also learns to trust the Voice of God that guides her.
Throughout, Nordberg paints a pretty picture, deftly imbuing Genoa Bay, the novel, with a vivid sense of Genoa Bay, the place. But there are other elements that rub the sheen off the charm of this story. The strict linear narrative (even considering the occasional flashbacks) becomes predictable. Dialogue sometimes sags, as when it's used to tell the readers something the characters would already know. (The phone call between Brandy and her boss, for example.) More, though, as a lover of romance, I find the chemistry between the heroine and her love-interest lacking. Many of Brandy’s reactions to Cliff seem overblown and unsupported by the narrative - such as when she calls him an unusual man (in a mostly flattering way). I just don't see it.
Smaller issues should have caught an editor’s eye: the occasional (and confusing) inconsistency in verb tense; the naming two different boys “James;” the mention of Brandy’s 5-year-old daughter on the back cover, while on page one, she’s 7.
In his seminar, Writing the Breakout Novel, New York agent Donald Maass exhorts writers to create tension on every page - tension, as defined as those unexpected turns of plot and character that keep hungry readers turning pages. Genoa Bay lacked that kind of tension. It was a nice, gentle story, but little more.
Nineteen Minutes, book review
Jodi Picoult is a brand-name author, which means her name on the cover (four times bigger than the title, by the way) carries with it the weight of reputation, as well as an unspoken promise: satisfaction guaranteed. Does Nineteen Minutes, Picoult’s 2007 offering, live up to her name?
Nineteen Minutes tells the story of a small New Hampshire town after a socially-shunned teenager takes revenge at school by killing ten of his classmates, injuring nineteen more. One of the surviving teens, Josie Cormier, claims to remember nothing of the shooting - or does she? Josie has secrets of her own, and as the trial of her former friend progresses, she and others must consider whether anyone is ever who they seem to be.
Picoult is a master storyteller, weaving the threads of multiple storylines into a vibrant and complex tapestry. She never merely tells something that she could show instead. I love this about her writing. It compels me to keep reading, even through difficult topics or points of view. Her characters ring true, and she dives deep into what makes them tick. She manages to make even villainous characters – such as the mass murderer here – believably sympathetic.
In addition, Picoult’s prose is mostly vibrant and fresh: Josie could feel the weight of the detective’s pity falling over her like a net. Nice. Picoult is also known for writing books that center on topics ripped from today’s headlines, and I like what she says about the ability of her stories to examine difficult truths: “Fiction allows for moral questioning, but through the back door.” As with many of her other books, Picoult doesn’t leave us with an especially happy ending, but she does leave room for hope. I like that, too.
Throughout the 455 pages of this page-turning novel, she spools out the tension, although in Josie’s storyline, I found some gaps in the pacing, which made for a bumpy – and slightly less credible – denouement.
But my biggest sticking point was the ending that Picoult crafted for her story. Though justice is meted out, some aspects of it seemed too harsh, others not harsh enough, which resulted in a conclusion that didn’t seem altogether in sync with the rest of the story.
Still, it was a satisfying read. Does Nineteen Minutes live up to Picoult’s name? On the whole, I’d say yes.
January 12, 2010
Nineteen Minutes tells the story of a small New Hampshire town after a socially-shunned teenager takes revenge at school by killing ten of his classmates, injuring nineteen more. One of the surviving teens, Josie Cormier, claims to remember nothing of the shooting - or does she? Josie has secrets of her own, and as the trial of her former friend progresses, she and others must consider whether anyone is ever who they seem to be.
Picoult is a master storyteller, weaving the threads of multiple storylines into a vibrant and complex tapestry. She never merely tells something that she could show instead. I love this about her writing. It compels me to keep reading, even through difficult topics or points of view. Her characters ring true, and she dives deep into what makes them tick. She manages to make even villainous characters – such as the mass murderer here – believably sympathetic.
In addition, Picoult’s prose is mostly vibrant and fresh: Josie could feel the weight of the detective’s pity falling over her like a net. Nice. Picoult is also known for writing books that center on topics ripped from today’s headlines, and I like what she says about the ability of her stories to examine difficult truths: “Fiction allows for moral questioning, but through the back door.” As with many of her other books, Picoult doesn’t leave us with an especially happy ending, but she does leave room for hope. I like that, too.
Throughout the 455 pages of this page-turning novel, she spools out the tension, although in Josie’s storyline, I found some gaps in the pacing, which made for a bumpy – and slightly less credible – denouement.
But my biggest sticking point was the ending that Picoult crafted for her story. Though justice is meted out, some aspects of it seemed too harsh, others not harsh enough, which resulted in a conclusion that didn’t seem altogether in sync with the rest of the story.
Still, it was a satisfying read. Does Nineteen Minutes live up to Picoult’s name? On the whole, I’d say yes.
January 12, 2010
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