Hector and the Search for Happiness (François Lelord)

This book was another random library find…and I’m really glad I found it! (For more on that and on my initial thoughts while beginning the novel, see my post about it on my personal blog.) It’s a cute little book, and Hector is a really fun character.

I’ll admit that I was surprised by its complexity, and by how happy this little volume made me. I think the phrase “deceptively simple” definitely applies here. I mean, when I read this book I was just following along thinking how cute it was and believing I was just enjoying the story…and then (dun-dun-daaaaaahn) I realized I was thinking about my own happiness as Hector explored other people’s happiness. This, of course, relates to Hector’s first lesson on happiness:

Lesson no. 1: Making comparisons can spoil your happiness.

However, since I tend to feel I come out on top with regards to such comparisons, it made me feel happier. Funny how that works, since I do have a lot less than many other people in this country of More we live in (I also love that part of the book…more on that soon!). But maybe that relates to one of Hector’s final lessons on happiness:

Lesson no. 20: Happiness is a certain way of seeing things.

I think this is an interesting point, and it gave me a lot to think of. Frankly, it reminds me of the idea that someone could need an “attitude adjustment” — an idea I find particularly interesting and entertaining. But also kind of true. There are those times that we see things differently and are able to “look on the sunny side” of the situation and (in a sense) decide to be happy when we could just as easily choose to be angry/upset/sad.

Okay, so about the country of More. When Hector meets Djamila on the airplane, Lelord uses the opportunity to sneak in a little commentary on America and its inhabitants:

They were both going to the big country where there were more psychiatrists than anywhere else in the world. Notice that we say ‘more psychiatrists than anywhere else in the world’ but we could just as well say more swimming pools, more Nobel prizewinners, more strategic bombers, more apple pies, more computers, more natural parks, more libraries, more cheerleaders, more serial killers, more newspapers, more racoons, more of many more things, because it was the country of More, and had been for a long time. No doubt because the people who lived there had left their own countries precisely because they wanted more, especially more freedom. (The only people who hadn’t got more freedom were the natives who already lived there, but, as previously mentioned, that was in the days when people who came from countries like Hector’s tended to think that everything belonged to them.) (107-8)

This passage absolutely tickled me. I just really loved the way the abstraction of the narration allowed Lelord to comment on America in a different way. It was a fresh approach, even though he’s leveling the same critique that many before and after him have done. But Lelord’s good at these kinds of passages. There’s another one that stands out to me, that just made me laugh, so I’m going to share it with you. It’s early in the novel, when Hector’s friend Édouard has taken him partying in a manner that doesn’t suit Hector’s personality:

Hector told himself that really Édouard was a bit like those friends who are excellent skiers. One day they take you to the top of a very steep ski slope and tell you you’ll have great fun if you just follow them. In fact they’ve only taken you up there because they are excellent skiers and love skiing down very steep slopes. And you don’t enjoy yourself at all trying to keep up with them, you’re scared, you fall over and you wish it would end, but you have to get down the slope anyway and you have a miserable time while those morons, your friends, fly over the moguls shrieking with joy. (34)

I don’t know quite why I love that one so much, except that I know the feeling of being on top of that slope (even if mine wasn’t nearly as steep as Hector’s appears to have been) and not enjoying the process of getting down, but knowing there’s no way around it now. So on that silly note, I’ll leave you with one last lesson Hector learned — a lesson that I intend to bear in mind the next time I move to a new place:

Lesson no. 19: The sun and the sea make everybody happy.

The People of Paper (Salvador Plascencia)

This is one of my favorite novels, and it’s also one that I’m definitely including in my dissertation. That being said, I still feel that I haven’t gleaned everything I can glean from it even now, after the 3rd reading. It’s an unusual novel to be sure, and very intriguing in its form.

When I read it this time, I was really interested by the mechanical tortoise and its actions regarding the US-Mexico border. I am curious about the way it compresses the land, literally shrinking the distance between LA and Tijuana. I’m thinking about this, mulling it over as I prepare to write the portion of my chapter dealing with this.

Another issue I was fascinated by was the parallel between metafiction and colonization that Plascencia makes throughout the novel, and which I intend to explore in greater detail in my chapter. I like the inclusion of Napoleon here, and the way Plascencia goes about building him into the novel in a way that isn’t immediately understandable, but eventually becomes apparent.

The religious aspect of the story is one of the parts that I know I could use a deeper understanding of. I have some ideas about it, but the way it crops up in the form of monks and nuns and saints and papal decrees is just…well, it permeates the texts and I know it’s important, but I haven’t yet developed my ideas regarding this enough to form coherent thoughts.

I’m still enamored with the characters Little Merced and Merced de Papel, mostly because of Little Merced’s unusual addiction to limes, and Merced de Papel’s status as a person of paper. These characters are fascinating, and there’s something about these two women (perhaps the only two women Saturn does not condemn for their sexual exploits) that predisposes me to be sympathetic to their plights. As for the third (and original) Merced, she’s not quite so sympathetic given her abandonment of Little Merced and Federico de la Fe.

The playfulness of Plascencia’s novel and the blurring of lines between fiction and reality, our world and theirs, the US and Mexico…there’s so much going on here that’s complex and understated, and I think that there’s a lot of room for exploration. In any case, it you’re looking for an unconventional read, this is a great book to check out. You can thank McSweeney’s for publishing the first edition (and Harcourt for picking it up after that).

The Good Fairies of New York (Martin Millar)

I picked up this book at random while browsing the shelves at the library. I saw that Neil Gaiman had recommended it, and that coupled with the title and back cover was enough to convince me that I should read it.

I took a while to really get into this novel, starting and stopping it several times over a period of weeks, but finally one night I got caught up in it and couldn’t put it down. It was a really interesting, goofy read…and ambitious at that. Millar works really hard to take up a huge variety of different issues ranging from racism and homophobia to poverty and homelessness. Because of the assortment of issues he tries to take up, I’m not certain he really does any justice to any of them.

For instance (plot spoiler!!), Dinnie’s misanthropic, misogynistic, and homophobic beliefs (and they are beliefs, not just hollow words spoken without true understanding) lead to what I think is supposed to be a huge life change. But that change is actually just brought on by his infatuation with Kerry. The only reason given for his change is his overwhelming concern for Kerry’s health, but there’s no indication that he has actually become a better person; instead, he has just fallen for someone who is a better person, and is behaving accordingly. And the result? He’s rewarded with the affection of a young woman who is more intelligent, compassionate, and generous than himself — a young woman who he doesn’t really deserve.

It’s a strange complaint to level against a book I greatly enjoyed, but there it is. I guess that’s how it is with this blog…in attempting to articulate my thoughts for a broader audience, I end up being forced to grapple with issues that nagged at me before, but had deeper roots than simple irritation. So there it is. I’d still recommend this novel to anyone who enjoys interesting, unusual fiction and quirky characters (and a little bit of magic).

The Piano Lesson (August Wilson)

After several conversations with different colleagues about magical realism in African American literature, I was pointed to this particular play by more than one person. I finally found the time to read it. I have to say that I was disappointed that it wasn’t more unusual (I guess that’s just me — I love stuff like Tropic of Orange and The Heirs of Columbus for the unusual style and tone that such works exhibit), but I enjoyed it very much.

The piano itself is an interesting and key element in the drama, so I’ll start there. The carvings representing the family’s ancestors are interesting in the way they blur the lines between art and life — since they sometimes appear to be the actual people they were carved to represent, there’s an interesting phenomenon at work here. At the same time, there is so much happening in this play that makes the reader question what’s really happening and what’s not that I sometimes couldn’t tell what was there and what was in the minds of the characters.

Then there’s Sutter’s ghost. I think it’s really interesting that it is the ghost of the former slave-owner who appears to this family instead of someone…hm…someone less hostile? More friendly? I wasn’t quite sure how to take his repeated appearance and the playing of the piano that it ultimately necessitated. Is this to say that the former slave-owner is still looking out for this family and has their best interests in heart, therefore the playing of the piano is a good thing? I hardly think that can be the intended message. Is it that in order to rid the family of the former slave-owner, who continues to haunt them even in freedom, they must go on with their lives as they would have as if slavery never existed? This also seems implausible. So I think some of these ideas are relevant, while others are most likely not.

I guess what I really have to say is that this drama was interesting and left me with a lot to think about. It’s the first drama I’ve read that could really be considered magical realist, and I am curious about what else I might discover if I explore magical realist drama further.

American Born Chinese (Gene Luen Yang)

I’ve read this book at least 3 times now, but it’s really cute. I don’t mean cute as in “quaint” but rather cute as in it has really appealing graphics and a fun storyline. It’s meant for young adults, so that’s part of the “cute” factor. In the meantime, the story has some really interesting things happening on the level of plot and theme.

You’ll notice that I categorized this book as magical realism. I think it’s a borderline classification, but toward the end of the story when (plot spoiler!!) the Monkey King turns out to be Chin-Kee, and Danny turns out to be Jin, and Wei-Chen turns out to be the Monkey King’s son…well, let’s just say the lines between cultural mythology, contemporary life, and what appears to be a sitcom get blurred and suddenly things that seemed like supplemental stories taking place in spaces outside of Jin’s reality turn out to be Jin’s reality. Of course, I loved this. Go figure. 🙂

Also, I thoroughly enjoyed Yang’s sense of humor. Every time one of the Asian American kids gets introduced to their classmates, the teachers mispronounce their names (for instance, Wei-Chen Sun from Taiwan becomes “Chei-Chen Chun” from China, and Jin Wang from San Francisco becomes “Jing Jang” from China). It’s just so true to life that it’s hilarious, and the poor kids are just so jaded about such introductions and misconceptions that I actually laughed out loud.

Yang’s graphic novel is a really interesting work, and is quite complex — so even adult readers can enjoy it despite the fact that it was written for a young adult audience. If you happen across this one, pick it up and give it a read!

Soul City (Touré)

I found this book by accident, and I’m sure glad I did. While the inside flap purports it to be an African American Utopian novel, it’s really a delightfully crazy magical realist novel. The characters — whose names all seem to have larger significances than the individuals they belong to — are a moody bunch of people living in an amazing little community located somewhere in the US called Soul City.

Soul City is populated by African Americans with an abundance of magical capabilities ranging from mind-reading to flying to being able to smell (and therefore subvert) Death — all of which are passed on through the genes by ancestors who were slaves. The ties between the present and the past are very strong in this novel, and the characters are constantly thinking about their roots and remembering the people they came from.

They’re also happily bound certain aspects of African American culture that Touré identifies as inherently important — such as dancing, having good hair, and (most significantly) a strong community of family and friends. Other cultural stereotypes — like the image of the pickaninny and the idea that African American men are amply-endowed — are also confronted, but in a manner that makes clear their harmfulness and their danger.

This was an unexpected read, and one that may end up in my dissertation (especially since it’s a really fun example of a contemporary work of magical realism by an African American author). Touré also has a book of short stories out called The Portable Promised Land, as well as a collection of essays entitled Never Drank the Kool-Aid. If you’re looking for a fun and intelligent read, this book’s for you!

Tropic of Orange (Karen Tei Yamashita)

I’ve read Tropic of Orange a few times, but this time I read it more closely than ever (the reason: I’m about to write about it in my dissertation). Each time I read it, it’s amazing to me just how much it overflows with allusions: historical, social, artistic, literary — you name it, Yamashita’s got it in there. But aside from the value that all of those references and shouts outs have for me when it comes to my dissertation, my favorite thing about this novel is how it’s written.

Each character has their own unique voice, and the chaos that erupts as the novel progresses is tied up with those voices and the individual natures of each of the characters. I’m not sure I’m really explaining this as well as I’d like to….

I love this book because the characters are all so familiar and interesting, because they’re so human and have so much at stake in so many different ways. And, of course, I love it for the magic it possesses. The music that Manzanar creates out of LA traffic — music that permeates the novel and the characters’ lives — is just one example of how things in the world of the novel are more than they are in our world. I also love the salute-to-Rushdie inherent in bringing the tropics from where they currently reside to a place like Los Angeles, where all mayhem ensues when the city is suddenly home to the Tropic of Cancer.

Okay, I’m not doing this book justice. Let me put it this way: if you love a good novel chalk full of crazy characters and impossible events, full of mystery and surprise and suspense, full of unexplainable phenomena and unavoidable chaos, then you’ll love this book as much as I do.

Old Nehalem Road (Travis Champ)

Old Nehalem Road was a surprise I’m glad I found. I went back to the same bookstore where I found Salt, and lo and behold, there was this slim volume hand printed on a 100-year-old printing press. I couldn’t resist. My love of textures and all things archaic overcame me, and I ended up with (gasp) my second volume of poetry in two days. The clerk at the Cloud & Leaf Bookstore told me that the poems in this collection were very obviously penned by a man…a sentiment I found to be true, but not in any way I could have predicted. There were no stereotypical tool references or preoccupations with sex. Instead, there was just something about Champ’s voice that seem inherently male. Can I explain myself a little more clearly than that? ‘fraid not. Nope, you’ll have to make do with the vague and potentially off-color remarks that I’ve provided you with. Don’t like that option? Then get yourself out to Oregon and get one of these books for yourself — it’s a great read, and one you’re likely to enjoy.

Salt (Various Authors)

This collection of poetry was really inspiring. I picked this book up at a little bookstore on the coast of Oregon (Cloud & Leaf Bookstore, in case you really want to know), looking for a taste of the local talent, and it certainly gave me that. I’m not usually much of one for poetry, but if there’s one thing the Oregon coast seems to produce in abundance, it’s poets. So this is what I ended up with, and I’m really glad it worked out that way. Salt truly captures the spirit of the Oregon coast — its inhabitants, its raw nature, its beauty. I’d recommend it to anyone who enjoys poetry, loves nature, or misses Oregon.

Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons (Lorna Landvik)

This novel is one of my all-time favorites. Ever since its cover caught my eye on the sale table at Borders in Goleta, CA, this book has had a special place in my heart. I read it when I’m feeling lonely, when I want something light to read, when I want a good story about deep friendships, and when I just want a good book to settle down with. I’m not generally one to reread books, but I’ve read this one 4 times now. It just never gets old, and I find that I continue to recommend and gift it to friends and family members.

Part of the reason I love this book so much is that it spans 40 years in the lives of 5 women who share a great friendship with each other. It’s one of those stories about relationships that makes you appreciate the ones you have — makes you want to pick up the phone and call the people who matter to you. And it’s really cute! The five Angry Housewives are all easy to relate to, and are so likable that it’s hard to set this book down before finishing it.

Not only that, but the plot is full of political issues (race, gender, and sexuality being at the fore) that Landvik deftly weaves into the narrative without detracting from the storyline. It makes you think about the issues it raises while avoiding hitting you over the head with any one specific political agenda. Well, alright, so the feminist slant is pretty strong…but that gets balanced out by the significance of these women’s roles as mothers and wives, so even there ideas of gender roles gets complicated by the seemingly traditional role these women play within their own households.

In any case, it’s a book I’d recommend to anyone (male or female) who’s looking for a genuinely good story about friendship and life.