Review of "The Master and Margarita" by Mikhail Bulgakov

While mid-20th century Russian propaganda wizards were twisting words to hide the truth, Bulgakov wrote a response that proved fantasy could be used to reveal wisdom rather than confuse it.

An absolute feast of a book, The Master and Margarita serves up a delicious variety of characters and scenarios - naked witches, talking cats, and a devil’s ball - as a less-than-subtle riposte to communist cant.  In the process, Bulgakov simultaneously subverts the doctrine of his day, declaring the universal power of the written word to have a staying power government ideology can never achieve.

Reading the incisive and often comedic manner in which Bulgakov eviscerates communist dogma, it’s a wonder fantasy is not used satirically more often.  Suffice to say, the book is not meant to be read as a story in any linear sense.  There is a plot, but symbolism and metaphor bear the lion’s share of the narrative, and as such it is difficult to sum up the story into a neat sentence or paragraph.

Painstakingly written to avoid censors, it requires effort from the reader to place meaning and sort through the variety of representations as they relate to the work’s ultimate message.  That Bulgakov is likewise able to draw in threads of religion and history into an already powerful theme elevates his work to a height achieved by few novels ever written.  If you thought you had read all of the best literature of the 20th century but not yet picked up The Master and Margarita, by all means do, if not for the re-read value alone.

(This review has also been posted at www.fantasyliterature.com) 

Review of "The Last Light of the Sun" by Guy Gavriel Kay

Since writing the Fionavar Tapestry, Guy Gavriel Kay has become formulaic.  Tigana, The Lions of Al-Rassan, A Song for Arbonne, and the Sarantium Mosaic have all been in the same pseudo historical style, featured archaic European cultures, and were written in the same style (excluding Arbonne's excesses).  It is thus with Kay's 2004 Last Light of the Sun the reader cannot be faulted for expecting a product precisely in line with these points.  Kay does not disappoint, and as long as there is a willingness to be flexible with style as the reader was with Arbonne, then the novel should satisfy.

With Italy, France, Spain, and the Mediterranean all touched upon before, Last Light of the Sun moves north. Another historical fantasy, the novel blends elements of Norse mythology with the history of the Anglo-Saxons, Scandinavians and the Welsh as they try to coexist on the isles in and around Britain and Scandinavia.  Three basic story arcs comprise the tale: the forgiveness-seeking father and his wandering son, the young man who would become king, and the man seeking revenge for the murder of his brother - all coming together for a dramatic, surprising, and gratifying conclusion.  The storytelling, as is to be expected from Kay, is superb.  More fantastic than books since Tigana, the novel plays off Norse myth in an eerie, delightful manner.  The fairies and monsters of the forest send a chill down the spine, and, as is to be expected with Kay, indirectly inform the storyline while enhancing imagery and sense of wonder.

The Farseer Trilogy by Robin Hobb

  

(Note: this review is for the Farseer trilogy as a whole.)

Robin Hobb’s first foray into the young adult fantasy genre is undoubtedly a breath of fresh air compared to the pulp sword and sorcery existing on the market.  A human story throughout, in the books Assassin's Apprentice, Royal Assassin, and Assassin's Quest, Hobb focuses on character interaction, coming of age, as well as the bucolic life of animals and plants rather than huge battles, systems of magic, and quests for power.  Action scenes do occur in the Farseer trilogy, but the reader must be patient;  The personal struggles of the royal bastard Fitz Farseer to discover his place in the royal family and society instead take center stage.  Likewise, the supernatural is found, but its uses is subtle and spare.  Those seeking numerous assassinations and twisted death and betrayal based on the book titles should look elsewhere.   

Her writing strong in the first two books of the trilogy, Hobb creates a brightly colored and detailed world that is easy to imagine, full of characters with depth and rapport with the reader.  Her prose is at times breathless  in describing empathy, pain, and the pastoral life.  The cities and people are rich and textured and provide a more than interesting place for both the protagonist and the reader to discover.  My complaints about the series are, firstly, that Hobb should have pruned the last book, Assassin’s Quest, by about 200 pages.  Being a fantasy fan, I am forgiving of long books, but the heartache and internal conflict were more drawn out than was necessary to express the ideas cohesively.  I'm sure Hobb wanted to finish the long series with a fitting ending, but it was extended to a point of thinness, and the climax lacked impact as a result.  Secondly, while the characters are fully human, Hobb has chosen only the best and worst of us.  Gray characterization is little and not often enough. Only the main character Fitz, the girl Molly , and the stablekeeper Burrich struggle morally, the rest flitting to the margins of good and evil.

But for all this, Hobb’s first attempt at high fantasy holds its head above the majority of the contemporary novelists attempting the classic fantasy bildungsroman.  As such, this YA fantasy comes highly recommended for anyone who has a teenager growing old too fast. That many adults read this series and enjoy it also says a lot.

Review of "The Pastures of Heaven" by John Steinbeck

The Pastures of Heaven is a loosely connected vignette of stories that pays homage to Steinbeck's native Salinas Valley in California.  Interwoven but not necessarily interconnected, in classic Steinbeck style the stories tell of ordinary people and their ambitions: to tend their own farm, to start families, and to get away from city life, not to mention how they settle in to the Valley - or not.  Rendering the work relevant no matter what era it was written, Steinbeck smoothly delimits the moral quandaries these working men and women face through poignant dialogue and sublime narrative.  Even at his own mediocre, Steinbeck's style is still better than the majority of writers today.  As it is only a vignette, this book perhaps lacks the fullness of character and overarching profundity found in most of his better known works.  But for the true Steinbeck fan -- particularly those wanting to read more of his stories set in California -- this book is not to be missed.  Though the words do not exist in bulk, they are nonetheless tempered by humility.

Review of "The Curse of Chalion" by Lois McMaster Bujold

Pulling no real surprises, The Curse of Chalion is straight-forward high fantasy, complete with princesses, prophecies, and magic.  It does, however, manage to rise above the mediocre due to its strong prose, characterization, and by having a theme that is not often directly tackled by high fantasy.   

Highly reminiscent of Guy Gavriel Kay, The Curse of Chalion is set in an eponymously named kingdom based on medieval Spain, with he plot running the gamut of life in a royal court.  Despite being a fairy tale at heart, the main storyline centers on one man’s sacrifices for what is good and proper in the world.  The main protagonist, Caz, gives his life to the princesses closest to him, offering them protection from the selfish, power seeking individuals who desire the throne for themselves.  The princesses are not without their strengths, however, being key contributors to their own fate through shrewd political maneuvering.  Into this game of power Bujold injects perhaps the most interesting aspect of the book: an interactive religion.  A mix of Christian and Greek ideals, the five gods—a family, in fact—oversee Chalion and are succored through gifts or prayer.  From the title of the book comes the story’s impetus: a curse has been placed on the kingdom, rendering ill luck to the rulers of Chalion, and in turn a prophecy has been made that only after a man has given his soul three times will the curse be lifted.  Though there are pertinent digressions, Caz’s effort to satisfy the prophecy is the engine driving this tightly drawn plot.   

Caz’s plight likewise provides the thematic content: free will vs. divine intervention.  How Bujold handles this is not black and white and is one reason why this book is better than a lot of other high fantasy.   And thus, despite standing on the softer, gentler side of the genre, The Curse of Chalion is not without action and suspense and would appeal to anyone enjoying medieval-esque court drama with a strong thematic core centered on free will and determinism.

Review of "Don Quixote" by Miguel de Cervantes

The “Knight of Woeful Figure” known whether one has read the book or not, Don Quixote truly is literature for the ages.  More than a picaresque tale of tilting at windmills, it is above all the story of a disillusioned man chasing his dreams, the simple squire who accompanies him, and the adventures they have riding the width and breadth of Spain.  

Human in telling and human in scope, this simple premise allows for profound heights of artistic expression; everyone at some level can relate to the tragic duo and their failures and successes.  Metaphor and allusion suffuse the deceivingly reflective series of stories that comprise the novel.  At one stroke Cervantes parodies both nationalism and orthodoxy while critiquing the self and subjective perception.   

Those seeking to boil it all down to “truth is relative,” however, would be missing out on the humorous dialogue and adventurous spirit of the story—not to mention the cultural importance the novel has to the Latin world.  While many classics collect dust on the shelf, this one is certainly worth the read.  Why not have a tilt yourself… 

Review of "Hollow Man" by Dan Simmons

I’m a huge fan of Simmons’ work—when he hits.  With Hollow Man, he misses.  Though his talent as a stylist is once again on full display here, the manner in which Simmons directs the story is confused and overly-complex, leaving the objective of Hollow Man obscure and ambiguous.  One look at the plot devices at work—neuroscience, serial killers, homelessness, telepathy, depression, the mafia, quantum physics—ought  to tell you the story is bogged down with excess baggage.  And did I mention the abused, deaf-blind boy with Down Syndrome who plays a hand in the novel’s climax?

Regarding content, Hollow Man is the story of a telepathic man who undergoes a drastic life change after his wife, also telepathic, dies.  The severing of this bond, which we are led to believe is stronger than the average relationship due to their mind-to-mind connection, causes the man to take extreme measures in coping with the resulting depression.  Like the devices at work, his travels take him all over the map seeking mental healing.  He ultimately does find escape, but not in the manner one expects.  

In the end, if it weren’t for Simmons’ crisp prose and innate storytelling ability I don’t think I would have been able to finish the book.  Deep down, I do think the message of Hollow Man has value - that the book has something positive to say.  However, in order for this value to have shone forth, the focus of the plot would have to have been much narrower to allow the thematic elements to rise above the sotrytelling.  Exploring the many facets of telepathy and neuroscience on their own would have been enough to fully flush out the working theme, it seems.  In the end, give Simmons full points for intention, but the result just doesn’t warrant a glowing review.

(This review has also been posted at www.fantasyliterature.com)

Review of "Rendezvous with Rama" by Arthur C. Clarke

Extension of scale an advantage science fiction has over other forms of literature, it’s an idea Clarke puts to best use in Rendezvous with Rama.  Rather than in a three dimensional sense wherein space extends infinitely, he instead uses scale to show how humanity and its accomplishments take on new meaning when viewed from the perspective of the cosmic unknown.   

Bearing strong resemblance to the writings of Stanislaw Lem, Rendezvous with Rama tells the story of earth’s brief encounter with an enormous object/spacecraft that one day in a not-so-distant future suddenly appears traversing our solar system.  Obviously the work of an intelligent species, the object nonetheless appears lifeless.  And when explored by a team of scientists and astronauts, more questions than answers seem to arise as Clarke’s simple yet effective prose progressively reveals the strange details of the object’s interior.  What the team comes to understand about the object in the end remains a powerful statement regarding earth’s position in the overall scope of the universe.  

Not a novel in conventional terms – there being no true climax or resolve – the book is nonetheless a brilliantly imaginative exploration of both an alien space craft and the fragility of life.  Clarke writes many beautiful scenes: the team’s hesitance entering the object, Johnny’s flight in the aero-glider through the static fields, and the discovery of the “museum” perhaps most prominent among them, leaving the reader humbled as to the possibilities of the infinite beyond.  Far from space opera, this book is highly recommended for anyone who enjoys the literary end of science fiction.

Review of "The City & the City" by China Mieville

Despite finding itself only marginally within the genre, it’s no coincidence that The City & the City took home every major sf&f award for 2009-2010 (except the Locus).  Mieville’s seventh novel is a brilliant pastiche of detective noir, Orwellian vision, and Kafkian undertones.  In need of introduction to high school classrooms and university syllabi for its examination of stereotyping and the inadvertent manner in which we code differing people and cultures, the book is truly deserving of the accolades it has received.  

A nod to Raymond Chandler and the other writers of detective noir, The City & the City is on the surface a near perfectly told mystery of murder and political intrigue.  From the first page the dead body of a young woman is found by the workaday police detective Tyador Borlu, and the story moves from there.  Finding its way through various layers of government, rebel political factions, and goons, Borlu’s road gets riskier and more tricky in discovering the killer.  But where The City & the City earns its points for originality is in the singular nature of its setting.  Unlike any book written before, Detective Borlu’s troubles truly begin when he discovers the young woman was murdered in the other half of the city – the forbidden half.  Forbidden perhaps too strong a word, Beszel’s sister city, Ul Qoma, is an entirely separate political entity with its own laws and regulations.  And despite that they often share the same streets, buildings, and parkland, the two cities remain separated by invisible walls called “crosshatching” that people are taught from birth not to cross.  The citizens of both sides are likewise taught to “unsee” the other, even if they are walking within arm’s length.  Upon sight of foreign clothes, places, people, etc., they must look away lest a procedure called “breach” is invoked.  A mysterious political entity that enforces laws and monitors the crosshatch areas, Breach looms over everything Borlu does in tracking the young woman’s killer to the other side.  The danger Borlu faces in invoking breach is perfectly balanced with the threats he faces investigating the political figures, building to a perfect climax.  

Mieville has stated that The City & the City is an examination of the “divided city.”  Places like present day Jerusalem, Istanbul, Nicosia (Cyprus), and Kirkuk (Iraq), as well as the historical cities of Berlin, Belfast, Mostar (Bosnia), or any Jewish ghetto all served as real world examples of cities separated along cultural or racial lines.  Mieville handling the subject of cultural perception and the resulting social issues with maturity, Detective Borlu becomes a lens through which the reader sees more than just an everyday police officer as the novel progresses.  That he tells a gripping story in the process, isn’t that the definition of a great novel?

(For those who have read the novel and are interested in additional commentary, please see the article "Seeing the Unseen: The Cultural Significance of China Mieville's The City & the City" from this blog.)

Culture Corner: Polish Pronunciation 101

When I was a language teacher giving a lesson on pronunciation, I would often ask my students: what’s the verbal difference between a vowel and a consonant? What do ‘p,’ ‘g’ or ‘m’ have that ‘a-e-i-o-u’ do not? The answer is: (bum, bah-da-dah) the repression of breath. All consonant sounds in some way either stop or partially block the air released from your lungs as you speak. Conversely, all vowel sounds are issued a free pass to move unhindered from the lungs to the outside world, occasionally aided by carbonation. (Try belching ‘nbg,’ but don’t blame me if you end up in the hospital with shredded nostrils and a permanent tingling feeling in your forehead). If you try making the sound ‘a’ or ‘e,’ you’ll notice your mouth is slightly open and air passes smoothly through out of your mouth. That being said, try saying ‘p’ and you’ll notice your lips begin the sound while closed. Try saying ‘ch’ and you’ll notice your tongue flicks forward to momentarily block the air moving through your mouth. Taking all this into consideration, it’s a wonder Polish people do not walk around blue-faced and dizzy, fighting for breath while speaking.

I say this because speaking Polish is like hanging on to a runaway tongue-twister. Consonants flying like propaganda in Russia, I’ve heard the Polish language described as a “chainsaw in a hurricane,” “bumblebees trapped in the mouth,” and “what happened when God dropped the Scrabble box.” Not as grating on the ears as German or Dutch (sorry to my German and Dutch friends, but I must be honest), Polish is nonetheless a harsh language. I’m not trying to say English is beautiful (try to hear only the sounds of “crotch sharks bite the broth woodpecker” and you’ll immediately agree), the ‘szcz,’ ‘stny,’ ‘jczy’ as well as other, wilder consonant groupings of Polish are at times a harrying task to spit out. Try to pronounce the following words smoothly and easily if you doubt me:

wzdłuż (across) – the closest English equivalent would be vzd-wooz, the latter ‘z’ pronounced like ‘s’ in ‘measure.’ Try to say ‘vzd-wooz’ quickly. (With four consonants in a row, this is also one of the top words as far as ratio is concerned - 5:1)

zachrypnięty (hoarse) – ‘za-hri-p-nien-ti’ Awkward, no?

mgła (fog) – the English equivalent is similar, mgwa. Try to say ‘mgwa’ and not laugh.

przeziębienie (a common cold) – the closest English equivalent is ‘pshe-shien-beea-nee-a.’ Try to say that ten times fast…

Wrocław (the name of the city where I live) – It’s pronounced like ‘vrots-luv’ but I bet you initially tried to say something like ‘raw-claw’ – the native English speakers, that is.

wypływ (outcome) and wpływ (income) – the first is ‘vi-pwiv’ and the second ‘v-pwiv.’ Try to say them so that you can hear a difference between them. Then imagine trying to discern the difference between the two while someone is speaking Polish at a native speed.

Here’s a normal Polish sentence, give it a try! “Mamo, dziś przedstawię wam mojego nowego chłopaka.” (Mom, today I’ll introduce you to my new boyfriend.)

Did your tongue end up in knots?

So, if you’ve ever wondered what makes the romance languages so romantic, it’s their vowels – and lots of them. Scattered profusely throughout words and sentences, it’s much easier to sing or quote poetry to your love with your mouth open, rather than closed trying to pull together ‘xzdkjl’ (not a Polish word, just a little of my frustration at learning the language leaking out). Just check out the French phrase “aujourd'hui en Guinée” compared to the same in Polish “dzisiaj w Gwinei.” In the former, consonants are scattered like tumbleweeds, nary a fricative or nasal in sight, while in the latter, a harsh ‘d’ and ‘z’ start the phrase, not to mention one ‘e’ was not good enough in “Guinée,” so they put in another!

Of course Polish love songs exist, and people fall in love, lose a love, and love to love listening to them, the impact not lost within the context of the language itself. What I’m curious about is if the French are so romantic because there’s such a rhythmic inflow/outflow of oxygen? In other words, do their brains have a fresher supply of oxygen because of constantly trying to keep up with what’s expended navigating the exhilarating vowel landscape of French? And conversely, have the Polish shot themselves in the romantic foot by having to wait so long between breaths? I mean, each sentence is like a Tommy Gun shooting consonant bullets, no chance to pause and catch your breath and ponder whether the person across from you is beautiful, jolting from one ‘mgła’ to the next ‘wzdłuż.’

But I digress. I’m being too harsh. If the Polish have lost any brain power by having to stutter their breath while speaking, they more than make up for this by having to properly decline every sentence they utter—yes, decline a sentence. You’ll have to attend next lesson to learn another meaning of the word “decline” and in turn discover why the Polish are a leg up in intelligence quota from birth.

(It goes without saying this post was all for fun, so I hope none of you are truly offended. :)