Sacred Hunger

This is my first re-read in my Booker challenge, so I have to admit to already knowing I love this book.  I think this might have been my fourth time through, but having the focus of needing to write a blog post helped me enjoy the writing in a new and deeper way.

This is a novel about the triangle trade in the mid 1700s, and is it about the struggle between greed, profit, humanity, enslavement, liberation and civilization - some pretty heavy themes that I traditionally associate with American literature (though Unsworth is British).  So much about this book is exquisite:  the depth of the characters, the fluxuating narration style, the the vivid metaphor and rich language, and the incredibly moving story.  The juxtaposition of Erasmus and Paris was a perfect tool in playing out the contradictions and moral pitfalls of the various aspects of the slave trade.  And even though there are probably a hundred named characters in the novel, each character, no matter how minor, came across as a complete and real person, with a purpose in the narrative.

One of the aspects of the writing that really struck me this time around was the prevalence of metaphors related to slavery, and the various ways in which people and even objects can be shackled, caged, and enslaved - including and especially the drive for profits, the Sacred Hunger of the title: 

It is always through arbitrary combinations that experience enslaves the memory.  New shackles were being forged here, in the light-filled loft, amid smells of oil canvas and raw hemp and tar, the creeping fringes of the sail-cloth, his feelings for Sarah Wolpert and for his father.

I first read this for part of an interdisciplinary college course called "Slavery and Labor in Film and Literature" - and it was by far the best part of that class.  It is still one of my favorite of all of the Bookers I have read - and I couldn't recommend it more highly.

Parrot & Olivier in America

I'm not sure why I thought I would like this book more than I did.  I have to admit that I'm not a huge fan of the early 1800's Europe as a moment in history, but the look at America as a burgeoning democracy was enticing.  However, the stylized language, as accurate as it may have been, was wearisome and cumbersome.  It was longer than it needed to be.  Character revelations came too late - I already didn't care about them or their motives or histories.  Themes of incarceration, class in democracy, and the male friendship between the two title characters were not well developed.  I was just bored.

The book follows Olivier, the snobbish son of French nobles in post-Revolutionary France, and Parrot, his reluctant English servant, who was originally trained as an engraver.  Olivier is forced to escape to America to avoid a revival of the revolutionary feeling in Paris with Parrot, along with his French mistress and her elderly mother, under the guise of completing a book about the American prison system.  Blah blah blah he has several encounters in the new world, a brush with the law and a failed romance.  Parrot discovers a new life and artistic ability in America and is happy.  Olivier is not. 

Sure, there were some good moments - Peter Carey is clearly an expert even if I didn't care for this novel.  I loved the insect metaphors he peppered throughout: people resembling wasps, silkworms, crickets and butterflies.  I particularly liked his description of a French wine encountered in America:

I bemoaned the palates of the Philadelphians who had called his Medoc cold and sour.  Miraculously, it was free of sediment, and rushed into my glass at that perfect stage of life.  In a year it would be a dowager with a faded old corsage, but as it entered my mouth it was vigorous and manly, completely composed, its orchestra all present and correct.  Oh heavens, that such small things make a man so happy.

Although this glass of wine sounds excellent, the rest of the novel just wasn't for me.

Vernon God Little

Well, apparently I'm fitting myself right into a stereotype.  Lots of reviews I browsed have noted that Americans tend to dislike Vernon God Little - and I really didn't enjoy this book very much or understand why it merits a Booker Prize.

The story is told by a 15-year old narrator, who is a survivor after a school shooting and was the shooter's best and only friend.  Vernon is suspected by the townspeople of having had something to do with the shooting.  And because the shooter turned the gun on himself, they are looking for someone still living to blame.  Vernon makes several terrible choices that only demonstrate to the police and to the news media covering the story that he is guilty.  I suppose this was perceived as a relevant if gritty topic, after Columbine in 1999 was followed by other similar news events.  I was a high-school student during the peak of that era.  But this story failed to resonate with me.

I think the author, DBC Pierre (a pseudonym) was attempting to write satire about big issues in American- particularly Texan-culture:  the media's all powerful and corrupting influence; gun control and violence; fast food, obesity and the diet obsession; the myth of the classless society; the American judicial system and the death penalty; and, perhaps, Christianity.  I get that he discusses these issues, and paints a not-flattering picture, but that's not really what I dislike about this book.  I just didn't think this novel says anything new or interesting about these issues - it didn't make me see any of this in a new, or different way, and his insights are muddled and trite.  It just seemed to me like an excuse to stereotype and then laugh at a perception of American culture that is only partially true.

Perhaps the only parts of the story that I was able to appreciate were small moments when the narrator behaves in a way that really brought to life the mixed-up fifteen-year-old kid he was meant to be.  He has major conflicted feelings about his mother, and the guilt she applies like twisting a knife in his back.  His instinct to bottle his feelings and failure to communicate with the outside world in any meaningful way -- even when those feelings and communications could save him a world of trouble -- rang true for me.  And apparently for others, as several people apparently really enjoyed this book.

Room

I know this review is coming quickly on the heels of my most recent review.  That's because I read this entire book in one day.  Cover to cover.  Couldn't put it down.  This book is nothing if not gripping, fascinating, and constantly keeping your wanting to read just a little bit more.

I can't tell you much about the plot of Room by Emma Donoghue, or I will ruin it for you, and you're going to read it, aren't you?  The blurb on the back should suffice: 

To five-year-old Jack, Room is the world.  It's where he was born, its where he and his Ma eat and sleep and play and learn.  At night, Ma shuts him safely in the wardrobe, where Jack is meant to be asleep when Old Nick visits. 

Room is home to Jack, but to Ma its the prison where she has been held for seven years.  Through her fierce love for her son, she has created a life for him in this eleven-by-eleven-foot space.  But Jack's curiosity is building alongside Ma's own desperation--and she knows that Room cannot contain either much longer.

There.  That doesn't give much away, but it sets the stage for me to comment on a few themes that really interested me as I was reading.  First, everyone mentions it, but that's because it is essential to what makes this such a compelling book:  Five-year-old Jack as the sole narrator is unique and wonderful.  She manges to persuasively bring me into the mind and thoughts of an (albeit precocious) child, and leaves enough clues for the mature reader to gain extraordinary depth from the happenings that Jack only sort of picks up on. 

Second, as told second hand through Jack, the relationship between Ma and Jack has to be constantly managed by Ma in the context of their confinement and total domination by Old Nick.  As Jack gets older, Ma struggles to ensure that Jack sees her as the dominant figure in his life, as the provider and caretaker when Old Nick is acknowledged as the "bringer" and can make Jack's world light up simply by leaving a candy treat.  I was so empathetic with her struggle here.

Finally, Jack's perception of the world through television, his inability to believe that the things he sees on TV exist, and his capitalization of the nouns for things in Room (because they are the only example of such an item he has ever seen) brought me back to my first year of college and the Platonic Forms. Donoghue's implication here is that Jack's experience in Room is similar to the Unenlightened Man Plato describes, who sees the pure Idea - and that any other experiences will be echoes and reflections of the pure Idea or true form.  As you can imagine, this has some heavy implications for Jack.