After an intense school year of numbers, numbers, and more numbers (with several variables littered throughout), I read quite a lot this summer to balance life out a bit.
I started by finishing The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, which I began long ago last January. To be brutally honest -- I despised the ending. Really. I had a throw-the-book-across-the-room-and-say-"Are-you-kidding-me?!" reaction to the ending. It's a long and intriguing story that I felt had somewhere to go...and then went nowhere. I don't recommend it, and as you can see from this blog, that's rare.
To make myself feel better, I turned to authors I trusted, authors I knew I could follow into a world of thought and new ideas. I started with Brene Brown and her book Daring Greatly. I first heard of Brene when I watched her TED talk "The Power of Vulnerability," and I instantly connected with what she had to say. Since then, I also heard her speak at the 2013 Global Leadership Summit and watched her second TED talk, "Listening to Shame." In her talks and her book, she explains the research she's done on living a wholehearted life, on shame, and on vulnerability. An excellent summary of her thoughts can be found in a Zen Pencils comic that quotes her talk. Brene talks about shame in our culture and how it impacts all the areas of our lives; more importantly, she gives insight on how to deal with and combat it. One section on perfectionists hit particularly close to home, and I underlined countless passages throughout the book regarding how to promote vulnerability as a leader -- in my classroom, department, school, and church. This is a book I'll go back to time and again for reminders on how to show up and let myself be truly seen, all the while supporting those around me to do the same.
And as I so often do, I turned yet again to Louise Erdrich -- this time, to her novel Shadow Tag. This is perhaps Louise's most chilling story, one of a broken marriage, damaged familial relationships, distorted feelings and connections that are, in my opinion, misinterpreted as love. The ending gives a new perspective on the entire story, though, one that either makes it more uncomfortable and sad or gives it more meaning, I'm not sure which. Louise's voice is different yet familiar in this story, for which I am glad. As always, she paints beautiful images of the characters' emotions and deepest thoughts, and still gives us an image of the physical surroundings in a way that draws me to that particular place and time.
Just today I finished The Red Tent by Anita Diamont. In a unique voice, Dinah, sister of Joseph and daughter of Jacob of the Old Testament, tells us more than one could surmise merely from the thirty-one verses of Scripture she's given in the Bible. "Given" is a generous term -- she is alluded to, in reference to a string of horrendous crimes, but she never actually comes out of the shadows. I enjoyed learning more about the culture of that time and area, never having thought of how Jacob's God was virtually unknown to the family he married into. Diamont gives a voice to a woman otherwise silent, and she gives shape to a life, complete with highs and lows, otherwise recorded as a tragedy.
Now I'm on to a bit more fiction, balanced with leadership nonfiction for my grad class. If anyone has any suggestions for good reads, please do send them my way.
Showing posts with label Louise Erdrich. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Louise Erdrich. Show all posts
Monday, September 1, 2014
Sunday, February 10, 2013
To another world...
In a mere week, I completed Louise Erdrich's The Round House, and now I find myself missing some of the characters. Wondering what happens next. How Joe fares after the final trauma of the novel. The moment I began reading the book, I fell into the world that Erdrich created, this time recognizing characters from The Plague of Doves and even a few names here and there from her earlier novels. That's how she always hooks me -- she plays on my desire to see how everyone ends up after the last page of the last book I read, how everyone becomes even more intertwined than before. Perhaps it's my small town heritage that feeds this desire; perhaps I just like maintaining the friendships she fosters. Regardless of why, I have a desperate hope that Louise someday tells us more about Joe and Margaret. About Geraldine and Bazil.
The novel is undoubtedly Joe's coming of age story, a story of how a summer that really wasn't about him at all became the most defining months of his life. It is about his mother and, more importantly, his family as a whole. The string of violence and trauma that Joe's family endures is horrendous, but his family shows how strong we can be in the face of such atrocities. How we can make some sense of complete and utter nonsense, and cope with the lingering nonsense that is never resolved. How we justify our actions, yearn for justice, for peace. How we want back what we knew before, and how we cope with knowing that nothing will ever be that way again. Coping, even transforming through coping -- both are vital threads of the story.
Between the award Erdrich has received for the book and its themes of gender, native, and justice issues, I foresee professors including this book in their syllabi soon. I hope this happens, at least -- it has the potential to open serious discussions about rape, tribal and non-tribal politics, justice, morals, religion, and the basic process of uncovering one's identity. I could only imagine the classroom discussions we could have when Joe and Cappy find themselves asking one another, "What are we?...What are we now?" Comparing their struggling, shaky sense of identity to Linda's strong understanding of who she is, despite her convoluted history. This is why I hope someday Louise writes more about Joe's life -- to find out just what he becomes, who he becomes, what good he does in the world. Whether or not Father Travis was right, that God does "draw good from any evil situation," even the evil that seemed to compound in Joe's life up until the final pages of the book.
If you love Erdrich and the world she has created, you'll love The Round House, too. If you don't know her yet, this would be an excellent way to get to know her, and then I highly recommend reading more of her works to see how all of these people are connected.
The novel is undoubtedly Joe's coming of age story, a story of how a summer that really wasn't about him at all became the most defining months of his life. It is about his mother and, more importantly, his family as a whole. The string of violence and trauma that Joe's family endures is horrendous, but his family shows how strong we can be in the face of such atrocities. How we can make some sense of complete and utter nonsense, and cope with the lingering nonsense that is never resolved. How we justify our actions, yearn for justice, for peace. How we want back what we knew before, and how we cope with knowing that nothing will ever be that way again. Coping, even transforming through coping -- both are vital threads of the story.
Between the award Erdrich has received for the book and its themes of gender, native, and justice issues, I foresee professors including this book in their syllabi soon. I hope this happens, at least -- it has the potential to open serious discussions about rape, tribal and non-tribal politics, justice, morals, religion, and the basic process of uncovering one's identity. I could only imagine the classroom discussions we could have when Joe and Cappy find themselves asking one another, "What are we?...What are we now?" Comparing their struggling, shaky sense of identity to Linda's strong understanding of who she is, despite her convoluted history. This is why I hope someday Louise writes more about Joe's life -- to find out just what he becomes, who he becomes, what good he does in the world. Whether or not Father Travis was right, that God does "draw good from any evil situation," even the evil that seemed to compound in Joe's life up until the final pages of the book.
If you love Erdrich and the world she has created, you'll love The Round House, too. If you don't know her yet, this would be an excellent way to get to know her, and then I highly recommend reading more of her works to see how all of these people are connected.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Like Talking with an Old Friend
Last week I finished Louise Erdrich's The Master Butchers Singing Club, which I've owned for a while but, surprisingly, simply hadn't gotten around to reading.
You see, I adore Louise Erdrich. I'm absolutely infatuated. I was first introduced to Louise (that's right, I like to pretend we're on a first name basis) when I read Love Medicine in my Native American Literature course at IC, which, generally speaking, left little impact on me. I took it during my craziest semester, read less of the material than I'd care to admit and enjoyed even less, and only picked up The Beet Queen in Portland, OR, a year later because I recognized Louise's name and got excited. That book then sat on my shelf until I started teaching two years later, and I started reading it during my study hall duty time (back before I had past students to find me during my down time). I will never forget the moment I realized The Beet Queen was linked to Love Medicine -- I was downright giddy. The subtle link prompted me to reread Love Medicine, and my literary crush on Louise blazed into full-fledged, I-have-to-read-everything-this-woman-writes kind of love.
Generally, when I tell people why I love Erdrich's writing, I explain how I love hearing the same story from multiple perspectives. Love Medicine and some of the other books in that series do that -- each chapter tells us someone else's view of the same story, all moving the story along for us through their eyes and in their voice. (Faulkner also uses this trick, and I love his works as well.) Other novels in that series show us the story from the beginning of the series through the end from an unexpected perspective; either way, we get details we never would've gotten otherwise. I also like that Erdrich didn't write the series in chronological order, and many of the books don't move in a linear fashion, either. My Native American Lit professor explained years ago that this is a characteristic of many Native stories; I like seeing connections in the plot in a new way. All in all, Erdrich created an entire community for me to fall into and fall in love with, and I haven't been able to put her or her characters down since.
Enter The Master Butchers Singing Club. As I said, I was so drawn into Erdrich's world in North Dakota, I simply started buying all of her books, especially those set in or near the fictional Argus like Love Medicine and Singing Club. That's really where the similarities to Erdrich's other novels end, though. Many of the characters in Erdrich's other novels are Native American and show her heritage and culture through their experiences; nearly all of the characters in this novel are European American, some even right off the boat from Germany after WWI. (One character, though, does carry the infamous Lazarre last name found in many other Erdrich books. I love connections like that!) This book moves linearly, told always from a third-person narrator who shifts its omniscient powers from one character to another. This gives a great illusion of various perspectives, but it's not the same as the blatant change in voice that occurs when other Erdrich characters take turns in first-person. It was different -- it was almost traditional; it was more like many, many other books out there than it was like the intertwined Love Medicine series.
And yet, I loved this book, despite the fact that it wasn't like all the Erdrich books I've gotten lost in over the past four years. Erdrich's writing style still felt familiar and fostered that "getting lost" feeling. This book tells of her German American heritage, gives unique insight to German Americans during WWII, shows love and loss from new perspectives, introduces us to another strong, independent woman character, shines a floodlight on the complexities of and connections among sexuality, love, and family. This book is a love story on top of a love story intermingled with a love story -- some romantic, some parental, some seemingly unexplainable -- whose backdrop is a country struggling first with economic depression and then with war. This book is a double murder mystery. This book is a coming of age story. This book has a surprise ending, which makes me hope against all hope that Erdrich will write another novel on this section of the Argus community.
And through it all, it was like hearing an old friend tell me another story. Erdrich might give her characters clear voices, but her own voice and style shine through regardless of her chosen literary techniques. I'd missed Louise, and I hadn't even realized it. I was glad we got to catch up a little.
When I finish Louise's books, I feel much the way Delphine, one of the main characters, did when she finished books:
"When she came to the end of a novel, and put it down and with reluctance left its world, sometimes she thought of herself as a character in the book of her own life. She regarded the ins and outs, the possibilities and strangeness of her narrative. What would she do next?" (p. 301)
You see, I adore Louise Erdrich. I'm absolutely infatuated. I was first introduced to Louise (that's right, I like to pretend we're on a first name basis) when I read Love Medicine in my Native American Literature course at IC, which, generally speaking, left little impact on me. I took it during my craziest semester, read less of the material than I'd care to admit and enjoyed even less, and only picked up The Beet Queen in Portland, OR, a year later because I recognized Louise's name and got excited. That book then sat on my shelf until I started teaching two years later, and I started reading it during my study hall duty time (back before I had past students to find me during my down time). I will never forget the moment I realized The Beet Queen was linked to Love Medicine -- I was downright giddy. The subtle link prompted me to reread Love Medicine, and my literary crush on Louise blazed into full-fledged, I-have-to-read-everything-this-woman-writes kind of love.
Generally, when I tell people why I love Erdrich's writing, I explain how I love hearing the same story from multiple perspectives. Love Medicine and some of the other books in that series do that -- each chapter tells us someone else's view of the same story, all moving the story along for us through their eyes and in their voice. (Faulkner also uses this trick, and I love his works as well.) Other novels in that series show us the story from the beginning of the series through the end from an unexpected perspective; either way, we get details we never would've gotten otherwise. I also like that Erdrich didn't write the series in chronological order, and many of the books don't move in a linear fashion, either. My Native American Lit professor explained years ago that this is a characteristic of many Native stories; I like seeing connections in the plot in a new way. All in all, Erdrich created an entire community for me to fall into and fall in love with, and I haven't been able to put her or her characters down since.
Enter The Master Butchers Singing Club. As I said, I was so drawn into Erdrich's world in North Dakota, I simply started buying all of her books, especially those set in or near the fictional Argus like Love Medicine and Singing Club. That's really where the similarities to Erdrich's other novels end, though. Many of the characters in Erdrich's other novels are Native American and show her heritage and culture through their experiences; nearly all of the characters in this novel are European American, some even right off the boat from Germany after WWI. (One character, though, does carry the infamous Lazarre last name found in many other Erdrich books. I love connections like that!) This book moves linearly, told always from a third-person narrator who shifts its omniscient powers from one character to another. This gives a great illusion of various perspectives, but it's not the same as the blatant change in voice that occurs when other Erdrich characters take turns in first-person. It was different -- it was almost traditional; it was more like many, many other books out there than it was like the intertwined Love Medicine series.
And yet, I loved this book, despite the fact that it wasn't like all the Erdrich books I've gotten lost in over the past four years. Erdrich's writing style still felt familiar and fostered that "getting lost" feeling. This book tells of her German American heritage, gives unique insight to German Americans during WWII, shows love and loss from new perspectives, introduces us to another strong, independent woman character, shines a floodlight on the complexities of and connections among sexuality, love, and family. This book is a love story on top of a love story intermingled with a love story -- some romantic, some parental, some seemingly unexplainable -- whose backdrop is a country struggling first with economic depression and then with war. This book is a double murder mystery. This book is a coming of age story. This book has a surprise ending, which makes me hope against all hope that Erdrich will write another novel on this section of the Argus community.
And through it all, it was like hearing an old friend tell me another story. Erdrich might give her characters clear voices, but her own voice and style shine through regardless of her chosen literary techniques. I'd missed Louise, and I hadn't even realized it. I was glad we got to catch up a little.
When I finish Louise's books, I feel much the way Delphine, one of the main characters, did when she finished books:
"When she came to the end of a novel, and put it down and with reluctance left its world, sometimes she thought of herself as a character in the book of her own life. She regarded the ins and outs, the possibilities and strangeness of her narrative. What would she do next?" (p. 301)
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