Monthly Archives: February 2013

I read “When God Was a Rabbit” for my book club. I hadn’t heard of it before perhaps because it’s a 2011 debut novel from a British author. I definitely would’ve remembered a title like that, which is different enough and made me not sure what to expect. But if you’re wondering, it’s not really a religious or supernatural novel per se.

It’s sort of a novel that’s hard to pinpoint, but it’s primarily about a brother (Joe) and his close, younger sister (Elly) who grow up in Cornwall, England with their parents. Elly tells their story, which spans from her birth in 1968 to 9/11, and from England to New York, where Joe moves as an adult. The narrative includes a colorful cast of Elly’s down-home parents, an aunt that’s gay, her quirky life-long friend Jenny Penny, her brother’s first love Charlie, family friends Arthur and Ginger, and of course a pet rabbit from childhood that her family refers to as God.

Along the way, each of the cast, who are all a bit quirky, seems to suffer a tragedy or hardship that marks their life, yet they persevere with the help of their strong bonds to each other. Elly and her brother are particularly close; she believes he’s the only one who truly understands her. But when a terrible event happens toward the end, their life-long bond is threatened.

In many ways, the novel is very readable and engaging, particularly in the first half when Elly is young and impressionable and telling of her life growing up. She is funny in places despite the bad things that happen, and the cast is interesting.

But later on, the second half of the novel gets a bit disjointed and meandering as if the author didn’t know where she was going with it. Some of the transitions get abrupt, making it hard to discern if the characters are in England or New York. Other details like Elly’s home-schooling are mentioned then dropped; years fly by. More bad things happen, and the narrative turns a bit maudlin. Elly seems to be yearning for her childhood days “when God was a rabbit” and her innocence wasn’t lost.

The novel has endearing qualities, but it just didn’t execute all the way through for me. My book club seemed to have a similar impression of it. What about you? Have you read this one? What did you think? Continue reading →

I recently finished these two slim novels that are pictured here, and though they were stories about different topics, they did share some similarities. Both are quite dark and are told by flawed narrators who are working their way psychologically through difficult circumstances (one after divorce, the other war). Both use landscape to lend to the plot’s mood (one in New Mexico, the other Iraq), and both forebodingly lead up to an event at the end of the book that makes a shattering impact.

“The Boy” by Lara Santoro, which came out last month, is about a 42-year-old woman (Anna), who’s a single mother trying to put her life back together after a bitter divorce. She crosses paths with a 20-year-old male neighbor, who seems to get under her skin and infatuate her. Though she tries to resist the temptation, she soon finds herself involved in a reckless relationship with the boy. His carefree nature seems to make her happy and she pursues her lust for him despite admonitions from his father and her daughter. Ultimately the consequences of their affair turn devastating for all in its wake.

I found the narrator Anna to be pretty harsh. She’s obviously a damaged soul (apparently from her divorce) who looks at the world in a dark or seemingly uncaring way. Her judgement about her sexual relationship with the boy is pretty screwed up and awful, and the one person she truly seems to love, her young daughter, she puts at risk.

It’s hard to find a lot redeemable about Anna, which marred some of my ability to like the novel. She loves her daughter, but can she really be trusted to raise her? That’s one thing the book puts forth to struggle with, along with the “ick factor” of Anna being sexually involved with a 20 year old. The author writes effectively in casting Anna as both flawed and not totally beyond redemption; her daughter still loves and wants to be with her. But after what happens, you’ll be struggling with Anna’s ability as a mother for long after the book’s climax crashes down.

I can’t say I thoroughly liked “The Boy” but it did raise some disturbing questions.

The same perhaps can be said of my feelings towards “The Yellow Birds” by Kevin Powers, which was a finalist for the National Book Award in 2012.

This novel is about a 21-year-old boy, Private Bartle, who with a buddy he meets in basic training, 18-year-old Private Murphy, tries to stay alive while their platoon wages a bloody battle in Al Tafar, Iraq. Before leaving the States, Bartle promises Murphy’s mother that he’ll bring him back unharmed, but after a year or so into the war, Murphy begins to become unhinged. Yet Bartle still feels responsible for him. The actions that follow by both soldiers lead to devastating consequences at the end.

“The Yellow Birds” is told through Bartle’s narration, and alternates chapters of life during the war and then after the war when Bartle is back home in Virginia, trying to piece together his experience in Iraq.

The novel paints a bleak picture of what war is like: the constant stress of danger, the ambivalence toward dead bodies, the fatigue, the body counts, the psychological toll. The author effectively captures it all quite vividly with his descriptive images and account of life among the platoon. Undoubtedly, this is why the book was chosen as a finalist for the National Book Award.

But it’s not an easy read. At times, I grew impatient with Bartle and his malaise and damaged self. I wanted to relate and understand his take on war but found him and the tangents he goes on at times out of reach. My mind started to wander during some of the storytelling and I wanted Bartle to get to the point of what happened. It reads a bit like a gradual march, or a look back on something bad that’s happened but it takes till the end of the book to get there, dangling you along like a wet rag.

While I appreciated some of the writing and insight into war in “The Yellow Birds,” it’s sort of an agonizing place to remain too long, marching. Continue reading →