Francis Gies

I don’t think I’m the only one to feel vaguely disappointed when I learned that the cowboy era, the gunfights and cattle drives and all, only lasted about one generation. You’d think our ancestors would have prolonged something that picturesque.

In related news, Francis Gies does an able job of debunking the knight hype in The Knight in History. The legends don’t fit the historical times, the shining armor probably got pierced by crossbow bolts and musket balls, and jousting never led to the expansion of civilization. Sigh.

Gies writes well and there’s a good chance you could appreciate the book regardless of how much medieval history you’d read. But be warned: history doesn’t always live up to our expectations.

J.N. Hillgarth

Christianity and Paganism, 350-750, a collection of original documents from religious and political leaders during the time, should be required reading for anyone researching or planning for the spread of Christian missions in the 21^st-century. Hillgarth’s careful editing allows readers with minimal backgrounds in historical research to see themes and patterns in the early expansion of Christianity that are eerily familiar today.

J.C. Catford

For years, I’ve been fascinated with the concept of translation. Can two words really mean the same thing? If the translation dictionary says one Russian word can mean convenient and comfortable, or one French word means earn and win, how can you ever really know what someone means?

A Linguistic Theory of Translation, by J.C. Catford, didn’t solve the issue, but it cleared up some of the practical steps along the way, and it made me want to read more.

Zadie Smith

White Teeth had several strikes against it.

1. It’s found in every airport bookstore.
2. It’s always on display tables with Bridget Jones.
3. The back cover had a big picture of the author.
4. The author is too pretty.

None of those disqualify a book for me. I enjoyed Bridget Jones, and Nick Hornby’s in every airport, and Steinbeck made sure readers knew what he looked like, and there’s plenty of room in the world for pretty people. When you put them all together, though, it sets a certain expectation.

Zadie Smith far surpassed that expectation!

Although the book could be lumped in with the recent wave of immigrant-lit, Smith’s story swells in breadth and depth beyond the usual nobody-loves-me themes. She creates on a multi-generational tale with major political and religious themes, and she juggles it masterfully with wit and compassion. She restored my hope that Britain may still produce great authors.

If there’s no “Writing the Opposite Sex” award, there should be, and it should go to her. The only woman I’ve read who manages it as well is Pearl S. Buck-but Buck’s job is easier since she doesn’t bother with humor. Unfortunately, her female characters don’t seem nearly so alive. All of them play one-trait roles and seem merely to propel the story of the male protagonists even when the story switches to their point of view.

The only other weakness in the book comes from her lack of empathy for those with strong religious views. Jehovah’s Witnesses are fairly easy targets, but she spends a lot of energy knocking them down. I appreciate her depiction of Euro-Muslim extremists as wanna-be gangsters without business sense, but the comedy seems like a veneer over a general inability to appreciate faith. Regardless of her faith or lack thereof, this is a weakness that I hope she overcomes in future books.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

What can I say about Dostoevsky that hasn’t been said better, in dissertations and studies and monuments? Only this: he lives up to the hype; he changed my life.

I started with The Brothers Karamazov, went on to The House of the Dead, and then Crime and Punishment, and Notes from the Underground.

The Brothers was recommended by an older cousin. He was in college, and I was 13, but he was my hero, so… I finished it 5 years later. The second reading, a few years after that, only took a month. It’s one of those great novels designed to last through nine months of television-less winter, so it has it all: philosophy, religion, sex, murder, poverty, mental disorders, and courtroom drama. If big Russian novels scare you, you’d be better off starting with Anna Karenina.

I haven’t re-read The House of the Dead. It’s not bad-in fact, it’s probably as good as it gets in the genre of prison memoirs, topped only by Solzhenitsyn’s A Day in the Life of Ivan Illych. But how many times do you want to read a prison memoir?

If all of the monuments and dissertations were to somehow disappear, I can imagine scholars thousands of years from now arguing convincingly that Crime and Punishment and Notes from the Underground were written in the late 1900s instead of the mid-1800s. The word angst comes to mind, but it’s insufficient. We’re talking antiheroes with attitudes so bad they’d see the Fight Club guys as optimists.

Dostoevsky isn’t an author who will make you happy. His comedy scenes can bring a smile, but the smiles are tinged with tragedy. No, happiness isn’t his thing. Joy, on the other hand… maybe. As the ranting drunkard who pimps his daughter asks in Crime and Punishment, what if grace can reach even me?

Jhumpa Lahiri

Several years ago, I came across an instrument in Hanoi that sounded amazingly like an blues guitar. It had only one string, but it could produce these great slides and bends—fascinating. But after a few weeks of hearing the same slides and bends on the same single string, I began to wonder if maybe there was a reason traditional Vietnamese music hasn’t translated well.

Jhumpa Lahiri is in danger of becoming a very fine one-string guitar.

Interpreter of Maladies is a fine story. I could imagine reading it several more times.

By the time I finished the collection by the same name, I felt as though I had. No, on second thought, that’s an overstatement. Her stories aren’t nearly as redundant as those of Thom Jones, and even Amy Hempel and Don Delillo recycle.

Maybe the problem is that some authors start writing and receiving praise while they’re too young. Their world begins to shrink to fit the praise of their first fans, and they lose appreciation for the characters and themes they haven’t already written.

Interpreter is a collection of traditionally-constructed stories, all set at a slow pace and minor key. “This Blessed House” injects some mild humor in relationships, but the collection seems generally designed for readers who think NPR is a little too light-hearted.

The Namesake develops the male-Indian-immigrant character (there is really only one in her work, although he/it is depicted by a father and a son). Evidently Indian emotions range from bored to mildly depressed, fairly depressed, lonely, alone, discontent, sad, discouraged, bland, calm, passive, pensive, and not really upset. The father’s odyssey involves to America for grad school, settling down, and making occasional trips back to India. The son’s adventures take him from the New England lower-middle-class suburbs all the way to New England upper-middle-class lakesides. His relationships include traditional Indian and traditional yuppie. (I know the word’s dated, but the relationships feel that way, too.) I haven’t seen the movie, but it’s not hard to imagine it being an easy sell to directors who like long close-ups of big-eyed people with pretty skin.

The stories show promise; so far, though, the promise isn’t fulfilled.

movies that are better than the books

1. The Godfather
2. The Bridge to Terebithia
3. The Man in the Iron Mask (any version)
4. The Three Musketeers (almost any version – Dumas’ plots are much more fun in 90 minutes than in 400 pages)
5. Fight Club
6. The Rainmaker
7. Ivanhoe

Kate DeCamillo

The Tale of Despereaux, by Kate DeCamillo, is… it’s just beautiful. My daughter brought it to me one night and said she thought I’d like it. I’ve liked her recommendations before–she has great taste for a seven-year-old—but I was in the middle of a Steinbeck book, so I set it aside. The next night, she asked again. The next night, she was visibly disappointed that I hadn’t begun. So I set aside, The Winter of our Discontent, and found out that, in this case, she was right.

For elegant prose that brings unusual and desperate characters to life, draws you into their struggles, and leaves you marveling in the beauty of perseverance, I’d recommend DeCamillo’s tale of a mouse who falls in love with a princess over Steinbeck’s take on middle-class angst.

Despereaux reminded me of A Series of Unfortunate Events in the way it treats young readers with respect, recognizing that they are aware of problems and capable of courage. Both series bring out strength in children, but Despereaux probably brings out more grace.

Leo Trepp

I grew up on Bible stories. Abraham and Moses and David and Daniel were heroes to me before I ever heard of George Washington or Tarzan. I was in college before I met a peer who knew and appreciated the Law and History and Prophets like I did. Unfortunately, I thought that this meant I understood Judaism.

It took Leo Trepp’s Judaism to show me that knowing the Scriptures the Jews revere and knowing what Jews believe isn’t the same thing.

Trepp’s tone gets a little defensive now and then, but most writers about religion get that way. I haven’t read widely enough on Judaism to be able to compare it to others on the topic, but I’m glad I read it – once.

Seutonius

All of those who say the private lives of political leaders should remain private, and all who believe that concern over private morals is a modern right-wing issue should read Seutonius’ The Twelve Caesars.

For a history over a thousand years old, it’s surprisingly gossipy and opinionated and fun. It won’t exactly sell you on the Roman Empire being the height of civilization and decency, but it’s likely to challenge you if you’re interested in politics and morality.