The Barcelona Brothers by Carlos Zanón

Published by Other Press on August 28, 2012

“Like a black angel of memory, almost every tale, every occurrence finds an echo inside the walls of the barrio.”  The Barcelona Brothers (from which this quotation is drawn) tells a story of intertwined lives, of barrio residents reacting to the echo of a dramatic event that will force them to reexamine their desperate lives.

The novel opens with the mother of all bar fights.  Tanveer Hussein loses.  His assailant, Epi Dalmau, flees.  Epi’s brother Alex, a medicated schizophrenic, witnesses the killing, as does Salva, the bar’s owner.  Rumors spread around the barrio about the cause and perpetrator of the assault on Tanveer, all of them wrong.  As the story progresses, glimpses of the past alternate with snatches of the present, providing clues to Epi’s motive for attacking Tanveer. That Tanveer deserves to die becomes increasingly apparent as his violent life is revealed, yet Epi seems an unlikely assassin.

The story drifts from past to present, from one damaged character to another.  Whether they are central to the story or playing a bit part, the characters are unique and unforgettable.  Tiffany Brisette, Tanveer’s girlfriend, is driven by the need to feel empowered.  She thinks she can control the game when she’s with a man because she’s the only one who knows they’re playing a game.  Her sister Jamelia, a little slow and befuddled by life (and by far the novel’s sweetest character), is convinced that God will eventually punish Tiffany for being mean to everyone.  Aging part-time sex worker Rocío Baeza just wants to stay alive while she supplements her family’s income.  Allawi, like barbers everywhere, is the barrio’s central repository of gossip.

Carlos Zanón writes with insight and sensitivity about hopeless and forgotten lives.  His characters are incapable of planning or of achieving goals because in their lives “one thing knocks away another, like in a billiards game.”  Their aspirations are simple -- a stable relationship, a job, a good life -- but unattainable.  Although they seem destined to make bad choices, it’s not clear that good choices are ever available.  They are prisoners of their own fatalism.  They live together but they are alone, “their hearts withered by solitude.”

The barrio itself is virtually a character.  This isn’t the Barcelona of fashion models, art museums, and trendy tapas bars, where happy tourists play on white sand beaches.  It is a gritty place where dreams shatter like the windows of abandoned cars, a locked warehouse that isolates the poor and the mentally ill and the drug addicted, a place where the criminal underclass allies with the Arab immigrants who are shunned elsewhere.

Zanón’s powerful prose builds and maintains teeth-clenching tension as the story moves to a conclusion that the reader will both anticipate and dread.  It seems inevitable that at least one luckless life will end tragically, yet the final chapters leave room for the reader’s imagination to fill in the gaps.  Some readers will dislike the uncertainty, the feeling that the novel isn’t quite finished, but I appreciated the respite it offered from the sense of impending doom that pervades much of the story.

Although I loved The Barcelona Brothers, I recognize that many readers will not.  If you are looking for humor and warmth, look elsewhere.  If you do not like a book unless you like the characters, if you believe fictional characters should always learn lessons or experience moral transformations, this is not the book for you.  The world doesn't always work that way, and The Barcelona Brothers reflects that reality.

It is a tribute to Zanón that he made me care so much about such disagreeable people.  If, like me, you appreciate strong and uncompromising writing that examines the hearts and minds of realistic (albeit broken) characters in dark settings, you will find much to admire in The Barcelona Brothers.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

In the Shadow of the Banyan by Vaddey Ratner

Published by Simon & Schuster on August 7, 2012

The banyan tree in the courtyard represented a place of safety in war-torn Cambodia for seven-year-old Raami and the royal family to which she belongs -- at least it did until the Khmer Rouge chased the family members from their home.  The Khmer Rouge soldiers are in the vanguard of a “revolution” that, in the mid-1970s, turns Raami’s family into refugees.  Raami’s father, Ayuravann, is a prince and a poet, her grandmother is a queen, but these distinctions merely put the family at greater risk than the displaced peasants they soon join.

In the Shadow of the Banyan is a stirring account of Raami’s young life under the control of the Khmer Rouge.  The Khmer Rouge leaders do not want any Cambodian to remain rooted; individuals must be replanted, must take on new lives in service to the Revolution.  When her family is divided and forced to relocate to a rural village, Raami begins her life anew, concealing her past and watching as friends and relatives -- the ones who aren’t killed by soldiers -- die of malnutrition and disease.  Having been stricken with polio in early childhood, Raami’s limp saves her from the arduous labor to which most villagers are assigned, but nothing can spare her the grief of loss or the pain of hunger.

Vaddey Ratner’s novel is rooted in her own experience as a child in Cambodia.  It tells an emotionally intense story of courage and sacrifice.  While the story is often tragic, rebirth and transformation are the novel’s strongest themes.  Another striking theme is the commonality of man, the shared dignity of rich and poor, royalty and peasant.   “We are all echoes of one another,” Ayuravaan tells Raami, a truth the novel vividly illustrates.

Images of hope and beauty balance the despair that pervades the story. Despite the devastation she must endure daily, Raami never forgets that she is surrounded by beauty. She discovers that a momentary glimpse of the commonplace -- a dragonfly in flight -- can turn the ordinary into something beautiful. “We are capable of extraordinary beauty if we dare to dream,” says Auyravaan as he encourages Raami to dream of flight, to soar with spreading wings, to overcome her disability and the external strictures that govern her life. Although similar metaphors often descend into cheesiness in the hands of uninspired writers, Ratner avoids crossing that line by anchoring her story in truth while avoiding artistic manipulation.

The novel’s imagery is astonishing.  A farmer carves a calf from wood to hang around a cow’s neck, not to replace the mourning cow’s dead calf but “to give shape to her sorrow” -- the kind of sorrow Raami comes to understand all too well.  Recurring images -- serpents, birds in flight, the moon, gardens, mirthful spirits, an epic poem called Reamker, and (of course) banyan trees -- give shape and context to Cambodian life, connecting past to present.  So do the charming folk tales the characters tell each other.

Despite the well-documented atrocities committed by the Khmer Rouge, Ratner writes of individual “revolutionaries” with perception:  they are often just kids, too immature to understand the consequences of their behavior, following the Movement only because it is easier to carry a gun than to push a plow.  Big Uncle says they are “like boys playing war.”  They are illiterate, resentful of the educated, unaware of the “cause” their revolution supposedly intends to achieve.  They glorify violence to mask their own ignorance.  Given her experiences, it is a tribute to Ratner that she writes of them with such understanding.

Ratner is a graceful writer.  Her sentences flow with balletic precision.  Her word choice is impeccable.  Even if the story had been less captivating, I would recommend this novel for the beauty of its prose.  Every now and then Ratner includes a word in Raami’s native language.  Its meaning is usually apparent from the context, but even when its meaning is obscure, Ratner resists the temptation to interrupt the narrative flow with an English translation.  That might bother some readers but I’m more bothered by writers who can’t use a foreign word without immediately supplying an English translation.

In short, this is a stunning work, a powerful story skillfully told.  Although grounded in Ratner’s personal experience, it reads like the product of a seasoned novelist.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

Istanbul Passage by Joseph Kanon

Published by Atria Books on May 29, 2012

Set in 1945, Istanbul Passage tells an absorbing story that builds suspense like a Hitchcock movie. The novel rests upon a storyline that was a favorite of Hitchcock's: the (relatively) innocent man caught up in an intrigue he did not anticipate, forced to use his wits to avoid arrest or death. As is often the case in spy novels, themes of betrayal and moral ambiguity in a changing world pervade Istanbul Passage. The temptation and motivation to betray touches every important character.

Leon Bauer (American) is married to Anna (German) who is bedridden with a mysterious ailment. Leon works for R.J. Reynolds in Istanbul but does a bit of spying for Tommy King (Office of War Information) on the side. Tommy is pulling out of the city, leaving Leon to take delivery of a post-war defector named Alexei (Romanian) who is smuggled into Turkey by boat. The handover does not go smoothly. Hours later, in an early plot twist, Leon discovers that people he trusted are not on his side.

Leon learns Alexei's true identity from Mihai, a Mossad agent who believes Alexei to be a butcher, a killer of Jews (an accusation that Alexei denies). Mihai, the only person Leon trusts, refuses to help Alexei. In fact, he argues that it is no longer ethical for Leon to help Alexei gain his freedom. Leon thus confronts a dilemma. Alexei might be evil, but there are degrees of evil, and Alexei's role in the war is unclear. Alexei may be able to provide valuable Russian military intelligence to the Americans. Is it better to hand Alexei over to the Russians so that he can be executed (which might seem a just punishment for his alleged actions during the war) or to give him a pass for his wartime behavior in exchange for the information he claims to possess? Leon stands uncomfortably in the middle of this Hobson's choice, a position that becomes even less comfortable when the Turkish secret police take an interest in Leon's involvement with Alexei. Compounding Leon's problems is a mole whose identity is not revealed until the novel's end.

The revelation of the mole's identity is mildly surprising thanks to deft misdirection. Leon's moment of truth is a highlight in a book filled with scenes that make an impact.  Despite the moderately complex plot that brings together a number of carefully drawn characters, Joseph Kanon maintains a deliberate and gradually escalating pace.

Istanbul Passage raises fascinating ethical issues. When Mihai argues that the actions of people struggling for survival can't be judged by others who weren't in their shoes, he fails to understand that the same logic might apply to his judgment of Alexei. How should the reader view Alexei? He seems unremorsefully selfish yet he is capable of self-sacrifice. He is a Romanian who allied with Germany when Germany seemed to be prevailing, then switched his allegiance to Russia, and now seeks an alliance with the Americans. Other Romanians see him as a traitor, Mihai considers him a war criminal, but in the end, Alexei may simply be a man who tried to stay alive.

At the same time, how should the reader view Leon? As a devoted husband, he wants to help his wife but lacks the funds to do so. As a man who is attracted to women, he finds it difficult to resist advances. Leon is probably the most morally stalwart character in the book but he is no stranger to temptation. He wants to do the right thing but in the end he comes to understand that there is no right thing. And since nothing he can do will change the past, the question that confounds him is how to behave in the present.

Kanon manages to generate excitement without endless explosions and car chases. Action scenes are rare but riveting. Kanon writes dialog that is both realistic and smart. His characters are artfully constructed. Leon, of course, is the most fully developed. The reader is privy to his disjointed thoughts, often triggered by something he hears or sees but disconnected from his present environment. Strong characterizations combined with suspense, emotional intensity and ethical ambiguity make Istanbul Passage a standout spy novel.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

The Winemaker by Noah Gordon

Published in Spanish in 2007; digitally published in translation by Barcelona eBooks on June 5, 2012 (distributed by Open Road Media); print edition scheduled for publication in September 2012

The intersection of wine and literature is a fine place to rest. The Winemaker will appeal to those who like a good story and to those who appreciate a good glass of wine. Those who love both wine and literature might place The Winemaker on their annual list of favorite reads. It will certainly be on mine.

After four years working in the vineyard and barrel room of a vintner in Languedoc, Josep Alvarez has developed an appreciation of fine wine that he could never have imagined growing up on his father's farm in Catalonia, where grapes are grown to produce vinegar and wine that tastes like horse piss. When he learns that his father has died, Josep decides to return home, hoping that he is not being pursued by the Spanish authorities. Initially, we know only that Josep joined the Carlist militia in 1870 and that he later left Spain, but we don't know why. Returning to his village, he discovers that his brother, Donat, is living in Barcelona and wants to sell the farm. Josep buys it and settles in, content to own "a slice of Spain," to use the knowledge he acquired in France to revitalize the neglected vineyard. Climbing a hill on the property and discovering hundred year old Garnacha vines, he begins to wonder whether it might be possible to produce grapes suitable for something more palatable than vinegar.

Part two tells how Josep became a soldier for lack of other options. In part three, having discovered that his duties as a soldier were other than what he expected, Josep struggles to make his way into the world. Part four returns to the present (1874) as Josep pursues his new life as a winemaker. Part five (beginning in 1876) completes a journey of self-discovery as Josep learns to embrace the pleasures of a simple life while resisting his neighbors' urges to be satisfied with its limitations.

While there is satisfying drama in the growing of grapes, Noah Gordon finds things for Josep to do that heighten the story's tension, from chasing a wild boar to the odd but dangerous sport of castell-building. Josep owes a debt to his brother that creates family discord. Even the mysterious relationship between Josep's neighboring farmer and the village priest adds dramatic interest to the story. When Josep's brief militia experience comes back to threaten him toward the novel's end, the story gains a layer of political intrigue without devolving into a cheap thriller. It also becomes a tale of turmoil as Josep realizes that he was manipulated by a friend.

The Winemaker is a novel of relationships and personal growth rather than action and suspense. Gordon also wedges in a love story, as Josep pursues romance (and/or sex) in a village where options are severely limited. As the story unfolds, the reader wonders about Josep's feelings for Teresa Gallego, the girl he left behind when he entered the militia, whose life he fears was ruined by his failure to return to her.

Gordon captures the place and time in his vibrant descriptions of mills and barrel makers and horse-drawn carts. He convincingly recreates sleepy, gossipy village life. The Winemaker treats readers to a brief history of Spanish land reform and civil strife during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Of greater significance to wine lovers, the novel provides a unique glimpse of winemaking on a small nineteenth century Spanish farm. Gordon writes lovingly of the hardships of winemakers who are at the mercy of weather, pests, rotting vats and fickle soils. The description of the final stages of wine production -- the experimentation required to produce the perfect blend of varietals -- is fascinating. Wine lovers will certainly admire this novel, but I think most fans of character-driven fiction will enjoy it as well.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

The Woman in the Dunes by Kobo Abé

First published in Japanese in 1962; first published in English by Vintage in 1964

Sand takes on a life of its own in Kobo Abé's disturbing novel, The Woman in the Dunes. An entomologist spends his vacation scouring remote sand dunes in the hope that he will find a previously unknown beetle. As night falls, he accepts an invitation to stay in a villager's home. Since each village home is built at the bottom of a bowl that has been dug from the sand, the man must climb down a rope ladder to meet the woman who will be his host. The woman spends the night (as she does every night) shoveling sand from the home's perimeter; if she does not, the home will become engulfed in falling sand. In the morning, the rope ladder is gone, and the man realizes he has been trapped, forced to join the woman in her endless labor.

Notably, the man's absence is not quickly noticed. Given his lonely and judgmental nature, he has no friends. "He longs so much for freedom and action that he can only hate people." In the hole, he has exchanged one empty existence for another. Although the man plots (and attempts) various schemes to escape, we learn in the first pages that the man is declared missing after a seven year absence from his home and job.

The Woman in the Dunes is strange but compelling fiction. The man (we never learn his name) experiences the range of emotions associated with death, from denial through acceptance, as he endures his years in the hole. The woman explains that the sand never stops falling. Each night brings the Sisyphean task of shoveling sand into buckets that village employees will lift from the bowl on ropes. The next night the shoveling must start anew. "But this means you exist only for the purpose of clearing away the sand," the man observes. If ever there was a pointless existence, the man has stumbled into it.

Yet his new life may not be as bad as it might seem. Interestingly, the man comes to value pointless work; it is a tool that makes self-denial possible. The man's relationship with the woman changes over the years, from revulsion (he initially sees her as "an old tube that has been squeezed dry of all sex") to -- if not love -- at least understanding and empathy. Perhaps this is a manifestation of the Stockholm Syndrome, although the novel predates that term. The psychological and philosophical implications of the novel are fascinating.

The story has a surrealistic quality. Abé makes no attempt to explain why this village exists, yet I found it easy to accept the premise. While I am not usually a fan of the existential novel (like many people, I suspect existence is pointless but I find it comforting to pretend otherwise), The Woman in the Dunes is more than a commentary upon the futility of life. Yet as the man comes to terms with his plight -- as he ponders whether his enemies are the villagers who keep him captive, the woman who meekly shares his fate, or the sand itself -- the man is forced to reinvent himself. Much of the novel consists of his internal monologue, the moment-by-moment evolution of the man's reaction to his predicament and his constantly vacillating response (sometimes anger, sometimes desire, sometimes both at once) to the woman whose home (and body) he shares. The novel's ending is foreshadowed but, in the context of the story, it is perfect; no other resolution (if one could call it that) would be true to the events that preceded it.

In short, The Woman in the Dunes is a remarkable piece of fiction. It combines the qualities of a myth with the gritty realism of a suspense novel, all the while challenging the reader to make sense of the story's broader implications.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED