The Cat's Table by Michael Ondaatje

Published by Knopf on October 4, 2011

At the age of eleven, Michael boards an ocean liner bound for England. With his friends Cassius and Ramadhin, he explores the ship and befriends eccentric passengers: Mr. Fonseka, a literature teacher from Colombo who displays the "serenity and certainty" Michael has observed "only among those who have the armor of books close by"; Mr. Daniels, who has transformed a section of the hold into an exotic garden; the musician and blues fan Max Mazappa; an Australian girl who greets the dawn by roller skating fiercely around the deck; Miss Lasqueti, a woman with a surprising, hidden background who is traveling with dozens of pigeons; a hearing impaired Singhalese girl named Asuntha, and others. "Simply by being in their midst," the boys are learning about adults, including those assigned to sit with them at the low-status Cat's Table, situated at the opposite end of the dining room from the Captain's Table. Michael's other lessons include his first fleeting experience with love and desire, as well as a taste of European racism, both subtle and (particularly in the case of the ship's captain) overt.

Two other passengers Michael knows only by sight. Sir Hector de Silva, a wealthy but ill passenger in Emperor Class accommodations, has bad luck with dogs, perhaps because a spell was cast upon him. At the opposite end of the social spectrum is a prisoner, rumored to be a murderer, whose midnight strolls on the deck -- closely guarded and in chains -- the concealed boys observe with fascination.

Michael Ondaatje keeps all these characters in motion like a master juggler. They are a fascinating bunch, and Ondaatje weaves them in and out of the narrative while maintaining a perfectly balanced pace: not so quick that the story whizzes by without time to appreciate its nuances; not so deliberate as to lose its energetic force.

At its midway point, the novel skips ahead from the 1953 voyage to events that occur twenty years later in Michael's life, events that trigger memories of the friends with whom he bonded on that formative journey. Although the writing in that section is exceptionally strong and quite moving, it has an out-of-joint feel, particularly when the flash forward ends and the voyage resumes. Subsequent interruptions to tell the reader of future events are shorter and more seamlessly integrated into the narrative. Eventually those passages become essential to the story; they complete it. Ondaatje writes: "Over the years, confusing fragments, lost corners of stories, have a clearer meaning when seen in a new light, a different place." The perspective that Michael gains with time, after reconnecting with individuals he met on the voyage, permits him (and thus the reader) to reinterpret events that occurred on the ocean -- particularly a moment of drama that becomes the story's nucleus, and that Michael can only understand fully many years later. For that reason, although The Cat's Table could be viewed as a coming of age novel, I think Ondaatje is suggesting that we spend our lifetimes coming of age -- that is, acquiring the wisdom and perspective of adulthood.

There is a restrained, graceful elegance to Ondaatje's prose that every now and then made me stop, blink, and reread a beautifully composed sentence or paragraph. He writes with affection of dogs and artists, of the needy and of those who give selflessly of themselves. This is a marvelously humane novel that works on a number of levels, but most of all, it is a joy to read.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

The Best American Short Stories 2011 by Geraldine Brooks, ed.

Published by Mariner Books on October 4, 2011

Any "best of" collection will succeed or fail -- in the reader's judgment -- according to how closely the editor's taste aligns with the reader's. Of the twenty stories in this volume, I think about half undeniably merited inclusion, and the other half aren't bad (although I suspect I might have chosen a different ten to replace them if given the daunting task of wading through hundreds of stories in search of gems). While the editors and I have somewhat different opinions as to what constitutes an outstanding short story, our differences are not vast. I particularly appreciated the diversity of the stories they chose and their recognition that the inclusion of a plot does not destroy the integrity of character-driven fiction.

I admired "Foster" -- the story of an Irish girl who leaves behind "shame and secrets" when she goes to live with another family for a time -- for Claire Egan's ability to describe characters and settings with high definition clarity. Both touching and heartening, it is my favorite of the twenty.

Some of the best stories in the collection are perceptive studies of characters responding to adversity: Tom Bissell's "A Bridge Under Water" examines the lives of a newly married couple who are only starting to understand their differences during the first days of an ill-fated honeymoon in Rome. In Ehud Havazelet's "Gurov in Manhattan," a Russian immigrant, reflecting upon a two year battle with cancer followed by his girlfriend's decision to leave him (and whose dying dog is now in his care), compares his life to the characters created by Russian literary masters. The death of small town America is the subject of Caitlin Horrocks' sadly funny "The Sleep." In "ID," the prolific Joyce Carol Oates puts us inside the head of a teenage girl who is asked to identify the body of a woman who might be her mother.

The stories I most enjoyed reading were funny, although the humor tended to be low-key: "The Dungeon Master," Sam Lypsyte's offbeat, engaging look at alienated teenagers, and "Phantoms," in which Stephen Millhauser describes and attempts to explain the phantoms that inhabit his town (and yours), both made me smile, but "Escape From Spiderhead," George Saunders' futuristic assault on chemically enhanced language and love, provoked serious laughter.

Some stories are good but fall short of reaching their potential for greatness: In "Dog Bites," Ricardo Nuila explores the relationship between an accomplished father and a son with an undefined mental illness. "Soldier of Fortune" by Bret Anthony Johnston tells of a high school boy's fascination with the girl next door and his eventual discovery of the secret she keeps.

Some of the stories are well written but not particularly interesting: In "Ceiling" by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, a Nigerian contemplates his success and considers the possibility of change, knowing he lacks the courage to confront his insensitive wife, his superficial associates, or his corrupt benefactor, while indulging the fantasy of reconnecting with a former lover who has rejected him. "The Call of Blood" by Jess Row is an overly ambitious examination of history, ethnicity, and the burdens carried by a medic-turned-nurse who is caring for a dying patient. Megan Mayhew Bergman's "Housewifely Arts" is the story of a woman who makes a nine hour drive to Myrtle Beach with her seven-year-old son so she can hear a parrot speak in the voice of her dead mother -- a journey designed to help her face her guilt. Rebecca Makkai writes about an actor who loses both his ability to act and his relationship with a friend in "Peter Torrelli, Falling Apart."

Allegra Goodman aims for poignancy in "La Vita Nuova," her story of a woman who, having been dumped by her fiancé shortly before her wedding date, babysits for a young boy and paints the histories of the people she knows (and her own) on Russian nesting dolls. I was unmoved. I had a similar reaction to "Property," an assemblage of clever sentences by Elizabeth McCracken that describe a man's life in the months following his wife's death, and to "The Hare's Mask," Mark Slouka's tale of a boy's attachment to rabbits during a dark and frightening time.

Strangely enough, two stories are written in the second person, a technique that rarely works. For all her talent, Jennifer Egan ("Out of Body") doesn't pull it off. The underrated Richard Powers ("To the Measures Fall") is more successful in his homage to literature and a lifetime of reading.

Nathan Englander's "Free Fruit for Young Widows" attempts to explain, and perhaps to justify, wanton acts of multiple homicide by making a case for the philosophy of proactive self-defense, but the storytelling is too heavy-handed and the circumstances too contrived for the attempt to succeed. Fortunately, it's the only story in the collection I considered a clunker.

RECOMMENDED

The Great Leader by Jim Harrison

Published by Grove Press on October 4, 2011

As a divorced police detective in Marquette, Michigan, Sunderson's life is generally sedate. The kind of crime that requires detective work is far from rampant in the Upper Peninsula. His hobbies include trout fishing and surreptitiously watching a teen neighbor arise naked from her bed each morning. Sunderson is sure he would cut off his own hands before touching the girl "but then he wondered how one would go about cutting off his own hands." Every ten days a married woman visits Sunderson for sex. Sunderson considers "what it would be like to be full of firm moral resolve" but clearly that's an experience he will never have.

Sunderson's final investigation before retirement involves a cult leader (known to the cult's members as the Great Leader but adopting the name Dwight as his most recent alias) who was rumored to have been sexually involved with minors before apparently faking his death. Unsuccessful in his attempt to locate the culprit, Sunderson decides to flee from his home after his retirement party (where he is chagrined to learn that his inappropriate behavior with a dancing girl -- who happens to be a potential witness against Dwight -- was seen by the other attendees). Sunderson travels to Arizona where he takes up a new hobby: investigating "the crime of religion," which amounts to searching for Dwight. There he meets more women: Lucy, who reminds him a bit too much of Diane, his ex-wife; and Melissa, a nurse whose protective brother is a drug lord. His time in the Southwest gives Sunderson ample opportunity to ruminate about his failures and obsessions, an occupation he continues after his return to the U.P.

Jim Harrison writes lovingly of land and nature; the reliability of its "indefatigable creature life" contrasts with the unreliability of human nature. Although Sunderson keeps track of Dwight's activities, what passes for a plot in The Great Leader is just an excuse for Harrison to exercise his wit and make pithy observations about American life. Harrison focuses his dry and occasionally outrageous humor on a variety of human behavior (and misbehavior). His most prominent targets are sex, religion, money, divorce, and retirement (the last of which makes Sunderson feel "not quite like a roadkill but like a man whose peripheries have been squashed, blurred, by the loss of his defining profession.") Harrison skewers the notion that men can reinvent themselves after retirement; Sunderson's efforts leave him feeling like "a dog who, hit by a car, drags himself into a ditch trying to be more out of harm's way." As he did in The English Major, Harrison has fun exploring the sexual interests of a man who, having physically passed beyond middle age, demonstrates the emotional maturity of a rutting teenager.

Warnings: In his descriptions of Sunderson's intimate life and fantasies, Harrison is explicit -- no more so than many modern humorists, but enough to put off readers who disapprove of erotic content, even when it's funny. Sunderson's thoughts provide a running commentary on history, politics, and sex after sixty -- topics that might offend readers who disagree with his pointed opinions. Others might be upset that Sunderson doesn't vigorously condemn every adult who has sex with a teenager (a frequent subject of his wandering thoughts). Whether I agreed with Sunderson's opinions or not -- sometimes I did, sometimes I didn't -- they frequently made me laugh, and I found many of his notions about society's failings to be on target.

When I read a Harrison novel, it takes me awhile to adjust to his unique style. I wouldn't describe his sentences as run-on, but the man is no fan of the comma. The style isn't necessarily bad, just different -- although I'm not sure I ever completed the adjustment. I don't read Harrison novels for stylistic brilliance, and I wouldn't recommend this one for its plot, which doesn't amount to much. I nonetheless enjoyed this book (and recommend it) for its humor and for its perceptive takes on life as seen through the eyes of a Midwestern senior citizen. Harrison provokes serious thought nearly as often as snickers and chuckles. He is the best chronicler of the "aging man blues" I've come across. When I laugh at the foibles displayed by his characters, I'm often laughing at myself. That, for me, made the reading experience worthwhile.

RECOMMENDED

Nairobi Heat by Mukoma Wa Ngugi

First published in South Africa in 2009; published by Melville House on September 13, 2011

A black police detective named Ishmael is surprised when a Nairobi taxi driver calls him a white man, but he's as out-of-place in Africa as any other American.  Ishmael is chasing clues in the murder of a blonde woman in Madison, Wisconsin's prosperous Maple Bluff neighborhood, where a Kenyan named Joshua Hakizimana claims to have found her dead on his front porch, the apparent victim of a heroin overdose.  Hakizimana has achieved some fame as an advocate for Rwandan refugees and doesn't seem the murderous type.  On the strength of an anonymous telephone call urging him to come to Nairobi because "the truth is in the past," the police chief rather improbably gives Ishmael permission to pursue the investigation in Kenya.  In Nairobi, Ishmael joins a detective named O.  As Ishmael and O pursue leads, they become targets of assassination and do a fair amount of their own killing while edging closer to a criminal conspiracy involving corruption and genocide that overshadows the lone death in Madison. 

While Nairobi Heat succeeds as a detective story (and quite a good one, once the surprising connection between Hakizimana and the dead woman on his porch is revealed), it is also the story of Ishmael's journey toward an understanding of his racial identity.  In addition to finding clues in Kenya, Ishmael finds something else -- not his roots, exactly, but a kind of serenity.  The novel explores an interesting racial dynamic:  some blacks, including his ex-wife, view Ishmael as a race traitor because he occasionally arrests black suspects, while some whites, seeing his black face in the police department, wonder why he's not in handcuffs.  In Kenya, O discusses at some length the relationship between color and justice.  Mukoma Wa Ngugi integrates this commentary into the story without slowing the novel's pace and, for the most part, without becoming too preachy (although some degree of preachiness is consistent with the personalities of Ishmael and O).

On the other hand, once Ishmael returns to Madison, the story begins to drag.   Ngugi is more sure-footed as he relates the sights and sounds of Nairobi.  His prose flows with the rhythm of the streets as he describes dancers and drinkers, taxis and slums, destitute refugees and wealthy landowners.  His take on America is less insightful.  When Ishmael investigates the murder and its implications after leaving Nairobi, Ngugi adds a twist to the plot that slows the story's momentum without returning a compensatory reward.  The KKK plays a role in the novel's ending that is entirely unconvincing, in part because the Klan doesn't have the kind of power or presence in Madison that Ngugi attributes to it.  A final discussion of race and class is a bit heavy-handed.

On balance, Nairobi Heat isn't perfect, but it's a quick and easy read that addresses serious issues while telling an entertaining, offbeat detective story.  An element of vigilantism that might be disturbing in other novels seems natural in this one.  Ishmael is an interesting character and the ending sets up the possibility of his return.  On the strength of this novel, I would probably read the next one if Ngugi decides to reprise the character.

RECOMMENDED

Destiny of the Republic by Candice Millard

 

Published by Doubleday on September 20, 2011

James Garfield is most often remembered, if at all, as the president who was assassinated shortly after taking office.  Destiny of the Republic brings the dead president back to life.  This is not, however, a biography of Garfield.  Rather, it is a stirring account of American life and politics during the time of the Garfield presidency, not long after the conclusion of the Civil War, and of a presidential murder.  Garfield’s early years are sketched out in cursory fashion, his (sometimes troubled) relationship with and eventual devotion to his wife Lucretia is covered in only a few pages, and the death of his youngest child receives little more than a mention.  Rather than focusing on Garfield’s personal life, Candice Millard devotes her attention to political divisions within the Republican Party (particularly Garfield’s battles with New York Senator Roscoe Conkling and the vice president he controlled), as well as Garfield’s frustration with the obligations of the office that he had little desire to hold.

The president’s assassin is given nearly as much attention as the president.  There are times when the book has the feel of a thriller, as the ominous Charles Guiteau weaves in and out of the text, inching himself closer to the president.  Millard depicts Guiteau as a con man with delusions of grandeur whose madness was characterized by a growing belief that his plan to assassinate Garfield was divinely inspired.

The assassination occurs at the book’s midway point.  Millard then treats us to a different kind of political battle, a medical drama about doctors who vie for the opportunity to treat the president and who, ironically, become responsible for his death.  Arrogant in their refusal to believe in the existence of germs, American doctors rejected evidence that antiseptic surgical conditions increase a patient’s chance of survival.  The dirty finger and unwashed probes inserted into Garfield’s wound in search of a bullet sealed the president’s fate, infecting an injury that Garfield would likely have survived if left untreated.  The book concludes with an account of Garfield’s autopsy and Guiteau’s trial.

Destiny of the Republic succeeds on two levels.  First, it is informative.  Millard fills the text with interesting facts culled from a variety of primary and secondary source materials, including frequent quotations from contemporaneous news stories and Garfield’s diary, to set the scene for Garfield’s presidency.  We learn enough about the man to understand that he would have made an admirable president.  It’s interesting to note that Garfield, despite his love of farming, was a scholar, a professor of literature and ancient languages, well versed in mathematics and keenly interested in science, the sort of man who, if running for office today, would likely be branded an “elitist.”  Garfield’s speeches condemning slavery and the unequal treatment of black Americans are eloquent and moving; the book is worth reading for those passages alone. 

Second, the book is entertaining.  Millard’s prose is lively.  She captures personalities as if she were writing a novel.  She seasons the narrative with humor and creates tension as the events leading to Garfield’s encounter with Guiteau unfold.  Despite its attention to detail, the narrative moves at a brisk pace.

My sole complaint concerns the attention that Millard gives to Alexander Graham Bell.  Granted that Bell’s life intersected with Garfield’s more than once, and that Bell worked diligently to invent a device that would pinpoint the location of the bullet lodged in Garfield’s body, the full chapter and parts of several others devoted to Bell’s life seem out of place, as if Millard felt the need to pad her relatively short book with filler.  I would have preferred a more thorough discussion of the political aftermath of the shooting.  Millard tells us of its unifying effect on a nation that emerged from the Civil War still deeply divided, but provides few facts to support that proposition.  A more extensive look at the impact of the assassination on the country would have been more germane than the pages devoted to Bell’s life before and after his invention of the telephone.

That criticism aside, Destiny of the Republic is perfect for readers (like me) who want to know about a key moment in American history without being subjected to mind-numbing detail or leaden prose.  Millard’s book is enlightening and enjoyable.  Garfield is a dead president I’m happy to have met. 

RECOMMENDED