Allison Winn Scotch’s “The Song Remains the Same”

Allison Winn Scotch's "The Song Remains the Same"

NOTE: This is a debut guest review from Sami Skelton. You can expect more guest reviews from Sami in the future, and remember that you can always submit your own guest reviews for consideration to dbcreads@gmail.com.

If you looked in at your life as a clueless, third-party observer, would you like what you saw? Or would you be disappointed? Can you imagine what it would feel like to not even recognize your own face?

The Song Remains The Same follows the life of Nell Slattery, a successful art gallery owner, after she survives a devastating plane crash of which she is one of two survivors. Nell may have survived, but her memory of the past 32 years of her life did not.

The life Nell’s forgotten wasn’t a fairytale; her past life was wrought with complications and drama. All Nell has to go on in her attempt to regain her past is a not-so-fun game of he said/she said, and Nell doesn’t know who to believe. Nell’s family and friends don’t always keep her best interests in mind and each person’s version of the past differs from the next.

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Amara Lakhous’s “Divorce Islamic Style”

Amara Lakhous's "Divorce Islamic Style"In this swift and engrossing translation from the original Italian, Divorce Islamic Style can be seen for exactly what it is: a literary moment in the hands of a writer whose degrees in both philosophy and cultural anthropology interlock our empathy and our ineptness. Amara Lakhous, in fact, knows how to make our exposure to this underbelly feel like nothing less than a treat.

The story (and its dual narrators) is immediately likeable, both in spite of and because of the rather outlandish set of coincidences that brings the characters together. We have alternating chapters from the eyes of Issa and Sofia, the former of whom isn’t actually who he says he is and the latter of whom wishes she wasn’t. Issa isn’t a Tunisian immigrant at all, but an Arabic-fluent Italian spy who is working underground for the government to expose terrorist threats. Sofia the Egyptian lives in the same neighborhood of Rome, a veil-wearing, observant housewife to a strict Muslim and with few options to project outward her inherent vivaciousness, constantly waffling between her religious conviction and her desire for autonomy.

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#fridayreads

As we ready ourselves for a week of new content — the aforementioned Beinart and Lakhous, along with a special guest review — I must admit that I’ve been enjoying the fake-summer heatwave, so my reading time has taken a hit. I have — like so many other like-minded folks — been absolutely engrossed in the Trayvon Martin tragedy. There is little more to say than this whole situation is very bad, in every imaginable way.

Many have recommended Teju Cole’s Atlantic piece, “The White Savor Industrial Complex,” a wonderfully measured, provocative-in-that-it’s-so-fucking-spot-on piece about not only the intrinsic wrongheadedness of Kony 2012 and the Invisible Children organization but also the attitude — or perhaps worldview — that enables such lily-white activism. It’s worth reading, not only because it’s a wonderful piece of writing, but because it links to the work of African scholars who take issue with the Kony 2012 movement. Continue reading

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Upcoming Reviews

It’s been a fairly quiet March around here, as we’ve been preparing for a stream of reviews to come in the first weeks of spring. Here’s a taste.

March 27: Amara Lakhous’s Divorce Islamic Style
The Algerian-Italian Lakhous’s second novel makes its American debut at month’s end, courtesy of Europa Editions. Written with equal parts frenzy and poise, Divorce Islamic Style examines multiculturalism through a refreshing lens.

March 27: Peter Beinart’s The Crisis of Zionism
What is the greatest challenge for American Jews going forward? In Crisis of Zionism, which is already generating fulsome praise and harsh criticism, Beinart posits that it is the preservation of liberal Zionism, both in the United States and Israel. Beinart’s scope of research and credibility is an asset in this dissection of the (increasingly young) Israeli right, and their decidedly liberal co-religionists in America.

 

 

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B.J. Hollars’s “In Defense of Monsters”

B.J. Hollars's "In Defense of Monsters"The founders of Origami Zoo Press, publisher of B.J. Hollars’s latest collection of essays, state in no uncertain terms that they “want to exhibit absurdities of the world, whether it’s done by bending genres or simply illuminating the bizarre details of everyday life.” With the publication of In Defense of Monsters, a chapbook that mixes half-narrative-half-analytical essays with theses buoying the existence of Sasquatch and Nessie the Loch Ness Monster, Origami Zoo has found a way to exhibit every type of absurdity they could hope for. Hollars is unwavering in his convictions, and they’re not at all illegitimate ones. After all, he’s not arguing that the creatures of our modern folklore are necessarily right around the corner. Instead, his essays are each themselves a question: why not this? Why, if no definitive proof sways us to either side of the debate, do we opt for non-belief in lieu of what may very well be? In these 34 pages, we can defend what ultimately might be less impossible than we think.

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Nick Arvin’s “The Reconstructionist”

Nick Arvin's "The Reconstructionist"Nick Arvin is a totally nice, approachable, funny guy, which I know because we met him. For reasons perhaps undisclosable by the University of Denver, I have one of 98 paper-bound copies of his novel, The Reconstructionist, sitting pretty on my bookshelf. It’s got Arvin’s hectic-looking signature on it and it’s been there on my shelf too many months to mention. And the fact is, it’s a book that sticks with you just as many months as that, and longer, and does so for reasons that stick out and make sure to matter. It’s an odd novel, but one that, like so many other choices I’ve commended HarperCollins for in the past, was well worth going out on a limb for, even when the limb might be a little shaky. Now, of course, post-publication, that branch is looking pretty solid: why NOT write a novel whose every page reads like the most dramatic/romantic/tumultuous episodes in the “CSI: Crime Scene Investigation” repertoire? Except instead of the likes of Catherine and Grissom, you’re presented with people that are a hell of a lot more like you — which can be a lot more impacting and provocative and revealing.

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Hari Kunzru’s “Gods Without Men”

There is a moment in Hari Kunzru’s dizzying novel Gods Without Men that is absolutely, profoundly true. A moment that encapsulates everything great about this big American story that takes place between 1775 and 2009. Jaswinder, a young financial trader, is at a weekend getaway with his wife, his boss, and some coworkers. Jaswinder—who is most often referred to Jaz in Gods Without Men—has just learned his boss is not only gay but also with a man some decades his senior. Jaz’s Jewish wife is enjoying the couple, their collection of rare art, beautiful antiques, wine, their engrossing conversation full of wit and high-flung ideals. But Jaz, a poor kid from Baltimore who eschewed any social privilege to study-study-study, only with the hope of attending MIT, can’t bear the realization that those around him—his boss + the elderly lover, his wife—have nothing in common with him. Continue reading

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#fridayreads

Busy, busy times.

Hari Kunzru’s Gods Without Men
This is a big book. An ensemble of characters hailing from different backgrounds, all converging upon each other in the middle of the desert. Spanning from the beginning of America to today, Gods Without Men is about UFOs, the financial crisis, class issues, autism, the Iraq War, etc. In a literary culture featuring critics who might be a little too trigger-happy to hail a work as distinctly American, Kunzru’s fourth novel stands out. It might seem cliche to focus on the diversity of the characters — or to call that very quality of Gods Without Men American. But the sentiment is not the usual we-come-from-different-places-but-we’re-so-alike tripe. Rather, Kunzru shows that we’re really not. And that that’s okay.

Look for our review Monday.

 

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Christopher Hebert’s “The Boiling Season”

Christopher Hebert's "The Boiling Season"It might just be me — and that’s not at all unlikely — but I can’t say for sure.

What I mean is, it’s clear that Christopher Hebert is a novelist in every sense of the word. He has the proper ambition and, with his hefty debut novel The Boiling Season, has found a subject worthy of that ambition. The story is centered around Alexandre, a lifelong slum-dweller who has always dreamed of being more than he’s destined to become in the Caribbean ghetto. Through determination and work ethic, he moves up the ranks of servile positions until he is the estate manager for Madame Freeman, a white American woman who buys a long-decrepit jungle preserve outside the city and intends to turn it into a jet-setting resort. This she does, although it is plan that the city and its myriad corrosive problems cannot be kept out by a gate — particularly when the oppressed masses from the slums are the very people keeping guard of the estate that mocks them with its opulent excess. Soon Alexandre’s job title transforms from estate manager to its protector, and finally he must confront the idea that anything so anomalous can (or should) be safeguarded for its own sake, when the costs of doing so become increasingly dear. Continue reading

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Sarah Manguso’s “The Guardians: An Elegy”

The writer Sarah Manguso is a cut above. In her latest, The Guardians: An Elegy, Manguso’s full range of talent is on display. Her sentences are hauntingly resonant, her diction precise, her writing clear. She has masterful command of the material. Her experiences—the processing of grief over the suicide of a close friend named Harris, her past issues with mental illness—are laid full bare for the reader. And it’s all totally uncut, unfiltered, offered, ready for rejection or praise—a brave work, revealing all that vulnerability. But her work’s rhetorical strength is stymied by a surprising lack of engaging material in the text.

The Guardians is, for Manguso, a much-needed act of catharsis, or at least a necessary stage in a profoundly sad process of understanding. For the reader? It’s admirably messy but ultimately distant. Continue reading

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