"Nazi Summer Camp" by RADIOLAB; or, The Greatest Generation

In this sobering age of killing sprees, racial tension, and the many-headed hydra that is the war on terror, it's so easy to feel weighed down. Humanity fights like a house divided, a Shakespearean tragedy barreling its way toward its inevitable, disastrous end. Depressing, no? 

I've been fighting that sense for a while now, and I can feel it slowly taking hold, depressing my outlook, but that doesn't mean there aren't bright patches to counter the hum-drum. A story I heard over the weekend, for example.

I drive often between Nashville and Winston-Salem, NC, and what fills most of that time for me is podcasts (which I've previously blogged *read:gushed* about here). I recently subscribed to a new one called the Radiolab--the 3rd most popular cast on the internet, according to iTunes--and the first episode I chose was one entitled Nazi Summer Camp.

I'm glad I did. It's the story of the nearly HALF MILLION Nazi, Italian, and Japanese Prisoners of War kept on American soil during WWII, and though that tagline may sound ominous, the truth is anything but. As it turns out, the "Greatest Generation" wasn't just great because they volunteered in droves to fight for freedom, donuts, and the American Way; they were great because they had every right to fight fire with fire, to give into their baser instincts, their pettiness, their justifiable (or not) hatreds, but instead they chose to hold themselves to an ideal of decency and compassion.

Long story short? They treated their enemies well, and continued to do so, though their enemies chose not to return the favor.

Please listen to the podcast, if you're needing a pick-me-up. It's only 30 minutes, and well worth your time. I've included the link both above and below.

http://www.radiolab.org/story/nazi-summer-camp/

And if you'd like more podcast recommendations, just ask! I actually listen to way too many.

TG

Quote of the Week for 7/13/15

"Lord Henry had not yet come in. He was always late on principle, his principle being that punctuality was the thief of time."
-Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Quote of the Week for 7/6/15

"A fine beer can be judged with only one sip, but it's best to be thoroughly sure."
-Czech Proverb

WILD SEED, by Octavia E. Butler (5/5)

https://waynebarlowe.files.wordpress.com/2011/07/wild-seed-copy1.jpg

I get the Butler hype. I loved this book.

In a good year, I read 25-30 books. Maybe one a year serves to capture me the way Wild Seed did, enthralling from the first pages, compelling with its conflicts, fascinating with its magic. The resolution was somewhat unsatisfying in the moment, but only because, for a while, I'd convinced myself that this story was heading toward tragedy, when the beginning had actually promised a love story. I was so afraid Anyanwu would never regain her agency. I thought Doro unredeemable, though I'd started out liking him and felt he cared more than the narration would ever let him properly admit.

I was wrong on both counts, and the finale was so deftly orchestrated that it had me rooting for the "villain," for the sake of what and who he loved. That's how you know you've just read a special book--you want happily-ever-after for all the characters, even the bad guy.

As for the protagonist, Anyanwu, she really didn't need any help winning admiration. In fact, her one flaw seemed to be a distinct lack of flaws (much like Ender Wiggin in Speaker for the Dead by OSC, which I reviewed last year), but I've never been a subscriber to the law that your protagonist must be significantly flawed. Not every superhero needs kryponite, they just need to be human enough to struggle with the obstacles placed before them. It's the author's job to make those obstacles big enough that the reader believes even a superhuman can struggle with them, and that's what Butler has done with this book by pitting the perfect human against her antithesis, the perfect inhuman. A compelling read, from the first page to the last.

Quote of the Week for 6/29/15

"Marriage has many pains, but celibacy has no pleasures."

-Samuel Johnson, The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia 

THE TORTILLA CURTAIN, by T.C. Boyle (3/5)

The Tortilla Curtain is about two men, Delaney and Candido, who are tied together after Delaney hits Candido with his car in the opening scene of the book. Things only get worse from there for Candido, who is an illegal immigrant with a pregnant wife, and Delaney's got his own troubles, including dogs which keep getting eaten, a ball-busting wife, and an inferiority complex which drives him toward hatred of all things migrant, especially Candido, whom he cites as the source of all his 1st-world problems.
This book would have been a 2/5, as 75% of the plot is just the unrelenting depression of foolish people in shitty situations that trend shittier out of control, but the quality of the prose saved it for me. Boyle deals deftly in the transitions between lyrical and blunt, and that for me was the strength of the book.
As far as weaknesses, I feel this story falls into the "literary" trap. Literary Fiction is so often marketed as "realistic," but I find more often than not that lit fic eschews true-to-life realism in favor of flashy, inescapable tragedy. That's fine for a 2 hour play, but over a 400 page book? It gets discouraging, especially with a book like this, which starts at a low where most real lives bottom out, and only gets worse from there. 
A masterclass in empathy, but one that makes you regret taking the course.

On Fantastical Excursions and THE BURIED GIANT; or, "It's okay to write about British cultural identity as relating to war, but only if there aren't any wardrobes involved."

Much and more has been said of late about Kazuo Ishiguro's latest novel, The Buried Giant, some great, some not so great. Ishiguro, it seems, is rather hesitant to label his book a fantasy, though it's set in Anglo-Saxon Briton. And there are ogres. And knights. And a dragon that breaths forgetfulness mist. But, of course, this book cannot be so easily categorized, as it deals with adult themes and national identity and yada yada blah blah. 

Still, it is Ishiguro, and I've got a soft spot for English-speaking Asians who wear big, round glasses, so color me torn. Then I read this interview on Goodreads, and wouldn't you know it, but the interviewer, whose first name is a last name, so you know he's distinguished, opens with this little zinger in the preamble to the interview proper: 

"But don't be fooled by the fantastical excursions into Tolkien territory: This is still very much a wise, and relevant, literary investigation..."


This is, frankly, insulting. As if excursions into the fantastic would normally have precluded any wisdom or cultural relevance from appearing in the work. The most limiting lie anyone has ever told themselves is that because they liked a thing as a child, that thing must be childish, and therefore unworthy of their adult attention. Works of fantasy suffer under such misperceptions all the time, but it should not be so.

All works of fiction are fantasy. A character is made no more real because he lives in Manhattan, rather than Narnia; they are both fake, plain and simple. The wisdom and relevance of a work are derived from the universal experiences made particular by the author in his characters. Such is recognized by the reader no matter the setting. It is not seen, but felt in the heart and in the mind.

For an example, let's take "Tolkien territory." Tolkien, a WWII vet, was much affected by his time serving his country, and that experience we can see reflected in Frodo, who upon returning to the Shire finds himself unsettled in a setting he once found familiar and comfortable. Frodo has been changed by his traumatic journey with the ring, so much so that, though his task is complete, and by all rights he should get his well-earned rest, Frodo feels compelled to leave his home and his loved-ones in an attempt to regain some measure of the inner peace he's lost. In the world of the 50's, when PTSD was still decades from being understood, and thousands had returned home from the battlefields of Europe to discover they too felt a similar anxiety in returning to their day-to-day, Tolkien's portrayal of Frodo's stoic disquiet bore massive cultural and emotional weight, and still does today.

I was incredibly disappointed after reading Ursula Le Guin's rebuke of Ishiguro earlier this week, but at least during this interview, he deftly handled (rather, side-stepped) the questions about genre perception and stigma, though this pacifism may be, in fact, a direct result of the admonitions he received from Le Guin and others like-minded. This interviewer, however, could not manage to purport himself with quite so much grace. He tipped his hand early as a literary bigot, and ruined what may have been an otherwise intriguing interview for me.

I may read this book. I may not. I suppose it will just depend on how relevant I'm feeling, and how wise.