If John Cheever and Paul Coelho had set out to collaborate on The Royal Tenenbaums, the result would have been Franny and Zooey. J.D. Salinger’s short, two-part novel is the story of sister and brother, Franny and Zooey Glass, the youngest of seven precocious whiz kids who grew up on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Ostensibly, Zooey is trying to help Franny, who is in the midst of a breakdown. It soon becomes clear, however, that both have been unmoored by the suicide of their oldest brother Seymour and the related, self-imposed academic exile of their next-oldest brother Buddy.

Full review posted on Rose City Reader.

In Justice Denied: What America Must Do to Protect Its Children, Marci Hamilton makes a compelling case for abolishing statutes of limitations in cases involving childhood sexual abuse. Hamilton explains that short limitations periods do not work as intended because most victims of childhood sexual abuse do not come forward for years or even decades, due to feelings of guilt, denial, and fear. By the time they come forward, the statutes of limitation have passed. Without the ability to bring criminal charges or a civil lawsuit, the abusers are never identified publicly and are left free to abuse other victims.

Hamilton examines the arguments of insurance companies, the Catholic church, teachers’ unions, and the American Civil Liberties Union in opposition to abolishing statutes of limitations and does a good job of explaining how the arguments miss the mark or are shortsighted.

While aimed at advocates, policy makers, and legislators, anyone interested in promoting meaningful reforms to protect children from sexual abuse should read Justice Denied.

Full review on Rose City Reader.

Sara Nelson had a great idea for a book lover’s book: She would spend one year (2002) reading a book a week and writing about it. Although she started off with a list of 26 or so books that she wanted to read, there was not a lot of rhyme to her reason. She did not have a definitive list like Pulitzer Prize Winners, or Books I Meant to Read in College But Never Did, or anything like that. She ended up choosing the books each week in a pretty spontaneous fashion.

Likewise, she did not have a formula for how she wanted to write about the books. She did not want to simply write reviews of the books she read. She wanted to write about each book’s connection to her personal life, such as what was going on in her life that made her chose a particular book, personal views that made her react to a book in a certain way, or memories a book conjured.

In keeping with her theme, I considered my own personal connections with So Many Books as well as the books Nelson read. As she described, I decided I would try “matching up the reading experience with the personal one and watching where they intersect – or don’t.”

There were a lot of intersections. . . .

Full review on Rose City Reader.

Fresh out of college, Adam Shepard set out with $25, a sleeping bag, and the clothes on his back to prove that the American Dream is alive and well. Shepard was concerned by the pessimistic attitude of many of his friends – an attitude he thought was fostered by the popular but gloomy Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America and Bait and Switch: The (Futile) Pursuit of the American Dream, both by Barbara Ehrenreich. He wanted to learn for himself whether it is still possible to pull yourself up by your own bootstraps.

Using the same “undercover” approach as Ehrenreich, Shepard got off the train in Charleston with his meager possessions and a down-and-out cover story that did not involve a college degree. He also had the goal of obtaining a car, a place to live with furniture, $2,500 in savings, and career-advancing opportunities (either through school or business) by the end of one year. Scratch Beginnings chronicles this adventure from Shepard’s first night in a homeless shelter, through job searches, setbacks, conflict, and accomplishment.

There is no denying that this is an adventure tale. Yes, Shepherd addresses weighty issues, but he is not a sociologist and his book is not a policy polemic. This is the story of one young man’s year spent building a decent life from scratch. His hands-on approach to experiencing and then explaining things for himself brings to mind bygone explorers or early journalists like Mark Twain.

It would be easy to pick on Shepard’s premise and poke holes in his arguments. But Shepard is quick to acknowledge this his is just one man’s story, not a comprehensive analysis of poverty in America. And he admits that his experience was made easier because he was not encumbered by children, addiction, or mental illness. To fault the book for not providing scholarly economic analysis is to intentionally ignore its value and deny its charm.

In fact, Shepard’s few attempts to address larger policy issues are the weak spots in the book. The book is not political – Shepard goes out of his way to disavow any particular political affiliation or ideology. But his lack of political clarity shows in the fuzzy thinking apparent in his few policy suggestions. A couple of his ideas – like why raising the minimum wage will not help poor people – show some original thought. But others, such as, “Affordable housing needs additional support from both the legislative and executive branches at the federal and state level” is political pablum, demonstrating neither insight nor innovation.

Fortunately, Shepard keeps his policy suggests to a minimum. He concentrates on explaining the personal lessons he learned from finding and keeping a difficult job as a house mover, making the most of difficult living accommodations, and denying himself easy and immediate pleasures in order to save his money and energy for a better future. These lessons range from the amusing (“Broccoli Au Gratin” is the best flavor of Rice-A-Roni and a one dollar box is enough for two meals) to the avuncular:

We adjust. That’s what we do. We seize the opportunities that are given to us, and we adjust to make up for what is kept from us. In some cases, . . . we don’t have a choice. We embrace change or we fight it off. In the end, they say, change makes us stronger. Even if we deny the change and retreat back to the norm, the experience has helped us to grow and understand what is on the other side, and it has given us the freedom to make more informed decisions in the future.

The appeal of all Shepard’s lessons is that he culled them from his own experience; he did not learn them on a theoretical level from a college seminar or a self-help book, he lived them. He accepted advice from other men at the shelter about how to look for work and get a job. He learned the skills of house moving from the men he worked with. There were times when Shepard’s credulity and open-eyed wonder show him to still be a little wet behind the ears, but that is a big part of the appeal of his book – these life-lessons seem fresh coming from him because they were fresh to him.

In the end, Shepard learned from observing the people around him just how difficult life can be, what a difference culture and upbringing can make in a person’s life, and that personal responsibility is the key to achieving goals. As he explained:

All the while, we have to be more focused, keeping our eye on what we really want to do with our lives: move up. Or not. We’re either on a mission or keeping our flight grounded. Either way, we are the pilots.

Scratch Beginnings is exuberant and refreshing, especially when Shepard sticks with describing his own experiences and impressions. Shepard’s was a brash experiment and its very undertaking proves his premise: the American Dream is still kicking.

This review is also posted on my book blog, Rose City Reader.

The characters in Joyce Hinnefeld’s first novel, In Hovering Flight, fall into two teams that could be called “the Artists” and “the Suits.” The Artists include the heroine, Addie Sturmer Kavanagh, an avid birder, artist, and environmental activist; her husband Tom, a literature-loving ornithology professor; their daughter Scarlet, a poet; Addie’s two best friends; and various supporters, fans, and hangers-on. The Suits include Addie’s archenemy, a big-shot land developer; corporations; Republican Senators; publishers; college administrators; and the like.

All these characters come into play, directly or through recollection, as Addie’s loved ones gather to mourn her recent death and consider her dying wishes, some of which are unorthodox or even illegal. Hinnefeld’s writing is elegant and she tells an emotionally complex, multi-layered tale.

The problem is that the Artists are all good and the Suits are all bad. Sure, there is some variation and even tension among the Artists themselves. There is the acknowledgement that Addie’s “moral superiority” puts off her loved ones; that some of her ardor may stem from untreated depression rather than healthy concern; and that her fellow activists may be too extreme. But the Artists are fundamentally right in their interests and outlook. The Suits (none fleshed out as characters) range from evil fiends to buffoons. There is absolutely no question about which team we are expected to root for.

Just as the issues are clear to Hinnefeld, team membership is as well. There is no crossover, except as object lessons. For example, the scientific side of Tom’s profession and character is shown in poor contrast to Tom as a writer, musician, and lover of bird songs. Likewise, although Scarlet’s first love Bobby suffers adolescent tragedy, it is his involvement with corporate America that brings him close to death – both slowly with alcohol and quickly with an office in the World Trade Center on 9/11. Bobby is redeemed only when he abandons the world of the Suits and returns to the Artists’ fold.

Hinnefeld means well, that is clear. In Hovering Flight is an earnest novel dealing with heavy subjects (cancer, death, environmental degradation, art, infidelity, autism, motherhood, and suicide, for instance). But Hinnefeld offers no sugar to help the medicine go down. The book is devoid of any humor: there are no jokes, quips, or even wry observations. The book takes itself too seriously and comes across as the same sort of smug, self-righteous lecture Addie herself was wont to give.

First posted on Rose City Reader.

For newcomers to Jim Harrison’s work, The English Major is a delightful enough introduction to the fiction of this sometimes overlooked American treasure. Fans will enjoy another boisterous romp along Harrison’s literary highway, although particularly jaded fans may find the themes getting a bit tread worn.

When Cliff and Vivian split after a long marriage, sixty-something Cliff heads off on a mind-clearing road trip inspired by a childhood map of the United States, while Vivian stays in Michigan launching her real estate career with the sale of his family farm. Along his journey, Cliff falls into an affair with a former student, reconnects with his big shot son in San Francisco, visits an old buddy at a snake farm, and undertakes his magnum opus of renaming all the states and birds.

The pages are filled with Harrison’s usual wit; curmudgeony charm; and musings on food, liquor, round bottoms, favorite dogs, and just how square peg loners can adjust to living in round hole society.

The Islands of Divine Music is delightful find. This first novel by John Addiego tells the multi-generational tale of the Verbicaro family from their immigration to America through the turbulent highlights of the 20th Century.

The Verbicaro family grows out of the rubble of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, with all the vitality and tumult of their adopted city. After the first generation starts a demolition company, the second generation gets in on the ground floor of the WWII Bay Area building boom. The family business provides a structure for the family as well as the narrative of the book. That family structure is badly damaged by the Vietnam War, leading to a final adventure that tests the faith and love of the third generation of Verbicaros.

The book is dense with historic and family details, but is still as emotionally effervescent and essentially joyful as the extended family it portrays.

Abbeville is a short, well-written novel built on a solid structure, but it should be twice as long to do justice to the story John Fuller attempts. The book tells the parallel stories of the narrator’s attempt to rebuild his life after the bursting of the dot-com bubble and his grandfather’s own boom and bust struggle in the Great Depression.

The grandfather’s story predominates and involves several complex subplots. The central theme to the story is the conflict between the grandfather’s desire to succeed and his perceived duty to help people. This themes plays out primarily in the relationship between the grandfather and his younger brother, whose wastrel ways result in the grandfather’s financial and social downfall.

Unfortunately, there is not enough flesh on the bones. Both the plot and the characters are too sparsely drawn to make them compelling. For example, the key act that culminates in the grandfather’s ruin is described so cryptically, in just one brief sentence, that the reader must speculate about why what happened happened. At least one key storyline just ends with no explanation other than that people often disappeared during the Great Depression. Other story lines simply fizzle out.

Without details, the characters and their relationships are flat and stiff. The tension between the brothers is described so sparingly that it is difficult to fully understand the relationship, let alone to care about it. The grandfather comes off as less a noble man sacrificing for his internal sense of honor as an unsympathetic, thick headed martyr. The narrator never rises above a character sketch of a concerned but clueless father.

It could be that Fuller was trying for a style as strong, clean, and minimalist as his rural Michigan setting. But the result reads more like an unfinished outline.

America, America is Ethan Canin’s masterful portrait of American political life on the cusp of Watergate, balanced between the relative naiveté of amateur-driven, old school politicking and the cynical, scandal-worn future of professionally-run campaigns driven by instant access to information.

The story of Senator Henry Bonwiller’s 1972 campaign for President is told by Corey Sifter, son of working-class parents who is taken under the wing of the powerful Metarey family. The derailment of Bonwiller’s campaign (with its heavy tones of Ted Kennedy’s Chappaquiddick adventure) is more morality play than murder mystery. Through Sifter’s first-hand participation as a minor campaign worker and his later reminiscences touched off by the Senator’s death, Canin unfolds the parallel stories of how Bonwiller’s downfall played a key part in the country’s and Sifter’s political maturation.

This is not a fast paced book, but it is beautifully told, pitch perfect, and, particularly for readers who came of age prior to Watergate, poignantly captures the last glimmers of an earlier political era.

Resistance Fighter by Jorgen Kieler is a commanding, first-hand account of the Danish Resistance movement during World War Two. After Germany invaded Denmark in April 1940 and a collaborationist government took control of the country, resistance fighters organized an underground opposition to occupation and collaboration.

Kieler, a medical student when the Nazis invaded, began his involvement by operating an underground press in Copenhagen with two of his sisters, his brother, and others. As the war intensified, they expanded their efforts – first by ferrying Jews and other refugees to neutral Sweden, then through increasing acts of sabotage against Danish factories producing Nazi war materials.

Kieler’s straightforward account of this unfamiliar part of the war is as interesting as it is inspiring. The efforts of Keiler’s group and others resulted in over 90% of Denmark’s Jews escaping to Sweden and the hampering of German war efforts. While Keiler is thorough in his identification of the key players in the resistance movement, the book does not become bogged down in exhaustive detail about the inner workings of the various resistance factions.

Eventually, the Nazis cracked down on the Danish resistance fighters, leading to the arrests of Keiler, his brother, two of his sisters, and their father. He and his brother spent six months as slave laborers in a concentration camp in Porta Westphalica. The camp was not one of the infamous death camps used for the mass execution of the Jews, but housed political prisoners, captured soldiers, and common criminals all being worked to death building bomb-proof underground factories for the Nazis. Keiler’s unadorned description of life in the camp is heart wrenching.

After surviving the war, Keiler became a doctor and spent years studying the effects of starvation and the stress-related disorder he labeled “Concentration Camp Syndrome.” He also testified at several war criminal trials and researched archival materials for this and an earlier history book.

His intimate chronicle is tribute to those involved in Denmark’s struggle against the Nazis. But it is much more than that. By focusing on a lesser-known aspect of World War Two, Resistance Fighter also provides a fresh perspective on the harsh facts of German occupation and concentration camps, and the related ethical and political issues of collaboration, resistance, liberty, and citizenship.