Reflections and Memories: Yoko Ogawa's Mina's Matchbox

 Mina's Matchbox by Yoko Ogawa

Mina's Matchbox by Yoko Ogawa Cover Art

Yoko Ogawa 

Yoko Ogawa Books by Shopboy CC BY NC 2.0

“But even if they appeared to be nothing more than unadorned paper boxes from the outside, they exuded a beauty equal to anything created by a sculptor or potter. Even though the meaning of the words printed on their pages was so profound it could never have been contained by those boxes, the books never let on to their depths. They waited patiently until someone picked them up and opened their covers. I came to have enormous respect for that patience.” Yoko Ogawa. Mina’s Matchbox

Many thanks to Netgalley and Pantheon Books for allowing me to preview Yoko Ogawa’s amazing new book Mina’s Matchbox. The book follows Tomoko, a young girl, who goes to live with her cousin Mina and her family while Tomoko’s mother studies design. Mina’s family, who run a beverage company called Fressy, live in a luxurious mansion built by Mina’s grandfather. Among other trappings, the mansion includes the sole inhabitant of the Fressy Zoo: Pochiko, a pygmy hippo from Liberia. As the quote suggests, this unique story is much more than the “words printed on their pages”, and thankfully, Stephen Snyder’s poetic translation helps to elevate Ogawa’s beautiful story of memory and meaning to artistic realms. I’ve Ogawa’s other books, but nothing is quite like this one. Where her other books like The Memory Police are somewhat restrained in their descriptions and allegorical, this book revels in the memories of the past as Tomoko recalls the year she spent with Mina’s family. Early on in reading, the book seemed more like a narrative about this time in her life, but as I read on, the book takes on more significance and readers learn how Tomoko’s experiences during this time helped shape her ideas about relationships, love, death, and life. Furthermore, we gradually learn how each of these aspects of life affects the other. While there is some ambiguity in the relationships, like the relationship between Tomoko’s uncle and aunt (or Mina’s parents), we can also see their dedication to keeping the family together and despite some absences, Mina’s uncle does seem to care for his family. However, I also wondered about whether the uncle helped to highlight some of the concerns Mina recognized with Japanese women’s rights and voice in marriage. She characterizes her aunt as a good listener who doesn’t talk much, but who also drinks whiskey daily and smokes heavily, especially when her husband is away. Mina, likewise, is viewed as weak due to her asthma, and while she gets to ride Pochiko to school (to avoid bus/car fumes), her movement and decisions are largely restricted due to her perceived frailty. Yet, Mina and Tomoko find ways to create their own voices, even if it involves collaborating with one another. Tomoko frequents the library for Mina, searching for books not in her vast home library. Tomoko impresses the librarian with her search for and recitation of the books from Mina’s list; however, he doesn’t know that these are Mina’s summations. Similarly, Tomoko seeks out more matchboxes for Mina from a young delivery driver from the Fressy factory, and eventually tries to get them to view a meteor shower together. While the plans do not necessarily work, Tomoko’s insistence in viewing the meteor shower allows Mina to spend the night away from home, outside under the stars. These evets and others in the book show how Tomoko and Mina are trying to establish their identities, looking for connections and relationships beyond the mansion and the family.

The book also features instances of death, most notably using the suicide of Nobel winning Japanese author Yasunari Kawabata to explore the relationship between death and memory. The girls learn about Kawabata’s death from the newspaper, and although Tomoko did not know this writer, Mina explains that despite not knowing him personally, she developed a strong relationship with him through his writing. Mina later reveals her matchbox stories to Tomoko, who falls in love with these brief, but alluring tales based on the artistry of the matchboxes that contain them. Much like allegories or fairy tales, these stories seem to impart some kind of cultural message or knowledge, focusing on the outcomes of the characters. I also enjoyed them, and I think they function as both entertainment and a kind of symbol of the girls and their development and learning about life, love, and death. The concern about Mina’s health also places her close to death, and her kind of frailty seems to differentiate her from Tomoko. Tomoko often describes Mina as skinny and underdeveloped, her beautifully formed face not matching her skinny body. I really liked this description of Mina from Tomoko as well:

If you wanted to describe Mina in a few words, you might say she was an asthmatic girl who loved books and rode a pygmy hippopotamus. But if you wanted to distinguish her from everyone else in the world, you’d say that she was a girl who could strike a match more beautifully than anyone.

I think it shows how even something so mundane and simple as striking a match can be elevated to artistry and beauty. In fact, others noticed this about Mina and her match lighting skill is what allows her to carry around these matchboxes. Throughout the book, Tomoko’s observations (or maybe the reflections and memories) also elevate daily tasks and simple objects to art. Cooking, cleaning, even drinking Fressy all have incredible descriptions that heighten the senses and create a sense of wonder and joy in these daily rituals we often overlook.

As I mentioned, death is a frequent event in this book, but throughout the deaths that are recounted or remembered, there is often meaning to be found in the lives of those who are gone. There is an interesting story about Saburo, the Taiwanese Macaque who drove a small train at the Fressy Zoo. I won’t get into the story, but it helps to show how each life is important, and someone has something to contribute. Grandma Rosa is another character, originally from Germany, who doesn’t initially share that she lost her siblings in the Holocaust and was the only family member spared because she was in Japan at the time. She keeps pictures of her sister out but doesn’t really talk about her. Yet, during a broadcast of the 1972 Olympics, she hears her native German and Tomoko describes her as animated like never before. In addition, the Olympics feature prominently in the book. These were the Black September attacks. Tomoko watched it unfold with her family, and the scene of bloodshed upset Grandmother Rosa, probably bringing back memories of the family she lost. Tomoko acknowledges that Grandmother Rosa’s grief at these events prompted her to view the events differently:

Just as Grandmother Rosa learned the meaning of the Japanese word for rosary beads, in watching that ceremony, I understood for the first time the significance of a flag flown at half-staff. The five rings of the Olympic banner fluttered forlornly, halfway up the pole.

It’s reflections like these and Tomoko’s growing awareness of both death and life that make this book so incredible. I also think that this kind of reflection and the subtle sadness and well as the gratitude and appreciation for life make this book different from Ogawa’s other books like Revenge, Hotel Iris, and The Memory Police. While those are great books, they are also dark and somewhat brooding. Mina’s Matchbox is fine art, carefully cataloguing and revisiting important memories to better understand how events and relationships have affected our own views and understandings of the world. I highly recommend this book and look forward to reading it again. This book would make a great choice for a book group as well. 

Critical Essays on Millennial Horror

 Millennial Nasties: Analyzing a Decade of Brutal Horror Film Violence by Ariel Powers-Schaub

Millennial Nasties book cover

Halloween II Rob Zombie fan poster by Karthick82

Texas Chainsaw Massacre poster by Halil Karasu 

Saw logo by Cyber GhostfaceCC SA 3.0

Big thanks to Encyclopocalypse Publications and Book Sirens for providing me with a copy of Ariel Powers-Schaub’s Millennial Nasties: Analyzing a Decade of Brutal Horror Film Violence. Although I’m a horror movie fan and I love reading about the history and themes in horror films, I’m not too familiar with the period that Powers-Schaub explores in this book. Nevertheless, I loved her passion for horror and this period roughly from the late 90s up until 2010. As she explains in her introduction, she was not writing an academic text that would be filled with references and footnotes, but rather her own personal exploration of these films, organizing them into different themes and subgenres. I also appreciated her efforts to recast these films as Millennial Nasties, moving away from the term that many of them are known by: torture porn. While this term was applied to Eli Roth’s Hostel, it became a kind of catchall phrase to refer to violent horror films featuring brutality and gore. Powers-Schaub makes great efforts to delve under the surface of these films and examine events and themes in society that many of these films reflected or challenged. Part of what made me avoid many of these films were some of the aesthetics—including the lighting and music video like editing/cinematography that was such a part of early 2000s horror. However, Powers-Schaub repeatedly notes how integral events like 9/11 and the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were in influencing not only the violence and brutality in these films, but also in the gritty and kinetic film aesthetics. This helps to portray the kind of social and cultural influences that were contributing to the films. In addition, the popularity of the Saw series also helped to further create some templates and methods filmmakers and studios could replicate to attempt to cash in on young horror fans’ desire for violence. However, beyond looking at the contemporary influences of these films, Powers-Schaub also examines the legacy of other horror films, particularly the slashers and grindhouse fare from the 70s that most likely influenced many of the filmmakers who were writing and directing these millennial nasties. Powers-Schaub repeatedly mentions The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but I also was thinking about Hooper’s other 70s horror film Eaten Alive! Which features some of the same themes related to outsiders traveling to a rural community, only to be met by an insane motel owner. There’s not as much gore, kind of like Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but the implications of the violence and brutality are pretty tough. The first essays on the Saw series were interesting, but were more like synopses and summaries, focusing on the events and identifying some themes of these different films. I’ve only seen the first film, and I really didn’t like it that much. Beyond the brutality, I didn’t like the grimy lighting and the plot seemed kind of boring to me. However, after reading about some of the other films, I’d definitely consider exploring more of this franchise to see how these themes about loyalty, family, and especially fathers and sons are explored further. The other sections in Part I dealing with traveling, home invasions, families, and captivity/kidnapping, were much more analytical and explored different themes as well. I haven’t seen many of these films, but I have read and/or heard about most of them. Reading books like these about horror films always stretches out my to watch list, and there are a number of new films I’ve added. However, I really liked these other sections because Powers-Schaub becomes more analytical of the themes and ideas in these films, and is more critical of the jokes, language, and characterization of individuals in these films. I really appreciated the critical perspective she takes, often questioning the motivations of filmmakers in presenting characters and action in the film in such a way. It made me reconsider a great amount of horror films and think more critically about representation in films, especially for women and minority characters. Furthermore, she uses Carol Clover’s great text Men, Women and Chainsaws as a reference to explore some of the themes and tropes in horror films, examining how these millennial nasties conform or challenge the common practices of horror. Section two focuses mostly on slashers, looking at how Scream created a new kind of meta-slasher template, and created these kinds of references to other films in the genre. The Final Destination series is also included in this, and Powers-Schaub’s analysis makes the film series seem more intriguing, since I haven’t watched any of them. Section three focused on remakes and updates, examining how a new generation of filmmakers paid tribute to some older, more iconic films and tried to apply the millennial nasties’ aesthetics to these updates. I think this was my favorite section, possibly because I was more familiar with the original movies and because the films covered a broader perspective- not solely focusing on gore or slashers. I liked how in depth Powers-Schaub explored the ideas and themes in these remakes and how they frequently applied to issues and problems in society. It was really interesting to see the differences between the originals and the more recent versions, and Powers-Schaub’s analysis and explorations of themes and ideas are in depth. This was really interesting book that had some great essays on a broad range of films that were released during a turbulent and uncertain time period in America’s history. Although not completely in-depth and academic, Powers-Schaub does go beyond the surface to explore themes, style, and substance of these films, analyzing their relationship to issues, events, and problems in society at the time. While I enjoyed the book, I think I would have liked more analysis, especially around the film aesthetics. Powers-Schaub repeatedly mentions the lighting in these films, often described as yellow or green. I was wondering more about the significance of this kind of lighting. While it does represent the grittiness, does it have the same meaning for all of the films? What might it mean beyond grittiness? Was there a kind of clinical or detached feeling that the filmmakers were trying to explore? Was the color yellow to excite us or induce more anxiety? Other topics like this related to music, sounds, or editing techniques could have been explored further to provide a deeper analysis, but this omission did not take away from my enjoyment of the book. The only other criticism I would mention is possibly using another word besides “nasty” to describe the action or violence in the films. Although this adjective is in the title and relevant to reframing these films, I found that the word was used a little too much and I wanted more to describe the action and details from these films. Again, this overuse of the word didn’t take away from the book, but I think using some different words might have strengthened the descriptions.

A New Interpretation of a Philosophical Classic

 Laozi's Dao De Jing : A New Interpretation for a Transformative Time 

by Laozi translated by Ken Liu

Ken Liu by Larry D. Moore, CC BY 4.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Laozi's Dao De Jing by Ken Liu book cover

Laozi by Thanato, CC BY-SA 3.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

“The path that can be walked is not the path that lasts;” Laozi

Many thanks to Netgalley and Scribner for providing an advanced copy of Ken Liu’s new interpretation of the Dao De Jing, a classic Daoist text from Laozi. As Liu’s subtitle states, this is more than a translation. This is a new interpretation for a transformative time. It’s been a long time since I’ve read the Dao De Jing, and although I’ve encountered separate sections, mostly through the terrific 365 Tao: Daily Meditations by Ming-Dao Deng, I’ve found that translations and the focus for the Tao can vary significantly. In order to compare, I also started to read another, older translation that I found in my Kindle Library. There’s no publication information or translator, and the text is much harder to decipher and make meaning than Ken Liu’s reinterpretation. To further help us understand the process of interpreting this work, Liu incorporates some analogous ideas and stories from Laozi’s fellow Daoist Zhuangzi, another philosopher-storyteller explained Daoist concepts with more storytelling and anecdotes than aphorisms and poetry. I think I’ve encountered his work as “Chuang-Tzu” since I recognized many of the stories and examples (The Emperor and the Tortoise Shell” and “The Butcher and The Knife”) recounted in these asides. Liu also includes biographical sketches of both Laozi and Zhuangzi, noting that these individuals’ works may be the result of a collective or passed down work rather than the work of any one person. Nevertheless, Liu’s contextual information helps to further understand some of the ideas and concepts that Laozi was possibly asking his readers/followers to grapple with. It was also interesting to learn how Liu came across the Dao De Jing during the pandemic, and how he explains that Laozi doesn’t really offer solace or lecture, but rather “invites the reader to have a conversation with his text, through which the readers must discover their own way.” I loved this aspect of the writing, recognizing that the ideas and poems (for lack of a better term) are presented as something that everyone will interpret in their own way. Liu also contextualizes Laozi’s world to help readers better understand the socio-political situation of pre-dynastic China, and how the desire for upward mobility and safety in society was somewhat antithetical to Laozi’s ideas about human relations. Liu shared how reading Laozi during the pandemic didn’t offer any kind of solace, but may have helped him question the events and consider other people’s motivations for comfort and security in times of instability. I loved this aspect of the book, and I can see how it would be an ideal text to read when there is uncertainty or instability.

Throughout the book, Liu shares his process of translating or interpreting the Dao De Jing, noting that translations sometimes reflect more about the translator than what the author actually intended. I found it interesting to learn that more written texts of the Dao De Jing were discovered in China in the 1970s, and this provided additional interpretations and ideas about the meaning. Liu also explains how other editions that were found offer different ways of presenting the ideas and poems. He notes that like other philosophers, Laozi was distrustful of written language (and language in general), explaining how it can limit the concepts and feelings that Laozi may have tried to impart to followers of Daoism. Whether it is the ever changing nature of print or the limitations of words, this interpretation and Liu’s brief essays about the different sections give us insight into the possible meanings and word play that Laozi may have used. I also found this fascinating since Chinese uses ideographs and the meaning can vary. Gaining these insights into the translations was helpful as well as fascinating. I loved learning more about the process of writing and considering meaning from a text that is more than 2000 years old.

At the end of the “non-introduction”, Liu reminds us not to read through the book too quickly, since we shouldn’t necessarily approach the book as a quick read or one that will offer main ideas in certain locations. This is where the stories from Zhuangzi help to supplement our understanding, but it also serves as a reminder that this is a book that we should continue to revisit at various times and points in our lives since we may interpret the ideas and poems in different ways and gain a different understanding and meaning of these verses.

I’m incredibly grateful that Scribner shared this text with me, and I’m also excited that I have this wonderful new “interpretation” of this important text that I can revisit. 

The Methods of Interviewing A Serial Killer

A Hunger to Kill: A Serial Killer, a Determined Detective, and the Quest for a Confession that Changed a Small Town Forever 

by Detective Kim Mager with Lisa Pulitzer

A Hunger to Kill book cover 

House at 363 Covert Court, Ashland, OH by BuckeyeSmithie, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

Thank you to Netgalley , Macmillan Publishers, and St. Martin’s Press for allowing me the opportunity to review Detective Kim Mager’s riveting book A Hunger to Kill. I don’t read a lot of true crime and murder books; I tend to make exceptions for certain writers or events—Mark Bowden’s The Last Stone was one exception, but I just remembered feeling so sad and upset after reading the book. Although Bowden’s book features a remorseless killer who withholds or shares information when it is convenient, it was also heartening to learn about the dogged efforts from the victims’ families and the investigators to continue to pursue justice. Detective Mager’s A Hunger to Kill shares both of these aspects with Bowden’s book. Yet, one of the most important differences is that Detective Mager was on the team assembled to investigate the crimes of Shawn Grate, so we read from her perspective, learning about her strategic approach to interviewing Grate and eventually extracting confessions for several murders across the span of a few days. Also like Bowden’s book, A Hunger to Kill tracks the devasting crimes, and the events are brutal. The investigation starts out with an abducted woman who dialed 911 and the rescue team that saved her from captivity. We learn that Shawn Grate, a drifter from another town squatting in an abandoned house, has abducted and tortured Jane Doe. Although Jane Doe’s recounting of the torture is hard to read, I was fascinated to learn about the strategic thinking that goes into this kind of forensic interviewing. Detective Mager details how she works to build trust and reassure a victim, while also seeking ways to develop a trusting relationship with a suspected perpetrator like Shawn Grate. I was amazed by how she was able to work with both individuals, yet keep a kind of calm and measured approach, especially with Grate. Most of the book details her interviews with Grate, and how she was able to pay attention to his mannerisms and clues about the women he murdered and where he left him. Detective Mager’s profile of Grate was also detailed and specific; as we learn about his background and family, I could see how he ended up with certain tendencies. I condemn his actions, but Grate did grow up in incredibly unstable environments where little love and attention were shown. Strangely, he talks about freeing the women he killed, but it seemed more like punishment. He claimed that the women were seeking to die, and Detective Mager’s interviewing techniques and analysis help readers understand the kind of failed attribution and victim blaming that murderers like Grate engage in. It was surprising, but also scary to see the way Grate thought about human life. As we continue to learn more about him and the trail of violence he has left throughout his life, we also see how deceptive and cunning he is, and how he can act out when he doesn’t get his way. Detective Mager’s recounting of the story takes us all the way through to the trial and eventual conviction of Grate. I didn’t know about this case, and I read a little about it as I was reading. It is incredibly sad to learn about the victims and how Grate preyed upon vulnerable women, especially those he deemed less than valuable in society. He kept repeating that he was setting them free or freeing them from pain, but also acknowledging that he wasn’t God. Although I wouldn’t call this book enjoyable, I found it magnetic. I kept reading to learn more about what was going to happen next. I was especially interested in Detective Mager’s interviewing techniques, and how she described the methods she employed to develop trust and build rapport. It seemed to work as Grate continued to gradually reveal the crimes he committed and provide some reasoning for it. While he may not have expressed genuine remorse for his crimes, it seems that Detective Mager was able to extract a sense of regret or at least acknowledgement that Grate did something wrong and harmed people beyond his victims. Nevertheless, we also learn how she put herself and a colleague in danger being in a room with a killer. This is a riveting book that provides an inside look into the methods and strategies for forensic interviewing. It’s a fascinating look behind bars at the criminal justice system at work. 

A Tale of Friendship, Marriage, Debauchery and Murder

 Ladykiller by Katherine Wood

 Santorini with church and sea view, free public domain CC0

Red-figured Hydria Dance Training Session The Trustees of the British Museum CC-BY-NC-SA

Greek Coffee with Loukomi by Gio CC-BY-NC-ND 2.0

Thank you to Netgalley and Penguin Random House for offering me the opportunity to read Katherine Wood’s novel Ladykiller. I was a little surprised to receive this invitation—just looking at the description and the cover didn’t seem like I was a targeted audience. However, I couldn’t ignore the praise from the email and the cover image was appealing. Ladykiller, which has some great ambiguity in the title, started off a little slow for me. I initially thought this was going to be like a romance and female friendship type of book. There’s also some backstory to Gia and Abby’s friendship. Both women are now in their 30s but have been friends since their early teens and have experienced much together. From the first chapters, I didn’t really like either character. Abby seemed to serious and uptight, while Gia reminded me of someone like Daisy Buchanan from The Great Gatsby, a kind of shallow socialite who craves attention but fails to consider the consequences of her actions. In fact, a lot of the characters initially seemed shallow and unlikeable, but this assessment really changed after about a quarter of the book, and I recommend staying with this book because I really could not put it down after the action picked up. Essentially, Gia and Abby haven’t spoken for some time since Gia married Garrett, a mysterious man shipping scion who swept her off her feet in a 3-month whirlwind romance. Ladykiller picks up when we start to learn about some of Garrett’s money problems and Gia’s willingness, yet growing skepticism to help bail him out of his financial problems. These problems begin to arise as a couple suddenly arrive on the Greek island where Garrett and Gia live, but are preparing to sell the vacation home that Gia recently inherited from her father. The story alternates between Abby’s perspective as she agreed to vacation in Sweden with Gia and her brother, and Gia’s writing. Gia was starting to write another book after previously publishing a best-selling memoir that documented her experience with a tragic manslaughter case 12 years prior. This case is important to the story as its consequences haunt Abby and create some reservations about her return to the Greek island where the incident happened.  I really grew to appreciate the variations in narrative style from Abby and Gia, and I found myself enjoying Gia’s perspective and writing even more. Her story takes place primarily on the Greek island, and as an affluent heiress who doesn’t need to work, she leads a life of leisure. However, as her husband Garrett asks for more and more money, her ideal life appears to be less and less like she imagined. Gia, Garrett, and their newfound friends, Emelia and Timeo, enjoy the sun, food, and party like atmosphere of the Greek islands, so much so that the events eventually lead Gia to question her marriage and her husband’s identity. The book is filled with tension and poetic descriptions of the Greek island, its beaches and ocean, as well as food. I also loved that there was so much espresso in the book. While the events are premised on some delicate situations, I really enjoyed the suspense and found that I had a hard time putting this book down. The short alternating chapters made Ladykiller a compelling read where I kept reading to find out what would happen next. I also loved the literary references throughout the book. The Talented Mr. Ripley, which shares some themes of identity, crime, and lust, plays a minor role as a gift and a book that Gia loves. This story and Garrett’s gaslighting reminded me of Anna Billar’s great book Bluebeard’s Castle, where a scheming and violent husband married a woman more for her money than anything else. Garrett reminded me a lot of Gavin from that excellent book, and his behaviors followed a lot of the patterns that Gavin engaged in. Wood also includes some references to Greek mythology, especially stories of jealous women and wives and the wrath that they exact on other women. In hindsight, it was interesting to read about these references, especially since the book features two women who are trying to maintain a friendship despite some differences of opinions. Bacchanalia, the festival honoring Bacchus, the Roman god of wine and parties, also played an important role in the book. I was wondering why Wood referenced the Roman god and not the Greek god Dionysus. I was thinking that more people are probably familiar with Bacchanalia than the Dionysia, but Dionysian has become a kind of familiar adjective. I thought that the Greeks would be more familiar with the Greek form than the Roman form. Although the book started off a little slow and the characters were initially somewhat unrelatable, I eventually became interested in this book. It was a fun escape to an exotic locale, and I enjoyed the intrigue and suspense involved in this tale of duplicity and relationships.

Exploring the Craft and Work of a Writer

 Novelist as a Vocation by Haruki Murakami

Haruki Murakami Graffiti in Tbilisi by White Demon, CC BY-SA 4.0  via Wikimedia Commons

Haruki Murakami (signature), CC BY-SA 4.0  via Wikimedia Commons

I was so excited to learn about Novelist as a Vocation from Haruki Murakami, one of my all-time favorite writers. While I love just about all of his books, I’ve found that the quality of some of his fiction has been gradually decreasing. I liked most of the stories in First Person, but also found that some of them lacked the magic and odd humor that earlier story collections had. I also tend to really like his non-fiction writing, whether it is about music, running, or t-shirts. He brings out a level of meaning in his simple style and observations that requires a deeper thinking about why we do or like these subjects. Much like his analysis of the Tokyo subway attack in Underground, his nonfiction challenges us to question these subjects on a deeper level and consider the implications of why we feel a certain way about them. I think that this book is a great addition to Murakami’s collection. Although he’s written about his early career previously, and the whimsical story of the inspiration to write from a baseball game, it’s still compelling to hear about it and learn more about his craft, process, and continued continuity as a writer. Although it seems kind of rote and monotonous, I really love the regularity of his writing regimen, and how it often equates this with running. Just as in What We Talk About When We Talk About Running, his writing process follows a similar regularity for marathon training where he sets a kind of regular pace and outcome for his work on a daily basis. Although he’s not necessarily living the kind of glamorous and decadent life of other writers he admires like Fitzgerald and Hemmingway, I think it is important to find this kind of regularity and consistency in a process that he writes about. Anytime we can learn from a master writer in their own words, I think that is a good thing, and I really appreciated learning more about his work and experience as a writer. I hope that sometime soon, there is a translation of his work about jazz music or that he writes a book about record collecting, since I really enjoy these nonfiction books. 

Stories about Individuality and Loneliness

 Bliss Montage by Ling Ma

Author Ling Ma by kellywritershouse, CC BY 2.0  via Wikimedia Commons

I was excited to find Bliss Montage by Ling Ma since I loved Severance. Many of the stories have similar themes and moods from Severance, whether exploring the kind of absurdity of corporate life and how its strictures and uniformity affect our individuality or how it breeds a kind of loneliness among groups, these stories resonated with me, yet weren’t desperate or depressing. Rather, I found them to be humorous and entertaining, causing me to question some of the ideas and aspects of life that Ma raises. There were some other stories that were more daring and different from Severance, finding characters and voices that were different and unique. I don’t remember the name of the story, but the story about the woman who lives with all of her exes was really interesting and humorous. Highly enjoyable. I’m looking forward to Ling Ma’s next work, whether it is short stories or a novel. 

Taking Power Back in Moshfegh's Eileen

 Eileen by Ottessa Moshfegh 

Detroit Juvenile Detention Home in 1956  Anonymous, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Eileen was the first book I read by Moshfegh, and it set me off on a quest to read as much as I could from her over the next few months. I absolutely loved this book, and I especially loved the narration of Eileen, a young woman who works in a juvenile detention center, and has to deal with the sexism and misogyny from both men and women around her, until she meets Rebecca Saint John, one of the new educators in the detention facility. I was shocked by Eileen’s narration, and her blunt and transgressive observations kept me glued to the book. Although her life is pretty dreary, dealing with her alcoholic father, recounting the life of her mother, who seemed to really have no agency or voice, and serving as a secretary in a prison for boys, Eileen doesn’t seem to have much, but is able to create this kind of inner world where she exacts revenge and bends others to her will. I loved the setting of the juvenile detention center as a kind of parallel to the outside world, where no one really has any freedom and even those vested with authority (like police, parents) are still prisoners in one way or another. Eileen’s hopes and outlook change when she meets Rebecca, who develops a plan to break some of the boys out of the prison. I won’t give away the ending, but I really enjoyed the way the book ends, and what we learn about Eileen’s life. I also loved the way that Eileen’s voice and outlook evolved over the course of the novel, moving from a kind of pessimist and cynic, to someone who has a certain degree of hope. I found her to be kind of like Holden Caufield, but much more dejected and desperate. Like other Moshfegh books, Eileen has some crazy and absurd experiences, especially when she drinks. Although the novel can be brutal at times, I really enjoyed Eileen’s story and seeing how she planned an escape, not only from the prison, but also from her life and the forces that have exerted control over her for most of her existence. Highly recommended—entertaining, absurd and hilarious. 

Narco Noir

 The Devil Takes You Home by Iglesias Gabino

The Road to Hell by Riccardo Maria Montero CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Iglesias Gabino’s The Devil Take You Home was recommended to me in several areas, and after reading the description, I was looking forward to reading it. I was surprised by the level of violence in this book, but it was also one of the aspects of the book that was appealing to me. The book tells the story of Mario, a man who falls into significant debt due to his daughter’s cancer. This illness and her death eventually leave him in debt and desperate, divorced from his wife, and not sure where to go next. His situation reminded me of the Bruce Springsteen song “Atlantic City”, where he’s got debts no honest man can pay, leading him to consider crime and desperate measures. This leads Mario to a job to hijack a money drop to a cartel with some other questionable characters. I absolutely loved this book, and it made me want to read some of Gabino’s other books. The story is propulsive, travelling along the Texas desert, leading to the border, where Mario and his team encounter many strange and unsavory characters from the criminal underworld. Gabino’s story, full of tension and anticipation, kept me reading to find out what was going to happen next. The book combines elements of crime, mystery, and horror or the supernatural, making a compelling concoction for consumption. I loved the strange and violent characters that Mario encounters, and Gabino’s descriptions of them and their fates was well done. There probably are not going to be any other Mario stories, but I would love to read some prologues about the kinds of activities he was involved in prior to this job; if that is not an option, I hope to read other Gabino books as he is a great crime and noir writer, who combines elements of the supernatural and folklore to create this kind of engaging and unique mystery. 

The Untold Story of the Marine Corps' Greatest Sniper

 The Sniper: The Untold Story of the Marine Corps' Greatest Marksman of All Time 

by Jim Lindsay

A sniper in Vietnam circa 1968 by USMC Archives from Quantico, USA, CC BY 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Thank you Netgalley for providing an advanced copy of this book. This was the second book I read through Netgalley. I think it came up as a recommendation. The Sniper tells the story of Chuck Mawhinney, a sniper credited with the most kills in Vietnam. It traces Mawhinney’s story from his early life, through his enlistment in the military, sharing his stories in the military, and life after the military. Interestingly, Lindsay explains that after leaving the military, Mawhinney’s record as a killer was not revealed until the 1990s when a fellow marine outed him. This notoriety changed Mawhinney’s life, as he experienced some backlash, but also acknowledgement of his killing abilities, ultimately parlaying that into sharing his shooting skills as a teacher and trainer. Lindsay writes this book as a friend of Mawhinney’s, not realizing his background until later in life. Lindsay’s narration has an easy-going quality that kind of undercuts the horror and violence of Mawhinney’s life as an enlisted killer. I found the folksy storytelling to be in contrast to the violence of the book, undercutting some of the events. What was more interesting was Mawhinney’s adjustment to life after the military, and dealing with the blowback from being outed as a successful wartime killer. Although the book is a war memoir, it doesn’t seem to treat the ambiguities of war as ambiguous. It was entertaining, but I was hoping for more from this book.

 

The History, Context, and Influence of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Film that Rattled a Nation by Joseph Lanza

Kim Henkel and Tobe Hooper filming The Texas Chainsaw Massacre CC BY 4.0  via Wikimedia Commons

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre at the Hollywood Cinema by Scottdoesntknow, CC BY-SA 4.0  via Wikimedia Commons

The house in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre by G Yancy, CC BY 2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Joseph Lanza’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Film that Rattled a Nation is a great book that not only provides background information about the creation of one of the most terrifying horror movies of all time, but it also contextualizes the film in the turbulent 1970s and analyzes its influence on subsequent horror films. The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is one of the most exhilarating film experiences I’ve ever witnessed. Despite wanting to see it as a horror obsessed kid, I didn’t get around to watching it until college, and I could believe what I was seeing. I just remember feeling so claustrophobic with all of the close-ups and tight shots once we enter the family’s house. I don’t think I had experienced a reaction to a film like that until watching Texas Chain Saw Massacre. I loved learning more about Tobe Hooper and the crew who helped bring this film to life. It is also important to consider all of the influences that resulted in this film, starting with the late 60s including the daily violence of the Vietnam War prominently displayed on the news, the Manson Family’s crime and murder spree in LA in 1969, as well as the growing distrust of the Nixon administration and the fallout from Watergate, which would happen after the film was released. Beyond that, the book delves into other influences like Ed Gein and Hooper’s other films prior to this at University of Texas, Austin. Lanza interviews other actors and crew from the film, sharing their experiences working on the set, which apparently was really difficult in the Texas summer heat. I’m not sure whether the lack of masks and costumes for Leather Face was a budgeting issue or more of a way to help the cast get into character; it seems like Hooper also used raw, rotting meat in the dinner table scene to evoke a sense of disgust and dread, which can be scene on film, but was also experienced by the cast. Lanza’s strength also lies in his analysis of this film’s place in cinema’s history. Although somewhat notorious, the film actually doesn’t show any blood, with much of the violence implied. I always found the closeups and the dinner scene to be more disturbing than watching actual violence on screen. Lanza goes on to investigate how this film helped shape the subsequent years of horror and possibly even help birth the popularity of the slasher films. Although many of the sequels and remakes (with the exception of Part II) haven’t quite lived up to the original, Lanza helps to situation the film’s eventual popularity, influence, and status among horror films and cinema in general. This was a great book that provided a great deal of research and analysis about an influential and notorious movie that helped to shape the subsequent decades of horror. 

An Encyclopedic Narrative of Slasher Films

 My Heart is a Chainsaw 

by Stephen Graham Jones

Crystal Lake, Maine by Tichnor Brothers, Publisher, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Stephen Graham Jones in Office 2019 by NAJ CO, CC BY-SA 4.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

I was really disappointed by My Heart is a Chainsaw. I loved Only the Good Indians, and I’ve read some other works by Stephen Graham Jones. He is a creative storyteller who is able to weave in Indigenous folklore with modern horror. This book, though, took the use of tropes and movies a little too far. As I was reading it, I just couldn’t wait for each chapter to end. I initially liked the character of Jade, a high school student who is kind of an outsider, from a dysfunctional family, and an obsessive fan of slasher films. The story follows a killer who ends up killing people in ways that mimic popular 80s slasher films. The first few murders were kind of interesting, but from there, the book kind of takes on a kind of summary of these films where Jade primarily shares her knowledge of the films and no one believes her because she’s such an outsider. I didn’t really like the characters of Theo and Letha either, and I found them to be unrealistic. I wasn’t sure why Jade wanted to be friends with Letha, especially after she learns about Theo and his plans to develop the area around the Lake. Some things like the Lake Witch legend were interesting, but it became too muddied when Jade tried to tie the murders to her love of slasher films. I plan on reading some other Stephen Graham Jones books, but I probably won’t be reading the Lake Witch trilogy. 

An Allegory of Power and Knowledge

 Lapvona by Ottessa Moshfegh

Josefa de Óbidos, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

I was a little nervous about reading Lapvona, since I read somewhere that it dealt with cannibalism. Although it wasn’t a prominent theme in the book, there were plenty of other gross, disgusting and disturbing moments that made this book one of my favorite reads of the year. I’m not really sure how to explain or summarize this book, but it takes place in medieval times in a village ruled by a pompous and arrogant man child, Villiam. Mareck and his father Jude are the primary townspeople whose lives we follow, and whose lives take turns that greatly affect their futures and fortunes. While Mareck and Jude are different in many regards, they both tend to willingly accept the fictions that others put upon them and ultimately keep them in line. Mareck believes that his mother died in childbirth, although his mother tried to abort him, resulting in deformities at birth. She abandoned him and Jude, who kept Agata as a prisoner. Jude, like the other townspeople, believes that the draughts and food shortages are a result of an indifferent God, not realizing that Villiam controls the flow of water to irrigate the fields, nor the amount of food and resources that Villiam has. Mareck becomes a kind of toy for Villiam and his son, and after a tragic accident, becomes Villiam’s adopted son. From there, we see how the ineptitude and incompetence of the royal family leads to opportunities for Mareck. Trying not to give too much away, I was continually repulsed and delighted by the brutality and absurdity of the situations in this medieval village. The people, largely illiterate and uneducated, were willing to accept ridiculous ideas about access to food and go to extremes to persevere in this rugged life. Furthermore, the ruling class, with access to boundless resources, food, and riches, cared little for the wellbeing of their people, and almost seemed to delight in the kind of challenges and difficulties they presented for the village, only taking delight in the humiliation they brought to others. The descriptions of bodily functions, wounds, and decay was vivid and gross, but also highlighted the kind of lives these people lived. It also reminded me a lot of Patrick Suskind’s Perfume, where the descriptions of odors, garbage, and bodies were prominent markers of class and status. I’m not sure whether Moshfegh is commenting on class or status in society, but I do think there is some kind of commentary about our willingness to accept what the ruling class present to us as reality, and in turn, this affects our own behaviors, beliefs, and attitudes towards others. This book is really gross, absurd, challenging, but also a great read if you are up for it. It is definitely not a book for everyone, but one that really challenges a reader’s own sense of comfort and what we take in on a daily basis. 

Bettering Myself - A Short Story

 "Bettering Myself" by Ottessa Moshfegh

Ottessa Moshfegh by kellywritershouse, CC BY 2.0  via Wikimedia Commons

I’m not sure how I came across Moshfegh's short story "Bettering Myself", but I think I was looking for more of Moshfegh's writing after reading Lapvona, and found this story. Apparently it was one of 2 short stories for which Moshfegh was nominated and won an award. I think  This story was absolutely hilarious. The narrator, Miss Mooney, is a Math teacher in a Catholic school, and she shares some of the details about her personal life—probably too much information—but this is what makes the story so ridiculous and hilarious. I can see some elements of other characters from Moshfegh’s books in Miss Mooney. Like Eileen, she doesn’t seem to care and her attitude and behaviors are in contrast to the kind of repressive and oppressive institutionalized environment of the school (or in Eileen’s environment, the prison). Similar to the narrator in My Year of Rest and Relaxation, Miss Mooney also seems like she is ready to escape or drop out of society. She seeks alternative forms of rest, keeping a sleeping bag in her classroom to nap between classes, or going out for drinks between classes. This teacher is so inappropriate and contrary to what we expect, it becomes humorous to see how far her behavior will take her. I was giggling as I read this book, wanting to find out more about what would happen as she progressed towards chaos.

 

A Poetic Novel about Fandom and Identity

 Y/N by Esther Yi

K-Pop Fans by Joseph  Ferris III from On a Ship, CC BY 2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

K-Content Expo in UAE Korea by Creative Content Agency, KOGL Type 1 , via Wikimedia Commons

Thank you Netgalley for sharing this advanced copy of this book. I’m not sure how I got this book, but I was glad I read it. Not familiar with fan fiction or K-pop, I didn’t quite get all of the references in the book, but I really appreciated the kind of dedication and adulation that the narrator had for Moon in this book. It’s an interesting story about celebrity and how our society views the increasing role of celebrities in our lives. Amanda Montell kind of delves into this in her new book The Year of Magical Overthinking; however, Yi’s book looks at this from a fan’s extreme perspective. Ot was a little ridiculous, but also interesting to learn more about this kind of adulation and some of the potential reasons why we worship celebrity and how our own ideas and beliefs/desires for celebrities shapes some of the popular perception of these people as well. I was mostly impressed with Yi’s poetic writing and descriptions. I found myself highlighting and rereading many different sections because of the beauty of the descriptions and phrasing in this book. Although it was kind of a foreign topic, I found a lot to relate to in this book, and I look forward to reading more from Esther Yi. 

I was Listening to the Rain, I was Hearing Something Else

 Marquee Moon by Bryan Waterman

Television by Roberta Bayley. Distributed by Elektra Records., Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Tom Verlaine in concert by Masao Nakagami, CC BY-SA 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons

So glad that Bryan Waterman's excellent study of Television's classic album Marquee Moon was available to read! I read this while waiting to fly home from a Disney vacation with my family. While my kids were playing in a pool, I was transported to mid 70s downtown NYC, with Tom Miller and Richard Meyer, eventually transforming to Verlaine and Hell. Waterman’s research and analysis of the album contextualizes this album as an inflection point for art and punk in the 1970s. When I first heard this album, I didn’t know what to think. Marquee Moon is like 8 minutes long with long guitar solos. It seems like the opposite of the Ramones, Dead Boys, and other bands that came out of the CBGBs downtown scene. However, Waterman helps explore the influence of Patti Smith and how Television and Patti Smith challenged notions of punk and art in the downtown scene. Waterman’s analysis of the songs, lyrics, and musicianship also contributes to further understanding the significance and lasting impact of this album. This is the kind of 33 1/3 book that I love reading, where the author is able to transport readers to the scene of creation and somewhat recreate the world and contexts where this album was formed. 

The Notorious Byrd Brothers

 The Notorious Byrd Brothers by Ric Menck

Album cover for The Notorious Byrd Brothers by Piano Piano! CC BY 2.0

The Byrds performing on July 3, 1965. Photographer: Don Hale or Roy RobinsonPublisher: KEWB 30, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Admittedly, I’m not a huge Byrds fan. I love their music and sound (especially the 12 string guitars), but I don’t know too much about individual albums. I was glad to read this book since it not only explores one of the Byrds more famous books, but it also provides a unique history of individual contributors to the album, as well as how the band formed and what happened after this album. Menck has done extensive research, constructing information about the recording sessions, song writing, and performance of many of these songs. He paints a great picture of the kind of folk scene that bred the Byrds in California in the mid 60s that eventually birthed this album. This book was a quick enjoyable read that also made me seek out this album to deepen my knowledge of the Byrds and their back pages.