This book presented me with a book lover's dilemma: I didn't want to put it down, but I didn't want it to end.
<i>The Expatriates</i> encapsulates what it is to be adrift in a foreign land. It follows the separate but intertwined stories of Mercy, a recent Columbia grad, Margaret, a mother, and Hilary, who is desperate to become one. For various reasons, these American women and their families are all living in Hong Kong. In their new setting, each are doing their best to acclimate to their environment while navigating all-encompassing personal issues that arise after they've moved.
The character development was so well executed and the plot so rich, I feel that these three women could have been the protagonist of a book each in their own right. There's quite a melancholy tone throughout the novel (which isn't everyone's cup of tea, but one of my favourite fictional elements) however, ultimately it's tempered with a lot of hope. The women are experiencing pain and purpose unique to each of their situations. The setting being a foreign one only reinforces that feeling of not knowing quite what to expect, of trying to fit in and navigating not only a new way of life, but also their overwhelming emotions.
It's a testament to the author's writing style that even the secondary characters were just as intriguing and the pace of the book kept me on my toes throughout. There is an underlying fervor of just wanting to find out how these dilemmas will be resolved which helped propel the book along, never once feeling like any situation or sentence was out of place.
So how did I resolve my dilemma? Ultimately, I paced myself and savoured every nuanced word. But now a new dilemma presents itself: that of trying to find another book that pulls me in the way and keeps me guessing the way this one did...
Wednesday, October 31, 2018
Tuesday, October 16, 2018
My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh
Have you ever gone through such a hard time in life where the only relief seems like a good deep sleep? <i>My Year of Rest and Relaxation</i> is about just that as we follow its narrator through her pursuit of an escape from the everyday world, attempting to sleep for an entire year. Purposely heavily medicated and sedated, she attempts to shut out the world through slumber, her only main outings being quick trips to the local bodega and appointments with a wacky yet obliging psychiatrist.
Orphaned in her early adulthood, the unnamed protagonist is able to take this time off while she lives on the inheritance left to her by her wealthy parents. After several phone calls trying to find a medical professional to help her sleep, she stumbles upon Dr. Tuttle, an incompetent quack who - lucky for her - hands out drugs like candy. She falls for the narrator's lies as she claims increasing insomnia and doles out higher doses and stronger treatments over the course of their monthly visits. As the narrator pops mind-blowing amounts of sleeping pills and tranquilizers, she slowly shuts off the world around her...
There are very few people in her life: the aforementioned psychiatrist, a dud of a sometimes-boyfriend Trevor, a peculiar artist Ping Xi, and Reva, her oldest friend. Dr. Tuttle is her lifeline and drug supplier. Trevor is hardly worth a mention, as he is such an insignificant character, perhaps only there to signify how little the narrator has in terms of meaningful relationships. Ping Xi is an important part of the story - an odd character, yet a lifesaver of sorts. Reva is a bit of an anomaly - the ditzy friend who swans in and out, whose friendship feels like it's well past the expiration date, yet both girls appear to need something from the other that no one else seems able to provide.
After experimenting with numerous drug combinations with varying success, things really ramp up when the narrator is prescribed a superstrength sleeping pill called Infermiterol. Once she starts taking this particular drug, giant chunks of time are spent in blackouts. She wakes up to discover that she's made strange phone calls, has left her apartment, and has eaten and shopped for things, not remembering a single moment of doing so. She takes drastic action in an attempt to remain able to take the drug, yet keep herself safe.
Reading this book with such a sleepy prominent theme almost made me feel as though I was falling into a trancelike state. As someone who could very easily not leave the house and loves hibernating as much as possible, it was easy to get sucked into the cozy parts: the movie marathons, the comfortable apartment, the enveloping sofa...everything fades into the periphery and it's as though the book emanates a soft glow of comfort and sleepiness.
<i>My Year of Rest and Relaxation</i> provided something unique. It was a book unlike any other I've read, yet it had all of the elements that make up my favourite novels: humor, originality, self-reflection and a good dose of quirkiness. It might not be for everyone, but I really enjoyed it.
But that's enough for now. I might only be imagining it, but I swear my couch is calling my name...
Orphaned in her early adulthood, the unnamed protagonist is able to take this time off while she lives on the inheritance left to her by her wealthy parents. After several phone calls trying to find a medical professional to help her sleep, she stumbles upon Dr. Tuttle, an incompetent quack who - lucky for her - hands out drugs like candy. She falls for the narrator's lies as she claims increasing insomnia and doles out higher doses and stronger treatments over the course of their monthly visits. As the narrator pops mind-blowing amounts of sleeping pills and tranquilizers, she slowly shuts off the world around her...
There are very few people in her life: the aforementioned psychiatrist, a dud of a sometimes-boyfriend Trevor, a peculiar artist Ping Xi, and Reva, her oldest friend. Dr. Tuttle is her lifeline and drug supplier. Trevor is hardly worth a mention, as he is such an insignificant character, perhaps only there to signify how little the narrator has in terms of meaningful relationships. Ping Xi is an important part of the story - an odd character, yet a lifesaver of sorts. Reva is a bit of an anomaly - the ditzy friend who swans in and out, whose friendship feels like it's well past the expiration date, yet both girls appear to need something from the other that no one else seems able to provide.
After experimenting with numerous drug combinations with varying success, things really ramp up when the narrator is prescribed a superstrength sleeping pill called Infermiterol. Once she starts taking this particular drug, giant chunks of time are spent in blackouts. She wakes up to discover that she's made strange phone calls, has left her apartment, and has eaten and shopped for things, not remembering a single moment of doing so. She takes drastic action in an attempt to remain able to take the drug, yet keep herself safe.
Reading this book with such a sleepy prominent theme almost made me feel as though I was falling into a trancelike state. As someone who could very easily not leave the house and loves hibernating as much as possible, it was easy to get sucked into the cozy parts: the movie marathons, the comfortable apartment, the enveloping sofa...everything fades into the periphery and it's as though the book emanates a soft glow of comfort and sleepiness.
<i>My Year of Rest and Relaxation</i> provided something unique. It was a book unlike any other I've read, yet it had all of the elements that make up my favourite novels: humor, originality, self-reflection and a good dose of quirkiness. It might not be for everyone, but I really enjoyed it.
But that's enough for now. I might only be imagining it, but I swear my couch is calling my name...
Sunday, October 7, 2018
My Struggle #6: The End by Karl Ove Knausgaard
I'm sitting here trying to contain myself now that My Struggle has come to The End. Where do you even begin with a series this extensive? Weighing in at over 1,150 pages and 3 lbs. (yes, I weighed it), we have Karl Ove Knausgaard in one corner; the rest of the world in the other. It's a title fight. A championship. I was in the front row and Karl Ove went the distance.
Unlike the other five books, this final book is so meta. In it, Karl Ove is contemplating life since and during publication of the other previous books in the series while also writing this current one, offering a unique perspective on his novels and where his life was taking him now that he was gaining celebrity status. It was otherworldly seeing the impact that his books had on his family, friends and self. While most of his family and friends expressed support of his previous novels, it was near impossible for them not to directly have some sort of impact on each of them, even when their names had been changed. Keen reporters would show up at their houses unannounced trying to get insider information. Journalists would break promises, saying one thing and delivering another. Most notably, one of Karl Ove's uncles was absolutely livid, claiming that events surrounding his brother's and mother's lives (Karl Ove's father's and grandmother's) had been horribly misrepresented and their names dragged through the mud for monetary gain. Most evident in this last book was the possible impact Karl Ove's books had on his current wife, Linda. The last couple of hundred pages led us through her suffering a major mental breakdown, however whether or not this was the direct result of being written about or if it was older symptoms recurring is not obvious, as mental illness is something she was diagnosed with years ago before she met and married the author.
Still present and pervading (as in all of the other books in this series) is Karl Ove's unflinching, deep, dark shame. It's palpable. The most seemingly innocuous things, such as driving above the speed limit, fill him with days of shame, so one can only imagine how his everyday interactions and close analysis of his life just overpower him with emotion. His is a person who feels deeply. Although his self-esteem is truly at base level, he was still incredibly brave to write in such detail about his life. As he says himself, in everyday life, no one ever knows the true us - our deepest thoughts and interactions are all buried within us and it's therefore impossible to ever really know another person one hundred percent. We say the things that placate and please others all the while running an internal dialogue that would dispel any version of our selves that others know. Even when we're not being especially nice, when we're fighting or in turmoil, no one ever hears our most harsh thoughts. What Karl Ove does is shows us exactly what he's thinking, so whenever he relays scenarios or conversations, we read his innermost rebuttals that beforehand were only in his head. In turn, those people that are closest to him - the people he's written about - read all of these true feelings, leaving Karl Ove exposed and vulnerable. This, of course, creates tension among certain people, but while this approach created some awkward schoolyard pickups, dinner dates and family meals, he holds steadfast to his decision to not wash over anything to spare his or others' feelings. It's all part of the formula that keeps the readers thoroughly engaged with his writing.
I can't review this book without mentioning the 400+ pages entitled The Name and the Number in which he analyzes: the importance of names, provides a detailed examination of poetry, characters in classics, God, death, night and nothingness and an in-depth review of Hitler's entire life, as he read Mein Kampf - (My Struggle - also the same name as his series). There is also a recurring interpretation throughout of I/we/they theories and how people belong to and are seen in the world. He notes that this section is what he started with when writing this book, but it just felt to me like the longest, never-ending detour. I was getting right into the original story - literally reading with a smile on my face throughout the first few hundred pages - as I plunged back into Karl Ove's life, so to have this gigantic non-fiction book placed within this other book just made no sense to me. I almost struggle to say something good about this section, because it comes so out of left field. Well...I certainly learned a lot about Hitler. My history knowledge is sadly lacking in many areas, so at least a learned quite a bit. Also, for someone who states that he's no good at understanding poetry, he certainly disproved that - the parts where he referenced poetry felt like an English professor's discourse in the art of deconstructing a poem; he distilled practically every word down to its most likely meaning, incorporating history, language and context. Kudos must also be given to the translator of this entire body of work - with so many turns of phrase, not to mention the sheer length of the novel, and to have it all ring true from start to finish, was a great feat.
Partway through this section, I started grasping at straws as to why this extensive essay-like information was included within this book. Does it go back to Karl Ove's interest in utopia? His own fearful father/son dynamic that's closely mirrored in that of Hitler and his own father? His parallel discomfort with women? Perhaps analysis of a same-named book? In any case, it was maddening to me, but I kept at it, anticipating getting through it and back to Karl Ove's family life in Malmo...
...which it did eventually. I am so happy I stuck through the whole thing and read this acclaimed series. Although outwardly simplistic in theory, it somehow becomes anything but. It's an ordinary yet compulsive look at a life lived so far to middle age. It's about family, friendship, coffee, feelings, love, self-analysis, loathing, book tours, shame, detritus, money, home, a brain, a body, a life. It's uniquely Karl Ove Knausgaard. A man who doesn't give a shit at all what any of us think about his books.
Unlike the other five books, this final book is so meta. In it, Karl Ove is contemplating life since and during publication of the other previous books in the series while also writing this current one, offering a unique perspective on his novels and where his life was taking him now that he was gaining celebrity status. It was otherworldly seeing the impact that his books had on his family, friends and self. While most of his family and friends expressed support of his previous novels, it was near impossible for them not to directly have some sort of impact on each of them, even when their names had been changed. Keen reporters would show up at their houses unannounced trying to get insider information. Journalists would break promises, saying one thing and delivering another. Most notably, one of Karl Ove's uncles was absolutely livid, claiming that events surrounding his brother's and mother's lives (Karl Ove's father's and grandmother's) had been horribly misrepresented and their names dragged through the mud for monetary gain. Most evident in this last book was the possible impact Karl Ove's books had on his current wife, Linda. The last couple of hundred pages led us through her suffering a major mental breakdown, however whether or not this was the direct result of being written about or if it was older symptoms recurring is not obvious, as mental illness is something she was diagnosed with years ago before she met and married the author.
Still present and pervading (as in all of the other books in this series) is Karl Ove's unflinching, deep, dark shame. It's palpable. The most seemingly innocuous things, such as driving above the speed limit, fill him with days of shame, so one can only imagine how his everyday interactions and close analysis of his life just overpower him with emotion. His is a person who feels deeply. Although his self-esteem is truly at base level, he was still incredibly brave to write in such detail about his life. As he says himself, in everyday life, no one ever knows the true us - our deepest thoughts and interactions are all buried within us and it's therefore impossible to ever really know another person one hundred percent. We say the things that placate and please others all the while running an internal dialogue that would dispel any version of our selves that others know. Even when we're not being especially nice, when we're fighting or in turmoil, no one ever hears our most harsh thoughts. What Karl Ove does is shows us exactly what he's thinking, so whenever he relays scenarios or conversations, we read his innermost rebuttals that beforehand were only in his head. In turn, those people that are closest to him - the people he's written about - read all of these true feelings, leaving Karl Ove exposed and vulnerable. This, of course, creates tension among certain people, but while this approach created some awkward schoolyard pickups, dinner dates and family meals, he holds steadfast to his decision to not wash over anything to spare his or others' feelings. It's all part of the formula that keeps the readers thoroughly engaged with his writing.
I can't review this book without mentioning the 400+ pages entitled The Name and the Number in which he analyzes: the importance of names, provides a detailed examination of poetry, characters in classics, God, death, night and nothingness and an in-depth review of Hitler's entire life, as he read Mein Kampf - (My Struggle - also the same name as his series). There is also a recurring interpretation throughout of I/we/they theories and how people belong to and are seen in the world. He notes that this section is what he started with when writing this book, but it just felt to me like the longest, never-ending detour. I was getting right into the original story - literally reading with a smile on my face throughout the first few hundred pages - as I plunged back into Karl Ove's life, so to have this gigantic non-fiction book placed within this other book just made no sense to me. I almost struggle to say something good about this section, because it comes so out of left field. Well...I certainly learned a lot about Hitler. My history knowledge is sadly lacking in many areas, so at least a learned quite a bit. Also, for someone who states that he's no good at understanding poetry, he certainly disproved that - the parts where he referenced poetry felt like an English professor's discourse in the art of deconstructing a poem; he distilled practically every word down to its most likely meaning, incorporating history, language and context. Kudos must also be given to the translator of this entire body of work - with so many turns of phrase, not to mention the sheer length of the novel, and to have it all ring true from start to finish, was a great feat.
Partway through this section, I started grasping at straws as to why this extensive essay-like information was included within this book. Does it go back to Karl Ove's interest in utopia? His own fearful father/son dynamic that's closely mirrored in that of Hitler and his own father? His parallel discomfort with women? Perhaps analysis of a same-named book? In any case, it was maddening to me, but I kept at it, anticipating getting through it and back to Karl Ove's family life in Malmo...
...which it did eventually. I am so happy I stuck through the whole thing and read this acclaimed series. Although outwardly simplistic in theory, it somehow becomes anything but. It's an ordinary yet compulsive look at a life lived so far to middle age. It's about family, friendship, coffee, feelings, love, self-analysis, loathing, book tours, shame, detritus, money, home, a brain, a body, a life. It's uniquely Karl Ove Knausgaard. A man who doesn't give a shit at all what any of us think about his books.