In this remarkable and powerful book,
Dave Eggers tells the true (though slightly fictionalized) story of
Valentino Achak Deng, one of the
Lost Boys of Sudan. As a refugee from a brutal Sudanese civil war
in the late 1980s, Deng fled when his village fell under
attack from forces from the North. He then trudged on foot amid
inhospitable and frightening conditions across Sudan to the border
with Ethiopia.
The group of boys with whom he trekked suffered through a lack
of food, water and safety. Many died along the way – from starvation,
lion attacks, malaria, and attacks by Arabs from the North. In one
harrowing scene, Eggers writes of Deng burying a friend from his village
who died of starvation. Deng says, “That he could not say goodbye
to his mother and father, that only I would know where his body lay.
It was a broken world, I knew then, that would allow a boy such as
me to bury a boy such as William K.”
After a long, terrible journey enduring many hardships, Deng finally
makes it to a camp in Kenya (instability in Ethiopia drove the Sudanese
out). After several years at the camp,
he and several compatriots are eventually flown to the U.S. to begin
life
anew. Life in the U.S., however, is rife with its own
difficulties: finding a job, studying college courses, and learning
to drive and
shop at the grocery store, dealing with prejudice and the trials of
living in an urban American city, all the while dealing with the
aftermath of the physical and emotional torment endured at home.
Though so much heartbreaking suffering and incomprehensible brutality
makes the story difficult to read at times, Eggers’ easy prose
and obvious deep respect and compassion for Deng only sheds light on
Deng’s unmistakable strength. This compelling novel truly forces
you to think, to face the depth of human despair while also affirming
your faith in the triumph of the human spirit.
- Kalpana Ettenson |
How to review
a book after being sworn to secrecy … What
I will say about The End, without revealing anything, is that
we’re
left with many loose ends at the end of The End. And there is a recipe
for white bean salad on p. 9, which, after adding a pinch of salt, turned
out delicious.
Overall, I loved A Series of Unfortunate Events. The books are
clever and brilliantly written, a smart mix of comedy (three precocious
and resourceful
children at the mercy of simpleminded adults), tragedy (losing their
parents in a fire and having to endure a slew of unsuitable guardians)
and edification
(a word which here means “teaching children both big words and moral
lessons”). But I was a little disappointed that the misadventures
of the Baudelaire orphans became darker and more dramatic as the stories
wore
on, especially
from Book the Eighth: The Hostile Hospital through Book the
Twelfth: The Penultimate Peril, where their circumstances went from
being unfortunate but absurd to downright dire. It made me wonder whether
the embattled siblings
would ever be free from the treachery of opportunistic adults or their
consequent guilt after their own defensible but duplicitous deeds.
I doubt there will be angry mobs after Mr. Snicket following the release
of The End, but it’ll be interesting to hear the reactions
of Unfortunate
Events fans, young and old. In the meantime, you may want to distract yourself
with some unpleasantly appropriate music, from The Tragic Treasury.
- Jennifer Elks |
Young
Mary is a woman who knows her own mind, speaks ardently and learnedly about
politics, and loves passionately. Unfortunately, Mary lives in the mid-nineteenth
century, when such zeal is uncouth. More specifically, she is Mary Todd
Lincoln, wife of our sixteenth president and future poster girl for misunderstood
females. In a turn of good timing, Janis Cooke Newman’s historical
novel has been published while the musical Asylum: The Strange Case
of Mary Lincoln plays in New York, and science is determining the physical,
non-Freudian roots of hysteria.
Science and stage notwithstanding, Newman’s Mary is neither easily
understood nor a wooden representation. In a secret memoir written at the
asylum where she was placed by her sole-surviving son, she is all sensuousness
and heat. Ushering us into a literature redolent with the stifling air of
nineteenth-century medicine and psychology, thick with cholera, birthing
deaths, and the cupric scent of blood, Mary is more romantic than realist.
Like a better-intentioned Lady MacBeth, she helps her husband overcome his
crippling melancholy; unfortunately, her unseemly female ambition leads
to her ruin. She wants more than she can have and pays with her freedom,
a victim of (in her doctor’s words) “the women’s hell.”
An invective against the crimes of psychology and the power of men over
women, Mary saves Mrs. Lincoln from history and delivers her unto
the feminists.
– Nicole Harvey |