Devil on the Cross (Ngugi Wa Thiong’o)

I admit that I am not sure that this man’s last name is. The front cover of the book only has Ngugi on it, so I am guessing it is that (+ the accents that I have no idea how to make). In any event, I have some sense of the circumstances under which he wrote the book, and I can see how they are both remarkable (he wrote it, the author’s note tells me, while he was in detention because of his play, I Will Marry When I Want) and how it probably kept him on less than friendly terms with the authorities.

This is a powerful book, satirical and sharp in places, somewhat pedantic in others. The ending is shocking, but it is an earned shock, and there is a slice of optimism there. The language and imagery are blunt, and the power of the book is in its whole (which is a nice way of saying that some of the parts were pretty slow). There’s not much plot, though, and so I don’t think I can teach it. I’m glad I read it, but I think it stands as mostly an historical document both of the author’s life and that time period in Kenya’s history. I am not saying things have or haven’t changed there. I don’t know enough about the country. The critique of capitalism is, in my mind, quite valid and remains true. I just don’t think it would engage my students.

$2.00 A Day: Living on Almost Nothing in America (Edin and Shaefer)

Staggering. The number of people who have to live on $2/day or less for a long period of time or, perhaps still worse, for a while, then not, then again. The remarkable resilience of these families, the astonishing bureaucracy and blame, the generational poverty. . . People have on-call jobs. You have to be ready to work, but aren’t guaranteed a shift, and are not paid for being on call. That’s crazy. And, apparently, real.

This is an eye-opening books, kaleidoscoping between families and policy and the families are clearly losing. And every step they take, even the ones that reflect the best intentions, tend to put them more and more in harms way.

Our nation’s shame.

The Feminine Mystique (Friedan)

For as long as I’ve been wondering what’s inside this book, I’ve been postponing the actual reading of it. I’m not sure why. Perhaps some certainly that I simply wouldn’t get it. Or some fear that it would just be a screed. Perhaps it is current events that prompted me to finally find out for myself.

It turns out that I was as wrong about my reaction to the book as I was about my assumptions about the title. (I thought the ‘mystique’ would have to be a good thing.) As I read, I was absolutely stunned by the way society (read: males and, as tends to happen in cases like this, some females) developed and reinforced the malicious and self-serving myth of female inferiority. Because it’s my field, I was particularly appalled by the kinds of college classes that were once offered, developed, in part, because of a slavish subservience to Freud.

It seems as obvious as it is true to say that much of the mechanism Friedan describes is still in place today. That Hillary Clinton won the Democratic nomination is progress. Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez is progress. The fact that two female students of mine were excited about the prospect of being able to form a student club. They were busy putting together their proposal. Finally, they were ready to bring it to me for a signature. The name of their club: Fashion & Beauty. Now, there’s nothing wrong with such a club, but it’s not progress.

Poor White (Anderson)

I tried Anderson’s Winesburg, Ohio once, a while back, and could not find my way into it. After reading this one, though, I think I should try again. This is a straightforward story of change. People try to change themselves. The nature of work changes around them. Money changes people. Women struggle with their changing roles and ideas. All of this change collides in one small town. People are hurt and, Anderson implies, something important is not just lost, but forever lost. The prose moves well here, and the passages in which Anderson pulls the camera back, as it were, and comments on the changing country are stirring and true. I am so glad that Belt Publishing brought this one back.

American Sonnets for My Past and Future Assassin (Hayes)

This is quite an ambitious project. I like that Hayes, here and elsewhere, is attentive to form. And there are many, many amazing pieces here. There are also some that seemed more clever than anything else. And then there are – and this is okay – some I just didn’t get. As for who his assassin is, I’m not sure, but it might just be people who look like me.

I wish Hayes had at least numbered the sonnets so I could refer to the ones I liked, but no luck.

So, this analogy will date me, but here goes: Do I think it’s worth buying the whole album (book) if only about half of the songs (sonnets) are good? Yep. I think so.

Here is one of my favorites —

“I lock you in an American sonnet. . .”

Black Elk: The Life of an American Visionary (Jackson)

What a remarkably layered biography of a man who comes across as incredibly complex and perhaps not ever very or truly knowable. I’ve had a copy of Black Elk Speaks on my shelf for a while, but I’ve never really thought I was ready to approach it. I think I am now. Black Elk’s collaboration with John Niehardt by no means dominates this book; instead, it adds still more layers. After all of the steps of translation and editing, whose story is it?

Black Elk’s life intersected with so much history, both American and First American – even European, he definitely merited an excellent biography and this is definitely it. Jackson’s prose is well-paced and his research drives the narrative, but never overwhelms it.

And the reader adds another layer here. What, I wondered, do I believe about all of this? Then again, what do I really know about it? Jackson definitely seems to admire Black Elk, and I land in that same place too. Whether he was using others or being used, whether he was a success or failure, his persistence, his passion for trying to negotiate a world (for himself and for his tribe) that was changing so rapidly deserves a great deal of respect. Jackson definitely gives him that. And he definitely gave me a lot to consider.

Salt Houses (Alyan)

This is a debut novel? Wow. What comes next? With a remarkably sure hand, Alyan guides us through the generations of a Palestinian family. Time moves on, people may switch locations, but some things remain still and some things remain stuck. With all of the violence that surrounds this extended family, which provides an ever-present backdrop, it is the violence that they do to each other and themselves that is Alyan’s topic. This book just makes you want to reach out to each character and gently say, “Stop. You don’t mean that. Be kind to X. Be kind to yourself.” But time keeps going. People get old; people get older. The description of one character looking up and realizing that she’s 32 is both gorgeous and painfully true. And everywhere there is food and everywhere there is family. And it was wonderful to be with them for 310 pages.

A debut novel? My, my.

author’s site

and she writes poetry too

An Island Like You: Stories of the Barrio (Cofer)

I once filmed a segment of a documentary with Ms. Cofer. If you have insomnia and a lot of TV stations and live on the East Coast, you may be able to catch it one day, likely between 2-3 in the morning. She was so nervous and so nice that I instantly liked her. Colleagues recommended one of her stories to me, but I don’t think I ever followed up. So when, in search of generally untold stories, someone recommended this book to me, I was eager to try it. I thought it might be a nice companion to Naomi Klein’s The Battle for Paradise.

I was wrong.

The writing here is just not very good. There are some clumsy mistakes. The plots of these interconnected stories are mawkish. There are glimpses of possibilities in a few of them, ones I’d want to encourage if these came from a student, but for use in the classroom. . . no.