Men Without Women: Stories

How is it that I was not familiar with the author Haruki Murakami? After reading about him in my New York Times morning  email recently, I downloaded a couple of his books.* I really enjoyed these short stories the most.... very thought-provoking commentary on romantic relationships, since I have none of my own to ruminate on ;)

That’s a lie. I have been ruminating for a year now about my lost second-chance-at-love. I’ve been struggling big-time with so many emotions during these weird pandemic times. Rejoicing in the manifestation of human emotion. Wondering about my attraction to men without women. Embracing my vulnerability and what is seemingly my admission into the “women without men” club. So this author’s melancholic writing style is the perfect match as 2020 comes to a close and my 60th year approaches! Or according to the Grinch’s schedule:

"4:00, wallow in self-pity; 4:30, stare into the abyss; 5:00, solve world hunger, tell no one; 5:30, jazzercize; 6:30, dinner with me—I can’t cancel that again; 7:00, wrestle with my self-loathing… I’m booked. Of course, if I bump the loathing to 9, I could still be done in time to lay in bed, stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness."

On a serious note, here’s what Barack Obama had to say: “Haruki Murakami’s Men Without Women examines what happens to characters without important women in their lives; it'll move you and confuse you and sometimes leave you with more questions than answers.” —Barack Obama

* In December, I also read Norwegian Wood and South of the Border West of the Sun by Murakami. Both seemed mildly biographical and featured hauntingly complex female characters, leading me to wonder about the author’s real life relationships with women. 

The Couple Next Door

Perfect end of summer quick-read, recommended on Instagram by @msjulieeeeee, aka Julie Doiron, The Couple Next Door by Shari Lapena is not one of my favorites. Maybe that's because I'm not really a huge fan of mysteries or possibly the characters just didn't appeal to me. Also, the subject matter of a baby being kidnapped is terribly unpleasant, and the convoluted plot deteriorated into a sensational and unrealistic turn of events that definitely didn’t win me over.

The Dutch House

The Dutch House by Ann Patchett reminded me how much I love creepy old houses and the secrets they hold. I haven’t in a while, but I used to dream about my grandparent’s old Victorian in Taunton all the time. In this book, the house itself is just another unusual character, personification at its finest.

All the story's main characters either love or hate the Dutch House, and in turn, it brings them peace or causes them misery as the plot unfolds. Some characters experience both over the course of about four decades.

It is the story of the relationship between a brother and sister who spent their formative years growing up in the Dutch House, purchased by their distant father as a symbol of his financial success and prosperity in business. The house is an acquired taste, however, and it ultimately contributes to the demise of their parent's marriage because of their mother's disdain for it.

There is a portion of the middle of this book where my mind wandered, but Part Three drew me back in. I enjoyed how the ending created a sense of reckoning with life's complexities, especially for the protagonist, Danny Conroy, who we meet at the beginning of the book as an eight-year-old. The story centers on the bond between Danny and his beloved yet unreserved sister Maeve, who is seven years his elder. Maeve's portrait graces the book's cover, foretelling a significant plot event involving the legacy of the house.

Educated

Educated by Tara Westover has been on my wish list for over a year. The premise is similar to that of The Glass Castle which I loved! I'm struggling staying focused on reading during the Coronavirus pandemic so maybe that is why I haven't been as captivated by Educated. It certainly is well-written, and it's absolutely remarkable to me how someone deprived of the foundations of a strong education developed her intellect in spite of the abuse, neglect, and self-doubt that characterized her childhood. This is a tribute to her strength and perseverance in the face of hardship and uncertainty!

Despite the harsh reality of being raised as one of seven children of a strict Mormon, survivalist father in Idaho, Westover lovingly describes the beauty of her surroundings. Her deep connection to and appreciation of the rugged mountain landscape provides a contrast to the the family's stubborn resistance to basic health care and educational services. Much of Westover's ability to successfully withstand the deprivation of her upbringing comes from her inner convictions and recognition of the positive legacy of her unusual situation. Still, I grew weary reading about the degradation she endured at the hands of her abusive older brother while her parents made excuses for and enabled his behavior.

Here are a couple of examples of what I like about Westover's writing style. First, I thought this metaphor was very clever, and true. "I told her she shouldn't marry someone who scares her, that no one should, but the words left my lips stillborn. I believed them, but I didn't understand them well enough to make them live." The following is a quote from the conclusion of the book as Westover attempts to explain some of her decision-making and bring closure to her familial journey. "But vindication has no power over guilt. No amount of anger or rage directed at others can subdue it, because guilt is never about them. Guilt is the fear of one's own wretchedness. It has nothing to do with other people."  

Finally, I came across this video of a discussion between Bill Gates and Westover in an article about becoming a better conversationalist. "Do You Make This Mistake In Conversations? How to Improve Your Discourse" by John P. Weiss. While the conversation demonstrates Gates's skill as an interviewer, I definitely agree with Westover's sentiment about education. "I think education is really just a process of self-discovery, of developing a sense of yourself and what you think." At least this is what I have always tried to convince my own children and my fifth grade students!

American Dirt

American Dirt by Jeanine Cummins begins with great promise. The opening sequence involves the brutal murder of several members of a large family by a Mexican drug cartel and is told through the eyes of a young boy who witnesses the terror hidden inside a bathroom shower stall. The reader is literally thrust into the story's plot in the most heartbreaking and gruesome way. I was fascinated and sickened by the visceral details describing the massacre, and I immediately felt a connection to the main character, eight-year-old Luca.

Turns out the only survivors of the hit are Luca and his mother Lydia who owns a bookstore in Alcapulco. Cousins, aunts and uncles, and grandparents are slain at the family barbecue to retaliate for a tell-all expose written by Lydia's husband, a journalist. The remainder of the book chronicles the harrowing journey through the desert of Mexico as Lydia and Luca attempt to escape to el norte.

Somehow halfway through the book, I became distracted.  The horrific danger at every turn became heavy-handed and bits written from the perspectives of newly introduced characters on the journey confused me. The danger is certainly understandable, but I felt the balance between the cruel events taking place and the characters' reflections became disjointed as well.  I continued reading because I was completely invested in the story's resolution!

Halfway through reading the book, I was also reminded about the controversy surrounding the author's non-Mexican heritage that played out when it was first published in early 2020. That didn't end up being an issue for me because I think the author did a great job immersing herself into the plight of her characters. Isn't that the job of fiction writers, to research and gather information to help them tell the stories of made-up characters? Cummins never claimed this to be the true story of a migrant mother and son fleeing to America, nor did she claim it to be her story!

It is a powerful and relevant story, however, one that raises awareness of fairness, decency, and humanity during a time when it seems Americans are being discouraged from displaying any of those qualities toward our southern neighbors.

This excerpt from Chapter 30 demonstrates the determination and resolve that moved the characters forward toward sanctuary in America. “Lydia expected there would be a moment when these notions would flood through her, all at once, like a small death. A portal. She’d hoped, like one of those desert rattlesnakes, to shed the skin of her anguish and leave it behind her in the Mexican dirt. But the moment of the crossing has already passed, and she didn’t even realize it had happened. She never looked back, never committed any small act of ceremony to help launch her into the new life on the other side. Nothing can be undone. Adelante.”