Alias Grace: Final Thoughts

**First, to be fair: Spoilers are fair game today, so if you have not read the book and have any intention of doing so in the near future, you may want to stop reading now, just to be safe.**

As most of you know, this is my second time around with Alias Grace, and I've been surprised at how much I had forgotten in the 8 years since I've read it, as well as how much I must have missed the first time around. For example, I completely forgot that she meets up with and marries Mr. Walsh in the end and that Jerome DuPont was actually Jeremiah. I only vaguely remembered the indication that Grace had a split personality, but then remembered that even then I wondered if Mary Whitney had ever existed at all or if she was just a figment of Grace's imagination - perhaps she saw the headstone in the cemetery one day and all developed from there.

The quilt motif does not disappoint, either. All the sections are cleverly named for quilt patterns, names that reflect the contents of the section. Broken Dishes lays out Grace's early family history; Secret Drawer describes her happy times with Mary Whitney; Snake Fence depicts her dealings with two-faced Nancy and the general foreboding lurking around Kinnear's house. It also wraps up the novel nicely at the end, with pieces of the three women's dresses stitched into Grace's own modified Tree of Paradise - as I suppose we all have to modify our ideas of contentment as life normally fails to live up to - or at least fails to match - our childhood hopes and aspirations.

Simon, of course, turns out to be the foppish philanderer I thought him, though I believe his affection for Grace was genuine, although not strong enough ever to bother explaining his sudden disappearance. And, at least he uses his medical training to help out in the war, having a few noble streaks left in him, and not being all bad, just weak in certain bits of his character. His judgment of MacKenzie was humorous, though I thought the lawyer summed up our wonderment as to Grace's reliability as a narrator quite neatly:

"Lying," says MacKenzie. "A severe term, surely. Has she been lying to you, you ask? Let me put it this way - did Scheherazade lie? Not in her own eyes; indeed, the stories she told ought never to be subjected to the harsh categories of Truth and Falsehood. They belong in another realm altogether. Perhaps Grace Marks has merely been telling you what she needs to tell, in order to accomplish the desired end."

And, though there are many instances when Grace admits to holding back certain facts while relating her story to Simon or others, so as not to offend, or to be misunderstood, she always seems to be letting the reader know that she's doing so. I always found her to be telling the story that she herself believed, as none of us remember every detail exactly as it happened but only what we can recall through the passing of time and viewed through our own limited perceptions. She knows her place, and her predicament, and does as much as she can to make her situation as bearable as possible. As she herself muses:

When you are in the middle of a story it isn't a story at all, but only a confusion; a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass and splintered wood; like a house in a whirlwind, or else a boat crushed by the icebergs or swept over the rapids, and all aboard powerless to stop it. It's only afterwards that it becomes anything like a story at all. When you are telling it, to yourself or to someone else.

Did anyone else notice that Grace's grammar suffered when we heard her story through Simon, rather than from her own mind (Chapter 35)? I found that rather interesting. Does she hear herself as better spoken because that's how she perceives herself, or does Simon hear her as less educated because that's how his perceptions color her story? The play on perception in the novel is fascinatingly well-done, from the filling in the gaps in the famous story to the views and opinions of each of the characters - and they all have strong opinions of Grace's innocence or guilt, of her fragility or cunning.

I have to wonder if Jamie Walsh was a figure in the original history, or if he has been added - the afterward in the back of the novel does not mention him. I do like that Atwood gave Grace a happy ending - did others? I felt it was a believable end to a mostly depressing tale. I also found myself constantly hoping events would turn out differently, that Grace would go away with Jeremiah, or not take the position at Mr. Kinnear's, or run away from McDermott when she had that chance.

Alias Grace held up for me on a second read, and I found it very enjoyable to read with others - I hope Brenna and Beth - and Jennifer - and others enjoyed the read as well.


Be sure to check out everyone else's thoughts:

Slant of Light by Steve Wiegenstein: Impressions

I finished Slant of Light by Steve Wiegenstein last night, and, I must say, it is one of the most unique storylines I've read in a long time. The characters are realistically strong, compelling, and flawed, and the plot is highly engaging and rich with history, taking place between 1857 and 1862. It also is set not terribly far from St. Louis. Since almost nothing is set around here, this was a refreshing change from the all too common settings of New York or California.

Slant of Light revolves around three main characters, Adam Cabot, an idealistic abolitionist from Boston, Charlotte Carr Turner, an intelligent and steadfast young woman from a military family, and James Turner, Charlotte's husband, a writer and lecturer swept away by the power of his own ideas. James had written a novel about a self-sustaining community founded on the ideals of pure democracy and equality, but he never expected to put his lofty ideas to the test until George Webb,a Missouri landowner inspired by Turner's book, offered up part of his land in the Eastern Missouri Ozarks to start the experimental community for real. So, in August of 1857, James decides (without consulting his new wife) to establish Daybreak among the "hill people," about 100 miles south of St. Louis. He is both apprehensive and optimistic:

…his principle had always been that the idea preceded the action. If he pretended to know what he was doing, and pretended to be unafraid, then soon enough he would figure out what to do, and the fear would go away. He must act as if he had a clear purpose, and soon enough the purpose would emerge.

Everyone involved in the social utopian experiment knew it would be rough going at first, but no one knew quite how rough. The only person experienced at farming was George Webb, the benevolent landowner, and the work is back-breaking and long, the food in short supply, the neighbors less than friendly, and George's whiskey-making son Harper is resentful that half the land he was to inherit has been given away. A guest in the community observes to Adam Cabot:

    "For God's sake, listen to you! I thought you were more intelligent than to fall in with this troop of monkeys. Look at them, working like slaves, and for what? The common good, the community? Don't make me laugh. You're all intoxicated by the great ideas of the great man, and what has it gotten you?"
    "A community of fellow strivers."
    "An island of dreamers in a sea of strife."

Sam Hildebrand, a legendary Missouri bushwhacker, is woven into the story, and proves an intriguing challenge to the community. He is presented as not entirely awful or immoral, but dangerous, and with his own sense of honor and justice. I was also surprised to learn how much the civil war affected this area of the country, as most of what one learns about that awful part of our history focuses on the southeast, but it seems the war crept in everywhere. The weakest part of the story, for me, was the love triangle, but then, romance with more seriousness than levity rarely works for me. I know the characters are constricted by the social norms and morals of the times, which allowed me to digest the saltier bits of it, and it didn't distract me too much for the overarching story and themes. 

The characters themselves are well developed with a perfect mix of lovable and irritating nuances, including many of the secondary characters, and their growth is both subtle and realistic. Charlotte, to me, proved to be the strongest among them, but not in the tired behind-every-strong-man-is-a-stronger-woman way; she was a leader in her own right, and it was lovely to see a woman in that role set in the time period. She realizes later in the novel: 

...she knew that this community was no longer an experiment to her. It was her home, one that she had chosen as surely as she had chosen Turner, and one she would never willingly leave. On the side of the distant mountain she could see the gravestones. They had buried loved ones there. They were no longer just visiting--or playing as Harp had accused them. They were bound to this place now, war or no war.

Overall, I really enjoyed Slant of Light and would highly recommend it to those that enjoy American historical fiction every now and then (and even those that never think to pick it up), and don't mind or even enjoy a bit of a love story thrown in, as well as to those that are looking for an original and engaging story of idealism not quashed by the need to survive, but transformed into something both real and hopeful. I was happy to learn upon finishing that this is the first in a series, and look forward to visiting the characters again in the future. 

 

Steve Wiegenstein is an academic and a scholar of the Icarians, a French utopian movement, and Slant of Light is his debut novel. Learn more about him, the novel, and the publisher, Blank Slate Press, here.

**I received this book courtesy of the publisher through TLC Book Tours. See what others had to say about the novel here. 

Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood: Early Impressions

As promised, here is the first post for May's informal readalong. Alias Grace is just as good upon reread as it was several years ago. Margaret Atwood remains one of my favorite authors with her knack for capturing characters and setting with easy clarity. I'm not sure how far along everyone is, so, just to remind: no spoilers today! They are fair game at the end of the month, but not yet.

One thing that stands out upon rereading is Dr. Simon Jordan's character. I vaguely remember liking him last time around, but this time it's definitely less so. He seems to be sexist like the rest, as, admittedly, was the cultural norm during the time, though possibly to a lesser degree, or at least, he fancies himself to be more egalitarian and open-minded than many of his peers. Since I still have a good half of the novel to go, I'm trying to reserve full judgment on that one until the end. He resents his mother's meddling into his matrimonial prospects, and notes that "[h]is father was self-made, but his mother was constructed by others, and such edifices are notoriously fragile." But he respects her to some degree, and wishes to appease her in small ways, perhaps because he considers her both fragile and his responsibility, though, he certainly resents feeling responsible for anything or anyone.

Jordan also has a tendency to compare women to animals - has anyone else noticed this? Dora is "a greased pig," "loneliness in a woman is like hunger in a dog," Lydia is a "healthy young animal," and Grace is "a female animal; something fox-like and alert." This would suggest that he considers women lesser than fully human. No such comparisons were made of men, or, none that I've found so far.

Grace herself is presented as quietly strong and intelligent, constantly questioning the conventions of society inwardly, even if not outwardly. She described the hanging of James McDermott and the crowd it drew, noting "There were many women and ladies there; everyone wanted to stare, they wanted to breath death in like a fine perfume, and when I read of it I thought, If this is a lesson to me, what is it I am supposed to be learning?" This speaks to another main theme, "justice" wielded more to appease crowds and the sensationalism of a crime rather than punishments that fit the crime itself. Grace also knows she can come across as simple-minded, but often does this intentionally, not wanting to give away her thoughts, which, after all, are all she has left that they cannot take away.

Quilts and quilting are another big motif, but I feel this one might be best reserved for the wrap-up in a couple weeks. And, of course, justice as relating to guilt or innocence, punishments befitting crimes. The descriptions do renew my desire to learn to quilt - it just seems like such a commitment for a new hobby.

How has everyone else been enjoying the novel? What other themes and nuances have you noticed?

Be sure to check out everyone's posts:  

In Which Life Supersedes

You may have noticed the scarcity of posting around here. Well, rest assured, I am still around, albeit in smaller doses. An unexpected promotion (to an entirely different department)  has left me with little free time during which I'm not completely exhausted.

I have many reviews to post, hopefully shortly, including The Poisonwood Bible (Kingsolver), Kitchen (Yoshimoto), The Namesake (Lahiri), and Quiet (Cain). And don't worry, I'm right on track for the Alias Grace readalong!

Happy May!

World Book Night 2012

  

It was (is) a noble endeavor: provide givers with 20 copies of a book they love to give away to light or non-readers. This was the second World Book Night, and the first in the US. I chose The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri as my giveaway. Printed some WBN bookmarks to stick in the books. I had decided that my introverted tendencies NOT to engage anyone in conversation if I didn't have to could be overcome by my reading enthusiasm. I had chosen a corner near an ice cream parlor, used book store, giant park, cafes and restaurants that I thought would get a diverse array of passers-by. 

But after hearing of others' less-than-glowing renditions of their experiences (a coworker even had trouble giving out her book at the homeless shelter where she volunteers!), I scrapped my idea of trying to give out the books to perfect strangers on a street with lots of diverse foot traffic and went to a local pub where I used to work. I managed to give away about 1/2 of my copies, to staff and regulars, and tried to push the idea of a pub book club - hey here's your first book! The chef had even read and adored the book already! Most don't read much at all, so most easily fell into the non/light readers category. I plan to give the rest to staff that wasn't there Monday, and maybe to neighbors (I should really talk to the neighbors shouldn't I?) and coworkers and other light/non readers I know. I feel terribly that I didn't manage to give them all away on Monday, but I'm secretly - well now not so secretly - optimistic that a least a few people will discover and enjoy a book they would not otherwise have read, and might become more avid readers because of it. (And maybe they really will start a pub book club... isn't that a good idea?)

I think some of the experiences of other givers highlight where we are as a society. Even people I knew were suspicious. Why are you giving me a book? Do I eventually have to do something? Wait I don't even have to pay you? Ohh okay I'll take a book! It's almost as if everyone thought you were either selling something or giving them homework & would be coming to collect their book reports later! Are we that naturally suspicious of generosity? What's the catch, everyone seemed to wonder? Are you going to ask me to sign a petition? Give you some personal information? Sign up for a mailing list?

Honestly, I avoid people on the street trying to engage me all the time -- because they pretty much always have an agenda. Sign this or that petition, register to vote, then vote for this person or that person, donate to this cause, sign up for this service, have a credit card, take this book and convert to that religion, etc etc. Some worthy goals, others less worthy. We are never approached by people that are just giving things away for the sheer joy of giving and spreading an activity love. Well, possibly until now, that is. 

How did other givers (both successful and less than) approach it? Did they just happen to work/volunteer at the perfect locations? Did they set them in a box with a giant FREE BOOK sign? Did they actually engage random pedestrians in conversation to give away their books?  

Battles in Psychic Regression: The Vanishers by Heidi Julavits

I must admit, the bright pinkish, floral cover of this novel, as well as the description about mother-daughter psychic damage, gave me pause, as I generally don't like touch-feely fiction unless I'm in a particular mood, but Knopf often publishes books I like, and I decided to give this strange sounding plot a whirl. While this will not go down on my list of all-time favorites, I may have to start list for best books with improbable plots just to put this one at the top. The Vanishers by Heidi Julavits turned out to not be in any way touchy-feely, and is in fact a rather dark and humorous tale wrought with anxiety and unwitting revenge. What? Exactly. 

The Vanishers tells the sporadic, sardonic tale of Julia Severn, a young psychic prodigy who unexpectedly meets her match in her mentor at an elite university for parapsychology.  Or rather, unexpectedly discovers she is her mentor's match. She then begins to suffer from a myriad of mysterious ailments, presumably somewhat psychosomatic at their root, or psychically afflicted by her mentor, and is accosted by some odd characters (one is described later as emitting a "carcinogenic unhappiness") that claim they can help "cure" her. They describe the process of disappearing oneself from one's life when it becomes to much -"vanishing"- as an alternative to suicide. Not that Julie's necessarily suicidal, but they had heard of her psychic prowess and needed her help to track down some long lost film. In order to recover, they tell her, she will have to "vanish" herself. 

The plot has many twists and turns and unlikely connections, and is anything but conventional. Julavits uses many vivid descriptors, which at times subtly imply the novel's themes, such as "With her doll eyes blinking from her scavenged face, she resembled a person buried inside another person." Julie's own mother had committed suicide when she was a baby, and elements of how it affected her relationship with her father, who would only wax philosophical when asked to describe what sort of mother she would have been: 

My response would not be a truthful attempt to answer your question, it would be an attempt to compensate for your loss by creating an ideal person whose absence you can mourn unreservedly. However, this puts me in the position of making her into someone she was possibly not; it forces me to falsely represent her to you, and in doing so I become, not the keeper of her memory, but the re-creator of her past, and that role makes me uncomfortable; also I believe it is, in the long run, a disservice to her, because you will grow up missing a mother that you would never have experienced, had she not died. And this strikes me as a second kind of death, a more complete and horrible death, to be annihilated and replaced by a hypothetical person who is not remotely you, thus I think it is better that she remain a quasi-mystery, a pleasant unknown, than an absence filled with compensatory narratives supplied by your guilty father.

Elements of suicide, the past intersecting the present, revenge, and the precarious relationships forged between women are woven throughout the story. 

Because I’d decided—this kind of hating, this kind of fault-finding, this kind of symbolic matricide, it had to stop. If I’d formed an allegiance to Irenke, it was because I’d decided that to befriend Irenke was to ensure that my mother’s death did not perpetuate more pointless, self-defeating rivalries among women who, in the end, were only killing themselves.

I cannot do the plot much justice here, and it's complications almost run away with themselves, but the uniqueness of the storyline won me over in the end. 

*I received this copy courtesy of Knopf Doubleday via NetGalley. Check out its Spotify playlist, curated by Doubleday.

Literary Blog Hop: autobiographical characters

It's Literary Blog Hop time again, hosted by The Blue Bookcase. This month's question:

How do you feel about fictional characters who are obviously closely based on the author? Is this an example of authorial superego? Or just a natural extension of the "write what you know" advice? 

The shortest answer: If the story is done well, I don't mind at all. Whether it's superego or write-what-you-know depends on how it's done, on the purpose for which the method is used, and on the author her/himself.

The Bell Jar is a good example - I didn't feel that the thinly veiled autobiographical nature of the novel took away from the experience of reading it (granted, it has been many years since I've picked it up and read it all the way through). The novel itself certainly had a few structural shortcomings, and one could argue that this might have been due to its strongly autobiographical nature - our lives don't exactly follow any sort of nice narrative flow, complete with measured character and plot development, climax, and resolution. In a sense, that's where much of the fiction would have to come in. The author should know when to deviate from her/his own autobiographical feed in order to move the plot or allow for character development.

Copping to autobiographical characters or elements in one's own writing might be too close for comfort for some - writers already are baring much of their inner world by writing and sharing fiction; to admit to a specific character or plot line as being close to one's self or history might just be too uncomfortable, which could perhaps be an alternative explanation for Eugenides reluctance to claim Milton in The Marriage Plot as mostly instead of loosely based on himself. Perhaps today's culture would view such work as too egotistical and not fictional enough - I honestly don't know.  Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five clearly contains experiences based on his own time in a POW camp in Dresden, and it's definitely his most well-known work and considered by many to be his best.

As an author of fiction that can seem remotely plausible or realistic, is it even possible to write without writing what you know, or at least, what you believe to be true on some deeper level? If you don't know from your own experience, you'd have to research to fill in the gaps of your own knowledge and experience. Either way, your fictional work would have to contain elements of what's known in order to be taken seriously at all.

What do you think?

May's bookish endeavor: we the bookish read Alias Grace

In a casual twitter conversation a couple months ago, Bookworm Beth, Lit Musing Brenna and I determined that we all wanted to read Margaret Atwood's Alias Grace (a re-read for me) and thought, hey, why not coordinate and read at roughly the same time? We've set May as the month, and anyone who likes is welcome to join in - just say so in a comment below. This will be an informal read-along, with no set pace and only two posts: 

Wednesday, May 16th: General and early impressions; themes and motifs that you've noticed so far, etc. No spoilers. 

Wednesday, May 30th: Wrap up discussion, overall impressions, etc. Truth vs fiction: likelihood this version is close to the truth. Spoilers are fair game. 

A brief synopsis can be found on Goodreads, and the New York Times opens their review of the novel as follows: 

There's nothing like the spectacle of female villainy brought to justice to revive the ancient, tired, apparently endless debate over whether women are by nature saintly or demonic. Unleashed by ghastly visions of the angel of the house clutching a knife or pistol, a swarm of Furies rises shrieking from our collective unconscious, along with a flock of martyrs. Meanwhile, our vengeful passions or pious sympathies are never so aroused as when the depraved criminal or unjustly slandered innocent happens to be touchingly young and attractive.

One such alleged miscreant -- a double murderess, no less -- is at the heart of Margaret Atwood's ambitious new novel, ''Alias Grace.'' Its protagonist is a historical figure, the notorious Grace Marks, a handsome but hapless Irish immigrant who worked as a scullery maid in Toronto in the 1840's. At the age of 16, she was convicted of abetting the brutal murder of her employer, Thomas Kinnear, and his pregnant housekeeper and paramour, Nancy Montgomery. The question of Grace's innocence or guilt has always been in some doubt -- a matter that Ms. Atwood deftly re-examines through the lens of what we have since learned about the traumatized psyche.

I remember this book as a favorite, but it's been several years since I read it. I hope it's as good the second time around. After all: spontaneous murder, gender bias, questionable psychology, illicit affairs, what more could we as for?