Review: The Secret Keeper by Kate Morton

During a party at the family farm in the English countryside, sixteen-year-old Laurel Nicolson has escaped to her childhood tree house and is dreaming of the future. Before the afternoon is over, Laurel will witness a shocking crime that challenges everything she knows about her family and especially her mother, Dorothy.
Now, fifty years later, Laurel is a successful and well-regarded actress, living in London. She returns to the family farm for Dorothy’s ninetieth birthday and finds herself overwhelmed by questions she has not thought about for decades. From pre-WWII England through the Blitz, to the fifties and beyond, discover the secret history of three strangers from vastly different worlds — Dorothy, Vivien, and Jimmy — who meet by chance in wartime London and whose lives are forever entwined.

I've heard a lot of good things about Kate Morton's books so when I was putting together my reading list for this year I was excited to include The Secret Keeper. I did not regret my choice when I finished reading the book, particularly because Morton is so very good at bringing her characters to life.
Everybody we meet in the course of the novel is flawed or broken in some way: Laurel is wed to her work and a secret that's older than she is, Dorothy's desire for something more and better rules her life, Vivien is a prisoner of her past, Jimmy sacrifices his beliefs for the sake of love... There is a story there for each of these characters and through them Morton weaves a tale of love, family, growing up, hard choices and decisions with far-reaching consequences.
It's fortunate that the characters are strong because the biggest mystery in the book wasn't all that mysterious for me. I guessed what would be the shocker about half way through and kept reading mainly to see whether I was right and to watch the characters get to the end of the story. Morton worked very hard on making the shocker plausible and on keeping the reader in the dark throughout the book, and yet it wasn't seamless (Gillian Flynn managed to keep me guessing much better in Gone Girl). There were key character traits that just didn't work with the ending, and remembering how highlighted they were made the dissonance only more obvious for me.
Despite this shortcoming reading The Secret Keeper was particularly enjoyable because of the writing. The book is full of lines that I wanted to write down and commit to memory, but for the fear of breaking the spell I didn't, and now that the book is back at the library I wish I had. Fortunately there is the Internet, so here are a couple of quotes that I liked so much I went back to reread them once I was done with the chapters where they appear:

"... people who'd led dull and blameless lives did not give thanks for second chances."

and this paragraph I thought was just beautifully written, with a sprinkling of foreshadowing and a generous doze of significance:

"And as the train whistled its imminent departure, a small girl wearing neat plaits and someone else's shoes climbed its iron stairs. Smoke filled the platform, people waved and hollered, a stray dog ran barking through the crowds. Nobody noticed as the little girl stepped over the shadowed threshold; not even Aunt Ada, who some might've expected to be sheperherding her orphaned niece towards her uncertain future. And so, when the essence of light and life that had been Vivien Longmeyer contracted itself for safekeeping and disappeared deep inside her, the world kept moving and nobody saw it happen."

I did enjoy this book and if you are a fan of lyrical prose and a character-driven story I think you will as well. For my part, I'll be keeping an eye on Morton's new books. She's liable to produce another beautiful novel (hopefully one with a more graceful surprise of an ending).

Review: The Fault In Our Stars by John Green

Diagnosed with Stage IV thyroid cancer at 13, Hazel was prepared to die until, at 14, a medical miracle shrunk the tumours in her lungs... for now. Two years post-miracle, sixteen-year-old Hazel is post-everything else, too; post-high school, post-friends and post-normalcy. And even though she could live for a long time (whatever that means), Hazel lives tethered to an oxygen tank, the tumours tenuously kept at bay with a constant chemical assault. Enter Augustus Waters. A match made at cancer kid support group, Augustus is gorgeous, in remission, and shockingly to her, interested in Hazel. Being with Augustus is both an unexpected destination and a long-needed journey, pushing Hazel to re-examine how sickness and health, life and death, will define her and the legacy that everyone leaves behind.

The first thing you need to know about my experience with this book is that shortly after the two-thirds mark I stayed up till 2 AM reading, tears streaming down my cheeks and the box of tissues getting emptier by the minute. The words blurred but I would just wipe my eyes clear and keep reading. And then the other day I stayed up late again re-reading the last third of the book because I just couldn't return it to the library without doing so. It was that good. You have been warned.
My favorite part about Hazel and Gus's story is their voices and personalities. They are unmistakably teenagers with occasional temper tantrums and frequent additions of "like" and "that" to their sentences, but there is a certain mature gravity to them too that I believe stems from all they've had to experience in their short lives. They understand the world in a way that I don't think is typical for teenagers, with their conversations and thoughts going from simple truths to complex concepts and back, but the way Green wrote them felt natural and appropriate. I also enjoyed the fact that parents are very present in this novel. There are so many YA books out there nowadays where the characters might as well be orphans, but not here. It has been said that parents in this book are permissive but I didn't get that sense at all. The kids have rules, they have curfews, and when they push back and get away with it there's not a sense that it's a common-place occurrence. Maybe this heightened presence of family is due to the children being more dependent on their loved ones than your average teenager but the fact remains.
I'm going to break my No Spoilers rule here, so if you don't want to know what happens just skip to the next paragraph. Here goes. I had no trouble suspending disbelief in the first half of the book although Gus being particularly handsome did make me roll my eyes a little (it seems that all love interests with very few exceptions are incredibly attractive), and despite the fact that Hazel and Gus might seem pretentious at times (who in this day and age speaks like that!) I really did like them, but then the trip to Holland happened and the book took on a fantastical dream quality to me. I'm not denying that the Wish Foundation could make it happen, but leading up to Holland everything about this novel is so grounded in reality that Gus getting in touch with Van Houten on the first try and the trip coming together all of a sudden seemed too over the top and even magical, which in this case wasn't exactly a good thing for me. And then they were back home and reality reared its ugly head, and yet I never could get rid of the fairy tale sensation through the rest of the book.
In an interview Green gave to Goodreads he talks about making a particular effort to not write a sentimental novel and I believe he succeeded. Hazel and Gus are very unsentimental characters, they accept their circumstances at face value and make the most of them. They might be angry, they might be bitter, they might be tired, but they don't allow self-pity to rule their lives. Hazel sees reality clearly and speaks her mind, Gus always puts a positive spin on any situation, and they don't treat each other like cancer kids, which gives their relationship a certain levity. This combination of practicality and optimism allows them to have a life that's as close to normal as possible, and because of it their families can keep it together through the hard times. And when those hard times come Green remains unsentimental. He talks about the physical frailty and the hits a person's spirit takes with every defeat of the body, he talks about life continuing even when it ends for some, he shows us what can happen to families when the fight is finally over. Hazel is the perfect narrator for this novel, her no-nonsense voice and straightforward account of events that is not overloaded with adjectives or descriptions put me in the middle of every scene and allowed my imagination to build on the simplicity. There is no need for many words when the imagery is already there.
Oblivion and awareness are a big theme in this novel, with the characters having almost metaphysical discussions about the universe and influencing each other's opinions as the story progresses. Green takes on the common desire to be known and remembered by the world and examines it from the flip side - what if we are loved not widely, but deeply, does that make our lives less valuable than the lives of those with worldwide renown? I don't believe it does, and for all his fame I think Green is of the same opinion.

P.S. Here is that excellent interview I mentioned.

P.P.S. [Jan. 2014] If you enjoyed the book and are ready to shed some more tears for Hazel and Gus you'll get your chance when the movie comes out!

Review: Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

On Nick and Amy's 5th wedding anniversary the beautiful and intelligent Amy goes missing. There are signs of struggle and Nick is the prime suspect in his wife's disappearance. Before long one thing is perfectly clear: marriage can be a real killer.

Dystopias has been popular lately and by the time I was about two thirds in I decided that Gillian Flynn gave us one too. So what if it's not set in a post-apocalyptic future of an alternate universe and the people aren't genetically modified or lorded over by a small group of despots. This is a dystopia of a modern-day family set in a dying Midwestern town succumbing to the economical depression, and the characters are just like you and me, shopping at big box stores and plotting their spouses' death. Alright, almost like you and me.
This is a deliciously twisted story about two of the most dysfunctional people I've ever heard of, and it made me think about my marriage on a few occasions. "Do we do that?" Or worse "We do do that!" That's how this book is, it's so well-written, so grounded in the reality we know from the cream-of-something casseroles to the energetic true-crime show host who is the spitting image of Nancy Grace, so full of the little details that make the story come alive, that it's easy to believe that what happens to the Dunnes isn't just the stuff of novels, that it's based on me, you, all of us, really.
As I read the book I marveled at Flynn's skill in bringing together two thoroughly unreliable narrators, a mystery, a character study, a look at our society, secrets piled on top of one another, and an ending that left me sitting there with only one thought in my head: "Bloody hell". She pulled this off with voices that rang true despite all the falseness, a world that I know exists, and a pace that never slowed down enough for me to forget to wonder what would happen next, because even when the original mystery was solved I knew that the story was far from over. (I would've known it even if I didn't see how many pages were left in the book.) All this convinced me that at any given moment in the novel I was exactly where Flynn wanted me to be, and that kind of sensation of intention all the way made for a very reassuring experience when on the whole this book was anything but.
It's easy to sing this novel praises (I really do see what all the hype is about) but what really stayed with me was the look at family that's so unflattering and uncomfortable that most don't think about it that way. How much do we really pretend to be better than our true selves when we court? How "sustainable" is the pretense, to use Amy's word? What happens when the illusion's gone and two people end up staring at each other, horrified? And how often are we horrified as opposed to thrilled? So many questions to think about, and I applaud Gillian Flynn for asking them and for packaging them in a novel that's very difficult to put down. If you haven't read it yet, what are you waiting for?

P.S. If you don't feel like thinking about serious questions or have already read Gone Girl, or don't have the time to get sucked into it right now here's a great interview with Gillian Flynn. Enjoy!

Review: The Help by Kathryn Stockett

Three extraordinary women whose determination to tell the truth about their lives forever changes a town, and the way women - mothers, daughters, caregivers, friends - view one another.

Lately I have been thinking about how different the country where I grew up is from the country I call home now. Sometimes it's a minor detail, like air conditioning, and sometimes it's something so vast the more I consider it the more I understand that what I know is just the tip of the iceberg. This book make me think about the vast things, and I'm still reeling from it. I know it will stay with me for a while.
It is a testimony to Stockett's skill that she breathed enough life into this story to make me wonder how much of it really is fiction. She made the world of Jackson, MS in the 60s feel so authentic it's almost palpable with its sweltering summers, women so sweet and proper in public and positively vapid in private, and tragedies unfolding behind closed doors while the world is shown a flawless hairdo and a perfect outfit. The book may be set 50 years in the past but deep down inside people are the same everywhere, regardless of the date on the calendar, and Stockett making this book primarily about people is what made it resonate with me and other readers the way it did.
This novel had a lot of opportunities to be less engaging than it was, but fortunately the author avoided them all by changing points of view, incorporating elements of mystery and keeping up tension through subplots, as well as creating characters who were much more than initially met the eye. In fact, Stockett's tendency to defy expectations with her characters was my favorite part of this book. I loved the revelations of Lou Anne, Minny, Johnny Foote, and even Skeeter's mother (in a lot of ways that woman is so much like my mother it's scary). My favorite though was Celia, who in the naked intruder chapter proved that underneath her facade of pink manicures and extra tight sweaters there was a woman who knew how to stand up for herself and those dear to her, and who knew what was right, regardless of the conventions of the day.
Mother-daughter relationships get talked about quite a bit. It's no wonder, they are complex and there is a lot of ground to cover, and it may seem like everything has already been said, but in this book Stockett took the subject to a whole new level. I haven't heard a lot of people discussing this aspect of the novel but for me it was even more prominent than the subject of civil rights. So many mother-daughter relationships are shown here, some made me cringe, some warmed my heart, and the fact that the sweetest ones were the ones not between the natural parents and children made them bitter-sweet. It means so much to teach a child that they matter, that they are loved that broke my heart to read about mothers completely oblivious about this. I almost cried when Aibileen started teaching Mae Mobley that she was kind, smart and important, and I fervently hoped that this fictional child would remember the lessons into her adulthood. It's amazing to me how well Stockett showed the touching moments in this novel, she must have incredible powers of observation in addition to her undeniable talent as a writer to be able to portray them as she did.
There are so many reasons why I loved this book, the characters, their voices and their growth, Stockett's storytelling, the way the narrative flowed, and the thought-provoking subjects are just a few. Yet when I finished the book I couldn't stop wondering why in the world would the maids not talk about families they worked for in the past instead of their current employers. Why would they tell about the women who had the ability to ruin their lives instead of women who weren't in the picture anymore?
Yes, I understand, this is what was hurting most at the time, these were the "white ladies" mistreating them most recently. And yes, if they talked about the past there wouldn't be the same sense of immediate danger permeating the book, the tension would be gone. And yet it doesn't make sense to me from the point of view of caution. There was so much talk of horrible consequences should anyone find out, and how the names of people and the town itself would be changed to protect everyone. Did nobody think that should the society ladies read the book nine out of ten would recognize themselves and their friends? These Southern belles might be shallow and mean, but I find it implausible that Skeeter and the maids wouldn't give them the credit to not all be that oblivious and downright stupid.
So there I was, feeling let down at the end of an otherwise excellent book. Even new beginnings for the three protagonists only could do so much to fix things for me. Am I glad I read this book? Definitely. Did it make me think more about the world around me? Absolutely. Would I recommend it to others? Yes, but when they finish it I would ask them whether they also thought the author cut this particular corner.