Even though I finished this novel several weeks ago, I am still thinking about it – because I really don’t know what to think of it.  I read it for a Post Colonial Literature class, and as seems to be the trend in recent Post Colonial Literature it’s a melancholic read.  The book sort of follows a stream of consciousness narration, in that as the narrator (Lisa) thinks of one memory, she tends to get lost in the middle of it and think of something else.  I actually started reading this book outloud to R over the phone and we both thought it sounded like it was at about the Grade 6 reading level.  Yet the content is way too old for grade 6 (sex, drugs, rape, murder, incest, ghosts, you name it this book has it).  Actually, truth be told, I think the Robinson got together with a group of her friends and they brainstormed every possible awful thing that could happen or bad decision a person could make, and then tried to inlcude every single one in the novel.  Melodramatic would be an understatement.  Further…the ages of the characters also seem off, at times I was thinking she is way way way too old to be acting like that (at one point she seems like a feral 8 year old).  I know, at this point it sounds like I hate the book right? And I do.  But I don’t.

The book also features little bursts of incredible writing, bursts that made me wonder if Robinson was going to be the next Faulkner (a la As I Lay Dying).  Periodically, she shatters the irritating simplistic melodrama and breaks into powerful direct narration to the reader.  Generally these narrations are vivid descriptions of the human heart, or lessons on how to talk to the dead.  For example:

If you could open up your own chest, you would find your heart behind your breastbone, nestled between your lungs… Reach into your chest cavity and pull your lungs away from your heart to fully appreciate the complexity of this organ…Behold, your heart.  Touch it.  Run your fingers across this strong, pulsating organ.  Your brain does not completely control your heart.  In the embryo, the heart starts beating even before it is supplied by nerves.  (Robinson 163-164)

I’m not sure that the quote really seems impressive all on its own like this, but trust me, in the text it works.  So like I said, I don’t know what to think, but the fact that I am still thinking about it weeks later seems to say something right?

Brother, I’m Dying by Edwidge Danticat

Another book read for Post-Colonial Literature; this one is nonfiction.  I guess I might as well just come out with it and say that most of what I have read for Post-Colonial Literature has left me confused.  I never seem to know whether I loved it or hated it.

This is a relatively new book.  If you haven’t heard of it, it’s written by a Haitian woman who is left behind with her Uncle in Haiti while her parents Immigrate to the United States and with the ultimate goal of bringing her and her brother there once they have citizenship themselves.  It talks a lot about growing up in Haiti, but it particularly focuses on the life of her Uncle Joeseph (who largely raised her).  She weaves the past into the present (well, the present in 2004) when she is pregnant, her father is dying, and her Uncle Joeseph has to flee Haiti.

It’s a really sad read.  There is a lot of death.  There is chilling blunt descriptions of corpses.  I think the part that really had me crying though, was learning about what people seeking assylum in North America have to go through.  This isn’t a happy read-it-on-vacation book, and at times it drags a bit, but if you are looking for a book that you will really learn something from – and that will probably have you seeking membership with Amnesty International – then this is a good one.

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.  I’ve said some pretty nasty things about Dickens in the past (and I stand by most of them) but I have to admit, between this book and Great Expectations (which I read last year) I may be coming around.  There is still the obvious filler that drives me crazy, but the story was quite intense – and there is nothing like a gratuitous grave robbing scene to spice up a novel. The last several chapters of this book had me sobbing uncontrolably (oh my God Sidney Carton… and that other young French girl, wow), luckily I was reading it in the comfort of my own apartment.  That was some of the most powerful writing I have ever read.  Seriously.

Anyways, it was moving, but probably not for everyone.  It is gory.  I didn’t realize Dickens did gore, but I suppose if you choose to write about the French Revolution you are somewhat obligated.  If you are a Dickens fan or dig revolutions you will like this.  If you enjoy sobbing when reading a book you will like this.

“On Liberty” by John Stuart Mill… I wish I was one of those really impressive people who could say “Wow, I just loved every minute of On Liberty.”  The truth is, for me anyways, “On Liberty” is not pleasure reading and I struggled with it.  Mill had a lot of excellent things to say and it was thought provoking but the writing is so dense.  I got through this is small doses: a couple of pages at a time, a lot of highlighting, a lot of making notes, a lot of tea breaks.  It was almost embarassing.  I ended up having to force myself through it like: listen, if you read 5 more pages, you can have a cookie and you can read some of Swift’s poetry.  Ok? Eff that.  3 pages is enough.  Bring on the cookies.

So, needless to say, I’m not really sure what to say about this.  I didn’t really care for it and honestly, A Tale of Two Cities makes very similar statements about liberty, so you could read it and come out with at least a sort of similar Victorian perspective on things.  Still… Mill makes some really important points.  Maybe I’ll try reading it again when I am not pressed for time.  Oh who am I kidding, probably not.  There are too many books in the world.

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte.

I am taking a Victorian literature class (heh… did Dickens and Mill give that away?) and originally we were supposed to read Jane Eyre.  I was pretty excited about that because, well, I love Jane Eyre, and I’ve read Jane Eyre several times so I thought that if I was pressed for time due to extreme reading demands to I could skip some parts it would be excellent to read it again in great detail.  However, after polling the class, the professor learned that pretty much the entire class had read Jane Eyre before.  He didn’t want us to waste learning, so he changed the book to The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.  At first I was anxious about this, but I am I so glad it happened.

This book is fantastic.  It’s a beautiful love story.  It has plenty of things to say about marriage and morality which are still relevant today and the emotional complexity is just out of this world.  It is so rewarding, weeks later I am still thinking about it.  I miss the main character too, it’s a shame there isn’t a sequel.  I don’t understand why Anne Bronte isn’t more popular?  This book is at least as good as Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights.  Possibly better.  I even told my mother to read it.  Everyone who hasn’t read it yet should go read it, and it’s in the public domain now so you can get it for free (at librivox.org or Project Gutenberg) so really, there are no excuses.