Slaughterhouse Five

 

Kurt Vonnegut’s voice is exceptional.  The main themes of Slaughterhouse Five are deadly serious, yet the story is rich in humor, both simple and mordant, and has a unique viewpoint that features time travel and intelligent aliens.  It’s a perplexing yet commanding combination.  The narrator of the frame story is Vonnegut himself, who was a prisoner of war and one of the very few survivors when Dresden was firebombed in World War II. But the protagonist is Billy Pilgrim, who travels in space and time with a view of his entire life.  Billy witnesses innumerable deaths, each commemorated by “So it goes”, from his unique whole-life perspective.  Fascinating, thought provoking, outrageously funny and heart-rendingly sad by turns.

But the ships are sailing....sailing..... by Chiyono Sugimoto Kiyooka

A Daughter of the Samurai, originally recommended by Lauren, was reviewed here previously – it’s a fascinating and charming book by Etsu Inagaki Sugimoto, who describes her upbringing in a strict Samurai family in the late 19^th century and then her experiences in America, after moving here to join her husband.  Two daughters were born here and attended schools in Cincinnati and, later, The Horace Mann school in New York.  The younger daughter, then called Chiyo, also lived for many years in both America and Japan.  She became an English-Japanese translator after World War II, working for the Occupation Authorities. 

But the Ships are Sailing…Sailing… is Chiyono Sugimoto Kiyooka’s personal account of the devastating effect of World War II on Japan and also describes many interactions between Japanese and Americans – it has a quaint feel, but is thoughtful and interesting in contrasting the two cultures.  Especially inspiring is the spirit that motivated her family, over almost a century, during peacetime and wartime, to promote understanding between these two very different ways of life.

A Spy Among Friends

This account of the Cambridge spies, focusing on Kim Philby, the infamous Third Man, is fascinating and highly readable.

Spy stories, both fictional and nonfictional, interest me, and I suppose many others, because they deal with treachery, deceit and betrayal.  And I believe this interest is intensified in people who in childhood have experienced or been exposed to powerful family secrets or deceptions.   A Perfect Spy, reputed to be LeCarrè's most autobiographical novel, deals explicitly with this topic.

So it's no surprise that many people are riveted by the story of Kim Philby's decades-long career as both a highly placed leader in Britain's MI6 and a double agent who passed thousands of secrets to the Soviets and cost the lives of hundreds of British agents.  This betrayal was especially shocking because of the close-knit and completely trusting relationships among the British upper classes who filled many of the MI6 positions.  Vetting often consisted simply of confirmation that the candidate came from "good people".  Philby survived so long as a double-agent not simply because he was a consummate actor, but also because he was so fully a member of the public school educated gentry. His friends and colleagues considered it to be simply impossible that "one of them" could be a traitor and they closed ranks to protect and defend him.  (This superior attitude and disregard of incriminating evidence infuriated members of the more working-class MI5 section, charged with investigating Philby).

MacIntyre's account of Philby's recruitment, advancement, betrayals, and eventual undoing is fascinating.  But what drove Philby to this extraordinary duplicity remains essentially unknown. After he was revealed as a double-agent and fled to Russia, his third wife Eleanor asked him if he had to choose between the Party and his family, which he would choose, and he unhesitatingly replied, "The Party, of course".  Eventually, he came to acknowledge the evils of Communism as practiced in Russia, but rationalized them as the errors of men, rather than flaws in the system.  Surprisingly, then, he had minimal interest in or knowledge of the theory of communism.  Such a life, which appears to derive satisfaction from betrayal alone rather than betrayal in the service of a cause, suggests, to this armchair psychiatrist, that Philby was almost certainly driven by powerful forces from his childhood rather than an intellectual conviction.  MacIntyre depicts Philby's father, a distinguished Arabist who was an advisor to King Ibn Saud, as an irascible iconoclast and an extremely demanding yet absent father.  After his father's sudden death, Philby, a heavy drinker at the best of times, immediately plunged into despondency and alcoholic stupor.   The origins of Philby's extraordinary duplicity must be more complex, intense and unusual than this, and it would be fascinating to understand the development of his personality but, of course, the master of keeping secrets from his friends offered no grist for speculation.

All the Light We Cannot See

This book by Anthony Doerr is written simply, but with the emotional power and magical intensity of a fable or fairy tale. The book is set in World War II and centers on two main characters, a blind French girl and a talented young German soldier, who are eventually drawn together and meet in the walled city of St. Malo. The structure is a little unusual, with short chapters that switch from one character to another and back in forth in time, getting closer and closer to the moment of meeting.  

There's a very interesting interview with Doerr that was published in the Powell's Book Blog.   At one point, the interviewer, in asking him about the short chapters, says perhaps they "can allow for more lyricisms and/or experimentation with language in some ways than longer chapters because you get that cessation. Doerr agrees that his writing in this novel is very lyrical and says "I know that's demanding, so this was a gesture of friendliness, maybe. It's like I'm saying to the reader, "I know this is going to be more lyrical than maybe 70 percent of American readers want to see, but here's a bunch of white space for you to recover from that lyricism." [Laughter].

The story and characters are so captivating that All the Light We Cannot See is hard to put down.  When I had finished and was thinking over the book, it seemed to me that it differed from many books in that it had no strong themes.  One line spoken by a character in the book has been repeatedly quoted by readers and reviewers:  “Open your eyes and see what you can with them before they close forever.”  The title and this statement clearly relate to the blind girl, but I finally came to feel that they also describe a central "theme"of the book: that life is magnificent; joyous and heartbreaking, meaningful and random, kind and cruel. Although Doerr is not Tolstoy, and All the Light We Cannot See is not War and Peace, the power of the writing nevertheless grips us and invites to embrace the variety of life.