H is for Hawk

This extraordinary nonfiction book by Helen Macdonald creates its own genre: a very personal memoir of grief that focuses on the training of hawks and makes extensive reference and comparison to T.H. White, author of The Sword in the Stone, and a tortured, repressed man who also authored a book on his sad and difficult experiences in training a goshawk.

Macdonald is devastated when her father dies unexpectedly.  She had had a lifelong, deep interest in falcons and, out of this passion and as a distraction, she decides to acquire and train a goshark.

When you are broken, you run.  But you don't always run away.  Sometimes, helplessly, you run towards.

The goshawk was an unusual choice.  Macdonald explains and explores the idea that falconry has been the domain of the nobility, partly because large tracts of land - estates - are necessary for hunting, and the language and customs of falconry are precise and mannered.  Modern falconry is steeped in this aristocratic history, which for some, promotes a special kind of identity that tends to exclude outsiders.  Falconry was a passion and source of style in Nazi Germany.  But, unlike the noble falcons, the goshawk, Macdonald explains, is a low, murderous bird

They were things of death and difficulty: spooky pale-eyed psychopaths that lived and killed in woodland thickets.

Because it needs only short flights to run down its prey, a goshawk can be trained on small properties.  Hunting with goshawks is thus possible for commoners and is, basically, low class.

Compared to those aristocratic falconers, the austringer, the solitary trainer of goshawks and sparrowhawks, has had a pretty terrible press.  'Do not house your graceless austringers in the falconer's room', sniped the fourteenth-century Norman writer Gace de la Bigne. 'They are cursed in scripture, for they hate company and go alone about their sport.  When one sees an ill-formed man, with great big feet and long shapeless shanks, build like a trestle, hump-shouldered and skew-backed, and one wants to mock him, one says, "Look, what an austringer!"'

Macdonald herself is pretty feral and her grief over her father's death drives her to some outrageous and heart-rending behavior.  But her reflections are sharp and the descriptive writing is brilliant - fresh and vivid.  And though this is a dark book, it is laced with humor and, ultimately, is optimistic.  A terrific read.

Graphic Novel Round-Up: Marbles, Fun Home, Are You My Mother?

I have read 3 interesting graphic novels this summer, reviewed briefly below:

Marbles: Mania, Depression, Michelangelo, and Me - Ellen Forney

Marbles is Ellen Forney's exploration of her struggles living as an artist with Bipolar I disorder (the more severe of the forms, characterized by true mania, as opposed to hypomania, and potential psychosis). More particularly, she wrestles with the question of whether or not Bipolar symptomatology is an essential part of her identity as an artist, integral to her work, something special that she shares with other renowned artists (the "Van Gogh club," as she calls it), or whether it is an illness to be treated and managed. Her story had personal resonance for me to some degree, and it was an interesting read, although I am not a huge fan of her style of illustration.



Fun Home - Alison Bechdel

In Fun Home, Alison Bechdel explores her developing queer identity against the backdrop of her father's repressed homosexuality and turbulent childhood. I found this novel utterly fascinating, and the graphic style highly evocative. Would definitely recommend.



Are You My Mother? - Alison Bechdel

Bechdel's second graphic novel is much more philosophical than the first, and I did not enjoy it as much. Some of the material was quite interesting, and I was inspired to purchase a copy of one of her sources (Miller's The Drama of the Gifted Child). Overall, however, I lamented that the book strayed so far from the personal narrative, and ruminated so extensively on (what I found to be at times rather dubious) psychology. However, her analysis of her fraught relationship with her mother was compelling, even painfully so, and I would still recommend it.

Aurora - Kim Stanley Robinson

Aurora is KSR's latest novel, published in summer 2015, and the only other book of his that I have read, other than the genius Mars trilogy. Aurora is just as delightful, and satisfyingly familiar in tone, with its hyper-detailed yet highly readable descriptions of technology, and the incisive and compelling character depictions, which elevate the book from tech porn to high literature.

Aurora is the story of a generation of families born on a spaceship in the middle of a 159+ year colonizing trip to Tau Ceti, led at this point in their journey by brilliant yet troubled scientist Devi, who keeps their aging vessel in working order through hundreds of daily repairs. Unlike Mars, with its numerous protagonists, this novel focuses primarily on Devi and her daughter, Freya. In a unique and engaging narrative twist, the tale's chronicler is the ship itself, an AI called simply "ship."

The action begins in Freya's youth and young adulthood, in the final years of the journey to Tau Ceti. A deeply interesting and moving tale, which I highly recommend to all sci-fi enthusiasts!

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.

Northwest Coast Indian Art

The only thing in my entire life that I believe I was fated to do was to buy this book by Bill Holm.

On my last visit to Seattle, I went to the Burke Museum of Natural History on the campus of UW. The museum is small and cozy with specialized, excellent exhibits.  One that I especially enjoyed was a new permanent collection of Northwest Coast Indian art, named in honor  of Bill Holm, a longtime professor at UW and a revered scholar and beloved mentor to many native American artists.  There was also a temporary exhibit of paired pieces of native art - several contemporary native artists had been invited to stay in residence at the Museum, to study iconic pieces in the collection, then choose one and create a responsive piece - an update, a variation, or some kind of modern riff on the piece.  Many of these works were highly inventive and visually stunning.

While I was browsing these exhibits, I noticed an older man and two women who were examining pieces and commenting animatedly on them - and in a personal way.  Comparing this group to the pictures accompanying the Bill Holm Collection, I realized that the man was Bill Holm himself!  I exchanged a couple pleasantries with him and his friends and took the picture you see below.

The exhibit had indicated that the founding of the Bill Holm collection had been coupled with a special commemorative edition of Holm's famous book, Northwest Coast Indian Art.  I was interested in the book and inquired at the Museum desk if they had copies for sale, although, at $35, the price was a little higher, truthfully, than my level of interest.  The woman at the desk said no, unfortunately they had sold out of them, though they were expecting a new shipment in a couple days.  Somewhat relieved, I went to a different section of the museum to see an exhibit on the geology of the northwest coast.  A few minutes after, the woman from the museum desk caught up with me in the exhibit and breathlessly announced that I was in luck - the delivery had just arrived!

Well, I have been reading my copy of Northwest Coast Indian Art rather slowly.  Holm made a meticulous study of more than 400 high quality artifacts, recording and eventually collating detailed information on the "rules" that he discovered underly the stylized designs.  These principles are almost invariant, but like other rigorous forms such as the sonnet, the gifted Indian artists were able to create stunning and distinctive designs while working within these constraints.  Holm's deep knowledge of the forms, his humility and his respect and generosity toward the Indian artists made him a honored figure and valued friend.  I feel grateful for this fleeting moment of contact with him.

Red Rising - Pierce Brown

My bookclub's April pick is Pierce Brown's Red Rising (see our full calendar here). When I first picked up this book, I was turned off by the clunky, dialect-heavy feel of the dystopian Mars mining colony - it reminded me a bit of the feral children's irritating ramblings in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome about "tomorrow-morrow land."

"I's looking behind us now, into history back."

However, the book's scope explodes beyond this point, and I became very engrossed in its exploration of the themes of social control, exploitation, and revolution.

Personally, I thought the movie Hunger Games was insipid, but I would recommend this book to HG fans, and any other survival enthusiasts.