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bookgazing) wrote2010-06-01 07:39 am
bookgazing) wrote2010-06-01 07:39 am
Bookish Chat: 'The Lacuna'
‘Soooo,’ you may be thinking ‘I know you’re reading through the Orange shortlist. How is the Lacuna going?’ And this week I can stop hurting my eyes by doing shifty movements with them and say loudly ‘Quite well, actually.’ I’ve reached the 400 page mark and I am not hating it. Alright I didn’t read any of it over the long weekend, but that is because I was preoccupied by drinking, eating and watching jousting at local castles not because of hatred. From the faint praise of that statement you’ll probably guess that it is not the love that binds between ‘The Lacuna’ and I. Basing the Orange prize on my personal opinion ‘Wolf Hall’ is still leagues ahead in terms of reading experience, but if I look at them objectively the race looks a lot closer.
If you compare ‘Wolf Hall’ and ‘The Lacuna’ they’re based on very similar ideas. Both want to show a period of momentous history, but through the prism of lower class feeling. So, ‘Wolf Hall’ shows us Cromwell as a low class boy who goes against the odds to raise himself up the political ladder. A typical tale of a boy come good, if the boy were anyone but Cromwell and the author anyone but Mantel. Mantel’s contention is that the disdain history has shown Cromwell can be blamed on class prejudice and it is this idea that history is written by the elite, rather than the idea of Cromwell as a ‘nice’ character, that makes her book such a punch in the eye. In Mantle’s novel Cromwell’s low origins prevent him achieving true equality, despite the confidences and the fellow feeling kings and peers seem to offer him. In part this is an inevitable conclusion that Mantle must draw from her ideas about Cromwell’s character and the opposing way he is portrayed by his contemporaries. Still, the fact that she chooses to follow Cromwell suggests that she wants a suitable vehicle to show her pre-existing belief that class is the unassailable barrier that separates society.
In ‘The Lacuna’ Barbara Kingsolver’s boy come good character is the entirely fictional Harrison Sheppard who ends up working as a servant in Frieda Kahlo’s house, exposing how even socialist revolutionaries were part of the elite rather than the workers. Kingsolver, (so far) seems much more optimistic about class relations than Mantle. Her message about class is complex as we see Frieda embrace Harrison, only to betray him through numerous small acts of privilege. Then, finally Frieda shows exactly how well she understands her friend, ‘...not as a child, or servant, but as your peer.’ as Harrison says when he finds out what she has done. In Kingsolver’s novel it seems that friendship and artistic connection can truly transcend class. Frieda and her husband are not a part of the same kind of elite Mantle’s Thomas Moore belongs to. They’re outsiders, but they are still immensely privileged compared to many others in Mexico. So, any idea that Kingsolver sees the possibility of true relationships between the elite and the workers must be qualified, as true relationships are only possible between certain members of the privileged class (outsiders to the mainstream for whatever reason) and certain members of the worker class (secretly artistic, intellectual). Still, even with this qualification and Kingsolver’s own emphasis on how the privileged can betray the worker ‘The Lacuna’ feels like an optimistic look at the possibilities for class relations.
Both books also want to make readers care about one man and his life. The individual, common man’s influence on history is the under pinning message of both books (and hurrah for that, although it would be nice to see more of the common woman). The blurb on ‘The Lacuna’ makes it sound as if the book is all about Frieda, Diego and their place in history observed by a young unknown. How much poorer the book would be if it really was such a passive look at the great events of history. It is Harrison’s life that takes centre stage and in my opinion it is Harrison’s life that Kingsolver excels at creating. I was desperate for details of Harrison’s doomed love for Trotsky’s male secretary Van, his original thoughts on life and more about his passions. I was devastated when his carefully prepared attempt to let a now married Van know about his feelings were dashed. The quote on the front cover of my copy from the Sunday Independent says ‘Every few years you read a book that makes everything else in life seem unimportant’. I don’t think this quote applies to the whole book, but I do think Harrison, like Mantle’s Cromwell, is one of those characters who can make the whole world drop away while you read. It’s odd to make a distinction between the book and Harrison really because almost all of the book consists of Harrison’s first person narrative, but there it is.
If only Kingsolver would let Harrison run away with the book, instead of keeping him tied up reporting on the big events of the times. She seems determined to keep Harrison from overwhelming the book during the time he spends with Frieda, then once they are separated she gives us more of him but in a strangely sweet, folksy way through the conceit of letters. At the moment I’m reading Harrison’s letters to Frieda, written after he moves to the USA and I feel like I’m seeing similarities to the sweet ‘Guernsey Literary Potatoe Peel Pie Society’. Somehow the conceit seems to neutralise Harrison’s relations with Frieda. I guess that it’s inevitable they would be on chummier terms with so much distance between them, but his letters are the only part of his voice available at this point in the book and I miss his edge. I catch glimpses of it when he talks about his manuscript and there was just a very painful letter about his inability to visit Frieda in New York, so I cling to those pieces of truth.
When Kingsolver makes Harrison talk about well known historical events the book trips in didactic territory and it becomes clear that readers are now expected to LEARN. They must learn not only about the events, but also Kingsolver’s ideas about what the events teach us about the present. This is where the book loses ground on ‘Wolf Hall’ in terms of reading experience because these passages are so obviously unnatural teaching moments that they feel tedious and rather patronising. ‘Wolf Hall’ teaches readers a lot about the historical period and how history might apply to the present and of course Mantle includes those portentous sentences all readers recognise as screaming signals of importance. But it never feels like Mantle loses faith in her readers ability to understand what she is getting at. At times Kingsolver seems to believe that she has to write for the lowest common denominator, a reader who knows nothing of history and has no chance of divining meaning. This makes for a clearer book than Mantle’s, a book where you know exactly who everyone is and what their significance is, but it also makes it a book that sometimes feels shallow and over bearing. Perhaps I’d say the author spends too much time directing her main character in ‘The Lacuna’, so that he doesn’t deviate from the message. She’s very present in the novel, while Mantle lets her characters speak for themselves and knows that the historical situations they encounter will dictate a correspondence between their words and her message.
However, it would be unfair to say that the history ‘The Lacuna’ passes through isn’t as alive as the history Mantle describes in ‘Wolf Hall’. Kingsolver may like to emphasise what history can teach us, but she can write about big events in a way that will rock you. Trotsky’s death is experienced directly by Harrison and it’s extremely affecting, partly because of the kind honesty with which Kingsolver imbued Trotsky’s character and partly because of how she has woven Trotsky into Harrison’s life so naturally. She also has a wonderful eye for the natural image. I think I get into the habit of expecting authors to be able to write marvellous descriptions of nature as easily as anything, but it must be so difficult to capture the beauty of nature. As Virginia Woolf wrote in Orlando, ‘Green in nature is one thing; green in literature another. Nature and letters seem to have a natural antipathy; bring them together and they tear each other to pieces.’. A good reminder to value Barbara Kingsolver’s lush descriptions of Mexican and American nature.
Right, onwards. Harrison is now an author himself and so I feel like we’re coming to the point where Kingsolver will use him to explain what authors and artists are really for. It’s always fascinating to see what authors think their purpose is, so I hope to have lots to report back on soon.
If you compare ‘Wolf Hall’ and ‘The Lacuna’ they’re based on very similar ideas. Both want to show a period of momentous history, but through the prism of lower class feeling. So, ‘Wolf Hall’ shows us Cromwell as a low class boy who goes against the odds to raise himself up the political ladder. A typical tale of a boy come good, if the boy were anyone but Cromwell and the author anyone but Mantel. Mantel’s contention is that the disdain history has shown Cromwell can be blamed on class prejudice and it is this idea that history is written by the elite, rather than the idea of Cromwell as a ‘nice’ character, that makes her book such a punch in the eye. In Mantle’s novel Cromwell’s low origins prevent him achieving true equality, despite the confidences and the fellow feeling kings and peers seem to offer him. In part this is an inevitable conclusion that Mantle must draw from her ideas about Cromwell’s character and the opposing way he is portrayed by his contemporaries. Still, the fact that she chooses to follow Cromwell suggests that she wants a suitable vehicle to show her pre-existing belief that class is the unassailable barrier that separates society.
In ‘The Lacuna’ Barbara Kingsolver’s boy come good character is the entirely fictional Harrison Sheppard who ends up working as a servant in Frieda Kahlo’s house, exposing how even socialist revolutionaries were part of the elite rather than the workers. Kingsolver, (so far) seems much more optimistic about class relations than Mantle. Her message about class is complex as we see Frieda embrace Harrison, only to betray him through numerous small acts of privilege. Then, finally Frieda shows exactly how well she understands her friend, ‘...not as a child, or servant, but as your peer.’ as Harrison says when he finds out what she has done. In Kingsolver’s novel it seems that friendship and artistic connection can truly transcend class. Frieda and her husband are not a part of the same kind of elite Mantle’s Thomas Moore belongs to. They’re outsiders, but they are still immensely privileged compared to many others in Mexico. So, any idea that Kingsolver sees the possibility of true relationships between the elite and the workers must be qualified, as true relationships are only possible between certain members of the privileged class (outsiders to the mainstream for whatever reason) and certain members of the worker class (secretly artistic, intellectual). Still, even with this qualification and Kingsolver’s own emphasis on how the privileged can betray the worker ‘The Lacuna’ feels like an optimistic look at the possibilities for class relations.
Both books also want to make readers care about one man and his life. The individual, common man’s influence on history is the under pinning message of both books (and hurrah for that, although it would be nice to see more of the common woman). The blurb on ‘The Lacuna’ makes it sound as if the book is all about Frieda, Diego and their place in history observed by a young unknown. How much poorer the book would be if it really was such a passive look at the great events of history. It is Harrison’s life that takes centre stage and in my opinion it is Harrison’s life that Kingsolver excels at creating. I was desperate for details of Harrison’s doomed love for Trotsky’s male secretary Van, his original thoughts on life and more about his passions. I was devastated when his carefully prepared attempt to let a now married Van know about his feelings were dashed. The quote on the front cover of my copy from the Sunday Independent says ‘Every few years you read a book that makes everything else in life seem unimportant’. I don’t think this quote applies to the whole book, but I do think Harrison, like Mantle’s Cromwell, is one of those characters who can make the whole world drop away while you read. It’s odd to make a distinction between the book and Harrison really because almost all of the book consists of Harrison’s first person narrative, but there it is.
If only Kingsolver would let Harrison run away with the book, instead of keeping him tied up reporting on the big events of the times. She seems determined to keep Harrison from overwhelming the book during the time he spends with Frieda, then once they are separated she gives us more of him but in a strangely sweet, folksy way through the conceit of letters. At the moment I’m reading Harrison’s letters to Frieda, written after he moves to the USA and I feel like I’m seeing similarities to the sweet ‘Guernsey Literary Potatoe Peel Pie Society’. Somehow the conceit seems to neutralise Harrison’s relations with Frieda. I guess that it’s inevitable they would be on chummier terms with so much distance between them, but his letters are the only part of his voice available at this point in the book and I miss his edge. I catch glimpses of it when he talks about his manuscript and there was just a very painful letter about his inability to visit Frieda in New York, so I cling to those pieces of truth.
When Kingsolver makes Harrison talk about well known historical events the book trips in didactic territory and it becomes clear that readers are now expected to LEARN. They must learn not only about the events, but also Kingsolver’s ideas about what the events teach us about the present. This is where the book loses ground on ‘Wolf Hall’ in terms of reading experience because these passages are so obviously unnatural teaching moments that they feel tedious and rather patronising. ‘Wolf Hall’ teaches readers a lot about the historical period and how history might apply to the present and of course Mantle includes those portentous sentences all readers recognise as screaming signals of importance. But it never feels like Mantle loses faith in her readers ability to understand what she is getting at. At times Kingsolver seems to believe that she has to write for the lowest common denominator, a reader who knows nothing of history and has no chance of divining meaning. This makes for a clearer book than Mantle’s, a book where you know exactly who everyone is and what their significance is, but it also makes it a book that sometimes feels shallow and over bearing. Perhaps I’d say the author spends too much time directing her main character in ‘The Lacuna’, so that he doesn’t deviate from the message. She’s very present in the novel, while Mantle lets her characters speak for themselves and knows that the historical situations they encounter will dictate a correspondence between their words and her message.
However, it would be unfair to say that the history ‘The Lacuna’ passes through isn’t as alive as the history Mantle describes in ‘Wolf Hall’. Kingsolver may like to emphasise what history can teach us, but she can write about big events in a way that will rock you. Trotsky’s death is experienced directly by Harrison and it’s extremely affecting, partly because of the kind honesty with which Kingsolver imbued Trotsky’s character and partly because of how she has woven Trotsky into Harrison’s life so naturally. She also has a wonderful eye for the natural image. I think I get into the habit of expecting authors to be able to write marvellous descriptions of nature as easily as anything, but it must be so difficult to capture the beauty of nature. As Virginia Woolf wrote in Orlando, ‘Green in nature is one thing; green in literature another. Nature and letters seem to have a natural antipathy; bring them together and they tear each other to pieces.’. A good reminder to value Barbara Kingsolver’s lush descriptions of Mexican and American nature.
Right, onwards. Harrison is now an author himself and so I feel like we’re coming to the point where Kingsolver will use him to explain what authors and artists are really for. It’s always fascinating to see what authors think their purpose is, so I hope to have lots to report back on soon.