Great Novellas: Night

I cannot think of a better way to follow One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich in my novella series than with Night by Elie Wiesel.  There are a number of striking similarities, as both novellas detail life in a prisoner camp, which the authors each experienced first-hand.  Moreover, both authors also received the Nobel Prize.  However, the differences are significant, as Auschwitz in Night was vastly different than the Siberian labor camps, and it would be a real shame to assume otherwise.

Believe it or not, this is the first time I'm talking about more than one book by the same author.  Up until now, I have carefully tried to offer as much diversity as possible in my blog by introducing a different author in every post.  (Granted, I cheated a little bit by writing about Crime and Punishment and Invisible Man twice each).  The last time I talked about Wiesel, I told you about his play, The Trial of God.  I had a feeling that most people would be more familiar with Night than with this play, so I wanted to offer information about it to anyone who might be interested.  I still recommend the play, as I think it touches on a deep and meaningful dimension of what the Jews may have experienced in their suffering.  It addresses difficult questions and has a really surprising twist at the end.  However, I did not write about the play first because I thought it was "better" than his well-known novella.  Night is absolutely remarkably, riveting, and well-deserving of its acclaim.

It's so hard for me to talk about Night as I usually do in reviews.  The devastating content and the knowledge of the truth behind it makes it difficult for me to break it down into an analytical interpretation.  I am unable to separate my emotions from the text, which is possibly one of the reason it is such a remarkable piece of literature.  Wiesel even had a lot of trouble writing it, unsure if it was a good idea and waiting years before setting pen to paper. I truly believe you can feel his reluctance to write about it because it is so raw and personally emotional.  But when I do look at it more seriously, I am struck by the rhetorical strategy and language of the text.  English is not the original language, but the repetition and poetic nature of the words beautifully conveys the torment within and around the protagonist.  I can only illustrate this by including the most famous passage:

"Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, which has turned my life into one long night, seven times cursed and seven times sealed. Never shall I forget that smoke. Never shall I forget the little faces of the children, whose bodies I saw turned into wreaths of smoke beneath a silent blue sky.
Never shall I forget those flames which consumed my faith forever.
Never shall I forget that nocturnal silence which deprived me, for all eternity, of the desire to live. Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dust. Never shall I forget these things, even if I am condemned to live as long as God Himself. Never."

Hearing the "Never shall I forget" phrase over and over beats into the readers' minds like a steady drum of irrevocable memory.  He writes other passages similarly, creating this kind of rhythm and flow throughout the novella that sweeps you into the story.  The scene most burned in my memory, even all these years later, is the hanging of a boy in the camp.  I shall never forget that either, as I can still vividly picture the scene of the angelic face and writhing body, even though the image was created solely in my mind.

But perhaps the most powerful aspect of this novella is not the language as much as the sheer, raw honesty of the protagonist.  He admits to his darkest thoughts and deepest moments of weakness.  When his father dies, he cannot escape conveying a deeply suppressed sense of relief for not having to look after another person anymore.  There are frequently moments like this, which shows us just how truly real and human the character is.  This is why there is so much debate about whether this is a memoir or fiction.  The protagonist is not a hero without fault or weakness.  Instead, he is so profoundly real and honest that there is no feel of fiction at all.  I think it's only right for readers to get even the slightest taste of the great mix of emotions a person must have felt in that situation.  It is extremely difficult for us to imagine, even with such a great novella, but it is necessary to know that it had a number of dimensions and lasting effects for anyone who lived through it.

One last thing I wanted to note is that Night is actually part of a trilogy of novellas, following by Dawn and Day.  I didn't learn this until several years had passed since I originally read Night.  Although both of the following novellas focus on life after the Holocaust and not in the midst of it, I actually found them even more depressing than the original.  The characters are absolutely trapped by the horrors they have experienced and are unable to ever really reach a sense of peace.  It's quite painful to read, but it also probably quite realistic.  I have a feeling that Wiesel was voicing the somewhat ignored reality that the horrors of the Holocaust didn't truly end in the 1940s.

Great Novellas: One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich

Moving forward in the series, Alexander Solzhenitsyn's One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich is one of my favorite novellas ever.  And yes, it is actually a novella this time.  The story quietly follows one plot line with a couple of characters, but it has a profound message and impact by the end.  In fact, it was this novella in particular that contributed to Solzhenitsyn winning the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1970.

As you may have guessed or already known, Solzhenitsyn is another wonderful Russian author.  However, he is the first one from the 20th century I have mentioned so far.  If you are a regular follower of my blog, you probably know that I love Russian literature of the 19th century.  Truly, this was a flourishing period for Russian writing, full of genius authors who brought well-deserved attention to their country and changed the landscape of literature across the world.  Unfortunately, when the Soviet Union came into power in the early 20th century, the government restricted and censored almost all of the creative work among its people. Solzhenitsyn himself was sent to a prisoner labor camp for eight years because of some derogatory comments he made about Stalin in a letter to a friend.  Thus, I am absolutely amazed by the courage and skill he demonstrated by writing this novella just nine years after his release.  I mean, imagine sending this manuscript, which specifically details some of the injustices of the Soviet government, to be published in Russia so soon after living through years of torment for a less offensive letter!  Wow!


With this in mind, I would probably be inclined to like the novella even if it wasn't written well.  But fortunately, I don't have to consider this possibility because One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich is pieced together masterfully.  The tone of the narration is perhaps the most compelling aspect of the story.  The gritty details of life in labor camp is considerably toned down, and the misery of what each person must be feeling is pushed to the background of the story as an undercurrent as you read.  Remarkably, the novella ends on a somewhat optimistic note, brushing past the dehumanizing nature of the situation and focusing on the ways this particular day was better than others.  However, the optimism is deceptive because I sincerely doubt Solzhenitsyn wanted readers to think about the silver lining of life in Soviet labor camps.  Instead, you are flooded with the crushing despair of the situation and the protagonist's need to find anything positive in order to survive it. 

The main character is Shukhov, (aka Ivan Denisovich), who wakes up feeling feverish and miserable from the unrelenting cold of the Siberian winter.  The various leaders within the camp refer to the prisoners by number only, devaluing them in every way possible.  Nevertheless, we continually see little ways Shukhov fights to maintain his dignity to the best of his ability, such as regularly removing his hat when he eats and preventing himself from coveting other prisoners too obviously.  These little details are precisely the kinds of things to notice in a novella.  When we don't have lengthy passages and dramatic descriptions, we see the little details so much more clearly.  We must hold on to the small moments and thoughts of Shukhov as carefully as he holds on to the tiny portion of bread he is served each day.  When you have less, you savor it more.

Significantly, the majority of the fellow prisoners Shukhov describes are faithfully religious and/or kind to one another.  The prisoners of Shukhov's gang view themselves as a unit, and they work together as one body who experiences the trials and successes of each person as affecting the whole group.  We forget that these people have been condemned by the Soviet Union as wrong-doers and enemies of the State.  Instead, we doubt that they could have done anything against another person, and we do learn that Shukhov was wrongfully imprisoned.  The person Solzhenitsyn describes as the most religious in the group is Aloysha, which is also the name of the profoundly religious brother in Dostoevsky's masterpiece, The Brothers Karamazov.  I believe that this is a specific reference to the earlier text, as Solzhenitsyn is subtly paying tribute to the great works of Russian literature from the past and carrying on the tradition despite the danger he faces.

Thinking about this novella now as I write makes me want to read it all over again.  And one of the great things about a novella is the task of reading it is not too daunting.  I hope that you are intrigued and will add this very worthy piece to your reading list.

Great Novellas: The Yellow Wallpaper

Ok, so perhaps it's a little bit of a stretch to label "The Yellow Wallpaper" by Charlotte Perkins Gilman as a novella, but I think it is nevertheless a good place to start the series.  I recently discovered a neat blog focused on feminist literature, so my mind is currently aimed in that direction.  I have a feeling that many of you have read this story before, (or you at least pretended to while your class in high school or college discussed it).  It's very popular - for good reason - and it seems like a great place to start focusing on a little bit of literature of less length. 

If you aren't familiar with the story, or if you completely forget it, it is about a woman who is so suffocated by the people in her life that she goes a bit nuts.  We get everything from her perspective as one writing in a journal, which is more and more interesting as she becomes increasingly paranoid.  We understand that before she began this journal, she expressed to her husband that she wasn't feeling well but couldn't pinpoint the problem.  We also know that she recently had a baby, and some have interpreted her illness to be post-partum depression.  Regardless of her initial problem, the real problem emerges from the treatment that is prescribed for her.  Her husband decides that the best way for her to get better is to be locked up in a cramped room with strange yellow wallpaper and avoid all activity.  This "avoiding all activity" encompasses everything - thinking, writing, socializing, walking, talking, etc.  So you can imagine why she might go a little crazy after several weeks of this.

Although she doesn't often directly criticize the men in her life, I think all readers are happy to do it for her when we hear about the way they treat her.  Her husband is the primary male figure, and we learn that he dismisses her thoughts, limits her actions, and ignores her feelings.  He expects her to be a quiet, submissive wife who would never challenge or oppose him.  He cannot take her seriously, not as a partner or an intellectual human being of any kind.  Moreover, he is also a doctor, so he commands power over her from a medical standpoint and not just a marital one.  He insists that his medical knowledge and treatment recommendation is infallible, despite her feelings and concerns.  She also mentions her brother from time to time, who is also a doctor and seems to agree with her husband to form a united front against her.  I think it's also worth noting that her child was a boy and yet another male figure who brought her to this point of powerlessness.

Significantly, we never learn the protagonist's name, even though we do know the name of her husband and several other characters who appear.  Her inability to identify herself in the story eventually leads to her taking on the new identity of the woman in the wall.  The ugly, yellow wallpaper in the room is the only thing she can focus on while she is quarantined in there.  Peeling from the walls, its confusing, dizzying patterns irritate her until she becomes obsessed with them.  She begins to believe that there is a woman trapped behind the paper who is shaking at the patterns like a prisoner against iron bars.  She thinks the woman creeps beneath the paper and watches her suspiciously.  Ultimately, the protagonist takes this persona on herself and thinks she has freed herself from the paper when she rips it apart and creeps around the corners of the room.

I love this story on many levels.  I think my favorite thing about it is simply the unique narrator perspective.  I like to be able to get inside the mind of someone who views the world with an abnormal outlook.  There are a couple other books I've read in the past that have done this as well, which I would be happy to recommend if you like this too.  I just think it's fascinating to be able to separate what you know to be true as reader and what you see that the character perceives to be true as narrator.

Another thing I love about this story is the rebellion of the entrapped woman.  At first, she acquiesces to the men in her life, agreeing that John must know best and thinking that her objections are "unreasonable."  But eventually, she coaxes him into the room in order to startle him with her new, more powerful (yet admittedly crazy) persona.  Even though I recognize it is a sad way for her personality to develop, I am still intrigued by the way she changes and the new assertive person she becomes.

Finally, I love the story for the feminist implications.  I have read that Gilman claimed the story was more about the problems within psychiatric care than within social gender roles.  However, the feminist issues in the story are almost unavoidable.  We are shown just how absurd the treatment of women was.  Remember, this was written in 1899, and John's interaction with his wife was probably not wholly unusual at the time.  I think it was courageous and intriguing for Gilman to explore and exaggerate the consequences of this inequity, and it's a huge part of the reason her story still has an impact in literature today.

Although I cheated with a short story as my first novella entry, I hope this helps get the series and the discussion started in a positive direction.

Great Novellas Introduction

Hello readers!  I am about to begin a new topical series of blog entries, this time focusing on excellent novellas that I think should be recognized as part of the Classic Literature canon.  I have done two series in the past, one about Contemporary Lit and one about Apocalyptic Lit, and I have enjoyed categorizing literature in this way and hope you have too. So now I am about to begin a "Great Novellas" series for you all.

I want to talk about novellas and short stories because I'm afraid they may be somewhat overlooked in Classic Literature.  Sometimes we view length as an accomplishment in literature in and of itself, which I think would be an unfair assumption.  It is true that there are many long novels that are truly excellent, such as The Brothers Karamazov, Anna Karenina, and Les Miserables.  But I do not think these are great simply for their numerous chapters; it is instead because the authors of each have clearly devoted considerable time and depth to each page.  I could offer several counterexamples of very long books that I do not think are all that wonderful, but I will refrain at this time.  My point is simply that just as we should not admire a book merely because it is long, so also we should not discredit a book just because it is quite short. 

Furthermore, I think novellas may sometimes require even more talent than fully developed novels because the authors cannot waste a single word.  Every piece of the story becomes absolutely essential, unlike several chapters that explain every individual aspect of a whale's anatomy and the minor details of manning a sperm boat.  (Whoops, I may have let it slip after all...)  My favorite quote to illustrate this comes from William Faulkner:

"I’m a failed poet. Maybe every novelist wants to write poetry first, finds he can’t, and then tries the short story, which is the most demanding form after poetry. And, failing at that, only then does he take up novel writing."

So let's take a cue from Faulkner and examine some of the amazing short stories and novellas in literature.  I have already included a couple of novellas in my blog so far, but not with this special concentration.  I recognize that a number of others before me have lauded short stories and novellas, and you have probably read a great deal of the ones I will mention.  So feel free to suggest any novellas and short stories you love along the way!

Part One: The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman
Part Two: One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzhenitsyn
Part Three: Night by Elie Wiesel
Part Four: Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton
Part Five: Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Part Six: Animal Farm by George Orwell

Things Fall Apart

Not too long ago, I was working for a textbook company and flipping through one of their enormous World Humanities books for review.  I happened to wander onto a page about African literature and read some information about Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe.  I think I reread the paragraph about him ten times because I couldn't believe I had never heard of him before!  Achebe is generally considered to be the founding father of African novels, and he published Things Fall Apart, his first novel, in 1958.  I was simultaneously impressed and saddened when I discovered this.  Of course, I was eager to read the book that swept the world and garnered much-needed attention for African literature.  However, 1958 seems extremely late for the first African novel, which makes me believe that we have either lost some African literature in history or the people have been extraordinarily stunted by various obstacles for a very long time.  The African-American authors had achieved considerable success by then, including the highly popular Harlem Renaissance, and yet Africans were not being noticed.  Thus, when Achebe finished his novel and sought publication, a lot of publishers did not take him seriously, either ridiculing the concept of an African novelist or dismissing it as lacking market value.  Eight million copies later, I think we finally know better. 

I have not read a lot of African literature yet, but Things Fall Apart felt as though it thoroughly portrayed a genuine African culture throughout the entire story.  There is no separation between the characters and the community, as they blend together in their traditions, superstitions, and relationships.  To the Westerner, some of these things may seem a little crazy, but from the insider's perspective of the story, it becomes quite fascinating.  When the white people come into the village and begin imposing on the cultural traits, I had somewhat mixed feelings.  To be honest, I think there were some ways the white missionaries were making beneficial adjustments for the people.  Some of the superstitions of the culture involved pain, murder, and unnecessary fear, which the missionaries were able to alleviate.  However, there was also a strong sense of loss that came with some of these changes, as one culture imposed on the other. 

Although there is undeniably a struggle between the Western and African cultures, this does not take up the majority of the story.  The missionaries come into the village quite late in the novel, which I think is important to note.  I don't think Achebe wrote the novel to illustrate injustices of the white people or tensions that existed.  Instead, I think he wanted us to get a taste of the quintessential identity of Africans.  Yes, the white people played a role in it, but I want to be careful not to concentrate too much on that aspect of the story.  Instead, it is the various African characters who are most important.

The protagonist, Okonkwo, is an intriguing "hero."  He has a number of faults, such as his pride in particular, and I cannot say that I admired him.  However, I don't think that Achebe was trying to make us admire him but instead understand him.  It is this distinction that made me love the book at the end.  I spent most of the novel feeling unsure about it, but the ending was so perfectly done with such a powerful impact that I instantly embraced the whole book.  I can think of a few other endings in literature that have likewise been so perfect that I instantly loved the whole novel, and it emphasizes to me just how important those last few paragraphs can be.

One of my favorite characters is Okonkwo's uncle, Uchendu.  He embodies all of the respected characteristics of the culture but without the pride and temper of Okonkwo.  He is an old man who has experienced a lot of pain and trials, but he lives with considerable wisdom and compassion.  Okonkwo is forced to live with him during his exile from his homeland, and I think he was a key figure in the text, particularly during this time in Okonkwo's life.

There are many other characters who left an impression on me, including Okonkow's best friend Obierika, his dynamic daughter Ezinma, and the young tragic boy Ikemefuna.  All of the various people in the story bring such wonderful color to the novel and fill the readers with a rich sense of African characterization.  They are so different and individualized, it's fantastic. 

Before I finish, I want to recommend that you read a post about African Literature by a guest on the Blue Bookcase.  I read this while I had a draft of this post in my box, and I thought it was so interesting.  She gives a wonderful overview of African literature to sample, with far more insight than I can offer.  So check it out if any of this has intrigued you!

Forgive the Negativity...

I have resisted writing a post like this for a long time now, but I am giving into the temptation.  Not too long ago, I read a funny post by Dead White Guys called "I hate your favorite book" in which she ranted about a couple of beloved classics.  Although I do really love one of the books she mentioned, I still found the blog amusing and entertaining.  I'm hoping that my entry will likewise entertain you and not aggravate you.  Although I'm not exactly trying to copy what she did, I have had a burning desire to get this off my chest for a while now, so I'm taking her playful entry as a green light.

I have very consciously limited all of my reviews to books that I believe deserve to be designated as "Classic Literature."  This has somewhat limited the amount of writing I can do because there are a considerable number of books that I regularly read which I do not think should be included in this list.  I've noticed that a lot of bloggers follow the formula of summarizing and then giving their opinions, whether good or bad.  There's nothing wrong with that, as it can be quite helpful, but I guess I've been trying to offer something a little different by picking up on one or two interesting issues within books that I love.  But believe me, I do not love every book I read.

Ok, ok, enough procrastinating.  Here goes... I really do not like Jane Austen.  Whew.  There it is.  I have to admit that I have not read all of her novels, and I recognize that there is a possibility that I could change my mind if I did.  But for now, I just have my feelings from reading two of them, and I am not a fan.  The problem is that my favorite thing about novels is the psychological character development.  I am fascinated by a multi-layered character who goes through struggles and accomplishments while moving toward the end of the novel.  I love getting inside a character's head, and I want a plot that emphasizes that.  Austen's characters are somewhat one-dimensional, and I can predict the ending by chapter two.  I understand that her skill is in the use of language and wit, but it feels too frivolous to be a truly great novel for me.  I'm sorry, Austen fans.

There have been a couple of novellas I read recently that disappointed me.  For example, I felt let down by The Stranger by Albert Camus.  I struggled to enjoy it in its complete lack of redemption and spirit.  I also thought The Old Man and the Sea didn't have a lot to offer, which is unusual for Hemingway in my experience.  Plus, I've seen it on a couple of "Best Books of All Time" lists, which surprises me.  Oh, and this is old news, but I absolutely hated Melville's Billy Budd when I read it a while ago.  That was brutal!  (To be fair to Melville, I've read about two-thirds of Moby Dick and definitely find it to be a great improvement, though way too long-winded at times.)  Now that I'm getting carried away, I may as well add that I really didn't like Jane Eyre the first time I read it either, but I was so young that I know I should probably try it again... I just don't particularly feel like it.  I could also list a handful of contemporary novels I've read that disappointed me, but I'd rather not.  And don't get me started on poetry...

Finally, there's an extremely important literary figure whom I do not particularly care for.  This has always been my cardinal sin as a literature lover, and I am reluctant to talk about it quite as openly.  But I will give you a significant hint and say he's the big "S."  If you know who I am talking about and are infuriated, please know that I do not discount his contribution to literature and yet I have my reasons for my dislike.

That was actually more fun than I thought.  I do apologize if you've taken any of this personally and can't believe my bad taste, but at the same time I don't feel too badly because I'm talking about some dead authors' writing, not about your mother.  But after this, I promise I'll be better about biting my tongue again and keeping my negative opinions to myself... at least for a little while.

Dubliners

As I was listing the authors I'd love to meet in my last post, I was surprised to realize that there were several I hadn't blogged about yet.  One of these great literary figures is James Joyce.  I am absolutely awed by the genius of Joyce.  In college, I once wrote a very long essay in which I simply examined the intricate use of clothing in just two chapters of Ulysses.  I was shocked by how much significance and symbolism I could find in such a small feature of this enormous work.  Perhaps because of this, I have not yet plowed through Ulysses cover-to-cover, although I have picked through a number of chapters and found them quite intriguing.  I want to take a moment and bow down before all of you reading this blog who have read Ulysses, (or Finnegans Wake, for that matter), thoroughly... You deserve much recognition!

So instead of discussing Ulysses, which I hope to do someday down the road, I will talk about Dubliners.  This is a short story cycle, but do not mistake its brevity for a lack of depth.  In the beauty of a marvelously crafted short story cycle, each chapter is individually significant, but they all gain much greater value when read as a unit.  The placement of the stories moves in a theme, gradually transitioning from young to old characters who experience some kind of epiphany moment.  When I hear "epiphany," it has a positive connotation for me, as though a person has become enlightened about some personal strength or hope in life. However, each of these "moments of clarity" are clarifying for the character that his or her world is more sinister, disappointing, or hopeless than he or she once believed.  Nevertheless, Joyce exposes these realizations quietly, without including moral comment or direct implications. 

The true value of the stories is in the details.  In these small literary portraits, Joyce includes a number of minute descriptions and observations which unlock the depth of the characters.  Especially since the stories are short, I believe that there is not a word put in there unnecessarily and I try to carefully consider the meaning behind every remark.  I think the image that most stands out in my mind is that of Eveline at the dock, watching her lover sail away but revealing little emotion.  I'll also never be able to forget the scene at the end of "Counterparts," with the beaten son pleading for mercy.

Of course, I can't discuss Dubliners without mentioning Dublin.  From what I understand, this short story cycle embodies true Irish nationalism, which is particularly clear in the story about Parnell and Ivy Day.  Joyce is also known to have been extremely accurate in his geographical descriptions of Dublin.  People have followed the descriptions of Dublin in his various books around town to confirm the exactness of his details.  Yet this portrait of Dublin is not really all that picturesque, as it also includes much of what was gritty and dark about the city and its citizens. It's a raw, realistic portrait, and I absolutely love it for that.

There's a lot more to say, but I think this is a good start.  So if you are intimidated by Joyce as I am, I encourage you to pick up a copy of Dubliners.  It's wonderfully crafted and yet wonderfully accessible.  I think it gives an excellent taste of Joyce's genius, and I hope to one day dive into one of his bigger works.