Daniel by Henning Mankell

After having worked as a court stenographer for seven years, there are few things about peoples' actions and words that shock me anymore.  Saddly, my previous court reporting career has completely desensitized me to the degree to which people can be cruel, callous, manipulative, remorseless, and disgusting (to name only a few adjectives in my experience).  I am a bit jaded; however, it doesn't mean that I don't find many actions and words to be extremely disturbing.  That's exactly how I felt about Daniel by Henning Mankell.  The cruelty and lack of human respect depicted in this novel is something I have unfortunately witnessed before, but it still left me feeling troubled and uncomfortable.

The novel begins with a man, Hans Bengler, an egotistical, selfish, jerk with aspirations of notariety and fame fueling every one of his decisions.  He travels to Africa in 1877 in search of a rare, never-before-seen insect that he declares will be named after him and provide him with great fortune and popularity.  Bengler returns to his native Sweden with a bug in a jar and a black child on a harness.

Swedish history is a subject that I have never had an opportunity to study or research.  Therefore, I do not know how involved or uninvolved the country was with the African Slave Trade.  From the inferences I made through reading the text, my understanding is that Africans were rarely seen in this country during the 1800s.  For that reason, when Bengler brings this child home and names him "Daniel," they become a circus show of sorts.  Bengler's unique bug and rare human find are both put on display for public viewing. 

That's where the uncomfortable and troubling part of this novel comes into play with me.  The Prologue begins with the discovery of a murdered young girl.  Criminal acts, violence, and rape occur throughout the entirety of the novel ~ all of which are disturbing in their own right.  But what upset me most was the objectivity of this young boy, Daniel.  With the exception of actions by a few characters, Daniel is never afforded the luxury of human respect and kindness.  He is tied up and harnessed like a dog, and then he is put on display like one of Bengler's bugs to be scrutinized for his differences.  Daniel is a smart child who pursues his dream of walking on water so that he can cross the ocean on his own two feet and return to Africa.  He wants to be loved, but he doesn't know where to find it or how to accept it.

Despite my own uneasiness with Daniel's situation, I found myself enthralled with this novel.  The story is so intelligently written.  From the beginning to the end, it contains a series of logical yet disjointed events.  You never quite understand why these events are taking place or where they are leading you.  The entire novel takes place in 1877 - 1878, but then the short Epilogue suddenly brings you to 1995.  It is during this time, 118 year later, where all of those loose ends about Daniel's life and circumstances are seamlessly tied together with a completely unexpected and deserved respectability, an ending that made my own discomfort and Daniel's hardships worth bearing through.

The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje

Dinner is done; I've gone for my walk; the dogs have been fed and taken care of; and I'm decked out in my favorite comfy pajamas.  After another long and stressful week of administering the Connecticut Mastery Tests, all I want to do is sit down, relax, and finish my book before going to bed.  So as I settle into my favorite spot on the couch with my book in one hand and a cup of tea in another, conditions are perfect for wrapping up the ending to The English Patient.  Or are they really?

Things are never as they appear.

And why is that? you may ask.

Well, let me introduce you to the problem ~ or shall I say problems.


Meet Problem Number One, Roxie, or as I'd like to call her "Fuddrucker."  Fuddruckers is the name of a hamburger restaurant I had discovered while vacationing in Myrtle Beach, SC.  I thought the name was hillarious.  So I found ways to incorporate it into my every-day vernacular.  I originally adopted the term "fuddrucker" as a hillarious substitute in a bad-word-sort-of way, as in "What the Fuddrucker?"  But over the two years that fuddrucker has been a part of my daily language, its definition and usage has evolved above and beyond the queen mother of dirty words.  It's taken on a connotation that I'm sure Mr. Fuddrucker himself or the founders of the Fuddrucker Corporation (if either one exists) never intended.  For me, it has become a fun way to label Roxie as a big-time troublemaker.

Anyway, that brings me to the next troublemaker, Problem Number Two, Holly, or as I'd like to call her, Holly-hoo.  (Everyone has to have a nickname around here.  It's an unspoken rule).  Holly is 11 years old and is far too docile to be dubbed a fuddrucker; but when Roxie instigates trouble, the fuddrucker in Holly comes out.

Don't be fooled by the innocent veneer of Fuddrucker and Holly-hoo.  For the most part, they get along perfectly well.  It's only when I want to sit and relax and try to read that the Wild Fuddrucker Rumpus begins.  That's when they decide to argue for my undivided attention.  It starts with Roxie jumping on and pacing across my lap, crinkling the pages of my book, knocking the tea out of my hand, and barking hysterically at Holly.  Holly retaliates by barking back; but because she's old and and battling ailments common to her breed, she easily becomes winded and tired.  Her barking subsides, and she decides to invade Roxie's toy basket in an attempt to throw in another jab.  Roxie, of course, gets upset, barks louder, and jumps higher.  After about five minutes of them barking and me shouting, toys are now littered all over the floor; I'm dripping in tea; and somehow the couch pillows have grown legs and walked across the room.

Over the last two years, my Junie B. Jones bookmark, Page 34 of Wuthering Heights, and a William-Sonoma coffee cup have suffered as just a few of the casualties to this War of the Fuddruckers.  You'd think I'd learn my lesson by now and lock myself into another room.  But it starts off so seemingly innocent. . .

. . . as did The English Patient.  For a 300-page book with short chapters, I thought I'd rip through this one with ease.  But, oh, no.  This story bounces between time and place and from one character to the next, and sometimes I had difficulty deciphering who was who and exactly what was happening.  And it was particularly difficult to focus with two fuddruckers creating havoc.  The English Patient is actually a beautiful story, but one that I was only able to appreciate after giving it the intellectual muscle required.  The writing style does take a while to get used to, but it's written with rich details that entice you into a journey that takes place at the tail end of World War II between Italy and Cairo.  The characters are easily likable, even for all of their faults.  It's a book definitely worth reading, especially when you have a quiet place to sit, focus, and absorb its intricacies.

Cold Sassy Tree by Olive Ann Burns

In my compulsive need for organization, my books and I have adopted this whacky tradition.  As soon as I get home from the library, I sit down on the bed or the couch and I line the books up in front of me.  I then look through each one of them with the precision of a crime scene investigator, paying closer attention to detail than I did during their selection process at the library.  I re-read and ponder over the summaries on the book jackets or back covers; read the first few pages or the first chapters; review the return dates for each one; and finally stack them on my desk in order of priority to read from first to last.  And since I've got this ritual down to a science, it doesn't take longer than an hour; and I can sleep easy knowing what to expect because it's all been planned out ahead of time.

Okay.  So I realize that this routine is a bit extreme to some (and hopefully there are others out there that share my desire for spotless oraganization and detailed planning.  I know my aunt certainly did).  But in a world and in a life full of chaos, choosing the next book I read is one of the few things I can control.  And given the fact that many people love books and love to read, maybe it's not such an odd ritual afterall.  Perhaps these books do more for me than I realize.  And then I got to thinking. . .

I remember watching a public announcement made by John F. Kennedy, Jr. in regards to his mother's death.  And I remember him stating that she had died "among her family and her books."  Honestly, I first thought the statement about the dying-among-her-books part was a bit odd.  But after a little thought, I suddenly understood what he was saying about the former first lady.  She must have loved to read, and she clearly enjoyed being surrounded by books.  Books brought Jacqueline Kennedy Onasis comfort even as she lay dying.  Her son's statement suddenly struck me as being exceptionally poignant.  I have come to realize that books bring me comfort, as well.  They're like old friends that you can rely upon.  And I like knowing that through this routine I have developed a relationship with a selection of titles piled on my desk waiting for me to read.

Coldy Sassy Tree happened to be one of the books at the bottom of my pile.  Not only did it have a later return date than the others, but it was something I just wasn't excited about (for reasons I can't explain).  But I was pleasantly surprised when I was immediately sucked into this turn-of-the century, Southern-fried delight.  It's the story of a 14-year old boy and his grandfather who recently lost his wife and remarried a woman half his age three weeks later ~ causing quite the scandal in the small southern town of Cold Sassy.  And the scandals keep on rolling throughout the book, stirring up gossiping neighbors and adolescent-like antics.  I adored the relationship between Will Tweedy and his grandfather; and I adored the traits of the other characters involved.  It was unfortunate that this little gem of a book didn't make it to the top of the heap.  But the important thing is that it did make it and that it provided me with a good dose of southern comfort.

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro

It's a bit coincidental how I'm teaching a second grade reading group the importance of generating questions while reading a book ~ because this book left me with a lot more questions than I usually have pertaining to a plot, characters, events, etc.  For my students, this is a skill I want them to practice because it will help them develop those higher order of thinking skills, which are so important for academic success.  For all of us, question generating allows us not only to think more deeply about the story but also to understand it more clearly.  Never Let Me Go certainly fueled my own higher order of thinking skills toward a spinning and churning cycle.

The minute I dove into this one, I got the odd sense that I was not leaping into a shallow pool.  Plunged into the thick of obscurity from the start, I kept asking myself:  "What are guardians?  What are carers?  What is the purpose of Hailsham?  Why are these students here?"  The terms and language were initially confusing and their meanings continued to remain just as vaguely throughout most of the book.  Add that confusion to a writing style that took me a while to adjust to, a rambling narrator, and characters that were not easily likable, and I often found my mind wandering and losing focus.

Further into the novel, I began questioning the plot holes.  Were these gaps intentionally left by the author?  Because of her unfortunate circumstances, we have an unreliable narrator.  Did she purposely leave out specific details that I'm questioning because she didn't want to tarnish our perceptions of her?  These were pretty big details to leave out too.  For example, once these students arrive at the Cottages, we are never told whether or not they find jobs, earn money.  They just seem to sit there in a sort of gray, melancholic pergatory.  Yet, they somehow have money to buy things like old music tapes and gas for their cars.

And the biggest question I was left pondering was this:  These students know that they will eventually perform a specific, dangerous, and deadly purpose with their lives.  It is what they were "bred" for.  Despite the fact that many of them questioned it and were uncomfortable with it, I can't understand why none of them attempted to flee from the Cottages in search of a better situation.  No one was holding them back.  They certainly had the ability to travel away from the cottages (hence, a trip out of town to buy this Judy Bridgewater tape).  Had there been some sort of "escape" from the cottages, the story definitely would have been much more suspenseful and fulfilling.  It would have given the story's purpose (and revelation) a true and meaningful resolution.

Some of my questions were answered throughout the novel; however, most of them were left lingering.  I can't say that this was a great read, but it was certainly intriguing.  It involves a delicate subject matter that forces readers to think about the morals and actions of our society as it pertains to medical research.  This is not a book for everyone.  It wasn't even a book for me.  But any novel that throws my mind into a tailspin and forces me to generate questions at this depth and level is worth a nod.