Cat’s Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut, 1963

Cat's Cradle

No damn cat, no damn cradle. Kurt Vonnegut

 

Spoilers

Happy Banned Book Week! (2018 Reading Challenge)

In 1972, the school board of Strongsville, OH banned Vonnegut’s work for… no specific reason. Apparently, someone just didn’t like it (Minarcini v. Strongsville City School District)

And what’s not to like?

A not-so-veiled critique of the self-serving fluidity of organized religion.

A not-so-covert jab at the sincerity of organized religion.

A not-so-subtle anti-nuclear weapons message.

A not-so-hidden contempt for authority figures who arrogantly assume they know what’s best.

I can’t imagine what entities would find these thoughts threatening.

So it goes.

Vonnegut’s story follows our narrator, John, who prefers to be called Jonah, as he goes from would-be-author to would-be-dictator in a short amount of time. We end up in a place not opposite of where we expected but more up, over and to the left.

Jonah’s wacky adventure…well, it’s too bizarre to really summarize and if I’m being completely honest, I’m not sure how we got from the beginning of the book to the end. It all seemed organic at the time. The short chapters propel the story forward at a brisk pace so there isn’t really time to take in the absurdity until the end when you realize just how much has transpired.

Vonnegut tackles big subjects in big ways.

He uses the fake religion of Bokonism to skewer the false comfort of organized religion. Jonah becomes enamored with Bokonism, a faith filled with dubious wisdom and bizarre rituals and built on lies. Even after finding out the religion was designed with disingenuous motives, Jonah still finds comfort in the teachings.

The non-existent Ice Nine stands in for nuclear weapons and Vonnegut doesn’t pretend there are pros and cons to its use. The bleak hopeless end of the novel pretty much sums up Vonnegut’s anti-nuke stance. The crux of the book asks the question “We can, but should we?” Vonnegut’s answer is clearly “No.”

The Complete Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi, 2004

Persepolis

We can only feel sorry for ourselves when our misfortunes are still supportable. Once this limit is crossed, the only way to bear the unbearable is to laugh at it. Marjane Satrapi

Originally written in French and translated (2018 Reading Challenge) into several languages, Marjane Satrapi’s recounts life from childhood to young adulthood during Iran’s Islamic Revolution. As a Bildungsroman, a type of memoir focusing on one’s years of educational or spiritual growth (I learned that skimming the Wikipedia article for Persepolis) she not only discusses the historical events, but what it meant to her as a child and how it impacted her young adulthood.

Satrapi’s story begins just before the Revolution. She lives the best of both worlds. Her father’s job as a government engineer offers a life of privilege and security. Her Uncle Anoosh, a revolutionary, is a source of awe and inspiration giving her cache among her politically aware school mates. Her parents encourage her education and political awakening even as an oppressive force looms in the distance.

The new regime quickly chips away at the people’s freedoms—requiring the veil, segregating schools by gender, jailing and executing those who speak out against the fundamentalists—and erodes Satrapi’s childhood. Eventually, her parents send her to Austria for her safety and well-being. Upon her return years later, she finds she is a foreigner in her own homeland.  She writes, “I was a westerner in Iran, an Iranian in the West. I had no identity.”

Satrapi’s stark images—black and white, no greys—fit the tone and content of her life’s view perfectly. Like most young people, she believes the world should function according to her limited viewpoint. It’s her way or it’s wrong.

She portrays moments of despair—sacrifice, separation and death are companions to war—yet the story never gets maudlin. In fact, like most survivors, she finds humor in the absurdity of her rapidly changing world. She doesn’t dwell too long on the gory details, but she doesn’t shield the reader from them either. War and oppression are not pretty, and life doesn’t go back to normal. The book is surprisingly uplifting in many ways. As the society in which she dwells gets crushed under the weight of a new normal, Satrapi, her parents and grandmother really stay the same. The rebellious fire may have to be hidden, but it still burns.

I’ll be Gone in the dark, Michelle McNamara, 2018

Goneinthe dark

I’ve written about hundreds of unsolved crimes, from chloro­form murderers to killer priests. The Golden State Killer, though, has consumed me the most. Michelle McNamara

At 15 weeks, Michelle McNamara’s I’ll be Gone in the Dark qualifies for the Ten Weeks on the New York Times Bestseller List challenge (2018 Reading Challenge).

McNamara pursues the Golden State Killer (GSK), one of the most prolific yet ignored serial rapist-turned-killer in recent memory. Devouring decades worth of police notes, newspaper articles and witness testimony she follows every lead she finds to its disappointing end. According to notes by the author herself, she didn’t expect to find the killer by the end of the book. She hoped the story would inspire others to join the search.

Unlike many true crime books, McNamara doesn’t revel in the gory details of the crimes. She doesn’t inadvertently glorify the nameless murderer by building him up to be the essence of looming terror a la Charles Manson. It’s about the labyrinthine process of searching for one nondescript man whose crimes span over twelve years, 500 miles and 70+ victims. It’s about the humanity of the victims– the ones who survived, the ones he killed, and those left grieving. And it’s about the ones who search for him, those on the force and those “armchair” detectives who devote just as much time as the professionals.

Or at least that’s the spirit of the book.

Michelle McNamara died on April 21, 2016, midway through writing I’ll Be Gone in the Dark. In some places editors culled from her earlier essays about GSK. Lead researcher Paul Haynes and investigative journalist Billy Jenson “worked together to tie up loose ends.” But I don’t know if the finished product is the book she envisioned.

Perhaps it’s a trope of true crime novels to skip around. I’ve read several books that never finish a thought before jumping to a new topic, a new case, a new location. This book follows that formula. It begins by recounting a later GSK crime and continues out of chronological order. The author, or editor most likely, then inserts memoir-like passages that McNamara wrote about her current day search. In these parts we get to know McNamara and the detectives working the case. We get to see their obsessive perseverance despite crushing disappointment. We also hear from surviving victims and family members. This is where the humanity of the book resides, reminding us that what piques our interest as readers is a vexing nightmare for those who lived it.

I don’t recall a book having such a bittersweet backstory as this. Here is a debut novel by a talented, professional voice that promises great things. But that voice is now silenced.  She never got to see this killer “walk into the light”, but he was eventually caught two months after I’ll Be Gone In The Dark was released, forever binding her hard work to as happy an ending as this story can have.

Coming soon…

So, the fiasco at the library got straightened out and as I predicted the books came in at the same time. But also, we had a stroke of (hopefully) good luck.  Namely, we found a cheaper place to live in a comparable dwelling.  We are in the process of rapidly packing our things and heading over there.  It’s in town so not much is changing, but packing up every single thing you own and moving it down the street is no easy feat.

I’ll have a few reviews in the next few weeks but I didn’t get as far ahead as I wanted and will probably have another break after this next batch.

Take care.