Sadness Is a White Bird by Moriel Rothman-Zecher

Published by Atria Books on February 13, 2018

As the title suggests, Sadness is a White Bird tells a sad story. It is a powerful story that addresses a young man’s moral dilemma when he is asked to give loyalty to one family (Israel) while disregarding his membership in a much larger family (humanity). The story’s power comes from the impossible situation its protagonist confronts when he is asked to choose between his best friends, who are clearly not his enemy, and the demands of the IDF, which insists that unarmed Palestinian protestors are dangerous enemies of Israel.

Transplanted from Pennsylvania to Israel, Jonathan considered himself a “discerning soldier” when he patrolled Palestinian villages with the IDF, trying not to adopt the bigoted mindset that characterized many of his fellow soldiers. Some of the soldiers with whom he patrols call him a “bleeding heart.” They belittle him for treating Palestinians decently and for trying to help his fellow soldiers understand their point of view. His missions are not always what he expected when he began his conscription, as when he helps quash a demonstration of dissenting Jews (with tear gas, as opposed to the bullets and grenades that are reserved for Palestinians).

As a teenager in Israel, Jonathan’s best friends were two Palestinians, Laith and his sister Nimreen, who had lived in Ohio and therefore shared with Jonathan the experience of living as young Americans. The story provides flashbacks to those times, narrated by Jonathan as he tells his story to an absent Laith. Jonathan predictably falls in love with Nimreen, and the scenes of their evolving intimacy and teenage desire are a bit sappy — the only weakness in a strong novel. From the tone of the letters and certain events in his past, however, it is not clear whether Jonathan has stronger feelings for Nimreen or for Laith. That question comes into focus later in the novel.

Jonathan’s flashbacks also educate the reader about Jonathan’s experiences with anti-Semitism and childhood bullying in Pennsylvania, and his training in the Israeli paratroopers, which the bullying may have motivated. The flashbacks also provide insight into the family background of Laith and Nimreen, and of a visit Jonathan made to his grandfather in Greece. The novel’s power is rooted in the oppression that each family has endured.

That power gains full force in the present, when Jonathan’s service in the IDF showcases his conflict between his loyalty to the soldiers with whom he serves and his belief that Palestinians have cause to protest Israel’s resistance to their call for freedom. Not surprisingly, before he is drafted, conflict arises between Nimreen and Jonathan because he will not join draft resisters who refuse to help Israel oppress Palestinians. Returning to the United States would be an easy way to resolve the dilemma, but Jonathan struggles to understand whether that would be an honorable solution. Jonathan is young and he craves the approval of his family (both his immediate relatives and the larger family of Jewish Israelis), not just Nimreen’s.

The novel points to the ways in which people are the same (which are fundamental) and the ways in which they are different (which are shaped by history and experience). The story suggests that understanding individual and cultural differences without losing sight of our commonality is the key to overcoming the hostility and violence that are bred by fears and prejudices and by honest differences of political opinion.

At the same time, the novel tests the adage “love conquers all.” It is possible for Jonathan and Nimreen to love each other, but can that love survive when Jonathan joins the IDF? The novel doesn’t back away from the question or answer it with a Pollyannaish view of love.

The story builds toward a dramatic moment that might turn friend against friend, but it builds drama upon a foundation of honesty rather than melodrama. The reader expects that moment to arrive, but the story’s climax is no less powerful for that. It is easy to admire Jonathan’s courage when he stands up to IDF propaganda and insists that the truth about the dramatic moment be known, despite the government’s attempt to fix blame on Palestinians for Jonathan’s misstep and to shelter the IDF from well-deserved criticism. At the same time, it is easy to sympathize with Jonathan, a young man who has no desire to be courageous or to make moral choices, who just wants his life to return to a simpler time when love and friendship were not imperiled by political conflict. Readers who appreciate novels that opt for a realistic portrayal of difficult struggles rather than a simplistic "we're good, they're bad" perspective will find much to admire in Sadness Is a White Bird.

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The Real Michael Swann by Bryan Reardon

Published by Dutton on June 12, 2018

Julia Swann watches her kids and drinks chardonnay with her neighbors while her husband Michael looks for work. As Michael waits for a train to take him home to Julia, a self-proclaimed patriot starts a brush fire near some train tracks, delaying train arrivals and forcing a crowd to form at Penn Station. When the crowd swells, a bomb detonates.

Michael regains consciousness as rescue workers help him to the surface streets. In his dazed condition, he remembers little, including his name, but notes that he is carrying a briefcase. Michael repeatedly walks away from medical attention in the chaos that surrounds the station. He wanders the city, clutching his briefcase, unable to think of a destination or to recall anything about his past.

In the meantime, Julia is panicking. The emotionally resonant scenes that describe her reaction to the news of the bombing and her instinctive reaction to drive into the city and find her husband are particularly compelling. So is her struggle to be both honest and comforting as she talks to her son, two goals that seem incompatible under the circumstances.

Interludes tell the story of Michael and Julia: their first date, their engagement, Julia’s work before she became an insecure stay-at-home mom who misses working, Michael’s fears about his job.

I enjoyed reading The Real Michael Swann, but I’m not sure why. The premise is contrived (as are most stories that are based on amnesia). Much of the novel describes a police manhunt for Michael, the police having decided that Michael detonated the bomb. Julia, who believes in her husband, also searches for him, aided by news reports that tell her where to look. I’m not entirely certain that a mother would leave her kids behind at the worst moment in their lives to search for a husband who is being hunted by the police after apparently committing mass murder. The police are utterly self-righteous and behave deplorably, and while that’s credible enough, the specific tactics they adopt at the novel’s end are unconvincing.

The question that compels the reader to turn the pages is whether Michael is innocent or guilty. The answer, like the premise, is just too contrived to be convincing, although it scores points for being surprising. The last chapters, after the climax, I would have done without. The scenes are forced and too weepy for my taste. The epilogue drags and its preachiness detracts from a story that makes the same points without force-feeding them to the reader.

One of the things I like about The Real Michael Swann is the decency that people exhibit to each other in times of crisis. While talking heads on television are busy stirring anger despite having no facts that would allow them to assess blame, friends and strangers alike are making sincere efforts to help Michael and Julia cope with their individual crises. I like to think there are still people like that in the world, people who are driven by compassion rather than anger.

Another point in the novel’s favor is that it tells a love story while avoiding most of the trappings of a romance novel. Julie doesn’t swoon over Michael’s tousled hair. Michael isn’t Adonis. Julie’s love is deep and sincere, but love doesn’t conquer all.

Finally, Bryan Reardon’s fluid prose keeps the story moving at a steady pace. This is one of those “I wonder how this could possibly end” novels that can’t easily be set aside, but it's also one of those novels that, after reading the last word, makes me think, "Well, that couldn't happen."

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Calypso by David Sedaris

Published by Little, Brown and Company on May 29, 2018

It’s difficult to say what any particular David Sedaris essay is about, since they meander delightfully, like a puppy in a garden filled with squeaky toys, until it becomes clear that the essay is simply about Being David Sedaris, a unique person living a unique life in a world he shares with billions of other unique people, each of them full of stories.

Sedaris writes about the perils of middle-age, the acquisition of guest rooms, and the fear of losing family members, as well as the regret of not asking questions about half-overheard conversations that pop up in memory years later. A couple of essays describe family gatherings before and after his sister’s suicide. One is about his strained relationship with his father and jazz, the real only connection they ever made; another addresses his father’s reluctance to move out of a home he can no longer maintain. A particularly poignant essay focuses on his relationship with his (long deceased) alcoholic mother. Sedaris is a humorist, but much of Calypso is touching and personal, not necessarily the stuff of humor.

Sedaris fans need not fret, however, because other essays showcase his quiet wit. He writes about being short, the discoveries he makes while walking (including the discovery that his Fitbit was ruling his life), his preference for feeding snapping turtles rather than attending family gatherings. He talks about gay marriage, which he favors in the abstract but opposes in his own life as mundane, like wearing Dockers to Olive Garden.

Other funny essays discuss words and phrases that should be banned (“awesome”), his arguments with his long-term lover Hugh about appropriate behavior and pets, family gossip and family quarrels, his attempt to feed his tumor to a snapping turtle, ghosts, psychics, the reasons he’s depressed (hint: Trump and Trump voters), his fear of crapping his pants, and phrases that people in various countries yell from their car windows when they are angry at another driver (he proclaims Romania the winner in the contest for most creative vulgarity). I think the essay about pants-crapping edged out the others for most laughs per page, although your mileage may vary.

I can’t say that I was enthralled by his descriptions of the odd clothing he purchases while shopping in Tokyo, but one essay that did nothing for me compared to twenty that provoked smiles or empathy isn’t a bad ratio. On the whole, the essays in Calypso are so insightful or amusing or both that I can forgive Sedaris for writing about his questionable taste in attire.

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Death Notice by Zhou Haohui

First published in China in 2014; published in translation by Doubleday on June 5, 2018

The Chengdu police have formed a task force to investigate the murder of police sergeant Zheng Haoming. Eighteen years earlier, a task force investigated the murders of the vice commissioner of Chengdu’s criminal police and two police academy students. The killer prepared “death notices” announcing those executions in advance. Given the Chinese government’s culture of secrecy, the murders were never made public, nor were they solved. The unsolved murders are relevant because a death notice was also prepared for Zheng before his murder. The notices identify the executioner as Eumenides, one of the Furies of Greek mythology.

Ironically, Zheng had been a member of the task force examining the original murders eighteen years earlier. His journal reveals that he began to reinvestigate the murders. Soon after Zheng is killed, Eumenides apparently accomplishes several more murders under the collective noses of the Chengdu police.

The novel follows several officers who work to uncover the identity of Eumenides. The story primarily follows a police psychologist named Mu Jainyun, who uncovers a potential link between the original murders and a drug bust that occurred a month earlier. Meanwhile, the other officers are either accusing each other of keeping secrets or doing not much of anything.

Death Notice isn’t the kind of whodunit that invites the reader to piece together clues and catch the killer. It’s more of a Chinese police procedural. The political and bureaucratic concerns that impede a proper investigation are interesting but underplayed, perhaps to avoid censorship of a novel that might be seen as exposing the inefficiency or corruption of Chinese policing. It is a common theme in crime fiction that escaping justice is a privilege of wealth, and that theme is advanced in Death Notice, but in a way that seems watered down compared to western crime novels.

The novel’s big reveal comes out of the blue, with an explanation tacked on in an epilogue. Death Notice is the first book in a trilogy, however, so don’t expect the story to be fully resolved by the end of the novel.

Characters tend to be underdeveloped stereotypes. They might gain more weight later in the series. The prose is often trite. That might be the fault of the translator, or it might be that what has become trite in western crime fiction is considered fresh in China.

Tired themes from horror novels (a man burned beyond recognition wanders through the novel) mix with familiar themes of justice (unpunished crimes must be avenged), although whether people (horrific or not) who carry out acts of vengeance outside the law are actually dispensing justice is questionable. Perhaps later novels in the trilogy will explore that question in greater depth; this one ducks the issue, and did too little to persuade me to continue with the remaining novels in the trilogy. Death Notice is interesting, primarily for being set in Chengdu, but it is far from compelling.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Upstate by James Wood

Published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux on June 5, 2018

Upstate is a family drama that focuses on a father’s sense of frustration because he feels unable to protect, or even to help, his two adult daughters, one of whom is particularly fragile. In the past, fathers passed the duty of protection to a daughter’s husband, but the fragile daughter’s boyfriend makes clear that he is not ready to accept that responsibility, nor is the paternalistic notion that women must be protected consistent with modern times. Where does that leave the father?

Alan Querry buys and develops properties in England. He gives the outward appearance of success, with a nice family home in Durham, but he’s having trouble paying his mother’s nursing home bills. He is 68 and the business to which he has devoted his life is in danger of failing.

Alan was a widower until he married Candace, who is ten years younger and not highly regarded by Alan’s two daughters. The fragile daughter, Vanessa, lives in Saratoga Springs, in upstate New York, where bodies unclench at the end of winter (presumably a metaphor for welcoming a new phase of life). Alan is planning to visit Vanessa because her boyfriend Josh emailed her sister Helen to say that Vanessa was depressed, withdrawing, and perhaps capable of self-harm. Alan, knowing Vanessa’s history, agrees to visit her with Helen, who visits the US regularly as a music producer for Sony, a job she is hoping to leave.

Helen believes that Vanessa is simply giving another of her “performances,” a view that is too uncharitable for Alan to hold (“I’d like to think that I don’t have a daughter who throws herself down the stairs because she damn well feels like it”). But the conflicts that face the family are deeper than Vanessa’s apparent depression, which seems to vanish when Alan and Helen arrive. For example, Alan’s uncertain finances lead to conflict with Helen, whose plans for a business start-up would benefit from Alan’s support.

Other family issues surround Vanessa’s boyfriend Josh, who strikes Alan as being overly smug, while Helen regards him as untrustworthy. Vanessa’s good spirits seem to depend on Josh’s presence, yet Vanessa is uncertain of her future with Josh, not just because of his apparent unwillingness to live with her in England, for which she increasingly longs, but because of the “smiling, weak, wary look” he gets when she tries to discuss any sort of future with him. Josh and Alan have an honest chat late in the novel that amplifies Alan’s concerns about Vanessa’s future.

Upstate offers a detailed exploration of the Querry family, their relationships and anxieties, their strengths and weaknesses. Vanessa’s intrusive Christian neighbor thinks she needs to be saved, and Vanessa is something of a mess at home, but in her classroom, lecturing on ethics in philosophy, discussing the difference (if one exists) between thinking and living, she is in complete control. At the same time, philosopher that she is, wondering whether life has any meaning beyond a continuation of existence has taken a toll on her, although she might be susceptible to having existential thoughts even if she had not pursued philosophy as a career. Happiness might just be an innate quality that some people have and other lack. That, at least, is one of the questions the novel poses.

Josh lives resolutely in the present, a trait that Vanessa philosophically admires in the abstract, but the novel asks us to question whether the self-help admonition to “live in the now” is suited to the maintenance of a relationship. Vanessa wants her father and sister to rescue her, while Helen’s judgmental (perhaps selfish) nature and her desire to live her own life conflict with her desire to help Vanessa. On top of that, Helen has her own marital difficulties.

All of that leaves Alan wondering what, if anything, he can do for his children now they are no longer living under the protection of his roof. Upstate explores the parental anxiety that comes from watching adult children make decisions and confront problems over which the parent has no control. Parents can directly affect a young child’s happiness, but adult children, no longer dependent on parents for emotional wellbeing, present less predictable parenting challenges.

In elegant prose, the novel asks the reader to imagine what options Alan might have to improve not just his children’s lives, but his own. The novel also directs an observent eye to American customs as seen from the perspective of a traditionally reserved Englishman. There is not a misplaced word in this careful study of a small family's loss of the connections that might make it easier for them to cope with their individual problems.

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