The Cat's Table by Michael Ondaatje

Published by Knopf on October 4, 2011

At the age of eleven, Michael boards an ocean liner bound for England. With his friends Cassius and Ramadhin, he explores the ship and befriends eccentric passengers: Mr. Fonseka, a literature teacher from Colombo who displays the "serenity and certainty" Michael has observed "only among those who have the armor of books close by"; Mr. Daniels, who has transformed a section of the hold into an exotic garden; the musician and blues fan Max Mazappa; an Australian girl who greets the dawn by roller skating fiercely around the deck; Miss Lasqueti, a woman with a surprising, hidden background who is traveling with dozens of pigeons; a hearing impaired Singhalese girl named Asuntha, and others. "Simply by being in their midst," the boys are learning about adults, including those assigned to sit with them at the low-status Cat's Table, situated at the opposite end of the dining room from the Captain's Table. Michael's other lessons include his first fleeting experience with love and desire, as well as a taste of European racism, both subtle and (particularly in the case of the ship's captain) overt.

Two other passengers Michael knows only by sight. Sir Hector de Silva, a wealthy but ill passenger in Emperor Class accommodations, has bad luck with dogs, perhaps because a spell was cast upon him. At the opposite end of the social spectrum is a prisoner, rumored to be a murderer, whose midnight strolls on the deck -- closely guarded and in chains -- the concealed boys observe with fascination.

Michael Ondaatje keeps all these characters in motion like a master juggler. They are a fascinating bunch, and Ondaatje weaves them in and out of the narrative while maintaining a perfectly balanced pace: not so quick that the story whizzes by without time to appreciate its nuances; not so deliberate as to lose its energetic force.

At its midway point, the novel skips ahead from the 1953 voyage to events that occur twenty years later in Michael's life, events that trigger memories of the friends with whom he bonded on that formative journey. Although the writing in that section is exceptionally strong and quite moving, it has an out-of-joint feel, particularly when the flash forward ends and the voyage resumes. Subsequent interruptions to tell the reader of future events are shorter and more seamlessly integrated into the narrative. Eventually those passages become essential to the story; they complete it. Ondaatje writes: "Over the years, confusing fragments, lost corners of stories, have a clearer meaning when seen in a new light, a different place." The perspective that Michael gains with time, after reconnecting with individuals he met on the voyage, permits him (and thus the reader) to reinterpret events that occurred on the ocean -- particularly a moment of drama that becomes the story's nucleus, and that Michael can only understand fully many years later. For that reason, although The Cat's Table could be viewed as a coming of age novel, I think Ondaatje is suggesting that we spend our lifetimes coming of age -- that is, acquiring the wisdom and perspective of adulthood.

There is a restrained, graceful elegance to Ondaatje's prose that every now and then made me stop, blink, and reread a beautifully composed sentence or paragraph. He writes with affection of dogs and artists, of the needy and of those who give selflessly of themselves. This is a marvelously humane novel that works on a number of levels, but most of all, it is a joy to read.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

Gone, No Forwarding by Joe Gores

Published by Random House in 1978

It's a shame that Joe Gores' novels about the Dan Kearney Agency -- known collectively as the "DKA Files" -- are no longer in print. Gores packed more story and characterization into his two hundred page novels than most writers can manage with a five hundred page blockbuster. It's also a shame that Gores died this year, taking with him the funny, grouchy, sly, opinionated, and utterly convincing characters who repossessed cars, solved mysteries, and muddled through life while working for DKA.

Gone, No Forwarding is the third novel in the series. It has all the plot twists a reader of the first two will have come to expect. This one has less to do with repossessing cars than with Kearney's license to practice his craft. Someone has complained that Kearney's staff failed to honor an agreement to hold a payment in trust pending a judicial determination of the lender's entitlement to it. The employee who supposedly breached the agreement died an unexpected but natural death, leaving Kearney scrambling for a witness who can contradict the story told by the person who made the payment. Kearney dispatches his top employees (with whom readers of the first two novels will be familiar) to find people who may have been working in the office when the payment was made. Those folks have since moved on to other jobs (one is a hooker) and other locations, making the task of finding them a challenge.

While there is a modest amount of violence in Gone, No Forwarding, the emphasis is on the process of detection rather than shootouts and thrills. The characters, as usual, are trying to balance their personal problems with the demands that Kearney makes upon them. The nefarious motive that underlies the threat to Kearney's license relates back to an event that occurred in an earlier novel, but it isn't necessary to read the earlier one to understand this one. As the DKA employees track down witnesses and piece together facts, the mystery is resolved in a way that is both surprising and satisfying. But as much fun as the plot and characters provide, the great joy of a DKA novel is Gores' tight prose, his ability to set a scene, to capture a personality, to create atmosphere, in just a few carefully chosen words. Gone, No Forwarding isn't the best novel in the series, but like the others, it is a joy to read.

RECOMMENDED

The Best American Short Stories 2011 by Geraldine Brooks, ed.

Published by Mariner Books on October 4, 2011

Any "best of" collection will succeed or fail -- in the reader's judgment -- according to how closely the editor's taste aligns with the reader's. Of the twenty stories in this volume, I think about half undeniably merited inclusion, and the other half aren't bad (although I suspect I might have chosen a different ten to replace them if given the daunting task of wading through hundreds of stories in search of gems). While the editors and I have somewhat different opinions as to what constitutes an outstanding short story, our differences are not vast. I particularly appreciated the diversity of the stories they chose and their recognition that the inclusion of a plot does not destroy the integrity of character-driven fiction.

I admired "Foster" -- the story of an Irish girl who leaves behind "shame and secrets" when she goes to live with another family for a time -- for Claire Egan's ability to describe characters and settings with high definition clarity. Both touching and heartening, it is my favorite of the twenty.

Some of the best stories in the collection are perceptive studies of characters responding to adversity: Tom Bissell's "A Bridge Under Water" examines the lives of a newly married couple who are only starting to understand their differences during the first days of an ill-fated honeymoon in Rome. In Ehud Havazelet's "Gurov in Manhattan," a Russian immigrant, reflecting upon a two year battle with cancer followed by his girlfriend's decision to leave him (and whose dying dog is now in his care), compares his life to the characters created by Russian literary masters. The death of small town America is the subject of Caitlin Horrocks' sadly funny "The Sleep." In "ID," the prolific Joyce Carol Oates puts us inside the head of a teenage girl who is asked to identify the body of a woman who might be her mother.

The stories I most enjoyed reading were funny, although the humor tended to be low-key: "The Dungeon Master," Sam Lypsyte's offbeat, engaging look at alienated teenagers, and "Phantoms," in which Stephen Millhauser describes and attempts to explain the phantoms that inhabit his town (and yours), both made me smile, but "Escape From Spiderhead," George Saunders' futuristic assault on chemically enhanced language and love, provoked serious laughter.

Some stories are good but fall short of reaching their potential for greatness: In "Dog Bites," Ricardo Nuila explores the relationship between an accomplished father and a son with an undefined mental illness. "Soldier of Fortune" by Bret Anthony Johnston tells of a high school boy's fascination with the girl next door and his eventual discovery of the secret she keeps.

Some of the stories are well written but not particularly interesting: In "Ceiling" by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, a Nigerian contemplates his success and considers the possibility of change, knowing he lacks the courage to confront his insensitive wife, his superficial associates, or his corrupt benefactor, while indulging the fantasy of reconnecting with a former lover who has rejected him. "The Call of Blood" by Jess Row is an overly ambitious examination of history, ethnicity, and the burdens carried by a medic-turned-nurse who is caring for a dying patient. Megan Mayhew Bergman's "Housewifely Arts" is the story of a woman who makes a nine hour drive to Myrtle Beach with her seven-year-old son so she can hear a parrot speak in the voice of her dead mother -- a journey designed to help her face her guilt. Rebecca Makkai writes about an actor who loses both his ability to act and his relationship with a friend in "Peter Torrelli, Falling Apart."

Allegra Goodman aims for poignancy in "La Vita Nuova," her story of a woman who, having been dumped by her fiancé shortly before her wedding date, babysits for a young boy and paints the histories of the people she knows (and her own) on Russian nesting dolls. I was unmoved. I had a similar reaction to "Property," an assemblage of clever sentences by Elizabeth McCracken that describe a man's life in the months following his wife's death, and to "The Hare's Mask," Mark Slouka's tale of a boy's attachment to rabbits during a dark and frightening time.

Strangely enough, two stories are written in the second person, a technique that rarely works. For all her talent, Jennifer Egan ("Out of Body") doesn't pull it off. The underrated Richard Powers ("To the Measures Fall") is more successful in his homage to literature and a lifetime of reading.

Nathan Englander's "Free Fruit for Young Widows" attempts to explain, and perhaps to justify, wanton acts of multiple homicide by making a case for the philosophy of proactive self-defense, but the storytelling is too heavy-handed and the circumstances too contrived for the attempt to succeed. Fortunately, it's the only story in the collection I considered a clunker.

RECOMMENDED

The Great Leader by Jim Harrison

Published by Grove Press on October 4, 2011

As a divorced police detective in Marquette, Michigan, Sunderson's life is generally sedate. The kind of crime that requires detective work is far from rampant in the Upper Peninsula. His hobbies include trout fishing and surreptitiously watching a teen neighbor arise naked from her bed each morning. Sunderson is sure he would cut off his own hands before touching the girl "but then he wondered how one would go about cutting off his own hands." Every ten days a married woman visits Sunderson for sex. Sunderson considers "what it would be like to be full of firm moral resolve" but clearly that's an experience he will never have.

Sunderson's final investigation before retirement involves a cult leader (known to the cult's members as the Great Leader but adopting the name Dwight as his most recent alias) who was rumored to have been sexually involved with minors before apparently faking his death. Unsuccessful in his attempt to locate the culprit, Sunderson decides to flee from his home after his retirement party (where he is chagrined to learn that his inappropriate behavior with a dancing girl -- who happens to be a potential witness against Dwight -- was seen by the other attendees). Sunderson travels to Arizona where he takes up a new hobby: investigating "the crime of religion," which amounts to searching for Dwight. There he meets more women: Lucy, who reminds him a bit too much of Diane, his ex-wife; and Melissa, a nurse whose protective brother is a drug lord. His time in the Southwest gives Sunderson ample opportunity to ruminate about his failures and obsessions, an occupation he continues after his return to the U.P.

Jim Harrison writes lovingly of land and nature; the reliability of its "indefatigable creature life" contrasts with the unreliability of human nature. Although Sunderson keeps track of Dwight's activities, what passes for a plot in The Great Leader is just an excuse for Harrison to exercise his wit and make pithy observations about American life. Harrison focuses his dry and occasionally outrageous humor on a variety of human behavior (and misbehavior). His most prominent targets are sex, religion, money, divorce, and retirement (the last of which makes Sunderson feel "not quite like a roadkill but like a man whose peripheries have been squashed, blurred, by the loss of his defining profession.") Harrison skewers the notion that men can reinvent themselves after retirement; Sunderson's efforts leave him feeling like "a dog who, hit by a car, drags himself into a ditch trying to be more out of harm's way." As he did in The English Major, Harrison has fun exploring the sexual interests of a man who, having physically passed beyond middle age, demonstrates the emotional maturity of a rutting teenager.

Warnings: In his descriptions of Sunderson's intimate life and fantasies, Harrison is explicit -- no more so than many modern humorists, but enough to put off readers who disapprove of erotic content, even when it's funny. Sunderson's thoughts provide a running commentary on history, politics, and sex after sixty -- topics that might offend readers who disagree with his pointed opinions. Others might be upset that Sunderson doesn't vigorously condemn every adult who has sex with a teenager (a frequent subject of his wandering thoughts). Whether I agreed with Sunderson's opinions or not -- sometimes I did, sometimes I didn't -- they frequently made me laugh, and I found many of his notions about society's failings to be on target.

When I read a Harrison novel, it takes me awhile to adjust to his unique style. I wouldn't describe his sentences as run-on, but the man is no fan of the comma. The style isn't necessarily bad, just different -- although I'm not sure I ever completed the adjustment. I don't read Harrison novels for stylistic brilliance, and I wouldn't recommend this one for its plot, which doesn't amount to much. I nonetheless enjoyed this book (and recommend it) for its humor and for its perceptive takes on life as seen through the eyes of a Midwestern senior citizen. Harrison provokes serious thought nearly as often as snickers and chuckles. He is the best chronicler of the "aging man blues" I've come across. When I laugh at the foibles displayed by his characters, I'm often laughing at myself. That, for me, made the reading experience worthwhile.

RECOMMENDED

Now You're One of Us by Asa Nonami

First published in Japan in 1993; published in translation by Vertical on December 18, 2007

Noriko Hashimoto's reservations about marrying Kazuhito and joining the Shito household -- complete with siblings, parents, grandparents, and his great-grandmother -- are quickly dispelled by the sunny, welcoming personalities the family members display. To an unnatural degree, the family members embrace Noriko, viewing her as a "treasure" who will, in some unspoken way, be the family's salvation. Noriko is puzzled but flattered; she soon joins in the family's routines. All seems well until an old ice vendor tries to warn Noriko about the family, only to be interrupted by Noriko's mother-in-law before he can voice his concerns. When the ice vendor and his family die in an explosion, Noriko begins to suspect that the Shito family is not as perfect as it seems. A friend in whom she confides tells her: "You haven't married into money, you've married into a swamp of madness."

But what sort of madness underlies the apparent perfection of this extended family? Are they criminals? Are they deviants, living apart from the social norms that Noriko has always accepted? Noriko feels alienated, in part because she doesn't share the family's unnatural closeness (to quote an ancient issue of Mad magazine, "the family that bathes together, stays together," an apt description of the Shitos). Noriko observes an apparent sexual flirtation between siblings that concerns her, even as the family members shrug off her objections to their lifestyle. From the beginning, Noriko is subjected to a form of brainwashing designed to transform her into a true Shito. Her attempt to share her concerns with a friend only results in a new round of confusion and trouble.

For most of the novel, Noriko is stifled in her effort to understand the Shitos, as is the reader. While the reader shares Noriko's suspicions about the family's true nature, Asa Nonami keeps the family's secret well hidden. When the truth is finally revealed, however, it seems both anti-climactic and beyond improbable. Moreover, while it is easy to empathize with Noriko's plight, I found it difficult to accept that the familial brainwashing would so completely transform her belief system.

As I've found to be true with other thrillers translated from Japanese, the writing style is straightforward but uninspired. Perhaps it was the plainness of the prose that kept me from becoming engrossed in the story. More likely it was my eventual realization that Nonami was driving toward a destination that scarcely seemed worth reaching. The story of the Shito family is odd but not particularly shocking (although perhaps it was so regarded in 1993 when the novel was first published in Japan) -- not a good outcome for a novel that clearly aspired to provoke gasps. In short, Now You're One of Us tells an interesting story but fizzles out with a disappointing ending that doesn't match the promise of the novel's first half.  It is a significantly less successful novel than The Hunter, the only other novel by this popular Japanese writer that I've read.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS