The Tiger's Wife by Téa Obreht

Published by Random House on March 8, 2011

By the time she is thirteen, Natalia has taken so many trips with her grandfather to visit the caged tigers that she feels like a prisoner of ritual. Then a war hundreds of miles distant breaks the ritual: the zoo closes, curfews are implemented, students are disappearing, and spending time with her grandfather seems less important than committing small acts of defiance: staying out late, kissing a boyfriend behind a broken vending machine, and listening to black market recordings of Paul Simon and Johnny Cash. When her grandfather is suspended from his medical practice because he is suspected of harboring "loyalist feelings toward the unified state," Natalia adopts new rituals that keep her at his side when he isn't paying clandestine visits to his old patients. In return, he takes her to see an astonishing sight that offers the hope for an eventual restoration of the rituals that made up their pre-war lives. Natalia's grandfather tells her that this is their moment: not a moment of war to be shared by everyone else, but a moment that is uniquely theirs.

The Tiger's Wife is filled with wondrous moments, small scenes that assemble into a novel of power and wisdom and beauty. As an adult doctor delivering medicine across new and uncertain borders, Natalia grieves for her deceased grandfather while recalling the lessons he taught and the stories he told -- stories that more often than not center on death: how it is faced, feared, and embraced. Death is everywhere in this novel: death caused by war, by disease, by animal and man and child. And there is death's counterpoint, a character who cannot die (or so the grandfather's story goes). Death is virtually a character in the novel, as is the devil -- although the devil's identity is somewhat obscure, appearing as someone's uncle in one of the grandfather's stories, suspected of wearing the guise of a tiger by others. The tiger, of course, is a force of death -- feared by many, but not by the tiger's wife, who shows us that fear is unnecessary. Ultimately, coming to terms with death is, I think, the novel's subject matter.

Téa Obreht writes with clarity and compassion. She tells the interwoven stories that comprise The Tiger's Wife without judgment or sentiment. Her characters are authentic; with only one or two exceptions, she doesn't go out of her way to make them likable or sympathetic. Nor does she ask readers to hate characters who commit evil acts, although she wants us to understand them. She does not insist that we either condemn or condone the actions of a wife-abusing butcher. Instead, she gives us a chance to comprehend human complexity, to know that there is more to the characters than their offensive or violent actions. The village gossips, knowing nothing of the truth, judge both the abuser and the abused. Obreht shows us how foolish it is to judge others without knowing them ... and how unlikely it is that we will know enough to judge.

Obrecht writes with the maturity and confidence of an accomplished novelist. Her style is graceful. It is difficult to believe that this is her first novel. If she continues to produce work as sound as The Tiger's Wife, readers should wish her a long career. 

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

Dogfight, A Love Story by Matt Burgess

Published by Doubleday on September 21, 2010

Dogfight, A Love Story was a love story for me in this sense: I loved reading it. The novel is fresh, very funny, occasionally morbid, and always energetic. It is the product of a very talented writer. In its setting and characters it reminded me of Clockers (a book I greatly enjoyed) minus the cops and with added humor, but the writing in Dogfight is of a higher quality. Burgess' writing style is exactly right for a literary crime novel: sharp and zestful and evocative. The dramatic climax (coming just before an ending that is essentially an epilogue) is frenetic, explosive, intense: powerful stuff that made me utter an involuntary "wow."

Dogfight follows Alfredo Batista during the days before and after his brother Tariq (f/k/a Jose Jr.) is released from prison. While Tariq has been serving his sentence, Alfredo, a small time drug dealer in Queens, has taken up with Tariq's girlfriend, who is now pregnant with Alfredo's child. Worried about his brother's tendency toward violence, Alfredo wants to give him a homecoming present. To that end, he engineers a robbery from a Russian street dealer -- a poor decision that will soon lead to unexpected trouble. He also tries to arrange a dogfight, despite never having seen one (dogfights not being the competition of choice in Queens).

Matt Burgess does a masterful job of merging the plot-driven demands of genre fiction with the character-driven sensibility of literary fiction. Some readers won't like Alfredo or some of the other characters because they commit crimes. But even readers who generally want to read about morally pure characters might find Alfredo to be worth their time. He's imperfect (aren't we all?) but he isn't thuggish. Despite doing something during the novel's course for which he will probably never forgive himself, he has a conscience and he experiences some personal growth, if not full redemption, by the novel's end. In any event, all of the central characters in Dogfight have distinctive, fully realized personalities. It is easy to understand their actions even if the reader might disapprove of them. At least to me, they were all interesting, filled with credible emotions, self-doubt, yearnings, regrets -- all the stuff that makes us human.

Finally, lest you be alarmed by the title, be assured that no dogs were harmed in the writing of this novel. This is a work of fiction, after all. Speaking as someone whose best friend is a golden retriever, I can safely predict that most dog lovers will recognize that this novel does not glorify or glamorize dog fighting. Quite the opposite, in fact. Animal lovers should not avoid this excellent book because of its unfortunate title.

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Blood on the Forge by William Attaway

First published in 1941

Blood on the Forge tells the story of three brothers: Melody, who finds the music in every place and situation; Chinatown, who finds the humor; and Big Mat, a relentless worker who studies the Bible and tries to find an elusive inner peace. They work as sharecroppers in Kentucky, accustomed to poverty and racism, until circumstances brought on by Big Mat's quick temper compel their move to Pennsylvania, where they take jobs in a steel mill. Poverty is replaced by dangerous grueling labor that leaves them too exhausted to spend their wages on anything except alcohol, gambling, and whores. Racism is replaced by class division as black steelworkers join new immigrants from Ireland and Italy and Middle Europe, all viewed with disdain by those who inhabit the big houses overlooking the mill. By the novel's end, that conflict is defined by the workers' attempt to organize a union and by the owners' resort to violence to suppress that effort -- leaving the brothers caught in the middle of the conflict, and to some extent divided by it.

Although racism and class struggle are important themes in the novel, the story is about much more than that. If is fundamentally the story of three very different brothers, bonded by family ties and shared lives, but torn apart by their unique experiences. Chinatown must cope with injuries inflicted by hot steel, leaving him feeling less than whole. Big Mat must cope with his own feelings of inadequacy, his inability to give the Mexican woman who moves in with him the moneyed lifestyle that she craves, a feeling he can only overcome with the sense of power he derives from violent behavior. As he struggles to find his music, Melody must cope with the desire he feels for the woman who is living with Big Mat, and with the secret he learns about her.

Attaway tells the story from the perspectives of the brothers, using language that is eloquent in its simplicity. The story is powerful, sad and moving, unforgettable. At the end of the fast moving novel I literally said "Wow."

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Life and Times of Michael K by J.M. Coetzee

First published in 1983

Oppression is a recurring theme in Coetzee novels, and it is the theme that drives Life and Times of Michael K. While the novel is set in South Africa, it is not explicitly (perhaps not even impliedly) a novel about racial oppression. Rather, Michael is treated as an outsider, as subservient, because he is disfigured and mentally dull. Having been raised in an institution where he was taught to peel potatoes before being given a job as a municipal gardener, Michael wants nothing more than to be left alone, nose to the ground, to work the fertile land of his ancestry. He is a simple man with simple needs and the simplest of those--freedom--is bedeviled by travel permits and curfews and work camps, by a civil war he does not understand, by societal demands that do not concern him. Throughout the novel, Coetzee illustrates the oppression of war, of institutions and bureaucracies, of demanding parents, of uncaring employers and landowners. Even the doctor who envisions himself as Michael's savior wants to bend Michael to his own will.

Using prose that is plain yet elegant, Coetzee creates empathy for Michael's plight--we feel for him when his crops are trampled, when he is removed from the land he loves, when he is forced to do physical labor for the benefit of those who have political pull with the authorities, when he is badgered to talk about his past, when he is not permitted to indulge the simple pleasures of sleeping and eating as he chooses. Michael thinks of himself as an earthworm, but he lacks an earthworm's freedom to be true to itself. The last few pages of the novel are almost an ode to simplicity, to the freedom of living off the land, unencumbered by the dictates of those who would imprison nonconformists.

Life and Times of Michael K is an important contribution to world literature. It is also a moving, beautifully written novel.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

The Breaking Wave by Nevil Shute

First published in the United Kingdom in 1955 under the title Requiem For A Wren. 

The characters in Nevil Shute's novels always seem to share two qualities: decency and dignity. The novels are filled with pain and death; war is a frequent theme. Toward the end of The Breaking Wave, Shute writes: "Like some infernal monster, still venomous in death, a war can go on killing people for a long time after it's all over." Despite the tragic events they experience, Shute's characters are kind and helpful and caring. The moral of Shute's novels seems to be: death is inevitable; what matters is that you behave decently during your life, so that you can die with your dignity intact. That's certainly the lesson I took from The Breaking Wave.

It's difficult to write a synopsis of The Breaking Wave without including spoilers, so this will be brief. Alan and Bill Duncan are brothers. They grew up on a sheep farm in Australia. The farm is a big business and the family is rather wealthy. Alan and Bill are both in England during World War II. Alan is a fighter pilot in the RAF; his plane is shot down and his feet have to be amputated. Bill is the equivalent of a Navy Seal; he dies on a mission in preparation for D-Day. (Those aren't spoilers; the reader learns these facts early on.) As the novel begins, Alan is returning to the family farm, having finished his post-war law degree at Oxford. He discovers that his mother is distressed by the apparent suicide of the parlor maid. Alan digs around and discovers the maid's diaries. He spends all night reading them and soon realizes that he had met the woman during the war. What Alan learns about her and about his family changes his life.

The woman's story is incredibly sad. I'm glad I was alone when I read The Breaking Wave because my misty-eyed reaction to the last chapters would have destroyed my carefully cultivated image as a manly man. Yet it's also the story of an eventful life, albeit one that is derailed by tragedy. The woman meets her death with her dignity intact, and Shute's moving story makes clear why she made the choice to end her life. As always, Shute writes with a soft voice; there's nothing flashy about the quiet elegance of his prose; he lets the story unfold without getting in its way. And it's an amazing, powerful story, filled with insight about war and relationships and the human condition. The characters are as real and believable as your neighbors, and probably more likable.

Shute is best known for two wonderful novels -- A Town Like Alice and On the Beach -- but his lesser-known novels are every bit as good. The Breaking Wave is one of his best.

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