Beneath the Wheel by Hermann Hesse

Hermann Hesse is a name that has cropped up many a time since I started this blog, while I was browsing through books that I could potentially review in the future. Specifically his books Siddhartha and Steppenwolf, two apparent classics of modern Europe. If I were to start his works, those would be the two most obvious titles to read, right? Instead I started with Beneath the Wheel, mainly because that was the book that turned up on my University reading list. Is it a good place to start? I think so. 

Beneath the Wheel follows an adolescent boy named Hans Giebernath, who is quite special compared to the rest of the population of the small German town he lives in. While the majority are only basically educated and happy to settle for apprenticeships at 14, he possesses a keen intelligence and a desire to do well. Because of this, he is entered into the world of academia, where his father and teachers from home hope that he will go on to become an academic or a priest, someone who will contribute greatly towards the state. We follow Hans as he goes through his first year away at school, eventually culminating in a nervous break-down as he tries and fails to reconcile his desire to succeed with his desire to become more like his friend, the outgoing poet Heilner. For me, it boiled down to a critique of competitive education systems and the limits that young people were subjected to if their education didn't succeed. Indeed, my favourite part of the book was the part that looked at how Hans coped with leaving the world of academia. While it's obvious from earlier chapters just how damaging the constant pressure of his school work and the high standards that he had inadvertently set for himself in his teachers' and father's eyes, it is also clear that he has no concept of a future for himself other than that of academia; the amount of special treatment that he has been given because of his intelligence has skewed his perspective, so that he regards the hard-working but otherwise unremarkable people of his home-town with arrogance and disdain. I thought that this focus on the way that he tries to cope with his new situation was pitch perfect, and at times extremely unflattering for the protagonist, despite how sympathetic he and his situation are to the reader. 

Regarding characters, since I've mentioned Hans already, considering that the plot is so inextricably bound up with his character, I think that the only other characters that warrant mentioning are Heilner, Herr Giebernath and Master Flaig. Heilner is Hans' classmate at the academy, and his only 'friend' throughout the course of the book. I wasn't all that fond of him, if I'm quite honest; that's not to say that he isn't a well-written character, and there are things that I like about him. What I like is that Heilner doesn't just learn things for the sake of learning them like the rest of the boys: he reads their Latin, Greek and Hebrew texts to experience the beauty of language, not to learn the grammar by rote until all life is sucked from the texts; that is something that I can respect. But overall, I just got the feeling that Heilner is not a very nice person. I mean, his relationship with Hans seems to be one where Heilner dictates absolutely everything; he constantly offloads his problems on to Hans, most of them based on his notion that a poet should be full of deep and melancholy thoughts, but when Hans tries to study in order to keep his grades up Heilner gets all moody about it. He can't seem to grasp the concept that not everyone will share his disregard for grades, and when you pair this one-sided relationship with his oddly wide streak of malice, it makes for discomforting reading at times. I can almost forgive Herr Giebernath after talking about Heilner, although he too has a share of the blame regarding Hans' downward spiral. Being a basically unremarkable man, Herr Giebernath wants nothing more than for his son to do well, putting extra pressure on Hans to succeed. By the time that Hans has had his nervous breakdown, Herr Giebernath has no idea what went wrong; he doesn't want to upset his son, but it becomes more and more obvious that he is severely disappointed and angry at what must seem a waste of time. I guess I can kind of sympathise with him, as he does honestly want his son to do well, but the lack of communication and attempts to understand him mean that he often acts in ways that are to Hans' detriment instead. Finally, regarding Master Flaig...well, he's kind of a tough character to understand. He seems to have Hans' best interests at heart, but he doesn't actually try and intervene when he thinks that Hans is being worked too hard. So I suppose that he's more likeable than the majority of the supporting cast, but only because he has at least a slight understanding of what is actually best for Hans, despite the fact that he almost never acts on his opinions. 

I think the only thing really left to discuss is the writing itself. It's gorgeous. I take my hat off to the translator, Michael Roloff, as he did a cracking job. Probably the most impressive thing is how evocative the language used is, especially when setting is being described. Just take a read of this part from the section where Hans is asked to help Master Flaig make cider: 

"This fragrance really was the best part of the year, for it is the very essence of ripeness and harvest. It is good to suck it into your lungs with winter so near since it makes you grateful and brings back a host of memories: of the gentle May rains, summer downpours, cool morning dew in autumn, tender spring sun, blazing hot summer afternoons, the whites and rose-red blossoms and the ripe red-brown glow of fruit trees before the harvest - everything beautiful and joyful that happens in the course of a year." 

To be honest with you, I don't think that I could really add anything to that; the writing speaks for itself.

Overall, this was a thoughtful, evocative read with complex characters and a tragic consideration of youth and potential wasted. 5/5

Next review: Child of All Nations by Irmgard Keun

Signing off,
Nisa.

Spring Awakening by Frank Wedekind

After a couple of days break from reading and this short play that I finished in a couple hours, I'd say that I'm well and truly recovered from The Divine Comedy. Interesting as it was, it was rather exhausting. So, now to review Spring Awakening, and I'm not quite sure where to begin precisely because I've never reviewed a play before. Personally, I'd prefer to see a stage production before reviewing this, but as far as I know the main version of this that gets performed is the rock opera version, which might be a tad too modern for the subject matter in all honesty. In any case, please be gentle in your criticisms if I bungle this horribly.

Spring Awakening follows a group of 14 year old students as they experience the effects of puberty and the first stirrings of sexuality, hence the title. That in itself would be interesting subject matter, but the setting complicates matters somewhat. Spring Awakening is set in Germany in the 1890s, a time where the transitional period known as being a teenager wasn't acknowledged and where awakening sexuality was viewed as a problem at best. So really, these kids have little to no chance getting out of this play unharmed. I personally really liked the way that the setting limited how these teens can express themselves and their sexuality, although its significance in today's society is certainly less than the impact it had at the time of publication.
So, as this play is essentially an ensemble piece, the most important part of the play would be the characters and their mini plot-lines that mix together to disastrous results. I suppose the main character would be Melchior, although he as a character by himself is less interesting than how he interacts with the other characters' plot-lines; in comparison to the majority of characters, he's well-adjusted, happy with who he is and a free thinker who questions the system around him relentlessly. His best friend, Moritz, goes to him as a confidant, in both sexual and everyday matters; in his case, Moritz's parents are pressuring him to do well academically, but the beginnings of puberty are making it harder to concentrate on keeping his failing grades up than it would be normally. There's Wendla, a teen whose mother insists on treating her like a little girl, for instance insisting, despite Wendla's age, that babies arrive via stork; add an ill advised sexual relationship with Melchior to that utter lack of knowledge and you can probably guess where that story-line goes. Those are the main three characters, with both Moritz and Wendla's seperate story-lines culminating in such a way that disaster is brought upon Melchior for his involvement. They aren't the only characters who go through a spring awakening, but they don't really add anything to the overall story arc. There's Ilse, who decided that school wasn't for her and thus dropped out to become a painter's model. There's Martha, whose parents beat her for silly things like decorating her nightdress with ribbons. And then there's Hans, who is probably my favourite character and probably has the two most shocking scenes (for the time it was written anyway) in the entire play: firstly masturbating to a classical nude whilst re-enacting the murder of Desdemona (I have to applaud him for creativity, even if the image makes me break out into hysterical giggling) and secondly an onstage kiss with his friend Ernst. Overall, the characters are very entertaining, with the teen characters nicely curious and the adults providing a suitably limiting atmosphere. My one complaints about the teen characters would be the dialogue. Now I'm not sure whether this is just a matter of translation or whether this is present in the original German, but to me the teens don't sound like teens. The majority of the characters are supposed to be about 14, but unless it weren't specifically stated, I would have thought that they were about 18-19, only a little younger than me. Maybe it was a culture thing or something, seeing as our current concept of children has only been a comparatively recent development in human society, but despite how hard I try to accept that explanation, there are several lines that just remind me of university discussions. Try this line of Melchior's, as he's discussing Faust, specifically the scene where Faust seduces Gretchen:

"Let's face it, Goethe's masterpiece does not reach it's zenith in that sad little episode. But the way people go on about it - you'd think the whole world revolved around penis and vagina." 

What 14-year-old boys do you know who would talk like that? None, that's how many. To be honest, most of the people I can remember when they were 14 would dissolve into fits of giggles the moment anything sex-related was mentioned, so a line like that just seems wrong coming out of a 14-year-old mouth. From college/university student and older? Now you're entering the realms of possibility.

Despite the problems I have with the overly mature language and diction that the teen characters possess, I did really enjoy this play and I would quite happily agree to viewing a performance of this, should I find one. 4/5

Next review: Beneath the Wheel by Hermann Hesse.

Signing off,
Nisa.

The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri

Well, where to begin with this one? I'm not sure whether I'll be able to fully express my thoughts about The Divine Comedy for a few reasons. Firstly, it's a huge narrative to get through, so I'd be here all day trying to exhaust all the things that I could possibly say about it. Secondly, it's a classic piece of literature, so there's a certain amount of respect that I feel is its due. Thirdly, because it's medieval literature, there are a few instances of values dissonance, especially regarding the inevitable religious aspects. But, I shall try my darnedest to express my overall impressions.

The Divine Comedy, at its most basic level, is a story about Dante's journey through Hell, Purgatory and Heaven, ultimately culminating in beholding God. That on its own is far too simple a story to review, and is rather misleading as well. Having finally reached the end of The Divine Comedy, my understanding of it is that this is more an essay on religious and political virtues and how people are either rewarded or punished in the afterlife depending on how they lived in comparison to this code of ethics. In particular, it is an essay on Dante's views of religious and political standards that people should live by, hence why there are lots of people that Dante disliked in Hell. The overarching idea that is put forward is that of how a union of the Catholic Church and a God-ordained monarchy will bring virtue back into a world that is being defined more and more by materialism and excess. I think he may have been hoping for a bit much: when in the final circle of Heaven, his lady love and heavenly guide, Beatrice, states that there are only a few places left to fill, implying that the Rapture was imminent, as was this mysterious union of Church and State; fast forward about 700 years and, in Europe and the Americas certainly, we've gone in the complete opposite direction. A classic example of why making prophecies about when the world will end doesn't tend to work. While the overall set of principles that Dante wants mankind to follow are understandable enough, there is a slightly uncomfortable bias towards Judeo-Christian morality, which, while not unexpected given when it was written, makes for awkward reading from a modern perspective. The biggest example would be Dante's opinion on the fate of the prophet Muhammad: he's been sent to the ninth valley of the eighth circle of Hell. Similarly, homosexuals and other 'deviants' are sent to Hell. Considering the time that this was written, I wasn't expecting anything less, but that doesn't make it any less discomforting.
The other main point that comes to mind for discussion would probably be the writing. It is very very good, the translation conveying most of the ideas succinctly and clearly. At times it's difficult to follow the references to contemporary culture of the time, which is where the notes were a huge help. There is one thing that I will mention, that may seem overly picky, but it does bother me somewhat. For me, I found Inferno more interesting than Purgatorio or Paradiso, simply because the description is more vivid and the figures met there are more engaging; I can't be the only one who noticed this either, considering how closely Dante is associated with the Inferno (occasionally being confused with Faust as well, to my annoyance) and how little Purgatorio and Paradiso are depicted in comparison. I suppose for me, there was more variety in the kinds of things were going on in Hell, mainly in the form of highly ironic punishments, which is carried forward a little in Purgatorio although more with a mind to purge souls as opposed to punishing them; when Paradiso started though, everything became extremely homogenous, with the cantos focusing entirely on happy contented souls singing God's praises, with the occasional debate about doctrine or condemnations of the Popes of the time. Don't get me wrong, it's pretty imagery, but there's not really enough to sustain itself for 33 cantos.

This is another of those books that I'm glad I read, but I don't imagine I will be revisiting it in years to come. 3.5/5

Next review: Spring Awakening by Frank Wedekind

Signing off,
Nisa.

Room by Emma Donoghue

Obviously I'm a little late in reviewing this, seeing as most of the hype occurred over a year ago with the Booker Prize 2010. To be honest, I'm not quite sure what I was expecting of Room, and now that I've finished it I'm still not quite sure what to think.

The story concerns a young boy called Jack who lives with his Ma in an 11x11' room. We as the audience know that there's something very wrong about the situation, but to Jack it's his entire world. For me, this set-up poses certain issues that don't particularly work for me. First is the whole confinement thing: considering the similarities between this and the case of Josef Fritzl, I found this a tad uncomfortable, like the author was trying to profit from the situation; that probably wasn't the intention, but it certainly feels that way at times. Second is the use of Jack as the narrator. Don't get me wrong, I think Donoghue nails the voice of a 5-year-old; I just don't think that the mind-set of children are particularly interesting to see events from. Personally, I was more interested in Ma's perspective on the situation, with a focus on how she's adapted to being confined, especially as it's compounded by the pressures of motherhood.
On the other hand, while I wasn't fond of the similarities that the book bore to the Fritzl case, it did make for engaging reading. From the second part onwards I was gripped, desperate to know how it would end. Now that it's ended though? It feels like watching programmes about true crime: you're gripped while you watch it, then pretty much forget it when it's all over.

This is a bit of an odd one to summarise, but I'll give it my best shot. Overall, I think that this is a good book. I think that it's a book that I would recommend  reading, but only once; if you're looking for a read with more staying power, I'd look elsewhere. 3.5/5

Next review: The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri.

Signing off,
Nisa.

An unexpected absence

Hi guys, this is just a note to let you know that my computer decided quite by chance to have the mother of all fits and break on me, so I shan't be able to post reviews for a little while yet. If you're wondering why I have internet access, my housemate is letting me borrow her laptop. As for progress, I've finished and written a review for Emma Donoghue's Room, but will not be posting it just yet as that is probably taking the laptop owner's generosity a bit too far considering the time I'll need to copy it up. So, until another time, when I have no more stupid computer worries like I do at this very instant.

Signing off,
Nisa.

Horns by Joe Hill

I had huge expectations for this. Not, as many will automatically think, because he's Stephen King's son; I've never understood why we insist on judging people by the actions or talents of their relatives. I had huge expectations for this because I absolutely loved his previous work: Heart-Shaped Box kept me on the edge of my seat (so to speak) throughout the entire narrative and his short story Pop Art is one of the most poignant pieces of fiction I've ever read. So when Horns came out, I knew that I would eventually get round to reading it. Does it match up? Oh yes, definitely. 

The story follows Ignatius Perrish, aka Ig, a young man grieving after the murder of his girlfriend, Merrin, a year before. Unfortunately, popular opinion thinks that he did it, despite the fact that the evidence was never conclusive. One morning, after getting spectacularly drunk, he wakes up to find that he's grown horns. If that's not weird enough, no-one seems to find it odd or scary; instead, the horns seem to make people confess their deepest, darkest secrets and desires, that they would normally not do to keep face. With it, Ig decides to find out who actually killed his girlfriend. Actually, that might be slightly misleading. Ig actually finds out who the killer is about 1/5 of the way through. The rest is spent piecing together what happened in the days leading up to the murder through the perspectives of the people involved. This is where I think the book excels. In his investigations, Ig comes to know things about the people that he thought he knew well that completely changes his opinion of them. In the majority of cases, it makes for quite chilling reading, generally involving people he thought cared about him secretly resenting and despising him. In other cases, it's more pitiful: a woman rendered so miserable by the taunts of others that she's considered suicide, a man consumed by guilt over something he thinks he should have stopped amongst others. It's a deeply uncomfortable look at how people would like to act and how those without clearer moral compasses act on those impulses. 

One of the themes which turns up in the course of the book is religion: specifically the effect of 'sinful' behaviour on others and the indifference of God to human plight. I found the position taken on them rather surprising, although in a pleasant way. Regarding 'sin', Hill seemed to draw a line between two different types of sin: the kind that doesn't affect anyone but the sinner and can be beneficial in the long run, and the kind that affects many people in a seriously negative way. The latter is easy to get examples of, Merrin's rape and murder being the most obvious. The former is a little more difficult to explain: one example is when Ig gets a policeman to follow his urge to give his ostensibly homophobic partner a blow-job; when we see them later in the book, they're now partners in both a professional and romantic sense. Many others involved leaving dead-end jobs and relationships which wouldn't necessarily be viewed positively by the community; it was nice to see Hill arguing that sometimes giving into urges is a good thing, not something to be ashamed of. The other theme I mentioned was the indifference of God and the perceived futility of praying to him; considering the importance of religion to the vast majority of Americans, I was absolutely stunned that the idea even came up. I'm quite glad it did, to be honest. While I do have several friends who are Christian, my boyfriend being one of them, I have never understood what kind of benevolent God would allow the kinds of horrific things that people do to each other to happen. I have also never understood the sentiment that all the suffering will be worth it in whatever afterlife there may be. This is, of course, merely my opinion, but I'm sort of glad that it's considered seriously in the story. 

The only other thing I want to mention in this review is probably the main character, Ig. He's one of the few 'every-man' protagonists that has been my favourite throughout. Most characters aiming to be average tend to go a bit too far on either end of the scale; either they're still too perfect and their flaws are only apparent by other characters telling us about them, or they're too average and just blend into the background whilst the secondary characters outshine them. For me, Ig was as realistic as any person I've met in real life: he's a good person at heart, but has several moments where he lets his temper get the better of him or he seriously considers giving up, like a real person. I think if Ig hadn't been the main character, I wouldn't have read this as compulsively as I did. 

Overall? I adored it. The plot was interesting, the characters were engaging and the way that Hill illustrated how little we can know someone was absolutely chilling. 5/5 

Next review: Room by Emma Donoghue. 

Signing off, 

Nisa. 

The Gun Seller by Hugh Laurie

So, this is the first book in a while that hasn't had anything to do with any of my university courses. This is one of those spur-of-the-moment purchases that I got at a second-hand book stall (where a large portion of my TBR list originated) and I was rather looking forward to reading this. Why? Partially it's a strange sentimental thing as it's been patiently waiting for a while now and the other, main, reason is that I do like Hugh Laurie (not so much House considering the ridiculous ease with which he now cures every patient that stumbles his way, more the occasional episode of Jeeves and Wooster that I happen to find). So has it lived up to my self-induced hype?

The story concerns a British gun-for-hire Thomas Lang, who, when offered a large sum of money to assassinate an American industrialist, decides that the better thing to do would be to warn him instead. This leads to him getting involved in a convoluted scheme regarding the creation and selling of weapons, hence the title. Sounds great, right? Having finished it, I have one, rather large, problem with the book as a whole, and it revolves around Thomas, our protagonist and narrator. I am assuming that everyone reading this has daydreamed at one time or another, and a vast majority of those daydreams are likely to involve you in what you would perceive as a more glamorous and/or exciting lifestyle (for example: warrior/soldier, astronaut, fire-fighter, lover of [insert name of unattainable crush] etc). For me, Thomas Lang sounded like what Hugh Laurie would imagine himself to be if he were a spy; Thomas is articulate, witty, irreverent, has a very British sense of humour and just a dash of self-loathing, all traits that Hugh Laurie himself has shown time and time again. For me, it's rather off-putting when the similarities between character and creator are so blatant; not that I'm saying that the effort isn't there. Thomas and the book as a whole is very well put together, with the various different strands coming together just at the right time. I just don't think that essentially putting himself into the narrative, as the main character to boot, was an especially good move.
What I would definitely count in the book's favour though is the skill with which Laurie writes. He is a very readable person, and for me the book just flew along, with enough fabulous one-liners and quirky descriptions to keep me happy; this line in particular, when Thomas and his sort-of love interest are walking on Hampstead Heath at night, would have to be my favourite:

"Swallows flitted here and there, darting in and out of the trees and bushes like furtive homosexuals, while the furtive homosexuals flitted here and there, pretty much like swallows." 

So while I may have issues with some of the characterisation, I think that Mr Laurie has this plot and style lark down a treat.

This has been a bit of a short review, but then for me the characterisation was the only thing that really bothered me about this book. Overall, it's fairly inconsequential, good for passing an enjoyable evening or two, but nothing that will stay with you long after you've finished. A good book for a holiday perhaps. 3.5/5

Next review: Horns by Joe Hill.

Signing off,
Nisa.