Kate Atkinson’s Literary Page-Turner “Life After Life” Will Have You Pondering Parallel Lives

It’s a snowy night in 1910 and Ursula Todd is struggling to breathe as the umbilical cord chokes her to death before she can barely experience birth. Darkness falls.

It’s a snowy night in 1910 and Ursula Todd is born with the help of Dr. Fellowes, who has arrived in time to help mother Sylvie with this tricky birth. And so Ursula’s life begins, until she drowns on a beach trip as a child. Darkness falls.

15790842It’s a snowy night in 1910 and Ursula Todd is born, continuing to relive her life. Each time she instinctually learns to avoid what troubles occurred in a past (or parallel) life, feeling merely like déjà vu. Kate Atkinson’s newest novel Life After Life is a trippy, humorous exploration of life and fate. Ursula’s continuous lives take her through both World Wars, with devastating and intriguing consequences. Atkinson effortlessly captures each time period, with a sharp wit reminiscent of Forster or Waugh.

If the premise sounds too gimmicky, I can assure you it doesn’t read as such. Atkinson makes it easy to get involved in this single life, with crossover themes, characters, moments, that only serve to enrich each new chapter instead of making it feel like a tedious retread of the same events. If Dan Brown’s Inferno is an obvious, thriller page-turner, Life After Life is one of those rare literary page-turners that will keep you up into the wee hours of the night.

I’ve already declared The Unchangeable Spots of Leopards as the best novel of 2013—or at least my favorite book of the year—but Life After Life could easily rival it. Both are entertaining, addicting, witty, incisive, and thought-provoking. I continue to think about the lives of Ursula and their implications, and I’m already eager to reread the novel.

Hilary Mantel’s Novel Will Encourage You to Vacation at “Wolf Hall”

600_215817662Everyone is familiar with Henry VIII’s story, one way or another. Whether from TV (The Tudors) or film (The Other Boleyn Girl) or just plain old history class, we all know about King Henry’s driving desire for divorce in his quest for a male heir. But acclaimed author Hilary Mantel approaches the story from a different angle in Wolf Hall. She tells the story of Henry VIII and England in the early 1500s through protagonist Thomas Cromwell.

Cromwell rose from his working-class family and abusive father into the tutelage of Cardinal Thomas Wolsey, feared advisor of the King. Learning from the master of manipulation, Cromwell takes over after Wolsey’s death, assisting the King in obtaining a divorce so he can marry Anne Boleyn. What results is a character study hidden within a game for the throne and Henry’s heir.

Mantel’s Wolf Hall is just the first in a planned trilogy following Cromwell in England’s history. She has a very unique voice that takes some acclimatizing to. While told in the omniscient third person, everything unfolds from Cromwell’s perspective with Mantel referring to him constantly as “he” in similar fashion to a first-person narrator referring to themselves as “I.” This removed yet personal perspective gives you a new outlook into the world of England at this time while still providing humorous moments and observations.

For anyone in love with English history, this a new take on an old story. Because Wolf Hall is a part of a trilogy, much of the novel is spent developing Cromwell as a character and setting up many of the other royal characters. It takes nearly 2/3 of the book before it feels that something is really happening with the Anne Boleyn plot, and the ending (dealing with Thomas More) feels anticlimactic. Yet I still find myself eager to read Bringing Up Bodies (the sequel), so it appears that Mantel is at least a captivating storyteller.

 

“The Flight of Gemma Hardy” brings new twists to a beloved old classic

In her new, compelling novel The Flight of Gemma Hardy, Margot Livesey tells the story of a contemporary Jane Eyre. Incorporating the familiar story and characters of Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre, Flight of Gemma follows the formative years of Gemma Hardy’s life in 1960s Scotland. But don’t expect Livesey to go exactly by the book.

In this contemporary tale, Livesey tweaks many elements and plot points of its forebear. Certain additions are necessary for the time period; certain subtractions allow for plot twists that stray from the original story. Yet Livesey stays true to the themes of overcoming hardships and dark pasts, as Gemma flies from one home—or shelter—to the next in search of a true family she can love.

Livesey’s writing uses a precise economy of words to create a fully-imagined world through Gemma’s eyes. While certain eccentricities in her writing become tedious (Gemma’s obsession with birds is never-ending), they work to at least stay consistently true to the characters. She also incorporates plenty of biblical allusions, just as Bronte did in her novel, proving that Livesey did her homework.

Flight of Gemma is an easy read that fans of Jane Eyre will greedily devour. It is always fun to place classic novels in a contemporary context, and Livesey manages it effortlessly. For those unfamiliar with Jane Eyre, you should really just go read that instead; but if you find classic literature too daunting to approach, then Flight of Gemma is a simple way to ease yourself into this story.

 

Immortal City

Immortal City is the latest book to capitalize on the supernatural teen book series craze. This one is blessedly free of vampires and werewolves and chooses instead to focus on Angels. With the exception of Cassandra Clare’s The Mortal Instruments series, Angels are decidedly lacking representation in the pop culture pulse, giving author Scott Speer plenty of freedom to create his own unique world.

In that respect, he succeeds. Angels have always been intervening in the human world, but in the last 100 years they have become a part of the public consciousness. Instead of a pop culture obsessed with actors and reality TV stars, they are obsessed with Angels. And none of them are hotter than Jackson “Jacks” Godspeed who is about to be the youngest Angel to earn his Guardian title (Guardian Angels are hired by the wealthy to save them in case of accidents).

Despite living in an Angel-obsessed world, Maddy Montgomery is completely oblivious to them. She lives with her uncle Kevin and works at his diner while finishing out her final year of high school. Her best—and only—friend Gwen tries to socialize her, but Maddy is stubbornly resistant. So, when Jacks ends up at the diner and sparks fly between him and Maddy, she has no idea what she’s about to get into.

Speer’s world is fully realized, and he has plenty of alternate history concerning the legacy of Angels to draw upon in his storytelling. A lot of the fundamentals are compulsively repeated throughout the book, but since he’s setting up a series of books it’s fairly forgivable. Not forgivable, however, is his uninspired love story. Maddy is insufferable—or as Jacks says, “impossible”—in her moral rectitude and low self-esteem. She never feels good enough to be with Jacks, despite how much he is clearly falling for her. Even by the end of the book, I doubt her ability to grow into a strong female character (but maybe with Jacks’ persistent encouragement she might).

Their relationship quickly devolves into that intense, overwrought life-or-death romance that is seen in so many other series (i.e. Twilight’s Bella & Edward, TMI’s Clary & Jace, etc.). It immediately becomes uninteresting and uninspired, making the middle portion of the book completely unbearable. However, it is in the beginning and end of this book where Speer’s skills shine.

As a movie and music video director (his most recent film was Step Up Revolution), Speer has a very cinematic style of storytelling. This novel would make a far better movie—or TV series on The CW. There are unique and exciting twists, turns, setups, and payoffs in the front third and final third of this book that—almost!—make up for the horrific middle third. One spectacular sequence involves Maddy and Gwen driving a Ferrari in a car chase. Gwen is definitely a great and underutilized character.

It’s clear he has talent, but he needs to hone that originality. He has a lot to say about Los Angeles (aka Angel City—the Immortal City), and a clearer focus on his criticisms of the city (along with celebrity culture in general) and his exploration of Angel culture would help this series stand out. The last few twists of the book show he at least has a vision for this series; hopefully he grows as a writer and makes the series great.

 

Watch a nifty trailer for the book at its website: http://immortalcityseries.com/

The Chaperone

In the 1920s, Cora volunteers to chaperone young and willful Louise on a trip from Kansas to New York City so Louise can tryout for a distinguished dance company. It’s a time of intolerance—of alcohol, of jazz, of short skirts, of bobbed hair—and Cora who (mostly) agrees with this intolerance tries to instill morality into Louise. However, it is Louise Brooks (a future famous silent film star) who ends up teaching Cora a thing or two about tolerance and acceptance.

Most of the book follows their journey to and in New York City. Cora, whose orphan beginnings are shrouded in doubt, is searching for the truth of who her parents were. In her investigation in the city she meets some interesting characters that help open up her worldview. While most of the Kansas storyline is dull, author Laura Moriarty does a fairly succinct job of providing the pertinent background information needed to create these fully realized characters.

She also does a great job capturing the spirit of the era. It is very easy to picture New York at this time with her descriptions of the atmosphere and character of those who reside in it. And the New York section of the book is by far the most compulsively readable part.

However, the book strays into tedium in the last 100 pages. After the reaching the revelations we’ve been expecting our characters to attain, the story drags out. Moriarty jumps through time to provide quick glimpses of what happens to the character in the next 60 years of their lives. Aside from a heartfelt reunion scene between Cora and Louise, there is little of interest in the snippets of scenes here and there; and they feel like a repetitive rehashing of Cora’s expanding change of morals that we have already learned from the first part of the book.

Moriarty has crafted a great story and setting, a fully imagined world. It is definitely a treat reading parts one and two, but avoid the third part. Instead, put down the book and you can easily imagine how well things might work out for the characters after seeing what choices they make in New York.

Death Comes to Pemberley

Six years after the events of Pride & Prejudice, Elizabeth Darcy is throwing the annual Lady Anne Ball and everything is going smoothly. But, as close friends and family are celebrating the night before, her sister Lydia unexpectedly bursts into Pemberley screaming that her husband Wickham is dead. So begins the latest work of crime fiction by master writer P.D. James.

Turns out, Wickham isn’t dead; but he is found holding the bloody corpse of his friend Captain Denny in the middle of the woods. Darcy himself is quickly involved and stays involved throughout the investigation and trial of Wickham. The novel gives a very interesting look into the British legal system of the time. And James gives some very Dickensian twists to our favorite Austenite characters.

Many secrets abound in this tale, but James juggles them easily while also seamlessly introducing us to some of the other new characters that didn’t exist in Pride & Prejudice. (Austen fans will also enjoy the few moments when characters from other Austen books are fleetingly referred to.)

Although some parts of the book seem to drag, know that everything will be resolved in Elizabethan fashion—in other words, 3-page-long monologues delivered in the final chapters will reveal all.  And if, in your course of guessing whodunit, you begin to suspect lycanthropic involvement (Full moons! Mysteriously ill people!), then you have merely read too many supernatural books. Don’t worry; this isn’t Pride & Prejudice & Zombies (although that book is also really good, just in a different way).

Death Comes to Peberley is great way to revisit old friends and see what they’ve done with their lives. James creates believable futures for Austen’s characters while also reexamining their choices made in P&P. Just be warned, Austen fans, that after reading this book you will want to revisit Austen’s classics.

In One Person

John Irving delivers another complexly beautiful and tragicomic (I stole that word from the inside flap) novel. In One Person is an account of the life of a bisexual man, from his adolescent years in the sixties spanning into the present age, as told in the first person by our protagonist (and “hero,” as his grandfather would call him) William “Billy” Abbott. Billy spends the novel figuring out where he fits in the world since he likes women and men—and transsexuals.

The subject of bisexuality is one that I think nearly everyone struggles with, especially as concerns guys who are bisexual (straight men love their women to have a little Katy Perry lesbian inside of them). Billy clearly knows how trying it is to be taken seriously as bi man. Yet it is far more difficult for everyone else to accept him as a bisexual than it is for Billy to accept himself (especially in that small Vermont town). Why is it that we never believe that someone can truly want to have sex with both a man and women equally? The novel opened my eyes up to many things, and bisexuality is certainly one of them.

Never before has Irving had such a homosexually-slanted novel, yet that doesn’t mean he has ignored his favorite recurring subjects. The novel has plenty of New England, Wrestling, Writers, Vienna and Sexual Variations (and he even squeezes in a deadly accident, an absent parent, and a screenwriter); but, alas, there are no bears—which are his most bizarre obsession—in this novel. In One Person, like all of Irving’s novels, tells an expansive story and it is hard to write about any one particular part without an in-depth description. It is, of course, never hard to point out that Irving has created yet another book full of amazing characters that have so much depth (he most resembles Charles Dickens in that aspect).

I will suffice to say that Irving does great justice to the topics he addresses, and I was deeply affected by the novel. Some of his plot conventions and story conceits felt predictable and rehashed, but only because he had done those things in his previous books (yet another way he resembles the inestimable Dickens). The story feels more like The Hotel New Hampshire, while still being as topical and political as The Cider House Rules (both of which are exceptional Irving novels).

I consider John Irving one of the best authors still writing today (he is unafraid to “clutter” the page with punctuation marks—he seemingly revels in it); and I will be hard-pressed to find a better novel released in 2012.

The Stranger’s Child

When I began The Stranger’s Child, I was immediately turned off by the seemingly main character, Daphne; but I gave Alan Hollinghurst’s eloquent writing the benefit of the doubt and kept going. His descriptive style of writing greatly added to every scene and every moment whereas other authors’ descriptions tend to take away and distract. And I’m thankful that I read this novel, because it was a beautiful tale.

The book isn’t truly about Daphne (thank goodness!) but is actually all about Cecil Valance, a budding poet and bisexual playboy (who tended more towards the homosexual trysts). We meet Cecil only briefly in the early 1900s when he visits his secret boyfriend George (Daphne’s brother) at his home for the weekend and pens his infamous poem “Two Acres.” But Cecil’s life is cut dramatically short when he dies in the first World War. However, as characters later note, Cecil’s early death makes him more immortal than had he continued to live his life.

Over the next century, we see small cross-sections of time in which Cecil’s importance dominates (a family gathering for the 10th anniversary of his death, a young man’s quest to learn the truth about his life to write his biography). But the novel shows us more than just Cecil. We see how the social classes of England evolved over the decades, and we follow the literary careers of those close to Cecil. The switch from Daphne’s perspective (she quickly becomes a bitter and crotchety woman with plenty of secrets to hide) to young gay man, Paul Bryant, was the turning point for me as a reader. His more honest and caring attitude was a nice relief against the harshness of Daphne.

But what truly kept me engaged was Hollinghurst’s exploration of homosexuality in England over the last century. It spans from secret trysts in the woods to openly cruising at a memorial service (at which there are leather daddies, no less). It’s that insight into the world of homosexuality that we never truly got from E.M. Forster (whom Hollinghurst is clearly channeling in the pre-War segment of his book).

Watching the evolution of England and how Cecil continues to impact those people (along with the interconnectedness of the characters) makes this a truly remarkable read. I’m now eager to dig into the other more famous novels by Hollinghurst.

The Spoiler

I was eager to dig into this novel because I had read such great reviews about it online. Although it’s safe to say my interest in 90s-era British journalism is essentially nonexistent, the novel still seemed interesting purely on the merits of the author’s writing. And Annalena McAfee’s writing style certainly is noteworthy. She has a quick pace to her sentences and subtle humor in her characters that would make any reader want to crack open her novel. But her slow-paced plot structure and arrogant characters turned me off of this book so fast I could barely read 100 pages of it without throwing it on the ground.

The two main characters (I will refrain from calling them “heroines” or “protagonists” so as not to demean the term) are a crotchety old woman and a vapid young woman who are both journalists in England. Honor Tait has reported on wars and profiled important political players and has even managed to earn herself a Pulitzer before completely dropping off the radar. Apparently her lack of fame of failure to keep a husband (she has three ex-husbands and there’s something about hiring men to pleasure her) and her drop off the cultural radar has turned her into a very bitter woman who lashes out on the only person she comes into contact with. That person is Tamara Sim who has come to Tait’s apartment to interview her for a piece in some gossip rag as press for Tait’s new book (which is just a reworking of all her old stuff for she hasn’t written anything new in decades). Sim has no idea who Tait is and only wants juicy gossip about Tait’s supposed love affairs with celebrities of yore. Tamara’s shallow attitude and blithering unawareness of news or current events that extends being celebrity gossip makes her just as insufferable as Tait.

The first fifty pages are a meandering trip to down memory lane as we learn about these two characters pasts without being at invested in their present. McAfee gives us a few juicy details about some of their past lovers but leaves out anything that would give us a full understanding of what happened to them which could inform the reader of the characters’ current state of mind. When we finally reach the interview that both of the characters have been prepping for we see them spar as if they’ve both just been pricked by red-hot pokers. The ensuing interview solidified my dislike of both women, and the lack of plot that followed (more aimless backstory giving us not quite enough information) led me to put the book for good.

If there is truly any redeeming quality in this book, I failed to see it. I’m sure the contrast of old journalism with new would be interesting to some, but with such unlikable characters I’m not sure how pleasant that journey would be. McAfee, for what it’s worth, certainly has a grasp of 90s British pop culture references and a superfluous vocabulary; but I found that those served more as smoke-and-mirror distractions from her lack of direction in storytelling. Maybe there are some big revelations at the end of the novel (and kudos to you if you make it to them), but I can’t find ability to care.

Fingersmith

Sarah Waters takes inspiration from Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins as she weaves the complex fabric of Fingersmith. What begins as a seemingly simple long con grows suddenly into a much larger conspiracy. And, like all good conspiracies, you never know whom to trust.

The story starts with young Sue Trinder, an orphan being raised in a house of thieves. When a handsome man (Richard “Gentleman” Rivers) arrives with a proposition, Sue quickly finds herself posing as a lady’s maid in an isolated mansion. Her task to is gain the trust of heiress Maud Lilly and convince her to marry Rivers because upon doing so he will have access to her fortune. Rivers tells Sue that he will dispose of Maud at a mental asylum after he’s gained her money (and she will inevitably get her cut of the profit).

A simple enough premise for the first third of the book. Although, as Sue spends time with Maud she begins to feel compassion for her (even though she knows she’s sending her to her doom). The inner turmoil that Sue faces during this time (and that we see Maud faces later in the book) ads much to a story that would otherwise be a simple crime fiction story.

At the end of Part 1, everything is turned on its head. The twist is so delicious that I have no intention of ruining it, but it definitely piqued my interest. However, what comes in Part 2 becomes instantly tedious, and it takes another hundred pages or so to get to the juicy twists (trust no one). And again in Part 3, tedium reigns. The overall story and the path to the end are well thought out and I have no argument with them. It just felt to me as a reader as if everything were moving very slowly.

There seems to be no small scene with Waters. She invests a lot of description into every detail, but what does it really do but slow the momentum of the story? A story that is, by itself, inventive and engaging. Even the finale confrontation scene (which lasts nearly 20 pages) felt tedious (is there a better word to describe it?). The characters all want to do something, yet they each refrain. They all want to say something, yet they refrain. It was highly frustrating.

Waters creates a very vivid Victorian London, and a very imaginative and twisty plot to inhabit that London. But there is something lacking in her execution that prevents the novel from reaching true greatness.

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