Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts

Friday, September 12, 2014

The Miniaturist by Jessie Burton | Review

Discovered: Goodreads
Status: Read
Purchased: Barnes & Noble
Mode: Hardcover
Goodreads Rating: ***

Summary: 
"On a brisk autumn day in 1686, eighteen-year-old Nella Oortman arrives in Amsterdam to begin a new life as the wife of illustrious merchant trader Johannes Brandt. But her new home, while splendorous, is not welcoming. Johannes is kind yet distant, always locked in his study or at his warehouse office-leaving Nella alone with his sister, the sharp-tongued and forbidding Marin.

But Nella's world changes when Johannes presents her with an extraordinary wedding gift: a cabinet-sized replica of their home. To furnish her gift, Nella engages the services of a miniaturist-an elusive and enigmatic artist whose tiny creations mirror their real-life counterparts in eerie and unexpected ways . . ."
-Goodreads
In-Depth:
I picked up the book thinking it was a historical drama, yet I was pleasantly surprised with the suspense. It was addicting and the buildup was refreshing. Jessie Burton perfectly captured the emotion and chaos of pure shock. I literally dropped the book on one occasion.

Unfortunately, I was left hanging at the end with no closure involving the Miniaturist and her figurines. The revelation of the Miniaturist was definitely a surprise, despite the lack of the fantastical I had presumed. I can see how the Miniaturist was kind of a mirror-figure, rather than a prophetess, who provided a reflection on the lives of women. However, the book's tackle on one-too-many subjects muddied the subject of the Miniaturist herself. Don't get me wrong, I definitely enjoyed the family drama and Burton's touch on gender, sexuality, race, social classes, religion, and economy. But I picked up the book based on the premise of the title itself and I was left hanging.  

Saturday, June 7, 2014

The End of Always by Randi Davenport | Review


There are many themes in The End of Always and the most highlighted is domestic abuse. It also contains issues of sexual abuse, the role of women in the workplace, domesticity, coming-of-age, the immigrant experience in America, and the relationship of sisters. If you're looking for a happy love story, you won't find it in The End of Always. Instead, you'll find a story of endurance.

I admit, I judge a book by its cover and the the beautiful cover of The End of Always drew me to pick it up and run my hands over it. The cover depicts a white-shingled house on a grassy landscape. Beyond the house is a lake and a bare tree with a herd of birds flying past. What's most striking is the beautiful fall season, tinging all the elements with hues of orange and yellow.

Like the cover, the narrative of The End of Always is beautiful yet simple. It has an almost stream of consciousness point-of-view, tied together with simple dialogues and folklore. It is about Marie, a seventeen year old girl, who yearns to escape the domestic abuse that had ensnared the women in her family for generations. She lives with her abusive father, mother, and two sisters. When her mother is mysteriously murdered by her husband's abuse, Marie starts to question her lot in life. She grows distant from her older sister, Martha, who does not share Marie's rebellious thoughts of her father and the role of women. When she meets and falls in love with a young carpenter named August, their whirlwind romance gives Marie hope that she could finally escape the fear and abuse that constantly shadowed her and her sisters. Unfortunately, their short-lived romance is is a broken mix of young love, lust, and abuse. The rest of the novel is about how Marie chooses the unconventional path toward freedom.

If you're searching for an intense narrative that delves deep into the psychological repercussions of abuse, you won't find it in The End of Always. Rather, you'll float through the narrative like the Wisconsin seasons that seemed to float by while Marie overcame her trials. Reading this book felt like I was flipping through my grandparents' old photo album. But I wasn't just looking at photos of happy times, I was also looking at photos that lay bear the raw realities of each own's life.

Some might find this type of narrative too whimsical or disjointed for a story that contains heavy themes such as domestic abuse; however I found it engaging. It fit with the surreal and disjointed state of Marie's narrative as her mind struggled to keep up with the hard realities of the immigrant family, young love, and abuse.

However, the lack of solidarity among women in the novel was frustrating. Marie, although softhearted of her younger sister Hattie, forms no close bonds with the other women of the novel. She is wary of her sister Martha, scornful of the women at the laundry mat, and distant from her neighbor Bertha. The struggle of not only Marie, but also her mother and grandmother is very isolated.

Nevertheless, The End of Always is a somber yet lovely book that took me to a time and place in American immigrant history that I've never delved into. It also brought light to the overlooked issue of domestic and gender violence in our communities.

I encourage you to pick up The End of Always at your local bookstore or purchase it through your e-reader device like I did!


Monday, May 26, 2014

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier | Review


Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier is one of a handful of books I've read that ensnared me on the first page and held me captive until the last word. I was amazed by how easily I was able to slip into the narrator's shoes, as if my slumbering mind decided to slip on her slippers before I began sleepwalking into the pages of Dapne du Maurier's masterpiece.

The story is told by an unnamed narrator, whose bland and hopeless life takes an unexpected turn when she meets Maxim de Winter in Monte Carlo. Our quiet and shy narrator is a paid companion to a Mrs. Van Hopper, an obnoxious American woman, to whom she is entirely dependent on. Strung along Mrs. Van Hopper's whim, she is forced to endure the gossipy trivialities of the bourgeoisie.

To her dismay, she is caught in Mrs. Van Hopper's lousy attempt to acquaint herself with Maxim de Winter, who has mysteriously arrived in Monte Carlo. Mrs. Van Hopper's embarrassing attempt to prod Maxim shame our narrator as Maxim clearly sees Mrs. Van Hopper as another vulgar and gossip mongering socialite. However, Maxim takes notice our little heroine.

There is no whirlwind romance, no declarations of love; however, their time together is a refreshing change to the lives they've lead before. For our Romantic narrator, Maxim is the father, brother and friend she's never had. We feel her excitement when she wakes up to meet Maxim, prepared for whatever outing he has planned. We are with her thoughts as Maxim whisks them around Monte Carlo in his convertible. For Maxim, we know he came to Monte Carlo to escape from whatever ghost that haunted him in Manderley. And our narrator provides the diversion he was hoping for. However, Maxim is a character shrouded in angst and mystery and whose actions are as unknown to us as to our little narrator.

In a short time the two of them elope, forming an unlikely couple. Our narrator is twenty-one years old, while the Maxim is forty-two years old, old enough to be her father. With no father, brother, or man in her life, our heroine easily falls in love, or convinces herself that she is in love with Maxim. The whole proposal is startling for its lack of romance. Rather than seduction there is dictation, a trait we see in the domineering Maxim.

The majority of the story is set in Manderley, which is portrayed as the ideal English manor. It is famous, not only for its beauty, but also for its lavish parties hosted by Rebecca. Yet, for our heroine, it is the home she's never had. Orphaned and well below the bourgeoisie class, Manderley is paradise, but also a challenge.

Overwhelmed by the shadow of Rebecca, our narrator struggles to unravel the mystery of Manderley's occupants, including her elusive husband. Her quiet and shy demeanor is no match against Mrs. Danvers, the cold-hearted housekeeper, and her staff. Rather than lady of the manor, she remains a guest tip-toeing across hallways and taking no ownership of the house. At times, the narrator's timidity is infuriating; equally infuriating is the lack of respect from Mrs. Danvers and her staff.

Yet her inexperience and shy narrative captivates not only Maxim but the readers as well. Her lamb-like personality is a refreshing change from the showy seductiveness of Rebecca. It is her subservience and blind faith that propels the the story. Furthermore, the gripping narrative touches upon themes of gender, justice, and social class.

The division of gender roles is highly defined in Rebecca. Maxim is an old fashioned man who desires and later needs a subservient wife. Our narrator is dog-like in her unbending loyalty. She even has the tendency to sit at Maxim's feet and lay her head on his knees. It is these aspects that make our narrator not only the perfect wife, but also the perfect accomplice to Maxim.

Gender division ties into the theme of justice. Has Maxim gone unpunished for his murder or is his exile and the destruction of Manderley adequate punishments? Was Rebecca's murder justice for her infidelities or a tragedy of a woman living in sexual liberation? And how does the narrator's innocence fit into all of this? Can innocence be preserved or will it always be bent and manipulated by external circumstances?

Finally social class is adequately portrayed in the narrator's inability to live up to the bourgeoisie standards of Manderley, Maxim, Rebecca, and Mrs. Danvers. Constantly, the narrator bemoans her inability to become the next Mrs. Maxim de Winter. Her marriage grants her many luxuries; however, she is solely dependent on her husband. Interestingly, Mrs. Danvers and the Manderley staff are the biggest critics of our narrator's social ineptitude. They are unsympathetic of challenges and; rather, they reinforce the prejudice of social hierarchy.

There are also many dichotomies within the novel. Most obviously is the contrast between our narrator and Rebecca. While our narrator is the shy young bride, Rebecca is the sexual and outlandish socialite. Such dichotomies are accurately portrayed in objects such as the east wing and the west wing. The east wing, which faces the rose garden, is Maxim and our narrator's new suite. The west wing, which faces the roaring sea, was previously inhabited by Rebecca.

There is also the dichotomy of the Happy Valley and the trail among the woods. The Happy Valley is Maxim and the narrator's sanctuary; a valley of flowers that is beautiful to the senses. The Happy Valley and the rose garden are predictable; they do not outgrow their limitations as long as they are tended by a caring hand. Contrarily, the trail among the woods is a labyrinth of dark corners and secrets. It is the setting of deceit and adultery. For instance, it is at the end of the trail on the sandy beaches where Rebecca held most of her illicit affairs. Also, its is within the trail where our narrator first encounters Jack Favell, or rather his sports car.

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At first, I decided to read Rebecca because the summary and reviews sparked my Gothic romance radar. I am a sucker for Gothic and Victorian fiction and I'm an even a bigger sucker for love stories. However, Rebecca actually complicates the notion of true love and faith for the romance fiction lovers. As stated before, it delves into complicated notions of gender, justice, and social class. If you haven't read Rebecca yet, I urge you to pick it up and get ready to get lost in this spiraling tale. The abrupt ending will leave you gasping for more.