JITPLEECHEEP

Following the career advancement, investigations, philosophical struggles, and cultural explaining of Royal Thai police detective Sonchai Jitpleecheep, the main character in John Burdett's Bangkok series has been one of my favorite literary excursions over the past few years. Sonchai, the half Thai/half American (farang) son of a former prostitute and current brothel owner (he is a part owner), is a devout, spiritual Buddhist who wrestles with the karmic implications of his role as a minion (and later consigliere) of his boss, one of the two leading drug barons in Thailand. We are first introduced to him in Bangkok 8, suffering from the loss of his best friend and police partner who is murdered via use of poisonous snakes, and his exploits are continued in Bangkok Tattoo and Bangkok Haunts, which are interesting and enjoyable but did not quite live up to the first book. Along with his mother and boss, other recurring characters include his faithful assistant and devoted foil, Lek, a pre-op transsexual male (katooey); a female American FBI agent that he taps for special intelligence when required; an Army general and rival to his boss in the drug trade; and numerous prostitutes and colorful personalities who come in and out of the stories (not to mention the rather interesting victims of the crimes he is investigating).
So it was delightful that Burdett's recent addition, Godfather of Kathmandu, was as strong and interesting as the first volume. Jitpleecheep here is dealing with the heartrending loss of his only son and his wife's decision to run off to a Buddhist nunnery, as he is called to assist in the mysterious murder of a prominent and wealthy American film director, while at the same time brokering a high-stakes drug deal with an equally mysterious Tibetan lama (Tietsen), who wants to use profits from the sale to get back at the Chinese. He is valuable to his boss because he can easily traverse the different cultures. Soon he is immersed in the complicated worlds of Chinese/Thai secret societies, a brilliant chemically-dependent pharmacist murderess, a tantalizing Tantric mistress/actress, a upward striving junior police detective, and other members of Thai society (as well as individuals in Tibet and Hong Kong). In all of the books the protagonist talks directly to the reader, explaining various aspects of culture and religion, as well as his thought processes as he works his way through various investigations. There is no way for this reviewer to assess how accurate the author is in describing the inner working of Thailand, but the stories are colorful and engaging, and I recommend them highly. Almost all of the characters are richly complex and compelling. Burdett's descriptions and explanations of Thai society are equally good.

YEAR OF THE FLOOD

In her new novel The Year of the Flood, Margaret Atwood returns to the dystopian universe she first described in the romance Oryx and Crake, with her vision of ecological disaster and genetic engineering as it is experienced by members of a eco-friendly religious cult known as the Gardeners. In her first novel she concentrates on a love triangle amongst a group of corporate insiders (at HelthWyzer) who are trying to manufacture a new human species, but whose actions lead to the downfall of most of the human race as a body-melting plague savages the populace. In this story a group of societal castoffs, many of whom are ex-scientists and doctors morally opposed to genetic engineering and unethical profit-making schemes of the giant corporations, form a society that venerates "saints" (historical people who fought for the environment, such as Dian Fossey, Jane Goodall, Euell Gibbons, etc.) and establishes a vegetarian (for the most part) commune that tries to avoid waste and warn of future disaster. The members, including children, are only one part of a larger society, and Atwood populates her story with a diverse and interesting group that one roots for. The story is primarily told through the eyes of two women. Toby, a middle-age woman with some holistic training who is saved by the group after she runs afoul of an evil, dangerous killer (who throughout the story hopes to run her down and kill her); she is adopted into the group and eventually earns a position of authority, but ends up stranded in an abandoned spa as the plague spreads. Ren, who was raised in the group, but is later taken back to the corporate compound, only to become an exotic dancer, survives the holocaust by fortuitously being trapped in an isolation ward of the club she works for. Despite depressing aspects of the story, it is remarkably uplifting, much less dour than McCarthy’s The Road, and there are rays of hope throughout. One finds themselves rooting for Zeb (who wants to more aggressively fight against the corporation); Amanda, a streetwise kid adopted into the group, who befriends Ren and later becomes an artists; Mordis, the club manager with a heart; and a small host of other sympathetic characters. I will confess that after a while I just skimmed over the prayers of Adam One (leader of the cult) and the corresponding hymns to get back to the main story, and there are times when events seem too coincidental, but overall, I think this is an even more enjoyable book than Oryx. There are elements that anyone who has been reading postapocalyptic fiction will be familiar. . such as gladiatorial contests for public consumption (such as in the Catching Fire series).

SOUTH OF BROAD

If Pat Conroy published a shopping list, I would probably search for it and read it. Ever since around 1980, when my mother recommended The Lords of Discipline to me, I have been a faithful fan. Part of that devotion may be my having lived on the edges of Charleston (up to fifth grade) and the fact that some of his upbringing roughly parallels that of mine (military father, marshes, South). I loved Great Santini, Prince of Tides, and Water is Wide. I even tracked down a copy of Boo. Although I am seldom awed by the famous or wealthy, I was somewhat starstruck when I finally got to meet Conroy in person, while he was giving a talk in Columbia about his memories of poet and novelist James Dickey. He turned out to be as gracious and pleasant as many of the Southern characters he pens. I have often found myself trading away hours of sleep in order to avoid putting down his latest novel (although I confess that the only thing I haven’t read of his is the cookbook). I enjoyed his nonfictional My Losing Season, as well as Beach Music (though it was probably my least favorite of his novels).

So, I was very excited when I heard Conroy had a new novel, South of Broad, coming out, roughly ten years after his last effort. I immediately lost much-needed rest. Dysfunctional families and individuals are his stock and trade, and this book is chock full of them. The story is placed during the cauldron of desegregation and high-school life (primarily the exploits of the integrated football team) in 1969 Charleston, as a small group of disparate and damaged souls comes together and forms a strong (yet often disputatious) bond that lasts into adulthood. The star the group circles around is protagonist Leo King, a young man recovering from the loss of an adored older brother (suicide) and the parenting of a stern, rigid, ex-Catholic nun mother (who is also the principal of his high school), a role that is moderated by the love and attention of a softer, understanding, and supportive father. King---who is ending several years of probation (having taken the rap for a drug crime he didn’t commit), extensive mental care, and slave-like community service (for a crotchety antiques dealer)---is asked to be a moderating influence between the races in the newly integrated public school and on the football team, as well as to serve as shepherd (similar in ways to the story in Lords of Discipline) to three high-society kids, forced out of their private school; several orphans, including a brother and sister from the mountains of North Carolina; and two damaged, but talented, twin neighbors---one a beautiful, uninhibited, and rebellious girl (Sheba, destined for stardom in Hollywood) and the other a beautiful, flamboyant gay boy (Trevor, destined for local fame in San Francisco as a pianist). King, although apparently rather homely (but well-known because of a long-standing stint as newspaper delivery boy), has a deep heart and manages to achieve his tasks of maintaining racial harmony and stability for the group, but he pays a hard price after marrying Starla (one of the NC orphans), who suffers from borderline personality disorder. He becomes best friends with his black co-captain (whose father is the new coach). While their youthful actions and bonding are important to the tale, the major storyline occurs twenty years later as the truth of their lives unravels while several members of the clique attempt to save Trevor from a terrible fate in California, as well as defend themselves from the twin’s evil father and the onrushing hurricane Hugo.

Conroy loves and understands Charleston and The Citadel, particularly, and the strengths of the book are place and character. Readers familiar with his books will feel pretty comfortable. However, the first part of the book seemed rushed---almost cramped---as he tried to jam things together, to situate the characters, and provide the bedrock of the story. . .it almost felt that he might have written the first section last, and in a hurry. King’s character seemed a bit unrealistic at times, and some of the wordplay seemed outside of that which I was familiar with. Yes, people call each other terrible things, even in jest, but I simply can’t see some phrases tumbling from the lips of most Charlestonians I knew, even the most racist (if they were upper-class). I really enjoyed the love story between King's parents and descriptions of the area (a city that I really like, but do not want to live in). Once the story morphed into their adult lives, it seemed to flow better (even accepting certain scenes that didn’t ring true). Perhaps there were just too many subplots (coverage of which could have accounted for an addition 200-300 pages), but perhaps he was under length or time constraints. There are a lot of disturbing parts (incest, pedophilia, AIDS, racism) that one might want to consider if a young adult choses to pick up the book.

Overall, I enjoyed the book, and heartily recommend it. It touched me personally in several areas. . .particularly Leo’s relationship to Starla. He is a classic codependent personality who cannot give up on his crazy wife. Been there, done that! (Though I got enough help to finally cut the ropes that were dragging me down into the abyss). I just hope we do not have to wait an additional ten years for his next story.

TRACKS

Although Morrison seems to get most of the literary accolades, I feel that Louise Erdrich is every bit as good a storyteller and deserves more attention and greater readership. I may not like all of her stories, but the same can be said of Morrison, and usually I am drawn in by her characters. This novel, Tracks, is a story of several Anishinabe (Chippewa, Ojibwe) families struggling to maintain their culture and lands from the onslaught of church, American ways, and the logging companies during the period roughly corresponding with American participation in World War I; it is a wonderful tale of a defiant woman, Fleur, who survives the extinction of her family in an epidemic and then boldy defies almost everyone around her to forge her own life as she wants to live it. There are elements of what can be described as Native American magical realism (though it may simply the application of native folklore). The story has two narrators. The primary is Nanapush, the old, wise, mischevious, experienced grandfather (telling the story of her mother to his granddaughter). The other is Pauline, an embittered, mentally ill woman who becomes a religious zealot, but is a devil within the community. Not native myself, I believe that Erdrich faithfully reveals some truth in the inner working and complex relationships experienced by Native Americans; some window into the reactions of Indians to the destruction of their world, as well as the tenacious resistence and stubborn accommodation that resulted; some of the humour, anger, love, hatreds, revengefulness, pettiness, forgiveness, sharing, charity, community---in all its varities---that could be found within families and among neighbors. Erdrich's characters are not one dimensional. I love how Nanapush judged and described the many characters in the community. He has to be one of my favorite characters. He loves puncturing falsehoods and white ways, but nonetheless is affected by them. . .clearly as he speaks, he is not telling the whole truth, or is embellishing for the sake of story, but you are drawn in nonetheless. I recommend this story to anyone who likes reading NA fiction.

COYOTE BLUE

I fell down a rabbit-hole on the literary continuum, somewhere between those currently being used by Sherman Alexie and Neil Gaiman! And what a wonderful ride it was. Reading Christopher Moore’s Coyote Blue was an enjoyable experience. Moore is rapidly becoming one of my favorite authors. I absolutely loved Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal.

The story itself is rather simple: it is about redemption and respect for heritage, myth and love, wrapped up in fantasy and humor. A young Crow boy, Samson Hunts Alone (Sam Hunt), escapes from his reservation world and creates a new persona, only to have his orderly life decades later thrown into chaos with the arrival of Coyote, a shape-shifting horny trickster Crow (and maybe more) God (who also speaks to Sam's clan uncle, Pokey), who is supposedly his spirit guide (whom he had met in the guise of a traveling vacuum salesman, during a religious retreat when he was about nine). Sam meets a special woman, a free-spirit---almost innocent being, Calliope. I loved the line: "She wondered what she had done to manifest the curse of a nice guy." From that point onward (and I don’t want to ruin the story) they are all off on an adventure that pulls in wild and fantastical characters, and sends them on a quest to Vegas and his tribal home. Just like Gaiman, Moore reaches into myth and blends it with the modern. Moore seems to thrive on writing stories about good-hearted, though flawed, individuals who need a raucous (and naughty) partner to confuse and engage them, to wile and push them, to get them in trouble but provide an avenue for redemption. Moore also has a wonderful ability to poke fun at commonplace things. . .salesmen, garage sales, sex, etc. I enjoyed the portion of the story dedicated to the garage-sale enthusiasts trying to locate a mis-advertised sale. Priceless. Now, I don’t know how the Crow people would react to some of the story, but I think they would laugh, just as most sane Christians would find the humor and humanity in Lamb. Now I am looking forward to reading about Moore's vampires, demons, and lizards.