Recent Reading

An eclectic group of books I have attempted recently, so I thought I would present some thoughts about them. Kind of like a mini-review. Greg Mortenson’s Three Cups of Tea is an excellent and well-written account of an American mountaineer’s obsession with providing schools and community development projects for the mountainous, isolated northern portions of Pakistan. It is a good introduction to life in this region, and sheds light on many of the diverse customs and attitudes of the tribal peoples. It should be taken as a manual of how charitable (and even governmental) assistance should be provided to needy areas, as well as a primer on how to temper that anti-Western anger. We need more Mortensons. In honor of my friend Cheryl, trapped in Wyoming, and who is the baseline by which I have come to judge Canadians, generally (and favorably, cause she is a really nice person), I read Will Ferguson’s Beauty Tips from Moose Jaw, a delightful collection of short accounts of his many trips to different parts of Canada, humorously told. I like Ferguson’s work, in addition to the comedy, for its emphasis on history. Milton Murayama’s Five Years on a Rock was an interesting fictionalized account of a Japanese picture bride in early twentieth-century Hawaii. Lewis Owens’ Bone Game and Stewart O’Nan’s Last Night at the Lobster novellas were a quick change of pace. In Bone Game we have a murder mystery wrapped in Native American academic culture; in Lobster, we follow the thoughts and actions of a manager as he closes down for the last time the Red Lobster he has been employed at while dealing with a semi-mutinous crew and a former girlfriend on the staff. Kinsella’s Dance Me Outside was a small collection of funny stories about Canadian Native Americans, though I was troubled with the voice, as it seemed to present a skewed and somewhat negative portrayal of the culture. Ok, I’ll admit it. . .I read Mitch Albom’s For One More Day, which was a nice bit of caramel corn. If you have children in third to fourth, you may want to add How To Scratch a Wombat, a followup to the children’s favorite, Diary of a Wombat, which I found delightful.

TEHRAN-22

If it were not for the fact that the great Joseph Heller didn’t die until just before the turn of the century, I would swear that he (or some portion of him) was reincarnated into Iranian-born writer Shariar Mandanipour, because his Censoring an Iranian Love Story was as weirdly enjoyable to me as was Catch-22. Mandanipour tells a story of a writer trying to craft a romance while having to deal with the oppressive censorship of a fundamentalist Islamic bureaucrat. The writing is witty, funny, critical, sarcastic, and ironic. The author frequently becomes part of the story itself, revealing a little of the troubles experienced by all writers who become intimately connected to their characters, but he mostly uses the love story as a baseline in which to critique modern Iranian society. I frequently laughed out loud at his jabs, but the book also tells an underlying chilling tale, and reveals for readers the high level of hypocrisy, idiocy, misogyny, and oppression currently rampant in Iran (a country he may not feel comfortable living in, but one that he clearly loves). For anyone interested in Iran, I heartily recommend this book. He criticizes the deporable treatment of women, the atomic program, censorship, social restrictions, brutality, stalinistic watchdogs, and other aspects of life there. “Every day became days groups of people were killed for freedom.” One wonders how many people in Iran have disappeared or been incarcerated. But many of Mandanipour’s comments are universal as well: “my father was absolutely right, and that is why I disagreed with him.”
The author does, however, seem to fall into the trap many foreign-born literature majors who become writers seem to: he wants to show the readers just how widely read he is, by dropping illusions at almost every turn to well-known (and lesser known) works. Some of this is ok, but at times it seemed a bit of a stretch.

KORAN-KRAZED KOOKS (KKK?)

It is amazing (and also frustratingly angering) that recent actions of the clearly crazy Terry Jones, pastor of a miniscule evangelical Florida church (who was out to garner attention), set off worldwide protests and absorbed so much domestic attention (all the way up to the White House and amongst the presidential-wannabes). If a kook chooses to do idiotic things, is it absolutely necessary that reporters cover it? If all the media types decided not to pay attention to this ridiculous representative of religion, would his actions have resulted in anything other than a small pile of ashes and nary a ripple of impact on the world stage? Here again we have a situation where a small segment of society has pushed the (hopefully) more-sane majority into a reaction (can we say Tea Party?). Jones does not represent most evangelicals, and certainly not most Christians (although, yes, there is much anti-Islamic sentiment in American society), no more than does Al Qaida represent most Muslims. When are people going to accept that Christianity, Islam, Judiasm, Buddhism and every other religion (as well as national, racial, and cultural classifications) seldom are monolithic in belief and teaching (seems to me they argue among themselves all the time)? I know it is human to classify, often in simplistic terms, but I wish people would think more clearly, especially those whose reactions and statements can set off violence and discord. Can I get an "Amen" on that?

STONING IN IRAN

The stoning of a human to death, even if the crime being punished is horrendous, is one of the most inhumane, barbaric, dehumanizing, and cruel tortures that can be inflicted upon a person, especially if the community carrying out the sentence knows the victim. The horror is magnified when the person is innocent of the crime they are accused of. Stoning still exists in Iran, and its use there is but one criticism the world hurtles (justifiably) at the fundamentalist state. While some feel little sympathy for criminals, the punishment can also be carried out against those accused of adultery, a heavy penalty for an all too human sin. But in Iran some victims are most vulnerable to this terrible fate---women. Recently the case of Sakineh Ashtiani (a forty-three year old woman who apparently may have been coerced into admitting wrongdoing and also had language problems) has garnered international attention and condemnation. It is within this atmosphere that the movie The Stoning of Soroya M. vividly demonstrates not only the horrors of stoning, but also the misogynistic state of affairs in Iran. Based on a true story, it recounts the heroic efforts of Zahra (beautifully played by the lovely and husky voiced Shohreh Aghdashloo), wilfull and determined, who tries to protect her niece (the mother of four children) from the machinations of her spouse Ali (effectively and menacingly played by Navid Negahban), who wants to obtain a divorce on the cheap in order to marry a fourteen year old. Ali is a greedy, corrupt, manipulative, and brutal man, who terrorizes his family. Yet he has powerful allies in his little village (a mullah with questionable past and a weak mayor), and after weakening her position financially, and then actively soliciting her help to aid a newly widowed man and his son, they use false claims of adultery (as well as strong-arm tactics against the widower) to railroad Soroya straight into a hole and a rain of stones. Zahra then makes it her mission that she will not allow the story (and her niece’s bravery) to go unreported, and she enlists a French/Iranian journalist’s help. The movie pulls few punches and is vivid and direct, and emotionally draining. It is a heavy indictment against radical fundamentalism, woman-hatred, poor education, and male-dominated dictatorship. Although some scenes are very difficult to stomach, I encourage everyone to see it.

JAPANESE CATS

Just watched a nice documentary titled The Cats of Mirikitani, about Jimmy Mirikitani, a scrappy, independent eighty-year old Japanese-American artist who was living on the streets of New York City and doing his paintings and drawings (staying at this time at night in the enclosed plastic flower display area owned by a Korean shopkeeper), until the filmmaker happens upon him and ends up taking him home and assisting him to get into better housing (initially as a result of the results of the 9/11 disaster that happened as she was filming him nearby), while recording his work and memories. He was born in Sacramento and interned at Tule Lake during WWII, and that experience heavily influenced his art. He was separated from his family and apparently had not communicated to any of them (most of his mother's family were killed at Hiroshima) for more than 50 years, as he moved east (first somewhat forced to work on a farm, and then to New York, where he claimed to have cooked for Jackson Pollack and served as a chauffeur in NYC). The film is a loving portrait of an artist and tough man, and in the end he forgives his anger after visiting Tule and reconnecting with his sister. His art is amazing (and one wonders how great he could have been if he had been allowed freedom and wasn't discriminated against).

THE VIETNAMESE IMMIGRANT EXPERIENCE

Bich Minh Nguyen's Stealing Buddha's Dinner is a very nice memoir of one Vietnamese girl's experience growing up as a refugee immigrant in Grand Rapids, Michigan; her family's hurried escape from Vietnam as the communists won; and her view of life as an outsider within American society (mostly school), as well as her role in an unusual family. It is a sad story, in many ways, especially as the truth of her family in revealed and the pain that can be inflicted by intolerance. Food is a unifying theme throughout the story (and also literature). My favorite members of the family are her grandmother Noi (serene, loving, unperturbable, devout) and, oddly enough, her stepmother Rosa (who reminded me much of my mother, with a slightly more activist bent, who seemed to keep that family together, and deserved more creidt and love [at least from my perspective]). Some of the author's troubles resulted from the kind of person she was: shy, studious, middle child, self-critical. Much of her story resonated for me, as I was not an immigrant (although my mother came from Ukraine when she was about sixteen) and I didn't look ethnically different than most of my classmates, but because many of her feelings are universal. Her story made me think about my family who were caught in the post WWII diaspora, some of whom made it to America, many of whom I have never met or only barely met when I was very little. (I also have a large family on my Dad's side that I didn't even know about until a few years back, and I have never met, but that's another story). Although my childhood was roughly a year before her's, I still connected to the cultural landmarks she mentions (music, tv shows). But I felt that she was truly blessed to be raised by members of her family and near people of similar background---my ex-wife is Vietnamese, but she was orphaned (and adopted at age 2 by a white family in northeastern South Carolina) and grew up with few connections to Vietnamese culture, but she experienced many of the struggles and challenges of being different (or being treated as different). Of course, every person's experience is different, no matter their background, and growing up is a challenge for most of us, but it is interesting to see how others dealth with their worlds, or remembered how they did so. This is a good addition to the growing body of literature of the immigrant experience.

JAPAN FOLLIES

For anyone who enjoys the humor-laced travelogues of British writer Michael Palin or American Bill Bryson, I heartily recommend adding the work of Canadian Will Ferguson to your list. Although this recommendation is based solely on the highly entertaining Hitching Rides with Buddha, I suspect that I will be delving into his other books soon in hopes they are as good as this effort. Ferguson, who taught English in Japan and is workably fluent in Japanese, decides to hitchhike from the southern end of the island(s) country to its northern –most point, roughly corresponding with the seasonal flowering of the sakura (cherry trees). Largely comprised of small vignettes covering successive rides or stays in different locations, Ferguson deftly lays bare (nay---punctures) many of the myths and attitudes held by Japanese about their country, people, and standing in the world, as well as their fascination/disgust/fear of the outside world, especially America. What emerges is a land of diversity; of people with enormous generosity, friendliness, wonder, balanced by narrow-mindedness, racist-thinking, and over-inflated egos. No doubt there will be some in Japan who will call for his passport to be permanently confiscated and his carcass banned from reentry (what would he care! He stole his wife from them already) because of his often less-than-flattering portrayal, but it seems to me that he has a great deal of affection and respect for the people, even while puncturing their contradictions and egomanias. The Japanese come off often as something akin to enthusiastic, cautious, conformist plowhorses with their blinders firmly affixed. While the author has penned standard travel-guide material, this account will keep you laughing, while at the same time open your eyes to a wonderful and contradictory nation.