Two books that I couldn’t put down (but that doesn’t mean you should pick up)
I’ve just finished two books that have nothing in common with each other besides the fact that I could put neither of them down. An Equal Music is a probing novel about love by Anglo-Indian author Vikram Seth. The Partly Cloudy Patriot is a collection of essays in which author Sarah Vowell explores her own quirks through the lens of her love of history. Both books read easily (though at 400 pages, An Equal Music takes a bit of time) and thoroughly engrossed me with their provocative questions, but only one left me feeling edified and enlightened.
I’ll begin with the love story! I first encountered Seth when I was in 9th grade and my 18 year old sister read his 1,488 page opus work, A Suitable Boy. Being completely ensconced in the throws of sibling rivalry, I decided to give it a shot. After only a few pages I had fallen in love with the protagonist, a young Indian girl of a few generations ago whose Hindu family is trying to arrange a good marriage for her (hence the title). It is one of the few books of that length I’ve read that deserves that many words because of Seth’s power to transport the reader across time and space. I’ve never learned more about India than I have from reading that one novel, which is why I have no hesitation recommending it.
In An Equal Music Seth successfully repeats his feat of transporting his reader into another strange and exotic world, but this time it’s the world of professional Classical chamber musicians. His protagonist is Michael, the second violinist in a prominent London string quartet. The reader is treated to an in depth treatment of the strange and unique relationships members of elite small group ensembles share. Michael, the child of a working class family and once an aspiring soloist, must deal with his musical insecurities along with the other stresses of life as a professional musician (how to make ends meet financially, differing artistic visions of his ensemble, a family who doesn’t understand his passion, and the frustration of keeping/finding the perfect violin for himself, just to name a few).
But where Seth was able to weave a profoundly beautiful love story into the lush tapestry of his setting in A Suitable Boy he creates a tragic and dark tale of love lost in An Equal Music. Michael is haunted by the loss of Julia, his love during their years studying at a prestigious music conservatory in Vienna. He left her, the trio in which they both performed, and Vienna when he had a falling out with his private teacher. By the time he realized what a mistake it had been it was too late. After a chance encounter years later they attempt a friendship, but have moved on to other lives. The incredible bond they shared has dissolved, and all that’s left of it is music. That, and their memories, is enough to sustain them for a time, but in the end this is a cautionary tale of the elusiveness of love.
While I learned a great deal by reading this book, it left me feeling bitter and resentful about love. Michael is an anti-hero that I want to like, but he can’t seem to change, or doesn’t want to. To use Christian terminology, there is simply no redemption in this book. On the one hand that’s refreshing (I was sure this was going to be one of those “out-of-incredible-personal-pain-comes-incredibly-beautiful-art” stories), but it’s mostly frustrating. It’s almost existentialist in its outlook, which is a far cry from Seth’s first novel. A Suitable Boy spoke deeply about the tension between persona love and intellectual commitments. That’s a theme Vowell takes up in her collection of essays, but completely outside the realm of romance.
Two things are very clear in this book: Sarah Vowell is a Liberal (that capital L was intentional) and Sarah Vowell loves her country. A contributor to NPR’s This American Life, it should come as no surprise that her politics lean so far to the left. What is refreshing, though, is her unabashed patriotism, an attitude that seems to have been appropriated by the conservative side of American politics and turned into a blind faith in the current administration (“Support war in Iraq or you aren’t a patriot!”). Her essays take up a wide range of topics from Lincoln’s Gettysburg address to George W. Bush’s second inauguration and from Rosa Parks to Teddy Roosevelt.
Several other things stand out as notable about The Partly Cloudy Patriot. First, Vowell makes it cool to be a history nerd. She brings characters to life, and shows how much fun it can be to learn about those who went before (and laugh at the silly mistakes they made – California as an island! – while wondering what mistakes we’re making that will be laughed at). Second, history is an important lens through which we can (and should) view ourselves. History and historical figures have something to teach us (and not just how to avoid making the same mistakes they made), particularly about our identity. Vowell mantra of “Gallows Hill and Andersonville: It could be, could be worse” is just the tip of the iceberg. And third, history is the great equalizer. Some of her essays serve as fair warning that we should fair in our actions and opinions now lest history judge us for them later. One of her finer essays is “Ike was a Handsome Man,” a public letter to the curator of the new Clinton Presidential Library, in which she describes her visits to various other Presidential Libraries (Nixon, L. B. Johnson, Eisenhower are the primary ones) and what they did or did not do well. As an avowed Clinton fan, her sage advice to this curator is to not ignore the ugliness of the Clinton presidency, but simply to put it in the perspective of his overall impact on the country.
The essays are quite readable and extremely funny at times. Vowell captures a Johnny-Carson-esque self-deprecating tone which is perfect for her lofty content. I will warn you again that Vowell is a Liberal, occasionally pushing the limits even for an acknowledged tree-hugging hippie like me. Sadly this includes a few instances where she lashes out at her Pentecostal Christian upbringing. For the most part, though, The Partly Cloudy Patriot is an engaging and funny read that asks great questions about American history and politics.
I’ll begin with the love story! I first encountered Seth when I was in 9th grade and my 18 year old sister read his 1,488 page opus work, A Suitable Boy. Being completely ensconced in the throws of sibling rivalry, I decided to give it a shot. After only a few pages I had fallen in love with the protagonist, a young Indian girl of a few generations ago whose Hindu family is trying to arrange a good marriage for her (hence the title). It is one of the few books of that length I’ve read that deserves that many words because of Seth’s power to transport the reader across time and space. I’ve never learned more about India than I have from reading that one novel, which is why I have no hesitation recommending it.
In An Equal Music Seth successfully repeats his feat of transporting his reader into another strange and exotic world, but this time it’s the world of professional Classical chamber musicians. His protagonist is Michael, the second violinist in a prominent London string quartet. The reader is treated to an in depth treatment of the strange and unique relationships members of elite small group ensembles share. Michael, the child of a working class family and once an aspiring soloist, must deal with his musical insecurities along with the other stresses of life as a professional musician (how to make ends meet financially, differing artistic visions of his ensemble, a family who doesn’t understand his passion, and the frustration of keeping/finding the perfect violin for himself, just to name a few).
But where Seth was able to weave a profoundly beautiful love story into the lush tapestry of his setting in A Suitable Boy he creates a tragic and dark tale of love lost in An Equal Music. Michael is haunted by the loss of Julia, his love during their years studying at a prestigious music conservatory in Vienna. He left her, the trio in which they both performed, and Vienna when he had a falling out with his private teacher. By the time he realized what a mistake it had been it was too late. After a chance encounter years later they attempt a friendship, but have moved on to other lives. The incredible bond they shared has dissolved, and all that’s left of it is music. That, and their memories, is enough to sustain them for a time, but in the end this is a cautionary tale of the elusiveness of love.
While I learned a great deal by reading this book, it left me feeling bitter and resentful about love. Michael is an anti-hero that I want to like, but he can’t seem to change, or doesn’t want to. To use Christian terminology, there is simply no redemption in this book. On the one hand that’s refreshing (I was sure this was going to be one of those “out-of-incredible-personal-pain-comes-incredibly-beautiful-art” stories), but it’s mostly frustrating. It’s almost existentialist in its outlook, which is a far cry from Seth’s first novel. A Suitable Boy spoke deeply about the tension between persona love and intellectual commitments. That’s a theme Vowell takes up in her collection of essays, but completely outside the realm of romance.
Two things are very clear in this book: Sarah Vowell is a Liberal (that capital L was intentional) and Sarah Vowell loves her country. A contributor to NPR’s This American Life, it should come as no surprise that her politics lean so far to the left. What is refreshing, though, is her unabashed patriotism, an attitude that seems to have been appropriated by the conservative side of American politics and turned into a blind faith in the current administration (“Support war in Iraq or you aren’t a patriot!”). Her essays take up a wide range of topics from Lincoln’s Gettysburg address to George W. Bush’s second inauguration and from Rosa Parks to Teddy Roosevelt.
Several other things stand out as notable about The Partly Cloudy Patriot. First, Vowell makes it cool to be a history nerd. She brings characters to life, and shows how much fun it can be to learn about those who went before (and laugh at the silly mistakes they made – California as an island! – while wondering what mistakes we’re making that will be laughed at). Second, history is an important lens through which we can (and should) view ourselves. History and historical figures have something to teach us (and not just how to avoid making the same mistakes they made), particularly about our identity. Vowell mantra of “Gallows Hill and Andersonville: It could be, could be worse” is just the tip of the iceberg. And third, history is the great equalizer. Some of her essays serve as fair warning that we should fair in our actions and opinions now lest history judge us for them later. One of her finer essays is “Ike was a Handsome Man,” a public letter to the curator of the new Clinton Presidential Library, in which she describes her visits to various other Presidential Libraries (Nixon, L. B. Johnson, Eisenhower are the primary ones) and what they did or did not do well. As an avowed Clinton fan, her sage advice to this curator is to not ignore the ugliness of the Clinton presidency, but simply to put it in the perspective of his overall impact on the country.
The essays are quite readable and extremely funny at times. Vowell captures a Johnny-Carson-esque self-deprecating tone which is perfect for her lofty content. I will warn you again that Vowell is a Liberal, occasionally pushing the limits even for an acknowledged tree-hugging hippie like me. Sadly this includes a few instances where she lashes out at her Pentecostal Christian upbringing. For the most part, though, The Partly Cloudy Patriot is an engaging and funny read that asks great questions about American history and politics.
posted by MattyA at 12:57 AM
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