Book Report Roundup

I thought I'd talk a bit about several books that I've read over the past year. Some of them I read quite some time ago now, but never got around to the blogging I had planned to do about them. So I'll do a bunch of condensed "book reports" now before I forget about them completely.

The Time-Traveler's Wife [2003] by Audrey Niffenegger -- I ran across this book by chance and thought the title was intriguing. I then skimmed the prologue and was immediately hooked. It's the story of a man who is intermittently (and involuntarily) transported through time, yet it never occurred to me to put this book into a "science fiction" genre. I think it's a remarkable accomplishment by the author that the book's focus is not on the time travel or the bizarre circumstances that it brings about, but on relationships and how they respond to the situation. To me, the real star of the story is the undying commitment that Henry and Clare have for each other, and their determination to support each other through their trials; in that way, I found the book to be a tremendous affirmation of a healthy marriage. On the other hand, the mind-bending situations and the musings on the nature of fate are also fun. (Note: As with most novels these days, the reader should be forwarned about language and sexual content.)

Redwall [1986] by Brian Jacques -- As with The Time-Traveler's Wife, my first thought was that this is a terrific idea for a novel, but in this case I ended up feeling that Redwall did not deliver quite so well on its promise. Creating characters is clearly one of Jacques' strong points, and there are certainly a number of memorable and enjoyable characters among the animals who inhabit Redwall Abbey (I particularly like the mole engineers). But the storytelling somehow utterly failed to be suspenseful to me, certain main characters did not seem as likable as they were obviously intended to be, and the violence was occasionally disturbingly graphic for a children's book.

These days, especially with election madness in full swing, we tend to think that there is no such thing as a Democrat who is not liberal, or a Republican who is not conservative. Yet "conservative Democrats" and "liberal Republicans" were plentiful as recently as the 1960's, and a few can still be found even today. As I wrote some time ago, I am interested in finding out more about what made a Democrat a Democrat back in those days when it was not all about being "liberal" or "conservative." Earlier this year, I read two books as part of my attempt to learn the answer to my question.

Several months before he gained notoriety as the only politician ever to give keynote convention speeches for both parties (Dems in 1992, GOP in 2004), I read A National Party No More: The Conscience of a Conservative Democrat [2003] by Senator Zell Miller of Georgia. As someone who has loudly proclaimed both his loyalty to the Democratic Party and his disgust for the liberal special interests who run that show, I thought Miller ought to be the perfect person to articulate an alternative philosophy of being a Democrat. In this I was greatly disappointed, for although Miller repeatedly vows that he "was born a Democrat and will die a Democrat," he gives no coherent reason for this commitment other than family loyalty. Miller does have some points that Republicans would do well to listen to, such as the importance of making equal education available to the poor, but overall I see little in the chapters devoted to issues that is recognizably Democratic, and Miller makes no attempt to correct my impression. Miller's strongest moments are when he excoriates the moneyed lobbyists that have taken over the Democratic party and driven American political discourse into left/right radicalism; but in this I personally see the Republicans as hardly less to blame, while Miller lets them off way too easily.

When Sen. Miller failed to enlighten me as to why a conservative would want to be a Democrat, I turned to a recent popular history, Party of the People: A History of the Democrats [2003] by Jules Witcover. I enjoyed much of this book, as I enjoy just about any lively account of historical events, but here again I was disappointed when I looked for commentary that would help answer my question. Witcover is not a historian but a political journalist, and his book persists in describing the events of Democratic history not in the context of their times but through the revisionist lens of Witcover's own modern liberal sensibilities. To hear him tell it, the Jefferson/Hamilton and Jackson/Clay conflicts were little different from Mondale/Reagan. He tended to gloss over elements of past Democratic platforms that would be out of place in the DNC today, which of course was frustrating to my purpose. I do have a sense, from both Miller and Witcover, that the welfare of the underprivileged is the true historical core Democratic value (as opposed to moral libertarianism, environmentalism, etc.). It seems to me that that struggle has much merit but also much opportunity for abuse; but for now I'll leave off that discussion and move on to other subjects.

I recently read yet another book on political history, but this one dealt with events long preceeding the American Republic itself. The Emergence of Liberty in the Modern World [1992] by Douglas F. Kelly traces the influence of John Calvin (1509-1564), the early Protestant reformer, upon the development of modern democracy. Among the concepts with roots in Calvinism are a separation between the spheres of Church and State (neither of which should control the other), the separation of powers in government (based on Calvin's emphasis upon the depravity of human nature and the danger that "power corrupts"), and a philosophy of struggle for freedom from tyranny. Although Kelly gives little discussion to the persecution perpetrated by Calvinists themselves when in power (e.g. Puritan England and Massachusetts), he is clearly concerned that the modern perception of Calvinism dwells unduly on these aspects. His purpose is to argue that Calvinism bequeathed much more that is good to the modern world than is generally recognized. His lack of self-criticism is a significant flaw, but I think his point is a valid and important one.

At the moment, I am re-reading two books that I have read before and greatly enjoyed. One is Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix [2003] by J.K. Rowling, the fifth and most recent in the HP series. I think Phoenix is one of the best books in the series so far. Its narrative structure is much more unified and coherent than some of Rowling's previous works, and I really appreciated that several characters who were only bit parts in the first 4 books are now greatly matured and fleshed out. I also enjoyed Rowling's portrayal of the mind of a 15-year-old boy (ie., Harry), not only in his actions but in the very tone of the story (which is seen from his perspective): not often thoughtful, reacting rather than thinking, easily angered, confused about a lot of things -- basically, capable enough to be dangerous but still quite immature. I remember being much like that at a similar age.

The book that Laura and I are currently reading out loud to each other is Watership Down [1972] by Richard Adams. I first read WD a couple years ago, but this is Laura's first time. This book is delightful not only for its imaginative rabbit's-eye view of the world (unlike most stories involving animal characters, the rabbits of WD are never anthropomorphized), but also because Adams is simply a fantastic storyteller. Some of my favorite parts are the legends that the rabbits tell about their mythic hero, El-ahrairah.

For more info on those last two books, I've enjoyed looking at MuggleNet (for HP) and The Real Watership Down, both of which I have as yet only begun to explore. 

Posted by Matt on 10/02/2004 11:18:00 PM