I wanted to like A Man Came Out of a Door in the Mountain so badly. Every inch of my existence wanted this to happen. I willed it with all my spirit as much as I possibly could. And I waited, and waited, and waited.
I was so excited to start this first time novel by Adrianne Harun, so much so, I put aside other reading to start it. The description was such lush, so captivating. I kept trying and waiting, desperately searching for something- anything- to happen in this story.
Alas, perhaps the man in the mountain never came out of his door for me because I found this novel like one giant question mark.
“Do you not then hear this horrible scream all around you that men usually call silence.” –The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser
Full disclosure: I don’t have one nautical bone in my body.
Besides having crippling motion sickness, the idea of spending any amount of time aboard something with a higher than average likelihood of sinking into the sea is like some new dimension of hell.
I am absolutely at a loss as to why people love Kurt Vonnegut’s work.
This comes from a reader whose favorite author is Kafka. Dark humor is not something I stray from, nor do I ignore texts that use humor to mask the terror and hopelessness of some of the darkest human fears, including nuclear war and total annihilation that Kurt Vonnegut’s fourth novel, Cat’s Cradle, touches on.
Times were never simpler.
We like to think of the past as “simpler times,” something that is often used to make a joke and a slight wince in memory of how things used to be. But there has never been a time in human history where scandal, corruption, greed, and fury have not penetrated the mass existence. There have only been times when the envelope had not yet been pushed.
It can happen here, it is happening here, and because it will happen here, you best start packing heat; the overarching message of one of my latest reads, Sinclair Lewis’ It Can’t Happen Here. This dystopian fantasy is so eerily relevant to our current political climate and the constant turmoil found in governments across our country that one can’t help but wonder if Lewis wrote this in preparation for the election of Trump.
Spy novels were never really my thing. Police dramas: definitely. Dark tales of Cold War espionage by John le Carré: not so much. Just never my style.
But I recently saw a copy of A Most Wanted Man on sale in a bookstore, and I was interested enough to purchase it for a bad reason- I wanted to see the movie. But like a neurotic reader, I always have to read the book first. The struggle.
This was not a good choice when it comes to a first le Carré read. However, it wasn’t the worst. I found the saga of Issa, Annabel, and Tommy Brue interesting enough to finish the text. Le Carré moves slowly, almost brutally. The deep introspection allows the reader to feel the heightened alert of the characters, the sneaking about, the carefulness and attention to hiding every move.
Determining Issa’s innocence is compelling enough to finish the book even though I, as a reader, knew this was far from my favorite tale. I was invested, however; I had to see it through.
I also think le Carré uses clever and precise dialogue effectively throughout the novel, something that, through my research, told me is not always as prevalent in his other work. Dialogue can be tricky; too much dialogue threatens the creative storytelling but not enough makes the reader’s eyes glaze over. Le Carré has an excellent balance of believable, credible dialogue that helps move the story along . . . which is excellent because this novel unfolds at a snail’s pace.
Listen. I promise Turgenev isn’t that bad. I know you don’t believe me, but if you ever find yourself with a gun to your temple and a command to pick a Russian author that won’t bore you to tears (wait, who wouldn’t cry? There’s a gun to your head), pray it is Turgenev.
Classic texts can be intimidating due to the immense amount of mental attention they require, and anyone who tries to convince you otherwise is totally bogus and not deserving of your trust. Russian texts are particularly challenging, and that’s coming from someone with a pretty hot and heavy Slavic background.
Like a text from any part of the globe, there are a lot of foreign elements at play that the reader must decode, and Ivan Turgenev’s second novel, 1859’s Home of the Gentry, is the perfect definition of this.