Linda Hogan has been one of my favorite authors ever since I read her novel Solar Storms, and my love for her writing has been reinforced after finishing People of the Whale. The novel takes place primarily in a small Native American reservation in the Northwest U.S., and mainly follows the lives of Thomas Witka Just and his wife Ruth. When I first started the book I was aware of the differences between Solar Storms and the writing style of People of the Whale. While Hogan’s writing is undeniably beautiful and poetic in both novels, there is something sharper, and a bit staccato to rhythm of the language and sentence structures in People. Once I fell into this book’s patterns and stopped trying to force it into what I knew of Hogan’s other prose writing, I was better able to hear and experience the poignant imagery and poetry of the language. I also decided that the writing style was something akin to Louis Erdrich’s Love Medicine, with an inherent starkness or nakedness to the language – where sentences were shorter and more direct.

     Another thing I noticed about the writing was a tendency to shift view points and tenses without warning. At first this was rather disorienting and a bit annoying, but as I moved along with the characters and began to understand the heart of the novel better, this constant shifting made sense. A lot of the book deals with time: how Western society tends to view time in a linear fashion, how the characters are grasping for their pasts – their history, how war fractures a person’s place in time. As I understood that this shifting of tenses represented the tangle that is our concepts of time, I was less and less bothered by the changes, beginning to accept them as natural movements of life, break-downs of the boundaries we try to place time within.

     Linda Hogan does an amazing job representing the struggle of a culture that has been run over and practically eradicated by colonization. She is able to break down boundaries for the reader, allowing even a reader of an outside culture an intimate look at the lost riches of a Native culture, and allow them to experience sympathy and compassion without feeling targeted by a finger-pointing guilt. I personally find this accessibility very important, because if a reader from an outside culture feels the need to put up their defenses, how can they ever possibly learn or understand what was lost? How can they find common ground with a culture that lives within their own if they are too busy trying to defend their own part in history? One of the ways Hogan manages to break down these barriers is by removing the story from American soil (where there will naturally be more tension involved for American readers) and over to Vietnam. In the midst of war and fluctuating power struggles, Hogan is able to demonstrate other instances where smaller, more intimate cultures are ravaged by the larger ones, and nearly – if not completely – demolished. By bringing her main readership to a foreign country, Hogan enables the reader to gain another perspective on the loss of culture, one that is less likely to carry as much blame as the one on home soil. Not that she diminishes the weight of the loss of any culture as she takes the reader across boundary lines.

     Something I have always admired about some of Hogan’s writings is that despite the story lines being built around Native loss and struggle, there is certainly deeper truths that will resonate with a wide variety of people – whether separated from their native culture, or merely floating in one that is too large to truly be part of. That is one of the amazing things about Hogan’s writing – she manages to make you question the foundations of your own life (that sounds like hyperbole, I know, but I mean it!). This book in particular made me wonder about the effects of being a part of a larger, all-consuming type of culture versus being a member of a smaller, more intimate one, and whether it is possible to truly feel a part of something so large. My theory stemming from these thoughts is that a broad, umbrella type of culture is essentially no culture at all, especially in lieu of increasing globalization, where we all seem to be blending into one another more and more so. With this in mind, I find a book like People of the Whale that much more moving, because it desperately clings to the last remnants of an intimate culture that knew itself enough to even know something of the lives of creatures in the ocean or in the forests. The idea that a people is aware enough of themselves, connected enough, to even open themselves up beyond humans to the world surrounding them. There are too many disconnections, too much surface area being covered by larger cultures to achieve such permeation. In this way I found that I truly empathized with the characters‘ struggle to regain their lost past – something they know is still there, though hidden from them, because I too am searching for that past that would pull my toes into earth, forming roots, making me a part of something with a completeness never experienced in my life.

     One of the ways in which Hogan brings these people to life is through their relationship to water, an element we all have in common, and yet have differing levels of deference for it. Not only is the presence of the ocean saturating the work, but so are the creatures of the ocean. The reverence the characters’ ancestors held for the ocean life seem to reflect the degree to which human life is also held in reverence. As the traditions fall away and respect for nature diminishes, the same happens with respect for human life. This shift can be primarily marked by the Vietnam war and Thomas’s experiences there. The beauty of water as a symbol is that it is pretty much everywhere, present as the seemingly endless ocean, rivers, rain, to the moisture in the humid air of the jungle. In this book water is life, quite literally for the people of Dark River – the small town that is Thomas and Ruth Just’s home, where their people’s beginnings originated from the whales, hence the title of the book.

     There is so much more I could say about this book, and probably should, but I’ll leave it at this: read People of the Whale and any other book by Linda Hogan. She is very much worth reading. This book gets:
★★★★

     On a side note, I passed my MA with distinction. Yay me! And I found a job – well, a job for the holidays at the very least. I am still trying to decide if I want to go for a PhD or not. We’ll see. So I’ll set a goal here: I will have a review posted by the end of the month, and hopefully at least one a month from here on out. I’m also trying to post daily at Photobean, and whenever I have something to blab about at in the beansai.

     From past experiences I know that books are almost always better than their movie counterparts, so I just had to know. I got myself a copy and read it through. I took my time, not feeling inclined to rush nor being so intensely enthralled that I couldn’t put the book down. I still think the books win over their movies any day. I couldn’t help but constantly compare the movie with the book: waiting for Ellie’s dad to die – leaving her alone, waiting for that unlikely relationship between Ellie and Palmer to develop, waiting for the crazy religious dude that blows up the Machine, waiting for Ellie’s solo journey to the stars followed by her public interrogation. Well, none of that happened like I expected. All those things sort of happened, just very differently. They got the big events the same, but the details, the details were so different that it really was like reading it all for the first time. I think the biggest detail change was the fact that Ellie doesn’t make her trip to the stars alone. That’s huge. I like that she doesn’t make it by herself in the book.

     Even though I wouldn’t personally consider this book a page-turner, I still really enjoyed it. It got into science, but usually not so deeply that I was utterly lost. Even with my laymen’s knowledge of science and astronomy and such, I could easily follow what was going on. I didn’t grasp all the concepts just by reading their names, but Sagan has a wonderfully casual way of getting the point across without being patronizing to the audience. I really appreciated that. Once I got to the point in the book where the characters were preparing to depart in the Machine, the book was a page-turner. I read straight on through to the end from there. Previously to that the reading bordered on tedious, though I don’t think that necessarily detracted from the plot. part of the whole point is that it takes them years to decode and decide and build the Message and the Machine, and I think the pace of the writing reflected that nicely.

     Sometimes the writing seemed to jump around, moving in a staccato fashion from one place in time of the plot to another. I felt as though at times I didn’t have an entirely sound grasp on the timeline of the plot or events. It evened out more in the second half, but especially early on, as Sagan takes us through Ellie’s childhood, the years and events just seemed to skip as though from a scratch on a cd. Maybe this was just a flaw in my copy, but I’m not sure. After awhile I got used to this slightly jarred style of writing and didn’t really pay much attention to it anymore.

     I was slightly bothered by Sagan’s handling of Ellie’s familial relationships. Not because they were dysfunctional, but rather because I felt like he betrayed the character in her turnaround at the end. She learns that her father (Ted Arroway) is not her biological father and that John Staughton, who married her mother after her dad died, was in fact her father. At one point Ellie is thinking to herself and she mentions her father (after she has learned of her biological beginnings) and then she self-corrects and refers to him as Theodore Arroway. Now this is the man she loved and admired so much that the alien takes on his form for her. And in a instant it felt like he was suddenly demoted, and I felt that this was untrue to the character. Just because someone isn’t your flesh and blood doesn’t mean you stop loving them as much when you learn of this fact. Especially when they meant so much to you previously. Ellie also claims that she is glad that her mother never bothered to tell her about Staughton (Ellie finds out in a letter that her mother left her after she died). This bothered me a lot. Being a kid that was adopted under unusual circumstances and having had that kept from me for the majority of my life (the circumstances, I’ve known about the adoption since I was 11), I felt that this was a bad example to set as a precedent. Even in the letter her mother muses that Ellie must have had some intuition regarding Staughton due to their strained relationship. And I think it’s true that people certainly have a better unconscious recognition of those kind of relationships and that it can effect them. I don’t mean to imply that I would know my biological mother if I passed her on the street, but that if half of the party knows that their relationship is something other than what the other half thinks, there are going to be tensions and such between them. While the unsuspecting party may not understand or know how to interpret these signals, that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t be aware of them. So, after that long-winded theoretical spiel, all I mean to say is that this end bothered me a lot and I don’t think it was very nice or realistic. Then again, maybe others would say that they’d rather not know. To each his own, I suppose.

     While I always find one thing or another to nit-pick about in a book, I really do enjoy reading them. And Contact wasn’t any different. I think it is a book that strives to encompass an extraordinary vision and for the most part succeeds. I think it is a fair reflection on the issues of politics, cultural differences, science, religion, and humanity in general. Sagan tackles a lot of huge topics and he handles himself well. While I wouldn’t necessarily agree with some of the ideas he conveys throughout the text, I truly enjoyed being taken on such an adventure to the ends of the galaxy.

★★★☆☆
Definitely worth reading, especially if you enjoyed the movie.

Warning! Spoilers (for both book and movie) follow. Read at your own risk .

     That being said, both my minds are mixed in regards to the Half-Blood Prince film. In some respects the movie was good. I thought the composition had a nice flow to it, despite the amount of content they have to force into 2.5 hours. It didn’t feel choppy or chaotic. I never felt lost in the story line (though, of course, I have the advantage of reading the books and I tend to automatically fill in the gaps, so I can’t say for sure that the story makes complete sense without having read the books). I thought that the characters were a bit… held back. Snape wasn’t nearly as antagonistic as usual. Ginny wasn’t as fiery as I think she should be, at least not compared to her book counter-part. Harry wasn’t as obsessive or trouble-making like he always is. No insanely risky wandering around at night, no dancing on the line at risk of getting caught or at least not with the threat of punishment that it usually holds – heck, Potter doesn’t even get in trouble after his bathroom brawl with Malfoy.

     Often times throughout the film there was a forced humor to it. I feel like they were trying to ease the heaviness of this installment with humor. It worked, sometimes, but more often than not it seemed out of place and awkward. This book is not funny. I’m not saying there are never funny moments, but mostly it is just intense, sad, and heavy with fear. Beyond passing mentions of the fear that grips the magic world, it really isn’t present within Hogwarts. Not even after Katie Bell is cursed or Ron Weasley is poisoned. I felt like we were never really allowed to feel the gravity of situation.

      Oddly enough, I think this was the slowest film yet, which strikes me as odd, because in the book there is plenty going on. Even in the film there was plenty going on, and yet there wasn’t the degree of commitment I expect from the film makers. Harry is supposed to be obsessing over Malfoy and his role in the Dark Lord’s regime, but he only half-heartedly obsesses. We’re never shown how he nearly misses a Quidditch match to find out why Draco isn’t playing (we don’t even learn Draco is no longer playing), we don’t see the tension Harry’s suspicions cause between him and Dumbledore, and even between him, Hermoine and Ron. We don’t experience Dumbledore’s disappointment after Harry has failed to retrieve the memory, we don’t even get the back story to the horcruxes (at the very least a point should have been made about Riddle’s trophy collecting habits).

     I think my biggest pet-peeve with the movie though is it’s odd choice to remove some of the scenes, and add others. First off, what the hell is with the whole attack on the Weasley house? It just didn’t make sense to me. This film/book is not about capturing Harry Potter, but about killing Dumbledore, so why this random attempt to draw Harry out? I feel like it takes away the focus, which should be the horcruxes, the Malfoys, and Dumbledore. Two scenes that were completely ignored include the battle that happens after Dumbledore is murdered (the bad guys just run through the castle unchallenged!?!?!?) and Dumbledore’s funeral. Oh, not to mention Harry breaking things off with Ginny. That small scene in the book tells a lot about them and their relationship (which is emphasized way too much in the movie if you ask me. And emphasized too early as well.). Oh! Another thing never mentioned is the change of Minister of Magic. I think that’s important. I think it is important that we know how far Potter is willing to go with Dumbledore, how much he trusts him as well as the extreme dissonance between the magical government and high up figures like Dumbledore.

     While I’ve mentioned mostly what has bothered me, as a whole, I think this movie is probably one of my favorites out of the six. I’ll have to see it again once it comes out on video. I’ll have a Harry Potter marathon and watch all the films in close succession, which will give me a better idea as to how this movie fairs up to the others. I realize that it gets more and more difficult to convey the complex feelings and circumstances of the characters, but I still left the theater in want of something. Like I said, I think my biggest issue is the lack of commitment this film suffered from. It needed more intensity and poignant moments to really convey the severity and difficulties the characters are faced with.

★★★☆☆
Worth seeing if you like the series, whether just books or just movies or both.

     Hosseini’s tale of life in modern Afghanistan is haunting with subtle currents of hope weaving throughout the story. I admit there were times when I was unsure of where this story would end when injustice followed by more injustice consumed the lives of the main female characters. I had hoped to encounter a story of female equality being fought for and rewarded, but Hosseini doesn’t spare his characters or his readers the hardships and unfairness of reality. You truly endure with these women as they live on the cusp of change – back and forth between modern ideologies of rights and equality and strict traditional values. Being a modern female reader I had to cringe at the turn for these characters and how society and war pushed them back behind veils and walls, stripping them of even basic human rights.

     I had also hoped to find some redeeming quality for a belief structure I understand very little of, hoped that there would be some quality of life I had never been told about. While I’m not sure I found that redemption, I was reminded through Hosseini’s compassionate story-telling and variety of characters that governments, social constructs, religious structures often don’t reflect the mind-set of an entire people, especially on the edge of change.

     This book isn’t about war and which side is right or wrong. This book is about the innocent lives entangled, uprooted and lost in the midst of such wars.

     While I enjoyed Hosseini’s writing and the flow of the language, I certainly had some issues with it. Why is it that babies are always what makes a woman happy? It’s bad enough that education is denied these women, the right to walk to the store alone, and they are married to an abusive husband. But what will make it all better? Babies, of course! Because a man who is willing to beat his wife would never consider hitting a child. Because it isn’t hard enough to keep one’s self alive during such times of war so let’s all have babies! Even at the end when Laila, one of the main characters, gets to be something more than just mother, she doesn’t do anything beyond a typical female occupation. Perhaps I’m being ungenerous though. It is advancement, it is more than you imagine her achieving three quarters of the way through the book. But why doesn’t she go back to school? Why doesn’t she study to be something? I know that after all the sacrifices and pain endured up to this point means that even the smallest of happiness is a win, is evidence of more than just enduring, but the feminist in me still isn’t thrilled. It was too much cost for too little gain in my opinion.

     And another thing I can’t reconcile myself to is the need to return to a person’s hometown, especially after it has been ravaged by war and painful memories. I understand it in the context of the book, but I generally find it a weird complusion to be so tied down to a land. Or maybe I just have major commitment issues and won’t even be tied down to land. But enough of my harping on the small things that bothered me. All in all this really was an interesting book with a nice variety of characters and moving story. I don’t know that I would read it again – maybe some day, far down the road. I do know that I will definitely give Hosseini’s other book The Kite Runner a read (as well as give the movie a watch afterward).

★★★☆☆
Definitely worth the read

     That’s a lot on my “currently reading” list. You’d think I’d have more to show for it here on Lit Bit. I’ve also been listening to a lot of new music. My friend introduced me to some really awesome post-rock bands. A couple of my favorites are Explosions in the Sky and MONO. One of my favorite songs for Explosions in the Sky is called “So Long, Lonesome” and is definitely worth listening to. Beautiful music! One of my favorite MONO songs is “Mere Your Pathetique Light” and I hope you give that one a listen too. This music makes me wish my ice skating days had never ended, because this is the kind of music I wish my coaches had come across for my routines. Anyway… aside from the nostalgia or whatever that longing is, it really is great music and very relaxing for a stressed out brain.

EDIT: I also read Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë last month. That was the first time that I made it all the way through that book – and I still don’t get why people like it. Meh. Anne Brontë deserved so much more credit than she got.

     I extracted myself from an unpleasant circumstance, hoping that the change in environment would allow my frame of mind to recuperate and move beyond. It has been a couple of weeks, but I still can’t bring myself to simply think of some things, much less speak of them. I know I should, I know I need to. I know that would help in the long run, but I just can’t. Even the slightest probing into this pool of thought results in an emotional pain that is nearly physical (and sometimes is). That being the case, my poetry writing has been severely handicapped. While I wish it was easy to write detached poetry (or even prose), it isn’t. It doesn’t matter if I am writing a political poem, or on a topic unconcerned with my personal life – writing still requires me to put something of myself into it. I have to think not only from outside myself, but from inside as well. Does that make any sense? I have to think in multiples when I write – in multiples of self (my better self, my darker self, my self as I am aware and unaware of, etc.), as well as in the multiples outside of the self. So it doesn’t matter what subject I choose to write about, because they all need me to cross that line, to cross into a territory that I can’t access at the moment.

     This battle between the creative urge and self-preservation has been hard. Writing is usually a relief, a place I can go to and say whatever the hell I want, then tuck it away to never be seen again or re-evaluate later. I want that relief very badly, but I can’t seem to make it to the page. I lose control over my thoughts before the beginnings of a poem have even been grasped and then it’s all downhill from there. When I try to unlock a small portion of thought, tangents leak through and eventually overwhelm. This is quickly followed by another mental lockdown. My brain retaliates by immediately staunching the flow and going off on a benign tangent. In the middle of emotional upheaval I’m suddenly calm as the contents of a recently read book or watched movie consume my thoughts. I find myself back in a safe zone, but there is no true relief here. I know my mind is trying to protect itself. I’ve always been passive, so this duck and run technique isn’t that surprising. And it is extraordinarily frustrating to be able to see myself from the sort of detached perspective (how else could I talk about all this (even if it is in vague, imprecise language)?).

     I’m just trying to write and read and hoping that at some point I’ll be able to move beyond. Even toeing the line as I’ve been doing this entire post is giving me a headache and drawing the pinch of skin between my eyebrows tighter and tighter. I suppose the best I can do is to just keep trying. Hopefully reading poetry and listening to music and such will help loosen the ties in my mind as well as spending time with close friends.