The Fervor by Alma Katsu

/ Denise / 1 Comment
Cover of The Fervor with a red sash behind it.

I planned on reading this as soon as I got it, since I really enjoy Katsu’s books, but I figured it would be a while before I got the review up.  I recently did my review of The Hunger and I still have a few more books lined up that I read over the past couple of months.  But I started reading The Fervor on Thursday and then the Supreme Court’s decision overturning Roe dropped on Friday.  By the time I finished The Fervor over the weekend, it seemed like this was the review to do for this week.

The Fervor takes place across several locations across the Northwest U.S. in 1944, including one of the internment camps where the U.S. imprisoned all Japanese and Japanese-American residents of the West Coast. This was based on the pretext that there may have been spies and fifth columnists hiding in the population.  It was, if you’ll excuse the academic jargon, bullshit. 

The government had no evidence of “disloyalty” when Franklin Roosevelt signed the executive order, they didn’t find any evidence throughout the course of the war, and no evidence emerged afterwards.  The push to round up and get rid of population stemmed from good ol’ American racism.  Whites in the west had their eyes on Japanese/Japanese-American-owned farms, land, and businesses and wanted everyone of Japanese descent out of there.

The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 halted any immigration from China, but the anti-Japanese movement had been unable to get a similar Japanese Exclusion Act to pass. They got around that with the 1924 Immigration Act, which barred immigration of people belonging to a nationality prohibited from becoming a naturalized citizen. Since American immigration laws dating back to George Washington barred anyone deemed “not white” from becoming naturalized citizens, that effectively excluded Japanese immigrants. Still, it didn’t do anything to get rid of those of Japanese descent who were already in the country or provide a way for white Americans to take their land. The hysteria after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, however, did.   

Anyway, back to The Fervor.  (I would like credit, though, for not continuing to write out my lectures on race, immigration, and internment – once a history professor, always a history professor.) We’re initially introduced to Archie and his wife, Elsie.  Archie is a white pastor in a small town in Oregon who seems to have an ideal life – beautiful wife, baby on the way, a good job, a good home, heading up to the mountains for vacation. Yet his past haunts him and a vision of woman in a red kimono suggests it may be catching up with him… 

Meanwhile, at Camp Minidoka in a remote part of Idaho, Meiko Briggs worries about her daughter, Aiko, while walking her to the internment camp’s school.  Aiko is a bit of an outcast among the other children – she’s half white (her father is a U.S. fighter pilot in the Pacific) and on top of that, Aiko is a very talented artist who draws many of the ghosts, spirits, and demons of Japanese folklore, whom she sees in the camp.  Meiko is concerned about all of this and about how growing up in a prison camp is going to affect Aiko. The more immediate threat, however, is a strange disease burning through the camp, turning formerly peaceful people into violent murderers. And now there are more American officials turning up, strange trucks, and disappearances…

Finally, out in Nebraska, reporter Fran Gurstwold witnesses a mysterious explosion in the night sky while at a remote cabin with her editor, with whom she is having an affair.  They walk through the darkness and discover thin sheets of a papery substance, which she at least is smart enough not to touch barehanded.  Her journalist instincts are telling her she’s on to a big story, one that might pull her out of the usual “women’s news.” Despite her increasingly agitated editor’s admonishments, she starts hunting for clues, tips, and connections to other mysterious flashes, leading her out of Nebraska and towards Oregon and Idaho…

As I’ve mentioned previously, I really enjoy Katsu’s writing.  The Fervor is a bit different from her other two books.  While there is still a spiritual/otherworldly element to this tale, it is much more grounded in reality.  Katsu’s in-laws were interned at Minidoka during the war and she draws on their experiences, as well as her own background and family history.  The illness aspect also ties closely to the rise of racist attacks against Asian-Americans due to Covid and false, racist claims regarding China.  While the demons Aiko sees create all sorts of fear, the real horror is watching how easily people can succumb to their worst instincts, while seeing themselves as heroes.  Even when people know what they’re seeing and doing is wrong, it is so easy to slip into justifications and rationalizations. 

The story of internment is also a reminder of how fragile many of our basic rights are, a lesson those who had the privilege to forget are learning again. Most of those interned, like Aiko, were American citizens, born and raised in the United States. They had basic constitutional rights against unreasonable search and seizure, unlawful detainment, etc. When Fred Korematus challenged his imprisonment, the Supreme Court ruled in Korematsu vs. United States that military strategic concerns were enough to justify stripping Americans of their rights.  The Court claimed it was not based on racial prejudice, even though it only applied to Japanese and Japanese-Americans on the West Coast (where racial bias against Asians was highest) and there was no similar action against German or Italian Americans. 

But The Fervor also reminds us that individuals can still make a difference. It’s hard not to feel completely overwhelmed at times or that there’s no way one person can make any kind of difference. And yet it’s still imperative to try. 

So overall, The Fervor is another great work of weaving historical fact with otherworldly tones like The Hunger and The Deep.  Though the otherworldly aspect is a bit less in this book, the horrifying nature of the reality keeps you wondering who will survive and how, and maybe get you thinking about what you would do in a similar situation.

Find it online here

***POSSIBLE SLIGHT SPOILERS HERE***

Nothing major, just something funny I wanted to share- I don’t think it will totally destroy the book for you, but it might and I don’t want to risk anyone being upset because they wanted to make connections for themselves and now I’m just rambling in a very long, run-on sentence that is going to kill my “readability” statistics, which already don’t like me because I am too verbose and use too many words and don’t use any headers, but I think you, the reader, can handle it, and is this long enough now for you to have backed out if you decided you didn’t want any kind of potential, possible, hint of a spoiler? Also, this probably will make more sense once you’ve actually read the book, so maybe go read it first and then come back for this last line, unless you’ve already read it, in which case, proceed.

Last chance.

Ok, anyway, I finished reading this book and went running two days later, where I ended up running face first into a spider web. Then two days after that, I got sick. Hmmmm….

Pandora’s Jar by Natalie Haynes

/ Denise / Leave a comment
Book Pandora's Jar next to a red vase

While I’m mostly reading fiction at this point (a side effect of grad school), I sometimes venture back into non-fiction. This week’s book is one such example and I loved it: Natalie Haynes’ fantastic exploration of women of Greek mythology, Pandora’s Jar.  With each chapter focused on a different woman, such as Medusa, Penelope, and of course, the eponymous Pandora, Haynes provides an excellent analysis of ancient texts and modern takes of characters who are all too often pushed to the margins.

I read at least parts of The Iliad, The Odyssey, and The Aeneid back in high school (which has somehow become a long time ago), but I was never that interested in it.  Of course, the broad outlines of the stories seeped into my consciousness from an early age, as had much of the lore of Greek mythology.  (Though perhaps the first real introduction I had to Hercules was watching the abysmal Hercules Against the Moon Men as a hilarious episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000.) I therefore had a passing familiarity with the women described, but a strong desire to learn more. 

Haynes delivers in spades.  Her analysis and use of sources (ancient texts, vases, poems, artwork, etc.) helps us see these women not as “villains, victims, wives and monsters,” but “people.” Pandora’s Jar does not just situate these women in their ancient context; Haynes also shows how popular culture – from Clash of the Titans to Troy, from operas to episodes of the original Star Trek, and more – also influence how we interpret, understand, and interact with these characters.  Even better, she brings a sharp sense of humor that makes it a joy to read. It also helps us remember that people wrote ancient texts, and they included their own innuendos, exaggerations, prejudices, personal interests, and more.  Their own times influenced them, as did the stories they knew, the sources they relied on.  As Haynes reminds us in the intro:

“Every myth contains multiple timelines within itself: the time in which it is set, the time it is first told, and every retelling afterwards.  Myths may be the home of the miraculous, but they are also mirrors of us.”

For a long time, our re-tellings of these myths have centered on men (both as the subjects and the ones doing the telling).  The women of these stories faded into the margins or became the reason for our suffering.  The title of the book already points us to the issue.  Nearly all of us, I’m sure, are familiar with Pandora’s Box.  Pandora has a box and told never to open it.  But her curiosity gets the better of her and finally she gives in and takes a peek.  As a result, she releases all sorts of evil into the world.  She is only able to close it in time to keep one thing – hope.  Much like the story of Eve, life was fine for humanity until a woman gave into temptation, becoming the source of all evil, pain, and suffering.  

So if we all know this, why is the book called Pandora’s Jar instead of Pandora’s Box?  Because, as Haynes lays out for us, it was never a box until relatively recently – the sixteenth century.  Ancient art and writings depicted Pandora with a jar.  And not just any jar – a very delicate, easily tippable jar.

In the earliest writings about her, Zeus creates Pandora to be a punishment to humanity in response to Prometheus’ gift of fire to us (and a trick on Zeus regarding sacrificial meat).  Zeus and the other gods create her directly, give her certain gifts to make her irresistible to men and then give her a jar that she brings to her husband, to whom she is directly delivered by Hermes.  So now, instead of just writing her off as the root of evil, we’re faced with the question of whether she even has any autonomy, the role of free will (especially in the face of very powerful and very touchy gods), and the nature of hope.

There’s a great deal more, but obviously, that’s what the book is for, not the review.  Each of the women discussed become much more complex, as does our relationship to these stories.  Regardless of your feelings about the classics (love, hate, or indifference), this is a fascinating book, you’ll learn a lot, and you’ll likely enjoy doing so too!  Then go check out her book A Thousand Ships.

Find it online:

Pandora’s Jar

Madhouse at the End of the Earth by Julian Sancton

/ Denise / 1 Comment
Book cover: Madhouse at the End of the Earth against a white background with a white pine tree next to it.

Since I, like much of the United States, am currently baking in this oppressive heat and humidity, a book on being trapped in the frozen, unceasing night of an Antarctic winter seems delightful.  Madhouse at the End of the Earth paints a vivid picture of Antarctica’s dangerous beauty. By the end, I even started looking into trips to Antarctica.  (Seems unlikely to happen, but you never know.)

Madhouse at the End of the Earth is a non-fiction examination of the journey of The Belgica in 1897.  A young Belgian aristocrat, Adrien de Gerlache, wanted to do his family name proud by accomplishing something extraordinary.  Though tiny Belgium, newly independent, did not have much of a naval tradition to speak of, the sea enchanted young de Gerlache. He took every chance he could to sail, becoming a captain in his own right.

It seemed to him that in some ways, he was born too late and others had already made the important discoveries and captured the glory, particularly when it came to the Arctic.  Soon, however, his thoughts turned to the largely unexplored South Pole.  Perhaps there he could make a name for himself.  And so, de Gerlache decided he would lead a team to find the magnetic South Pole. 

The early part of the book focuses on de Gerlache’s life and his attempts to put together a crew.  It quickly becomes apparent that while de Gerlache might be a good sailor, he is not a great a leader.  Fearful of what the press might say if he did not crew his ship with mostly Belgians, he made very questionable staffing choices for a journey where having the right people in the right position was crucial. 

Eventually, The Belgica entered the waters surrounding Antarctica and the euphoria of reaching their destination and seeing sights very few humans ever had buoyed the crew. But soon, reality crept in. The men remembered how short the polar summer is and how unforgiving the ice will be.  A fateful decision by de Gerlache resulted in the ship becoming trapped in sea ice and the crew locked into enduring the harshest winter conditions on the planet. 

As light disappears, so does sanity and soon the question seems to be what will kill the men first? The environment, the lack of nutrition, or each other?

I can’t really explain why books/shows about early polar exploration are so enthralling to me, but it’s a category on my bookshelf.  (Small, to be sure, but there.) Of course, there’s Endurance by Alfred Lansing, the definitive book on the Shackleton expedition across the South Pole.  After watching The Terror on AMC, I also bought and read Paul Watson’s book Ice Ghosts, which chronicled the parallel stories of the doomed Franklin Expedition searching for the Northwest Passage and the modern expedition searching for the wrecks of those ships (of which the author was a part). 

But I think what really gets me is when I stand at the edge of one of the Great Lakes (or my rare chance to stand at the edge of the ocean) and look across, where there is nothing but sea and sky, there’s a tiny part of me that thrills at the thought of boarding a ship and seeing where the water will take me.  

However, this is likely the closest I will ever come to exploring either the Arctic or Antarctic. Standing about a foot away from shore on a frozen over Lake Erie during a polar vortex.

Even with the supposedly more advanced and technological knowledge of European explorers in the early 20th century, sailing the oceans was a huge gamble and the Arctic/Antarctic oceans even more so.  As Sancton makes clear in this book, it was the sailors and explorers who stopped and learned from the Inuit who had the best chances of surviving. 

A fortunate last-minute addition to the crew, the ship’s doctor an American named Frederick Cook was one such survivalist.  Cook previously served on an expedition to Greenland, where he took great interest in learning from and about the indigenous people (in typical “scientific” racist ways).  Many of those observations helped saved lives on The Belgica, such as how the Inuit avoided scurvy despite the distinct lack of citrus fruits in Greenland.  De Gerlache, however, continued to hold fast to accepted European wisdom of how to prevent scurvy, even as the disease continues to ravage the men following his prescriptions and disappears in those following Cook’s.

Overall, this is a well-researched and well-written look into an event about which I had no knowledge.  There are a few places where things get a little repetitive, but it’s not detrimental to book.  Sancton does a good job using primary sources to give us an insight into what these men were going through, while also being clear what is conjecture or an educated guess.  And he himself did visit Antarctica in the process of writing this book.  While obviously a different experience than being trapped in a wooden ship (or so I would hope), I think it really helped him describe what the men of The Belgica saw and experienced.  So if you’re looking for a way to trick your brain into thinking you’re cold and are interested in seafaring exploration, the Antarctic, and/or how people handle extreme situations, check out Madhouse at the End of the Earth.

One last reminder of winter to better enjoy summer

Find it online here

All The Murmuring Bones by A.G. Slatter

/ Denise / 2 Comments
All the Murmuring Bones with a shell, sea monster, and dolphin around it.

I’m a big fan of authors taking old epics and myths and retelling the with an emphasis on women characters (like Circe by Madeline Miller, The Witch’s Heart by Genevieve Gornichec, and A Thousand Ships by Natalie Haynes – I’ll be reviewing another of her books here soon!).  A.G. Slatter’s All The Murmuring Bones is a gothic fairy tale full of Celtic mythological creatures. Selkies, kelpies, wights, and more, roam the land-and sea-scape.

“One for the house, one for the church, and one for the sea.” So goes the creed for the O’Malley family.  Generations ago, the O’Malleys struck a deal with the merpeople.  The mer would protect the O’Malley family’s ships and fortunes at sea. In return, the O’Malleys would sacrifice a child each generation.  For a long time, the deal was beneficial to the family (even if not for those sacrificed) and the O’Malley clan grew in fortune, status, and power.  But the desire to keep that power in the family led to fewer births and fewer children for the sea.  Soon, ships began sinking and fortunes began shrinking. 

Enter young Miren O’Malley, the only child raised at the old family manor of Hob’s Hallow after her parents left her there with her grandparents. Determine to revive the family’s legacy, Miren’s grandmother has plans for Miren.  But Miren’s cleverness and independence is a strong match for her grandmother and she refuses to be a pawn.  There are whispers of another home where she might find some answers.  Yet the land is full of perils – as is the water. 

This was a really fun and fascinating tale.  I wasn’t that familiar with a lot of the mythology from this region, so I enjoyed learning more. Slatter did an excellent job of blending them in as part of every-day life for the people who lived there.  Ghouls are just another thing you need to avoid on the road, like a pothole.  The first born children of the O’Malley clan must be branded so the mer do not kill them.  A dead body might tell you how they died. Just the way life goes! In addition to the fairy tale we’re reading, Miren weaves in her own fairy tales and stories with which she grew up, so you get a lot of story for one book. 

I feel like this would be even better to read in the fall, curled up under a blanket, listening to the wind make skeletal branches dance outside your window, casting shadows upon your walls and tapping eerily on the panes. But regardless of when you decide to read it, I’m sure you’ll enjoy All the Murmuring Bones!

Find it online:

All the Murmuring Bones

The Trial of God

/ Denise / 1 Comment

by Elie Wiesel.

Black and white photograph of the book The Trial of God with half in shadow.

Books are essential.  Books can help put into words the thoughts and feelings with which we struggle.  They can help us learn, see, empathize.  Cry, laugh, scream, shout with rage.  They remind us we are not alone.

One of the reasons I buy physical copies of all the books I read is because I never know when a situation might arise that calls for a re-read and I want to have immediate access to them when that occurs. 

Such was the case with this.  I hadn’t planned to re-read this particular book.  In fact, I probably haven’t read it since junior high, when I read nearly all of Elie Wiesel’s writings that I could get my hands on.  I may have re-read it in college.  But regardless, I bought it a long time ago and it has traveled with me ever since. 

Uvalde drove me to grab it off the shelf and read it without stopping.  This was not a planned read; this will not be a regular review.  I don’t know why Uvalde was the breaking point.  Certainly, Sandy Hook left me devastated.  I was a junior in high school when Columbine happened; there have been innumerable school shootings since then (to say nothing mass shootings outside of school buildings).  I’m a historian – I’ve studied all sorts of atrocities. And yet…

And yet.  Another example of Wiesel’s influence.  I remembered reading that it was his favorite two words.  But I couldn’t remember why, exactly.  And I couldn’t remember where exactly I’d read it.  So back to my bookshelf I went, pulled out the first volume of Elie Wiesel’s memoirs (All Rivers Run to the Sea) and on page 16 found what I was looking for:

“And yet.  Those are my two favorite words, applicable to every situation, be it happy or bleak.  The sun is rising?  And yet it will set.  A night of anguish?  And yet it too, will pass.  The important thing is to shun resignation, to refuse to wallow in sterile fatalism.”

But in the aftermath of Buffalo and Uvalde, The Trial of God was what I needed.  It is a three-act play, based on events Wiesel witnessed in the kingdom of night, in the unremitting darkness of Auschwitz, where three rabbis convened a hearing in their barracks and put God on trial.  They handed down their verdict: guilty of crimes against creation and humankind. And then they prayed. 

Wiesel struggled with how to relate this event.  Eventually, he realized he could not keep it set in Auschwitz.  Of course, human history has plenty of other atrocities to draw from, particularly when it comes to anti-Jewish atrocities.  And thus, the Trial is relocated to Ukraine in 1649 (which of course is now again the scene of a different set of crimes against humanity).

The play opens with three Jewish performers, Mendel, Avrémel, and Yankel, entering an inn and ordering drinks.  It is Purim, the Jewish holiday celebrating Queen Esther’s success in saving the Jewish population, as written in the Book of Esther.  It is a celebration of joy and life, filled with masks and costumes and music and drinking and plays.  The performers drink and then tell the innkeeper that they cannot pay.  But never fear, they assure him, he will be paid.  They will perform for the Jews of this fine town, who will be delighted and fill his coffers. 

Maria, the Christian barmaid, looks at them in horror as Berish, the Jewish innkeeper, laughs cynically.  For Berish and his daughter Hanna are the only remaining Jews in this town – a pogrom a year or so before slaughtered all the rest.  And Hanna is no longer completely here, her mind cracked after enduring a night of rape.  The town is empty.  The performers, no strangers to pogroms themselves, are horrified.  And Berish – Berish has no interest in God or anyone who would speak of Him or His supposed mercy.

The heat of Berish’s righteous anger burns through the pages and echoes through the ages:

“I don’t know what it is, but I know that it is an angry truth!  Yes, I’m boiling with anger! Don’t ask me why, you know why! If you don’t, I do!  But you do know why.  You are in Shamgorod, you must know.  To mention God’s mercy in Shamgorod is an insult.  Speak of His cruelty. … I want to understand why He is giving strength to the killers and nothing but tears and the shame of helplessness to the victims.”

Mendel and the other performs try to calm him, pointing out that it is “man [who] steals and kills,” but Berish isn’t having it.  “Men and women are being beaten, tortured and killed…True, they are victims of men, but the killers kill in His name!  Not all?  True, but numbers are unimportant.  Let one killer kill for His glory and He is guilty.  Every man who suffers or causes suffering, every woman who is raped, every child who is tormented implicates Him.  What, you need more?  A hundred or a thousand?  Listen, either He is responsible or He is not.  If He is, let’s judge Him.  And if He is not, let Him stop judging us.”

This gives Berish an idea.  You will perform a play, he tells the performers, only he shall choose its subject: let us put God on trial.  And so by Act II, the parts are handed out.  The three performers will be the Court.  Maria will be the audience.  Berish, of course, will be the prosecutor.  But then they encounter a problem.  No one wants to be the defense attorney. 

“Is there no one here – or anywhere – to plead the cause of the Almighty King of the universe?” asks Mendel, one of the judges.  “Poor, poor King of Kings,” responds Avrémel, another judge.  “Poor King who needs His servants’ pity.”

“He needs it? He won’t get it!  Not from me!  He had no pity for me, why should I have for him.” Berish is ready for his role. And then, from the shadows, a Stranger appears and volunteers to serve as the defense attorney. 

We have seen him once or twice before, but he has not spoken and our actors did not seem to notice him.  But they do now.  Maria recognizes him instantly and begs the court not to let him take the role, begs them not to listen to a single word.  He will twist your head around with his smooth tongue and you will not realize it until it is too late, she warns.  But the men in the room pay her no heed.  A defense attorney is needed and there is only one volunteer.  The Stranger, named Sam.

The trial begins.  Berish announces the charges:

“I – Berish, Jewish innkeeper at Shamgorod – accuse Him of hostility, cruelty, and indifference.  Either He dislikes His chosen people or He doesn’t care about them – period! But then, why has He chosen us – why not someone else, for a change?  Either He knows what’s happening to us, or He doesn’t wish to know!  In both cases He is…He is…guilty! (Pause. Loud and clear) yes, guilty!”

“It is sad,” Sam allows.  “I do not deny that blood was shed and that life was extinguished, but I am asking the question: Who is to blame for all that? After all, the situation seems to me simple indeed: men and women and children were massacred by other men.  Why involve, why implicate their Father in Heaven?”

The two attorneys continue to spar, with Sam speaking words I have heard before: “You see [God] among the killers.  I find Him among the victims.” Every time there is a tragedy or whenever I brought up some kind of horror from history, I was often met with this idea: God is crying with us.  God is suffering with us.  Jesus wept.  God is with the victims. 

And though not as elegantly, I respond like Berish:

“He – a victim?  A victim is powerless; is He powerless?  He is almighty, isn’t He?  He could use His might to save the victims, but He doesn’t!  So – on whose side is He?  Could the killer kill without His blessing – without His complicity?”

What good are the tears of the Almighty?  We cry out of helplessness, frustration, hopelessness.  Should not the all-powerful and all-knowing be able to do more?  People of faith will respond with free will; because of free will, God cannot interfere.  And yet they pray and expect God to answer to their prayers.  They will thank God that their children are spared, as though God decided to pick and choose who would live and who would die.  When a catastrophe is averted, they will praise God for looking out for them.  And yet.  Didn’t the victims pray just as hard?  Were their prayers not enough?  Does he only choose to interfere at certain times, under certain circumstances?  But if he interferes once, if he answers a single prayer, why not all?  Or at least, why not those of children being slaughtered…

And so I read, and while perhaps not comforted, I found a voice to express my rage and my anger.  A way to put into words how done I am with all of this.  The trial is reopened again and again – the pogroms, the Holocaust.  The killing fields of Cambodia.  The genocide against American Indians. Rwanda. Bosnia. And so much more. The systemic sexual abuse by the Catholic Church, the Southern Baptist Church.  By individuals.

And the shootings.  In Wiesel’s play, the trial is interrupted by another blood-thirsty mob.  Here, I started writing this post two days after Uvalde.  The night before I post it, another breaking news story about a mass shooting at a hospital in Tulsa. To say nothing of all the other shootings that occurred in between, but just weren’t big enough to break into the news cycle.

There are solutions that we should be pursuing, regardless of God, and I’m a strong believer in those.  Regardless of the existence of any deity or lack thereof, we must act. But as someone who once was a strong believer in God, I cannot look at these horrors and acquit him either.  As I thought in the immediate aftermath: Dear God, I’m done.

And yet.