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viktor_haagTwo books just finished this weekend, and the contrast is interesting: Michael Chabon's "The Yiddish Policemen's Union" and Daniel Woodrell's "Winter's Bone". Both are thrillers, at least in part, and both set their tales in a strange other-world to mainstream North American life.
The Yiddish Policeman's Union. Typical of Chabon, it's very hard to nail down exactly what this novel encompasses: is it a police procedural? a Jewish tale of humour? a science fiction store? alternate history? urban fantasy? The easy answer is that it mashes together all of these things, in pretty liberal doses, to end up with something that's reasonably interesting, but dense. It took me a long time to get through this book, unlike the previous work by Chabon I consumed ("Gentlemen of the Road"). In the end what got me through was Chabon's skill as a writer, and not really any of the individual thematic aspects of the work.
There's much to like in this work, but also a lot to carp about: there's wit and humour here, but also so much of it that nearly every character seems unnaturally equipped with above average skill in wisecrackery; there's murder, some mayhem, and some unfolding and uncovering, but in then end the details of the secrets are somewhat messily presented as Chabon fattens the book with all the other things he wants to present; there's a whimsical and interesting choice for a diversion point, which Chabon layers with thematic weight, but at times it seems like the author works a bit too hard to throw in detail and it becomes a game of "spot the historical difference". Chabon's tale folds in enough of the fantastic that adding "urban fantasy" to the list of things going on here seems undeniable, but pinning up the strange gifts of the corpse found in Chapter One next to the meticulously detailed otherwhen that Chabon constructs seems in some sense to undermine its plausibility, to unseat it from a foundation that the reader can fully engage in. At this point, the book becomes a bit of a confection, and loses its ability to engage serious thought on the part of the reader: what's going on here? why should I think this is anything more than a light diversion? I suppose that "the point" of alternate histories relies pretty solidly on the feeling of "this could have happened", to serve the end of holding a mirror up to our present circumstances. It's not clear to me how effective this work is at doing this.
All that said, Chabon's skill, humour, and whimsy come soaring through solidly in this work, and this seems (oddly) an excellently drawn companion piece to "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay". If nothing else, Chabon is idiosyncratic: what's the book like? Well, it's like Chabon.
Rather like the cinema of Tarantino, if you're predisposed to like Chabon, then it's almost certain that you'll like "The Yiddish Policeman's Union". If what you're looking to connect with is a strangely set mystery, or a gripping, detailed alternate history, you'll find aspects of those, but only as flavours within the wider stew.
It took me months to finally get through this book, picking it up and putting it down a dozen times. I'm fully glad I read it, and I'm happy to seek out another of his books, but I rather suspect that my palate prefers to sample Chabon in smaller doses (or at least, smaller doses at a time).
Winter's Bone. By contrast, while there's some humour in Woodrell's "Winter's Bone", it's spare and far between. I read this dark tale of the modern Ozarks in a weekend. It's sparse, tight, well-contained. There's not much of anything here that could get pared away: the detail is precise, evocative, but there's little room for expanse. The premise is simple, gripping, and relentless: Ree is a young teenager who's family circumstances have pushed here into caring for her younger brothers and ailing mother; their lives are stretched thin enough that's there's no room for slack, no way to absorb a big crisis; so, of course, one arrives: her father has been released on bail, has disappeared, and has put the family homestead up as his security bond. Unless Ree's father is found, Ree's home will be taken from her, and (as she puts it) they will end up living in the fields like dogs. It takes Woodrell no time at all to make the reader realize that Ree's explanation is not metaphor or adolescent exaggeration.
As the tale spins out, Ree's struggles are carefully and starkly drawn as she's pushed from one stage in her dilemma to the next. Ree doesn't so much as solve a mystery, or uncover secrets, as she staggers stubbornly through in a manner that, of its own accord, lets her arrive at a resolution. Is she lucky? Some. Is she smart and clever? Some. Is she capable and independent? Some. Woodrell seems to suggest that any success Ree pulls out of her horrid situation might parallel her wider life: Ree does not so much triumph as persevere.
Winter's Bone is a short, gripping novel. It has a stark poetry despite the desperation and ugliness of (parts of) the setting. There's nothing cute or coy about its presentation; there's not much in the way of hope or beauty or happiness portrayed in the book, and in some way that spareness helps throw the brief moments of bravery and tenderness into higher relief.
To make any comment about how the story ends, or how Ree's life changes (if it does at all), would rather spoil not only the story told in the book, but also pull an end-run, a bit, around the way that it gets there. "Winter's Bone" isn't as fanciful, cozy, funny, deep, or affirming as Chabon's book: it's meaner, in just about every sense of the word. But it's hardly arguable that Ree Dolly isn't a memorable protagonist and one that the reader can get pretty solidly behind.
I'd say strongly that both these books are a very good read, and heavily recommended. My taste these days seems to be move slightly in the direction of Woodrell's book and others like it, but it was a pleasure to have read both, and I wouldn't hesitate to suggest either as fine, interesting, well-crafted works.
The Yiddish Policeman's Union. Typical of Chabon, it's very hard to nail down exactly what this novel encompasses: is it a police procedural? a Jewish tale of humour? a science fiction store? alternate history? urban fantasy? The easy answer is that it mashes together all of these things, in pretty liberal doses, to end up with something that's reasonably interesting, but dense. It took me a long time to get through this book, unlike the previous work by Chabon I consumed ("Gentlemen of the Road"). In the end what got me through was Chabon's skill as a writer, and not really any of the individual thematic aspects of the work.
There's much to like in this work, but also a lot to carp about: there's wit and humour here, but also so much of it that nearly every character seems unnaturally equipped with above average skill in wisecrackery; there's murder, some mayhem, and some unfolding and uncovering, but in then end the details of the secrets are somewhat messily presented as Chabon fattens the book with all the other things he wants to present; there's a whimsical and interesting choice for a diversion point, which Chabon layers with thematic weight, but at times it seems like the author works a bit too hard to throw in detail and it becomes a game of "spot the historical difference". Chabon's tale folds in enough of the fantastic that adding "urban fantasy" to the list of things going on here seems undeniable, but pinning up the strange gifts of the corpse found in Chapter One next to the meticulously detailed otherwhen that Chabon constructs seems in some sense to undermine its plausibility, to unseat it from a foundation that the reader can fully engage in. At this point, the book becomes a bit of a confection, and loses its ability to engage serious thought on the part of the reader: what's going on here? why should I think this is anything more than a light diversion? I suppose that "the point" of alternate histories relies pretty solidly on the feeling of "this could have happened", to serve the end of holding a mirror up to our present circumstances. It's not clear to me how effective this work is at doing this.
All that said, Chabon's skill, humour, and whimsy come soaring through solidly in this work, and this seems (oddly) an excellently drawn companion piece to "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay". If nothing else, Chabon is idiosyncratic: what's the book like? Well, it's like Chabon.
Rather like the cinema of Tarantino, if you're predisposed to like Chabon, then it's almost certain that you'll like "The Yiddish Policeman's Union". If what you're looking to connect with is a strangely set mystery, or a gripping, detailed alternate history, you'll find aspects of those, but only as flavours within the wider stew.
It took me months to finally get through this book, picking it up and putting it down a dozen times. I'm fully glad I read it, and I'm happy to seek out another of his books, but I rather suspect that my palate prefers to sample Chabon in smaller doses (or at least, smaller doses at a time).
Winter's Bone. By contrast, while there's some humour in Woodrell's "Winter's Bone", it's spare and far between. I read this dark tale of the modern Ozarks in a weekend. It's sparse, tight, well-contained. There's not much of anything here that could get pared away: the detail is precise, evocative, but there's little room for expanse. The premise is simple, gripping, and relentless: Ree is a young teenager who's family circumstances have pushed here into caring for her younger brothers and ailing mother; their lives are stretched thin enough that's there's no room for slack, no way to absorb a big crisis; so, of course, one arrives: her father has been released on bail, has disappeared, and has put the family homestead up as his security bond. Unless Ree's father is found, Ree's home will be taken from her, and (as she puts it) they will end up living in the fields like dogs. It takes Woodrell no time at all to make the reader realize that Ree's explanation is not metaphor or adolescent exaggeration.
As the tale spins out, Ree's struggles are carefully and starkly drawn as she's pushed from one stage in her dilemma to the next. Ree doesn't so much as solve a mystery, or uncover secrets, as she staggers stubbornly through in a manner that, of its own accord, lets her arrive at a resolution. Is she lucky? Some. Is she smart and clever? Some. Is she capable and independent? Some. Woodrell seems to suggest that any success Ree pulls out of her horrid situation might parallel her wider life: Ree does not so much triumph as persevere.
Winter's Bone is a short, gripping novel. It has a stark poetry despite the desperation and ugliness of (parts of) the setting. There's nothing cute or coy about its presentation; there's not much in the way of hope or beauty or happiness portrayed in the book, and in some way that spareness helps throw the brief moments of bravery and tenderness into higher relief.
To make any comment about how the story ends, or how Ree's life changes (if it does at all), would rather spoil not only the story told in the book, but also pull an end-run, a bit, around the way that it gets there. "Winter's Bone" isn't as fanciful, cozy, funny, deep, or affirming as Chabon's book: it's meaner, in just about every sense of the word. But it's hardly arguable that Ree Dolly isn't a memorable protagonist and one that the reader can get pretty solidly behind.
I'd say strongly that both these books are a very good read, and heavily recommended. My taste these days seems to be move slightly in the direction of Woodrell's book and others like it, but it was a pleasure to have read both, and I wouldn't hesitate to suggest either as fine, interesting, well-crafted works.
