The book’s protagonist is the orphan Jun Do, who believes himself to be the son of the head of the orphanage in which he lives. The Koreanization of the anonymous American “John Doe” is on example of the subtle humor that infuses what is otherwise a story that fluctuates between the horrifying and the absurd.

The first section of the book gives us the “biography” of Jun Do, at least what he believes or, sometimes, knows to be true. The main function of this section is to set up the main story in Part Two: The Confessions of Commander Ga. This part forms the action of the story (but don’t worry, plenty happens in Part One) – the ups and downs of Jun Do’s experience in a society where the only thing you can be sure of is that you can’t be sure of anything.

I want to avoid any spoilers here – one of the things I most enjoyed about this book was the somewhat bewildering, always fascinating, development of the story. I wouldn’t want to deprive anyone of that pleasure. Leaving the plot aside, there are a number of other reasons why you should get your hands on a copy of this book ASAP:

• Johnson spent six years researching North Korea and interviewing people who had defected from the DPRK before traveling there himself. It’s safe to say that he brings a great deal of knowledge about the culture and lives of the citizens of this shadowy country.
• There is a fine balance between the realistic , the horrifying, and the preposterous, although it isn’t always clear which is which. Sometimes they overlap, as when Jun Do travels to the United States and observes, “This was a family, start to finish, without wars or famines or political prisons, without a stranger coming to town to drown your daughter.”
• Jun Do is a hero you root for from beginning to end. That he projects an”everyman” quality in an environment that is, thankfully, so alien to American sensibilities is a tribute to Johnson’s skill in developing his characters.

This book has already been widely reviewed and cited as what will be one of the most important books of 2012. We all know how books that come out early in the year can be forgotten in the pre-Christmas rush of new titles. It will be a shame if that happens to The Orphan Master’s Son – it’s a book that deserves to be read and celebrated as original, captivating, and masterful. I really can’t recommend it highly enough.

Grade: A+

The novel opens as the jury selected to judge submissions for the memorial come to a consensus on the design. The jury is made up of a variety of stakeholders: community leaders, artists, and a single family member of one of those killed in the attack. This particular juror, Claire Burwell, has lost her husband. Representing all the families that have lost loved ones, she plays a particularly vocal – and privileged – role in the final selection, and sways the jury to support her choice: a walled garden that includes a pavilion for contemplation, intersecting canals, and steel trees constructed from the salvaged scraps of the wreckage.

The rules require that the jury view the submissions “blind,” with no knowledge of the designer and his/her background. When the decision is made and the designer revealed, it turns out to be an American-born Muslim named Mohammad Kahn. Kahn, who goes by the nickname “Mo”, is a non-practicing Muslim; born, raised, and educated in the U.S.A.

As might be expected, the selection of a design submitted by a Muslim sets off a firestorm of controversy, and it is around this controversy that the story evolves.Waldman has brought in a wide variety of voices –  families of victims, politicians, Muslims, journalists – to represent the competing factions of the controversy, and it is in these voices that the tension and interest lie.

Anyone who remembers the outcry against the building of a Muslim community center near the site of Ground Zero has a pretty good idea where this story is going, but that doesn’t dilute the propulsion of emotion that Waldman builds through the first half of her story. She does an excellent job of representing all points of view and raising sides to the issue that were new to me and may be to you, also. If she continued to press points that had been adequately covered, sometimes bordering on redundancy, I believe it was only to bring resolution to the large cast of characters.

The writing is sometimes overwrought, and Waldman often stretches for metaphors that don’t quite work (my favorite: “She ate ramen noodles from the vending matching, their texture just a few molecular recombinations from the Styrofoam cup containing them.” Ouch!)

Nevertheless, the subject matter and points raised are compelling, the controversy one that will force you to re-examine your own biases. . . all in all, a good exercise in understanding others’ points of view.

Grade: B

Aravind Adiga, the author, rose to literary prominence when his previous novel, White Tiger, won the 2008 Man Booker Prize. In my estimation, he has surpassed the success of his earlier work with this new novel.

Last Man is the story of what would be a condominium co-op here in the United States. This six-story building, consisting of fifteen units and known as Vishram Society (Tower A), sits on the edge of a Mumbai slum. Its middle-class tenants have lived in harmony for many years. As the book opens we see how involved they are in each others’ lives, knowing family histories and habits in the intimate way that people living in close proximity often do. Muslims co-exist in harmony with Catholics, Hindus, and atheists; neighbors look out for and help one another in time of need, while tactfully refraining from meddling in each others’ business. If not always easy, life is companionable in the Vishram Society.

That is, until a real estate developer decides that he is going to offer the tenants an enormous sum of money (approximately $330,00 per family – the average annual income is about $800, according to the author) to sell their property to him. He plans to demolish the Vishram Society and construct a massive, modern new development.

Conflict arises when all but one tenant, Yogesh A. Murthy (known as “Masterji”), agree to take the deal. Masterji, a retired teacher, refuses to sell. As Dharmen Shah, the developer, and his “left-hand man”, Shanmugham (so-called because he does the things that “the right hand doesn’t want to know about”) mount pressure on the residents, we begin to see cracks in the neighborly relationships for which they pride themselves.

Adiga has done a fine job of developing this story and, by the time we get to a point of real conflict among the tenants, we actually understand and sympathize with both sides. Masterji is truly the “last man,” standing alone in bewilderment and frustration; his neighbors are forced to re-evaluate their belief in their strong morals and ethics. Even Shah has certain goals and beliefs that we understand, while we don’t necessarily condone his methods.

Along with the human side of this story, there’s an interesting and important examination of the collision between rapid economic expansion and the human toll that it takes.

Wryly humourous, thought-provoking, and engaging, Adiga has written a compelling and worthwhile novel of modern India. I highly recommend it.

Grade: A

Janet Maslin of the New York Times writes:

Although most of “The Rogue” is dated, petty and easily available to anyone with Internet access, Mr. McGinniss used his time in Alaska to chase caustic, unsubstantiated gossip about the Palins, often from unnamed sources like “one resident” and “a friend.”

Nick Gillespie, writing for the Washington Post says:

Despite his intensely close proximity to his subject — McGinniss famously rented the house adjacent to the Palin home while researching his book — he consistently fails to sift through competing versions of the same story for something approximating truth.

David L. Ulin, book critic for the LA Times, writes:

I have no doubt that McGinniss’ view of Palin is accurate: that she is narcissistic, undisciplined and unqualified for public life. Still, I want more than innuendo to make the point.

“Sarah Palin practices politics as lap dance,” he writes, “and we’re the suckers who pay the price.” True enough, perhaps, but like too much of “The Rogue,” this is its own sort of come-on: titillating her detractors while allowing her supporters to disregard everything McGinniss has to say.

So why read this book, when the flaws have been so throroughly covered by some of the most respected reviewers in the country? Perhaps because I live in a politically conservative area, where many people I know have great admiration for Palin, and I was looking for some ammo.

Perhaps because the moment I saw her take the stage at the Republican Convention and call herself a “hockey mom,” I sensed there was something “off” about her, but couldn’t put my finger on it.

I think the reason this book so fascinated me is that, in spite of all the well-merited criticism it has received, someone had to tell a comprehensive version of this side of the Palin story. Making no attempt to be anything but biased against Palin, McGinniss – to me, a credible and talented reported – has exposed the ugly underbelly of a national phenomenon in a logical and sequential manner.

I’m not concerned by the dearth of sources who allowed themselved to be named – there are plenty who do. I’m not concerned by McGinniss’s lack of objectitivity. There are plenty of people who swallow the Palin myth hook, line, and sinker. I’m not even sure that Palin’s story is important any longer, in and of itself, as she seems to be diminishing in importance on the national scene.

What I would really love to see come from this book is a renewed awareness that we all need to be better informed and more saavy consumers of political branding and advertising. We need to look behind the rhetoric and learn who the people are that seek the privilege of leading this country. What McGinniss has done – much as he did in his groundbreaking  book, The Selling of the President – is expose the manipulation involved in the process. It’s up to us to do our homework. As Alexis de Tocqueville so famously said, people get the government they deserve. . . and we deserve better than what is currently being offered.

Grade: C

Judith Hearne is a character who, superficially, seems to be an anachronism – a thing of the past. She’s a virginal spinster, well into her 40s, who lives on a small trust from her deceased aunt in Belfast, Ireland. She resides in a boarding house, where she rents a single room. Her only personal adornments in the room are a silver-framed picture of the dead aunt and a “colored oleograph of the Sacred Heart. His place was at the head of the bed, His fingers raised in benediction, His eyes kindly yet accusing.”

I say that she appears to be an anachronism because it might be hard to find a single woman like her today. Today she would probably be employed, certainly not virginal, not likely to keep the Sacred Heart at the head of her bed. But before we write her off, I think you’ll find if you examine her more closely you’ll see that the isolation, the loneliness, the desparation that Ms. Hearne’s experience is not really a thing of the past.

Judith Hearne yearns for only one thing - a human connection, someone who cares about her. The other boarders are indiffierent, the dead aunt was her only living relative, the landlady thoroughly loathesome. At one time Miss Hearne worked part-time at a trade school teaching embroidery. She has a small handful of piano students. Both occupations seem to be dwindling out of her life for reasons that become apparent late in the story, so she seems to have no real purpose.

The only people with whom she has regular social contact is the O’Neill family, the family of a childhood friend, who she visits on Sunday afternoons. This is “the big event of the week”. We learn that she dresses carefully for these visits, rehearses stories that she hopes will interest them, considers the four O’Neill children to be “her nieces and nephews.” Sadly, the O’Neills do not anticipate her visits as enthusiastically. Son Shaun O’Neill sums it up for the family when he announces, just before Miss Hearne’s visit, ” Five minutes, or maybe ten. Let’s say ten minutes at most before the advent of the Great Bore.” Although his mother chastises him, he is saying what they all are thinking.

Into this bleak life appears a man – Mr. James Madden, the brother of the boarding house landlady. Mr. Madden is recently returned to Ireland from America, where he was in “the hotel business” in New York City. Mr. Madden befriends Miss Hearne, and she begins to weave intricate fantasies about him. She imagines them married and returned to America:

He came into the room, late at night, tired after a day at work in his hotel. He took off his jacket and hung it up. He put on his dressing-gown and sat down in his armchair and she went to him prettily, sat on his knee while he told her how things had gone that day. And he kissed her. Or, enraged about some silly thing she had done, he struck out with his great fist and sent her reeling, the brute. But, contrite afterwards, he sank to his knees and begged forgiveness.

Even in her fantasies, Judith Hearne cannot imagine a life in which she’s being treated with affection and respect.

Mr. Madden has his own reasons for encouraging Miss Hearne’s affection, but we soon see him for the brute that Judith Hearne obviously subliminally sensed . Although we know that she’s better off without him, the collapse of their “friendship” is the last straw for her.

Things don’t turn out well in this brutal, heartbreaking story. It would be comforting to think that the world today is a kinder place for the Judith Hearnes among us, and maybe it is. Maybe more doors are open to an unattractive, middle-aged woman, maybe she would have more resources to help her fashion a life that didn’t require dependence even on those who despise her. Those of us with friends, loved ones, interesting work, nice homes should take a moment to be grateful for all we have. I can’t help but suspect that the world is still populted by Judith Hearnes who would trade places with us in a heartbeat.

Grade: A

Last year we all watched the dramatic rescue of the Chilean miners with bated breath, hoping against almost insurmountable odds that the 33 men trapped half a  mile underground could be saved. When they emerged from that mine, the world breathed a collective sigh of relief. Now Jonathan Franklin has written a detailed and gripping story of their experience and the efforts it took to rescue them.

For anyone who may have been in a coma in August through October of 2010, a group of 33 copper miners worked at the bottom of the poorly maintained but highly profitable San Jose mine outside of Copiopó, Chile, when the mine caved-in. For 17 days these men, known as “Los 33,” were completely shut off from any contact with the world. With extremely meager food supplies, little potable water, and the dread of losing the battery power on their headlamps, these men forged a bond that helped them survive 69 days underground. Franklin, who covered the story for The Washington Post and UK’s The Guardian, has helped us all understand how they were able to do this.

To get the details of the mine, its history, the technology involved in rescuing the miners, and even some of the photos shot inside the mine during the entrapment, you can read a good summary, along with diagrams, charts, etc., at Wikipedia.com. To get the inside story of how the miners coped, how the rescuers battled the unforeseen obstacles that they faced, and how the families of the miners attempted to support their loved ones, read 33 Men.

This book read like one of the greatest suspense stories I’ve ever encountered. Even though I knew the final outcome, I could hardly pull myself away from it, so caught up in the tension that I often forgot I knew they would all get out alive. A few of the highlights:

• How they survived the first 17 days of fear and uncertainty;
• How they came together as a group, both functionally and spiritually;
• The emotional moment when they realized that they had been located and might be saved;
• How knowledge of the rescue attempt changed the group dynamics, not always for the better;
• The trials and triumphs of the human spirit – for the miners, the rescuers, the families, and the world.

Read this book. You’ll be enlightened, entertained, and inspired.

Grade: A

Julian Barnes The Sense of an Ending (Jonathan Cape – Random House)
Sebastian Barry On Canaan’s Side (Faber)
Carol Birch Jamrach’s Menagerie (Canongate Books)
Patrick deWitt The Sisters Brothers (Granta)
Esi Edugyan Half Blood Blues (Serpent’s Tail)
Yvvette Edwards A Cupboard Full of Coats (Oneworld)
Alan Hollinghurst The Stranger’s Child (Picador – Pan Macmillan)
Stephen Kelman Pigeon English (Bloomsbury)
Patrick McGuinness The Last Hundred Days (Seren Books)
A.D. Miller Snowdrops (Atlantic)
Alison Pick Far to Go (Headline Review)
Jane Rogers The Testament of Jessie Lamb (Sandstone Press)
D.J. Taylor Derby Day (Chatto & Windus – Random House)

The shortlist of six authors will be announced on Sept. 6, and the winner announced October 18.

So far I’ve only read The Sisters Brothers by Patrick DeWitt, which I loved. You can read my review at http://2manybooks2littletime.wordpress.com/2011/06/20/the-sisters-brothers-by-patrick-dewitt-had-me-at-hello/

Have you read any of the rest of these? What did you think?

The narrator of this spellbinding story is Dr. Jennifer White, a renowned orthopedic surgeon who specializes in hand surgery. What makes her unreliable is the fact that at age 65, she is in an  advancing stage of Alzheimer’s Disease. What makes her a prime suspect is that the murder victim, Jennifer’s best friend Amanda, was found with four fingers of her right hand surgically amputated.

We are brought into Jennifer’s world, a world that continually shape-shifts, as she tells us this:

Something has happened. You can always tell. You come to and find wreckage: a smashed lamp, a devastated human face that shivers on the verge of being recognizable. Occasionally someone in uniform: a paramedic, a nurse. A hand extended with a pill. Or poised to insert a needle.

The story unfolds mainly through conversations between Jennifer and other characters: her grown children, her caregiver, the detective investigating the crime to name a few. Some of these people are alive. Others are dead, such as her parents, husband, Amanda.

At other times we share Jennifer’s observations of her surroundings, such as the opening paragraph quoted above. These become less and less trustworthy as her disease advances, her ability to understand and interpret her environment deteriorating through the course of the book.

It is through this sometimes distorted view of Jennifer’s life that we learn of the complex relationship she and Amanda shared, one of love but also something darker. It becomes obvious that while Jennifer admires Amanda’s strength, her strong will, her intelligent companionship, there are good reasons not to trust her completely. We have to wonder – and we do – whether a mind that often misinterprets reality can find enough reason for a dedicated and devoted friend and doctor to commit the unthinkable.

What remains intact for Jennifer is her intelligence, her wry humor, her remarkable medical memory. In a  highly dramatic scene between the detective and Jennifer’s daughter, Fiona, Jennifer observes Fiona wringing her hands. Her explanation is this:

Wringing her hands. A rough motion, this grasping and twisting of the metacarpal phalangeal joints, as if trying to extract the ligaments and tendons from under the skin.

We find that throughout her adult life Jennifer has often escaped from hard realities by medically intellectualizing those things that she cannot face.

The mystery itself – who killed Amanda and why – makes this a real page turner. I devoured the book in a day, unable to put it down. But it is LaPlante’s feel for her narrator, her ability to make us love and cheer for the suffering Dr. White, that gives this book its heart.

I really cannot recommend it highly enough.

Grade: A

However, I happened to read Greg’s review at The New Dork Review of Books and decided to give it a try. I would recommend that you take a look at his review if you’re interested in this book, which is much more complete than mine will be.

While I can’t say that I share all of his enthusiasm for Faith, I agree that the book is an interesting and thought-provoking read, one that deals sensitively with a difficult issue. It is also a good story, one in which I was completely engaged from beginning to end.

My problem with the book is with the author’s decision to tell the story from the point of view of the accused priest’s sister, a device that didn’t work well for me. I’ve tried to understand why this particular narrator was chosen. Sheila, the sister, goes back after the accusation is resolved and reconstructs the events by talking with the people involved. For me, this convoluted way of telling the story got in the way and was a distraction. The narrator had to keep explaining when and how she received the information. Frankly, I simply couldn’t believe that the principal characters in the story would have divulged so much information to the priest, Art’s, sister. She is not portrayed as a particularly warm or empathic person, one to engender such confidences from virtual strangers.  

I think an omniscient narrator – or possibly the use of multiple narrators, which has become popular lately – could have told the story in a more straightforward and believeable manner. It would have improved the story significantly for me.

Having said that, I wouldn’t let this prevent anyone from reading the book – just be prepared to suspend a bit of your own disbelief as you read.

Grade: B

This book is a sequel to Lisa See’s earlier Shanghai Girls. Unlike Snow Flower and the Secret Fan and Peony in Love, these books deal with 20th Century Chinese culture, both in China and in Los Angeles. See makes enough references to Shanghai Girls that you can follow Dreams of Joy without having read it, but it will make more sense if you have.

Dreams of Joy begins in the late 1950′s, the early days of Ma0′s regime. Joy is a young woman living in LA’s Chinatown. Her mother escaped from China prior to World War II and has slowly begun the process of enculturation. The family relationships are complicated – her “mother” is really her aunt, her “aunt” is her real mother, her stepfather/stepuncle has just committed suicide – you’ll have to wade your way through this part yourself. 

Joy heads off to the University of Chicago, where she is introduced to the teachings of Chairman Mao and his Little Red Book. It is the early days of China’s Cultural Revolution, prior to The Great Leap Forward. It’s easy for a young girl to be seduced by passionate political rhetoric.

Following an argument with her parents, Joy decides to run away to China and join the revolution. Frankly, this is one aspect of this book that I just couldn’t buy, but Joy had to get to China somehow, and this was the device that got her there.

Once in China, Joy meets up with her real father and accompanies him to a rural village outside of Hangzhou. Her mother follows her to China and on to the Dandelion Number Eight People’s Collective, where Joy has met and fallen in love with a Chinese peasant, Tao. They marry, and it is only then that Joy begins to understand the enormity of her error in coming to China.

By this time, Mao’s Great Leap Forward has begun, the agricultural disaster that led to the Great Famine in the 1960s. Joy and her family are caught up in this historical series of events that comprise the most interesting part of this somewhat melodramatic novel.

See has done tremendous research, and her depiction of the lives of people on the communes is detailed and descriptive. If it appears that she has soft-petaled some of the abuses of the Cultural Revolution, it’s because she has. However, I don’t think her objective was to recount the full sweep of the devastation it brought to the Chinese people, but to focus on a smaller scale: that of a single small collective. She’s done this successfully.

There are many implausible plot twists that you simply have to accept. If you are able to do this, you should find this book interesting and informative if not exactly believable. As Janet Maslin, writing for The New York Times, points out:

Dwarfed by matters of such historical magnitude, Joy seems less and less consequential as “Dreams of Joy” moves toward its ending. And the reader is dragged through the last stages of the plot, the ones that force Joy to come to her senses. “I thought I could use idealism to solve my inner conflicts,” she ultimately realizes, “but in healing my inner conflicts I destroyed my idealism.” “Dreams of Joy” takes a very slow boat to China to arrive at this destination.

Grade: B