Book Review: Lincoln and the Jews: A History by Jonathan D. Sarna and Benjamin Shapell

Book #113 of 2021:

Lincoln and the Jews: A History by Jonathan D. Sarna and Benjamin Shapell

A quintessential deep dive into a narrow topic, this 2015 book on Abraham Lincoln’s relationships with various Jewish Americans contains a lot of interesting information not often included in accounts of his life, but also a fair bit of padding that isn’t entirely relevant to the stated matter at hand. I hadn’t realized just how open-minded the president was compared to the typical antisemitism of his time, and it’s heartening to hear how he personally intervened to allow rabbis to serve as army chaplains and overruled General Grant’s controversial order expelling all Jews from within the boundaries of his military district.

Authors Jonathan D. Sarna and Benjamin Shapell show too how their subject’s language evolved from describing the U.S. as a Christian nation to naming it a more nebulously pious one, likely due to the influence of several prominent Jewish acquaintances. And they explore an unfortunate division among members the faith regarding slavery and the Civil War, with most seeing the black cause for freedom that Lincoln championed as equivalent to the Israelite exodus from Egypt, but a minority taking the Confederate side under the justification that enslavement and property rights in general had biblical support.

It’s a short text, but probably better encountered in print due to the many scans of letters and other primary documents that the researchers include. (The audio version that I borrowed from the library opts to simply read all the captions out loud, to mixed effect.) This doesn’t strike me as a definitive resource, but I’d say it’s still worth checking out for such a niche area of study.

[Content warning for racism including slurs.]

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: Provenance by Ann Leckie

Book #112 of 2021:

Provenance by Ann Leckie

This space-opera comedy of manners takes place in the same broad continuity as author Ann Leckie’s earlier Imperial Radch trilogy, but it largely stands apart from that narrative, focusing instead on a few civilizations along the periphery of Radchian influence. It’s also a new tone for the series; despite the familiar elements of political intrigue, murder investigations, and threats of war, the overall plot feels quainter and cozier, more akin to a Becky Chambers Wayfarers novel than this writer’s typical work. It’s a story that brings a warm empathy to nearly every character, presenting not antagonists but reasonable, vulnerable people whose conflicts stem from valid differences in outlook and priority (until the real villains show their hands near the end, at least).

Leckie again roots us deep within an original cultural perspective, with minimal exposition on anything a local would already know, but the worldbuilding as such is less ambitiously foreign than that of the previous volumes in this setting. That’s both a benefit and a hindrance: this is a much easier adventure to understand and grow invested in, but its conventionality can seem a bit of a letdown after the wild inventiveness of before. Even the treatment of gender isn’t quite as striking, although it’s always great to read fiction with a thriving neutral pronoun and a stressed importance on calling everyone by the designation they choose. As a whole, the book is funny and sweet and charming at what it aims to accomplish, even if that aim itself is somewhat lower than one might hope.

★★★★☆

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Book Review: The Wounded Land by Stephen R. Donaldson

Book #111 of 2021:

The Wounded Land by Stephen R. Donaldson (The Second Chronicles of Thomas Covenant #1)

In the first Thomas Covenant trilogy, the titular antihero resisted the appeal of the fantasy realm that summoned him from our reality, but gradually came to decide that its ideals were worth fighting for even if he could only accept that preservation as a dreamlike reflection of his own self-respect. At the beginning of this new cycle, he’s pulled in again after a decade of relative stability to find that three-and-a-half millennia have passed for the Land, during which its traditional health and beneficence have been corrupted into a chaotic wasteland. Together with Linden Avery, a doctor who unwittingly accompanies him and has her own inner demons to confront, he faces the idea that — as expressed in typical morose Stephen R. Donaldson fashion — “There’s only one way to hurt a man who’s lost everything. Give him back something broken.”

That’s a powerful thesis to explore and challenge, and it’s always a thrill to see this setting and its indelible characters, particularly once the Haruchai and the Search show up late in this initial volume. (My heart soared at Pitchwife’s introduction, as it seems to do on every reread.) Linden is a worthwhile and intriguing addition to the series too, although she’ll prove herself more in further sequels. But she’s an appealing perspective already, another protagonist capable of extreme and surprising choices in dire circumstances, of pushing on when all hope appears lost, and it helps that neither she nor her companion is as contemptible as he was at the start of Lord Foul’s Bane. The author even resists the urge to make rape a plot point for once, although he does still use that language to describe the treatment of the landscape.

It’s that Sunbane element itself that doesn’t quite work for me; though it’s probably a more apt climate analogy now than it was on publication in 1980, the concept of an ecosystem that rapidly alternates through days of flood and desert and fertility and pestilence is just too weird and too orderly overall. It feels like the sort of one-note worldbuilding from a weaker Star Trek script, and is a dramatic contrast to the stark realism that’s elsewhere in this tale. I’m also not a big fan of the genre convention of skipping ahead so many centuries on a return visit a la Prince Caspian, which guarantees that most of the familiar figures, establishments, and cultural practices that we’ve enjoyed before will be long gone. There’s no immediate attachment or emotional engagement when the story is effectively a restart, and while in this case that helps put us into the hero’s headspace of grief for what’s passed, the new era needs time to wholly grow on me.

With all that said, however, this novel is better than I had remembered, and I’m fully invested by the end of it, especially for everything it sets up to come next. If you don’t like epic journeys, grandiose and archaic vocabulary, meaty thematic concerns and moral complexities, or tormented individuals who clench their fists and jaws, I suspect this will never be the saga for you. But if you’ve appreciated those aspects of the original Chronicles, I’d definitely recommend continuing on.

[Content warning for suicide, self-harm, domestic abuse, and gore.]

★★★★☆

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Book Review: Three Act Tragedy by Agatha Christie

Book #110 of 2021:

Three Act Tragedy by Agatha Christie (Hercule Poirot #11)

This mystery almost feels like a Poirot story by happenstance; although the Belgian detective unveils his solution in the usual drawing-room denouement, he’s present for less than half of the proceedings beforehand. But the amateur investigators carry on fine in his absence, and author Agatha Christie cheekily misleads readers while still playing fair, even if the ultimate answer seems ghoulishly outlandish in either of the published versions. (Under the original title Murder in Three Acts, the identity of the culprit was the same, but the explanation for the crimes was different. The writer was reportedly dissatisfied with the motive and so updated it for subsequent editions.) As sometimes happens, I formed my own hypothesis upon reading that I actually prefer to each real one, yet I suppose the account(s) we’re given will have to do. It’s a solid novel overall, but far from the best of the series, as the interchangeable elements might imply.

[Content warning for antisemitism, sexism, classism, and ableism.]

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: The Survivors by Jane Harper

Book #109 of 2021:

The Survivors by Jane Harper

Australian crime writer Jane Harper always excels at bringing the atmospheric vistas of her rural settings to life, and that remains true in her latest effort about a small town on the Tasmanian coast. But the protagonist is basically a stock figure at this point, both in this author’s works and others: the prodigal child who returns to an isolated community in the wake of disaster, unearthing further secrets and hurts. In this case, our lead character has been summoned home to help care for his father’s dementia, when an acquaintance is discovered dead on the shore — surfacing memories among the locals of a terrible storm that wrought untold damage and killed several residents, including the hero’s brother.

Unsurprisingly, there is more to that crisis of a decade ago than is generally assumed, and the mystery unfolds capably alongside the present-day whodunnit plot. It’s just not distinctive enough from so many similar examples in the genre, except for the typically excellent descriptions of the surrounding landscape. Harper herself is a gem, but she provides too little personality to this story, which ends up feeling like something I’ve already read multiple times before.

[Content warning for claustrophobia, drowning, and infant endangerment.]

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: Remote Control by Nnedi Okorafor

Book #108 of 2021:

Remote Control by Nnedi Okorafor

I think the conclusion to this novella could have had a little more punch to it, but overall it offers a great character study of a young girl afflicted by an extraterrestrial artifact with the involuntary power to kill anything around her when physically threatened. As the now-orphaned tween wanders the countryside of a near-future Ghana, her invulnerability occasionally renders her a demanding tyrant like the kid from that Twilight Zone episode who could send people to the cornfield, but mostly author Nnedi Okorafor focuses on her protagonist’s feelings of solitude, loss, and anguish that drive her to a succession of potential new homes. Like many works of this length it’s more open-ended than I prefer — and I’m not really sure I understand the title — but the narrative gently draws a reader in, captivating us with a heroine who’s striking in her utter loneliness.

★★★★☆

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Book Review: The Black God’s Drums by P. Djèlí Clark

Book #107 of 2021:

The Black God’s Drums by P. Djèlí Clark

This 2018 novella is short enough that it feels more like a proof-of-concept for the setting than a full story, and while that worldbuilding has cool potential — a steampunk Afrofuturist historical fiction version of New Orleans that’s neutral in a Civil War which never ended and populated by airships and avatars of African gods alike — the ratio of exposition to action is too skewed for so few pages. Neither the plot nor the characters make a great impression on me either, other than a passing nod of approval at the representation of marginalized identities including race, sexuality, and disability. I’d come back if author P. Djèlí Clark ever decides to expand this into a series, but as a standalone piece it’s a little underwhelming.

★★★☆☆

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TV Review: Justified, season 4

TV #38 of 2021:

Justified, season 4

As usual, I am torn on how I feel about this show. On the one hand, the fourth season has a more relaxed tone that I personally think is a better fit for its particular strengths than the urgent plotting of previous years. The Drew Thompson case carries the majority of the forward momentum, but outside the finale it avoids the sort of deep existential danger that Raylan’s often found himself enmeshed in. The stakes are basically just that some outlaw types might get rich by killing another (potentially reformed) one, and although our protagonist and his fellow marshals aim to prevent that by finding and protecting their fugitive, the prospect of failure is not a threat with much bite to it. Perhaps paradoxically, that puncturing of tension ends up playing great to the drawling repartee that this series does so well, and leaves me pretty charitable to the less ambitious structure. I’ve complained before about Justified scenes that treat armed standoffs as a regular occurrence everyone can expect to survive, but here the weapons largely stay holstered — and so it means more when they do eventually come out.

Also, credit where credit’s due: the writers have finally decided to cut Boyd’s ties with his problematic past. We’re given almost no dialogue about his white supremacist days or shots of his Nazi tattoos, and his stint as a preacher isn’t even mentioned when he’s confronting the leader of a new revivalist church in town. When these topics do arise, they’re framed as mere poses he’s tried on, which is an idea that prior scripts have never been willing to wholly endorse. Severing this figure from his history to retcon him as merely one of Harlan’s conniving mobsters undercuts the immersiveness of the serialized drama and begs for deeper interrogation, but I’d say it’s the only real option for rehabilitating the character at this point. And it lets him be fun in a way that he really couldn’t with that baggage hanging over him, so since he appears to be sticking around as a warped reflection of the deputy lead — complete with his own veteran sidekick counterpoint to Tim for a while! — this is generally a development that I welcome.

And then… There’s the other hand. There’s the fact that until Limehouse and his crew turn back up near the end of this run, I can count just four black people besides the under-utilized Rachel, each killed gruesomely within an episode of their introduction. There’s the heavy — albeit lowered — casualty rate in general. There’s the fact that Givens and his posse are horribly abusive of their law enforcement power, ignoring all jurisdiction or need for a warrant and resorting to cruel violence to get suspects to talk. There’s the casual mention of rape and pedophilia as though those are punchlines and not bloodcurdling atrocities. In short, Justified still traffics in some truly awful themes and implications, which I object to not simply on principle, but as ongoing flaws that continue to undermine the effectiveness of the work.

(You could build an interesting story around the premise that the cops are just a gang with badges, fundamentally no different than the criminal forces they’re up against! But that’s not what’s happening. Instead Raylan is firmly positioned as hero and not antihero, with audiences encouraged to accept all the police brutality so long as it’s administered by a handsome devil with a ready quip.)

I honestly don’t know how to balance those elements, or whether this string of episodes deserves a 3-star ‘good’ rating or a 4-star ‘very good.’ I suppose I’ll lean towards the latter, since it’s such an improvement upon the past couple outings, but this program seems like it’s perpetually on the verge of losing me as an invested viewer.

★★★★☆

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Book Review: The Lamplighters by Emma Stonex

Book #106 of 2021:

The Lamplighters by Emma Stonex

I have to confess, I don’t really get this novel. It’s a fictionalized version of a real-life mystery, and it seems to have been written to propose a possible answer for why the three tenders of a remote lighthouse in the British Isles once vanished without a trace. But author Emma Stonex changes so many details of what’s already a rather thin historical account, thereby weakening the attraction of her plot by blunting the impact of that connection with actual events.

And I don’t find much of the rest to be terribly compelling, either. There’s a lot of angsty hemming and hawing over dark secrets that turn out to be quite mundane, and a few potentially interesting red herrings that don’t go anywhere important. I like the parts of this narrative where the men’s assumed widows are given space to process the disappearance, but I never feel especially invested in any of the former lives that we see in flashback, nor impressed by the potential solution to the case that the writer finally suggests. It’s overall a bit of a shrug, heavy on atmosphere but light on reasons to care.

[Content warning for violence against animals and death of a child.]

★★☆☆☆

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TV Review: The Americans, season 2

TV #37 of 2021:

The Americans, season 2

A second fantastic run of this spy-drama period piece, this one built largely for considering its central couple as parents — struggling to keep their kids safe and raised with like-minded ideals as any of us would, but with the extra tensions that necessarily stem from their secret life as deep-cover Russian operatives. Henry is still a bit of a nonentity at this point, but Paige is beginning to sense that something doesn’t add up about her folks, and although her exact suspicions are wildly off-base for now, her questioning simultaneously adds complications to the agents’ regular missions and exposes a growing rift in their family, shattering my heart a little in the process.

I often think of this show together with Dexter and Breaking Bad, two series likewise structured around a criminal element with a close associate unwittingly investigating them. This is a tad simplistic, but I’d argue that one of those titles presents its protagonist as moral and the other as immoral, with narratives that encourage audiences to cheer for Dexter Morgan yet revile Walter White respectively. As the third panel of that triptych, The Americans is typically amoral, not casting judgment on the Jennings duo for the worthiness of their larger enterprise one way or another, but content to get us invested more in their personal relationships and frustrations with the distant superiors who lack their on-the-ground expertise / bias. From that studied neutrality, we can root for our heroes without even caring whether the U.S. or the Soviet Union is occupying the superior ideological position and therefore should win the Cold War.

The focus on their daughter — not to mention the surrogate children like Jared and Lucia circling about this season — offsets that dynamic, to some extent. Stan Beeman’s pursuit of the Directorate S. figures under his nose is generally a cold angle in the script; we rarely feel that he’s particularly justified to catch his perps in the same way that Hank Schrader is, but he’s also not the sort of clownish oaf who deserves to be outsmarted by the Miami Metro Police Department’s resident serial killer. That amorality lets us support Stan as a separate hero in his own right, and it lends itself well to the conflicts with Nina that touch on our main characters less directly. But it’s a different story now with Paige, who has a shining authenticity of purpose alongside her stubborn teenage pride. With her aligning with the FBI as a force looking closely at her mother and father’s activity, it’s suddenly not so easy to automatically side with Philip and Elizabeth ourselves.

I love how this program is able to bring out such thematic depths in its storytelling, and while the plot itself can sometimes seem a bit slow-paced and repetitive, it’s fun to both watch the thrilling espionage antics in the moment and ponder the bigger picture as the credits roll. This year is a solid improvement over an already-strong debut, and I can’t wait to see how matters escalate further from here.

[Content warning for gun violence and rape.]

★★★★☆

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