The Night Villa by Carol Goodman

Once, when Ely had locked himself in his study to meditate and chant, I pressed my ear to the door to listen to what he was chanting. At first all I heard was a low rhythmic hum and then, when I realized when there were actual words beneath the hum, I couldn't recognize their language. I thought for a moment that he'd added speaking in tongues to his repertoire of miracles, but as I listened I realized he was chanting three repeated lines of Greek hexameter verse. It took me another hour to transcribe and translate the three lines. I don't know what I was expecting. A summoning of Satan? A prayer for help? An invocation to the dead. Certainly not these three questions:

Where did I go wrong today?

What did I accomplish?

What obligation did I not perform?

-The Night Villa

I've read several books by Carol Goodman, though The Night Villa is the first I've read since beginning this blog. Her books, which I've usually enjoyed, tend to have similar elements: a connection to the past, an exploration of mother/daughter relationships, a strong elemental presence (usually fire or water), a main character who is a scholar or an artist, a super-dramatic denouement. With The Night Villa, Goodman continues to stick closely to these familiar ideas. I didn't find it to be her most successful outing, but it still had its moments.

The Night Villa tells the story of Sophie Chase, a UT Classics professor who is recruited to join an excavation at Herculaneum after an unexpected tragedy almost derails the project. Sophie is hoping to learn more about 1st century slave Iusta, the subject of her thesis, who once lived in the villa that was buried by the 79 AD eruption of Vesuvius. Scrolls have been discovered at the site that promise to shed new light on Iusta's life, and, despite some misgivings, Sophie can't resist their siren call. Why misgivings? The project seems troubled from the start, but she's more concerned with the man she'll be working with: her former professor and former paramour (always a winning combination), Elgin* Lawrence.

If Lawrence's presence weren't enough to make the situation difficult, Sophie discovers that the project has a connection to the Tetratkys cult, which is devoted to the worship of Pythagorean principles. Her own ex-boyfriend left her to live with the cult a few years back, and when she starts to receive mysterious coded messages in Italy, she wonders if Ely could be behind them.  Things are even further complicated when Lawrence confides that one of the members of the team--which also includes Sophie's student, the fragile Agnes; artist Simon; Christian scholar Maria; tech-wizard George; and the excavation's financial backer, John Lyros--is a member of the Tetraktys cult.

 I actually liked the plot of the book well enough, and the characters, too. My problem with the book was largely one of exposition. There is a lot of information that Goodman wants to convey, mostly about mythology and history, to her readers. The issue is that in order to do so, she sometimes makes her characters, who are well versed in these subjects, talk in a manner that I found clunky and unrealistic. Example:

"Well," Agnes says, taking a deep gulp of air and refastening her ponytail, "for one thing, the newly excavated frescoes haven't been photographed yet, but, most important, they've also found charred papyrus rolls in the villa. The little taggie things on them--"

"Sillyboi," I suggest, providing the Greek term for the tags that ancient librarians used to identify papyrus rolls.

"Um, yeah." She giggles nervously. "I guess I should use the Greek term, but it always makes me laugh..."

 I don't know about you, but that whole passage could have replaced with a dictionary definition of sillyboi and it would have been about as subtle. Either use the word or don't, in my opinion. There's nothing wrong with sending your reader to a dictionary or Google, as long as we're not having to put the book down every other line. I think if Goodman had trusted the reader a little more, she wouldn't have had to be so long-winded and unnatural with the exposition in general.

Similarly, the supposed passages from the ancient texts they uncover at the site strike me as unusually candid--and again, exposition-heavy. But since Goodman has studied classics and I have not, I will assume she has a better ear for this sort of thing than I do, and maybe that is how people wrote at the time. She does make one reference to how remarkably open the author seemed in his writing, which does help to make the passages seem somewhat less glaringly modern. After a while, I got over how unlikely these passages seemed, and tried to just focus on the story, which made the book more enjoyable.

In short, not my favorite of her books, but I've read enough that I would still be interested in looking into her next one. (Just checked Amazon and discovered I'm actually one behind; Arcadia Falls comes out in paperback February 8th and sounds quite promising. )

Up next: More Tales of the City

*You'd think I might be tempted to go off on names again, but I was actually rather charmed when the back story for Elgin's name was revealed. Also I was terribly pleased that there was a minor character named Sam Tyler, a name shared by the main character on Life on Mars.

Jane by April Lindner

"So. Passing as a sex symbol. Can I?"

I weighed my words carefully. "You might not be movie-star handsome," I said finally, "but you're good-looking for a rock star."

Mr. Rathburn's eyes widened. "That's three times you've hurt my feelings in one conversation," he said a bit gruffly.

-Jane

Spoilers for Jane Eyre (& thus Jane) ahead.

Retellings of classic novels have become so popular that it's almost surprising that it took this long to get a modern take on Jane Eyre. April Lindner admits in her author's note for Jane that there were some challenges in imagining the story in our times; it doesn't  lend itself to the modern day quite as easily as something like Pride and Prejudice, for instance. Lindner figured out a way around these problems, though, and by and large I think she wrote a successful adaptation.

In Lindner's story, Jane Moore applies for a position as a nanny after her parents die in a car accident, leaving her financially destitute and forced to drop out of college. The agency finds that her complete lack of pop culture savvy makes her the perfect candidate for one of their plum positions: nanny to reclusive rock star Nico Rathburn*. She accepts, then pours over old tabloid stories to learn about her new employer. Rathburn is a legendary musician with a notorious history of drug use and womanizing, including an ill-fated marriage to a drug-addicted model. She's a bit taken aback, but nonetheless soon finds herself at his secluded estate outside of New York City, wondering if she's made the right choice.

Lindner hits many of the same beats that Jane Eyre does: the roadside run-in with her  boss (far less plausible here, though she does try to explain her lack of recognition of this man whom she's seen in dozens of pictures), the "Do you think me handsome, Jane?" bit (the excerpt above), the guests coming to Thornfield, etc. I enjoyed seeing the parallels.

 I found Lindner's handling of Rathburn's secret to be among the most interesting parts of the adaptation. In some ways, the news should come as less of a surprise to Jane Moore than it did to Jane Eyre: JM knows a lot more about her employer's past than JE ever did, which is one reason why the rock star twist on Rochester didn't quite work for me. JM knew Rathburn was once married, at least. It's been a while since I read Jane Eyre, but I don't think JE finds that out that until the whole crazy story comes out. Still, you don't expect to find people holed up in attics nowadays any more than you did in Charlotte Bronte's time. JM's reaction is, unsurprisingly, similar to JE's, and though it does seem extreme, she does eventually come to realize that she didn't handle it terribly well.

I enjoyed Jane Moore as a character, but oddly I didn't care much for Nico Rathburn. I love Rochester**, so perhaps it was inevitable that his modern update would seem like a pale imitation. On the other hand, I enjoy both Jane Austen's Mr. Darcy and Helen Fielding's Mark Darcy, so I don't think that's exactly it. Part of what made Rochester so interesting was that he had a hidden dark part. He alluded to it when talking with Jane, and even confessed to some parts of it. However, it wasn't like Jane could look him up on Wikipedia or something to get more information. Nico Rathburn, despite the fact that he's supposed to have been out of the media spotlight for some time, is just not mysterious enough. Also, he's a middle-aged guy with earrings, which, let's face it, is a hard look to pull off, even for a rock star.

Even with those reservations about Mr. Rathburn, though, I sped through Jane in a day. I couldn't really see reading it again, but it was pretty enjoyable. It didn't quite pack the punch of Jane Eyre, though; it definitely lacks that dark, Gothic tone that makes Jane Eyre so captivating. I'm interested in rereading some of those classics with a weird bent (The Turn of the Screw, Rebecca), and maybe I'll add Jane Eyre to the list--or at least make sure I see the upcoming film adaptation, which looks great.

Up next: The Night Villa by Carol Goodman, set in my new hometown of Austin and my beloved Italy, which bodes well. 

*I just can't with that name. When I was in middle school, I had a book called Building Believable Characters. In that book, the author mentions the importance of matching a character's first and last names (and then provided long lists of names by ethnic heritage, which was probably my main motivation in buying the book. I'm fascinated by names.). Nico is a great first name for a rock star: kind of quirky, kind of edgy. Rathburn sounds super posh (it makes me think of Basil Rathbone, for one) and, while it works well as a name that sort of evokes Rochester without being Rochester, it clashes horribly with Nico to my ears. Just so fake sounding, you know? Anyway. End tangent.

**When I was in high school, my friends and I used to go blazer bowling on a semi-regular basis. I found a favorite ball at the lanes, a pinkish one with a slight lump on it. Being a weird sort (surprising, I know), I named the ball Hurricane Rochester. (Hurricane was the brand of the ball). True, super dorky story.

Ghost Hunters by Deborah Blum

 "I confess that at times I have been tempted to believe that the Creator has eternally intended this department of nature to remain baffling, to prompt our curiosities and hopes and suspicions, all in equal measure, so that, although ghosts and clairvoyances, and raps and messages from spirits, are always seeming to exist and can never be fully explained away, they also can never be susceptible of full corroboration."

-William James, Ghost Hunters

As a child I, like many other children, was equally fascinated and terrified by tales of the supernatural. I'd ask my mom to buy the 99-cent collections of ghost stories sold in our grocery store's checkout line. I visited New Orleans and bought a book of bayou-centric ghost stories (I can still remember the pale pink cover), but at some point decided it was ill-advised to sleep in the same room with it. I believed, in one way or another, in just about everything: ghosts, UFOs, the Bermuda Triangle, the Anna Anderson story, etc.

I grew more skeptical as I got older, but, I have to say, I still enjoy learning about things that can't be explained easily. Last Halloween, I discovered Travel Channel's Ghost Adventures, and was immediately taken with the show's mix of goofy charm, bravado, and a dash of the unexplained. When I stumbled upon Deborah Blum's Ghost Hunters: William James and the Search for Scientific Proof for Life After Death, I thought it might be an interesting complement to my recent viewing.

I must say, I'm not overly fond of scientific explanations of paranormal things, however logical they may be. I feel like they suck the fun out of things, to be honest. What I found interesting about the premise of Blum's book was that William James and his fellow scientists experienced things in the course of what they called their psychical research that they could not explain. James is remembered now as the father of psychology, and some of his colleagues would go on to win Nobel Prizes or be awarded knighthoods. These were very upright, very scientifically-minded men, in other words--not the type who would be taken in without good evidence.

The research of these men coincided with the height of the Spiritualism movement. Mediums were springing up all over the place in the United States (where James lived) as well as Europe (home to many of his fellow researchers). The scientific establishment had, on the whole, rejected even research into psychical phenomena as worthless. Nevertheless, these men--James, Henry Sidgwick, Fred Myers, and Edmund Gurney, among many others--were each drawn in for their own reasons. The latter three were among the scientists that formed the Society for Psychical Research in London in 1882, an organization that still exists today. Through the SPR they explored many aspects of paranormal activity, though Blum especially focuses on their efforts to document the phenomenon of the "crisis apparition" (the vision of a loved one at the time of his death) and to explore the capabilities of mediums.

They were able to debunk many instances of apparent psychical phenomena that they witnessed--and yet not everything.  Their investigations seriously jeopardized their reputations as legitimate scientists, but they could not dismiss what they'd seen. James was among those who was fascinated by the American medium Leonora Piper, whose abilities, although inconsistent, had produced some very compelling evidence for either telepathy (a term coined by an SPR member) or life after death. Late in the book, Blum recounts a story of cross-correspondence--that is, different mediums in different parts of the world getting similar specific messages alleged to be from the same spirits--that certainly left me puzzled. James and his fellow researchers were often left in the state of uncertainty that he describes in the passage I excerpted above. In a time when science was constantly uncovering new things, is it any wonder that these men thought they might be on the verge of a similar breakthrough? That the concrete evidence they sought seemed to always be just beyond their grasp must have been hugely frustrating, yet it motivated them ever onward.

 Blum packs a lot of information into her book, as you can probably tell from my blathering. I won't lie: with the exception of James, whom I was already familiar with, and Richard Hodgson, who for whatever reason made a big enough impression, I found it rather difficult to keep all of the scientists straight. It wasn't quite as lively a read as I might have hoped--not really a pageturner, that is--but it certainly gave me some interesting insight into an era I confess I'm less acquainted with than perhaps I should be. I admire the passion and the commitment of these researchers to the cause they believed in, and I appreciate that, even though they never proved their case, their work certainly left even the modern reader with some things to think about.*

Up next: I really have a wealth of books to choose from right now. I'm going to go with Jane, a modern update of Jane Eyre.

*Although this is only tangentially related to the research angle, I can't help but think about the famous Fox sisters. As teenagers, they became some of the best-known mediums in the early days of the Spiritualism movement, claiming to communicate with the spirit of a peddler who'd been killed in their home years before they had moved there. The sisters fell on hard times in their later years and one confessed it had all been a hoax, though she later recanted the confession. Several years after their deaths, a skeleton was found entombed in their cellar. Now, say what you will about their abilities, but that's a bit odd, don't you think?

In Medias Res: Ghost Hunters

So I was reading Ghost Hunters, which I'm enjoying so far, when I stumbled upon this passage concerning a trip the psychologist William James took to see his brother Henry, the novelist, in England:

William relaxed into the visit. He spent afternoons in conversation at his brother's clubs, surrounded by an aromatic fog of tobacco smoke. He made occasional calls on scientists. He walked the sooty streets, enjoying Henry's company. Then he found himself suddenly alone. Back in America, Henry James Sr. was dying. Their mother had died of bronchitis earlier that year, and their sister, faced with this second impending death, felt overwhelmed. She asked Henry Jr. to come home.

William--the more high-maintenance brother--was to stay in England. "All insist William shall not come," his sister telegraphed. William debated returning home anyway, despite his nervous state, but had to admit he probably wouldn't be an ideal deathbed companion.

Interesting family dynamic they had going there.

Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins

Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

-Mockingjay 

I knew I was going to read Mockingjay fast. It's no surprise, really, given how quickly I read the other two books in the trilogy. But really I knew I couldn't linger over Mockingjay because it's the last part of a dystopian story, and past experience has taught that Suzanne Collins doesn't pull punches. I knew Bad Things were going to happen.

And they do, of course. Terrible, unbearable things, because that's what happens when you're at war. And Katniss Everdeen, newly whisked away to the underground bunkers of District 13, has undoubtedly found herself in the middle of one. The Hunger Games are over, and yet they continue, as Katniss realizes: it's just that now they're all players. Everyone from her sister, finding her place as a much-needed healer, to Gale, who's becoming slightly too good at planning death. From Haymitch, who Katniss can't help but reluctantly trust, to President Coin, newly introduced as the calculating leader of 13. There they all are in 13, ready to rally behind Katniss, the face of the rebellion. Their mockingjay.

It's not easy for Katniss to step up and do what the others ask of her. There's already been so much devastation, and Katniss is left reeling. Mentally disoriented, as the plastic bracelet on her wrist says. She'd rather curl up in an out-of-the-way supply closet than get made up for propaganda videos. But she can't hide away forever. Plus there's Peeta to consider.

I don't think I realized until this book just how much I liked Peeta. Poor Peeta, left behind in the Arena when Katniss was rescued by District 13. Left to the devices of President Snow. Poor, poor Peeta. Katniss can't just hide away and hope for the best when it comes to him. Their relationship has never been easy, often simply because Katniss is just not good with people, but Mockingjay complicates things even further. I found it one of the most compelling parts of the book, and, without revealing too much, I must say whichever actor ends up playing Peeta in the upcoming films certainly has his work cut out for him.

 So yes, it was a hard book, but it wrapped up the trilogy very well. I'm glad I got over my initial reservations about reading The Hunger Games, as the stories have provided me with both entertainment and the opportunity for some reflection. I'm very eager to see what will come of the films, as there is an opportunity to make some excellent ones here. Casting, of course, is crucial, especially for Katniss, who remains the best young heroine I know of in contemporary literature at the moment. I'm getting a kick out of reading speculation on the subject, and I'm hoping for good things. It would be a shame to do disservice to these books.

Up next: I've definitely been too long without a non-fiction book. Just started Ghost Hunters, by Deborah Blum, about the rise of the Spiritualism movement in the 19th century.

Dracula by Bram Stoker

To-day Harker is out following up his clue, and Art and Quincey are looking after horses. Godalming thinks that it will be well to have horses always in readiness, for when we get the information which we seek there will be no time to lose. We must sterilise all the imported earth between sunrise and sunset; we shall thus catch the Count at his weakest, and without a refuge to fly to. Van Helsing is off to the British Museum looking up some authorities on ancient medicine. The old physicians took account of things which their followers do not accept, and the Professor is searching for witch and demon cures which may be useful to us later.

I sometimes think we must all be mad and that we shall wake to sanity in strait-waistcoats.

-Dracula 

 So, as you may have heard, vampires are pretty popular right now. Charismatic, pale, brooding sorts who can't seem to help loving those human women. They're conflicted about these relationships. They have A History, you see (often a very long one). Sometimes when they go out into the sun, they burn. And sometimes they sparkle.

Dracula, I hate to break it to you, is not one of those sexy, tortured vamps. He has a unibrow. Hair grows on his palms. He reeks. He's kind of gross, you guys.

No matter! Dracula remains a compelling read, even 100-plus years after its initial publication. This marks the third time I've read it, though the last time was in high school, I imagine--I only remembered bits and pieces. I was spurred on to reread by having recently seen the 1992 film adaptation, which seemed quite different from what I did remember. Guess what, I was right.

In the book, intrepid young law clerk Jonathan Harker ventures to Transylvania to help close a real estate deal with the mysterious Count Dracula. Things go from bad (Wolves. Lots of wolves.) to worse (The count slithering down the side of his castle, for one, which just doesn't bode well at all). As Jonathan fights to escape, we also meet some of the people he's left behind: his fiancee, Mina Murray, for one; Mina's friend Lucy Westernra, and Lucy's three suitors, which include Dr. John Seward, head of a local asylum. Mina is concerned over Jonathan's continued absence; Lucy puzzles over her own sleepwalking; and Dr. Seward recounts his interactions with patient Renfield, who has a theory about absorbing life from insects. Their story is told through their diary entries, which begin to weave together into the story of the damage wrought by a very old monster. He starts so small, this monster. Just those two, tiny ragged holes on Lucy's neck...

I'll admit, it can be frustrating as a modern reader that the gang doesn't catch on to things a little more quickly. We're so well-versed in vampire lore today--even a child knows about the holes in the neck, the stake and the garlic--that you really have to step back and try to imagine what it would be like to hear about vampires for the first time--in a situation in which you are actually dealing with one, no less, not just listening to old folk tales.  Even with the narrative bumpiness that can result from their ignorance, Dracula remains a creepy, engaging story. It's also incredibly cinematic, which makes the lack of a faithful film adaptation all the more frustrating. Heck, sexy Dracula up a bit, sharpen Mina's character to make her a slightly anachronistic badass--I'd be fine with that. Just don't, say, paint Dracula as an epic love story between the titular vampire and Mina, the seeming reincarnation of his true love from many centuries earlier. I mean, wha? (Francis Ford Coppola's ears are burning, I reckon.) I hold out hope that one day someone will see the dramatic potential of this story on its own, without ridiculous romantic embellishments. Until then, the book can stand for itself. 

Up next: Had Mockingjay. Read Mockingjay. Will review Mockingjay forthwith.