Night Watch by Jayne Anne Phillips

I was greatly anticipating the announcement of the 2024 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction and made a video speculating what books might be listed for this year's prize. When “Night Watch” by Jayne Anne Phillips was declared the winner I was highly intrigued because personally I'd never heard of this novel before. Some readers I follow who had read this novel were disappointed by this winner, but nevertheless I went into reading it with an open mind. Unfortunately I found reading the novel to be a frustrating and disappointing experience. The plot is not only melodramatic but often feels like a cliched soap opera with double identities, amnesia, separated lovers and a dramatic fire/physical altercation. Of course, these can be elements in great literature but this novels feels somewhat like an unsuccessful mashup of “Wuthering Heights” and “Rebecca” set during the American Civil War. Its heavy reliance on coincidences and artificially conjured emotional situations makes it seem like a cheap and facile imitation of an epic tale.

The story is primarily set at the Trans-Alleghany lunatic asylum in West Virginia in the year 1874 and follows the gradual recovery of a mother named Eliza who is so mentally unwell she's nearly comatose at the novel's beginning. Her teenage daughter ConaLee joins her at the asylum, but pretends to be Eliza's carer because family aren't allowed to live with patients. Both mother and daughter take pseudonyms while at the asylum. Prior to their time at the facility they've been captives of a tyrannical scheming Confederate soldier who insists on being called Papa. The narrative occasionally flashes back to a decade prior at the end of the American Civil War to show different characters' points of view including Eliza's lover John, a wounded Union soldier, and Dearbhla, an Irish healer. There's also an orphan boy nicknamed Weed dwelling at the asylum who oversees many events which occur between the characters. Eventually true identities are revealed, a professionally questionable romance forms and everyone goes on a jolly carriage ride.

The Pulitzer simply declared this to be “a beautifully rendered novel” and in a Publisher's Weekly interview Phillips described wanting the reader to “understand the history of another time, to appreciate it—and the best way to understand,” she says, “is fiction. I want to write scenes where the reader can feel the shattering moments.” There are certainly shattering moments including an unnecessarily extended rape scene whose gruelling nature points to why Eliza is psychologically destroyed. However, I didn't feel the story sufficiently conveyed the dynamics of this long-term abusive situation and I was left with a lot of questions which it felt like the authors skipped or avoided. Despite giving a sense of the facility including reproductions of photographs and documents, I didn't understand how the hospital operated. I don't understand why ConaLee was denied from knowing about her true father for so long. Eliza's neighbour Dearbhla is the kind of character I'd normally be intrigued by and want to read about, but her involvement in the plot felt forced. There was a lot of potential in the story regarding revelations about John O'Shea and Weed's ambiguous nature and origins, but these didn't feel sufficiently developed.

The momentum of the book rests in the damage of the past and this is embodied in the monstrous figure of Papa. However, the primary action takes place in the present as Eliza slowly heals and the story leads to an artificial confrontation. Of course it's inspiring to find that there existed a facility at the time which was so caring to its mentally ill patients as most such institutions during this period were cruel and abusive. But the story and the choice to focus on this benevolent facility don't give much insight into this period of history. Or, rather, they suggest a simplistic sense of hope amidst a devastating period which left many casualties. Consider the example of Keneally's “Schindler's Ark” which highlights an inspiring example of humanity amidst a genocide. Yet the book also doesn't shy from portraying the complex cruelty and destruction of this period of history. “Night Watch” only offers a flattened version of the past with a syrupy plot designed to suggest that benevolence ultimately prevails, but this has little to do with reality of war or its aftermath.

Kairos by Jenny Erpenbeck (translated by Michael Hofmann)

What if you woke up one day to discover that your country no longer exists? That was the experience for East Germans and the protagonists of this novel in October 1990. However, the story begins in East Berlin in June 1986 when a chance encounter between Hans and Katharina spark a passionate romance which continues for years. There is a 34 year age difference between them. The first half of the novel follows the intensity of their affair where the age gap feels somewhat inconsequential when considering the span of history. Descriptions of their trysts are meaningfully paired with heart soaring pieces of music and mythology. The second half of the novel follows the unspooling of this romance which grows increasingly dark and abusive. Though this is a story of toxic love the central question of the book isn't whether their affair is right or wrong; it was clearly doomed from its inception. This couple remains together long after they clearly should have separated, but they also linger in the idea of their nation even as it crumbles around them. The real question of the book is why do we cling to our romanic and political ideals when we know they are inherently faulty and bad for us?

The novel is framed around a future point where Katharina inherits boxes of documents after Hans has died. She sifts through these remnants of the past recalling the years of their affair and the many cultural references they shared. So the book is structured like a piece of archival research, but it's also structured like a piece of music. These incongruous modes of telling would clash if it weren't for Erpenbeck's elegant way of combining them to reproduce these characters' deeply-felt experience. The narrative effortlessly flows between their viewpoints to mimic the way their consciousness has been fused amidst this passionate romance. It becomes a locked box and a territory of their own. But as their relationship sours this paradise turns into a prison from which they - and the reader - can't escape. It becomes increasingly uncomfortable to read this novel as the second half turns intensely claustrophobic and painful. This obviously isn't a pleasurable experience but it is an impactful one because it reveals how deeply lost these characters have become in the changing country and world around them. Erpenbeck brilliantly probes issues of belonging and nationhood as she did in a very different context within her novel “Go, Went, Gone”.

Hans and Katharina come from very different generations, but they hold onto one another longing for a life which is no longer possible. Hans has a shady past and part of his belief in the German Democratic Republic comes from wanting to distance himself from the armed forces he was a part of in his youth. Katharina was born long after the end of WWII, but the system under which she was raised causes her to gaze critically at the commercial and cultural imperialism which is absorbing her country. As their affair painfully persists so the marking of different anniversaries continues as if dedicating themselves to these dates can hold their imagined reality together. But they come to feel increasingly hollow and twisted. Following the dissolution of their private world is a melancholy endeavour. Persisting to the end of this novel felt challenging but I'm glad I did because the overall effect is haunting. It made me question my own assumptions having grown up with a Western mentality and probe what romantic notions I allow to unhelpfully steer my life. I'm also sure it would be valuable revisiting “Kairos” at some point to better understand the innumerable cultural and historical references it contains.

And Then She Fell by Alicia Elliott

It's tricky trying to summarize how I feel about Alicia Elliott's debut novel as the experience of reading it was often frustrating, but the power of its voice and the complexity of the many issues it raises have inspired me to engage in a lot of discussion with my bookclub about it. There's also a very clever narrative twist a long way into the book which helped me to emotionally engage with it in a way I struggled to up until that point. The story focuses on narrator Alice's experiences grieving the loss of her mother and living in a predominantly white Canadian neighbourhood separate from her familiar indigenous community. She's a writer endeavouring to compose an updated version of the Haudenosaunee Creation Story, a wife to a kind-hearted white man who is academically researching her culture and a new mother to an infant she feels she's failing. Increasingly she senses that inanimate objects, creatures and strange visions are speaking to her. This introduces the question about whether she's suffering from mental health issues, the disorientating effects of sleep loss or whether she's deeply communicating with spirits/ancestors from her culture (or perhaps some mixture of all of these things.) So there is quite a lot going on and it's not surprising that Alice feels continuously overwhelmed!

It's quite a surprise in the prologue when Pocahontas (or Matoaka) begins speaking to Alice through the television screen. This feels both comic and playful, like something from a horror story. It's also meaningful in how there is a darker truth to indigenous history/experience than what non-First Nation groups acknowledge in popular culture. I feel like Elliott tries to balance these three modes throughout the novel's narrative which is a difficult thing to pull off. The novel uses a very conversational style of writing which makes it very personal and immediate. I appreciate how this conveys a strong impression of Alice's point of view and state of mind however, to me, it can sometimes feel too much like a rant where Elliott hammers through messages rather than letting them arise naturally within the story. Alicia Elliott wrote a very interesting personal essay about perceptions of mental illness: https://www.thestar.com/entertainment/books/the-power-of-alicia-elliott-how-the-indigenous-author-embraced-the-unreality-of-fiction-and/article_b0e3c11d-7092-5c59-ac2a-07c83b34a815.html It's really challenging not to dismiss someone's perspective when they've been categorised as suffering from “madness”. At the same time, there are so many practical difficulties which accompany this experience especially when clear and honest communication becomes nearly impossible.

Alice's daily physical interactions seem fairly benign – being gifted dvds, buying alcohol from staring shop assistants and being pounced upon by a hyper vigilant neighbour. Certainly there is unacknowledged prejudice and micro aggression within these encounters but Alice's reactions often feel out of proportion to what's occurring. I understand she is frustrated that the white community she's surrounded by can't understand her perspective and that she desires to exhibit positive representation to deflect stereotypes about Native people and feels the need to keep up appearances – especially to her husband Steve. This poetic line from the novel seems to really encapsulate her experience: “I'm a puddle pretending I've got shape and form.” However, it feels like her increasing panic about her predicament would be tremendously eased if she were to speak honestly with others about what's happening and her state of mind. Instead, she constantly covers this up and keeps an increasing amount of “little secrets” from Steve. Though we don't get much backstory about the formation of their relationship this seems to be a consistent aspect of it: “I've kept so much from him from the very beginning. Edited my life to make it seem a little less tragic and a lot more functional.” Of course she wants to present herself as capable/confident but a big part of any successful long term relationship is allowing a partner to see your vulnerabilities. Instead, Alice seems to be trying harder to cover them up so the truth of how she's feeling can only come out in erratic or paranoid behaviour.

Perhaps this is part of the point of the story. However, it makes it frustrating and difficult to empathise with Alice when she's not willing to let others into what she's experiencing except through this narrative and her rewriting of the Creation Story. I'm aware my reaction might be biased because this character's life is very different from my own. I want to listen to what this book has to say and I'm not trying to minimise the impact of her cultural heritage, position in this society and the difficulty of new motherhood. I was really struck by the lines: “Motherhood is sacrifice. Not metaphorical sacrifice. Literal sacrifice. Every day I feel like I'm destroying pieces of myself to win the favor of this insatiable demigod who wants and wants and wants.” It must feel devastating to rapidly lose yourself in this way and feel like this baby is the antagonist while also loving your child. I've found it really interesting to compare Elliott's novel with “Soldier Sailor” by Claire Kilroy since there are parallels in how new motherhood causes such a terrifying physical and mental breakdown and sense of isolation. What's clear from both is that it's a tremendous strain no matter the circumstances and support/lack of support from one's family/spouse.

It was a complete surprise to me how the story switches its nature later in the novel just as Alice's manic energy and all-consuming paranoia become too much to bear. By getting an outside perspective of Alice (and getting a heartrending peek at the many directions her life might have taken) I suddenly understood the tragedy of her plight better. I'd previously felt sympathy for how overwhelmed she's been with the grief for her mother, the responsibilities and sleeplessness of new motherhood, separation from her Indigenous community, wavering mental health, semi-reliance on drugs/alcohol and frustration trying to honour her heritage by rewriting its stories. But being locked in her point of view also made me feel like a therapist listening to a hopelessly tangled diatribe and this made the reading experience increasingly laborious. It's not often that it seems worth it to read through hundreds of pages to get to a pay off like this. But, in this case, I am very glad I read until the end. It felt necessary to see Alice's increasing frenzy from the inside in order to really know how she got to this point of absolute despair. There's a pleasure in re-viewing the events that have come before given that the nebulous voice is given a personality. It's also quite playful and inventive how the author has structured the book as if self consciously drawing upon the kind of popular culture films she frequently references. I was reminded of the films 'Get Out' in the dinner scene, 'Interstellar' in the family reunion across time – as well as the numerous movies which have drawn upon concepts of alternate realities/the multiverse. Some might see this as derivative but I think it felt natural for this story and a way to show the tension Alice experiences as someone whose identity is a blend of both Indigenous and colonial culture. I found this concluding section really heartwarming and moving, but I'm sure not all readers would agree.

The title of the novel is taken from the story of the Sky Woman being dropped by The Great Spirit into a hole so that she falls towards the Lower World. But I like that it also has a popular culture meaning in how Alice connects to Veruca Salt from Willy Wonka because she thinks if she makes the wrong choice the floor will fall out from beneath her. There's also some “Alice in Wonderland” influence given the protagonist's name, that Sky Woman falls (or is pushed) down a hole and at a disastrous dinner party Alice believes that guests shout “Off with her head” at her. I'm glad to have read this book and to have received Alicia Elliott's point of view. I do question whether she might have been able to use a different writing technique or structure to better tell this story. It's really difficult to say because Alice's mindset is so messy it feels like the narrative needs to emulate that and if it'd been more formalised it might not feel so authentic. So it's difficult to know how to rate this novel or whether I'd recommend it. I'm continuing to mull it over and I'd be very keen to hear reactions from other readers about the book as a whole.

James by Percival Everett

In the past couple of years it's been exciting to see new books coming out which self consciously build upon canonical literature from the past. “Demon Copperhead” brilliantly reimagined “David Copperfield” in contemporary rural America. Sandra Newman's “Julia” was a clever retelling of “1984” from the point of view of Winston's love interest. I'm sure there have been others and this isn't a new phenomenon. “Wide Sargasso Sea” is an excellent example of taking a striking character whose perspective we don't get in the original, the so-called mad woman in the attic from Bronte's “Jane Eyre” and imagining this world from her point of view. And now Percival Everett has used a similar method in the much talked about and highly publicised new novel “James”. I think this book deserves all the attention it's been getting! It shows some of the same events from Mark Twain's classic “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” from the character of Jim's perspective. Utilizing Everett's customary sense of wit and satire, he re-envisions this story and period of history to give a refreshing and revelatory take on James' precarious position as a runaway slave, his struggle to free his family and his yearning to achieve a sense of freedom outside the boundaries of the subjugation he's been born into during the Antebellum South.

Firstly, though I don't think it's absolutely necessary, I did reread “Tom Sawyer” and “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” before getting to this novel. I had read abridged versions of both when I was younger. Reading them as an adult was largely enjoyable though I now find it difficult to relate (or care much) about these boys' cravings for high adventure and high-jinks in their rural community. The episodic story seems designed for the entertainment of young boys so often it felt like the plot was unrealistically skewed to show these adolescent characters triumphing in situations and coincidentally happening upon dramatic scenes. This leads them to achieve great fortune at the end of “Tom Sawyer” and “Huck Finn” does feel like a stronger book in many ways. It's especially vivid and terrifying reading about Huck's abuse under his father at the beginning. Nevertheless, his journey thereafter often feels like a game he's playing. All the while Jim is portrayed as the honourable, superstitious and mild-mannered character at Huck's side. His friendship with Huck is touching. It's impressive how Twain's novel deals with the moral complexity Huck feels growing up in a culture where people with Jim's skin colour are treated as property but his growing emotional connection to Jim disallows him from seeing Jim in this way. But, obviously, this is only one side of the story. Of course, it's also jarring reading these novels today given the language used.

Interestingly, in Paul Beatty's 2016 Booker Prize winning novel “The Sellout” there's a fascinating and funny debate where a character named Foy Chester describes how he rewrote “Huckleberry Finn” after he began reading Twain's novel to his grandchildren but stopped when he discovered the 'n-word' appears 219 times in the book. He describes how “where the repugnant 'n-word' occurs, I replaced it with 'warrior' and the word 'slave' with 'dark-skinned volunteer... I also improved Jim's diction, rejiggered the plotline a bit, and retitled the book The Pejorative-Free Adventures and Intellectual and Spiritual Journeys of African-American Jim and His Young Protege, White Brother Huckleberry Finn or They Go In Search of the Lost Black Family Unit.” However, the narrator of Beatty's novel then challenges Chester stating: “why blame Mark Twain because you don't have the patience and courage to explain to your children that the 'n-word' exists... no one will ever refer to them as 'little black euphemisms' so welcome to the American lexicon”. The language in Twain's book has been subject to a longstanding debate and censoring or erasing what was cruelly, thoughtlessly and freely used in the past prevents us from learning from history. Therefore, I think it's important and smart how Everett has positioned his novel not as a rewrite, but a chance to tell Jim's story.

“James” begins with a section of the notebook of Dan Emmett (the real life composer and founder of the first troupe of blackface minstrels) and this takes an important role later in Everett's novel. I love that the story then launched into Tom and Huck playing one of their familiar jokes on James only to show that James is very aware of their game and indulgently playing along. James recognizes throughout the book that adolescent Huck is naturally attracted to adventure and he will sometimes manipulate Huck towards taking a certain action by persuading him it will be fun in this way. This new characterisation immediately negates the idea that James is a naïve butt of the joke which would be easy to assume from Twain's novel. Instead, Everett portrays him as highly intelligent, literate and an educator who teaches enslaved black children in the language and manner they must use around white people to avoid punishment and survive in this world.

It's poignant how the importance of language is emphasized throughout the novel. Natural speech carries on into conversations James has with other black people in private, but everyone speaking will quickly revert to another form of “dumbed down” language whenever white people are present and overhear them. They know that it's not only expected that they'll speak like this but they will be punished for using the language white people use. James must continuously check himself while travelling with Huck because even though they develop a camaraderie he must be mindful of maintaining that barrier. This necessary front comes to feel even more sad the closer he becomes to Huck. It's also striking that when James drops the affected form of speech in front of white characters he's confronting it's the inability to believe he can use such language that preoccupies them more than the immediate threat of violence.

I was also so moved by the reverence James has for books and writing since they are the only sources of true freedom available to him. He attentively dries books after they become soaked in the river and he clings to moments when he can read them when not being overviewed by white people. But also it's wonderful how he enters into a dreamlike/hallucinatory dialogue with philosophers of the Enlightenment such as John Locke and Voltaire to challenge them about their views on freedom as a concept vs the reality of his life. It's a brilliant way of interrogating a whole school of influential thought. It's also easy to imagine that if James had been born in a different time, place and circumstances he'd have been a great scholar, studying philosophy and publishing important books. As it is, his intense desire to write his own story is very touching and we also see him testing out different surnames for himself throughout the story. The mere ability to obtain a pencil and writing paper becomes so precious. So it's all the more heart wrenching when we see the price paid and consequences for the black man who obtains the pencil for James.

It's interesting how Everett mostly follows the timeline/events which Twain laid out in his novel. There are interludes when James is separated from Huck and here Everett had the freedom to fill in his story however he wanted. Through James' eyes some of the characters of Twain's novels such as the con artists they meet appear much less fun and more threatening – actually quite vicious and terrifying in Everett's novel. The events and timeline become altered more towards the end. I think I read how Everett mentioned somewhere (not in the interview I saw him give with Nelson) that he felt Twain was indulging the reading public by reintroducing Tom Sawyer at the end of “Huck Finn” because he felt they'd want more of this character. But this doesn't serve the story or primary characters of Huck and Jim well. So I found it really clever and harrowing where Everett takes James' story. The whole question of freedom and identity becomes much more layered as James joins a minstrel show, meets a man who is passing for white and ultimately reveals his true relationship with Huck. This gives a whole new meaning to their bond and why James is especially attentive and caring towards Huck.

In the past I've not been a very big fan of satirical writing where there are often exaggerated versions of villainous characters being presented in a way to (often justifiably) diminish their power. It usually seems to me better to give more nuanced presentations of characters to show the complexity of all individuals. However, Everett uses it to fantastic effect. His novel “The Trees” used satire in a much more blatant way where some of the white characters were purposefully portrayed as stereotypes. To portray them as such is Everett's clever way of challenging us to think about and re-view other stories (novels, films) where black individuals are presented in a stereotypical way. Probably little exaggeration is necessary in depicting many of the racist white characters in “James” because their assumed superiority was so much a part of the culture and even those who felt they were kind to slaves maintained their dominant position and were glad to wield their power when it suited them. Conversely, the slaves James engages with in private have cerebral conversations using heightened language to emphasise the unrealised intellectual potential and psychological complexity for these characters merely portrayed as (good-hearted, jovial) slaves in Twain's book and countless other stories. I think it's really effective and powerful how Everett achieves this in “James”.

In Twain's novels the boys often surreptitiously view people and scenes while they are concealed. This amplifies the entertainment and drama of it all – as if we're being allowed secret access to conversations and information. It's ingenious how Everett uses this same dynamic several times throughout his novel especially towards the end where James witnesses an enslaved woman now inhabiting his old home being raped. Rather than the voyeuristic charge in Twain's novels, being trapped in a concealed position to witness this utterly horrifying incident emphasizes the real practice, repercussions and violence of slavery. Of course, Twain could never have written such a scene but in thinking about the world he was evoking Tom and Huck would have realistically witnessed many acts of violence towards slaves. But getting that terrifying scene from James' perspective and throughout everything he's endured and his burning desire to find his family it's so satisfying how Everett allows James to go on a path of revenge towards the end. If you watched the interview I posted below it sounds like Everett was really inspired by the memory of his mild-mannered father who took out a gun and was prepared to fight when Everett was a child and they were almost stopped by the KKK. Similarly James is a calm and peaceful individual whose anger rouses him to justified violence to find and rescue his family.

So I think it's incredibly impressive how Everett handled writing this novel bringing with it all the adventure of Twain's classic but also challenging the reader to think about race, language, literature and history in a more complex way. It was especially striking to me how when news of the coming American Civil War reaches James he understands it has little to do with him. I think this makes us ponder more about the way we consider this period of history which is often characterised as a moral/virtuous battle to end slavery, but there were also other motivations behind it (economics/political power/preserving the Union) and to many of the individuals caught up in these events it meant something else. I found James' journey completely engrossing and came to really care about him and the multilayered connection he forms with Huck over the course of this magnificent story. I think the only thing I wish we'd had more of was James' family – I know the timeline of the story means we're not with them for most of it but we only get brief glimpses/details about them in the beginning and references to how he misses them but I wish the story had portrayed more memories and thoughts about them to give a more dynamic understanding of their connection. However, that's a minor quibble about an excellent novel which is a welcome addition to the cannon of American literature.