The Forgotten Soldier, by Guy Sajer

Why would I want to read the memoirs of a WWII German soldier? A number of years ago I listened to a podcast series about the eastern front and was (still am) amazed to learn that about 80% of all German soldier casualties for the entire war were in the east. This is not a history I learned about in school. I ran across some reviews of this memoir while looking for more material. Sajer was an Alsatian captured in France during the German occupation. Half German, he was enlisted in the German army and sent east. He fought in most of the major battles after Stalingrad. The remarkable thing about the memoir is that it gives the reader the feel of the day to day life of the soldiers - short on military tactics/battle overviews and long on the interpersonal relationships of the soldiers, the withering physical hardship of survival and routine of daily life as a solider in the Wehrmacht. If one were to believe Sajer (and it's hard not to), the soldiers knew nothing of what was going on back home - he and his surviving friends didn't even learn that the American and British forces were in Europe (let alone Germany) until the war was nearly over. The tragedy, horror and sadness Sajer describes is beyond words. And the fact that he was a German soldier counts little, if any, against the emotive force of his tale. A truly remarkable read.

Tenth of December, by George Saunders

This is my second book of Saunders' short stories (see previous entry on In Persuasion Nation). I particularly enjoy the first person narrative style in the opening and closing stories - centered on young men moved to action and wrapped (encumbered?) in the nuanced (not so nuanced?) baggage of childhood relationships with family. Unlike David Foster Wallace's short stories of doom, gloom and psychological terror, Saunders' writing is generous. While tragic and sometimes sad, they all left me with a sense of hope. If you are muscling your way through top shelf contemporary fiction, this guy needs to be on your reading list.  

The Strangers in the House, by Georges Simenon

Hector Loursat may represent at some level pre-war French existential paralysis. In Moulins, where he practiced law, but now sits all day in his study poking his fire, reading his books and drinking his burgundy, it is winter, dark and moody. The large house in which he has confined himself to two rooms is drafty. It holds secrets up on the third floor. Those secrets eventually draw out misanthropic Loursat to once again practice law. But this is not primarily a story of a murder investigation. Rather, it is an exploration into the mind of a man who emerges from 18 years of self-imposed isolation. Structurally, the story's tempo is rapid and regular enough to keep your attention. Moreover, its introspection may inform the reader's own life - a mark of a great read.

The Drowned World, by J.G. Ballard

I wouldn't say that J.G. Ballard was prescient when he wrote this immersive, atmospheric and psychologically interesting story. True, the planet had flooded due to a 90 foot rise in sea levels and, true, the cause was heating. But the rise in temperature was due to increased solar activity and not due to a compositional imbalance of atmospheric carbon. Nevertheless, what is interesting is the resemblance to one of the great tales written in the past 150 years - Heart of Darkness, by Joseph Conrad (I think I wrote a little about this a few years ago). OK,  Ballard doesn't command the language like Conrad (who does?) but Ballard's tale takes the conceit of man returning to an "earlier" nature and wraps it in a fantastic world of iguanas, submerged cities, jungles and survival. Kerans is a doctor/scientist on a military expedition sent from the Arctic, the last place one may live comfortably on Earth, to document/chart/analyze the climate and the changing world. The bad guy, Strangman, is an albino privateer whackadoo piloting a hydroplane trailed by a paparazzi of crocodiles. Mirroring the Conrad story, Strangman represents the intrusive outside world much as Marlowe, the company man, meets Kurtz. However, the physical presence and mental imbalance of Conrad's Kurtz is wrapped up in Strangman, the intruder, what with his physical bearing, grandiosity, otherworldliness, charisma and seeming insanity. Strangman wants to recreate the lost world or, at least, acquire as much of its treasure as possible. His depot ship carries looted treasure from museums; he drains the lagoon and sets his minions loose on the exposed city streets of London, lost 90 years ago to the rising tides. Kerans, on the other hand, is the cerebral, introspect, who is being sucked back in time, manipulated psychologically much as Conrad's Kurtz, down an evolutionary slide, to a triassic world long before humans where the sun beats rhythmically in his head and the heat and water explode in lush cascades of tropical flora, insects and lizards. I love walking in the woods, running in the snow and, generally, being outside. In many ways this story resonates with me.

The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil and In Persuasion Nation, by George Saunders

I've encountered this guy's work in the New Yorker from time to time but this is my first sustained experience with his writing. Stylistically and thematically, he reminds me a bit of David Foster Wallace. The stories very much are a satire on contemporary life in the United States. They certainly do have a lot to say. In very short order you may move from hilarity to darkness. Both Seussian and Edward Gorey-like ("A" is for Amy who fell down the stairs, "B" is for Basil, devoured by bears...). Phil, the robot, turns into a megalomaniacal idiot whenever his brain falls out of his "tremendous sliding rack" because the bolt holding it in place comes loose. Then there are some stories, like adams,  which left me unsettled in a way that stories seldom do (I recall one of DFW's short stories about a child accidently burned by boiling water - in of itself a horrible thing; yet that story, too, takes it to a completely different, personal, level). Phil's power-hunger will be familiar to you, darkly and comically mirroring some of the not too bright and self-serving politicians who sit in public office. The landscape is ludicrous and weird. Consumerism and marketing are skewered in jon and American policy in Brad Carrigan, American. But the stories do more - somehow they inject a deeply personal element - a humanity that left me reflective. This is good stuff.

Toms River, by Dan Fagin

What a great read! Admittedly, I am from New Jersey, once worked in the chemical industry and now work as a physician. So the subject and setting resonate particularly strongly with me. That being said, on many different levels this story is important for all of us. Among other things, it teaches us about the dynamic between corporate and individual/social interests, speculative versus scientific inquiry, role of government and how it may sometimes fail its citizens, chemistry, cancer, the history of the Toms River area of NJ, epidemiology and statistics and how sometimes it only takes a few determined people (and some luck) to effect significant change. I found the epidemiological discussion(s) among the more interesting parts of the book. The first quarter of the book takes the reader through the history of the dye industry and weaves in tales of epidemiological cancer investigations. It serves as a valuable history lesson, germane to both scientist and non-scientist types. Well worth the effort.

A Murder of Quality, by John Le Carré

Somehow this early story by Le Carré over the years escaped my attention. Together with what I believe is his first novel (Call for the Dead), this tale sits more in the murder mystery genre rather than with spies and such, which made his fame. Nevertheless, it is well-crafted both as a mystery and as a literary work. Suffusing the story is a critique of English society and class divide. It might be worthwhile to compare the style of the Swedish police/detective novels (see earlier posts about Sjöwall and Wahlöö), crafted with tight, clean prose, with the more artful language of Le Carré. Both are wonderfully wrought, on similar canvases, yet are so distinctly different that one may marvel over the flexibility of language and the creativity of the human mind.