Review: The Caregiver by Samuel Park

In Samuel Park’s “The Caregiver”, Mara tends to her charge Katherine, a woman who, at forty-four, is reluctantly facing death at the hands of stomach cancer. Over Katherine’s decline, Mara has taken on the illusionary role of daughter, filling a gap for Katherine that seems permanent, given her diagnosis and lingering divorce from her ex-husband, Nelson. If only she had known just how few chances life gives, she would have made it work before it was too late. It is often implied that Katherine considers leaving her striking yet empty Bel Air home to Mara; who else does she have? For Mara, an undocumented immigrant with little money, it’s a dream just impossible enough to hope for.

Katherine knows little of Mara’s real mother, and nothing of the pair’s hidden past: a past Mara has seemingly left behind. Their story is revealed at length against the poverty of 1970’s Copacabana, Brazil, where Mara’s mother Anna works as a talented but poorly paid voice actress dubbing glamourous American films into Portuguese. We see Anna through the eager and adoring eyes of young Mara; a loving and all-powerful woman, stylishly smoking cigarettes with the world at her fingertips. The reality is that she is desperate and hungry. Her motherly duties lead her to a role far beyond her control when she agrees to a job collaborating with revolutionary militants against the tortuous, corrupt, and truly all-powerful chief of police, Lima. The tragedy that follows is irrevocable, and apparently inescapable for Mara, who ten years later is still unravelling the secrets of the arrangement; who exactly had made a deal with whom? How much responsibility resided with her mother? with Lima? with herself? And why, given her role as Katherine’s caregiver, was she sharing so many of these confidences with Nelson?

In his final novel, Samuel Park tours the bifold nature of love, its inherent secrets, and the poignant baggage so often carried to death’s doorstep. It does so with an ornate prose that leaves one transported; from a sick bed in 1990’s Bel Air to the gritty banks of a bygone Brazil, to the warm hollow of a mother’s lap. It is hard to know who is influencing whom in this veritable magnum opus left to us by Park. Even more powerful than the mystery are the emotive undercurrents which will hit you within the close of the first chapter. This is a mother-daughter duo fit to rival that seen in Janet Finch’s “White Oleander”, minus the malice

Each section of the book is more compelling than the other, almost making you forget that there are in fact two halves of the story unfolding. In fact, one of my only disappointments with the novel was having to give up Mara’s childhood in Brazil to go back to her adulthood in LA. Her past could have stood alone and, at times, I almost wish it had. That, however, would have robbed us of Katherine’s raw valiancy and acceptance in the face of death (an aspect of the book which I loved). For me, “The Caregiver” was everything a book is meant to be; an enlightening escape. Perhaps the compelling elements which comprised it, the palpable wisdoms of Katherine and the love manifested between Mara and Anna, stemmed from the fact that the subject matter was known all too-intimately by Park: a man born in Brazil, raised in LA, and who, after his own long struggle with stomach cancer, recently passed away. To say that his was wonderful writing would be to understate an inestimable truth. Through “The Caregiver”, Samuel Park has left us with a gift.

Review: The Healing: One Woman's Journey from Poverty to Inner Riches by Saeeda Hafiz

Saeeda Hafiz takes us on a journey of mind, body, and soul as she brings to light the truth of a dark childhood, one rattled with domestic violence, absence, and addiction, and the relationships that grew out of it. Determined to push herself above the backdrop of her youth, she soon finds herself established among the middle class in the corporate world of banking only to realize that she still feels out of place. Interspersed with emotional flashbacks to what she fears is “the typical black American family”, this is one woman’s struggle to leave behind a stereotype that can feel like a legacy. Her story is not one without shame, which makes it all the more courageous.

Leaving her corporate status behind, she literally follows her gut and decides to adopt a macrobiotic diet which eventually leads to living out her dream of being a holistic health practitioner, live-in chef, yoga instructor, and teacher, continually redefining her life’s path. However, the dreams are short lived and she often finds herself falling back down the rabbit hole of shame and eventually on the brink of depression. The troubles of her past seem to always find a way to haunt her until she is able to face -and accept- them. Along the way, she gains perspective through traveling, new relationships, and therapy, but holistic health is at the heart of it all, guiding her forward. Hafiz’s story is both wretched and relatable; the story of finding oneself born among the rubble and the tedious fight to rise above it, scarred, but intact. In the end, she learns that the constant ups and downs are simply a part of finding one’s balance.

I had high hopes for the newest release from Parallax Press, the publishing company founded by renowned Zen master Thích Nhất Hanh. On one hand it had everything I expected and hoped for; it depicted a holistic lifestyle, told of the author’s journey both through travels and her yoga practice, and had some Oprah-worthy insights along the way. However, it was also the one thing a memoir should never be: a story of the author’s life from beginning to present day. The lack of framing made an otherwise good story a tedious read. The reader is shown the author’s thoughts and habits on a loop, beginning in her early twenties and continuing through three jobs, two yoga retreats, three failed relationships and two decades before finally bringing forth any real resolution. This may mimic the ups and downs of life and stay true to Hafiz’s experiences, but it was the same message being dolled up in different clothing over and over. Hafiz is gifted in metaphor, but certain passages toe the line of being vague and unnecessary.  Even the afterword, which is peppered with macrobiotic whole-food recipes, was a bit lackluster when compared to even the most banal of food blogs. No doubt there is a message worth hearing here, but perhaps like the practice of yoga, patience is key with this novel.

Review: What Blooms From Dust by James Markert

“I learned early on that the coin was never wrong with me”

When a twister rolls through the dusty plains of 1930s Oklahoma and clips the corner of a state prison, Jeremiah Goodbye, infamously known as “The Coin-Flip Killer”, gets a second chance. After being strapped into the electric chair and bound for death, he gets only a quick jolt that seems to reseal his fate before the walls are torn from the building. Armed with a rifle and the coin that landed him in prison in the first place, he heads for his hometown of Nowhere to settle the score with the one who turned him in and married the woman he loved; his twin brother, Josiah.

On the way, he’s followed by an eight-year old boy named Peter, an abandoned victim of the Dust Bowl, and the two make their way to Nowhere together. What awaits them are the tangled mysteries of Jeremiah’s past and the secrets he buried with those bodies three years earlier. Between the waves of dust which tear regularly through the landscape, we’re able to glimpse fragments of Jeremiah’s complicated life before they’re covered just as rapidly as they appeared. Before he has time to face his own demons, things get strange a dust storm of historical proportions hits, a dust storm that would go down in history as “Black Sunday”. It pummels Nowhere with a grim black dust the likes of which the town has never seen, leaving nothing unchanged in its wake, including the citizens of Nowhere. In an unexpected redemption, Jeremiah and Peter set out to change the town’s fate and uncover the origin story which led Jeremiah to the coin all those years ago.

James Markert’s ‘What Blooms from Dust’ is an elaborate modern-day fable that tore all of my expectations to shreds. At times, it was a bit heavy handed in allegory, but that did little to hinder such an impressive narrative. With deep emotional scenes which are felt rather than just read, it’s bound to captivate anyone. A hanging suspense carried throughout the story makes this one a page-turner and before each loose thread is woven with the rest, you’ll be swept into things you never saw coming. It’s more than just a feel-good story. ‘What Blooms from Dust’ is genre fiction at its best, masterfully blending mystery, magical realism, and romance while doubling as a historical portrayal of the 1930s Midwest. This is something for every reader. Full of intrigue and hope, What Blooms from Dust will stir things in you long settled.

Review: We Begin Our Ascent by Joe Mungo Reed

Debut novelist Joe Mungo Reed offers us a gripping narrative in his noteworthy first book, out this June from Simon and Schuster. Solomon is a resolute man and a promising professional cyclist who guides us through the industrious mid-race life during the Tour de France. “I am a peloton man”, he says. An Everyman. A man of routine, of limits gradually yet constantly pushed.   His wife Liz, a geneticist with equal conviction, has just given birth to their first son. Determined not to alter their ambitious lifestyles, Solomon and Liz struggle almost beneath their own radar to keep their balance amid the draws of new parenthood, two unforgiving careers and an even more ruthless sports director, Raphael. They are forced to depend more and more on outside support in the form of Liz’s vexatious mother and a series of covert doping regimens supplied by backdoor doctors at Raphael’s urging.

“I cannot tolerate a rider who does not do his best to prevent negative consequences….It would be a shame to see you fall away for a lack of preparation.”

The risks  pile up as Liz gets more involved with Raphael and his ultimatums. With the team’s sponsorship and world ranking on the line, Solomon is pushed ever closer to the very edge of what has long ceased to be his comfort zone. Like the bikes which so often pass through his scenes, Joe Mungo Reed’s prose is powerful without being weighty. You’ll find yourself swept up, steading against the tension and racing through until the end, eager to see what troubles await at the top when one reaches for the high-hanging fruit. Everything has its price, but how much are Sol and Liz willing to pay?

Don’t let the sporty subject matter scare you away from this one. With Solomon’s succinct and endearing narration against a cast of very real characters, you’ll feel that a secret door into the world of racing  has unlatched and you’ve simply been swallowed up, slipped in among the cyclists. I was surprised by how fascinating it all was and the ease with which I found myself hanging onto Solomon’s every perception. Joe Mungo Reed has done an exceptional job at providing something for everyone, marrying the unknown with the familiar through his explorations of relationships, ambition, and consequence. I smiled. I cried. I took stock.  This is fiction done well. Joe Mungo Reed has tackled his first novel with skill and you can bet I’ll be waiting on the second.

Review: White Bread and Mayonnaise by Lula Phine

Lula Phine takes us back to the old south in “White Bread and Mayonnaise”, a straightforward and spiritual tale. It is the early 1930s when we’re introduced to the central character, no more than a newborn baby, and it will be the new millennium before we have heard the story of his long life. Known simply as “the boy” or “the man” accordingly, he comes of age on his father’s farm before setting off to the Korean War. While there, life and limb are spared but deep emotional wounds are inflicted. The terrors of war haunt him well into adulthood as he struggles to balance the uncertainties of farming, his family, and an increasing dependency on alcohol. Intersecting the man’s story are insightful passages commenting on a simple jar whose contents and many purposes are likened to the human condition.  Mind, body, and spirit are examined against the outward forces of life and we’re shown progression and the connectedness of all things in one’s life.

As its title would suggest, this is a basic read. While peppered with small wisdoms, “White Bread and Mayonnaise” can be as dull as a worn butter knife. Without the benefit of dialogue or character names, it seems a listless recounting of the man’s life, of which we are given only cursory information. There is little sense of scene and those we are shown are increasingly at ends. I struggled to find a consistency between the heartwarming moments among family and the narrative describing the man as an unpredictable and emotionally detached drunkard.

The story structure is a classic one and, if it were to be fleshed out and offer a more dynamic set of characters, has the potential to be notable. However, as it stands, it reads as if we have been given a glimpse into a first draft rather than the finished piece. While suitable for children, English language learners, or parents looking for a read-aloud, a more advanced reader is likely to find it too uninvolved to finish. At the end of the day, it is a clean wholesome account of one man’s struggle back to light and life; a nice simply story. Surely that is what some are looking for, but in this reader’s opinion, “White Bread and Mayonnaise” may just leave a bad taste in your mouth.

Review: No One Tells You This by Glynnis MacNicol

In her debut memoir, “No One Tells You This”, Glynnis MacNicol offers an engaging perspective from beyond what seems for everyone to be the enemy line: forty. No one tells you this, but they should, and thank goodness that MacNicol finally has. With a sharp wit and tell-all style similar to the great Nora Ephron, she is sure to win your heart. MacNicol gives an intimate glimpse into the wildly under-represented life of a woman in the throes of middle age without such accessories as a spouse or children.  From the prologue on, she is at once as familiar and relatable as your favorite foul-mouthed gal pal as she takes us through the year following her fortieth birthday. Paralleling her own is the story of her aging mother, who has been diagnosed with Parkinson’s, and the many others in MacNicol’s life who have grown to become a collective family. “No One Tells You This” is poignant, humorous, eternal: a book to raise a glass to and a  great read for a woman of any age.

“No One Tells You This” sweeps us up into MacNicol’s ever busy lifestyle (which is anything but that of a dull spinster). We’re taken from the shores of Rockaway Beach to Iceland, to Toronto, to Wyoming and back again, with the Manhattan skyline somehow ever-present through MacNicol’s New Yorker perspective. Throughout chapters that beg to be read, with titles like “Choose your own Rom Com” and “Balls”, Said the Queen”, MacNicol speaks boldly about topics that plague us all.  From not becoming her mother, to the effects of being too plugged-in, to the seemingly unavoidable ticking clock, she reminds us again and again that we aren’t alone.

MacNicol has tested the waters and found that what lies beyond forty is, more than anything, a relief; Life doesn’t end at forty. Brimming with insight, each lesson she learns along the way is rooted in experiences from her diverse past and accompanied by laughable anecdotes. What we see here is the story not of falling in love, but of  learning to love oneself and one’s own life as is: an adventure that everyone should go on at least once.  MacNicol refutes the invisibility that too-often envelopes women in their forties. Against the backdrop of conventionalism and mundanity, she is a shining star and as this memoir will prove, a rising one.