the Scott Stein

This gripping account of the bombing of Dresden begins with a history of the city prior to World War II and then takes apart the view that during the war Dresden was unique among German cities, the view that it was not an important part of the war effort, that it was not a Nazi stronghold. It is clear in Dresden that this was not just an innocent cultural center, somehow outside of and disconnected from the events all around. This isn't to say that Taylor attempts to justify the bombing of civilians. He doesn't. He does argue--persuasively--that there is no reason to think that Dresden was a less appropriate target than any other city in Germany, as some have claimed. Taylor's no apologist, though. The terror of those on the ground in Dresden is made perfectly clear, as is the barbarity of total war, the reducing of life to chance and error and confusion, the utter destruction. Whether or not readers can justify the bombing and similar bombings in the context of the circumstances, Dresden is a profoundly sad story well told.

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I don’t know that I’ve read anything quite like Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. It’s been called a novel of the fantastic, which it clearly is, since the story revolves around two magicians. It’s been called a novel of manners in the tradition of Jane Austen, for its portrayal of English life and its close attention to character and relationships. But this is unlike any fantasy novel I can recall. And while Clarke skillfully employs literary devices to give the reader the sensation of reading a novel from early 19th Century Britain, once I was immersed in the story, it made me think of nothing but itself. Maybe we sometimes forget why we first fell in love with reading novels. Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell is a welcome reminder. I got lost in another world, enjoyed all of the nearly 800 pages, and didn't worry when the plot seemed to be advancing slowly. The novel is so rich with joyful invention (including footnotes that sometimes are stories unto themselves), it didn’t matter, when the end approached, that I knew it could not pay off with the sort of meaning and impact we sometimes demand from our fiction. I was happy to just bask in the pleasure of the journey.

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You know the old story--boy stranded in a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean with a full-grown Bengal tiger. Martel’s skill in making the implausible plausible is impressive--the tale practically drips with authenticity. We care so much about the protagonist Pi, believe so fully his plight, the pages keep turning. It’s a shame the ending goes postmodern, creating doubt that any of it happened, after the author did good work to make us certain that it did. There’s a bit about meeting up with another lifeboat that also stretches credibility, even in a novel that has a fantastic premise to begin with. Lesson: trust your story, make it real, and respect your reader’s belief in your work--which Martel does most of the novel. Too bad the author or his editor did not choose to leave postmodern literary games out of it. Still, The Life of Pi sucked me in and held me, even if I felt let down and found myself skimming the last few pages. Despite the ending, highly recommended.

Support this site by using the below link to buy The Life of Pi. Better yet, buy my new novel Mean Martin Manning and my first novel Lost.