So much of the American collective conscious relies on the possibility of redemption. In fact, redemption is one of the great themes of American literature. Think about the classic, and often grizzly, works by Flannery O’ Connor and William Faulkner that so elegantly portray characters seeking something different from their chaotic pasts—something they can grasp that can free them from their guilt of sins.
You know that art is affecting you when you can’t turn away from it. You view it, and it holds your attention. You squint, adjust your head, and just gaze. You get lost inside it. Such was experience in reading Uno Kudo, Vol. 4.
You know that art is affecting you when you can’t turn away from it. You view it, and it holds your attention. You squint, adjust your head, and just gaze. You get lost inside it. Such was experience in reading Uno Kudo, Vol. 4.
Fourth of July Creek by Smith Henderson
Henderson’s work tackles the same subjects that populate O’Connor and Faulkner’s best writing—religion, grace, violence, and, of course, redemption.
Memories shape so much of our present reality. We rely on them to control our progression into the future. We see images, both fondly and horrifically, and we hear voices, which occasionally navigate our consciousness. When memories begin spinning, they create a meta-reality—one in which we partially exist. This realm of haziness is where John Darnielle’s complex and often dazzling debut Wolf in White Van finds itself.
Darnielle seems interested in examining the role physicality plays in society, and the conclusion is that appearance dictates too much. Sean lives behind a curtain because he has to. He retreats into his game because he has no other choice. He hides in a small apartment by himself. His family fears Sean’s appearance as much as any stranger on the street might. The entire treatment of Sean—by others and even by himself—is terribly sad and concerning. Yet, it seems true when considering the society we live in today.
Origin stories have an unfair reputation. They receive criticism of being either too unoriginal or too slow. Occasionally, a standout work bucks the trend, and audiences enthusiastically embrace it. Well, readers, get ready because I’ve found 2014’s standout origin story: Gene Luen Yang and Sonny Liew’s The Shadow Hero.
The Shadow Hero, while possessing necessary archetypes, manages to successfully weave in a few surprises. Love and loss are two key ways in which the narrative strays from the expected ending, and both seem like refreshing additions to the Green Turtle’s tale.
Lydia Millet is a writer who defies classification. She writes YA novels, animal-human relationship short stories, tightly-structured literary novels, and laugh-out-loud comedies. She’s a Pulitzer Prize and National Book Critics Circle Award finalist. Really, she’s a writer who does it all. From other writers, Mermaids in Paradise, a novel which, ironically, satires the need for classification, might be viewed as an odd creation, but for Millet, it seems like a necessary addition to her catalogue.
Although the fantastical setting and wild happenings might make you think of Mermaids of Paradise as a lightweight kind of book, it is not. In fact, it’s the opposite. Millet’s novel is a multi-layered comedy that happens to be among the year’s most provocative works of fiction.