First Comes Marriage by Huda al-Marashi: the Sad, Tender, Introspective Memoir of a Muslim-American Woman's Arranged Marriage

Huda—I’ll refer to the author by her first name, as that’s the one she uses throughout the audiobook to refer to herself, mostly—is an American Muslim woman who has written about her experience regarding courtship and marriage while growing up in a Shia Muslim family in California.  I’ll admit I enjoyed her voice very much. It was enthralling to hear directly from a Muslim woman about her experiences and beliefs, her struggles to align her family values and faith with American culture. 

I actually could relate quite a lot to her personality—that driven Type A personality, critical and so concerned with doing the ‘right thing’.  Honestly, she’s hardest on herself throughout the book, though the point of her memoir seemed to be that she was neverendingly critical of Hadi, her match.  Well, I suppose she was also trying to point out that her notions of romantic love (from American media and culture) made her marriage more difficult, and I believe she may have been subtly trying to point out that such notions are innately selfish.  I suppose they are, at least at first glance, though isn’t self-care (i.e., being selfish at least to a degree) important for our well-being, our spirits, our families’ happiness?  Hmm, maybe I’m putting a twist on it that isn’t quite fair—for she’s all about making pragmatic choices, and isn’t that the point of those arranged marriages?  Pragmatism is inherently selfish, right?  Not necessarily in a bad way, oftentimes, as it can protect the interests of so many.  Maybe her point is simply that romantic notions can undo us, lead us astray from our pragmatic best interests, lead to undue disappointment.  And, of course, romantic ideals are ‘ideals’ and thus hard to achieve perfectly.

Perhaps you’ve gathered that I did NOT love the ending of this memoir.  I felt we’d barely begun, that little had been resolved even though she had shown a shift in her attitude towards Hadi towards the end. When the story concluded abruptly (that’s the thing with audiobooks—you’re sometimes not as braced for it to be the end unless you’re really paying attention), I just shrieked, “What!?” a few times.  Granted, memoirs and autobiographies and even biographies can be that way, much more so than novels.  Huda had had so many disappointments, though, and I’d have liked to have actually seen at least a few of them resolved, quite aside from her relationship with Hadi, which I was by no means convinced was ‘all better’.

I do recommend this memoir for the cultural viewpoint and wonderful introspection. Don’t believe her that she’s so mean and critical—sure she is, in a way, but she aims that insightful critique doubly on herself (at least). She redeems herself a bit near the end with some of her charity work, and I think that’s a wonderful thing for us all to do (none of us are perfect, and it’s important), but I really wanted to see her spirit and self-esteem restored a bit more before the ending, though maybe she had no true desire whatsoever to glorify arranged marriages with ‘Oh, it’ll be just fine!’. 

One saving grace about the end of the story is that she’s in Mexico, and so then we’re getting the Arab-American female perspective on living in Mexico and facing their culture, just a bit.  Quite interesting to have that extra layer of cultural discussion. 

For non-Muslim Americans reading or listening to this memoir, maybe the REAL point of the story is to guide us to be a little less fearful and more sympathetic, more open to their culture.  After all, in college she signed up for classes on Arab/Muslim culture simply so that she could explain to her classmates points the teachers  got them worked up about (hmm, earlier charity work of a sort!).  On that note, perhaps she and her family decided it would be best if her memoirs showed that things aren’t ‘all wonderful’, that her life is hard, too, so that perhaps the rest of us will regard Muslim-Americans with a little less hostility and a little more sympathy. Having been born in California and having attended a private Catholic school, she knows perfectly well that we’re never going to swallow that arranged marriages are a fantastic idea. 

I leave this memoir liking Huda—the way her mind works, her critical introspection, and her zeal for compassion.  And with regards to their Muslim practices, she did reduce my fears in general, as I felt warm towards their families and wish the best for them. I even felt fascinated and amused by the zealous face-slapping Huda did at one point.  Frankly, if she’d come across as more dogmatic, though, that warm, sympathetic, open vibe would not have been the end result.  And she really doesn't come across as overzealous, as she doesn't even wear the hijab.

Nevertheless, I still feel obliged to point out that Huda was a lucky, intelligent, pretty, healthy girl with a wonderful, well-off family. Even her own mother’s story is not as nice as hers.  Yet with all her fortune, Huda still had a hard time being matched with a nice boy near her own age, everything fairly optimal.  For girls whose families don’t adore or prioritize them quite so much, who don’t have the money to be so indulgent, their lives can be and often are absolutely ruint with bad matches.  I suppose that’s obvious, but after a whole book full of lovely families with their children’s best interests in mind, I’d like to point out that Huda’s story is a best-case scenario—and still leaves us rather sad for her.

First Principles by Thomas E Ricks Explores Greco-Roman Influences on the First Four American Presidents

First Principles by Pulitzer-prize winning journalist Thomas E. Ricks is about the four first presidents of the United States, their educations, and their background/interest in the Classics (Latin & Greek philosophical roots).  I listened to the audiobook and feel as though I now have a basic grounding and should presently go back and listen to it again. Not sure I will, though, so I will go ahead and review it while it’s fresh in my mind.

The best part about this book, in my opinion, is how Ricks compares and contrasts the Founders, making each of them more distinctive by having their foils depicted right there alongside them.  For instance, I’ve always thought of Thomas Jefferson as such an intellectual, but it sounds as though James Madison was truly the forward-thinking, thoroughly-educated genius among them. Thomas Jefferson seems the eclectic dabbler in comparison (if still fairly genius, in my opinion).  John Adams was perhaps presented in the most and least flattering lights—he never owned slaves, but in his presidency he passed the ‘alien and sedition’ acts, which are counter to the Free Speech amendment, and then (this is my own contribution) there was his refusal to ‘remember the ladies’, as his wife Abigail implored him to do, though Ricks spends little to no time discussing this nor the wives of these Revolutionaries, nor to my recollection any of the female leaders of the Revolution (for that sort of reading, I can’t recommend Cokie Roberts’ Founding Mothers highly enough, though she doesn’t at all zero in on the topic of Classicism).  Frankly, Ricks’ writing reminds me that one of the reasons the old history books are so dull for women and minorities is because they really do talk almost exclusively about white men. 

Ironically, Ricks cogitates on the wrongs of slavery quite a bit, merely presenting it as a severe vice among virtues without looking once at the practical reasons the slaveholding Revolutionaries may not have found it prudent to discard their wealth and leave it to less ethical (but still wealthy) people to lead. The Revolution likely wouldn’t have happened at all if Washington had destituted himself. Or Jefferson. Or Madison. (Not sure about Adams, but he didn’t own slaves anyhow—and he was actually the poorest of the four.)  From what I gather, none of these four Founders was a fan of slavery, and they even spoke about the evils of it, but Ricks doesn’t care to nuance and just thumbs his nose at them for being hypocrites.  And there’s some truth to that, of course—though I mostly suspect Ricks doesn’t want to be accused of being an apologist for slavery.

Ricks heaps on the praise and the criticism, and unfortunately I don’t feel that he so much empathizes with any of the Founding Fathers. He throws in slanderous accusations with seeming impunity. Perhaps they’re true, but I would have preferred it if he had treated them with a bit more delicacy—yes, mention them, but take the time to fully explain the evidence and give any possible defense that might apply (though I guess that might open him to slanders of being an apologist for whatever they did wrong). It’s a bit unsettling to leave terrible, possibly unjust accusations mostly unaddressed and simply move forward. All those aside, I have to say Ricks is like a professor giving grades: Washington gets an A for bravery and rigid, upright reserve, a D for education, and a high F for slavery (after all, he did free some in his will); Adams’ report card shows an A for not having slaves and an A for education, but a D for feeling eternally sorry for himself and expressing it; etc.

In leaving out any real discussion of their family lives and personal relationships, I suppose it was easier for Ricks to maintain his focus on these four and their interactions with one another—and their educations—but I’d have appreciated a more human, empathetic angle. I really do think this could have been done without so much more effort, without confusing his focus. If he can take the time to put in the scandalous accusations, he should have been able to devote a couple of pages for each of them on their family lives.

I’d expected to learn a bit more about the Classics in this book, but I do think Ricks managed to give us some important takeaways, such as that Cicero and Cato were considered the epitome of leadership, whereas today’s better-known Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great were then regarded more as the egomaniacal tyrants that they were. Makes sense to me. It’s also good to know that Catiline was the name commonly bandied about amongst our Founders as an insult—after many attempts by the murderous Catiline to overthrow the government, Cicero’s troops did kill him. Cicero was an institutionalist and fine orator, whereas Cato was fighting against corruption, if I have that straight.

It was good to gain an understanding of the American shift against Greek and Roman learning, which occurred around the time of the Revolution. Our Founders already had their educations, so their references that way continued, of course, but the newer generations saw far less reason to revere the ancient past. Classical learning was a fundamental bedrock for these forefathers, and yet these same studies were rejected almost as soon as the nation was founded.  Not altogether, I suppose. They still offered Latin as a matter of course into the 20^th century, but Ricks quoted Emerson as disparaging the Classical studies in preference to more modern writers, and I have to admit I was a bit like, “Well, yeah, I’d way rather read Emerson!” (see my significantly modified view on Emerson here).  Ricks also duly pointed out that there’s so much more for us to learn now, especially in the sciences, that we simply don’t have time for everything. I’m wondering, though, if a condensed study on Greco-Roman highlights would behoove our educations, our cultural literacy.  Maybe a single, focused course in high school?  I never appreciated Homer at all, but maybe I would a bit more in context.  And a basic concept of who Cicero, Cato, and Catiline were would give us hooks when we come across the Founding Fathers’ quotes, letters, and speeches.

In the latter part of First Principles, Ricks skims forward to changing attitudes and friction leading up to the Civil War. I do understand this, as the Civil War happened less than a century after the Revolution, but I was rather sorry not to hear more about other Founders and their Classical influences. That said, however, I am increasingly impressed at how close those two wars were, how there were even some people who lived through both.

I did take issue with Ricks’ assertion of how few families were officially members of churches, both at the Founding and in the 19^th century, his point being that religion seemed increasingly more important to the populace than Classical studies. I’m skeptical about the idea that our nation was ever so irreligious, though. In fact, I would have expected that the number of citizens who were members of churches to be nearer 100%, whereas Ricks suggests that it went from 1 in 6 up to 1 in 3 or so. I can hardly believe the numbers were so low, and I wonder if it’s merely an artifact of the people not caring for official records. At my parents’ church, a woman just officially joined in her late 80s, after realizing that she wasn’t technically a member of the church she’d attended her whole life; there had just never been much of a focus on ‘official’ memberships. Ricks seems a little out of touch on this topic, in my opinion.

At the very end of his book, Ricks can’t resist become more subjective, throwing in his personal insights with regards to our current political state (which I often agreed with, but not always). I suppose he’s completely within his rights to do that, but it felt a little extraneous and not pertinent to the theme of the book (though he tried to present his personal political views as takeaways).  I probably couldn’t have resisted, either, though...

Altogether, despite my critiques, I did appreciate this book for a focus I’ve long wished to know more about (those mysterious Greco-Roman influences on our Founders)—and for giving me a better idea of the distinct personalities of these first four presidents.  Thank you, Thomas E Ricks, for contributing to my cultural literacy.

A Knot in the Grain by Robin McKinley Reveals Author to Have an Older-Man Obsession

I’ve taken my time reading through this collection of McKinley’s short fantasy stories. It's called A Knot in the Grain and Other Stories (1994).  I’ve never considered myself a huge Robin McKinley fan, but I did read a couple of her most lauded novels when I was young. I recall feeling about the same about them as I did these short stories—that they were interesting but not gripping.  I’m sure I read at least one of them twice, but I can’t recall a thing about either except the book covers. I certainly don’t recall the female protagonists falling in love with decades-older men!  They may have, of course, and I just accepted it as a one-off surprise, but in this bunch of short stories, the theme was striking in its repetition. I believe all but the last involved a girl falling for a much, much older man. In the last story, the girl has a boyfriend her age but is not at all in love with him.  Anyhow, this repeat older-man theme was just too much, in my opinion. 

The tales are meandering but well-written, of course.  She is, after all, a Newberry-Medal-winning author!  Any of the stories alone would have been fine and pleasant. While I might have been startled by the age difference, it would likely have been part of the charm that she’d written something a bit more unique and unexpected.  By the end of the collection, however, I was a bit horrified to think what influence an entire book of YA short stories with that repeat older-man-romance theme might have on impressionable girls who up until then would have never even considered looking at an older man that way.  Aside from that, however, I liked hearing the stories—wistful, vague, dreamlike, often featuring gardens and flowers. 

Just before writing this review, I looked up the author on Wikipedia and found that indeed, she had married a decades-older man. Not only that, but he gardened, and she took that up as well.  So I must shrug, concluding that this Scorpio woman was simply deeply in love with her now-deceased husband, so deeply in love that it was the only place her imagination took her. Quite an odd place for the vast majority of us—especially, I imagine, for any teenage girls who might be reading her stories. Or maybe it’s even worse for the mothers of teenage girls (like me) to read, honestly! I remained a bit uncomfortable throughout, but the stories were still sweet in a way.  Strange but sweet. 

Charleston’s Daughter by Sabra Waldfogel is a Tale of Two Cousins

Charleston’s Daughter by Sabra Waldfogel is a tale of two cousins in the Lowcountry of South Carolina in the years shortly before the Civil War. Caro is the quadroon daughter of a slave kept as a wife by a loving plantation owner; Caro grows up being served by the other slaves, wearing fine clothes and being educated—but all is not well, as she lacks the society she craves.

Spoiler Alert! 

When Caro’s father dies suddenly of yellow fever, Caro’s situation changes dramatically. The Jarvies are embarrassed and insulted even by the existence of Caro and her mother—all except for Emily Jarvie, who is horrified at her cousin’s ill-treatment and wants to help her. 

Waldfogel provides best-case scenarios again and again—which she shows to still be intrinsically terrible.  So though a slaveowner might truly fall in love with a slave, and vice versa, laws made it very difficult if not impossible for slaveowners to free their slaves, eventually ruining the future for themselves and/or their offspring. The institution of slavery could not be entirely overcome by individual households. Caro’s father really did love his ‘wife’ and daughter and tried to make provisions for them in his will, which his brother then chose to ignore/misinterpret, putting her and her mother on an almost-abandoned property where they are destitute but live with a freedom I can’t imagine many slaves possessed.  It was still terrible.  And then, when Caro is finally going to be forced to be a house servant—a fate infinitely better than being a field hand—you are with her in wanting her to escape that horrible fate of bowing and scraping to people who have no respect for her, who bully her into ‘behaving’.  I really do appreciate Waldfogel giving this almost fairytale situation for Caro (in comparison to the very real and much worse situations for many slaves), and yet still showing how awful it was, nevertheless. What’s lovely about this is that it cuts out the conceivably-valid arguments against worst-case scenarios of ‘it wasn’t that bad for most of them’ or ‘but they were considered family’ or some such.

Now for my issues with the novel!  My biggest gripe may not be the author’s fault at all.  The narrator read so many lines of several of the female characters in the most whiny, ugly, accusatory tones imaginable.  Tones are important. It was difficult to overcome my immediate dislike of some of the characters, including Caro, due to those grating tones.

Perhaps it was a lack of nuance on the narrator’s part. She must have read the book and decided that Caro’s ‘sass’ and resentments must have been expressed in every syllable that came out of her mouth, in the worst way.  She was right, though, that Caro did have a ton of resentment, some of it misplaced, I believe.  That might be an arguing point, but it irked me how rude Caro was on and on to Emily, her cousin, who was trying to be as nice and helpful as she could be; I suppose some of that may have been worsened by the tone the narrator used for Caro’s voice (if some of it were said more reluctantly or matter-of-factly, I may not have reacted so much).  Emily just took it, which was very high-minded of her, but made me even more annoyed for her.  Not just that, but Caro was jeopardizing her own slim chances of having a better life by repeatedly trying to alienate Emily with her rude behavior (which it absolutely was in the audiobook, at least). I’m not sure how many Emilys would have kept taking that sort of continual rebuff. Not sure why she even kept trying—except that she was right that Caro and her mother were being treated dismally.

Another issue I had with the story is that Caro often showed poor judgment in other ways as well.  But then, she was young, and maybe it was entirely realistic.  Often she made good choices.  I suppose I’m a little more used to my protagonists being savvier.  What bothered me, particularly, is that her poor choices never seemed to sink her—though really, I suppose that is closer to reality than one might think. How often do we get every element right, all the time?

My last gripe is that Waldfogel presents Caro, who has ‘ivory’ skin, as being treated just like all the other slaves when her fancy clothes are taken away—by the public, that is.  Seems to me that Waldfogel was a little out of touch with the differences this would have created for her in society, being a beautiful young quadroon as she was.

I suspect I would have enjoyed the print version of this novel much more than the audiobook, as those obnoxious tones grated and colored my perceptions of the characters (and the author) unfairly, perhaps.  Even if the author did mean for there to be subtle inflections that way, it doesn’t mean she meant for them to be ruint with exaggerated whininess in the tone of voice, which makes us far less sympathetic to the characters.  A character can say something with a tone of mild-but-pleasant exasperation and not... well, you get my drift.  Skip the audiobook unless it’s the only way you consume novels, but if you do listen to it, try to take those strident tones in stride.

The Gospel of Loki by Joanne Harris Makes Sense of the Norse Myths in an Epic Retelling

I’ve gone through the Norse myths a few times now, including Neil Gaiman’s far-more-famous Norse Myths, and I have to say this has been my favorite retelling. Vastly preferred. Gaiman’s a wonderful writer, but he delights so in shock value that he seems to leave out these elements that make monsters more human (including Thor, who is a psychopathic brute in his stories).  Harris, on the other hand, adds elements here and there that make Loki’s actions suddenly make far more sense.  Loki doesn’t dwell--far less than I would—but seems to merely shrug these triggers off, for the most part, in the moment.  But when he retaliates, you understand better why he does, maybe even better than Loki does himself—after all, Loki identifies as the quintessential ‘bad boy’, really. For example, I’d never put together that Loki’s son Fenris Wolf was tricked by the other gods and bound eternally shortly before Loki had Balder, Odin’s golden son, killed.  I am not sure if that’s always the sequence it’s written in, but this was the first time I’d even made that causal association.  It seems obvious now, and somehow Harris managed to convey that association even though Loki seemed to shrug off Fenris’s fate and declare once again how unpaternal he is.

Truly, I was delighted by The Gospel of Loki audiobook, which was not at all what I expected.  A few years ago I had enjoyed Runemarks, and this was ‘in that series’, so I delayed listening to it because I wanted to first refresh myself on Runemarks.  I finally, however, just put on this audiobook, which turned out to be only a distantly-related novel; Odin was a character in Runemarks, but that is an entirely fictional story based around an odd girl living in a village.  The Gospel of Loki, however, is an epic retelling of the Norse myths from Loki’s perspective, and the girl is not part of the story at all.

I believe Joanne Harris may have added some major origin elements of her own creation—such as that Odin pulled Loki’s human-form manifestation from his wildfire aspect in chaos, which had previously served the Lord of Chaos—but such additions served to make imminent sense of Loki’s story and remained consistent with known elements of the stories, which have only come down to us in part.  I tend to think she may have tapped into some of the original myths, it makes so much sense!  Also, Joanne Harris somehow, magically, manages to maintain Loki’s witty, persuasive voice throughout this entire novel, which must have been quite a feat.  Only once did I feel that she slipped just slightly in keeping up Loki’s voice, and that could be... godly error/variation? 

Loki is such a charming, brilliant character that you find yourself sympathetic even when you know he’s guilty as sin—or chaos, as that may be.  He suffered so much at being punished, and you hate to see it, and it sort of reinforces the fruitlessness of punishment, per se, beyond the mere practicality of preventing further crimes.  Especially in Loki’s case, as Joanne Harris subtly delivers the message that Loki’s mistreatment/punishments are what bring them all to Ragnarok.  He is brilliant, after all, and the punishments make him desperate. 

On a personal authorial note, my two as-yet-unpublished YA Fantasy manuscripts-in-progress are linked to aspects of Norse mythology, but I’ve as yet never so much as mentioned the Trickster (Loki) at all. After this magnificent retelling, I wouldn’t be surprised if he inserts himself into any future manuscripts in my own series, thanks to Joanne Harris’s amazing storytelling!  I already liked her writing, but she has just gone up several notches in my list of favorite authors.  By the way, the narrator, Allan Corduner, was absolutely fantastic as well, and I highly recommend the audiobook version.