White Teeth - Zadie Smith (2000)

On August 17, 2016, a little over a month ago, I posted my "15 authors" list on Facebook.  The first comment was, "This is a lot of dudes."  And yeah, right after I posted, I noticed to my horror that all 15 authors were male, and perhaps even worse, all were white.  Apparently my worldview is extremely limited and I can only appreciate authors that reflect my privilege.  But let's put all that to the side, because the real point of sharing such a list was to find out other writers I should be reading.  My friend Melissa suggested about a dozen other authors, most of them female, most or all of them non-white.  From that, I asked her which books she would recommend the most highly.  This was not an easy decision, but she settled on White Teeth and Americanah.  Well Americanah will be picked up from the library shortly, and White Teeth was a good read.  Will it be named to the "best books" list?  No, but I would still highly recommend it.

Here is the plot: as the novel opens, Archie Jones, 47, white English male, is attempting suicide by asphyxiation in his car.  He is depressed over the departure of his wife.  On a side note this was a very good way to open up a novel.  A list of "compelling opening scenes" should be compiled at some point.  In short it was immediately engaging.  Anyways, his attempt is thwarted, and he goes to a kind of hippie commune that same day and meets Clara, the 19-year-old daughter of a Caribbean immigrant.  This takes place in roughly 1975.

The novel then jumps to the perspective of Samad Iqbal, Archie's friend of 30 years.  They first meet while serving together in World War II.  Samad is originally from Bangladesh, and also marries a much younger woman around 1975, Alsana.  Both women become pregnant around the same time: Clara with a girl, and Alsana with twin boys.  These children--Irie, Millat and Magid--eventually drive the narrative to its climax.

And that's kind of my problem with the novel.  It's not that the material with Irie, Millat and Magid is inferior to the rest of the novel; it just feels like it was written to have a "real plot."  The "real plot" of the novel does not get introduced until page 343 (out of 448).  I'm not saying the last 100 pages are bad, I'm just saying they are not as good.  Regardless, many may actually find the ending to be the best part, because it does pose some interesting questions, and there is a delightful twist of sorts at the very end.  But I say this for my own personal feelings on the novel.  It is at its best when it is examining and developing the interior lives of its characters.

I read in City Lit bookstore in my neighborhood that Smith received an advance of 350,000 pounds for the novel at age 24.  To me, it feels like she got the advance, and still had to write the last 100 pages.  I am probably completely wrong with this, but that's what it felt like.  Certainly, she makes a good case that she deserved an advance of that size, but for me personally, it felt like the end of the novel feels padded.  Particularly when, for example, in the final denouement, characters make commentary on the way other characters talk:

"...Archie says Science the same way he says Modern, as if someone has lent him the words and made him swear not to break them.  'Science,' Archie repeats, handling it more firmly, 'is a different kettle of fish.'
Mickey nods at this, seriously considering the proposition, trying to decide how much weight he should allow this counterargument Science, with all its connotations of expertise and higher planes, of places in thought that neither Mickey nor Archie has ever visited (answer: none), how much respect he should give it in light of these connotations (answer: fuck all. University of Life, innit?), and how many seconds he should leave before tearing it apart (answer: three).
'On the contrary, Archibald, on the bloody contrary.  Speeshuss argument, that is.  Common fucking mistake, that is.  Science ain't no different from nuffink else, is it?  I mean, when you get down to it.  At the end of the day, it's got to please the people, you know what I mean?'
Archie nods.  He knows what Mickey means.  (Some people--Samad for example--will tell you not to trust people who overuse the phrase at the end of the day--football managers, estate agents, salesmen of all kinds--but Archie's never felt that way about it.  Prudent use of said phrase never failed to convince him that his interlocutor was getting to the bottom of things, to the fundamentals.) " (432-433)

Within that example of what I consider "padded writing," there are some alluring turns of phrase, so even though I may accuse Smith of tacking on a few words, there is no doubt that she is an extremely talented writer.

***

Sometimes when I'm struggling to figure out what to say about a book, I go on the Wikipedia page.  There I found that White Teeth was apparently named one of the 100 best books from 1923 - 2005 by Time Magazine.  It seemed like an alluring list, so I tried to check it out, but it's in one of those annoying slideshow formats where you have to click every time you want to see the next novel.  I thought I'd make a list of the things I hadn't read, but there were already many in the A-B section (The Adventures of Augie March, Appointment at Samarra, An American Tragedy, Animal Farm, Are You There God?  It's Me, Margaret, The Assistant....) and then upon revisiting it, realized you may view it by simply clicking "view all."

I'm not sure how I feel about this, but I guess people feel this book is pretty special.  I mean, I'm certainly open to the idea of reading more of Zadie Smith (I think she has a new book coming out very soon--Swing Time, due out November 16, 2016, upon investigation).  But I feel like none of her books after this have really made as big a splash.  I mean, she is like, eight years older than me, and she published this sixteen years ago!  It's kind of an old school preternatural literary debut.  Who knows, her best work may still be ahead.  (Of special note, this list does also include Watchmen in the W section so we agree at least on one book, and a few others it seems--I didn't formally name American Pastoral to the list, but I feel it belongs there.  So maybe that's a project for another day, updating that list--it's on my Profile to the right if you don't know what I'm talking about.  I haven't added anything to that list since January--but let me put it this way: I really liked this book, but I also really liked The Goldfinch and I think that book moved me more deeply.  And on that so-called "second tier" I would still place higher Then We Came to the End.)

***

In a way I read this book to try to understand my own privilege as I have lately been accused of being blind to it.  Once I was attacked upon an argument involving the issue, and directed to read an article online that someone had written, a white girl who had every conceivable woe foisted upon her, including a particular poverty-stricken childhood, and who had doubted her own privilege until she made a certain realization.  One of them was seeing a person of your own race on the front of the newspaper.  The most poignant passage on the topic comes on the heels of a brief conversation about Salman Rushdie, though he is not mentioned by name (it has to be Rushdie, right?):

"'You read it? asked Ranil, as they whizzed past Finsbury Park.
There was a general pause.
Millat said, 'I haven't exackly read it exackly--but I know all about that shit, yeah?'
To be more precise Millat hadn't read it.  Millat knew nothing about the writer, nothing about the book; could not pick out the writer in a lineup of other writers (irresistible, this lineup of offending writers: Socrates, Protagoras, Ovid and Juvenal, Radclyffe Hall, Boris Pasternak, D. H. Lawrence, Solzhenitsyn, Nabokov, all holding up their numbers for the mug shot, squinting in the flashbulb).  But he knew other things.  He knew that he, Millat, was a Paki no matter where he came from; that he smelled of curry; had no sexual identity; took other people's jobs; or had no job and bummed off the state; or gave all the jobs to his relatives; that he could be a dentist or a shop-owner or a curry-shifter, but not a footballer or a filmmaker; that he should go back to his own country; or stay here and earn his bloody keep; that he worshiped elephants and wore turbans; that no one who looked like Millat, or spoke like Millat, or felt like Millat, was ever on the news unless they had recently been murdered.  In short, he knew he had no face in this country, no voice in this country, until the week before last when suddenly people like Millat were on every channel and every radio and every newspaper and they were angry, and Millat recognized the anger, thought it recognized him, and grabbed it with both hands." (194)

I am still not adequately convinced.  At least by the character of Millat.  There are a couple elements to the book that I find uneven, and one of them is Millat and his embrace of KEVIN.  I mean, I've just got to say, Millat to me, as a character, does not scream "underprivileged."  Much is made of his attractiveness, and how he sleeps with tons of girls starting when he is like 13.  He is one of the most popular kids in his class.  Ultimately his character flaws show by how sarcastic and casually disrespectful he is towards seemingly everyone, but that does not mean one would not want to have his life (or think he had any less options than them).  He seems to have it pretty good--so why would he join KEVIN?  I think if this book were written today, he would not be nearly as popular at school.

***

This review has taken a long time to write because a lot of things happened during the month of September.  I feel that I've said enough, but a quick summary, as I read through the plot summary on Wikipedia:

(1) Yes, the book starts on a high note--and opening up a book with a major character's attempted suicide seems like it was pulled out of The Crafty Author's Bag o' Tricks (not a real book).

(2) The scene set in World War II is particularly memorable, and the "twist" at the end (despite my general misgivings about the "plot") is almost masterful, one of the highlights of the novel.

(3) All of the stuff about Mangal Pande is boring, to me at least.  I think it's funny how the other characters are also bored by it, and the novel seems to keep putting off telling his story, even seeming to refer to it in one of the "years" that the chapters of the novel are organized by, only to skirt over the story briefly, which turns it into an intriguing delusive move.

(4) The Chalfens are an interesting curveball to throw into the novel, to set the plot in action, and actually the last "set" of chapters before the "plot" commences at page 343 is probably my favorite part of the book.

(5) Irie is the one character that rings most true in the novel.

(6) I do not believe that Samad would get away with sending Magid to Bangladesh.  That is another major element of the novel that I just do not find realistic, I'm sorry.  Not that he would go, but that he would go in the manner he does.

Now I've also found that a television adaption of the novel was made for Channel 4 in 2002.  Perhaps I'll seek that out.  Even though I am kind of drawn to the idea of reading and watching The Girl on the Train, in the same way that I did with Gone Girl, that movie isn't getting very good reviews and I feel like this would be a more interesting adaptation to see.

Gone Girl - Dir. David Fincher (2014)

So I saw this movie over a month ago and I don't remember many specific details.  Of course there is one detail that most people will not forget, but I don't want to dwell on it or make any stupid jokes.  More recently, the film has garnered several Golden Globe nominations: Best Director, Best Actress in a Drama, Best Screenplay, and Best Score.  Because of how long it has been since I saw the movie, and because I think I treated the book review as something of a quasi-film adaptation review, I will address the question of whether it will win.  Please keep in mind that I am far from a comprehensive critic that is employed full-time digesting all of the noteworthy titles of the year.  I know myself, but that is all.

But before that, one special note on Tyler Perry.  Perry played Tanner Bolt.  Notably, Tanner Bolt's wife did not make an appearance in the film, no doubt due to budget/time constraints, but since she was one of the very few African-American characters in the book, it makes sense that Tanner Bolt be depicted by a black man.  And Perry won an African-American Film Critic's Association award for Best Supporting Actor, tying with J.K. Simmons for Whiplash (the obvious favorite for the Oscar).  I haven't seen Whiplash, but Perry deserved this nomination if only because he brought levity to the film.  Sure, there are funny moments in Gone Girl, but one would certainly expect Neil Patrick Harris to bring the comic element home.  He does not do that, and I actually thought his depiction made for a weaker character than in the book, because Desi is an even more pronounced caricature.  But Perry brought the perfect blend of light humor, empathy and confidence to his role, and though I have never seen any of his movies, he may be at his best when not cross-dressing as a grandma.  He was the most pleasant surprise about the adaptation for me.

So then: David Fincher.  He is still most known for The Social Network, Se7en, and Fight Club.  He won the Golden Globe for The Social Network but was only nominated for the The Curious Case of Benjamin Button aside from that.  He still has not won an Oscar for directing, and I think most people will agree, in hindsight, that he was snubbed on both Se7en and Fight Club.  Fight Club may not have deserved to win Best Picture, and he may not have deserved to win Best Director--but he certainly deserved a nomination because that film demanded serious attention to detail, and he brought it.  Maybe it is interesting to compare that film to Gone Girl.  And basically, yeah, Gone Girl is nowhere near as unique and special a work as Fight Club.  Gone Girl is a ready-made blockbuster.  Nobody knew what the fuck Fight Club was when it came out, and I think it's safe to say the movie made the book way more popular afterwards.  It's become a cult phenomenon, and I was shocked to see it only made about $37 million at the box office.  DVD sales and syndication no doubt have made this film the majority of its earnings.  Is Gone Girl better than The Social Network?  Probably not, and I even found that film a bit annoying (i.e. it had an Aaron Sorkin screenplay).  So I do not think Fincher should win for this, nor do I think he has a prayer against the directors of either Birdman or Boyhood (I haven't seen Boyhood yet - insanely - but Richard Linklater also has gone too long without a win), or Wes Anderson for that matter.  Verdict: Lose

As for Rosamund Pike, it is good that she received the nomination as she plays the character well. And she actually has a shot at winning in her category, and getting nominated for the Oscar. Apparently she was in another movie reviewed on this site, but her performance was not cited directly.  Verdict: Win

I think it is safe to say that Gillian Flynn has already "won," but she has very stiff competition for her category and I think it will be a big shocker if neither Birdman, nor Boyhood, nor The Grand Budapest Hotel beats out Gone Girl in this category.  The script is about as good as the book--though I just read that Michelle Obama thought the book was way better and she is probably a better authority than me when it comes to such matters.  Side note: it would be hilarious if there were a sequel to Gone Girl and it was about Michelle Obama, post-White House.  Verdict: Lose

Finally, Trent Reznor always wins when he scores David Fincher films.  The score for this was especially good--better than The Social Network.  However, the score for Interstellar sounds sci-fi, epic and classic (I heard it when my roommate listened to it once) so that could win, and Birdman's nonstop jazz drums complements the film remarkably well.  I would still put my money on Trent, though.  Verdict: Win

Overall, a satisfying film that effectively replaces the book.  I am pretty sure I am the only cynic that will go so far as to suggest that the book is rendered moot by the movie.  People will still read it on their Kindle.  (But no one will strike up a conversation if they see you reading a Kindle, unless they are super nosy and literally read over your shoulder until they can identify the text.)

Gone Girl - Gillian Flynn (2012)

My roommate picked up Gone Girl at the local thrift shop for me.  The night before, I had bought The Corrections from there for $3.  It was a nice gesture, and I was mildly interested in reading Gone Girl before, if only because it would be educational to learn what it takes to build a blockbuster novel and film combo.  Whatever Gillian Flynn did, she did it right, and she deserves her success.  Because she wrote a book that wasn't aimed at children, nor a trilogy, and managed to create a nasty 1-2 punch of an enormously popular novel and a critically-acclaimed screen adaptation.  (Stayed tuned for a review of the film.)  I enjoyed this book very much, for the most part.  Ultimately, I felt that Flynn was constrained by the confines of the plot, and while she makes a very powerful statement, eventually gets bogged down in melodrama more suited to soap operas than literary fiction.  This is the problem with being a "genre writer," even though I feel like Flynn's next novel (presuming it does not take 20 years) will place her in a different category from most mystery or thriller writers.  She is "literary thriller."  It's when Gone Girl turns into more of a genre exercise than a sociopolitical statement that I started to get bored.

The opening of the novel reminded me of the recently-reviewed The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P., at least in the way the early 30's single Brooklyn writers scene is depicted.  There are only a couple scenes of this at the beginning of Gone Girl, but I remember being struck by them in a way, because I didn't know what to expect.

My sister told me, over dinner at Ron of Japan, that she and her husband Stefan had gone to see it.  Stefan remarked, "I wanted to throw my soda at the screen."   My sister was similarly exasperated.  I said I was surprised--I thought it was good to so far.  She asked, "Did you get to Book Two yet?"  I said no.  She said, "Yeah, wait til you get there."

So I went in skeptical, and when I got to Book Two, I wasn't that disappointed.  I can honestly say though that no one spoiled the book or movie for me, and I don't intend to do so here.  I can genuinely say that I didn't know what was going to happen next at more than three crucial parts of the story.  Maybe I am just an idiot who was reading it very casually, or didn't care that much because it was already gradually turning into something that felt like a genre exercise, but it didn't feel predictable.

Gillian Flynn is one of the most famous writers now living in Chicago, so I kind of have to give a positive review.  This book takes place almost entirely in the town of North Carthage, with the remainder in New York City--primarily Brooklyn Heights.  Flynn recently appeared on a WTTW show called "My Chicago," where she rode around in a car and told one of the hosts about all of the noteworthy locations she had frequented in Chicago.  They picked up her husband, an attorney, and they ended the show at Logan Hardware, an arcade bar, (or maybe Emporium--whichever one has the combination record store).  I do hope to run into her randomly in the Loop one day and be like, can we hang?

Gone Girl has been characterized as misogynistic in the press--but it is in these unfiltered moments of truth (or stereotype) that the novel flourishes.  It is appropriate to include an example from an earlier section to illustrate:

 "Nick and I, we sometimes laugh, laugh out loud, at the horrible things women make their husbands do to prove their love.  The pointless tasks, the myriad sacrifices, the endless small surrenders.  We call these men the dancing monkeys.
Nick will come home, sweaty and salty and beer-loose from a day at the ballpark, and I'll curl up in his lap, ask him about the game, ask him if his friend Jack had a good time, and he'll say, 'Oh, he came down with a case of the dancing monkeys--poor Jennifer was having a "real stressful week" and really needed him at home.'
Or his buddy at work, who can't go out for drinks because his girlfriend really needs him to stop by some bistro where she is having dinner with a friend from out of town.  So they can finally meet.  And so she can show how obedient her dancing monkey is: He comes when I call, and look how well groomed!
Wear this, don't wear that.  Do this chore now and do this chore when you get a chance and by that I mean now.  And definitely, definitely, give up the things you love for me, so I will have proof that you love me best.  It's the female pissing contest--as we swan around our book clubs and our cocktail hours, there are few things women love more than being able to detail the sacrifices our men make for us.  A call-and-response, the response being: 'Ohhh, that's so sweet.'" (55)

Built into this is the implicit feeling that, if the husband refuses, it will count as a major breach in the relationship and will always come back to haunt them.  Flynn writes about mundane matters like this with the flair of a fine fiction writer, and I have to say that almost all of the novel that doesn't deal with the whole page-turning-thriller plot is very good, and the novel is only not "great" because the thriller plot dominates the mundane fiction part of the book.

I'm not sure if I should spoil what happens--I think  it's generally an unfair thing to do because the first reason people read reviews of books or movies is to find out if it's worth their time or not.  I could discuss a bit more if I spoiled it, but that's no fair.  Perhaps the comments section will be used for "spoilers"--if anyone cares enough to point anything out.

There are 3 parts to this book.  The first is definitely the best and the reason to read the book.  Maybe stop there and then watch the movie.  Because the movie does the ending better.  The movie was playing at the Logan Theater one week ago, and since it's been out for a while, I feel its departure is imminent.  But I just checked and there it still is, a week later.  Anyways, I was at about page 400, and I kept saying I was going to finish the book before the movie, but then all of the sudden it was 2:40 and I needed to walk over.  I ended up needing to skim the last 15 pages.  I think it is probably the worst part of the book.  The corresponding part of the movie is not as bad.

In short, ironically, I felt that the last 15 pages were scribbled down hurriedly and aren't as elegantly-plotted as the rest of the book.  In truth, I could say that about the whole last 100 pages.  But the 15 are noteworthy due to my problem of not finishing before seeing the movie.  The story is resolved in an unsatisfactory way, and almost feels like it wants to open itself up to a sequel,  But that would be terrible.  After seeing the movie or reading the book, I don't think you will want to see the characters again in any new story.

I do want to comment on some nice parts the book has that the movie does not.  One is the time that Nick goes to a bar to get away from his situation with all of the press parked at his house and ends up doing a video interview with a young female journalist that is posted to her blog:

"Good morning!  I sat in bed with my laptop by my side, enjoying the online reviews of my impromptu interview.  My left eyeball was throbbing a bit, a light hangover from the cheap Scotch, but the rest of me was feeling pretty satisfied.  Last night I cast the first line to lure my wife back in.  I'm sorry, I will make it up to you, I will do whatever you want from now on, I will let the world know how special you are.
Because I was fucked unless Amy decided to show herself.  Tanner's detective (a wiry, clean-cut guy, not the boozy noir gumshoe I'd hope for) had come up with nothing so far--my wife had disappeared herself perfectly.  I had to convince Amy to come back to me, flush her out with compliments and capitulation.
If the reviews were any indication, I made the right call, because the reviews were good.  They were very good:
The Iceman Melteth!
I KNEW he was a good guy.
In vino veritas!
Maybe he didn't kill her after all.
Maybe he didn't kill her after all.
Maybe he didn't kill her after all.
And they'd stopped calling me Lance." (309)

Some characters are also excised from the book, the most memorable of which is Hilary Handy.  Tanner Bolt's wife is also cut, along with Stucks Buckley, and maybe one or two more.  And it occurs to me that Amy mentions Stucks Buckley in a diary entry and remarks that he has a stupid name.  So, perhaps, Flynn is being self-aware that, a lot of her character have dumb names and sound like the obvious plot devices they are.  Hilary Handy is certainly a handy person to have on your side.  Tanner Bolt just sounds like a superhero that comes in to save the day (though he is depicted as far from that).  Noelle Hawthorne and Nick Dunne and Amy Elliott all sound like realistic names, though.  Rhonda Boney just sounds goofy.

But Hilary Handy.  Maybe she was cut because her story struck me as a little more unrealistic than the rest of the book (and maybe people will think I am crazy for thinking this book is realistic--but I do think a good bit of the plot is very plausible and would be shocked if it didn't spawn a couple copycat crimes).  This part in particular:

"'Instead, she starts getting me to do things.  I don't realize it at the time, but she starts setting me up.  She asks if she can color my hair the same blond as hers, because mine's mousy, and it'll look so nice a brighter shade.  And she starts complaining about her parents.  I mean she's always complained about her parents, but now she really gets going on them--how they only love her as an idea and not really for who she is--so she says she wants to mess with her parents.  She has me start prank-calling her house, telling her parents I'm the new Amazing Amy.  We'd take the train into New York some weekends, and she'd tell me to stand outside their house--one time she had me run up to her mom and tell her I was going to get rid of Amy and be her new Amy or some crap like that.'
And you did it?'
'It was just dumb stuff girls do.  Back before cell phones and cyber-bullying.  A way to kill time.  We did prank stuff like that all the time, just dumb stuff.  Try to one-up each other on how daring and freaky we could be.'" (291)

It's a bit implausible.  It just wouldn't be cool to do that kind of stuff.

I've said about all I can about Gone Girl at this point.  It's a very clever book, and I recommend it.  Unfortunately, the movie is pretty good, so it sort of takes away an impetus to read the book.  And by the time I watched the movie, I was sick of the story.  It's best to experience one or the other--then maybe take a break for a long time, and experience the other one.  I would not recommend doing it back-to-back, or concurrently.

There's more I could say, but I will save that for the film review I will post in a few days...