Book Report: Better late than never

I’ve let a number of reads slip through my fingers without recording my impressions here. The one who suffers from that? Me. I often revisit book posts here to refresh my memory of details, and there’s something about writing reviews that completes the reading process.

Here are a few I’ve missed:

And the Mountains Echoed, by Khaled Hosseini: This novel begins with an Afghan father telling a story to his children. It’s a wild, beautiful tale of a giant “div” kidnapping a child, a father following to save him, an glimpse of an outcome far more happy than the father could have imagined.

The next day, the real father telling the story must give up his child, and the rest of the book details the lives of all the people involved: a brother, a stepmother, an uncle, and others in some way connected to each other. Each takes a turn narrating, telling us their stories. Over the course of the tale, decades pass, and we get glimpses of the different eras of this fractured and exploited country as we move from perspective to perspective, all the time wondering, “Will the child and the family find each other?”

I loved the book. I made it last as long as I could, thinking about it while I was doing other things, hoping for the right information to get to the right characters, and the right characters to meet in the right times and places. As I’ve come to expect from Hosseini, the story is populated by flawed, usually honest people, and though it takes place in three different countries, all these characters are in some sense refugees. It’s a compassionate story and a deeply moving one.

Through the Fray: A Tale of the Luddite Riots, by G.A. Henty: Somewhat sheepishly, I admit this is the first G.A. Henty novel I have actually read. Oh, there have been others: Beric the Briton, For the Temple, and The Cat of Bubastes come to mind. But that’s because I listened to Jim Weiss reading them.

I really enjoyed Through the Fray, which zooms in on the industrialization of the textile industry as it’s experienced in a particular community in Yorkshire. The main character, Ned Sankey, is a hot-headed but noble teenager who develops sympathy for the Luddites through friendship with them despite differences in class. He endures injustice and heartache but also has some stalwart support from a schoolteacher who supports him and helps him to grow into a respected leader who finds a way to manage a mill humanely, and with respect.

Yorkshire is a real literary hot spot, isn’t it? As I read, I thought about how many literary experiences I’ve had that are flavored by this area: the Brontes lived in Yorkshire, and the atmosphere of Wuthering Heights is infused with it; James Herriot was a Yorkshire veterinarian; Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell originates in Yorkshire; and of course, there’s Downton Abbey. (I know, this is a television series. But still.)

The Clockmaker’s Daughter, by Kate Morton: I’m just reading this one now, and I’m only, my Kindle informs me, about 24% into it. It has some of the same feel and features as other Kate Morton books I’ve read: a mysterious connection with the past, landscapes and old photos that radiate meaning we expect to understand more fully if we keep reading, a character shaped by loss and on a hunt to find answers. It’s a page turner, one that suggests I like novels with a Gothic flavor, but it also fits in with my pleasure in novels rich with a sense of place and history.

One thing: All three of these stories include loss as a central theme. It’s not something I went looking for, but it’s curious that I would find myself brought back to this so consistently. I lost my mother last spring, and though it was a release for her from long decline it’s certainly a shifting of the landscape underfoot in my personal world. And all of us have been impacted by loss if we’ve survived the pandemic ordeal. The world as it was before has changed in ways big and small. Seeing how people in stories come to resolution is a good reminder that we’re not alone.