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Book Review: The Swan Thieves by Elizabeth Kostova
2010 at 11am Posted by Rebecca Schinsky
Published January 12, 2010 by Little, Brown
I had high hopes for The Swan Thieves. I enjoyed The Historian, Kostova’s debut novel, quite a bit, but it was sluggish toward the middle, and the ending felt rushed, and I wound up wondering why, exactly, the book needed to be as long as it was. But it was a solid debut, and I attributed many of the perceived weaknesses to typical first novel growing pains….and I hoped Kostova would learn from them (and that her editor would be a bit more heavy-handed with the red pencil) the second time around.
I’m sorry to say that’s not quite the case, but The Swan Thieves is an improvement.
In The Swan Thieves, psychiatrist Andrew Marlow takes on an intriguing patient, a painter who has been arrested for attempting to stab a painting at the National Gallery in Washington, D.C. The patient, Robert Oliver, does not speak to Marlow except to give him permission to talk to whomever he needs to talk to in order to find out what pushed Oliver over the edge. Oliver’s refusal to speak is only one of his eccentricities, as Marlow soon notices him painting the same woman over and over, obsessively reading a bundle of old letters, and retreating further and further into himself.
A painter and great appreciator of art himself, Marlow is determined to solve two mysteries: who is this woman Oliver can’t stop painting, and what drove him to attack a treasured work of art? How are the two related?
In his search for the answers, Marlow interviews Oliver’s ex-wife Kate who provides the novel’s second narrative voice. Then Oliver allows Marlow to read the bundle of letters, which turn out to be an exchange between a nineteenth-century artist named Beatrice de Clerval (an invention of Kostova’s) and her husband’s uncle Olivier Vignot. As in The Historian, these letters play a large role in creating atmosphere for the story and providing clues to the modern-day mystery, and they become the third narrative line. When Marlow tracks down Mary, one of Oliver’s former lovers, he finally begins to unlock some of the man’s secrets, and because Mary writes Marlow a series of letters explaining her history with Oliver, she becomes the fourth narrator of this fascinating story
These deftly woven lines of narration were, for me, the highlight of The Swan Thieves. Kostova uses the format beautifully, allowing her characters to learn things they could only learn from each other, and this makes the mystery feel richer and more compelling. Because Oliver will not speak, Marlow (and we, the readers) are forced to take his ex-wife and former lover at their word and to allow them to fill in the missing details we need to understand the complex and confusing man. But, of course, Oliver’s ex-wife and former lover could have their own motives, so while they’re not exactly unreliable narrators, one does have to wonder how much they can be trusted.
The other highlight of The Swan Thieves is Kostova’s well-researched, richly evocative discussion of art and the artistic process. Through Beatrice de Clerval’s epistolary exchange with Olivier Vignot and Kate and Mary’s recounting of the obsession they witnessed in Robert Oliver, Kostova creates a full and enchanting portrait of a man consumed and driven mad by his passion. The book is chock full of interesting (if not entirely necessary) bits of art history and gorgeous European scenery and atmosphere, which enable readers to imagine themselves right into the characters’ experiences.
Really, the majority of The Swan Thieves is quite lovely, and I was rather taken with it in the beginning. In fact, for the first couple hundred pages, I was well on my way to making this a five star read. But then I started having reader’s deja vu. The book becomes sluggish toward the middle, and, again, the ending feels rushed. Kostova spends about 540 pages unfolding the mysteries at the heart of this story and then wraps it all up in the last twenty pages, and it just felt all too neat and tidy (and more than a little predictable) for me.
I want to love Elizabeth Kostova for her beautiful prose and carefully researched, fully realized settings and her skillful use of multiple narrators and narrative formats, but all of the warm and fuzzy feelings I have for her in the beginning are diluted by my frustration with the unnecessary length of her books and their rather unsatisfying endings. Because really, I’m not afraid of big books, but if you want me to read 561 pages, you better make it worth it, and The Swan Thieves falls just short. This was a reading experience made enjoyable by wonderful writing and a psychological mystery but weakened by poor pacing.
I will probably continue to read Kostova, but I will also continue to hope for a tighter story and better editing. 3.5 out of 5.
Hey, FTC: I received an ARC of this book from the publisher.
Let's try this whole "having a conversation about a difficult topic" thing again.
2010 at 7am Posted by Rebecca Schinsky
Most days, I am proud to be a member of the book blogging community.
This Monday was not one of those days.
I spent most of the weekend with my head in a book and off the internet, so I missed most of the now-controversial discussion about publishers whitewashing book covers. If you were as unplugged as I was, the in-a-nutshell recap goes like this: several major publishers have misrepresented the race of main characters on the covers of their books, particularly books directed at the young adult (YA) audience, by putting white and light-skinned girls on the covers of books whose main characters are people of color. This is hardly a new phenomenon in publishing, but it is certainly a problematic one, and it’s about time we had a conversation about it. (If you’re looking for more background info than that, read this article from Salon.)
On Monday, a book blogger who has a large following and is well-respected in the YA blogging community wrote a post exploring the concepts of racism, white privilege, and the problems with whitewashing in publishing. Her post may not have been perfect, but it was a call to dialogue. It was a beginning.
Or, at least, it could have been. It should have been.
I don’t know this blogger very well. In fact, I don’t really know her at all. But I could see what she was trying to do, and I respected it. She was taking a risk by writing a post about very sensitive, personal, emotionally-charged issues, and she was using her platform and her wide reach to try to make a statement of standards and expectations that had the potential to reach publishers.
It had the potential to make a difference.
Unfortunately, several people missed the point and threw away their opportunity to make constructive comments, choosing instead to hurl insults at each other and the blogger, and what I read in those comments made me embarrassed for them and ashamed to be associated with them. I am not linking to the post because, really, those comments do not deserve any additional attention, and what I want to do is re-focus the blogging community on what this conversation was supposed to be about in the first place.
Because I am not involved in the YA community and don’t have emotional ties to anyone involved, I have the benefit of a little distance and detachment, and that, in case you’re wondering, is why I’m blogging about this at all. I do not presume to speak for all of us; rather, I hope to spark conversation that will lead to insight and better understanding and change.
The post I’m referring to was supposed to be a coming together of bloggers and readers—of people who buy books and promote books and support the publishing industry—and the beginning of a movement in which we tell publishers that we will not accept whitewashing any longer.
So people, let’s get it right this time.
A message to publishers:
We, the reading community, want to see diversity in the characters we read about, and we want to see those characters depicted accurately on book covers. And we have a few things to say:
White readers do not just want to read books with white characters and white people on the cover.
People of color do not just want to read books with white characters and white people on the cover, and your assumption that they do is insulting, degrading, and a sorry capitulation to the wrongheaded belief that people of color must secretly want to be white.
This matters because so much of how we make sense of the world and our own experiences comes from what we encounter in media (books, music, television, movies, etc.), so it is important for media to offer accessible, easy-to-relate-to role models in whom people of every race, color, creed, and sexual orientation can see themselves and begin to shape their lives. And it’s important for young people to be able to see people who are like them in the things they read and watch and to be able to imagine a life for themselves if their current location and circumstances don’t allow them to do it.
Additionally, whitewashing extends beyond the way you represent characters on the cover of books. It exists in your insistence on marketing books written by people of color as part of separate subgenres, even when their subject matter has little, if any, overlap. The fact that a book is written by an African American author does not make it a work of “African American fiction,” and it is quite a stretch to say that all works by African American authors are thematically similar enough to be accurately grouped together in the (entirely unhelpful) subgenre, or that the only people who will want to buy books by African American authors are other African Americans. (I’m using African American authors as the example here because examples of this are most readily available.)
Classifying a book based on the author’s ethnicity rather than its content implies that the author’s ethnicity is the book’s defining feature. Is that really the message you want to send?
We readers aren’t stupid. We know that you’re doing what you’re doing because it all comes down to dollars. And maybe you really do think you have to put white characters on covers and separate books by white authors from books by people of color in order to sell them. Or maybe you just aren’t thinking about it.
Whichever it is, it is a problem. And it has to stop. You can’t know that people will or won’t buy books with people of color in the pages or on the cover until you make those books available, and I’m willing to bet the feedback will be positive. And yes, we know that what you’re doing is about business, but it also has immeasurable social impact, and you should take some time to consider that as you make choices about which books you will publish and how you will package and market them.
These choices reflect your values as individuals and as companies, and we, your consumers, are paying attention.
We will choose to express our values and priorities in many different ways. Some of us are organizing a boycott. Others are planning to shine a light on authors and publishers who are leading the way. Some of us will write posts about our favorite books featuring characters of color, or our favorite authors who are people of color, or the personal experiences that shape our understanding of issues related to race or minority status (because, let’s face it, we could have a similar conversation about many so-called subgenres), and some of us will chime in with supportive comments. We will speak with many voices but one message.
And we hope like hell that you’ll be listening.
Could there BE a nerdier addiction?
2010 at 10am Posted by Rebecca Schinsky
Two nights ago, I started reading Lewis Carroll’s beloved classic Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. I haven’t read it since childhood, and it fulfills my goals to read more classics and complete the LOST Books Challenge, and I thought it might be a nice way to remind myself of the story before embarking on Melanie Benjamin’s Alice I Have Been.
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is a short book—the Barnes & Noble Classics edition I purchased is only 144 pages—and as I settled in to begin reading, I enjoyed the thought that I might finish it in one sitting. I mean, I read this book when I was ten, so how much brain power could it require, right?
Wrong.
As many editions of classics do, this one contains introductory material, including a brief biography of the author, background information about the history and politics of the time in which the book was written, and an essay about major themes and concepts. In this short book, the intro material takes up about 20 pages, but in longer or more difficult classics, I’ve seen it take 50 or 100 pages, and while it’s helpful, it can certainly slow the reading process down.
Nerdy reader that I am, I feel compelled to read the introductory material, and I’m usually glad that I do it. It helps me understand and appreciate the work on a deeper level, see where it fits into the canon and why it is considered important, and get more from the reading experience than just a good story.
So now, as I’m reading about Alice’s conversations with imaginary creatures and enjoying Carroll’s nonsensical language and ironic wordplay,I’m thinking about WHY HE WROTE IT THAT WAY and WHAT IT ALL MEANS.
Don’t even get me started on my love for Norton critical editions and the myriad ways in which they enrich and complicate the reading experience. Annotation and helpful footnotes (emphasis on helpful)? Yes, please!
For contemporary books, I often find myself searching the interwebs for additional information on the book’s topic, the author’s life, etc. And now that I’m a book review junkie, I visit the author’s website (when it’s available) and go back to read media reviews and interviews with the author, and I occasionally watch book trailers or videos of the author reading from the book. And I love NPR author interviews. And book podcasts.
But sometimes I wish I could skip all the “stuff” and just dive right into a book. And sometimes I read the book first and then go back to the introductory material so it can help me make sense of everything after the fact. But I always read it. I just can’t help myself. I don’t want to miss out on anything that could make the experience better. When it comes to these things, I’m all GIMME MORE!
My name is Rebecca, and I’m a book “extras” addict.
So what about you? Do you read the introductory material, the footnotes, the author bio, and all the goodies? Do you want the info, or do you just feel compelled to read every page in a book? Or is it all about the story and you could care less about the extras? Does it depend on the genre or topic, fiction vs. nonfiction? Tell me all about it.
And please, someone, validate my addiction. I need some enablers.
Book Review: The Unnamed by Joshua Ferris
2010 at 11am Posted by Rebecca Schinsky
Published January 18, 2010 by Reagan Arthur (an imprint of Little, Brown & Hachette)
What I really want to do here is say that Joshua Ferris’s new novel The Unnamed is amazing. One of the best books of the year amazing. I want to tell you to just go buy it now and then come back so we can talk about it. But I suppose I should tell you more. So here goes. The Unnamed.
The first time it came, he realized he was powerless before it, that no matter how much will power he mustered, it would never be enough. He would just keep walking. He had to keep walking. It was so severe and indefatigable that even when his wife handcuffed him to their bed to keep him from leaving, even when he slept, his feet kept moving. He had to keep walking.
But Tim Farnsworth has been better for a few years now. He’s made partner at his Manhattan law firm Troyer, Barr, and he is preparing for a major trial in which he will defend a client who represents millions of dollars of revenue for the firm. Professionally, Tim is at the top of his game, and his colleagues seem to have finally forgotten about the walking. His personal life has also recovered, as his wife Jane and daughter Becka have begun to allow themselves to hope that the walking is gone for good, that the first time was the only time.
Then Tim finds himself forced out of the office building and into the street. Fighting the urge to walk, he hails a cab but finds himself forced to get out before reaching his destination. Then he starts walking and goes until he can’t go any more, until he wakes up on a bench near the East River and announces to himself, “It’s back.”
And this time, it’s back with a vengeance…..but Tim and Jane are prepared. They learned from the first time. They know what to expect. So Jane bundles Tim into his winter gear and gets out his pack filled with necessities, and reminds him to turn the GPS on the next time he leaves. They go to bed, and Jane wakes up in the middle of the night to discover he has left. She finds him asleep in the snow, exhausted but insistent that he can fight it, and he goes back to work the next day.
Then the phone calls begin. At all times of the day and night, whenever Tim wakes up after a walk, he calls Jane, who asks where he is and says she will come get him. It’s not easy, but it’s what she signed up for. Whether she knew it or not, this is part of the “for better or for worse, in sickness and in health” promise she made. And Jane takes those vows seriously. So through the professional uncertainty and the walking and the endless string of doctors and specialists and holistic healers who have no idea what is causing the walking, Jane stands by Tim.
The Unnamed is about Tim’s struggle to conquer this uncontrollable walking that he is convinced comes from something in his body. He cannot abide the idea that it could be mental or psychological, and with no medical evidence either way—every test he’s had has been inconclusive—he begins to develop his own theory about it. But not knowing what this thing is or why it makes him walk or how to fight it proves more difficult than it was the last time. And life begins to crumble.
On one level, The Unnamed is about marriage and commitment and what it really means for two people to stand by each other through unknowable challenges. Writing in close third person, Ferris taps into Tim’s psyche to explore how he makes sense of the unexplainable phenomenon affecting him, and he presents Jane’s inner conflict between devotion to her husband and ever-present temptation to start walking, herself.
But all this walking begs the question of what Tim might be walking away from and why, despite his determination to conquer the physical with the mental, he cannot resist the urge to move, to make life purely physical, and that’s where the heart of this book lies. Sure, Tim believes this problem has a physical cause, but not one of the myriad tests has indicated this is really the case, and the fact that some of Tim’s symptoms have been controlled with psychoactive medication certainly calls his judgment about his illness into question.
The Unnamed is heartbreaking, bleak, and surprisingly beautiful. Ferris’s writing is sere, vividly descriptive in its spareness, and compulsively readable. I cannot find enough superlatives to describe this unforgettable book, which will, without question, be among the best of 2010. So do yourself a favor and pick up a copy. You won’t regret it, and you certainly won’t forget it. 5 out of 5.
For more information about The Unnamed, visit the official website, enjoy this video of David Sedaris interviewing Joshua Ferris, and check out this interview with Ferris’s editor.
Hey, FTC: I received a copy of this book from the publisher.
The Sunday Salon 1.17.09
2010 at 3pm Posted by Rebecca Schinsky
Today has the makings of a perfect Sunday. I slept until 11:15, was greeted by a basset hound bringing morning kisses, made a delicious cafe mocha on the home espresso machine, and have snuggled myself right into my perfect rut on the couch. I have a gently falling rain outside, a hound dog curled up on my lap, and my hubby snuggled next to me. There’s football on TV, leftovers in the fridge, and a great book just waiting t be finished.
What more could a girl ask for, especially after such a busy week?
I kicked off the excitement this week with my interview on That’s How I Blog! I had a lot of fun with Nicole, who didn’t reveal nearly all of the embarrassing bits I’m sure she found digging through my archives, and we wrapped it all up with a 20 Minute (that was actually more like 45) Book Club discussion of The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters. If you missed the show, you can listen to it in the archives, and chime in to share your thoughts on The Little Stranger at my discussion post.
This week, I reviewed David Sedaris: Live for Your Listening Pleasure, and I FINALLY finished The Swan Thieves by Elizabeth Kostova. I’ll have a review coming this week, but suffice it to say the book was good but REALLY FREAKING LONG. And you know I’m not intimidated by big books….but this one was much longer than it needed to be, and I don’t tolerate that very well. But my desire to procrastinate reading it did give me time to reflect on a few of the things I can’t live without, and I’m having a good time reading your responses as well.
I’m now about 1/3 of the way through Joshua Ferris’s The Unnamed, which will be released on Tuesday, and given that I’m completely in love with it (I actually told my hubby—and Trish on Twitter—that I have lady-wood for Mr. Ferris now), I don’t think I should have any problem finishing it today.
Life-wise, I feel like I have, at long last, recovered from the holidays, and that is a very good thing. I’m back into the swing of things at work, I have a good workout routine going, and my calendar for the next several months is shaping up nicely. Major points of anticipation include seeing Robert Goolrick (author of A Reliable Wife) at Fountain Bookstore here in Richmond on February 11th; welcoming a good friend for a week-long visit Feb. 9th-13; my little sister’s wedding April 30th (I’ve been freaking out about writing my toast for months already, and it’s only going to get worse); and Book Expo America, for which I am now officially registered (yay!), May 25th-27th in New York City.
What are you up to this Sunday? And what are you looking forward to this spring?
