The Ruins of Us

The Ruins of Us

By Keija Parssinen

Despite what you might think, I listen to you. I really do. I know it doesn't seem that way given that I seem to read whatever I want and  it would seem that I don't listen to your recommendations and almost never act upon them. That has more to do with my location than anything, but I do try.

I love visiting other book blogs and while I'm cruising around I keep a pen a paper handy. I jot down titles and authors that pique my interest and every time I go to make a Kindle order (which isn't as often as it should be but my financial situation calls for book buying prudence) I only order books that have been recommended via email or blog. This title is proof positive.

One of my favorite blogs, Raging Bibliomania, reviewed this title a few months back and given that I love novels set in the Middle East (and that try as I might, I could not find a single title on her blog that I had previously read), I bought it on my Kindle. So now you know! Give me enough time and I'll read the books you read! I promise.

Anyway, onto the book...

The Ruins of Us is a novel by Keija Parssinen, an American citizen and third generation expat born in Saudi Arabia. It is the story of a cross-cultural family living in Saudi Arabia who, due to several mitigating factors, are being pulled apart at the seams. Rosalie, like the author, is the daughter of an American expat who grew up in Saudi Arabia before moving back to the States for school. She develops an obsession with the Arabian peninsula so much so that she falls in love with and subsequently marries the one-handed Abdullah an Arabian student as the University of Texas.

Fast forward to the present day: Rosalie and Abdullah are well into middle age, Abdullah has surreptitiously taken a second wife (legal, but not especially condoned) while Rosalie and Abdullah's 16-year old son seems to be falling in with a militant crowd of Jihadis. Add into the mix the family's best friend, a pathetic american divorcee with an unhealthy crush on Rosalie and you have the makings of a solid literary melodrama.

And if this novel were set in Madison, Wisconsin or Biloxi, Mississippi or Boulder, Colorado that's exactly what it would be: a family melodrama not unlike so many others. Much like American Dervish, What makes this novel so unique, and so compelling, are the intangible elements that are placed the character's way due to their setting and tradition. The establishment of Abdullah's second marriage, the fact that Rosalie, as a foreign spouse, has no rights, the constant adherence to religious and social mores, the elements of change, especially among the younger generation via social media and other technology made accessible by the extravagant wealth as well as the ever-present religious fundamentalism that threatens to tear the country apart.

All of these themes turn a simple family melodrama into a novel that should not be ignored. For anyone curious about life in The Kingdom, Parssinen's novel is a poignant portrait of family life on the peninsula and how traditions and social changes affect the household (or in this case: households). The story is told from the perspective of several characters (divided by chapter). This gives the reader a chance to empathize with each and every character and see how each of them have gotten to where they are and how they have justified their outlandish (to the reader) decisions to themselves and their immediate surroundings. Such an approach does much in terms of understanding the culture and the sets of circumstances standing in this family's way.

But that's not all!

As with so many great novels, Parssinen has done a wonderful job of establishing the setting not only as a location for the story but also as a character unto itself. Parssinen's Saudi Arabia throbs with vitality and contradictions throughout the narrative. The history of the peninsula is juxtaposed wonderfully against the recent decadence of oil wealth. The religious rigidity and intensity of the populace is counterbalanced with their humor and hospitality. You can practically see Parssinen pining for her days in Saudi Arabia while simultaneously reflecting on why she's better off elsewhere.

The Ruins of Us was a stunningly great read and I encourage anyone even a little interested in these themes to check this one out.

Shout Out

I, once again, really have to thank Zibilee over at Raging Bibliomania. She she recommends good books!

Henry's Sisters

Henry's Sisters

by Cathy Lamb

Sweet merciful Jesus, it's rare that I read a book that not only sucks but also unleashes the full force of my ire and disgust. Alas, Cathy Lamb has written such a book. A book so mind-numbingly bad that I came within a camel's hair of putting it down (something I have not done with a book in almost five years). A book so poorly written that I actually read several reader reviews before I sat down to write this, thinking that I could commiserate with other readers about a book that just might be the worse thing I have ever read (and I've read Twilight).

Imagine my shock and horror when I discovered that Henry's Sisters seems to garner favorable reviews around the net. Goodreads, Amazon and Visual Bookshelf readers all seem to like it well enough, which made me check my medicine cabinet to see whether someone has been slipping me crazy pills again. Rest assured, they have not.

The atrocities committed by Cathy Lamb are so extensive that I have spent the last 300 pages (of a 400 page book) mentally cataloging them. I should have written them down because I fear I have forgotten so many that I will not be able to express my loathing in as much detail as I would like, but I will try. I figure the best way to organize this is with a simple list, beginning with:

1. One dimensional characters.

Christ Almighty, this pissed me off by the end of chapter four. Cathy Lamb writes characters like George Lucas creates a planet. Like Lucas' one-climate planets, each character in this book is characterized solely by his/her one defining quirk. Isabelle is a slut. Cecilia is fat. Janie is obsessive compulsive. Momma is cruel. It's as if these (cartoon) characters exist only through their one (and only, mind you) idiosyncrasy. None of these characters ever do anything beyond the bounds of this one, single attribute. By the end of the book when I should have been crying, I could only imagine cardboard cutouts of these characters being moved around on a cheap soap opera stage.

2. Constant reminders of one dimensional characters.

Cathy Lamb does not think much of her readers. I know that writing teachers will always tell a burgeoning writer to "assume your reader knows nothing." But there are limits to this. Lamb reminds me of Isabelle's sluttiness, Cecilia's eating and Janie's compulsions on EVERY PAGE OF THE BOOK! Holy hell, woman, I got it! Mentally disabled Henry is the only sane person in the Bommarito family. I can handle that. No need to hammer it into me every seventh sentence!

3. Characterization of men

This has bothered me in other books, but none more than this one. Aside from Henry (and he's mentally disabled, remember?) all the male characters in this book either rape, abandon their family, cheat, lie, mass murder, say impossibly insensitive things, act like a raging idiot or (just to mix it up) a combination. I'm not anti-feminist or anything, but c'mon! Some of the men in this book were about as intelligent as Curly from the Three Stooges. Great if you are writing absurd comedy. Absurd if you are trying to write great drama. When the only male character written with any compassion is mentally disabled (in case you forgot), perhaps you are trying to send a subtle message?

4. The dialogue is impossibly bad

Seriously. Lamb tried to write witty arguments between these sisters but it invariably sounded like the sorts of arguments that six year-olds have over who's father can beat up everyone else's. Case in point:

"Your momma's got good tits," he told us, smirking, when Momma was out of earshot.

"And you have a small dick," I told him. "Flaccid. Weak."

"And a fat ass," Janie added. "Like blubber cannons. I'd like to chop them off with a hatchet."

"Are you related to a pig? Your nose, it's amazing," Cecilia said. "Piglike. Snort for me, would you, you ugly pig?"

Who talks like that?

5. Mentally disabled people and Vietnamese people speak the same.

Guess who is mentally disabled and who is Vietnamese...

A) "I no take a second. I no want a shot."

B) "I no understand. Your face... Ah Isabelle."

6. The litany of tragedy

I wonder whether this may be Cathy Lamb's last book. I say that because she seems to have tried to squeeze as much tragedy into 400 pages as is humanly possible. Rape, murder, Vietnam flashbacks, cancer, death, abortion, family dysfunction, homelessness, cruelty toward the disabled, messy divorce, serial rape/murder, psychological disorders, abandonment, prostitution etc... etc.... etc.... I know this book is supposed to be about the triumph of the human spirit and the importance of family but jeez, Louise, save an issue or two for your next book, would ya?

7. Telegraphing the reveals

I can visualize Cathy Lamb sitting at her computer (or typewriter or whatever) thinking to herself: "Oh man, when my readers find out the truth behind this deeply imbedded plot tidbit, won't they be surprised. What she fails to understand is that her well-placed clues are dead giveaways for what is coming, which really takes away from the enjoyment of the book when you know exactly what's coming in a couple of dozen pages. The white haired man in the street was really their long-lost father? Imagine!

8. Blatantly obvious statements

Such as: Pancreatic cancer are two words you never want to hear.

You don't say....

9. Thinly veiled devotionalism

This is what really galled me. About halfway through the book I realized that I was reading Christian literature. I knew there was something askew, much like when you realize that the sort-of-good-but-kinda-odd rock you were listening to was actually Christian Rock. This is a novel akin to The Shack, a book I read and detested last year. Which, come to think of it, would explain all the positive reviews this book seems to get online. This is the sort of book that is read by a very specific slice of the reading public. People who are shocked by graphic language and sexuality. Readers who identify with one-issue people because they are one-issue people themselves: Christians.

Anyway, There are a host of other, lesser reasons that this book sucked, I feel like I've wasted enough time and words on this disaster of a novel. I wouldn't recommend this book to my worst enemy. Don't bother.