In Otherworlds

                One character learns to navigate the afterworld with the help of a sexy Vedic death god. In a very different book, the character uses a pen and old fashioned journal to cross over into the alternate reality. One novel celebrates the diversity of current YA literature; the other focuses on the brief output of Sylvia Plath. Afterworlds by Scott Westerfeld is a huge and fast-paced double story. Belzhar by Meg Wolitzer is quietly and beautifully devastating. While they are very different books, both use the literal act of writing as a way to explore the very real power of stories.

                The first thing you notice about Afterworlds is that it is structured in alternating chapters, helpfully marked with black and white bands on the pages. The black pages tell the story of Lizzie, a girl who survives a terrorist attack and learns she has powers to enter the world of ghosts. She does this by repeating the words of the 911 call she made during the attack at the airport. Once she enters the flipside, her guide is Yamaraj, a Hindu death god. Combining ideas borrowing from the Vedas, traditional crime fiction and supernatural stories, these sections sample many of the themes that take YA fiction beyond the confines of real life. In contrast, the white pages are a realistic story of how Darcy Patel (herself only 18) wrote this book-within-a-book, and describes her life as the rising star in the YA world. For me these were the best sections, with lots of literary scenes: meeting fellow authors at book parties, touring with a John Green-like celebrity (“there were a dozen YouTube channels about his YouTube channel” p. 165), acting as “flap - monkey” at book signings, joking about YA heaven where the NYT bestsellers get to wear black robes with red trim while the Printz winners get the sparkly tiaras, and even the seemingly mundane task of choosing a pen for signing copies (“Take three of each, and a Sharpie for casts, show bags and body parts.” p. 567).

                The very names of Darcy and Lizzie are part of the fun, but alas, there were no further connections to Pride and Prejudice. There are also characters named Carla and Sagan (as they joke, the odd against them knowing why their names are funny together are “billions and billions to one” p. 206). And although it is a minor part of the plot, it is refreshing to see a mention of Aboriginal tales as part of the global range of literary influences.

                As you can tell from my previous run-on sentences, this novel crams in so many ideas. I haven’t touched on half of them – I should mention the lesbian love story, the quest for the best ramen in New York City and the scenes of simply sitting down to write. Afterworlds itself is as huge in size as it is in scope. It does bog down a bit under its own weight, but on the whole, provides a satisfying, entertaining read.

                Saying too much about Belzhar would do the book a disservice. From the beginning Wolitzer is in perfect control; readers are like a thread wrapped around her finger as she reels the story in with her subtle plot line. When the story starts, you think you know how it will go. By the end, you are devastated in ways you never expected.

                When Jamaica, called Jam, is utterly crushed because of a boy, her parents try everything they know, then finally send her to The Wooden Barn which is described as a boarding school for “emotionally fragile, highly intelligent” teenagers. The boy is Reeve Maxfield, an exchange student from England, smart, slouchy, pale and lean, with (of course) a killer accent. Jam falls in love, then he is gone and she can’t cope. At the Wooden Barn, she is put into a class called Special Topics in English, which focuses entirely on the works of Sylvia Plath.

                Jam and the 4 other students of the class are given journals and assigned to write in them twice a week. After writing nothing but a sentence, exactly 5 pages of the journal fill up automatically and the writer is taken to a place where his or her life is restored. Casey can walk again. Sierra has her brother. Marc and Griffin go back to a time before their lives changed and Jam can be with Reeve again, kissing on the grass behind the school. They call this state “Belzhar,” a form of the words "bell jar."

                Then one of the group counts the number of pages in the journal and works out that they will run out of pages right at the end of the semester. What will happen on the last visit? And how can they extend the visits to a place where they are finally happy?

                Writing is the link to the alternate reality. Stories have healing power. Great writing does make a difference. Words matter. With this short novel, Meg Wolitzer makes the most compelling case ever for a class such as Special Topics in English.

               

Messing about in Boats, by our guest blogger

Time and tide and the vagaries of my Seattle Public Library hold queue simultaneously washed up three books related to boats. And so I have spent the last few weeks at sea, drifting away on the sea of words. I have no special knowledge of boats, or of the sea, but as an armchair sailor, these three titles delivered hours of entertaining reading.                

For years, literally, friends have been recommending The Boys in the Boat, by Daniel James Brown, but I kept putting off reading it. Non-fiction books about sports and Nazis are, quite frankly, pretty much at the bottom of my interest list. The recommendations, however, kept coming and finally it was just easier to read the thing than listen to another word of praise. I can’t believe it took me so long. This book is remarkable! The story of the underdog University of Washington crew team and their bid for gold at the 1936 Berlin Olympics is exciting by itself. Add to this the historical background of Seattle during the Depression and the rise of Hitler’s power in Germany and the book takes on a larger dimension. But what the author does best of all is get into the minds and aching muscles of the crew. The heart-breakingly difficult personal story of Joe Rantz gives a sharper focus to the historical background. Brown’s vivid writing elevates the book beyond the ordinary sports account and brings each oar stroke, each race, and each triumph dynamically alive for the reader.

The Plover, by Brian Doyle, is a very different sort of book, a kind of road trip by boat across the Pacific. It starts out with one man, Declan O Donnell, escaping his life in Oregon and ends up with nine passengers, not counting the resident herring gull, tiny warbler, snails and all the other creatures who attach themselves to the tiny Plover. All in need of healing. Some are literally burnt, all emotionally scarred. The most touching character is the little girl Pipa, damaged in a bus accident and silent for 4 years until  the herring gull magically, mystically, “opens” her and she is able to speak again. Literary in its roots (think Melville, Stevenson and Coleridge), and peppered with quotes from Declan’s favorite writer, Edmund Burke, The Plover could easily sink under the weight of its concept, but Doyle keeps it flowing smoothly with his lyrical writing style and humorous asides. The gull is especially useful for comic relief as when Declan address the gull at the beginning of the story: “You are most definitely not a metaphor, my friend.” Though not as rich and complex at Doyle’s earlier novel, Mink River, The Plover is a heart-felt celebration of life’s various journeys.

Before it became a cannibal-rat infested ghost ship (really, you can Google it!) I had the pleasure of taking a cruise on the Lyubov Orlova. Though the plight of this modern ship generated some media interest, it is a far cry from the sensation the derelict ship Mary Celeste caused in 1872. The ship was found unmanned and abandoned, but still in seaworthy condition with plenty of food onboard. Taking as her starting point what little is known about the historical ship, Valerie Martin mixes fact and imagination to explore ideas of loss, grief and the power of storytelling in her speculative novel, The Ghost of the Mary Celeste. In her book, as he did in real life, the writer Arthur Conan Doyle hears the mystery of the Mary Celeste while at sea and uses it as the basis for a fabricated story. That story is read by the American psychic Violet Petra, who later meets Doyle to tell him that his story is incorrect and that she knows the family involved. In her possession is the journal, written by Sarah, the wife of the missing captain. These various stories are woven together by Valerie Martin into a multi-layered and complex text, switching back and forth in time and from the various characters. It is complex and rewarding reading.

Now go look up cannibal-rat infested ghost ships. You know you want to.