meghan rose allen

I really loathe the word resplendent. The Lotus and the Storm uses resplendent three times. That may be enough to tell you what I thought of the book.

There are spoilers below. Proceed warily.

The Lotus and the Storm is essentially the mirror of The Sympathizer, which I read a few months ago (also a Netgalley copy). Whereas The Sympathizer gave us the Viet-cong mole perspective, The Lotus and the Storm gives us the South Vietnamese military perspective. Okay. So we’re in and out of Vietnam, future in Virginia, back and forth. Typical immigrant/war narrative.

For me, this book had problems: Characters in the narrative seem to be talking to someone who isn’t there (one of my notes-in-the-margins is Who is he talking to?), giving lengthy explanations about background that they would already know themselves and would have no need to elaborate on for themselves. A letter detailing a death just so happens to have a lengthy and fortuitous amount of information required to advance the plot. A child uses the term “subcutaneous tissue” (although, growing up in a war zone, this might enter common parlance out of necessity). Someone is secretly a spy — revealed in as Dramatic A Way as possible.

So a whole suspension of disbelief is required from the reader throughout the entire novel. I think a lot of this story is based on the truth, but I don’t believe the story. If it’s true, if these things happened, but is written in such a way that obscures the truth, I think that’s a problem.

And the big problem (and a big spoiler here): The narrative jumps between different characters points-of-view. About two-thirds in, we are introduced to a new narrative voice, as we find out that one of the main characters has multiple personalities, and our additional narrator is one of these personalities!

Other people loved this book, the ostentatious writing style, the twists, the emotional wrenching. I did not. For me, it was a slog.

The Lotus and the Storm by Lan Cao went on sale August 14, 2014.

I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

Last night, as I was drifting off to sleep, 88% done Day’s End by H. E. Bates (the preciseness of the percent via my kobo), I thought of an adjective that described the book perfectly. I leaned over towards my kobo, but then thought By the time I turn it on the kobo …. Then I kind of hit around to see if there was a pencil. There wasn’t. Now I don’t remember what the adjective was. I think it begin with an S.

This haziness with my adjectives actually ties back to the book. I’m pretty hazy on Day’s End. The book isn’t long, and it’s full of hodge-podge English pastoral where your mind goes to cozy country cottages with pink and lilac bushes out front and thatched roofs and rolling hills and then thinking of all these things, the stories themselves kind of fade away. Even calling them stories is rather generous; most are scenes detailing the small agonies of the underclass. A waitress being stood up on a date, a shepherd searches out a doctor to attend to his pregnant wife, a man with disabilities is mocked by children in church. It’s like a Vanitas painting (I had to look up the term): at first glance everything is bountiful and lively, but a second glance and it’s really a painting of fruit rotting and flowers drooping. Transient.

I’m not sure exactly why Day’s End‘s stories are collected together just now. The little blurb at the start of the book tells me that Bates died in 1974, so maybe the older stories have reached the public domain to be reissued perhaps? There’s no information as to when most of the stories were written, but a note is made that some come from the 1920s and 1930s. They don’t feel, in style, like the 1920s though, the way, for example, listening to Gershwin feels like the 1920s and 1930s. Maybe because there’s no slang. Maybe because adjectives and adverbs are used judiciously. Maybe because there’s a core of universality that runs through the stories. But even that can’t overcome the haziness. The stories feel like waves washing the seashore; they come and go and lulled me into drowsiness without making that much of an impression. The sea is still the sea. The sand is still the sand. Proust makes me feel that way too, so at least Bates is in good company.

These are stories for reading in a hammock on a lazy summer day.

Day’s End by H. E. Bates went on sale May 14, 2015.

I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.