In Which Trai Reviews 'Red'

The Book: Red

The Author: John Logan

How I Found It: I've recently become enamored of the actor Eddie Redmayne, who won a Tony for his portrayal of Ken, Rothko's assistant, in 2010. I was curious about the play's subject manner and his role in it, and decided to give it a look.

The Review: New York City, 1958 and 1959. Ken is the new assistant hired by Mark Rothko, famous painter of the 1930s and onwards. Rothko is abrasive, demanding, and very, very vocal. Ken is young, reserved, and not educated in the way Rothko would like. Still, he takes Ken--who is an artist himself--on as his assistant and lets him help around the studio, letting him do things like picking up takeout or helping with canvas priming (which, and he is adamant about this, is not painting).

As a year or so passes, Ken and Rothko, uneasy around each other at first, grow accustomed to each other's presence. Ken begins to educate himself with the texts Rothko constantly mentions, and takes it upon himself to challenge Rothko's firmly held notions about art and perception, while Rothko begins to draw Ken out and learn about his difficult past. As tensions reach a boiling point, Ken forces Rothko to reconsider his commission to paint wall murals for the Four Seasons restaurant, while Rothko begins to wonder if Ken is not, perhaps, what the future of art might look like.

I wasn't sure what to expect from this play. Was I going to enjoy it? More importantly, was I going to understand it? I don't know very much about art, and I was never particularly good at it. (I make pictures with words, I explain to those who ask if I can draw.) If I didn't understand much of anything about art, would I understand the message of this play? Would I be able to appreciate it?

As it turned out, I could, and so much more than I thought. Like Proof, a play about math that I had equal reservations in approaching, I didn't have to understand the subject matter in order to appreciate the very human, very affecting drama that played out here.

This is a play about two men that sounds all too familiar. It's an old trope, the young assistant who challenges the ideas of the old pro. Too often, the young assistant and the old pro form some sort of bond to compensate for a lack of parental presence on the young assistant's part. In some ways, Logan's play adheres to this trope--Ken's parents were indeed absent, though not of their own choosing, as becomes heartbreakingly clear in one of Ken's biggest moments--but in others, it's brilliantly subverted. Rothko and Ken's bond is never entirely easy; the volatility of Rothko's temper makes this impossible, and who says that Ken wouldn't want to unsettle him, provoke him into deeper thought, in any way he could? The play even sneers at the notion that Rothko is meant to be a father figure for Ken. Their relationship is deeper and more complicated than that trite summation.

Even if I didn't know much about art, I was surprised at how absorbed I became in its concerns. An intensely described scene of canvas priming (35-8) had me longing to have seen the play on stage; it's beautifully choreographed and must be a wonder to see staged in front of your eyes. I don't have much of an eye for color, and yet I was deeply moved by the scenes in which Rothko and Ken meditate on what meanings certain colors hold for them. For Ken, white is linked with the trauma of his past; for Rothko, red is what he clings to.

[on Matisse's "The Red Studio"]
Rothko: ... Such plains of red he made, such energetic blocks of color, such emotion! [Beat.] That was a long time ago.
Ken: It's still there.
Rothko: I can't look at it now.
Ken: Why?
Rothko: It's too depressing.
Ken: How can all that red be depressing?
Rothko: I don't see the red anymore... Even in that painting, that total and profound emersion in red... it's there. The mantel above a dresser, just over the centerline, set off by yellow of all goddamn things. He wanted it inescapable.
Ken: What?
Rothko: Black.
Ken: The color black?
Rothko: The thing black. [Beat.] There is only one thing I fear in life, my friend... One day the black will swallow the red. (28)

That imagery of colors, of what color could do to a person, really moved me--it's the same relationship I have with words, as a writer and a reader. Much as I could understand what math meant to Proof's Catherine by thinking of my own relationship to my work, I could understand how the color white could transport Ken back to a horrible time in his past. I could understand Rothko's fears of no longer seeing the red for the black.

And even if the Ken and Rothko plot could be considered a cliche, I found myself taking the arguments the two men had, the points both of them would raise, and applying them to my own life. To me, this wasn't just some story of a young man pushing an older one's boundaries; it said something. This early speech of Rothko's had me almost embarrassed, as I could realize how true it was almost immediately after reading it:

Rothko: But do you like it?
Ken: Mm.
Rothko: Speak up.
Ken: Yes.
Rothko: Of course you like it - how can you not like it? Everyone likes everything nowadays. They like the television and the phonograph and the soda pop and the shampoo and the Cracker Jack. Everything becomes everything else and it's all nice and pretty and likable. Everything is fun in the sun! Where's the discernment? Where's the arbitration that separates what I like from what I respect, what I deem worthy, what has... listen to me now... significance. (10)

How many times have I run into this problem? How many times have I used the same word to express a multitude of feelings, an opinion that should be expressed in terms of greater variety? Hell, how often do I run into that sort of problem in these reviews? The fictional Rothko's words have stayed with me in the days since I read the play. I've tried to choose my words more carefully since then. I haven't thought this consciously about a work I've read and applied its lessons to my real life in a long time.

The tension between Rothko and Ken builds to an intensely emotional final scene, where Rothko's own vulnerabilities finally come to the surface. Ken has seen that Rothko is sometimes unstable, but never before has Rothko so openly admitted his fears about his life and his work. Ken has pushed him to a breaking point and it is all Rothko can do to be honest with him. I was moved to tears in a way I hadn't thought I could be other than by imagery of profound sorrow--mourning, really--or happiness. I closed the book and had to sit for a moment. To think, in the way we leave Rothko, just standing there, studying his paintings.

The play won acclaim in both the West End and Broadway, and even having just read the play, I feel that acclaim is well-deserved. It's beautifully written, thought-provoking, and avoids all those irritating little cliches that tend to turn one off of mentor/mentoree stories. If you're at all curious about this play or its subject matter, give it a shot. It's not that long; you could read it in about an hour. But hopefully, as I have, you'll be thinking about it for a whole lot longer.

In Which Trai Reviews 'He Taught Me to Hope: Darcy and the Young Knight's Quest'

The Book: He Taught Me to Hope: Darcy and the Young Knight's Quest

The Author: P.O. Dixon

How I Found It: I think it was an Amazon recommendation (you should see when I log in; it's the weirdest mix of Jane Austen sequels and Doctor Who tie-ins). I checked out the summary and was intrigued by the notion of Darcy interacting with Elizabeth Bennet's young son; as I've said before, I love books that feature child characters, so I wanted to give it a try.

The Review: Elizabeth Bennet did one thing she thought she'd never do: go against her father's wishes. She married young to a man she loved and who loved her, and as a result found herself cut off from her family. Not long after her marriage to Mr. Carlton, he is killed in an accident, and Elizabeth is left pregnant and alone. Her son, Bennet Carlton, grows up with Elizabeth and his loving grandfather, until his grandfather dies as well and Elizabeth is forced to return to Longbourn. Mr. Bennet, wanting the best for Jane and his remaining unmarried daughters, presses Lizzy to consent to an engagement with Geoffrey Collins, Mr. Collins' surprisingly agreeable elder brother. Feeling obliged to accept him, Lizzy agrees.

Bennet, meanwhile, is stifled by the almost entirely female atmosphere at Longbourn and longs for an escape. Whilst roaming in the nearby fields, he is nearly trampled by a horse and his rider--and that rider is Mr. Darcy. Ben is an imaginative child who is particularly taken by the legends of King Arthur, and declares himself to be Lancelot. Darcy, playing along, calls himself King Arthur, and quickly becomes Ben's friend. Darcy recognizes the boy's isolation and does his best to keep engage Ben's active imagination, and delves further into Meryton society during his time away from his young friend.

Darcy is particularly taken with Mrs. Elizabeth Carlton, thinking she is married and not a widow, and that his suit is, thus, hopeless. Elizabeth is likewise interested in Darcy, but knows she is bound to her fiance. Despite this, their respective connections to Ben could eventually end up bringing them closer--and bringing each of them into conflict with the bounds of propriety and their own hearts.

Dixon did a lot of interesting things here, and it was certainly one of the more original alternate takes on Pride and Prejudice I'd ever read. First off, Elizabeth as a widow? What? You mean she wasn't involved with Mr. Darcy, at all, ever? Second, Mr. Bennet cold and distant to Elizabeth? How can this be? Third, is that Lady Catherine being nice?

These were the questions that I was excited to find answers to as I started and kept reading. And no, you didn't read that last sentence up above wrong; Lady Catherine is actually portrayed in a sometimes positive light in Dixon's tale. Recently, I was reading a post on Austen Authors about how your perspective on Austen's characters can change as you grow older. I was most interested by those people who condemned Mr. Bennet as they grew up, saying that they came to realize that he was not the warm and witty character adaptations would have us believe, that he was instead a disrespectful, irresponsible, and inattentive father. (Upon rereading Pride and Prejudice for my English Literature class, I kept this perspective in mind, and noticed that it aligned more closely with the man Austen presents us than I'd thought, though I am a little more forgiving of the man than most.) I wondered if Dixon had this sort of perspective in mind as she wrote her tale. Her characterizations are certainly interesting.

Lizzy and Darcy are slightly altered--Lizzy is more mature, slightly older than in the original; she has more regard for the consequences of her actions. Rather than turning down Geoffrey Collins, as she does his younger brother in the original story, Elizabeth keenly feels her obligation to her family (though the estate is not entailed, in this story) and makes her decision based on their considerations, not her own. Darcy, meanwhile, is openly caring and affectionate to Ben--a soft side that is, in most variations, only seen by Lizzy. I really appreciated Dixon's take on Darcy; he recognizes a little boy lost without male guidance, a boy who must doubtless remind him of himself upon losing his parents. Darcy's scenes with Ben frequently had me smiling, and I was pleased to see an original way to bring out Darcy's kindness and somewhat heroic nature.

The more drastic changes come in the characterizations of Mr. Bennet, Lady Catherine, Anne, and Charlotte. Mr. Bennet, as mentioned before, is colder and more vindictive, almost, than commonly portrayed, and I was somewhat disappointed to see that Lizzy, once his favorite, had entirely sunk in his regard, with barely any hope for redemption. Lady Catherine is kind to Elizabeth, having known the elder Carltons, and it was funny to see Lady Catherine's usual impertinence warring with her desire to be nice to Elizabeth. Anne and Charlotte's characterizations, however, struck me as mildly problematic. Both are portrayed as fairly scheming in their pursuit of a match--not to comedic extent, as is Mrs. Bennet in the original, but almost coldly calculating their chances at a good match. This, along with a pivotal change to Jane's fortunes, made me most uncomfortable about the story. Antiquated stereotypes of femininity were sometimes adhered to, to an almost hyperbolic extent--the scheming woman who wants only marriage, the passive woman who ends up domineered by her husband--and I just wished, I suppose, for characterizations that didn't hinge on stereotypes that are today uncomfortable. The style of the story is also sometimes rough--there is frequent repetition of phrases like "taken leave of his/her senses" that I wish had been cut down upon--but these are minor distractions from an otherwise well-told story.

Those issues with characterization and minor stylistic annoyances are minor blips in a tale I otherwise greatly enjoyed. Is it cheesy? Yes, sometimes, but there are few stories that feature child characters that aren't. I give Dixon credit for experimenting with her story, excising elements of the original (for example, Lydia and Mr. Wickham) in order to create a story that focuses on Lizzy and Darcy alone--and Darcy's rival, Geoffrey Collins. Some won't like that Dixon strays far from the original, but as for me, who loves the variations market but sometimes gets tired of all of them hinging on the same points (what if Mr. Bennet died? what if Darcy spoke up about Wickham sooner? what if something or other happened to make Lizzy and Darcy anticipate their marriage and engage in some sort of sexual activity?), I was pleased by her choice to create original characters and situations. Geoffrey Collins was someone I was so eager to pick apart; his good qualities and his flaws are gradually revealed to the reader, so that for a while, one wonders if Darcy is perhaps doing wrong by separating Lizzy from a man who seems so amiable, a man who wants to be a father to her son and who wants Lizzy to help him mother his daughters. Of course, we all know how it's going to end up, but the fun is in the ride, isn't it?

And oh, it was a fun ride. Darcy's rivalry with Collins was hugely entertaining, as was Ben's part in the whole tangled mess. Ben, for his part, is not amused with Collins, and indeed assigns him the name of a Camelot villain. He'd much rather his mama, Guinevere, fall in love with King Arthur. King Arthur would love that, too. But Guinevere needs convincing, and so convince her he must. It was nice to see a Darcy who was slightly more open about his affections--this Darcy does not reveal himself in a letter; he instead proves himself to Elizabeth through his kindnesses to her son and his steadfast devotion to them both.

For those who aren't purists, who are curious about a take on Austen that strays far from the well-beaten path, but does so through new perspectives and intriguing original characters, I would not hesitate to recommend this story. And for those who want more, should you finish the story and crave it, Dixon's holiday story The Mission, featuring the characters, is available through most ebook retailers. It helped smooth out some of the minor quibbles I had with the ending as well as gave me more time with Elizabeth, Darcy, and Ben, and for that I was quite pleased.

In Which Trai Reviews 'Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close'

I apologize for the incredibly long break, everyone--as often happens, I am a college student with little time to read, let alone sit down and review, as new semesters start, and I had to save my backlog for when I had more time (namely, now!). Here we go!

The Book: Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

The Author: Jonathan Safran Foer (husband of Nicole Krauss, whose book A History of Love I reviewed in 2010)

How I Found It: I was interested in the film adaptation, and curious to read the book when I learned that Krauss, whose book I'd really liked, and Foer were a literary power couple! And thank you to the fine folks at Kobo who offered the ebook at a discount during a sale, which prompted my purchase! :)

The Review: Oskar Schell is an interesting young boy. Others might call him odd. He can be socially tone deaf and perhaps too imaginative for others. Tests to figure out whether he has Asperger's proved inconclusive, and Oskar's parents and grandmother were left to figure out how to engage with and teach their child about the world.

Oskar's dad, Thomas Schell, seems to have found the perfect ways. He engages with Oskar through games (such as "reconnaissance expedition") and imaginary stories, like when he tells Oskar that New York once had a sixth borough. As a result, Oskar is closest to his father, a jeweler whose own father left the family before he was born.

Oskar and his mother are devastated when Thomas is killed in the 9/11 attacks, leaving his mother and grandmother grieving and Thomas adrift without his touchstone. An accident in his father's closet one day leads him to discover a key in an envelope marked BLACK. Oskar is mystified by this key and convinced that it is a clue in a last expedition set up by his father. He then decides to go to see every Black in the five boroughs, searching for the truth behind the key, wondering what it could possibly mean.

This book is not for everyone, I think I'll say right off. It can be construed as gimmicky. There are pages upon pages of pictures taken by Oskar in his journeys interspersed with the narrative. There's a numerical cypher that goes on for pages and pages that I tried valiantly to read (not even to decode!), only to stop when I thought my eyeballs would bleed. There's even the general premise of a post-9/11 story, which some argued was too soon to be taking on when Foer published the book in 2005. Those who think the book sounds too cutesy or like a cheap gimmick had better stay away; you'll probably feel exactly that if you were to read it.

I was somewhere in the middle. I sometimes wasn't a fan of Foer's technique (the pictures got tiring, especially when the same ones came up several times, and the aforementioned numerical cypher was too clever for me), but I appreciated the story and found it ultimately touching, if mostly sad. The book had a deep emotional core that resonated with me. Interspersed with Oskar's narrative is the tale of his grandparents--Thomas' father explaining why he left his son before he was even born; Thomas' mother telling her side of the story, her history with Thomas' father. Their story is one of love and loss, just like Oskar's. Both stories are about fathers and sons, about the search for human connection.

The importance of human relationships really struck me as I read through the book. Oskar has difficulty relating with people, but his quest to find every Black in the five boroughs brings him in contact with all manner of people. There's a Mr. Black not far from him who has a card catalogue of every person he's ever known with a one-word description of them. That alone showcases the importance of human relationships--that one Mr. Black goes so far as to catalogue every person he's ever formed a relationship with or felt connected to in some way. Mr. Black joins Oskar for part of his quest, and one Black they come to has passed away--she was a waitress at the Windows on the World restaurant who perished in 9/11, just like Oskar's father. It was episodes like this that served to show just how connected people can be in such a large city, a theme the movie played up.

If the book is not for everyone, the movie isn't, either. It was condemned by some critics as maudlin and overdone. For me, it was one of those rare movies I preferred to the book. The movie did away with some of those gimmicky things that bothered me about the book, and made some adaptational choices I felt streamlined the story and made it work a bit better than Foer's occasionally overstuffed tale.

For a start, Thomas Horn's turn as Oskar was touching as well as exceptionally forceful and driven. I'm really curious to see where this kid goes in the future. Eric Roth, the writer of the screenplay, chose to downplay the more noticeable of Oskar's characteristics that could indicate Asperger's. He was portrayed more as having anxiety in social situations and being slightly phobic of certain triggering things (briefcases, foreigners, etc.) after 9/11. The elements were there, but not dwelt on; Oskar's personality is left to stand on its own, without harping on a possible diagnosis. Horn was both charming and touching, and gave Oskar life that didn't always come off on page, for me, as Oskar in the book was sometimes a bit too outrageous and unbelievable. Paring down his character a bit was a wise choice, in my opinion.

Tom Hanks and Sandra Bullock did extraordinarily well. Tom Hanks' scenes with Horn were full of warmth and you could really see the bond between Oskar and Thomas. Thomas' games are here shown to be a bit more than Oskar's narration in the book has us believe; they are Thomas' way of getting his son out into the world to talk to people. Hanks has few scenes with his on-screen wife, but the best is undoubtedly the emotional phone call between them where Linda realizes Thomas is at the World Trade Center. We don't see all that much of Linda, but her scenes with Oskar are well-played, if sometimes tough to watch, as both of them lash out in their grief. The increased focus on Oskar's mother as opposed to her role in the novel was something I appreciated, especially towards the end of the film; I felt she was portrayed in a slightly more forgiving light, and that her and Oskar were shown to have potential for a better future understanding of each other.

(I thank Roth for taking out the subplot involving Linda dating again; as it was portrayed in Foer's novel, it contributed to the unfortunate portrayals of moving on after grief wherein children are hostile and cannot accept that their parent has found someone else. It is realistic, but often is the only type of situation shown, and often portrayed as somewhat insurmountable, with tensions remaining between the second partner and the child[ren]. This was the case with Foer's novel and it was one of the things I wasn't happy with.)

Oskar's grandparents' story is not shown at all, but elements of the presence of elders in the story still remain. The scene where Oskar's grandmother lies on the floor with him following the 9/11 attacks made me cry; Zoe Caldwell did well. Mr. Black, he of the card catalogue, is conflated with the grandmother's mysteriously silent lodger, played excellently by Max von Sydow. He never speaks a word, but his expressive face and scribblings on a notepad are enough to get his message across. von Sydow's Oscar nomination was well-deserved.

Overall, I preferred the movie to the book, as it toned down the more hyperbolic elements of Foer's story, and let the more human, realistic elements speak for themselves. The book, however, is not without merit; I recommend that anyone who saw the film without reading the book give the book a try, as the story of Oskar's grandparents lends greater depth to the story, a half without which Oskar's story isn't whole. Though the book and movie are not for everyone, I recommend them to anyone who wants to read about grief and recovery, and about the human connections that bind us all together.

In Which Trai Reviews 'The Thorn and The Blossom'

The Book: The Thorn and The Blossom: A Two-Sided Love Story

The Author: Theodora Goss

How I Found It: Quirk Books was kind enough to provide me and other bloggers with an advance copy; thanks muchly! The book is officially out today!

The Review: This book has to be seen to be believed, really: it's a book without a spine. Seriously. I will direct you to this Youtube video to show you how it works (but be sure to come back here!). This way, you can choose whose side of the two lovers' story you want to read first: Brendan's or Evelyn's. I always love the innovations Quirk Books and their authors come up with, and this one had me seriously intrigued. I mentioned it to several friends out of excitement when I first got the email calling for interested bloggers, and all of them were curious--a book without a spine? How would that work? Could I show it to them once it was in my possession? I can't know for sure if this book will spread to the masses and fascinate them as it did my friends, but I certainly hope it will. It's genius.

I've mentioned before that I'm a big fan of books about books and reading, as well as a shameless Anglophile. One of my all-time favorite books is A.S. Byatt's Possession, a story of two poetry scholars seeking the truth behind an affair that may or may not have happened between their respective poets, all through lost love letters and clues hidden in poems and stories. Another book about books I'd read was 84, Charing Cross Road (review here), where two book lovers kept up a correspondence for many years, learning more about each other all the while. I think fans of either would really enjoy this story. There's an enduring and eternal love, like in Possession, and a modern day couple of scholars seeking the truth behind that love in their own individual ways. The relationship between individuals here is romantic, unlike the relationship in Charing Cross, but there's still that sense of distance, chronologically and geographically, a gap that's eventually bridged by books and stories.

I won't spoil the occurences unique to each side of the story, but the basic premise is this: Evelyn is a student visiting the town of Clews, in Cornwall, England, for the first time. Brendan is a native of Clews, the son of a local book merchant. Both are poets in their own way: Evelyn likes writing about fairies and other fantastical creatures, something her thesis adviser at Oxford highly discourages; Brendan has an intense interest in an old Cornish poem, the tale of Gawan and Elowen, a possible basis for the story of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight as we know it today. When Evelyn walks into Thorne and Son, Brendan offers to show her around Clews, and tells her the story of Gawan and Elowen, lovers whose connection could not be thwarted even by death--if not for the curse of an evil sorceress, who doomed their love to a wait of a thousand years...

Evelyn and Brendan might just be falling in love themselves, but mutual secrets threaten their relationship and might even sink it before it begins. Brendan hasn't revealed to Evelyn that he's a student of poetry as well; a dark secret from Evelyn's troubled past threatens to surface in the woods of Cornwall. Will their relationship be doomed to time and distance, like Gawan and Elowen's, or will these lovers fight their way back to each other and craft a new story of their own?

I started with Brendan's story first, because I wanted to shake it up a little: in most of the romances I've read, you start out in the woman's point of view, rarely if ever getting the guy's first or at all. I wanted to see what the story would be like through his eyes, and it turned out that his eyes were very much like my own. He's an English literature scholar, and while I have no strict focus, I'm an English major; he loves books and bookstores, like me; he always felt a little out of place in his hometown due to his interest in literature, something I also felt, as an English-loving, disinterested-in-sports girl who grew up in an athletic town. Brendan's viewpoint resonated with me, and it drew me in immediately. When I flipped to Evelyn, I knew her through Brendan's eyes, which you think would have taken some of the interest away, but it didn't. Evelyn remembers things differently than Brendan at times. She has a past Brendan never quite learns about. Their separation is compellingly played on both ends, and I give Goss credit for making a tale with two very distinct sides that form one cohesive whole.

This book was a really magical experience for me. I always have an intense interest in how academics do things, and there were just enough details about the researching, publishing, etc. process to keep me interested, but not enough that others not interested in such processes would get bogged down. That aside, this book was really a love letter to the stories that bring us together and the stories that last for generations. The story of Gawan and Elowen is the story that Brendan's father told him; it is the story that comes to link Brendan and Elowen together in their academic careers and onwards. Who wouldn't love a story of a love that lasts a thousand years?

The book wasn't without a fault or two; it's only 82 pages total, so naturally, it does feel like some of the loose ends aren't quite tied up. Were Brendan and Elowen perhaps meant to be reincarnations of Gawan and Elowen, as I thought? Did other characters figure into the tale as well--was one, as I'd thought, the reincarnation of the evil sorceress? What was the import of Evelyn's secret, and did it mean what I thought it did? I wanted these questions to be answered, but as I usually do with novellas, I handwaved them away with the knowledge that the author had done the best she could in a short space. Although that being said, I certainly wouldn't mind a longer book in this vein from Goss. She knows how to write a romance, she knows how to write a literary mystery... I'd buy it, for sure.

This is a book I can recommend on the merits of both its presentation and its content. The book itself is brilliantly made and a great conversation piece, as I learned, and it's really a testament to why we still need physical books. As much as I love my eReader TARDIS, books like this remind me of why I still buy physical books. And never mind the presentation, this is a brilliant story of love lost and found again, and of the stories that bring us all together. Highly recommended!

In Which Trai Reviews 'Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy'

** A word before the review: happy almost 2012, all! Sometime soon, I'll post the full list of what I read in 2011, as well as highlighting some of my favorite reads. **

The Book: Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (The Karla Trilogy, #1)

The Author: John le Carre

How I Found It: The movie had quite a few British actors I love; there was no way I wasn't seeing it! I decided, as I almost always do, to read the book first.

The Review: George Smiley is retired from MI6, known here as "the Circus." He worked on the top floor, the right hand man of the eternally and unfortunately paranoid Control. Control, as it turns out, was right to be suspicious: one of five men could be a mole for the Soviets, and all of those men are on the top floor. There's Percy Alleline, Control's successor ("Tinker"); Bill Haydon, charming and duplicitous ("Tailor"); Roy Bland and Toby Esterhase, always together ("Soldier" and "Poor Man") . Even Smiley ("Beggar Man") is not above Control's suspicions.

No one's supposed to know about the potential mole, but as it turns out, someone does: a woman in Russia named Irina, a woman Circus agent Ricki Tarr wants to protect. He returns to England to reveal what he knows, the explosive truth that Irina has told him. Smiley, as a retiree, is well-placed to look into the conspiracy, whether or not he wants to, and recruits a fellow retiree named Mendel and a younger agent, Peter Guillam, to help him.

As Smiley digs deeper and deeper into the mystery, he learns that Control wasn't the only one with suspicions--a now-retired researcher, Connie, had grown suspicious of a supposed Russian cultural attache and subsequently got harshly warned off his tail; Jerry Westerby, a reporter, learned some suspicious truths about the shooting of Jim Prideaux, another Circus agent; and Prideaux's shooting might not be as unconnected to the search for the mole as it may seem. Smiley and his associates are treading on dangerous ground, looking into something some people would really prefer they not look into. If they find the mole, the security of an entire nation will once more be safe--but what will happen to the Circus, and to all the men involved?

When I started reading this one, I got the feeling that I was out of my depth just a bit. I don't know overmuch about the Cold War; I don't know much about British intelligence agencies (I don't even have that much of an acquaintance with James Bond); and I don't believe I'd ever read a proper spy novel. The jargon confused me (bless my mother for finding a promotional thing for the movie that gave pictures, names, and biographies of all the important characters and a glossary for said jargon!) and some of the period language was lost on me. Even with all of those difficulties, though, I found myself with a feeling I hadn't had in a while. I read the first chapter and I started wondering about how it would fit in with the rest of the book. What did a schoolteacher at a boys' school have to do with a book about spies? These days, as can be seen here, I tend to stick with books like Jane Austen or Doctor Who, where I know the characters and can usually guess where the plot is going, but I had no idea here. I was drawn in by that mystery, and I think that helped me stick it out even past the confusion.

Though the book took me longer than average to get through, and I found that I had to take it slowly in order to comprehend it and not get frustrated, I found that I really did enjoy it, and since I finished it and have started reading other things, I've found myself missing le Carre's style of language and plotting! What first made me like it was the characters. I instantly fell for Jim Prideaux; his kindnesses to the boys at the school he works at endeared him to me, and I was curious to know more about him. George Smiley won my sympathies right off; his philandering wife and the descriptions of his day-to-day routine made him feel real to me, and I wanted to see if he was indeed as good as Control had believed.

I was stunned, as I read it, that this had been made into a successful miniseries and a then-pending release film. There's really no action sequences in the book at all, and the majority of the information we get comes from flashbacks and reading files. I couldn't imagine how such a cerebral, silent story would transition to film. This wasn't like any spy story that I could think of, although I'll reiterate that my experience with that field is narrow. There's no gadgets; there's not a huge amount of shooting guns and other dirty work. This felt realistic, and I know that was le Carre's goal. (As I write this review, I've been back for a few hours from a viewing of Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol, and I walked out grumbling that it felt too unrealistic so soon after I read and saw Tinker, Tailor.) Even if I was stunned by how little action there was, I was amazed at how well the suspense worked. I'm pretty sure I jumped and mumbled a few curses during a tense scene where Peter Guillam steals a file for Smiley, and there's a fantastically eerie sequence where Prideaux recounts the realization that he was being followed while on a mission. Like I said, there's no true action sequences, but damn if I wasn't sold by le Carre's mastery of suspense.

I realized, after all, that I really did like the way le Carre did it--the reader comes to know about each suspect as Smiley digs into their pasts, serving as a reminder to him and an introduction to us. Information is given to the reader naturally--for example, as Smiley reads the files, or as he tells the story of his prior encounters with Karla to Guillam, who's younger and thus doesn't know the story--and it never felt clunky or like it was just a ton of exposition that had to be gotten out of the way. I'm planning on reading the rest of the trilogy, and possibly other classics by le Carre, based solely on how expertly he relayed the information and how he kept me guessing (I thought for sure I'd figured out who the mole was; I was half-right, in a way, but surprised ultimately at who it turned out to be!). The book was well-structured and certainly different than any other mystery or suspense novel I'd read before.

As for the movie, I was pleasantly surprised, even with my misgivings about how the story would transition to film. I've not yet seen the miniseries (that is coming in future), but I was lucky enough to see the film. Like the book, it is very slowly paced (something many British critics had a problem with, and a few people in my theater fell asleep), but if you're willing to stick it out, it's an adaptation that, while not entirely faithful (spoilers ahoy, but if you want a point-by-point list written by a very brutal reviewer, go here), is really worth seeing for the talent involved and to see how such an internalized story made its way on screen.

The men who brought the story to life were all known to me from prior productions, and all of them were outstanding. Gary Oldman managed to convey so much with his silences and calm, contemplative stares; one critic was keen to point out that he doesn't even speak a word until eighteen minutes in. His confrontations and oddly calm interrogations were almost chilling to watch--Smiley is so very mild-mannered, but he has a way of being quietly forceful that Oldman played brilliantly. Colin Firth, as Bill Haydon, was appropriately charismatic and shifty; the other three men (Toby Jones, Ciaran Hinds, David Dencik) were threatening shadows in the background.

After Atonement and Sherlock, I didn't need to be convinced about Benedict Cumberbatch's abilities, but his interpretation of Peter Guillam was probably my favorite performance to watch. I felt the same tension during the file stealing scene that I did in the book, and the filmmakers made one crucial change to his character that made me feel really deeply for him. Just behind Cumberbatch's Guillam in my estimation was Mark Strong's take on Prideaux. I worried about him in this role, as I've mostly seen him in villainous roles (and, oddly, as Mr. Knightley in Emma) and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to believe him as a decent guy. But he played his scenes with Bill Roach, the young boy he takes under his wing, exceptionally well, bringing to life the Prideaux from the book that I'd loved right away, and flashbacks to his ordeals and certain subtexts the filmmakers added made me feel very sad for him indeed.

Some things are definitely trimmed (we don't get much of anything about the backstories of any of the suspects, unlike in the book; some characters become composites due to time constraints), but I felt the adaptation hit all the important points of the story, and there was nothing I greatly missed, something I can't say about most adaptations of books I loved. The score was excellent and added a sense of foreboding to the narrative, and the gorgeous locales and snippets of different languages (Russian! Hungarian!) added the foreign flavor that was sometimes difficult for me to visualize as I read, not having much familiarity with those areas. The film certainly helped me make sense of some of the more labyrinthine aspects of the story, and if the book gets to be too much for a person to follow, I would recommend perhaps giving the film a shot beforehand.

This book and the accompanying film was an entirely new experience for me, and one I greatly enjoyed. I'm definitely sold on reading more le Carre (one of my holiday giftcards is going towards The Honourable Schoolboy, the second book of the trilogy), and I'd really like to see if other film(s) in the series come to fruition. If you're curious to read a classic of the spy genre or you just want to see what story has attracted so many talented British men, give this one a try!

In Which Trai Reviews 'A Darcy Christmas'

The Book: A Darcy Christmas

The Authors: Carolyn Eberhart, Amanda Grange, and Sharon Lathan

How I Found It: This was last year's Christmas-themed Austen release from Sourcebooks; this year, I decided it was time to check it out from my local library.

The Review: I'm not normally one for seasonal reads, due to how crunched I am for time between finals and shopping season, but this book was my break from cooking, studying, shopping, and packing, and it did make the time pass a little faster! While I think I'm not quite suited to seeing Austen characters in novella form--I always want more time with them!--I did enjoy this book for what it was: a sweet, holiday-themed glimpse into the lives of Lizzy and Darcy. As I do with short story collections, I'll review each novella individually.

"Mr. Darcy's Christmas Carol" by Carolyn Eberhart: This anthology was Ms. Eberhart's debut, and I believe that as of yet she's still not come out with a full-length novel. I wish she would! This story was really delightful and, while there was a bit of hyperbole I wasn't sure worked, I enjoyed the clever twists and seeing how characters from Pride & Prejudice fit in the beloved tale of A Christmas Carol.

This story deviates from canon a slight bit by having Darcy alone the Christmas after he's resolved the Wickham/Lydia affair and Jane and Bingley have said their vows and gotten married. Since then, he and Elizabeth have only had an awkward encounter when they stood up together as best man and maid of honor at the wedding, and on Christmas Eve, Darcy is alone save for Georgiana, and not in a very festive mood. When he goes out to join some friends at a club, Darcy gets uncharacteristically drunk--and, upon his return, sees the ghost of his dead father!

Old Mr. Darcy has a message for his son: he must change his ways and overcome his pride, or he will have a restless afterlife where he will observe the spirits of people he could have helped and didn't. His goodwill towards the citizens of Pemberley has him standing in some good stead, but it won't be enough to save him. If he wants a chance at true salvation, he will have to look at Christmases of past, present, and future... and reexamine his feelings for Elizabeth, before it's too late.

I'll confess that I've not read the original A Christmas Carol (and that is loaded onto TARDIS, waiting to be read), but I've seen numerous adaptations enough times to recognize the dialogue and important scenes from the original, and everything that mattered was present here. The choices for the spirits--key players in Darcy's life--were inspired, and it was touching to see Darcy's remembrances of childhood Christmases, for the past, and Christmases abroad for the present (including a delightful appearance from another Austen couple, though I won't say who!). The Christmas future was a bit... unbelievable, I will say that. I highly doubt that Elizabeth's rejection would be the path to Darcy making a supremely loveless marriage, basically disowning Georgiana and leaving her son to grow up in poverty, and then dying alone. But the rest of the tale was superb, so I'll let it slide.

There's not too much of Darcy and Elizabeth interacting, as the tale is focused heavily on Darcy's self-improvement, but his reconciliation scene with Elizabeth was a clever reworking of their final scenes in the original, and probably my favorite rendering of that reconciliation in any variation thus far (the snow! the mistletoe!). This story was my favorite of the three, and I hope that Ms. Eberhart comes out with a full-length novel in the future: I'd read it!

"Christmas Present" by Amanda Grange: The shortest of the three novellas, more of a short story, this story involves Darcy and Elizabeth expecting their first child, and Darcy's anxieties about the process of childbirth. Bingley and Jane have just had their own child, and Elizabeth wishes to see the child and the Bingleys' new home. Darcy is worried the journey will be too much for her, as she is close to giving birth, but Elizabeth assures him she'll be fine, and they make the trip.

Upon arriving at the new house, they find Bingley and Jane quite happy with their new arrival--and Caroline Bingley quite happy with running the household while Jane is indisposed. She has arranged a ball, and the Bennets are to come, as are Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins--and, Mrs. Bennet has heard, Mr. Collins' brother. Mrs. Bennet has a scheme: marrying Kitty off to said brother so that when both Mr. Bennet and Mr. Collins die, Longbourn will be theirs again. This Christmas will be marked by matchmaking and new arrivals, and no one will ever forget it.

This one definitely made me laugh the most: it's hard not to laugh when you've got the Bennets, Lady Catherine, and Caroline Bingley in one household. Caroline would invite herself and take on the planning for parties and house-buying Charles and Jane aren't even sure they want. Mr. Bennet would be snarking in the background. And Lady Catherine's complaining from outside upon her arrival would be audible indoors.

I think I liked this one for the insight into Darcy's anxieties. Georgiana's birth years earlier and his mother's subsequent decline has left him with a great fear of childbirth and what it might do to Elizabeth, and it was almost heartbreaking to see him agonizing about how childbirth might deprive Elizabeth of her favorite activities, like walking and dancing. I'm also a great fan of Darcy and Bingley's friendship, and it was sweet to see them commiserating over their fears. (An amusing passage recounts Bingley's reaction upon hearing his child cry for the first time, and it was certainly true to form.)

I wish Ms. Grange would follow this one up with a full novel or another story or two: I want to learn more about Kitty's delightful suitor! This was a sweet story that could have done with just a few extra pages, but otherwise, it was a nice glimpse into a holiday with the whole clan.

"A Darcy Christmas" by Sharon Lathan: This was the most wide-ranging of all the stories: Ms. Lathan shows us several Christmases with the Darcy family, over a period of about twenty-five years. It begins with Darcy reflecting on his loneliness at Christmas and wondering if he has indeed fallen for Elizabeth Bennet, before showing their honeymoon and, later, subsequent Christmases as their family grows and, once, loses a beloved member. We see the children receiving their gifts, engaging in sibling rivalry, getting stuck away from home as a result of a carriage accident, and eventually, establishing new traditions. Through it all, Darcy and Elizabeth endure together.

I wasn't expecting the Darcys to have quite so many children--I had to keep flipping back to keep track of them--but it was cute to see the differences in their personalities and, eventually for a few of them, their rapport with their chosen matches. Their antics on various Christmases--listening to Darcy read various holiday stories, receiving tons of presents, and overall just antagonizing each other as siblings should--were fun to read about and just what I expected of the Darcy children. My favorite chapter, though, was the most somber of all, when the resurfacing of a childhood memento causes Elizabeth to finally grieve for a recent loss, and needs Darcy for emotional support. It was true to form for Elizabeth--not wanting her grief to drag down the holiday for the others--and for Darcy, who waits for the dam to break with concern and, eventually, a tender sharing of his own experiences with loss and how to get past it.

Some details did become slightly repetitive--Elizabeth's numerous pregnancies, the number of times some characters grunt in assent to some statement--and the descriptions were sometimes too lavish, but it was nice, overall, to have a picture of the Darcys as their married life advanced and their family grew in number.

While the anthology was a sweet holiday treat, I did find that it lacked the balance customary in a full-length novel: it is, like Pride & Prejudice, "light, bright, and sparkling," and I found that I wanted a bit more conflict and a bit more drama. As a diversion, however, the stories were a nice seasonal treat, and I did enjoy them for the short glimpses into the lives of one of my favorite literary couples. Recommended for those who want a glimpse at the Darcy family holidays, or even those who might want a taste of winter when it's out of season!

In Which Trai Reviews 'Doctor Who: Touched by an Angel'

The Book: Doctor Who: Touched by an Angel

The Author: Jonathan Morris

How I Found It: I was really curious to see how a book featuring the Weeping Angels would go, as they're such visual monsters that I wasn't sure they'd come across on a page. A fellow Whovian was kind enough to loan it to me; many thanks!

For those who don't know (although I can't imagine this review is going to mean much to you if you don't know Doctor Who!), the Weeping Angels are one of the more well-known creations of the newest incarnation of Doctor Who. They can only move when you're not looking at them, but they move fast, and if they touch you, you get sent very far back in the past. Basically, don't blink. More information can be found here.

The Review: In 2003, Rebecca Whitaker, married to her husband Mark for only two years, dies in a car accident. In 2011, her husband Mark is still grieving, still stuck, and... being pursued by the image of an angel statue in whichever TVs he passes. Mark is starting to get freaked out, but that's nothing compared to how freaked out he'll be when a man in a tweed suit and a bowtie shows up with his two companions and a device that helps him detect when time's gone "wibbly."

Mark, as it turns out, can't stick around long--because soon enough he's been touched by a Weeping Angel, and off he goes into the past (1994, to be precise), never to return to his present. But wait--only 1994? That isn't right. The Weeping Angels are supposed to send you to a point much further back in time, so they can feed off of hundreds of years worth of potential energy, and why would they send you back on your own timeline... oh. This means the Doctor, Amy, and Rory are fighting a new brand of Weeping Angel, smarter and more dangerous than before.

As the Doctor, Amy, and Rory scramble to stop Mark from interfering in his own timeline and thus causing the collapse of the universe, Mark has an agenda of his own. He's in 1994 and still carrying a letter he received before he got zapped. It's in his own handwriting, and it's an entire list of instructions for the next seven years, 1994 to 2001. And the last line of the letter? You can save her. Mark would do anything to save Rebecca's life... and he's going to try.

This book really surprised me, I have to say. I'd heard it was good, but I truly wasn't expecting it to be this good. Of all the Who novels I've read this far, I think this one is the best, hands down--and that's saying something, considering the ones I've read to this point have been really excellent. But Morris got it all down: characterization, plot, side characters, emotional impact, everything.

I really wish this could have been a two or even three-parter for the show proper: it's brilliantly done, and Morris has made the Weeping Angels and their dastardly new plan scarier than what we saw on TV. When I realized what the deal was with sending someone back to a time they'd actually lived in, I had a mini-freakout and then just had to keep turning the pages. It's brilliant. Many people didn't like the "improvements" made to the Angels in the two-parter, feeling that they eliminated the scare factor, and while I had to agree there, this development truly was scary. The Weeping Angels are the ultimate chessmasters. They don't really have to pursue Mark. They just have to send him back to 1994 and wait for him to run into himself and screw up. They just have to wait for him to blink.

I had an inkling that I would like this book early on, the minute the Doctor showed up. Eleven's really becoming my favorite Doctor, and I really hoped Morris would get his characterization right. And the kicker with Doctor Who is that you don't only have to get the Doctor right: you have to get how he works with the companions right alongside that. I needn't have feared. I knew right off that I had a winner when I reached this exchange:

The Doctor dusted down his jacket and trousers. ‘Or maybe this is a new type of Weeping Angel.’

‘You mean they come in different varieties now? Oh, great!’ [Amy said.]

‘It must’ve been drawn to its prey… like a moth to a flame.’ The Doctor’s eyes widened in delight. ‘Hang on! That analogy made sense! My analogies never make sense! I must write it down. Rory, write it down for me!’

‘I’m not your secretary, Doctor,’ said Rory patiently.

‘No? Only there is a vacancy, yours if you want it.’ (28-9)

I had to giggle here: there it was. The Doctor being excited, in the midst of all the danger, that one of his analogies finally made sense (he would). Amy not losing sight of the danger and really just being annoyed that even after facing the Weeping Angels and nearly losing her life to them, they've not seen it all. Rory being endlessly patient and giving the Doctor a reminder that no, he's not his secretary (again, the Doctor would assume Rory's his secretary). I read with eagerness from there on, and the book didn't disappoint. Morris clearly knows his Who even past the characterizations: there's fun nods to each of the Weeping Angels episodes (Series 3's "Blink" and Series 5's "The Time of Angels" / "Flesh and Stone") and even a sly reference to one of the Tenth Doctor's companions (I won't spoil who, but it was wonderful to see).

The most affecting thing here, I felt, was how well Morris developed Mark and Rebecca's story. Theirs is a not-quite-linear love story, since really, for us, it starts after Rebecca is dead. We get the story through a series of flashbacks to both the good and the bad, which really conveys a sense of Mark having thought these memories over endlessly since Rebecca's death. Morris developed a completely convincing and absorbing love story in very little space, and for that, I applaud him. I was crying at the end because I could feel Mark's devotion--I could feel how badly he wanted to save Rebecca, and I was rooting for him. I like the side characters in Doctor Who, but I don't usually find myself feeling strongly for them save for a few rare exceptions. So it stunned me that I felt so deeply for this one.

The pacing was fast, which pleased me: some of the other Who books I've read have been a teensy bit slow to start and really get into the meat of things, but here we knew right off that the Weeping Angels were after Mark, that these Weeping Angels were a new and more dangerous kind, and that Mark had a goal he wanted to achieve. I read this one in two protracted sittings and never wanted to put it down. It hurtles right along to a surprising and emotional ending, and I'd gladly take the ride again sometime.

For anyone who finds themselves missing the most recent Team TARDIS, this book is a winner. You've got the Doctor at his brilliant but occasionally manipulative best, you've got Amy following right alongside and ready for action, and you've got Rory getting to be gloriously competent and having actual things to do (joy of all joys!). New and improved monsters, great pacing, a well-told love story, and an emotional ending all add up to a wonderful book. Recommended to Whovians who want to see a different take on certain tropes (a paradoxical love story, the scare factor of the Weeping Angels) that they might have felt weren't done right in the recent two series, and really, anyone who just wants to spend more time with the Doctor.