Problem

My problem with this book so far (yes I have one) is that all of the characters are so pathetic.  I find myself sighing at the end of each short chapter (actually there are no chapters, which is also a bit irritating) because every story ends with someone being weak, or mean, or gross, or manipulative. It’s very frustrating.  I think to build interest in a story you need characters that you’re drawn to. For a while I thought Norm Formoyle, older brother to Benji, (you know, the one with the blanket) and son of the town drunk, was the character to watch, but then he ended up revealing himself as a brat.

I need something to offset the distaste I’ve developed.

New book

Liz
Though it was a little unfortunate that our discussion of Revolutionary Road petered out on the early side (hard to discuss books during the holiday season) I am very excited to restart with a new book:  Mary McGarry Morris’s Songs in Ordinary Time.

Unfortunately, this book is getting off to a rocky start for me.  There’s a lot of characters with crisscrossing storylines that I just can’t keep straight.   Also a passage from the first page made me a little queasy and a bit disinterested.  The author introduces one of the main characters, 12 year-old Benji Fermoyle and his dreams:

“It was in his dreams that he felt most threatened, so often lately pursued by the relentless drumbeat of dark footsteps and the warmth that oozed sticky and shameful and nameless, always so unexpectedly, that he did not dare sleep in pajama bottoms, but in a towel, the same towel by morning hidden damp and wadded behind the bureau, then taken out again at night and wrapped stiffly coarse around his hairless groin and thighs.”

Gross. Wash that towel. This first page did keep me wanting more. There are some story lines I’m curious about though…so let’s see how it goes.

Claire
Yeah, the part you quoted? Vom in my mouth while reading that. Nasty. But I suppose that having such a visceral reaction speaks to the quality of the description and the writing itself. On a micro level, I really like this book. The writing style is almost poetic really. The paragraphs, the sentences, the words selected to describe feelings and settings: I like all of it. But the poetic nature of the writing is problematic on a more macro level. It feels all over the place and confusing and almost stream of consciousness in a way that doesn’t work well for a story that so quickly introduces multiple characters and a variety of relationships. You are right that it is hard to keep everything straight and remember who is who and how each person is connected to the other characters and the story as a whole. I like all the small pieces as independent bits of writing. They work well as little snapshots of experiences and conversations in the characters lives. But taken together, the whole thing is kind of a mess. I am hoping that as I get further into the book, the randomness of the story lines will start to settle down and it will be easy to track what is happening, but I’m not setting my expectations too high.

Manipulation

The characters in this book really had a knack for manipulating each other.  Who came out on top in this game?

Liz

From the first fight it was obvious that this story was to revolve around a very complicated relationship.  The fighting I can understand, but I was amazed at the tactics these characters used to manipulate each other into feeling a certain way or doing a certain thing.  After the Laurel Players performance April end the fight saying, “tell me how…by any stretch of the imagination you can call yourself a man!”  Then in her speech efforts to convince him to go to France she seals the deal by telling him “Don’t you know? You’re the most valuable and wonderful thing in the world. You’re a man.” Holy moly is this one tricky bitch.

But then it turns out Franks no better.  He even plans out his manipulation, taking care to drop every tactic at just the right moment. But is this kind of thing natural in dealing with another person that can provide or deny things for you? Should we resist our urges to manipulate our spouses into being nice or allowing us to do the things we want? Or should we be outright and forthcoming? This obviously sounds like the winner, but i’m just not sure it’s possible. All I know is this level of trickery made me a little queasy.

Claire
I certainly don’t think the Wheeler relationship is something that any couple should aspire to. Nor do I believe that this kind of manipulation and behavior is a realistic portrayal of any good or even decent marriage, but it may very well be a quite accurate portrayal of most bad ones. Though, never having been in a bad marriage, I can’t really comment on that with any authority. So I’ll just stick to comparing the behaviors of these two characters and assert that Frank’s manipulation is far worse than April’s.

I think both characters are essentially motivated by the same thing: to change the current path of their lives. April wants to convince Frank to move to Paris so that she can have a better, more fulfilling as something more than housewife. Frank wants to convince April to keep the baby so that he can turn back the plan to move to Paris because he become comfortable with the safety and routine of his American life and has had his ego thoroughly stroked by the offer of a promotion in his company. They’re both ultimately just trying to get what they want without having to directly state their preferences or make any actual demands, but I think the consequences of Frank’s manipulation, even if [SPOILER ALERT] April dying wasn’t part of the story at all, are much more serious. Moving to Paris and having the opportunity to be creative and pensive would probably have been a nice change for Frank. But manipulating April into keeping a baby that she doesn’t want, and doing so by questioning her mental health and insisting that her upbringing forced her to become a heartless, uncaring woman only perpetuates a life that April finds depressing and full of frustration. Maybe Frank has her safety and physical well being in mind, but really his behavior is guided by a selfish desire to continue living in a way that makes him feel comfortable and content, with no consideration of how his wife feels. It’s definitely a very icky aspect of this story.

The First Fight

Liz


The first explosive fight after the Laurel Players scene really sets the mood for this book. A complicated story about a difficult relationship of two complex characters unfolds, which, I’m afraid to say, I could often relate too. I found the description of the process of a fight especially familiar: Yates writes, “at least the thing had passed into the second phase now, the long quiet aftermath that always before, however implausibly, had led to reconciliation.” I thought this scene and Frank’s contemplation of the fighting process was an excellent way to introduce us to the characters and set the tone of the story.

For me this fight was so easy to relate to. When you’re with someone for a while it seems commonplace for this pattern to develop. One person is frustrated, often with themselves, the other person reacts wrong, there’s a blowup, then a cool down, and no matter how hard it seems to imagine everything being normal again, all of a sudden you laugh about something or make a sarcastic remark about a tv show and miraculously, everything resets.

I love that this book starts with such an explosive scene over something that seems so unimportant.  I think it allows the reader to begin understanding the drudgery of living within a routine, and how, especially when one is bored, our minds are able to grasp onto any small mistakes, any unfavorable comments, and turn them into markers of our life’s failures.

Claire

This fight is one of the reasons why I like this book so much. The way in which Yates writes the progression of the argument and describes the tension building up in the postures of his characters and filling the silence between them is just fantastic. It’s such an accurate and honest description of this kind of blowup conflict that occurs in relationships. It’s true that, as your reading it, you can’t really help but picture similar fights that have occurred in your own life. I like that he is so on point about how these kinds of fights start to lose any sense of order as they shift away from any actual discussion of the original problem, to becoming just a way for each person to vent frustration and save face by saying anything they can to hurt the other. It’s upsetting, but very realistic and very expertly written.

Dogland Wrap-up

Liz

There were a lot of things I liked about Dogland. The general telling of the story was fun and interesting. I enjoyed the youthful perspective.  It’s fun to read what a kid notices and how he perceives adult conversations around him.  Chris was a curious character and it was interesting to read his attempts to align himself with his father’s ideaology in an atmosphere that punished him for it.

I also enjoyed the history lessons at the start of every chapter and the discussions of political and social processes throughout the book.  It is interesting to read a lighter telling of these happenings in an interesting time in American history.  Dogland discusses the Space race, Vietnam, The Cold War, The Cuban Missile Crisis, The Civil Rights Act, and the desegregation of schools.

Overall, I would say Dogland was an enjoyable read, but I wouldn’t go as far as to recommend it to someone.  My problem with this book is the one we’ve commented on throughout: what’s the purpose of the story?  There’s history, there’s life lessons, there’s tension in realtionships, but it all ends up ammounting to nothing.  At the end people come after Chris’s dad for his radical thinking (in the context of location and time), and then they fail to hurt him. Someone steals Digger and then the family gets him back…and then it ends. Nothing is resolved and more questions are opened up.

The final chapter presents Nick Lumiere as some sort of organized crime leader.  Before then he appears to be merely a creepy guy that comes around Dogland unwanted and makes the family uncomfortable. And Ethorne dies…is he killed by Lumiere? Does he kill himself? What’s that about? Am I just not observant enough to figure out what’s going on here? Or is the ending a serious let down like I think.

Dogland gets and official “eh” from me. What’s next?

Claire

The Nick Lumiere stuff kind of threw me for a loop too. I kept forgetting who he was. He would just show up from time to time in the book, acting like a creepy pervert and every time I thought, “wait, who is this guy again? Oh yeah, he’s that weird creepy pervert guy who keeps showing up randomly.” So by the end, when we find out that there’s more to him, I couldn’t have cared less.

And that was sort of my problem with Dogland: by the end, I had pretty much stopped caring. I never really had a sense that the author knew what he wanted this book to be. It just kept tumbling along, one story followed by another, sometimes with minimal connectivity, but then at the end, everything became kind of chaotic and it didn’t really feel like the stories that came before should have led us to that point.

Overall, it was an enjoyable enough read, but, as you noted, not one that I would recommend. I didn’t think the writing itself was all that spectacular, though there were a few sections that did stand out, including this one:

Little Bit would laugh, and sometimes they’d start to splash each other while Digger, giggling, rocked up and down, slapping the water and splashing himself more than anyone else. Sometimes Pa would pick us up and toss us out into the water. Little Bit would shriek in delight, but I would try to hide my dread. I hated the shock of being swallowed by cold water, the pain of having water run up my nose, the sight of a rippling roof of water above me that might recede infinitely as I sank further and further until I was a corpse at the bottom of the sea, drifting forever among rippling grasses, sunken galleons and curious mermaids

I think that’s such a nice description of the experience of being thrown into water and the fear that might come with it for a small child. But those sorts of descriptions were fairly rare and I felt like the prose was a bit disjointed and ineloquent. That could just be the fault of having a child narrator, but it became a bit tiresome after a while.

So I’m with you on this one: eh. Onward to Revolutionary Road.

Seems like we should be commenting on all this racism

Mayella dies, Seth gets beat up. The n-word is thrown around casually. The racism in the South during the family’s time at Dogland is a major theme in this book that we should probably address. I wonder if it was a positive or negative life lesson for Chris growing up around both black and racist workers at Dogland.

Claire

The way in which the author handles the theme of racism in the South during this time period is probably my favorite thing about this book. It’s really the only aspect of the writing that feels completely honest.

That Chris is not fully conscious of the racial dichotomy around him is very true to the age of the character at the time of the story. He’s just a young kid, capable of sensing the opposing reactions of the adults in his life to issues of race (this is particularly salient during the scene when the black family comes into the restaurant to use the bathroom and then stays to get dinner), but not yet able to fully discern the motivations behind these different reactions. I think that’s an accurate portrayal and I appreciate that the author resisted any temptation to apply a greater cultural and social awareness than Chris’ age would realistically allow.

There are a few places in the book where Luke (the dad) comes a little too close to serving as some Great White Hope in this crazy, mixed up southern world–hiring black employees and sort of self-righteously insisting that racial equality is just common sense. That’s all well and good, and certainly positive, admirable thinking, but I always find that I’m a bit annoyed when a paternal, white character is cast as the great local hero in the fight against racism in small town America, as though all the black people around him should be so thankful that he showed up to help them out. But this book manages to keep that sentiment from getting too out of hand. There are subtle suggestions that we are meant to compare Luke’s approach to that of Lincoln’s at the time of the Emancipation Proclamation. While I was reading, I was reminded of this quote from Lincoln:

My paramount object in this struggle is to save the Union, and is not either to save or to destroy slavery. If I could save the Union without freeing any slave I would do it, and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone I would also do that. What I do about slavery, and the colored race, I do because I believe it helps to save the Union; and what I forbear, I forbear because I do not believe it would help to save the Union. I shall do less whenever I shall believe what I am doing hurts the cause, and I shall do more whenever I shall believe doing more will help the cause.

At one point in the book, when Luke is asked if he’s bothered that the only local business the restaurant gets is from black residents, he replies “Hell, no. They’re good people. Their money’s green, and they generally seem glad to be spending it at our place.” I can’t remember the actual chronology at this point, but this quote comes not far from a mention of Lincoln and I think we are meant to make the connection. Just as the abolition of slavery was really only motivated by a desire to protect the Union, I think a lot of Luke’s racial acceptance is derived from capitalist motivations. At no point does Luke really admonish anyone around him for doing or saying racist things. He is certainly not surprised and doesn’t seem especially bothered by at least the casual, daily racism that surrounds him. I think part of why he doesn’t participate in it himself, though, is because he really sees all people as a means to end. As long as people are spending money, or staying on top of their work, they’re people, all the same to Luke. I think it’s that suggestion that keeps the character grounded in the time period. He runs the risk of being an unrealistic anomaly for his place and time, but the author reins him in just enough.

Liz

Wow. I didn’t even make the Lincoln connection, but I agree. I do think this is an aspect that keeps Luke likable and grounded.  But at the same time, just because he doesn’t constantly point out others’ racism doesn’t mean that he isn’t made into a bit of a hero.  I think the parts where he writes into the paper to discuss his “radical” perspective kind of breaks down his merely capitalist motivations. It seems in these cases that the author does have him trying to change the environment.

I asked what kind of life lesson it is for a Chris to grow up in this atmosphere, but I still don’t know how it could affect a child to grow up with two strong opposing views around him.  It seems like it could be pretty confusing, especially since black and white children didn’t go to school together and have the chance to interact and learn through experience about their similarities. I agree that the way the author handles Chris’s point of view is well done and on point for how a child might react to social interactions he can’t read into. I liked this aspect of the book.

Is it just me or is Luke kind of a dick?

Liz

I’ve been a little skeptical of his parenting style since he made Chris eat that salty cereal, but being mean to Susan for giving things away to the black church and school during the holidays? That really ticked me off…

Pa is a dick. And the further I get into Dogland the more I foresee some marital strife. I think Susan’s a little too go-with-the-flow for this guy.

Claire

Seriously. This dude is a total asshole. He was pretty much dead to me after that salty cereal business. Don’t make your child eat some salty cereal! That’s complete bullshit. I would have spat that crap into his face. Screw the dad. He’s a self righteous prick.

What do you think about the narrative style of Dogland?

So I’m starting to think that the pointless aspects of the story are just the style in which it was written.The question is: do we like this style? Or is it too much description and not enough plot?

Liz

I like it. There are parts that are seriously boring, like the description of the family’s first trip to visit the grandparents in Minnesota.  But most of the time I’m down. I like the little anecdotes like the story about the old-fashioned coca-cola machine, where you’re reminded of how adventurous, yet nervous you are when you’re a kid. I was a little disappointed in Chapter 8, though, when the narrator reminds us that “My five-year-old self didn’t notice it, but…” I like to see things from only one view and to forget that there is an active narrator who is telling and reflecting on the story. This part reminded me of Little Women where the narrator breaks in to say something about her perspective even though she’s the one telling the story. It pulls me out of the book for a moment. At least in this book we know who the narrator is and it makes sense to hear his outside comments.

Claire

I have pretty mixed feelings about the narrative style. I think the story could have used another once over from an editor who wasn’t afraid to cut the fat. Sometimes it works and the anecdotes are fun little insights into the family’s life and the narrator’s experience of the world around him. But other times the slow, rambling style just feels like an unnecessary drag. There are parts where Chris will describe the games that he’d played, either alone or with his siblings/other children. They just go on and on. I don’t need to read that much description about a bunch of kids playing some game. “I said ‘bang’ and then she said ‘boom’ and I fired at her and said ‘bang’ again and she said ‘boom’ once more and then…” Enough already! It would be one thing if these descriptions of playing cowboys and Indians actually led to something interesting or worthwhile, but they often don’t. I know how kids play. I was a kid once. I’ve seen other children play. I don’t need a word-for-word account of what transpired. It’s that kind of thing that really bugs me. I just keep finding myself reading a passage and then thinking, “And?”

I do like the narrative style for the most part, though. I think Chris is sweet and funny. I like that his retelling of his experiences strikes a good balance between amply descriptive and appropriately childlike. Rarely does he describe something that you just know a 5 year old wouldn’t remember or wouldn’t have noticed. I feel like I’m just waiting for something to actually happen, though. I’m not quite as far along as you are, but still, there just doesn’t feel like much of a point. It’s an enjoyable book to read, but I can’t really put my finger on why the author bothered to write it. I mean, they open up this place that has a ton of dogs and, because it’s Southern Florida, a bunch of people are really racist and you get the story of Chris growing up against this backdrop. It doesn’t really ever comment on what any of this means for Chris, though, and perhaps that’s a failing of the chosen narrative style. I kind of wish that rather than just recounting the experience, including lots of pointless, mundane details, the story was written so that we could get some kind of reflection from Chris upon looking back on this portion of his life.

I don’t know. I’m conflicted. I’m enjoying the book, but I think, if it were me, I would have made some different creative choices.

Love then and now

Liz

It occurred to me while reading about the love lives of the “Little Women” that each of them waited about for some time before their chosen plans could be fulfilled.  It made me wonder why being apart seems like such a daunting task for a couple in modern times. It’s hard for me to imagine myself in the position of saying “Yes, go be successful and make a man of yourself and I’ll see you in three years and marry you.” Why are we so much more hasty in our affairs nowadays? Do you think it’s because sex before marriage is more accepted or do we just have so many options and freedoms that it’s too hard to be patient?

Claire

I think it’s mostly that the entire context and framework of falling in love has changed. Formal courtship doesn’t really exist anymore. It used to be that men would make known their intentions for marriage and then set themselves about the task of becoming worthy or their future brides. Men went away to become successful and dignified so that they could essentially earn a woman’s hand in marriage and prove that they were responsible and hardworking and capable of providing for a wife and a home. It seems to me that relationships were more something that men had to earn, whereas nowadays, I think they are something that two people create and build together, often over the course of many years and many life changes.

I don’t doubt that a lot of the difference has to do with women simply having more power and autonomy. I at least hope that we are less something that men can earn through the demonstration of hard work and determination and more equal contributors financially, intellectually and romantically. I think you are right that it has to do with having more options and freedoms, but I’m not sure that those necessarily stand in contrast to patience. You’re not going to wait around for three years for some man to go off and find success and make a name for himself because you simply don’t have to. I think women during Alcott’s time practiced greater patience because they had to. They had far fewer opportunities to earn money or seek their own fame and becoming the wife of an honest, hardworking man was pretty much seen as the ultimate accomplishment for a woman, no? Now, women are able to find their own way in life. That’s not to say that two people couldn’t spend three years apart, earning money and success, and then come back together and get married, but when such pursuits are regarded as acts of independence and you don’t have one person just waiting around, learning how to be a proper lady/wife until the other returns, there are far more opportunities for the relationship to fall apart.

So yeah. Those are my thoughts. It’s a good question for sure, but ultimately I think what made being apart less daunting was simply that that was the way these things worked then. That was the convention at the time and it would have been very unbecoming of women to complain.

Were Americans in the 1800s more worldly?

Liz

In reading Chapter 12 “Camp Laurence” I found the discussion of Meg’s ability to read German interesting.   It seems odd to imagine that Americans in the late 1800s were focused on reading in German and interested in French fashion and phrases.  In a time when communication oversees was so limited how could people be so successfully international in their thinking? Shed some light on this please!

Claire

I don’t really have a definitive answer for you; this is a case where greater knowledge of American history might prove helpful.

I do know that Alcott was born in Germantown, Pennsylvania. I can’t really speak to the population at the time of her birth, but perhaps Alcott grew up among German immigrants, or had family that had originally emigrated from Germany. Her family moved to Boston when she was quite young, though, so Germantown could just as easily have nothing to do with her creating characters that are interested in German.

I also know that her father was a writer and a good friend of Ralph Waldo Emerson and other important writers and philosophers of the time. Alcott worked as a governess for Emerson’s children as well. Again, I don’t have enough historical knowledge or desire to actually research this, but maybe when Alcott was growing up, German philosophy and prose were of particular significance to her father and his friends. Perhaps she grew up hearing about and reading German prose and decided to incorporate her love of that language into her book.

Further still, maybe the Concord, Massachusetts of the March family’s time was heavily populated with German immigrants. Hannah, the family housekeeper is German, as are the Hubbels, the family the March sisters visit on Christmas morning to offer up their breakfast as a gift to the poor children. Meg’s specific interest in German could stem from a desire to feel more connected to the roots and history of the people who surrounded her. For all I know, that area of the United States was heavily German.

I just can’t really say for certain why German without knowing more about the makeup of the population and the United States’ relationship with Germany at the time. I wouldn’t say that Americans were more worldly then than they are now, though. I think it’s more a product of really not being all that far removed from direct connection with Europe, combined with a dearth of American cultural and literary contribution, especially when compared to Europe. A child growing up at this time could conceivably have grandparents or older relatives who were alive during the War of 1812 when the US fought Great Britain. There were a great many people moving to the United States from Europe. The United States wasn’t the super power it is today and hadn’t really yet developed the kind of cultural relevance and prestige that European nations held on the world’s stage. European languages and cultures were regarded as very sophisticated and romantic. Nowadays, there’s so much American literature and history to study, whereas at the time of this book’s publication and before it, European texts greatly outnumbered American contributions in the literary world.

Like I said, I don’t really have any idea why Meg would choose to read to German, but as for French fashion and phrases: France always has been and always will be the world’s leader in those departments.