Book Review 13: “Exit West”


Genre: Fiction

Have in the Library? Yes!


“In a city swollen by refugees but still mostly at peace, or at least not yet openly at war, a young man met a young woman in a classroom and did not speak to her.” So begins “Exit West,” a graceful book about Nadia, a spirited and rebellious woman, and Saeed, a gentle and sensitive man. Their love story originates in this never-named city as it falls apart, and their lives are altered first in small ways, then in ways that are irreparable. Soon, they’re traveling through doors both literal and metaphoric, and the book blends the fantastical with the all-too-real in a way I’ve never quite encountered before in fiction. Interspersed vignettes bring us to farther flung locales all around the globe where, at the same as Saeed and Nadia are embarking on their journeys, people are moving, migrating, mingling. A man climbs through a window in Australia, Filipina women emerge from a dark alleyway in Shikoku, in Mexico a woman walks through a cantina and reclaims her daughter, in Prinsengracht, an old man gets a second chance. The sense of movement is momentous but there’s still a subtlety to the prose that, much like the doors themselves, you don’t entirely realize what’s happened until you’ve passed through.

This book was published in 2017. Mohsin Hamid is a Pakistani writer better known for his book “The Reluctant Fundamentalist.” This is a book for our time, about our modern world and the reordering and upheaval of people because of violence. And yet Hamid handles this subject with so much gentleness that it reads almost like a fable. His choice was interesting to me, and ultimately effective. Saeed and Nadia’s tale is sad, the sacrifices of immigrants presented in a straightforward way that seems all the more devastating: “She felt she was abandoning the old man…and so by making the promise he demanded she was make she was in a sense killing him, but that is the way of things, for when we migrate, we murder from our lives those we leave behind.”

But what I got out of this book is not sadness so much as wonder. I think this line (like so many of Hamid’s, beautiful in its simplicity) encapsulates that feeling best: “Throughout this time she had never moved, traveled, yes, but never moved, and yet it seemed the world had moved.”

Book Review 12: “The Good Lord Bird”


Genre: Fiction

Have in the Library? Yes!


This book by James McBride recounts the story of abolitionist John Brown’s famous raid on Harper’s Ferry from the point of view of Henry “Onion” Shackleford, a (fictional) young slave swept up by John Brown as he goes through Kansas. Their relationship begins with a mistake: due to a mis-hearing, John Brown believes that Onion is a girl and also his good luck charm. Before he knows it, Onion is part of his band and, through an clever re-write of history, an integral part of the famous day at Harper’s Ferry. The best part about this book is the prose– it’s insanely good. Right from it’s rollicking first chapter, you’re taken up in the wild pace of the abolitionists’ cross country ride. Part of the fun is that it’s a completely irreverent take on the character of John Brown. Far from being a hero, in McBride’s tale, the “Old Man” is a frustrating, yet endearing, mix of clueless, religious and ridiculous. His favorite pastime is offering up long prayers:

Bullets zinged high overhead and kicked around his boots and near my face, but he stood where he was a good five minutes…He didn’t notice, course, for he was preaching. His sermon about the Holy Word and King Solomon and the two mothers with one baby was clearly important to him. He went on warbling about his sermon as one of Broadnax’s Negroes flared a light and set fire to the cannon’s fuse. The Old Man didn’t pay it a lick of mind. He was still bellowing on about King Solomon and the two mothers when Owen piped up, “Pa! We got to go.”

With such hilarious writing, the violence of John Brown as he screeches across the territories burning and killing almost escapes you. So, too, does the power of his conviction, as when he stands over the body of one of his men.

He sighed…pulled a feather off the Good Lord Bird, and rose. He turned and stared at the town grimly, burning in the afternoon sun. He could see it plain, the smoke spiraling up, the Free Staters fleeing, the rebels firing at them, whooping and hollering. “God sees it,” he said.

Without knowing much about the actual person of John Brown, I’m not sure where McBride takes liberties (aside from the obvious), but he certainly captures the feeling of the time well. As in the best historical novels, Onion’s exploits read as fresh as though they were happening right now.

As I read this, I was thinking about allyship. What does it mean for non-black and especially white people in times like these, with rampant police killings and other racial injustices? On the one hand, one of the most prominent points of the book is how John Brown set about to “free the negro” without actually consulting or listening to the black people he came across. It becomes a kind of comedy of errors that ends up costing him dearly. John Brown was also a truly devoted champion for black rights at a time when being so was perilous. As he said to his sons, “I have only a short time to live, and I will die fighting for this cause. There will be no peace in this land until slavery is done…Stay here if you want. If you’re lucky, you’ll find a cause worth dying for.”

The moral of this story then, is not to be like John Brown. And none of the characters, even the tenacious Onion, are truly heroes. For all it’s tall-tale trappings, I thought it was pretty realistic in it’s portrayal of the flawed ways in which everyday people interact with the historical moments handed to them. Perhaps, like the ivory billed woodpecker, the “Good Lord Bird” that pecks on rotten trees to fell them, we’re all just working on something too big for us ever to accomplish in our lifetimes. McBride leaves us the hope that even if we don’t see the change, just as John Brown did not survive to see the Emancipation Proclamation,  it will “someday fall and feed the others.”

Book Review 11: “The Fionavar Tapestry”


Genre: Fantasy

Have in the Library? Yes!

Reviewed by: Bill Oram


This is a deeply moving fantasy novel.  It’s long and it takes its time: its three volumes create the world of Fionavar with at least a dozen main characters and many other important subordinate figures.  (There’s a list at the front, and at first I had to keep consulting it.  After a while I entered the world and that wasn’t necessary.) The tapestry of the title is the world itself with the rules governing its existence, woven by a deity who has afterward given it the freedom to develop on its own—to destroy itself, if that’s the way things should turn out.  The fundamental conflict is the battle for Fionavar against a subordinate deity who would enslave it, destroying the races that have have opposed him (This is the main way in which it reminds me of Tolkien, however different it is otherwise.).  Fionavar, we are told, is one of many worlds, but it’s the principal world and if it falls, they all fall.  It encompasses four or five different cultures and races, with an extraordinary variety of character and incident.

In the opening chapter, five characters from our own world (three men and two women) are transported to Fionavar (one less willingly than the others) where they will take part in the struggle.  These five characters experience the events of the novel very differently, and the novel insists on their differing perceptions.  While they sometimes work alone, sometimes together, their development forms the novel’s center, as they all in different ways come to terms with their natures and fulfill their destinies. To speak of “fulfilling their destinies” sounds pompous, but it’s right for the novel.  Kay writes marvelously, and with a kind of absolute conviction in his world.   The book is pure romance, full of marvels—dwarves, gods and goddesses, enchanted forests with their spirits, sea-monsters, cauldrons that bring the dead back to life, magicians both virtuous and destructive, a deadly winged unicorn, priestesses, a shaman—even, in the third volume, two very different dragons.  The pleasure of the book comes partly from Kay’s constant inventiveness, and partly from the moving power of the writing.  There is a lot of action, of course, set against a world with a mythological depth, sense of events stretching back to the beginning of time.

This was written during the 1980’s, and it’s the best work of heroic fantasy I know from that decade.  It’s one of the few that doesn’t feel like a footnote to Tolkien.  That’s partly, I think, because, where Tolkien got much of his inspiration from Norse mythology, Kay looks to Celtic sources.  Arthur, Lancelot, Guinevere all figure here as do a number of Celtic deities, but Kay allows himself to play with the old myths, giving them new dimensions.  In Malory’s version of the Arthur story, for instance, when the young Arthur realizes that he has begotten Mordred, who will kill him, he orders that all the young children born when he was born on be set adrift on a boat to die.  In this novel, Arthur suffers for his sin by being summoned back to life in various worlds to fight and die in the ongoing battle between good and evil.  If you’re inclined, you can trace the mythological dimensions of the novel by googling  them, or you can simply give yourself to the ongoing narrative.  If you don’t like heroic fantasy, you probably won’t like this one.  But otherwise you’ll love it. 

Book Review 10: “In Other Words”

Genre: Biography/Memoir

Have in the Library? Yes!

In Altre Parole / In Other Words is presented in a neat bilingual version: Italian on one page and English down the other: Jhumpa Lahiri’s words in Italian, translated into English by Ann Goldstein. Two languages, two pages, facing each other. It recalls the lake she speaks about in the first chapter: the Italian language on one side, English on the other. “You can’t float without the possibility of drowning, of sinking. To know a new language, to immerse yourself, you have to leave the shore. Without a life vest,” she writes. This book is a chronicle of exactly that: after growing up, and having a successful career as a famous writer in America, Lahiri picks it all up and moves. To Italy: to learn, speak and ultimately reinvent herself in Italian.

This book is divided into short chapters in which she muses on different aspects of her language learning: from her wild obsession with Italian that she likens to “love at first sight,” to collecting words in a pocket dictionary (a book that will “always be bigger than [she will”), to the joys and constraints of trying to write in her adopted language. Her prose is characteristically straightforward but at the same time the voice more enigmatic than the novelist I’m used to. In part this could be the translation, which, for reasons she explains, she decided not to undertake herself.  Yet it is also thematic:  here for the first time, she’s exploring herself. This is “unaccustomed” territory (to borrow a phrase from one of her other works), since Lahiri usually writes “in order to hide in the background of life.” This book, which she likens to Matisse’s cutouts in respect to the newness of her artistic direction, stands out because here she “is the protagonist for the first time.” And yet she’s still exploring the same themes that haunt her fiction: migration, exile, and what it means to live between cultures.

As someone who has also navigated foreign countries, as a brown person who’s also often stuck between two worlds, and as a writer who loves words, Lahiri’s observations read like a special revelation to me. It was very worth leaving the shore.

Librarian’s Report

This past Monday, August 14, we held our Annual Meeting at the Monhegan Memorial Library. As usual we talked all about what has happened this summer as well as plans for the future. And, we bid a fond farewell to outgoing board member Sue Bolman. Sue has served the Library for twelve years, and we will miss her. We also welcomed incoming board member Sally Boynton, and new President Miki Partridge!

It’s been a fabulous year. You can read all about it in our Annual Report . Thanks to everyone who loves our little library!

Book Review 9: “The Underground Railroad”


Genre: Fiction

Have in the Library? Yes

Reviewed by: Kelena Reid


The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead is an exploration into the history of bondage, racial violence, and the journey to “freedom”, told through the eyes of Cora, an enslaved woman. Whitehead tells the story of Cora’s escape using history and story telling through a non-linear and surreal narrative.  The story moves from the slave holds on the coast of Africa, to a plantation in the South, and through several portals on the “Railroad” as Cora searches for freedom. Coleson’s account does not diminish the pain and violence of slavery and I appreciate Whitehead’s use of other interrelated pieces of African American history and the history of American racial violence. For example, one of Cora’s stops on the “Underground Railroad” on her way to “freedom” exposes her to the cruel medical experimentation performed on black men and women in the South. Cora originally believes this stop on the Railroad to be a life of freedom, but slowly realizes it is another form of enslavement, and so she continues her journey and travels further North. Cora loves, and is also torn from, figures such as her grandmother, Ajarry, and Ceasar, the man who entreats her to escape. Whitehead is a talented writer. Ajarry, Ceasar, and Cora are fully human and powerful – as much as they are trapped within a system of exchange and violence. “Cora’s grandmother was sold a few times on the trek to the fort, passed between the slavers for cowrie shells and glass beads. It was hard to say how much they paid for her in Ouidah as she was part of a bulk purchase, eighty-eight human souls for sixty crates of rum and gunpowder..”


The Underground Railroad is an important book which contributed to my understanding of the legacy of American slavery.

Monhegan Memorial Library welcomes Paul Doiron!

The Monhegan Memorial Library is delighted to announce a program by Maine mystery writer Paul Doiron to take place on Monhegan Island. This three-day event will consist of a Murder Mystery Party at the Partridge Cottage at 7:30pm on Friday, August 4th, an Author Talk by Paul Doiron at the Monhegan Church at 7:30pm on Saturday, August 5th and a Q & A for Writers at 10:30 am (advance sign-up required) at the Monhegan Memorial Library on Sunday, August 6th

Paul Doiron is a Camden writer and the author of the Mike Bowditch of crime novels. The first book of the series, “The Poacher’s Son,” was nominated for an Edgar Award and called “an adventure worthy of its magnificent Maine setting.” (Julia Spencer-Fleming). Often praised for his sense of place, Mr. Doiron is active in the Maine outdoors scene that his novels draw from, working as a Registered Maine Guide specializing in fly-fishing. He is also an editor emeritus of Down East Magazine, having served as Editor in Chief from 2005 to 2013.

Paul Doiron’s visit will be the second program in the MML Distinguished Writers Series, established last summer. We are pleased to announce that this year’s event is in memory of James Rubin.

 For more information, please contact Mia Boynton,

Book Review 8: “Night Sky With Exit Wounds”


Genre: Poetry

Have in the Library? Yes


This chapbook is a welcome surprise for those (like me) who have trouble with poetry. Ocean Vuong’s collection of 35 poems are direct, simple but subtle, painful yet light. They glimmer with repeated motifs: fathers, guns, fields and bodies. Ocean Vuong writes from many intersections: as a Vietnamese immigrant in America, a war survivor, a gay man. Yet none of these elements overwhelm. Instead, they meld together into one hymn of a man trying to find his way through his own history.

The poems can be read individually at random but it’s rewarding to read the book straight through, beginning with his invocation, a poem appropriately titled “Threshold”:

“In the body, where everything has a price, / I was beggar ” he begins, and the rest unfurls from there. The stars are “what we always knew/they were: the exit wounds/of every/misfired word.” In “Aubade with Burning City,” the fall of Saigon is interspersed with verses from “White Christmas.” Like a “good son,” he “seal[s] [his] father’s lips/ with my own & begin/ the faithful work of drowning.”

Vuong’s language is wonderful. He doesn’t use arcane words, just precision: the room is “bomb-bright,” a father is “all famine & fissure.”

To me, the loveliest part of this book is hope. For Vuong, hope seems delicately balanced, more a process and less a destination. “Dear God, if you are a season, let it be the one I passed through/ to get here,” he says. And by the end it seems he has arrived at a place that is at least peaceful.  In my favorite poem, “Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong,” he is soft and calming: “Ocean, don’t be afraid./ The end of the road is so far ahead/it is already behind us.”

For all its sorrow, “the refugee camp sick with smoke & half-sung/ hymns,” Night Sky With Exit Wounds is a book of healing. As he says in “Seventh Circle of Earth” : “Say amen. Say amend./ Say yes. Say yes/ anyway.”


Book Review 7: “The Fifth Season”

Genre: Science Fiction

Have in the Library? Yes

Reviewed by: Bill Oram

This novel throws you into the middle of an absorbing, violent world.  The world is literally violent.  It’s rent by earthquakes and volcanoes and periodic catastrophes (“fifth seasons”) that cause decades of crop failures, interrupting and sometimes ending civilizations.  The planet itself seems an enemy, and a common exclamation is “Evil Earth!”  The book opens with two tragedies, the death of a child and the start of a fifth season.  “Let’s start with the end of the world, why don’t we” the deadpan narrator begins, “and move on to more interesting things.”  The more interesting things include the self-destructiveness of the world’s civilization as well as the earth’s violence.  But these large issues appear through the experiences of the three female protagonists, a child, a young woman and a middle-aged mother, each of whom features in a different plot, at a different time.  The narrative shifts between them.   

The three women are all orogones—human beings with a special capacity for identification with and control of the earth and its molten energies.  The general population fears and hates the orogones (it’s not clear if they have been taught to do this) while the government enslaves them, brainwashes them, breeds them, and uses them to stabilize the environment.  The novel follows the protagonits’ various attempts to create places of safety, freedom and dignity.  The book is partly about race, and it’s also about the relation between knowledge and power, and the need of each of the characters to come to terms with her own nature. There is also a lot of wild and fascinating invention—a sinister race of stone-eaters, mysterious obelisks and the gradually clarifying history of the past.

As with many science fiction novels, this one throws you into its world and asks you gradually to figure it out. The three plots are all related, and by the end of the novel you see the connections but, since it is the first of a trilogy, you don’t learn everything, and the novel ends with many balls in the air.  It’s a terrific book, deeply absorbing and it stays in the memory.  Its characters are vivid, understandable, and their experiences are moving.  For all its grimness, it’s full of wonder.  It won a Hugo award and was nominated for practically all the other SF and fantasy awards that count.  I loved it.       

Book Review 6: “Bring Up the Bodies”

Genre Fiction
Have in the Library? Yes

This book begins with the dead: his children (his, Thomas Cromwell’s), Grace and Anne, briefly reborn in the guise of royal falcons carrying their names. As they drift above the English countryside, Mantel paints the scene:

The horseboys of Wolf Hall swarming around us, Wiltshire and the western countries stretching into a haze of blue; let us stand, the king’s hand on his shoulder, Henry’s face earnest as he talks his way back through the landscape of the day, the green copses and rushing streams, the alders by the water’s edge, the early haze that lifted by nine; the brief shower, the small wind that died and settled; the stillness, the afternoon heat.

It’s 1535 and King Henry VIII is going across the countryside for sport. Henry here is childlike, with England as his playground for falconry and courting, while Europe falls into chaos. Cromwell, his handler, watches on the sidelines, at the whim of the King but secure in the knowledge that it is really his hand that controls the court and country.

“Bring Up the Bodies” is the second novel in Hilary Mantel’s Thomas Cromwell trilogy. The first, “Wolf Hall,” charts Cromwell’s unlikely rise to power and first forays in Henry’s court. Now in “Bring Up the Bodies,” we find Cromwell firmly established with a happy household and a prominent position as Secretary to the King. The final book, “The Mirror and the Light,” is slated to come out later this year.

Though the storyline picks up immediately from where “Wolf Hall” ended, this book stands alone. I liked it better than its predecessor. The action is more tightly packed, the writing tauter, and everything is tuned just a little bit darker. The endless court intrigue that bogged down “Wolf Hall” is pared down here and the events go by at a rapid pace. Cromwell is also different. Now with years at court behind him, his cruel side is starting to show as he tries any means possible to sabotage Anne Boleyn. Here we get a more tragic Cromwell. Though he seems to slide through the days as smoothly as ever, inside he is eaten up by loss: the deaths of his wife, daughters and former master Cardinal Wolsey.

As someone who hasn’t studied British history, I had no idea who Thomas Cromwell was. Anne Boleyn and Henry were just names. There is a lot of history going on here to be sure; place names and people names and levels of hierarchy that I occasionally found myself glossing over. I don’t always like historical fiction for this reason, but in “Bring Up the Bodies,” those details are just background noise. Following the rise and fall of fortunes, you are swept up and see the events taking place as though you are really there.

What makes the difference in Mantel’s writing is her sense of time. She writes in present tense, which should feel strange but isn’t. In doing so, Mantel implies that the past is present. Though different in details, the dramas of the Tudor court are presented as just as urgent as any contemporary politics today. The consequences are just as deadly.

The book ends with the dead, this time Anne Boleyn, “Anne sans tête.” The chapter on her trial and the execution is one of the best written scenes as Mantel spares nothing in depicting the brutality of the proceedings. Yet it’s her quieter passages that are most powerful, as in the last chapter where Cromwell reflects:

When the time comes I may vanish before the ink is dry. I will leave behind me a great mountain of paper, and those who come after me…they will sift through what remains and remark, here is an old deed, an old draft, an old letter from Thomas Cromwell’s time: they will turn the page over, and write on me.

“Bring Up the Bodies” is a portrait of a time in history, when plagues stalked the land and when a shift in power was heralded with executions. One thing seems certain: in Tudor England, no one is safe. Cromwell is remarkable because of his willingness to look ahead in the face of this helplessness, his endurance, “stuck like a limpet to the future.”

The truth of it is not so different today. Death is still the constant, or to put it less morbidly, the fact of our impermanence in the world. Like Thomas Cromwell, Henry the XVIII or Anne Boleyn, we spend our lives plotting and scheming for more: love, power, creation of a bloodline or creation of a book. Yet in the end history teaches that there will always be an afterwards. Whatever we gain is not forever. But, Mantel gently suggests, perhaps we misunderstand the “nature of endings.” Just as the falcons named for his departed daughters soar in the sky, in these pages Cromwell can again open his wings and fly. We, the reader, feel the exhilaration as though we are standing there with him in that summer field.