*** August 2011 Newsletter Pick ***

The Curfew is a novel made in a single perfect stroke to the heart of the reader.

William and his daughter Molly live in their small apartment alone. The police are everywhere and unnamed. A revolution is possibly in motion. People are dying, often without so much as a splash. But father and daughter are happy, in a way.

In a dramatic waltz, the narrative pulls William through the motions of being a noble father in times of trouble and fear. When I say the story pulls William, I mean that he is compelled by circumstance into situations he does not and most likely would not choose for himself or his family. To begin with, William is a widower. With the passing of his wife, his daughter becomes his only charge and care. But when he is faced with a decision that will put his own life at risk, and subsequently Molly's as well, there is a moment when he ponders what the worst thing would be for his daughter. There are many horrible things for a child in the world, but "to be the daughter of a coward," he concludes -- that is the worst of all.

The sacrifices and decisions William makes are drastically selfless. Ball does well at making William real despite this saintly quality. Perhaps it is that in the end, despite everything, he still does not understand his daughter, or that which he loves most -- perhaps that is what allows him the utterly human quality he bears throughout.

Midway through the novel, Molly becomes the driving force of the narrative. Reflecting and retelling the history already experienced by the reader with William in the form of a puppet show, the book is turned in upon itself, the mute Molly exposed in a cast of marionettes. Her mother, William, the world at large, are all reshaped through her imagination.

Ball's world is at once whimsical and desperately poignant. One cannot help but be drawn deeply into the relationships he creates. But Ball's real feat is not one of transportation but rather transfiguration. The readers' own personal relationships are reinterpreted through those in the text. It is this aspect that lends the novel its lasting quality.

I still take pause and feel this work wash over me now. It is a delight to say the least.

The only book of poetry I've ever even considered giving to another person... but then I bought it for myself.

Apparently this was Steinbeck's least favorite of his own works. Yeah right! Steinbeck knows nothing of his own works! Exciting, moving, this book is easily his most dynamic work, on style alone it is a beautiful piece. This book also has the best ending of any book maybe ever.

This book will make you want to travel back in time to go to Japan and hang with a samurai. I even learned some Japanese after reading it. No big deal... "Daidokoro" means "kitchen".