Something Wicked This Way Comes – An Elegant and Dazzling Dark Fantasy

“For being good is a fearful occupation; men strain at it & sometimes break in two.”

Ray Bradbury is one of the most prolific and renowned fantasy fiction writer, who was best known for his dystopian narrative in Fahrenheit 451 (published in 1953). Mr. Bradbury never attended college, but his shining prose and depthful metaphors kept readers under a spell. Although he was known as a science-fiction writer, Bradbury’s works often defy easy classification (and he rejected ‘sci-fi author’ tag). The lyrical power of his writing and distinct weirdness of his stories’ setting could very well be termed ‘Bradburian’. While Bradbury’s tales set in Mars and dystopian future gained immense attention, he was as great in chronicling the enchantment of childhood and possibilities youth withholds. The author’s 1957 novel Dandelion Wine and 1963 dark fantasy Something Wicked This Way Comes brilliantly broached such themes – both set in fictional Green Town, Illinois in the tail-end of 1920s – and featured strongly influential nostalgic elements.

The young heroes of Something Wicked This Way Comes are 13-year-old Jim Nightshade and William Halloway, best friends/neighbors just born two minutes apart -- one a minute before the midnight stroke on Halloween, and one a minute after on All Saint's Day. Will is cautious and amiable; Jim is daring and boasts a fascination for the dark. Nevertheless, the pair is totally inseparable and remains unaware of the capricious nature of the outside world. The strength of their friendship is tested when a surprise carnival (‘Cooger & Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show’) rolls into their small Midwestern town in October last week amidst warnings of thunderstorm. Jim and Will watch the carnival arriving on a glorious, old train with no one at the controls and no passengers in the cars.

The carnival’s main attraction is touted to be temptation. Jim and Will soon discover what it tempts and rewards: to offer people their darkest, unobtainable desires in exchange for their souls. After stumbling into the dark heart of the carnival, the boys are on the run, evading the strange group of freaks led by Mr. Dark. He is also known as ‘The Illustrated Man’, the sprawling collection of tattoos on his body has the power to control and seduce people. Unlike Jim, Will wants to resist the temptation and believes by exactly doing that he can save the town. But before going down that path, Will must redeem the relationship with his father Charles Halloway, a 54-year-old library janitor, from whom he had often felt alienated. Hence this tale isn’t just about winning over soul-swallowing carnival, but also about understanding how grown-ups are sometimes just as lost as kids and teens. The primary horror Will discovers is how his father is weak with fear and regrets. To dispel the bizarre evil, the bonds of friendship and fatherhood must be revitalized.

Jonathan Pryce plays Mr. Dark in the 1983 Disney Studios adaptation

The story might seem time-worn, repeatedly rehashed in novels and movies. But Bradbury’s novel still stays special and unique because of his bewitching writing style. The prose is perfectly balanced between nostalgic and sombre quality. He can kindle thoughts, raise our hair or make us chuckle with few fascinatingly interwoven passages. The author’s sense of evoking detailed imagery about the Midwestern small-town life (in the 1920s) is absolutely captivating; a time when carnivals still held a sense of wonder and obscurity. The mood and themes of the novel was taken to new, refreshing heights by authors like Stephen King. However, the rhythmic lyricism and romanticism found in Bradbury’s prose could never be reproduced.

The profundity of the novel lies in the manner it resonates human condition and its myriad fears about growing-up, loneliness, and death. The intensely personal conversation between Will and his father reflects the book’s robust emotional core that’s far removed from the superfluous light vs dark episodes. Bradbury also pays tribute to books, the library, and the joys of getting lost in the fictional worlds (“…..what a fine place the library was, the many rooms, the books. With luck, no one found you. How could they!--when you were off to Tanganyika in '98, Cairo in 1812, Florence in 1492!?....”). Something Wicked This Way Comes is often recommended as perfect autumn or October read. It may not be as spooky or psychologically dense as King or (Shirley) Jackson, but it does contain few terrifying imagery: for example, the description of mirror maze or the face-off between Mr. Dark and Charles Halloway at the library. Altogether, this heartwarming fireside tale of good vs evil shines with incredibly descriptive and enriching writing style and has stood the test of time. 

 

The Redbreast – A Deeply Addictive Mystery/Thriller

The Scandinavian crime fictions (or the Nordic noir) are particularly mesmerizing and addictive, probably because of the way it provides a commentary on the society that plays a huge role in shaping the individuals. There’s kernel of psychological and social truths waiting to be discovered in these cat-and-mouse games between persistent detectives and the fiendish criminals. The relatively smaller population in the Scandinavian countries plus the lower crime rate, and its homogeneous culture, now challenged by non-white immigrants, also plays a significant role in bringing immense focus upon the crime of killing. Among the growing list of Scandinavian crime fiction authors, Norwegian novelist Jo Nesbo is wildly famous. Nesbo, Norway’s important cultural export has created the indefatigable detective character Harry Hole, who has appeared so far in 11 of Nesbo’s successful novels.

I didn’t start reading the Harry Hole series in order. I began with the most popular novel in the series – The Snowman. It chillingly chronicles the hunt for an extremely brutal serial-killer (the silly movie adaptation was however a critical and commercial failure). Hooked by the character and setting, I returned to Harry Hole's world with The Redbreast, third in the series. This novel was translated to English in 2006 (by Don Bartlett), and the first two books – The Bat and Cockroaches – were available in English only by 2012 and 2013 respectively. In fact, Redbreast is the perfect place to start the series (if you are very serious about following Harry Hole character), since I didn’t find the first two novels that great, compared to Nesbo’s clever, suspenseful plotting in the later novels. Of course, all the books in the series could be read as stand-alone novels since each book deals with different investigation (gist of personal developments in Harry’s life is neatly provided, although Redbreast, Nemesis, and The Devil’s Star—3,4 and  5 in the series -- are best read as trilogies since its narrative threads are more densely interlinked).

The Redbreast begins in November 1999 with Harry Hole slowly recovering from a heavy drinking problem and depression. He is one of the many detectives in charge of security arrangements for President Bill Clinton’s visit to Norway (for the Oslo Middle-East Peace Conference). A last-minute mistake related to security detail duty puts Harry in a delicate situation. But surprisingly, thanks to the higher-ups’ political games, Harry is promoted and bequeathed with the title ‘Inspector’ and parceled to glossy corridors of Norwegian Security Service (POT). Nevertheless, the high-salaried desk-job only makes Harry more surly and restless, which he constantly expresses in his phone conversations with former crime squad partner and friend Ellen Gjelten. Soon, a report about a smuggled, very expensive German-made Marklin rifle's entry into Norway (a favorite of assassins around the world) feeds the curiosity of unsatiated detective within him.

As Harry Hole tries to track down the buyer and possibly stop the forthcoming malevolent crimes, the narrative keeps shifting to story of group of pro-Nazi Norwegian soldiers who had fought on the Eastern Front for the Axis Forces in World War II (almost 15,000 Norwegians volunteered to serve on the Eastern Front even though a great number of them joined the fascist forces out of hunger and impoverishment). This World War II narrative gains importance when we learn that the man possessing the Marklin rifle is a cancer-ridden old war veteran, who is persistent enough to finish his last deadly mission. The identity of the old man is kept mysterious, which brings a spine-chilling suspense quotient to Harry’s dogged investigation. Moreover, the inspector’s search for an obscure arms dealer nicknamed ‘Prince’, who has sold the Marklin to the old man, leads to some serious repercussions. On a lighter note, Harry does fall in love (he previously has had trouble in maintaining romantic relationships) with the ravishing and smart Rakel Fauke, a single mother also working in POT. But their tentative relationship is threatened by the Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs Bernt Brandhaug, whose power gives him the free rein to be a sexual predator.   

Jo Nesbo

Biblical references are found in abundance in the novel, starting from Nesbo’s recurring reference to the story of King David. What elevates Redbreast compared to Nesbo’s first two Harry Hole novels is the manner with which he skillfully weaves the multiple plot-lines, and keeping us playing the guessing game till the final chapters.Even though, like in many crime fictions, the end twists don’t add up to be ground-breaking (in retrospect it’s full of logical loop-holes), the suspense elements effortlessly coerced my mind to sacrifice few hours of sleep in order to get to the bottom of the mystery (though my mind kept sending me premonitory images of unfocused and tired day at work). Once again the array of psychological and social information the novelist throws out, pertaining to the Scandinavian nations, is dense and conjures multiple-layers to seemingly simple criminal activities. Furthermore, The Redbreast brims with historical specificity that’s still relevant in Norwegian political arena, especially considering the rise of right-wing populist politics in recent times.

On thematic front, Nesbo tackles the corrupted nature of power, which wreaks havoc in the characters’ lives, from the days of devastating trench warfare to the suave modern political maneuvers. The Redbreast has some of the problems that ail Nesbo’s other works too: graphic depiction of violence (sometimes sexual in nature) directed towards women. Although the author’s overall tone condemns the perverted sexual tendencies of the possessive men, by taking the subjective perspective of perpetrator, the unfolding twisted violence sort of becomes a bleak entertainment (Nesbo’s The Snowman and The Leopard contains several brutal situations involving women in peril, and some of it are widely condemned in crime fiction literary circles). Altogether, Jo Nesbo’s The Redbreast is a flawed yet tersely crafted tale of revenge, treachery and political intrigue.

A Personal Matter – The Harrowing Moral Dilemma of a Man Unabashedly Seeking Respite from Reality

Born 1935 in a small village on the island of Shikoku, Nobel Prize-winning Japanese novelist Kenzaburo Oe, lost his father during the Second World War. He grew up in an era when Japanese people still worshiped their emperor and reeling from the devastation of war. Oe says the Japanese defeat pushed him to be a writer. But it is with the birth of his mentally challenged son Hikari (in 1963) Oe’s distinct cycle of fiction originated. In his interview to 'Paris Review', Oe remarks that the basis of all his literature is Hikari (whose name means ‘light’) and Hiroshima (the novelist visited Hiroshima between 1963 and 1965 to report on a peace congress, and his encounters with atomic-bomb survivors made him to write essay, collectively published as ‘Hiroshima Notes’). A Personal Matter (published in 1964 and translated to English by Professor John Nathan) was the first of Oe’s semi-autobiographical novels to engage with the theme of disability whose central characters were repeatedly sketched as fathers of brain-damaged sons. In A Personal Matter, the fictionalized memoir, Oe chronicles the existential suffering of a self-loathing young man, contemplating the arrival of his son born with a brain hernia.

Oe and his wife Yukari was told that without an operation Hikari would immediately die, but also warned that even with the operation the infant would only exist in a vegetative state. The dilemma of whether or not to proceed with the surgery is at the base of Oe’s short novel A Personal Matter. Later in many interviews, Oe said his conversations with Hiroshima survivors impelled him to save and take care of his son. As Hikari grew, so did the boy’s fictional counterpart in Oe’s novels – often rooted in the writer’s personal experiences with Hikari, although the narrator’s choices and conflicts in the stories are much more intensified. In real life, Hikari Oe conquered lot of obstacles thrown at him and went on to become a savant composer.

With A Personal Matter, Kenzaburo Oe doesn’t extrapolate the suffering of the father through feel-good anecdotes or romanticism. The honesty with which Oe approaches the novel’s central conflict would remain upsetting for some viewers (the prose often turns explicit and grotesque). The story is full of physical and psychological debasement. But despite the dark subject matter, there are moments of absurd humor which only deepens the novel’s power to look deep beneath the surface of things. A Personal Matter’s protagonist Bird (a nickname based on his physical appearance) is a 27-year-old teacher at a cram-school who like other young dreamers wants to break away from his excruciatingly painful reality. Bird withholds the dream to visit Africa, to lose himself in the wilderness among animals. He buys expensive road maps of Africa while his wife is at the hospital to deliver their first child. Bird has always been irresponsible at crucial junctures in his life, the memory of going on a four-week drinking binge after getting married looms in the back of his mind. He hasn’t finished his graduate studies and the present teaching-job is courtesy of his professor father-in law.

Kenzaburo Oe and wife Yukari Ikeuchi with their son Hikari Oe

After walking through the crowded city, burdened by anxiety and unidentifiable fear, Bird eventually receives news about the birth of his child. The boy child, however, is born with brain hernia and the chief doctor nonchalantly calls the baby ‘two-headed monster’. The doctors assure Bird that the child will die soon. A pediatrician awkwardly asks Bird to agree to an autopsy once the child dies. Even Bird driven by shame and the need to once again reject the reality encourages the doctors to let the disabled baby die. He proceeds with his alcohol and sex-filled bender. Accompanying Bird on his journey of self-deception is his old college friend Himiko, now a sexual adventuress depressed by her husband’s suicide.

A Personal Matter is strewn with moments of absurdity that catches our attention more because of the strong decorous manners usually displayed by the Japanese fictional characters. Through humor, Oe brilliantly breaks through the soft, culturally-restricted layers and perceives life in chaotic post-war Japan, even though the protagonist’s field of vision is compressed. Furthermore, Bird’s inefficiency in the boyish arcade games, the doctor who can’t stop giggling while conveying grave news about Bird’s child, the silliness of the reactions keep us afloat amidst the grave situation. The 60s reaction to the birth of child with developmental defect may shock our modern sensibilities. But this was an era when mentally challenged kids were vehemently ostracized, even their appearance in public spaces is considered disgraceful. Hence, shame and responsibility are the pivotal themes in the novel. Oe brilliantly evokes the feelings of shame, first through his description of Bird’s physical state; his impotence, constant sweating, vomiting are all detailed in a microscopic manner.

At one occasion, Bird reflects on how animals differ from humans by their complete lack of shame and vies for this sort of freedom. Moreover, Oe brings forth animalistic side of Bird by focusing on the daydreamer’s desire to take flight to Africa. In fact, the animalistic side keeps pushing the man to take string of despicable decisions, from Bird waiting for his abnormal baby’s death, resigning his job without putting up a fight to even contemplating infanticide.  Consequently, the eventual transformation rests on the basis of Bird discovering another factor animals don’t possess: responsibility. For the most part of the novel, Bird perceives the infant as a monster, to whom as a father he could only offer merciful death. While Oe was pained to take the decision whether or not to save his son, the conflict faced by his fictional creation was taken to extremes. The final two chapters kept me at the edge, hoping that Bird finds peace with his challenging reality. And for all his shameful behavior throughout the extremely unique situations, Bird is identifiable or relatable to an extent, since we all, now and then, bump against a reality sown with discord that we desperately want to escape. Overall, A Personal Matter is a strangely fascinating existential novel which meditates on modern human condition with a disquieting sense of emotional honesty. 

Circe – A Fascinating Tale of a Silenced Woman Shaping her Voice

“Humbling women seems to me a chief pastime of poets. As if there can be no story unless we crawl and weep”

In 2011 novelist Madeline Miller published The Song of Achilles, an interesting retelling of Homer’s “The Illiad”. She took the canonical text of a classic literature and focused on its untold perspective with a freshness and immediacy. The book chronicled the siege of Troy from Achilles second-in-command Patroclus, although it was not entirely a story of Greek Wars. Miller positioned it as a tender love story – between Patroclus and Achilles – while also consciously and sensitively touching upon the burden of gendered inequality that constantly overwhelms the women in the tale. The Song of Achilles was also deeply evocative and tragic in the way it accounts for Patroclus death, followed by Achilles’ quest for vengeance which brought great curse upon Troy and especially on Hector, whom he killed and tied his corpse to chariot and dragged it around the ancient city. The book instantly became an international best-seller and bestowed Miller with the prestigious Orange Prize for Fiction. With her equally powerful second-novel Circe (April 2018), Madeline Miller returns to fecund text of Greek Mythology, this time it is Homer’s “The Odyssey”.

Circe, the barely sketched goddess and witch, the formidable hero Odysseus meets (amidst his sprawling journey) whose men she turns into pigs, is the bewitching heroine of Miller’s novel. Circe is the first-born daughter of sun god Helios and beautiful Oceanid-nymph Perse. Right from her birth, Circe is dismissed as unattractive, ungainly girl (her weak mortal voice offends her mother). As a young girl, Circe walks through her parents’ immortal halls largely ignored by other Gods. But she is a keen witness to the splendors and cruelties forged within those gods-filled palaces. Circe closely observes the vicious punishment of Prometheus under the hands of Olympian god Zeus (for stealing fire and gifting it to humans). Circe’s early life is one large string of disappointments and failings, insinuated by men whom she earnestly loves. Her young brother Aetees, whom she rears from birth, treats her with unfathomable indifference after growing up. Father Helios comes close to turn her into heap of ash when she defies his words.

Circe thinks she has eventually caught a break through her love for humble, mortal fisherman named Glaucos. Desperation drives her to turn him into a sea-god, but once blessed with immortality and unbridled power, Glaucos rejects Circe and takes up with an attractive nymph named Scylla. Driven by pure rage Circe unleashes her outlawed sorcery, for which she is banished to the island of Aiaia. Freed from the vainglorious life among the gods, Circe embraces her isolation and develops her unique witchcraft. Unlike the sweeping narrative arc found in ‘The Song of Achilles’, Circe is more episodic but profoundly imaginative. Fate pushes Circe in the paths of master craftsman Daedalus, the bloodthirsty Minotaur, horrifying sea-monster, the witch-princess Medea, etc. In The Odyssey, Circe turning Odysseus men into pigs is a mere display of witchery; here it becomes her self-defense mechanism and adds an intriguing layer to their first encounter. With Odysseus’ arrival on Aiaia the tale seamlessly follows an arc, the struggles and evasions of the characters not only reads like a page-turner, but also imparts the narrative that fine coating of lived-in experience.

Madeline Miller

Although a tale of fantasy where the sun-rise is described as Helios driving his golden chariot, Miller’s novel largely resonates because it tackles the emotionality of a tenacious woman who won’t be silenced. What I felt as the novel’s achievement is the way it takes on familiar mythological figures and their familiar character nature to wrought a thoroughly satisfying fantasy novel. Not only Circe, from Helios, Hermes, Odysseus to Telemachus and Jason, all these brave heroes' emotional and mental state are laid-bare with sharp retrospective view-point. These constantly emerging character insights embroider the narrative with powerful sheen. The re-imagination of Greek myth is also stronger in Circe compared to The Song of Achilles, the result of Miller trying to peel away the layers of gendered inequalities and two-dimensional portrayal of flattering godliness. The prose at some occasions feels archaic and too stiff, plus the plotting in second-half of novel is too neat. However, these are minor flaws in a book that seamlessly sews together the themes of woman empowerment, freedom, emasculation, forbearance, motherhood, guilt, and rebellion. Altogether, Circe cleverly subverts the strict ‘culture-bound’, male gaze of legends and myths.