2025 #51 The Great Believers (Makkai)

 

The Great Believers by Rebecca Makkai
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

It is stunning to me how visceral my memories of the 1980s are due to the AIDS epidemic. As a young person/pre-teen, I certainly didn't understand all the nuances, but I knew my gay stepuncle was losing friends. I remember well when Ryan White was barred from attending classes due to fear of exposure. My stepmom, who was a supplements editor for the L.A. Weekly, brought me home a print of Robbie Conal's "Artificial Art Official" poster of Jesse Helms.

I was not prepared for how all of these memories would come flooding back in reading this book. In the first few minutes of the audiobook, I listened to Michael Crouch and I thought, "Ugh. This is going to be a long haul." I'm so glad I stuck with it, because I was proven wrong. Michael Crouch's distance is absolutely perfect. It removes sensationalism and replaces it with sincerity--a certain pragmatic matter-of-factness that makes the horrors real, rather than extraordinary.

But it also Yale, who might end up being one of my favorite protagonists ever. What a splendid human in his frailty, his courage, his loyalty. He is written so well and so believably, that he is both inspirational and relatable--and it has little to do with his sexual orientation or even his gender. That's the mark of an amazing character, when identity is in the background of what connects to the reader. That's not to say that his identity as a gay man isn't important -- it is huge, and I'd say he's a very important gay character in that he moves in and out of circles that are often narratively exploited as stereotypes, but in a way that reminds us that we are all human beings trying to find our place in the world, seeking out others who will see us.

Nora Lerner is also another favorite character. She holds the torch -- not just for her lover, but for love itself. The entire book is more about love than anything else. And for something to be about love, it must also be about death, because that's the reality of it, isn't it. Makkai drives home the essential aspect of what makes us human. May we all have the someone we love enough to advocate for them long after they have died.

This book does not shy away from the gruesomeness that is AIDS-related death, but it is never for the shock value. It is related with tenderness and honors those that have suffered it. It isn't an easy book to read, nor should it be, but it is also a wonderful book to read. Any book that reaffirms life through a frank and bold look at death (and love, and joy, and suffering), deserves a place of honor.

This is quite possibly my favorite read this year.


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2025#40 The Poisonwood Bible (Kingsolver)

 

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Some books, possibly the best books, are experiences. That most definitely describes this epic work. Any review I might write here would not match the scale of the book, but I will try to offer some thoughts. I won't take up space with a summary, since that is available elsewhere, but get right to what made the book so powerful for me.

Characterization. I'll focus on the main characters here: The four daughters are very different, starting with the Nellie Oleson-like eldest daughter Rachel, who launches malapropisms at her detractors (real and imagined) as if they were poisoned arrows. We can occasionally laugh at her (one of my favorites: "Thyroid Mary"), but when she isn't overwritten, we might recognize the whiteness of settler colonialism at perhaps its most pernicious, because it comes with such a set of excuses and sense of self-righteousness. There are also moments where she might remind us of certain "leaders":

"Heck, wasn't I the one hollering night and day that we were in danger? It's true that when it happened I was the oldest one there, and I'm sure some people would say I should have been in charge." (465)

Leah strives to be pious (at least initially) and to please her father, but unlike her older sister, we see far more growth in her character. Adah, Leah's twin sister, is physically disabled, but likely the smartest of the bunch and relies upon manufacturing palindromic phrases (the juxtaposition of this linguistic ability against her sister Rachel's is not lost on the reader). The youngest, Ruth May, has probably one of the more "hit-you-over-the-head" narratives in the book, but we learn why. Then there is the father - Pastor Nathan Price, and the mother, Orleana. Except for Rachel, occasionally, no one is a cliché. We grow to care both for their individual narratives, as well as that of the family. Some of the other major characters, like Anatole, for example, we see mostly through the eyes of one (or more) of the daughters and this is important to remember because Kingsolver seems to do this to recognize her own positionality.

There are so many pull quotes -- I'm glad I read this on my kindle so I could easily share them on GR, but aside from the story itself, Kingsolver's gift with language is astounding. Even the simplest description becomes fresh in her words: "In the local market, a bubble of stopped conversation moves with me as I walk." (472) And occasionally, we get something akin to an aphorism: "we are our injuries, as much as we are our successes" (496).

Truly the book deserves an essay-length review, but if I am not up to the task it is for lack of time, not desire. For readers unfamiliar with the history of the Congo in the twentieth century, I'd recommend even just a quick Wikipedia review before launching into this book (and I almost NEVER , as a historian, recommend Wikipedia). This would make a VERY interesting "companion" read to Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness.

It took me a good chunk of the summer to finish this book -- not because it is long, but because I had to set it aside occasionally. It is rich, sorrowful, deep, informative -- there's just a lot. But I think it deserves that time and attention.



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