Wolf: The Lives of Jack London (2010)

"After his death, memory of his politics was conveniently erased and he was refashioned as the quintessential author of boys' adventure stories. He thus became, and remains, perhaps the most misunderstood figure in the American literary canon."

Jack London wore a lot of hats. At various times he was a sailor, a rancher, a tramp, a manual labourer, a proselytizer, and a prospector, amongst other things. His one truly consistent occupation was that of writer, an occupation at which he laboured diligently for most of his life. In Wolf biographer James L. Haley traces how London's disparate experiences informed not only his writing, but also his very ardent socialism. From a young age London was exposed to the harshest realities of life and ever after he would gravitate towards those people most abused by the Capitalist system.

Haley goes to great lengths to show the development of London's political views as well as his eventual disillusionment and resignation from the Socialist party. This aspect of London's life is fascinating, particularly in terms of how he reconciled his beliefs with his own growing wealth, and Haley touches on how London moulded his Socialism to his own circumstances, arguing that the exploitation of the labouring poor is the enemy rather than Capitalism itself.

However, as much depth as Haley gives to London's political beliefs, he does take a rather soft approach to allegations of London's racism. His strategy of simple denial (so simple that it verges on dismissive) is also applied to the possibility that London had sexual experiences with men, and throughout the book he dangles these questions in front of the reader only to quickly deny their plausibility again and again, making some bizarre assertions in the process. Stating, for example:

"That [homosexuality] was practiced in dark corners of the Sophia Sutherland there can be little doubt, but whether London accepted this as a requisite of being a man among men in this womanless environment - his frank exposition of it to Michael Monahan suggests that he may have, but his full-bore heterosexuality in the company of women may suggest otherwise - we don't know."

Becoming an fervent ladies man and serial philanderer may be a sign of uncompromising heterosexuality but it may also be a sign of overcompensation for past same-sex indiscretions. London's sexuality and his feelings regarding race are likely more complicated than a simple "yes" or "no," but Haley's treatment of these questions illuminates very little.

Still, Wolf is a very readable and engaging book that actually focuses on the development of the subject as an artist rather than devolving into a laundry list of the subject's sexual partners, a trap into which a fair number of biographies fall. Wolf is a biography that clearly has a lot of respect for its subject as an artist and, whatever its flaws, I think that Haley does a good job in reminding us why London is essential to the American canon.

The Position (2005)

"Fuck the book, Holly used to say. Yes, that was about right: Fuck the book."

Depending on how you look at it, Meg Wolitzer's The Position is a novel about how a book destroyed the members of a family, or it's about how a book provided the framework for the destruction that would have happened regardless. It centers on the Mellows, Roz and Paul, the parents who write the how-to book "Pleasuring: One Couple's Journey to Fulfillment," and their four children: Holly, Michael, Dashiell, and Claudia, all of whom are deeply affected by the book's existence.

The novel begins with the childrens' discovery of the book - Holly and Michael are adolescents, Dashiell and Claudia still very young - and with the family in tact and happy, but most of the novel takes places three decades later, when publishers want to reissue the book to celebrate its 30th anniversary. Roz and Paul are by now divorced and the children are grown with lives and problems of their own. Holly has become a spectre, a figure only nominally connected to the rest of the family and determined to keep it that way; Michael is a workaholic whose anti-depressants have made him unable to function sexually; Dashiell is a Log Cabin Republican; and Claudia is aimless, struggling to find her place in the world.

Wolitzer moves back and forth between the characters, relating the story from their various perspectives. The children are all shown to have been profoundly impacted by the fact of the book, though the issues really have more to do with the implosion of their parents' marriage soon after the book's publication and the knowledge that intense sexual intimacy is not, necessarily, a guarantee of relationship longevity (the only exception seems to be Dashiell, whose issue is with the book, specifically with the fact that there's nothing in it that he can connect to his own experiences and desires). The Position is a sexually frank, if not necessarily erotic, novel with a few brief flashes of brilliance. All things told it's a bit uneven, but it's ultimately worth a read.

The Poisonwood Bible (1998)

"I feared him more than it's possible to fear a mere man. Feared Him, loved Him, clamped my hands over my ears to stop His words that rang in my head even when He was far away, or sleeping. In the depths of my sleepless nights I would turn to the Bible for comfort, only to find myself regaled yet again. Unto the woman God said: I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception, in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee."

Barbara Kingsolver's The Poisonwood Bible is a wide-reaching novel. It's about white Western privilege and white Western guilt, the meddling of the first world in the third, the tyranny of religious fanatacism and of misogyny. It centers on Orleanna Price and her four daughters - Rachel, Leah, Adah, and Ruth May - and their hard life under the thumb of the family's patriach, Nathan, a Baptist missionary. At Nathan's behest the family moves to a village in the Congo, where they come undone under Nathan's harsh rule - made all the more intense by his inability to impose his beliefs on the Congolese people - the clash of cultures, political upheaval, and eventually a death. In the end, the family ends up scattered, some remaining in Africa, others returning to the United States, but always connected by their experiences in the Congo.

At the heart of the novel is the theme of one entity attempting to impose its will on another. First the Belgians and then the Americans impose their will on the Congo, attempting to tailor it to their own interests and turning it into a war zone of conflicting desires and stark brutality. Nathan attempts to force Christianity on the Congolese and eventually goes mad (if he could ever have been said to be truly sane) at his inability to make them accept the teachings of the Bible. For a time Nathan succeeds in ruling over the women in his life but, one by one, they turn away from him, their fear of him becoming outright hate. Kingsolver sets up Leah as a mirror to her father, beginning the novel as his most ardent disciple and ending it as his exact opposite. She comes to embrace the native way of life, to despise the foreign intervention which has massacred the African continent, and to have four sons, each of whom possesses qualities that remind her of herself and her sisters. Through her, as part of the true legacy that Nathan has left, he will be redeemed, though he hardly deserves it.

Kingsolver tells the story from the perspective of the wife and daughters, the wife relating her story far removed from the events, the daughters as the events are happening. The narrative voices of the daughters shift as they age and grow as people and as their perspectives change, so does the novel's view of the Congo and its people, becoming more nuanced, less simplistic. Kingsolver's prose style is strong and assured and incredibly effective and the novel itself is rich and poignant. The Poisonwood Bible is a wonderful book, beautifully rendered.