Archive by Author | Sherry

Graceling by Kristin Cashore

I don’t need to do a regular review of this YA fantasy title; everyone and his dog have been there before me, and I agree: it’s a great debut novel, good story, intriguing characters, and themes that provoke both thought and emotion. Here are some reviews for those of you who haven’t read the book yet:

Carrie K: “In her debut novel, Ms. Cashore has created a fully formed world with authentic characters that breathe on the page. I loved Katsa, Po, Raffin, Helda, Bitterblue – these characters became real to me as I read, and I cared deeply about what happened to them.”

The Reading Zone: “This is a gorgeous romance set amid a fantastic fantasy. Cashore has given birth to a new world within these seven kingdoms, and the romance between Po and Katsa will leave your heart racing.”

Librarian Amy: “Katsa is an orphaned young woman, the niece of the king, who is graced with the ability to kill. As she matures, she becomes less comfortable with being the king’s bully and muscle, and part of the story is her quest to know herself, her grace, and her place in the world.”


So, relieved of the need to do a full court press review (whatever that is), I thought I’d write a little mini-essay about something I noticed while reading the book, even though it’s not the main point of the novel. The main point of the novel is that relationships are complicated, and that giftedness in whatever area can be both a liability and a “grace.” The remainder of this post assumes that you’ve already read Graceling.

Transition. (I can’t think of one.) Back in the seventies when I was a kid of a girl, I read a series of fantasy novels that became classics: the Dragonriders of Pern series by Anne McCaffrey. Since I was a teenager and more easily shocked back then, I was somewhat taken aback by the attitude of the Weyr-folk of Pern in regard to sex. Basically, without going into detail, they’re rather promiscuous. Their excuse is that the dragons make them do it. I won’t debate the morality or sustainability of such a society, but I did notice that the Dragonriders of Pern with their casual attitudes toward sexual liaisons appeared in literature at about the time that our society was tending toward casual sexual pairings and serial monogamy (and acceptance of homosexuality which is accepted and practiced on Pern). I don’t suppose it’s any great new insight, but McCaffery’s fantasy/sci-fi seemed to be trying out the same morality (or lack thereof) that the American society was trying out in the 1970’s. It works better in the books than in real life.

So what do all these dragon-riding ethical systems have to do with Kristin Cashore’s Graceling? I believe I see the same sort of playing out of the possibilities of a sexual ethic in Graceling. This time rather than promiscuity with excellent reasons, it’s the current rampant marriage-phobia that is being explored. Katsa and Po, the two main characters in Graceling, are in love, but for reasons that are unclear to me, something to do with fear of being controlled or of losing control, the two decide not to marry but to be lovers. How very twenty-first century!

I noticed this same fear of marriage (fear of commitment?) played out in the ever-so-popular Twilight series: Bella is willing and ready to go to bed with her vampire boyfriend, Edward, but she fears and resists the idea of marriage. Both Bella and Katsa are afraid that marriage will spoil the love relationship they have with their respective paramours; somehow marriage, instead of strengthening a relationship, is seen as a spoiler, a denier of freedom, and a trap. Perhaps some of this resistance to marriage is a way for the author to maintain the dramatic and sexual tension between her characters. After all, if your romantic leads get married on page 100, what kind of tension remains to be explored in the remaining 200 pages, not to mention sequels? And even if there is relationship-building and even sex after marriage, is it the kind of thing that Graceling’s and Twilight’s teen audiences want to read about?

However, this view of marriage as the problem rather than the solution, is also a popular one in our culture these days. Bella and Edward make their way to the altar over the course of the four books in the series; perhaps Katsa and Po will also come to understand the possibility for some kind of committed relationship that gives freedom because of its boundaries instead of living in fear of their own desires to belong to one another wholly in a physical and emotional and even spiritual sense. Old-fashioned twentieth century reader that I am, I call that relationship “marriage”, but if author Cashore and her characters want to call it “the grace of committed love,” I won’t complain about the nomenclature.

Noel DeVries says kinda sorta what I’m saying here. Only she’s much more straightforward and comprehensible.

Main Street by Sinclair Lewis

This is America–a town of a few thousand, in a region of wheat and corn and dairies and little groves.
The town is, in our tale, called “Gopher Prairie, Minnesota.” But its Main Street is the continuation of Main Streets everywhere. The story would be the same in Ohio or Montana, in Kansas or Kentucky or Illinois, and not very differently would it be told Up New York State or in the Carolina Hills.
Main Street is the climax of civilization.

So begins Sinclair Lewis’s novelistic critique of the manners, mores, traditions of Main Street, USA. Published in 1920, Main Street is proto-feminist, liberal in its politics (to contrast with the no doubt conservative politics of 1920’s small town businessmen), and agnostic in its religious views. Our protagonista, Carol Kennicott becomes the wife of a small town doctor, and finds, to her dismay, that she cannot find a place for herself at all in Gopher Prairie. At one point she calls herself a “hexagonal peg.” (“Solution: find the hexagonal hole,” she says.) She tries to reform the town, to bring culture and refinement to her neighbors and to her husband, then to reform herself to appreciate village life, but all to no avail. For 479 pages Carol struggles, fights, regroups, hides, ventures out again, runs away, and finally resigns herself to being the perpetual aginner, in an overwhelming sea of mediocrity and traditional (hypocritical) family values.

“I do not admit that Main Street is as beautiful as it should be! I do not admit that Gopher Prairie is greater or more generous than Europe! I do not admit that dish-washing is enough to satisfy all women! I may not have fought the good fight, but I have kept the faith.”

Through the entire book, Carol mostly stays just this side of being an obnoxious, supercilious snob, and when she crosses the line, she knows it, admits it, and laughs at herself. It’s worth reading the book for those moments of self-deprecation and realism. Carol never will admit that anything about Main Street or anyone who lives on Main Street is worthy or objectively beautiful, but she finds that city people and office life are much the same as Main Street and its denizens. The best parts of the book are Lewis’s observations, voiced through Carol, of the contradictory ways we think about ourselves and others. His psychological insight into the mind of a young married woman is keen and humorous. Carol tries to read poetry with her prosaic doctor husband, makes various people she meets into heroes, and then finds that they, too, are rather prosaic and ordinary. She’s something of an idealist and unwilling to become a cynic.

The writing and the tone are well done. It’s no wonder that Lewis won the Nobel Prize, ten years after the publication of Main Street, in 1930. However, Lewis’s inability to see any good at all on Main Street makes the book and the world it inhabits a rather unhappy and tedious place to spend reading time. Which Carol Kennicott would say is a good description of Main Street and of Gopher Prairie.

But I still maintain that there are a few kindred spirits in the wasteland, that some church-goers are both thoughtful and sincere, that there is more depth, and even poetry, to the average Main Streeter than Lewis and his mouthpiece would credit. Sinclair Lewis became an expert at showing up the limitations and hypocrisies of American life (see Babbit, Elmer Gantry, Arrowsmith), but he never got past that antipathy to traditional American values to see anything worth appreciating and preserving in the American experience.

Interesting side note from Wikipedia:Main Street was initially awarded the 1921 Pulitzer Prize for literature, but was rejected by the Board of Trustees, who overturned the jury’s decision. The prize went, instead, to Edith Wharton for The Age of Innocence. In 1926 Lewis refused the Pulitzer when he was awarded it for Arrowsmith.”

Hymn #36: My Jesus, I Love Thee

Lyrics: William Featherston, 1864.

Music: Adoniram Gordon, 1876.

Theme: The third time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, “Do you love me?” He said, “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you.” Jesus said, “Feed my sheep. John 21:17

Center for Church Music: “My Jesus, I Love Thee” was written by a sixteen year old boy, William Ralph Featherston, at the time of his conversion to Jesus Christ. He sent a copy to his aunt who encouraged him to have it published. It appeared anonymously in The London Hymn Book in 1864. . . . William wrote no other hymns that we know of and his brief life ended just before his twenty-seventh birthday.

My Jesus, I love Thee, I know Thou art mine;
For Thee all the follies of sin I resign.
My gracious Redeemer, my Savior art Thou;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I love Thee because Thou has first loved me,
And purchased my pardon on Calvary’s tree.
I love Thee for wearing the thorns on Thy brow;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I’ll love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death,
And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath;
And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow,
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

In mansions of glory and endless delight,
I’ll ever adore Thee in heaven so bright;
I’ll sing with the glittering crown on my brow;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

There are a few hymns that I find myself singing while in prayer without even thinking about it: Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, Oh, How I Love Jesus, How Great Thou Art, and this one, My Jesus, I Love Thee. I think these three, and probably a few others that I’m not thinking of, are just spontaneously prayerful hymns. They express the the thoughts of my soul, and I sing them to the Lord without prompting, unless it’s the prompting of the Holy Spirit. What songs do you sing to the Lord when you’re alone with Him?

Hymn #37: For All the Saints

Lyrics: William Walsham How, 1864.

Music: SARUM by Joseph Barnby (original tune).
Or (my favorite) SINE NOMINE by Ralph Vaughan WIlliams, 1906.

Theme: This calls for patient endurance on the part of the saints who obey God’s commandments and remain faithful to Jesus. Then I heard a voice from heaven say, “Write: Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.”
“Yes,” says the Spirit, “they will rest from their labor, for their deeds will follow them.”
Revelation 14:12-13.

1. For all the saints, who from their labours rest,
Who Thee by faith before the world confessed,
Thy Name, O Jesus, be forever blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
2. Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress and their Might;
Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well fought fight;
Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true Light.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
3. For the Apostles’ glorious company,
Who bearing forth the Cross o’er land and sea,
Shook all the mighty world, we sing to Thee:
Alleluia, Alleluia!
4. For the Evangelists, by whose blest word,
Like fourfold streams, the garden of the Lord,
Is fair and fruitful, be Thy Name adored.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
5. For Martyrs, who with rapture kindled eye,
Saw the bright crown descending from the sky,
And seeing, grasped it, Thee we glorify.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
6. O blest communion, fellowship divine!
We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;
All are one in Thee, for all are Thine.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
7. O may Thy soldiers, faithful, true and bold,
Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,
And win with them the victor’s crown of gold.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
8. And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,
Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,
And hearts are brave, again, and arms are strong.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
9. The golden evening brightens in the west;
Soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest;
Sweet is the calm of paradise the blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
10. But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day;
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of glory passes on His way.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
11. From earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s farthest coast,
Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,
And singing to Father, Son and Holy Ghost:
Alleluia, Alleluia!

William How was a bishop in the Anglican church in Yorkshire. He served, appropriately enough, at the Cathedral of All Saints in Wakefield, and he was known for his work with the poor. He was known as the “omnibus bishop” because he preferred public transport to a private carriage. He also wrote over fifty hymns; the only other one I knew was Jesus, Name of Wondrous Love.

I love this hymn, mostly because of Vaughan Williams’s music which is absolutely beautiful and tuneful. The lyrics, too, are quite inspiring and memorable, but has anyone ever heard all eleven verses sung at one sitting?

Sources:
Clavis Regni: For all the saints who from their labors rest.
Wikipedia: For All the Saints.
Hymntime: For All the Saints.

Hymn #38: Like a River Glorious

Lyrics: Frances Havergal, 1876.

Music: WYE VALLEY by James Mountain, 1876.

Theme:

For this is what the LORD says:
“I will extend peace to her like a river,
and the wealth of nations like a flooding stream;
you will nurse and be carried on her arm
and dandled on her knees.
As a mother comforts her child,
so will I comfort you;
and you will be comforted over Jerusalem.”
Isaiah 66:12-13
Frances Havergal: “Writing is praying with me. You know a child would look up at every sentence and say, ‘And what shall I say next?’ That is just what I do; I ask Him that at every line He would give me not merely thoughts and power, but also every word, even the very rhymes.”

Like a river glorious is God’s perfect peace,
Over all victorious, in its bright increase;
Perfect, yet it floweth fuller every day,
Perfect, yet it groweth deeper all the way.

Refrain:
Stayed upon Jehovah, hearts are fully blest
Finding, as He promised, perfect peace and rest.

Hidden in the hollow of His blessed hand,
Never foe can follow, never traitor stand;
Not a surge of worry, not a shade of care,
Not a blast of hurry touch the spirit there.

Every joy or trial falleth from above,
Traced upon our dial by the Sun of Love;
We may trust Him fully all for us to do;
They who trust Him wholly find Him wholly true.

Thanks to Rebecca at Rebecca Writes: The North Valley Baptist Church Men’s Choir sings Like a River Glorious.

Sources:
Center for Church Music: Like a River Glorious.
Frances RIdley Havergal by LIzzie Alldridge at Wholesome Words.

Ya Gotta Laugh . . .

From Israel: The following joke is making the rounds in the Prime Minister’s Bureau these days: What do Americans do when something breaks down in their home – when the sink is blocked up, the toilet overflows, a fuse burns out?
Simple: They ask Barack Obama to give a speech and the problem is solved.

Marie Antoinette said, “Let them eat cake.”
Barack Obama says, “Let them eat arugula.”

From “The Late Show with David Letterman,” July 24, 2009:
Anybody see President Obama’s press conference last night on television about the health plan? Here’s the deal: it will cost a trillion dollars, but that will be in three easy payments of $330 billion a month, so it’s not that bad.

Obama Health Care reminds me of this old joke, slightly reworked for the New Era of Change:

The Pope, a boy scout, and Barack Obama are in an airplane. The pilot comes running back and tells them, “The plane is going down, and there are only 3 parachutes.” He takes one and jumps overboard. Obama says, “I’ve got the best brain in the world, and must be saved.” He grabs a chute and jumps. The Pope looks at the boy scout and says, “I’m an old man, but you have many years to live. You take the last chute.” The boy replies, “No, there are still 2 chutes. That guy with the great brain took my backpack instead of a parachute.”

What’s the problem with Barack Obama jokes?
His followers don’t think they’re funny and other people don’t think they’re jokes.

Hymn #39: The King of Love My Shepherd Is

Lyrics: Henry Baker, 1868. Mr. Baker was the editor of the standard Anglican hymnal in Victorian England, called Hymns Ancient and Modern, first published in 1860. Although he was primarily a collector of hymns, Baker also wrote his own lyrics, translated lyrics, and composed tunes. The various editions of Hymns Ancient and Modern sold more than 60 million copies.

Music: ST COLUMBA, Ancient Irish Melody.
Or DOMINUS REGIT ME by John Bacchus Dykes.

Theme: Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Does he not leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? Luke 15:4

Barbara at Stray Thoughts: “I think the third stanza is my favorite, though all of it is good.”

The King of love my shepherd is,
whose goodness faileth never;
I nothing lack if I am his,
and he is mine for ever.

Where streams of living water flow,
my ransomed soul he leadeth,
and where the verdant pastures grow,
with food celestial feedeth.

Perverse and foolish oft I strayed,
but yet in love He sought me,
and on his shoulder gently laid,
and home, rejoicing, brought me.

In death’s dark vale I fear no ill
with thee, dear Lord, beside me;
thy rod and staff my comfort still,
thy cross before to guide me.

Thou spread’st a table in my sight;
thy unction grace bestoweth;
and O what transport of delight
from thy pure chalice floweth!

And so through all the length of days
thy goodness faileth never:
Good Shepherd, may I sing thy praise
within thy house for ever.

While researching this hymn, I found this website which looks like a nice resource. It has a downloadable version of the Dykes tune for this hymn in addition to other hymns available for free download or for purchase on CD.

I’m not familiar with this particular hymn, based on Pslam 23, but here is the Westminster Abbey Choir singing at Princess Diana’s funeral, The King of Love My Shepherd Is to the tune Dominus Regit Me. Descant on the last verse:

Reading Through Asia: Vietnam

Hitchhiking Vietnam: A Woman’s Solo Journey in an Elusive Land by Karin Muller. Globe Pequot Press, 1998.

I enjoyed reading this memoir/travelogue of an American woman who spent seven months in post-war Vietnam, traveling by bus, motorcycle, bicycle and on foot from the Mekong Delta to the northern border with China and along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. She endured hardships and discomforts that would have sent me scuttling back to Texas within the first few pages, but I never was sure why. Ms. Muller tries to explain in the book. She writes about her mother’s stories of growing up in Africa and about the sense of adventure she inherited from her somewhat peripatetic parents. However, and maybe it was just my underdeveloped sense of adventure, the Vietnam Karin Muller describes is not inviting; it’s full of greed, bribery, poverty, alcoholism, and political corruption. And that’s just among the tourist population. The Vietnamese themselves, with a few exceptions, are out to get as many American dollars as possible or in the case of the government bureaucrats and the police, determined to make travel as difficult as possible for anyone with fair skin and a camera. Muller keeps lookng for a “village” where she can live for awhile and enjoy her Rousseau-inspired vision of happy natives living simple, uncluttered lives. She does find such villages a couple of times during her odyssey, but the visit usually comes to an abrupt end when government officials or basic materialism intervene.

The book, while fascinating in its descriptions of modern Vietnam from a foreigner’s perspective, didn’t stir my sense of adventure, nor did it make me want to hop on a plane for Vietnam. But don’t go by me. Eldest Daughter told me today that I was a stick in the mud, and my idea of a wonderful trip involves London, Oxford, Cambridge, and Stratford-on-the-Avon. I think I’ll stick with the armchair travel route to Asia since I’m spoiled by basic conveniences such as flush toilets and clean drinking water and food that doesn’t contain parasites.

One thing I found interesting, and sad, is that Vietnam seems to be going the way of China with its one-child policy as exemplified in this account of a conversation that the author had with a group of Vietnamese soldiers:

“To my surprise, not one of them had more than two children in a land that valued family above all else, the larger the better. My driver reminded me of the billboards I had seen in almost every town, proclaiming the new government in favor of small families, with captions reading, ‘Have one or two children!’ Army doctrine apparently took a more active role, and soldiers were demoted one star for every child more than two.”

There were other stories that shed light on the current state of the people of Vietnam: Ms. Muller’s friend and erstwhile guide Tam tells her about his struggles to survive in post-war Vietnam as a former interpreter for the U.S. Marines during the war.

One chapter focuses on the Zao village in northern Vietnam where Ms. Muller spends a week living with a family of rice-growers. It’s somewhat idyllic, with a patriarchal extended family working together to build the family’s fortunes and find marriages for its young men and women. However, the chapter also includes a badly burned baby with no medical care other than a tube of athlete’s foot medication salvaged from the Red Cross at some time in the history of the village. Not so idyllic after all.

In the final analysis, I just couldn’t figure out why Karin Muller wanted to travel through Vietnam. She seemed to have some compassion for the people whose lives were so poverty-stricken. But harking back to a bad experience in the Peace Corps in the Philippines, Ms. Muller doesn’t think she can make a difference in the people’s lives nor that she has any right to try. She does try to rescue some endangered animals (a gibbon, baby leopards, and an eagle) destined for the medicinal markets of China, but the results of that attempt at good works are mixed. She says at the beginning of the book that she wants to understand the Vietnamese people and their ability to forgive their former enemies, the Americans. Maybe cultural understanding was enough of a goal to get her through sleepless nights in squalid surroundings, dysentery and scurvy, and countless bureaucratic tangles and arguments.

It wouldn’t be enough for me. I’m not only a stick in the mud; I’m also a wimp.

Other Vietnam books I have read or want to read:

I’ve heard that The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien is a good read about the Vietnam War and the American soldiers who fought and died in it. I have the book on my shelf, but I haven’t read it yet. I did read Phillip Caputo’s classic memoir A Rumor of War (a long time ago), and I remember it as fascinating, disturbing, but sometimes simplistic. Either of these books would probably teach the reader a lot about Americans in Vietnam, but not too much about Vietnam or the Vietnamese themselves.

For children or yong adults the following books might be helpful in understanding Vietnamese culture and interactions:

Goodbye, Vietnam by Gloria Whelan.
Cracker: The Best Dog in Vietnam by Cynthia Kadohata. Semicolon review here.
When Heaven Fell by Carolyn Marsden. Semicolon review here.
Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers. Perry, a teenager from Harlem, experiences the horrors of the Vietnam War.
Paradise of the Blind by Thu Huong Duong and Nina McPherson. This book is a YA coming of age novel of post-war Vietnam, originally written in Vietnamese, banned in Vietnam, and later translated into English and published in the U.S. It sounds like a wonderful window into Vietnam written by a Vietnamese author.

For today’s round-up of reviews of titles set in Southeast Asia or written by Southeast Asian authors, check out the One Shot World Tour at Chasing Ray.

Hymn #40: O Come, O Come, Emmanuel

Lyrics: Author unknown. Translated to English by John Mason Neale, 1851.

Music: Unknown composer. Arranged and harmonized by Thomas Helmore, 1854.

Theme: And the Redeemer shall come to Zion, and unto them that turn from transgression in Jacob, saith THE LORD. Isaiah 59:20.

Brandon at Siris: “no single human hand sat down and wrote it, and it has been sung by countless people across the centuries and the continents, its format adapted and re-adapted many times, and yet the message is still crystal clear and the hymn itself still exquisite.”

Amanda: “I have a thing for Advent. Waiting for Jesus.”

According to a book we own called Color the Christmas Classics, this Christmas carol dates back to the time of Emperor Charlemagne of France. It was originally sung in Latin and was an antiphon, “a short liturgical text sung in response to a psalm or other spoken text.” The carol was sung over a period of seven days, from December 17th to the 23rd, in response to a scripture about the brith of Christ read by the priest. You can go to this website to see all seven antiphons (or verses) in Latin and in various English translations.

O come, O come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear.
Refrain:
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free
Thine own from Satan’s tyranny;
From depths of hell Thy people save,
And give them victory over the grave.

O come, Thou Day-spring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here;
And drive away the shades of night
And pierce the clouds and bring us light!

O come, Thou Key of David, come,
And open wide our heavenly home;
Make safe the way that leads on high,
And close the path to misery.

O come, O come, Thou Lord of might,
Who to Thy tribes on Sinai’s height
In ancient times once gave the law
In cloud, and majesty, and awe.

Reading Through Asia: Cambodia

First I read When Broken Glass Floats by Chanrithy Him. This harrowing and honest memoir of young girl growing up in Khmer Rouge-ruled Kampuchea was my introduction to the literature of the Cambodian Holocaust. I’ve never seen the movie that everybody seems to reference when talking about the horror that was Pol Pot’s Kampuchea because I cannot watch reenactments of actual, horrible events. I’ve also never seen Schindler’s List nor The Passion of the Christ. Reading about such events and acts is bad enough.

During the time covered in the book, Chanrithy Him suffered the loss of her father, murdered in a “re-education camp”, her mother, who died in a squalid hospital from untreated disease and malnutrition, five siblings, who died of malnutrition and disease, and other family members lost to the insane and disastrous policies of the Khmer Rouge government. The book begins with some background about Chanrithy Him’s childhood, but focuses on the details of her daily life in Cambodia/Kampuchea from April 17, 1975 when the Khmer Rouge entered Phnom Pen until her escape a few years later with what remained of her family to a refugee camp in Thailand.

“Death is a constant, and we’ve become numb to the shock of it. People die here and there, all around us, falling like flies that have been sprayed with poison.”

You can read the first chapter of When Broken Glass Floats online here.
And here is an interesting review of three memoirs of the Cambodian Killing Fields, all published in 2000: Music through the Dark, written by Bree Lefreniere and narrated by Daran Kravanh, When Broken Glass Floats by Chanrithy Him, and First They Killed My Father by Loung Ung.

Next I read When the War Was Over: Cambodia and the Khmer Rouge Revolution by Elizabeth Becker. This book was a more complete history of Cambodia before and during Pol Pot’s reign of terror. The author attempted to show how Pol Pot and cohorts came into power, what kept them in power, and what the effects of their genocidal policies were on the people of Cambodia. It’s a decent enough attempt, but Ms. Becker gets bogged down in the details and sometimes fails to explain the larger picture. Pol Pot and his friends sometimes seem like sympathetic characters even in the midst of their carrying out of horrendous acts simply because they are humans who even turn against one another at intervals.

Some of the most memorable passages in the book tell about Becker’s personal experiences in Cambodia as the guest of the Khmer Rouge regime. She was invited, along with two other journalists, in December 1978 to see what the Khmer Rouge had accomplished in a little over three years of rule in Cambodia. She, of course, saw only what the government wanted her to see, and she was unable to talk to people or see anything without the ever-present guides and translators who presented the Communist propaganda line in spite of the general appearance of grinding poverty and escalating violence and paranoia. Becker’s visit came to a climax with the midnight murder of one of her fellow journalists, Malcolm Caldwell, a sympathizer with the Khmer Rouge government, who nevertheless became a victim of its incompetence and general craziness.

Read this one for all the detailed information and for an idea of what was going on when all over the country and in foreign countries in relation to Cambodia. Read some of the memoirs and personal stories listed above to get a feel for what horror was perpetrated by the this so-called “agrarian communist utopia of Democratic Kampuchea.”

For today’s round-up of reviews of titles set in Southeast Asia or written by Southeast Asian authors, check out the One Shot World Tour at Chasing Ray.