Jay Allain

Folks wonder, "Isn't this book really gloomy?" (as in why-read-it?) Sure, it's no soaring escape. But then: When is memorable literature ever trivial and all good fun? This riveting book, a novelette, is an exquisite exploration of entrapment - the claustrophobia of geography, strained marriage and yes, class. Forces often navigated in literature (and life) but seldom with such understated passion, depth of feeling, poignancy. To delve into the book's core, an early critic once remarked (and I paraphrase): "What kind of society allows Starkfields?" And now, this fictionalized Berkshire town, drawn from the author Edith Wharton's summer respite, is a place not merely of snow and hardship, but incandescent love and longing. Read it, savor it, feel it - and experience an enduring classic.

The Civil War, in general, evokes little attention. Who considers the families impacted - or soldiers crushed or slain? Perhaps a whimsical, fleeting thought as we pass a neglected monument on some lonely common. So consider "The Red Badge" a vital corrective. Crane's gripping depiction of this fratricidal war's anguish, comaraderie and horror etches itself indelibly in the soul. Drawing on extensive meetings with war veterans, the author exposes the raw and searing question that haunts the book's protagonist, "Henry": When actual combat begins, will he face danger - or run? Life may often present tough quandaries. But seldom is one as masterfully, realistically explored as author Crane does in this enduring American classic.

On much-revered poet Robert Frost's grave is etched: "I had a lover's quarrel with the world." In historian and author Howard Zinn's case, substitute "country" for "world." Because here, through this his prodigious research and clear prose, many will find a world so full of obscure movements, brave commoners and inspired causes as to encounter a new land. And in an essential and unforgettable way, they have. A land largely forgotten - but so loved all the more. Hence, this riveting hefty work is a key corrective for one who thinks history is dry or settled or tame. Read it and be amazed - and even deeply moved. If it's true, as has been noted: "History is written by the victors," Zinn's abiding gift is to brilliantly expose the lively stuff they failed to cover. In a word, this book - like Zinn's own engaged life, "rocks".

At times, one may imagine life in a different country and in a distant past. Yet how accurately can such a thing be evoked? Well, in the hands of a superb novelist like Ivan Turgenev, the answer is remarkably well. Because his Fathers and Sons not only provides complex characters navigating marked sociopolitical divides - not so unlike today, but demonstrates that the two centuries since the novel's appearance are as if nothing. How is this possible, you ask? Through the masterful use of dialogue - conversations between authentic characters engulfed in the generational clash between nihilism and traditional liberalism rampant in their time. So if no time machine to early 19th century Russia is easily available, read this gripping tale instead. Surely it won't disappoint.

How seldom does one encounter a genius' mind. One wonders: what does such a being see and feel and think? Understandably, we assume they all reside on some remote Olympian peak shrouded in impenetrable ideas and fog. But James Joyce's enduring gifts are his accessibility and powers of observation - and, of course, ability to turn-a-phrase. Reading him is like riding a time machine back to olde Ireland where the manners and sights and Catholicism permeate every phrase. Savor the book, taking it in slowly as one would an elegant soaring sunrise.

Like many, when this novel was released in 1985, stubborn groundswells featuring the Christian Right and an ominously resurgent Cold War suggested dire times ahead. And the re-election of Ronald Reagan, an erstwhile actor, demonstrated the popular appetite for his "Morning in America" - a curious mix of jingoism, poor-bashing and fire-side chatty malarkey - was indeed voracious. Perhaps, I mused, Margaret Atwood's novel could pierce our budding dystopia. But reading protagonist "Offred's" life, grimacing but intrigued as she and her fellow sisterhood attempt to navigate a rigid, crushing patriarchy, I thought, "But this could never really happen." How could a cast of power-crazed white men, cloaked in a shroud of religion - even with tools like banishing and state-sanctioned sexual abuse and cruelty, subjugate an entire society? Fast forward to 2020. Now, even amidst a savage pandemic, "Commandant"-types control several large countries - ruthless male cliques obsessed with power and impervious to the pain they inflict - particularly against women and minorities. Now, this "speculative" novel seems weirdly prophetic. No wonder it's sometimes banned. "Offred's" night of escape has shrunken everywhere - and darkness dims the day.

When one considers war, and especially its effects on young soldiers, a vague ambivalence often emerges. Perhaps similar to how one feels on a topic one is largely ignorant about. "Sure, it's awful," we muse, "but defending the country is imperative, etc., etc." Enter Erich Maria Remarque's graphic, even lurid, novel - a fierce corrective to any apathy. Readers will readily be drawn into protagonist Paul Baumer's world - and grapple with his relentless emotional and physical ordeal. Simply put, what is life robbed of certain future and family - or even life? Yet the camaraderie of youth with its shenanigans - like Kat conjuring up extra rations or the subtle digs tossed at the overbearing sergeant Himelstoss, lighten the mood. Some. But as the novel unfolds, no easy acceptance of war's toll on its fighters is possible - for here, the human soul is disfigured. By the way, Bob Dylan has also cited the book as being as deeply impactful on him. (Almost makes one want to hear his "Masters of War." Actually, skip the "almost.'')