Booknook

I had originally wanted to listen to this one on audio, but there’s a length at which it just seems more practical to read the paper version, and 23 hours is about there. This chunker of a book clocks in at around 670 pages and it’s an entry in the Arthurian Legends. It’s The Bright Sword, by Lev Grossman.

Any book that long has to justify itself as far as I’m concerned. I might read a mediocre 300-page novel, but I’m not going through almost 700 pages unless it’s good. Happy to report this one is!

I have some familiarity with the Arthurian Legends—in that I’ve read The Once and Future King—but I haven’t gotten around to Le Mort d’Arthur or other more original elements yet, so just some perspective to keep in mind if you are someone more read in this area.

Grossman’s take involves a young wannabe knight, Collum of the Out Isles, who steals armor from his liege lord and runs away to mainland Britain in hopes of the chance to try out for the Knights of the Round Table. He hasn’t even set his goal as becoming one of them really, just the chance to try. Unfortunately, by the time he arrives at Camelot, King Arthur is 2 weeks dead and most of the Round Table is gone too, leaving behind only the less illustrious knights.

I thought it was very bold to center the story on Grossman’s original character, but I think it works. Collum is likeable and interesting and watching him interact with characters we know from the legends is fun.

The Bright Sword obviously comes from a place of love for Arthuriana. This is not a “genre-busting” book, but one that comes from deep attachment to the stories that spawned it. It balances the weight of epic legend well with humor—I laughed out loud a couple of times. It also does a very good job I thought of making the story appeal to a modern audience without copy/pasting 21^st century morals onto a book set well in the past. For instance, there are queer knights at the Table (And really, how could there not be? If you were a gay man of moderate athletic ability in Arthur’s Britan, and you heard about the Table, would you not be trying to get in there?), but they don’t use modern terminology to describe themselves, and their attitudes towards themselves and others feel appropriate for the setting.

On Tuesday after finishing my last book, and with no library holds ready, I dug through our shelves for one I’ve been meaning to get around to, Smoke But No Fire: Convicting the Innocent of Crimes that Never Happened by Jessica S. Henry. I finished this last night.

This is an examination of the phenomenon of a person being convicted of a crime that didn’t happen within the American criminal justice system. Some examples in the book include being charged with arson over a naturally-occurring fire, with drug possession when there were no drugs present, and, bizarrely, with the murder of a child who never existed.

Often, this happens because an incident is initially mislabeled a crime, and everyone just rolls with that. And if there’s a crime, there must be a perpetrator.

If you’ve already studied the criminal justice system, or the legal system more broadly, there’s not much here that’s going to shock. Police with confirmation biases, overworked public defenders, prosecutors desperate to look “tough on crime,” defendants ready to plead guilty to something they didn’t do just to get out of jail pending trial, and judges who are being forced to wear too many hats all contribute to this tragic situation. I do think Henry lays it all out in neat order though, so that even if you knew about these things before, it might be clarifying to see how she puts it together.

I do think it’s something everyone should have at least passing awareness of. Popular media has hammered home that when something feels off, it is off. Humans put enormous stock in our “hunches” and intuition, which, when it comes to other people, are very often wrong. And if you are someone in a position of power—a prosecutor, say—that wrong hunch you’re committed to can cause real harm.

Henry digs into the ways in which even people trained to detect lies rarely bat above a 60% average in correctly guessing when someone is lying. This allows false accusers to be taken seriously while genuine protestations of innocence are ignored—things that could be resolved elsewhere, but once the people working the case become convinced they know the story, it’s very hard to shake them.

She also takes a swing at forensic science, which is tainted by unrealistic claims of accuracy, practitioners who simply make things up, and the failure of judges and juries to understand the real limitations or pitfalls of the various branches (for instance, “bite mark analysis” has been proven to be almost total bunk, but is frequently still admitted in courts; and juries rarely hear about the fallibility of drug-sniffing dogs).

The book can be slightly repetitive, although I did actually appreciate Henry reminding me who a given defendant we’d talked about earlier was, since there are so many of them we hear about in the book. It’s obviously well-researched and Henry, a former public defender, is passionate about the topic and educating the public. Most people are aware that defendants are sometimes convicted of things they didn’t do, but I think there is much less awareness that people can and do plead guilty to things that never even happened, due to the pressures of the system. A guilty plea is perhaps the most damning piece of evidence you can submit to a jury—but it’s not nearly as definitive as we’d like to think.

I am definitely not going to finish my library system’s summer book bingo because I apparently never read anything I could even remotely stretch to fit the “soothing” square. Anyway, on Monday night I finished An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon.

This book takes place on a vast spaceship traveling for centuries, but the core of its story is an examination of racism and inequality. The dynamics between citizens of the upper decks of the ship and those from the lower decks is an allegory for the antebellum South, with the light-skinned upper deck citizens convinced of the moral necessity of their superiority over the dark-skinned lower deck citizens. Protagonist Aster and her friends and family aren’t slaves in name, but in practicality, they are.

Solomon excels in showing the myriad ways, large and small, that this dynamic breaks down Aster and those like her, particularly Aster’s companion Giselle. There’s scarcely a moment of Aster’s life where she’s allowed to forget “her place” and the constant stress of this wears on her. Aster is very intelligent, but none of that matters in a world where one look at her convinces people in power that she’s worthless.

I found Solomon’s writing engaging and her characters realistic. You may not like all of them, but they all feel like real people, and plausible products of the harsh lives they’ve been forced to live. When they behaved irrationally, it felt earned and real. When they were victorious, it felt like the story had provided enough support to back that.

Also at the core of the story is the passing down of information, stories, and traditions, which not only give Aster solace when times are difficult, but also guide her to the revelations she makes later in the book.

This is Solomon’s first book, and I do think it shows in some clumsy editing and dropped threads, but overall I think the book is a creative exploration of social dynamics with interesting characters and solid writing. If Solomon improves from here, I look forward to seeing what else they put out!

Title: Breasts and Eggs
Author: Mieko Kawakami
Translator(s): David Boyd, Sam Bett
Genre: Literary, fiction

Once again managed to time things so that I finished both of my books on the same day…no idea how this keeps happening. Hours after wrapping up Sarah Gailey’s The Echo Wife, I also finished Mieko Kawakami’s Breasts and Eggs, translated from Japanese by David Boyd and Sam Bett.

The book is divided into two parts. The first part, which is roughly a third of the novel, takes place over only three days. Natsuko Natsume is in her early thirties and lost for direction when her older sister arrives to spend a couple of nights with Natsuko, bringing along her twelve-year-old daughter Midoriko, who has refused to speak a word to her mother for the last six months.

The Asexual Rep

I didn’t expect for this book to be a part of this segment, because I didn’t know it could be. Natsuko and the narrative never use the word “asexual” to describe her, but when she talks about her feelings on sex, I recognized so much of my own there it was impossible not to feel that she is.