The Death of Achilles by Boris Akunin

Source of book: Borrowed from the library

 

This is the fourth book in Akunin’s Fandorin mystery series. I have written about the first three previously - I recommend reading those first, because I include information about the author and the series that I will not duplicate in this post. 

 

The Winter Queen

The Turkish Gambit

Murder on the Leviathan

 

As I noted in previous reviews, the series is intended to contain an example of each of the 16 mystery novel types (as the author sees them) as well as containing one of the 16 different characters. While the novel genres are easy enough to find, I have yet to come across a listing of the character types, so I guess we all have to speculate. 

 

The Death of Achilles is a “murder for hire” mystery. So, one with an assassin who carries out a high-profile murder. 

 

Which is exactly what happens here. Our detective, Erast Fandorin, is recently returned (finally) to Russia, and gets hired as an assistant to the Moscow governor. Also returning is the great general, Sobolev, who is nicknamed “Achilles.” 

 

When Sobolev is discovered dead of apparently natural causes (a heart attack) in his hotel room, Fandorin is sure it is actually a murder. This leads him to deduce that in fact Solobev died, not in his own bed, but in the bed of a well-known courtesan - a great embarrassment that has been covered up by the general’s aides. 

 

But the deeper Fandorin digs, the more apparent it becomes that this is far bigger than it seems. The conspiracy to murder Sobolev goes all the way to the very pinnacle of power, to the inner circle of the Tzar himself. 

 

And, interestingly, the assassin turns out to be someone who appears in The Winter Queen. His attempt to kill Fandorin in that book was one of his very few failures. It isn’t too much of a spoiler to reveal that, as will be apparent to anyone who reads the book. 

 

One of the reasons for that is that the book is divided into two sections, each of which tells the story from a different perspective. 

 

The first part is from Fandorin’s point of view - an interesting return to the first person after the third person of the two prior novels. The second is told from the point of view of the assassin. We get his back story, as well as his account of the murder. 

 

The two come together at the end, in a final faceoff between the two greatest, well, whatever you classify them as: secret agents perhaps? 

 

The book is filled to the brim with historical and literary allusions - it is an easter egg hunt for nerdy sorts. 

 

The most obvious are the links to the Achilles story. However, the nickname is a red herring. The General isn’t Achilles; he is Hector. The assassin is the true Achilles, as the book makes clear with parallel after parallel between the two stories. I recommend taking a look at the Wikipedia page for the book after you read it for a good list. 

 

But the book also draws heavily on history as well. The general is based on Mikhail Skobelev, who did in fact die in a brothel and had that fact covered up by his aides. After his death, there were indeed conspiracy theories that he was assassinated - the book explores one of them. 

 

Several of the characters in the book are based on the real life figures they represent, from the Tsar on down. 

 

I will also mention that there are definite allusions to Sherlock Holmes and other classic mystery writers. An astute reader will likely note many of them. 

 

In general, this is a pretty violent book - it is part of the genre. Expect some graphic descriptions of bodily mayhem. That said, unlike far too many modern pulp books, this book - and the series in general - doesn’t focus on violence against women. Sure, women do face some violence - witnesses have to be erased, for example - but the book doesn’t dwell on it, and there is no hint of the quasi-pornographic lingering on female pain. 

 

Rather, the worst of the violence comes in encounters between Fandorin and his allies and the thugs of the underworld. And, of course, the final battle between Fandorin and the assassin. 

 

This book isn’t so much a whodunit as a story about the unfolding of a deep conspiracy, and the battle of wits between the protagonist and the antagonist. 

 

As I have noted before, while these books are genre fiction, they are higher quality than average, with good writing, well-laid plots, and rich historical detail. Within the implausibility of the idea of the superhero detective, they are quite plausible. People act like real people, and the characters usually go deeper than the surface. 

 

I noted a few lines that were interesting. For example, the description of Wanda, the courtesan who has the bad luck to have a client assassinated….before she could do it herself.

 

“Who is this Wanda that everybody knows?”

“Well, perhaps not everybody, but she is a well-known individual in certain circles. A German woman from Riga. A singer and a beauty, not exactly a courtesan, but something of the kind. A sort of dame aux camelias.”

 

That’s a Dumas reference, by the way. 

 

As it becomes apparent that there are threads in the mystery that might lead in unpleasant directions, one of the general’s aides challenges Fandorin to a duel, then tries to extract a promise that Fandorin will preserve the honor of Russia. Fandorin’s response is badass. 

 

“I promise, Gukmasov, that I will do nothing against my own honor, and that, I think, is sufficient.” 

 

Later, in an incident involving a German spy, Fandorin notes why this known spy is left unmolested. 

 

“And you don’t pick him up because a secret agent you know is better than one you don’t.” 

 

In another perceptive line, after Fandorin confronts the independent gangster, Little Misha. 

 

Extreme cruelty was the obverse side of cowardice, Erast Petrovich thought philosophically. But that was not really surprising, for these were the very worst pair of qualities that humanity possessed. 

 

Something to keep in mind in our own era of cruel bullies in government. 

 

Fandorin at one point interviews the mistress of the general - who hasn’t been forthcoming about what she knows. 

 

“Because of your omissions, Ekaterina Alexandrovna, I assessed the situation incorrectly and a very good man was killed as a result. As well as several bad ones, who nonetheless still had immortal souls.” 

 

I’ll end with a note about the Moravians and Mennonites. Yeah, that came out of nowhere, right? Well, in the second part, it turns out that the assassin’s roots are in one of those non-violent communities that fled Germany for Russia in the 1800s. 

 

Because they refused to serve in the army, they were expelled from Germany. Later, in addition to suffering from random violence like Jewish communities experienced at the time, they were eventually expelled from Russia as well, and for the same reason. 

 

My Mennonite ancestry on both sides of the family was part of this story. By ancestors were expelled from Germany, then Russia, before settling in Montana and Kansas. After coming here, the family assimilated into the mainstream of Evangelicalism, losing the Mennonite culture and roots. But I would like to think that my own aversion to violence and my commitment to social justice is a sign of my roots showing a bit. 

 

As I have before, I strongly recommend reading these books in order. The plots stand alone pretty well, but it helps to know Fandorin’s past, as it always affects his present actions. 

 

Overall, I have found I enjoy the books quite a bit. They are a bit different from the average English language mystery, but familiar enough to be easy to follow and enjoy. 

 

Forever... by Judy Blume

 Source of book: Audiobook from the library

 

Fair disclosure here: because of the current political situation, I have concern that certain books are going to become difficult to find due to official censorship or, perhaps more likely, preemptive compliance in order to avoid trouble. This is particularly a risk in Republican-dominated areas like the one I live in, where a loud and active minority gets more press than they deserve and are all too often able to create trouble for the rest of us, who prefer free speech. 

 

Because of this, I have been, and will be reading and reviewing a number of sexuality-related books this year. Some of them may be added to my own library later, if I decide they may be of use. 

 

One of these is this classic by legendary children’s author Judy Blume. 

We have listened to a couple of her other books, and I have found that they are rather interesting. On the one hand, like any book set in the present, they feel a bit of their time and place: the white collar middle class of New England in the 1970s. This means that they feel a bit set in certain secular white communities.

 

On the other, the themes are timeless, and the characters familiar due to their nuance and Blume’s keen eye for human nature. 

 

Listening to this one, though, I think I was struck most with how progressive the 1970s seem by comparison to today in so many ways. Particularly compared to my own teens in the 1990s in the ultra-conservative religious subculture. I mean, in these books, children are treated like actual people, not little sinners needing to be beaten into submission, or pawns in the culture wars. 

 

And normal human behavior is seen as, well, normal, and something to be discussed in terms of avoiding harm to self or others, now and in the future. Wow. It’s straight-up refreshing. 

 

It is hard to believe this book is slightly older than I am - it turns 50 this year. It seems to be from a different era altogether. Or maybe from an alternative future I wish my children could have had, rather than the MAGA-Fascist one we have. 

 

I will say at the outset that I was somewhat shocked at how sexually explicit this book is. I cannot imagine something like this getting published in our current climate - which is a shame, because “explicit” isn’t really the issue when it comes to sex, but context and content. 

 

And, in that sense, this book is really great. I’ll explain that later in this post. 

 

The book had its genesis in a conversation between Blume and her daughter Randy, who asked her mother to write a book about two nice teens who fell in love and had sex, and neither of them had to die. 

 

Which, well, that doesn’t seem like that much to ask, right? Well, not so much, as reading literature from past eras certainly shows. Particularly if a woman had sex, and enjoyed it, she has to die. Because…

 

[Note: I will be reviewing A Lily Among the Thorns by Miguel De La Torre soon, and will discuss a lot more about my own views on human sexuality - these two books go well together. Stay tuned.] 

 

Here is the thing: sometime around the 1920s, a HUGE shift in culture occurred. And it isn’t what people usually think. 

 

Prior to that time, most middle-class males in the Western world had their first sexual intercourse in one of two ways. Either with a prostitute, or by raping a servant. The shift in the 1920s is that from that time on, the majority of males had their first sexual experience with a peer. That is, with a female of their own social class. 

 

Or, what we would now call “premarital sex.” 

 

Thus, when we Americans (or Europeans, Canadians, or Australians, and more…) look around, 90% or more of the adult humans we see had sex before they married. Full. Stop. 

 

And guess what? Nothing horrible happened to most of them. They went on to get married, have kids, grandkids, and normal lives. 

 

As an attorney who has handled family law cases - and estate planning cases too - I have quite a bit of insider knowledge about family history. You would be surprised (or maybe not) at how many respectable, church-going, normal religious people had their first child six months or less after getting married. Clients also tend to talk, and I have heard plenty of women in divorces talk about being a virgin on their wedding night. Or the other way around. 

 

What I can say from this and knowledge of my own extended family is that of all the factors in whether a marriage is happy and whether it will stay together, virginity is at the bottom of the list. Probably behind freckled moon spots or the flight of an unladen swallow. I’m not kidding. 

 

If anything, the shotgun marriages I have known the best tended to be happier on average. Perhaps because there was a strong sexual connection to start with. 

 

The opposite can be true too, of course. People get married because they get pregnant, often too young, and break up. But people also get married so they have religious permission to fuck, often too young, and break up. So….maybe not a real pattern here. 

 

Before I get too far off a rabbit trail here, let me just mention a few things that I have thought about for literally decades. 

 

First, due to our current economic system, marriage and children increasingly make sense only (if ever) once a person is able to afford a family, which is happening ever later in life. Now that student loans are so often a lifetime debt, this time may never come for many people. Expecting that people will never experience sex and intimacy because they are enslaved to the financial system is unrealistic. As is, for that matter, expecting most people to wait until age 30 before sex. It simply isn’t going to happen, no matter how much you lecture them. 

 

Second, given that a shockingly high number of women do not experience orgasm with a partner most or all of the time, it seems to me that a woman would have every incentive to take a partner for a test drive before committing to them. Getting stuck with a man who refuses to learn how to pleasure a woman sounds like hell to me, and I would never blame a woman for wanting to check first that he isn’t a boor. Just saying. 

 

Okay, with that, on to the book itself.

 

***

 

The title is Forever… with the three dots included. There is a reason for this, and the book continually circles back to that theme throughout. 

 

The story is told through the eyes of Katherine, a high school senior. She meets Michael at a New Years party, and the two of them become interested in each other. Soon, they are dating, and navigating the question of sex. 

 

Unlike in the religious subculture I grew up in, for their families, the issue of sex is more of a health and emotional question, not a moral one. And this is a good thing. 

 

Here is where I think the book is particularly good: the issue of sex is based firmly in consent and mutual pleasure. While Katherine and Michael are teens, and act out in teen ways sometimes, they are basically good people, and concerned about each other. 

 

For Michael, socialized into the idea that boys push for sex, has to balance the script he knows with his desire that Katherine fully consent. And he gets it right most of the time, actually. With the exception of some stupid and hurtful stuff he says when they break up, he is a really nice guy. 

 

He makes sure Katherine is okay with everything they do, agrees to take things slowly - slower than he would like, actually - and is concerned that she experience pleasure as well. He is a pretty damn good lover for a novice. 

 

Likewise, Katherine genuinely cares about him, and feels terrible when they do break up, even though she knows that she isn’t yet ready for “forever” decisions. 

 

The whole love story is sweet and tender and beautiful, even if it inevitably leads to disappointment. After all, they are still high schoolers, with college ahead of them, and it really is too early for them to be making forever decisions. 

 

When I say that the book is sexually explicit, I mean that it uses the appropriate clinical terms for body parts. It describes contact in a sensual although not obscene way. Michael touches Katherine’s breasts and vulva. She strokes his penis until he ejaculates. They have intercourse several times. 

 

And, most shocking of all, Katherine describes the feeling of her orgasm. Because orgasms for girls are important in this book. 

 

Really, the only negative thing I can say about the sex is that it was a bit awkward listening to it with one’s teens. I still have some baggage from my past, sigh. 

 

There is a certain sadness in the breakup, of course. Breaking up always sucks. But it is clear that Katherine, as much as she loves and is attracted to Michael, is not ready to commit to marriage. And, I suspect if Michael were honest, neither is he. But the connection is powerful, and it hurts to break it. 

 

Again, given my own professional experience, better to break up before getting married and having kids than after. 

 

Other good things about this book: 

 

Katherine and Michael can talk about her period without getting all weird. Personally, I was raised this way - my upbringing was a strange combination of really good sex education and really fucked up beliefs about gender. We could always talk about menstruation, and I never felt it was a particular taboo. 

 

Also good is that Katherine and Michael take responsibility for the sex they have. They use contraception, first condoms, and then later Katherine takes it on herself to get the pill from the local planned parenthood. This is modeling responsible behavior - the point of sex education come to think of it. If you are too young to take responsibility for what you are doing, you shouldn’t be doing it. 

 

In this sense, Katherine and Michael are indeed mature enough for sex. Not only by being physically responsible, but accepting the emotional responsibility, and choosing to act kindly (most of the time) toward each other. Honestly, this relatively brief relationship shows more emotional maturity than more than half the marriages I have seen up close. 

 

There are a few things that do seem dated about the book, and, interestingly, Blume herself talks about them in her afterward to the edition we listened to. 

 

In addition to sharing the story of her daughter, she also notes that back in the 1970s, prevention of pregnancy was the main concern for safe sex, so even for a short relationship, the pill was considered sufficient. Nowadays, in our post-AIDS society, Katherine and Michael would have been advised to continue to use condoms at least until they were a long-term relationship where both had been tested for STIs. 

 

Another dated bit was the fact that Katherine appears to orgasm fairly easily through intercourse alone (although with foreplay.) This is now understood to be something the majority of women do not experience. Most women need direct clitoral stimulation for orgasm. I think it would have been helpful, given how good the rest of the book is in educating about the reality of sex, if this might have been mentioned somehow. 

 

But these are really minor quibbles. The book is a classic for a reason: it is the most realistic portrayal of teenage sex - indeed young sexual discovery generally - that I have ever read. And it is really sweet and loving and tender and sad and real. 

 

It matches my own experience of a sexual awakening so much better than any of the Fundie crap I grew up with. 

 

There are a number of lines that are really excellent that I remembered enough to look up. 

 

“Sex is a commitment...Once you're there you can't go back to holding hands...and when you give yourself both mentally and physically...well, you're completely vulnerable.” 

 

That is a simply outstanding observation. This is why, for me, I really can’t envision casual sex as something I would enjoy. But also why I love sex with a partner I love so much. 

 

This next line is a great rebuttal to the kind of moral panic each generation of parents seems to have. 

 

“I still get angry when older people assume that everyone in my generation screws around. They're probably the same ones who think all kids use dope. It's true that we are more open than our parents but that just means we accept sex and talk about it. It doesn't mean we are all jumping into bed together.” 

 

Ironically, the Baby Boomers were, statistically, the most promiscuous generation of my lifetime. Since then, each generation has delayed sex more, had fewer partners, and fewer unplanned pregnancies. But it’s all the kids’ fault, right? 

 

I’ll end with this line, from the end of the book, which is just incredible. 

 

“I wanted to tell him that I will never be sorry for loving him. That in a way I still do - that maybe I always will. I'll never regret one single thing we did together because what we had was very special. Maybe if we were ten years older it would have worked out differently. Maybe. I think it's just that I'm not ready for forever.”

 

In my own life, my wife and I met and married fairly young - although we didn’t date until we were both in college. Ours was a young marriage, although not as young as my parents, for example. 

 

We had a beautiful courtship and sexual awakening together, and, as the line says, it was beautiful and very special. And we don’t regret a single thing we did together and I will never be sorry for loving her. Even if it hadn’t worked out, it was still beautiful and special and something I will treasure my entire life. 

 

In a way, I miss being young and in love like we were, even though I really don’t want to be in my 20s again. It is good being middle aged and in love too, and a quarter century with a beloved partner is also a beautiful and special thing. But I am grateful that we  had that beautiful experience of being young and in love together. 

 

Forever… is a classic for a reason, and I am glad we listened to it. It presents a far more healthy look at sexuality - including teen sexuality - than most media even these days. All of us should aspire to treat each other with respect, love, and consideration. For any of us, taking responsibility for our sexuality like Katherine and Michael do would be a good thing. And really, many marriages and relationships disintegrate because the partners do not take this kind of responsibility - physical and emotional - and seek consent and pleasure for the other. But we all should.

 

In this era, when online influencers of the “manosphere” push toxic and violent masculinity, and then wonder why toxic men can’t get laid, Judy Blume offers an alternative: loving and consensual relationships. The world will be a better place if her vision wins out in the end. 

 

***

 

Note on my sexual education:

 

In many ways, I had an excellent sex education. My parents were always frank and willing to talk. I would say it was FAR better than my public schooled peers got at the time, and definitely better than I have found most homeschooled kids to have gotten. 

 

The good: 

 

Scientifically accurate information about bodies, puberty, menstruation, and intercourse. Solid information about STIs, contraception, and pregnancy. A good emphasis on consent and mutual pleasure, even if I wasn’t taught what a clitoris was and how to pleasure one. Generally good information on the emotional dimensions of sex - how it can paper over red flags in a relationship, the need for women to feel safe in order to orgasm. 

 

The not-so-good:

 

For obvious reasons, no scientifically accurate information about sexual orientation or gender identity. Although, to be fair, this was the 1980s, and homophobia went a lot deeper than religious beliefs in the larger society. Nobody in public school was getting great information here either. 

There was also, of course, the usual “no sex until you are married” thing, with “the line” drawn in various places depending on who you were reading. For Gothard, no kissing before marriage. For others, as long as that penis wasn’t in a vagina, it was okay. My parents were somewhere in the middle. 

The worst, though, was the gender essentialism - which turned out to be so far from reality that I pretty much had to abandon the whole thing. You know the stuff: “men trade love to get sex, women trade sex to get love.” That’s horseshit. Men need love as much as women do, and women can and do enjoy sex for its own sake. And the gender roles thing, that became more important to my parents as time went on. 

 

But overall, I got good education - and it made a positive difference once I started experiencing sexuality with a partner, while laying the foundation for a healthier marriage than most. 

 

***

 

The narrator for the audiobook was Caitlin Kinnunen, and I thought it was kind of meh. It was hard at times to distinguish between the voices, including between Michael and Katherine, which is actually important at times. Oh well, at least the book itself was compelling, even if the audio left me a little flat. 

 

The Invisible Man by H. G. Wells

Source of book: Audiobook from the library

 

Between audiobooks and a few I finished reading during our recent Spring Break camping trip, I may be playing catchup on blogging for the next few weeks. I am also not writing these strictly in the order we read them, because I am having to fit them in around two concert sets in two different counties, in addition to catching up at work. So, the shorter posts will probably get posted first, with the longer ones being a work in progress during my lunch breaks. 

 

Anyway, let’s start with this one. 

 

H. G. Wells, was, of course, one of the greats of early Science Fiction, with some of the imaginative ideas that have entered into our cultural consciousness, even if we don’t realize it was Wells who started it. 

 

The mad scientist stitching together different animals: that would be The Island of Doctor Moreau. Time travel where humans have split into different species: The Time Machine. Alien invasions: The War of the Worlds. The list goes on. 

 

In this book, Wells explores the implications of invisibility. I had not previously read this book, actually, so it was fun to discover it with my kids. 

 

Since the book is well over 100 years old, I expect that any spoilers have long since been made. I should also note that this book is The Invisible Man, with the definite article, and should not be confused with the thoroughly article-less book by Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man. That book is outstanding and highly recommended, and also very different from the Wells book. 

 

The basic outline of the story is contained in the title. Griffin, an albino student, discovers a way of changing the “refractive index” of carbon-based materials, including animal tissue. After first succeeding with cloth and then with a cat, he turns himself invisible. 

 

He soon finds out, however, that being invisible is not all he thought it would be. 

 

First, of course, is the problem that only he himself is invisible. If he wears clothes, he is now visible. But if he doesn’t, then he is naked, which is problematic if it is cold or wet. So, already, there is the paradox. 

 

Couldn’t he create invisible clothes too? Yeah, probably. Except that his experiments cause him to be evicted, and he is forced to destroy his equipment to cover his tracks. 

 

And then there is the other problem. What are the actual advantages of being invisible? 

 

Well, as Griffin decides, it is pretty much to sneak up on people and evade capture. So, an advantage in committing petty theft, as long as one is very quiet. And doesn’t have to evade dogs, who can smell. 

 

This is childs play, though. What Griffin decides is the real endgame of invisibility is…wait for it…. WORLD DOMINATION™! 

 

Yeah, probably those cold nights got to his head. The theory is that the invisible person can commit random murders to terrorize a populace into submission, thus allowing the invisible man and his henchmen to dominate. That this is full of flaws - not least of which is finding henchmen - becomes apparent as the book proceeds to its tragic conclusion. 

 

As one might imagine, Wells’ book is thus about a lot more than just the “gee, wouldn’t it be cool to be invisible?” thing. 

 

The themes that were apparent to me were ones that have haunted science fiction since its creation. (By Mary Shelley, by the way…) 

 

Just because we can do something using science doesn’t mean we should. 

Maybe invent the antidote before trying the experiment on yourself? 

What is our motive for progress? Is it merely better weapons to use on each other? 

How does isolation affect a person? Is being different and the resulting discrimination and mistrust enough to drive a person to revenge? 

 

There is plenty going on here, to be sure, along with a mysterious atmosphere. Unlike Wells’ earlier novels, this one is told in third person, and intentionally does not reveal everything. What happens is largely reconstructed after the fact from eyewitness reports combined with Griffin’s own unreliable account of his discovery. 

 

As usual, Wells’ storytelling is good, with the usual caveat that his style is more firmly in the past - the Mid-Victorian Era - in style, than in the newer styles coming into popularity near the end of the 19th Century. This isn’t a bad thing, but Wells does seem archaic in style even as he is futuristic in substance. 

 

I’ll also give credit to Wells, as to Jules Verne, for using solid science (although of its time) and picking fairly plausible methods of invention. While creating glass-like humans hasn’t happened, Wells notes jellyfish and other sea creatures that attain near-invisibility, making his ideas at least believable. 

 

The audiobook we listened to was an older Blackstone Audio version, with James Adams as the narrator. With a proper upper-class British accent, it fit the language well, and gave additional atmosphere to the story. 

Under the Udala Trees by Chinelo Okparanta

Source of book: Audiobook from the library

 

So, question: why should we care about Nigeria? Well, first of all, it is Africa’s most populous country, nearly twice as populous as the next largest, Ethiopia. With about two-thirds the population of the United States, it is the sixth most populous country on the planet. So that’s a big deal. 

 

It is also one of the most religious countries in the world, nearly evenly split between Christianity and Islam. This will be important in the story later. It also consists of multiple ethnic and language groups - there are three official languages - and has a history of ethnic and religious conflict. (Like, well, most of the world, I guess. Sigh.) 

 

This is actually the second book I have read that has the Nigerian Civil War of the 1960s as a key part of the story. Unlike Half of a Yellow Sun, which takes place entirely during the conflict, Under the Udala Trees starts out during the war, but takes place mostly afterward. The war, however, does haunt the protagonist and the other characters. 

The book can be considered a coming-of-age story, and has some autobiographical elements, but is more complicated than that. It takes a look at the trauma of war, of conflict between parent and child, of coming to terms with one’s sexuality, and with living as an LGBTQ person in a deeply bigoted and unsafe society. 

 

Spoilers follow, because I want to discuss elements of the plot. If you wish to read the book first, do so, and come back. Leave a comment if you like - I am always interested in hearing what other people think about books.

 

The plot follows Ijeoma from her childhood through her middle age. When she is a young girl, an air strike kills her father, Uzo, after he refuses to go to the shelter. This loss, and the subsequent devastation of the war reduce Ijeoma and her mother, Adaora, to poverty. 

 

In order to survive, Adaora sends Ijeoma to live as a house girl with a school teacher and his family in another town, while Adaora tries to find a safe place for them. Unfortunately, she is suffering from a mental breakdown after her husband’s death and her discovery of the body, so she leaves Ijeoma alone for over a year without contact. 

 

While living with the school teacher, she meets Amina, a refugee girl who has lost all of her known family in the war. Ijeoma convinces the school teacher to take Amina in too, even though Amina is of a different ethnicity and religion - she is Muslim and of the ethnicity of the enemy in the war. 

 

Things go wrong when Ijeoma and Amina fall in love. They are caught in flagrante, and Ijeoma is sent back to live with her mother. 

 

As a devout Christian, Adaora decides that Ijeoma has a demon and must be cured. A portion of the book details the informal “conversion therapy” that Adaora inflicts on her daughter, and, as one who knows my Bible all too well, this was a bit traumatic to listen to. Adaora meant well, I suppose, but this was very much child abuse. 

 

Later, Ijeoma and Amina attend the same boarding school, and partially resume their relationship, but Amina eventually decide to cut it off, and marries as soon as she graduates. 

 

With the war over, Adaora has built a retail business, and is thriving. However, she is determined to get Ijeoma married off. 

 

This is a really fascinating dynamic, by the way. Adaora has spent a decade being furious at Uzo for leaving her a widow, and never does seem interested in marrying again. And yet she rails at Ijeoma that “a woman without a man is hardly a woman at all.” This is certainly ironic since Adaora really comes into and finds her own strength without a man. Would she have done so with one? Probably not. 

 

Ijeoma meets a young woman named Ndidi, and they fall in love, although Ijeoma feels that she is in some way being unfaithful to Amina, her first love. This continues for some time. 

 

Throughout this period, there is ongoing violence directed at LGBTQ people, both by Christians and Muslims. In my opinion, one of the ways that Nigeria has kept the peace between the competing religions is by directing their hate at LGBTQ people instead. 

 

Everything changes when Ijeoma’s childhood friend, Chibundu, comes back into her life. He is looking for a wife, and asks her out. Ndidi actually gives her blessing for this - she figures if Ijeoma is able to live with a man, it will be an easier life for her. If not, then Ndidi will know she is secure in the relationship. 

 

Through an incredibly awkward sequence, Ijeoma ends up consenting to marry Chibundu, even though she does not love him. 

 

This turns out as badly as expected. They have a daughter together, but Ijeoma hates sex, and wishes she had a way out. Chibundu is understandably hurt and frustrated at being rejected. 

 

He eventually finds the love letters that Ijeoma had written (but not sent) to Ndidi, and this eventually leads to their breakup. In the end, Ijeoma is able to have a relationship with Ndidi, but they have to keep it secret from all except family, due to its criminalization in Nigeria. 

 

So, some thoughts on the book. First of all, with the exception of the nameless and faceless perpetrators of violence - the soldiers in the war, the religious bigots who burn and beat to death LGBTQ people - there are no villains. Everyone is complicated, flawed, and human. 

 

Uzo sees Biafra losing its attempt to become independent, and this sends him into a mental tailspin. His death is essentially suicide - he knows he is risking death, but refuses to take shelter. This incident is based on the author’s life - her mother’s first husband was killed in an air strike, and her mother discovered his body. On the other hand, Uzo is incredibly important to Ijeoma, not least because he introduced her to the idea of metaphor, and reading texts in a non-literal manner.

 

Adaora is in many ways a terrible parent. But she also has no background that would assist her in understanding her daughter. She has been through trauma, and her religious beliefs lack the nuance of Uzo’s philosophy. 

 

The “conversion therapy” chapters really are painful, not least because of my own childhood experiences. Adaora thinks she is doing the best she can, in the best way she can, but all she ends up doing is getting Ijeoma to shut down emotionally and hide her true self from her mother. 

 

Ironically - and also very much in line with my own experience - Ijeoma’s immersion in Bible study leads to her rejection of fundamentalist interpretations, realizing that everything is a lot more complicated and contradictory, even within the text. By the time she is an adult, she has fully embraced the belief that she no longer needs to be “cured” of anything. 

 

What is fascinating is that after Ijeoma’s marriage breaks up, Adaora finally comes around, accepting the fact that God does not make mistakes, and that LGBTQ people are in fact a natural part of creation. This allows for a true reconciliation later in life, which is pretty heartwarming. Perhaps Adaora cannot bear the thought of losing her only child, and so must come to understand her. 

 

I wish I had the same hope for my own parents, but they have a favorite child already, and are not motivated the same way Adaora is. 

 

Ijeoma is also complicated. I wouldn’t call her an unreliable narrator, exactly. She is as reliable as any human can be - and certainly her account of her own feelings throughout are accurate. She tends to freeze up when stressed, though, becoming unable to speak or move - probably a trauma response. She also tends to be heedless of the feelings of others, particularly of Chibundu. 

 

In turn, Chibundu has is good and bad. He is casually sexist and patriarchal in line with his culture, although hardly as bad as most. Some of his behaviors are abusive. Not violent, but coercive when it comes to sex, and verbally problematic. 

 

On the other hand, his feelings are totally understandable. He has married under false pretences - he would have full grounds for annulment here in California. He is being cut off, and treated as undesirable, for reasons he cannot understand until he discovers Ijeoma’s unfaithfulness. 

 

It is fascinating that after their divorce, Chibundu never does remarry. He comes close, but ends up calling it off. He does continue to indulge in self-pity afterward. 

 

An interesting line near the end is to the effect that there is a human tendency to want to be “the victim in someone else’s tragedy,” and that is how Ijeoma sees Chibundu’s self pity. 

 

She is only half right, at best. The marriage was, of course, Ijeoma’s tragedy. But it was also Chibundu’s. He was genuinely in love with her, and was devastated to find it was not requited. Ijeoma’s treatment of him was, in my opinion, abusive as well. And she clearly was not honest with him about anything until she was caught. 

 

Also in Chibundu’s favor is that he is clear that he does not consider homosexuality to be “an abomination.” His issue is that she married him, and thus she should either act like a wife, or leave. This is entirely fair. He is put in an impossible situation, and while his response isn’t perfect, he really does try to be as considerate as he can. I doubt I would have done better. He is also irrationally hopeful that she can love him - it’s humorous while piteous as well. 

 

The book was written in 2015, a very different time for the United States. Back then, one could consider it a haven for LGBTQ people. Now, of course, under the Trump/Musk regime, LGBTQ rights are under attack. The Christian Nationalist wing of the party very much wants to make our country more like Nigeria, openly criminalizing any sexual expression other than reproductive heterosexuality. 

 

So in some ways, this book reads a lot differently than it would have a decade ago. 

 

I also want to note something the author herself pointed out: the opposition to LGBTQ people is an import from the West. Prior to colonization, many African cultures - like other indigenous cultures - accepted homosexual relationships. Even into modern times, this persisted. Okparanta’s grandmother was married to another woman, in fact, and that relationship was recognized. 

 

One line in the book is spot on: “If you set off on a witch hunt, you will find a witch.” The reason for all bigotries is ultimately that search for a scapegoat - a witch to burn. And you will always find one. 

 

We still have a hangover from the Inquisition in so many ways, particularly here in the United States, with our history of racialized violence. Finding scapegoats seems to be a winning political strategy here right now, unfortunately, and as a relatively small portion of the population, LGBTQ people are a convenient target. 

 

I thought the book was well written, for the most part. The chapters on the “conversion therapy” went on a bit too long in my opinion, but I can see why the author did that. I have a solid Bible background, so I already knew all the passages by heart - it thus to me felt unnecessarily traumatic to go over it all again. But I understand that not all of her readers will be familiar with it all. 

 

The handling of the characters was wonderfully nuanced, and the author lives up to her reputation of always standing with the powerless. Indeed, a more truly Christian approach than what passes for “christianity” here in America these days.

 

It’s definitely worth reading, and I intend to read her other works in the future. 

 

Robin Miles was the narrator, and did a good job. 

 

***

 

Further reading: An interview with the author

 

Four One Act Plays by Adrienne Kennedy

Source of book: I own this.

 

I am a huge fan of the Library of America project. Founded as a non-profit in 1982, the Library of America was a longstanding dream of Edmund Wilson, who, before his death, did much to lay the foundation for the project. 

 

The goal is to preserve essential American literature, particularly works that have gone out of print or are otherwise difficult to find. Major funding initially came from the National Endowment for the Humanities - one of the Federal agencies that the Republican Party has long desired to eliminate, because anything that supports public culture but doesn’t make billions for rich people is seen as waste to them. 

 

Over the years, I have collected over 100 volumes for my own library, starting with the very first one, the complete poems of Robert Frost my wife gave me as a present early in our marriage. 

 

While I mostly look for used copies at bookstores or library sales, there are some that I choose to buy new when they come out, because I want to encourage their publication. These are the ones that may not sell well either because the authors are more obscure (although of interest to me) or because the authors are female or people of color. Given the ongoing war on diversity, equity, and inclusion, these are the voices targeted by the current white male supremacist regime. I want to do my part to support these voices both with my money and with my time in reading and writing about them. 

 

This book recently came out and I made sure to purchase it. The pre-order discount was an additional sweetener, of course. 

 

Adrienne Kennedy is still alive, believe it or not, in her 90s and still writing. She started her career as a playwright during the 1960s, as part of a movement toward surrealism, with short plays that lacked a plot, and instead focused on imagery and metaphor and symbolism. 

 

Unlike most African-American writers of the time, who were focusing on realism, she went the opposite direction, with the use of historical figures, animal-human hybrids, bizarre situations, and creative use of lighting and sound. 

 

Since most of her works are short, one act dramas, anywhere from fifteen pages down to five pages long, I decided to read a few of them. I ended up settling on four. I will discuss them in the order they appear in the book. Which is also the order in which I read them. 

 

The Tiger and the Tomboy

 

This play is arguably the most conventional, in that it has a plot and what is essentially a comedic story of young love. I say comedic not primarily because it is humorous - there is some humor, but that is not the focus - but because it follows the usual comic plot. The young lovers wish to be together, but misunderstandings keep them apart, until all is revealed and they can reconcile. 

 

Charles “Ty” Tyler and Sandra Stillwell are the young lovers, the tiger and the tomboy, respectively. They have known each other since childhood, and are deeply in love. But they cannot bring themselves to say so to each other. In addition, Sandra would love to be courted in a romantic manner, and Ty would like Sandra to dress feminine for the dance. But of course, they misunderstand each other when they try to talk about it. 

 

In this case, what allows them to come to the truth is their alter-egos. Sandra has created a fictional version of Ty in her mind, while Ty has created a fictional version of Sandra. In conversing with the other’s alter egos, they are led to the truth, and we have a sappy love scene at the end. 

 

This use of alter egos, multiple versions of each character, will become even more pronounced in the later plays. 

 

I wrote down one line from each play - they are short enough that one can perhaps capture something of the essence. 

 

Tyrone (Ty’s alter ego): My name is Tyrone

Sandra: Where did you come from?

Tyrone: You created me.

Sandra: Created you?

Tyrone: You wanted to tell me…how you feel about Charles Tyler…you wanted to tell me about the secret you want to tell him…tonight.

 

Through the use of these alter egos, the couple are able to “practice” what they want to say, and eventually come to an understanding of each other. 

 

Funnyhouse of a Negro

 

This is Kennedy’s best known play, and its mood is thoroughly different from The Tiger and the Tomboy. 

 

Nearly the entire play takes place inside the main character’s head. Sarah is the product of a mixed-race relationship. She hates her black father (who may or may not have committed suicide) and idolizes her white mother (who has been committed to an insane asylum.) 

 

Sarah has alter egos of the Dutchess of Hapsburg, Queen Victoria, Jesus, and Patrice Lumumba. Which, well, that’s pretty trippy already. Plus, there is the constant loss of hair experienced by the characters, people carrying severed heads around, and just a lot of surreal imagery. 

 

Masks, ravens flying around, constant knocking, and a very non-linear plot - this is very close to Samuel Beckett territory - and he was indeed one of Kennedy’s influences. 

 

The theme of the play is the tension of being biracial, and torn between one’s white side and one’s black side. I chose this as the key line:

 

Victoria always wants me to tell her of whiteness. She wants me to tell her of a royal world where everything and everyone is white and there are no unfortunate black ones. For we of royal blood know, black is evil and has been from the beginning. 

 

This dichotomy also runs through the plot, such as it is. Did Sarah’s father kill himself? Or is he living and working in academia, oblivious to the pain of his daughter? (In Sarah’s mind, she has killed him - symbolic of her wishing to kill the blackness in herself.) 

 

Was Sarah’s conception consensual yet regrettable? Or was it a rape? This question and others are never definitively answered. Sarah’s perspective is central, and yet we know her to be an unreliable narrator of her own life. 

 

It’s definitely an interesting play, and would be fascinating to see live. (Although probably also challenging to stage.) One of the interesting devices is the use of “whiteface” - black actors painting their faces to portray stereotypically white historical figures. 

 

The Owl Answers

 

This play addresses the experience of being biracial, but with the genders swapped. Here, Clara’s father is “the richest white man in town” while her mother was his cook. 

 

If anything, this play is even more surreal and symbolic than the others. The setting is mostly a subway car in New York City, but it also has scenes that are somehow at the Tower of London, a Harlem hotel room, and St. Peter’s - while still being in the subway car. 

 

Clara is described as “She, who is Clara Passmore, who is the Virgin Mary, who is the Bastard, who is the Owl.” Her parents are likewise split into multiple characters. 

 

Oh, and Shakespeare, Chaucer, and William the Conqueror make appearances, as does a bird with multiple identities. 

 

It’s quite a trip. The plot revolves around Clara imagining she is trying to get her father buried at Westminster Abbey, but nobody believes she, a black girl, could be related to a white man. 

 

The play was intended as a companion to Funnyhouse of a Negro, but the two are usually performed with other plays, not each other. 

 

I suspect part of the reason is that staging either of them would be a nightmare, due to the complex sets required, and the special effects that are called for. Some have even questioned if Kennedy even expected The Owl Answers to be actually staged, or if it was more intended to be read and imagined. 

 

A fun musical note is that whenever Clara’s experience is at its most emotional, she is supposed to hear music. And not just music, but a very specific bit of music: Haydn’s Horn Concerto in D, 3rd movement. I am trying to remember if we performed this back when I was in the Bakersfield College orchestra years ago. We had a great young horn player, who is now a professional back east and remains a good friend. I know we did the Weber, but I feel like we did Haydn too. 

 

The line that stands out for me from this play is this one:

 

Bastard’s Black Mother (one of the manifestations of Clara’s mother): Clara, you were conceived by your Goddam Father who was the Richest White Man in the Town and somebody that cooked for him. That’s why you’re an owl. (Laughs.) That’s why when I see you, Mary, I cry. I cry when I see Marys, cry for their deaths.

 

There is a bit of a challenge here: remember that the Virgin Mary is a manifestation of Clara, as is the Bastard. And the Owl. And exactly why Clara’s ancestry makes her an owl is never explained. 

 

This was probably my favorite of the plays, just because of how weird it is, and also the way it reveals truths about the role of race in society by nibbling around the edges. 

 

A Lesson in Dead Language

 

This is the shortest of the plays, and, while it does touch on racial issues, it is primarily about gender. 

 

A white dog (probably representing white male authority) is teaching Latin to a class of all black female students. They are studying the assassination of Julius Caesar. 

 

The dog condemns the students for the death of Caesar, because they are stand-ins for Calpurnia, who failed to stop him from going to the Senate that day. 

 

As they stand, we see they have bloodstains on their backs - from their menstruation. From there, the play circles around and around the guilt, the becoming women, and a game involving lemons and a white dog on the green grass in childhood. 

 

The central theme of this play is definitely menarche, becoming a woman, and inheriting the social guilt that is heaped on women simply for being female. Calpurnia, in the distance, envisions the collapse of the tower representing white patriarchy at the end. 

 

The language here, like in many plays of its era, is repetitive and cyclic, with the same phrases and ideas recurring throughout, building images upon images, creating a structure of meaning rather than a plot. It is a lot for a mere five pages of script. Here is one of the recurring bits about the game. 

 

Pupil: I bleed, Teacher, I bleed. It started when my white dog died. It was a charming little white dog. He ran beside me in the sun when I played a game with lemons on the green grass. And it started when I became a woman.

 

Pupils: Dear Caesar played a game of lemons in the sun on the green grass and my white dog ran beside. 

 

This volume contains a few dozen of Kennedy’s plays, some adaptations (including of Greek tragedies), fiction, and other writings. I look forward to exploring more of her works in the future. It would be fascinating if I could experience live performance of her plays - I will have to keep my eyes open. 

 

 

Men at Arms by Evelyn Waugh

Source of book: I own this.

 

I previously read Brideshead Revisited eight years ago. While I enjoyed it - Waugh is an excellent and perceptive writer - I did think that the ending was unconvincing and emotionally unsatisfying. Probably Waugh was trying really hard to deny his own sexuality and thus came up with the idea of a woman and the Catholic faith redeeming the protagonist. Perhaps Waugh was still trying to convince himself of his religious beliefs. 

 

Later, during the Covid lockdown - literally one of a couple of books I checked out before the libraries shut down for months - I read Waugh’s short stories. Because they were organized in chronological order, it was fascinating to see his progression (or regression?) from the gentle and generous humor of his earlier works to the increasingly dark and disturbingly reactionary tone of his later works. 

 

I am inclined to think that whatever happened to Waugh in the 1950s and 60s, including his mental breakdown and botched medical treatments, made him retreat to reactionism and bitterness that the world hadn’t turned out the way it did. Lowlights include his belief that he was demon-possessed (it turned out to be symptoms of bromide poisoning instead), and his crusade against the vernacular mass. 

 

I did want to go back and read some of his more humorous works, though. Since we owned it, I decided to read the first book of his World War II trilogy, Men at Arms. 

 

The trilogy follows Guy Crouchback, an aristocrat fallen on hard times, who decides to enlist in the military however he can, even though he is 36, has zero relevant skills, and totally sucks at military stuff. 

 

As with most of Waugh’s works, there is an autobiographical element. He indeed did serve in the war - and was terrible at it. Part of the problem, of course, was the British class system. It was assumed that the gentry would be officers, and the plebes would be the soldiers. Because, you know, people of noble birth are naturally good leaders or something. 

 

Men at Arms is certainly a humorous book. At times, it is laugh-out-loud funny. But the humor is definitely ironic, satirical, and sometimes dark. On a scale of humorists, I would classify it as significantly darker than that of, say, P. G. Wodehouse, but not as dark as Joseph Heller. Somewhere in the middle, at least in this book. 

 

The central humor of the book centers around a pair of middle-aged would-be officers. Guy Crouchback is desperate to find a combat role - his older brother was killed in World War I, and he longs for the honor -posthumous or not - of glory in battle. He also has a failed marriage - his estranged wife has taken up with another man. Or rather a series of men. He has no children, so the Crouchback name will likely die with him. At least he can bring glory on the way out, right? 

 

Oh, and Guy sees both Communism and Nazism as an embodiment of “modernity” that can now be fought as a tangible enemy. Yeah, Waugh was a bit weird about that whole cultural change thing. 

 

One might ask why Crouchback doesn’t just get a divorce, remarry, and have an heir. Well, as one of the English Catholic families, remarriage isn’t an option for the Crouchbacks. Not really, at least in Guy’s mind. (Shades here of Waugh’s own failed first marriage and his need for an annulment in order to remarry.) 

 

Crouchback finally gets an opportunity to join the fight, as an officer in the fictional “Royal Corps of Halberdiers,” through a friend of his nouveau riche brother-in-law pulling some strings. 

 

There, he meets another older guy, Apthorpe, who has experience in colonial administration. Apthorpe is also a bit crazy, very alcoholic, and yet fits the military mode better. The two “uncles” have some fun adventures along the way. 

 

Also a bit on the nutty side, but in a different way, is the Brigadier, Ben Ritchie-Hook, whose ludicrous actions at the end of the book end in catastrophe for himself, and, to a degree, to Crouchback. 

 

I won’t get into the plot much more than that, although I will mention a few incidents. 

 

Such as the madcap episode of the “thunder-box.” For those unfamiliar, this is a portable chemical toilet. Apthorpe has one from the Edwardian Era - a beautiful wood and brass unit that he is super proud of. He smuggles it into camp, intending to avoid the communal toilets out of fear of catching “the clap.” Things go…wrong. I won’t say more than that. 

 

Also worth mentioning is Guy’s attempt to seduce his estranged wife - after all, the Church sees them as still married, so she is literally the only woman he can lawfully fuck before he ships out. It goes…badly. It’s funny, but in a really horrifying way. 

 

There are so many witty lines, of course. This is Waugh, so expect that. And also a bit of a sharp edge to the wit. Here are my favorites. 

 

Guy found it easy to confess in Italian. He spoke the language well but without nuances. There was no risk of going deeper than the denunciation of his few infractions of law, of his habitual weaknesses. Into that wasteland where his soul languished he need not, could not enter. He had no words to describe it. There were no words in any language. 

 

The run-up to World War II is also interesting. If you don’t read British literature, it is easy to miss so much of what happened in the 1930s - the US had its depression and New Deal and that is usually what we get taught. But a lot was happening across the pond. Here is a line that I found fascinating. 

 

“There will be no war. No one wants it. Who would gain?” 

 

Yeah, it was in so many ways a blood stupid waste, but there you have it. Wars happen not because most people want them, but because stupid and malevolent people with power want them. 

 

The first line that truly made me laugh out loud was from this exchange between Guy and the various branches of the military that keep turning him down. 

 

“We don’t want cannon-fodder this time” - from the Services - “we learned our lesson in 1914 when we threw away the pick of the nation. That’s what we’ve suffered from ever since.”

“But I’m not the pick of the nation,” said Guy. “I’m natural fodder. I’ve no dependents. I’ve no special skill in anything. What’s more, I’m getting old. I’m ready now for immediate consumption. You should take the 35’s now and give the young men time to get sons.”

 

There is also this bit about Guy’s father’s reactionism:

 

Mr. Crouchback acknowledged no monarch since James II. It was not an entirely sane conspectus but it engendered in his gentle breast two rare qualities, tolerance and humility. 

 

At one point, Guy and Apthorpe get confused by Ritchie-Hook, who mistakenly believes it was Guy who has been in Africa (rather than in Italy.) Which leads to this horrific bit of bigotry - religious and racial. Ritchie-Hook spews something nasty about Catholic priests, before being informed that Guy is a Catholic. And then this. 

 

“Of course it’s because you live in Africa. You get a very decent type of missionary out there. I’ve seen ‘em myself. They don’t stand any nonsense from the natives. None of that ‘me velly Clistian boy got soul all same as white boss’. If you lived in Italy like this other young officer of mine, you’d see them as they are at home. Or in Ireland; the priests there were quite openly on the side of the gunmen.”

 

Yeesh. And don’t think Waugh, reactionary as he was, endorsed this. Another soldier describes Ritchie-Hook thusly after the incident. 

 

“Regular old fire-eater, isn’t he?” said Sarum-Smith. “Seems to have made up his mind to get us all killed.”

 

In a later passage, Richie-Hook’s sense of tactics are illuminated in a hilarious manner. 

 

The Training Programme followed no text-book. Tactics as interpreted by Brigadier Ritchie-Hook consisted of the art of biffing. Defense was studied cursorily and only as the period of reorganization between two bloody assaults. The Withdrawal was never mentioned. The Attack and the Element of Surprise were all. Long raw misty days were passed in the surrounding country with maps and binoculars. Sometimes they stood on the beach and biffed imaginary defenders into the hills; sometimes they biffed imaginary invaders from the hills into the sea. They invested downland hamlets and savagely biffed imaginary hostile inhabitants. Sometimes they merely collided with imaginary rivals for the use of the main road and biffed them out of the way. 

 

I’ll also mention this poignant exchange between Guy and his estranged wife. 

 

“You never married again?”

“How could I?”

“Darling, don’t pretend your heart was broken for life.”

“Apart from my heart, Catholics can’t remarry, you know.”

“Oh that. You still keep to all that?”

“More than ever.”

“Poor Guy, you did get in a mess, didn’t you? Money gone, me gone, all in one go. I suppose in the old days they’d have said I ruined you.”

…

“There’s one thing I always did feel bad about. How did your father take it all? He was such a lamb.”

“He just says: ‘Poor Guy, picked a wrong’un.”

 

As the training continues, bad news from the front lines continues to pour in. Guy has mixed feelings about the whole thing. Particularly about whether the war can be won.

 

For Guy the news quickened the sickening suspicion he had tried to ignore, had succeeded in ignoring more often than not in his service in the Halberdiers; that he was engaged in a war in which courage and a just cause were quite irrelevant to the issue. 

 

Another line about Guy’s personality is interesting. 

 

Most English gentlemen at this time believed that they had a particular aptitude for endearing themselves to the lower classes. Guy was not troubled by this illusion, but he believed he was rather liked by these particular thirty men. 

 

 Late in the book, when the unit is finally deployed to French Algeria - or more accurately, to the coast of French Algeria - good old Ritchie-Hook again displays his colors. 

 

“A French town in West Africa. Probably all boulevards and brothels if I know the French colonies.”

 

I’ll end with one line, after the botched reconnaissance attempt. Guy, per instructions, takes a coconut back with him. The next morning, one of his underlings asks, “Would you want to be eating this nut now, sir, or later?”

 

For any Waugh book, one probably should have a proper cocktail to accompany it. For Brideshead Revisited, the obvious and only choice is the Brandy Alexander. For Men at Arms, I would say the correct choice would be a Pink Gin. I ended up finishing the book before I remembered to do so. I will have to remedy that and add a picture to this post later. 

 

Anyway, it was a fun read. I own the other two books of the trilogy and intend to read them in the future.