Siri Hustvedt, The Sorrows of an American *** 1/2

What I appreciate most about Hustvedt as a writer (of both fiction and non-fiction) is her rational approach to fundamentally emotional subjects. She and her characters gain empathy through understanding how others feel and why. As one reviewer said, "She takes unapologetic delight in intellectual characters who understand their lives through far-ranging reading and lively conversation."

The Sorrows of an American doesn't really have a story. The first page suggests that the book will be about a family uncovering secrets about the newly deceased patriarch, but the narrator shows very little urgency in pursuing the mystery of "Lisa" who sent his father an enigmatic letter, and when they track down the answer his sister says, "It was a secret, all right, kept for years and years, but it doesn't explain much about Pappa, does it?"

The theme of the book is how a person's secrets are simultaneously the part that is missing from his or her life story and the part that influences his or her motivation. The narrator is a psychoanalyst, so it's not surprising that he believes we can overcome our discontents though talking about it. The emotional stakes remain low, because the characters are not suffering from trauma but are merely discontented.

Sam Munson, Dog Symphony ** 1/2

I recovered from the dense door stop Reconstruction with this short atmospheric novel. An American professor of prison studies travels to Buenos Aires to speak at a conference. When he arrives, he can't locate his sponsor and manages to lock himself out of his room at the B&B. He notices that each home has a pair of bowls at their front doors, one with water and the other with raw meat. As night falls, he sees quiet packs of dogs roaming the streets.

Dog Symphony establishes a foreboding mood whose elusiveness contrasts with details that make the story feel Argentinian (references to Borges and Cortazar; surprisingly clear geographical descriptions). But the transparently allegorical story doesn't go anywhere. It's like Munson built his world but forgot to populate it.

Eric Foner, Reconstruction: America's Unfinished Revolution 1863 - 1877 *** 1/2

I am attracted to stories about the aftermath of cataclysmic change. How does a society reconstruct itself when everything is destroyed? Earlier this year I read Embracing Defeat, about post-WWII Japan; other examples include Ten Days that Shook the World and Red Star Over China.

Reconstruction is the name given to the period immediately after the Civil War, when the country had to grapple with the question of how to re-integrate the Confederate states into the Union. As in Japan, the victors had to determine how to deal with those who had been in power during (and before) the war and how to modernize the decimated economies. They had the further issue of how to support the newly freed slaves and integrate them into society.

Reconstruction presents the period largely as an attempt by the North to prevent the South from returning to its plantation society, for both moral and economic reasons. Reconstruction ended when economic considerations no longer pulled in the same direction as the moral ones, due to a deep depression in the mid-1870s. Traditional Southern society retrenched at that point, a process they referred to as Redemption.

It was a fascinating time in history. The Republican and Democratic parties are reversed from their positions today, with the Republicans being the radicals who want equality for blacks and the Democrats being the conservative voice for state's rights. (The Republicans are still the party of capital, though, which explains their policy shift once white unions start making demands.) Reconstruction also brought a huge expansion of federal power.

Foner calls out the major currents driving events forward, from a liberal perspective. Unfortunately, he is also an academic attempting to write the definitive account, which means he buries his themes under a wealth of detail that can make the book a slog to read. His account of the last few years is particularly dense as tactical political maneuvering replaces larger goals. Nonetheless there is a lot of great material in here that illuminates the original sources for discussions we're still having today about state's rights, civil vs societal equality, and interpreting the intent of the writers of the Constitution.

Kirsten Bakis, Lives of the Monster Dogs ***

Start with a riff on Frankenstein, with a nineteenth century mad scientist creating creatures who escape and ponder the meaning of their existence. Add Animal Farm-style social commentary, with a race of enhanced animals rising against their oppressors. Finish with a soupçon of satire about celebrity culture. Whip it into a frenzy that ends with a decadent three-week party, madness, and explosions.

Part One of Lives of the Monster Dogs sets up the bizarre scenario nicely with a touch of gothic atmosphere despite its 21st century urban setting. Part Two focuses on the monster dog revolution and hints at racial commentary. Part Three goes off the rails and fails to follow up on the promise of the first two parts. The book sets itself up as an allegory but doesn't have anything new to say.

Patrick O'Brian, The Yellow Admiral ***

The end is nigh. The Yellow Admiral is number 18 of the 20½ volume Aubrey-Maturin series. Naval officers are beginning to lament the lack of advancement opportunities associated with the imminent end of the Napoleonic Wars.

The story starts ashore with a Tolstoyan discussion of land-use policies in nineteenth-century England. Jack Aubrey prevents the inclosure of the commons near his estate. Unfortunately this success leads to complications when the admiral for Jack's next assignment is the uncle of his opponent in that dispute.

The Yellow Admiral illustrates O'Brian's talent for relevant but oblique titles. Aubrey spends the entire book concerned about being "yellowed" -- promoted to admiral without a squadron to command -- but his concern is an undercurrent that doesn't directly relate to the plot. The book also illustrates that the publisher W.W. Norton is not worried about spoilers. The summary on the back cover says "Aubrey receives an urgent dispatch ordering him to Gibraltar: Napoleon has escaped from Elba." This event happens more than halfway down the very last page!

Reihan Salam, Melting Pot or Civil War? ***

Reihan Salam was the conservative voice at Slate for a while, and I always found his pieces to be insightful and well-reasoned. Melting Pot or Civil War? is about immigration reform, a subject about which I would very much like to hear insightful and well-reasoned proposals; it's the source of wild rhetoric from right and left even though both sides agree we need reform.

Salam comes at the question of immigration from a unique angle. In his view, low-skill immigrants who come to the United States for work are typically better off than they would be in their home countries even if we pay them poverty-level wages. So you could make the moral argument that we should let in as many immigrants as our job market can support. However, our moral commitment is different to the children of those immigrants. They are American citizens who should not be forever stuck in low-wage ghettos. In the current environment, though, children of poor immigrants are exceedingly unlikely to rise very far. We need to limit low-skill immigration not because immigrants are stealing native workers' jobs (they mostly aren't) but because we can't adequately provide their children with the American dream.

I applaud the moral seriousness with which Salam takes the plight of immigrants and his acknowledgement that much of the rhetoric about immigration is not based in fact. His "what about the children?" argument is thoughtful, but ultimately a red herring I think. I would have liked more evidence for the claim that 21st century immigration is qualitatively different from early 20th century immigration.

The book wasn't as tightly presented as Salam's journalistic pieces. Several of its most interesting tidbits are not well integrated into the final argument. Thankfully, though, the tone doesn't fall to the level of its sensationalistic title.

V.S. Pritchett, The Pritchett Century ***

You see them in your grandmother's house or in model homes that aspire to class up their libraries. Faux-leather-bound books with the names of vaguely remembered authors in gold lettering on the spine: Horace, Trollope, Richardson, Bellow. In its musty pages you find a collection of poems, biographical excerpts, chapters from novels, and essays from defunct periodicals. V.S. Pritchett is a well-respected mid-century author that no one reads anymore, and The Pritchett Century is just this kind of miscellany collection, with short stories, autobiography, literary criticism, and excerpts from novels. The title derives from the fact that Pritchett was born in 1900 and died in 1997.

Pritchett has a clear smooth prose style. He is best known for his stories, many of which get their drama from a narrator slowly coming to realize that his assumptions about another character are wrong. For example, in "When My Girl Comes Home" a woman returns home after the Second World War and her family and friends believe she suffered hardship overseas; they have a hard time adjusting as the real story of her time away contradicts the picture they've had of her.

The autobiographical sections were entertaining, especially his childhood visits to Yorkshire, and it was fun to spot the details that made their way into the stories. His travel pieces and literary criticism seemed insightful, although they were often about places or authors I don't know well.

Overall, The Pritchett Century was a reminder of the many fine authors who once enjoyed a substantial (and deserved) reputation but are drifting out of fashion. Not just Pritchett himself, but also several of the writers he discusses: Walter Scott, Tobias Smollett, George Meredith, Saul Bellow, S.J. Perelman.