The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver
Do you think you're ready to read what I have to say about this novel? It was one of those, "Oh. I'll start this now. Everyone says I should read it..." So you start to read. Then you go away on a weekend trip and silly you! You forgot your book! So you pick up a new book and start reading that. Then you start another book, because you just weren't disappointed enough the first time you had to put the book down--what if it's not worth it? What if you want to put it down because the flashes of other book covers on your walls and floor are screaming at you to free them of their bondage?But I did pick it up. And I did continue to read, and though I wasn't praising the book for its adventure or its thrill, I did raise an eyebrow to its clout. A Baptist man leading his family into the 1960s Congo, straight from Georgia, to praise the merits of Jesus in his toga to men and women who don't even have legs and share their bowls with villagers. Was the man crazy? YES. Were the women scared? Hell, no.
The story is shared through journal entries from each woman in the family: the mother, the twins (one a bit slant) and the youngest of the bunch, 5 year-old Ruth May. It was hard to pick a favorite among them--even the angst-ridden, snobby Rachel who despises the very blue sky over a country of black people had her charms. And despite the utter dismay I couldn't help but experience when reading about the Baptist Hellian known as Brother Price, Kingsolver broadens your understanding and empathy farther than you thought you were capable. How does a writer create a horrid individual who commits crimes too cruel to put in law books--and still make you feel bad for him?
Sheer talent.
I fell in love with the Congolese, with the play of languages, with the eccentricities of a mute and reaffirmed my belief that to write well, to tell a story well, to create three generations of life that educate you, while you sit in your bed reading till 1:00 am and the covers are getting itchy--you need to educate yourself on the rest of the world and not just organize your desk for a day of writing. I learned more about the Congo in four parts than I would have reading a bestseller. Kingsolver's bibliography helps cement your newfound education.
It's not a roller coaster ride; it doesn't even make you scream and get nervous at the top, but it's a nail biter... it's a Wendigo* - and though I won't say "I can't talk to you till you read the book," I will ask you every now and then at the bar if you read it yet, and if you have, if you wanna go on a little jaunt to Zaire next winter.
*Wendigo is a film by Larry Fessenden that I watched about two years ago with a friend. We both felt the same thing: utter fright for the first hour of the film...and yet nothing had happened. So how could that be? We checked each other, each expecting something to jump out, to scare us, to remind us that in the end, we're all alone. Nothing ever did. The rest of the movie turned out to be a complete bust - shit, if you ask me. But the first hour is the best suspense and thrill of a horror movie that has ever been made.
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