Ignorance is bliss until it isn’t.

Publisher: Hogarth (Random House)
Pages: 421
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-307-98648-1
First Published: 14th August 2012
Date Reviewed: 26th November 2013
Rating: 4/5

It’s the 1960s and Percival Chen, a Chinaman, is living in Vietnam. He’s the founder of a successful language school but dislikes his adoptive country, remaining loyal to his homeland. As Vietnam turns to war and his son, Dai Jai’s, obedience to him leads to trouble, Percival sends his only child back to China where he will surely flourish. He is Chinese, he will be better off there. But Percival is ignorant of Mao’s Communism, of the darker side of debts as he continues to gamble, of how his continual bribes are seen by others, and as war and a changing Vietnam move ever closer his luck will not stay with him forever.

The Headmaster’s Wager is a fine book that shows off the goodness of tradition, the trouble of following tradition when it is no longer of use, and the awful war of Vietnam. Both frustrating and important, it illustrates how such a clash can be devastating.

First and foremost it would be prudent to discuss the frustrating aspect – Percival. Percival isn’t an anti-hero but he is certainly a character who is impossible to like. He is ignorant by choice, does not listen or care for reason, is impossibly dedicated to money beyond all else, and never really learns his lesson. That is something you should know before you begin the book as Percival is the main character and even the most important other characters are secondary. Percival gets away with a lot and ruins many lives, and he doesn’t even gain anything from it. Whilst the ending will not be explained here, it is unlikely to satisfy many people’s hopes for the character, especially given the meeting between Percival and violent rebel leaders.

If you can get past Percival’s lack of practising what he preaches, an epic historical account awaits you. Lam’s knowledge is evident as is his research and his story is both stunning for its detail and awful for its horror – and, of course, more horrific given his choice to spotlight such a careless person. The book spans from just as the Vietnam war was beginning up to its end as the north took over and renamed Saigon to Ho Chi Minh, so whilst a lot of time is understandably spent delving into Percival’s red packets and bedding women, there is still a lot of historical fact to be had. And Lam shows the plight of women – the female characters in this book do their best to teach Percival of the politics but at the end of the day they are dependent on the will of men to take them to safety.

This will is displayed openly for all to see. Escaping was easy for the Americans as they had interested parties back home, but when it came to the men’s Vietnamese lovers and mixed-race children, many promises were made but few kept. The poor are constantly studied – Lam includes an abominable scene in which starving children are put to death – and whilst China is not the focus for anyone but Percival and Dai Jai’s other relatives, Lam comments on the sad and ironic plight of the rich as Mao took over. Of the fate awaiting mixed-race children, the author is blunt.

Naturally the book includes a study, though minor, of the affect on the east of the conquering west. Percival’s English language school presents the biggest opportunity here, and its place in the story also highlights the way the staunchly patriotic Pervcival became a suspect due to his lack of cooperation when it was decided that every school should teach Vietnamese. This book is about Vietnam, but the perspective is that of the foreigner from start to finish. The Vietnamese get a small look in, but Lam’s study is one of the affects of the war on foreigners – Percival, the Americans, the mixed-race. Thus Lam gives a voice to sections of communities that are often forgotten or less noticed by reports, and by studying foreigners in Vietnam he is in many ways studying foreigners in other times and wars too.

The book is literary with few non-English phrases used. Those that are used are added naturally and the reader won’t be left wondering about meanings. The lack of languages other than English is far from convenient – it fits the plot and characters. Percival prefers English over Vietnamese, only knows so much of the second language, and everyone converses with what he would consider the superior English language. Then there is the fact that foreigners of various countries were going to understand each other better in English. In terms of the writing style it is easy to follow, including times where the narrative is heavy, which makes it a good choice for those wanting history without feeling daunted by the style of prose that often accompanies the subject. Lam’s medical background shows through a little too strongly at times – needles are injected into the ‘intravenous’ in every instance meaning that the author suddenly makes too much of an appearance in the book – and there are a few very modern western phrases that don’t suit the setting, but otherwise it is very good.

The Headmaster’s Wager is a fine book, it is simply the person of Percival that makes it seem to be not as good as it is, because whilst not everyone learns from their mistakes, Percival’s result in events that are so horrific it is hard not to feel that he got the equivalent of a mother’s telling off followed by a chocolate bar for pretending to be sorry. However, given that his inaction allows Lam to further explore the atrocities of the war, maybe thinking of the character is irrelevant.

I received this book for review from Random House.

Related Books

When God is no longer that man in the sky but the father of a family that has no choice but to follow him.

Publisher: Crown Publishing (Random House)
Pages: 296
Type: Non-Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-307-58782-4
First Published: 16th July 2013
Date Reviewed: 30th October 2013
Rating: 4/5

Tom Kizzia recounts the story of the ‘Pilgrim’ family who appeared at first to be naïve wannabe pioneers in rural Alaska, but later proved to be problematic to the National Park Service, the local residents of McCarthy, and a group of people with a horrific secret.

Pilgrim’s Wilderness is the generally well-paced and well-written tale of a family that was not all what they seemed to be. Including tales of what came before McCarthy, and his own then-present reporting of the Pilgrims for the newspapers, Kizzia creates a strong and shocking story, reminding you that appearances can be deceptive.

Kizzia’s approach to the work is one of the biggest, if not the biggest, recommendations for it. Kizzia’s approach is both biased and highly objective. And whereas a bias can often detract from unpersonal non-fiction, here it is necessarily apt. The actions of Bob Hale (‘Papa Pilgrim’) warrant an incredible and understandable bias against him, and it is to Kizzia’s credit that he, the writer, stays away from slandering. Kizzia could not help but be biased, it would be intolerable any other way, and it is interesting that it may take the reader a while to realise why.

This is because for a long while the issues are all to do with land ownership and the way many dislike governmental take overs of land in the name of preservation. Kizzia is fair here, telling the reader why the Pilgrims had a good claim, and why the National Park Service had a right to feel irritated. He includes the various thoughts of the long-term residents of McCarthy. But the reader who is still on this section, if they haven’t realised where the Pilgrim’s tale is headed, may see Kizzia’s bias as unfair – it will all depend on which side of the debate (parkland or private property) they fall. Kizzia includes, one can assume, the whole debate, but he is bias towards the National Park Service whilst giving the Pilgrims’ opinions plenty of time.

Depending on how much prior information the reader has, it may only be after other details of the Pilgrims’ lives begin trickling into the narrative that Kizzia’s viewpoint can be truly appreciated. Providing all sides and quoting everyone when your story has a darkness to follow is admirable, and for all Papa Pilgrim and others’ thoughts on Kizzia’s reporting, he has strayed from the traditional picture of the entertainment-creating out-for-himself journalist.

Quotations are another element that should be noted. Kizzia’s book is full of the words of others; his sources are identified, his commentary backed up, and his views of people as objective as possible when possible. Crucially, he includes the words of the Pilgrim children, and rather than just telling the reader that they changed, he often writes in a way that almost hands the narrative over to them. It is obvious from the specifics of the writing style that Kizzia went straight to the primary sources whenever he could.

By now it will come as no surprise to say that the darkness in the tale is one of abuse. Whilst Papa Pilgrim based his life and rulings, in his mind, on a literal reading of the Bible, this was a man who acted in every way but the way his God wanted. Kizzia does not gloss over facts.

Referring once more to Kizzia’s style, the author has made a brilliant contrast, showing that whilst the Pilgrims did not live a truly Christian life (at least not so long as their father was controlling them) there are other families of similar appearance who do. When the Pilgrim children finally saw freedom it was in the form of a family who were not so different. The Buckinghams wore (and presumably still wear) the same sorts of clothes, share the same deference to gender roles, put God first, live in a cabin, and promote the virtuous way of life – but they are as different to Papa Pilgrim and his views as chalk and cheese. It is perhaps surprising to hear that the Pilgrim children did not escape their father to be introduced to the mainstream way of life but simply to a positive version of their own, and yet it feels very appropriate. These children were so far from twenty-first century life with its television, video gaming, sexual liberation, and shopping, that there is no saying how they would have faired, but the Buckinghams’ similar (but true) focus on God enabled them to stay true to who they had become. In any other book, the Buckinghams may have been regarded as a worry, given the Pilgrims’ background, but Kizzia shows that just because people do not meet expectations, that they share a visual similarity to problematic cases, it does not mean they are the same.

There are but a few places where Kizzia’s work is brought below masterpiece level. There is a lot of superfluous information in the book, of other people’s pasts and of Alaska, that could have been edited out to keep the pace of the narrative going – especially when those people play only a bit-part. There is a constant switch back and forth between eras of the Pilgrim family’s movements that becomes confusing to follow. And there is the unfortunate story of Kizzia’s wife who died from cancer. Sally’s life is of course important to discuss, but the tale of a law-abiding beloved wife who died of cancer included in the story of a lying, cheating, sexual and domestic abuser who raped his children and had no connection to Sally, is out of place. A memoir would be wonderful.

But, as suggested by this review, the work is, as a whole, an excellent one. Kizzia has given a long-lasting voice (as opposed to disposable daily news) to the children and wife of Bob Hale, as well as a voice to McCarthy. His handling of the subject matter and his approach to it are superb and it is safe to say that this book is one that won’t leave you any time soon.

Pilgrim’s Wilderness suggests reflection, asks for empathy, and relates triumph in the face of adversity. It is a difficult book to read, but it is a story that begs to be heard.

I received this book for review from Crown Publishers.

Related Books

None yet.

Behind the decision.

Publisher: Salt
Pages: 113
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-907-77340-2
First Published: 1st March 2013
Date Reviewed: 22nd October 2013
Rating: 5/5

Ziervogel provides a fictionalised account of the last days of Magda Goebbels – wife of Joseph – and her family, giving a voice to those history left out and illustrating the sort of thoughts that could have led to the action Magda took.

Magda is a short and exceptional book that offers a bridge to the historical gap and a poignant look into the feelings of the Goebbels children. Blending well fiction and fact, Ziervogel’s book is an emotional ride with a swiftness that makes the story all the more difficult to read.

This swiftness is an interesting one and bares detailing. Whilst this is Ziervogel’s first book, her background as a publisher has brought a vast amount of specialised experience into the creation of it. Magda is short, but it is far from lacking. Indeed the book never once looses its focus; there is no superfluous content whatsoever. Of course the language can take a few words, as literary fiction is want to do, but the structure, plotting, and the execution (pardon the use of this word) of the story is top notch. What Ziervogel has done is remove everything but the one event she wishes to talk about, exploring other occasions only when an explanation of the characters is required. It is true that this means prior knowledge of Magda and her final days is needed for the reader to fully understand, but it is only the basics that are needed. The lack of historical information we have besides the fact of the end makes this a book that can be read with little context.

Ziervogel has given the children of the Goebbels a voice. She has altered the ages a little, in particular of the eldest child, Helga, but the reasoning for this is obvious. In making Helga older, Ziervogel has afforded the maturity needed of a minor to understand enough of what is going on to have an impact on the reader – without enough understanding for Helga to escape it. Of course the children did not escape, so a fictional escape would not do – and it is easy enough to believe that even at her true twelve years of age, Helga may have had some understanding regardless. Much of the book is told through Helga’s diary, and this brings us to the next point.

Ziervogel’s characterisation is excellent. The characters feel as true as they were and as much as we might say that the actual history would cause this story to be plot-driven, Ziervogel has made a case for the people themselves. Inevitably this all means that rather than thinking about Hitler, the Nazis, and their hatred, the reader is given an insight similar to that provoked by Markus Zusak’s The Book Thief – although Magda is about the very leaders of Germany rather than Zusak’s innocent citizens, Ziervogel reminds you that there were still true innocents involved even high up. Was Magda innocent? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Statements are made about her drive for wealthy happiness. But the children were far too young to be seen as anything other than innocent, unknowing victims of their parents’ choices. This is what the use of a diary for Helga creates; Ziervogel is not suggesting the reader should have a lot of sympathy for Magda – it is the children she weaves the emotions around.

However this acknowledgement of Magda is of course important. It is easy enough to see why Magda did what she did on a literal level, but otherwise we know nothing. Besides Helga’s diary, there are sections told by Magda’s mother to relate her childhood, and her childhood is also provided as a short of flashback by Magda herself. This is where the book is necessarily less concise.

Ziervogel doesn’t have answers – no one does. There were few witnesses and the event revolved around secrecy. But what the author does have is fair speculation for what might have gone on in the heads of those involved, and a feeling that we should consider the others who did not have a choice.

Magda is by its very nature a difficult read, but, as much as one can say so considering the subject, it is a stunning one.

Related Books

A fine story to introduce readers to ancient Egypt.

Publisher: (self-published)
Pages: 275
Type: Fiction
Age: Teen/YA
ISBN: 978-1-49230-609-2
First Published: 27th September 2013
Date Reviewed: 16th October 2013
Rating: 4/5

Twelve-year-old Tiy went to the bank of the Nile with her parents to watch the Royal barge as it sailed past, but when her curiosity wasn’t sated by the far off sight, she ran further downriver for a better glimpse. Hot on her tail was a sandstorm. As the prince and his friends leave the barge to play, Tiy has a choice to make – use her knowledge to save them and potentially harm herself, or leave them to their fate. She chooses to save them and her act of selflessness will be rewarded in ways she would never have imagined.

Tiy And The Prince Of Egypt is a story to fill in a gap history forgot. In writing her tale, Dee has relied on the history she was able to find (this is suggested in the author note) and constructed a story for young readers from what was left out. The target audience means that the book is by nature quite simple, lacking in detail, and often convenient.

And that is the way it should be. For the older reader, who must be referred to as this reviewer is one, the book may prove an incredibly easy read, but it would be impossible not to say that Dee has written something that is likely to open up the world of ancient history to her young audience. From the features of the story, one couldn’t recommend this to young children unless they were advanced for their age, but for the slightly older reader the book should prove appealing.

Just as she did in The Last Witch, Dee doesn’t coddle her reader. The violence of history, such as punishment for treason, is included as it surely would have been in the day – discussed as simply as if it were a question of who wanted coffee, and carried out without further thought.

It is this, along with the romance in the book, that sets it up as an older child’s read. There is no sex in the book, but there are scenes that might invite questions. The romance is drawn out and full of all the hearts and flowers. The theme of love envelopes the entire story; the characters are seventeen by the end of the tale.

There is not all that much action in the book, a lot of the time is spent on Tiy’s thoughts and day to day life with Amenhotep, but what action there is is thrilling. And whilst Tiy can be foolish and unthinking, she is generally a strong person.

What brings the book down a few notches are the errors and uses of modern day language. Perhaps many readers will not notice the language, but the keen historian will. The errors are of course a bigger draw back here than they might have been otherwise due to the target audience.

Besides the errors, the book is a fine story that will delight any reader looking for boys, adventure, royal status and to be a little awed. It is as much a fantasy as a regular story as much of what happens would never happen in real life, but reality wouldn’t be as appealing.

Tiy And The Prince Of Egypt blends a good dose of history with fun fiction and the sort of fantasy you look for.

I received this book for review from Sage’s Blog Tours.

Related Books

A trip for freedom.

Publisher: Legend Press
Pages: 202
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-90655-808-2
First Published: 2009
Date Reviewed: 7th October 2013
Rating: 5/5

Jack lives a monotonous life. He wakes up in his mother’s house, tries to continue writing his novel, fails, goes out every now and then, rinse and repeat. One evening he decides to eat a dreary kebab in a dreary shop but his meal is interrupted by Neil Blake, a man of a similar age who has led a more colourful, slightly illegal life. Whisked away by Neil’s friendly nature, Jack finds himself at pubs and parties. Then Neil suggests a trip to Scotland.

On The Holloway Road is a clever and well written book, inspired by Kerouac’s On The Road, that deals with the themes of life and freedom. Written in hindsight from Jack’s perspective, the story is slow, aptly lazy in its pace at times, and a little satirical.

The characters are complete opposites, and not supposed to be liked particularly. Neil is impulsive, he dislikes any limitations placed upon him by outsiders, and he is full of charm, but he can be thoughtless and selfish. Indeed he would laugh at being told to think about repercussions – the reader is likely to think ahead and question Neil’s decisions, and it is exactly that action that Neil would denounce. Neil lives in the moment, lives for freedom, has experienced the other side of the coin and sees its flaws. In comparison, Jack has little will, in fact what will he does have is a side effect of his spending time with Neil. Jack is content in his monotony, his typical life that fits neatly into the slot, and though he isn’t happy he won’t do anything to change that.

Jack’s overall dullness is a major reason the book is slow. Rather than an error on the part of the author, the pace is a decided upon element that shows you just how different Jack and Neil are. Neil’s dialogues are fast paced and full of words, as Jack says, but it is the difference in nature that allows the reader to see where Jack’s safe life might be too safe, whilst of course showing that Neil falls a bit too much towards the other extreme. The book is very much a character study as well as a different take on Kerouac.

It is character-driven, and it is plot-driven, yet at the same time it would be difficult to say that there is a plot as such. The plot is vastly in the realm of the book’s themes. Blackman has crafted a commentary, a very sharp commentary that strikes at the heart of current political, social, and law elements that protect/hinder (depending on the way you see it) the people of the United Kingdom. Through Neil and Jack, Blackman shows the limits of the people’s freedom, the limits imposed by the government and councils. There are many scenes where Jack finally lets go a little, Jack the good lawful if boring citizen, and is rewarded by a penalty of the exact type the duo are trying to escape. As an example, a trip to a country park costs them £100 in car parking fines when they get back to the car and notice the fine details of the parking space.

Freedom here is woven into the larger political context. The story shows the differences between someone who is institutionalised, or just used to, the way of the land, and another who isn’t. And of course what is interesting as well as understandable is the way it’s the person who has been to jail that wants to be free, especially as it is a freedom in lifestyle that Neil wishes for (in other words Neil isn’t wanting the ability to go and kill someone). It’s the case that everywhere they go, Neil says they are or should be free. The government soon tells them they aren’t.

Leaving my Figaro marooned in the grass, I walked forward to get a better look. Warnings were being shouted through a megaphone. Acts of Parliament were being invoked. Arrests were being promised. The appearance of fairness, of reason. Disperse now. A chance to avoid arrest.

And if reason failed, as it surely would, then violence would be justified. Protocol would have been followed. The blows of the batons would have legal sanction, while any retaliatory violence would be grounds for prosecution.

Jack is no one without Neil, and indeed it comes as no surprise to understand, through Jack’s words, that he relies on Neil to ‘live’. It’s one of those things you know instinctively, and it just takes Jack’s words to cement it. And as for Neil, it seems that freedom he wants is nowhere – no matter restrictions or not, you get the sense he will always be against something. In this way the ending is very appropriate, the particular ending for him says a lot about the character and what Blackman is trying to say.

To refer to the inspiration, Kerouac’s On The Road is used both behind the scenes, so to speak, and in the story as an element in itself. Jack and Neil listen to the audio book whilst travelling; it is almost a double usage of the work, between the tape cassette and Blackman’s references to it as the author. It forms a lot of the philosophy and quotations are borrowed and reworked so that they fit in with Neil and Jack.

As the book reaches its ending, another clever aspect becomes apparent. The way it is written, the way the story is referenced, makes it seem possible that it could be about Blackman, that it could be about anyone. Twisted into the last chapters is the final resolution – the answer to what happens after the book concludes, there is even a hint as to what happens a lot further down the line. If only Jack takes the chance.

It seems he did, or perhaps he hired Blackman to do it for him as the author clearly knows more than Jack, just as Neil does. Blackman is almost the unbiased third party, the person in the middle of the two.

On The Holloway Road is superb. It is likely to appeal most to British readers, as they will be able to relate to the political details well, but the references to Kerouac and the commentary will interest readers of other nations too. And the theme of freedom is universal as are likely some of the civil elements.

I know the author as a fellow book blogger.

Related Books

Speaking to Andrew Blackman about On The Holloway Road, and A Virtual Love (spoilers included)

Charlie Place and Andrew Blackman discuss life on the road, following in Jack Kerouac’s footsteps, offline and online identity, writing an entire book about a character but never giving them a voice, current climate change activism, and withholding – for very good reason – the endings your readers expect.

If you’re unable to use the media player above, this page has various other options for listening.