Slow to post, but busy reading

King Solomon's Mines, by H. Rider Haggard. This was part of B&N's free classics Fridays during the summer. Having seen the mid-80s movie, with Richard Chamberlain, and hating it, I had little interest in reading the book, but the reviews suggested it was a good and quick read, so what the heck. No question: it was far better than the movie. What is less clear in my own mind is whether I liked it or not. It was suspenseful and there were exciting parts. But the treatment of the African characters in the book made me a tad uncomfortable. On the one hand, these Europeans, who have already profited from the plundering of the African nations are looking to profit even more by locating "King Solomon's mines." They tend to have a superiority complex, expecting that the Africans, in their own nation, should be deferential to the white man, i.e. that they should know their place. This is evident when they meet their guide, as they go in search for the mines and one of the European's missing brother, who also went in search of the mines. One of the natives, enlisted to help with the excursion, is essentially described in terms that today would make him sound uppity.

On the other hand, when the Europeans get drawn into a battle to restore the rightful king of one the tribes, there is a degree of respect for this same servant, who turns out is the rightful king. One of the Europeans ultimately falls in love with one of the beautiful natives and is heartbroken when she dies. Of course, her death provides an escape from the issues that would have existed with this interracial love affair.

Ultimately, they find the mines only to come close to being trapped for all time. They barely escape with their lives and only a few gems--enough to make them rich. So maybe all's well that ends well.

Either way, I simply tried to enjoy the book for the story and the adventure and to recognize that Haggard was a product of his times. The views on race were radically different then as compared to now, and in truth, he was probably a bit more progressive for his time than most of his era.
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Room, by Emma Donahue. Imagine being the offspring of a woman, who was abducted and imprisoned for seven years, and her assailant. Imagine further spending the first five years of ones life in a 11 x 11 room. The only thing that is real is what's in that room. "Outside" and the things on TV aren't real. In Room, it's easy to believe that Baby Jesus and Dora the Explorer are pals. That is the premise of Room.

The story is told in first person by five year old Jack. His mother, lured by her abductor, gives birth to him in Room and creates a world that to him is as normal to him as living in the 'burbs is to my kids. Jack and Ma ultimately succeed in tricking "Old Nick" and escaping. For the first time Jack learns that "outside" really exists. Ice cream exists; grass exists; other children exist, and so on. An Ma discovers that dealing with "outside" after such a long captivity poses its own problems.

Good story, which surely must have been inspired in part by the Jacie Dugard case, in which a little girl is kidnapped and kept for some 15 years or so, and gives birth to two of her abductor's children. Donahue does a fantastic job of describing the world through the eyes of a child who has lived an extraordinary existence. It dragged a bit in the middle after the suspense of the great escape. In the end, however, it is one of those books, like The Giver that forces me to view the world through different eyes.


Reading: Madame Bovary
Re-reading: Jane Eyre