Fan Fiction offers more of beloved characters

Good fan fiction can be some of the most rewarding reading. Most people have read something that can be called fanfic, whether it’s Virgil’s “Aeneid,” based on Homer, or “Paradise Lost,” based on the Bible, or a more modern title, such as John Gardner’s “Grendel” or “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies” by Seth Grahame-Smith.

Since their books have been wildly popular and critically acclaimed for nearly two hundred years, and since they left such a small body of work, the Brontës’ novels often inspire fan fiction, some of it great literature in its own right.

Probably the best and most famous is “The Wide Sargasso Sea” by Jean Rhys. Rhys was an established author when she wrote this prequel to “Jane Eyre,” and it has been called Rhys’s best novel. It tells Bertha’s story, from girlhood to her regretful marriage to Edward Rochester. In this post-colonial novel, both main characters serve as narrators and the book provides fascinating insights on its inspiration as well as confirmation of some of the feminist themes in “Jane Eyre.”

“Mr Rochester,” a parallel to “Jane Eyre,” is Edward’s story, from his second-class upbringing as a second son, to the betrayal and scapegoating by his father and brother. “Sargasso” may make you loathe Edward, but this novel casts him in a more sympathetic light. Author Sarah Shoemaker is a retired librarian, and this—her only novel—is compelling, absolutely true to the source, and beautifully written.

The title character in “The Madwoman Upstairs” may not be who you first expect. Catherine Lowell’s first novel presents a young woman in her first year at Old College, Oxford, studying literature. A descendent of Patrick Brontë’s sibling, Samantha Whipple is the last of the famous family and spends most of her time downplaying the legacy of her celebrated ancestors.

When she arrives at Oxford, she discovers that her dorm room is really “the tower,” a windowless room on the fifth floor that is on “the tour” for some reason. Just days later, mysterious packages begin appearing in her room.

The book is part mystery, part coming-of-age, part literary criticism. Samantha learns to deal with her grief over her father’s death at the same time she debates critical theories from authorial intent to reader response. She also develops and discards some unusual theories about Charlotte, Anne, and Emily.

The story is a powerful one about a woman discovering herself, resolving her grief, and finally appreciating the works of her most famous relatives. The prose is beautiful, and the narrator is sassy and an expert at turning a phrase. She describes her tutor’s office as “the sort of library you’d marry a man over” (p 25). She also claims that “Reading ‘Wuthering Heights’ had always made me wonder whether Emily Brontë had done drugs” (p 147).

YA writer Rachel Hawkins latest book and her first adult novel is “The Wife Upstairs.” It is something of a modern retelling of “Jane Eyre.” Protagonist Jane Bell, an orphan muddling through life as a barista and dog-walker, meets the handsome and rich Eddie Rochester. Eddie’s wife, Bertha, and her best friend, Blanche Ingraham, disappeared six months earlier and were presumed dead. Eddie falls for Jane, and soon Jane moves into his house in Thornfield Estates. Jane’s old roommate, John Rivers, knows something about Jane’s past and blackmails her.

While alone in Eddie’s house, Jane hears mysterious noises from above. Eddie claims it is just the house settling. But then Jane finds a strange book in the pocket of Eddie’s jacket and is compelled to find out what is hidden behind a closet on the second floor.

“The Wife Upstairs” presents a fun story with several twists which are, unfortunately, quite predictable. The prose is a bit pedestrian, as are the only discernable themes: some people are really bad; and don’t marry someone you hardly know. Even with its flaws, this novel is a great beach read.

Although some fan fiction is mediocre and forgettable, some titles are great literature, rewarding reads, and a treat for readers that can’t get enough of their favorite stories and characters.

Get ready for some thrilling summer titles

 As much as I love curling up with a book on a cold, grey day, I much prefer reading outdoors on a spring like afternoon such as we’ve had lately. Of course, my favorite reading venue is a sunny, breezy beach with salt in my hair and sand under my feet.

Great summer reads are those that keep you up late or miss mealtimes because you want to read “just one more chapter.” My routine was disturbed by a couple of titles recently.

Clare Whitfield’s “People of Abandoned Character,” due out May 1, opens in 1885 with Susannah at her grandmother’s funeral. An orphan, she is now completely alone in the world. Terrified that she will end up as destitute as her mother was, she returns to the filthy slum of Whitechapel where she was born, to train as a nurse at the London Hospital.

Susannah resigns herself to the modest but secure life of a nurse until she meets the handsome Dr. Thomas Lancaster. Unsure why he is so in love with such a plain woman as herself, she agrees to marry him after numerous proposals.

Soon after they return from their honeymoon in Brighton, Thomas changes. He becomes angry and abusive, and he disappears on several nights to return home first with scratches and later covered in blood.

At the same time, Susannah is reading about the horrific murders and mutilations of women in Whitechapel. Many of the murders happen on the same nights that her husband disappears.

Susannah is determined to find out if her husband is the Jack the Ripper. She ends up finding out much more.

In addition to being a thrilling page-turner, Whitfield’s book explores several questions: what makes a person good or bad? Can we overcome our origins? Or is our fate determined before we’re born? Moreover, the book is rife with dangerous secrets—Thomas’s, Susannah’s, and those of the people closest to them.

Another engaging thriller is “In My Dreams I Hold a Knife” by Ashley Winstead, which hits bookstores August 3. Jessica returns to her alma mater for a 10^th reunion and to flaunt her improved looks and income to her old friends, the East House 7, and all the other classmates that made her feel unimportant.

Not at the reunion are her best friend Heather, who was brutally murdered their senior year, and Jack, Heather’s boyfriend, who was suspected of the murder, but never tried for lack of evidence.

However, Heather’s brother is determined to use the reunion to out the murderer and bring his sister justice. What they all discover is that the East House 7 is hiding more secrets than just who killed Heather.

Although some of Winstead’s minor characters are flat and stereotypical (mean-girl sorority sister, homophobic frat boys), her book gives the reader plenty of action and suspense, with a heavy dose of romance also. A perfect read for a late summer beach trip.

Another great read, which launched Feb. 1, is “West With Giraffes” by Austin writer Lynda Rutledge. Woody Nickel, a 105 year old veteran, tells the story of driving two young giraffes from New York to San Diego in 1938. Based on historical fact, the novel tells the story of a thrilling, dangerous, and near-deadly trip across a country with no interstate highways.

Woody, a Dust Bowl orphan, is left alone, jobless, and friendless by the 1938 hurricane that also left one of the giraffes injured. He and zookeeper Riley Jones race across country over treacherous mountains, under low bridges, and through dark, narrow tunnels. They also have to keep their cargo of “towering creatures of God’s pure Eden” safe from murderous thieves.

Along the way, Woody deals with the trauma and guilt of losing his entire family and leaves behind his lying and stealing. A flawless novel, “West With Giraffes” is exciting, and the end will leave you in tears of sadness and joy.

Hinging on two man-made disasters—the near extinction of giraffes and the Dust Bowl—the novel expertly depicts the importance of the natural world as well as the importance of sharing stories. The planet is not ours, but “God’s own pure Eden,” just as stories are not ours alone and should be shared with all who will listen.

'Gory Details' delights with weird and icky

Science writer Erika Engelhaupt’s upcoming book, “Gory Details: Adventures from the Dark Side of Science,” (March 2) is a delightful travelogue through the morbid, creepy, taboo, icky and weird facts about ourselves and our world.

Engelhaupt’s background is in both science and journalism. She completed two graduate degrees in science and has worked as an editor, writer, blogger and storyteller (on NPR and on stage).

“Gory Details” grew out of her online column by the same name for National Geographic magazine.

Engelhaupt’s style is much like science writer Mary Roach’s, combining fascinating fact, compelling descriptions and humor. She includes self-deprecating anecdotes, such as the time she inadvertently caused a plague of flies in her own home.

The book covers the disturbing, such as death and the microbiology of decay; the taboo, such as female anatomy and necrophilia; the icky, including maggot farms and body fluids; and the weird, including miniature crime scenes and brain differences found in psychopaths and those with misophonia.

Despite her formal education, Engelhaupt’s book is not a dry science tome. With a journalist’s natural curiosity, she investigates topics that many people wonder about but are not part of our common knowledge or addressed in public education.

However, she does know how to find the top experts to answer her (and our) questions. She travels to a body farm to learn about how the human body decomposes; she goes to a maggot farm to find out where the world is turning to feed livestock; and she finds a lab where she can extract and see the mites that live on her (and everyone’s) face.

Engelhaupt also addresses common urban legends and misconceptions. With her, we learn that our loyal dog is much more likely to dine on our dead body than our aloof cat is. Also, doggo’s mouth is not cleaner than our own. In fact, canine mouths contain about 500 species of bacteria, most of which do not live in the human microbiome, so we have no immunity to them. In rare cases, Fluffy’s kiss can result in a coma or death for the object of his devotion.

I am not particularly squeamish about violence and gore in books. My favorite genres include murder mysteries and true crime. However, when I saw that the first part of the book includes chapters with descriptions like “Morbid curiosity and the morgue” and “When microbes turn the tables on us,” I was worried I might have an existential crisis before I was finished reading it.

However, Engelhaupt’s voice is so casual and readable and her tone is so informal, I found that the topics, well not fascinating, but they were interesting and entertaining. No panic attacks or trips to the psych ER.

Above all, Engelhaupt is a storyteller, and “Gory Details” is a fun, informative read. Whether you read it straight through in just a few sittings, or read a few chapters between other books that you’re into, I recommend you don’t read it at mealtime. 

Irony dominates 'The Bad Muslim Discount'

One of life’s ironies is that even when we do what’s right and what’s expected of us, our actions can still unintentionally result in tragedy. In his debut novel for adult audiences “The Bad Muslim Discount,” due out Feb. 2, author Syed Masood tells an irony-rich story through two powerful voices, Anvar and Azza.

Anvar, a Pakistani teen, migrates to California with his family when his father becomes fed up with the growing religious fundamentalism in 1995 Karachi. Something of the family’s bad apple, Anvar is smart, sassy, and somewhat lazy. His brother Aamir is the sober, adult-pleasing “good Muslim” of the family, if only while someone is looking so he can get credit for it.

The story’s other narrator, Azza, is a Bagdad teen whose mother dies of cancer and father is disappeared and tortured by the Americans. Eventually, her father returns, with the physical and psychological scars of his ordeal. Azza makes a secret deal with neighbor Qais—and pays a price for it—who obtains forged passports for the three of them and they migrate to California.

Now adults, Anvar and Azza cross paths. A disillusioned lawyer, and still a bad Muslim, Anvar tries to help Azza, who endures physical abuse and the threat of sexual abuse.

The action in the novel is fast paced, from the war-torn Middle East where the characters’ lives are threatened, to post-9/11 San Francisco, where the characters face racism and Islamophobia. The characters are realistic and endearing. Even Aamir, the goody-goody, has the reader’s sympathy when he becomes engaged to a woman whom he doesn’t know is his brother’s ex-lover.

The story is full of entertaining secondary characters like Anvar’s grandmother, who teaches him about checkers and about life; Anvar’s pious and dictatorial mother; his father, who loves music and punishes Anvar’s misdeeds my making him eat bubble gum ice cream, his least favorite flavor; and Hafeez Bhatti, his paan-chewing landlord, who gives Anvar the good Muslim discount on a shabby apartment.

The prose is compelling and lyrical at times, such as the description of Anvar’s hometown:

Karachi, the city that spat me out into this world, is perpetually under siege by its own climate. The Indian Ocean does not sit placidly at the edge of the massive metropolitan port. It invades. It pours in through the air. It conspires with the dense smog of modern life and collective breath of fifteen million souls to oppress you. Under the gaze of an indifferent sun you sweat and the world sweats with you (page 5).

The author’s insight about religion and geopolitical issues is both spot on and witty. To prepare the reader for a rather disturbing description of the sacrifice of a goat to celebrate Eid, Masood says, “Yes, Islam has a marketing problem” (page 3). And later, Anvar observes, “That radical Islamists and ‘America First’ nationalists had essentially the same worldview and the same desire to recapture a nostalgia-gilded past glory was proof, in my opinion, that God’s sense of irony was simply divine” (pages 181-182).

It’s the irony that dominates this novel. Aamir, the good Muslim, who attends mosque, prays five times a day, doesn’t drink or smoke, and becomes engaged to the woman his parents choose for him, inadvertently causes a man’s death, even though he only did what a good Muslim would. Anvar, the bad Muslim, does what he wants, drinks, smokes, sleeps with women, and never prays. When he finally does follow an ethical code—for attorneys, not for Muslims—the result is more pain for his friends.

I enjoyed the novel and found it a rewarding read that reminded me of other excellent recent works, such as Fatima Farheen Mirza’s “A Place for Us” and “The House of Broken Angels” by Luis Alberto Urrea.

The characters are complex and sympathetic. The story includes tense moments and the serious portrayal of the violence the characters endure, but also humorous passages about human flaws and the small tensions that occur in families.

The book’s one flaw is that the author’s theme statements are a bit ham-fisted and seem more appropriate for a Young Adult novel. However, this blemish does not diminish the reader’s enjoyment of this rich and complex story.

In 'The Searcher,' French finally offers a somewhat happy ending

Perhaps Irish-American author Tana French’s nihilism is softening with age, but the main character of The Searcher, which launched in October, is less tortured and ends up less troubled than any of the detectives in her Dublin Murder Squad series or her first stand-alone novel, The Witch Elm.

American ex-cop Cal Hooper buys a run-down farm in a tiny Irish village in an attempt to escape the trauma of his former job and his failed marriage. A North Carolina country boy, Cal is damaged by what he sees on the job with the Chicago police force. He wants nothing more than to fish, shoot a few rabbits, visit the pub occasionally, and have little to do with other people.

That plan is shattered when a local kid asks for his help. Trey’s brother has been missing six months, and Trey first asks then pressures Cal to help. Cal reluctantly agrees, but he’s no longer a cop, so his only resource is his own wits. Cal starts asking questions, and that’s when trouble finds him.

Cal discovers that his seemingly idyllic village is not as it appears, and his neighbors have secrets he never would have guessed. He also discovers that he must re-examine his own moral code and perhaps make some adjustments. He learns that he can’t be the person he was in Chicago and still be happy.

Typically a French novel concludes with the protagonist destroying his or her career, life, or both. In some there is no clear resolution, which leaves the reader unsatisfied and anxious. In fact, in French’s previous novel, The Witch Elm, the main character ruins his life because of his own self-doubt.

However, The Searcher leaves the reader feeling more satisfied than French’s other novels. Cal comes to realize he can’t “fix” every wrong, but he can help Trey, and himself, find some closure and some peace. Most of French’s protagonists destroy what they were hoping to build. Refreshingly, Cal finds a way to salvage his dream.

As always, French’s prose is spellbinding and lyrical:

At first the river feels like what he needs. It’s narrow enough that the massive old trees touch across it, rocky enough to make the water swirl and whiten; the banks are speckled orange-gold with fallen leaves. Cal finds himself a clear stretch and a big mossy beech tree, and takes his time picking a lure. Birds flip and sass each other between branches, paying no attention to him and the smell of the water is so strong and sweet he can feel it against his skin (p 89).

The beautiful imagery combined with the dialect of the earthly, witty characters creates an appealing atmosphere that engages the reader even when the action slows down.

When Cal expresses concern about him and his neighbor angering the bar owner after a particularly long and raucous visit to the pub, his neighbor reassures him: “’Barty?’ Mart says with magnificent scorn. ‘Sure, that pub’s not even rightly his. He only got his hands on it because Sean Og’s son fancied himself sitting in an aul’ office, the big jessie. He can put up with us having a wee carouse every now and again’” (p 216).

Additionally, the third person limited point of view keeps the focus entirely on Cal, his struggle adjusting to his new life, and his methodical investigative process.

Not what anyone would call fast-paced, The Searcher still holds the reader’s attention with tense, sometimes violent confrontations, one shootout, and the conversations of the hilarious old men in the pub. However, it is not nearly as slow at The Witch Elm, French’s previous title, which is only slightly longer, but offers no narrative hook or inciting incident until about 150 pages into the book.

‘The End of October’ accurately predicts pandemic

I was a bit nervous about reading Lawrence Wright’s “The End of October,” a novel about a flu pandemic, during a pandemic. However, I was intrigued about this book, released in June, that predicted 2020 so well.

Wright began his career as a journalist. He has written for Texas Monthly and Rolling Stone and is currently a staff writer at The New Yorker. His prose is definitely that of a reporter: clear, concise, and engaging.

In fact, I finished the book in just three sittings despite its nearly 400 pages. I could have finished it in just two, but I had to make myself put the book down around midnight. This is not bedtime reading.

The main character is Henry Parsons, an infectious diseases expert with the CDC. He goes to Indonesia to investigate a particularly strange outbreak at a refugee camp. Other experts have concluded that the outbreak is shigella, a type of bacteria. However, what Henry finds at the camp is shocking, and he begins his months-long search to identify the virus and a treatment.

However, it is too late for Henry to prevent a pandemic. He has to use his wits to return home after he is trapped in Saudi Arabia and hitches a ride back to the U.S. aboard a nuclear submarine.

Wright accurately predicts not only the spread of a novel virus and the reactions of individuals and nations, he also predicts an outbreak at the White House, and that the U.S.’s adversaries use the opportunity to launch attacks on America.

Some readers have complained that the first half of the book contains too much scientific information. However, I regard that as one of the book’s strengths. Through Henry’s investigation, the reader learns about the different types of influenza viruses and what their names mean, about important scientists in the fight against viruses that have plagued humanity, and about famous accidents in that research.

Wright’s book is a very compelling thriller. The characters are interesting, and the plot is believable for the most part. Wright does jump the shark with the “mad scientist” character who has learned to regenerate extinct species.

Although I did have a couple of nightmares after reading “The End of October,” I still enjoyed it tremendously, and I’m glad I read it, if only because we have not suffered the millions of deaths and the complete failure of society as did the people in the story.

Yet.

Reading often has side effects

Any reader can list the many important benefits of reading: a broader perspective, wider general knowledge, improved critical thinking, larger vocabulary, and, of course, enjoyment. But heavy readers, committed readers—addicted readers—can also list the adverse effects of reading.

A few of reading’s adverse effects are nearly inconsequential: a messy house, unwashed laundry, and a lack of sleep. Other side effects can be emotionally devastating.

For instance, the book hangover can leave its victims like zombies: the body functions, but the mind is absent. Well, not absent; just not present in the real world. A book hangover happens when a reader finishes reading a book but cannot let go of the story. The reader walks around, going through the motions of life, but her mind is still in the story.

Fantasy, science fiction, gothic tales, and period novels are the genres that most often produce a hangover, especially if the book is particularly long. I experienced one of my earliest book hangovers after I finished “The Mists of Avalon” by Marion Zimmer Bradley, a monumental retelling of the King Arthur legend from the perspectives of Morgan Le Fay and Guenevere. At nearly 1000 pages, and filled with love, magic, betrayal, and death, Bradley’s book easily takes possession of the reader.

I was only casually interested in the Arthur legend before reading “Mists.” Afterward, I was obsessed. I couldn’t let go of the story, so I sought it in other books, primarily “Le Morte d’Arthur” by Thomas Mallory and “The History of the Kings of Britain” by Geoffrey of Monmouth. I must have been desperate, because neither Mallory nor Monmouth would be considered “gifted writers” by any estimation.

Luckily, when I was teaching high school sophomores, the curriculum included a unit on the Arthur tales. There were three heavily edited tales included in the textbook. Fortunately, I had a wealth of materials, and enthusiasm, to supplement with. You can imagine my students’ reaction to my attempts to imbue my Arthur passion in them. I can still hear the eyes rolling.

A more debilitating side effect of reading is story grief. The greater the quality of the book, the greater the risk of grief once the reader is finished. Book grief is an overwhelming sadness and sense of loss after finishing a particularly powerful story. Sure, you can reread the book, and a second, or third or fourth, reading can give the reader greater insight into the plot or characters. However, first reading is special, when the reader falls in love with the characters, the setting, the themes, and the events.

Book grief sadness results from believing that you’ve just read the best story in the entire world and will never find another story that you like as well. My most recent experience of book grief was just a few weeks ago when I finished “Miracle at St. Anna” by James McBride.

“Miracle,” based on actual events, is the story of a group of four Buffalo soldiers fighting in Italy in WWII. They get lost in the mountains while trying to avoid the German troops massing not far away and planning a huge assault on the American forces. It’s primarily the story of Sam Train and the small Italian boy he rescues from a fire fight. The characters are earthy and endearing, the dialog is realistic, and the events are heartbreaking. This story, which includes magical elements, is one of both devastating loss and redemption.

A book hangover can be treated by reading more books on the same topic or with the same characters. For instance, after reading “Jane Eyre” many times, and each time feeling hungover, I turned to “The Wide Sargasso Sea” by Jean Rhys, and “Mr. Rochester” by Sarah Shoemaker. “Sargasso” is Bertha’s (the crazy wife in the attic) story, “Mr. Rochester” is Edward’s life story. Both offer new perspectives on the classic tale and allow the reader to ease herself back into the real world.

However, book grief cannot be so easily cured. Like any other kind of grief, the reader must allow herself to grieve. I find it hard to start a new book for several days until the book grief subsides. Moreover, I am wary of what I pick up next. I don’t want to ruin a perfectly good book by comparing it to the impossible standard of the book I am grieving.

So I’ve found it useful to go back to a guilty pleasure, like true crime, Nordic Noir, or sci-fi. Although I enjoy these genres, I don’t have the same expectations of them as I do with literary fiction.

You may have noticed that the cures for both adverse side effects is more reading. Naturally.