London’s best and worst
This collection of short stories was originally published in 1911, about the middle of Jack London’s career, when he was branching out from his tried and true Klondike subject matter, and experimenting with new settings and new literary techniques. The stories take place in diverse locales, including San Francisco, Tahiti, Korea, Australia, and the open seas. The quality of the stories also varies greatly, and in many ways the selections represent the zenith and the nadir of London’s writing. Three of these stories, “The Apostate”, “The Chinago”, and “A Piece of Steak” are masterpieces of storytelling, among the best of London’s career. On the other hand, “A Wicked Woman” may be the worst story London ever wrote, and at least two others here, “When God Laughs” and “Created He Them,” could easily vie for that ignominious title.
Rather than waste space discussing the losers, let’s focus on the winners. In keeping with London’s preoccupation with socialist thought and labor issues, “The Apostate” focuses on the oppressive life of a young man who has toiled as a factory wage slave for most of his life. “The Chinago” is likewise concerned with social injustice, relating the tale of a Chinese laborer in Tahiti who is tried under French law for a murder he did not commit. It is a scathing indictment of colonialism, and a stark depiction of the indifference to human life that European exploiters often displayed toward their third-world servants. “A Piece of Steak” is an excellent boxing story featuring an aging fighter, poor and underfed, who, in order to feed his family, must fight an epic battle against a youthful opponent. “Just Meat” is another good offering about two thieves who make a big score. “Make Westing” and “The ‘Francis Spaight’” are both gritty seafaring tales, satisfying but not exceptional by London standards. The most pleasantly surprising discovery for me was “A Curious Fragment”, a futuristic socialist tale, set in the 26th century in a world reminiscent of London’s fascinating novel The Iron Heel. It’s an intriguing sci-fi story which, though all too short, offers plenty of social commentary and suspenseful drama.
Despite some of the stinkers in this collection, overall the scales are tipped in favor of the good. Faithful fans of London will definitely find When God Laughs well worth reading. Those who know London only from his sled dog tales will find in this collection prime examples of how he successfully (and in some cases not so successfully) applied his masterful storytelling skills to an incredibly diverse range of subject matter.
Essays and stories in this collection
When God Laughs
The Apostate
A Wicked Woman
Just Meat
Created He Them
The Chinago
Make Westing
Semper Idem
A Nose for the King
The “Francis Spaight”
A Curious Fragment
A Piece of Steak
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For opera lovers only
Count Andrea Marcosini, a handsome, young, Milanese nobleman temporarily banished by his home country, strolls the streets of Paris, enjoying the New Year’s festivities of 1831. He spies a young woman of radiant beauty, and though by her shabby dress she appears to be far beneath his social class, he pursues her in hopes of an amorous conquest. She leads him through a red light district to the door of a run-down boarding house inhabited by Italian expatriates. He enters the house under the pretext of dining at its table d’hôte, and sits down to a meal with the tenants. He discovers that the young woman, Marianna, is the wife of Paolo Gambara, an aspiring composer. Andrea and Gambara bond over a love of Beethoven, and the two form a friendship while Andrea attempts to woo the other’s wife. Despite possessing a profound intellect, Gambara is a failure as a composer because his work is far too radically avant garde for the audience of his day. To Andrea’s ears, Gambara’s music is merely a hideous cacophony. Taking the composer under his wing, Andrea ventures to boost Gambara’s career by getting him drunk, in hopes that the alcohol will subdue his intellectual genius and allow his poetic passion to shine through.
Balzac is a superb author, and nine times out of ten I enjoy his work, but getting through this one was a grueling experience. Gambara is a novella, but feels a lot longer. At least half of the text is taken up by Gambara’s blow-by-blow commentary of two operas. One is a fictional masterpiece of his own making; the other is Robert le Diable by Meyerbeer. These lengthy, mind-numbing descriptions, sprinkled with key changes, can only be loved by the most enthusiastic patron of the opera or those possessing a master’s degree in classical music. The sole purpose of the story seems to be to allow Balzac to showcase his ability to express musical concepts in prose. The story that surrounds these passages is not particularly engaging, and the touching epilogue is not moving enough to redeem all the boredom that precedes it. Gambara can be seen as a companion piece to The Hidden Masterpiece, another tragedy of artistic genius by Balzac. The latter story, which focuses on painting instead of music, is far more interesting, more elegantly written, and more accessible to the general reader. All but the most diehard admirers of Balzac should steer clear of Gambara.
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A heaping helping of skillfully crafted pulp fiction
Now known as one of America’s best writers of crime fiction, Elmore Leonard got his start writing western tales for pulp fiction magazines in the 1950s. This retrospective collection of his western work consists of thirty short stories and novellas, presented in chronological order.
If thirty stories sounds like a lot, it is. With that many entries, this collection can’t help but get repetitive. How many stagecoach robberies can fit between the covers of one book? Though none of the characters appear in more than one story, the same types continually pop up under new names. The first seven or eight stories lead the reader to believe Leonard may be a one-trick pony. He confines his subject and setting to the Apache country of Arizona. The protagonist is usually a civilian scout hired to guide a party of soldiers, settlers, or criminals through Indian lands. No matter how much the hero warns his employers about the dangers of such a trip, they stubbornly refuse to listen and plod forward regardless, with dire consequences. Though Leonard has a respectful admiration for the Apaches, his portrayal of them is a stereotype nonetheless. He depicts them as stoic killing machines, keenly intelligent and shrewdly calculating, until a drop of alcohol transforms them into murderous lunatics. Though these early stories are strong individually, when read together they inspire a cumulative Apache fatigue.
Thankfully, after the first quarter of the book Leonard broadens his scope and gets more innovative with his plots and characterization. In “The Big Hunt,” a young buffalo hunter and his companion, an old skinner, amass a bountiful collection of hides, but when the fruit of their labor is stolen from them by some bullies, the boy must set out after the thieves in search of restitution. “Saint with a Six-Gun” tells the tale of a newly appointed deputy marshal assigned to guard a dangerous gunslinger the week before his execution, a mission which may be more than the green lawman can handle. In “The Rancher’s Lady,” a widower goes to meet his new bride, whom he has only known through correspondence. Upon arrival, however, a former acquaintance informs him that she used to be employed at a house of ill repute. Despite its lack of shoot-’em-up action, it’s one of the strongest selections in the book. There are several longer, novella-length pieces which give Leonard the opportunity to establish an ensemble cast of characters and explore the interactions between them. One such entry is “Trouble at Rindo’s Station,” in which a disgruntled Indian affairs agent, his crooked ex-boss, and a couple of stagecoach robbing outlaws find themselves trapped by a violent band of Mescaleros. As the collection progresses, Leonard’s writing goes from good to better to excellent. By the end of the book he has perfected the art of dialogue, and one begins to see the emergence of the wry, rapid-fire banter that characterizes his Chili Palmer or Raylan Givens books. The last two stories in the book, “The Tonto Woman” and “‘Hurrah for Captain Early!’” were included in Leonard’s 2001 short story collection Fire in the Hole, and are both excellent examples of his later, mature style.
With very few exceptions, these are all well-crafted, entertaining stories. Even if you’re not particularly a fan of the western genre, if you like Leonard’s writing, you will enjoy this book. When originally written, these stories were not intended to be read together, and redundancy is an unfortunate by-product of their juxtaposition. The solution: don’t read them all at once. To fully appreciate this hearty 30-course chuck wagon dinner, take a break between helpings and savor the flavor.
Stories in this collection
Trail of the Apache
Apache Medicine
You Never See Apaches . . .
Red Hell Hits Canyon Diablo
The Colonel’s Lady
Law of the Hunted Ones
Cavalry Boots
Under the Friar’s Ledge
The Rustlers
Three-Ten to Yuma
The Big Hunt
Long Night
The Boy Who Smiled
The Hard Way
The Last Shot
Blood Money
Trouble at Rindo’s Station
Saint with a Six-Gun
The Captives
No Man’s Guns
The Rancher’s Lady
Jugged
Moment of Vengeance
Man with the Iron Arm
The Longest Day of His Life
The Nagual
The Kid
Only Good Ones
The Tonto Woman
“Hurrah for Captain Early!”
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A comprehensive overview of the fascinating saga of Mexico
First published in 1997, Mexico: Biography of Power is a monumental examination of two centuries of modern Mexican history. Historian Enrique Krauze approaches the story of Mexico through a series of biographical chapters on powerful and influential men. The cast of characters is composed mostly of Presidents, along with a few famous revolutionaries. Though the book does have its share of dull stretches and inconsistencies, overall it is astonishingly thorough, immensely educational, and, at times, amazingly entertaining.
Though the subtitle of the book delineates its scope from 1810 to 1996, Krauze does provide five preliminary chapters that summarize Mexican history from ancient times to the beginning of the 19th century. The real meat of the book, however, doesn’t really start until the 1810 War of Independence. Like many contemporary historians, Krauze displays a bias toward the 20th century at the expense of what came before. With the exception of a very good chapter on Santa Ana, Krauze’s treatment of the 19th century feels a bit cursory, as if he wants to get it over with so he can move on to the good stuff. Benito Juárez really gets the short shrift here when compared to the in-depth treatment Krauze bestows upon the 20th-century Presidents.
The book really hits its stride when it gets to the Revolution of 1910. The biographies of Madero, Zapata, Villa, Carranza, Obregón, Calles, and Cárdenas are absolutely fascinating. The passages in which Krauze describes the humble origins of many of these powerful leaders are among the book’s most intriguing, perhaps because they constitute almost the only glimpse the reader gets into the lives of the common people of Mexico. This is very much a political history, and for the most part Krauze leads the reader to believe Mexico is a nation populated entirely by statesmen. At times it reads more like a civics lesson than a national history, but at least it’s an excellent civics lesson. Krauze provides an intricately detailed and keenly insightful view of the Mexican political system that is truly eye-opening for the non-Mexican reader. In the chapter on President Miguel Alemán, Krauze gives a brilliant, in-depth explanation of the development of the PRI, the political party that ruled Mexico unchecked for seven decades, and the dictatorial system of corruption and cronyism that it established. The book climaxes with the 1968 massacre at Tlatelolco, where government forces fired upon student demonstrators. Krauze was involved in the student movement and offers some autobiographical perspective on the tumultuous sixties and their aftermath. The ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s are summarized rather briefly, mostly following the PRI Presidents but also touching upon the Zapatista rebellion in Chiapas. It’s a shame the book was published before the Presidential election of 2000, in which the PRI was defeated, because I’m sure Krauze could have written a provocative final chapter on that event.
Focusing on the lives of individuals in order to elucidate the broader picture of Mexican history is a strategy that pays off well for Krauze. Despite the fact that the narrative is broken up into separate lives, Krauze does an excellent job of illuminating the continuum of Mexican history and drawing parallels between the past and present. The English translation by Hank Heifetz is very well written, but the book is still a difficult read. It is so densely packed with information that it requires intense concentration to get through. There’s about two semesters worth of undergraduate course material crammed into these 800 pages. For the general reader with an enthusiasm for Mexican history and culture, the knowledge gleaned from these pages is well worth the effort. It’s hard to imagine a more comprehensive and authoritative encapsulation of the subject.
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