Reading Round-Up: Little Gray Cells and Vampires

Another Reading Round-Up! This is the place where I either share mini-reviews or thoughts on books I've read. This is our second go and I'm enjoying this, I think. This time I'm featuring another audiobook I recently devoured during my many train rides in August and some thoughts on a book I read literal years ago, being Vampires in the Lemon Grove. Truly ideal that I have created a space where I can share these kinds of thoughts so late in the game.

Poirot's Early Cases by Agatha Christie, narr. by David Suchet

Honestly, this audiobook was absolutely elevated by having the Poirot himself reading it for me. He has the voice, the vocal tics, all of it the things that are so recognisable to me as Poirot that it truly feels like an extension of the films I loved. I don't know how any other narrator would even dare approach these, although I'm sure they all do an excellent job. The weirdest thing, really, is when he speaks as a different character and you realise how broadly talented and gifted Suchet truly is. 

The cases in this collection are delightful in the way all Poirot cases are. However, these are the cases that helped establish Poirot as the world-famous detective so beloved by us all. Christie is still working out some of the kinks here, like figuring out whether Poirot is on the side of the rich and wealthy or whether he has a soft heart for those downtrodden by fate. Turns out, a bit of both! There are plenty of insanely rich people in these stories who would like their dirty laundry to remain un-aired, thank you very much! 

Vampires in the Lemon Grove by Karen Russell

Looking at the stories in Vampires in the Lemon Grove there are a few themes that unite the whole collection together. One such theme is the question of monstrosity. In the collection's title story, Clyde finds out that everything he's been told about being a vampire is wrong. No need for coffins or blood, no need to run away from sunlight. He begins a more normal life, one might say, yet the frisson of the danger and excitement of his earlier days makes it all seem drabber now. Why live forever if it isn't even exciting? In 'Vampires in the Lemon Grove' monstrosity thus links with disillusionment, whereas in 'Reeling for the Empire', perhaps my favourite story of the whole collection, it unites with the concept of agency. Nitsuke sells herself to the Agent to work in a silk factory, hoping to help her family this way. What she didn't know is that she and the other girls will be turned into silk worms themselves, producing endlessly and changing physically. Have they become monsters now? And is Nitsuke more monstrous for having chosen it herself, even if she was caught unawares? Can you accept your monstrosity and elevate it by embracing it? Each story feels like

Karen Russell gives her stories and characters a sense of magic that yet feels utterly real. Never mind that 'Reeling for the Empire' is set in some futuristic, steampunk-esque world. Never mind that presidents don't reincarnate into horses and no one goes 'Antarctic Tailgaiting'. Despite their impossible setups, there is a humanity in each story that is elevated into magic. As Joy Williams says in her review of the collection for the New York Times about Russel's writing:

This is not exactly the fantastic made realistic or the realistic fantastic. 

Rather, it is somewhere in between. The fantastic is realistic and vice versa. Take 'Proving Up', a story Russell wrote once she discovered the the Homestead Act required settlers to have a glass window in order to be able to own their land. Cruel and nonsensical; it sounds like it shouldn't be real. From this fact, Russell spins a story of a young boy alone in a snowstorm with his window, faced with what may or may not be an Inspector. It is a believable story, full of suffering and hardship, but also full of everyday beauty and warmth.

There are no definite endings in Vampires in the Lemon Grove. Russell doesn't give her reader the comfort of ascertained happiness or ascertained monstrosity. To say the stories encourage you to consider your own monstrosity and humanity would be a little trite, but it's not entirely wrong. You can see the stories ending either way. This grey are may not be everyone's cup of tea, since a satisfying end that ties up all the loose narrative strands is often a pre-requisite. I liked the fact that Russell's stories seem to float around like thoughts, short snippets of conversations caught before a door closed. They're like dreams, or nightmares, in that way and have to be either just enjoyed or interpreted. For example, 'Dougbert Shackleton's Rules for Antarctic Tailgaiting' should not work. It's a description of rules for an event that would never take place. It just about works, because through the ridiculous rules Russell gives us a glimpse at a deeply lonely man who finds some solace and passion in this outrage of a "sport".