Book Review: "The Man Who Came Uptown" by George Pelecanos

I know I ask this of certain authors from time to time, but why isn't George Pelecanos a star?

In addition to being the author of some pretty terrific crime novels, he's been a writer on television shows like The Wire and Treme, and co-created the series The Deuce. I've often heard about his books becoming movies, but nothing ever seems to come to fruition, and I just don't understand it. This man should be a household name. His books should be seen in people's hands wherever they read in public.

With his newest book, The Man Who Came Uptown, Pelecanos shows that he is a master at creating characters who are more comfortable veering from the straight and narrow, but often have the best of intentions, and he flexes his suspense and action muscles like nobody's business. But at the same time, he shows off a more introspective side, as this book is also a tribute to the love of books and the transformational power of reading.

Michael Hudson is a young man in prison, determined to serve his time without making any enemies or causing trouble. The bright light during his sentence is his interaction with Anna, the prison librarian, who introduces him and his fellow inmates to books and authors they might never have read or even heard of otherwise. Michael, in particular, is tremendously appreciative of Anna's attention and her book recommendations, as she is opening his eyes and his mind to the beauty and power of words and images.

When Michael's sentence is overturned thanks to the manipulations of a private investigator, he is ready to start again. He knows he made some foolish mistakes, but he wants a new life—he wants to find a job, make something of himself, take care of his mother, and find time to read. Even though the Washington, DC he knew before he went to prison has started to change, with gentrification and newer stores, restaurants, and houses popping up everywhere, it still feels like home to him, and with a book in his hand, he feels even more secure.

When the man who saw to his release from prison comes to collect the debt Michael owes him, Michael knows he has a choice. But what path is the right one: doing what is necessary to square your obligations like a man, or running the risk of having to go back to prison again, and destroying everything he has started to build? As the crooked private investigator gets more and more enmeshed in trouble, Michael isn't sure whether honor is worth the risk.

I'll admit, when I started reading this I expected another of Pelecanos' crime novels, so I didn't understand why it was taking so long to get to the action and suspense, why he was laying out so much of the story. But when I realized what he was doing, I let myself enjoy the beauty of his writing and his characters (something I always do when reading his books, although my pulse is usually pounding at the same time), and thought about just how important reading has been to me all my life.

When the criminal elements of the plot kick in, Pelecanos goes at them full throttle, and you don't realize just how much you've gotten invested in these characters, so you're hoping the age-old battle fought by the man trying to start his life anew won't end the same way here. This book isn't one of his most explosive, and that's totally fine, as long as you know to expect that.

Pelecanos is one of those authors that needs to be read. Whether you're a fan of crime writing, suspense, beautiful storytelling, or like to read about Washington, DC in the 1970s and 1980s, you can find one of his books to match your desire. And don't miss this one—especially if you're like me, and your life has been changed by reading.

NetGalley and Mulholland Books provided me an advance copy of the book in exchange for an unbiased review. Thanks for making this available!

Book Review: "The End of Eddy" by Édouard Louis (author), Michael Lucey (translator)

"Words like affected or effeminate could always be heard in the mouths of adults around me: not just at school and not only by the two boys. They were like razor blades that would cut me for hours, for days, when I heard them, words I picked up and repeated to myself. I told myself over and over that they were right. I wished I could change. But my body would never obey me, and so the insults would start up again."

Eddy Bellegueule, a young man growing up in a poor town in northern France, is forced to confront how different he is from his peers at an early age. While he wants to be viewed as a man, as masculine, his voice is higher than most, his mannerisms are effeminate, he is unathletic (and not really motivated to try playing sports), and as much as he tries, he cannot hide his growing attraction to men. This spells disaster for a young man among lower class and working class people, whose favorite pastimes include drinking, getting into fights, fighting while drinking, and bragging about their sexual conquests.

The sad part is, the abuse Eddy takes isn't just at the hands of classmates or fellow townspeople—it comes from his own family, who don't understand how or why he is what he is, and are embarrassed that someone like him can be tied to them. While he hears his parents use racial and cultural slurs constantly, he also must get used to his father calling people (including him, from time to time) "faggot" and other derogatory names. It is a depressing life for Eddy; at times he tries valiantly to live along the margins and hopefully go unnoticed, and other times he tries to do what will help him "pass"—find a girlfriend, get into fights, attempt to have sex. But it is difficult for Eddy to escape his true identity.

"And yet I had understood that living a lie was the only chance I had of bringing a new truth into existence. Becoming a different person meant thinking of myself as a different person, believing I was something I wasn't so that gradually, step by step, I could become it."

The End of Eddy is nearly relentless in its brutal depiction of a young man coming to terms with his sexuality and his identity in an environment in which being different is not only discouraged but often met with physical violence and emotional abuse. This is an autobiographical novel, and Édouard Louis brings tremendous emotion to this story of a boy so desperate for approval and love from those around them that he is willing to destroy who he really is, just in the hopes that his parents and siblings would treat him differently.

This was a beautifully written but difficult book to read, because it was very bleak, but Louis treads carefully in not painting his characters as too black and white; you can see that Eddy's parents just don't know what to make of their son, and want to love him but want him to live an easier life, too.

At times, The End of Eddy was a little emotionally uncomfortable for me. It certainly brought back painful memories of adolescence, of desperately trying to be "normal" yet dealing with the slurs of people who wanted to label me because I was different. And of course, different isn't bad, but they didn't see that. But while this book is a tough read, it does sound a note of hopefulness as well, because sometimes the simple act of embracing who you are is what you need to combat those who try and bring you down.

I don't know if this is a book for everyone, but it definitely is one that will make you think and make you feel. It made me grateful that I am where I am at this point in my life, and while no one's life is 100 percent struggle-free, it truly does get better.

Book Review: "The Hearts of Men" by Nickolas Butler

At the risk of sounding like a total stalker, I would follow Nickolas Butler nearly to the ends of the earth in order to read his writing. I devoured his debut novel, Shotgun Lovesongs (see my original review), while on a not-particularly long plane ride, and was equally infatuated with his story collection, Beneath the Bonfire (see my original review). Butler's books made my lists of the best books I read in 2014 and my favorite books of 2015, respectively.

While his newest book, The Hearts of Men didn't slay me quite as much as his first two books, there was still so much to savor, so much to feel, and so much of Butler's storytelling and use of language to be dazzled by. The book opens in 1962, at Camp Chippewa, a scout camp in Wisconsin. Thirteen-year-old Nelson Doughty is a consummate scout, one who probably has higher-level skills than any of his fellow campers, perhaps even his counselors. But while his achievement of 27 merit badges to date should be impressive, it doesn't give him the social acceptance he craves. Nothing does, really—even his talent with the bugle, which allows him the opportunity to play reveille each morning, has earned him the nickname "Bugler," and it's not meant in a flattering way.

"Nelson has no friends. Not just here, at Camp Chippewa, but also back home in Eau Claire, in his neighborhood, or at school. He understands that this is somehow linked to his sash full of merit badges...possibly, his unpopularity is linked as well to his eyeglasses, though it might just as easily be his inability to dribble a basketball or throw a spiral, or, worse yet, the nearly reflexive way his arm shoots into the classroom air to volunteer an answer."

While Nelson is a loner, if there is anyone he can consider even an acquaintance, it's Jonathan Quick, a fellow scout two years his senior. Jonathan can do everything right and is socially adept, but the two boys strike up an unsteady, slightly one-sided friendship. That summer, Nelson begins to understand the concepts of loyalty, bravery, trust, and what it means to be a good man. He has to make some difficult choices, choices which don't endear him to many, including his father, but he understands the steps he takes.

The second section of the book takes place 34 years later. Nelson, bearing physical and emotional trauma from his time in Vietnam, is now the scoutmaster at Camp Chippewa, and in the evening before camp begins, he gets together with Jonathan and his teenage son, Trevor, who has taken to scouting as well as Nelson did all those years ago. That evening, it is Trevor who learns what it means to be a good man, and understands just what kind of a man his father is, despite all of the stories he has heard from Nelson over the years about what a friend Jonathan was to him when they were younger.

It is the third and final section of the book, 23 years later, which packs the strongest emotional punch, and yet is also the most frustrating. Nelson is in his final summer as scoutmaster before retirement, and Jonathan's grandson, Thomas, and his daughter-in-law attend camp for another summer week. But the dynamics of a scout camp are lost on the youth of this generation, and the characteristics of manhood are lost on their fathers as well. When a troubling incident occurs at camp, Nelson once again demonstrates the simple act of bravery.

The Hearts of Men raises some interesting questions about manhood, bravery, loyalty, and what it means to be "a good man." At the same time, it looks with a critical eye at both the weaknesses and the strengths of men, and how they all too often don't realize the consequences of their actions. This is a book about fathers and sons, but also mothers and sons, and how some relationships—both platonic and romantic—can change us forever.

I love the way Butler writes. He imbues so many of his characters with complexity, emotion, and flaws. I just didn't understand the point of introducing the melodrama in the third section of the book—it really undercut the book's power, especially in a section where there was so much raw emotion. I think I get what he was trying to say, but I could have done without it, and for the most part, the story would have resonated as much, if not more.

While imperfect, The Hearts of Men is still a masterfully written, powerful, beautiful book, and another example of Butler's exceptional storytelling talent. I remain an enormous fan of his, and will now begin my vigil for his next book. (Sorry, Nickolas, to put added pressure on you; I'm just impatient and I'm a fast reader.)