Score: 8.3
No time for a lengthy, detailed review (I don't even have the book on hand for quotation purposes), so this review will be a mere outline of one, which, given the book, I don't think will be too big of a problem. This is a novel which outlines many things in a tracing that seems small in comparison to the politics at work. And that sparseness contributes greatly to the book's success.
Shortlisted for the 2009 Giller Prize, the novel tells the story of a young Montreal woman who falls in love with a Cambodian immigrant while his country is mired in the disastrous rule of the Khmer Rouge. Upon the border to Cambodia being lifted, he returns to his home, and the two go through a period of separation. However the narrator remains fixed upon her love, and before long, heads off to follow him. It's there that the story truly begins.
Before it's over, lives are made and lost, and though only one character is ever developed to its fullest (the narrator), a small but strong cast of supporters helps to drive this tale of loss. The less said about the plot itself, the better - the novel is brief enough to risk spoiling almost everything in more than a paragraph of explanation.Yet without going into detail, I'd still like to discuss the qualities of the plot.
Overall, it's crafted well. The focus is always on the central character - her voice dominates the narrative, and it's truly only her story that's ever told in any detail. The other characters' lives, including her lover's, are more on the periphery. Which brings me to my major complaint. Though the writing takes the form of a story being told to the lover years after the events of the novel (it's full of "You did this, you did that, we fell in love" etc.), the narrator comes across as border-line narcissistic. She displays a patent disregard for her friends' lives and wellbeing at one point near the end, and all throughout, she never succeeds in producing (for the reader, mind you) any sort of empathy with her lover. Everything in the book is about her, how these things affect her, drive her to do as she does. Granted, it's her story, but it left me wanting more from these other characters, who are overwhelmingly possessing of more interesting stories. The few glimpses you get are merely those outlines I mentioned - defining moments in their lives, not the type of true depth you're hoping they will ultimately display. The lover comes close in some ways, but even some parts of him fade from perspective as the book moves on.
The end result is a story that feels as though it is but another white perspective into a world of the Other. The narrator's misguided ideas and hopes for an overwhelming human dignity (along the lines of a UN declaration of human rights, which, let's face it, is unenforceable, and much of the world does not actually agree with it any significant way) make her come off as just another white woman full of sorrow for the atrocities of the third world, without any true comprehension of the fundamental human and inhuman forces at work underneath. By the end I was left with but an impression, a border of the true human sacrifice that is at the heart of the political realm discussed. This isn't a bad thing, in fact I think given the book's brevity, dealing with the subject matter as she has (one voice, one rather strict, if sympathetic worldview), Kim Echlin did the subject matter proud. She did not write it to discuss the atrocities of the Cambodian genocides, she is merely taking on one woman's story and her own personal connection to those atrocities. It's not holistic, and it's not what I would call "fair", but it's real in its own way.
The writing itself is stellar. Echlin has a knack for simile and metaphor, pulling them out when least expected, and drawing your mind in places you weren't expecting, but are simply thrilled to go. There's nary a cliche in the book (ok, I might have read one, and I said "aha", only to realize the book was all but finished), and her use of short sentences, poetic measure in some passages, and the occasional use of Khmer keep the pace just right. There's never a bad or awkward moment linguistically, and the short, succinct chapters have the effect of mimicking a murder-mystery: you're always on the hook for something good around the corner. The writing is probably more deserving of something around a nine.
So overall, though I have a few complaints - they're mostly personal, not stylistic, and nothing I can fault her too badly for. The book is deserving of its praise.
Overall, it's crafted well. The focus is always on the central character - her voice dominates the narrative, and it's truly only her story that's ever told in any detail. The other characters' lives, including her lover's, are more on the periphery. Which brings me to my major complaint. Though the writing takes the form of a story being told to the lover years after the events of the novel (it's full of "You did this, you did that, we fell in love" etc.), the narrator comes across as border-line narcissistic. She displays a patent disregard for her friends' lives and wellbeing at one point near the end, and all throughout, she never succeeds in producing (for the reader, mind you) any sort of empathy with her lover. Everything in the book is about her, how these things affect her, drive her to do as she does. Granted, it's her story, but it left me wanting more from these other characters, who are overwhelmingly possessing of more interesting stories. The few glimpses you get are merely those outlines I mentioned - defining moments in their lives, not the type of true depth you're hoping they will ultimately display. The lover comes close in some ways, but even some parts of him fade from perspective as the book moves on.
The end result is a story that feels as though it is but another white perspective into a world of the Other. The narrator's misguided ideas and hopes for an overwhelming human dignity (along the lines of a UN declaration of human rights, which, let's face it, is unenforceable, and much of the world does not actually agree with it any significant way) make her come off as just another white woman full of sorrow for the atrocities of the third world, without any true comprehension of the fundamental human and inhuman forces at work underneath. By the end I was left with but an impression, a border of the true human sacrifice that is at the heart of the political realm discussed. This isn't a bad thing, in fact I think given the book's brevity, dealing with the subject matter as she has (one voice, one rather strict, if sympathetic worldview), Kim Echlin did the subject matter proud. She did not write it to discuss the atrocities of the Cambodian genocides, she is merely taking on one woman's story and her own personal connection to those atrocities. It's not holistic, and it's not what I would call "fair", but it's real in its own way.
The writing itself is stellar. Echlin has a knack for simile and metaphor, pulling them out when least expected, and drawing your mind in places you weren't expecting, but are simply thrilled to go. There's nary a cliche in the book (ok, I might have read one, and I said "aha", only to realize the book was all but finished), and her use of short sentences, poetic measure in some passages, and the occasional use of Khmer keep the pace just right. There's never a bad or awkward moment linguistically, and the short, succinct chapters have the effect of mimicking a murder-mystery: you're always on the hook for something good around the corner. The writing is probably more deserving of something around a nine.
So overall, though I have a few complaints - they're mostly personal, not stylistic, and nothing I can fault her too badly for. The book is deserving of its praise.
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