Of Love and War and Immigration

Book Review: Their Promised Land by Ian Buruma

Immigration is a hot button topic right now, liable to induce polarized opinions in just about any audience. Their Promised Land steers a middle course, generally avoiding the shores of politics and the shoals and rocks that surround them, favoring the depths of the subtitle My Grandparents in Love and War

But the immigrant status of the family is always there, a bulking shadow just over the horizon, barely hidden in the fog of two world wars and the unsettled years between them. Ethnic families tried to avoid the latent prejudice by Anglicizing their last names. Jews adopted Christianity in an attempt to avoid the 'stigma' of being different. Author Ian Buruma doesn't ignore the elephant in the room, but in his occasional sidelong glances in its direction he makes it impossible to ignore.

That is a good thing. Immigration has ALWAYS been a hot button topic, laden with unacknowledged racism and prejudice. Each successive wave of immigrants in the United States has faced a backlash from those who have arrived before them; seemingly oblivious to the fact that unless you are 100% Native American, we are all immigrants here. Their Promised Land takes place in England in the first half of the twentieth century, but it could just as well be anywhere, at any time.

Despite this, Buruma keeps us focused on the fact that these are just two people, trying to make a life for themselves and raise a family. The universal principle at work here is not that prejudice is always with us, but that people go on in spite of it. That is where our hope lies.

The Man and the Myth

Book Review: Enduring Courage: Ace Pilot Eddie Rickenbacker and the Dawn of the Age of Speed by John F. Ross

Are heroes made, or are they born?

Webster defines a 'hero' as "a person who is admired for great or brave acts or fine qualities". It seems then, that to be a hero requires other people, people to admire and idolize; it is an extrinsic quality. Yet the same source defines the term 'heroic' as "having or showing great courage" - a purely intrinsic characteristic.

In reading John Ross' Enduring Courage, the reader is able to get a sense of the often conflicting definitions that we apply to our heroes. How many of our sports heroes, elevated to that status by media coverage and hype, have fallen from grace when we find out that they used performance enhancing drugs to get there? We maintain the expectation that somehow they are different, that they possess some inner strength or character trait that makes them different, we are disappointed to find it was simply a quest for their fifteen minutes of fame.

At the same time, there have been people who worked hard, persevered, and conquered. John Ross gives us a mixture of hyperbole and reality that truly conveys the dual character of Eddie Rickenbacker - on the one hand the hard-nosed, often un-likeable son of immigrants; on the other the self-promoting race car driver and aviator. Sometimes the flowery language of Enduring Courage seems to have been cribbed right off a 1914 advertising poster: "... his ability to handle with nerve and clear calculation those insanely chaotic moments at the edge of speed and fear." This is the 'hero' side of creating the idol, and Ross often goes over the top with his adjectives.

The heroic side of Eddie Rickenbacker lies between the lines, in the character and courage that he brought to bear in times of stress and adversity. This inner strength often alienated those around him, but it was an integral part of Rickenbacker, a foundation for all that he did and was to become. While it may be a less attractive target for flowery phrases, that core is what differentiates paper heroes from the truly heroic. Perhaps without really meaning to, Enduring Courage illustrates what we really want our heroes to be.

Josephine Marcus Earp - Untold

Book Review: Lady at the O.K. Corral by Ann Kirschner

In her attempt to write a biography of Josephine Marcus Earp, author Ann Kirschner gives us a mix of history, folk tales, and family lore, with a touch of educated guesswork. The result, Lady at the O.K. Corral, ends up equal parts history and historical fiction, with a not altogether satisfying portion of either.

The book is strongest in the Tombstone chapters, where the legendary Wyatt Earp is heavily documented. The wealth of historical information on Wyatt makes the character of Josephine sharper by association, although the factual basis for her is weakest here. To be fair, the documentation of women's role in the Old West is sparse to say the least; they were regarded as little more than bit players on the Western stage.

As Wyatt's role in the story starts to be less important, Lady begins to lag -- supposition and third party accounts do not a biography make. The author frequently remarks how Josephine was closed-mouth about her own story, but the scarcity of information makes the story a little too threadbare. There is a great story here, but it never fully emerges.

In the end, Lady of the O.K. Corral is more of a fictionalized biography, without the cohesiveness of either a straight biography or historical fiction. The genre CAN work; I thought that the fictionalized biography of Irene Nemirovsky, The Mirador: Dreamed Memories of Irene Nemirovsky by Her Daughter, was an exceptional book. Lady seems to want to hide behind the facts rather than build on them, and fails to embrace the intriguing personality of Josephine as a result.

The American Way

Book Review: Visiting Tom by Michael Perry

Once upon a time - 'back in the day' - knowledge was handed down from generation to generation, self-reliance and thrift were considered virtues, and being a good neighbor was not an advertising slogan. In Visiting Tom, Michael Perry shows us that 'once upon a time' is the present, at least in the person of Tom Hartwig.

While we sit and decry the decline in American innovation, Tom was building his own sawmill. While we bemoan the increasing encroachment of government, Tom was persuading the highway department to reroute the interstate that bisects his property. While we worry about going green, Tom is repairing, reusing, and recycling, renewing the old and creating anew.

This is not a Luddite dream of returning to the past, throwing technology aside. It's about embracing the knowledge of the past and applying it to the present and future, of recognizing home-grown initiative and perseverance and moving them to their rightful places in the arsenal of American ideas.

While these may be regarded as old-fashioned, small Midwest town values, we could all do worse than to sit a spell with Tom and absorb some of the knowledge and expertise that were once an integral part of American culture. Visiting Tom gives us that opportunity.

Grandma's Dirty Little Secret

Book Review: My Russian Grandmother and Her American Vacuum Cleaner by Meir Shalev

This is how it is: author Meir Shalev has taken the threads of family history and woven them into a tale that drapes as easily as a babushka over the head of the family, in this case Grandma Tonia. Every family has a skeleton or two in the closet; Grandma has a sweeper in the bathroom. Or does she? A story doesn't have to have a point -- the story IS the point.

As the title My Russian Grandmother and Her American Vacuum Cleaner implies, this is in no small part a tale of the clash of cultures (and cultural values). Americans have long been upheld as the personification of luxury and comfort, and reviled for those very same qualities at the same time. 'Luxury' implies laziness, 'comfort' equals complacence. It is not simply a case of the 'haves' and the 'have-nots', but goes deeper into values and ideals.

And when your ideal is cleanliness, the value of a vacuum cleaner would be priceless, or so one would think. Like magic the dirt disappears, never to be seen or heard from again. It is a miracle of modern science, as long as we ignore the law of conservation of mass. And then at last the weighty dilemma occurs - who sweeps the sweeper?

Shalev manages the diversity of cultural history and values with sure hands - the story of My Russian Grandmother could happen anywhere, and in any time. In fact, I am sure it has. While not everyone has a Grandma Tonia or an Uncle Yitzhak, we have all had people like them in our lives and in our own families. The idiosyncrasies that make us individuals are the very things we have in common.

An enjoyable read, filled with humorous insight into obsessive-compulsive behavior as well as the Freudian aspects of a manicure, My Russian Grandmother is part James Thurber's My Life and Hard Times, part my own uncle Dave reminiscing about life on the farm in the Depression (if my family had been Jewish and Israel was Minnesota.) If you don't have stories like this in YOUR family, you should make some up.

History, Elegy, and Autobiography

Book Review: The Mirador: Dreamed Memories of Irene Nemirovsky by her Daughter by Elisabeth Gille

In The Mirador, Elisabeth Gille, daughter of novelist Irene Nemirovsky, creates a new genre: the autobiographical novel. Mirador (literally translated as "watchtower") allows Gille to look out over the life of her mother through her novels and notes against the background of Europe in the early 20th century.

In the process she enlightens us to a part of history that we (as Americans) have too little exposure; namely the events in Europe leading to the Second World War. Writing in the first person, Gille is able make a personal connection with the life of her mother that she was denied in real life. The historical context of the First World War and the Russian Revolution give the personal aspects of the story a factual tone; the reader must remind himself that with some exceptions the words are not those of Irene herself.

Sadly, we in the United States have a limited view of European history. The Mirador enables us to obtain a glimpse into the turmoil that took place in Russia during the Revolution, and in Europe during and after World War I. The destruction of lives and property during the Great War and the financial toll of war reparations afterwards combined to accentuate political and ethnic tensions in an unprecedented manner.

On a personal note, it gave me insight into the attitudes and beliefs leading to the Holocaust -- I never fully understood why the Jewish people did not flee when the danger seemed so apparent. As any of us would, they believed they had the reasonable expectation of safety; I am sure that Irene was not alone in maintaining "I will not emigrate again." The very people that she depended on for safety turned on her in the end. I cannot fully comprehend their experience, but the scope of my understanding has been widened.

It is a testimony to the writing talent of Elisabeth Gilles that she was able to craft the story of her mother's life in such a moving way. The Mirador serves as an act of reconciliation between mother and daughter, a moving elegy for a talented novelist, and a valuable and timely reminder of the tragedies of war and intolerance.