Nosio’s #CBR4 Review #1: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Jonathan Safran Foer’s writing isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. I place myself squarely in the camp that adored his debut novel, Everything Is Illuminated. For all of its flaws, I found it captivating, alternately hilarious and heartbreaking. While this is a review of Foer’s follow up novel, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, I feel that it’s somewhat important to mention my love for Illuminated in the context of this review. Why? Because everything that made Illuminated feel original is present in Extremely Loud…, only it’s incredibly annoying and grating the second time around.  

Quirky multiple narrators? Check. Non-linear storytelling? Check. Nontraditional prose? Check.  Stories set within the framework of the most mind-boggling tragic events of the past century? Check. The bulk of ELAIC is told through the voice of Oskar, a nine year old boy whose father was killed in the World Trade Center on 9/11, as well as his paternal grandparents, survivors of the Dresden bombings in World War II. Like Illuminated, the subject material is grim, but unlike Jonathan and Alex’s journey, ELAIC feels like a long slog through the boroughs of New York City with the world’s most obnoxious kid and his traumatized, emotionally closed off grandpa. The most redeeming part of the story, for me, was the stunted-love story of Oskar’s grandparents, trying to learn how to be whole again after immigrating to America, and subsequently, after their son’s death. Without giving too much away, I think that one of Foer’s strengths is his rumination on love and relationships, beautifully explored in Illuminated, and done so to a greater extent in ELAIC.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is by no means a terrible book, but it often feels like it’s overreaching. The 9/11 setting feels a bit manipulative, Oskar’s voice doesn’t ever really land as a precocious child’s or an immature adult’s, and the way the second half of the book unfolds feels very, very rushed.  It’s a book that wants to be deeper, truer, and more impactful than it really is, but it has to settle instead for being the kind of story that’s made into a movie starring Sandra Bullock. 

Amanda6′s #CBR4 Review 22: Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer

Plot summaries are the most boring part of writing these reviews, so is it okay if I cheat a little and just ask Wikipedia? Please guys? (Just say yes…)

“Jonathan Safran Foer, a young American Jew, journeys to Ukraine in search of Augustine, the woman who saved his grandfather’s life during the Nazi liquidation of Trachimbrod, his family shtetl… Jonathan begins his adventure with Ukrainian native and soon-to-be good friend, Alexander “Alex” Perchov, who is Foer’s age and very fond of American pop culture, albeit culture that is already out of date in the United States. Alex studied English at his university, and even though his knowledge of the language is not “first-rate”, he becomes the translator. Alex’s “blind” grandfather and his “deranged seeing-eye bitch,” Sammy Davis, Jr., Jr., accompany them on their journey. Throughout the book, the meaning of love is deeply examined.”

Okay, thanks for letting me do that. Anyway, the first thing I want to get out of the way is that yes, JSF’s writing is pretty damn precious. Half of the novel is written from Alex’s point of view, and his broken English is utilized as a main motif to comedic effect: “seeing-eye bitch,” “masticated her tail,” “It was very rigid to understand,” etc. It worked, and it was funny, but these sections at times come across not so much as a means to further the story, as they are a humorous academic exercise in thesaurus abuse. By which I mean: literary dick-measuring. Even considering this bit of pretentiousness, though, these sections are pretty funny — both for the language gymnastics and for some of Alex’s editorialized translations to the American tourist.

The other parts of the story, interwoven in parallel, are meant to be excerpts from the Jonathan Safran Foer character’s novel, an imagined and fictionalized version of the history of Trachimbrod (stand-in for Trochenbrod,) the shtetl where his ancestors originated from in the Ukraine. These sections are written with a heavy hat-tip to Gabriel García Márquez, but they are really lovely. The residents of the shtetl really come to life through Foer’s imagination, and they get their share of humor, too.

The historical setting of WWII naturally means there will be some tragedy, and some really tough, heart-wrenching sections. There is, allegedly, a bit of controversy around Foer’s depiction of the Nazi liquidation of Trachimbrod/Trochenbrod; my feeling (as a non-historian) is that this is pretty clearly fiction, and as Foer took the liberty of re-naming and reconstructing the town, I didn’t have any issues with his presentation.

Reading this, I instantly began comparing it to Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, which I also reviewed but didn’t like that much. The precious writing is present in both in spades, but the characters in Everything is Illuminated were not quite as too-advanced-for-their-own-good — a characteristic I found very grating in the former. As book-reading types, many Cannonballers will probably have picked this one up already, but if you haven’t, I’d definitely recommend it as worth reading.

Amanda6’s #CBR4 Review 01: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer

I first read this novel last summer — 2010 — but with the movie coming out and me not being able to afford movie tickets lately, I decided to go back to the print and re-read. Admittedly, I liked the book well enough for the story and JSF’s prose, but I have a bit of an irrational bias against what I call the “Wise Young Boy” subgenre, though, it’s not like I came up with this myself. (Possibly) unfortunately, that bias forms the basis of my review.

Our protagonist in Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is nine year old Oskar Schell, who lost his father in the World Trade Center during 9/11. The book is basically about the mission Oskar embarks on throughout New York to feel closer to his deceased father; more specifically, he is hunting for the owner of a key marked “Black” that was hidden in his home after his father’s death. He believes the key is the last in a series of scavenger hunts that his father orchestrated for him during his life.

Oskar is the prototypical “Wise Young Boy.” He offers insight into the lives of adults, critiques his own sexism, has developed a patois around his own emotions, and generally is on the fast-track toward earning the Lifetime Achievement award for Young Intellectual Prodigy-ism. Although this isn’t really Oskar’s fault, I was tired of him before I really knew him. It seems like kind of a clichéd device lately that when adult novelists (and screenwriters!) want to wax philosophical, they make a kid say it so that it seems more profoud. More like, “Wow, if a child realizes this, maybe there is hope for the future.” Or something like that. I don’t know. For me, it rings false. I can count on one finger the number of children I have met who actually struck me as being uniquely old souls, but these kind of “enlightened” novels and films seem to be positively swimming in them. I suspect these authors aren’t actually trying to replicate a child’s voice, but honestly, I don’t think that a story would be inherently lessened if these kids expressed themselves more like kids — many children do have a unique kind of wisdom that is probably difficult for adults to capture, but would be a lot more realistic and interesting at this point.

Anyway. If you are not like me, and this kind of adult embodiment of kids doesn’t bother you, then you’ll probably like this better than I did. The story is moving, and side characters are both humorous and poignant. It is, indeed, the kind of read that makes you feel like you’ve learned something, or that makes you think. Because of all that, I do recommend this book, and if you don’t mind that your protagonist is a bit twee and precocious, then I highly recommend it.

moralla’s #CBR4 review #01: Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer

Eating Animals is about exactly that.  It’s not a subject that would tempt me to pick up a book usually.  I love eating meat and learned all I cared to know about how that meat ends up on my plate between a philosophy class that covered the topic and an episode of This American Life.  But as Foer is responsible for a couple of my favorite novels, it made it’s way to my bookshelf.

Foer was an intermittent vegetarian throughout his life, until he was faced with the prospect of fatherhood and writing this book.  He frames the discussion as a moral imperative: what are we willing to sacrifice and overlook for the pleasure of eating meat? And how does the weigh on our conscience?  He understands that what we eat isn’t just about how we get sustenance, it’s social and cultural, it’s about family and history and connecting with others, a form of storytelling and identity.  It’s for those very reasons that are eating habits are so entrenched and bring us such comfort that they must change so we can take control of the story and make sure it reflects the things we likely already believe: that cruelty and needless suffering are wrong, that human and animal welfare are more important than low prices.

One of the first arguments is in some ways the most effective because it is somewhat unexpected and completely unlike the rest of the book.  He takes a Modest Proposal-like stance in a recommendation for the disposal of euthanized cats and dogs which immediately makes you aware of your own prejudices and sentimentalities when faced with brute logic.  Much of the rest of the book is straight forward and earnest in its presentation of facts, stories and moral predicaments. There are many horrific facts included about how the animals we consume are raised and slaughtered and the byproducts of that process.  Foer understands that facts are useless without a context, a story to make sense of them.  There are some personal stories told and first person accounts presented from activists and animal farmers alike.  The meat industries are covered in descending order of harm done.  The first half of the book is dedicated mainly to the poultry industry, about a quarter to pigs and slightly less than that to cattle.  He seems to lose steam as he moves through the industries, possibly because cruelty and wrongdoing become a foregone conclusion, so we’re not presented with much information on the lives of cows though we are taken through their death.  The details of animal cruelty are certainly gruesome, but more striking to me was the factory farming system’s apparent disregard for the people they serve.  Given all of this, it’s not surprising that Foer is now a permanent vegetarian.

Foer insists that what we eat, including how it comes to us, matters.  It’s an important discussion to have, especially as it’s one we tend to avoid as a matter of oversight or convenience.  And though I can’t say I will stop eating meat, I am now forced to think of every meal in a new light.