196 Books: Cuba

One Hundred Bottles by Ena Lucia Portela


Here's Cuba:

And here's the book description:
One Hundred Bottles, with its intersecting characters and unresolved whodunits, can be read as a murder mystery. But it's really a survivor's story. In a voice that blends gossip, storytelling, and literature, Z—the vivacious heroine of Portela's award-winning novel—relates her rum-soaked encounters with the lesbian underground, the characters carving up her home, and the terrifying-but-irresistible Moisés. As entertaining as any detective drama, One Hundred Bottles is ultimately made real by very rough love, intense friendship, and something small that decides to live.


Yeah, umm...this cannot be read as a murder mystery. First off, the death doesn't happen till the end of the book, and there's a question of whether it's an accident or murder. That question doesn't get answered. 
The terror of Moises is that he's incredibly abusive and sadistic. And Z basically just lets everyone walk all over her and treat her like shit. I have a hard time enjoying a character like that, which is probably very insensitive of me. 

The story overall was fine. I wasn't super excited to get back into it, but it wasn't really boring either. I've noticed a similar style of writing in many Central and Southern American authors in that they seem to put a lot of description into everyday or mundane things. Like most of the book is just her everyday life. I guess I could glean a lot of information about the country this way...maybe I should appreciate it more. But I guess you have to wonder how much of it is just made up or not the life of the average person there. But maybe that doesn't matter. Okay, okay, I'm kind of going in circles here. 

There was one really poignant line about Z's pregnancy that was put in the book a couple of times, and I loved it so much so it's what I'll end with: "Something small has decided to live."

196 Books: Croatia

Cafe Europa by Slavenka Drakulic

I've always thought Croatia had a cool shape to it:

The summary has a normal shape:
Today in Eastern Europe the architectural work of revolution is complete: the old order has been replaced by various forms of free market economy and de jure democracy. But as Slavenka Drakulic observes, "in everyday life, the revolution consists much more of the small things—of sounds, looks and images." In this brilliant work of political reportage, filtered through her own experience, we see that Europe remains a divided continent. In the place of the fallen Berlin Wall there is a chasm between East and West, consisting of the different way people continue to live and understand the world. Little bits—or intimations—of the West are gradually making their way east: boutiques carrying Levis and tiny food shops called "Supermarket" are multiplying on main boulevards. Despite the fact that Drakulic can find a Cafe Europa, complete with Viennese-style coffee and Western decor, in just about every Eastern European city, the acceptance of the East by the rest of Europe continues to prove much more elusive

So...they can't all be winners. Or maybe I just failed to grasp the concepts on this one. To start with my ignorance, however, this was written in 1996, when I was 11. I wasn't exactly connected to what was going on with the world, so I think I'm a little out of touch with what things were like at the time. Also I finished this book last night and I looked up some other reviews. I've been questioning my opinion since then because I couldn't find any reviews that supported it; I can usually find at least one. All the others were complimentary, saying that she asked the hard questions about how people move on after Communism. I found it critical, apologetic, and somewhat whiny all at once. And, again, maybe I'm just being naive because I haven't had to live with that sort of instability. 

There were parts that I had to remind myself the world wasn't quite as connected in 1996 as it is today. Drakulic talked about the belief that everyone in Eastern Europe is poor and everyone in Western Europe is rich; which is such a black and white, filtered view of the world. Additionally, there was the idea that those who "had," or were believed to be more well off, were obligated to share with those who didn't have as much. And those who have been helped have no necessity to be grateful or thankful. In fact, Drakulic says, "they are too busy suffering to respond." 

But, interestingly, I did find similarities to what's going on today. She gives some anecdotes about uniforms denoting power and that perceived power ending up being a problem, which made me think of police officers in the US today. Soldier refers to them as legal gangs, and I kind of agree. Later on she says, "The administrators and experts behave as though they are not responsible to anyone but the mayor...The mayor of Zagreb has evidently not learned yet that he is responsible to the citizens." Same here. Lastly she tells a story of people mourning the fall of communism, which made me think of all the "Make America Great Again" people. 

So, yeah, I was conflicted on this one...and the more I think about it the more conflicted I get. Maybe it was really good after all. 

Learned Doctors

The caring, the kind, the rude, and the smug

It's time for another life update, whether you want it or not. 

Getting back to work has been good for me, I think. On the plus side I'm getting out, meeting people, and playing a part in helping people. On the minus side I'm a glorified secretary, and sometimes I'm treated that way. I get looked down on by some of the nurses and many of the doctors, which is pretty rude...I want to yell at them that I have a also have an actual degree and that I'm not below them. Other times I'm on the phone with a doctor and he wants to argue with me about a diagnosis or reason for a consult and I'm going "look, I basically just answer the phones." I'm not sure if I've found what I'm looking for career wise, but it's been good for me overall. 

On the other side, it's been about 4 months since I wrote about what's going on with me. Recently I switched to a different rheumatologist that I really like. She had me go back to the dermatologist who was actually nice and really good this time. And it turns out I probably have psoriatic arthritis instead of rheumatoid arthritis. But of course it's not the regular plaque psoriasis that looks like scaly skin...mine is pustular psoriasis that looks like little blisters. And isn't nearly as common. Because of course. 
It escalated very quickly from there--the dermatologist wanted to touch base with the rheumatologist and switch my medications. It was a lot at once; I was trying to process this worse diagnosis and then they want to change everything right away. Which I suppose is a good thing. I was then presented with two options for medications, and I kind of had a meltdown having to make the choice. I ultimately decided to go with an infusion. Meaning I won't have to stick myself anymore, but I'll have to go in for an IV instead. 

Yesterday I had an eye exam. I have to do this every year because of another medication I'm on, it can mess up some stuff in your eyes. They called and woke me up in the morning to ask some questions. Then she said, "Since you're 7 months pregnant we won't be able to dilate your eyes today." Ouch. I've been to enough doctors that the pregnancy should not be listed as active anymore. It was a little heartbreaking. How is it, 4 months after I miscarried, I'm still having to tell them about it? 

During the exam I had to do a couple of tests I've never done before. One came back somewhat inconclusive so I have to redo it in a month. This appointment felt heavier than previous ones for some reason. It's like the gravity of what the medication can do has finally hit me. But what other choice do I have? Even with my immune system being suppressed, I wake up with swollen and sore joints and get the blisters on my hands and feet. 

But one thing that has made me feel better is how connected my doctors have been with each other. They all want to be on the same page with my care. It's reassuring and it makes me hopeful that they'll all work together to really help me get better. So, I guess that's pretty much the gist of it. Maybe this battle with myself will actually have an end someday. 

196 Books: Côte d'Ivoire

Allah is not Obliged by Ahmadou Kourouma 

Côte d'Ivoire, or the Ivory Coast, is here:

And here's your description:

ALLAH IS NOT OBLIGED TO BE FAIR ABOUT ALL THE THINGS HE DOES HERE ON EARTH.These are the words of the boy soldier Birahima in the final masterpiece by one of Africa’s most celebrated writers, Ahmadou Kourouma. When ten-year-old Birahima's mother dies, he leaves his native village in the Ivory Coast, accompanied by the sorcerer and cook Yacouba, to search for his aunt Mahan. Crossing the border into Liberia, they are seized by rebels and forced into military service. Birahima is given a Kalashnikov, minimal rations of food, a small supply of dope and a tiny wage. Fighting in a chaotic civil war alongside many other boys, Birahima sees death, torture, dismemberment and madness but somehow manages to retain his own sanity. Raw and unforgettable, despairing yet filled with laughter, Allah Is Not Obliged reveals the ways in which children's innocence and youth are compromised by war.

Before book stuff, let's do a little life update. I've started back working full time, so it's taken me a little longer to get through this book. I only get half an hour for lunch, so I don't have time to read on break like I used to, but I'm doing what I can. I'll try to get back in the swing of things and churn them out faster. I probably would have done that if I'd been more interested in the book. And here we go. 

In the description, it mentions the narrator keeping his sanity, I basically interpreted as remaining a slightly annoying preteen kid. On the second page are definitions for 3 local swear words: faforo (a father's cock), gnamokode (bastard), and walahe (I swear by Allah). I'd say about 60% of the paragraphs in this book ended with a declaration of one of these swear words. On the next page he explains that he has 4 different dictionaries to help tell his story, and that he's using them for the big words. At first I thought it was cute, that the "big words" would be defined, but that got old pretty quickly. 

But let me backtrack a little. I was hesitant about this book because it doesn't solely take place in the Ivory Coast. But then I had to remind myself that in some parts of Africa and Europe, going to different countries is as simple as going to different states here. That was reinforced in the book as he talked about the tribal wars that seemed to span across a few countries, and as they traveled they just switched to joining whatever faction was strongest in that particular area. 

There were a couple of things that I did find interesting. Firstly, he made a point of saying that the native Africans and the descendants of American slaves who had gone back to Africa had a lot of conflict. It makes sense, but it wasn't something I'd thought of. Also the first tribal leader that the narrator encounters seems to encompass all the main African faiths: he uses a Q'uran, a Bible, and grigris (a kind of amulet believed to keep the wearer safe). Also at one point he uses both American and European ways of writing the date. That might have happened in translation, but whatever. 

But he also used the n-word a lot, which made me super uncomfortable. Maybe it's not as big of a deal in other parts of the world? I dunno, I still don't like it. 

This one just fell a little short for me. Maybe it's because I've read some books that are actual accounts of the awful reality of war and this fictional account seemed like a punk boasting about his exploits. I mean, it's not like I enjoy reading all that horrid stuff, but I think it's important to know the history of it. Or maybe I'm just not that into reading child-based stories. 

196 Books: Costa Rica

Cadence of the Moon by Oscar Nunez Olivas

Here's Costa Rica, in Central America:

And the book summary:

A series of murders committed with dreadful sadism by a psychopathic killer shakes Costa Rica like one of the earth tremors that periodically bedevil Central America. The police and press compete to uncover the murderer's grisly trail - leading to a passionate encounter between a detective and an astonishing female reporter whose charms are her most powerful investigative tool. In a groundbreaking work of fiction that explores the sharp dilemmas faced by both policemen and journalists alike, Costa Rican writer Oscar Nunez Olivas explores just how close - and how far - from the truth reporters and detectives on the trail of a lunatic can be.Published by Aflame Books, "Cadence of the Moon" is a tale of intrigue and human frailty based on the real story of Costa Rica's first ever case of a serial killer. Nunez Olivas draws upon the details of a notorious unsolved crime that horrified this small country to weave a plot that examines the dilemmas faced by journalists driven by a professional ethic yet living by the rules of the real world. Translated by Joanna Griffin from the Spanish-language original ("En clave de luna"), "Cadence of the Moon" explores how the police and press investigations reinforced and contradicted each other and the political and financial pressures that compromised both. Nunez Olivas says: "Objectivity in journalism is a vacuous concept. There does not nor has there ever existed objectivity in the act of scrutinising, interpreting and transmitting human experience.

Ok. Let me start out by saying, the "charms" of the investigative reporter are, of course, her looks. Because apparently there is not a single male author who can write a damn book without objectifying the female characters. Get. It. Together. While each of the female characters had a thorough description of her body, the only description of a male I can remember was an "athletic build" and "cold eyes." WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. COME ON. 

In the first like 4 pages the reporter's lips or mouth are described as "luscious." Seriously? That's just kind of a gross description. And just after that we start off with some workplace sexual harassment. Classic. Basically her boss tells her he'll give her the big story for a kiss. When she threatens to sue for harassment, he gives a "confused laugh" and basically tells her she has no sense of humor. Because that's very funny. UGH. Going back to these parts and writing about it is making me livid again. 

Alright, if you can manage to get past the objectification of all the women, the story is really interesting. And it seems he wasn't too far off the real story; I of course had to look a little into the actual Psychopath.

But here's another part that's infuriating, this time true life: rich, famous, powerful people being untouchable. There was question in real life if the murderer was part of a powerful family, and Olivas took the story in that direction. Towards the end of the book, one of the policemen comments, "There's heavy pressure from powerful people who want to find whoever is responsible, at least during the elections." Sad but true. Politicians are so far removed from the general public and really don't care about justice or what's best for the common people. It's all about staying in power. 

Man, this is bleak. I was gripped by the actual story but now I'm just angry. How many times do I have to say it...do better, world!

196 Books: Republic of the Congo

Johnny Mad Dog by Emmanuel Dongala 

Yes, there are actually two Congos. As expected, Republic of the Congo is right next to the Democratic Republic of the Congo. 

The book:

Set amid the chaos of West Africa's civil wars, Emmanuel Dongala's striking new novel tells the story of two teenagers growing up while rival ethnic groups fight for control of their country.

At age sixteen, Johnny is a member of the Death Dealers, a rebel faction bent on seizing power. Even as he is drawn into the rebels' program of terror, Johnny Mad Dog, as he calls himself, retains his youthful exuberance-searching for girls, good times, and adventure. Sixteen-year-old Laokolé, for her part, dreams of finishing high school and becoming an engineer, but as rogue militias prepare to sack the city, she is forced to leave home with her mother and brother-and then finds herself alone and running from the likes of Johnny.

Acclaimed in France, Johnny Mad Dog is a coming-of-age story like no other; Dongala's masterful use of dual narrators makes the novel an unusually vivid and affecting tale of the struggle to survive-and to retain one's humanity-in terrifying times.

First off, I loooved the dual narrative. I know it was fictional, but it felt real and terrifying. There were times where the stories overlapped, or Johnny's section would begin witht he same sentence Laokolé's ended on. One thing that kept taking me out of the book, and this happens in movies too, but the rebels had a seemingly endless supply of ammo. I read one part and just stopped and said "where the hell are they getting all these freaking bullets?!"  They were shooting into the air and mowing down crowds and emptying whole clips into one person. It annoys me when the do that. With that nit-picky complaint, on to the rest of my thoughts. 

There are a couple of books I've read about coups, and they're just so strange to me. One group is just like, "Alright, we're done with this. We're taking over and ravaging everything, and now I'm a general or colonel or what have you, and we're in charge. And you of course love us, because we liberated you." Maybe that's me simply being ignorant and privileged. Then the "liberators" do the exact same thing as the previous administration. But there's a really poignant quote from the book: "...we were the grass on which two elephants were engaged in combat."And so much rape. I almost find that to be the worst thing. And by Johnny's account, it's just a part of the spoils of war. Johnny describes the spoils this way: "There had to be a reason for looting, just as there had to be a reason for drowning one's dog; well, instead of saying we were eliminating rabies, we had decreed that every person owning a likeness of that "tribalist" and "regionalist" president was a traitor. Especially if the person had valuables worth looting." And there's so much apathy that he later says, "Too bad for the other people in the district--they should have known better than to be born Mayi-Dogos." 

Yeah, I know, I'm writing like these are real people and this is a real account. But I can't imagine it's that far off from a lot of thinking during wars like this. The world is distressing. DO BETTER, WORLD. 

196 Books: Democratic Republic of Congo

Full Circle by Frederick Yamusangie

Democratic Republic of Congo is this bigass country in the middle of Africa:

Here's the overview:
'"C'est l'arrivee,' someone said. These were the first words the boy heard when the lorry on which he and the others had been travelling at last turned into the parking lodge at Bulungu, their final destination after a two-day journey from Kinshasa. The boy was impatient to find out more about this place, which might soon become his permanent home. With his little brain he had imagined that people everywhere lived like the people at his birthplace.'The idea of clashes or differences between cultures didn't make sense to the young boy who is sent by his international parents to a country village for his social education. For him, everybody, everywhere, had the same family structures, the same moral values, the same needs-the vision of different cultures was elusive if not beyond his grasp. But the impact of this new cultural environment, this formative excursion into the heart of the African darkness, will change his life-and destiny."

This is the second book I've read from Africa where the parents send the kid away to a remote village to get life experience or something. Is this a thing that really happens? Is it like boarding school? It seems kind of mean to send off a 10 year old like that. Also these kids were very much in the seen but not heard world. Nobody asked or cared about their opinions, and they were not allowed to speak unless someone invited them or allowed them to. Kinda bullshit. 

The story picked up, but the first couple of chapters read like a textbook for me. There were also a few times where Yamusangie wrote the same thing, three different ways, in three sentences. That got a little annoying. But, like I said, it did pick up. At first this kid hates where he is, but he makes some friends and really starts to like it. And then, after he's there for what seems like 2 weeks (granted, it's a really short book), something really tragic happens and his whole time in this village is basically shattered. Then there's even more tragedy; this poor little boy has to deal with way too much. (Okay, yes, I do realize it's just a fictional character...but I still felt bad.) 
After all this super awful, heavy stuff happened, he couldn't stay in the village anymore. For one thing a lot of the villagers thought he had something to do with some of it. But also his dad was a big important person and after all that happened, everybody knew about it and he'd never be able to be just a regular kid anymore. 

So, he's going to leave the village and go to a different school. And after all this crazy, terrible shit happens, he's just fine. He sits in the car thinking about when he arrived in the town and is just like "lol this is weird, I'm starting and leaving from the same place." And I was kind of flabbergasted. But I guess you don't know how you're going to react to bad things happening and, in a child's brain, maybe they just can't handle processing it all. 

And then it was over. I wouldn't have minded it being a little longer with a little more closure. It left some loose ends and I hate stories that leave off that way. This book was 83 pages. You couldn't have added a few more to bring about a real conclusion? Rude. It's rude, sir. Alright, I'm going a little overboard. Anyway it was a cute little story but, come on, give me a proper ending!