I went into my reading of We, the Drowned with certain expectations. Not only was I anticipating an epic, gorgeously written story, but I was expecting a journey on the seas with one character to all ends of the earth. I don't know where I picked up this impression that We, the Drowned was largely about Albert, who searches the world for his lost father—even the novel's blurb alludes to a story much larger than Laurids and Albert—but that was what I expected nonetheless.
Because it wasn't what I wanted, I was disappointed in We, the Drowned. Now how petty is that? At least I'm honest. The story I wanted was nearly seven-hundred pages of a son searching for his father. There would be wonderful character building and a quest that would captivate me until its resolution. Also, there would be monsters and flying ships and unexplained occurrences because not only was I confused about the plot, but somehow I had it in mind that this was heavy in magical realism. Hmmmm. Expectations be damned. Let's just throw my expectations out and start over.
We, the Drowned is structured more like a novel in stories than a traditional novel. There's the episode of Laurids who nearly dies in battle, but miraculously survives unscathed. There is the story of his son, Albert, and his upbringing without a father who mysteriously disappeared. Then there is Albert's adventurous journey on the sea in search for his father. And then there are five hundred more pages. What I thought was the entire subject of the book is resolved in under two hundred pages. There's much more to this book than Laurids and even Albert. Each subsequent story is loosely tied into the stories that preceded it, but they span time and the globe. The thread that unites these stories have more to do with the town of Marstal and the oceans than they do with a singular event or character.
With its fragmented nature, We, the Drowned fails to be the huge epic I imagined, but that does not mean it doesn't succeed in other ways. Jensen's novel utilizes place and object how I expected it to use character and story. Not only are all these tales connected to Marstal, a town which inhabits the story as much as its characters inhabit it, but they're connected to the sea and the professional of seafaring. These are more vital to the story than any character. Once one has forgotten the names of Laurids and Albert, Klara, Knud Erik, Sophie, Herman, one still will recall the name of Marstal. They'll remember the journeys even if they've forgotten which crew sailed on them. And they'll recall the objects—the shrunken head, the boots, the vision of a bird—that outlast all but terrain itself.
It is the vivid settings and strange objects that truly occupy We, the Drowned and take the reader on an adventure. This isn't the timeless quest of a man looking for a father, it is the story of a town that strives to survive and a professional that is as old as time itself.
John Steinbeck is universally known for his gritty tales of realism. Most people associate Steinbeck's name with The Grapes of Wrath and Of Mice and Men. Some know the author's family epic, East of Eden, while others relish in his humorous tales of drunken exploits, Cannery Row, Tortilla Flat... Few seem to recognize Steinbeck for his vast trove of work, not only in print, but on screen and on stage. Throughout his career, from beginning to end, Steinbeck refused to grow stagnant by merely reinventing his most famous work. From Cup of Gold and To a God Unknown, through Viva Zapata and The Wayward Bus, and concluding with The Winter of Our Discontent, Steinbeck dabbled in many styles and mediums. Although he was very frustrated with the outcomes of his work in film and theatre, he never gave up. In the middle of all this was one experimental play full of potential, but which flopped and has largely been forgotten.
Burning Bright may be the most strange remnant of Steinbeck's existing work. The story itself is fairly straight-forward, but the approach in setting and dialogue are experimental. In his hope to create a modern morality play, Steinbeck utilized language in a tone that bore similarity to the Greek tragedy. With a cast of only four characters, the play is simple, yet in an attempt to make the story universal (implied by Steinbeck's original title “Everyman”), these four characters are transplanted from the transient life of circus workers to a farm and then out to the sea. There is no explanation for these shifts, and though they are out of place, I don't think an explanation is needed.
As a play, particularly one written by John Steinbeck, produced by Rodgers and Hammerstein, enacted by a stellar cast briefly on Broadway, Burning Bright was a failure. Steinbeck was overambitious and this may have come across to many as pretentiousness. In no time after the play had opened and quickly folded, Steinbeck issued an apology in which he addressed the response the play garnered and expressed his own disappointment. He concludes the apology
I have had fun with my work and I shall insist on continuing to have fun with it. And it has been my great good fortune in the past, as I hope it will be in the future, to find enough people to go along with me to the extent of buying books, so that I may eat and continue to have fun. I do not believe that I can much endanger or embellish the great structure of English literature.
Indeed, there are those who were and continue to be disappointed with Steinbeck's desire to have fun; they want the serious author whose entire focus is on migrant workers. And there were and continue to be those who point to works such as Burning Bright and say, “Steinbeck was immensely overrated—look at this drivel!” Steinbeck, just wanted to have a little fun. And though the subject of Burning Bright is rather dark and dramatic, the presentation allowed the author certain freedoms that must have been amusing.
Burning Bright is clearly not Steinbeck's best moment, but it is not a bad work at all. Its ambitions and charm make up for its showy appearance. And yet, despite its exaggerated delivery, it is such a simple play, devoid of any extra ornamentation, which deals with questions of love and sacrifice. So that whether you're a circus clown, a farmer, or a ship's captain, you may be drawn into this universal and poetic tale.
Like many of the readers who have read or are currently reading this novel, I was intrigued by Han Kang's earlier novel, The Vegetarian. The Vegetarian elicited many different, strongly-held views from its readers. Many were haunted or captivated. Some were horrified. Others were simply confused. Although Human Acts is a very different story told in a wholly different manner, it is likely to garner may of the same feelings as its predecessor.
Human Acts is gorgeously written and achingly tender. Though one must recognize that translation plays a part in Kang's novels, the words here have a rhythm and beauty. There is strength in these sentences and they stand together to build a solid piece of literature. The story itself, centering on the 1980 failed student revolution in South Korea, is heartbreaking and its concise packaging aids in keeping the reader's interest. Minor details make the story very real. The characters carry traits that really bring them to life.
Yet, like The Vegetarian, there are omissions and vague descriptions in Human Acts that make the story dream-like. Most of the story is told in the second person. All these vague “you”s mold a more poetic text, but alienate the reader. New characters are introduced every chapter, but it takes pages (or an entire chapter) to determine who this new character is. Sometimes, at the end of a chapter, I continued to struggle with how the selection into the larger story. Much of this confusion is caused by the method of telling the story. The “you” was inconsistent; sometimes it was the subject of the chapter, other times it was another character the narrator of the chapter was talking to. And yet, the ethereal quality evoked by these vague components is part of the beauty and draw of Kang's works.
Though Human Acts is nearly as surreal in terms of language and delivery as The Vegetarian, its more concrete subject manner will likely make the novel more relatable for an American audience. It is not nearly as strange and memorable as The Vegetarian, but it is remarkable in its own ways.
These are ten of the titles I WILL, barring catastrophe, read in 2017. I make this yearly list to ensure I'm not completely distracted by all the shiny new books. This list is one way to make sure I read some books that I've been putting off.
For details, follow the link to my website.
The Book of My Lives – Aleksandar Hemon
The Sirens of Titan – Kurt Vonnegut
Weeds – Edith Summers Kelley
Borderline – Mishell Baker
Demons – Fyodor Dostoevsky
Writing Down the Bones – Natalie Goldberg
All the Living – C.E. Morgan
Mama Day – Gloria Naylor
Union Dues – John Sayles
A People’s History of the United States – Howard Zinn
This book is a beast. With over a thousand pages detailing the life of a very private man, this biography truly tells one everything they could possibly know about John Steinbeck. Perhaps a more accurate title would've been: John Steinbeck, Writer, Reader, Lover, Joker, Explorer, Worrier, Drinker, Traveler, Inventor, Researcher, Father, Sailor, Eater....
As a writer with a great love for Steinbeck's work, I was interested in the man behind the pages. As I haven't quite finished Steinbeck's entire bibliography (I'm at 66%), I felt some hesitation about reading this tome. Would knowing the inner life of Steinbeck alter my perspective of his creative work? I don't think it did, positively or negatively. My feelings about the works I've read remained unchanged, but my desire to read those I haven't yet read was greatly increased. (In the coming months, expect a considerable amount of Steinbeck in my feed.)
The sheer amount of work Benson must have put into this biography is impressive. It is with little doubt that I say this is the most extensive biography that will ever be written about Steinbeck. The research and the interviews are comprehensive. Having read John Steinbeck, Writer, I have few remaining questions about its subject, but many about its biographer. What kind of person sets out to write such a thorough work about an author? How long did he obsess over the subject? Does he have any regrets about how he spent his years? Does he dream about the Salinas Valley? Does he confuse events in the life of Steinbeck with his own? Was he sick of all things Steinbeck by the time of publication?
Some readers will perhaps be irritated with the length of John Steinbeck, Writer. Personally, though the work was longer than it needed to be, I was happy that Benson included as much as he did, allowing the reader to decide what facts are and are not important. What I appreciated less about this volume was the intrusion of Benson, the author (ironically, Steinbeck was sometimes criticized for intrusions, especially in later works). John Steinbeck, Writer is marred by the opinions of its author. Benson criticizes the critics, agents, editors, and publishers who continually begged Steinbeck to rehash The Grapes of Wrath; they were annoyed that the writer always wanted to try his hand at something new. Despite his criticism of these literary elites, Benson falls into the same trap, declaring The Grapes... as Steinbeck's masterpiece and declaring all subsequent works as inferior mistakes (the only possible exception being Travels with Charley). This is Benson's opinion and certainly unwanted. (Besides, these days we all know that East of Eden was Steinbeck's true masterpiece and y'all were just too close-minded to recognize it in the first forty years after its publication.) Less directly, it seems that maybe Benson has glossed over some known facts to paint Steinbeck in the most positive light possible. The picture painted here is of a genius who, because of fame and pressure, became slightly out of touch with his fellow man. I would argue that Steinbeck, especially after winning that cursed Nobel prize, was so incredibly far from the imaginative writer he set out to be forty years earlier that he probably wouldn't have recognized himself. At the hands of Steinbeck himself, Steinbeck probably would've been more honest about his mistakes than Benson was. And while Steinbeck toyed with the idea of writing an autobiography of sorts, a fact I learned from this work, he never got around to it. Thus, aside from what we can garner from Steinbeck's own writing, the most complete picture we have of the author comes from John Steinbeck, Writer, (because Steinbeck didn't use Facebook and you've always wanted to know what was on his dinner plate—and Benson went to great trouble to find out for you.)
I'm familiar with many Jane Austen stories, but this is the first time I've successfully read one of her novels. Years ago, surely eight or nine years now, I made a very lackluster attempt to read Mansfield Park, but I gave up within a mere ten pages. My heart just wasn't in it at the time. More so than that of many of her contemporaries, the language Austen uses can be a chore to get through and I struggled to understand what I was reading (and why). The time has come, however, to give Austen another try.
Judging by the stories that have survived and remain in our hearts—from Shakespeare to Austen to Dickens to...—there really wasn't much difference in British drama for three hundreds years. Through the quirky interactions of memorable characters, these authors provide entertaining romps through sentimentality with a satirical edge. And yet, I would argue that Austen's stories were more realistic than those of her contemporaries. Certainly, Austen dwelt a bit heavily on the “woes” of the higher class, but the characters' wants and needs transcend status. Unlike many of the two-dimensional characters in the stories of the time, Austen's primary characters are individuals with ever-changing perspectives (secondary characters, not so much). Of course realism from a much more humble point-of-view was just a generation away with authors such as Anne Bronte being born in this era, but clearly Austen had her finger on the pulse of humanity.
And yet these stories lack realism. How anyone can be so oblivious is beyond me. Can two people carry on a conversation for so long without realizing they're talking about two very different things? Sure, it's humorous, but it's not believable. So are these stories meant to be believable, or not? Does love ever come so easily in the end? How is it that the destitute daughters of these tales always find the one descent human in the aristocracy? I think that's the magic of Austen and it certainly works well in Sense and Sensibility. These are characters that are human and though their situations may be very different from our own, they are very much like us. Through struggles and the embrace of all that is “good” and “right,” they enter the fairy tale that so many of us envy. These are the stories that capture the heart of the romantic.
Sense and Sensibility is double the romance. The characters are engaging. The wit is on point. The story is entertaining. And it's all so clever—there's an excellent word for the work of Jane Austen: clever.
At the Mouth of the River of Bees is an interesting and varied pack of stories. Although many of the stories in this collection could easily be labeled as Fantasy, many others escape such simple labeling. Spanning the genres, each stories is unique; while some are more strait-laced fantasy, fairy tales replete with talking animals and beasts of all sizes, others are more contemporary and literary in nature. This wide variety gives the reader many chances to fall for Johnson's stories, but may make this collection seem uneven. Some are extremely brief while others could probably be considered novellas. Some are powerfully shocking, others are simplistically quiet. The fact is, this is quite a mix to come from one author. You may read two or three stories before you find one you like. You may love all of them. Likely, there's something in this collection for most of us.
My personal favorites were “Spar,” “Wolf Trapping,” and “At the Mouth of the River of Bees.” “Ponies” was also a good story, but I'd heard so much about it over the years that I expected something more chilling; in fact, it felt to me like a tamer version of a Shirley Jackson story. For me, “Spar” was the truly haunting story that remains with me like no other one in this collection
In my quest to explore graphic novels, I came across this beauty. I loved the cover, a bitter child clutching her stuffed rabbit in full color while a group of soldiers cluster in the gray behind. I expected a book full of such contradiction, a book that would tug at my heart. Despite the implications of the cover, Marzi isn't that kind of book. It's tiny slivers in the life of one little girl who just happens to live in Poland during the fall of Soviet communism.
This is my first experience with a graphic novel illustrated by someone other than the author and I didn't like that. The illustrations and text felt disconnected at times. The pacing was off. Given the serial nature of the book, each vignette needed to occupy a full page or set of full pages and, as such, some were rushed while others lingered. I liked Marzi. Her perspective was astute and in line with how children thin. Some of her stories were very interesting, but this “novel” felt so much like a comic strip that I was overwhelmed by the presentation.
This is the kind of graphic novel that is probably best read in short segments. Although the illustrations are attractive and the stories interesting and multifaceted, its slice-of-life presentation bears more in common with a newspaper comic than with what I have come to recognize as a graphic novel.
The Cellist of Sarajevo came highly recommended, but I had my reservations. How could a thirty-two year old professor from Canada give any sort of justice to the Bosnian War, and do so in a mere 200 pages? The conflict is much too recent to easily dismiss any inaccuracies in the text. And it's difficult to ignore the obvious differences in growing up in Kamloops versus getting by in Sarajevo. Surely, it cannot be done. The problem was, I was imagining that Galloway's novel would be like nearly every other war novel, when in fact, The Cellist of Sarajevo breaks most of the rules of “war stories” and largely succeeds.
Galloway takes the four year siege and narrows the focus to such a tiny sliver. Although the book blurb conveys that this novel is about “four strangers,” the fourth being the titular cellist, it really centers on three. The cellist is little more than a device to tell the story and unite the others. (The “cellist” is based on a real person, Vedran Smailovic; his inclusion caused significant drama: "Out of the war, into a book and in a rage".) These three characters are so unlike any other I have encountered in a war novel that it is shocking. Two of the three are merely men walking the streets with purpose. The third is a female sniper. All three are afraid, but only the sniper is doing something about it. The two men cower behind buildings and struggle with reconciling the past with the present.
Aside from the reversed war-time gender roles, I found it interesting how the characters most crippled by fear were the ones actually moving. It was the active participant, the sniper, who hid in the shadows and rarely moved. Such focus allows the characters to rise above the war that surrounds them and become closer to universal. It is by giving such a narrow scope—a family man in search of water who cannot stand up to his cantankerous neighbor, an elderly baker who seeks invisibility, and a sharp-shooter with a vendetta—that Galloway succeeds in putting the siege of Sarajevo on paper. I wish The Cellist of Sarajevo had made a bigger impact on me, but I think had Galloway tried to craft a more epic tale of war, he would've stepped into territory that would've been too foreign. As it is, The Cellist of Sarajevo gives those of us who didn't experience the war a glimpse of what it may have been like.
Aside from this collection, the only work of Ali Smith's I've read is a novel, How to be both. With so little knowledge of the author, it may be premature for me to make assumptions about her writing, but I think it's safe to say that Smith is a very talented writer who speaks in thunderous whispers. What I mean by that is that her stories are decorated in gorgeous language, yet they're unassuming. They are often peopled by strong characters experiencing some small personal growth. There may not be much in the way of story. And while the stories may be affecting, they are not necessarily the most memorable.
It can be difficult to make strong opinions about this style of writing. Many of us belong to a society that is far too fast paced for such stories. While part of me wants to celebrate everything Smith and her ilk write, I must acknowledge that sometimes the stories may be a bit too unassuming. In her latest collection, Smith pairs her stories with brief reflections on public libraries. For the most part, the stories have little to do with libraries, though some touch momentarily on research or reading. Though a couple of the stories appealed to me, the strongest moments come from the library vignettes. These little reflections are often poignant. Overall, the collection has a nice rhythm and certainly captures the beauty of language, but it doesn't possess enough substance or heart as a whole to motivate a more enthusiastic response from me. Public Library and Other Stories aside, I do look forward to reading more of Smith's writing.
I don't know why I have such a particular affinity for these whaling tales, but recently I recognized that I gravitated toward them. And being that authors are continually revisiting the subject, it's obvious I am not alone in my appreciation. The North Water bears many similarities to the classic whaling tale, but probably has more in common with the writing of Jack London and Cormac McCarthy than Melville. Aside from some wonderfully drawn characters and explorations of psychology, this is an adventurous novel filled with an abundance of grisly scenes of violence toward man and animal.
Perhaps it was just me and my aforementioned appreciation for whaling stories, but I did feel that the second half of this novel—largely taking place away from whaling—was considerably less appealing than the first half. So much action and intrigue develops in this second half, however, and so I was not horribly disappointed.
The North Water is a gruesome tale of man versus nature and man versus man—which of the two is more dangerous is a question you may ask yourself while reading this novel.
As I near the end of my year-long exploration of graphic novels, I come across my first adaptation: Shirley Jackson's “The Lottery” by Miles Hyman. It was without intention that I happened to read The Lottery and Other Stories immediately preceding this graphic retelling. Hyman's book was on my to-read list when, on a whim, I picked up Jackson's collection and began reading. I'd read Jackson's most famous story, “The Lottery,” a couple times in undergrad, but I was happy to have the refresher in mind as I tackled this adaptation.
As I suspected, it's not easy to take a classic, well-known work and make it into anything special by attaching pictures to it. There's nothing exciting or new here. It's Jackson's story, made visual. I understand that maybe the goal is to reach a new audience, a crowd that would be more likely to read Hyman's adaptation, but it's not like Jackson's short story is difficult to read. Whatever.
I might have been more annoyed by this idea had Hyman himself not been the grandson of Shirley Jackson. I might also be annoyed had it seemed Hyman was trying to establish himself by using his grandmother's name, but it seems he is already well established. And so, I really have nothing to be annoyed about. This is a fine rendition of “The Lottery,” it keeps the story simple as it was meant to be. Although most of the illustrations aren't particularly grand, there's something to be said about the colors and angles that effectively capture the mood of the story.
The Lottery and Other Stories is an uneven collection. If you've read any of my reviews about a collection of short stories, you've probably heard this before. “Uneven” sums up my feelings for every short story collection I've ever read. There are different levels of uneven, but it's only natural that some stories will resonate powerfully and others will simply be okay. Consistent writing is not an easy task for a writer of short stories, anymore than it is for a novelist. Creative ventures in any medium are going to fluctuate and people will have differing opinions about them (personally, I loved The Casual Vacancy).
The “problem” with this collection is that it's unevenness is on fully display. This is like watching a team of all-stars face off against a team of one superstar and a bunch of novices who barely know the rules of the game. This is like watching a bulky grown man on a teeter-totter with a toddler, adorable, but not carrying her weight. This is a collection of some of Jackson's best stories opposite of some that you could say are lacking (with “The Lottery” thrown in at the end). Keep in mind, that when I say these stories are “lacking,” some are quite alright. It's Shirley Jackson, so there's no such thing as a horrendous story. But her greatest moments of insight, development, and storytelling are there at the beginning to entice the reader. And her most famous story, “The Lottery,” is at the end to keep a reader going. Personally, were I to compile such a collection, I'd mix it up. Otherwise, a reader is given false hopes for an amazing second half and what follows is grueling. Throw in some of the less wonderful stories between great stories and the reader will be more forgiving, if they notice at all. And so this collection ends on a low note (especially if you've already read “The Lottery” several times before).
Jackson is most famous for her paranormal tales that explore dark aspects of human nature. The majority of the tales in The Lottery... contain no elements of horror or oddity, but they do largely explore human nature. I have previously read two of Jackson's more famous novels, We Have Always Lived in the Castle and The Haunting of Hill House, but what really struck me about this collection is how deeply Jackson delved into the psychology of her characters. She was a wonderful explorer of what drives the human brain and how we react to changes in our environment. Though many of the stories in this collection lack a significant plot, always the story moves because of the actions and reactions of the characters.
Although I do wish The Lottery and Other Stories had been structured differently, it is still a collection of the highest caliber. Readers looking for stories with highly-engaging plots will likely grow bored with Jackson, in general; for those hoping for great characters and character development, Jackson is a treat. Already, I am eager to read more of her great work.
So the Man Booker Prize happened. And once again, I failed to read the entire shortlist before the prize was announced. This year was the closest I have ever come, however, as I finished five and was a third of the way through my sixth, His Bloody Project. This is the first year since I started this yearly tradition that all six were published in the US before the prize was announced; three of those were published in the preceding two weeks, so it was still a chore to read and review the entire list. For what it's worth, here are my thoughts regarding Graeme Macrae Burnet's contribution.
A few years back, the Man Booker committee was criticized for not offering enough titles with commercial appeal. I believe His Bloody Project is this year's answer to that call. Though it's set in a quiet village in a time before the world became overly noisy, this novel about a brutal murder bears much similarity to your run-of-the-mill murder/courtroom drama story that has saturated the airwaves for decades. That's not to say His Bloody Project lacks depth or literary merit, but it's certainly the Man Booker Prize nominated novel most likely to be adapted to screen in recent years. In grisly, heartbreaking detail, the story in the first half of this novel moves swiftly. The psychology of the characters and their stories, though told in simplistic fashion, are fascinating. Personally, I'm not a fan of court drama, however, so when the second half segued into testimonials and arguments, examinations and cross-examinations, my interest waned. Those who live for Law and Order will likely enjoy this novel thoroughly.
His Bloody Project was in many ways captivating, but it didn't strike me as a Man Booker contender. It was well written, but there was nothing unconventional about its form or breathtaking about its delivery. Long term, it will likely outsell its shortlist contenders. Had I finished this novel before the prize and had time to consider its probability of winning, I would've placed it in the middle of the pack, less likely to win than Do Not Say We Have Nothing and Hot Milk, but a stronger contender than Eileen and The Sellout. It's okay to be wrong sometimes.
What if the American Civil War had never occurred? What if one early assassination united a nation before it had a chance to be torn apart? What if slavery was still practiced in Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Carolina? This is the premise of Underground Airlines. It's a great premise that elicits plenty of thought, but the execution leaves something to be desired.
Underground Airlines is a thriller: politics, cops, chase scenes, double crosses—tension in general. I'm not a big fan of this style, but I was certainly willing to give it a go because I thought the plot was intriguing. Ben H. Winters nails the mood: late night meetings in the city, the sound of cars swooshing through rainwater in the distance, faces covered in shadow—it was impossible not to see much of the novel as scenes from a movie. Underground Airlines is a thriller with a great concept, but in the end it's still a thriller; a book for fans of Grisham, Coben, Baldacci, or—hell, I don't know what I'm talking about, I've never read any of those authors. As far as I know, they write nothing like this.
My main complaint about Underground Airlines comes in the way of alternate history. In this novel, historical and political events have changed. Because the Civil War was not fought, laws were put in effect to appease Southern interests. Texas claims sovereignty and tensions between it and the States are high. Much of the world, especially Europe, has placed sanctions on the United States for its continued acceptance of people as property. Only in the last four years has Japan lifted its embargo. And yet, aside from these political differences, one would not notice a difference between the alternate history of Underground Airlines and our own: towering metropolises, luxury cars, smartphones with all the best apps. Michael Jackson was still the king of pop. Rockwell still painted a picture of little black girl in Arkansas. To Kill a Mockingbird was a sensation, with a slightly altered plot. Rap music, Ralph Ellison, James Brown, baggy pants, Martin Luther King, Jr., Zora Neale Hurston, the list goes on. I am willing to accept that some of these things might have come about in one way or another despite the existence of slavery; I cannot fathom how so little has changed, particularly given how much slavery must have had an effect on these people and American culture. And that's where the story, despite its imaginative plot, shows it lacks much imagination at all. This is an opportunity to paint the world drastically different, to show how the United States could have been a backwards nation with little culture, secluded from the outside world that moves with swiftness into the future. Instead we have our same world, with that trivial issue of slavery nagging us. It's much like our own world, I guess. Slavery does still exist in some forms, even in the US. Yet, for many, its either unknown or a nuisance. It's something that might appear on the news, or might show up in a documentary as we flip through the television channels, stopping only for the briefest moment before we realize this isn't an adaptation of a Grisham novel. And maybe that's part of what's going on in Underground Airlines. Maybe life does go on while slavery rages. But really? “Northerners” playing Michael Jackson on their Samsung phone while driving around Indianapolis in their Nissan? That's just unimaginative.