Geraldine Brooks' explanation of the end of Year of Wonders

So a few weeks back, Geraldine Brooks came to Lexington with her husband Tony Horowitz (who is also an award-winning author) to talk about historical writing. Most of their presentation was a question and answer period, and I took the chance to express my disappointment with the character assassination of Rector Mompellion at the end of Year of Wonders. I asked whether she just got to the end and needed some resolution, or if she'd planned the twist all along.

Her response was essentially that it had nothing to do with the Reverend. Rather, she wanted Elizabeth to end up in a warm, happy place. And that wasn't possible in the town of Eyam, because (remaining true to the historic record) the town would be essentially desolate for the next 100 years. So she needed some vehicle to drive Elizabeth away, and chose one she felt was most consistent with the rest of the novel. The actual account of her ship being captured by pirates and her being taken captive to the Barbary coast is also based on the historic account of two sisters who set out from Ireland and ended up being sold for slaves in Northern Africa (thanks to their ship being captured by pirates). But, due to their ability as healers, they were accorded positions of honor within the household of a wealthy merchant in the area.

Anyway, just thought it was interesting. It was clear, after listing to Ms. Brooks talking about her books for an evening, that she's a very thoughtful and intelligent and conscientious author, but that what she put into Year of Wonders was quite different from what I got out of it.

1. What lesson(s) are to be learned from this book?

The lesson I liked best (not necessarily the one Brooks' meant for us to learn) was the admirable ways in which the Mompellions faced the challenges of living in isolation. That the right way to meet adversity is through increasing how much you give.

2. why do we isolate ourselves

Trust. Sometimes for good reasons, sometimes for bad, but it's always because we don't trust others. A lot of my technical research recently has focused on how social networks are structured, and something I've noticed just recently is that two similar networks can be very different in how quickly changes in one place effect people in another (cf. homophily). As the modularity (i.e. isolation) of the network increases, so does the time it takes for things to propagate from one node to all the others. This is great if the "thing" is a disease, but less great if the "thing" is an idea or innovation.

3. freedom lost with marriage?

Riffing off my response to the previous question, we always lose freedom when we chose to trust. The more we depend on others, and allow them to depend on us, the more constrained by responsibility our actions become. For me personally, I agree with Alvin that I felt a greater loss of freedom with children than with marriage; I think that's because a parent's relationship with their children is asymmetric, while a marriage relationship is more symmetric.

Thinking about my grandparents, I'm impressed by the example of my Grandmother Jones. Grandpa became an invalid around the time he was 45 as a result of some kind of muscular dystrophy. Grandma took on the care of my Grandpa and the material support of the family. For 40 years, she gave he time and energy (and freedom) to supporting and caring for my Grandpa. So, in some circumstances a marriage can represent a huge loss of freedom. But with the added responsibility came a sense of purpose and a "gaining her own life" even to the point that when Grandpa died and Grandma lost that purpose, her quality of life deteriorated. Of course, I may be misremembering things, since they both died before I was an adult, but I would say that the loss of freedom was more than compensated by an increase in purpose and fulfillment.

4. How did your view of the rector change after you learned the secrets of his marriage?

My view of the rector had already changed so dramatically as a result of his sexualizing his relationship with Anna that the chaste marriage didn't phase me much.

5. why do some trials seem to erode faith in some people and build faith for others

The pride cycle tends to indicate that trials will generally lead to greater reliance on the Lord (interesting considering Alvin's point about none of the town inhabitants being stengthened in their faith due to the trial). But such strengthening will only persist if it is further established by the testimony of the Holy Ghost. In this way, trials are similar to miracles, and all other non-Holy Ghost-based evidences; they may lead one to greater faith, but that increased faith will dissipate rapidly with the ending of the trial (or miracle) if it isn't accompanied by the deeper spiritual evidences that the Spirit brings.

As for why some people react one way to trials, and others in another, I think it's due to models we have of the world. If we have a model that God loves us and won't allow us to suffer, trials are likely to lead to a decrease in faith. If we believe that God loves us but that suffering is part of his plan, trials may lead to an increase in faith. Having the correct model is the key (it's all about the conditional distribution in Bayes' rule).

6. what are your thoughts about the mental and spiritual unravelling of the village over the course of the year

I was actually surprised there wasn't a greater degree of unraveling. The bulk of the village continued as they had been; in a few instances, anti-social behavior increased. But by in large I think Brooks underestimated the degree to which isolation, and the hopelessness resulting from the seemingly unstoppable plague, would have led to a wholesale break-down in the social fabric of the community. I would have expected a lot more lawlessness.

7. what do you say to those who are mourning?

One of my favorite scenes in the movies I've recently watched was in Lars and the Real Girl (very nice movie, for those looking for something quirky and independent), in which after a tragedy the people of this small town (Minnesotan? North Dakotan?) come to sit with the protagonist. Here's an excerpt from the dialogue:

Hazel: Well that's how life is, Lars.
Mrs. Gruner: Everything at once.
Sally: We brought casseroles.
Lars Lindstrom: Thank you.
Lars Lindstrom: [Lars looks around the sewing circle. The three ladies are knitting and doing needlepoint] Um, is there something I should be doing right now?
Mrs. Gruner: No, dear. You eat.
Sally: We came over to sit.
Hazel: That's what people do when tragedy strikes.
Sally: They come over, and sit.

I really liked this, because I think it emphasizes that there's seldom anything to be said in times of sorrow and loss. Often, the only thing to be done is to sit, to hold a hand, to bring a casserole, and to let those who are grieving know you care through giving your time and attention.

8. why the epilogue? The story would have ended well for me with her galloping away from the village on the horse.

The story would have ended better for me if it had stopped before Anna and Mompellion's relationship became sexual. I felt that the flow of the story after that point had a very different voice than before; I think Brooks wanted to end with a message about liberation, but I don't think the message was continuous with the rest of the novel.

Charitably, I can view the novel as a metaphor for a pessimistic view (IMO) of human development. We grow upin awe of our parents (the Mompellions, in this metaphor); whatever they ask, we do (except those rebellious older siblings, the Bradfords). But eventually we awaken to our own individuality, our own desires (in this sense Elinor's death can be seen as being Freudian) and our parents' fallabiility. Eventually we make our own way in the world.

But if I were to rewrite the last 70 or so pages, I would de-sexualize the Anna/Mompellion relationship but maintain their mutual attraction, particularly following her shaking him out of her stupor. I would keep her riding away with the child, which would be truly tragic because of the nascent love between her & Mompellion. And she would still have to avoid any further contact with the village, and so would sacrifice her love to save a life. If there were an epilogue, it would be her living in Italy and unexpectedly uncountering the rector from the next village over, who doesn't recognize her but visits as two Englishmen abroad. In the course of their chatting, he would reveal that Mompellion led the town still, but that despite his faithfulness his heart seemed far away. The rector would presume it was because of the loss of Elinor, but Anna would know the truth. This is all romantic to the point of being maudlin, but I think it would have been a more satisfying ending for me personally.

S'Wonderful

I thought the book flowed well until the last 50 pages.  I thought that the author suspended a lot of deep thoughts until this point, and then I was bombarded with questions. Some of mine were similar to Glenn's.  I'm not sure, but this possibly had to do with the fact that I took Glenn's advice and skipped the sex scene at the end...

Sanctity of the Family (questions 4 and 5)
The rector committed fornication with Anna, but it didn't seem to me that he felt particularly bad about it (maybe I missed that part, maybe it was because he had lost faith). She didn't feel bad either until she learned that he had never known his wife. I could be a prude, but not only did I find this less believable in a medieval setting, I was upset that sex was so unsacred. To paraphrase, it became as her friend had mentioned earlier, like two travelers stopping for a good meal. Am I alone in my prudery? Am I unfair in my expectation for a husband to honor his wife at least a few months after her death? Or was that the point—that he had really sunk that low?

I felt like the author implied a few times that the creation of life was good, regardless of the means, and destruction of life is bad, regardless of the reason. While the plague certainly would lead a post-plaguer to believe this way, I was left with a bad taste in my mouth. We just had a stake conference where the General authority spent an hour or so on the Proclamation. My favorite line is “Children are entitled” to be born to a husband and a wife that love each other. In light of the Church's position on chastity, family, abortion, adoption, etc. how important is the creation/destruction of life?

Suffering (question 6)
What does prolonged suffering do to us? Like Glenn mentioned, we're told we won't be tempted above that which we can bear. I don't know that the same applies to temporal suffering—I mean, the duration and the intensity is limited by our mortality. We can only suffer until we die. It seems, however, that some people are capable of suffering through really hard things, others through long periods of time. The rector was capable of suffering with his town until he suffered a personal loss.

Atonement
What about atonement? Joseph Fielding Smith has some interesting things to say about Atonement in Doctrines of Salvation regarding taking a life. I gathered that the Rector had a different albeit harsh take on that. What do you think are the penalties for taking a life? I'm not planning on killing anyone, but I think its an interesting doctrinal question.

Beware the Plague (and 20th century ideas in a 17th century book)

Plagues have been a theme in my entertainment lately. First, I listened to this book. Then in the Lies My Teacher Told Me book, the author talks about the plagues that wiped out 90% of several Native American tribes. In fact, that's how the Pilgrims were able to survive. They took over the land that had already been cleared by a tribe that got wiped out, calling the destruction of the Indians a sign/blessing from God. Then, for Halloween we watched I Am Legend, where the entire planet gets wiped out by a plague.

This was a good book, and it had all of the elements (dramatic setting, likable characters, good writing) to have been a truly great book. Unfortunately, the author made what I felt were some poor choices with the characters and plot lines, as you'll see from my answers to Glenn's questions.

1. What lesson(s) are to be learned from this book?

I thought it was an interesting look at faith and why we believe.

2. why do we isolate ourselves

I was disappointed that the book didn't do more to explore the motives and problems with the agreement to isolate themselves. It seemed like that was the premise of the whole book (from reading the back), but the decision to isolate themselves was quickly dismissed as not a big deal for anyone besides the rich family because no one else had anywhere to go.

3. freedom lost with marriage?

In my experience, freedom isn't lost with marriage. It's lost with children. Not that I regret having children, but I think they restrict what I can and can't do much more than my wife.

This was all part of the feminist angle of this book. Not only does the male turn out to secretly be a scumbag, but Anna is a superwoman. The 17th century peasant woman goes from illiterate to being able to read Latin and turns out to have an incredible gift for description (as all of the lovely description is part of a 1st person narrative). Then she becomes an expert in alternative medicine, mines lead, delivers babies, rides off on a horse, travels the world, and successfully raises a child while having a career as a medical researcher. Year of wonders indeed!

4. How did your view of the rector change after you learned the secrets of his marriage?

I was disappointed in his sudden loss of faith and the quickness with which he began to go against everything he had believed in, but I don't think the secrets of his marriage made me think less of him. While I didn't agree with his approach of withholding his love from Elinor to help her repent from her sins, it showed remarkable self-discipline and ability to do what he thought was right. It showed that God was more important to him (at least in how he portrayed himself to his wife) than his love/desire for his wife. While the plague and the loss of his wife would obviously have been devastating, he did just have a spiritual experience, as he believed God told him to burn everything to get rid of the plague. As the rector was based on a historical character that was by all accounts completely good and virtuous, I thought it was unfortunate that he lost his faith and virtue in the end of the fictional account.

5. why do some trials seem to erode faith in some people and build faith for others?

I thought this was the most interesting theme. Some of the villagers became more superstitious and believing in witchcraft, while others sought answers in self-flagellation. I imagined all of these scenarios being likely and plausible in an uneducated 17th century town. I was OK with Anna's decision to believe in science instead of religion. Again, I guess I just didn't like that the pastor went astray. Thus, the book didn't portray a single rational person increasing in faith because of tragedy (as with the early Saints) but assumed that tragedy of the magnitude of the plague would erode the faith of all rational people. Life is a refiner's fire. It will weed out the weak and make the strong even stronger.

6. what are your thoughts about the mental and spiritual unravelling of the village over the course of the year

I liked the variety of reactions to the plague, and I thought this was well done.

7. what do you say to those who are mourning?

Tough to give a general answer to a personal question. Glenn, I would love to hear your wife's comments if she has some insight on the subject.

8. why the epilogue? The story would have ended well for me with her galloping away from the village on the horse.

I went to Amazon to read some reviews, as I was having trouble remembering everything that had happened in the book. (I'm only 30 and can't remember a book for a month. This is bad.) Lots of reviewers had issues with the ending of the book.

In summary, I enjoyed the book, and it gave me lots of things to ponder. However, it pushed the feminist, anti-religion angle just a bit too hard to be a great book.

A book for pessimists?

Happy Halloween, my friends.
I finished the book quite a while ago and haven't gone back to it since, though I have thought about it from time to time. I thought the author was quite skilled with her descriptive language, which made things quite enjoyable as she described the land and people, but made things almost unbearable as she described the ravages of the plague. I don't have a whole lot to say about the book, so I guess I'll list some questions that I had as I read the novel, and then I'll offer up my own answers.

1. What lesson(s) are to be learned from this book?
2. why do we isolate ourselves
3. freedom lost with marriage?
4. How did your view of the rector change after you learned the secrets of his marriage?
5. why do some trials seem to erode faith in some people and build faith for others?
6. what are your thoughts about the mental and spiritual unravelling of the village over the course of the year
7. what do you say to those who are mourning?
8. why the epilogue? The story would have ended well for me with her galloping away from the village on the horse.

1. I think the lessons I learned from the book are primarily found in the questions I listed.
2. I think that people usually isolate themselves because of fear, to protect themselves from others. Interesting that in this book the village agreed to the isolation in order to protect other villages from themselves, though there were characters that isolated themselves from others within the village.
3. One of the Gowdie ladies talked to Anna about marriage, essentially saying that she didn't want to marry because she didn't want to lose the freedoms she enjoyed. Of course, women probably had fewer freedoms in that time period; interesting though that the women characters were some of the strongest in the village. And though there may have been different reasons in the dark ages for marriage to be viewed by some as an end to certain freedoms, there are probably some people today that feel that "the ol' ball and chain" is figurative but well representative. Marriage back then probably could have potentially given women greater security, if they were wise in whom they chose to marry. Likewise, the careful choice of a spouse in our times is important, though I think patience, humility, and communication are perhaps even more important.
4. Speaking of marriage, the relationship between the rector and his wife was a surprising one. Many parts of the book gave me the impression that he truly loved his wife, while the revelation of their marriage and how he viewed her made it seem like an abusive relationship. But I had already lost most of my respect for the rector by that point in the story. I wonder if Elinor felt trapped in the marriage.
5. Trials and faith. I think a lot of how people react to trials is due to how they have unknowingly prepared themselves for the trial. I also wonder if pride or ill-formed preconceived notions (fatal optimism?) set them up for a harder fall than those who are humble and/or prepare for the worst. One last thought here: the scriptures tell us that we will not be tempted above what we are able to bear.
6. I think part of the mental and spiritual degradation of the people is related to the topic in question #5. I also think that an awful lot of fear and ignorance and paranoia poisoned the mental and spiritual health of the people.
7. This is a difficult one. My wife lost her dad while she was a senior in high school, in fact he practically died in her arms. Needless to say, I think she is better qualified to answer this question than I am. I am grateful for the knowledge of God's plan. We still mourn the loss of our loved ones, but as Joseph Smith said, "We do not mourn as those without hope."
8. I think the ending was dragged out further than it needed to. I had the same problem with the movie "Second Hand Lions." Perhaps the author had a clear purpose for the ending, but I just didn't get it.

Overall, I enjoyed the book, it had some greatly developed characters and some wonderful imagery through language. The emotion of it was a little heavy at times and had me feeling sorrowful. I think it is a good book, but I'm not sure it's one that I will plan on reading again.
Tell me what you think.

Year of Wonders: Warning

I finished September's book yesterday and October's book today. As I had mentioned in the previous post, I had borrowed the audio version from the library, and it didn't take too long to finish it while walking the dog, commuting to school, working in the yard, etc. Being responsible for the content of the book, I wanted to finish the book early and be able to give warning if need be, as Paul did for State of Fear. I'm glad I did. I may be ruining the book for some, or perhaps jumping the gun a month early by sharing some of my feelings about the book, but it seems appropriate to me.

Two years ago I read Lost Boys by Orson Scott Card. At the end of the novel I felt cheated, betrayed, and disturbed, especially because I am a parent. This book caused me similar emotional strain, especially because I am human. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the book, but like the atrocities of the Nephites in chapter 9 of Moroni, certain images from Years of Wonder shook me.

One more point of disclosure. While Geraldine Brooks was for the most part tactful when writing about matters of a sexual nature, two scenes very near the end of the book read similar to what I imagine a romance novel to be. For those of you listening to the audiobook, as I did, if you stop after track 1 of disc 9 and pick up again at 1 min 55 sec into track 5, you will avoid the worst of it while not really losing anything in the story. I used the "Search Inside" feature on Amazon.com to figure out what pages correlate with that section of the audiobook: stop at the end of page 274 and pick up again at 279.

...can't wait for the discussion on this one.

October's book(s), part II

After reading the first chapter of the Film Club and flipping randomly through the rest of the book, I was disappointed, but perhaps not surprised, at the content and attitude of the book; while I am glad the author has a relationship with his son that fosters open communication, I don't think he should be telling his son that it's OK to $@#% a girl as long as he doesn't get her pregnant. It shouldn't be difficult to find thought provoking books devoid of profanity and vulgarity, but this book and one other that I had tried to read last year (The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time) seemed determined to challenge that idea. So as much as I looked forward to discuss parenting styles, I am instead formally proposing Geraldine Brooks' first novel, Year of Wonders. I have already listened to the first chapter (the reader of the audio version does a wonderful job, Alvin) and am completely wrapped up in the beauty the author can paint from such a bleak point in history.
Enjoy.