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Sunday, May 27, 2012

'Bring Up the Bodies' continues Tudor tale

In this follow-up to Wolf Hall, Mantel tackles the tempestuous relationship between King Henry VIII and Ann Boleyn .

The very best thing about Hilary Mantel's Bring Up the Bodies: It doesn't end with Thomas Cromwell's thick neck on the chopping block after he loses Henry VIII's favor. Instead, there will be a third novel. Titled The Mirror and the Light, it will complete the story Mantel began with the sensational Wolf Hall, which won the 2009 Man Booker Prize.

Trying to convey the magic and majesty of these two Tudor-era novels leaves a reviewer burbling with superlatives. Riveting! A page-turner!

The funny part: The ending is no mystery. Henry the multi-married had the once-invaluable Cromwell beheaded in 1540. Nor is the subject — Tudor court sexcapades — unexplored in popular culture. Thanks to the TV miniseries The Tudors, movies like The Other Boleyn Girl and best sellers by Philippa Gregory, Alison Weir and the superb C.J. Sansom, it practically feels like TMZ has set up a videocam in Henry's bed chamber.

Mantel's secret is her ability to make the reader identify heart and soul with Cromwell. You want the blacksmith's son to rise in the world the same way you want Mario Puzo's Godfather to triumph. You simply don't care that the skill set required for their career advancement requires murder and corruption.

Cromwell rose to power thanks to three things. One: His extraordinary knowledge of how the world worked, which he gained as a mercenary in Europe. Two: An Einstein-level IQ. Cromwell wooed aristocrats and mentored the young and ambitious.

Most of all, he was ruthless. Cromwell's job description was simple: Keep Henry happy. No room for scruples at this palace.

The plot revolves around Henry's disenchantment with the bold but aging Anne Boleyn. Having broken with the Catholic Church and much of Europe in order to put Wife No. 2 on the throne and in his bed, Henry finds himself drawn to the demure Jane Seymour.

Read Wolf Hall first — it's non-negotiable in terms of understanding Bring Up the Bodies. And if you're someone who devours business books about snaring that corner office, you'll discover that Mantel's novel brims with timeless career advice about the grabbing and keeping of power, even though codpieces are no longer de rigueur.


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Thursday, May 24, 2012

Sheen and Estevez reflect in 'Along the Way'

It's refreshing to find a dual memoir between a father and son from the same profession that's so honest and cathartic. Veteran actor Martin Sheen and his eldest son, Emilio Estevez, the accomplished actor/filmmaker, reveal eerie, often ironic parallel journeys, both personally and professionally.

They've struggled as artists and fathers, and we come away with a deeper understanding of the sacrifices and compromises they've made in balancing craft and family. In many ways, they've actually grown up together during their remarkable relationship.

PHOTOS: Martin and Emilio's father-son 'journey'

Why, Sheen, 71, even remarks that he's known his son all of his life — that's how close they are. Even so, they differ in temperament and approach: Sheen throws caution to the wind and lives in the moment while Estevez is more cautious and takes the longer view.

This is exemplified in the beginning of the memoir when Estevez directs his father in The Way in 2009: a Spanish pilgrimage along the famed Camino de Santiago path, where Sheen's father grew up and near where Estevez's son has settled. The experience represents a culmination; the memoir then backtracks to tell each of their stories, alternating chapters and points of view.

Sheen grew up in Ohio as Estevez (his father was Spanish and mother Irish), but later changed his name in order to find work as a struggling New York actor. His first great success on stage was co-starring with Jack Albertson in The Subject Was Roses: a powerful father-son drama that Sheen still believes remains the best performance of his life. In fact, one of the highlights of the memoir occurs when Sheen recalls playing the climax squarely for his father in the audience. "I love you, Pop. I love you," he uncontrollably weeps.

Another revelation is when Estevez (who turns 50 on May 12) describes his father's drinking: "He acted as though alcohol gave him license to misbehave, when instead it made him unreasonable. It didn't make him stronger in my eyes. It made him look weak." In the subsequent chapter, Sheen concurs: "When I drank, I was an angry, terrible bore."

What's so fascinating about Along the Way is this insightful back and forth. Sheen confesses what a horrible father he was during the making of Francis Ford Coppola's legendary Apocalypse Now. He was at his most self-destructive during this Vietnam opus, which eventually led to a near-fatal heart attack. And Estevez admits how much he needed his father's attention when they were on location together in the Philippines.

Meanwhile, Estevez relates his own vices on the way to becoming part of the '80s "Brat Pack" generation (a gross misnomer, it turns out). Yet he overcomes his share of obstacles, too, in attaining satisfaction and enlightenment. Both father and son found inspiration in the life of Robert Kennedy, with Estevez writing, directing and co-starring with Sheen in Bobby, an ode to the charismatic and compassionate political figure in the wake of his assassination.

We learn how it brings father and son full circle.

As for Charlie Sheen, the bad boy of the family, he's alluded to tangentially but with well-placed irony. Sheen finds his climactic father-son showdown with Charlie in Wall Street poetic justice for really messing up as a father, while Estevez mentions how supportive his younger brother was when he lost focus scripting Bobby: "You need to change your environment and stop throwing parties," he lectured.

This cries out for a follow-up.

--

Bill Desowitz is the author of the forthcoming James Bond Unmasked.


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Wednesday, May 23, 2012

E.L. James basks in 'Fifty Shades' of sudden success

WASHINGTON – Halfway through a two-week tour to promote Fifty Shades of Grey, British author E.L. James is 50 shades of shellshocked about the supercharged success of her erotic trilogy.

E.L. James signs books at a Barnes & Noble in Bethesda, Md., while on a two-week tour. By Forrest MacCormack, for USA TODAY

E.L. James signs books at a Barnes & Noble in Bethesda, Md., while on a two-week tour.

By Forrest MacCormack, for USA TODAY

E.L. James signs books at a Barnes & Noble in Bethesda, Md., while on a two-week tour.

"It's really exhausting, and I find all the hoopla around it extraordinary," the fortysomething married mother of two teenage boys says in an interview with USA TODAY at the Mandarin Oriental hotel in the nation's capital. "But it's great to meet people who really love the books, just to say thanks, if nothing else, and just exchange a few words. I really enjoy that."

Thousands of fans have lined up in Miami, Chicago and Philadelphia to have copies of Fifty Shades autographed since James' book tour began in late April.

And it's not just books she's signing. Fans are asking her to sign gray neckties, T-shirts, even iPads, Nooks and Kindles. Police officers, she says, laughing, have had her autograph handcuffs.

'I'd rather be writing'

Despite all the fan enthusiasm, James (whose real name is Erika Leonard) says the depth of her newfound fame and fortune hasn't sunk in. "It's very strange," she says, brushing her brunette bangs off her forehead. "It's just that everything has happened so quickly. It's like it's happening to someone else. They've just been shipping out books like nobody's business."

And that's no overstatement. The erotic novels, about a virginal college student named Anastasia who enters a submissive sexual relationship with Christian Grey, a handsome young billionaire, were first published by a small Australian publisher last May, largely as e-books.

They became such hot properties — dubbed "Mommy porn" by some wags — that Vintage, a division of Random House, bought the rights.

In April, Vintage's paperback editions began selling here. In less than a month, Vintage has sold 3 million copies (digital and print) of the trilogy.

Fifty Shades of Grey, first in the series, is No. 1 on USA TODAY's Best-Selling Books list, a spot it's held for two weeks. They are best sellers in the U.K., Australia and New Zealand, and nearly three dozen other countries will be selling them in translation soon.

All the attention, James says, is sometimes overwhelming. "In New Haven (Conn.), I went into a room and there were about 1,000 women in there, and they all started applauding, and I started to cry. The response has been so extraordinary, so no, I'm not used to it yet. Part of me loves it, but I'd rather be at home writing."

James, a former BBC production executive, is beginning to understand what people like about the books.

"It's a combination of things. Fundamentally, people like a good love story. That's it," she says. "They like the sex as well. They love Christian Grey, a complicated, damaged, talented man. He's very capable and strong and domineering but broken. So he's a fixer-upper. I mean, it's a fantasy — the whole book — and so they bought into it and suspended their disbelief. Gone on a vacation really."

Stella Lee, 27, of Baltimore brought her husband, Nelson, with her to James' book signing at the Bethesda, Md., Barnes & Noble last week.

While waiting in line to meet James, she laughs and reveals she has read the series five times. "There's so much talk about the S & M, but it's just so romantic. The love between the characters is so endearing. I just love Christian Grey."

Robin Preston, 50, of Alexandria, Va., also waiting to have her books signed, says the series "consumed" her. "I fell in love with the characters. I'm not much of a fiction reader, but this kept my interest. I could not put them down."

And how James came to write her famous erotic trilogy is equally fantastic.

After reading Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series, about a high school girl who falls in love with a handsome vampire, James began writing fan fiction about Edward and Bella, the Twilight protagonists.

But it was far less chaste than anything Meyer ever wrote. "It was very sexy," James says, and the story of Christian and Anastasia is basically that fan fiction. "I had to tone it down and alter certain bits of it for publication, but fundamentally, it's the same sort of story."

Fever-pitch excitement for the novels heated up more after Universal and Focus Features bought the movie rights. As for who she thinks would be the perfect on-screen Christian and Anastasia, James will say only, "I'm keeping very quiet about all of that."

Don't ask, don't tell

She's also deflecting questions about whether she and her husband have experience with domination — "I've a little bit of experience, but I think that's mostly between me and my husband" — and says most of her research for the books was done on the Internet, "but also just thinking things through in my head."

She also knows she's influencing the sex lives of her fans.

"Yes, oh, God, yes. They say: 'You've really spiced up my marriage. Thank you very much, and my husband thanks you, too.' Of the thousands of e-mails I get, that's the main tenet. I get so many lovely e-mails. I think it's great. I say go for it. I think that's wonderful."

But she's not, she says, "making any huge statements" about lifestyle. "It's about having fun. What people get up to in the bedroom is entirely their own thing, and as long as it's safe, sane and consensual — those are the watch words of the BDSM (bondage, discipline, sadism, masochism) community — who are we to judge?"

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'Wild Things' author Maurice Sendak dies

In the world of children's picture books, where cute and cuddly know few limits, Maurice Sendak was neither.

Maurice Sendak at home in Ridgefield, Conn., in 2005 with his dog, Herman. By Todd Plitt, USA TODAY

Maurice Sendak at home in Ridgefield, Conn., in 2005 with his dog, Herman.

By Todd Plitt, USA TODAY

Maurice Sendak at home in Ridgefield, Conn., in 2005 with his dog, Herman.

Sendak, the author and illustrator best known for his 1963 classic, Where the Wild Things Are, died Tuesday at 83 in Danbury, Conn., after complications from a stroke.

He leaves behind no survivors, just millions of readers from several generations who were amused, scared and inspired by his work.

"He was the pre-eminent children's book artist of the last half-century," says Leonard Marcus, author of Show Me a Story! Why Picture Books Matter. "He can be said to have been the first picture book artist to draw insight and inspiration from the work of Freud."

In his books, from In The Night Kitchen (1970), which shocked some by its youthful nudity, to Bumble-Ardy (2011), about an orphaned pig whose parents were eaten, "he showed, more candidly than any picture book artist had previously done that young children are a tangle of vulnerability and resilience," Marcus says. "And his books continue to show children that their resilient side can win out."

Lisa Von Drasek, director of the Center for Children's Literature at Bank Street College of Education in New York, says: "Sendak smashed the perception of childhood as a time of pleasantness, a time of unicorns and rainbows, sweetness and light. He appalled the 'gatekeepers' of the time who said he was too scary."

But, she says, "his joyful sketches reflect everyday childhood."

Sendak called Max, the mischievous boy who imagines a land of monsters in Wild Things, "a rotten kid."

Which is part of the appeal. Author Dave Eggers, who worked with Sendak on the 2009 film adaptation of Wild Things, recalls his mother reading the book to him when he was a toddler: "I was really scared by it. I was used to tidier narratives with a clear message of who's good and who's bad. But Sendak's monsters weren't simple or cute."

At 7, Eggers started "writing and illustrating my own stories, and they involved a boy who befriended monsters who were misunderstood. I was always into monsters, but nobody did them better than Sendak."

Parents and other readers reacted on Facebook and Twitter:

Uhura Russ: "R.I.P. Maurice Sendak!!! A joy to read your books during my childhood and a joy to see you on the Colbert Report in my adulthood!"

Diana Abu Jaber: "My toddler went as Wild Thing for Halloween. She perfected her roar. To our dismay."

Chuy Gonzalez: "I was a little boy 35 years ago. … I was scared and drawn to Where the Wild Things Are at the same time. It's probably the only book I remember fondly from my youth."

Tom Romano: "Where the Wild Things Are helped get me through an abusive childhood. I escaped repeatedly to Sendak's magical land where I could be King."

The son of Jewish immigrants, Sendak said his earliest influences were the Holocaust and the 1923 kipnapping of Charles Lindbergh's infant son. "Here was a rich, gentile child, and he couldn't make it," Sendak said. "How was I, a poor Jewish child, going to manage?"

His first job in 1948 was as a 20-year-old window dresser at FAO Schwarz, the famous Manhattan toy store, which also sold books. He said he spent a lot of time reading while hiding in the back room.

But the manager recognized Sendak's artistic talents and introduced him to an "angel," Ursula Nordstrom, a children's book editor who worked with author Ruth Krauss. That is how Krauss spotted Sendak's artwork on Nordstrom's desk and how, in 1952, Sendak came to illustrate Krauss' A Hole Is to Dig.

It was Sendak's big career break and the start of a lifelong friendship with Krauss and her husband, illustrator Crockett Johnson (Harold and the Purple Crayon).

"They knocked all the conventional stuff out of my head," Sendak said. "They were the divine parents I wanted to have."

They also helped him with Where the Wild Things Are. "It was like Max was our love child," he said.

In person, he was gruff. At a 2005 interview at his home in Ridgefield, Conn., he introduced his German shepherd, Herman.

Named for Melville, one of Sendak's literary influences?

"Of course," Sendak shot back. "What did you think, Goering?"

He publicly acknowledged being gay only after the death in 2007 of his longtime partner, psychoanalyst Eugene Glynn.

He said he never wanted to be a parent: "I never wanted the obligations. I don't think I'd be good at it. I'd be in the studio too much, or I'd want to be in the studio … and how could you live with that kind of failure?"

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Monday, May 21, 2012

New novel 'Home' brings Toni Morrison back to Ohio

OBERLIN, Ohio – At 81, Toni Morrison, who's won the Nobel Prize for her novels about the sorrows and joys of African-American life, has a new book and a new hip.

Toni Morrison, whose new novel is out Tuesday, is also one of 13 recipients of this year's Presidential Medal of Freedom, the highest civilian honor. By Thibault Camus, AP

Toni Morrison, whose new novel is out Tuesday, is also one of 13 recipients of this year's Presidential Medal of Freedom, the highest civilian honor.

By Thibault Camus, AP

Toni Morrison, whose new novel is out Tuesday, is also one of 13 recipients of this year's Presidential Medal of Freedom, the highest civilian honor.

Her 10th novel, Home (Knopf, $24), released Tuesday, features an angry and troubled black Korean War veteran in the 1950s. It's set mostly in Georgia, where Morrison has never lived. But it's brought her from her home in New York back to Ohio, where she was born and raised.

In an interview during a three-day visit to Oberlin College, she says that despite a hip replacement, her back is "problematic." Her diagnosis: "Two little discs seem to be engaged or something." She gets around by wheelchair or supported on the arms of others.

Her dreadlocked hair, tucked under a scarf, is gray, almost silver. But her voice remains strong. At Oberlin, where she previewed Home in March, Morrison has unconventional advice for the adoring and cheering students who fill all 1,200 seats in the college chapel:

"People say to write about what you know," she says. "I'm here to tell you, no one wants to read that, 'cause you don't know anything."

In 1989, Toni Morrison explained why she wrote Beloved, her Pulitzer Prize-winning novel inspired by a 19th-century black mother who killed her daughter rather than see her grow up enslaved:

“There is no place you or I can go, to think about or not think about, to summon the presences of, or recollect the absences of slaves; nothing that reminds us of the ones who made the journey and of those who did not make it. There is no suitable memorial or plaque or wreath or wall or part of skyscraper lobby. There’s no 300-foot tower. There’s no small bench by the road...And because such a place doesn’t exist…the book had to.”

Those words inspired The Toni Morrison Society, a group of scholars and fans, to begin The Bench by the Road Project. It places 6-foot-long metal benches with plaques quoting Morrison at sites important in African-American history.

In 2008, the first bench was placed on Sullivan’s Island, S.C., a point of entry for slaves. In 2009, the second was installed in the town square in Oberlin, Ohio, a stop on the Underground Railroad and an abolitionist stronghold before the Civil War. There are now six benches, with more planned.

“It’s never too late to honor the dead,” says Morrison. She loves the fact that even in an age of new museums about civil rights and slavery, “they are real, unpretentious benches. You can sit on them. And at my age (81), I’m always looking for a place to sit down.”

The students laugh. Morrison smiles and adds, "So write about something you don't know. And don't be scared, ever."

No contemporary novelist is more celebrated by both scholars and everyday readers. Her best-known work, Beloved, which won the Pulitzer Prize in 1988, was inspired by a real-life escaped slave who killed her daughter rather than return her to slavery. (Oprah Winfrey starred in the 1998 movie.)

In 1993, Morrison became the first black woman to win the Nobel Prize for Literature. No American has won since, which she can't explain, although she asks, "Philip Roth is still alive, isn't he?" (He is; the Nobel is awarded only to the living.)

She was born and raised in Lorain, an industrial city filled with immigrants from Poland or Czechoslovakia or, like her grandparents, from the South. It's 9 miles and a world away from the inviting college town of Oberlin.

As an honors graduate of Lorain High School (class of 1949), she says she could have attended Oberlin, which boasts on road signs into town of being the first college "to welcome male and female students of all races," starting in 1835.

"But Oberlin would have been too close to home," Morrison says. "Someone would have been telling me what to do."

Finding answers

Instead, she attended Howard University, the historically black college in Washington, D.C., where for the first time, she saw signs downtown separating "colored" and "white." And at Howard, she learned of the divisions among blacks, between poor and rich, between dark- and light-skinned, which would become themes in her novels.

Her own family was "poor," she says, "but we were never degraded." Her dad, who assumed "all whites were unredeemable," worked as a welder, among other jobs. Her mother, "the most non-racist person I knew," worked as a restroom attendant "so she could send me $5 a week when I was at Howard. Back then, that made a difference."

Morrison, who worked as an editor at Random House from 1967 to 1983, says she has followed her own advice to write about what you don't know: "I write to find out something. I write with questions in mind. 'What would it feel like if …' Or, 'What would happen if…' "

The plots are simple to construct, she says. "The characters are complex." She says they talk to her, like ghosts: "On a good day, they shut up and let me work."

In Home, told from multiple viewpoints, she does something she's never done before.

Her main character, Frank "Smart" Money, who harbors a terrible secret from Korea, talks back to the author, challenging what she knows and doesn't.

Money is summoned home to Georgia, to a "no-count, not-even-a-town place," to save his naive sister, Cee, who's been abused by a white doctor. That part of her plot was inspired by Harriet Washington's 2007 book, Medical Apartheid: The Dark History of Medical Experimentation on Black Americans From Colonial Times to the Present.

Morrison's novels, which often blend reality and myth, arise from her imagination and research. They are not autobiographical. One book she won't write is a memoir. She's canceled plans to do so after deciding, "A) I don't remember everything anymore, and B) as a subject to write about, I'm not that interesting to myself. I'm more interested in my imagination. Fiction is my place."

On Lorain, Obama, Oprah

That doesn't surprise Carolyn Denard, a dean at Emory University in Atlanta and president of the Toni Morrison Society, a group of 600 scholars and fans. "She has been so generous with her life story in appearances and in countless interviews," Denard says. "And she has now written 10 novels. She has always told me that everything we need to know about her is there — in the works."

Morrison doesn't discuss her 1964 divorce from Harold Morrison, a Jamaican architect she met at Howard. (As a single mother, she raised two sons. Ford, 50, is an architect in Princeton, N.J., where his mother used to teach. Slade was an artist and illustrator, who collaborated with his mother on several children's books and died in 2010 at 45 from pancreatic cancer.)

But in an interview, on a variety of topics, she's funny and biting:

•Growing up in Lorain: "All those immigrants. I thought it was typical. It helped me feel comfortable in the world at large. There wasn't a ghetto sensibility."

•Her mother: "Whenever a new place or store would open in Lorain, she would go just to check it out and see how we were treated. When the Dreamland movie theater opened, all the black kids sat on the left side. My mother deliberately made us sit on the right side. I was furious because my friends were on the other side. But my mother wanted to make a point."

•President Obama: "As good as it gets … I think what drives some of his critics is not that he's black, but that he's such a smart, articulate black … and that causes all this vulgarity about his birth certificate or the Muslim thing." She's "thrilled" that she's one of 13 recipients of this year's Presidential Medal of Freedom, the highest civilian honor, and is eager to meet Obama for the first time at a White House ceremony to be scheduled soon.

•E-books: She likes reading books on her iPad — to a degree. She recently found that Hilary Mantel's 2009 novel, Wolf Hall, set in Henry VIII's England, "was so good, I had to go buy the book book, or whatever it's called now. When I like a book, I want to add my notes. Exclamation points! And questions marks! I want to corrupt it with my responses."

•Her friendship with Winfrey: "I adore her. She sends me flowers every year on my birthday. She did what they said was impossible: She used TV to get people to read books." (Morrison says Winfrey's embrace of three of her novels, Song of Solomon, Paradise and Sula, did more for her sales than the Nobel Prize ever did.)

But no, Morrison hasn't urged Winfrey to revive her televised book club. "We stay friends because I don't ask her for anything. Everyone else does." (Winfrey likes to say that when she told Morrison she often has to reread parts of her novels to understand them, Morrison replied, "That, my dear, is reading.")

•Home as a place: These days, it's mostly Morrison's riverfront house in Grand View-on-Hudson, N.Y., which lives up to its name, 20 miles north of Manhattan on the west bank of the Hudson. "I love the river. As a girl, I loved Lake Erie. There's something about water."

•Home, her new novel, set in the '50s: "I wanted to rip the scab off that period. There's all this Leave It to Beaver nostalgia. That it was all comfortable and happy and everyone had a job. Oh, please. There was violent racism. There was (Joe) McCarthy. There was this horrible war we didn't call a war, where 58,000 people died."

•The length of her new novel (just 147 pages): "Some reviewers say it's too short. They used to say my novels were too long. Someone called it a novella. What's the ella? It's a novel. The better I can do with less is more."

The reviews have been generally good: Entertainment Weekly (A-) and People (four stars) loved it, but The Los Angeles Times called it a "thin book with some beautiful writing."

The dedication page on Home reads simply "Slade," her son who died.

"Sometimes you just don't have any words," she says. "Sometimes, it's just clichés and tired old words, and there's nothing really to say."

After a long pause, Morrison adds two words about her son: "He knows."

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Sunday, May 20, 2012

Five questions: Andy Cohen of Bravo

Bravo TV personality Andy Cohen shares his tales of success and embarrassment in Most Talkative (Henry Holt, $25). Cohen, 43, chatted

Andy Cohen's new book is entitled 'Most Talkative.'

Andy Cohen's new book is entitled 'Most Talkative.'

Andy Cohen's new book is entitled 'Most Talkative.'

with USA TODAY.

1. In high school, you were voted "most talkative and biggest gossip." What superlative would friends give you today?

Most talkative and biggest gossip.

2. How would you describe the book?

There's some good dish on the Housewives, but mostly it's the story of how a gay closeted kid from St. Louis who grew up an inch away from TV wound up making and being on TV. It's a dream come true.

3. You reread old journals for research?

There were lots of stories about how my mouth has gotten me into trouble. There was a time when I was an intern at CBS News and someone pulled me aside to tell me to "tone it down." I was just like, well, this is hilarious.

4. Dream guest on Watch What Happens Live?

A great female politician like Hillary Clinton or Michelle Obama or

Sarah Palin.

5. What advice do you want to give readers?

Follow your passion. Be yourself, but check yourself before you wreck

yourself.

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Saturday, May 19, 2012

'Midnight in Peking' is a riveting murder tale

Subtitle: "How the Murder of a Young Englishwoman Haunted the Last Days of Old China".

On a cold Peking morning in 1937, a man named Chang Pao-chen was taking his caged songbird for a walk when he discovered the mutilated body of a 19-year old British girl. She was Pamela Werner. Her father, a distinguished diplomat and scholar of Chinese dialects, had been searching for her with increasing alarm since she failed to return from ice skating with a friend the evening before.

Bodies fall every day. What makes this one's tale worth telling, as Paul French does with a police procedural's efficiency in Midnight in Peking, is the songbird, that essential dose of cultural strangeness that can lift narratives of murder above the plainspoken fray of the true- crime genre.

French's setting is the Legation Quarter, a walled and gated scrap of Peking where between the wars a few thousand Westerners lived as they would have back home, surrounded by bars, department stores and cinemas — almost in a mirrored version of the Forbidden City.

Pamela's murder forced these adjacent but unmixed worlds together. Two detectives, Colonel Han and the Scotland Yard-trained Richard Dennis, paired to take the case, interrogating rickshaw drivers, her school friends, and, eventually, a bizarre cabal of men interested in the uncommon joint pursuits of nudism and hunting.

This makes for fairly interesting reading until the book's final 75 pages. Then it becomes riveting. That is when Pamela's father initiates his own, obsessive investigation, hiring Chinese detectives and bombarding the recalcitrant Foreign Office in London with memos.

Some books falter when they "solve" a cold case (the otherwise admirable The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher, by Kate Summerscale, comes to mind) but this book's solution, when it arrives, is persuasive and disturbing, and several small clues, scattered early on to be gathered by astute readers, click agreeably into place.

Unfortunately French is a careless writer, prone to cliché and moralizing. More seriously, the historical context in which he attempts to locate Pamela's murder, the "last days" of old China, never seems particularly relevant to her death. As a result, Midnight in Peking doesn't rise to the level of the best work of Erik Larson or John Berendt, both writers who understood murder as the single event that most starkly reveals a subculture's demons, but who found, in the Chicago World's Fair and phantasmagoric Savannah, more resonant milieus.

Almost inadvertently, however, the book offers a subtler idea: that the years before Pearl Harbor were the last time China would ever seem so immeasurably remote from Western life. By 1945 television, airplanes, and war had made Asia familiar. And now, had she lived, Pamela Werner, who would be 94 years old, could probably find video of Chinese men walking their songbirds online.

--

Charles Finch is the author of A Burial at Sea.


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