Michael Cunningham - Specimen Days

Michael Cunningham's Specimen DaysI absolutely adored Cunningham's The Hours, and couldn't wait to read another book by Cunningham. And then - then I saw the cover of this one, and I was in love! I knew I just had to read the book. And so, I did. Essentially, Specimen Days is a collection of three novellas, as opposed to one novel. Like The Hours, there are three inter-linked stories, and like The Hours, a famous literary persona makes an appearance (in this case, it's Walt Whitman).

However, unlike The Hours, this novel is set in entirety in New York, and it's set across time. The first story goes back to the era when Whitman was still alive, during the time of the Industrial Revolution; the second story is almost current-day set in a post 9-11 New York haunted by terrorist threads and the final story is set in a futuristic society of half-humans and aliens.

In an almost Cloud Atlas-esque fashion though, the protagonists across the stories seem to be re-incarnations of themselves. There's Simon and Catherine (Cat, Catareen) as the two adults and Lucas (Luke) as the adolescent. A bowl makes a reappearance across the ages as well, as does the poetry of Walt Whitman.

The first story, In The Machine, is set during the time of the Industrial Revolution (nineteenth century), where Lucas, a young boy, starts working in the factory where a terrible accident led to his brother's unfortunate demise. Lucas, who spouts Whitman (a present-day poet at the time) incessantly, reaches the haunting conclusion that the machines are evil and are trying to pull the living in, as they did to his older brother (Simon). His innocence and adamance is almost heart-breaking as he tries to convince Simon's fiancee, Catharine, to stay away from the "machine."

And then we move to The Children's Crusades, where Cat plays the leading role, as a woman who is a police psychologist. Amidst other things, she mans the phone line where would-be terrorists and assassins call up and drop hints about potential upcoming bombs. The latest set of terrorism seems to be coming from a group of children, who quote Whitman's Leaves of Grass, hug a random stranger, and then the bomb detonates...

Finally, there's Like Beauty, set in a post-apocalyptic New York, swarming with aliens and androids. Simon, an alien, who is programmed to recite Whitman at the unlikeliest of times, runs away with Catareen, a lizard-like alien, in search for the man who created him. They take a trip across the country, along with Luke, and manage to find a place on a spaceship that will take them to paradise - a different planet.

The characters are wonderfully drawn across all three stories, and the rapport between them is extremely real. Some of them are outsiders, whereas some of them are searching for a place where they belong. The way things are described had me nodding along in agreement, specially in the second novella.

"Look around," she said. "Do you see happiness? Do you see joy? Americans have never been this prosperous, people have never been this safe. They've never lived so long, in such good health, ever, in the whole history. To someone a hundred years ago, as recently as that, this world would seem like heaven itself. We can fly. Our teeth don't rot. Our children aren't feverish one moment and dead the next. There's no dung in the milk. There's milk, as much as we want. The curch can't roast us alive over minor differences of opinion. The elders can't stone us to death because we might have commited adultery. Our crops never fail. We can eat raw fish in the middle of the desert, if we want to. And look at us. We're so obese we need bigger cemetery plots. Our ten-year-olds are doing heroin, or they're murdering eight-year-olds, or both. We're getting divorced faster than we're getting married. Everything we eat has to be sealed because if it wasn't, somebody would put poison into it, and if they couldn't get poison, they'd put pins into it. A tenth of us are in jail, and we can't build new ones fast enough. We're bombing other countries simply because they make us nervous, and most of us not only couldn't find these countries in a map, we couldn't tell you which continent they're on. [...] So tell me. Would you say this is working out? Does this seems to you a story that wants to continue?"

The title itself is inspired by one of Walt Whitman's works - something I'm not very familiar with, which makes me feel slightly guilty, for I don't think I missed a lot in the book. Some of the references though seemed unnecessary, but I think that might be a result of me not really seeing the whole picture, as I'm not well-versed with Leaves of Grass, or much of Whitman's work/thoughts.

Have you read Specimen Days? Or any other Cunningham?

If you've read Specimen Days, do you think knowing a lot more about Whitman's work would improve the reading experience manifold?

Michael Cunningham - The Hours

It's not often a book leaves me completely speechless. Wowed. Awestruck. Absolutely blown away. But then again, it's not often that I come across a book like Michael Cunningham's The Hours. Both, Claire and Rachel, recommended the book to me, saying I should read it once I finish Mrs. Dalloway. And then, I saw this fantastic review over at deucekindred's blog, and I felt compelled to read the book sooner rather than later - specially as I'd just finished the Virginia Woolf classic as part of Woolf In Winter. In the first chapter, Clarissa, a fifty-something year old woman, steps out to buy some flowers for a party she's having that evening. She loves the city she's in, enjoys the hustle-bustle of life, bumps into an old friend, and contemplates the perfect party that evening.

However, unlike Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway, Clarissa isn't in London this time, but in New York. It's not the 1920s anymore, but we've fast-forwarded to 1999. And, Clarissa isn't Mrs. Dalloway, but, she's Clarissa Vaughn. Her best friend, Richard (a poet suffering from AIDS), does call her Mrs. Dalloway after the famous fictional character though...

While the book chronicles a day in her life, as she plans the perfect party (in honour of Richard), much like Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway, the book also chronicles one day in the life of two other women in different times and places: Virginia Woolf in the 1920s and Laura Brown in Los Angeles in the 1940s. All three stories are interspersed with one another, resulting in a heartbreaking emotional masterpiece, that illustrates that despite the barriers of time and space, lives do interlock.

The second chapter is when we're introduced to the legendary author in the 1920s. Virginia Woolf's account is semi-fictional. She's ill, refers to herself as an eccentric genius, and lives in Richmond with her supportive loving husband, trying to recuperate, but missing London dreadfully. Cunningham imagines Woolf in the initial stages of writing Mrs. Dalloway - her thoughts, her inspirations and her character development - as well as her illness, and her fragile state of mind.

She despises Richmond. She is starved for London; she dreams sometimes about the hearts of cities. Here, where she been taken to live for the last eight years precisely because it is neither strange now marvellous, she is largely free of headaches and voices, the fits of rage. Here all she desires is a return to the dangers of city life.

And the third chapter introduces us to Laura Brown in the 1940s. Mrs. Brown is the wife of a World War II veteran, and she has a three year old child. She's a recluse, an obsessive reader, who is working her way through all of Woolf's fiction, and has just started Mrs. Dalloway. And, she has suicidal tendencies.

Right now she is reading Virginia Woolf, all of Virginia Woolf, book by book - she is fascinated by the idea of a woman like that, a woman of such brilliance, such strangeness, such immeasurable sorrow; a woman who had genius but still filled her pocket with a stone and waded out into a river.

The prologue is set in 1941: a new War has just begun, and Woolf is walking purposefully toward the river, certain of what she'll do. The prologue ends with her husband discovering her suicide note... and me feeling incredibly overwhelmed, just eight pages in. Cunningham doesn't mince words, doesn't beat around the bush, but the language is wonderfully concise, while being eloquent and metaphoric.

Cunningham also makes subtle changes to the story of Mrs. Dalloway, to illustrate its timelessness and universality. Moving from one big city to the city that never sleeps, making Clarissa lovers with Sally, and Richard taking on Septimus' role (I think), are just some of the quirks that makes the story read almost completely differently. However, if you read this book prior to reading Mrs. Dalloway, I strongly suggest reading the classic.

And then, we get into the intricacies. According to this work, Woolf intended Clarissa to be the suicidal character in her novel - that despite her love for life, some small domestic failure could potentially push her over the edge. Say, her party being a failure? From what we know of Clarissa Dalloway, would that be so impossible? Was Clarissa Dalloway merely a reflection of Woolf herself? Or, was fiction and reality still two completely different threads for Woolf in the 1920s?

Someone else will die. It should be a greater mind than Clarissa's; it should be someone with sorrow and genius enough to turn away from the seductions of the world, its cups and its coats.

This is a multi-layered story, with enough allusions to merit a thesis of sorts. I'm still left flabbergasted as to how much I loved this book, and how little justice (if any) I've done to its genius with my extremely trite review. What leaves me really puzzled is, how on earth did the author pack in so much in just 226 pages? Details, amazing descriptions, incredible characterisations and an enthralling storyline of three complex women, while simultaneously reworking one of the greatest classics of the last century, Cunningham's book is pure gold.