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3.53 AVERAGE
3.53 AVERAGE
I can’t put a star rating on this book. It debuted in 1959 and does not rise above its time when it comes to the way African people, women, and especially African women are described by the narrator/main character Henderson. There is little difference between the way the narrator describes animals versus how he describes African people, again especially women. Ugly words like savage, phrases of description like “negroid features”. An endless fascination with the darkness of peoples skin like Henderson can’t fathom how melanin works. Many of the African women run around nude and are frequently described as “shrill”. Henderson also can’t fathom that some of these women can be both fat and desirable. And so on. With the eyes of today, it’s problematic. But it was not written today, so I’m not applying stars of today to it. There is more than this that makes the book unsuccessful for me.
This is the story of a rich white man who stumbles into Africa to look more deeply into himself, and despite the fact that he tells us repeatedly for hundreds of pages that he’s a total schmuck, everyone he meets loves and admires him. He screws them all over because he is a schmuck. He’s like a more murderous and less lovable Homer Simpson. Or a less murderous and more lovable Jack Torrance. In the end, it’s not clear to me if he really learned terribly much. He’s still callous and bossy to his wife on the phone in the last bit of the book. Though he speaks of loving her and his children now that he’s had his African trip, the way he speaks to his wife shows otherwise, and I can’t help but feel he’ll fall right back into his usual patterns of being a jerk.
This is also supposed to be a comedy. In a weird slapstick way I suppose it could be. I don’t think I chuckled once.
The book does have its moments of clarity, of poetic language and reflection, of briefly rising above its tragic slapstick. But over and over I thought “so what?” This guy is not changing for good, not helping a soul like he wants to, not leaving a positive impact on anyone. I just couldn’t get on board, not even at the end.
This is the story of a rich white man who stumbles into Africa to look more deeply into himself, and despite the fact that he tells us repeatedly for hundreds of pages that he’s a total schmuck, everyone he meets loves and admires him. He screws them all over because he is a schmuck. He’s like a more murderous and less lovable Homer Simpson. Or a less murderous and more lovable Jack Torrance. In the end, it’s not clear to me if he really learned terribly much. He’s still callous and bossy to his wife on the phone in the last bit of the book. Though he speaks of loving her and his children now that he’s had his African trip, the way he speaks to his wife shows otherwise, and I can’t help but feel he’ll fall right back into his usual patterns of being a jerk.
This is also supposed to be a comedy. In a weird slapstick way I suppose it could be. I don’t think I chuckled once.
The book does have its moments of clarity, of poetic language and reflection, of briefly rising above its tragic slapstick. But over and over I thought “so what?” This guy is not changing for good, not helping a soul like he wants to, not leaving a positive impact on anyone. I just couldn’t get on board, not even at the end.
A satire of Hemingway. A nod to Tarzan. A full-speed tearing into the nature of existence. And lions.
I love stories about humans searching for 'more' and this one was woven beautifully, as Bellow always does. I read that the movie's in production starring Jack Nicholson? Usually I am never a 'can't wait for the movie' after a book this good, as the movie can be a disappointment...but I'm thinking Jack can pull this one off.
This was a book I pulled from the 100 best English language novels of the 20th century list. It's a story of a rich fellow traveling in Africa and navigating the cultural differences, but I didn't find it very interesting and I've now decided to give up.
Well. This book took work. It was beautifully written, but it was dull. It was fast-paced, but it seemed to take years to get through it.
The first hundred pages or so are very expository – the titular character talks about his reasons for going to Africa, but it takes a very long time for him to actually get to Africa. It’s plodding. And then suddenly the opposite happens: he gets to Africa, and in single paragraphs so many things happen that you get a little distracted. It’s hard to focus. Where many writers would describe all the actions in detail, Bellow tacks in a sentence and then just moves on. Henderson walks through a village and notices things around him, almost as though he’s narrating it a little stream-of-consciousness. The important thing to note is that it’s NOT stream-of-consciousness, so you’re stuck back with the lady at the hut while Henderson has moved over to the man with the cow.
What did I like? I like that Henderson has a little Don Quijote in him. I like how he’s clearly a parody of the white savior. And then we get to the part that I loved: the sentences. The turns of phrase. The whole reason to read this book.
There isn’t really a need to describe the plot of this book. Though there is plot to be had – and a frickin’ ton of it – it’s not the reason why you read this book. You've got the rich guy, the African village, pigs, frogs, lions, kings, wives, etc. Instead, I plowed through this book for the sentences, for the phrases that literally made me stop in awe of Bellow’s descriptive power.
For instance, two of the more amazing sentences: "He was always so gleaming. His very blood must have been like furniture polish." Also, when describing a cemetery, specifically the headstones: "each of the dead having been mailed away, and those stones like the postage stamps death has licked." Bellow writes the most perfect similes and metaphors I've ever read.
The most amazing passage, however, is Henderson’s prayer. Though it’s not really spelled out, we can work under the assumption that he’s a non-believer, but he feels compelled to offer up a prayer in the hopes that it will actually help him in the battle he faces. And he proceeds to say this, which has to be the funniest and in a way the stupidest prayer ever uttered: “Oh, you… Something, you Something because of whom there is not Nothing. Help me to do Thy Will. Take off my stupid sins. Untrammel me. Heavenly Father, open up my dumb heart and for Christ’s sake preserve me from unreal things. Oh, Thou who tookest me from pigs, let me not be killed over lions. And forgive my crimes and nonsense and let me return to Lily and the kids.” If that “for Christ’s sake” doesn’t kill you, well… this isn’t the book for you.
The first hundred pages or so are very expository – the titular character talks about his reasons for going to Africa, but it takes a very long time for him to actually get to Africa. It’s plodding. And then suddenly the opposite happens: he gets to Africa, and in single paragraphs so many things happen that you get a little distracted. It’s hard to focus. Where many writers would describe all the actions in detail, Bellow tacks in a sentence and then just moves on. Henderson walks through a village and notices things around him, almost as though he’s narrating it a little stream-of-consciousness. The important thing to note is that it’s NOT stream-of-consciousness, so you’re stuck back with the lady at the hut while Henderson has moved over to the man with the cow.
What did I like? I like that Henderson has a little Don Quijote in him. I like how he’s clearly a parody of the white savior. And then we get to the part that I loved: the sentences. The turns of phrase. The whole reason to read this book.
There isn’t really a need to describe the plot of this book. Though there is plot to be had – and a frickin’ ton of it – it’s not the reason why you read this book. You've got the rich guy, the African village, pigs, frogs, lions, kings, wives, etc. Instead, I plowed through this book for the sentences, for the phrases that literally made me stop in awe of Bellow’s descriptive power.
For instance, two of the more amazing sentences: "He was always so gleaming. His very blood must have been like furniture polish." Also, when describing a cemetery, specifically the headstones: "each of the dead having been mailed away, and those stones like the postage stamps death has licked." Bellow writes the most perfect similes and metaphors I've ever read.
The most amazing passage, however, is Henderson’s prayer. Though it’s not really spelled out, we can work under the assumption that he’s a non-believer, but he feels compelled to offer up a prayer in the hopes that it will actually help him in the battle he faces. And he proceeds to say this, which has to be the funniest and in a way the stupidest prayer ever uttered: “Oh, you… Something, you Something because of whom there is not Nothing. Help me to do Thy Will. Take off my stupid sins. Untrammel me. Heavenly Father, open up my dumb heart and for Christ’s sake preserve me from unreal things. Oh, Thou who tookest me from pigs, let me not be killed over lions. And forgive my crimes and nonsense and let me return to Lily and the kids.” If that “for Christ’s sake” doesn’t kill you, well… this isn’t the book for you.
An American millionaire becomes the Rain King in a remote part of Africa while trying to discover who he really is. Bellow is a Nobel Prize-winning author for a reason!
challenging
dark
funny
slow-paced
"To go by the ages of the kids, we were married for about twenty years. There are Edward, Ricey, Alice, and two more--Christ, I've got plenty of children. God bless the whole bunch of them."
Saul Bellow is one of those writers that puts together interesting stories that I feel like fly right over my head -- I know there is something deeper here that I'm missing and am not smart enough to discern.
In this novel, Henderson, a wealthy man with little to do, heads for Africa, where through a series of events is crowned the Rain King. Antics ensue.
I enjoyed the story, but it didn't feel particularly special or revelatory.
In this novel, Henderson, a wealthy man with little to do, heads for Africa, where through a series of events is crowned the Rain King. Antics ensue.
I enjoyed the story, but it didn't feel particularly special or revelatory.