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The Darling

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Russell Banks is a master at evoking a time and place. In his latest novel, The Darling, the reader is in Africa. It is the mid-1970s. We can see the Liberian coastline, smell the palm oil mingled with sweat, hear the screech of the chimpanzees and feel the claustrophobic heat. More importantly, we experience western Africa through the lens of a privileged, white American woman, Hannah Musgrove who is "the darling" of the title. Banks tells this historical and political story, most of it in flashbacks, skillfully and successfully through the point of view of this woman.

Hannah is a fascinating character, full of tensions and contradictions. She has lead a sheltered life of wealth as the daughter of a famous and intellectual man, yet her politically liberal parents have instilled in her (sometimes seemingly in spite of themselves) a sincere empathy for the poor and oppressed. She is cold and calculating in her relationships with others yet has an almost mystical connection with the chimpanzees she comes to know and love and is passionate about her politics. Hannah makes some decisions, which she feels she needs to contextualize and explain herself to the reader in order not to seem "scary". To dwell on the plot, however, does this gem of a novel a disservice. Banks is simply a genius at conveying a difficult story and doing it so well that we care deeply about it.

Russell Banks has made his mark writing about mad people in significantly unsettled worlds, from the Pulitzer Prize-finalist "Cloudsplitter" (about violent abolitionist John Brown) to "Affliction" (about an alcoholic's insidious effect on his circle of dysfunction.)

But in his newest novel, "The Darling," he subtly reverses his field with provocative results: His heroine is a significantly unsettled character in a mad world. What might seem a nuance is actually quite startlingly different.

Africa has popped up in the well-traveled Banks' stories before. The setting for some of the storytelling in his 2001 short-story collection, "Angel on the Roof," it provides an atmospheric context for complex exploration of black and white, head and heart, man and beast, love and survival ... sanity and madness.

Banks' themes of terror, self-doubt, the collision of races (if not worlds), the relentless passage of time, and political violence are not the stuff of modern commercial book-publishing, but he keeps coming back to them with incisive style.

Banks remains one of America's most readable literary authors. He's always tackled grand issues with grand prose, and his muscular narrative generally wins. Often compared to Graham Greene, Joseph Conrad or William Faulkner -- not the most accessible trio of literary writers ever assembled -- Banks sets himself apart as more clear, if not more relevant, for today's readers. Readers who fell headlong into "The Sweet Hereafter" or "Continental Drift" will not be disabused by "The Darling."

Like all the novels Darling works on several different levels. First, it is a good story . . . kept moving, good characters, suspense, enough moving back and forth in time to tantalize you, but not so much as to totally confuse you. So, it is simply a good read.

It also worked as a "coming of age" story-although, read as just that, it would of course be a little over the top. Nonetheless, she goes through all the "typical" stages of adolescent rebellion (Weather Underground), forbidden love, independence from parents (how much more independent can you be than moving to Africa and never speaking to them!), marriage, child rearing, divorce/distance in marriage, empty nest syndrome, and replacement of familial ties with other objects of passion (here the chimps), death of parent, an attempt recapture "youth" (her trip back to Africa), and a second life post-retirement. During each phase she clearly develops a new personality (or at least changes in significant ways).

It also reads as a commentary on U.S. Foreign policy-which is what I think is implied in the title. Here she is, having gone through all of these "phases" in her personal life-joining a revolutionary underground which actually blows things up, fomenting revolution and mass slaughter in an African country, and living as a fugitive for decades. However, while the lives of everyone in Liberia are completely upended and made a living hell because of that country's revolution(s), her life ends up being virtually unaffected-she ends up as a "gentleman" farmer, about as normal an occupation as there is in the world, and all of her revolutionary activities, at least in this country, have, in the end, changed nothing-except her. Hence, she is, at the end, nothing but an "American Darling".

This is a fine allegory for the way the U.S. stumbles around the world, intervening in other countries, sometimes (but not usually) with the best of intentions, makes a holly mess, and then blithely disappears, blaming the country we've so thoroughly screwed up for being "backward" and beyond hope. Iraq anyone?

"Mainly, we return to a place in order to learn why we left," writes Hannah Musgrave, the narrator-protagonist of this many-layered book. Now approaching sixty, she returns one more time to war-torn Liberia where she had lived for much of her adult life. The learning about why she left provides the narrative mainspring of the book. The Graham Greene-like story set in the midst of the Liberian civil war (including several real characters) is fascinating and often intensely atmospheric. But (at the price of an interior monologue that can occasionally get a bit repetitious) its larger purpose is to illuminate Hannah's inner journey. An upper-middle-class baby boomer (her father seems based on Dr. Benjamin Spock), turned radical activist, alienated from country and family, she finally finds a kind of peace running a chimpanzee sanctuary as a kind of Liberian Jane Goodall.

But it is also true that we go away in order to better understand the place we came from. And this is the surprising reward of the book, a resonance that keeps growing after one stops reading. From the very beginning, you know you are in the hands of a master. Hannah first introduces herself running a quiet farm in upstate New York surrounded entirely by women. A few pages later, she is being smuggled back into the devastation of Liberia. In Banks' hands, the contrast between the two worlds is magnificently handled, and the brightness of one illuminates the darkness of the other. Or conversely, the darkness make the light more precious. While this is a book about a strong woman in extraordinary circumstances, her life nonetheless sheds light upon the ordinary passages of ordinary lives: the search for identity, sexual discovery, parenthood, coming to terms with one's own parents, and the quest for meaning. And all of these ring very true indeed.

Why is the book called THE DARLING? Except in passing, the word does not appear until the book's final sentence, and there it seems ironic in effect because Hannah has been presented as everything but the pampered, compliant American woman. And yet her entire life has been shaped by the desire to break out of this stereotype. Other Amazon reviewers have commented that Hannah is difficult to like, and it is true that she is detached from her surroundings and from most people in her life except her chimps. But she is not difficult to understand -- not at least for one who has grown up in the same generation. Her detachment gives her voice an edgy wit and devastating power. Ultimately, she has the capacity to reveal more of herself to the reader than she would ever do to her family or friends, and those revelations are compelling and profound.

Hannah Musgrave is nowhere at home -- not in her parents' house, not in her lover's apartment, not in her adopted country of Liberia, and not in the rural village she retires to.

She's emotionally detached as well, keeping a safe distance from everyone she knows, including her husband and children. She's either unwilling or incapable of forming an honest and meaningful bond with anyone, and the only living things she shows any real concern for are the chimpanzees she rescues and takes care of.

Hannah is remote and self-absorbed -- the product of a pampered and privileged childhood. She's not a bad person, but she's certainly not a very likable one. Yet we're sympathetic to her and we want to see her succeed.

"The Darling" is the story of Hannah's life, and how the decisions she made affected the course of Liberia's violent revolution. But it's also a vivid character study, as well as a cynical social commentary about political expediency and government corruption.

I like Russell Banks, but I don't like everything he's written. I had to force myself through "Cloudsplitter," for example, and the short story collection "The Angel on the Roof" barely held my attention. "The Darling," on the other hand, is compelling and intriguing. Reading this book is time well spent.

Russell Banks is a passionate about his subjects; they are never handled lightly. The central character in THE DARLING, who seems to turn off many readers in other reviews, seems to me to be a metaphor for America and Americans. Although it is more accessible than, say, CLOUDSPLITTER, THE DARLING should not be regarded merely as a thriller, but as a tale of the perception of America by the world. A fact that is more relevant as the reader approaches the end and incidents alluded earlier to are explained. Despite the length and depth of the book, there is not a superfluous word. And while it can be read as a page turner, there is much to mull over and discuss.

And read the works of Russell Banks. This guy knows about the real American condition and what has happened since the heady Kennedy years. Banks has written previously about ordinary Americans not the solipsistic, successful, sex-crazed stereotypes that inhabit Roth's fiction. The Darling is a brilliant portrayal of what happened to those who had their say in the '60's and more importantly how many of the same people came to blandly accept the inherent attractions of the capitalist way of life and ultimately support the Bush neo-conservatives in this new century. Nowadays even the Wall Street brokers say they didn't vote for Bush in 2004 as he was ruining the economy; forget about the casualties in Iraq.
This novel portrays the hubris of American policy re Liberia where the emancipated slaves were sent to with the attitudes of their former masters, so much that they enslaved the locals. It also portrays, sadly,the powerlessness of the individual to make a difference in the American, read multinational corporate world - a latter day variation of imperialsim euphemisticly and mendaciously described as globalisation.
The Darling is an essential book which shows the impotency of the individual, and, indeed, the third world, in this "global village". Hannah, in the last sentence of the novel,sadly realises this fact.

Once started, I could not put this book down and flew through it in a few days of spare-time reading. Written in the first person by the character Hannah, it is both an engrossing study of an extremely complex personality (her) as well as a mini-education in the history of Liberia. The character of Hannah is not a likeable one but I found her story to be facinating, and, unfortunately perhaps, I did see some of my own detachment from relationships reflected in hers. This is not a book for the faint of heart as it contains some explicit sexual situations as well as graphic violence. This was the first book I have read by this author and it certainly has sparked my interest in reading more of his books.

Having just seen and reviewed Hotel Rwanda, I come to Russell Banks' The Darling with the troubles of Africa visually etched in my mind like never before. There are many similarities with the stories, and although they may be set in different countries, the political and war torn strife that has affected both countries over the years is totally analogous. Whereas, Hotel Rwanda tells of the civil war in Rwanda over a period of days and months, The Darling's canvas is much broader, and provides a sweeping picture of Liberia from the mid 1970's to the early 1990's.

The story is not just of one woman's journey of self-discovery, but of a country undergoing profound turmoil where corrupt politicians rule, where exploitation of the poor is de-rigor and where Western Governments, particularly the government of the United States - constantly meddle and manipulate installing puppet rulers to achieve their own ends. War and civil unrest is never far from boiling over in this desperate, distraught country that was founded by ex American slaves.

The Darling is a terrific novel, even of some of the plot twists stretches the realm of possibility. Grand and epic, it's not just an astute character study of a flawed woman but also a political type espionage thriller, which is, at once, beautifully written and also totally complex in theme and tone. Hannah Musgrove Sundiata is fifty-eight and runs a farm in Upper New York State. One day she decides to go to back to Liberia to find the three sons she'd left behind in the civil wars 11 years before. Her husband was Liberian and a minister in the Government of Samuel Doe back in the 1970's, but he was brutally murdered after the overthrow of Doe's government by the rebel forces of Charles Taylor and Prince Johnson.

Told in the first person, Hannah narrates the story with the events totally filtered through her eyes, and much of the narrative is an extended flashback into Hannah's past. The reader soon learns of her eccentric youth - "an idealistic girl with a passion for justice." Her parents were politically left of center and contributed to Hannah's radicalization. She marched in the civil rights movement, then the Vietnam War protests. She became a semi-notorious fugitive, producing fake IDs, bombs, and Molotov cocktails for revolutionary acts that never get committed. Hannah became a part of the Weather Underground.

Escaping to Liberia, Hannah finds solitude and a sense of worth when she marries Woodrow Sundiata, and has three boys with him. She also finds purpose in running a sanctuary for orphaned chimpanzees, which she nicknames "the dreamers." Much of the book involves Hannah's self reflective analysis of why she went to Liberia in the first place, and why she decided to return. Hannah freely admits "we return to the place in order to learn why we left" and she often feels that she is "a river running through the lifeless, soundless landscape of her dry little family."

Hannah's thoughts anchor the novel - she's portrayed as often weak and selfish, and only interested in people who can help her achieve her own ends. Whilst trying to survive amongst the war torn streets of Monrovia " a white American woman married to a Liberian" she stays inside her bubble, staying deliberately detached, rigorously uninvolved, all the way through a series of cascading events, one falling hard upon the next. The Darling is an ambitious novel that is less affective when it comes across as an essay on historical discourse. The reader, through Hannah's eyes, learns much about the history of Liberia, but sometimes it all reads more like a university thesis than a bonafide work of literary fiction. Mike Leonard January 05.

... that I won't reveal to you until you understand...", Hannah Musgrave tells her readers. She is the central axis of this rich and engaging tale of one woman's journey from a privileged childhood to quiet life on a farm in the Adirondack Mountains in upstate New York. The interim period, however, is dramatic and unconventional. She drops out of her middle class life as a young student, frustrated with the comfort of that life and the people around her. Joining the Weathermen Underground in the early nineteen seventies, she participates at the fringe of the movement. Eventually she escapes to West Africa and settles for an extensive period in Liberia, witnessing the overthrow of the corrupt pro-US president Tolbert by the brutal regime of Samuel Doe, a lowly military officer, and the complete collapse of the Liberian society, ending with the no less violent regime of Charles Taylor.

Now in her late fifties, she is recounting her story, divulging her varied life experiences in different episodes and on a need-to-know basis. Russell Banks captures her voice convincingly, getting into her mind, as well as, he explained elsewhere, "being her very close trusted male friend" who listens empathetically to her story. Will the reader do the same?

Hannah's account is of herself against the backdrop of dramatic circumstances. As the revelations progress, the readers are able to see beyond her words and messages and paint a more comprehensive picture of Hannah's strengths and weaknesses than she can herself. Bank is brilliant in providing the tools for such a process. Factual descriptions of her surroundings unwittingly divulge more of her persona than she intends, adding depth and incisiveness to her version of events. In Liberia, for example, Hannah has more than enough opportunities to engage with the political and serious societal issues at hand, yet, she stays again on the sidelines. Having married a middle ranking Liberian government official, she lives a life of privilege with her three sons. While analyzing, with hindsight, her status as the American "darling" among the political elite of the country and reflecting on her complex emotions for her parents, her lovers, her husband and children, the only deep love and affection she admits to feeling is for a group of suffering chimpanzees. Why? What made her this reserved and distant observer of life?

Banks tackles challenging issues with his novel: race, for example is a recurring thread throughout Hanna's story. In her youth, Hannah displayed her solidarity with African-Americans, yet in Liberia, she is not able to comfortably relate to her African in-laws and their traditions. The author accurately depicts the tumultuous conditions in Liberia during Hannah's life there and gives her account authenticity. The special relationship between Liberia, established in 1847 by African-American returnees, mainly freed slaves, and the US is still evident. The role of the CIA and the American diplomats are made explicit as Hannah constantly feels both their friendship and scrutiny. The Americo-Liberians have maintained their privileged position in comparison to the indigenous African population. Woodrow Sundiata, Hannah's husband, while vividly drawn, comes across more as a composite of many facets of what could be a "typical" African bureaucrat: insensitive and ambitious, yet malleable to the powers to be, and expecting privileges through gaining a white American "trophy" wife. With her as a wife, Hannah reflects in retrospect, "Woodrow was exotic, a little sexy, and possibly dangerous, as if his newly consecrated American connection gave him access to power and information that were unavailable to other Liberians, even among the elite."

Another thread in the novel that gives the reader food for thought, revolves around deep emotions or the lack thereof, or establishing where "home" is and what it means for somebody on the run or underground for a large part of her life. Hannah always felt that departures are quick and painless, long tearful good-byes uncalled for. Yet, sitting at her farm now, she wonders about her Liberian home, the destiny of her children. Could she reconcile her life with that of her parents? It is up to the reader to explore those questions with Hannah and draw their own conclusions. Banks novel is very worth the effort. [Friederike Knabe]