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18 of 20 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
The Way We Live Now , February 8, 2005
Everyone who reads this exhilarating dervish of a book will first be struck by its courage and its timeliness, by how presciently and precisely it tells us what we need, but might not want, to know about the far reaching impact of American adventurism abroad. His characters blunder into Central America for a number of reasons, both selfish and altruistic, and yet in no instance does Bissell shy from tracing out the full and unexpected consequences of such meddling. Other reviewers have already praised the book on this account, and I suspect the string of Amazon reviews that will begin to accumulate here will continue to explore this aspect of the book. But this is also, first and foremost, a book of high literary achievement. Literature is not political commentary but rather a way of experiencing political existence within the charged and always unstable context of art. As such, each piece here is a wonder of accumulated detail, of complex characterization, of carefully designed form. Donk, the Michigan born photographer in "Death Defier," is both a way for Bissell to explore the complexity of our sojourn in Afghanistan as well as a fully fleshed character in his own right who, with gut wrenching memories of his dying father, confronts his own death with a level of terror and dignity that becomes universal paradoxically because of its particularity. Douglas and Jayne, the sophisticated and clueless New Yorkers who take an "Expensive Trip Nowhere" to Kazakhstan, transform in the course of their story from poster children for American naivete to a couple confronting their horrifying limitations, a recognition that is both psychic and political without ever being tendentious. (The story also cleverly and devilishly updates Hemingway's "The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber," as the author forcefully points out in his afterword. No mean feat, that.) The only story that does not work totally for me as a piece of fiction, "Aral," falters only in its overeagerness to make a statement-specifically about the tragedy of the Soviet destruction of the Aral Sea, an issue Bissell treats at more length in his superb travelogue, "Chasing the Sea." So yes, this is an immensely important work, one that uncategorically deserves all the hosannahs it has already begun to receive and will continue to receive. But let's not overlook the fact that this story collection also heralds the arrival of a literary artist of the higher caliber. You probably have to go back to Philip Roth's "Goodbye, Columbus" for a proper analogue.
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12 of 15 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A Rare Feat of Short Story and Expose, February 28, 2005
Bissell, who is very young (born in 1974)to be writing short stories with this kind of wisdom, worked as a Peace Corps volunteer near the Aral Sea and has used his experiences in South Central Asia and Eastern Europe, delving into the lives of journalists haunted by demons, searchers, spoiled rich brats, do-gooders, criminals, sociopaths, and a litany of misfits to produce a rare feat of fiction--literary short stories that have the feel of expose. He takes you into the heart of modern day Afghanistan, for example, in his story "Death Defier," where an American journalist, haunted by family demons, appears to be a courageous photographer of truth on one hand and a man with a death wish on the other. In "Aral," his story that more than the others ventures into exposition and polemic, a nihilistic KGB officer lectures an American biologist UN worker about the "fat souls" of Americans who, for all their platitudes, know nothing of real suffering before subjecting the woman to a little trial of her own. In "The Ambassador's Son" a rogue narrates his licentious exploits and the manner in which he corrupts a Christian missionary.
Amazingly, these stories can be peeled layer upon layer for their psychological depth while at the same time they percolate with the buzz of the chaos that we read about in the daily newspapers and blogs. A great achievement.
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6 of 7 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Home is Where the Hurt Is, January 12, 2006
Tom Bissell is fond of sprinkling aphorisms throughout the stories in this fine collection, so let's lay one on him: Only a young man with his entire life stretched out before him could afford to be so pessimistic about life's possibilities.
Granted, he's writing about places it's easy to be pessimistic about, god-forsaken Central Asian Republics spawned by the collapse of the Soviet Empire, places that are a "combo of Soviet paranoia and Muslim xenophobia" as one character puts it. Five of the collection's six stories follow this pattern: take a (young) American; drop him or her into a central Asian country; stir; chronicle the resulting disaster.
The first story, Death Defier, is probably the best. A free-lance American photographer gets caught in a difficult situation in Afghanistan while trying to help a British reporter felled by a virulent strain of malaria. The story poses an interesting question: can you dive so deeply into the mechanics and aesthetics of war that you become immune to death-terror? Bissell grapples honorably with the complex sensibility of war correspondents, people who are voyeuristic and deeply engaged, often at the same time. Aral is about Amanda, an American biologist sent by the United Nations to study the shrinking Aral Sea (a hall of fame ecological screw-up). Amanda consistently misreads the intent of the people around her. She displays that combustible American mix of idealism, aggressiveness and ignorance of the local culture that's served us so well in Vietnam and Iraq.
Expensive Trips Nowhere and The Ambassador's Son are ugly American stories. In an Author's Note, Bissell acknowledges his debt to Hemingway's The Short, Happy Life of Francis Macomber for Expensive Trips Nowhere, which is about courage or the lack thereof on the steppes of Kazakhstan. The Ambassador's Son is about what you'd get if you dropped the Jay McInerney of Bright Lights, Big City into the capital of Tashkent. It should be noted that Bissell writes well about sex, giving it neither more nor less significance than the situation he's describing merits. The final story, Animals in Our Lives, is the only one set in America. Franklin, a recently returned expat English teacher, and Elizabeth, a med student, spend an afternoon at the zoo and experience the moment when it comes clear they don't have a future with each other. It's a sensitive rendering of the kinds of pain your intellect can't protect you from.
The title story, which won a Pushcart Prize, is about Timothy, a missionary in Samarkand whose faith gets subverted by physical urges. Bissell gets the succumbing to temptation part just right, along with the heartbreaking juxtaposition of sex with hope that pervades the world's downtrodden places. What's missing is a visceral sense of the struggle to hold on to God. God may not live in St Petersburg, but Dostoievksi did, and the master understood that sin gains heft through the hubris of the sinner. Something enormous was at stake for Dostoievski's spiritual criminals; they pitched themselves willingly on to the pyre, inviting and accepting oblivion for their defiance. Timothy settles for the tiny oblivion of orgasm, then sits in a fug of post-coital remorse waiting for God to ring him up. He's simply not a big enough person to carry his part of the argument, so the story falls short of the tragic dimension it tries to achieve.
There's a lot to like about Bissell as a writer. He's willing to engage with far-off, difficult cultures, and willing to wrestle with big ideas like death and sin. He writes a prose that's both erudite and plainspoken, which is hard to do. He can be both trenchant and expansive in his observations, often in the same well-turned phrase. His efforts to describe the ways in which the personal and political infuse and alter one another takes him into territory mined so productively by Graham Greene. While each of the individual stories may not be perfectly realized, it feels like there's something at stake here, maybe something important.
He's an author work rooting for, and I'd definitely buy his next book.
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