The Clearing

The thing that makes this novel really work is its limited ambition and I don't mean that in a negative sense at all. It describes a photojournalist's trip to Afghanistan to cover a story about women choosing to take their lives rather than being forced to marry men much older than them. The novel covers just this limited period of time spanning the trip and a week or so leading up to it and the few story lines from the past that are included are so uncomplicated that they seamlessly blend in with the present tense. This feature of the novel--that it is uncluttered by too many fancy writing devices like competing subplots or too much jumping around in time or the presence of too many secondary characters--is what makes this book succeed. Although the book is of average length, the feeling I was left with after reading it was that I had just finished reading a short story.

Marciano uses a very sparse and clean writing style which accentuates the book's resemblance to a short story. But clearly, these very things that work so well for this novel can so easily fail if the plot itself is somewhat lacking. In this case, however, it is plausible, and fast paced, and, despite the several novels having been written about the devastation in Afghanistan, also seems very original. And even the people described in the novel, even the ones the author does not give too many paragraphs to, seem drawn--and drawn well--from real life. No effort is made to mask the grim situation in Afghanistan and this honesty only adds to this book's worth. Not a groundbreaking work of fiction, this, but well worth your time.

This is a really terrible book. The first part, about Italy, is still fairly readable although you start to realize very early on that the author doesn't seem to have much of substance to say. Her writing confirms that just because a person decides to write about her emotional life, it doesn't mean that the description is going to be insightful or intelligent or, most importantly, even readable. A lot of the writing is of the personal journal kind--one section that immediately springs to mind is when she writes an analogy about loneliness and anxiety; the analogy reads like something written by a 10 year old child who is trying to explain to herself in baby-talk these emotions in an effort to deal with them--and who is also learning to write at the same time. That was the first time I wanted to stop reading the book.

There is something quite false about her account regarding her improving mental health in the Indian ashram, the subject of the second part of the book. She gives the impression that she is making rapid strides in the spirituality department as if it is some exam she is preparing really well and frantically for. Contrary to her claims, it doesn't sound like she is achieving her goal of becoming a calmer person. Then there are these encounters she has with a Texan at the Ashram. These descriptions really made me cringe: the fact that not only does she admire the kind of intrusive, judgmental, condescending and cliched remarks this guy makes about her--the book is autobiographical and you really have to wonder how intelligent a person our author is to give so much credence to this random guy--but also the way she writes about them as if they're these out-worldly pearls of wisdom she is oh-so-lucky to have received and is eager to share with her hapless readers. I think I decided to finally stop punishing myself by reading this book when she started describing her dreams: some really boring, commonplace dreams which belong only to her journal--to reiterate--and no other place. Please don't waste your time on this book, there are many smarter and more insightful things to read out there.