The Covenant of Water, by Abraham Verghese

The Covenant of Water is a voluminous, voluptuous multigenerational family epic teeming with characters connected by water, genes, and community. It is set in Kerala, a lush region on India’s southwest coast of the Arabian Sea, land that becomes a character of its own.

At 736 pages, it is a commitment. The audiobook clocks in at 32 hours. Author Abraham Verghese’s family is from Kerala, but he was born in Ethiopia, of missionary parents. The story was inspired by his grandmother from Kerala.

The novel starts with Big Ammachi as a 12-year-old bride. She immediately becomes mother to Jojo, barely nine years younger. Her gentle, loving husband is never given a name in the book, but is called Big Appachen, or father. Their daughter, Baby Mol, stays a mental age of five but has the emotional range of a savant. Their son, Philopose, arrives with great promise but needs a village to help him find his way. He marries Elsie, a gifted artist, who gives birth to Baby Ninan and almost dies in childbirth with Miriamma.

Big Appachen’s family suffers from what they call The Condition, an ailment that leads to death by drowning at least once a generation, even in shallow water. The problem is exacerbated by Kerala’s geography—it’s laced with canals that largely provide transportation, especially in the early-to-mid 1900s, when most of the novel is set. Big Appachen has The Condition and therefore avoids water, even if it means walking for hours instead of taking a short boat ride. Philipose has it too, but he responds by insisting he can learn to swim. He’s stubborn, but he still can’t swim.

Big Ammachi, a devout St. Thomas Catholic, prays for a savior to find a cure for The Condition. Will it be the gentle Rune, a doctor from Sweden, who builds St. Bridget’s Leprosarium? Or Digby, who comes to India from Glasgow, with his surgeon’s skills and tendency to love women married to other men? Or will the answer come from closer to home? Verghese takes his time to give us the answer, luring us into multiple side journeys that educate and entertain, introducing a slew of characters so well developed we miss them when we finally finish the novel.

The book develops like water itself, building momentum through the years, as traditional medicine merges with Western and as both integrate with the community. Finding a treatment for The Condition means listening to the people, learning their history, using traditional techniques to understand the patient and the tools of modern medicine to define the disease and search for a cure.  

It’s the kind of medicine Verghese teaches as a professor at Stanford Unversity, the kind that works with and for people.

Death is a profound part of the book, and Verghese uses it to show the necessity of truly living with and through family—biological or not. Trauma forges the people of the ovel; in loss they find love; in despair, they turn to goodness.

Verghese says the meaning of “covenant” in the title should remain a bit mysterious and, as in the rest of a novel, “the reader provides their imagination and somewhere in the middle spaces a mental movie takes shape.”

As the book unfolds, the covenant of water becomes a baptism, a rebirth, and an absolution. To coexist with the water, the Kerala community must respect its rhythms and barriers. They know water can heal, it can serve, it can kill, and it can keep secrets.

Verghese does a masterful job reading the audiobook, especially nailing the book’s many accents—Swedish, Scots, British, and varied Indians castes. He has special fun with one particular scene, in which a missionary from Body of Christ (Corpus Christi), Texas, a stand-in for Billy Graham, gives a bizarre sermon that is translated into a form nothing like the original by Uplift Master. (Uplift is one of the many characters named for his function in the community—he takes care of things and boosts morale.) The scene deserves to be listened to, read, and reread.

The book ends in the 1970s, a time of social progress and change. Women doctors are common, valued friends are no longer required to eat outside because of their caste, and medicine is at a crossroads. A new hospital is being built because the community—especially Uplift Master—envisioned, financed, and staffed it. Old ways of healing remain and, ideally, guide a new generation of doctors.

— Pat Prijatel

Note: This version of Pat’s review of The Covenant of Water was adapted from her original review published at Psychology Today: Storytelling as Medicine

Invisible: The Forgotten Story of the Black Woman Lawyer Who Took Down America’s Most Powerful Mobster, by Stephen L. Carter

This book presents the true story of Eunice Hunton Carter, one of the most famous and accomplished Black women of 1940s America. Although she’s no longer a household name, the author – her grandson, the novelist Stephen Carter – provides a detailed account of her fascinating life.

Eunice Hunton’s grandfather, Stanton Hunton, purchased his freedom from slavery before the Civil War. His son, William Alphaeus Hunton Sr., migrated to Atlanta and married Addie Waites Hunton. Both William and Addie were college educated and activists with the YMCA and NAACP. They had two children, Eunice and Alphaeus, and eventually they moved their family to Brooklyn, New York. Addie Hunton, Eunice’s mother, was relentless in her work in advancement and support of the “darker nation” (term used by the author), and she was clearly a role model to Eunice for choosing to pursue a non-traditional path despite both societal expectations and the seemingly insurmountable roadblocks of gender and race. Ultimately, Eunice became one of the first female African-American lawyers and one of the first African American prosecutors in the United States.

In 1921, Eunice graduated from Smith College with a degree in social work. After a few years of work in that field, she went back to school to study law. She became the first black woman to earn a law degree from Fordham University in New York City, and then in 1935, the first black woman assistant district attorney in the state of New York. After gaining some notoriety with her legal and political work, she was one of 20 lawyers selected by special prosecutor Thomas Dewey, who was on a mission to curtail the mafia in New York and in general. Although she was initially tasked on that team with listening to what were perceived to be lower-level morality crimes of prostitution, it was through that work that she identified ongoing patterns and connections that eventually led to the conviction of mafia boss Lucky Luciano in 1936. Her professional commitment to Dewey lasted through his presidential runs of 1944 and 1948.

Although she did not seem very interested in or suited for motherhood, she and her husband, Lisle Carter Sr., had a son named Lisle Carter Jr. He was the father of the author of this book, her grandson Stephen Carter.

Carter’s work in this book is a bit of an enigma. He is a well-known best-selling author of works such as The Emperor of Ocean Park, which was one of Time Magazine’s 100 best mystery and thriller books of all time. He is also a law professor at Yale Law School. But his presentation of this material is fairly dry and reads like an academic paper or a book report at times. With all the interesting facts and storyline he had to work with in his grandmother’s life, it’s odd that he wasn’t able to identify the mundane bits and condense them so that the interesting parts would have room to be more compelling. As it is, the reader has to get through a LOT of back-story about the lives of William and Addie – especially Addie – before getting to Eunice. One of our club members described the title as a bit of a bait and switch. That being said, the book also contains interesting glimpses of professional life in Harlem, and Alphaeus’s association with the Communist Party. 

We found it unusual that the author didn’t personalize the story a bit more by saying, “my grandmother” or “my father,” but always Eunice and Lisle, etc. This was especially noticeable when he talked about Eunice sending Lisle away as a child and rarely visiting, a period of time that was very painful “for Lisle.” It was unclear whether this was an attempt to stay emotionally neutral while sweeping feelings under the rug or if he really feels distant from it. In any case, he clearly does admire the work that his grandparents did, even if their paths did not allow time for warm family bonds.

Overall, our group was glad that we read this book and became aware of the life and work of Eunice Hunton Carter. Her story is an inspiration and very deserving of documentation.

— Julie Feirer & Bill Smith

Absolution, by Alice McDermott

Alice McDermott’s most recent novel Absolution is a masterpiece. The setting and plot are fresh while at the same time abundantly nostalgic for readers who came of age in the 60s and 70s. They focus attention and elicit involvement through excellent writing, intrigue and character development that focuses closely on the nuances of body language and facial expression. The structure reinforces the overall complexity of the plot by suddenly in Part II switching to a different narrator fifty years or more into the future, and then in Part III back again to 1963, the initial year of the narrative, which completes the story but leaves the reader with numerous questions to ponder and discuss.  

The setting is Saigon, Vietnam in a single year of America’s on-the-ground presence there. The war itself is mostly in the background, except for a couple of vivid scenes – one in the children’s ward of a hospital and the other a trip to and from a leprosarium by the principal characters, two young wives of American officers temporarily serving the military from the corporate world.  

In Part I and Part II the year is 1963 and Tricia is the narrator. In Part II the time frame is fifty to sixty years later, and Rainy the daughter of Charlene, the other main character, is the narrator. 

As the plot unfolds, we learn that Tricia is narrating the story as a letter in response to a request by Rainy to provide background on Dom her new neighbor in a rural location in Maryland who was a medic in Saigon and friends with both Tricia and Charlene when Rainy was a child there with her family.

The plot centers on the relationship between Tricia and Charlene and especially on Charlene’s overpowering and complex personality. She pushes and pulls at naïve, self-conscious newlywed Tricia, and much like the spider with the fly, enmeshes her in the web of her cabal – as Charlene’s husband describes his wife’s circle of fellow do-gooder friends. In fact, she designates Tricia as the originator of two major projects that occur to her seemingly off the top of her head but drive much of the narrative: One to produce Vietnamese outfits for Barbie dolls and sell them to make money for Charlene’s hospital charity baskets and the other, far more ambitious one, to make silk garments for patients in the leprosarium. Tricia realizes that Charlene needs a foil, what Tricia identifies as a “saint” to dilute her “smarter that everyone else” persona.

As the novel progresses, we learn that Charlene has another do-gooder project. She procures Vietnamese babies to sell to the highest bidder. Knowing how desperately Tricia yearns for a child, she gifts her a baby.

The simple urge to do good versus the lofty goal to “repair the world” runs throughout the novel.  The later seems largely the aim of men fighting a righteous war against communism while the former occupies women and is frequently dubbed inconsequential, even by the women themselves. Though Charlene and Tricia return to America, a place of safety to love and live with their families, more globally the war doesn’t bring about a better world for all. As we see in Part II, Rainey and her eventual husband both fall victim to the burgeoning demon of drug addiction in their youth. Dom and his family live in a nearly ramshackle house, and Dom dies after falling into a pit of human waste. The epigraph from Graham Green’s The Quiet American captures a common sentiment about the war’s aftermath – “…but how I wished there existed someone to whom I could say I was sorry.” – someone who could grant absolution.

Perhaps Charlene’s small acts of goodness – soothing wounded children in a hospital ward by providing treats and stuffed animals or delighting the lepers with the promise of fine silk clothing – accomplished more and required no absolution, though this avenue of activity was the only one open to women in Charlene and Tricia’s circumstances, at least the only legitimate one. Sexism was alive and well in the early 1960s. It’s evident in the everyday condescending interactions between husband and wife under which Charlene chaffs, but to which Tricia is largely oblivious, befogged by the joys of early married life.  

Demonstrating her Catholic faith in an act deserving absolution, Tricia returns Charlene’s gift child after initially being tempted to keep the baby. She says,”…I can think only of hot and cold – hot with anger, at Charlene, at Peter, at everyone in my life who had considered my opinions inconsequential, who had lied to me, or ignored me or manipulated me for what they considered my own benefit. Hot to think of those who’d set out to do good on my behalf.” And when her husband comes home, she stands up to him for the first time.

Let the women’s movement begin.

— Sue Martin