Kelland by Paul G. Bens Jr.-Review

Rating:  

The truth begins with a family evacuated from Saigon during the final days of the Việt Nam War. Or perhaps it begins later, with a devoutly Catholic child with the voice of an angel who is troubled by visions both sacred and profane. Or perhaps later still, with a couple drifting apart following a tragedy.

Kelland appears to them all in the guise of a small boy, a lover, a priest…Kelland is an enigma, a puzzle, and an almost imperceptible presence. Kelland is violence, sorrow, and joy. Kelland is the common thread tying five disparate strangers together.
My review:
Bens’ debut novel from Casperian Books tells the story of several seemingly unrelated characters–brothers Minh and Toan, immigrants from Vietnam, George, a shy Catholic schoolboy, and Melanie, a homemaker–all tied together via their interactions with the mysterious title character, Kelland. Each character interacts on the sly with a different incarnation of Kelland, each one almost suspiciously suited in looks and temperament to the character’s individual needs. And as the novel progresses, we discover that Kelland is not the only secret these characters share, but rather the engine of revelation for a deeper, darker connection.

First and foremost, I must say that Kelland is NOT a romance (although there are a few lovely portrayals of romantic intimacy scattered throughout), so if you’re coming to this title with an expectation of boy-meets-boy and a happy ending, expect to be sorely disappointed. If Kelland doesn’t put you through the wringer emotionally, you can at least expect it to inspire serious thought about challenging and disconcerting issues. It’s not a happy story, nor a particularly easy one; you just aren’t going to want to read this stuff in dribs and drabs during your lunch breaks or commuting on the subway.

That being said, readers approaching Kelland looking for a thought-provoking, well-constructed, and mature read are much less likely to feel disappointment. Bens tells his story in an unconventional way, jumping from character to character, setting to setting, and both forward and backward in time seemingly at will. However, as the story’s complexity unfolds, the method behind Bens’ apparent madness becomes clear. We’re introduced to all the characters in early sections and presented with a puzzle: Who are these people and what do they have to do with each other? Information comes not chronologically, but in an order that maximizes emotional impact and increases satisfaction when pieces of this puzzle start to come together. As Bens gives the reader new data to work with, interpretations shift and change and scenes that seemed a little off 50 pages ago suddenly echo back and click into place. For example, I found myself slightly irritated with the generic perfection of a scene midway through the novel in which a character proposes to his girlfriend, but as I learned more about the motivations driving the character and his desire to conform to a bread-winning, masculine ideal, the scene suddenly seemed pitch-perfect. Kelland doesn’t rest on gimmicky thrills and revelations, but there are some ah-ha! moments reminiscent of M. Night Shyamalan’s better films. So while some readers may initially find the novel’s structure disorienting, the tension and thrill of discovery serve as an ample reward for patience. The pacing is tight and by the story’s end, you realize Bens hasn’t wasted a single word.

In addition to its intriguing construction, Kelland also shines in its depth of characterization. Minh, Toan, George, and Melanie are all nicely fleshed-out and it doesn’t take long for the reader to become engaged with their lives and troubles. The characters generally behave in ways that are easy to believe (at least in hindsight) and are outfitted with quirks and traits that make them vivid and distinct. Bens does an admirable job in showing (never telling) us each character’s strengths and weaknesses, sometimes building them up only to tear them down, yet always working to bring the reader closer to a deeper understanding of these people and their experiences. It’s clear that the author has thought long and hard about the ways our past experiences shape us into the people we become. You may not always like all of the characters, but Bens makes it very hard not to empathize with them. Nor are the main characters the only ones who shine; Bens populates the large supporting cast with interesting, diverse characters representing a variety of viewpoints. There are no cardboard cut-outs here and the diversity of perspectives generally feels unforced.

One of the strongest aspects of the diverse viewpoints Bens employs in Kelland is that they enable the reader to approach the dark secret lying at the heart of each character from many different sides. The author takes on an extremely sensitive issue, and, like the tale of the blind men and the elephant, while the experiences of any individual character may not hit home for the reader, the way they add up to tackle this issue leads to a sensitive and nuanced exploration of broken trust, hidden guilt, hope, and love. I must admit that I’m curious about how the novel would have read with the addition of the point of view of the story’s primary transgressor, but Bens digs into plenty of moral gray areas and tweaks our compassion without ever needing to dive into this character’s head.

Although it’s easy to appreciate the skill with which Bens has crafted his story, it definitely won’t suit all tastes. One of my biggest (albeit still minor) gripes was that, although Kelland is brimming with diverse points of view, it’s also firmly grounded in a Catholic perspective. Bens’ approach to religiosity won’t necessarily speak as strongly to readers steeped in other religious traditions and they may have a hard time connecting with some passages (or perhaps even with some of the novel’s deepest themes). In the end, though, this feels like criticizing a book about fly fishing because most of its characters are fly fisherman. But still, it’s worth emphasizing that while Kelland is undeniably a high quality book, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s an enjoyable read. It’s the sort of book I’d normally be tempted to re-read immediately after finishing just to achieve a fuller appreciation of the way everything in the beginning so perfectly slots into place by the end, but because of the heaviness and difficulty of the subject matter, I feel like I won’t have the stamina for another read any time soon. Kelland might make you think about things you’d rather not, and although Bens does conclude on a note of strength and hope, that doesn’t change the fact that the novel is about heart-wrenching, seriously unpleasant stuff. Recommended, but let the buyer beware.