I'm switching my ongoing notes about books I love to the "Read This" page on my website. The new format on that page allows you to comment, if you'd like. But here are a whole bunch from the past.
Li, Yiyun. The Vagrants. Set in the late 1970s, after the Cultural Revolution and during Beijing’s Democratic Wall Movement, this amazing novel tells the story of several women activists. Takes place in a small town called Muddy River and follows several different characters, their actions and reactions to the execution of a woman who spoke out against the government. Fascinating portrayal of that historical moment when no one knew which side – the dissenters or the government supporters – would win power and be safe. Beautifully written, great characters, and tight storytelling. A very strong recommend.
D’Erasmo, Stacey. The Sky Below. Lush, highly imaginative, soaring off into mythical at times, this new novel from D’Erasmo is completely different from anything she’s done before. I love when authors delve into new material and take risks, and she does lots of both in The Sky Below. The story is full of surprises that feel, at times, almost random, but then come together beautifully over the course of the novel.
Halaby, Laila. Once in a Promised Land. Really enjoyed this courageous, unusual contemporary (mixed with some folklore) novel. At first I was put off by the full-speed plot but then got sucked in because it wasn’t gratuitous action. These characters – originally from Jordan and now living in Tucson – get bashed about by the anti-Arab racism of post 9-11 America. Halaby does an amazing job of showing how the intense stress of trying to maintain their lives unravels them, bit by bit. The characters are complex and engaging, and the ending is not pretty. This would be a perfect book to read with Chris Bram’s Exiles in America.
Barry, Sebastian. The Secret Scripture. What is it about me and Irish writers? This is a strange one, but haunting and lovely in its own tortured way. A psychiatrist in a psych ward takes a belated interest in a 100-year-old resident. His journal alternates with her biographical notes to reveal two heartbroken characters who share an unusual -- actually, as it turns out, quite usual -- bond.
Donoghue, Emma. The Sealed Letter. Based on a real divorce case in Victorian era London, this juicy and smart novel of psychological predation and prey is fabulous. Donoghue has a wicked sense of humor and her characters keep flipping their own stereotypes. A page-turner with redemption, as well as complex characters, bits of fascinating history, and great writing. Subtly subversive.
De Waal, Frans. Our Inner Ape: A Leading Primatologist Explains Why We Are Who We Are. Most of my reading in the past months has been for the new novel I’m working on, including a whole lot of Frans de Waal, who I love. For one thing, he’s an expert on bonobos, the make-love-not-war primates, who happen to be as close to us genetically as the more conflict-prone chimps. De Waal challenges all the scientists and psychologists who study our genetic disposition to violence to turn the question on its head. Instead of looking at the root of conflict, De Waal investigates the capacity in primates for cooperation, love, and compassion. He’s a hard-headed, data-driven scientist and yet is willing to ask these big-hearted questions.
Petterson, Per. Out Stealing Horses. I just finished reading a novel that reached desperately for each bit of drama, so when I read the first few sentences of Petterson’s lovely novel – “Early November. It’s nine o’clock. The titmice are banging against the windows.” – I was struck by how simply a reader can be yanked into a story. This lovely story begins so quietly, a bit like a John McGahern novel, but then unfolds with surprising complexity.
Keegan, Claire. Walk the Blue Fields. These stories are amazing gems. Lovely writing. Characters who break your heart with their everydayness. Best in Colm Toibin’s words: “These stories are pure magic. They add, using grace, intelligence, and an extraordinary ear for rhythm to the distinguished tradition of the Irish short story.”
Villarosa, Linda. Passing for Black. This book is flat-out hilarious. Villarosa has written one of the funniest books I’ve read in a long time. She manages all this humor mainly with language, which is so much funnier than doing goofy characters (although there are a couple of those, too). I especially love the scene when Donny the hairdresser goes head-to-head with a client on what the Bible says about homosexuality. Villarosa is a fantastic writer and Passing for Black is a great send-up of lesbian life.
Bram, Christopher. Exiles in America. I love Chris Bram’s work because it’s often brave and he takes interesting risks. The authors I respect the most keep trying new things, and Bram is definitely in that category. His last novel, Lives of the Circus Animals, was a very funny spoof on New York theater people. Exiles in America is about a long-term nonmonogamous gay couple and, among other things, addresses the question, What is love? I found the “answer,” if you can call it that, in this particular couple’s case, unappealing. They seemed so cold and disappointed with each other. But it also felt realistic, as in, I’ve seen a lot of couples like that. So novelistically, it was a fascinating character study. The story is about one of the men getting involved with an Iranian artist-in-residence. The title refers, I think, to the ways in which this country treats outsiders of all kinds, making comparisons between gays and, in this case, folks from the Middle East. The novel is set right before the Iraqi war.
Aciman, Andre. Call Me By Your Name. More like a book-length essay, rather than a novel, on desire and loss. Achingly specific and detailed in the explications of both. I was particularly moved by the father’s advice to the boy: “If there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it…We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new.” I did feel a bit envious of the protagonist’s terribly privileged life – summers in Italy reading, playing tennis, riding bikes, having passions.
Tolstoy, Lev. War and Peace. Yep, I plowed through it again. I’ve been traveling so I’ve been reading old books that I can get in compact additions with microscopic print. I enjoyed this one immensely, especially in how it gave me a nice overview of the Napoleon era and war – like how the Russians burned down Moscow to stop the French! Loved the romantic intrigues as well, of course. The story is like the water on the planet, flowing in rivers everywhere and settling in big oceans, action and pooling in all directions.
Pym, Barbara. Jane and Gertrude. Another travel book. Very funny, feminist, and wise about love and especially heartbreak. Definitely a light read, but smart and incisive. She’s been called a modern (in the literal sense of the word as the book was written in 1952) Jane Austen. If you like traditional English novels – and this one delightfully works the stereotype while simultaneously mocking it – here’s a gem. The protagonist is forever quoting 17th century poetry to sum up the moments in her life.
Edwards, Kim. The Memory Keeper’s Daughter. I guess this is my month of reading bestsellers, all recommended by the wonderful Luan of Laurel Books. This one pulled me in because of the in-depth exploration of sibling relationships, especially that between sisters. Also the theme of the power of secrets, which I like to write about , too. The character development in this novel was great. But the entire novel would have been worth it to me for this one line, which I’ll quote, but which probably needs the context of the whole novel to pack the wallop it packed for me: “Grief, it seemed, was a physical place.”
Lynch, Jim. The Highest Tide. I started this book with trepidation. It’s written in the voice of a 13-year-old boy and sounded a little YA at first. But the more I read, the more I loved how Lynch has written a unique and delightful 13-year-old boy. I loved all the northwestern sea lore and information. A beautiful coming of age story.
McNamee, Thomas. Alice Waters and Chez Panisse: The Romantic, Impractical, Often Eccentric, Ultimately Brilliant Making of a Food Revolution. Okay, the title says it all, no? This book isn’t for everyone, but if you’re a foodie (a word Alice hates), are interested in the slow food movement, sustainable agriculture, or the history of the fantastic, revolutionary City of Berkeley, this book is a must read page-turner. I loved reading about how Alice started this international movement – which she now calls the Delicious Revolution.
Levy, Andrea. Small Island. Levy has created some of the best characters I’ve read in a novel in a long time. This is the story of four Londoners in 1948. Hortense Roberts and Gilbert Joseph are both new immigrants from Jamaica, the latter having served in the R.A.F. in Britain during the war. Queenie is their white, working class landlord and Bernard is Queenie’s husband. Levy brilliantly shows the crushing effects of racism through the daily lives and interactions of these four characters. The scenes in which Hortense is truly baffled by the displays of superiority by people obviously less well-educated and less well-dressed than she are great. I also loved the slow development of Hortense’s respect and love for Gilbert, the man she married so she could get to England. Small Island won the Orange Prize.
Malcolm, Janet. Two Lives: Gertrude and Alice. I have always felt that fiction tells deeper truths than nonfiction because it is upfront about the construction of character and narrative. Fiction says, I want to tell you this emotional truth, this cultural truth, this truth about humankind. Nonfiction pretends to portray reality accurately but is always a very subjective and sometimes random gathering of facts, pieced together to create an effect or story or person. It’s as much a creative assemblage as fiction, but pretends to be more true. Janet Malcolm brilliantly tackles and reveals this fallibility of nonfiction in her edgy, eccentric, and smart biography of Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas. She not only offers fascinating insights into the lives of these iconic characters, she tells a gripping story about how she has constructed her narrative.
Beeier, Ulli and Moore, Gerald, eds. The Penguin Book of Modern African Poetry. Need a break from the whole idea of “the canon,” from the same old stuff about driving around New York feeling angst? I bought this book on a whim and have loved picking it up and randomly reading poems. They’re organized by country, and many of the poets are politically and historically inspired, so you can read a country’s section and not only enjoy the beauty of the language, but learn something about that part of the continent. I am struck by how many poets in this collection honor their mothers in their work.
Patchett, Ann. Run. I love authors who dare to follow up big splashy novels – Bel Canto – with quieter works. Run is almost too quiet…but it isn’t. That’s its strength, taking the intense topic of racial disparity and interracial families and quietly laying down the events and insights of her characters lives. I read one review that criticized Patchett’s characters for being too good, for the absence of a bad guy. But I thought that was what made the book daring and wonderful – Patchett shows basically decent, though certainly flawed, people trying to make the right decisions. She moves effortlessly among her story’s various voices and delivers the plot points in a refreshingly understated way.
Alexie, Sherman. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. I rarely read Young Adult literature, but I’ll read anything by Sherman Alexie. He’s one of the most evolved fiction writers working today. His characters are so fully human, so big-spirited, so messy in wholly believable ways. The characters in The Absolutely True Diary are no exception. Alexie creates a teenage boy – Arnold Spirit – who transforms himself, the people around him, and all of us who read about him. Spirit is a cartoonist and the book is full of his hugely wonderful drawings, done by Seattle cartoonist Ellen Forney, which add a whole other rich layer to the story. Best of all, this pull-out-the-stops book won the National Book Award! Read this book. But also read everything else Sherman Alexie has written for adults.
McEwan, Ian. Saturday. I admire McEwan’s development of a novel that takes place in one day (makes me want to find and read and compare a bunch of other novels that do this – besides Joyce’s Ulysses, of course) and his writing is at times stunning. As is his command of knowledge, and attention to detail, from neurosurgery to squash (the game, not the vegetable). My problem with the book was the protagonist, Henry Perowne. Normally, I object when readers say they don’t like a book because they don’t like the protagonist. I like difficult, deeply flawed characters. But it was tiresome living with Perowne’s every self-absorbed thought. I didn’t like the guy, mostly because he liked himself so well. His choice, at the end of the book, tipped the scales for me. I think Perowne was supposed to be viewed as noble when he…well, I won’t tell you what he does. But I viewed his act of redemption or forgiveness, or whatever it was supposed to be, as betrayal of his family. Would love to hear what you think.
Enright, Anne. The Gathering. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant. The best novel I’ve read in a long time. A stunning portrayal of family – particularly sibling – dynamics. Wicked humor. And here was a flawed character (see McEwan review above) that I could love. Veronica is gathering in Dublin with her 8 brothers and sisters for the wake of her brother Liam, who has drowned himself. Part of what’s so amazing about this book is how Enright reveals the characters of all these family members – including the mother, father, grandmother, grandfather, and the grandmother’s lover – with grace. I was never confused about who was who, or if I didn’t know at the moment, it didn’t really matter. One of my favorite characters was “the mysterious Alice,” a sister who never showed up at all. Enright is smart, tender, funny, and edgy. What more could you ask for?
Barrett, Andrea. The Air We Breathe. I love all of Barrett’s work. She takes a lot of risks with her subject matter, and this is particularly true with this book, a novel that takes place in a home for people with tuberculosis in 1916, as Americans are considering entering the war. Barrett’s characters are “charity cases,” having been sent to the home by the state, and most are immigrants. Over the course of the novel, the reader learns of their fascinating stories from their countries of origin and their hopes and dreams for a life in the U.S. Meanwhile, the political tensions as Americans approach the war become personal to the residents of the sanatorium. I particularly enjoyed the early-twentieth century science, and a couple of the women characters’ passion for that science.
McGahern, John. The Leavetaking. I do have a bit of a fetish for Irish authors (along with Canadian ones), and it doesn’t get much better than John McGahern. His prose are so rich and his stories so multi-layered, I’d read anything he wrote. The Leavingtaking is not as nuanced as his other novels, but he tackles plenty – the church, love, international marriage – in this love story about a teacher who is being fired for marrying an American woman. Actually, the whole first half of this book takes place in one day (see McEwan above). For other extraordinary McGahern reads, try By the Lake or Amongst Women.
Gruen, Sara. Water for Elephants. Last time I was home, my mother took me to her reading group and several of the women were raving about this book. So, while I rarely read bestsellers, I bought and read it. I enjoyed it. It was interesting to study the whole idea of “fast-paced” and I loved all of Gruen’s research into Depression-era circus life. Many of the stories within the novel were based on bits of research (she tells you which in an interesting afterward). And okay, I’ll admit it, I love elephants and the Polish-speaking elephant in Water for Elephants is a heartbreaker.
