Yes, I hit 100 books read in 2018 this month. That might explain why I am so far behind in my work. But two of this month's tally--The Overstory and The Great Believers--were so good I don't even care that I now have clients who think me totally unreliable.
Best Books I Read This Month
Mr. Bridge, by Evan S. Connell. Mr. Bridge is the companion to Connell's Mrs. Bridge, this time getting the interior view from the husband. Like Mrs. Bridge, the book is told in short vignettes that don't seem to create an overarching narrative and yet convey a life. As constricted in pre-World War II Kansas City as his wife, Mr. Bridge at first seems pitiable (joy is for the "simple-minded") but progresses to despicable because of his narrow-mindedness and racism. I had much more empathy for Mrs. Bridge--perhaps because I naturally prefer the emotional lives of women or perhaps because she seemed to be a good person trapped in her circumstances while he is a less good person creating those circumstances. Despite my lack of sympathy for the protagonist, Mr. Bridge is still worth reading to see the male perspective on the same context and some of the same events described in the earlier book.
A Full Life: Reflections at 90, by Jimmy Carter. This memoir covers a lot of details about President Carter's life that I had not previously known. Most notable to me was how he journeyed from making decisions for his family without even telling Rosalyn to viewing her as a full partner. I also didn't realize he wrote poetry, which he intersperses with his memories--I don't think it's the greatest poetry, but it does convey the understanding that this is a man of many parts. I occasionally felt the author was a little self-righteous, but I also think he deserves to be.
The Circle, by Dave Eggers. The memoir that made everyone else love Dave Eggers made me dislike him, but he's gradually convinced me he's an admirably imaginative writer. The Circle is a cautionary tale about how a big social media company might essentially take over the world. Mae Holland needs a job, and when her friend helps her get on at Internet giant The Circle, she's thrilled, not only with the salary and benefits but the numerous social activities. The longer she stays, though, the more The Circle demands that her life be lived in public, with scary consequences.
The Overstory, by Richard Powers. Richard Powers is a genius. He weaves science into each of his novels but does it so beautifully that even the somewhat science-phobic can enjoy the narrative and appreciate what we are learning. While some may find The Overstory a bit heavy-handed in its environmentalism, I could not put it down. In the initial section, titled "Roots," Powers introduces several (mostly young) people who will reappear throughout the book, often meeting and interacting with each other. Each has some special relationship to trees--one was saved by a tree when falling out of a helicopter, one is the last remaining member of an Iowa farm family that recorded the life span of one of the last American chestnuts in the country, one is the daughter of a Chinese immigrant who put his hopes in a mulberry he planted in his back yard, one is a little girl with a speech impediment who loves trees more than people . . . although there are even more of these characters, they all become fully realized people. As we proceed through the layers of the forest/sections of the books, their lives intersect in an effort to save the California redwoods, and we care deeply about the forest and the people. For me, The Overstory rivals The Time of Our Singing as a Powers masterpiece. This author deserves the kudos so often heaped upon Jonathan Franzen!
The Great Believers, by Rebecca Makkai. The Great Believers is told in two linked narratives. In the mid-1980s Yale and his friends are dealing with the frightening new epidemic killing gay men and the effect of HIV/AIDS on relationships of all kinds. At the same time, Yale is trying to acquire a collection of artwork from an elderly aunt of his friends Nico and Fiona (the book opens at Nico's funeral, so he is mostly a specter throughout the book). In 2015, Fiona is in Europe trying to find her estranged daughter Claire; Fiona stays with Richard, a photographer friend from the old days in Chicago, who is getting ready for a major solo exhibition featuring many photos and videos of their crowd in the 1980s. Makkai fills the book with wonderful characters and subplots too numerous to mention, but all the plots cause the reader to think about love, family, relationships, art, and cause-and-effect. She also made me see what it must have been like to be a gay man when AIDS was a death sentence in a way I never had before. Highly recommended.
Uncommon Type, by Tom Hanks. Tom Hanks may not be Alice Munro or Raymond Carver, but I found the actor's short stories enjoyable. Some characters reappear in several stories; my favorite series was "Our Town Today with Hank Fiset," which featured the ebullient Hank Fiset fulminating about aspects of life in his small town and, in one case, why it is superior to New York. In one story, a man cracks under the pressure of bowling several perfect games in a row while in another an injured veteran talks to a former comrade every Christmas Eve. Hanks gives us some insights into his world--one story features a minor actor on a press junket in Europe--as well as some good doses of humor. In a tip of the hat to his love of old typewriters, each story contains a reference to a machine in his collection.
Also Read
Two Nights, by Kathy Reichs. This is the first Reichs book I've read that wasn't a Temperance Brennan book. It features Sunday Night (and her brother, thus two Nights), a reclusive, scarred heroine who gets drawn from her haven to search for a missing girl. Okay, but not super. I enjoyed most the time she spent searching in Chicago because so many of the restaurants and locations were familiar to me (I know, how provincial).
A Trick of the Light, by Louise Penney. Another Inspector Gamache mystery, this one seemed to revisit themes that I'd had enough of in earlier works in the series. Not exciting.
The Last Mrs. Parrish, by Liv Constantine. A young woman plots to insinuate herself into a wealthy family and steal the husband. There are twists, but ugh, just ugh.
Kudos, by Rachel Cusk. This is the third of Cusk's Outline trilogy, and I think I was just tired of her style of narrating through the stories of people the protagonist Faye, a novelist. There's some humor and some insight into the work of creating, but overall I'm glad the trilogy is finished.
A Gathering of Secrets, by Linda Castillo. Another mediocre Kate Burkholder mystery.
Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude, by Ross Gay. A collection of poetry with some lovely imagery, especially about nature but it occasoinally lapses into the graphic (a bird poops in the poet's mouth--seriously?).
Sing, Unburied, Sing, by Jesmyn Ward. Ward writes beautifully (although perhaps occasionally a little too fond of simile/metaphor), but I cannot love her work, which I am sure is totally about me and not her. JoJo, the hero of Sing, Unburied, Sing, is a biracial 13-year-old whose white father is in prison and whose African American mother is a mostly absent drug addict who enjoys hitting the children. He must take care of his toddler sister, under the loving eye of his grandfather; his grandmother is dying of cancer. When his mother decides to take the children and her best friend to pick up his father from jail, the road trip can only bring trouble. A couple of dead people who can't or won't move on make their presence known to some family members. I feel shallow saying this, but the book is so depressing I found it nearly unbearable.
Are You Sleeping? by Kathleen Barber. I just finished this psychological thriller a few days ago and have already forgotten what it was about. Nuf said.
Hound of the Baskervilles, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I will never be a Sherlock Holmes person. Sorry.
Arcadia, by Lauren Groff. I had to renew this book about a boy nicknamed Bit being raised in a commune in upstate New York twice--and I was still finishing it the night before the third due date. The commune is plagued with the problems I would expect--inadequate housing, inadequate food, and a "leader" who makes actually running the community difficult. Somehow I just was not compelled by life in the commune--or what happened to Bit and his family once things fell apart at the commune and they took off for a more mainstream life.
Favorite Passages
This section of a poem by Ross Gay in Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude is describing shame:
stitched together like a quilt
with all its just legible
patterning which could be a thing
heavy and warm
to be buried in
or instead might be helped up
to the light
where we see the threads
barely holding
so human and frail
so beautiful and sad and small
from this remove.
You have given me a thing I could never have imagined, before I knew you. It's like I had the word "book," and you put one in my hands. I had the word "game," and you taught me how to play. I had the word "life," and then you came along and said, "Oh! You mean this."
But people have no idea of what time is. They think it's a line, spinning out from three seconds behind them, then vanishing just as fast into the three seconds of fog just ahead. They can't see that time is one spreading ring wrapped around another, outward and outward until the thinnest skin of Now depends for its being on the enormous mass of everything that has already died.
Richard Powers, The Overstory
Tuesday, July 31, 2018
Sunday, July 1, 2018
How Do You Feel about Goodreads?
This month, I was thinking about posting on Goodreads instead of maintaining this blog, which doesn't exactly have high readership. However, I tried posting a review on that site and found it somewhat annoying to deal with their format, many questions/prompts, and visually distracting design. But I know it's really, really popular. So I'd be interested in hearing why people like it so much. Meanwhile, still at it here . . .
Best Books I Read This Month
Cherries in Winter, by Suzan Colon. The author had her dream job as a magazine editor. Then, in the economic downturn in 2008, she was laid off and suddenly had to spend less. One of her methods of doing so was to consult her grandmother’s recipes. As she experimented with a simpler and cheaper way of eating, her mother shared family stories with her. The result is a charming little book—neither the recipes or stories will change your life, but they provide a pleasant diversion (or they did for me--many reader-reviewers on Amazon were annoyed by the fact that her dream job was such a good job and she did immediately fall into penury).
No Time to Spare, by Ursula K. LeGuin. This collection of essays, while containing too many pieces about LeGuin’s cat (I'm sure cat-lovers would find them charming), features many thought-provoking pieces on such topics as women and anger, sacrifice, “spare time,” and not using the word believe when talking about science. Some topics—exorcism, why uniforms are ugly—qualify as odd, but overall the collection is worth your time.
Transit, by Rachel Cusk. Cusk's novels (Transit is the middle book in a trilogy) feature Faye, writer, mother of two, and recent divorcee. In Transit, she has moved to London (in Outline she was teaching a writing course in Athens) and is renovating a newly purchased flat, so her children are once again not an essential part of her story. However, there isn't really that much of a story (although the flat renovation piece is funny, marked by extremely horrible neighbors), as Cusk constructs the books from the stories of the people Faye encounters in her life. It's an innovative approach, which I admire without, to be honest, truly understanding her point. Thus, I include the book in the "Best Books" category more out of respect than actual enjoyment.
The Nest, by Cynthia D'Aprix Sweeney. The Plumb are a dysfunctional lot: the four siblings--Melody, Beatrice, Jack, and Leo--have been waiting for decades to receive a family inheritance (referred to as "The Nest") that will be paid out when the youngest child turns 40. Then, a year before they will become eligible for the money, Leo (the eldest) gets into an accident in which a young waitress loses her foot and the family agrees to borrow against the inheritance to pay her off, accepting (for no apparent reason) Leo's assurances that he will pay them back. Of course, he doesn't, but somehow I enjoyed reading about the messed up lives of the siblings as they worked their way to a resolution--and the ending is surprisingly positive. Although the book has been a bestseller, I noticed a lot of really negative reviews on Amazon. Nonetheless, I liked it.
Reclaiming Conversation: The Power of Talk in a Digital Age, by Sherry Turkle. Turkle is a professor at MIT, so she works in an environment that tends to see technology positively. She has spent a number of years researching the impact of technology on people, particularly the switch from conversation (face-to-face interaction) to connection (digital interaction). She examines how technology, especially smart phones, affect our creativity and ability to be empathetic, our friendships, family relations, education, work, politics, and how we treat the aging. It's a fascinating discussion with ideas we ought all to consider implementing. Highly recommended!
Also Read
The Death of Mrs. Westaway, by Ruth Ware. This author apparently has a gift for creating stupid protagonists who bug me no end. This, my second Ruth Ware, will be my last!
Good Me, Bad Me, by Ali Land. Creepy story of a teenager in foster care. Her terrible back story--her mother is in jail awaiting trial for killing several children in their home--at first generates sympathy, but then . . .
The Murder at the Vicarage and The Mysterious Affair at Styles (audio versions packaged together), by Agatha Christie. I hadn't read any Agatha Christie since high school, so thought I'd revisit her. I found the books a great insomnia cure and can't figure out why she's considered such a goddess in the mystery world.
All Fall Down and See How They Run, by Ally Carter. My granddaughter recommended these books in the Embassy Row series. They feature Grace, the teenaged granddaughter of the long-time U.S. ambassador to the fictional European country of Adria. In the first book, Grace has been in psychological trouble since her mother's mysterious death three years ago and hopes to figure out what really happened, with the help of her group of international friends (who are much more likable than Grace herself). For someone whose been under a psychiatrist's care, it's amazing she has so much freedom to get into trouble, but that's what keeps the pace of the books extremely fast. I was lukewarm on the books; my granddaughter raced through the first one but has stalled out in the second.
The Silent Sister, by Diane Chamberlain. Riley has always been told that her sister Lisa committed suicide as a teenager because of the pressure of being a musical prodigy. When she is cleaning out her parents' home following her father's death, she finds evidence that the truth is vastly different and sets out to find Lisa. An interesting premise, but the book becomes predictable soap opera before the quest is over.
Anne of Green Gables, by Lucy Maud Montgomery. Perhaps I am the only person who read a lot as a child who never read Anne of Green Gables--and I think it might have been better to read it than to listen, as I did, as Anne's loquaciousness because rather irritating. On the other hand, the softening of the hearts of her adoptive "parents," Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert, is a sweet story.
The Wife, by Alafair Burke. The Wife poses the question: How far would you go to protect your husband if he were accused of something heinous? The wife in the story has a complicated back story that affects how she responds to the accusations against her husband, and for about half the book, it's an interesting exploration. But then the author throws in a passing reference to another book and it's a total spoiler--I knew instantly (and trust me, I'm not that quick at figuring out what's going to happen) how the book was going to turn out. Bummer.
Restless, by William Boyd. A friend loaned me this book several years ago because she loved the story of a young scholar who learns that her mother was a spy during World War II--a great premise for a book. Although I finally finished it and found the story of British spycraft interesting, I didn't love the book.
One Summer: America, 1927, by Bill Bryson. I have several friends who love Bill Bryson; one of them recommended this book, which falls into the pile of his more serious works. Bryson looks at the big stories of summer 1927--Lindbergh's flight, Calvin Coolidge's absence from Washington, Henry Ford's shutting down of Model T production to launch a new vehicle, the terrible weather, Babe Ruth's record home run-hitting season--and creates a collage-like portrayal of a moment in American history. Sadly, however, Bryson is not a historian and he makes some mistakes (in my opinion) fails to draw the diverse stories into a meaningful account. I remain unconverted to the cult of Bryson.
Favorite Passages
I see in the lives of people I know how crippling a deep and deeply suppressed anger is. It comes from pain and it causes pain.
—Ursula K. LeGuin, No Time to Spare
What do we forget when we talk to machines? We forget what is special about being human. We forget what it means to have authentic conversation. Machines are programmed to have conversations "as if" they understood what the conversation is about. So when we talk to them, we, too, are reduced and confined to the "as if."
In recent years, psychologists have learned more about how creative ideas come from the reveries of solitude. When we let our minds wander, we set our brains free. Our brains are most productive when there is no demand that they be reactive. For some, this goes against cultural expectations. American culture tends to worship sociality. We have wanted to believe that we are our most creative during "brainstorming" and "groupthink" sessions. But this turns out not to be the case. New ideas are more likely to emerge from people thinking on their own. Solitude is where we learn to trust our imaginations.
. . . boredom can be recognized as your imagination calling you.
Sherry Turkle, Reclaiming Conversation
Best Books I Read This Month
Cherries in Winter, by Suzan Colon. The author had her dream job as a magazine editor. Then, in the economic downturn in 2008, she was laid off and suddenly had to spend less. One of her methods of doing so was to consult her grandmother’s recipes. As she experimented with a simpler and cheaper way of eating, her mother shared family stories with her. The result is a charming little book—neither the recipes or stories will change your life, but they provide a pleasant diversion (or they did for me--many reader-reviewers on Amazon were annoyed by the fact that her dream job was such a good job and she did immediately fall into penury).
No Time to Spare, by Ursula K. LeGuin. This collection of essays, while containing too many pieces about LeGuin’s cat (I'm sure cat-lovers would find them charming), features many thought-provoking pieces on such topics as women and anger, sacrifice, “spare time,” and not using the word believe when talking about science. Some topics—exorcism, why uniforms are ugly—qualify as odd, but overall the collection is worth your time.
Transit, by Rachel Cusk. Cusk's novels (Transit is the middle book in a trilogy) feature Faye, writer, mother of two, and recent divorcee. In Transit, she has moved to London (in Outline she was teaching a writing course in Athens) and is renovating a newly purchased flat, so her children are once again not an essential part of her story. However, there isn't really that much of a story (although the flat renovation piece is funny, marked by extremely horrible neighbors), as Cusk constructs the books from the stories of the people Faye encounters in her life. It's an innovative approach, which I admire without, to be honest, truly understanding her point. Thus, I include the book in the "Best Books" category more out of respect than actual enjoyment.
The Nest, by Cynthia D'Aprix Sweeney. The Plumb are a dysfunctional lot: the four siblings--Melody, Beatrice, Jack, and Leo--have been waiting for decades to receive a family inheritance (referred to as "The Nest") that will be paid out when the youngest child turns 40. Then, a year before they will become eligible for the money, Leo (the eldest) gets into an accident in which a young waitress loses her foot and the family agrees to borrow against the inheritance to pay her off, accepting (for no apparent reason) Leo's assurances that he will pay them back. Of course, he doesn't, but somehow I enjoyed reading about the messed up lives of the siblings as they worked their way to a resolution--and the ending is surprisingly positive. Although the book has been a bestseller, I noticed a lot of really negative reviews on Amazon. Nonetheless, I liked it.
Reclaiming Conversation: The Power of Talk in a Digital Age, by Sherry Turkle. Turkle is a professor at MIT, so she works in an environment that tends to see technology positively. She has spent a number of years researching the impact of technology on people, particularly the switch from conversation (face-to-face interaction) to connection (digital interaction). She examines how technology, especially smart phones, affect our creativity and ability to be empathetic, our friendships, family relations, education, work, politics, and how we treat the aging. It's a fascinating discussion with ideas we ought all to consider implementing. Highly recommended!
Also Read
The Death of Mrs. Westaway, by Ruth Ware. This author apparently has a gift for creating stupid protagonists who bug me no end. This, my second Ruth Ware, will be my last!
Good Me, Bad Me, by Ali Land. Creepy story of a teenager in foster care. Her terrible back story--her mother is in jail awaiting trial for killing several children in their home--at first generates sympathy, but then . . .
The Murder at the Vicarage and The Mysterious Affair at Styles (audio versions packaged together), by Agatha Christie. I hadn't read any Agatha Christie since high school, so thought I'd revisit her. I found the books a great insomnia cure and can't figure out why she's considered such a goddess in the mystery world.
All Fall Down and See How They Run, by Ally Carter. My granddaughter recommended these books in the Embassy Row series. They feature Grace, the teenaged granddaughter of the long-time U.S. ambassador to the fictional European country of Adria. In the first book, Grace has been in psychological trouble since her mother's mysterious death three years ago and hopes to figure out what really happened, with the help of her group of international friends (who are much more likable than Grace herself). For someone whose been under a psychiatrist's care, it's amazing she has so much freedom to get into trouble, but that's what keeps the pace of the books extremely fast. I was lukewarm on the books; my granddaughter raced through the first one but has stalled out in the second.
The Silent Sister, by Diane Chamberlain. Riley has always been told that her sister Lisa committed suicide as a teenager because of the pressure of being a musical prodigy. When she is cleaning out her parents' home following her father's death, she finds evidence that the truth is vastly different and sets out to find Lisa. An interesting premise, but the book becomes predictable soap opera before the quest is over.
Anne of Green Gables, by Lucy Maud Montgomery. Perhaps I am the only person who read a lot as a child who never read Anne of Green Gables--and I think it might have been better to read it than to listen, as I did, as Anne's loquaciousness because rather irritating. On the other hand, the softening of the hearts of her adoptive "parents," Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert, is a sweet story.
The Wife, by Alafair Burke. The Wife poses the question: How far would you go to protect your husband if he were accused of something heinous? The wife in the story has a complicated back story that affects how she responds to the accusations against her husband, and for about half the book, it's an interesting exploration. But then the author throws in a passing reference to another book and it's a total spoiler--I knew instantly (and trust me, I'm not that quick at figuring out what's going to happen) how the book was going to turn out. Bummer.
Restless, by William Boyd. A friend loaned me this book several years ago because she loved the story of a young scholar who learns that her mother was a spy during World War II--a great premise for a book. Although I finally finished it and found the story of British spycraft interesting, I didn't love the book.
One Summer: America, 1927, by Bill Bryson. I have several friends who love Bill Bryson; one of them recommended this book, which falls into the pile of his more serious works. Bryson looks at the big stories of summer 1927--Lindbergh's flight, Calvin Coolidge's absence from Washington, Henry Ford's shutting down of Model T production to launch a new vehicle, the terrible weather, Babe Ruth's record home run-hitting season--and creates a collage-like portrayal of a moment in American history. Sadly, however, Bryson is not a historian and he makes some mistakes (in my opinion) fails to draw the diverse stories into a meaningful account. I remain unconverted to the cult of Bryson.
Favorite Passages
I see in the lives of people I know how crippling a deep and deeply suppressed anger is. It comes from pain and it causes pain.
—Ursula K. LeGuin, No Time to Spare
What do we forget when we talk to machines? We forget what is special about being human. We forget what it means to have authentic conversation. Machines are programmed to have conversations "as if" they understood what the conversation is about. So when we talk to them, we, too, are reduced and confined to the "as if."
In recent years, psychologists have learned more about how creative ideas come from the reveries of solitude. When we let our minds wander, we set our brains free. Our brains are most productive when there is no demand that they be reactive. For some, this goes against cultural expectations. American culture tends to worship sociality. We have wanted to believe that we are our most creative during "brainstorming" and "groupthink" sessions. But this turns out not to be the case. New ideas are more likely to emerge from people thinking on their own. Solitude is where we learn to trust our imaginations.
. . . boredom can be recognized as your imagination calling you.
Sherry Turkle, Reclaiming Conversation
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)