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
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