Sunday, January 30, 2022

The Guncle, Bewilderment, and Dead Mothers

 I've written before (https://novelconversations.blogspot.com/search?q=dead+parents) about why a dead parent (particularly a dead mother) is apparently such a good context for children's/YA literature. This month a dead mother seemed to be a convenient set-up for adult fiction--I guess it's a life event with a lot of dramatic consequences that make for good stories, but I'm hoping for a different "trend" in February's reading. 

Fiction

When I finished Milk Fed, by Melissa Broder, my notes read "What is this book about? Judaism, gay sex, eating disorders, nothing?" At first, I was interested in the protagonist's disordered eating, but then  suddenly she was in a relationship with a "zaftig" woman and the eating disorder seemed to magically disappear (yeah, like that happens) as a problem and a plot point. Milk Fed made several "best of 2021" lists, but it wouldn't have made my best of the week list--any week.

Infinite Country, by Patricia Engel, joins the fairly large store of novels that tell the stories of immigrants. In Colombia, a girl escapes from a reform school and sets out to get back to her father's home. Her father was deported after living in the United States with his wife and three children; the wife decides to stay without her husband, believing that, despite its hardships, life in the U.S. will be better than it would be back in Colombia. However, she decides to send her youngest child back to Colombia to live with her grandmother. Over time, we learn that the reform school escapee is that younger daughter; even later, we learn the narrator is her older sister. Colombian myths are woven into the narrative. If my description sounds confusing, it's because I was a tad confused. This is certainly not the greatest book on immigration, but thinking about the challenges facing divided and mixed status families was worthwhile.

Our January book club choice was The Stationery Shop, by Marjan Kamali. It's the story of teenage lovers Roya and Bahman in Iran in 1953. While planning their wedding, Bahman suddenly disappears. They exchange letters through the owner of the stationery shop where they met, but Bahman does not explain where he has gone--or why. Finally, he sends Roya a letter telling her to meet him in one of Tehran's square on a given date and time--but he's not there and revolution is breaking out. When he then breaks up with her via letter, she and her sister decide to attend college in the United States. Both end up marrying and making a life in the US. But Roya has never gotten over Bahman, and when she finds out he is in assisted living near her home, she visits him and learns what happened that summer of 1953. I enjoyed learning about the history of Iran in the 1950s, but the story seemed trite (teenage love lasts 60 years--sorry, I'm a cynic) and shallow (the death of Roya's first child, while described as heartbreaking seemed to have less impact on her than losing Bahman). I wouldn't recommend the book, although I should report that everyone else in book club enjoyed it.

The Guncle, by Steven Rowley, is the story of how GUP (Gay Uncle Patrick) adapts when his sister-in-law (and college friend) dies and his brother has to go to rehab, leaving his two young children with GUP. Patrick is a retired self-involved actor, living in Palm Springs; his life is not designed for child care. But, perhaps predictably, he finds he actually has a knack for it, despite the many challenges the three face. The book is kind of corny, but it's also sweet and funny, and I enjoyed it (except why did the mom have to be dead? Really, why?). 

The mom is also dead in Bewilderment, by Richard Powers, but here the child (nine-year-old Robin, who is neurodiverse; his issues have garnered numerous diagnoses but little positive response) is being cared for by his father, Theo, an astrobiologist who models planets where life might exist. Robin is more interested in his late mother's work--environmental activism on this planet. Wanting to keep Robin off drugs, Theo agrees to let him participate in a highly experimental "treatment" in which he receives "training" using his mother's cognitive patterns as models. Powers generally draws on current science in his books, so I'm assuming this is based on actual scientific research--but it still does not seem believable, either that it could happen (clearly seems unethical) or that a father would let his child participate. Of course, Theo makes other less-than-optimal parenting decisions, so . . .  I admire Richard Powers but this is definitely not my favorite of his works; I got a little lost in the astrobiology, birdwatching, environmental science, and neuroscience, what one reader on Good Reads called "science babble." 

In my experience, authors who choose child narrators often have difficulty actually finding anything even vaguely resembling the voice of a child. In Fight Night, Miriam Toews does a good job capturing the voice of nine-year-old Swiv, who lives with her pregnant mother and ailing Grandmother. The downside of capturing this voice is that, for me, the writing style was not engaging, being rather choppy. I also had trouble with the attempts to make what is ultimately a sad story of a child given too many responsibilities and made to experience too many adult situations funny. Although a lot of readers report that they found the book hilarious, I just found it depressing.  

Mysteries/Thrillers

A Quiet Girl, by S.F. Kosa, is a pretty decent mystery. It seems to be two different stories--a man is desperately searching for his romance-writer wife, who has disappeared following an argument between the two, meanwhile a young waitress who has no memory tries to figure out who she is an dhow she ended up where she is. When the two stories converge, I was surprised. 

In State of Terror, by Louise Penny & Hillary Rodham Clinton, Clinton finally gets to take on that vast right-wing conspiracy she blamed for her husband's troubles. It's an entertaining read, featuring Secretary of State Ellen Adams, who must solve a complicated scheme involving international terrorists and enemies within the U.S. government--if she fails, nuclear weapons will be detonated in several U.S. cities. Clinton and Penny take down Trump, without naming him, and provide a setup for a sequel. Not surprisingly (but somewhat annoyingly), Gamache and Three Pines make an appearance. The audio book, which I listened to, is read by the actress Joan Allen, who happens to be from my home town and, perhaps because of their common Midwestern roots, actually sounds a bit like Clinton. Not a great book but entertaining.

Pretty as a Picture, by Elizabeth Little, is a dumb mystery involving a film editor's late arrival on a film set, only to be thrown into a murder mystery. Of course, she becomes involved in solving the mystery. I did enjoy the two teenagers, children of caterers, who ask her to join them as amateur detectives and later construct a podcast about the case. It was also fun to gain some insight into the movie-making process. But those two positives weren't enough to justify a recommendation for this book.

I found the story and characters in The Turnout, by Megan Abbott, repellent. Two sisters run a ballet school started by their mother. One starts an affair with the contractor repairing the school after a fire. All hell breaks loose and secrets of past and present are revealed. The only good thing about the book was the insight it gave into the craziness involved in putting on The Nutcracker.  Definitely NOT recommended.

YA

I started Concrete Rose, by Angie Thomas, months ago but just couldn't make myself pick it back up and finish it--until this month. That was not the case with Angie Thomas's previous two YA titles, which were compelling. Concrete Rose is the story of Maverick, father to the main character in The Hate U Give. His father, a gang member, is doing time in state prison, and Mav is struggling--trying to get out of the gang life but needing the money drug sales generate, as he has a baby and soon will have another on the way (with a different girl). It's an authentic slice of life circa 2000 and the character of Maverick is well-drawn, but somehow it just didn't grip me the way On the Come Up or The Hate U Give did. 

Nonfiction

I read Helen Ellis's collection of short stories, American Housewife, several years ago and found it very funny. Sadly, I thought she tried too hard to be funny in her recent collection of essays, Bring Your Baggage and Don't Pack Light (as well as its predecessor Southern Lady Code). Her topics--menopause, friendship, aging--are things I'm interested in, but her humor just didn't work for me. The one essay I really enjoyed was about her career as a poker player and the way she crafted an image to convince opponents she was a nice pearl-wearing lady rather than a skilled player and well-known author. I think I might enjoy a trip to the Redneck Riviera with Ellis and her friends, but I didn't really enjoy this book.

The African American historian Annette Gordon Reed provides a racial history of her home state of Texas (which she loves) in On Juneteenth. She tells the story through essays that feature her family's own history in the state, as well as other people of color. Most interesting to me was that the proclamation on June 19, 1865, was much broader than a simple announcement that slavery had ended in Texas. Rather, it stated that "The people of Texas are informed that, in accordance with a proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free. This involves an absolute equality of personal rights and rights of property between former masters and slaves." Sadly, the promise of that statement still remains unfulfilled in Texas and throughout the United States. This short book is definitely worth reading.

Favorite Passage

The books were easy to restack, but he pulled a few titles to donate, anyhow. Books should be an experience, not a trophy for having read them.

Steven Rowley, The Guncle

I felt the pleasure of competence and the warmth that only comes from sharing ideas. It always baffles me when my colleagues complain about teaching. Teaching is like photosynthesis: making food from air and light. It tilts the prospects for life a little. For me, the best class sessions are right up there with lying in the sun, listening to bluegrass, or swimming in a mountain stream.

Richard Powers, Bewilderment



Saturday, January 15, 2022

A Swim in the Pond in the Rain and Other Early January Reading

A Swim in the Pond in the Rain (more about this later) made clear to me what a careless reader I am, and I decided to take more notes when I am reading and to post more often on this blog thinking it will keep me better focused to know I am going to write about a book. So here I am, posting (maybe) twice a month. Here's what I've read so far this year.

Fiction

The previous three books by Rachel Cusk that I had read employed an unusual technique--essentially they were comprised of the stories of the people the "protagonist" encountered as she rebuilt her life after a divorce. It was an unusual approach that I found interesting. Second Place does not use that approach--here the protagonist (known only as M) is telling her story in retrospect to someone named Jeffers. We don't know who Jeffers is or why she is recounting the story, which I found somewhat irritating. Why include this layer between the narrator and reader unless it serves a clear purpose? The story M tells focuses on M's years-long obsession with a painter referred to as L. During the pandemic, L asks to stay with M, her husband Tony, and M's adult daughter in the guest cottage (the "second place"), bringing along a young woman. They welcome the visitors, but suffice it to say what ensues is not pleasant. Perhaps because I found the secondary characters more appealing than M and L (and characters are important to me), I did not really enjoy this book although I can appreciate aspects of what Cusk does. 

Louise Erdrich's latest novel, The Sentence, is also a pandemic novel, but it opens some years before with the narrator, Tookie, explaining how she ended up in prison for ten years, not exactly an innocent woman but not exactly guilty either. This part of the book doesn't seem to have a lot to do with what happens once Tookie gets out, marries the cop who arrested her, and starts working at Louise Erdrich's book store (Louise is a character who makes a few appearances in the book). And a lot happens in Tookie's family and in the broader culture. Examples: Tookie is haunted by a former customer, her stepdaughter comes home with a newborn, the pandemic strikes, George Floyd is killed and Native Americans like Tookie decide how to support the BLM movement while seeking justice for their own people killed by police. It's a lot, maybe too much. But it's Louise Erdrich, so it's worth reading! 

Caul Baby, by Morgan Jerkins, is like nothing I've read before. It's set in Harlem, starting in the 1990s and covering 20+ years. It involves a powerful yet deeply dysfunctional family, the Melancons, who have made a business of selling pieces of caul (the amniotic sac in which some babies are born), purported to have healing powers. They exercise their power by refusing to sell to some people. When they refuse to sell a piece of caul to a woman named Laila, who has had multiple miscarriages and whose baby ultimately dies, her niece Amara vows to become a lawyer and take down the Melancons. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to her, the child she placed for adoption is being raised by the Melancons--everyone in the book is somehow entwined with everyone else. While I recognize that the stuff about the caul was a form of magical realism, it still creeped me out (literary term). But the exploration of Black motherhood (and daughterhood) rewards the reader with insights and questions to ponder.

The Other Black Girl, by Zakiya Dalila Harris, is sometimes classified as a thriller, which does make me wonder about why we have "genre fiction" because the author's intent is definitely more than thrilling the reader. Nella, the only African American professional at a New York publishing company, is excited when another black woman is hired as an editorial assistant. But Hazel is not the supportive "sis" she originally presents herself as. She's a climber who sucks up to the editors, undercuts Nella, and hands out a "hair grease" as though it could change lives (spoiler: it can). I won't say more but it's thought-provoking and entertaining. I did wonder if the African American editor and writer who had been well-known 20 years previously were necessary to the story, but that was a small blip. Recommended.

Short Stories

I've often said I am not a short story person. and The Souvenir Museum, by Elizabeth McCracken, reminded me of why. The short stories in the collection are grim, have quirks for the sake of being quirky, and leave me saying "hunh?" at the end. I say this knowing that the collection was very positively reviewed, with many critics finding the stories funny. Certainly McCracken goes for funny and she is a skilled writer, so sometimes I did find myself smiling. Upon reflection, though, I would generally think "that doesn't even make sense" or "that's not really funny." As an example, here's a sentence from the story "Two Sad Clowns," in which two characters who recur in five stories have their first date: "Nobody whose mother ever truly loved them has ever taken pleasure in playing the tambourine." When you first read the sentence, you might chuckle because it's a clever insult, but then you realize it's a nonsensical connection--of course people who were loved can enjoy playing the tambourine and not being loved would certainly have more serious consequences than becoming a tambourinist (is that a word?). Perhaps I'm so old that I am losing my sense of humor, but I offer as evidence that this is not the case that I recently binge-watched Ricky Gervais's After Life and laughed and cried in equal measure. So, yeah, I'd recommend that Netflix series over The Souvenir Museum any day.

Mysteries/Thrillers

Razorblade Tears, by S.A. Cosby, tells the story of two fathers who set out to avenge their sons. The sons, one white and one black, were married and had a young daughter, and the fathers at first think the murder was a homophobic hate crime. As they investigate, the picture becomes much more complex. The plot was interesting and the fathers were engaging characters, but the story was too violent for me to enjoy it without reservation. "Heroes" who end up killing a lot of people doesn't sit well with me. If that won't bother you, then I recommend the book for you.  

The title character of Verity, by Colleen Hoover, is a thriller writer who has been incapacitated in a car accident, possibly a suicide attempt following the death of her two daughters. Her husband Jeremy hires Lowen to complete the last three books in the series. When Lowen arrives at their home to look for notes for the books she is to write, she discovers a memoir written by Verity, which suggests that things in the household are not as they seem. You know a twist is coming, but when it does, it's not very believable. I wasn't crazy about this book (but, as a side note, there is a lot more sex in it than in most mysteries/thrillers).  

The Madness of Crowds is Louise Penny's latest in the Armand Gamache series. It deals with serious content--a statistician hired by the Canadian government to analyze pandemic-related data recommends a horrifying program of "mercy" killings and abortions. This report brings out "the crazies" and murder ensues. It could have been a good book--but instead it is repetitive and circular and, ultimately, rather boring. I think Louise Penny has worn out the Gamache character (this is book 17) and should perhaps move on to a new character. 

The Stolen Hours, by Allen Eskins, is a so-so mystery about an aspiring prosecutor who pursues a serial rapist/murderer. Meh.

Nonfiction

A Swim in a Pond in the Rain is subtitled In Which Four Russians Give a Master Class on Writing, Reading, and Life, but it is in fact author George Saunders who offers the master class. Indeed, it is essentially Saunders's Syracuse class on 19th-Century Russian Short Stories in book form. If you listen to the audio version, Saunders reads the analysis and a cast of amazing actors read the seven stories (Glenn Close, Nick Offerman, Phylicia Rashad, BD Wong) by Chekhov, Gogol, Turgenev, and Tolstoy. After each story, he provides his analysis, attempting to answer the question: If a story drew us in, kept us reading, made us feel respected, how did it do that?  He takes the stories apart in a minute way that made me feel like the most careless reader in the universe; he points out the decisions the authors made as they constructed the work, suggests how the story could have been totally changed by the smallest decision, and sees meaning that totally escaped me. Reading the book was simultaneously humiliating (why do I notice nothing?) and inspiring (I'll start noticing more). I probably won't start noticing that much more, but I can dream. Worth a read if you want to think about reading in a different way.

Favorite Passage

"These days, it's easy to feel that we've fallen out of connection with one another and with the earth and with reason and with love. I mean: we have. But to read, to write, is to say that we still believe in, at least, the possibility of connection." 

George Saunders, A Swim in a Pond in the Rain

"Small bookstores have the romance of doomed intimate spaces about to be erased by unfettered capitalism."

Louise Erdrich, The Sentence