I seem always to have issues with books that appear on "best of" lists, but I keep reading them to expand my thinking; meanwhile, I remind myself that what is "good" is a matter of taste and I have as much right to my opinion as the loftiest critic. However, I have read quite a few reviews of The Bee Sting by Paul Murray, and none of the professional reviewers have mentioned the weird shift from third to second person midway through the book. Many reader reviewers mention it, so I know I'm not the only one it bothered. But I do wish someone with insight would have discussed the thought behind the switch. (The book was also too long and totally predictable.)
I also am compelled to ask if it's possible to write a book set in Iowa City (and they are legion) without including a scene in which a student at "The Workshop" suffers a savaging of their work. I believe I have read more than my share, most recently in another book from the "best of" lists--The Late Americans by Brandon Taylor (didn't care for it, although the savaging scene was okay). Perhaps it's a fad . . .
And fads do exist in publishing, like books with "Girl" in the title, books set in bookstores or libraries, books written in first person plural, etc. January saw four mysteries in which the bad people escaped punishment for their crimes. Mysteries are generally little morality plays, in which the hero/heroine uncovers the truth and the perpetrator is punished, so it's somewhat jarring to have my expectations turned on their heads. All four were written in the 2020s, which does make me wonder if bad people getting away with stuff in real life (okay, one bad person) might be consciously or subconsciously prompting this trend. Come to think of it, gaslighting has been a theme in more mysteries in the past few years than I used to see--that, too, might be prompted by the public gaslighting we've all been subjected to of late.
But on to things I'm not complaining about. I've already written about Year of Yes and The Country of the Blind in my post on memoirs, so I'm not saying any more about them here--but they're good. And I'll start with some other memoirs I liked.
Memoirs
The Talk, the graphic memoir from Pulitzer Prize-winning cartoonist Darrin Bell, focuses on what it is like to grow up as an African American in the United States--and then to become a parent who must learn from your own childhood experiences how best to help your children navigate a biased world. The title refers to the conversation parents have with African American children, especially boys, about how to survive encounters with police officers and others who may pose danger for young black people. Bell's white mother had "the talk" with him, but his African American father could not bring himself to share his own experiences with his sons. Bell makes a different decision, although he, too, feels the pain of memories. The book is sometimes uncomfortable to read, but it's worth it.
Enough, by Cassidy Hutchinson, isn't a great book, but it does reveal some new information about the chaos of the Trump White House and the terrible events of January 6, 2021. It's actually alarming how quickly Hutchinson gained a great deal of influence as a naive young staffer, about as well-informed and insightful as most 20-somethings interested in politics (i.e., better informed than many but still a long ways from wise). It seemed fairly clear to me that many people in power were using her as a conduit for information. It was also clear that her influence went to her head, prompting an attitude and actions that I sometimes found distasteful. She, like others in the Trump White House (and in the Clinton camp as well--see the book on Hillary's campaign, Shattered, for more on that), placed a high value on loyalty, a principle that often discourages reflection on whether the person to whom one is loyal is acting in accordance with other important values. Of course, Hutchinson eventually thought through her experiences and decided to forsake loyalty to Mark Meadows and Donald Trump to be honest in the interest of preserving democracy, for which we can all be thankful. Enough is a cautionary tale for naive young people who want to get into politics--not to discourage them from doing so, but reminding them not to subvert their values for influence or "loyalty."
After reading Enough and watching the January 6 committee hearings, I thought I knew quite a bit about January 6 and its aftermath. But it seems there's always more to learn--and none of it makes you feel better about Republicans and the state of democracy. In Oath and Honor: A Memoir and Warning, Liz Cheney makes the violence of January 6 more real than any account I've seen or heard. And she takes down Trump and his staff, as well as Republican Members of Congress, with a mountain of evidence and impeccable reasoning. I'm surprised Kevin McCarthy is still able to face himself in the mirror after the way she exposes his lack of leadership, integrity, and knowledge. Here's a telling anecdote from the book. At the first January 6 committee meeting, she was shocked to see Jamie Raskin taking notes for remarks another member would be making. She had never seen McCarthy or other Republicans taking notes in a strategy session. They relied on staffers to take notes and then synthesize the notes into talking points. This is perhaps not the most significant story, but to me it's an indicator of both classism and lack of professionalism and commitment to ideas. For a left-winger like me, every time Cheney mentioned her family was kind of a cringe-moment, but overall I found the book informative--I wouldn't really call it a memoir though, more like a first-person history (if that's a genre).
Yikes, have I become a memoir person?
Other Nonfiction
Ross Gay decided to write an "essayette" daily for a year, reflecting on things that delight him each day. The result was The Book of Delights, which I expected to consist of pieces on lovely things that, by attending to them, gave Gay delight. And there is some of that in the book (which includes 102 essayettes)--Gay writes about such things as bird song, gardening, a lavender infinity scarf, poetry readings, fireflies, lying down in public, and beating two 12-year-olds in a pick-up game of basketball. But there are also many much more serious topics that only a gifted "delighter" could include in the collection--pieces on, for example, the commodification of black suffering in popular entertainment, a study that involved exposing black children to huge doses of radiation, Donny Hathaway singing about death. Considering how delight can grow from these topics requires reflection on what delight means. Gay suggests not only that "delight and nostalgia, delight and loneliness . . . are kin" but that the combining of sorrows creates joy. I am leaning toward delight meaning laughing and crying at the same time. Gay has a delightful (see what I did there?) casual but incisive style. He describes the Super Bowl as our "nationalistic celebration of brain damage" and stops to reflect on his own use of the phrase "I found myself," saying "I adore that construction for its Whitmanian assertion of multitudinousness." He describes his mother as "one of the varieties of light." I found so much language to enjoy in these essays. I didn't love every piece (to wit, there are two about peeing that I found unappealing) but the book is full of delights of many types, and I recommend it.
I heard Jeff Sharlet talking on a podcast (I think it was Dahlia Lithwick's Amicus) and thought his book, The Undertow: Scenes from a Slow Civil War, sounded interesting. So I read it and found that terrifying might be a better descriptor, as Sharlet reports on, among other things, a cross-country trip during which he talked with numerous folks who participated in or supported the attack on the Capitol on January 6, 2021. How and what these folks believe is so extreme and fantastical that I find it impossible not only to understand but to describe. So I borrow from the NYT review by Joseph O'Neill: "The result is a riveting, vividly detailed collage of political and moral derangement in America, one that horrifyingly corresponds to liberals' worst fears." The book is well written and researched, but I would only recommend it if the fate of our democracy is not already keeping you up at night.
Novels
It's been a bleak winter for novels--most of those I've read, including both "serious" books and mysteries, have been less than totally rewarding. I will mention that, though the writing and characterization don't live up to its premise, The Measure, by Nikki Erlick, has a premise that offers lots of material for discussion. One morning, everyone in the world over the age of 18 wakes up to find themselves the recipient of a box, in which is a single string, the length of which accurately (governments do studies!) predicts the length of your life. Characters grapple with such questions as: Should they open their box? Should they get married if they're a short-stringer (or their beloved is)? Should they have children? Should a short-stringer be able to run for the Presidency? Should short-stringers in the military be protected from hazardous assignments? How should they live their lives? Lots to discuss!
A better novel is Wellness, by Nathan Hill. Wellness seems to have a narrow focus--the lives and marriage of two people, Jack and Elizabeth. But within that story, Hill deals with a plethora of themes, many satirically--what it means to stay and fall in love, the utility of psychology, art and how scholars and collectors regard it and talk about it, the effects of technology, gentrification, polyamory, parenting, and even more--but it never seems like he's stuffing too much into the book. The book is non-chronological--at one point, Jack's friend Ben tells him that hypertext will change literature forever, which made me think that perhaps Hill was putting the book together as one path through the story--but we could cut up the pieces, rearrange them, and find another meaning in the book (perhaps I am being fanciful). My favorite humorous piece is when Elizabeth is reflecting on strategies she's tried with their son and what she might do next to bring him out of his shell--and her thoughts include citations! It's a long book, but it's worth it.
Favorite Passages
. . .in witnessing someone's being touched [in the not quite right mentally sense], we are also witnessing someone's being moved, the absence of which in ourselves is a sorrow, and a sacrifice. And witnessing the absence of movement in ourselves by witnessing its abundance in another, moonwalking toward the half and half, or ringing his bell on Cass Street, can hurt. Until it becomes, if we are lucky, an opening.
--Ross Gay, The Book of Delights
I went looking for trouble and I found it and now I realized what a fool I'd been. We're past the days of "looking for trouble" in America. They were always an illusion. Trouble has always already been present. That's the fear I felt racing too fast under the skin of my left wrist.
--Jeff Sharlet, The Undertow
