Why Am I the Last Person to Read This? The Library Book

 Often, when everyone I know has read and loved a book, I don't care for it all that much when I finally get around to reading it (it's hard to live up to high expectations). Such was not the case with The Library Book by Susan Orleans, which I thoroughly enjoyed. (I am currently reading and loving another book everyone else read years ago--but that's for next month.)  The rest of my August reading was mostly uninspiring.

Fiction

A Beginning at the End, by Mike Chen. This timely book deals with the aftermath of a deadly flu pandemic. Society is trying to relaunch, but the post-pandemic challenges and restrictions make life difficult for people. The book's main characters include Rob, a father who has not told her that her mother died during the pandemic (she thinks her mother remains in treatment); when the daughter acts out in school, social service agencies get involved in Rob's life. Moira is a young woman who was a pop sensation controlled by her father before the pandemic but used the pandemonium when the pandemic started to escape; now, her father is trying to find her (to use her for his own purposes). Moira is planning to get married, but knows things aren't right with her relationship; meanwhile wedding/event planner Krista tries to talk her into getting married, because Krista needs the money. The book is definitely more about relationships and honesty than a post-apocalyptic story--one reviewer criticized it for not being Station Eleven. It's definitely not Station Eleven -- Station Eleven is a marvel -- but I enjoyed it nonetheless.

The Last Cruise, by Kate Christensen. A motley crew of folks head out on the final cruise of a vintage ocean liner. The story focuses on three characters--a former journalist who is now a somewhat unhappy farmer in Maine, a sous-chef, and the only female member of an Israeli string quartet (which also includes her ex-husband and a man she has secretly longed for for many years). I, being a wanna-be foodie, enjoyed the parts about cooking on the ship--especially after things started to go wrong, and they went wrong in pretty much every way you can imagine. If you like to cruise, you might not want to read this book because it could possibly change your vacation plans forever. But I found it entertaining. 

Mysteries

The Janes, by Louisa Luna. This was my second Luna mystery featuring bounty hunter Alice Vega and her sidekick Max Caplan. It deals with a current hot topic--sex trafficking of young women--but involves so many double crosses and red herrings that I became somewhat annoyed. I'm debating whether to give up on Luna. If you don't think I should, I'd be interested in your arguments!

Nonfiction

The Library Book, by Susan Orlean. If you are one of the few people who hasn't read this book, it's ostensibly the story of the devastating fire at the central Los Angeles Library in 1986. And it's that--exploring the dynamics of the fire, its aftermath (including the technology by which books were revitalized), and the investigation into who set the fire. But it's so much more--it's a history of libraries and their role in the community; a love song to books, libraries, and librarians; and a memoir of the author's relationship to libraries at various phases of her life (and I love a good personal library story). It's a truly wonderful book! 

Whose Story Is It? by Rebecca Solnit. Solnit is widely admired as a feminist essayist. I agree with her wholeheartedly on almost all of her points--in this book she focuses on whose story/voice is privileged and whose is not--and yet I just don't find myself terribly engaged by her work. In fact, I fell asleep twice while listening to the audio version of Whose Story Is It?  Yet I resonated to some of her ideas (see Favorite Passages below). Maybe I am too old and tired to concentrate long on deep thinking--so I'll  recommend the book for those with greater focus! 

I Need to Rant

So Elin Hildebrand is a popular "beach read" author. I had seen a recommendation for her book 28 Summers somewhere and decided I should read it instead of diverting myself with another bad mystery. First of all, the book is excessively derivative of the old movie Same Time Next Year, to the point that between chapters on each year there's a pastiche of "what we were talking about in 199_," similar to the visual montages in the movie (to be fair, she acknowledges the debt to the movie). What's so infuriating though is there was no actual reason for the couple in the book not to be together. The first year they were together, they weren't married to anyone else and, though the dude had an off-and-on girlfriend, he knew she was wrong for him. Yet he marries her, despite of being in love with someone else. The female character never marries and then dies relatively young. I mean, how retrograde (if not misogynistic) is that! Plus the ending is corny. Ugh, ugh, ugh. 

Also Read 

The Last Trial, by Scott Turow. (Sorry--I liked Turow's earlier work, but a case about insider trading and regulations governing drug testing just wasn't very interesting to me.)

Girls Like Us, by Cristina Alger

Trust Me, by Hank Phillippi Ryan

Fallen and The Kept Woman, by Karin Slaughter

The Herd and The Lost Night, by Andrea Bartz (I fear this author doesn't really like women very much)

Something She's Not Telling Us, by Darcey Bell 

The Last Book Party, by Karen Dukess

Favorite Passages

The unexamined life is not worth living, as the aphorism goes, but perhaps an honorable and informed life requires examining others' lives, not just one's own. Perhaps we do not know ourselves unless we know others. And if we do, we know that nobody is nobody.

Comfort is often a code word for the right to be unaware.

Rebecca Solnit, Whose Story Is This?

In Senegal, the polite expression for saying someone died is to say his or her library has burned. When I first heard the phrase, I didn't understand it, but over time I came to realize it was perfect. Our minds and souls contain volumes inscribed by our experiences and emotions; each individual's consciousness is a collection of memories we've cataloged and stored inside us, a private library of a life lived.

Susan Orlean, The Library Book (and there are so many more I could list here)

Dog Days Start Early

It seems like the Dog Days of Summer have started early this year--perhaps because it's been hot or because the pandemic is resurging (if that's a word) or because I dog-sat an actual dog twice in a month (technically, one time was in June, but who's counting?). Or maybe it's because I read some dogs this month. But, as usual, there were some good ones too. 

Fiction

Lost Children Archive, by Valeria Luiselli. None of the four major characters in this novel have names--they are a married couple referred to as Mama and Papa, his son (The Boy), and her daughter (The Girl). After meeting and falling in love while working on a project to archive the sounds of New York City, the parents are both contemplating new projects and decide to take a family trip to the Southwest to explore the possibilities. Papa is obsessed with the Apache, while Mama is researching lost child refugees. As they travel cross-country, tensions between the parents increase, and The Boy, at least, is aware of the possible break-up of their family and looking for a solution.The book is much more complex than I am depicting it--it's complicated and sad and well worth reading.

Anatomy of a Miracle, by Jonathan Miles. This is a very unusual book, written to resemble a nonfiction book about a paraplegic veteran who suddenly stands up and walks (the resemblance to a nonfiction treatment seems to fade as the book progresses). The mysterious miracle has a ripple effect, influencing the vet's sister, his doctor, his pastor, the couple that runs the convenience store where the miracle happened, a reality show producer who wants to make a show about the vet. It's weird, and the romantic ending comes out of nowhere, but the book is nonetheless entertaining. 

Recipe for a Perfect Wife, by Karma Brown. I had read some glowing reviews of this book, which depicts the lives of two women who lived in the same house, 70 years apart. While Nellie Murdoch appears to be a perfect 1950s housewife, her husband is abusive, and she is determined not to have his child. The current occupant of the house, Alice Hale, has been pressured by her husband to move to the suburbs after losing her job. He sees it as the ideal opportunity for her to write her novel while they work on getting pregnant.  She finds Nellie's cookbook and a neighbor gives her some letters written by Nellie, and she begins to feel comfortable wearing retro housedresses and cooking such 50s gems as tuna casserole with potato chip. Yet she resists getting pregnant by secretly getting an IUD and doesn't tell her husband that she hasn't written a word of the novel. While the format of the book and the cover suggest a lightness, both stories are on the dark side.  Not really up to the glowing views, but still fairly entertaining.

The Things They Carried, by Tim O'Brien. I've had this book for years and resisted reading it, at least in part because I have trouble dealing with books or movies about Vietnam. It's been described as "an arc of fictional episodes, taking place in the childhoods of its characters, in the jungles of Vietnam and back home in America two decades later"-- and that description is better than anything I could come up with.  There is circling back to tell stories in different ways, some brutal descriptions, and also lyrical language. There are "meta" aspects to the book, with O'Brien talking about stories told that didn't happen but were true. A masterpiece but not always easy to read. 

Goodbye, Vitamin, by Rachel Khong. Ruth decides to leave her job in the Bay Area for a year to return to her parents' home and help her mother with her father, who has dementia and has been involuntarily retired from his job as a professor. Ruth, her father's teaching assistant, and a group of his students decide to cheer him by telling him the department has decided to let him teach one seminar. The seminar is fake, but it has the desired effect until he discovers their deception. The book is sweet and funny while giving some insight into the progress of dementia. I loved it! 

Meg and Jo, by Virginia Kantra. Meg and Jo is a somewhat silly retelling of Little Women set in modern-day North Carolina (and New York), with Mr. March cast as a self-satisfied jerk (I might have to reread Little Women just to see how Alcott treated him--or maybe Geraldine Brooks' March).  Yet I enjoyed it and fully expect to read Beth and Amy when it inevitably comes out. 

Mysteries

Two Girls Down, by Louisa Luna. Single mother Jamie leaves her 8- and 10-year-old daughters in the car when she runs into K-Mart for 5 minutes. When she returns, they are gone. With the police seemingly overburdened with the meth and opioid crisis, the family hires bounty hunter Alice Vega, who has a reputation for finding lost children. She's from out-of-town, so hires on local ex-cop Max Caplan to help her try to find the girls. Not a standout, but good enough that I'm currently about to start another book by Luna. 

Nonfiction

First: Sandra Day O'Connor, by Evan Thomas. This biography of Sandra Day O'Connor made me appreciate the tremendous pressure that Sandra Day O'Connor was under as the first female Supreme Court Justice, especially one who was not as well-prepared as many other justices. I also found myself somewhat annoyed by the very social (and, one might say, political) life that she led in Washington, DC, at least in part to make her beloved and very social husband John happy. (Her efforts to keep John at home and maintain her job when he was slipping rapidly into dementia are heartbreaking.) Her clear partisanship make her vote in Bush v. Gore easier to understand, but no less infuriating.  Still, even after reading the book, I found I did not understand her as a person very well at all--she remained an enigma. One irritating thing about the book: The author often wrote about her as thought she were dead--which she still is not. But that doesn't stop me from recommending the book.  

The Fire This Time: A New Generation Speaks About Race, edited by Jesmyn Ward. Although published in 2017, this collection is tragically just as timely (and sadly shows very little has changed since Baldwin's work was published in the 1960s). As with most collections of essays by various authors, some entries resonated more with me than others. Some of my favorites: Wendy Walters' "Lonely in America" describing her attempts to uncover the truth about the discovery of long-buried African Americans in Portsmouth, NH;  Garnette Cadogan's "Black and Blue" about walking in Kingston, Jamaica, New Orleans, and New York; Claudia Rankine's "The Condition of Black Life Is one of Mourning," which connects Mamie Till's decision to allow her son's body to be photographed with the Black Lives Movement. You would likely find others most interesting/challenging/stimulating--definitely worth exploring the collection to find your favorites. 

The Dogs (Oh, look, they're all mysteries!)

A Reasonable Doubt, by Phillip Margolin

I Know Who You Are, by Alice Feeney

The Escape Artist, by Brad Meltzer

Dark Corners of the Night, by Meg Gardiner

The Murder List, by Hank Phillippi Ryan

A Double Life, by Flynn Berry

Someone We Know, by Shari LaPena

The Suspect, by Fiona Barton

These Women, by Ivy Pochoda (despite very positive reviews suggesting this book was a significant commentary on class, I thought it was completely unbelievable)

Favorite Passages:

The way home became home.

Garnette Cadogan in The Fire This Time

What imperfect carriers of love we are, and what imperfect givers. That the reasons we can care for one another can have nothing to do with the person cared for. That it has only to do with who we were around that person, what we felt about that person.

Rachel Khong, Goodbye, Vitamin

Reading and Reopening

Our library started curbside pickup in June, which was great (it also had delivery to seniors but I figured though I am pretty darn old, I am also able to get around and shouldn't use that service). The library is reopening July 1, with restrictions and safety precautions. Book stores have also reopened, although I have not ventured into one as yet. I did get two book store gift cards for my birthday and have to report that the online mail ordering process at Denver's renowned Tattered Cover was much less user-friendly than that at the much smaller Book Bar, which has done a great job throughout the pandemic. They definitely have a new fan in me.

Anyway, as an older person, I have mostly been remaining home in June and have gotten a lot of reading done, some of it good.

Fiction

Self-Help, by Lorrie Moore is an older collection of Moore's short stories (I think it was her first book). I was surprised--but perhaps shouldn't have been given the collection's title--that a majority of the stories are written in the second person, parodying the self-help form. Stories purport to give advice about how to be the other woman, get through your parents' divorce, leave a man who's dying, talk to your mother, or become a writer. The last story in the collection, not in the second-person format, details the mental collapse of a middle-aged woman whose marriage is loveless and whose mother has dementia. As is typical for Moore, the stories can be both grim and funny. Remembering how my first book group responded to another Moore collection 30 years ago, I can imagine that some readers would not find the humor in the stories--but I enjoyed her work.

My Dark Vanessa, by Kate Elizabeth Russell, is one of the disturbing books I have read in some time. As a 15-year-old, the titular character was abused by her 45-year-old English teacher. Yet, as an adult, she struggles to see their "relationship" as abusive, despite the evidence that the teacher repeated the same behavior with multiple other students--indeed, she refuses to believe the story of another woman who comes forward. Russell does an especially good job of depicting the manipulation that the teacher subjected Vanessa to and the long-term effects of being the victim of such manipulations. I questioned whether we needed the rather detailed description of sexual encounters between Vanessa and the teacher. The author has talked about this in multiple interviews, saying "Those scenes are so important and so formative, because even though those are scenes of abuse, that's also her introduction to sex, and you can't untangle the two . . .  it is coercive and even violent, but it's also just sex." To my mind, no, not really. There's also been controversy around the book, with Latina author Wendy Ortiz alleging that the story was plagiarized from her memoir, which she had difficulty getting published. In a preface to the book, Russell had emphasized that this was not her story, that it was fiction. Since the plagiarism accusations came out, Russell has gone public with the fact that she was abused by older men as a teenager. Still sorting out my thoughts on this book so not sure I can say I recommend it. I can say that the audiobook was very skillfully narrated by Mamie Gummer.

Your House Will Pay, by Steph Cha, is extremely timely, as it is a fictionalized account of the long-range impacts of the killing of African American teenager LaTasha Harlins by Korean American shopkeeper Soon Ja Du on the two families involved. Two characters center the novel. Shawn is the cousin of the murdered girl; has spent some time in prison but has been out and working hard to build a life and support his extended family. His cousin's death has scarred him, but he is still shocked when the killer, who escaped jail time, is shot--and the evidence suggests it was someone in his family when shot her. The second key character is Grace, the daughter of the shopkeeper-killer, who knew nothing of her family's history until her mother is shot. The two individuals' struggles to do the right thing, the dynamics in both families, the cultural context--all are presented thoughtfully and yet the book also is a "good read." Highly recommended.

Fools, by Joan Silber, is a collection of six interconnected short stories. The title (and first) story is about a group of young radicals in New York in the 1920s. While ideology shapes them, they are still subject to the vicissitudes of everyday life and one of them "folds";  Betsy leaves her husband Norman to run off with the owner of the local speakeasy to run a hotel in Florida. But Vera and Joe remain together and committed to their beliefs. The second and third stories focus on the next generation--Betsy's son, who runs away from the prospect of marriage (and of being caught stealing from his parents' business) to a challenging life in Paris, and Vera and Joe's daughter, who struggles with her parents' beliefs while trying to maintain a more mainstream public face during World War II and ends up in a marriage in which she and her husband live thousands of miles apart but do not divorce.  The protagonists of the final three stories have less tight connections to the original group-- the son of one of Betsy's employees, who learns after a long separation from his Muslim wife that she needs his permission to go on the hadj; a gay man going through a breakup finds solace in a memoir of Greenwich Village written by Norman; and a woman who stole from Betsy's son in Paris becomes the target of New York fundraisers. I found some stories more meaningful than others, but enjoyed the connections, the reflections on belief and life choices, and Silber's writing.

The Night Watchman, by Louise Erdrich, was inspired by Erdrich's own grandfather, a night watchman who sent numerous letters to officials in Washington about the future of his tribe. The title character of the novel is Thomas Wazhashk is also a night watchman, at a factory that employs many Turtle Mountain clan women doing exacting work for the Defense Department. Thomas is organizing to save the tribe from termination by the federal government. Meanwhile, his niece Patrice, who works at the factory, is trying to find her sister, who went to the Twin Cities and disappeared, while protecting her family and trying to figure out how she can go to college and find more rewarding work. Add to these two plots Erdrich's usual tribal lore and mysticism and you get a thoroughly rewarding read. Not Erdrich's very best, but darn good.

I found The Perfect Nanny, by Leila Slimani, both creepy and dull. You know from the prologue that the perfect nanny kills the two children she has been hired to care for. The rest of the book narrates how she devolved from "perfection" to murder, while the children's parents gradually become so reliant on her they virtually disappear. The book has gotten a lot of kudos, but I simultaneously hated the characters while also not caring what happened to them.


Mysteries

Follow Her Home, Beware Beware, and Dead Soon Enough, by Steph Cha. After reading Your House Will Pay, I decided to read Steph Cha's series of mysteries featuring Korean American sleuth Juniper Song. Although they're not perfect, I liked them well enough to read all three--and really enjoyed the way LA is a essentially a character in the books.

Miracle Creek, by Angie Kim. A mystery that deals with serious issues, from the immigrant experience to what it is like to be the mother of a child on the autism spectrum. Every character revealed themselves to be deeply flawed (if not hateful) and yet I still liked the book.

Yesterday, by Felicia Yap, is an imaginative and twisty mystery set in a time/place where people have only one or two days of memory, and the "Duos" regard themselves as superior to the "Monos." The discrimination is so bad that the police detective tasked with solving the murder of a beautiful woman has hidden the fact that he is a Mono throughout his career--and the murdered woman's unusual memory is key to her history and fate. Definitely enjoyed this one.

The Break Down, by B.A. Paris. Most predictable "mystery" ever.

The Child, by Fiona Barton. So-so mystery with a twist at the end based on such a huge coincidence that it seems completely unbelievable (and yet predictable--I had figured it out quite a few pages before it was revealed, and I'm not even that good at  figuring out whodunit).

I'm not sure The Need, by Helen Phillips, is a mystery, but the main character, Molly, and readers are trying to figure out who the intruder who looks just like Molly and wants to care for her children really is. The author does a great job depicting the difficulty of caring for children and working (Molly's husband is out of the country for work). But I guess I wasn't paying close enough attention (that does happen sometimes when I'm listening to a book) because the ending made no sense to me.

A Measure of Darkness, by Jonathan and Jessie Kellerman, was the first of the father-son duo's books that I have read. Okay.

Non-Fiction

How to Be an Antiracist, by Ibram X. Kendi, is an interesting combination of scholarly analysis, exhortation to us all to be better, and memoir. Kendi defines an antiracism someone who supports ideas and policies affirming that "the racial groups are equals in all their apparent differences--that there is nothing right or wrong with any racial group." Some of his ideas may be controversial. He asserts, unlike many, that black people can be racists. He also says that self-interest, not hatred, is the root of racism. Agree with all of his ideas or not, Kendi sparks thought.

The New Jim Crow, by Michelle Alexander, is an extremely well-documented analysis of how drug laws, unequal enforcement, and mandatory sentencing laws constitute a new Jim Crow system that has produced loss of freedom for African American men through, not slavery, but mass incarceration. I think it's a little longer than it needs to be, especially when Alexander strayed away from her primary point to frown upon civil rights lawyers and critique affirmative action. Still it's a book anyone who questions whether systemic racism exists should read.

Inheritance, by memoirist Dani Shapiro, is the story of what happened when Shapiro learned that the father who had raised her was not her biological father. Rather, she had been the result of artificial insemination with donor sperm. Since both of her parents were dead by the time she made this discovery, she began researching every aspect of it herself; surprisingly, she found the donor relatively easily and was able to start a relationship with him and his family. Other questions were less easily answered. I found the book interesting, while thinking that Shapiro completely overreacted to the news (as, in my anti-memoir frame of mind, seems like something a memoirist would do). Of course, you don't know how you would react to something so unusual when you haven't experienced it. In addition, the author was raised as an Orthodox Jew, and biological inheritance seems to be very important in Judaism. 

Stories I Only Tell Myself, by Rob Lowe, is the somewhat interesting story of the actor's life. Lowe comes across as a nice guy who is a little paranoid about having been mistreated in the industry.

Favorite Passages

You never forget certain years of being young.

--Joan Silber, Fools

Black people are apparently responsible for calming the fears of violent cops in the way women are supposedly responsible for calming the sexual desires of male rapists.

Racist ideas love believers, not thinkers.

--Ibram X. Kendi, How to Be an Antiracist

Sabrina and Corina Save Social Distancing Month 3

I made a little progress this month in regaining my ability take in text with my eyes while anxious. I finished a couple of hard copy books, as well as a couple of ebooks, so it was less about audiobooks this month, though they were still the majority of what I read this month. On another of my weird "projects," designed to find some quality mysteries, I started reading some Edgar and Agatha winners--not sure that was really a success. But the month did include some good books, particularly Sabrina and Corina, a collection of short stories by Denver author Kali Fajardo-Anstine. More about that coming up.

Fiction

Sabrina and Corina, by Kali Fajardo-Anstine. I don't usually care for short stories, but this collection is excellent. The stories feature young Latina women, mostly living in the Denver area, and dealing with illness, isolation, injustice, violence, and loss of loved ones. Yes, the stories are dark, but they are beautifully written and force the reader to face the realities of these young women's lives. When, in the title story, Corina has to make-up her murdered cousin Sabrina, the scene is one you will not forget. Highly recommended.

Where Reasons End, by Yi-Yun Li. The author imagines a conversation between her mother and her dead teenage son, who died recently by suicide. The book is made doubly poignant by the knowledge that the author wrote the book in the months following her own son's suicide. The book is full of pain and beauty and is definitely worth reading.

Apierogon, by Colum McCann. I admire McCann's work, but Apierogon (a shape with a countably infinite number of sides) is challenging. It is the story of two fathers--one Palestinian, one Israeli--who have lost daughters to the conflict. They become friends and peace activists. Sounds like a simple and inspiring story but McCann puts it together from so many pieces (there are 1001 chapters, echoing the Arabian Nights), juggles time, and includes what seem to be odd tangents about birds (lots about birds), math, Philippe Petit, Francois Mitterand's last meal (bird-related), and other topics that appear to be unrelated but are, I'm sure, metaphoric in ways I don't grasp. I loved the parts of the book that were directly about the two fathers, their families, and their work--a section in the heart of the book actually uses the men's own words to describe their experience--but the rest left me scratching my head.

A Clockwork Orange, by Anthony Burgess. I am probably the only literate person who had never read the book nor seen the movie, but I surprised myself by appreciating the book, especially Burgess's creation of the nadsat argot that the young punks in the book spoke. I was also interested to learn that the American publish omitted the last chapter of the book because he didn't think American readers would appreciate an ending in which Alex leaves the gang behind. If you are now truly the last person on earth to read the book, I'd say go for it.

My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry, by Frerik Backman. Backman's thing seems to be creating quirky characters, in this case seven-year-old Elsa, whose equally quirky grandmother has died and left her to deliver letters to the other oddballs in their building. This narrative is interwoven with fairy tales the grandmother told Elsa. In my estimation, Elsa is not a believable character and the fairy tales add nothing to the book. I have friends who loved this book, but I loathed it. 

The Winter of Our Discontent, by John Steinbeck.  Ethan Allan Hawley's family was once among their town's wealthiest, but his father lost the family fortune and Ethan is now a grocery store clerk. He operates under an ethical code and is faithful to his wife. But when he realizes that these qualities are not appreciated by others or by his wife and children, he hatches a plan to once again become rich. Steinbeck's story is cynical and depressing and beautifully written. My only objection to the book is the portrayal of women. Still, I recommend the book.

All Adults Here, by Emma Straub.  All Adults Here is the story of Astrid Strick, a 68-year-old widow in a relationship with her female hairdresser, along with her three adult children (all with quirks and issues of their own), her wonderful teenage granddaughter, and the granddaughter's trans friend. The book deals with relationships of all kinds--family, friend, licit, illicit--and a variety of contemporary issues, from bullying to infidelity, community development, and how we damage our children. As I was listening I thought to myself, "this is like Anne Tyler without Baltimore." But it's definitely more entertaining than Tyler's recent work, such as her new short novel, Red Head by the Side of the Road, which has Baltimore and still is not very interesting. All Adults Here is recommended; Red Head is not.

Red Lotus, by Chris Bohjalian. Bohjalian's recent books have turned to mystery, and Red Lotus follows that trend. Alexis and Austin are in Vietnam on a bike tour when Austin disappears, and Alexis must face that her boyfriend was not who he seemed. The fact that the book is about a deadly plague is unsettling during the current environment; if you think China created the novel coronavirus, this book will feed your paranoia. If you hate rats, well, let's just say there's a lot about rats in this book. Still, it's an entertaining read.

Dear Edward, by Ann Napolitano. Twelve-year-old Edward is the only survivor of a plane crash that killed his parents and brother. The book chronicles his efforts to figure out a way forward interspersed with chapters that give a countdown of some of what was going on on the plane prior to the crash. It's an insightful look at how trauma affects people in ways most of us would not expect. The chapters about the plane sometimes felt unnecessary, but they did provide a change of tone that kept Edward's pain from overwhelming the reader. Recommended.

Whisper Network, by Chandler Baker. This book was a Reese Witherspoon book club choice, and it almost seemed like it was written so Reese could have a #MeToo book in her collection. Okay.

Mysteries

The Stranger Diaries, by Elly Griffiths (2020 Edgar Winner). Murder in a high school English faculty, complete with Gothic twists, a complete story within a story, and lots of literary references. Okay.

Down the River Unto the Sea, by Walter Mosley (2019 Edgar Winner). Former cop Joe King Oliver, damaged physically and spiritually from his imprisonment on Riker's Island on a trumped-up rape charge, decides to take his own case when the woman who accused him admits she lied. Okay.

Mardi Gras Murders, by Ellen Byron (2018 Agatha Winner). Southern setting, Southern history, Southern murders . .. not for me.

Long upon the Land, by Margaret Maron (2015 Agatha Winner). The fifth of the Judge Deborah Knott mysteries that have won the Agatha, this title fills in the back story of Deborah's parents, as Deborah and Dwight try to figure out who killed a man whose body was found on Knott family land. Okay.

Birds of a Feather, by Jacqueline Winspear (2004 Agatha Winner). In the second title in the Maisie Dobbs series, Maisie not only finds a missing heiress, she solves a series of murders, diagnoses her assistant's drug addiction, and gets him into a program. Pretty good.

Murphy's Law, by Rhys Bowen (2001 Agatha Winner). Molly Murphy immigrates to the United States under false pretenses, gets involved in a murder by a Tammany Hall insider, nearly gets killed herself, and meets a handsome Irish policeman. Dumb.

Masked Prey, by John Sandford. Lucas Davenport's latest case involves the children of politicians, the Internet, and right-wing groups. Sadly, Lucas seems to have devolved in a way that makes me not want to read any more of the Prey series.

Ambush, by Barbara Nickless. The third in the Sidney Parnell series set in Denver, Ambush picks up the story of Sidney's time in Iraq and the fate of the young Iraqi boy Malik. It's incredibly violent, includes a soap opera-worthy twist, and just isn't very rewarding.

Don't Make a Sound, by T.R. Ragan. Cub reporter Sawyer Brooks decides to investigate a series of unsolved materials in her small home town, while a group of five women vigilantes seek justice for their attackers. Not good.

When the Light Goes Out, by Mary Kubica. Truly awful.

Nonfiction

Once More We Saw Stars, by Jayson Greene. Greene's toddler daughter was killed by masonry that fell off the building where she and her grandmother were sitting on a bench outside. His book chronicles how he and his wife dealt with the pain of that loss. They definitely tried some unusual (read: woo-woo) methods of handling their grief, but whatever works. As a grandparent, my heart went out to the grandmother, who naturally felt responsible and, in their sorrow, the parents weren't able to help her as much as it seemed she needed. But the family did find a way forward, so overall the story ends on a hopeful note. 

Favorite Passages

He cares about other people. . . Most men don't know the pleasure.

I thought of all the women my family had lost, the horrible things they'd witnessed, the acts they simply endured. Sabrina had become another face in a line of tragedies that stretched back generations. And soon, when the mood hit my grandmother just right, she'd sit at her kitchen table, a Styrofoam cup of lemonade in her warped hand, and she'd tell the story of Sabrina Cordova--how men loved her too much, how little she loved herself, how in the end it killed her. The stories always ended the same, only different girls died, and I didn't want to hear them anymore.

Sabrina and Corina, by Kali Fajardo Anstine

Sheltering in Place . . . with Books . . . Continues

One might think that a month of social distancing would be an ideal time for reading and blogging. Alas, I am not necessarily finding it so. First of all, I am still working on writing projects and thus have to attempt to keep plugging away despite the free-floating anxiety. Second, said anxiety seems to be interfering with my ability to read print books--I can listen to audiobooks but I didn't finish a single print book this month (though I have several going). Third, I am once again losing my will to blog. A week ago, I was convinced I should just shut the blog down, but as has happened before, I haven't quite committed to that. So here are some thoughts about this month's reading.

Fiction

The Scent Keeper, by Erica Bauermeister. Bauermeister's previous books were multiple character upbeat stories. The Scent Keeper is focused on one character, Emmeline, and much darker. Emmeline grows up on a remote island with a father obsessed with preserving scents. When he dies, she eventually leaves the island, meets her mother, and starts working for her mother's company, which essentially uses scents to manipulate people. Some interesting information about the power of scent, some lovely descriptive writing, but didn't totally win me over.

Euphoria and Writers and Lovers, by Lily King. These two books, both of which I enjoyed, are pretty dissimilar. Euphoria is about three anthropologists studying indigenous people in New Guinea just before World War II (supposedly somewhat loosely based on Margaret Mead). Writers and Lovers is about a young present-day writer (and waitress) who is trying to finish a novel while skimping by on little money and juggling two suitors. One thing that's interesting about the two books is that King really deals with work of very different types; after reading Maureen Corrigan's thoughts about how work does not play a very big role in contemporary fiction (see last month's post), I was happy to stumble across this writer who writes so well about work. I recommend both books.

The Care and Feeding of Ravenously Hungry Girls, by Anissa Gray. An engaging story about what happens to a family when the eldest of three sisters, who has always been something of a mother to the entire family, goes to prison for misusing funds given to a charity she started. Lots of family dysfunction but still essentially upbeat.

The Girl He Used to Know, by Tracy Garvis Graves. I downloaded this book from the library because the description said the heroine was a graduate of the University of Illinois (my alma mater). It's basically a romance with the twist that the female character is on the autism spectrum (that seems to be a whole genre nowadays). Kind of dumb.

The Glass Hotel, by Emily St. John Mandel. If you've read that this book is about a Ponzi scheme, forget that. There's a Ponzi scheme in the book, but it's definitely not about that. Saying what it is about is difficult--but it's good, and it's nothing like the author's previous (wonderful) book, Station Eleven. I'm pretty sure this description will not convince anyone to read the book, but I recommend it.

The Resisters, by Gish Jen. The Resisters is a dystopian novel with a fairly intense focus on baseball. The narrator is the father in a family of the "Surplus"--the outcasts who are mostly brown, live on swampland or on the water, and are tasked with consuming what is produced by the "Netted," the privileged of society. His daughter, Gwen, is a gifted pitcher, which provides the main arena in which the conflicts between the classes plays out. Odd but worth reading. 

Memoirs/Other Nonfiction

Education of an Idealist, by Samantha Power. Power worked for the Obama Administration for all eight years, the last four as the ambassador to the United Nations. There's some interesting stuff here about the United Nations and the work of the ambassador. Overall, I thought the book dragged, much like Hillary Clinton's memoir of her year's as Secretary of State; Power also quoted her own speeches fairly frequently, which I found as tedious as I did when Clinton did the same thing. 

All You Can Ever Know, by Nicole Chung. This memoir focuses on Chung's experience as a Korean American (her family was Korean but lived in the United States) being adopted by a white family and her efforts to connect with her birth family. It did give me new insight into an experience I can't totally understand because I haven't lived it (and I still couldn't stop myself from becoming slightly annoyed with the author at times--I may not be as empathetic if I think).

I Miss You When I Blink, by Mary Laura Philpott. Philpott's well-reviewed book is a collection of essays about everyday life. Some are funny, but they don't really seem to say anything of significance and some seem to stop in the middle of a thought. Not recommended.

Trick Mirror, by Jia Tolentino. This is another book of essays, although more serious and outer-directed than Philpott's. Among the essay topics are the tie that ecstasy provides between religion and drugs (!), the Internet, feminism, literary heroines, and Tolentino's stint as a contestant on a teen version of "Survivor." They're thought-provoking although occasionally to the nearly 70-year-old reader irritating in the certitude the relatively young Tolentino (early 30s) has about her views.

Recollections of My Nonexistence, by Rebecca Solnit. This is essentially a memoir of Solnit's writing career, an account of how she found her voice. At this point, Solnit is a darling of the literati, but she wasn't always, and I was interested in some of what she went through in her career. On the other hand, I found that the book got tedious after a while--even though I agree with and support her point of view. She's very smart and a good writer, but maybe this should have been an article instead of a book (I say that a lot).

Mysteries (may be fewest mysteries ever for a month)

A Conspiracy of Bones, by Kathy Reichs. Very little forensic anthropology in this Tempe Brennan novel. So-so.

IQ, by Joe Ide. This is the first in a series featuring Isaiah Quintabe, a brilliant high school dropout in East Long Beach, California. He's an underground private detective, who charges his clients what they can afford (might be $50,000, might be a casserole). This case involves a rap artist with a hit man and a pit bull after him. The level of violence is high, but IQ is an engaging character so I'll probably try another in the series.

The Night Before, by Wendy Walker. Predictable psychological thriller. Walker seems to have a thing for psychologists, as this book, like her previous All Is Not Forgotten, features a psychologist she wants us to think is a shady character.

Favorite passage:

What is armor after all but a cage that moves with you?

--Rebecca Solnit, Recollections of My Nonexistence

Reading While Social Distancing

When our library closed a couple of weeks ago due to the pandemic, some friends went over at the last minute and got a good stack of books to read while sheltering at home. I didn't do that, figuring I'd go electronic and also try to work through at least some of the TBR stack, while recognizing that some books stay on the stack for a reason (i.e., you don't really want to read them). And I have definitely read some losers in March, but there were still highlights!

Fiction

Memory Police, by Yoko Ogawa. Memory Police is an older book (1994) only now available in English. It's an intriguing story of  a society where more and more things are disappearing--in reality and in memory. A few people do not lose their memories when the items disappear, and these people are in extreme danger from the Memory Police. So the book's protagonist, a writer, hides her editor, who happens to be one of those people, in her basement. That's just a basic sketch of the book, which is quietly scary and sometimes a tad surreal. Definitely interesting.

Ghost Walls, by Sara Moss. In the north of England, a family whose bus-driving father fancies himself an amateur historian takes its holiday with an anthropology professor and group of grad students who are recreating life in the Iron Age. In enacting ancient cultural practices, weird (and misogynistic) things start happening. Ghost Walls is really more of a novella than a novel and even so, the pacing seems a little off--slow in the beginning, fast at the end. Nonetheless, I enjoyed it. 

The Rabbit Series: Rabbit Redux, Rabbit Is Rich, Rabbit at Rest, and Rabbit Remembered, by John Updike. I had read the first Rabbit novel a few years ago and honestly didn't care for it, so I'm not sure why I suddenly decided to work my way through the entire quartet (plus a tag-along novella). As Updike works his way through the decades, Rabbit remains an idiot, as do pretty much all of the other characters. Updike is certainly making a point about the crass nature of American culture, and perhaps at the time the books were written, people were surprised to read these depictions. From the perspective of decades later, I just found the books unpleasant. Rabbit Remembered, which is set after Rabbit's death, is slightly less annoying, as it seems to suggest redemption is possible, but really, if you feel tempted to start the Rabbit series, don't.

Weather, by Jenny Offill. Offill writes in short paragraphs that don't relate directly to the paragraphs before and after. Although taken together, they provide a roughly chronological narrative, it's a very different way of putting together a novel and it conveys a sense that things are falling apart. And that's what's happening to the protagonist, Lizzie, a librarian who takes on a second job answering email, whose marriage is wobbly, and who feels responsible for her unstable brother. I don't think Offill is for everyone, but I enjoy her work (although I think The Dept. of Speculation was better).

The Mars Room, by Rachel Kushner.  If you were an Orange Is the New Black fan, you might want to read The Mars Room, which feels much more authentic to me. Romy Hall is a single mother and former exotic dancer on her way to prison to serve two life sentences as the book opens. Her experiences over a number of years, as she navigates prison life and tries to locate her son, are juxtaposed with her backstory, building a totally authentic character. The audio version is narrated by the author in an urgent tone with a peculiar habit of not changing her intonation at the end of sentences. This was curious (and made me wonder if authors reading their own works is really a good idea) but didn't stop me from admiring the book.

Strangers and Cousins, by Leah Hager Cohen. This book recounts events in the several days before a large and somewhat unruly family marries their eldest child to her college girlfriend. Many secrets are being kept--the parents are pregnant and planning to sell the family home, the somewhat demented great-aunt is hiding the fact that she lost a brother in a fire that killed 18 children in the community, and the brides are planning a "pageant" more than a wedding to make a political point. All this is happening against a backdrop of community dissent over potential "take-over" of the town by a Hassidic community. The audio version of this book, too, is narrated by the author, but Cohen has a strangely sweet voice that to me did not match the story. Did not love.

Short Stories

Grand Union, by Zadie Smith
What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours, by Helen Oyeyemi

These two collections of short stories were positively reviewed; indeed, one reviewer said What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours was "flawless." Sadly, I didn't enjoy either collection, but I found What Is Yours . . . particularly opaque. I enjoyed a couple of the stories in Grand Union, but overall I wouldn't recommend either collection except for short story aficionados.

Mystery

Shape of Night, by Tess Gerritson. Completely ridiculous (btw: Not a Rizzoli and Isles title).

Tell Me Lies, J. P. Pomare. This was an Audible freebie and, embarrassingly for both me and the author, I can't really remember the book even though it's only been three weeks since I listened to it. So . . ,.

A Death of No Importance, by Mariah Fredericks. This historical mystery set among the nouveau rich in New York City in 1910. The protagonist is a ladies maid--much more intelligent and woke than her employers. A variety of serious social/political topics are touched upon (the book ends with the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire) though they weren't all really well woven into the story. Still, good enough that I would read later titles in the Jane Prescott series if I come across them.

Almost, by Elizabeth Benedict. This isn't exactly a mystery, but I didn't want to dignify it by putting in the Fiction category. There's way too much foreshadowing of a nothing story.

Nonfiction

Know My Name, by Chanel Miller. Everyone should read this book, the account by the victim in the notorious sexual assault case in which the perpetrator, a Stanford swimmer, got a very minor sentence. The greatest insight for me was how multifaceted and long-lasting the effects of the assault were, even though Miller was unable to remember what happened to her at the hands of the perpetrator. It was alarming to me (perhaps particularly as a civic educator) how totally naive Miller was about the court system--for example, she was shocked by the fact that the jury decision had to be unanimous. We are clearly doing a bad job of educating young people about the justice system. I disagree with some of her recommendations--because she feels that the perp lies with impunity in the courts (and other reasons), she argues for cases to be handled by the universities, all while she rightfully excoriates Stanford for their handling of the case. Certainly, we must do better and one way to do that is to talk about important works like Know My Name and Missoula, by Jon Krakauer.

In the Dream House, by Carmen Maria Machado. This memoir is primarily an account of the author's relationship with a psychologically and physically abusive woman. It's beautifully written, very descriptive without going overboard. It's written in the first, second, and third person (which can sometimes get confusing). Even the chapter titles are intriguing, although I didn't always understand them; each was formatted as "The Dream House as . . . " with the phrase finished with terms such as "Prologue," "Perpetual Motion Machine," "Memory Palace," "Time Travel." I listened to the audio version, which was narrated by the author in a very urgent tone with few changes in inflection, which made listening somewhat exhausting. As a white cisgender woman, I had trouble understanding why anyone would be surprised that there is domestic abuse in lesbian relationships--violence clearly cuts across genders, sexuality, socioeconomic status, etc. But Machado helped me understand why those in the community don't want to acknowledge or talk about the problem. Her book should help bring it into the light.

Women Rowing North: Navigating Life's Currents and Flourishing As We Age, by Mary Pipher. The subtitle pretty well sums up the author's purpose, which she addresses through anecdotes and results from interviews she conducted. While Pipher is a psychologist, I didn't feel like she brought that much from her profession to the advice she gives--the book is more common sense than anything else. I felt like any intelligent woman in our age bracket [60s and 70s] could have written the book based on their own experiences. However, the book has been popular--my sister and a friend have really enjoyed it, so maybe I'm wrong.

Eat, Pray, Love Made Me Do It. I wasn't a big fan of Eat, Pray, Love and this book didn't really move me, but the idea of the book did--it's a collection of short pieces by people who were motivated to change their lives by reading Eat, Pray, Love. Books/words are powerful!

Miss American Pie, by Margaret Sartor. The bulk of this book is the author's diary, written when she was a teenager growing up in Louisiana. It's mostly as mundane as you might expect, but it did remind me that nearly everyone is insecure at that age--and probably at every age. And, the young Margaret did have a sense of humor.

Favorite passage: 

It seems to me that most boys are born stupid.

Margaret Sartor, Miss American Pie

My February: Snow and Satire

It's been cold and snowy in the Denver area this month--but not wanting to venture out some days meant it was great weather for reading. My favorite books of the month were satirical takes on parenting and race--The Gifted School, by Bruce Holsinger, and Such a Fun Age, by Kiley Reid.

The Gifted School 

Several school districts north of Denver announce that they are opening a special school for gifted students--the school will, by all accounts, be fabulous, incorporating all the best practices for educating high-performing and talented kids. But the parents of Crystal (very thinly disguised version of Boulder) go completely nuts in their efforts to ensure that their children--of course, they are gifted; of course, they are more gifted than the child of their housecleaner--get into the school. The narrative focuses on four friends with children who are the same age--and the competition to get into the school is hard on the friendship but even harder on the children! It's very funny (especially to someone who has served on a lot of school district committees with exactly these parents) but also addresses serious issues of privilege, education, friendship, and more. I thought the "surprise" at the end--while genuinely surprising--was kind of dumb, but it didn't take away from my enjoyment of the book.

Such a Fun Age

Such a Fun Age begins with an episode that is frightening--Emira Tucker, 25-year-old babysitter (she has a second job as a typist), gets a call late one night when she's out with friends. Her employer Alix (pronounced A-LEEKS) of the little girl Briar whom Emira cares for wants her to pick up the child for a bit (she can take her to the upscale grocery store, which the child loves) because the parents have had to call the police. Someone threw a rock through their window in protest of a racist comment the newscaster father made on the air that day (this piece is not explained to Emira). At the store, another customer wonders why a white toddler is out with a young black woman dressed in party clothes (and perhaps just a tiny bit drunk). The nosy customer calls security, and Emira and the security guard are soon yelling at each other. A man sees what is happening and videos the confrontation on his cell phone. It feels like things could go very bad--but the problem is resolved, and Emira just wants to forget about it and worry about how she's going to pay for health insurance when she is kicked off her parents' policy on her birthday.

When Emira sees the man who videoed the grocery store incident (his name is Kelley Copeland) on the train, they start dating. He has a lot of ideas about how she should be adulting, as does Alix, who imagines herself quite the "woke" white person. Alix is an "influencer" who is supposed to be writing her first book but spends more time secretly reading Emira's emails. Emira's group of three friends, all of whom are more successful in their careers than she is, also have some ideas about what she should be doing.

There are funny complications and a relatively happy ending (not an "everything gets wrapped up with a bow" ending but Emira does get health insurance!), but neither of these things obscure the act that author Kiley Reid is dealing with serious issues of race, coming of age, and relationships of virtually every type. One thing that bothered me a little was that Reid uses the trope of the black caregiver who truly loves the white child (and Briar certainly needed someone to love her, as her mother barely acknowledged her existence); generally, this trope appears in books by white women (The Secret Life of Bees and The Help) who don't even recognize that the black women who cared for them would rather have been home with their own families. But Reid, who is African American, was a childminder for several years so I recognize the trope has more legitimacy in her hands. At any rate, I really enjoyed the book.

Other Fiction

Trust Exercise, by Susan Choi. Trust Exercise, winner of the National Book Award, is the story of students at a performing arts high school. I found the first section, narrated by Sarah, a young woman who has just published a novel about her high school experiences rather dull. It seems like there have been SO MANY books about exceptional students who betray each other, have bad experiences with adults, etc. etc. The book got more interesting in the second section, when the narration switches to Karen, who describes events from a very different perspective. The third and final section has yet another narrator, Clare, whose identity I don't want to reveal (that would totally be a "spoiler"). I was happy for the varied perspectives, but Trust Exercise would not have made my list of the best books of 2019. Big disappointment.

Water Dancer, by Ta-Nehisi Coates. This Coates' first foray into fiction, and it's an ambitious story about slavery, the violence of white Americans, and the Underground Railroad. Although I could admire the author's intention, I didn't care for the fantastical element or the fact that so much of the book consisted of other people telling the protagonist, Hiram Walker, their stories. I know the book was very positively reviewed, but for me it just didn't work.

Mrs. Everything, by Jennifer Weiner. Weiner has written about the sexism of the literary world, with books about relationships written by male authors (e.g., Freedom by Jonathan Franzen) hailed as masterpieces and similar books written by women dismissed as chick lit. Her point is valid and I always feel bad when I don't love her books. Mrs. Everything (terrible title) is no different--it's the story of two girls from childhood in the 1950s to the present. Jo and Beth (there names are no coincidence) are opposites. Jo is a classic tomboy, intellectual rebel, and lesbian--but she marries a man after her true love betrays her and becomes a suburban housewife. Beth is a well-behaved girly girl, who is first molested by an uncle and then gang-raped at a music festival in college; she enters the "counterculture" eventually ending up at a women's commune and becoming a successful entrepreneur. The plot is crammed with events and issues--and still the book just isn't very interesting.

All This Could Be Yours, by Jami Attenberg. I found this story of family dysfunction more interesting, perhaps because it used multiple narrators and dipped back in time to build back story rather than employing a straight-on chronological approach. The patriarch of the Tuchman family, Victor, is in the hospital, having had a stroke. His children, daughter Alex and TV director Gary, both of whom are struggling, wonder why their mother Barbra stayed with the brutal and crooked Victor. Alex hopes desperately that her mother will explain her reasons now that her father is dying--as is the case in most families, though, she will never really understand her parents. My brief description only hints at the dysfunction--it's both deep and wide. Weirdly, Attenberg sometimes throws in a section narrated by someone outside the family whom they encounter in their travels around New Orleans, where most of the book is set--but in the end, even these sections add depth to the portrayal of a family in pain.

The Travelers, by Regina Porter. This is the story of two interconnected families--one primarily white, one primarily black--and other people in their orbits. I found the book really confusing--there were so many characters with so many different connections, it was hard to remember who everyone was. The fact that every chapter started somewhere not at all related to what happened in the previous chapter added to the confusion. It may be a book better read in print than listened to, but I didn't like it well enough to test that hypothesis.

The Tattooist of Auschwitz, by Heather Morris. To me, this book proved that a good story does not necessarily make a good novel. The author spent years interviewing a concentration camp survivor, Lale, a Slovakian Jew who was given the job of tattooing numbers onto the arms of fellow prisoners. He falls in love with a girl named Gita. Both of them endure horrifying experiences but survive and marry after the war. Sadly, the writing was so leaden that I was actually bored while reading. (Others in my book group liked it, however, so perhaps I cannot e trusted.)

The Jane Austen Project, by Kathleen Flynn. Liam and Rachel travel back to 1815 England with the aim of stealing letters and an unpublished manuscript from none other Jane Austen. The bulk of the book is about their attempts to pass themselves off as 19th-century Brits newly arrived from Jamaica as they try to reach their goal without changing history. At the end, there is a time-traveling twist that livened up the narrative--if the author had done more with the time travel possibilities, the book might have been more interesting. Reminded me a little of the only Jasper Fforde book I have ever read, although in his series, I believe, people actually travel into books--which  might have livened this novel up as well.

Memoirs

Leave Me Alone, I'm Reading, by Maureen Corrigan. Corrigan is an English professor and the book reviewer for Fresh Air. I often disagree with her reviews, but found her book interesting (it might not quite be a memoir, but I decided to put it in that category). She focuses on three themes in books that have meant a lot to her: (1) the notion that family dramas/epics of caretaking are the women's version of extreme adventure stories favored by men, (2) the idea that mysteries are one of the few genres of fiction that focus on the honor and details of work, and (3) Catholic martyr stories (this theme didn't resonate for me at all, so I have blanked out what the point was. Interesting if not earth-shattering.

Ordinary Girls, by Jaquira Diaz. This memoir feels like a lot of other memoirs I have read--girls' mother is a schizophrenic addict, father is a hustler and womanizer who lets their brother physically abuse the girls and doesn't seem to mind when the older girl (the author) continuously runs away, gets arrested, drops out of school, and drinks and uses drugs. Diaz was born in Puerto Rico, moved to Miami as a girl, and has obviously turned her life around. But I didn't find much new in her memoir.

Mysteries

The Silent Patient, Alex Michaelides. This mystery has gotten a lot of hype, and I agree it's pretty good--although not perfect. Alicia is an artist who killed her beloved husband Gabriel and has not spoken in the six years since. She is confined to a mental hospital, where new staff therapist Theo (who got the job there primarily because he wanted to treat Alicia) is determined to get her to talk. From the beginning, the reader (or at least this reader) feels like there is something off about Theo, but the author still manages to surprise us with a twist near the end. Definitely worth reading.

The Thinnest Air, by Minka Kent. A woman married to a wealthy older man disappears in a Utah mountain town. Her sister investigates the case--why are sisters, daughters, friends always better able to solve a crime (while almost getting killed themselves) than the police? I'm tired of that particular plot.

The Museum of Desire, by J. Kellerman. Pretty typical Alex Delaware mystery.

The Tenant, by Katrina Engberg. A translated Danish mystery, quite complicated and featuring a rather tortured detective, sometimes likable, sometimes not.

Poetry

An American Sunrise, by Joy Harjo. Harjo is the latest Poet Laureate, the first Native American to hold that post. In introducing this book, Harjo explicitly links the Trail of Tears and the current treatment of migrants on the Southwestern border. Many of the poems in the book, which are interspersed with text passages that provide historic perspective, are, in my view, a form of resistance.  Consider this one, for example:

“For Those Who Would Govern”

First question: Can you first govern yourself?

Second question: What is the state of your own household?

Third question: Do you have a proven record of community service and compassionate acts?

Fourth question: Do you know the history and laws of your principalities?

Fifth question: Do you follow sound principles? Look for fresh vision to lift all the inhabitants of the land, including animals, plants, elements, all who share this earth?

Sixth question: Are you owned by lawyers, bankers, insurance agents, lobbyists, or other politicians, anyone else who would unfairly profit by your decisions?

Seventh question: Do you have authority by the original keepers of the lands, those who obey natural law and are in the service of the lands on which you stand?

Wise questions that certainly would have screened out the current occupant of the White House. While I struggled with some of the poems (not unusual for me), I appreciated many others. Definitely worth picking up, even if you don't read every poem.


Young Adult

The Boy in the Black Suit, by Jason Reynolds. Reynolds is the new Library of Congress Ambassador
for Young People's Literature. Thus, I decided to read one of his novels. The Boy in the Black Suit is 17-year-old Matt, who works after school in the local funeral home. He is interested in observing how other people grieve, as he is still grieving his mother's death and his father is providing little help, having started drinking heavily and ended up in the hospital. At one funeral, he meets Love, whose grandmother recently died. Love and Mr. Ray, the undertaker, become good friends and supports for Matt, as he struggles to deal with his grief. Good book that should be helpful to kids struggling with grief.

One, by Sarah Crossan. My granddaughter had to read a novel in poetic form for her seventh-grade English class; she chose One and then recommended it to me. It's the story of conjoined twins, Grace and Tippi, who start attending school for the first time in as teens, make two amazing friends while facing scrutiny and ridicule from other classmates, and then face a health crisis when Grace's heart begins to fail. The poetic form seems like especially apropos to the exploration of identity that most of us cannot even imagine. I liked One a lot.

Favorite Passages

Women’s feats tend to be less Herculean and more Sisyphean in nature.

Words can summon up a skyline from the dark; they can bring back the people you loved and will always yearn for. They can inspire you with possibilities you otherwise would have never imagined; they can fill your head with misleading fantasies. They can give you back your seemingly seamless past and place it right alongside your chaotic present.

Maureen Corrigan, Leave Me Alone, I’m Reading

“Break My Heart” (excerpts)

The heart is a fist.
It pockets prayer or holds rage.

It’s a timekeeper.
Music maker, or backstreet truth teller.

“How to Write a Poem in a Time of War” (excerpts)

He knew one day, far day, the grandchildren would return,

Generations later over slick highways, constructed over old trails

Through walls of laws meant to hamper or destroy, over stones

Bearing libraries of the winds.

He sang us back

                To our home place from which we were stolen

                                                                In these smoky green hills.

Yes, begin here.

Joy Harjo, An American Sunrise