"The Man of My Dreams," by Curtis Sittenfeld

Curtis Sittenfeld's first novel, "Prep," was a fascinating look at the East Coast boarding school set. Her "American Wife" was a fictionalized version of the life of a Laura Bush type character. I enjoyed both. I have just listened on CD to her novel, "The Man of My Dreams" (Books on Tape, 2006). As in "Prep," Sittenfeld's main character here is a distinctive, somewhat eccentric, somewhat lonely "outsider" type. We meet Hannah when she is 14, and reeling from the recent separation of her mother from her abusive father. We follow her life up to her late 20s. She is smart and observant, blunt and somewhat socially inept, and continues to be a bit of an outsider. She is the kind of person who is almost always insecure, but who is capable of feeling both superior and inferior at almost the same time. She would love to be loved, but on one level doesn't feel she deserves true love and, perhaps consequently, keeps choosing (or being chosen by) the wrong men, and seems not to quite know what to do about that. All of this is painfully and realistically portrayed in this novel. The author is brave enough to make Hannah a bit unlikable at times, yet we readers understand and sympathize with her, and ultimately cannot help liking her. This novel felt very immediate, very real to me. It wasn't always comfortable to listen to, but ultimately I admired and enjoyed it.

"High Wages," by Dorothy Whipple

Some readers may remember that a few months ago I “discovered” the writer Dorothy Whipple, whom I had not known about before. Now that I have read some of her fiction, I find that although she wrote mostly in the 1930s and 1940s, many besides me still read her today. This was a humbling experience. Not because I claim to know all writers, of course (!), but because Whipple’s work is exactly the kind of fiction I like, and I am surprised and a bit chagrined that I had not heard of her before. In any case, I did recently “discover” her, loved her fiction, and posted about three of her books (one short story collection and two novels) on 1/24/12, 1/30/12, and 2/10/12. After that, I had been meaning to read more of her fiction, and knew that the USF library had several of her books, in the beautiful Persephone editions with their grey covers and gorgeous, colorfully patterned inner covers. I have now just read “High Wages” (originally 1932, republished by Persephone 2009), and enjoyed it very much. This novel is different than most of Whipple's other works, in that instead of focusing on middle and upper class characters, it features a main character who starts out very poor. Jane becomes an orphan in her early teens, doesn’t get along with her stepmother, and soon is out on her own. At first she works in a haberdashery shop, at the lowest level possible, living behind the shop, badly paid and badly fed. But she is a bright, talented, hardworking, observant young woman, with a vision of how to do things better, and with ambition, and she gradually raises her station in life, eventually owning her own very prestigious and successful shop. The story tells not only of her work, but also of her friendships, hardships, romances, and more. Unlike most English novels that are set in London, this one takes place mainly in northern England, in a small town near Manchester. Some of the scenes that most impressed me were Jane’s outings to increasingly far away cities – first Manchester, then Liverpool, and finally London. She was fascinated by everything about these cities, wandering the streets, observing the people, looking at the shop windows, soaking it all in. This suddenly reminded me of how even today, even in my prosperous city of San Francisco, there are children in some districts of the city who have not only never been out of the city but have not even been to Golden Gate Park or to Ocean Beach. This was a sad reminder that a seemingly unchanging fact about the world -- the gap between the rich and the poor, and even the middle class and the poor -- is still huge, and still something we need to be aware of and fight against.

"Yes, Chef," by Marcus Samuelsson

Readers of this blog know that one of the genres I enjoy is books about the restaurant world, and especially memoirs of chefs. I just finished a new example of this genre, “Yes, Chef: A Memoir” (Random House, 2012), by Marcus Samuelsson. This is the story of a man who was born in Ethiopia, was adopted as a toddler by a Swedish family, loved to cook with his Swedish grandmother, started working in restaurants as a young teenager, and at the practically unprecedented age of 24, became the chef at New York’s Aquavit and earned a New York Times three-star review for the restaurant. He was the youngest chef ever to receive a three-star review from the Times. Along the way, he worked in restaurants in Europe, and while in New York and elsewhere, he roamed the various neighborhoods and explored the cuisines and markets of many different countries and cultures. He also recently won the Top Chef Masters television competition, and planned and cooked for the first state dinner at the Obama White House. At a certain point, he felt the need to reconnect with his Ethiopian birth family and background, and with his black identity as well, so he went back to Ethiopia several times. His own path to success was not as direct and easy as the above description might indicate; he overcame many challenges and missteps along the way, both in his professional life and his personal life. Now, bringing together many aspects of his life, talents, identity, and character, he is the creator, owner and chef of the successful and well-reviewed Red Rooster restaurant in Harlem. One of his goals in life is to bring more attention to Harlem and its rich history and culture; another goal is to bring more black chefs into the restaurant world. This story is well written. Although no co-author is listed on the title page, the author mentions in the acknowledgements that “the real work of writing this book began when my friend Veronica Chambers agreed to help me tell my story….This is my story, but the fine touch on the words is all hers,” so it is not clear how much of the writing is his and how much hers. In any case, it is a readable and compelling story. Samuelsson has a unique and inspiring story, and his “voice” is both proud and humble, a good balance. He seems very likable, although I did question his decision for many years to support his illegitimate daughter financially but not see or communicate with her. Fortunately, he eventually, as he became more mature, established contact with her and built a belated relationship with her. I like the fact that he often acknowledges and thanks the people in his life who helped him succeed, not only as a chef but as a person, most notably his beloved and admirable Swedish parents. Now, back to the reason Samuelsson published a book in the first place: his life in and love of cooking. He is obviously a tremendously talented chef, and has been able to blend various aspects of his background, identity, and gifts to produce amazing, creative food and a wonderful experience for those who dine at his restaurants. A few years ago, I was fortunate enough to eat at Aquavit while he was still the chef there, and it was an impressive and memorable meal and experience.

"Gossip," by Beth Gutcheon

On 2/8/10, I wrote about “middlebrow literature,” and gave as examples of middlebrow writers Anne Rivers Siddons, Anita Shreve, Elizabeth Berg, Nancy Thayer, and Joanna Trollope. I would add Beth Gutcheon, several of whose novels I have read in the past, and whose new novel, “Gossip” (HarperCollins, 2012), I just listened to on CD (Books on Tape/Random House, 2012). She, like the other authors I just mentioned, writes solidly and well, and although her novels are not "great literature," they “give good value,” as the English say. They give readers an entertaining read, and the escape that they (we) are often looking for; at the same time, they move us, inspire us, and make us feel connected to humankind. “Gossip,” although in some ways light, deals with some serious issues as well: relationships over the years and how they can go right or wrong, the human tendency to want to gossip about others, loneliness, fractured families, friendship, and more. These issues are presented in the entertaining context of New York, posh apartments and country homes, private schools, society, money, fashion, and the entertainment world. So we readers get the best of both worlds: enjoyment and emotional connection. The three main characters met at an elite private school for girls, and the novel follows their lives, and the lives of their spouses, ex-spouses, lovers, and children over perhaps 40 years. One of the three, Luvia, narrates most of the story, and acts as the calm center and confidant for the others as they live out their more tempestuous lives. Again, this is not great literature, but it is not trashy or badly written either, as is so much on the market today. It does the job it sets out to do well, and provides satisfaction. And what’s wrong with that? I for one am grateful for these middlebrow authors and their novels; they have provided me with many hours of enjoyment over the years.

"A Sensible Life," by Mary Wesley

I was slightly familiar with the English author Mary Wesley’s name and reputation, but don’t remember actually reading any of her novels before. At the local library sale that I have written about several times, I recently picked up Wesley’s 1990 novel, “A Sensible Life” (Penguin). It looked like one of the kinds of novels I like: English, about a group of young people and their families who meet on vacation in France, just before World War II, and their intertwined lives over the following 35 years. Country houses, hotels, parties, dinners, romances, family dramas, friendships, jealousy, loyalty, and more…wonderful! I did, however, feel a bit uneasy about the first part of the novel, because of the sadness of the main character, Flora, a 10-year-old whose parents in their utter self-absorption neglect her unforgivably. But Flora is a strong, observant girl, and I wanted to know what would happen in her life. Slowly the story caught me up, and my fascination with how people’s lives work out over time, and with the relationships among those characters, kept me interested to the end. A few unexpected twists and turns along the way also kept me engaged.

"Bookshelf," by Alex Johnson

A few days ago, I was at our university library to pick up an academic book I had requested from Link-Plus, a service that allows us to borrow books from other libraries in a consortium. While I was at the library, I checked out the “new books” display in the lobby area, as I usually do when I am in the library for any reason. I never know what I will find. This time, a square, brightly colored book picturing a curved bookshelf on its cover caught my eye. Titled “Bookshelf” (Thames & Hudson, 2012), by Alex Johnson, it beautifully features one or more unique bookshelves on each of its 269 pages. There is a brief description of each illustration, listing the designer, materials, etc., and these are interesting and useful, but the illustrations are the stars of the book. What a wealth of gorgeous, creative, artistic shelves! What a variety of materials, sizes, shapes, and colors! Some of them are both practical and beautiful; others look more artistic than realistically usable, but all of them blend art and an unspoken tribute to the power of books in people’s lives and homes. The colors, layout, and thick, coated paper all contribute to the aesthetic pleasure of perusing this book. A bonus enjoyment for those of us at USF is that the book includes a picture of the Cable Car Book Cart that was custom built by students and staff at the USF Gleeson Library two years ago. This cart is made of wood, and “was built in homage to San Francisco’s iconic cable cars.” The cart is occasionally displayed in the library lobby. Book lovers and artists alike will enjoy this book.

"The Essential 'Dykes to Watch Out For,'" by Alison Bechdel

What a feast “The Essential ‘Dykes to Watch Out For’” (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2008) is! It is a generous selection from over 20 years of Alison Bechdel’s comic strip (and from several earlier collections) portraying the lives of a group of lesbian friends and lovers, parents and children, neighbors and coworkers, and their friends and families. The book is physically large, to accommodate the 10-12 panel comics, each filling a page, which are crammed with drawings and dialogue, so that it is easy to read them and to enjoy all the wonderful details in each. The facial expressions alone are priceless. The book is full of life, of observations, of politics, of social history, of romance, of flirting, of sex, of commitment, of breakups, of gossip, of issues about money and housing and education, and best of all, of friendships and relationships as they shift and grow and change and sometimes end. Getting lost in the book is like getting blissfully lost in a sprawling Victorian novel. Why is Mo (who seems to be the author's alter ego) so fixated on the state of the nation and of politics? What is it like to be estranged from one’s parents, or to take care of them as they age? What are the lives of the pioneer lesbians who started raising children like? Why does Sparrow take up with Stuart, a man? Do Clarice and Toni get tired of being the married couple role model? How about the child who is born a boy but knows she is a girl? Somehow Bechdel manages to seamlessly weave together the social history of the times with the stories of the individual characters and their families, communities, and relationships. This book and its characters are variously funny, moving, sympathetic, maddening, unpredictable, charming, annoying, informational, illuminating, and inspiring. And whatever the reader’s own sexual identity is, she or he will identify with some of the characters, and want others of them for friends.

"Mending," by Sallie Bingham

I had read good reviews of “Mending: New and Selected Stories” (Sarabande, 2011), by Sallie Bingham, but when I read the collection, I only mildly enjoyed reading the stories. The adjectives that kept occurring to me were “pensive” and “plaintive.” When I look again at the stories, I see that they are perfectly good ones, but somehow they didn’t engage me. So that is all I will say about “Mending.”

"The House of Tyneford," by Natasha Solomons

Did you love “Upstairs, Downstairs”? And “Downton Abbey”? If so, you will love “The House of Tyneford” (Plume, 2011), a novel by Natasha Solomons, as well. It is one of those very English stories, and tells of a lovely, rather isolated area on the coast of England, with its old English country house and all its traditions, along with the village people nearby, fishing and tending sheep. It is all very charming, old-fashioned, and idyllic. But it is also very serious. The time is just before World War II, and Elise, a young Jewish woman from an educated and well-off family in Vienna is sent to the English house to be a housemaid, a common event during that time period, used as a way to keep the young woman out of harm’s way during the increasingly brutal treatment of Jewish people in Austria and elsewhere. She is separated from her novelist father and her opera singer mother, who are hoping for visas to the United States, and from her older sister, who has already emigrated to the United States with her professor husband. Elise soon begins a romance with the son of the house, and she moves in and out of various strata of people in the house and in the village, not quite belonging anywhere, but making friends and connections nevertheless. She also falls in love with the area, and especially with living by the sea. Meanwhile she is constantly worried about her family members, misses them desperately, and is consoled just a little by her possession of a family viola with her father’s latest novel manuscript stuffed into it. As the war begins and proceeds, there are many twists and turns to the story. There is danger, sweetness, romance, sadness, loss and redemption. This is an affecting story, one that I enjoyed very much.

"A Theory of Small Earthquakes," by Meredith Maran

I have seen Meredith Maran's journalistic writing in The San Francisco Chronicle and other periodicals for some years now. I also read her thoughtful and revealing 2001 nonfiction book about the lives and issues of students at Berkeley High School, "Class Dismissed." She has now published her first novel, "A Theory of Small Earthquakes" (Soft Skull Press, 2012). One reason I read it was that much of it takes place in Berkeley, just across the Bay from here, and it is always enjoyable to read novels set in places one knows pretty well. But beyond that, the novel is a story of the times -- of the past 30 years -- with much context about social issues during that time. In particular, it is the story of two women who met at college and fell in love, moved to Berkeley, decided to have a child, and then...well, I don't want to give away the plot, but it involves another character, a child, a family mystery, much drama, lifelong friendships, and the changing times. And the "earthquakes" of the title? One of the characters, normally fearless, is very afraid of earthquakes, and falls apart each time a small earthquake occurs, which is fairly often in California. She is partially reassured by the theory that small earthquakes release pressure and therefore lower the risk of larger earthquakes. This novel is very readable, with strong and interesting characters and a good balance of a compelling story and the addressing of social issues.

"Preacher's Lake," by Lisa Vice

“Preacher’s Lake” (Dutton, 1998), by Lisa Vice (author of “Reckless Driver,” which I posted about on 6/15/12), is a challenging novel to read: it is long, it has a large cast of characters, and its characters live in difficult circumstances. Yet despite these challenges, or perhaps partly because of them, this is a book that catches up the reader -- at least this reader -- and doesn’t let her go. The first challenge is the 472-page length. OK, it’s long, but I can handle that. The second challenge is the many characters, introduced in rapid succession, in short vignettes, making me wonder if I can keep all the characters straight in my mind. The novel continues to move quickly among the characters, and then gradually some of them start to meet and interact with others; gradually I figure out who everyone is and how they connect with each other. Several of the main characters are lesbians. Probably the biggest challenge for a middle-class reader is to acclimate to the rather isolated and hardscrabble Maine setting where almost all the characters are poor, just barely working class, or just getting by. Some live without electricity or running water or indoor bathrooms. Life is a struggle. Besides the economic issues, there are social issues, issues of class. Typical readers of contemporary fiction do not often encounter this kind of setting and these kinds of characters, especially in the United States. This novel does something important by forcing readers to see poverty and struggling characters up close. Although I am not personally familiar with the area or with people in these circumstances, I am convinced that the portrayals in this novel are authentic. (The author herself lived in Maine at one point.) But the characters are not defined only by their economic and social conditions; they are vibrant, thoughtful, quirky, caring people as well. They worry about their children, fall in love, sometimes settle for partners for practical reasons, yearn for better lives, wish for partners and children, try to improve their lots, and move in and out of the area; in other words, although the setting is different, the human feelings are the same ones that characters in other novels experience in wealthier urban areas.

The Perils of Self-Publishing

It is great that nowadays anyone can publish a book through self-publishing/”vanity” presses. Writers with little or no chance of book contracts with regular publishers can now write about their experiences, express their feelings, exercise their creativity, and see their names and words in print. Self-published books are especially good for those who mainly want to share their writing with family and friends. And some of them are quite respectably well written and produced. (Full disclosure: Some years ago, two colleagues/friends and I edited the self-published memoir of our late academic mentor and friend.) But there are often serious problems with self-publishing as well. Books definitely suffer without the editorial and marketing support provided by a traditional publisher. A huge negative is the lack of editing. I was reminded of this recently while reading a self-published memoir (which shall remain nameless) that was so badly written as to be almost incoherent in places. The author was obviously passionate about his topic -- a certain aspect of his life story -- and that angry, betrayed feeling came through loud and clear. But the writing was terrible in so many ways. It was disorganized, illogical, and ungrammatical. Words were misspelled and misused. It sounded as if the writer had sat down and spewed out a long rant, and then never revised or edited it in any way. I wish for his own sake that the author had hired an editor, or at least asked a literate friend to help him edit the book. Reading this book was a painful process; I only persevered because the book was useful for my research.

"Gone," by Cathi Hanauer

There is something a bit odd about Cathi Hanauer’s new novel, “Gone” (Atria, 2012) (not to be confused with the current bestseller, “Gone Girl”). The central plot point is that a husband has suddenly left his wife, without telling her he is leaving, or where he is going. Yet there isn’t much suspense, as he frequently texts their teenaged daughter, and his destination is his mother’s house across the U.S. (yes, really, he runs away to his mother's house...). We are also clearly told that each of the two still loves the other, although Eve is sometimes exasperated with Eric. We first hear Eve’s story, then Eric’s, and then the story goes back and forth between their two perspectives. The reactions of their two children, fourteen-year-old Magnolia and eight-year-old Danny, are well-portrayed and seem realistic. The story is interesting enough, and kept me reading, but it all seems so low-key, and the writing is disappointingly talky and full of exposition. There are even long chunks of didactic -- very didactic -- explanations and exhortations about nutrition (the pretext for this is that Eve is a nutritionist), the environment, and mental health (Eric’s mother is a therapist). There are some thoughtful sections, and some better-written sections, but overall the pedestrian writing is an obstacle to really enjoying the book.

"Some Assembly Required," by Anne Lamott

Anne Lamott, who lives here in Marin County, just north of San Francisco, as I do, has a unique voice in her writing. I read several of her novels some time ago, and enjoyed them, but would not say they are great literature. But her memoirs, all of which I have also read, seem to me to be better written, more authentic, and more compelling. In them, she writes of her difficult family of origin, whom she nonetheless loves very much, as well as the alcoholism that runs through her family and her own alcoholism and recovery. She writes of finding salvation, religious and otherwise, through a small African-American church. She writes of how hard it was to be a single mother, and yet how wonderful. When she wrote about that topic, almost 20 years ago, in “Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son’s First Year,” she was lauded for her honesty about the great joys and the great difficulties of motherhood, especially single motherhood. Now, in her most recent book (which I listened to on CD, read by the author herself), “Some Assembly Required: A Journal of My Son’s First Son” (Riverhead, 2012), co-written with her son Sam Lamott, she writes about her 19-year-old son’s and his girlfriend Amy’s unexpected parenthood. Although surprised and concerned about their becoming parents at such a young age, and at a time that they are in a relationship with an uncertain future, she is also absolutely besotted with her new grandson Jax, and does all she can to help, yet makes an effort not to “take over.” The strength of Lamott’s voice is her openness, her willingness to confess all her thoughts and feelings, including the less worthy ones. Her feelings are understandable, though. For example, she hates it when Amy takes Jax to visit her family in Chicago, and she lives in fear that Amy and Jax, or maybe Amy and Sam and Jax, will permanently move to Chicago; I imagine most parents and grandparents can relate to that feeling. She writes of insecurity, of jealousy, of fear, and more. But she also writes of joy, family, sharing, and celebrating life. The book covers the time just before little Jax is born, and during the first year of his life. Much of the book is concerned with the everyday ebbs and flows of life, of worries, of happiness, of visits back and forth, of family celebrations, of hikes with friends and consultations with her therapist and her priest friend. She also takes trips to India and to Europe, and describes those trips in some detail. She writes of her meditation practice, and says a little about her own writing and her book tours. Most of all she writes detailed descriptions of Jax and his personality and growth; these, although in certain hands might be tedious to read about, are beautifully observed. Sam’s contributions are only perhaps 20% of the book, but his perspective is important. His maturity, love for his child, and ability to adjust to his new, unexpected life as a father are all impressive. He says that because his own father was not in his life, he wants to make sure that he himself will always be there for his son Jax. I can’t help thinking that despite all her eccentricities and insecurities, Lamott must have done a lot right in the way she raised Sam, because he seems to be have turned out so well. As for her writing, I think it is an acquired taste; it is admirable and brave and sometimes very funny, but also sometimes annoying, with a whining undertone. But these are two sides of the same coin, because she clearly knows she is whining sometimes, but is brave enough to share what makes her look petty or unappealing. This is all part of her candidness. Obviously many people love her writing, as her memoirs have all been bestsellers. And despite any reservations I have, I too will probably keep on reading them as she publishes them.