"The Great Believers," by Rebecca Makkai

Reading “The Great Believers” (Viking, 2018), by Rebecca Makkai (whose novel “The Hundred-Year House” I wrote about here on 8/31/14) takes us back to the time when the initial scourge of AIDS suddenly devastated whole communities, mostly of gay men, in the early 1980s and beyond. The novel is mainly set in New York; as a San Franciscan, I remember very clearly that the disease rampaged through this city as well. Half of this novel focuses on a group of friends in New York, gay men, mostly in creative careers related to the arts, who one by one are dying of AIDS. (This was before any of the current life-prolonging treatments were discovered.) The novel portrays this catastrophic time, and the emotional and social as well as physical damage and suffering that took place, well and even graphically. The other half of the novel (the two halves are presented in alternating sections) takes place thirty years later, when Fiona, whose brother and many friends were among the victims of the disease, and who was a main character in the first half of the novel, now goes to Paris to look for her daughter, who has become part of a cult. The two stories weave back and forth, and there are some happy memories and happy times despite and even amidst the nightmare of the AIDS disaster. There are a few subordinate but related plot lines, one related to the main character, Yale, as he tries to acquire a hitherto unknown art collection from a dying woman who had known and posed for many famous artists in Paris in the early twentieth century. Although the main topic of this novel is obviously incredibly painful and sad, the novel is much more multilayered and complex than one might think when reading the above description. This is a compelling and important novel, and I highly recommend it to you.

"The Destiny Thief," by Richard Russo

Although I mostly read fiction, I also enjoy – as regular readers of this blog know – memoirs and other nonfiction. Once in a while, I read and am thoroughly drawn into books of essays, often by writers that I already know and appreciate as fiction writers. I recently read “The Destiny Thief” (Knopf, 2018), a collection of essays “On Writing, Writers and Life,” by one of my very favorite novelists, Richard Russo (some favorite novels: “Straight Man,” “Empire Falls,” “Bridge of Sighs,” “That Old Cape Magic”). The main reasons I enjoyed these essays were: 1. interesting topics; 2. insightful comments on writing and other topics; and 3. the author’s persona and voice. About the latter: Russo seems like a genuinely good and nice person (and I have heard from a writer friend who knows Russo that this assessment is correct). I know this (being nice) isn’t supposed to matter in writers, and perhaps it doesn’t – too much – in fiction. But in essays, writers are writing about themselves and topics they know, in a more straightforward way than in fiction, and their personas are more easily revealed. Some of the essays in “The Destiny Thief” contain advice about writing and the writing life (Russo was a professor of writing for many years); some are about specific authors (notably Dickens and Twain); others are about people and situations in Russo’s own life. One piece details his musings about the phenomenon of self-publishing, and his concerns about what this movement, along with its accompanying movements related to marketing self-published books on Amazon, will do to the world of literature and to the preservation of distinctions between literary writing and commercial writing. An outstanding and compelling essay is “Imagining Jenny,” about Russo’s longtime close friend and colleague, formerly named James Boylan, as she goes through a transition to womanhood as Jenny Boylan. In particular, the essay focuses on the days of and after Jenny’s surgery, in a city to which both Russo and Boylan’s wife Grace have accompanied her, visit her in the hospital for long hours every day, and unexpectedly become caught up with the difficult life of another transgender patient at that hospital. Russo is devoted to his friend, and fiercely loyal and supportive, yet lets the reader see that he has had some ambivalance, some questions, along the way, since the day two years before when James told his friend about seeing herself as a woman and embarking on hormone and other therapies. Russo is candid and generous in sharing his mixed feelings with readers, showing very human reactions and concerns, although the loyalty and support are always predominant by far. This essay collection is rich and engaging, and although the essays address somewhat diverse topics, Russo’s voice and sensibility tie them together. I thoroughly enjoyed spending a few hours in the company of Russo's voice in this collection.

What I Read on my Canada Trip

On a very recent trip in Canada, partly for an academic conference and partly extended after the conference as a vacation, I carried out my usual practice before trips of accumulating several paperback books to take with me. Yes, yes, I could put them on an e-reader, but I prefer the books themselves. As I have alluded to before here, it is a fine art for me to choose just the right books for this kind of travel. I don’t want anything too “heavy” or demanding (not suitable -- at least in my experience -- for reading on airplanes and sitting by an ocean, lake, harbor, or bay), but there has to be, still, at least decently good writing. I won’t discuss each in detail here, but I list them below with minimal annotation, just to give you an idea of my typical “trip reading.” 1. “The Awkward Age,” a novel by Francesca Segal, describes a romance between a widow and her new love, in London, made difficult by each of their children’s actively undermining the new relationship. Complications ensue. Well written and entertaining. 2. “The People We Hate at the Wedding,” by Grant Ginder, is the type of novel often described as a “romp,” full of funny scenes, complications, snide portrayals of the characters, and more. The writing is only OK, but the novel is fun to read. 3. The novel “A Sister in My House,” by the Swedish-born New Zealand resident Linda Olsson, is the most “serious” of the books I read on this trip, a poignant, sad, yet life-affirming story of two middle-aged sisters who spend a few days together after a long semi-estrangement, and finally face some of the difficult facts of their childhood. Beautifully written. (The author translated her own book from Swedish to English.) 4. “Young Jane Young,” by Gabrielle Zevin, describes a Monica Lewinsky-type situation, perhaps especially pertinent during this MeToo era; the novel is very sympathetic to the main female character, and offers a low-key feminist portrayal of the situation. 5. Having “only” brought five novels, and finding one of these not very interesting and therefore abandoning it, I visited a bookstore for reinforcements, and bought two more paperback novels. The first was a British “cozy” mystery, a genre that I occasionally return to over the years; this one is by an author I didn’t know before, Rebecca Tope. The book is part of a series set in the Cotswolds, so an enticement already. (Just the name “The Cotswolds” makes me feel warm and fuzzy…). Titled “Peril in the Cotswolds,” it was comfortable, familiar, and enjoyable to read, and although I wouldn’t put it high on any list of favorite mysteries, it hit the spot on this occasion. 6. Finally, the other book I picked up at the Canadian bookstore near my hotel was “Barrelling Forward,” a collection of short stories by the young Canadian author Eva Crocker. The stories are edgy, raw, and original, and I was glad to discover a “new” (to me) author whom I would probably never have known about if it were not for browsing in this Canadian bookstore. It reminded me of the great pleasure of exploring bookstores while traveling in other countries than my own! So – that’s my list of reading material (supplemented along the way by newspapers and magazines as well) during my very recent, very enjoyable trip.

"The Only Story," by Julian Barnes

It is always good news when Julian Barnes publishes a new book, whether it be a novel, a collection of short stories, a book of essays, or a memoir. I have read and posted here about several of his books. His most famous recent book is the novel “The Sense of an Ending,” the Man Booker 2011 Prize winner, which I liked very much and wrote about here. His newest is “The Only Story” (Knopf, 2018). It is a love story, but a somewhat unusual and certainly sad one. In the 1960s, a 19-year-old English university student, Paul, meets an older (aged 48) married woman, Susan, at the tennis club where Paul’s parents go. They play doubles tennis, and not long after, begin an affair. Somewhat improbably, Paul is not bothered at all by the substantial age difference, although Susan has some qualms and concerns. Her husband and his parents are, naturally, deeply unhappy about the affair. But it becomes far more than an affair; against all odds, the two move in together and have a very happy life for perhaps a decade. What finally drives them apart is not the age difference, but another serious problem, which I won't describe here, in order to let the reader discover it for her/himself. We see the arc of their story up close, and then toward the end of the book, we find ourselves listening to Paul as a much older man, looking back at the affair. Although it went wrong, he has never forgotten his “only story,” his first and greatest love. This is a very “grown-up” story. It is also a bit claustrophobic, as readers get very little sense of the context of the outside world during the affair, beyond that of the small, upper middle class community where the two lovers meet, and the apartment in London that seems unconnected to the life around it. Interestingly, Barnes chooses for his narrator (the story is told through the eyes of Paul) to vary his pronouns referring to Paul among “I,” “he,” and “you.” “The Only Story” has an unlikely weight to it, and we readers believe that Paul’s story is real and heartfelt, although he steers clear of sentimental or exaggerated language, even about his great love.

"Mrs.," by Caitlin Macy

Why am I so often enthralled by fiction about wealthy families in Manhattan? Their habits, their haunts, their relationships, their belongings, the schools their children attend, the restaurants they patronize, and more…all catnip for me. As I have written before here, I feel some embarrassment about this, but on the other hand I justify it – perhaps rather feebly, but with a kernel of truth – by noting its relationship to my research and writing on social class, and especially on affluent students and families from around the world. I will also point out here that some writers focus on this topic – the wealthy in Manhattan (and surroundings and related locales) -- with much more seriousness than others (which is not to say that even the serious ones don’t include some snarky humor in their portrayals of this one percenter class). The tone of a very recent novel by Caitlin Macy, “Mrs.” (Little, Brown, 2018), is serious, funny, sometimes grim, even “savage” as one reviewer noted. Macy, the author of an earlier novel, “The Fundamentals of Play,” and of a short story collection, “Spoiled” (which I wrote about here on 4/26/18), obviously knows this territory well (she comes from a formerly wealthy family, studied at a prestigious boarding school, attended Yale, and lives in New York, and all her fiction directly or indirectly deals with social class). Her inside knowledge manifests itself in hundreds of details about schools, home decoration, manners, dress, and other habits of the affluent. The main characters in “Mrs.” are three couples whose children attend a posh, very selective Upper East Side pre-school, St. Timothy’s. Philippa Lye is beautiful but with a murky past; her husband Jed is a banker from old money, but would rather spend his time on the longtime family farm in Connecticut. Minnie Curtis comes from a poor background but “landed” a rich (also formerly poor) financial industry man, a nasty climber with a trail of rapes behind him, John D. Curtis. The third couple is not wealthy: Gwen Hogan, although formerly a gifted chemist, stays home with their daughter, while her husband Dan is a prosecutor in the U.S. Attorney’s office. Other characters include various family members, as well as other parents at St. Timothy’s. The story is told from several points of view, including those of the six main characters, and one small daughter’s perspective. The year is 2009, just after the financial crash. Soon the stories of the various characters become enmeshed in the financial and other improprieties of some of them, and some characters are caught up in difficult moral dilemmas. In addition to the moral dilemmas, there are issues about the alcohol problems of some characters, and about the insecurities that so many of the characters experience as they struggle to gain and maintain increasing status in the social world. Although social class is the main focus, gender issues are definitely explored as well. Women in this environment are often regarded as accessories only, witnesses to the main action by the men. Despite this novel’s being focused on the women’s perspectives, part of what all of the women know on some level is that their power, if any, is largely dependent on that of the men in their lives. “Mrs.” is a serious, thoughtful book about serious topics, but it is also completely engaging, and at times very entertaining. Although it is about 350 pages long, I devoured it over big chunks of two summer days, often when I “should” have been accomplishing other things. But, after all, what is more important than reading? And if not on summer days, when? And if I can classify it as “research” for my work on social class, all the better!