"Calypso," by David Sedaris

Author and humorist David Sedaris’ hugely successful work is characterized by his wry tone, his seeming extreme candidness, the unexpected nature of some of the twists and turns in his writing, and – what I noticed more than ever when I read “Calypso” (Little, Brown, 2018) – his devotion to his family. His parents and his five siblings, as well as his partner Hugh, are all major characters in this new book, as well as in his other work. He writes touchingly (but always with a note of humor) about how much it means to him to have his family as the water he swims in, and of how they are always there for him, despite disagreements and even sometimes temporary estrangements. Sedaris and Hugh live in the countryside in England, but also have a beach house in North Carolina, where he is from, mainly so they can gather family members there whenever possible. All is not easy in Sedaris family land. The six siblings’ mother died young. Their father is now in his 90s and well loved despite his eccentricities and conservative politics (which are at odds with those of his children). The saddest family matter is the mental illness, lifelong problems, and recent suicide of their sister Tiffany. In a recent Fresh Air interview with Sedaris, a sentence that broke this reader’s heart was that Sedaris’ mother never really liked Tiffany. Sedaris himself cut off communication with her for many years, partly because he felt helpless, despite many efforts, to do anything about her sad and difficult situation. Other themes in this book of essay-like chapters include anything from the whimsical to the serious. Sedaris’ book tours, obsession with his Fitbit and the increasing number of miles in his daily walks (picking up trash along the way), love of animals, shopping, health, travel, fights with and quick reconciliations with Hugh, and the family love of stories are among the topics he covers, always with his signature blend of humor and truth. I have said before here that although I like Sedaris’ writing, a little of it goes a long way. Whether because he has gotten better as a writer, or because I have warmed up to his style and topics, I now appreciate, relate to, and enjoy his work more than before.

"Truth and Beauty," by Ann Patchett

Ann Patchett is a highly esteemed and beloved writer, author of such novels as “Bel Canto,” “Run,” and “State of Wonder,” all of which are wonderful. I also recommend her collection of essays, which doubles as a sort of memoir, “This is the Story of a Happy Marriage.” Patchett is also known for the valiant action of opening a bookstore in Nashville a few years ago, in response to -- and despite -- the decline of independent bookstores. I recently picked up an earlier Patchett book that I hadn’t read before, “Truth & Beauty” (HarperCollins, 2004). This book tells the story of the author’s close friendship with a fellow author, Lucy Grealy. Grealy is best known for her memoir, “Autobiography of a Face,” which tells of a life dominated by the ravages of a childhood cancer of the jaw, the many treatments and surgeries she had endured, and her fragile health, as well as her enormous appetite for living life to its fullest. Patchett and Grealy met in college, and later both studied at the famed Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Both authors were successful. But this book focuses on the intensity of the friendship between the two, through thick and thin, no matter what else was going on in their lives. They truly loved each other, and were completely loyal to each other. Patchett never congratulates herself on her loyalty to Grealy, despite her huge and tumultuous personality and her neediness; it is just a given. And because they were so close, she doesn’t just focus on what most other people focused on: Lucy’s deformed face. She writes about both women’s writing, their insecurities, their love affairs, their travels, their nights of drinking and dancing with friends and lovers, and more. Finally, though, both Patchett and we, the readers, have to face the reality of how difficult life was for Lucy Grealy, and of how her difficulties led to some self-destructive behavior. And then Patchett – and we – have to face Grealy’s death. This book is sometimes difficult to read, especially about the worst parts and periods of Lucy’s life, but is also beautifully written and inspiring. Ann Patchett has given us a shining but candid tribute to Grealy, and to the power of friendship.

"Clock Dance," by Anne Tyler

Anne Tyler is one of my favorite writers; I have read almost every novel she has written. I know that, although she is very popular, there are some readers who don’t quite “get” her appeal. Which is fine, of course. But to me she is gifted at portraying the details of daily life, and the accretion of those details over time, and then gradually drawing readers into the larger meanings of those everyday events. If you will forgive my quoting myself, this is what I posted here about one of her more recent novels: “Her novels always seem deceptively plain and straightforward, with little in the way of embellishments, experimentation, or flash. But they are rich with real life, down-to-earth life, the life that we readers can relate to. Her recent novels have tended to feature mature (middle-aged or older) characters), and as a 'mature' person myself, I appreciate this perspective.” The main character in Tyler’s most recent novel, “Clock Dance” (Knopf, 2018), is also an “older” (late middle-aged) female. We read about -- in snapshots, really -- certain influential times in Willa Drake’s life: her mother’s instability, her college years, her first marriage, her being a mother, and her second marriage. Sadly, although she keeps up her spirits and on the surface has a very traditional life, there are large gaps in that life. Both of her husbands are traditional, bossy, and insensitive. Her two sons are not particularly close to her, and as young adults don’t keep in close touch or tell her much about their lives; in fact, when she sees them, they are offhandedly dismissive of her ideas and choices. Suddenly, and this is where the current and main story begins, Willa gets a call about one son’s former girlfriend who, along with her young daughter, need taking care of after the girlfriend’s leg is wounded in a shooting. Willa somehow, uncharacteristically, decides to fly across the country from her retirement home in Arizona to Baltimore, and ends up becoming very fond of the young woman, her daughter, and the neighbors in this tightly knit working class neighborhood. Willa finds purpose in helping out, and finds herself enmeshed in the doings of the neighborhood, which is a true community, albeit with its own odd characters and behaviors. She allows herself to question her current life. I like the way Tyler portrays a woman who has always done the expected thing, and who has always been the caregiver, the one who gives time and energy to others, but now realizes that this way of being is not always good for herself. The scenes in which her husbands casually and with entitlement tell her what to do, scold her, expect her to listen and address their needs, but don’t do the same for her, are masterpieces. Neither of the husbands are bad or even unusually thoughtless men, and she loves them both, but she is never really seen or heard for herself. Her sons in turn treat her with careless affection and minimal attention, when it is convenient; they have unconsciously learned these male roles from their father and from society. (Of course I don’t want to generalize about all men, all husbands, or all sons! But the ones represented here certainly exist, more commonly than we would like to acknowledge.) Tyler never hits us over the head with her interpretations of what life is like for her characters, and for – in recent novels – “older” women, but we gradually absorb her subtle portrayals of what those women’s lives are like, and of the indignities that almost pass unnoticed, until they do become evident, at which time there is a sort of re-evaluation and reckoning.

"No One Tells You This," by Glynnis MacNicol

A common, intensely relevant topic for many women, especially educated women with successful careers that they enjoy and in which they feel fulfilled, is the one of whether and when to get married and/or have children. Glynnis MacNicol’s memoir, “No One Tells You This” (Simon and Schuster, 2018) explores this issue in a very personal way. She does not pronounce on a “right” or “wrong” decision, or try to persuade anyone of anything. She simply shares, in a thoughtful, candid way, her struggle to figure out what it is she really wants, as she turns forty years old. She has had a slightly unorthodox path to her career as a successful writer, she is close to her family of origin, and she is surrounded by a very close and extremely supportive group of friends. She loves living in New York City. But she knows that time is of the essence, at least regarding having children, and she sees that almost all of her friends have married and had children. This memoir doesn’t just dwell on the issue of children, but shows us the author’s very full life, as she travels, works, and spends time with friends and family. She spends quite a bit of time and energy and worry on her family, dealing with her mother’s early onset dementia, her father’s passiveness and history of bad financial decisions, and her sister’s giving birth to a third child just as she splits up with her husband. MacNicol dates and has relationships, but is not happy with the men she meets, especially as prospects for long-term partners. She also teaches herself to take little breaks, even if they are just a night away, or a short river cruise, in order to restore herself from working so hard and from devoting her time and self to her family. Near the end of the book, at a wildly different locale than her usual city life, she visits a dude ranch in Wyoming, which leads to introspection and some decisions. There is a certain amount of (well-earned) handwringing in this book, but little time is spent on feeling sorry for herself. In fact, she often focuses on the happy aspects of her life. I admire the (seeming, at least) candor of the memoir, as well as the very good writing. I am sure almost any woman (and perhaps some men) reading this memoir can connect to it in some ways, no matter which life decisions they themselves have made, or are contemplating making, or will make.

"Robin," by Dave Itzkoff

Like so many people who live in the San Francisco Bay Area, my family had, over the past thirty-plus years, various brushes and contacts and overlaps of friends and classmates and neighbors with the great comic and actor Robin Williams and his family. I absolutely don’t mean to claim any closeness, not at all, but only the kinds of occasional fleeting contacts one has when living in the same neighborhoods, seeing each other on the street, one’s children going to the same schools and socializing in the same circles, seeing each other at local restaurants, etc. I was always a great admirer and fan of Williams, and knew quite a bit of his story already, but I was still very interested in his biography, “Robin” (Gale, 2018) by Dave Itzkoff. It seems to be very thorough, based on many interviews and much research. The prose is perhaps a bit workmanlike, but Williams’ personality, character, career, and story are well presented. The story is such a mixture of joy and sorrow, highs and lows. Robin Williams was such a gifted performer, and loved his family so much. It is true that he had his demons, became addicted to alcohol and drugs, and sometimes didn’t spend the time with his family members that he wanted to. He made some mistakes in his career as well. But everyone who knew him acknowledged his extraordinary talents, and that he was at heart a good man. One thing I wish Itzkoff had written more about was Williams’ many, many contributions to charities, to American soldiers, and to countless friends in need, sick children, and others, very often anonymously or with minimal publicity. The author does mention some of these, but not enough, in my opinion. In any case, I recommend the book “Robin” to anyone interested in Robin Williams and his complicated, unparalleled life and career, cut short too soon by a dreadful disease.