"Excellent Women," by Barbara Pym

Following up on my post of 7/20/19 about my visit to Main Street Books in St. Helena: The other book I picked up there (besides the Nina Bawden novel that the owner so kindly insisted on giving me, because I was the only one visiting her store who had been interested in it) was Barbara Pym’s “Excellent Women” (originally published 1952, several editions). I have written about Barbara Pym here before (e.g., on 7/7/13, 8/13/13, and 1/7/14); she has been one of my favorite writers for perhaps 30 years. As a quick reminder: Pym was English, and wrote about a certain kind of educated, usually single woman who was helpful to those around her, active in her local church, had flirtations and even romances that usually came to nothing, and were dutiful but also extremely, albeit understatedly, perceptive, verging on satirical. It appears from biographies that these characters shared many qualities with the author herself, although the author lived in a somewhat wider, less restricted world than did many of her characters. The writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie has called Pym and her characters “prim but subversive,” which is a wonderfully concise summary. When I was in the small bookstore in St. Helena, I suddenly and rather randomly wondered if there were Barbara Pym novels available; I asked the knowledgeable owner and she immediately put “Excellent Women” in my hands. I have read that novel – probably Pym’s best-known and perhaps best one – several times (along with most of her novels, also often-read by me), but not for a few years. As soon as I got home, I started reading it again, and it was as wonderful as ever. Funny, sad, laser-like observant, a little acerbic, and unlike any other writer’s work that I know of. Her main character, Mildred, an example of the titular “excellent women,” is a person whom others rely on, and assume will help them; she herself assumes it is her duty to do so, but has wry conversations with herself about this quality of hers. Some of the other characters are the local clergyman, Father Malory, his sister Winnifred who keeps house for him, the dashing couple of Helena and Rockingham Napier who have moved into the flat downstairs from Mildred, and the anthropologist Everard Bone. Their interactions are low-key but fascinating. [Side note: those old-fashioned names! When I was a child of missionaries in India, two of the wonderful "single lady" missionaries there were named Mildred and Winnifred. They were independent and courageous, but the names seemed old-fashioned even then, and had the scent of spinsterhood.] So here I am yet again asking you (if this sounds like your kind of fiction, and if you have not already done so) to consider reading Barbara Pym’s wonderful fiction. You can start with any of her novels (although perhaps not “Quartet in Autumn,” which is very good but somewhat darker than the others); I suggest starting with “Excellent Women.” I don’t think you will be sorry.

On Not Posting Here on "Just Fine" Books

I post here about a high proportion of the books I read, but definitely not all. In some cases a book is too “light” (e.g., the beachiest of “beach reads”), or just doesn’t seem to warrant a post. And in a few -- very few -- cases, I haven’t posted about a book because it was so good that I thought I couldn’t possibly do it justice! But most often the reason I don’t post is that the book is “just fine,” not great but not at all "bad" (in my opinion – of course many would disagree with some of my opinions.). If the book is good to excellent, or at least has notable or intriguing qualities, I do generally post about it, with pleasure. Occasionally, if the book is very bad or very disappointing, I write about it, because there is a disconnect between what I was expecting (based on reviews, or on my liking of earlier books by the author) and what the book was actually like (again, in my humble opinion). But those “just fine” books are the ones I fairly often don’t write about. Here is a list of some books I have very recently (within the past few weeks) read but have not posted about, for that reason. “Laura and Emma,” by Kate Greathead. “Conversations with Friends,” by Sally Rooney. “Normal People,” by Sally Rooney. (I know that these two novels by Rooney have received high praise, but I just didn’t like them very much.) “State of the Union: A Marriage in Ten Parts,” by Nick Hornby (mildly interesting). “Rules for Visiting,” by Jessica Francis Kane. (I thought I would love this novel about reconnecting with old friends, but it was too low-key for my taste, mildly depressing, and even a little dull.) “Trust Exercise,” by Susan Choi. (I have read a couple of Choi’s other novels, and always end up feeling slightly disappointed with them.) “Nobody’s Looking at You,” by Janet Malcolm. (I have been reading Malcolm’s work for many years, and like it very much, but I had already read some of the essays in The New Yorker and elsewhere, and the topics of others were not particularly interesting to me). “The Altruists,” by Andrew Ridker. (I read this novel less than a month ago and I have already completely forgotten what it was about, so that says something….) “The Other Americans,” by Laila Lalami.” (This novel admirably addresses important social topics, but I just didn’t get particularly caught up in it.) Again, I have to say that in many cases my feelings about these novels are very much a matter of individual taste, and I can easily imagine other readers might value and like them more than I did. I also have to say what I have occasionally said before on this blog and elsewhere: I sometimes feel that it is presumptuous of me to judge these perfectly fine novels when I couldn’t possibly have written them myself, not having the gift for fiction writing. But I remind myself that writers need readers, and that readers need to hear the views of other readers, either to help them decide what to read, or to compare notes when they have read the same books. Thus the necessity and usefulness of book reviews, criticism, literature classes, word of mouth, book clubs, and yes, book blogs!

A Very Special Independent Bookstore in St. Helena

(NOTE: Apologies to those of my Facebook friends who also read this blog; you may have already read a version of this story a couple of days ago on FB. This is the first time I have “cross-posted”!) During a very recent short outing to St. Helena, in the Napa Valley, I stumbled across a wonderful small independent bookstore, Main Street Books. It sells new and used books, and despite its small -- actually tiny -- size, has an extensive and very well curated selection. I was browsing, and the person working there (I think she is the owner) was very helpful in answering questions and finding books for me. Her depth of knowledge about books in general, and about the specific books in her store (she seemed to know practically every book, and where it was shelved), was obvious and impressive. We had a great conversation about books, women authors, reading habits, and other book-related topics. And when I was about to pay for the two books I chose, she said that she wanted to give me one of them, because she loved the author (Nina Bawden), had had the book a long time without anyone choosing it, and was glad it had finally found someone interested in reading it. This experience reminded me, yet again, of how important and special independent bookstores are. Apparently, from what I read online about the bookstore after I got home, it is a longtime and well-loved St. Helena institution; I hope it will be there giving readers pleasure for many, many more years!

My Very First Kindle

The Kindle e-reader was first sold in 2007. Stephanie Vandrick bought her first Kindle in 2019. Yes, 12 years after the Kindle’s arrival, and way after most of my family and friends did so, I finally did what I had resisted doing for a long time. At first I resisted adamantly, on the grounds that I want to hold and read books only in their original paper form. Then gradually I resisted less adamantly, for two reasons. First, I began to be slightly persuaded by my daughter and others who spoke of how convenient e-readers were, especially for travel. And second, I knew that it was probably inevitable that at some point I would give in and buy one, and I didn’t want to be too embarrassed by having to eat my words. The event that convinced me to get the Kindle, finally, was that I was invited almost a year ago by my editor, at a press I have published with in the past, to contribute a book to a new and innovative series that will be available only as e-books. This series will be inexpensive and accessible to more academics and students around the world in our field of English language education. While writing the book (still in process), I suddenly realized (I can be slow to put two and two together sometimes!) that in order to read my own book and others in the series, it would be quite helpful to have an e-reader myself! It turns out that I could download e-books on my laptop as well, but I decided that this was the time to finally take the plunge and buy a Kindle. After a quick survey of friends about which type I should buy, I purchased one. I can’t say I am totally taken by it; I am still very much wedded to the traditional hard copy. But after reading a few books on the Kindle, I somewhat begrudgingly understand its value. I can’t imagine, though, that it will ever become even close to my primary mode of reading. But I won’t say this too strongly, because what I have learned is to “never say never.”

"Henry, Himself," by Stewart O'Nan

Stewart O’Nan is one of my most-admired contemporary writers, a true student of human nature. My favorite book by him is “Emily, Alone,” about which I wrote here on 5/17/11. His new novel, “Henry, Himself” (Viking, 2019) is also a masterpiece. This novel is a prequel to “Emily, Alone,” depicting the life of Emily and her husband Henry before he died. Henry is a sort of Everyman who lives in Pittsburgh, is an engineer, and tries to live an honorable life. He is somewhat limited in his thinking at times, but is (usually) self-aware about his limitations, and tries to overcome them. He does his best at work and at home, and as he ages, wonders if he has done the right things in life. His style, and the style of the writing, is plain, simple, and understated. It is through the abundant small details, the descriptions of the routines of Henry’s life, that we build up a picture of him and other men of his type. This novel reminds me of Evan Connell’s “Mr. Bridge” and of John Williams' “Stoner.” The main characters in all three novels are somewhat trapped by society’s expectations of men, and all three characters stolidly and without drawing attention to themselves try to fulfill those expectations. They are all flawed but good men. I highly recommend this novel.

"At the End of the Century: Stories," by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala

I have been drawn to Ruth Prawer Jhabvala’s fiction for many years (actually decades) now. One reason is her identity as a Polish/German woman who married an Indian architect and lived much of her adult life in India (although she also later lived elsewhere, most notably New York City); thus she is one of those insider/outsider people who are so interesting to me, and who are representative of so many people in the world. And there is the India connection; as regular readers of this blog know, I spent much of my childhood there. She also wrote screenplays adapting such wonderful novels as “Howards End” and “A Room with a View” for films that were produced and directed by the famous team of Ismail Merchant and James Ivory. These three were wonderful collaborators and friends, even living in the same Manhattan apartment building for many years. Of course the main reason I appreciate and enjoy Jhabvala’s fiction so much is that it is very, very good. I just read “At the End of the Century” (Counterpoint, 2017), a collection of many of her short stories published over the years, some in periodicals such as the New Yorker, and some in earlier story collections. The author died in 2013, and her family chose the stories (among the many she had published) for this posthumous collection. The settings for the stories are in various areas of Europe, India, and the United States; the main characters are often travelers between countries and cultures. Each story is compelling, and the author’s knowledge of and portrayals of human nature are impressive. The collection is further enhanced by its thoughtful introduction by the (also excellent, also one of my favorites) writer Anita Desai (who, too, has a mixed identity and has lived in various countries including India). Desai notes some very insightful descriptions of Jhabvala by various writers: Caryl Phillips said that “she was postcolonial before the term had been invented,” and John Updike called her “an initiated outsider.” And the author, a Jewish refugee from Europe, said about herself, “Once a refugee, always a refugee” who was “a chameleon hiding myself in false or borrowed colors.” For anyone who is interested in insider/outsider/refugee/mixed identities, and who at the same time loves wonderful and revealing literature, I highly recommend Ruth Prawer Jhabvala’s novels and short stories. This volume is a good place to start.