Three "Topical" Novels: "On the Rooftop," "Young Jane Young," and "The Complicities"

Remember Bernie Madoff? Monica Lewinsky? The destruction of the Black Fillmore District in San Francisco? I have mixed feelings about fiction based at least loosely on real events in the news. When done well, such fiction can be illuminating; otherwise, it can appear unimaginative or even exploitative. I have just read three such novels, each based on events in the news during the last half of the 20th century or the beginning of the 21st century, and I felt each book added context, depth, and understanding regarding political/cultural/historical events, while also providing some of the other benefits and pleasures of good fiction, such as character, plot, and imagination. First, chronologically by event, is “On the Rooftop” (Ecco, 2022), by Margaret Wilkerson Sexton. It tells the devastating story of how the city of San Francisco’s predominantly Black district, the Fillmore, an area with a rich history and culture, was in the 1950s and 1960s destroyed for the financial benefit of powerful (mostly white) businessmen and politicians. The characters of this novel who live there are a mother and her three daughters (who are musicians), their friends and lovers, and their neighbors. Their personal stories are intertwined with the larger story of their neighborhood. This is a powerful revelation of one particular manifestation of racism and its effects. Next chronologically is Gabrielle Zevin’s “Young Jane Young” (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2017), which features a young woman working for a Congressman who is drawn into a secret sexual relationship and eventually abandoned; when the relationship is discovered, it is she who is lambasted by the press and everyone else, not he. The novel mentions the Clinton/Lewinsky parallel, so the plot is not directly based on that event, but is emblematic of all too many similar instances. Finally, “The Complicities” (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2022), by Stacey D’Erasmo, is narrated by the wife of a man who has committed massive financial fraud, crimes which have deeply harmed, even bankrupted, many clients who trusted him too much. The novel portrays the ways in which Suzanne has managed to not know what her husband was doing, and her struggles with her greatly reduced financial situation (as her husband goes to prison, and the two divorce), as well as her slowly coming to grips with her own complicity that the title alludes to. All three of these books are “topical,” which quality focuses the reader’s interest; all three also stand on their own in terms of being admirable fiction.

Reading for Comfort during Bereavement

I have written here before that books, among all their many other functions and joys, provide comfort. This past year, since the death of my beloved husband of decades, I have experienced this as never before. I mourn that he wasn’t allowed more time in life, and I grieve and miss him beyond measure. I have received great comfort from the memories of our time together, as well as from loving and supportive family members and friends. I have also received much comfort from one of the most continuous and sustaining elements in my life: reading. Books have been an ever-present, ever-loved part of my life since early childhood. Their companionship has been consistent and dependable, and they have not let me down during this difficult, sad time in my life. I have found myself reading more than ever this year. Sometimes I read about situations close to mine; sometimes I read for distraction; mainly I read to lose myself in the infinite joys and rewards of good books. All of these purposes lead to comfort, for which I am now particularly grateful.

"Like a Rolling Stone," by Jann S. Wenner

I feel as if I have just surfaced from a long journey back into my teens and twenties and beyond. I inhaled (no pun intended, given the times and topic of the book!) Jann S. Wenner’s 556-page memoir, “Like a Rolling Stone” (Little, Brown, 2022) in four days. Wenner was the founder/publisher/editor of the magazine Rolling Stone for 50 years, just recently selling the publication and retiring. The magazine was cutting edge, very high quality, and very popular, a source of great journalism and reviews and photography related to music (most of all), culture, and politics. What drew me in to the magazine, back in my youth, and to the memoir (now) was the intimate and detailed portraits of the musicians, writers, photographers, politicians, and other big players of the past five decades, especially during the earlier years (the years of my own youth). Writers and photographers who worked at Rolling Stone included Ralph J. Gleason, Cameron Crowe, Hunter S. Thompson, Tom Wolfe, Ben Fong-Torres, and Annie Leibovitz, and so many more. (And yes, it is unfortunately -- but typical of the times -- true that there were far more men than women on the staff, especially in the star positions.) And it seemed that Wenner knew and knows all the musicians and writers and politicians, and was close friends with many, many of them, including Bob Dylan, Mick Jagger, John Lennon, Yoko Ono, Bono, Boz Scaggs, Bruce Springsteen, Jackie Onassis and her son John Kennedy, Al Gore, Michael Douglas, Bette Midler, John Belushi, and many more. One might be tempted to think that Wenner is exaggerating his closeness to these super-famous people, but his stories of time spent with each of these over the years ring true. Wenner has also had a complicated family life, which he describes (seemingly, at least) candidly. He was married for years to Jane, and they had/have three children together. At some point he realized he was gay, but wanted to preserve his close connection to Jane and to their children, and felt that occasional brief affairs with men did not threaten his marriage. But then he met Matt Nye and fell in love with him. They became partners and eventually married and had three children of their own. Although Jane was unhappy, remarkably they were able to all get along well, and the children of the two families became close as well. I imagine some difficult times were somewhat glossed over in this memoir, but still, one has to admire the maturity and caring involved in everyone in the family getting along and supporting each other. I never had strong feelings about Wenner, although I did read and enjoy Rolling Stone during my college years and for a while afterward. But he manages to make this book about much more than himself (aside from occasional self-aggrandizement – but after all, it is his memoir!) This book just grabbed me, with its sweeping story of the times, the times in which I grew up as well. I was particularly swept up in remembering the music of the early days of my youth – the 1960s and the 1970s - with all the dramatic changes that took place during those years, when we felt that youth would make the world a better place. It made me remember the personal and communal power of music, especially in one’s teens and twenties: the way the music insistently and intensely intertwined with our lives, our loves, our longings, our politics, our dreams.

"Stay True," by Hua Hsu

I have recently accumulated a small pile of books about grief and loss, wanting to have the books but mostly unable to actually read them yet, almost a year after the death of my beloved husband. When I read about New Yorker writer Hua Hsu’s memoir about the sudden, violent death of his best friend in college, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to read it, because it would be too painful. But although I was torn, I did read “Stay True” (Doubleday, 2022), partly because I had read some of Hsu’s New Yorker articles and been impressed and drawn in by them, and partly because I was intrigued by his focusing on the death of a friend, a less common focus than the many (important and valuable) books about deaths of parents, spouses, children, siblings, and other family members. Hsu went to Berkeley, and since the campus is just across a bridge from where I live, the setting was also an attraction. But the main feature that drew me in was that Hsu captures so well the lives of college students, with their intense friendships and interests and emotions. Even though I teach at a university, I sometimes forget what an exciting but also fraught time one’s college years are. This book made me remember, including remembering my own college days, long ago as they were. Hsu's friend Ken was an important part of Hsu's college experience, and the author honors Ken by portraying him in such detail, and portraying their friendship so vividly. "Stay True" is powerful, authentic, emotional, full of telling details, and very well written. Highly recommended.

Brief “Reviews” (Really brief!) of “The Family Chao,” Why Didn’t You Tell Me?,” and “Lucy by the Sea”

Here I very briefly review three excellent books I have recently read. First is “The Family Chao” (W. W. Norton, 2022), by Lan Samantha Chang, a crowded, dense novel overflowing with family matters, intrigue, and even a possible murder. It is both serious and funny. Its focus on the family Chinese restaurant brings in cultural issues, but most of all, its focus is how families do or don’t work, and the complexities of that question. The next book, “Why Didn’t You Tell Me?” (Crown, 2022) is also much concerned with cultural issues, but in this case the book is a memoir. The author, Carmen Rita Wong, writes of her family of black and Latina women, as well as her immigrant father, “Papi” Wong, and her white American stepfather. There are complicated blended families, and underneath it all, family secrets which the author sensed, but didn’t find out until much later, thus the source of the title. This is a rich, compelling, moving narrative. The third book is Elizabeth Strout’s latest, “Lucy by the Sea” (Random House, 2022). I am a great admirer of her fiction, and was so happy to read this novel, especially as it features one of her earlier characters from her other novels, Lucy Barton. In this novel, which takes place during the COVID pandemic, Lucy’s ex-husband William takes her (whose second husband has recently died) away from Manhattan (which, as we remember, in the early months of the pandemic was overwhelmed with illness and death) to a small town in Maine to protect her from the virus as much as possible. The two – Lucy and William – are still friends and still care deeply about each other, despite the pain they suffered during the time of their separation and divorce. Other characters in the story are the couple’s children, neighbors, and friends. The story is both set in the large frame of a significant and traumatic time, and focuses on the close-up intimacies of family, connections, day-to-day living, and reflections on what is really important in the characters’ lives. I personally love this kind of close-up, quiet detailing of “ordinary” (although in the midst of extraordinary) life. A beautifully written novel. I will always read everything that Elizabeth Strout writes.

"Fellowship Point," by Alice Elliott Dark

I have just stumbled, half-dazed (in a good way!), out of the complicated, layered world of the novel “Fellowship Point” (Scribner, 2022), by Alice Elliott Dark. This is a truly original, striking novel that powerfully draws the reader in. The Fellowship Point of the title is an idyllic space in Maine where the main characters go during the summers. The homeowners there have formed – legally and socially – a unique community, one which is now threatened with development that would spoil the unique character of the area, along with its history and natural environment. The story also encompasses so much more – 80 years of history, family and other connections, concern for the environment and for the Native American original inhabitants of the area, two writers, one of whom writes two iconic book series, reflections on the roles of women in society, portrayals of childhood, issues of money and social class, and much more. The most compelling features of this 576-page novel are, for me, the main characters and the world they have created at Fellowship Point. The central character is Agnes, the author of the children’s book series, “Nan When,” and the secret author of an adult series, the “Franklin Square” novels, which is about the social world in Philadelphia, where she lives when not at Fellowship Point. She is active, thoughtful, feminist, strong-willed, opinionated, judgmental but empathetic (sometimes!). Her voice is distinctive. Her best and dearest friend since childhood, Polly, is more traditional, in her roles of wife and mother, but is much more of an individual thinker than others realize. One of my favorite things about the novel is its focus on two older women (in their early eighties), a focus that is not very common in fiction. There are also other compelling characters, including children. The story is mainly situated in the 1960s and the 2000s (jumping back and forth). Themes include family, love, duty, freedom, independence, interconnection, nature, varying definitions of “home,” trauma, mental health, and so much more. This is a unique, engrossing, and thought-provoking novel, and I recommend it highly.

RIP Camen Callil, Founder of Virago Press

Carmen Callil, the founder of Virago Press, died October 17, 2022, at the age of 84, of leukemia. This is sad news indeed. But I write to celebrate the groundbreaking, earthshaking press she started in 1973, which focused on reviving literary works by women authors. Its imprint “Virago Modern Classics” reissued the work of such “forgotten” writers as Rebecca West and Antonia White. Virago’s distinctive green covers alerted readers to the hundreds of women writers it published. I personally read many of these. The Guardian states that with Virago, Callil “transformed the canon of English literature.” (Thanks too to the New York Times’ obituary for some of the information above.) I and many, many other readers are deeply grateful to Callil and to Virago. RIP, Carmen Callil, and thank you!

"Waiting at Chez Panisse: Memoirs of an Exiled Maitre d': Volume 1," by Jerry Budrick

Regular readers of this blog will know that I savor reading about the world of restaurants, and I enjoy memoirs. I have written here about memoirs of various restaurateurs, chefs, servers, and critics, as well as about other food-related books; see my posts of, for example, 2/4/10 (which contains a list of such books), 4/26/11, and 5/12/12. Recently I read “Waiting at Chez Panisse: Memoirs of an Exiled Maitre d’: Volume 1,” (Service Non Compris Books, 2021) by Jerry Budrick. Budrick was one of the co-founders of the famed Berkeley, California restaurant, Chez Panisse, and was also, as the title suggests, the maître d’ there for many years. As one of the leaders of the restaurant, his duties were far more, and more diverse, than the (of course important) role of maître d’/server. He tells readers that he has been writing this book for many, many years, long after he left Chez Panisse, finally completing it last year, and with the subtitle of “Volume 1,” planning to write more about the Chez Panisse experience. Unfortunately, he died soon after this book was published – July 24, 2022, at age 78 – and so, sadly, there will be no Volume 2. The book is very frank, and full of many delicious details of great interest to anyone who loves the world of restaurants, including lots of good gossip. We definitely get the sense of being taken behind the scenes at this iconic restaurant. Since Chez Panisse is just across the Bay from where I live, and I have been fortunate enough to have several amazing meals there, I was even more interested. Of course Alice Waters is the face of the restaurant, and chef Jeremiah Tower, who was involved with the restaurant early on, is the other “big name” associated with the restaurant. But Budrick makes clear that it was a group, a community, that built and ran the restaurant, including himself. There is a streak in this book of the author’s occasional resentment against, if not Alice Waters herself (who was also at one point Budrick’s romantic partner) directly, then definitely against the idolization of and mystique around Waters at the expense of all the other people who contributed to – in fact allowed and ensured – the great success and fame of Chez Panisse, including surviving some precarious times. There is even a tincture of score-settling. But overall, the tone of the book is positive, in the sense of the author’s being proud of the restaurant and all it has achieved over the years. The restaurant also became a community, one that was important for, and treasured by, Budrick. The quality of the writing is competent but not striking, but it almost doesn’t matter, because the subject matter, and the author’s candor, are so appealing. Although I had already read several accounts of the beginnings and development of Chez Panisse, including accounts by and about Alice Waters and Jeremiah Tower, I very much enjoyed reading Budrick’s book and learning more about this amazing restaurant, as well as feeling I was getting an inside scoop about the happenings and intrigues there.

"First Love" and "My Phantoms," by Gwendoline Riley

I only very recently heard of the English writer Gwendoline Riley, probably partly because it seems that only her newest books are widely available in the United States. I just read her 2017 novel, “First Love” (New York Review Books) and her 2021 novel, “My Phantoms” (New York Review Books), and found these short (under 200 pages each) books to be rather bleak but compelling. The main characters of each, Neve of “First Love” and Bridget of “My Phantoms,” are very similar in some ways, with life circumstances perhaps somewhat similar to those of the author (based on the limited information I found about her). For Neve and Bridget, these include connections to Manchester, England; difficult childhoods with very difficult parents; enmeshed and fraught relationships between both of the two main characters as adults and their mothers; work as writers or academics. Each daughter struggles with a push-pull relationship with her mother: both enmeshed and fraught. The daughters avoid seeing their mothers much, and dread their meetings, but they feel responsible for them as well, and try to do their duty by them. In the case of “First Love,” the other major relationship portrayed is the extremely complicated and often terribly contentious relationship between Neve and her older husband Edwyn. Neve is almost always on tenterhooks with Edwyn, never knowing what will set him off. One of Riley’s strengths in this novel is her vivid (uncomfortably so) depictions of marital conversations, fights, and reconciliations. The last chapter of “First Love” is a masterpiece, albeit a painful one, describing a scene between Neve and Edwyn in which they both – but mostly Edwyn – use words as weapons, turn every remark or memory into something horrible, and cannot let the other one ever “win.” Riley is a genius at showing the particular cruelty that people who know each other well, and can use that knowledge as ammunition, can perpetrate on their partners. It is a scene that both rings true and devastates not only the characters but the reader. Both novels are depressing in their depictions of family, yet there is always a kernel of love, care, and responsibility as well, and conventions are often maintained, if barely and if with very little enthusiasm. So, yes, these books are bleak. The appeal to me, as always, is in learning from the way human relationships are rendered in these novels.

"The Poet's House," by Jean Thompson

Jean Thompson is an author whose work I have sometimes admired and enjoyed very much, and at other times felt disappointed with (see my posts of 5/24/11, 5/17/13, 8/12/16, and 12/21/18). Because I did like the last novel I read by her, “A Cloud in the Shape of a Girl,” (see my 12/21/18 post), and because the description and reviews of her newest novel intrigued me, I read “The Poet’s House” (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2022). I was not disappointed. The book has many elements that I enjoy in fiction, including characters who are writers; detailed, vivid descriptions of the world of poets and poetry (retreats, workshops, publishers, etc.); characters who are well-written; complex relationships among the various characters (writers or not); and a setting in Marin County, California, where I live. The main character is a young woman, Carla, currently a landscaper, who is a bit at sea about what is next in her life, and who has recently “discovered” the joys and attractions of poetry through meeting a leading poet named Viridiana, who takes her up as a kind of assistant and friend. Carla, and her life, are greatly influenced by Viridiana and by the other people in the world of writers whom Carla now meets and interacts with. There is plenty of plot moving the story along, and I enjoyed that, but the best parts of "The Poet's House" are the portrayals of the world of poets and the well-drawn, sometimes with notes of satire, characters who are both “types” (and fun to guess who they might be modeled on!) and complete originals.

"Frances and Bernard," by Carlene Bauer

A fictionalized version of the relationship between two famous writers? I am so there for a book like that! Actually the publicity for the novel “Frances and Bernard” (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2012), by Carlene Bauer, only claims that the book is “inspired by the lives of" Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell, a surprise to me. Like any good English major, I knew the work of each of these great authors to some extent, but did not know, or at least did not remember knowing, that they had a long, close friendship. This novel imagines that the relationship went further, into the realm of a romantic affair; however, everything I read to check on this says that in real life their relationship was almost entirely through letters. Notably, this novel is also written through letters, but the letters (between the two writers, and to and from their friends and editors) refer to many actual meetings between the two writers. So, although the story is based loosely on two brilliant and intense writers, the real pleasures of reading this novel are the explorations of the two fictional characters, Frances and Bernard, of their support of each other during difficult times, of their shared struggle with questions of religion and philosophy, and of that intangible, unclassifiable connection that sometimes happens between two people, irrespective of specifiable labels for their relationships. The writing is beautiful, and combines the pleasures of plot with those of character and of meaningful exploration of the complexities of life.

"A Blind Corner: Stories," by Caitlin Macy

The book-cover flap of “A Blind Corner: Stories” (Little, Brown, 2022), by Caitlin Macy, states that “this collection reclaims the absurdities and paradoxes of real life from the American fantasy of ‘niceness.’” Yes, it does. Words that I jotted down while reading this book included “biting,” “mordant,” and “caustic.” I also noted that I frequently winced while reading the book. Yes, I also wrote “observant.” And I noticed the collection’s interest in, and apt comments on, social class, a topic in which I am very interested; I also noted and appreciated Macy’s treatment of social class in two of her earlier books, both novels: “Spoiled,” which I posted about here on 4/26/18, and “Mrs.,” which I wrote about here on 7/2/18. But the stories in “A Blind Corner” lean too heavily on the absurdities, the mordant, the caustic, for my taste. Does this mean I want my fiction to be smooth, and not to be challenging? No, not at all. But my ongoing feeling throughout the current book was not, as the book-cover flap also claims, that “Macy foregoes easy moralization in favor of uncomfortable truths that reveal the complexity of what it means to be human.” Rather it appeared to me that she sometimes takes the easy way out, using her stories to negate, to shock. To my eyes, there was something not quite real about some of the situations portrayed. This is not to say that Macy is not a compelling writer – she is. And I admit that my reaction to this book could very well be a matter of taste, or even of my own mood during these difficult times. I did admire some of the stories, as I did the two earlier books mentioned above. But I was not sorry to reach the end of “A Blind Corner.”

Two Family Sagas: "Family Trust," by Kathy Wang, and "Marrying the Ketchups," by Jennifer Close

Family sagas! Novels that are well-written and full of engaging characters, family history, drama, love, not-so-much love, complicated situations, changing relationships – all the good stuff! As readers of this blog know, these are among my favorite types of novels. I have just read two recent examples of this category: “Family Trust” (William Morrow, 2018), by Kathy Wang, and “Marrying the Ketchups” (Knopf, 2022), by Jennifer Close. The first is about a Chinese American family living in the San Francisco Bay Area, and centers around various family members concerned about who will inherit money from the dying family patriarch. The second is about an Irish-American family living in or near Chicago, whose lives are focused on the longtime family-owned restaurant where most of the family members work. One of the draws of these books is their portrayals of cultural issues/values/practices; these are not generally explicitly highlighted, but are suffused throughout the novels. At a couple of points in each book, there was what felt to me like a bit of stereotyping, but only a bit. What came across more, as I read these two books one after the other, was the complexity of family relationships, the love mixed with the hurt feelings, distrust, and fractures. Both families have issues with health, money, and disagreements among themselves. There is arguing, there is suspense, there is bad behavior and good behavior. But in both books, despite many difficulties among family members, the strength of these families, and of the idea and comfort of “family,” comes through, not in a sappy way but just as an underlying truth. I felt that I was in good hands with both of these excellent writers who created families and worlds I happily spent time with. I will look for other fiction by each of these fine novelists.

Some Books I Have Read Recently but Haven't Posted about Before

I have mentioned before that I don’t write here about all the books I read. As you know, I read a lot (and lately more than ever because of life circumstances), and I don’t necessarily want to write about each book. Sometimes the book just isn’t that interesting or that good, nor so surprisingly bad that its bad quality would make it notable enough to write about. Sometimes I read the book just for fun, in some cases a “guilty pleasure” (although I don’t actually feel guilty about anything I read!), such as books labeled as “beach reads,” and I don’t feel any need to write about it. Sometimes I really like the book, but don’t have a good “angle” from which to write about it. Sometimes, for whatever reason, I just don’t feel like writing about a particular book. Or I have just read so many books that the list backs up, and although more of them might be “blog-worthy,” I need to pick and choose. You get the idea. Today, just to illustrate the above, I am listing (without comment, and in no particular order) a few of the books that I have read in the last two months that I haven’t posted about here. “The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo,” by Taylor Jenkins Reid. “Assembly,” by Natasha Brown. “The Candid Life of Meena Dave,” by Namrata Patel. “Write My Name Across the Sky,” by Barbara O’Neal. “One Fine Day,” by Mollie Panter-Downes. “Write for Your Life,” by Anna Quindlen. “High Wages,” by Dorothy Whipple. “Meant to Be,” by Emily Giffen. “Yerba Buena,” by Nina La Cour. “Rainbow Rainbow,” by Lydia Conklin. “Manifesto: On Never Giving Up,” by Bernardine Evaristo. “The Wise Women,” by Gina Sorell. “The It Girl,” by Ruth Ware. “The Angel of Rome,” by Jess Walter. Note that this list includes literary novels and short story collections, memoir, writing advice, mystery, romance, and mixed-or-hard-to-label genres. Most are very recently published, but a few (e.g., “One Fine Day,” “High Wages”) were written many years ago. All were chosen with care, and enjoyed and/or admired and/or learned from, at least to some extent (otherwise I would probably have abandoned them without finishing them), and served a purpose or purposes for me.

"The Vanity Fair Diaries 1983-1992," by Tina Brown

I recently read and thoroughly enjoyed Tina Brown’s insightful (and juicy!) portrayal of the English royal family from the mid-20th century to now, titled “The Palace Papers: Inside the House of Windsor – the Truth and the Turmoil” (Crown, 2022). I am not writing about that book here, except to say that it is entirely engrossing, especially for those of us (yes, I admit it) who are fascinated by the royal family (perhaps this is my Canadian heritage showing? My maternal grandmother used to keep a scrapbook about the royal family), despite some reservations about this ancient and quite possibly outdated institution. But reading that book reminded me of Tina Brown’s ability to draw readers in to her stories with all their delicious details. (She also wrote a book about Princess Diana which I have not read, only because I have already read so much about her). I then decided to read Brown’s 2017 book, “The Vanity Fair Diaries 1983-1992” (Henry Holt). What a treat! The English-bred and Oxford-educated Brown was chosen as the (very young) editor of the then-recently resuscitated glamorous magazine, Vanity Fair, and recorded her experiences during those years, not only with editing the magazine, but with all the attendant experiences as she moved from London to New York, became heavily involved in the intellectual and social life of that city (as well as of Los Angeles/Hollywood), started a family, became famous, knew seemingly everyone else famous, and – as briefly described at the end of the book – then became the editor of The New Yorker. I loved reading about the various authors and editors Brown worked with, the politics of publishing in the Conde Nast world, the intrigues, the glamor, the hard work, and so much more. Also of interest are Brown's comparisons of life and work in England and in the United States, and her comments on what it was like to be a woman in a high-level position in the publishing world. The book is chockful of delicious (but generally not mean-spirited) gossip, with wonderful details. I have been a longtime reader of Vanity Fair, and I admire the very purposeful journalistic mix that Brown created of politics, literature, art, popular culture, fashion, glamor, and much more. (She called it the “high-low” mix for short.) The magazine had (and still often has) stunning covers, and photos by, most prominently, Annie Leibovitz, and other esteemed photographers such as Herb Ritts. I was completely absorbed by the book, and hurtled through all 419 pages of it, never bored for an instant.

"Bloomsbury Girls," by Natalie Jenner

A very enjoyable novel about bookshops and about feminist struggle? I couldn’t resist that! “Bloomsbury Girls” (St. Martin’s, 2022), is by Natalie Jenner, the author of the wonderful “The Jane Austen Society,” which I wrote about here on 7/18/20. That novel was about a group of friends who were able to restore Jane Austen’s home in Chawton. (I still get chills when I think about Chawton, which I visited many years ago, and where I was overcome with awe and even became a bit tearful, knowing that I was standing where my idol had lived and written.) Some of the characters in the current novel were also in the earlier one, which took place a few years before, although readers of the current novel do not at all need to have read the earlier one. “Bloomsbury Girls” takes place in London in the post-World War II years, and focuses on the bookstore where most of the characters work, Bloomsbury Books. The three women who work there love books, and have many good ideas, but are frustrated by the sexism of the male managers and co-workers. So this is a feminist book, one of my favorite kinds! It is also full of intrigue, suspense, love, and secret relationships. Several famous women, including the author Daphne du Maurier, assist the women who work in the bookshop, and there is a palpable sense of women helping women to deal with the obstructions they all face, to one degree or another. There is, near the end of the book especially, a bit of delicious conspiracy among the women -- those inside and outside of the bookstore -- to bring about a triumphant major change in the situation at the bookshop. A truly satisfying and enjoyable novel!

"Lessons in Chemistry," by Bonnie Garmus

“Lessons in Chemistry” (Doubleday, 2022), by Bonnie Garmus, caught me by surprise, in a delightful way. It is an extremely feminist novel, not didactic at all, but makes its points in a biting but also humorous way. The main character, Elizabeth Zott, is a chemist in a time (the early 1960s) when the world of science was still not ready for women in science, at least not in positions other than menial ones, serving male scientists. Zott, though, never takes no for an answer, and through persistence, ingenuity, and belief in herself, is able to succeed. The novel is about more than this point, though, as it shows Elizabeth engaging with the world, with men, with what love (another kind of "chemistry") is or isn’t, and much more. This novel made me angry (but not surprised) on Zott’s behalf, and at the same time I was thoroughly engaged and even entertained. It is a unique, quirky, meaningful novel that I highly recommend.

"The Latecomer," by Jean Hanff Korelitz

I highly recommend “The Latecomer” (Celadon, 2022), by Jean Hanff Korelitz (author of the also highly recommended “The Plot”), which is the type of engrossing, entertaining, very original novel that I revel in. It focuses on a family with triplets (through an IVF process) who don’t much like each other, and manage to mostly avoid each other, although -- as a concession to their parents -- pretending to like each other more than they do. The birth of a fourth child when the first three are in college changes many things, and it all comes to a head when that child becomes a late adolescent and works to change the family dynamic positively. A lovely, tangled, complex, sweet and sour, no-holds-barred portrait of an unusual family, one which is somehow, despite everything, very relatable and at times even moving.

"Love Marriage," by Monica Ali

Monica Ali’s new novel, “Love Marriage” (Scribner, 2022), is as good as her wonderful earlier novel, “Brick Lane.” The setting is England, and many of the main characters are of Indian heritage. The theme is whether arranged marriages or “love marriages” are better. But that sentence is reductive, as this novel is bursting with vivid characters, many plot points, much talk, family life, social and cultural themes, and yes, love, as well as various infidelities and other complications. In other words, the novel is bursting with life. The writing is excellent and generous, the novel is thought-provoking but at the same time great fun to read.

"Search," by Michelle Huneven

As an academic who has been on many faculty search committees, I loved the idea of a novel all about a search, albeit in this case, a Unitarian Universalist church’s search for a new minister. There are definitely similarities between the two types of searches! The novel, titled “Search,” by Michelle Huneven, is a wonderful examination of characters in a group (the search committee) as we get to know the committee members and other church members separately and as they interact with each other and with the candidates for the position. The main character, Dana, is a member of the church and a food writer; the other committee members are also members of the church, with various backgrounds, attributes, and agendas. Although they are progressive and idealistic, and are generally civil with each other, differences of opinion, personalities, and values provide much of the conflict (and interest!) in the story. I found the novel fascinating, insightful, and a joy to read. I have read other novels by Huneven, notably “Round Rock,” “Jamesland,” and “Off Course,” and find her an intriguing writer with great understanding of human nature, and with a subversive sense of humor.

"The Wedding," by Dorothy West

Until very recently, I didn’t know as much as I should have about the author Dorothy West (1907-1998). She was a member of a group of Black writers (including Zora Neale Hurston and Langston Hughes), artists, and musicians in New York City’s Harlem, during what was known as the Harlem Renaissance. Her second novel, “The Wedding” (Doubleday, 1995), which she worked on for many years, portrays the lives of the Black elite families who lived in an exclusive African American area of Martha’s Vineyard. These upper middle class families were Black doctors, lawyers, and ministers, and were very conscious of their place in society, and of what was due to them. (I use the past tense here, as the story seems to be set in the mid-20th-century, but aspects of this society still exist in one beautiful enclave (which I visited some years ago) of Martha’s Vineyard, as well, of course, as elsewhere in the U.S.) When some characters in the novel do not follow, or threaten not to follow, their parents’ and others’ expectations about whom they will marry (someone of the same class), there are tensions and unexpected events. The story focuses on one planned wedding, as well as all the back stories and uncertainties related to that wedding and its participants, and to their family members and other community members. The story is compelling and even suspenseful. The novel’s contribution from a social perspective is the insights it provides into this specific and influential community of privileged Black people in the U.S.

"Brown Girls," by Daphne Palasi Andreades

I cannot speak highly enough of first time novelist Daphne Palasi Andreades’ “Brown Girls” (Random House, 2022). The story is told in the plural voice, a sort of chorus, of an extended group of girls of various ethnic and national backgrounds who grow up together in the borough of Queens, New York City. They, or their parents or grandparents, are from the Dominican Republic, Pakistan, the Philippines, the Bahamas, Vietnam, India, Mexico, and many more countries. They tell stories of their families, their neighborhoods, their schools, the boys and girls they date and love, the music, the excitements and the dangers, and most of all, their extended sisterhood and their pride in their heritages and cultures. The group story takes them through girlhood, young womanhood, and into middle age and beyond, but with an emphasis on their teen years and their twenties. There is much to celebrate, but there are also sad and even tragic events. This novel is beautifully written, with the “chorus” structure being very effective. The novel bursts with life in all its aspects, and is exhilarating in its breadth and vividness. Highly recommended!

"Seeking Fortune Elsewhere: Stories," by Sindya Bhanoo

I often read and very much enjoy collections of short stories, but less often write about them here, since it is harder to capture in a short blogpost a set of short works than a whole, unified world such as that found in a novel or memoir, my most frequent readings. As I was reading “Seeking Fortune Elsewhere: Stories” (Catapult, 2022), I became so immersed in the world that author Sindya Bhanoo portrayed that I had to write about the book. The setting of many of the stories, in South India, surfaced memories and nostalgia for me, as I spent much of my childhood there. Obviously, my situation was different than that of the Indian and Indian-American characters in these stories; although I cherish my memories, my family and I as White Canadians, while privileged in many ways, were of course also always outsiders in very real ways. Still, one’s feelings, one’s memories of childhood, do not obey one’s knowledge of one’s actual roles. Beyond my own connection with the settings of these stories, the focus on both Indians and Indian-Americans, and more widely, on immigrants, those who move back and forth between and among cultures, is one I have always found of great interest. I married someone who did just that, as did others in my family and among my friends, colleagues, and students. I eagerly read fiction and nonfiction about the topic. Some of my academic publications have addressed aspects of the topic. So all of these factors drew me in to this thoughtful and evocative story collection. But they would not have done so if not for the author’s skillful and moving portrayals of the characters and their families and interactions. Bhanoo writes so beautifully, with so much truth, of love, heartache, conflict, compromise, pride, and more. She particularly focuses on contemporary women characters and their ambivalences and balancing acts. Her portrayals of children are realistic and revealing as well. As you can tell, I was struck by this book, caught up in its world, and highly recommend it.

"I Came All This Way to Meet You: Writing Myself Home," by Jami Attenberg

I described Jami Attenberg’s best-known novel, “The Middlesteins” (2012) as a “sprawling family story” (one which I very much admired and enjoyed), in contrast to her 2017 novel, “All Grown Up” (see my post of 4/5/17). Her current memoir, “I Came All This Way to Meet You: Writing Myself Home” (Ecco, 2022) has some overlaps with “All Grown Up,” such as the non-linear structure of each book, the erratic dating life of both main characters that never leads to settling down with one person (which the characters both bemoan and celebrate), and the setting (mostly) in New York City. The memoir is generously candid, sharing with readers the author’s insecurities, traumas, bad as well as good decisions, and – most of all – her clear and certain sense of herself as a writer. It took her a while to get there, and she had to struggle through many temporary jobs, many apartments, financial issues, good and bad lovers, and friends who were good but often didn’t stick in her life. Which doesn’t mean she didn’t enjoy her life a good portion of the time. But she also dealt, at times, with reliance on alcohol and drugs, anxiety and depression, and other obstacles. However, once she determined to find a way, no matter what, to enact her writing dreams, she was able to do so, with slow but eventual success. She tells us that when she is writing, even when it is hard, she feels most “right,” most at peace. She also shows us how she is sustained by books, bookstores, other writers, other artists, art exhibits, and music. As mentioned above, Attenberg tells her story in a non-linear, non-chronological way, but weaves its parts together in an accessible and satisfying way.

"Solid Ivory," by James Ivory

Oh, what fun it was to read James Ivory’s memoir, “Solid Ivory” (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2021)! James Ivory is the director of the famous Merchant Ivory films, working with his late producer and partner in business and in life, Ismail Merchant. The third of their film-making trio was the late Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, the screenwriter. Many of these films are based on novels by such authors as Henry James (e.g., "The Europeans," "The Bostonians") and E.M. Forster (e.g., "A Room with a View," "Howard's End"). They usually feature highly respected and acclaimed actors, beautiful scenery and costumes, and very high production values. The films are rich, luxurious, somewhat slow, literary but accessible, and pure joy for those of us who love the above-mentioned novels and who love literary films. This memoir is actually a series of memoiristic essays, some of them previously published in such venues as The New Yorker, about Ivory’s life and work, and about the famous people he knew. The book is informative, gossipy, and very frank about the author’s love and sex life. He has lived and worked in many different places in the United States, Europe, and in India, the latter a favorite locale. Photographs of the people and places in his life and work are generously sprinkled throughout the book. Although the Merchant Ivory Jhabvala style of films may be slightly out of fashion now, there are definitely descendants – similar if not quite up to the same standards -- to be found in some of today’s luxe period pieces on television, such as “The Crown,” “Sanditon,” and “The Gilded Age.”

"Disorientation," by Elaine Hsieh Chou

I enjoyed Elaine Hsieh Chou’s novel “Disorientation” (Penguin, 2022) on several levels. It is a very perceptive satirical campus novel, which I always enjoy, being an academic myself. It is about ethnic and gender identities in the United States, specifically what it is like to be a Chinese American woman. And it is a literary mystery, which itself brings up issues of identity and authenticity. It is also funny, although occasionally the humor seems a little exaggerated. The main character, Ingrid Yang, is studying for her PhD, a process that has been dragged out by issues of rather manipulative advisors, as well as by her own boredom with the topic that she feels she was pushed into. She is studying a famous Chinese American poet who taught at Ingrid’s university; during the course of her research, she finds clues that not all is what it seems with that poet and his identity and history. Ingrid soon finds that some other people she knows at the university are not as they seem either. She finds herself in some daring and unorthodox situations as she tries to solve the mystery. Meanwhile she is having some doubts about her supposedly ideal fiancé, a white man who seems a little too proud of himself and his "open-mindedness" for having a Chinese American fiancee. These several elements of the novel are adeptly woven together, and readers are definitely entertained along the way. They also learn quite a bit about ethnic stereotyping, microagressions, and other issues arising out of ignorance but also out of racism and sexism. The author deserves much credit for her vivid portrayals of these issues.

"The Swimmers," by Julie Otsuka

It has been about ten years since the second of Julie Otsuka’s two earlier novels was published, so I was very pleased to hear from my friend S. that Otsuka has a new novel just out: “The Swimmers” (Knopf, 2022). I wrote here about “When the Emperor Was Divine” on 12/22/11, and about “The Buddha in the Attic” on 1/15/12. All three novels are short, intense, poetic. The first two focus on Japanese-American characters and certain historical contexts; “The Swimmers” does not; although a main character is Japanese-American, that identity is mentioned only briefly. This novel is divided into two connected parts. The first part tells, in the voice of the whole group as a sort of chorus, about the setting, atmosphere, people, and habitual customs found in a very specific group of swimmers, who form a very specific community, at a very specific public pool. One of the swimmers, Alice, is sliding into dementia, but still manages to swim regularly, and her fellow swimmers, all of whom seem to feel more at home in the pool than almost anywhere else, gently help her out as needed. The second half of the book focuses on Alice, describing her past and her present, including the time when she can no longer swim at the pool, what she remembers, and what she doesn’t. It seems to be a realistic portrayal, showing how hard the situation is, yet fully acknowledging her as a person and not “just” a “person with dementia.” The writing is detailed and concrete, and at the same time conveys the blurriness of Alice’s memory. The past and present mix. Toward the end of the novel, the story seamlessly slips into being told by Alice’s daughter. This story is a thoughtful, respectful, and very human portrayal of this difficult disease. It reminds me of how people I have known who had dementia, including a beloved close relative, still preserved their basic personalities (although I understand that this is not true for everyone who has dementia). The writing is sensitive, poetic, caring, yet not sentimentalized. It mainly does not sugarcoat the disease, although very occasionally it slips a little too close to doing so. This book is exquisitely written, and I am very glad I read it, but I also admit that because of my late dear relative’s dementia, and my beautiful but sad memories of her, there were times when I was reading “The Swimmers” that it was quite painful for me. I do, though, highly recommend the book.

"These Precious Days," by Ann Patchett

I –- like many other readers -- am a big fan of Ann Patchett’s novels. I am also a fan of her wonderful essays. On 12/8/13, I wrote of how much I admired her collection of engaging essays, “This is the Story of a Happy Marriage” (2013). I have now just read her new essay collection, “These Precious Days” (HarperCollins, 2021), and was equally enchanted by the new essays. Reading them, I felt that Patchett was speaking directly, conversationally, to me, much as a good friend would do. Of course there is much writerly craftmanship involved, but it doesn’t draw attention to itself. The author is generous in sharing her life, her experiences, and her feelings, but also is always aware of the reader and of the larger world. Her topics include family, travel, why she has chosen not to have children, her love of Eudora Welty’s writing, Snoopy, cutting back on shopping/consumerism, the privilege and joy of spending time with and helping her friend with cancer, flying, and so much more. By the way, if you think you don’t particularly care for reading essays, don’t let that stop you from reading these ones; they are as much memoir and stories as they are what you might consider traditional essays. I know it is a cliché, but I promise that by the end of the book, you will feel as if you know and relate to the author of these irresistible essays.

"Sankofa," by Chibundu Onuzo

“Sankofa” (Catapult, 2021), by the British writer Chibundu Onuzo, is a story about identity, family, and culture. Anna, the main character, lives in London and has a white mother and a black African father whom she has never met, and knows very little about. She now has a fraying marriage and a happy but complex relationship with her a loving relationship with her adult daughter. At the beginning of the novel, Anna’s mother, whom she dearly loved, has just died, and Anna has discovered a trunk that contains the diary of her father, Francis. Francis had been a student in London, boarding with Anna’s mother’s family. After Francis’ and Anna’s mother’s brief affair, Francis returned to his small country in Africa, Bamana, and never knew he was a father. After reading Francis’ diary, Anna finds out that Francis, now Kofi, had become the (now former but still powerful) president of Bamana, and was and is both revered and feared. She decides to travel to Bamana to meet him. Things get complicated; I don’t want to give away too much of the plot, but I can say that Anna, who had suffered discrimination in London for being mixed-race, and who had had questions about her identity, learns much about her family, her identity, and herself. The novel is compelling as a story, and also addresses important issues about race, colonialism, family, and the compromises that postcolonial governments often have to make.

"Late in the Day," by Tessa Hadley

Tessa Hadley is an English author whose works I have savored and admired over the years (see my posts of 7/12/11, 7/13/11, 12/18/12, 3/12/14, 2/27/16, and 6/5/17). They mostly focus on relationships of various types: romantic, marital, friendship, and more. They are very character-driven. And the writing seems effortless yet perfectly controlled. All of these characteristics are ones that draw me in when reading fiction. “Late in the Day” (Harper, 2019) is a very “Hadley” novel, in that it follows in her “usual” genre (but I do not mean to imply that her books are predictable). The main characters are two couples who have known and been close to each other for many years. These characters are all devastated when one of the four, Zach, dies (this happens at the beginning of the novel, so my telling you is not a spoiler). Alex and Christine and Zach’s widow Lydia support each other, but their histories and a few secrets come back to complicate their changing relationships. The story of these four -- separately and together -- throughout the years is kept from being too hermetic by the inclusion of the stories of their grown children, as well as by consideration of the characters’ work and art. Hadley is excellent in portraying the contradictions and complications present in any relationships, within couples and families, which become even more complex when close friendships and various entanglements enter the picture.

"Skinship," by Yoon Choi

As it turns out, I have read several books by Korean American writers lately. One that I just finished is a collection of short stories titled “Skinship” (Knopf, 2021), by Yoon Choi. Most of the stories are set in the USA, with brief visits to Korea. The main characters are generally either first or second generation immigrants, and there are often painful misunderstandings and tensions between generations, as is true for immigrants from many other countries as well. Many of the stories are written from the point of view of children of immigrants, and of the many, often delicate, sometimes debilitating balancing acts they learn to perform. Their conflicted relationships with their parents are palpably fraught with both pain and tenderness. Of course the same is sometimes true of non-immigrant families, but there are particular cultural, historical, linguistic, and other factors associated with immigration. The stories are suffused with specific, sharply drawn details about language, food, family, expectations, relationships, silences. Although the stories are embedded in “the immigrant experience,” each story has its own identity, and is about, but also about more than, “just” immigrants’ lives and feelings.

The Fiction of English Author Elizabeth Taylor

During difficult times, I often find myself revisiting old friends: authors and books that I have loved and admired greatly, and that I have frequently re-read. One such author whose books I have turned to again lately is the mid-20th century English writer Elizabeth Taylor. I have read and re-read almost all of her fiction, and have written here before (2/23/10, 6/27/15, 7/31/15), highly appreciatively, of her novels and short stories. I just re-read Taylor’s first novel, “At Mrs. Lippincote’s” (1945), and read for the first time her last book, completed while she was dying of cancer, and published posthumously, “Blaming” (1976). I won’t repeat all that I have written about Taylor’s work before, except to say that it is low-key in plot, highly focused on character, especially of women, and meticulously observant of the daily lives, thoughts, and feelings of her characters. Taylor does not shy away from portraying the less admirable aspects of her characters’ thoughts and behaviors, but always makes us understand them. She does not sentimentalize or dramatize, yet we readers are drawn in, mulling over and savoring each passage, each minute revelation.

"Small Pleasures," by Clare Chambers

Being something of an Anglophile, I regret that some fiction published in the UK is not published in the U.S. But when a really good novel published only in the UK makes its way into U.S. book reviews, and/or libraries or bookstores, it feels like a gift. My latest “discovery” of an author is a case in point. Clare Chambers’ 2020 novel, “Small Pleasures” (Weidenfeld and Nicolson) received glowing reviews in several U.S. periodicals. Don’t be put off by the main plot catalyst, that the protagonist, London-based journalist Jean Swinney, is investigating a woman’s claim that her daughter was the result of a virgin birth. I was almost put off myself, reading the reviews that revealed this unlikely plot point. But when I got a copy of the novel, I was completely seduced by the book blurbs (I know, one can't always trust book blurbs, but sometimes they are helpful in getting a general sense of a novel), partly because so many of them made comparisons between Clare Chambers and some of my very favorite authors: Barbara Pym in particular, but also Anita Brookner, Elizabeth Taylor, and Dorothy Whipple. I did read the book, and enjoyed and admired it thoroughly. Plot, character, originality, and the high quality of the writing drew me in. It turned out that “Small Pleasures” was Chambers’ first novel in ten years. Of course I then looked for her earlier novels, which were not easily accessible, but I did find some in my local library and online. The other two I have read so far, “Learning to Swim” (Arrow Books, 1998) and “The Editor’s Wife” (Century, 2007) are also excellent. I will keep looking for more of her fiction.

"By the Book" Column in The New York Times Sunday Book Review

I always thoroughly peruse The New York Times (Sunday) Book Review, and jot down titles that are reviewed there that I want to read, or at least to further investigate. One feature of the NYTBR that is always fun to read, and sometimes surprising, even provocative, is the column “By the Book,” in which an author or other prominent person (scientist, politician, actor, etc.) is interviewed about what she/he reads. Questions usually include, for example, “What books are on your nightstand?”, “What’s your favorite book no one else has heard of?”, “Which writers…working today do you admire most?” “How do you organize your books?”, and “Disappointing, overrated, just not good: What book did you feel as if you were supposed to like, and didn’t?” Naturally I tend to especially like reading the answers of authors that I like and whose work I have read. But I also enjoy pushing my own literary boundaries by reading the replies of authors whose work I have not read, or have read and not particularly liked. I also note the tone of the answers, which is sometimes enthusiastic, sometimes humorous, sometimes charming, sometimes self-deprecating, and sometimes critical and even a little cranky. No matter the tone or content, “By the Book” is consistently rewarding and entertaining.

"What About the Baby?: Some Thoughts on the Art of Fiction," by Alice McDermott

Sometimes I am so struck by a book, so thoroughly impressed, and so enchanted, that I put off writing about it here, for fear of not doing it justice. Such is the case with Alice McDermott’s terrific book “What About the Baby? Some Thoughts on the Art of Fiction” (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2021). I have thoroughly enjoyed several of McDermott’s novels (e.g., “That Night,” “After This”), so I was drawn to this current book, read it a couple of months ago, and basically fell in love with it. Today I realized that if I put off posting about it any longer, I might just not do it. So although I have lost the immediacy of writing about this book just after I read it, and the clear memory of the specifics therein, now I simply urge any writer or reader of fiction to read this book. It is wise, helpful, entertaining, and full of wonderful advice, personal stories, and beautiful writing. McDermott tells of her own writing experiences, her teaching of writing, her feelings about writing and reading, and much more. Specific authors whom she discusses include (in no particular order) Welty, Faulkner, Woolf, Roth, Cheever, Naylor, James, Olsen, Tolstoy, Melville, Morrison, Nabokov, Porter, Joyce, Hellman, Robinson, Forster, Flaubert, Fitzgerald, Steinbeck, O’Connor, Cisneros, and so many more. She is generous with passages from the novels of these and other authors, and her analysis of the passages is precise, insightful, and revelatory. “What About the Baby?” is utterly engaging, and although I know I am not doing it justice here, I again beseech anyone interested in the world of fiction to seek out this book.

"Fiona and Jane," "The Last Bookshop in London, "The Mission House," and "Oh William!"

I have gotten behind with posting here, so today I will briefly describe four of the books I have read lately. The novel “Fiona and Jane” (Viking, 2022 – the first 2022 title of the year mentioned in this blog!), by Jean Chen Ho, is an engaging story of two close friends, both Taiwanese American, growing up together in Los Angeles, and then living disparate but still connected lives in other places. The portrayals of female friendship, of family interactions, and of what it is like to grow up Asian American, are all compelling. “The Last Bookshop in London” (Hanover Square Press, 2021), by Madeline Martin, is an absorbing, very close-up story of what it was like to live in London during World War II. It is also about a young woman who starts working in a bookstore there, and gradually becomes drawn into the world of books and people who love books. You can see why I loved this novel! “The Mission House” (Scribner, 2020), by Carys Davies, was recommended to me by my fellow MK, Mary L., and I am so glad she drew it to my attention. It is the story of a rather emotionally broken-down man who has come to India almost on a whim, after he lost his job as a librarian in England. He ends up at a formerly British hill station in South India, one which is based on a real hill station called Ootacamund, popularly known as “Ooty,” and is very happy there. Indian hill stations are refuges in the cool hills from the intense heat of the plains during the summer months. It happens that when I lived in India as a child, my family spent some time in Ooty, and although I was very young then, I have fond memories of the place. I later went to boarding school in another hill station in India, Kodaikanal, an important and wonderful part of my life. But in addition to that connection, I was bowled over by the writer’s perceptive character portraits, the interactions among the characters, the cultural issues revealed, the descriptions of Ooty, the remnants of British presence still apparent there, and the crisp, precise, and evocative writing. Finally, I am a real fan of Elizabeth Strout’s novels, which include “Olive Kitteridge,” “Olive, Again,” and “My Name is Lucy Barton,” so of course I read her most recent novel, “Oh William!” (Random House, 2021), and I was not disappointed. As in most of Strout’s fiction, the emphasis is on characters rather than plot. The main character and main narrator, Lucy Barton (yes, the same one), tells of her first, now ex-, husband William and her ongoing (platonic, complicated, exasperating but loving) relationship with him. The main events of the book have to do with Lucy’s accompanying William on a trip to find out more about a mysterious family secret. But the book is really about their relationship, and their relationships with other characters, and their history, and the small and large matters of daily life that add up over years of common history. I strongly recommend all four of these varied, terrific novels.

"The Sentence," by Louise Erdrich

When Louise Erdrich’s wonderful novels started coming out in the 1980s, I read and was impressed by those early novels: “Love Medicine,” “The Beet Queen,” and more. Erdrich was one of the first Native American writers to be widely read, thus creating a major representation of Native Americans, and a major contribution to diversity of literature in the United States and beyond. The author herself is of mixed Native American and European heritage. Many of her novels take place on or near reservations. For some reason, after reading the early novels, I stopped reading Erdrich’s work. I can’t remember exactly why. But this month, I read enough positive reviews about her new novel, “The Sentence” (Harper, 2021), that I bought and read it. One of the big draws for me is that the novel largely takes place in an independent bookstore (in Minneapolis) that focuses on Native American literature, as part of its wider variety of books. It happens that Erdrich also owns and runs a bookstore in Minnesota. I also like the idea of the wordplay around the title. The “sentence” refers to the main character’s time in prison for a strange incident that was not really her fault. It also refers to the main character's (Tookie’s) sentences – mostly from the many books that this character reads – that are meaningful to her. The main thread in the story is that there is a ghost in the bookstore whose noisy presence seems to be aimed at Tookie, and is increasingly distressing for her. (According to the author bio, Erdrich’s real life bookstore also has a ghost.) Tookie is a great character, vivid and unique, and she is surrounded by other wonderful characters: her husband, her stepdaughter, her colleagues in the bookstore, the store’s regular customers, and more. Since “The Sentence” takes place in 2019-2020, it also addresses the COVID pandemic and the demonstrations related to the George Floyd murder. Although the book deals with serious topics regarding the oppression of Native Americans through history and currently, as well as regarding the pandemic and the Black Lives Matter movement, this novel has many humorous moments as well. And throughout, there are so many mentions of books that are important to the characters, and to history; books are a powerful presence. After reading this novel, I may be going back to some of Erdrich’s novels that I missed over the past three decades.