tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46473703589547916042024-03-14T13:02:54.882-07:00StephanieVandrickReadsStephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.comBlogger1492125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-32209455465619539292024-03-14T13:02:00.000-07:002024-03-14T13:02:23.003-07:00"Banyan Moon," by Thao ThaiMy friend SM, who recently recommended the novel "Bellies," by Nicola Dinan, to me (see my post of 1/27/24), also recommended "Banyan Moon" (Mariner Books, 2023), by Thao Thai. This is a novel about three generations of Vietnamese American women and their fraught histories and complex relationships with each other. Although Minh and Hoang originally came to the U.S. from Vietnam in the wake of the "Vietnam War," the bulk of the book is set in the Florida family home, Banyan House, where the grandmother, Minh, lived and died, and where the mother, Huong, who lives nearby, and her daughter, Ann, who lives in Michigan, came back after Minh's death. These three women had all had difficult relationships with men, and with each other. The two older women each raised a daughter mostly on her own, and now Ann is possibly on the same path. The novel is about family, but family greatly complicated by historical, cultural and social forces. Each chapter is told by one of the three women; we see their different perspectives and learn about the devastating secrets that formed them and divided them. "Banyan Moon" is at times painful to read, as readers are taken on a difficult journey through the family's history, individually and collectively. But despite the elements of anger, misunderstanding, and self-protection, there are also threads of fierce love throughout. This is a powerful and compelling book, one which I am glad I have read.
StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-74117705891059256722024-03-02T19:22:00.000-08:002024-03-02T19:22:28.507-08:00Three (More) Books about Loss and Grief (by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Paul Auster, and Joan Didion)Regular readers of this blog know that my beloved husband died just over two years ago, and that since then I have read quite a few books about loss, grief, and mourning. I have posted about some of these (e.g., 2/22/22, 12/1/22, 2/24/23, 11/7/23, 11/15/23). Reading these books is always painful, and at first I could not read them, but after some time I found that they were sometimes comforting, in the sense of connecting me with others' experiences of loss, and experiencing the universality and community of bereavement and grief. I have just read three more books about grief, and will describe each one very briefly here. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's "Notes on Grief" (Knopf, 2021) is a slim volume, an acute cry of pain at the recent death of her dear father, one which also celebrates the person and father he was. "Baumgartner" (Grove, 2023) is a novel by Paul Auster in which the title character deeply mourns his wife Anna, who died nine years before, and cannot seem to get past his grief and pain. Auster explores the intertwining of pain and happy memories, and the nature of memory itself. The third book is one I read almost twenty years ago, soon after the death of my dear father: Joan Didion's "The Year of Magical Thinking" (Knopf, 2005; Vintage, 2007), about the death of her husband John Gregory Dunne (and the illness and later death of her daughter Quintana, about whose death Didion later wrote a book titled "Blue Nights," which I have also read). I was struck at that time by Didion's description of her feelings and actions during the year or so after her husband's sudden death, many of which resonated with me about my father's death, especially such aspects as disbelief/denial, numbness and confusion. I tried to re-read the book about a year ago, but just couldn't; I have just now finally read it again, and found it as powerful and resonant as ever, now in light of the profound loss of my husband of decades. Among other aspects that Didion describes well is the terrible tangible loss of the dailiness, the ongoing conversations and habits, of a long-married couple's life. These two nonfiction books and one novel are all extremely difficult and sad to read, but also insightful and reassuring in a strange way: they remind us that although each death is unique, it is also part of all deaths, and that all mourners have many things in common. We who are left behind are part of a huge community of the bereaved, those who are grieving loved ones.StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-3528156011026789392024-02-24T12:57:00.000-08:002024-02-24T12:57:58.873-08:00"Season of the Witch," by David TalbotI was absolutely blown away by "Season of the Witch: Enchantment, Terror, and Deliverance in the City of Love" (Free Press, 2012), by David Talbot. The story of the city of San Francisco from the mid-1960s to the mid-1980s, the book is riveting: well-researched, well-written, well-shaped, propulsive, full of vivid details, and shot through with the thesis that what happened in San Francisco was, on the one hand, unique, and on the other hand, a sort of representation of trends that would reverberate throughout the United States. Among the many events and themes covered are the rise and fall of the Haight Ashbury district, the pioneering music scene, the freedom that the city provided to many who fled the Midwest and other parts of the country, the home that S.F. provided for gays and lesbians, the best and the worst of city politics, the Patty Hearst kidnapping, the Jim Jones/Guyana tragedy, the assassinations of Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk, the scourge of AIDS and the ways in which S.F. pioneered compassionate treatment and care and support of sufferers of the disease. My connection to the time period and events of the book, as a resident of San Francisco for a good part of the period covered, was obviously one reason for my appreciation of and enthusiasm about the book. Reading this book brought back many memories, and at the same time provided new information and details that I hadn't known at the time. Although the book was published in 2012, and the events covered are only up to the mid-1980s, and although San Francisco has changed in many ways since that time period, the city and its residents are still, whether we/they realize it or not, influenced by the powerful events and trends of that time period. I thank my brother P., who was also a resident of San Francisco during a large part of this time period, for recommending this book to me. I think anyone who lives in, or has lived in, S.F./the Bay Area, would be caught up in this book, as would other readers in or from other places who will recognize the profound and widespread consequences of what Talbot describes in "The Season of the Witch."StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-7641466493865318832024-02-11T17:04:00.000-08:002024-02-11T17:04:44.074-08:00The Ten Best Books I Read in 2023Most years, I have posted on this blog a list of "the best books" or "my favorite books" that I have read during those years. Today I list the ten best books, in my opinion, that I read during the calendar year 2023. Most, but not all, of the books were also published in that year. I list the books in the order that I posted on them here, with the date of each post in parentheses. 1. "Signal Fires," by Dani Shapiro (2022) (novel) (see my post of 2/2/23). 2. "Hello Beautiful," by Ann Napolitano (2023) (novel) (5/13/23). 3. "You Could Make This Place Beautiful," by Maggie Smith (not THAT Maggie Smith) (2022) (memoir) (6/12/23). 4. "Lives of the Wives: Five Literary Marriages," by Carmela Ciuraru (2023) (biography) (7/4/23). 5. "Tom Lake," by Ann Patchett (2023) (novel) (8/13/23). 6. "A Life of One's Own: Nine Women Novelists Begin Again," by Joanna Biggs (2023) (biography) (8/30/23). 7. "Somebody's Fool," by Richard Russo (2023) (novel) (9/24/23). 8. "All Things Consoled," by Elizabeth Hay (2018) (memoir) (10/14/23). 9. "A Living Remedy," by Nicole Chung (2023) (memoir) (11/7/23). 10. "Day," by Michael Cunningham" (2023) (novel) (12/12/23). Although novels will always remain my first love in reading, I notice that this year my list tilts more heavily to memoir and biography than usual. I also note that as usual I have read more books by women authors than by men. (I do not claim that books by women are "better," only that they very often appeal to me more, and often I can relate to them more.)StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-33922173282055954072024-02-06T19:15:00.000-08:002024-02-06T19:15:11.970-08:00"Onlookers," by Ann BeattieHow could I forget about Ann Beattie? I have been reading her fiction, especially her stories (for which she is most known) for decades. Perhaps I haven't thought of her recently because I have seen fewer of her stories in The New Yorker, where she used to publish regularly? In any case, when I saw that she had a new story collection, "Onlookers" (Scribner, 2023), I was delighted, and immediately requested a copy at my wonderful local library. I have just finished it, and (mostly) liked it very much. There are six stories, each quite long, and the stories are somewhat interrelated (although mostly peripherally, just enough to establish that many people in the city are acquainted with each other), but each stands on its own. All the stories are set in Charlottesville, Virginia, before, during and after the time of the tragic, shocking white nationalist rally in 2017, in which one woman was killed and other people were injured. Intertwined with this event was and is the controversy over the Confederate monuments in the town, most notably the statue of General Robert E. Lee on his horse, and whether these statues should be removed. (Eventually that statue and others were removed.) The stories in "Onlookers" are, as suggested by the title, not directly about that rally or those statues, but about the lives of people who lived in Charlottesville and how they were affected by the events and issues, directly or, more often, indirectly. Without being didactic, Beattie makes readers confront the continuing presence of racism and the lasting effects of the Civil War, and the way those historical and current elements of American society infect and contradict the reputation of beauty and gentility in a city such as Charlottesville, and by extension in the larger society. As always, Beattie's characters are intriguing, vivid, often anxious, sometimes eccentric, imperfect, but usually understandable and often relatable. One common theme is the decline of many of the characters of old age, illness, incipient dementia, and sometimes just exhaustion; their caregivers are also vividly portrayed. Beattie's writing in this book is as good as that in any of her books. How fortunate we readers are to have had the gift of her 22 books (so far!)StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-53852358820917718492024-01-27T12:59:00.000-08:002024-01-27T12:59:41.104-08:00"Bellies," by Nicola DinanWhen my friend SM recommends a book, I listen. Over the years, I have written here about several books she recommended to me. Today I write about a novel she recently spoke highly of: "Bellies" (Hanover Square Press, 2023), by Nicola Dinan. This novel is the kind I most like: about relationships. In this case, the relationships include those among friends, lovers, and sometimes family members. The two main characters here are Tom and Ming, two young men who meet in college and are both friends and lovers. They have a group of friends who have various gender and sexual identities. There is also an international context to their story, as they mainly live in London, but Ming is from Malaysia, and part of the story takes place there. Tom's and Ming's relationship is changed and complicated when Ming, who had earlier dated women, then men, begins transitioning to female. Tom and Ming truly care for each other, and continue to be a couple for a while, but their time together becomes more complex, more fraught, as they try to find their way through these evolving identities and circumstances. These two young people and their friends live in a world of privilege but at the same time of uncertainty and vulnerability. The novel is original and absorbing, and made me think about the complex intertwined identity issues portrayed. But the author never uses the characters just as examples of certain identities; they are distinct and mostly relatable young people whom the reader can empathize with. StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-31851548449504783922024-01-19T11:41:00.000-08:002024-01-19T11:41:36.573-08:00"The Faraway World" and "Infinite Country," by Patricia Engel"The Faraway World"(Avid Reader Press, 2023), by Patricia Engel, is a slim collection of stories about characters from Latin America (mostly Colombia and Cuba), some of these characters living there, others having emigrated to the United States (mostly to New York City and surroundings), and still others moving back and forth between the two continents, never really settling in one or the other. The front flap summary speaks of the stories' confronting "the myriad challenges of exile and diaspora," and although this description would fit many other books about migration as well, and is in fact one of the great themes of contemporary literature, this one stands out. It contains gritty, concrete details set in the midst of more amorphous dreams and hopes. Success, failure, separation, longing, poverty, struggles, family issues, religion, loss, compromise, triumph, and death are all portrayed, and it is heartbreaking to see the ways in which many characters have learned to accept their difficult, second-best life situations, knowing or at least feeling that they have no real choice. Yet there is a pulse of irrepressible life and quiet but unbreakable strength throughout. The characters are vivid and their stories are compelling. After reading this 2023 story collection, I sought out Engel's 2021 novel, "Infinite Country" (also from Avid Reader Press), which contains many of the same themes as the stories, but in more expansive form. This novel tells the story of one family originally from Colombia who emigrate to the U.S. and then, through the years, becomes split up between Colombia and the U.S., mostly because of improper documentation. Two of Mauro and Elena's three children are born in the U.S. and thus are citizens; the rest of the family do not have the correct papers. Much of the story is not only about their separation, but also about their family history, their grounding in Colombian culture and yet their dismay about the civil wars and dangerous conditions there, and their divided loyalties. The novel also sounds a note of elegy in that it tells of ancient myths and beliefs, yet mourns the disappearing relevance of those cultural touchstones. The book is complex, almost poetic in style, at times deeply sad, and yet also deeply involving.StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-71430239826575357452024-01-07T15:47:00.000-08:002024-01-07T15:47:23.817-08:00Everything I Learned, I Learned in a Chinese Restaurant," by Curtis ChinThe memoir "Everything I Learned, I Learned in a Chinese Restaurant" (Little Brown, 2023) is cleverly framed in the context of the Chinese restaurant that author Curtis Chin's family owned and operated in Detroit. Within that framing, we follow the growing up of Chin and his siblings, in the contexts of their extended family, the restaurant, the troubled city of Detroit, and the racial and cultural issues that affected the family and the United States. We also get glimpses of the history of the family and more generally of Chinese immigrants to the U.S., plus their ABC (American-born Chinese) offspring. A major theme too is the memoirist's discovery of his gay sexuality, and his long, hesitant process of coming out, especially to his family. This author, now a writer and documentary filmmaker, has a direct, candid, appealing, and at times humorous style. Despite some very normal muted clashes with some family members at times, Chin obviously deeply loves his family, and loves the restaurant that was such a huge focus of their family life. He also clearly loves the dishes that are served in the restaurant, and his descriptions of the food are often quite detailed. This memoir is an engaging read.StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-69600813043152695282024-01-01T16:32:00.000-08:002024-01-01T16:32:45.400-08:00"Temple Folk," by Aaliyah BilalPortrayals in fiction of the experiences of Black Muslims in the United States, with their particular history and faith, are not very common. For that reason alone, Aaliyah Bilal's story collection, "Temple Folk" (Simon & Schuster, 2023) is welcome. In addition, the stories are revealing, even illuminating. They are also beautifully written, insightful, and engaging. Most of the stories focus on strong and complex women, especially young women, who are figuring out how to live as part of the religion and at the same time, as part of mainstream America. Some of the characters are very devout, some have found a balance between devotion and flexibility, and some have become disillusioned with aspects of the faith. Bilal shows both positive and problematic aspects of the religion and culture and leaders. She immerses us in the world she portrays. As with all such fictional deep dives into the many and diverse religious, racial, and ethnic cultures in the United States, there are particular terms, words, vocabulary items used; I like that these are generally not explicitly defined or explained, but readers who are not already familiar with the vocabulary are able to figure out the meanings from the contexts. This story collection, Bilal's first, offers readers the gift of glimpses into a particular U.S. culture, as well as more generally into human nature and interactions among vividly drawn characters.StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-11068304733034903082023-12-23T13:34:00.000-08:002023-12-23T13:34:49.081-08:00"Absolution," by Alice McDermottLike most of you, I am fairly certain, I have certain authors that, the minute I hear they have new books out, I put those books on my to-read list. Alice McDermott is one of those authors for me, and her new novel, "Absolution" (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2023) came out very recently. Here McDermott has portrayed a group of women seldom written about: American wives of U.S. soldiers in the "Vietnam War." More specifically, the women in this story are wives of officers, and live with their husbands in Saigon. They have comfortable houses and employ servants. Like women everywhere who are in effect part of a colonial enterprise, they are betwixt and between cultures. Two of these women, the powerhouse Charlene and her shyer friend Tricia, choose to use some of their time and resources to help local people who are poor or ill. Again, the colonial comparison reminds us that American (and other) colonizers (to continue that characterization of "colonizers," although I emphasize that McDermott herself does not explicitly use this language) are often a mixture of dutiful patriots and do-gooders, who out of a combination of arrogance, innocence, and genuine efforts to be helpful, try to make a difference. McDermott is clear-eyed but not unsympathetic about the motivations and efforts of these women and others like them. She understands their need for meaning and purpose, and their recognition that as supportive wives and often mothers, especially in a country far from their own, they have few avenues outside of their homes to use their talents and to do something that feels worthwhile. In "Absolution," we readers are immersed in these women's world; we can imagine and sympathize with them, while also questioning their impact on those around them, or sometimes lack thereof. The novel is framed as Tricia's recounting, decades later, the story of those years in Saigon to Charlene's daughter. During the course of their communication, some plot questions are answered, and some new facts are revealed. This is an absorbing, thought-provoking story, and as always with Alice McDermott, we know we are in good hands and will close the book with these characters and these dilemmas taking residence in our minds for some time after. StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-56221332854941438512023-12-12T18:33:00.000-08:002023-12-12T18:33:59.852-08:00"Day," by Michael CunninghamWidely published and respected author Michael Cunningham is best known for his prizewinning 1998 novel "The Hours," which is divided into three parts, all related to Virginia Woolf, her novel "Mrs. Dalloway," and her suicide by drowning. One part of the book focuses on Woolf, the other two on other main characters in other time periods, but all are related somehow to Woolf and "Mrs. Dalloway." As someone who has read much of Woolf's work, in some cases multiple times, and treasures her writings, I was of course drawn to "The Hours" when it came out twenty-five years ago and completely swept up in it. I have just read Cunningham's new novel, "Day" (Random House, 2023), which displays multiple stylistic and thematic connections to "The Hours." "Day" too is divided into three parts, in this case into three days, exactly a year apart in each case: April 5th of 2019, 2020, and 2021. Readers will note that these were years just before, during the worst of, and during the partial easing of the COVID pandemic. The focus is on one family and their connections. Married couple Isabel and Dan, their young children Nathan and Violet, Isabel's brother Robbie, Dan's brother Garth, and Chess, who is the mother of Garth's very young child Odin, are the main characters, and their complicated relationships with each other form the spine of the novel. In particular, and this is a somewhat uncommon focus in fiction, there is much attention to the intensely close but also extremely fraught relationships of the sibling pairs: Isabel and Robbie, Dan and Garth, and Nathan and Violet. There are of course additional characters: friends, employers, lovers, former lovers, and more. Because of the setting during the pandemic years, there are also themes of confinement and isolation, and minute-to-minute densely described slivers of time. The structure of three days, three different years, also supplies a striking distillation of the events, evolutions, and dissolutions portrayed in the story. The writing is gorgeous, perhaps a bit ornate and even precious in places, but spellbinding. Often while reading "Day" I was struck by the author's insights, which made me pause and go back and read them again. For just one example, a description of 17-month old baby Odin's love of habit and repetition causes his mother Chess to be "able to share his attachment to repetition, which resembles the chants of monks and nuns, reciting their devotions so unvaryingly that devotion becomes an involuntary bodily function, like breath and heartbeat" (p. 142). Returning to the connections with Cunningham's earlier novel, "The Hours," and to the references in that book to Virginia Woolf already mentioned above: there are other allusions to Woolf and her work in this book. For example, siblings Isobel and Robbie write social posts in the voice of an imaginary friend of theirs, Wolfe. An actual wolf is also mentioned. And one character's behavior at one point seems to echo Virginia Woolf's behavior, although with a different result. (I don't want to give away plot points.) There is also something about the quality of the language, of the descriptions, that is reminiscent of Woolf's writing. A related noticeable attribute of this novel is the way Cunningham understands and takes seriously the inner lives of children. And, like "The Hours," "The Day" is driven by a sense of time and its effects. This fascinating although sometimes unsettling novel is full of broken and yet somehow resilient characters, doing their best to muddle through the pandemic and through all the difficult times in life, all with their own struggles and their own coping mechanisms. Like all good fiction, "Day" is ultimately a study of human nature, with both its individual quirks and its universalities. StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-53897151382217450732023-12-02T15:52:00.000-08:002023-12-02T15:56:38.216-08:00The Queen Elizabeth mystery series, by SJ BennettFor some delightful, well-written mysteries, I recommend a series by SJ Bennett that I have recently read: "The Windsor Knot" (2021); "The Queen's Men" (2022), and "Murder Most Royal: Her Majesty the Queen Investigates" (2023), all published by William Morrow. Readers of this blog may remember that I have had a lifelong love of mysteries, but with occasional "breaks" away from the genre for months or years at a time. I have been mostly in a "break" phase for at least a couple of years lately. But when I ran across this series about Queen Elizabeth of England's doing some detecting and solving of mysteries, I was hooked. The series, set in the past few years, shows the Queen as interested in, and very clever about, investigating and solving murder cases in her own palaces and castles. But she does it very discreetly, only confiding in and getting help from a high-level female aide. She then drops indirect clues to the police in charge of investigating, allowing them to think they have been the ones to solve the cases. I admit I also enjoy the parts of these novels about the palaces and castles and social events where the events take place. And I like the way the author has some fun with slightly puncturing the egos of some pompous high-level (male) police officials who, condescending to her advanced age and perceived removal from "regular life," believe that the Queen may not understand the intricacies of their thinking, and feel they need to explain them to her; in fact, they have been -- unknown to them -- completely "managed" by her. I have some emotional connection to the British royalty, because of my Canadian background, and my grandmother who adored the royal family. Yet I also understand the objections many people have to the system of royalty persisting into the current day. But -- back to these three novels -- if you enjoy mystery novels, and don't have objections to light, enjoyable, well-written mysteries in which the "detective" happens to be the Queen of England, you may well enjoy these three very much, as I did.StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-6204243886835915402023-11-25T21:10:00.000-08:002023-11-25T21:10:59.826-08:00"The Upstairs Delicatessen," by Dwight GarnerHow could I resist a book titled "The Upstairs Delicatessen: On Eating, Reading, Reading about Eating, and Eating While Reading" (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2023)? For someone like me (and, I imagine, many of you) who also loves to read, loves to eat, loves to read about eating, and loves to eat while reading....well, this book is irresistible! Regular readers of this blog of course know how much I like to read, but also may have noticed that I have fairly frequently posted about books about the restaurant world and other food-related topics. The author of this book, Dwight Garner, is a longtime book critic at The New York Times, and is obviously, not surprisingly, tremendously well read. In this book he writes enthusiastically about food and his own experiences with food and restaurants; the book is crammed with entertaining anecdotes, as well as with many quotations by famous authors about food (and drink). The tone of the book is light, generous, humorous, joyous, and celebratory of the pleasures of life.StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-46124737811335117922023-11-15T18:58:00.000-08:002023-11-15T18:58:31.685-08:00"A Widow's Story," by Joyce Carol Oates
Not to dwell on loss, as I have in some recent posts, but I just read "A Widow's Story" (Ecco, 2011), by Joyce Carol Oates, a powerful, wrenching telling of the story of the first few months of the famous author's widowhood in 2008. She recounts the story in a series of short snapshots of events and of her intense emotional experiences. This style has the effect of a series of punches in the gut (forgive the cliche that Oates herself would never use). She and her husband Raymond Smith, a fellow professor and an editor, had been married for decades, and were extremely close. His illness was fairly sudden, and Oates was completely unprepared for his death. She goes over all the "what ifs," and questions and blames herself, wondering if she could or should have done more, done things differently. She becomes so distraught that she takes several medications for insomnia and anxiety, and at various points considers, or at least contemplates, suicide. Yet at the same time she forces herself to continue with her professional life, going on a long planned book tour within days of her husband's death, priding herself on not letting anyone down and on not showing her devastating grief. She also struggles with all the tasks that a survivor has to deal with: legal and financial matters, deciding what to do with her husband's duties and possessions, etc. (On a personal note, I will add here that everyone I know who has gone through a spouse's -- or other close family member's -- death and the aftermath is shocked at both the stunning depth of their own grief, and the plethora of logistical tasks that await them, in the midst of their mourning and feeling of paralysis. All of this is very familiar to me since my husband's death.) I couldn't have read this book very soon after my husband died, but now that it has been almost two years, I could and did. So much of it resonated with me, although not all, of course. On a surprise note, not mentioned in the book, except for a very vague allusion on the very last page, is that Oates met and married someone else -- another professor -- about a year later. I must admit that before I read this book, I had heard about the remarriage, and almost didn't read the book because of that. How could she do that after her long, good marriage? How could she go from devastating grief to finding a new partner so quickly? Then I thought about it more, and chided myself for being judgmental; who was I to judge the grief of anyone else, or what works for them or consoles them? In any case, this is a powerful, and (not surprisingly!) well-written book, and I recommend it for anyone who is ready for it, but with the warning that it is very difficult, painful, and emotional to read.
StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-84057396392202732222023-11-07T15:24:00.000-08:002023-11-07T15:24:18.132-08:00"A Living Remedy," by Nicole ChungRegular readers of this blog know that next to novels, my favorite genre is memoirs. They may also know that I have recently had a major loss in my life, with the death of my husband. And of course, like all of us, I have had earlier losses too, including those of both my parents and of several close friends. I find myself drawn to memoirs about bereavement. Reading such memoirs is often painful, but also makes me feel connected to others who have experienced this huge change in one's life (which of course, eventually, is everyone...). They too know the great pain of loss of loved ones, and the intense grieving that follows, with all of its manifestations (emotional, mental, physical, social, and logistical). Nicole Chung's memoir, "A Living Remedy" (Ecco, 2023) describes the illnesses and deaths of both of her parents within two years, in the context of Chung's complicated relationship with them and their surroundings, and her painful sense of not being able to do enough for them during their illnesses. Chung is Korean-American, and was adopted as an infant by a white American couple living in a rural part of Oregon; she is their only child. Chung loves them very much, but being the only Asian person in her schools and area, was determined to leave home as soon as she could. She was an excellent student, and received scholarships that enabled her to attend a good East Coast college. Although she loved her parents, and stayed in regular touch, her job and marriage and parenthood prevented her from visiting them very often in the ensuing years. As they became ill, she struggled with feeling inadequate to deal with their health issues, and felt guilty. Although this is a sad story, full of regret and grief, it is clear that there was much love on both sides, and that love becomes the overriding truth that allows everyone to experience grace during the wrenching time of illness, death, and mourning.StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-25323133392394306922023-10-27T11:38:00.001-07:002023-10-27T11:38:40.049-07:00"Pete and Alice in Maine," by Caitlin ShetterlyGood reviews, along with blurbs by two of my favorite authors -- Richard Russo and Alice Elliott Dark -- impelled me to read "Pete and Alice in Maine" (Harper, 2023), by Caitlin Shetterly. I was also intrigued that it is one of the early novels set in the COVID-19 pandemic, and grapples with some of the on-the-ground issues that families were dealing with in the early part of the pandemic, and in some cases still. Even for those who were fortunate enough not to experience serious illness or death among their families and friends, it was (and still is in many ways) a frightening, difficult time, in large and small ways. Soon after the pandemic begins, Pete and Alice and their two children move from New York to a family home in Maine to wait it out. Of course that last sentence shows the privilege this family has, and to their credit, the couple is aware of that privilege. But, although being away from the city feels safer, and although there are the pleasures of living in a bucolic setting, there are still very real difficulties to contend with. It is hard to get necessary supplies. The local people consider Pete and Alice outsiders, and actively undermine them in various ways. The children are especially affected, with schooling issues and with emotional turmoil at times. Work also becomes harder for both the adults. The elephant in the room, in the context of the pandemic, is Pete and Alice's recently troubled marriage. Alice in particular feels betrayed, beleaguered, overwhelmed by all of the above. The descriptions of the situation and, especially, of the family dynamics, are compelling, and the book is insightful about the inner workings of marriages and families.StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-27897318841117989682023-10-14T17:18:00.001-07:002023-10-14T17:18:18.246-07:00"Snow Road Station" and "All Things Consoled," both by Elizabeth HayI try to keep up at least a little bit with Canadian literature, since I was born in Canada, where my parents grew up and where I still have a large extended family, and feel connected to it, even though I have lived in two other countries (India and the United States) most of my life. But I did not know Elizabeth Hay's work until I recently read her 2023 novel, “Snow Road Station” (Knopf Canada). It is a wrenching story about a woman in her sixties, an actor who feels herself being edged out of the theater world and retreats to the small town of Snow Road Station, Ontario. There she tries to assess her life, past and present; her perspective is bleak. The big focus, aside from but related to her loss of career and identity, is her lifelong essential but complex friendship with another woman, as they try to untangle their lives and the friendship. This is a beautiful book, but not actually the one I especially want to focus on in this post. Reading “Snow Road Station” led me to Hay’s piercing, melancholy, grief-filled memoir, “All Things Consoled” (McClelland & Stewart, 2018), one that manages, despite the grim events that Hay describes, to be life-affirming. The focus of the memoir is the difficult, trying time in which her parents are aging, and the ways in which Hay’s often fraught relationship with her parents in the past complicates her current relationship with them as, despite herself, she worries more and more about them, and takes on more and more of their caregiving. This memoir is so moving, so uncomfortable, so heartbreaking to read that I can barely write about it. But it is also so important, so beautiful that I feel compelled to bring it to your attention. The pain is in the way that the heartbreak co-exists with so much (complicated) love. Hay describes her parents so well, such as her father’s frightening temper and her mother’s extreme frugality. The details of these qualities and other aspects of their lives are distressing but perfectly wrought. And the situation of adult children’s taking care of, worrying about, tending to, loving but sometimes resenting their elderly parents, is so common that many readers will be able to relate to it, even if the particulars of their situations and feelings are different. I highly recommend this gorgeously written memoir.StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-40301484008122140332023-09-24T16:28:00.001-07:002023-09-24T16:28:42.236-07:00"Somebody's Fool," by Richard RussoOn 8/13/23, I wrote here with great enthusiasm about Ann Patchett’s new novel, “Tom Lake.” Soon after, I read the newest novel of another of my very favorite authors, Richard Russo, and read it with equal enthusiasm. The novel, titled “Somebody’s Fool” (Knopf, 2023) is the third in Russo’s “North Bath” trilogy; the first two novels are “Nobody’s Fool” (1993) and “Everybody’s Fool” (2016) (about which I posted here in some detail on 5/14/16, including some amateur analysis of gendered aspects of writing displayed by many novelists, but transcended, in my view, by Russo). Each novel in the trilogy stands alone; one does not have to have read the earlier novels to thoroughly enjoy “Somebody’s Fool” (although I highly recommend reading all three!). But the site (North Bath, located in Upstate New York, and surroundings) and many of the characters, are the same, but at different time periods. Sully, the complicated, flawed, tough-but-kind, part eccentric and part working-class-male-archetype main character in the two earlier novels, has now died, but his legacy still pervades this most recent novel. The characters in the novels all know each other and each other’s histories and strengths and foibles, in the way of small towns everywhere. I mentioned Ann Patchett in my first sentence here, not only because she and Russo are both such essential and treasured writers for me, but because they share some qualities. They are both profoundly humane in their treatment of their characters, and in their attitudes toward life. They both care deeply about, and thoroughly understand their characters, and they care most of all about the relationships among those characters’ family members, friends, lovers, co-workers, and neighbors. And both authors care about the settings of their novels: they describe them in clear and loving detail. I must add that Russo’s novels also have intriguing plots that keep readers involved, and that his novels, including this one, are suffused with humor.StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-23653279470902844682023-08-30T13:34:00.002-07:002023-08-30T13:34:45.934-07:00"A Life of One's Own: Nine Women Writers Begin Again," by Joanna BiggsReaders can see why I would choose to read “A Life of One’s Own: Nine Women Writers Begin Again” (Ecco, 2023), by Joanna Biggs: It is a combination of literary discussion of eight famous and outstanding women writers with Biggs’ making connections with her own life and work (thus she takes the position of the ninth writer included in the title, which sounds presumptuous, but is done in a humble way). The writers’ lives and work are the main focus, but the author’s own experiences provide a kind of bridge between readers and the eight famed writers. I know you will want to know which writers are the focus of the book; they are Mary Wollstonecraft, George Eliot, Zora Neale Hurston, Virginia Woolf, Simone de Beauvoir, Sylvia Plath, Toni Morrison, and Elena Ferrante. I have read and admired and treasured each of these writers. Readers might wonder about the “begin again” part of the subtitle. In each case, the writer went through some kind of difficulty or obstacle, whether physical, financial, marital, mental, emotional, or otherwise, while working her way toward writing, and managed to transcend that obstacle. This focus was a good reminder that for so long, women were not encouraged to be writers, and women writers had so much less support in writing than men did. Although I already knew quite a bit about each of the eight writers, I still found much to learn and think about. I savored the book, even loved it, as it offered such wonderful insights into the specific writers, their lives and their work, and to the situations of women writers more generally, historically and still.StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-55620969918007685182023-08-13T18:26:00.000-07:002023-08-13T18:26:25.922-07:00"Tom Lake," by Ann PatchettOh, Ann Patchett! She is such a genius, such an amazing writer! Yet she does it with seeming ease, and with such grace. I have treasured all her books, fiction and nonfiction, but most especially her novels. My posts on her books include those of 9/19/11, 12/8/13, 11/6/16, 3/22/18, 11/15/19, and 3/31/22 (you can also always use the small search bar in the upper lefthand corner of this blogpage). Patchett also co-owns and operates an independent bookstore, Parnassus Books, in Nashville, Tennessee – brava for that! Her brand-new novel, “Tom Lake” (Harper, 2023) is a terrific addition to her fiction. When I heard Patchett was about to publish this novel, and that it involved family, youth, middle age and aging, dreams that evolve, how we figure out what is really important in life, and the power of theater, among other themes, I was first in line to buy a copy. And the fact that it was set in cherry country in northern Michigan, very near to the area of my parents’ former lakeside cottage, where I spent many weeks over many summers, I was even more eager to read the novel. It did not let me down. The novel goes back and forth between the past and the present of its main character, Lara. In the present, during the pandemic when many of the usual workers are gone, she and her husband and their three daughters in their twenties are picking cherries on their cherry farm. Partly to pass the time while picking, Lara’s daughters are eager to hear the story of their mother’s youthful experiences acting in a summer stock theater nearby, at Tom Lake. They are especially interested to hear about her romance with an actor who later became very famous. Thornton Wilder’s play, “Our Town,” has a big role in this story. Lara played that play's character Emily in high school, in college, and at Tom Lake. Her daughters are also curious about why Lara quit acting, and if she ever regrets it. Each of the daughers is, of course, also figuring out what is important in her own life, and on some level is looking for clues in her mother's story. During the weaving of the past and present throughout the novel, we readers are as eager as Lara’s daughters are to find out what happened. But as with all of Patchett’s novels, although the plot is very compelling, equally compelling are the portraits of the characters and of their relationships, and the connections between the past and the present in all of their lives. I thoroughly admired and enjoyed “Tom Lake,” and (as you can tell by now!) I highly recommend it.StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-43492872622433692532023-07-30T14:08:00.000-07:002023-07-30T14:08:50.497-07:00"The Best of Everything," by Rona JaffeRona Jaffe’s novel “The Best of Everything,” when it was originally published in 1958, was considered risqué, even shocking, for its candid portrayal of the lives of young women working in New York City, most of them planning to work only until they found husbands. The “shocking” part had to do with their romantic and sexual lives, as well as with the blatant and unchallenged discrimination against them at work, and the rampant sexual harassment they endured. It also had to do with the fact that some of these young women wanted more than just marriage and children; they wanted to be able to continue working as well. In other words, despite society’s expectations, they wanted to “have it all.” But this ambition was mostly not considered acceptable in the society of the times. This was the time a few years before second wave feminism (then known as “women’s liberation” or “women’s lib”) began to be a movement in the U.S. and elsewhere. The recent reissue (Penguin, 2023) of “The Best of Everything” includes an excellent introduction written by New Yorker writer Rachel Syme, one that provides a useful perspective about the social climate of the times. The main characters in the novel are several young women who work in a publishing house, and the story tells of their work lives, their friendships, and their relationships with the men in their lives. The young women sometimes compete with each other, but mostly are loyal to each other; the solidarity among them, especially when some of them suffer very difficult times, is a high point of the novel. They cannot complain to their employers, or to anyone else with any power, about the discrimination and harassment they endure, but they can and do look out for each other, and comfort and help each other. Although the novel is a “page turner” and perhaps not at the highest levels of literature, it is fascinating to read. Besides the usual pleasures of character and plot, the cultural environment of the times is of interest, as well as the portrayal of life in New York City and surroundings. Most of all, to me and perhaps to other women of my generation, the book is a timely reminder (in case we had forgotten) of how much sexism and discrimination existed, and of how blatant it was. It could be instructive for younger women and men to read as well. Reading it from the perspective of our own times offers a contrast, as matters have improved for many women in many – though definitely not all -- parts of the world, sometimes dramatically. (I do note that this book focuses on a particular subset of women – young, white, heterosexual, mostly middle-class, fairly well-educated, American, urban – and although the lives of this group reflect in many ways the situation of women of other identities and places, the differences are important to remember as well.) But the reminder the novel provides is also somewhat chilling, in that very recent years have forced us to realize that progress is not all linear, and victories we thought we had won can be, and have been, taken away from us, in a way that we could never imagine. I am glad “The Best of Everything” has been reissued, as it offers us both reading enjoyment and important instruction on the lives and rights – or lack thereof – of women, and of the need for ongoing vigilance and action.StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-52303275514624812532023-07-15T14:51:00.001-07:002023-07-15T14:51:16.187-07:00"The Critic's Daughter: A Memoir," by Priscilla GilmanAs readers of this blog know, I love literature, especially fiction. I love memoirs and biographies. So of course I love the perfect combination of memoirs and biographies of writers and others involved in the world of literature – critics, editors, publishers, and more. “The Critic’s Daughter: A Memoir” (Norton, 2023), by Priscilla Gilman, like "Lives of the Wives” (see my post of 7/4/23), is a perfect mixture of the above preferences. Gilman writes about her life as the daughter of her late father, the eminent literary critic Richard Gilman. It is almost a dual (auto)biography, in that the author was extremely close to her father, and felt responsible for him in many ways, starting in her childhood and continuing until his death decades later. She admired him, even adored him, learned from him, and was extremely protective of him. Much of her own life and career was modelled on his. He was a very loving father. But he was also a complicated, sometimes insecure and difficult man, one with his own unhappy secrets, and not only Priscilla but her sister and others had to tiptoe around him, propitiate and try to shore him up and please him. It was too much (partly self-imposed) responsibility for his daughters, especially for Priscilla; she both welcomed the responsibility and sometimes felt overwhelmed and even angry about it. This is a loving but clear-eyed portrait of Gilman’s father, and of the dynamics of a literary family (the author's mother was the famous literary agent Lynn Nesbit) in the midst of the literary life in New York City in the mid-to-late twentieth century and into the twenty-first century. Along the way, we readers learn much about the literary scene of that time period. The book features many famous writers and others in the worlds of literature and the arts. This memoir is fascinating for its psychological insights and for its literature-related portraits. It is also beautifully written.StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-42293666538850524792023-07-04T19:36:00.001-07:002023-07-04T19:36:36.097-07:00"Lives of the Wives: Five Literary Marriages," by Carmela CiuraruThere is nothing like well-written, informative, insightful literary biography with a splash of good gossip for good measure! “Lives of the Wives: Five Literary Marriages” (Harper, 2023), by Carmela Ciuraru, gives the life stories of each member of five twentieth-century couples, along with astute analysis of each couple’s relationship. The couples are Una Troubridge and Radclyffe Hall (although they were both women, Troubridge was clearly the “wife” figure); Elsa Morante and Alberto Moravia; Elaine Dundy and Kenneth Tynan; Elizabeth Jane Howard and Kingsley Amis; and Patricia Neal and Roald Dahl. The author’s clear focus is on the ways that the wives, although mostly writers themselves, were very much in traditional “wifely” roles of supporting the “great men” writers. They had to squeeze their own writing (or acting, in the case of Patricia Neal) between and around the housework, childcare, typing, editing, emotional shoring-up, way-smoothing, and other typical “duties” of wives, literary or otherwise. It was assumed by their male partners (and the lesbian Radclyffe Hall) that things should and would be this way. The misogyny was unsurprising for the time, but still disturbing and sad to read about. There was also often jealousy by the male writers when their wives’ literary works were more successful than their own. The biographies and analyses in this book are fascinating, and the writing is excellent. And I admit that the (fairly discreet but definitely juicy) gossipy parts are both shocking and intriguing. I highly recommend this book.StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-46366649402139773042023-06-12T12:21:00.000-07:002023-06-12T12:21:02.911-07:00"You Could Make This Place Beautiful," by Maggie SmithBereavement is one kind of loss, one that I have written several times about (e.g., 12/22/22) because of my own grieving the death of my beloved husband. I just finished a book about the grieving of a different kind of loss: the end of a marriage. Maggie Smith (“Not that one,” as she writes!) has written an affecting, painful, but ultimately hopeful memoir titled “You Could Make This Place Beautiful” (One Signal/Atria, 2023) about the end of her marriage. She writes the story of the marriage itself, as well as its end, and of the time after. She tries hard to be fair to her ex-husband, and preserves his privacy as much as possible. But she is first in disbelief, then very angry and very sad for a long time. A thread running through the book is not only her own pain, but her worry about how the divorce affects her two children. Another thread is her realization that throughout her marriage, she had tried so hard to make herself small, to allow her husband’s needs to come first, and to minimize the time and energy that her writing and editing career took. Afterward, she is angry at her ex-spouse and, to some extent, herself for this unspoken agreement the two of them seem to have had, and for his expectation that she would always put the roles of wife and mother before any of her own work and personal needs. He doesn’t put the same demands upon himself, giving the rationale that he is making more money than she is. The story is written in short vignettes that have a poetic feel (Smith is in fact a poet), and the author’s experiences, told this way, feel very immediate. She takes us through her journey, and we are happy for her that -- eventually -- she works her way toward a kind of acceptance and peace, and even joy in her new life. But of course there are scars. I admire the writer’s candor, and her generosity in sharing her experiences and feelings -- both visceral and thoughtful -- in a way that many people -- women especially, but not only --will relate to.
StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647370358954791604.post-66164522897694102222023-06-06T17:22:00.000-07:002023-06-06T17:22:17.098-07:00The Power of Story; the Power of "Charlotte's Web"I have written often about the power of narrative, of story, and how stories have always drawn me (as they do most human beings). I have also written here (12/22/22, for example) about the comfort of reading memoirs and novels during times of great loss. I thought about both of these ideas when recently, I am not sure why, the great children’s book, “Charlotte’s Web” (1952), written by E.B. White and illustrated by Garth Williams, came to mind. I remembered that when my mother read this book to me when I was about 5 or 6 years old, I would love it, but also would weep at the sad parts near the end, and then I would ask her to read it again, and again, and again. The sadness was part of the story, and painful as it was, the power of the story made me want to hear it again and again. And although sad, it is a lovely story, a story about love, nature, respect, and kindness. I can remember so clearly my feelings during those readings. As I said: the power of story. I am still absolutely and completely in thrall to that same power of story, these many decades and countless stories later. (P.S. Even if you are an adult, if you have never read “Charlotte’s Web,” please do! I am sure you will be moved by the words, the illustrations, the characters, the gentle humor, the pathos, and most of all, the story.)StephanieVandrickReadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17249448938858465808noreply@blogger.com0