A Novel for Grown-ups: "Noah's Compass"

I enjoy novels about characters of all ages, but I sometimes particularly appreciate reading about characters in their fifties, sixties, and older, and their experiences and perspectives. I just finished reading one such novel, "Noah's Compass" (Knopf, 2009), by Anne Tyler (who is 68 years old herself). The main character, Liam Pennywell, is 60 years old, recently retired, and at loose ends. He is, like many of Tyler's characters, seemingly quite ordinary, stolid, and somewhat passive. He is neither unhappy nor particularly happy. He says at one point, "I just...don't seem to have the hang of things, somehow. It's as if I've never been entirely present in my own life" (p. 263). It is a heartbreaking realization. Such a tamped-down character is unlikely to immediately intrigue readers, who may be tempted to bail out of what seems that it will be a rather depressing story, but somehow Tyler's portrayal of how Liam ponders and responds to the events and everyday moments of his life draws us in, and we begin to admire his essential modesty and goodness, and his determination to be satisfied with what he has in life. I realize that this description of "Noah's Compass" probably won't send you running to the bookstore or library, but I urge you to give the novel a chance to win you over, as it did me.

On Tea in Literature

Tea is a treasured part of my life: tea itself, teacups, tea trays, tea parties, afternoon tea, hotel teas, tearooms, long talks over tea. Some of my favorite novels - by Jane Austen, Henry James, Barbara Pym, Angela Thirkell, Dorothy Sayers - have scenes featuring tea. So I was struck by the regular meetings for tea - what was called "sacred tea" - in the novel "The Elegance of the Hedgehog," by Muriel Barbery (which I wrote about in yesterday's post). Here is a passage about tea from the book:

"The tea ritual: such a precise repetition of the same gestures and the same tastes; accession to simple, authentic and refined sensations, a license given to all, at little cost, to become aristocrats of taste, because tea is the beverage of the wealthy and of the poor; the tea ritual, therefore, has the extraordinary virtue of introducing into the absurdity of our lives an aperture of serene harmony. Yes, the world may aspire to vacuousness, lost souls mourn beauty, insignificance surrounds us. Then let us drink a cup of tea. Silence descends, one hears the wind outside, autumn leaves rustle and take flight, the cat sleeps in a warm pool of light. And, with each swallow, time is sublimed" (p. 91).

"The Elegance of the Hedgehog"

I initially resisted reading the bestselling French novel, "The Elegance of the Hedgehog," by Muriel Barbery (English version: Europa, 2008, paperback), not finding the description appealing. Then it was chosen for my reading group, so I plunged in. The first several chapters were, to be blunt, somewhat tedious. Big chunks of those chapters were treatises on philosophical topics...perhaps interesting in the abstract, but not what you expect to find in a novel. The early emphasis on the precocious, unhappy 12-year-old Paloma was also not appealing to me. But once the character of Renee, the concierge in her fifties, an autodidact who hid her extensive knowledge of literature, art, opera, and philosophy from almost everyone, was introduced, the story began to draw me in. Both Paloma and Renee were - like hedgehogs - prickly on the outside but vulnerable within. When a new tenant, the wealthy and courtly Mr. Ozu, entered the picture, and when the three main characters discovered each other and their common interests, the interplay of the characters was both touching and intriguing.

Throughout, the writing is intricate and often beautiful, even transcendent. There are entrancing passages about Japan, art, tea, language, grammar, social class, life, death, and much more. Here is a small excerpt from Renee's thoughts after Mr. Ozu has introduced her to a wider world: "A few bars of music..., a touch of perfection in the flow of human dealings -- I lean my head slowly to one side, reflect on the camellia on the moss of the temple, reflect on a cup of tea, while outside the wind is rustling the foliage, the forward rush of life is crystallized in a brilliant jewel of a moment that knows neither projects nor future, human destiny is rescued from the pale succession of days, glows with light at last and, surpassing time, warms my tranquil heart" (page 106).

I recommend this novel; don't get discouraged by the first few chapters, but persist, and I think you will be as captivated as I was.

How the Blog Works

If some of you, like me, are not completely comfortable with the tech aspects of blogs, I summarize below how you can participate, as I understand it.

1. The easiest way, if you don't want to be able to comment on blog entries, is simply to bookmark this site, or jot down the web address, and read it daily or weekly or occasionally, as you prefer.

2. If you want to be able to comment, you can do one of the actions below:

a. Sign up for a Google account (this does NOT mean signing up for gmail); this is easy and free.

b. Sign up to "follow" this blog, either "publicly" (a little icon will show up under "followers") or "privately" (no icon will show). In either case, you do not have to post a photo or give your full name. This is also easy and free.

Thanks very much for your interest in my blog! And thanks, Mary V., for your suggestion that I do the blog!

In Praise of Public Libraries

Public libraries are a great institution, for which I am very thankful. They are (generally) accessible, free, and community-oriented. Walk into your local library and notice all the people browsing, reading, and studying. Peek into the children's section and see the little ones' delight at being read to by their parents or by librarians. And while we are praising the library, let's praise too the librarians who share their love of books and their expertise with us.

Sometimes, of course, I buy books (and I will write about bookstores in a future post), but sometimes I can't or don't want to purchase a certain book (I may not be sure I will like it, I may not have room for it on my shelves, or I may not want to spend the money), but I do want to read it or at least look through it; that's when I go to the library. I am also grateful for electronic access to the library's catalog, and to my library records. I often read a review of a book that sounds intriguing, then log into my library account from my home computer and request the book; soon after, I receive an email telling me the library is holding the book for me. The next time I visit the library, the book is waiting on a holdshelf with my name on it. What a great system!

I am especially fortunate to have a local library that is physically beautiful. It is constructed of lovely wood and has soaring windows looking out onto the redwood grove in which it is nestled, a sort of cathedral for books. The indoors and outdoors blend seamlessly, and we library patrons are surrounded by beauty, reinforcing the pleasure of being surrounded by books.
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On a different note: R.I.P. three great writers who have just died: Louis Auchincloss, J. D. Salinger, and Howard Zinn.

Iconic books of our childhood

For many of us, certain childhood books have iconic status. It is not that they were necessarily the "best" or most literary children's books, nor just that we liked or even loved the books, but that they had and have an almost mystic meaning and status for us. We have never forgotten them, nor the feelings they engendered. For my brother Paul, for example, the book was "Shadow the Sheepdog," by Enid Blyton. His devotion to this book was part of our family lore; we teased him about it, but also recognized its seriousness. His copy of the book somehow got lost during our many family moves, and he mourned it. As an adult, he sporadically, for many years, tried to find a copy, without success; finally, the Internet allowed him to track down and purchase a copy. I recently asked him about his feelings about the book; below I quote an excerpt from his reply. (Thanks, Paul!)

"'Shadow the Sheepdog' was definitely iconic to me. I can't say all the reasons why I read and reread it so many times, but I suspect that it had to do with the fact that the book dealt with themes that children find fascinating - unconditional love, separation and reunion, unblemished heroism. I know that no one could have known how important that book was to me at the time; later I came to jokingly call it my 'Rosebud.' But there was an element of truth to the joke. I never did forget Shadow. When I finally obtained a copy of it so many years later, it gave me a satisfied feeling. I read a few chapters and realized that re-reading it wasn't really the point. Just knowing that I could re-read it was what made me happy. I plan to re-read it at some point, but I am very happy to be reunited with my beloved Shadow even if I never get around to it."

Readers: What were your iconic childhood books, your "Rosebuds"?

Two Novels by Irish Writers: Trevor and Toibin

Two Irish authors writing powerful and subtle novels and stories are William Trevor, now in his early 80s, and Colm Toibin, in his mid-50s. Both write deceptively simple novels and stories, and both draw readers into complex emotional territory. Here I write about each author's most recent novel.

William Trevor's "Love and Summer" (Viking, 2009) centers on the doomed, adulterous love story of the charming but unreliable photographer Florian and the gentle farm wife Ellie. The novel is set in a small Irish village, and there are several compelling characters. Despite an air of gloom and darkness, somehow a sense of generosity, optimism, and happiness cannot be completely repressed. The beauty of Trevor's writing seems to increase with each novel and story he has written over his long career.

Colm Toibin (author of the wonderful earlier novel "The Master," about the great writer Henry James) published the novel "Brooklyn" (Scribner) in 2009. It tells the story of Eilis Lacey, a young woman in another small Irish town, who is encouraged by her family to find a better life emigrating to Brooklyn, New York. She is content where she is, but moves to please her family. Her new life in the United States is hard and confusing at first, but gradually she creates a good life there, complete with satisfying work and a romance. A family event draws her back to Ireland, where she feels both connected and alienated. She is caught between two places, two cultures, two romances, and two lives.

Both novels are gorgeously written and a joy to read. Both provide a strong sense of place, and of how humans are tied to certain places. Both remind readers of the forces beyond our control that influence our lives. And both, despite the seemingly trapped nature of their characters' lives, offer glimpses of hope, possibility, and grace.