"The Stranger's Child," by Alan Hollinghurst

I very much liked Alan Hollinghurst's 2005 Man Booker Prize-winning book, "The Line of Beauty," his breakthrough novel (he had written several earlier novels, most notably his first, "The Swimming-Pool Library"). So I looked forward to reading his new novel, "The Stranger's Child" (Knopf, 2011). It did not pull me in immediately, as "The Line of Beauty" did, and at times I put it aside for a few days at a time. I believe this is because it takes place over a century and several generations of families, friends, and biographers, making the forward movement of the novel less easy and accessible. At times I had to remind myself of the complicated interlocking relationships of the various characters over various time periods. But in the end, I definitely liked the book, and found it impressive and worth reading. The central character, although we only know him for a very short time, is Cecil Valance, the Rupert Brooke-like poet who lived large and then died in World War I. He was a vivid, charming character who was gay, or possibly bisexual, and more or less closeted, although everyone knew that many members of the Oxbridge literary set were gay. Before he went to war, he wrote a poem in his lover's young sister's autograph book, a poem and event that sent reverberations through the decades after. This young woman, Daphne, considered herself Cecil's fiance, and the poem became an iconic one, one that most English people learned in school and could quote, although critics deemed it second-rate. After his death, Daphne is defined for the rest of her life, despite three marriages, the first to Cecil's brother Dudley, who was also gay or bisexual, by her short but famous connection to Cecil. There are too many characters and too many events in the novel to list here, but much of the second half of the novel is seen through the eyes of Paul Bryant, a working-class aspiring literary man, also gay, who becomes entangled with Cecil's descendants and eventually writes a biography of the poet that causes some controversy. "The Stranger's Child" is suffused with literary history, gay history, English history, British (mostly) upper-class life, intriguing characters, a few secrets, and many closely observed conversations and scenes. Readers also are reminded of how each generation is inexorably influenced by its predecessors, and of how hard it is to escape one's past, whether one wants to or not. I finished the novel feeling I had had a privileged and rewarding inside look at a certain sort of life in several overlapping worlds.

"Death Comes to Pemberley," by P. D. James

Although I have had periods in my life of reading a lot of mysteries, I haven't been much interested in them for a few years now. (Which doesn't mean I won't be interested in them again in the future.) However, when I saw the new mystery novel "Death Comes to Pemberley" (Knopf, 2011), by the inestimable British writer P.D. James, a novel based on characters from Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice," I knew I couldn't resist it. I even bought it in hardcover and gave it to myself as a Christmas gift. What a great combination: P. D. James and Austen! And sure enough, it was, as my friend B. put it, "delicious"! Pemberley, you will probably remember, was Darcy's grand estate and home, where Elizabeth Bennett moved after marrying Darcy. This James novel takes place six years after the couple's marriage; all is going well, until the night before their planned traditional annual ball, when Elizabeth's flibbertigibbet youngest sister Lydia (who, you may remember, had married the charming but very irresponsible Wickham) unexpectedly arrives at Pemberley in a careening carriage, screaming hysterically that there has been a murder in the Pemberley woods. And so the mystery begins, with James' classic twists and turns. What is fascinating is not just "whodunit," but the way James portrays the various characters and their interactions. At times she makes us start to doubt the most upright and likable characters, while softening us to the less admirable ones, all in service of keeping us off balance in trying to solve the mystery. An enjoyable touch is that James briefly includes, offstage so to speak, some characters from Austen's novels "Persuasion" and "Emma," more "old friends" to those of us who have read and re-read Austen's novels many times. I often dislike "sequels" to Austen's novels, but this one, by the grand dame of British mysteries, and clearly a sort of tribute and love letter to Austen, is on another level than most of those sequels, and is most enjoyable and satisfying to read. In short, a real treat!

"Stir-Fry," by Emma Donoghue

I very much liked, and wrote about here (on 7/20/10 and 7/31/10), Emma Donoghue's 2006 short story collection "Touchy Subjects," her 2007 novel "Landing," and her 2008 novel, "The Sealed Letter"; reading her work felt like a major discovery. Earlier this year, I started to read her 2010 breakthrough bestseller novel, "Room," but found the topic too claustrophobic and disturbing to continue. However, this last issue is just my own, and I am quite willing to believe that the critics are entirely correct in their praise of that novel. Just recently, I picked up at a library sale Donoghue's first novel, "Stir-Fry" (Alyson Books, 1994). Understandably, it isn't as accomplished as the other books listed here, but it clearly shows the promise that is later fulfilled in those books. It is the story of 17-year-old Maria during her first year at university in Dublin. She moves into a flat with two slightly older women students, not realizing until a month later that they are a lesbian couple. Being from a small suburb and inexperienced, she is surprised and confused, but likes the two women very much, and they all get along well. Gradually a surprising situation develops. Maria is a likable character, and the novel is a coming-of-age story. As such, there are some well-worn elements, but there is also much in the novel that is original and keeps the reader intrigued with the story and characters.

Happy Holidays, Dear Readers!

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate Christmas, and Happy Holidays and Happy New Year to all, dear readers. I appreciate so much being able to communicate with you through this blog about books and reading. I am glad we share a love of books, and I wish you all much good reading in the coming year!

Why I am not Drawn to Magic Realism

Although I have read, enjoyed, and learned from my share of novels often categorized by the term "Magic Realism," including some by Franz Kafka, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Salman Rushdie, Toni Morrison, and Mario Vargas Llosa, I am generally not drawn to fiction of this type. For example, I read and very much liked Isabel Allende's first novel, "The House of the Spirits," and later one or two other novels by her, but the magic realism aspect kept me from reading more. (Parenthetically, as I have posted here, I admire Allende herself, have heard her speak twice, and was very impressed.) Whenever I think about why I tend to avoid novels labeled "magic realism," I realize that what keeps me reading and loving novels is pretty old-fashioned: I want good plots, I want wonderfully observant and thoughtful writing, and most of all, I want to read about interesting and realistic characters. This is not to say that magic realism excludes good plots and characters, but I guess I just want the realism without the magic. I am not sure what this says about me. Do I lack imagination? Am I too narrow in my reading interests? (I have previously written about my lack of interest in, for example, science fiction/fantasy.) Whatever the reason, and despite my willingness to deviate from my main reading preferences occasionally, I know this about myself: magic realism does not speak to me in the same way that "real" realism does.

"When the Emperor Was Divine," by Julie Otsuka

I just finished a small but very powerful novel about the interning of Japanese Americans during World War II. "When the Emperor Was Divine" (Anchor, 2002) is a still, compressed, distilled telling of the story of one Berkeley family whose lives were turned upside down by the war and its accompanying terribly unjust treatment of those of Japanese ancestry in the U.S. The story is told from the points of view of each of the family members: the mother, the daughter, the son, and the father. The father is taken away from the family home in his bathrobe and slippers (the indelible image remembered by his children as so unfair to their dignified father); soon after, the mother and children are evacuated, first to the horse stables of Tanforan, near San Francisco, and then to an internment camp in the flat and dusty Utah desert. The author never raises her voice, but just lets readers hear her characters in their quiet detailing of what their new lives are like, and how they feel. The very quietness and compression of the telling is what gives this book such power, such descriptive and emotional force. Although we have all learned about and read about this terrible time in American history, this book makes it more real and thus even more intolerable than any other publication I have seen. Highly recommended.

"Range of Motion," by Elizabeth Berg

I have been reading Elizabeth Berg's novels on and off for years. Some may consider them second-rate, and/or "women's novels." And perhaps they are not at the highest literary level. But they are solid, they are craftswomanlike, they are readable, they are inspiring, they are moving, and they describe everyday women's lives, something that is still too rare. They have also won multiple awards. Recently, at my wonderful local library's monthly book sale (which I have posted about before), I picked up a copy of "Range of Motion" (Random House, 1995), one of Berg's earliest novels, which I thought I had read before but couldn't remember for sure. It is a short novel, a quick read, but very satisfying and moving. It tells the story of Lainey, whose beloved husband Jay is in a coma, and the way she visits him regularly and tries to remind him of their life together through talking to him, bringing their children to see him, playing music, bringing different scents for him to smell, and more. There are a couple of side stories, such as that of Lainey's neighbor and friend Alice who is so supportive of and helpful to her despite her own marital troubles, and that of Evie, the ghost of the former resident of Lainey's house, who visits to encourage Lainey. (Lainey knows she isn't "real" but still draws sustenance from her visits.) At times, Berg's writing is quite lovely in its particularity and honesty, and in its engagement with life as it is lived by many women.