"Mending," by Sallie Bingham

I had read good reviews of “Mending: New and Selected Stories” (Sarabande, 2011), by Sallie Bingham, but when I read the collection, I only mildly enjoyed reading the stories. The adjectives that kept occurring to me were “pensive” and “plaintive.” When I look again at the stories, I see that they are perfectly good ones, but somehow they didn’t engage me. So that is all I will say about “Mending.”

"The House of Tyneford," by Natasha Solomons

Did you love “Upstairs, Downstairs”? And “Downton Abbey”? If so, you will love “The House of Tyneford” (Plume, 2011), a novel by Natasha Solomons, as well. It is one of those very English stories, and tells of a lovely, rather isolated area on the coast of England, with its old English country house and all its traditions, along with the village people nearby, fishing and tending sheep. It is all very charming, old-fashioned, and idyllic. But it is also very serious. The time is just before World War II, and Elise, a young Jewish woman from an educated and well-off family in Vienna is sent to the English house to be a housemaid, a common event during that time period, used as a way to keep the young woman out of harm’s way during the increasingly brutal treatment of Jewish people in Austria and elsewhere. She is separated from her novelist father and her opera singer mother, who are hoping for visas to the United States, and from her older sister, who has already emigrated to the United States with her professor husband. Elise soon begins a romance with the son of the house, and she moves in and out of various strata of people in the house and in the village, not quite belonging anywhere, but making friends and connections nevertheless. She also falls in love with the area, and especially with living by the sea. Meanwhile she is constantly worried about her family members, misses them desperately, and is consoled just a little by her possession of a family viola with her father’s latest novel manuscript stuffed into it. As the war begins and proceeds, there are many twists and turns to the story. There is danger, sweetness, romance, sadness, loss and redemption. This is an affecting story, one that I enjoyed very much.

"A Theory of Small Earthquakes," by Meredith Maran

I have seen Meredith Maran's journalistic writing in The San Francisco Chronicle and other periodicals for some years now. I also read her thoughtful and revealing 2001 nonfiction book about the lives and issues of students at Berkeley High School, "Class Dismissed." She has now published her first novel, "A Theory of Small Earthquakes" (Soft Skull Press, 2012). One reason I read it was that much of it takes place in Berkeley, just across the Bay from here, and it is always enjoyable to read novels set in places one knows pretty well. But beyond that, the novel is a story of the times -- of the past 30 years -- with much context about social issues during that time. In particular, it is the story of two women who met at college and fell in love, moved to Berkeley, decided to have a child, and then...well, I don't want to give away the plot, but it involves another character, a child, a family mystery, much drama, lifelong friendships, and the changing times. And the "earthquakes" of the title? One of the characters, normally fearless, is very afraid of earthquakes, and falls apart each time a small earthquake occurs, which is fairly often in California. She is partially reassured by the theory that small earthquakes release pressure and therefore lower the risk of larger earthquakes. This novel is very readable, with strong and interesting characters and a good balance of a compelling story and the addressing of social issues.

"Preacher's Lake," by Lisa Vice

“Preacher’s Lake” (Dutton, 1998), by Lisa Vice (author of “Reckless Driver,” which I posted about on 6/15/12), is a challenging novel to read: it is long, it has a large cast of characters, and its characters live in difficult circumstances. Yet despite these challenges, or perhaps partly because of them, this is a book that catches up the reader -- at least this reader -- and doesn’t let her go. The first challenge is the 472-page length. OK, it’s long, but I can handle that. The second challenge is the many characters, introduced in rapid succession, in short vignettes, making me wonder if I can keep all the characters straight in my mind. The novel continues to move quickly among the characters, and then gradually some of them start to meet and interact with others; gradually I figure out who everyone is and how they connect with each other. Several of the main characters are lesbians. Probably the biggest challenge for a middle-class reader is to acclimate to the rather isolated and hardscrabble Maine setting where almost all the characters are poor, just barely working class, or just getting by. Some live without electricity or running water or indoor bathrooms. Life is a struggle. Besides the economic issues, there are social issues, issues of class. Typical readers of contemporary fiction do not often encounter this kind of setting and these kinds of characters, especially in the United States. This novel does something important by forcing readers to see poverty and struggling characters up close. Although I am not personally familiar with the area or with people in these circumstances, I am convinced that the portrayals in this novel are authentic. (The author herself lived in Maine at one point.) But the characters are not defined only by their economic and social conditions; they are vibrant, thoughtful, quirky, caring people as well. They worry about their children, fall in love, sometimes settle for partners for practical reasons, yearn for better lives, wish for partners and children, try to improve their lots, and move in and out of the area; in other words, although the setting is different, the human feelings are the same ones that characters in other novels experience in wealthier urban areas.

The Perils of Self-Publishing

It is great that nowadays anyone can publish a book through self-publishing/”vanity” presses. Writers with little or no chance of book contracts with regular publishers can now write about their experiences, express their feelings, exercise their creativity, and see their names and words in print. Self-published books are especially good for those who mainly want to share their writing with family and friends. And some of them are quite respectably well written and produced. (Full disclosure: Some years ago, two colleagues/friends and I edited the self-published memoir of our late academic mentor and friend.) But there are often serious problems with self-publishing as well. Books definitely suffer without the editorial and marketing support provided by a traditional publisher. A huge negative is the lack of editing. I was reminded of this recently while reading a self-published memoir (which shall remain nameless) that was so badly written as to be almost incoherent in places. The author was obviously passionate about his topic -- a certain aspect of his life story -- and that angry, betrayed feeling came through loud and clear. But the writing was terrible in so many ways. It was disorganized, illogical, and ungrammatical. Words were misspelled and misused. It sounded as if the writer had sat down and spewed out a long rant, and then never revised or edited it in any way. I wish for his own sake that the author had hired an editor, or at least asked a literate friend to help him edit the book. Reading this book was a painful process; I only persevered because the book was useful for my research.

"Gone," by Cathi Hanauer

There is something a bit odd about Cathi Hanauer’s new novel, “Gone” (Atria, 2012) (not to be confused with the current bestseller, “Gone Girl”). The central plot point is that a husband has suddenly left his wife, without telling her he is leaving, or where he is going. Yet there isn’t much suspense, as he frequently texts their teenaged daughter, and his destination is his mother’s house across the U.S. (yes, really, he runs away to his mother's house...). We are also clearly told that each of the two still loves the other, although Eve is sometimes exasperated with Eric. We first hear Eve’s story, then Eric’s, and then the story goes back and forth between their two perspectives. The reactions of their two children, fourteen-year-old Magnolia and eight-year-old Danny, are well-portrayed and seem realistic. The story is interesting enough, and kept me reading, but it all seems so low-key, and the writing is disappointingly talky and full of exposition. There are even long chunks of didactic -- very didactic -- explanations and exhortations about nutrition (the pretext for this is that Eve is a nutritionist), the environment, and mental health (Eric’s mother is a therapist). There are some thoughtful sections, and some better-written sections, but overall the pedestrian writing is an obstacle to really enjoying the book.

"Some Assembly Required," by Anne Lamott

Anne Lamott, who lives here in Marin County, just north of San Francisco, as I do, has a unique voice in her writing. I read several of her novels some time ago, and enjoyed them, but would not say they are great literature. But her memoirs, all of which I have also read, seem to me to be better written, more authentic, and more compelling. In them, she writes of her difficult family of origin, whom she nonetheless loves very much, as well as the alcoholism that runs through her family and her own alcoholism and recovery. She writes of finding salvation, religious and otherwise, through a small African-American church. She writes of how hard it was to be a single mother, and yet how wonderful. When she wrote about that topic, almost 20 years ago, in “Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son’s First Year,” she was lauded for her honesty about the great joys and the great difficulties of motherhood, especially single motherhood. Now, in her most recent book (which I listened to on CD, read by the author herself), “Some Assembly Required: A Journal of My Son’s First Son” (Riverhead, 2012), co-written with her son Sam Lamott, she writes about her 19-year-old son’s and his girlfriend Amy’s unexpected parenthood. Although surprised and concerned about their becoming parents at such a young age, and at a time that they are in a relationship with an uncertain future, she is also absolutely besotted with her new grandson Jax, and does all she can to help, yet makes an effort not to “take over.” The strength of Lamott’s voice is her openness, her willingness to confess all her thoughts and feelings, including the less worthy ones. Her feelings are understandable, though. For example, she hates it when Amy takes Jax to visit her family in Chicago, and she lives in fear that Amy and Jax, or maybe Amy and Sam and Jax, will permanently move to Chicago; I imagine most parents and grandparents can relate to that feeling. She writes of insecurity, of jealousy, of fear, and more. But she also writes of joy, family, sharing, and celebrating life. The book covers the time just before little Jax is born, and during the first year of his life. Much of the book is concerned with the everyday ebbs and flows of life, of worries, of happiness, of visits back and forth, of family celebrations, of hikes with friends and consultations with her therapist and her priest friend. She also takes trips to India and to Europe, and describes those trips in some detail. She writes of her meditation practice, and says a little about her own writing and her book tours. Most of all she writes detailed descriptions of Jax and his personality and growth; these, although in certain hands might be tedious to read about, are beautifully observed. Sam’s contributions are only perhaps 20% of the book, but his perspective is important. His maturity, love for his child, and ability to adjust to his new, unexpected life as a father are all impressive. He says that because his own father was not in his life, he wants to make sure that he himself will always be there for his son Jax. I can’t help thinking that despite all her eccentricities and insecurities, Lamott must have done a lot right in the way she raised Sam, because he seems to be have turned out so well. As for her writing, I think it is an acquired taste; it is admirable and brave and sometimes very funny, but also sometimes annoying, with a whining undertone. But these are two sides of the same coin, because she clearly knows she is whining sometimes, but is brave enough to share what makes her look petty or unappealing. This is all part of her candidness. Obviously many people love her writing, as her memoirs have all been bestsellers. And despite any reservations I have, I too will probably keep on reading them as she publishes them.