Obama Reading Novels

I just read a fascinating article about President Obama in the October 2012 issue (OK, so I am a bit behind in working my way through my pile of magazines!) of Vanity Fair. Writer Michael Lewis spent time with Obama in the White House, at one of Obama's regularly scheduled basketball games (where he, apparently, plays hard and smart, despite his age), and on Air Force One. Lots of intriguing behind-the-scenes insights. But one that jumped out at me, as a "fiction person," was that Lewis noticed a pile of novels on the desk of Obama's inner, private office; sitting on top of the pile was Julian Barnes' recent novel, "The Sense of an Ending." (See my post about this novel on 1/6/12.) I can't help feeling that a president who reads good novels is a better president for it.

On Reading What Writers Recommend

The ways we decide what to read are various and complicated. As I have written before, I generally decide what to read based on a. seeing that one of my favorite authors has just published a new book; or b. reading a review of a new book that piques my interest. Occasionally I read something because it was recommended by a friend or by an author I respect and like. As examples of the latter: in the last couple of days, I have looked for books because they were mentioned by authors I like. First, author Caroline Leavitt posted on Facebook a link to her blogpost on why she reads Joan Didion. This reminded me of how much I have liked Didion's work over the years, despite its frequent bleakness. I have read most of her fiction and nonfiction, most recently "Blue Nights" (which I posted about on 1/17/12). I have also gone back to some of her earlier work, such as "Play It As It Lays" (see my post of 3/23/11). Leavitt's reminder made me go back again to more of Didion's earlier work -- "Slouching Towards Bethlehem" and "The White Album" -- which I have just obtained and will soon read. Second, I read an interview with the great short story writer Alice Munro (whom I have written about here several times) on The New Yorker online (11/20/12), in which she spoke of Eudora Welty as a writer she admired; she spoke of "The Golden Apples" in particular. This led me to request "The Golden Apples" at my local library, and I look forward to re-reading it as well. I read all three of these books many, many years ago; re-reading them after all these years will be a different experience than the original reading. This reminds me of something else about my reading, and that of many readers: We read many new books, but we also revisit books we have read and liked in the past, in a sort of dancing loop. Both are essential parts of our ongoing complex relationship with the books in our lives.

"Where'd You Go, Bernadette," by Maria Semple

I am not quite sure what to make of the quirky, breezy yet serious, down-to-earth yet unpredictable novel “Where’d You Go, Bernadette” (Little, Brown, 2012) by Maria Semple. The character of Bernadette is fresh and variously funny, sad, annoying, and sympathetic. She is an immigrant from Los Angeles to Seattle, where she has escaped from a complicated, messy past caused by an unfortunate mixture of her genius and her stubborn nonconformity. She is a misfit in Seattle, and through much of the novel, she mocks that city. (And, I have to say, although I love Seattle myself, her portrayal of the city and its residents is very funny.) Because she doesn’t care what others think, she has troubled relationships with those at her daughter’s elite school and with her neighbors, among others. She loves her husband and her daughter, and her daughter in particular is her guiding light. But in a complicated set of events, including misunderstandings, mysteries, and surprises, she disappears for a while (thus the title). Somehow the story finds itself in Antarctica – don’t ask! The fun of the story is the originality of the main character, the poised but worried voice of her daughter, and the random-seeming surprises in the plot. In other words – the old-fashioned virtues of character, plot, and originality. So, although I would not rate this book, or the writing, “great,” it is certainly enjoyable and satisfying.

"Dear Life," by Alice Munro

Readers may remember that I (along with many, many others!) am a huge admirer of the Canadian short story writer Alice Munro. (As a former Canadian, I also take pride in her worldwide reputation.) Many critics and readers call Munro the greatest living short story writer writing in English, equaled only, perhaps, by the British William Trevor (whose stories I also greatly admire). Even those who don't read her books may have read her stories in The New Yorker, where she has often been published. Munro's new book, "Dear Life: Stories" (Knopf, 2012) shows us, once again, her greatness at portraying human nature. Munro is now lauded more than ever, perhaps partly because this new book provides intimations that it may be her last, or one of her last (she is 81 years old); specifically, a prologue to the last four stories in the book is titled "Finale" and states that "The final four works in this book are not quite stories. They form a separate unit, one that is autobiographical in feeling, though not, sometimes, entirely so in fact. I believe they are the first and last -- and the closest -- things I have to say about my own life" (p. 255). Although this statement does not say that she will stop writing stories completely, it has an elegiac tone. Let us hope that she will in fact continue to write for many years to come. I find myself wanting to say eloquent things about this book, and about Munro's writing, words that would show how amazing her work is, and how much it means to me, but I find that because so many others have written so much more eloquently about her, I hesitate to add my meager, inadequate words. Perhaps I will just refer readers to my blog entry of 7/22/10, "Ode to Alice Munro," and add that "Dear Life" only reinforces my love of her work.

Listening to Colm Toibin on Fresh Air

I usually don't remember to listen to "Fresh Air" regularly, as listening depends on when I am in my car, whether I am currently listening to a book on CD, etc. But when I do remember at the right time, it is always both intellectually stimulating and a joy to listen to. Yesterday I stumbled on Fresh Air host Terry Gross' interview of the wonderful Irish author, Colm Toibin. I have read several of his works, most notably the novels "The Master" (a fictional version of Henry James's life) and "Brooklyn," which I posted about here on 1/28/10, and the short story collection "The Empty Family," which I posted about a year later, on 1/28/11. All of these books are absorbing, beautifully written works. On Fresh Air yesterday, Toibin was talking about his new book, "Testament of Mary," which tells a fictionalized version of the life of Mary, mother of Jesus. In that novel, he writes of Mary's doubts about whether her son was the son of God, and of her unhappiness with Jesus's disciples after his death. Toibin grew up steeped in Catholicism, an altar boy, and although he is no longer traditionally religious, he told of the influence of his Catholic childhood in Ireland. I found the interview fascinating, and enjoyed hearing Toibin's distinctive Irish accent. He now lives part of the year in Ireland and part in New York City, where he teaches at Columbia University. I am intrigued enough by the description of the book, added to the fact that I think he is a great writer, that I will likely find and read this latest novel from a great author.

"This Must Be the Place," by Kate Racculia

Reading an author’s first novel is always a gamble. Many -- probably most -- of the novels I read are by authors I have already read; some of these authors are on my “always get and read their latest books” list. So I usually don’t read a first novel unless I have either read an excellent review of the book, or had the book recommended to me by someone whose taste I trust, and know is similar to mine. One exception is sometimes books-on-CD. Since there are far fewer such CDs than there are books, and even fewer available at my local library, I sometimes take a chance on an unknown book, in interests of having new books to listen to in my car. I recently picked up at the library “This Must Be the Place” (Holt, 2010; CD Tantor, 2010), by Kate Racculia, a first novel full of quirky characters and surprises. The vividness of the characters is the main positive attribute of this novel; the mystery about the characters’ pasts is another. However, the latter attribute is slightly marred by the frequently overwrought telling of the story, with dramatic pauses and secrets dragged out a bit too lengthily. Arthur Rook’s wife Amy Henderson has died suddenly in Los Angeles, where they have been living, and Arthur -- in shock and not knowing what to do -- on impulse tracks down and stays with Amy’s closest childhood friend, Mona Jones, and her teenaged daughter Oneida, at their boarding house in the small town in New York State where Amy and Mona grew up. There are many portentous references to the long ago summer when the teenaged Mona and Amy ran away to the Jersey shore, to the mysterious events and repercussions that ensued, and to the way that summer set in motion a series of events that are now about to be revealed. A side story is that of Oneida’s boyfriend Eugene and his artistic, offbeat family, a family with secrets of its own. The story is enjoyable and even gripping at times, if a bit overwritten. A side note: the description of the author on the back cover of the CD includes the following sentence, which readers of this blog will know contains at least two elements always of interest to me (“Jane Austen” and “Canada”): “Kate Racculia grew up in Syracuse, New York, and attended college in Buffalo, where she studied illustration, design, Jane Austen, and Canada.”

"Sweet Tooth," by Ian McEwan

I was bowled over when I read Ian McEwan's novel "Atonement" some years ago. It was riveting, moving, powerful. Since I read it, I have read several others of his novels, and have had varying reactions to them. They are all wonderfully well written, but only some of them have engaged me. "On Chesil Beach" definitely did (see my post of 10/23/10); "Saturday" did to a lesser degree. But "Amsterdam" did not at all, and "Solar" mostly left me cold. Now I have just read McEwan's latest novel, "Sweet Tooth" (Doubleday, 2012), and although as usual it is well written, with an intriguing story, it just didn't draw me into its world. It should have, as it features several aspects that I usually like: it takes place in London in the early 1970s, with side trips to Brighton; and it features a female main character, Serena, who falls in love with a writer during the course of her work with him. Because she works for the M15 (equivalent to the U.S.'s CIA), there is secrecy built into the story and the character, and perhaps that is why I couldn't really relate to her or any other character in the novel. Then the ending provides a twist, a sort of "meta" surprise that also explains -- aha! -- a gap in readers' understanding of, and feeling for, Serena. Although I sometimes like surprises in fiction, I often just feel manipulated, especially by authorial games of this type. So although I more or less enjoyed this novel, and, as always, felt I was in good hands, I was left with a slightly hollow, disappointed feeling. Nevertheless, McEwan is such a good writer that he is always on my must-read list, and I am sure I will eagerly find and read his next novel when it appears.