Favorite Living Fiction Writers Recently Read

Today I list some of my favorite living writers of fiction. To keep the list from being too long, I include only authors whose books I have read at least one of during the past three years. These conditions of course do not allow me to list “classic” writers, or those whose works I have enjoyed in the past but haven’t read lately. So, given those conditions, here is my list of the authors, in alphabetical order. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Rabih Alameddine, Kate Atkinson, Margaret Atwood, Julian Barnes, Robin Black, Peter Cameron, Kate Christensen, Anne Enright, Joan Frank, Jane Gardam, Gail Godwin, Mary Gordon, Tessa Hadley, Joshua Henkin, Hester Kaplan, Jhumpa Lahiri, Penelope Lively, Alice McDermott, Ian McEwan, Claire Messud, Lorrie Moore, Alice Munro, Antonya Nelson, Stewart O’Nan, Ann Packer, Ann Patchett, Edith Pearlman, Richard Russo, Lore Segal, Jane Smiley, Zadie Smith, Colm Toibin, Anne Tyler, Kate Walbert, Meg Wolitzer. The parameters of this list made me leave out some favorites, such as Kent Haruf, who died very recently, and Lori Ostlund, whose wonderful first book I read more than three years ago, but whose second book ("After the Parade") will appear next month and is much anticipated. Note that of the 36 writers, 28 are women; those who read this blog regularly will not be surprised at this. In any case, like any list, this list is in no way definitive of anything, but it provides a summary of some of my most-treasured current novelists and short story writers. Note that I have posted here on many of these authors’ books during the past three years.

"Re Jane," by Patricia Park

In my 8/11/15 post on Katherine Taylor’s novel “Rules for Saying Goodbye,” I described a common genre of novels with young women characters starting off their adult lives and careers in New York, almost always Manhattan or possibly Brooklyn. Patricia Park’s new novel, her first, “Re Jane” (Viking, 2015) starts with that template, but immediately diverges from it by having the main character come from a far from upscale part of Queens. Her main character differs,too, from most of the ones in the novels I was describing: Jane is American, her parents a Korean woman and a white American man; they died when she was young, and she has grown up in Queens, living with her uncle and aunt and cousins. Her post-college job in finance has fallen through because of the limping economy, so she is working in her uncle’s shabby food market (named “FOOD”). She decides on a whim to take an au pair job in Brooklyn; the family there consists of a women’s studies professor, an English teacher, and their daughter, adopted from China. Various plot twists ensue, including a love affair and a trip on Jane’s part to Korea where she ends up staying with relatives and teaching English for a year. Throughout, she feels torn among various identities and various loyalties. But when she returns to New York, she is more at ease with herself, and gradually starts figuring out how to live her life. This novel gives readers an up-close look at the experiences and confusions that life as a racially, ethnically, and culturally “mixed” young person can bring. Jane is not the only one who experiences identity conflicts. The girl she takes care of, Devon, also struggles with fitting in; she is Chinese by birth and ethnicity, but is growing up in an academic white American family, and has trouble fitting in with the various ethnic cliques at her school. We also find realistic portrayals of social class differences, as well as, of course, cultural differences. Oh, and I haven’t even mentioned yet that the main character’s name “Jane” is a tribute to the novel “Jane Eyre.” There is no explicit attempt to do a modern version of Bronte’s story, but throughout the novel there are various allusions to the earlier Jane’s story. For example, in Korea Jane finds a photo of her father and herself as a baby, with the notation “Currer Bell and his daughter Jane.” (Readers may remember that “Currer Bell” was Charlotte Bronte’s writing pseudonym.) There is the lover who is at first cold with Jane and then later is intensely in love with her (Rochester, anyone?). There is Jane’s flight to Korea when it seems the love affair cannot ethically continue (like Jane Eyre’s flight from Rochester when the existence of his mad wife is revealed.) And so on. The novel would stand on its own just fine without these Jane Eyre references, but the references provide an extra layer of recognition and enjoyment.

"Rules for Saying Goodbye," by Katherine Taylor

A common genre among novels I am attracted to and read is that of the young middle- or upper-middle-class woman starting out, generally just post-college, living in New York City (usually Manhattan, occasionally Brooklyn but in the latter case working in Manhattan) (usually having moved from elsewhere in the U.S.), stumbling a bit, feeling some financial pressure (but somehow always managing, sometimes with fortuitous help from family members, including magical access to rent-controlled apartments in some cases), hoping for career success and for love, and also reaching for independence. There is usually a lot of going out in the evenings, a lot of drinking, and a lot of flings. There are also detailed, often romanticized descriptions of parts of Manhattan, as well as of various lovers’ and friends’ apartments (housing is a big issue and topic in New York). This set-up for a novel is usually interesting and enjoyable to read about, despite being well worn. The trick for the author, of course, is to somehow make this situation and this character feel fresh. Katherine Taylor, in her first novel, “Rules for Saying Goodbye” (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2007), does this well. Her main character, Kate, has moved from California, by way of school in New England and a side trip to Rome. Kate bartends so she can write her novel. She has an on-again-off-again relationship with Lucas, a journalist (hence the time in Rome, where he is on assignment). She, following the pattern for this type of novel (and for ambitious, educated young women who want to do something creative and/or important with their lives) goes out with her friends, drinks, has flirtations and flings, and spends a lot of time rehashing her adventures and woes with her friends. She feels pressure (mostly from within) to be a successful writer and (from within but also from her mother) to find the right partner/love interest. One of the most poignant and yet clever and entertaining parts of the book is the chapter titled “Rules for Saying Goodbye,” which consists of an actual list of eleven such “rules” for leaving a boyfriend. Rule One says, in part, “Do not leave until he has mentioned two ex-girlfriends in casual conversation.” Rule Two says “Leave if he starts writing songs about other people. These will be songs of loss and their details will have nothing to do with you. Shame on you for dating a musician. At your age.” And so on, up to Rule Eleven: “Call a taxi…Leave in tears, broken…Do not go back to retrieve things you have forgotten…Once you are gone, be gone for good.” Taylor has acknowledged in interviews that this novel is partly autobiographical. This author also has a new novel, her second, just out, which I am about to read, and will likely post about here soon.

Love the Authors, A Little Dissatisfied with Some of Their Books

I suddenly saw a pattern in four books I read very recently. What they have in common is: 1. They are all paperback books I picked up while browsing at my local Friends of the Library sale a few weeks ago. 2. In each case, I chose to buy the book because it was by a writer I very much admire and like. 3. I found them all perfectly fine, well written, but for some reason I didn’t look forward to reading them, and found them not quite satisfying. I am not sure why this latter is so. Are they all lesser examples of their authors’ work? In three of the four cases, they are earlier works of the authors; could that be the reason? Maybe it is just a coincidence, or maybe the issue is me, not the books (but why? how?). Whatever the reason, I don’t feel strongly enough -- positively or negatively -- about any of the books to post about them individually. I will simply list the books here, and say again that they are all just fine, but I just couldn’t get very excited about any of them. They are: 1. “After the War,” by Alice Adams (Washington Square, 2000); Kaaterskill Falls,” by Allegra Goodman (Delta, 1998); “As Max Saw It,” by Louis Begley (Fawcett Columbine, 1994); and “Our Fathers,” by Andrew O’Hagan (Harvest, 1999).

RIP James Salter, E. L. Doctorow, and Alan Cheuse

We have lost three important American writers in the past two months, and I want to note and mourn their passing. James Salter, novelist and short-story writer, died June 19th at the age of 90. He was the sort of "writer’s writer" who was respected but not vastly successful commercially; however, his last novel, “All That Is,” published when he was 87, received the most critical and popular attention of his works. (I posted on that novel here on 5/27/13.) E. L. Doctorow, the most famous of these three writers, was a novelist and essayist who died July 21st at age 84. His most famous novel was “Ragtime.” And Alan Cheuse, novelist, creative writing teacher (at the famous Squaw Valley Community of Writers, as well as at George Mason and other universities), and book reviewer, died just a few days ago, on July 31st, at the age of 75. Cheuse was perhaps best known as a longtime literary commentator/book reviewer on NPR. RIP, James Salter, E.L. Doctorow, and Alan Cheuse. Thank you for all your contributions to the world of literature; they are your legacy and will live long after you. Even many years from now, when perhaps you are not very often read or talked of (most literary reputations have time limits, alas), once in a while someone will browse in a library or bookstore (or online catalog) and serendipitously find and read and appreciate one of your books, and then look for more of them. Or a critic will “rediscover” your work, publish an article about it, and give new life to your books. And each time this happens, it will be a small but significant victory for literature.

"You'll Enjoy It When You Get There," by Elizabeth Taylor

You can tell that Elizabeth Taylor is a writer I treasure; she was one of the first authors I wrote about on this blog, back on 2/13/10, less than a month after I started the blog. Because of the famous name, I titled that post “Not THAT Elizabeth Taylor.” And just last month (6/27/15) I wrote about her novel “A View of the Harbor.” Now I want to strongly recommend a collection of her short stories taken from her five earlier collections, so in effect a “best stories” collection, selected and introduced by the great British writer Margaret Drabble. The book is titled “You’ll Enjoy It When You Get There” (New York Review Books, 2014). These stories were originally published between 1954 and 1995 (although the writer lived from 1912 to 1975, dying at age 63 – too young! – of cancer). Most of the stories have to do with women’s lives, and often focus on one or two events that reveal larger truths about those lives. There is often a mournful but accepting-of-the-inevitable tone in these closely observed stories. The details are vivid and pointed, and the reader feels that yes, things must have happened just this way, for better or for worse. There are many sad women, sad relationships (especially marriages), and perceptive glimpses into those incidents that appear to be ordinary but reveal the larger lives stretching before and after those moments. Many of the stories take place indoors, and the author is excellent at describing these various interiors of various houses, flats, and rooms. Taylor is especially good at depicting disappointment. But not all is sadness; there are many moments of human connection, and of children learning and thriving despite difficult circumstances. I’d like to thank the publisher, New York Review Books, for putting together this collection and thus bringing Elizabeth Taylor’s work back to our attention (in the case of those who already knew of her) and newly to the attention of a younger generation; NYRB has published dozens, perhaps hundreds, or NYRB “Classics,” a wonderful way of preserving these works and extending their readership into the future.

"Not My Father's Son," by Alan Cumming

I happened to have a few minutes to browse in the Diesel Bookstore in Marin County, and on a whim, I picked up actor Alan Cumming’s memoir, “Not My Father’s Son” (HarperCollins, 2014). In chapters alternating between his past and present, Cumming tells of his difficult childhood with a cruel, abusive father, and of his recent stint preparing for and participating in the television show “Who Do You Think You Are?” The show involves extensive investigation of a famous person’s geneology and history, and often comes up with facts that surprise the person as well as TV viewers. So this memoir is partly structured around two mysteries involving Cumming’s father and his maternal grandfather. This structure works well to keep readers’ interest, and Cumming’s writing is personal and revealing; besides writing about the main topics, he includes some discussion of his relationship with his husband, his education, his work, and other topics. He also writes beautifully about the Scottish settings where he grew up (another aspect of interest for me, with my own Scottish ancestry and my trip there two months ago). But the abuse and the mysterious family history are mostly front and center, and we readers feel sympathy, anxiety, and suspense all at once. I don’t often read show business celebrity memoirs, but this one is compelling and well written, and focuses much less on the theater/movie business than on the personal side of this famed and excellent actor’s life. Readers cannot help but feel pain and sympathy for Cumming’s terrible childhood, but also admiration and gladness for his surviving and thriving despite that childhood. This book also includes a generous selection of photos. Oh, and by the way, the book was blurbed by Andrew O’Hagan (also from Scotland), about whose work I posted here on 7/17/15; I enjoy finding these interconnections among the books I read.