"A Hundred Small Lessons," by Ashley Hay

To be honest, when reading a review of Ashley Hay's novel “A Hundred Small Lessons” (Atria, 2017), the thing that initially caught my attention was that it takes place in Brisbane, Australia. I went to Brisbane for a conference in 2014, and found it quite enchanting, with its beautiful river running through it, and its ferries and boats traversing and traveling the river. I still remember a lovely ride with my friend C. down the river on a ferry on a sparkling summer day. I don’t think I have read another novel set in Brisbane. But I was also intrigued by the novel’s story of two women who lived in the same house at different times. Lucy Kiss and her husband and baby move into a house that was recently vacated by Elsie, who is widowed, has become old and forgetful, and has moved into a nearby nursing home. Although they never meet, each is aware of the other, even seeing glimpses of the other, and each feels connected to the other. Certain secrets in the house connect the two. In fact, the house itself becomes a character, with its mysterious sounds, an attic with boxes of photographs, and more. I don’t mean these are supernatural or anything that cannot be explained, but the house has a feeling, an atmosphere, infused with the lives of its occupants past and present. The larger theme of the novel is that we all have, or can imagine having, other versions of our life that we could have lived. For women, often these possible versions have to do with choosing between, or trying to balance, work and adventure, on the one hand, and child-raising and domesticity, on the other. Elsie, for example, was content to be a stay-at-home wife and mother, whereas her daughter Elaine felt trapped when she followed in her mother’s path. Lucy feels torn as well. Lucy also imagines that there are other Lucys, other versions of herself, out there in the world or even nearby. There are impressions of spirits, of ghosts. There are intersections among lives, including when a former boyfriend of Lucy’s shows up and her husband becomes uneasy about the visit, because it reminds him that Lucy could have chosen another life. I like the layers of this novel, the connections, the reminders of what could have been, and of what might still be.

"The Victorian and the Romantic," by Nell Stevens

“The Victorian and the Romantic” (Doubleday, 2018), by Nell Stevens, is my kind of book! Its subtitle is “A Memoir, a Love Story, and a Friendship across Time,” and it is all of that. The author is a writer writing about a famous writer (Elizabeth Gaskell) who writes a famous biography of another, even more famous, writer: Charlotte Bronte. Gaskell and Bronte are two of my favorite writers, so of course I was drawn to this book. But I was both interested and hesitant, as I have been disappointed by some (but definitely not all) other books of this genre – books about the connections between a current writer and a writer from the past. This one comes through grandly, with much information about Gaskell, focused on her brief time in Rome, where she met her great soulmate, the American writer Charles Eliot Norton, who was seventeen years younger than she was. Gaskell was respectably if not particularly happily married, with four daughters, and there was never an explicitly sexual or romantic relationship between her and Norton, but she did consider him her great love. About half of the book is about Gaskell, and the other half about Stevens; we are given alternating chapters about the two. Part of Stevens’ story is about her PhD research on Gaskell; the other part is about her tumultuous, on again/off again relationship with her own soulmate, Max, a fellow writer. She seems to be very candid about the relationship and about her strong feelings of love and also of grief when the two are apart, geographically or otherwise. However, in her acknowledgments section, she includes this line: “To the man who is like and not like Max in this story…”, leaving this reader wondering how much was true and how much not. I have read enough memoirs to know that there is an element of subjectivity and selectivity in most memoirs, and that often certain disguises occur to save the feelings of those being described, so this acknowledgment is not shocking, but I still found it somewhat disconcerting. Finally, though, the point of the book is not the exact literal truth of any event, either in Gaskell’s life (which is somewhat fictionalized by Stevens) or Stevens’ own life, but in the emotional truths, and in the connections between the two writers (three, if you count Bronte).

"There There," by Tommy Orange

I was initially drawn to the novel “There There” (Knopf, 2018), by Tommy Orange, because it takes place in Oakland (across the bay from San Francisco) and it is about urban Native Americans, whereas most fiction about Native Americans seems to take place on or near reservations. The title of course contains an allusion to Gertrude Stein's famous saying about there being "no there there" in Oakland, but I understand that the author had other references to songs and other sources as well when he chose the title. The novel consists of interlocking stories about various characters, and the stories are often sad and grim, although extraordinary love and support are also evident. The word “searing” is sometimes used -- perhaps overused -- about books, but in the case of this book, it is justified. All the history of the past, of the invasion of Europeans who took over the Native American lands and murdered so many people, and continued to squelch their culture and languages, separate them from their children, and deeply discriminate against them, is very much still felt in the present. The resulting poverty, violence, alcoholism, and disease are still prevalent and heartbreaking, and the author does not spare his readers in exposing these factors of Native American life. Yet pride survives, and the culture survives, although just barely in many cases. The twelve main characters – young and old, male and female, from Oakland or from elsewhere, work their way toward the culminating event of the Big Oakland Powwow. It is to be an exciting time, a validating time, a spiritual time, a cultural summit, a community-building and pride-building time. I won’t give away the ending, but it is much more complex than expected, and devastating. This author and novel have gotten a lot of attention, deservedly so, for so wrenchingly immersing the reader in a world in America's midst but not at all well known by those not in the community. This is a truly original and compelling novel.

Terry Gross on "This is Us"

This post is only tangentially related to books and reading, but you will see the connection. A few days ago, I was watching the excellent television show “This is Us.” One lead character, Kevin, is an actor, and after many ups and downs in his career, he stars in a hugely successful film. He is discussing his sudden fame with his family, and casually mentions that his publicist has scheduled an interview for him with some guy named Terry Gross. Another character gasps and fills Kevin in on who Terry Gross is: the famed interviewer on the famed NPR radio show, “Fresh Air.” And Terry is a woman, not a man. The next scene shows that interview, with the real Terry Gross. The heart of this blogger, a big fan of Fresh Air (see my posts of 3/2/10 and 2/18/16), pitter-pattered a bit to SEE on the screen the actual Terry Gross, after years of hearing her on the radio, and seeing only a photo or two during those years. Gross often interviews authors, among the other types of guests she has on the show; I like pretty much all her interviews, but of course author interviews are my favorites. So here she was on “This is Us,” with her so-familiar voice but her much less familiar physical appearance, looking more or less as I expected, but somehow still a surprise. Her interview of Kevin on the show was as insightful as always, as she drew him out in a thoughtful, uncannily right-on, but never too intrusive way. What a treat that episode of “This is Us” was, and all the more so for the unexpectedness of one of my heroines,Terry Gross, popping up in the middle of it!

"Calypso," by David Sedaris

Author and humorist David Sedaris’ hugely successful work is characterized by his wry tone, his seeming extreme candidness, the unexpected nature of some of the twists and turns in his writing, and – what I noticed more than ever when I read “Calypso” (Little, Brown, 2018) – his devotion to his family. His parents and his five siblings, as well as his partner Hugh, are all major characters in this new book, as well as in his other work. He writes touchingly (but always with a note of humor) about how much it means to him to have his family as the water he swims in, and of how they are always there for him, despite disagreements and even sometimes temporary estrangements. Sedaris and Hugh live in the countryside in England, but also have a beach house in North Carolina, where he is from, mainly so they can gather family members there whenever possible. All is not easy in Sedaris family land. The six siblings’ mother died young. Their father is now in his 90s and well loved despite his eccentricities and conservative politics (which are at odds with those of his children). The saddest family matter is the mental illness, lifelong problems, and recent suicide of their sister Tiffany. In a recent Fresh Air interview with Sedaris, a sentence that broke this reader’s heart was that Sedaris’ mother never really liked Tiffany. Sedaris himself cut off communication with her for many years, partly because he felt helpless, despite many efforts, to do anything about her sad and difficult situation. Other themes in this book of essay-like chapters include anything from the whimsical to the serious. Sedaris’ book tours, obsession with his Fitbit and the increasing number of miles in his daily walks (picking up trash along the way), love of animals, shopping, health, travel, fights with and quick reconciliations with Hugh, and the family love of stories are among the topics he covers, always with his signature blend of humor and truth. I have said before here that although I like Sedaris’ writing, a little of it goes a long way. Whether because he has gotten better as a writer, or because I have warmed up to his style and topics, I now appreciate, relate to, and enjoy his work more than before.

"Truth and Beauty," by Ann Patchett

Ann Patchett is a highly esteemed and beloved writer, author of such novels as “Bel Canto,” “Run,” and “State of Wonder,” all of which are wonderful. I also recommend her collection of essays, which doubles as a sort of memoir, “This is the Story of a Happy Marriage.” Patchett is also known for the valiant action of opening a bookstore in Nashville a few years ago, in response to -- and despite -- the decline of independent bookstores. I recently picked up an earlier Patchett book that I hadn’t read before, “Truth & Beauty” (HarperCollins, 2004). This book tells the story of the author’s close friendship with a fellow author, Lucy Grealy. Grealy is best known for her memoir, “Autobiography of a Face,” which tells of a life dominated by the ravages of a childhood cancer of the jaw, the many treatments and surgeries she had endured, and her fragile health, as well as her enormous appetite for living life to its fullest. Patchett and Grealy met in college, and later both studied at the famed Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Both authors were successful. But this book focuses on the intensity of the friendship between the two, through thick and thin, no matter what else was going on in their lives. They truly loved each other, and were completely loyal to each other. Patchett never congratulates herself on her loyalty to Grealy, despite her huge and tumultuous personality and her neediness; it is just a given. And because they were so close, she doesn’t just focus on what most other people focused on: Lucy’s deformed face. She writes about both women’s writing, their insecurities, their love affairs, their travels, their nights of drinking and dancing with friends and lovers, and more. Finally, though, both Patchett and we, the readers, have to face the reality of how difficult life was for Lucy Grealy, and of how her difficulties led to some self-destructive behavior. And then Patchett – and we – have to face Grealy’s death. This book is sometimes difficult to read, especially about the worst parts and periods of Lucy’s life, but is also beautifully written and inspiring. Ann Patchett has given us a shining but candid tribute to Grealy, and to the power of friendship.

"Clock Dance," by Anne Tyler

Anne Tyler is one of my favorite writers; I have read almost every novel she has written. I know that, although she is very popular, there are some readers who don’t quite “get” her appeal. Which is fine, of course. But to me she is gifted at portraying the details of daily life, and the accretion of those details over time, and then gradually drawing readers into the larger meanings of those everyday events. If you will forgive my quoting myself, this is what I posted here about one of her more recent novels: “Her novels always seem deceptively plain and straightforward, with little in the way of embellishments, experimentation, or flash. But they are rich with real life, down-to-earth life, the life that we readers can relate to. Her recent novels have tended to feature mature (middle-aged or older) characters), and as a 'mature' person myself, I appreciate this perspective.” The main character in Tyler’s most recent novel, “Clock Dance” (Knopf, 2018), is also an “older” (late middle-aged) female. We read about -- in snapshots, really -- certain influential times in Willa Drake’s life: her mother’s instability, her college years, her first marriage, her being a mother, and her second marriage. Sadly, although she keeps up her spirits and on the surface has a very traditional life, there are large gaps in that life. Both of her husbands are traditional, bossy, and insensitive. Her two sons are not particularly close to her, and as young adults don’t keep in close touch or tell her much about their lives; in fact, when she sees them, they are offhandedly dismissive of her ideas and choices. Suddenly, and this is where the current and main story begins, Willa gets a call about one son’s former girlfriend who, along with her young daughter, need taking care of after the girlfriend’s leg is wounded in a shooting. Willa somehow, uncharacteristically, decides to fly across the country from her retirement home in Arizona to Baltimore, and ends up becoming very fond of the young woman, her daughter, and the neighbors in this tightly knit working class neighborhood. Willa finds purpose in helping out, and finds herself enmeshed in the doings of the neighborhood, which is a true community, albeit with its own odd characters and behaviors. She allows herself to question her current life. I like the way Tyler portrays a woman who has always done the expected thing, and who has always been the caregiver, the one who gives time and energy to others, but now realizes that this way of being is not always good for herself. The scenes in which her husbands casually and with entitlement tell her what to do, scold her, expect her to listen and address their needs, but don’t do the same for her, are masterpieces. Neither of the husbands are bad or even unusually thoughtless men, and she loves them both, but she is never really seen or heard for herself. Her sons in turn treat her with careless affection and minimal attention, when it is convenient; they have unconsciously learned these male roles from their father and from society. (Of course I don’t want to generalize about all men, all husbands, or all sons! But the ones represented here certainly exist, more commonly than we would like to acknowledge.) Tyler never hits us over the head with her interpretations of what life is like for her characters, and for – in recent novels – “older” women, but we gradually absorb her subtle portrayals of what those women’s lives are like, and of the indignities that almost pass unnoticed, until they do become evident, at which time there is a sort of re-evaluation and reckoning.