"My Year of Rest and Relaxation," by Otessa Moshfegh

Otessa Moshfegh’s recent novel, “My Year of Rest and Relaxation” (Penguin, 2018), has been getting critical praise and much attention, with words like “profound” being tossed about. For a while, I resisted reading it because the descriptions in the reviews sounded oppressive. But I finally decided to go ahead and see what all the fuss was about. I perhaps should have trusted my original instincts. I found the book – and the main character (who is also the narrator) – annoying and depressing. This young woman, who comes from a privileged but emotionally-starved family, decides to leave her lackluster art gallery job, along with most of her life and friends, and “hibernate” in her apartment in Manhattan, as a rather uncertainly-conceived effort to heal herself from her sadness, depression, alienation and anomie. Most conveniently, she has an inheritance that allows her to do so. She sets out to sleep as much as possible, and to help in this goal, she finds an eccentric and highly unprofessional psychiatrist who freely dispenses all sorts of pills to her in large quantities with multiple refills: anti-depressants, anti-anxiety pills, sleeping pills, and much more. Both of her parents -- by whom she was emotionally neglected -- have died, and she seems to have very few human connections. One connection is occasional get-togethers with her longtime on-again-off-again “boyfriend” (of sorts), although they see each other rarely and have an unhealthy relationship, to say the least; Trevor is a successful Wall Street type, about ten years older than she is, and truly uncaring and obnoxious. The other main connection is with her college friend, Reva, who is both intrusive and needy, but on some level caring, and whom our main character treats rather badly. Aside from these two people, she mainly only sees her psychiatrist, her doorman, the owners of the local bodega, and the pharmacists at the Rite-Aid where she fills her numerous prescriptions. I do feel sorry for this young woman, but it is also hard not to be put off by her sense of casual entitlement and the by the way she treats everyone in her life. Although the novel is fairly short, one which I would usually devour in a few hours, I found myself reading a little bit and then setting it aside for a few hours or days before returning to it. I did finish it, and I sort of “get” the book, but I was mostly annoyed by it.

"A Cloud in the Shape of a Girl," by Jean Thompson

“A Cloud in the Shape of a Girl” (Simon and Schuster, 2018) is exactly the kind of novel I am so often drawn to: a multigenerational family saga, focusing mainly on the lives of the women characters, written with attention to the details of relationships among the characters and of everyday life. In addition, its author is Jean Thompson, whose novels and short stories I have enjoyed and admired in the past. Actually, I admired her earlier fiction, but somewhat “went off” her work when I read her last two novels before this one (“The Humanity Project” and “She Poured out her Heart”); “A Cloud…” brought me back to the characteristics of Thompson’s fiction that made me like it so much. A major theme in the novel is that of what a woman’s life is meant to be. Evelyn, of the oldest generation, wanted to work and to “be someone” in the world, but became caught up in being a wife and mother, and was not able to achieve her dreams. Her daughter Laura, on the other hand, wanted most of all to be a wife and mother, even though her marriage turned out to be unhappy, and her children were disappointing in different ways. Her daughter Grace seemed to need to get away from her and the family; her son Michael became addicted to drugs and a series of rehab efforts were mostly ineffective. Despite all these issues, there was definitely love in this family, if not always well expressed. The story goes back and forth among various time periods, and we the readers gradually see connections that were not immediately evident. A sort of subtheme is the question of where “home” is, and what it means. The novel is set in a small Midwestern college town, which is both nurturing and, to some characters, stifling. Two family homes are also important “characters” in this novel. There is much to like in this novel, much to think about. Although it doesn’t feel terrifically original, what it does, it does well. And who am I to question Thompson’s expert and engaging use of this “formula,” when, as I said at the beginning of this post, this is one of the types of novels I most like and savor.

Reading to my Grandson

One of my very favorite memories of my daughter’s childhood is of reading to her. I loved to buy her books (in independent bookstores, of course!) and take books from the library for her. We would go to library storytimes, or simply to browse in bookstores. But best of all were the cozy times of reading to her. And now my daughter has a son who is almost a year old, and I have started reading to him occasionally. He doesn’t quite “get” the idea of reading yet, of course, and his immediate interest is to put the book in his mouth and chew on the corners (thank goodness for board books!). I have a couple of techniques for the situation: one is to read to him while he is in his crib, so he can’t grab the book, and another is to give him one book to chew while I read from another. I show him the pictures, and read exaggeratedly, almost singing sometimes, and he seems to like that. I can’t wait for him to understand more language and to understand the idea of books and reading, but in the meantime I am having fun helping with the process of acquainting him with books and reading. My daughter and her husband of course read to him, but my daughter encourages my reading to him as well. (She knows how much I love it.) I have saved a few of her childhood books (I long ago gave most of them away to family, friends, and her former preschool, but kept a few favorites) and it is fun, and nostalgic, to bring those out to read to her little boy now. And, as you can imagine, I am now browsing and buying in the children’s sections of my favorite bookstores again, after all these years. What a joy it is to read to this new adored child in my life, and to contemplate more reading to and with him in the next few years!

"His Favorites," by Kate Walbert

This book made me sick. Almost literally. I picked up “His Favorites” (Scribner, 2018) because it is by the wonderful Kate Walbert, author of, among other novels, the beautifully written and compelling “A Short History of Women” (see my post of 6/13/12) and the equally terrific “The Gardens of Kyoto” (see my post of 7/13/13). “His Favorites” too is well written, but the subject matter just made acid rise in my throat. In order to explain, I need to write what is a spoiler, so if anyone is about to read the book, perhaps you don’t want to read further. There is a sad accident at the beginning of the book, and the reader thinks that is the main focus. But after the accident, the teenaged girl who caused it goes away to an elite boarding school, and then the real story becomes evident, and the meaning of the title becomes evident as well. It is the classic story of a charming male in his thirties who first grooms and then seduces a teenaged girl (not the first young student he has seduced and abused). In this case, he is a teacher – the kind of teacher who is good-looking, intriguing, attentive, poetic, and with whom many of the girls are a little in love, which he encourages. As the main story became clear to me, I almost stopped reading. This kind of story is so much in the news these days (but has existed forever) and is, as I said in my first sentence, sickening. I applaud the author for writing a convincing version of this all-too-common story, and I know we need to know more about the epidemic of sexual abuse, read about it, talk about it, do something about it. In this MeToo moment, there is a little bit of hope for change. But there are also so many related matters in the news and about our national political leaders (see the recent Kavanaugh-for-Supreme-Court-justice hearings in the United States, for a major example) that one feels discouraged all over again. Because I trusted the author, I continued reading. I respect the author and the book, but I hated reading it.

"We All Love the Beautiful Girls," by Joanne Proulx

I mentioned (11/11/18) partly choosing to read the novel “A Hundred Small Lessons” because it was set in Brisbane, Australia, a city that I visited a few years ago. Similarly, I picked up Joanne Proulx’s novel “We All Love the Beautiful Girls” (Grand Central, 2017) partly because the story takes place in Ottawa, Canada, which I visited a few months ago for (despite my Canadian heritage) the first time. I soon became caught up in this story of pain, anger, revenge, disconnection, as well as love, connection, reconnection, and a modicum of redemption. At the beginning of the story (very early, so the following are not spoilers), the Slate family suffers two terrible losses. One is financial: Michael discovers that his business partner and close friend Peter, whom he has always trusted absolutely, has stolen his share of the business, and therefore his and Mia’s life savings. Then, even worse, their teenaged son Finn passes out in the snow after too much (uncharacteristic) indulgence in alcohol and drugs at his friend Eli’s house; he lives, but suffers physical health consequences. The Slate family is closely entwined with two families – Peter’s and Eli’s – and feels doubly betrayed by these families, with an exception for one member of Peter’s family: his daughter Frankie. Each of the family members – Michael, Mia, and Finn – responds to these twin catastrophes in different ways, some of them far from healthy. There is anger, there is vandalism, there is acting out – all understandable, but verging on dangerous, and none of it promotes healing. What does help, ultimately, is the surviving connections among some family members, notably between Finn and Frankie (Peter’s daughter) and between Mia and Helen (Peter’s wife). Despite all the painful events and feelings, the story keeps the reader engaged and, despite everything, a little bit hopeful. The hope is not a sentimental, kumbaya type, but rather a tentative, hard-earned version. Still, that is something.

Libraries!

There seems to have been a spate of books and articles about libraries lately. As readers of this blog know, I am a great admirer and lover of libraries (as you very probably are as well), so I am always happy to see tributes to libraries, information about libraries, pictures of libraries, and basically anything related to libraries. A book which is getting a lot of attention right now is Susan Orlean’s “The Library Book.” I haven’t read it yet, but I have read several reviews, and it is on my list to read. Also, the New York Times Book Review recently (10/21/18) had a two-page spread titled “In Praise of Libraries: More Than a Room Full of Books,” in which the editors asked several authors to write about a childhood library or other favorite library. The authors include Barbara Kingsolver, Curtis Sittenfeld, Amy Tan, and several others. Every one of them speaks with love and reverence of favorite libraries. The titles to their individual short pieces include “My Temple,” “If There’s a Heaven, It’s a Library,” and “Free Meant Freedom.” In several instances, one feels the authors believe that libraries saved their lives, and helped them become writers. I of course found this collection of short encomia to libraries very reasonable, and a great joy to read. A few days ago a friend posted on Facebook a photo of the gorgeous and historic British Museum Reading Room, and later I saw, also on Facebook, a photo of the great reading room of the University of Washington Library. Within a couple of days, there were all these – and more -- instances of references to, writing about, and photos of libraries, and it reminded me, once again, what precious and important and essential places libraries are, and how meaningful various libraries have -- individually and collectively -- been to me personally. Special thanks to my university library and to my beautiful local library!

"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.