"First Love" and "My Phantoms," by Gwendoline Riley

I only very recently heard of the English writer Gwendoline Riley, probably partly because it seems that only her newest books are widely available in the United States. I just read her 2017 novel, “First Love” (New York Review Books) and her 2021 novel, “My Phantoms” (New York Review Books), and found these short (under 200 pages each) books to be rather bleak but compelling. The main characters of each, Neve of “First Love” and Bridget of “My Phantoms,” are very similar in some ways, with life circumstances perhaps somewhat similar to those of the author (based on the limited information I found about her). For Neve and Bridget, these include connections to Manchester, England; difficult childhoods with very difficult parents; enmeshed and fraught relationships between both of the two main characters as adults and their mothers; work as writers or academics. Each daughter struggles with a push-pull relationship with her mother: both enmeshed and fraught. The daughters avoid seeing their mothers much, and dread their meetings, but they feel responsible for them as well, and try to do their duty by them. In the case of “First Love,” the other major relationship portrayed is the extremely complicated and often terribly contentious relationship between Neve and her older husband Edwyn. Neve is almost always on tenterhooks with Edwyn, never knowing what will set him off. One of Riley’s strengths in this novel is her vivid (uncomfortably so) depictions of marital conversations, fights, and reconciliations. The last chapter of “First Love” is a masterpiece, albeit a painful one, describing a scene between Neve and Edwyn in which they both – but mostly Edwyn – use words as weapons, turn every remark or memory into something horrible, and cannot let the other one ever “win.” Riley is a genius at showing the particular cruelty that people who know each other well, and can use that knowledge as ammunition, can perpetrate on their partners. It is a scene that both rings true and devastates not only the characters but the reader. Both novels are depressing in their depictions of family, yet there is always a kernel of love, care, and responsibility as well, and conventions are often maintained, if barely and if with very little enthusiasm. So, yes, these books are bleak. The appeal to me, as always, is in learning from the way human relationships are rendered in these novels.

"The Poet's House," by Jean Thompson

Jean Thompson is an author whose work I have sometimes admired and enjoyed very much, and at other times felt disappointed with (see my posts of 5/24/11, 5/17/13, 8/12/16, and 12/21/18). Because I did like the last novel I read by her, “A Cloud in the Shape of a Girl,” (see my 12/21/18 post), and because the description and reviews of her newest novel intrigued me, I read “The Poet’s House” (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2022). I was not disappointed. The book has many elements that I enjoy in fiction, including characters who are writers; detailed, vivid descriptions of the world of poets and poetry (retreats, workshops, publishers, etc.); characters who are well-written; complex relationships among the various characters (writers or not); and a setting in Marin County, California, where I live. The main character is a young woman, Carla, currently a landscaper, who is a bit at sea about what is next in her life, and who has recently “discovered” the joys and attractions of poetry through meeting a leading poet named Viridiana, who takes her up as a kind of assistant and friend. Carla, and her life, are greatly influenced by Viridiana and by the other people in the world of writers whom Carla now meets and interacts with. There is plenty of plot moving the story along, and I enjoyed that, but the best parts of "The Poet's House" are the portrayals of the world of poets and the well-drawn, sometimes with notes of satire, characters who are both “types” (and fun to guess who they might be modeled on!) and complete originals.

"Frances and Bernard," by Carlene Bauer

A fictionalized version of the relationship between two famous writers? I am so there for a book like that! Actually the publicity for the novel “Frances and Bernard” (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2012), by Carlene Bauer, only claims that the book is “inspired by the lives of" Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell, a surprise to me. Like any good English major, I knew the work of each of these great authors to some extent, but did not know, or at least did not remember knowing, that they had a long, close friendship. This novel imagines that the relationship went further, into the realm of a romantic affair; however, everything I read to check on this says that in real life their relationship was almost entirely through letters. Notably, this novel is also written through letters, but the letters (between the two writers, and to and from their friends and editors) refer to many actual meetings between the two writers. So, although the story is based loosely on two brilliant and intense writers, the real pleasures of reading this novel are the explorations of the two fictional characters, Frances and Bernard, of their support of each other during difficult times, of their shared struggle with questions of religion and philosophy, and of that intangible, unclassifiable connection that sometimes happens between two people, irrespective of specifiable labels for their relationships. The writing is beautiful, and combines the pleasures of plot with those of character and of meaningful exploration of the complexities of life.

"A Blind Corner: Stories," by Caitlin Macy

The book-cover flap of “A Blind Corner: Stories” (Little, Brown, 2022), by Caitlin Macy, states that “this collection reclaims the absurdities and paradoxes of real life from the American fantasy of ‘niceness.’” Yes, it does. Words that I jotted down while reading this book included “biting,” “mordant,” and “caustic.” I also noted that I frequently winced while reading the book. Yes, I also wrote “observant.” And I noticed the collection’s interest in, and apt comments on, social class, a topic in which I am very interested; I also noted and appreciated Macy’s treatment of social class in two of her earlier books, both novels: “Spoiled,” which I posted about here on 4/26/18, and “Mrs.,” which I wrote about here on 7/2/18. But the stories in “A Blind Corner” lean too heavily on the absurdities, the mordant, the caustic, for my taste. Does this mean I want my fiction to be smooth, and not to be challenging? No, not at all. But my ongoing feeling throughout the current book was not, as the book-cover flap also claims, that “Macy foregoes easy moralization in favor of uncomfortable truths that reveal the complexity of what it means to be human.” Rather it appeared to me that she sometimes takes the easy way out, using her stories to negate, to shock. To my eyes, there was something not quite real about some of the situations portrayed. This is not to say that Macy is not a compelling writer – she is. And I admit that my reaction to this book could very well be a matter of taste, or even of my own mood during these difficult times. I did admire some of the stories, as I did the two earlier books mentioned above. But I was not sorry to reach the end of “A Blind Corner.”

Two Family Sagas: "Family Trust," by Kathy Wang, and "Marrying the Ketchups," by Jennifer Close

Family sagas! Novels that are well-written and full of engaging characters, family history, drama, love, not-so-much love, complicated situations, changing relationships – all the good stuff! As readers of this blog know, these are among my favorite types of novels. I have just read two recent examples of this category: “Family Trust” (William Morrow, 2018), by Kathy Wang, and “Marrying the Ketchups” (Knopf, 2022), by Jennifer Close. The first is about a Chinese American family living in the San Francisco Bay Area, and centers around various family members concerned about who will inherit money from the dying family patriarch. The second is about an Irish-American family living in or near Chicago, whose lives are focused on the longtime family-owned restaurant where most of the family members work. One of the draws of these books is their portrayals of cultural issues/values/practices; these are not generally explicitly highlighted, but are suffused throughout the novels. At a couple of points in each book, there was what felt to me like a bit of stereotyping, but only a bit. What came across more, as I read these two books one after the other, was the complexity of family relationships, the love mixed with the hurt feelings, distrust, and fractures. Both families have issues with health, money, and disagreements among themselves. There is arguing, there is suspense, there is bad behavior and good behavior. But in both books, despite many difficulties among family members, the strength of these families, and of the idea and comfort of “family,” comes through, not in a sappy way but just as an underlying truth. I felt that I was in good hands with both of these excellent writers who created families and worlds I happily spent time with. I will look for other fiction by each of these fine novelists.

Some Books I Have Read Recently but Haven't Posted about Before

I have mentioned before that I don’t write here about all the books I read. As you know, I read a lot (and lately more than ever because of life circumstances), and I don’t necessarily want to write about each book. Sometimes the book just isn’t that interesting or that good, nor so surprisingly bad that its bad quality would make it notable enough to write about. Sometimes I read the book just for fun, in some cases a “guilty pleasure” (although I don’t actually feel guilty about anything I read!), such as books labeled as “beach reads,” and I don’t feel any need to write about it. Sometimes I really like the book, but don’t have a good “angle” from which to write about it. Sometimes, for whatever reason, I just don’t feel like writing about a particular book. Or I have just read so many books that the list backs up, and although more of them might be “blog-worthy,” I need to pick and choose. You get the idea. Today, just to illustrate the above, I am listing (without comment, and in no particular order) a few of the books that I have read in the last two months that I haven’t posted about here. “The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo,” by Taylor Jenkins Reid. “Assembly,” by Natasha Brown. “The Candid Life of Meena Dave,” by Namrata Patel. “Write My Name Across the Sky,” by Barbara O’Neal. “One Fine Day,” by Mollie Panter-Downes. “Write for Your Life,” by Anna Quindlen. “High Wages,” by Dorothy Whipple. “Meant to Be,” by Emily Giffen. “Yerba Buena,” by Nina La Cour. “Rainbow Rainbow,” by Lydia Conklin. “Manifesto: On Never Giving Up,” by Bernardine Evaristo. “The Wise Women,” by Gina Sorell. “The It Girl,” by Ruth Ware. “The Angel of Rome,” by Jess Walter. Note that this list includes literary novels and short story collections, memoir, writing advice, mystery, romance, and mixed-or-hard-to-label genres. Most are very recently published, but a few (e.g., “One Fine Day,” “High Wages”) were written many years ago. All were chosen with care, and enjoyed and/or admired and/or learned from, at least to some extent (otherwise I would probably have abandoned them without finishing them), and served a purpose or purposes for me.

"The Vanity Fair Diaries 1983-1992," by Tina Brown

I recently read and thoroughly enjoyed Tina Brown’s insightful (and juicy!) portrayal of the English royal family from the mid-20th century to now, titled “The Palace Papers: Inside the House of Windsor – the Truth and the Turmoil” (Crown, 2022). I am not writing about that book here, except to say that it is entirely engrossing, especially for those of us (yes, I admit it) who are fascinated by the royal family (perhaps this is my Canadian heritage showing? My maternal grandmother used to keep a scrapbook about the royal family), despite some reservations about this ancient and quite possibly outdated institution. But reading that book reminded me of Tina Brown’s ability to draw readers in to her stories with all their delicious details. (She also wrote a book about Princess Diana which I have not read, only because I have already read so much about her). I then decided to read Brown’s 2017 book, “The Vanity Fair Diaries 1983-1992” (Henry Holt). What a treat! The English-bred and Oxford-educated Brown was chosen as the (very young) editor of the then-recently resuscitated glamorous magazine, Vanity Fair, and recorded her experiences during those years, not only with editing the magazine, but with all the attendant experiences as she moved from London to New York, became heavily involved in the intellectual and social life of that city (as well as of Los Angeles/Hollywood), started a family, became famous, knew seemingly everyone else famous, and – as briefly described at the end of the book – then became the editor of The New Yorker. I loved reading about the various authors and editors Brown worked with, the politics of publishing in the Conde Nast world, the intrigues, the glamor, the hard work, and so much more. Also of interest are Brown's comparisons of life and work in England and in the United States, and her comments on what it was like to be a woman in a high-level position in the publishing world. The book is chockful of delicious (but generally not mean-spirited) gossip, with wonderful details. I have been a longtime reader of Vanity Fair, and I admire the very purposeful journalistic mix that Brown created of politics, literature, art, popular culture, fashion, glamor, and much more. (She called it the “high-low” mix for short.) The magazine had (and still often has) stunning covers, and photos by, most prominently, Annie Leibovitz, and other esteemed photographers such as Herb Ritts. I was completely absorbed by the book, and hurtled through all 419 pages of it, never bored for an instant.