"One Amazing Thing"

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you might be surprised to see that I am discussing this novel, as it was one of the books listed in my 3/5/10 post titled "On 'Perfectly Fine' Books" as not outstanding enough for me to highly recommend. However, my friend Mary asked that I consider writing about books I had recently read that I had mixed feelings about, explaining what I liked and didn't like about them. It was a good suggestion, so I will occasionally do that, starting today with "One Amazing thing" (Voice, 2010), a novel by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. I have read several of this author's novels, and generally enjoy them. The story in this one involves a diverse group of nine people trapped in the Indian consulate in an unnamed city (but seemingly San Francisco) by an earthquake. As they wait, hoping to be rescued, they decide that each person will tell a story about "one amazing thing" that has happened to her or him, along the lines of "Canterbury Tales," the book that one of the characters has been reading. The individual stories are compelling, even wrenching. And there are some intriguing and touching interactions among the characters. But the overall story is a bit pat, a bit too schematic, a bit too dependent on the artificial structure of the stitched-together stories. Some of the characters are shadowy and inadequately developed. The book is quite readable and will keep your attention, but finally, despite the gravity of the characters' situation, this novel seems to me rather lightweight and forgettable.

Diana Athill

A few days ago, I was very pleased to hear that Diana Athill's book "Somewhere Towards the End" (Granta, 2008) had just won the National Book Critics Circle Award for autobiography. Athill, who is English and a longtime literary editor, is now 92 years old. We are rarely given the gift of the viewpoint of someone of her years on what it is like to be aging, and more important, on what it is like to be alive and thriving at an advanced age. She said in an interview in the Guardian (1/5/09), "I think the fact that I'm in my 90s and still compos mentis, and able to write and have a nice time, is encouraging to people." I'm sure this is true; in addition, though, people read her work, and give her awards for it, because she is such a good writer. As her editor at Granta, Ian Jack, said, reading her is "like having someone speak into your ear, someone humane and self-amused and wise" (Guardian, 10/31/09). This book about her old age is her sixth memoir; the most well-known three were written in the author's 80s. In addition to "Somewhere Towards the End," they are "Stet: A Memoir" (Granta, 2000) about her long career as an editor, but also including much about her personal life, and "Yesterday Morning: A Very English Childhood" (Granta, 2002), whose title is self-explanatory. In all three memoirs (and these are the three that I have read; I plan to seek out the earlier ones as well), Athill is remarkably and straightforwardly candid, including about her love life and affairs. She is also quite modest about her talents, despite being a leading editor and then consultant with the publisher Andre Deutsch for over 40 years, and working with such esteemed writers as Simone de Beauvoir, V. S. Naipaul, Jean Rhys, Margaret Atwood, John Updike, Norman Mailer, and Philip Roth. Happily for us, Athill is still writing, and is now, at 92, achieving the greatest success and renown of her life thus far.

The Threepenny Review

The Threepenny Review is a wonderful quarterly publication on literature and the arts that is edited and published by Wendy Lesser in Berkeley. Besides insightful book reviews, it publishes essays on music, art, architecture, and all the arts; it also includes poetry, fiction, memoirs, and photographs. Two characteristics of the Threepenny Review always strike me, every single issue. First, there is a sense of abundance and generosity. Whole pages are devoted to poetry; photographs are plentiful and large, with enough space around them to allow us to truly appreciate them. Second, most of the writing has the piquancy of originality, sometimes quirkiness, often surprise. For example, the Fall 2009 issue includes "A Symposium on the Piano," in which various writers comment on the topic from various angles (the piano as furniture, the piano as art, the piano as it influenced Kandinsky and other artists, the question of how pianos should reproduce Baroque music, and a riff on various types of pianos by the jazz pianist Ethan Iverson). The same issue includes multiple photographs by Ben Shahn throughout its pages; as the photography note points out, Shahn - the painter, muralist, and printmaker - "is probably least known for his photographs" (p. 7), so this issue gives us a different view of an artist we have known in a different way. The Threepenny Review is informative, enjoyable, and even exciting to read; I feel a sense of discovery when I read each new issue. As a bonus, subscriptions are inexpensive.

Two Recent Essay Collections

In recent years I have found myself reading more essays than in the past. I highly recommend two recent collections of essays. The well-regarded novelist Michael Chabon's "Manhood for Amateurs: The Pleasures and Regrets of a Husband, Father, and Son" (Harper, 2009) includes engaging pieces on the author's own childhood, his marriage, his children, and much more. Although I was a bit wary of the book, just as I am of all the attention men often receive if they do parenting tasks that women have always done without special acclaim, I was won over by Chabon's honesty, modesty, originality, and beautiful writing. As an aside: Chabon and his wife, the writer Ayelet Waldman, are active in the literary community here in the San Francisco Bay Area (they live in Berkeley); for example, I saw Chabon interview the political cartoonist Garry Trudeau at the Herbst Theater in San Francisco, and I briefly met Waldman at an event at one of my favorite bookstores, Book Passage in Corte Madera.

The English writer Zadie Smith, also a well-known novelist (whose novels include "White Teeth" and "On Beauty," both wonderful) has a new book, "Changing My Mind: Occasional Essays" (Penguin, 2009) that includes essays on books, movies, politics, and family; it ends with a touching tribute to her father. The writing is thoughtful, personal, and often illuminating, and is written in a direct, almost conversational tone. The pieces I particularly like include those on E. M. Forster, George Eliot, and other writers who have influenced Smith's own writing. (Her novel "On Beauty" is loosely based on the structure and story of E. M. Forster's masterpiece, "Howards End," one of my all-time favorite novels.)

"The Uncommon Reader," by Alan Bennett

A small (120 pages), very witty and funny book that I have recently pressed on friends is Alan Bennett's "The Uncommon Reader" (Farrar,Straus, & Giroux, 2007). When I first read reviews of the book, and for some time after, I resisted reading it, as it sounded too gimmicky, too "cutesy." However, when I finally gave in and read it, I loved it. Its humorous, tongue in cheek premise is that the Queen of England suddenly -- through her unlikely accidental friendship with a lowly but well-read palace cook's assistant named Norman -- discovers the pleasures of reading. She becomes completely besotted with books, devouring classics, contemporary novels, memoirs, and more, to the surprise and sometimes barely stifled displeasure of some around her. She is unfazed by controversial themes, salty language, or risque illustrations, taking it all in imperturbable stride. The only thing that bothers her is that she didn't start reading sooner. Along the way, she airily or acerbically tosses off deadpan amusing comments about books. For example, on being asked by members of her public if she has read the Harry Potter books (she doesn't like fantasy), she "invariably said briskly 'One is saving that for a rainy day' and passed swiftly on" (p. 43). And while reading Henry James, she comments aloud, "Oh, do get on" (p. 49) (but doesn't stop reading!). This is a lovely book, a real treat for readers who love books about books, and an extra treat for those of us who love all things English.

Restaurant and Tour Guidebooks

One of my bookshelves is lined with small, thin, colorful books whose titles begin with "Zagat," "Michelin," "Frommer's," or "Lonely Planet." Although these are not the kinds of books we generally read cover to cover, they are extremely useful. I don't rely on any one of them completely, and always "cross-check" with other sources, but they are very valuable in providing ideas and information when we want to eat at restaurants, or when we are planning trips. I often annotate the pages of these books after a trip or a restaurant outing, so they become records and souvenirs for later. And there is another dimension to these books, beyond their practical uses: they provide us with material for daydreaming. Leafing through a guidebook, savoring the photographs of castles and cathedrals and museums and green hills, or deciphering the maps, I either remember former travels, or imagine and hope for future voyages. I make itineraries in my head; I picture myself in various settings. Or with the restaurant guides, I imagine going to charming Michelin-starred restaurants in little towns in France or Spain, or the latest fashionable eating places in bustling cities all over the world. What these little guidebooks have in common with all good books is that they open up our worlds, they let us live in realms where everything seems delightfully and deliciously possible.

Reader's Digest Condensed books

Readers of this blog may well be surprised to see the title above. I am guessing that you, like me, firmly believe that books should be read unabridged; abridging books seems unnatural, almost like mutilating them. But I have to admit that when I was a child and young teenager, I sometimes liked reading Reader's Digest Condensed books. What an odd medley of books (mostly novels) each volume contained! Each included about five books, five tastes of five different worlds. Opening up a new volume, one never knew what one might find. Reading these condensed versions allowed me to read many books I probably wouldn't have read otherwise, especially when we lived in India and didn't have easy access to libraries with books in English. Sometimes these volumes introduced me to new authors, and I would later seek out and read other (unabridged) novels by those authors. So, although I haven't read any of them for decades, I find I have affectionate memories of those solid, uniformly gold-trimmed volumes that looked so impressive sitting in a row on a bookshelf, each containing such surprising mixtures of reading experiences.