"Letters Never Sent," by Ruth E. Van Reken

Some of you may know that I was and am a “missionary kid” (MK), the child of missionary parents; I grew up in India. I say “am” because “once an MK, always an MK.” So I am always interested in the stories of other MKs. They usually tell of the adventures they had, and of the big moves their families made between their home countries and the countries where their parents worked. Most MKs write or speak positively about all this, but most also acknowledge that at times it was difficult and lonely. I recently re-read one such story by Ruth E. Van Reken. Written in the form of letters that express the author’s feelings about her experiences as she looks back on them, this book is titled “Letters Never Sent: One Woman’s Journey from Hurt to Wholeness” (“Letters,” 1988). This volume is certainly compelling, especially for those of us who have had similar experiences. But in major ways, it does not resonate with my experiences. The author’s main theme is that the long separations from her parents brought about by her education far away from them, first in boarding school and later living with relatives, left her with lifelong scars and feelings of deprivation and hurt. I understand that some MKs felt this, but my own stays at boarding school were a happy time in my life. I loved my parents and missed them, but did not feel sad and deprived. An important point in the book is that each child is different, and is affected differently by such experiences as separations from parents, and thus that parents and schools should be aware of these differences and act accordingly. Fortunately, Van Reken was eventually able to heal from her childhood experiences.

"Faith," by Jennifer Haigh

I am finding it very difficult to write about the novel “Faith” (Harper, 2011), by Jennifer Haigh (author of “Mrs. Kimble,” which I liked), because of the enormity and horror of its topic: child molestation by priests. To be more specific, Haigh writes about the accusation of the main character, Art, of child molestation; we don’t find out whether the accusation is justified until near the end of the novel. The novel’s narrator is Sheila, Art’s sister, and she writes about the difficult family history, the pain the accusation costs the family, the complex personalities involved, and the complicated web of people and relationships and events surrounding them. It seems it would be hard to write about all this without seeming to exploit this explosive topic, but Haigh writes sensitively and thoughtfully. Of course I can’t presume to know how reading this novel would feel to someone who had a personal connection to the topic. I feel I can’t write any more without revealing too much of the twists and turns and complications of the story -- and there are some surprises -- so I will stop here.

"Level Up," by Gene Luen Yang

I don’t usually read graphic novels, but there have been a few I really enjoyed, such as Posy Simmonds’ “Gemma Bovery” and “Tamara Drewe,” modern takeoffs on classic novels. Another that I enjoyed was Gene Luen Yang’s “American Born Chinese,” which aptly captured at least one character’s view of being part of this particular demographic. I have just read Yang’s new graphic novel, “Level Up” (First Second, 2011), with art by Thien Pham. The main character, Dennis Ouyang, feels constrained by his dead father’s dream for him to become a gastroenterologist (ironic in that Dennis gets sick to the stomach easily), when all he really wants to do is play video games. He fell in love with Pac-Man and Super Mario Brothers when he was a young kid, and ever after felt the tension between what he “should” be doing and what he loved doing. The story of this tension is the focus of the book. It is an evocative portrayal of the burden placed on young people -- Asian or not -- who feel it is their duty to fulfill their parents’ wishes even when those wishes are very contrary to the young people’s own dreams. To Yang's credit, he makes both sides -- father and son -- sympathetic. Using the form of the graphic novel to portray this tension is very effective, with the absorbing, somewhat wistful drawings reinforcing the spare-but-powerful writing. It is easy to read this book quickly, but I urge readers to slow down to appreciate the details of the drawings, and the way the language and the art reinforce each other.

Sometimes I Just Don't Want to Read It

Sometimes I read a review of a book and I feel “I SHOULD read that.” It is significant, and/or it is by a great writer, and/or everyone will be talking about it. But it just doesn’t sound like a book I would like. Maybe the subject matter doesn’t interest me, or the book is too “experimental” for my taste, or it sounds like it will be extremely painful to read. Usually I try to read more reviews of the book, to learn more about it, in case the first reviewer just emphasized an aspect I tend not to like, or framed the book in a way that didn’t appeal to me. Sometimes I will flip through the book at the library or at a bookstore, to get a better sense of it. Sometimes these actions make a difference and I DO decide to read the book. More often, I don’t. I may feel a slight sense of pressure (guilt is too strong a word) about not reading it, and/or I may feel that I am being lazy or narrow or picky by avoiding a well-reviewed and well-regarded book that happens not to immediately appeal to me. But the older I get, the easier it is to trust my sense of whether a book is one I will like or not. After all, I -- like all readers -- have only so much time to read, and so I have to choose what I read with some awareness of that limitation.

In Praise of (and Defense of) Short Stories

A reviewer in today's San Francisco Chronicle Book Review, Wayne Harrison, begins a sentence as follows: "In a literary landscape where short-story collections have been hammered smooth of risk and possibility in MFA workshops..." (p. F4). I agree that this assessment might be true in some cases, but it is a vast generalization (probably made to be provocative, and to highlight the book under review in contrast, but still...) that does not acknowledge the work of many wonderful short story writers writing today. Here I list (and I have written about many of these on this blog) some of these gifted writers of original, creative, surprising, enlightening, enjoyable, impressive stories (in no particular order, and in a list that does not claim to be complete):

William Trevor
Alice Munro
Edith Pearlman
Deborah Eisenberg
Julian Barnes
Colm Toibin
Jhumpa Lahiri
Margaret Drabble
Ann Beattie
Margaret Atwood
David Leavitt
Lori Ostlund
Valerie Trueblood
Carolyn Cooke
Ann Packer
Deborah Willis
Robin Black

I know that many readers of fiction do not particularly enjoy short stories, preferring the longer novel, and I respect that opinion. However, as much as I too love the novel form, I believe that such readers are missing out on some absolutely terrific fiction found in short story collections by authors such as those I have listed above.

Guest Post: On the Closing of Borders Books

When I heard about Borders Books closing, I felt sad. Although I am an advocate for independent bookstores, the closing of any bookstores, and especially so many throughout the country, is a huge loss. There is also the Ann Arbor connection; as a former resident of the Ann Arbor area, I feel a sentimental stake in Borders. But I haven't lived in Michigan for many years, so I asked my friend Mary, who has lived in Ann Arbor most of her adult life, to write a guest post about the closing of Borders, and she kindly agreed. (Mary is the one who suggested my starting this blog back in January 2010, and who generously contributed other guest posts on 3/7/11 and 4/15/11.) Her post is below.

Mary's guest post:

Borders is closing, and it makes me sad. It's true that for a long time it has not been the charming, stimulating, delightfully literary haven it was when I first shopped there. I moved to Ann Arbor in 1973, and at that time there was a tiny Borders, overflowing with used books, with artsy posters covering the walls. A couple of years later it was moved across State Street, into a big rambling space, with lots of dark wood shelves, nooks and crannies, and a steep staircase leading to a mezzanine filled with many more books, as well as some of those artsy posters. Here and there were built-in wooden benches -- the first time I had encountered seating in a bookstore.

Tom Borders, one of two brothers who started the store, created a computerized inventory system which was innovative at the time. Ironic, considering the computer was eventually the downfall of the chain now called Borders. But that is now. Then was a different story.

Borders, then, was a place to go and browse, and read, and buy, but also to learn things. Its inventory was not stocked with a hundred copies of every best seller, but rather with seemingly every book on every subject imaginable. And if you couldn't find what you wanted, there was always someone there who would help you, and probably teach you something too. There were employees who were experts in each subject area, but every employee was well-read and well-trained. Apparently there was a daunting test that prospective employees had to pass, covering all manner of literary topics. Many of the employees had advanced degrees, and the longtime manager there was so knowledgeable that he was revered in a town full of scholars.

I stopped by one of Borders' "superstores" this evening (10% off everything -- the liquidation has begun). It is a lot different than the original store. There are toys, CDs, DVDs, and a huge section of cards and novelty items. There are no experts waiting to teach me things. The Borders I remember has been gone for a long time. But as I browsed the store one last time, I felt sad to lose even this version. I miss my hometown bookstore.

"The John Cheever Audio Collection"

Planning for a recent car trip, I was browsing in my beautiful local library for a book-on-CD to accompany me on the trip. “The John Cheever Audio Collection” (Recorded Books, 2003) caught my eye. I pondered. Did I want to spend six and a half hours in Cheeverland? I have read many of Cheever’s stories, and liked them. I looked forward to spending those 6.5 hours in New York and its upscale commuter suburbs, the locales that Cheever wrote so precisely and evocatively -- and sometimes so painfully and depressingly -- about. His observations are always so razor sharp, so spot-on. His characters are both predictable and unexpected. Oh, and alcohol is a constant presence, reminding us of what a big part alcohol played in the affluent suburbs of the 1950s and 1960s, for both social and self-medicating purposes, and evoking a whole way of life during that time period. All in all, I thought, yes, I would like to spend that time with the Cheever stories. So I did. And I am glad I did. The selections include some of Cheever’s classic, best-known stories, such as “The Enormous Radio,” “The Five-Forty-Eight,” “O City of Broken Dreams,” and probably most famous of all, “The Swimmer.” Greatly enhancing the pleasure of listening to these stories is the fact that they are read by Meryl Streep, Edward Herrmann, Blythe Danner, George Plimpton, Peter Gallagher, and the author himself. What a treat to listen to these fine readers read these wonderful stories!