"Make It Stay," by Joan Frank

Joan Frank’s brief new novel, “Make It Stay” (Permanent Press, 2012) is a meditation on friendship, marriage, what changes and what doesn’t, aging, and mortality. The main characters are two couples portrayed over a period of decades: the narrator, named Rae, her Scottish husband Neil, Neil’s best friend Mike, and Mike’s wife Tilda. They live in an idyllic small town in Northern California, where Mike -- an outsized (physically and socially) character -- befriends Neil (along with everyone else around). Neil is grateful to Mike for “adopting” him when he first moved to the area. Rae likes Mike but is a little cautious around him, and also has to be careful not to criticize him to Neil. Tilda is a somewhat unreadable and odd character; she and Mike don’t seem to fit together, and she and Rae do not get along well, although they preserve an amicable surface with each other for the sake of their husbands. The story ends in loss and sadness, yet the surviving characters have learned to treasure the life they have and its reassuring pleasures and joys. There is a bit of mystery about some of the characters and events, but the main themes of the novel are the vagaries of friendship and marriage, and -- as reviewer Elizabeth Benedict wrote -- “the frightening fragility of life.” Nothing can, in the long run, "make it stay" the same; life marches on. The author is particularly good at portraying the ups and downs of marriage, and the wonderful comfort that a longtime marriage can provide, if one is fortunate. Although Rae married late, and initially felt the marriage was possibly a mistake, she grew into it. “Against ridiculous odds we became a thing: part him, part me. All I know is it had to do with time” (p. 12). As someone married a long time myself, this resonates with me. As an aside, I enjoyed -- in this novel as in Frank’s earlier fiction (see my posts of 7/6/10 and 7/11/10) -- the Northern California setting; although she creates a fictitious town, it is redolent of areas and towns north of San Francisco that I have visited.

"Carry the One," by Carol Anshaw

“Carry the One” (Simon & Schuster, 2012), a novel by Carol Anshaw, is a sad but engrossing story of a group of young people who in 1983 were involved in a car accident that killed a young girl. For the rest of their lives, these (mostly related) characters remember and mourn the accident, and respond to it in different ways in their life choices and activities. Olivia, the driver, who was high at the time of the accident, chooses to go to prison; she doesn’t fight the case. Her boyfriend Nick, a gifted astronomer, loses himself in drugs and drink. His sister Alice, a talented painter, keeps painting the young girl at various stages of her life, as she imagines them. Their sister Carmen is an activist, fighting for every liberal cause, at the risk of her own safety. The way the characters are affected by, and deal with the aftermath of, the accident is one theme; the way their lives interweave over the years is another. The three siblings are united by their knowledge of their parents’ shortcomings, and by their fierce loyalty to each other. For example, Alice and Carmen, despite knowing how hopeless their efforts are, keep rescuing their brother Nick over and over again from the consequences of his horrific drug and alcohol binges. For most of the characters, there is some partial redemption by the end of the story, albeit redemption hard-earned over many years. And despite its sad premises, there is much else to savor in the novel: well-drawn characters, romance, love of family, art, travel, suspense, the ups and downs of the characters' lives, resilience on the part of some and not on the part of others, and more. For readers who look for believable characters and their relationships, this book will satisfy. The novel is also interesting in its evocation of American history and culture over the past thirty or so years.

Why Did I Bring "Mudwoman" Home from the Library?

I saw a review of Joyce Carol Oates' new novel, "Mudwoman," thought it looked intriguing, requested it from the library, was notified it was in and waiting for me, checked it out and took it home, and put it on my pile of "to read" books. When I took it off the pile to start reading it, I suddenly wondered WHY I had brought it home. Although I admire Oates, I pretty much stopped reading her many years ago, with very occasional exceptions. In general, her work is too dark and too sensational for my taste. Yet each time a new novel comes out, I wonder if this time I will enjoy it, and shouldn't miss it. So, as if enacting a ritual, I slmost always read the review and track down the book. Then I flip through it and decide that no, in fact, once again, I am NOT going to read it. And once again, I take the book back to the library unread. And so it is with "Mudwoman." Yes, I am drawn in by the premise of a woman Ivy League college president with a lurid childhood lurking in the background, threatening to overtake her and change her life again. The prominent woman, the secret lover, the sensational back story...all call out to me, but when it comes to it, I just don't want to actually read the novel. So, yes, once again, the Oates novel is sitting on my "to return to the library unread" pile.

As a coda to the above: It may seem strange that I occasionally write here about books that I DON'T read. But I believe that such books are part of one's reading life: the "maybe-I-will, but, then again, after all, I guess I won't" books.

"Life on Moors"

My friend B. brought to my attention a recent (3/9/12) New York Times Magazine article by Daphne Merkin titled "Life on Moors: The Ghostly Allure of Bronte Country Beckons a Writer Back." Merkin recently visited the area in Yorkshire that is "the obdurate, timeless landscape that bred the celebrated Bronte sisters and fertilized their singular literary imaginations." She writes about their tiny village of Haworth, in the "remote, windswept setting where they [the Brontes] felt most at home." She remembers being drawn as a young woman to the Brontes' characters and to their writing "so powerfully about female aspirations and subversive love." She finds that although there are some tourists there, the village is remarkably unchanged, and -- according to a local bookstore owner -- that the village is full of eccentrics. Merkin writes that she is "struck by the overwhelming sense of solitariness that this landscape invokes -- and also by its eerie allure." Coincidentally, my colleague/friend A., who teaches at a university in England, posted today on Facebook that he has finally read Emily Bronte's "Wuthering Heights," and found it, although "beautifully written," "such a depressing story of human depravity." His post reminded me of how my own feelings regarding "Wuthering Heights" had changed over the years. When I was young, I found it dramatic, romantic, and brooding; as I noted here on 5/4/10, when I tried to re-read it a few years back, I found it so dark and crazily intense that I couldn't continue reading. I do, on the other hand, love Charlotte Bronte's novels, especially "Jane Eyre" and "Villette," and have re-read each of them several times with great pleasure.

Back from Conferences

I just got back from two great back-to-back academic conferences, one in Boston and one in Philadelphia. I learned a lot, saw a lot of colleagues and friends, and had a wonderful time. But this is why I haven't posted for several days. I not only didn't post but also barely read anything, as I was busy (in a good way!) from morning to late evening. This follows my usual experience at conferences: I read far less than usual when I am there. The only exception is reading on the plane. This time I caught up with a stack of magazines on the long flight there, and read stories by Edith Wharton on the way back. I will post on the Wharton collection when I finish it, but I can say now that it was good company on the airplane!

Books Keep Moving Around

Books keep moving around in my life. They come in to my house from the library, they return to the library. I buy some, then either give them to friends or the library for the library sale, only keeping a few. I move books from home to my office and back. I buy books for others, bring them home, then give them to family and friends. I lend books to friends. Recently when a colleague/friend whose office was across from mine retired, he put piles of books out for others to take if they wanted; I couldn’t resist taking a few, although I don’t have much more space in my office for more books. Other times I have been the one putting books out for others to take. When I have textbooks I no longer need, or don’t think I will use, I put them in our department resource room. Although I certainly have kept some books for a long time, and treasure having them in my home or office, I also feel happy when I return books to the library or to a friend, or pass books on to my mom or daughter or to the library or to a friend. I feel good about the idea of books circulating among many, rather than always retiring quietly to one person’s bookshelves.

"Unpacking My Library: Writers and Their Books"

Are you constantly curious about what other people are reading? When you go to people’s houses or offices, do you surreptitiously run your eyes over the books on their bookshelves? “Unpacking My Library: Writers and Their Books” (Yale, 2011), edited by Harvard English Professor Leah Price, offers a rare opportunity to exercise this curiosity. First, it is a lovely, horizontally rectangular hardback book, with thick, sturdy, coated pages, inviting you in. Second, it is full of gorgeous photos of writers’ bookshelves throughout their houses. The writers are (including three couples who share chapters) Alison Bechdel; Stephen Carter; Junot Diaz; Rebecca Goldstein and Stephen Pinker; Lev Grossman and Sophie Gee; Jonathan Lethem; Claire Messud and James Wood; Philip Pullman; Gary Shteyngart; and Edmund White. Each writer’s section starts with an overview photo of the shelves in her/his/their rooms. This is followed by several pages of up-close photos of shelves, close enough to easily read the titles and see the condition of the books: some old and grand, some in sets, some dog-eared and falling-apart paperbacks, some interspersed with other objects, some perfectly packed in, some crammed in every which way. Also in each writer’s chapter is a brief interview with the editor, on such questions as when the writers started acquiring books, whether they keep everything or regularly pass books on, what kind of shelves they use and why, their system of organizing their books, and where else in the house they have books (kitchen, bedroom, bathroom?). One interesting question asked of the couples was whether they kept their books separate or “interfiled.” (The answer was generally combined, but with a clear awareness of who had brought each book into the relationship.) One more delight in each chapter is the list of the writer’s “Top Ten Books” on one page, and a photo of those ten books on the facing page. I thoroughly enjoyed perusing the various bookshelves. I was pleased to note that many of the writers chose among their Top Ten some of my most-loved books: for example, several chose one of Virginia Woolf’s novels; a couple chose George Eliot’s “Middlemarch”; a couple more chose one or more of Jane Austen’s novels; and one chose an Alice Munro short story collection. This book is a delight. What an abundance of information, photos, and the sheer joy of books!