"The Gardens of Kyoto," by Kate Walbert

When I wrote (6/13/12) about Kate Walbert’s 2009 novel “A Short History of Women,” I noted that despite the title, I was not initially drawn to the book, but once I read it, I liked it very much. I have just had essentially the same experience with her 2001 novel, “The Gardens of Kyoto” (Scribner). But once I started reading it, I liked it even more than the other novel. It is,in fact, a wonderful, very original novel. The main character, Ellen, looks back on her life forty years earlier, during and after the WWII years; because the narrative moves back and forth in time, it is (as clearly intended by the author) at first a bit difficult to keep track of the varying characters, plot lines, and perspectives. So there is a sense of mystery, even foreboding at times. The novel begins with the line “I had a cousin, Randall, killed on Iwo Jima.” Ellen and Randall had a very special relationship from childhood, being two very bright and nonconforming children and adolescents. That he died at age 17 is the tragedy of the book. But there are other tragedies, other deaths, and other terrible results of the war, not only for those who fought, but for those who loved them. The main characters are Ellen’s and Randall’s family, but there are other important characters, such as another soldier Ellen fell in love with after Randall’s death, one who is charming but damaged. There are also secrets about Randall’s family and parentage, which involve bringing in another character, Ruby, and her plot line. Various other topical issues arise, including domestic violence and slavery (Randall’s house had been a place for slaves on the underground railway to the north to stay). But these never feel didactic; they are organic parts of the story. The reason for the title, “The Gardens of Kyoto,” is too complicated to explain here, but suffice it to say that it is related to the war and to what is truly important in life, but has only a peripheral place in the novel's sites and plot lines. Ellen and Randall especially are compelling characters, and readers are drawn into their stories. Reading this novel provides an intense sense of being immersed in the drama of life. Most of all, it is beautifully written. I highly recommend this novel.

"The Suitors," by Cecile David-Weill

“The Suitors” (Other Press, 2012, originally published in French in 2009), by Cecile David-Weill, is so much fun! It is as light as a French meringue; it could practically float away. The reader needs to do nothing but sit back and enjoy it. This novel, translated from the French, is well written and delicious. It tells of two sisters who are dismayed that their parents plan to sell their beautiful summer house in the south of France. The sisters decide to invite various men to the house who may be candidates for a rich husband for one or the other of them, a husband who could then buy the house and preserve it in the family. But this flimsy, even half-hearted plot is merely an excuse for an extended paean to the house and to the very proper and very upper-class life and entertainment that the two daughters value and sentimentalize. The descriptions of the house, L’Agapanthe, and its surroundings and rituals are organized into chapters describing three consecutive weekends. For each weekend, there is a list of the characters (family, visitors, staff), the rooms where guests stay, the elaborate menus for each meal, the schedule for the weekend, and other relevant information. These beautifully ornate lists (just one feature of the aesthetically pleasing format and production of this book) are useful, but also serve to make concrete the extensive planning and traditions that accompany these weekends, invitations to which are most prized. As I said, this novel is mostly frou-frou; one doesn’t get the sense that the stakes are very high for anyone, and that makes the novel untaxing and enjoyable to read. The one serious note, one that I could relate to (on an entirely different scale!), was the attachment of the family to a summer home and all it symbolizes for them. There is something so family-oriented, so memory-making, about vacation places where it seems that all is right with the world. In my family’s case, the place was a humble summer cottage (probably a twentieth the size of L’Agapanthe!) on a beautiful lake in northern Michigan, one where the family gathered every summer in various combinations, and one where I went for a couple of weeks almost every summer even long after I moved to California, as did most of the family. My parents themselves had moved to California, but they kept the cottage for many years afterward. I loved that my daughter spent idyllic time there with her grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins, as well as the neighbors’ grandkids, every summer. Both kids and adults swam, went out on the boat, took excursions, ate the wonderful summer fruits and vegetables (and fudge!) of Northern Michigan, played, read, talked, lay in the sun, took day trips, and generally had a lovely time. I thank my parents for having this cottage and for welcoming us there every summer.

Barbara Pym's Centenary

This post is dedicated to my friend B., who loves Barbara Pym's novels as much as I do.... I have mentioned writer Barbara Pym two or three times in this blog, but not in any detail. I am prompted to do so now by a 6/23/13 essay by Laura Shapiro in the New York Times Book Review, titled “Pride and Perseverance,” on the occasion of the centenary of Pym’s birth. This wonderful British novelist first wrote “six modestly successful novels” but in 1963, her publisher declined to publish more. Perhaps she seemed anachronistic in the 1960s; as Shapiro puts it so well: “Pym specialized in a minor-key world far from fiction’s cutting edge. Her characters tend to be unmarried women in sensible shoes, fond of musing over Anglican hymns and scraps of English poetry. They help out at the church jumble sale, offer cups of Ovaltine at moments of late-night crisis….” Pym herself, as well as her loyal readers, was shocked by this turn of events, and she was a discouraged writer for many years. It was only 1977 Times Literary Supplement statements by famed British writers Philip Larkin and Lord David Cecil that Pym was the most underrated author that brought her back to the spotlight. Then her recent books were published, her older books were reprinted, and she was interviewed and celebrated. Unfortunately she died three years later of cancer. It is terrible that she had those 12 years of obscurity, and that she died so soon after her work was published again, but it is a great thing that she lived to see her work rediscovered and celebrated. I am personally a huge fan of her novels, having read all of them, some several times. They have great titles: “Excellent Women,” “A Glass of Blessings,” “No Fond Return of Love,” “The Sweet Dove Died,” and “An Unsuitable Attachment,” to name a few; there are about a dozen in all. The low-key aspect of her topics does not indicate low-key writing. Her work is witty, in an unassuming, musing way. She draws her characters sharply, with details and conversations that reveal much in a few words. Her understanding of human motivations and self-delusions approaches that of the great Jane Austen. Her novels, like Austen’s, are often labeled “domestic” dramas, and although in a sense that is accurate, it doesn’t begin to show how whole worlds can be found in domestic scenes. Sometimes reading Pym makes me laugh out loud at her humorous perceptivity. Pym’s women characters are sometimes sad, but good at cheering themselves up, finding ways to encourage themselves, often through helping others (but not in a goody-goody way). One of the later works, "Quartet in Autumn," is definitely darker than the others, as it takes a close look at ageing. I find myself somewhat at a loss to convey the unique and compelling qualities of this writer’s fiction. I strongly urge readers to just find and read one of her novels; I suggest “Excellent Women” to start, but really any of the novels will do.

"Little Sinners," by Karen Brown

I feel happy when I think I have “discovered” a “new” writer whose work I find I like very much. I had never heard of the writer Karen Brown before, but when I saw her small collection of short stories, “Little Sinners” (University of Nebraska Press, 2012) on the “new book shelf” of my university library, something told me to pick it up and check it out. Perhaps it was the contrast between its modest, university-press appearance, its author's common name, and, on the other hand, the provocative title. This book won the Prairie Schooner Book Prize in Fiction, and I can see why. (Of course a book that has won a prize and been published cannot be said to need “discovering” by me, but the work is just new enough, and as far as I can tell, not reviewed in the major newspapers and magazines, that I will preserve the feeling of having “discovered” Brown, at least for myself!) The stories are a fascinating blend of the very concrete and the slightly mysterious. The situations seem both real and just beyond one’s understanding. They are psychologically intriguing, character-focused, yet with compelling plots. Most of the stories take place in East Coast suburbs and small towns, some of them with working class roots, some not. There are many secrets and much pain. Yet the overall feeling of the book is not all sad and depressing; there are notes of hope. Even the characters in bad situations don’t necessarily seem desperate, and in fact sometimes seem curious to see what will happen next. Some of the stories have an elegiac tone. The overriding feeling, though, is of matters strange and haunting. Throughout, I had the sense that I was in very good hands, and that Karen Brown is a writer to watch out for. I hope to read more by her.

"The True Secret of Writing," by Natalie Goldberg

Almost any writer, or would-be writer, of the past twenty-five years has read or at least knows of Natalie Goldberg’s “Writing Down the Bones.” That book is a guide for writers, but more than that, it is a guide for life. Goldberg has written many books since then; her new book, “The True Secret of Writing: Connecting Life with Language” (Atria, 2013), is a kind of update of her first book. The organizing structure of her book is recounting how she runs her “True Secret of Writing” intensive workshops, which are also retreats in the tradition of Zen Buddhism as interpreted by Goldberg, a longtime Zen student who is also influenced by her Jewish heritage. These retreats are held in Taos, New Mexico, and are Goldberg’s own amalgam of meditation, walking, hiking, doing simple chores, keeping silence for big lengths of time, reading, speaking, and of course writing. Two boiled-down summaries of Goldberg’s directions are “Sit. Walk. Write” and “Shut up and write” (stop putting it off, and do it – advice that I, for one, sorely need to follow!). There are many examples of how the days go, and stories of individual attendees, some of whom have become longtime friends of Goldberg’s. Along the way we get excerpts from some of the author’s favorite books and poetry (an eclectic selection, also listed in a useful appendix), as well as from her students’ writing. Although Goldberg’s students mainly write fiction or memoir, and I mainly write academic articles and books, I found much inspiration and even useful specific suggestions in this book. But more useful than anything specific was an immersion in the life of writers, and Goldberg’s bedrock belief in the power of writing. I am not tempted to do one of her workshops or retreats (all that sitting with my legs crossed and meditating…I admire those who do it, but it is probably not for me…), but I am glad I read the book, and feel I both learned from it and was inspired and energized by it.

"Island Girls," by Nancy Thayer

It’s the summer! Time for summer reading, otherwise known as “beach reads.” By now I have a pretty good sense of how beachy I want my beach reads to be. They have to be light, undemanding, and full of stories of family, friends, leisure time, and romantic relationships. Groups gathered in summer vacation places, especially those on oceans or lakes -- in other words, literally beach reads -- are bonuses. But I want even my “summer reading” to be well written. Not necessarily "high" literature, but reasonably well written. I just read a novel that almost perfectly fulfills all these requirements. I have read several novels by Nancy Thayer over the years, ever since I read her second novel, “Three Women at the Water’s Edge,” soon after it was published in 1981. Thayer’s work is reliably enjoyable. The one I have just read is “Island Girls” (Ballantine, 2013), and it was great fun to read. A charming and successful man dies, and in his will states that his three daughters from three different marriages must live together in his Nantucket house for a whole summer before they can sell the house and share the profits. Because of various resentments about the several marriages and child custody arrangements, the sisters are not at all close, so there is some grumbling about this stipulation in the will. But they all move into the house, and gradually become closer. There is much about careers, families, and of course romances. All of this, of course, is in the beautiful, irresistible setting of Nantucket. What can I say but that the novel is great fun and very satisfying, a nearly perfect example of “summer reading” and a delicious “beach read.”

"The Tell," by Hester Kaplan

I was very taken with Hester Kaplan’s collection of short stories, “The Edge of Marriage,” which I wrote about here on 2/5/13. So I was happy to read that she had a new novel, “The Tell” (Harper Perennial, 2013). This is a rich, “thick” (to use the anthropological term) description of a marriage, a marriage that seems to be very good, but turns out to be vulnerable to danger, in this case in the form of an aging male former television star who moves in next door. Mira is an artist; Owen is a teacher. They are not terribly prosperous, but they are doing fine, living in the house she grew up in, and seem quite happy. When Wilton becomes their neighbor, he insinuates himself into their lives, although it isn’t clear what he wants beyond company, and sympathy about his estrangement from his adult daughter. Gradually he -- purposely or unconsciously -- precipitates a rift in their marriage, as Mira becomes drawn into his quest to win back the estranged daughter, and as she joins him on his frequent trips to a casino. It is unclear if there is a sexual element in Mira and Wilton’s relationship, but if there is, that is not the main issue in the rift. The main problem is the erosion of trust, the lack of honesty that enters Mira’s and Owen’s marriage. Wilton too has his demons, which he tries to address not only with gambling and with usurping Mira's time and attention, but with compulsively rewatching episodes of the old television show in which he starred; in a disturbing counterpoint, Mira too watches these episodes over and over, late at night as well. Yet Kaplan does not make Wilton a pure villain; we see his sadness and we sympathize with him too. He had his moments in the bright light of fame, and now – although financially secure – he subsists emotionally on the recognition he occasionally receives from, say, a woman in the supermarket who excitedly remembers him and his television show, and perhaps asks for his autograph. There is a sad and unsettling tension between the initial seeming normality of the three main characters, and the increasing abnormality of their behavior and the way they live and relate to each other and to the world. Kaplan shows enormous insight into the motivations of her characters, although never over-explaining. She is a wonderful writer. I found the book powerful, but (and?) I was somewhat shaken by the story, itself a proof of the effectiveness of Kaplan’s writing.