Choosing Books for a Trip

Planning for a trip abroad, I had the pleasant task of deciding which books to take with me, especially for the plane portions of the trip. As I thought about this, I revisited the “Kindle dilemma” that I wrote about here on 12/8/11, and have alluded to elsewhere. I am still resisting the Kindle (and other e-readers), although not as actively as before. I know I will likely get one eventually (way behind the curve technologically, as usual), but I decided that this was still not the time. I know, I know, it makes so much sense for traveling. But I cherish my tradition of choosing and taking a few paperbacks on a trip, and shedding them along the way as I finish them. So, after a preliminary survey of the unread books on my home shelves, I made a bookstore trip for the sole, enjoyable purpose of choosing books for the trip. I didn’t want anything too “heavy” physically or too demanding mentally. True confession: although many of my academic colleagues use plane trips to get work done and catch up on academic reading, I look at that time as an opportunity for light (but of course not too light) reading, all fiction or memoir, along with a pile of magazines. I won’t tell you here exactly what I bought, as I may be posting on some of these during or after the trip. But suffice it to say, they were all chosen for pure pleasure reading; not a single one is in the “I should read this” category. Meanwhile, as I was anticipating choosing the books, and then selecting and buying them, I had flashbacks of all the times I have carried out this ritual of picking out and buying books before a trip. My favorite such memory is how I chose my stack of books each year when I went to my parents’ summer cottage on a beautiful lake in northern Michigan (see my post of 7/9/13, about the book “The Suitors,” in which I wrote about our idyllic days at that cottage). For many years throughout my twenties and thirties, I spent two or more weeks there every summer, along with, depending on the year, my husband, my daughter, and of course my parents, brothers, and other family members at various times. The cottage was small and far from fancy, but its setting was gorgeous and peaceful, and along with all the other activities, there was time to sit by the lake and read and read. Such pure joy! And no, reading on a plane and while traveling (on trains and in hotels and cafes) is not the same as that memory, but it all connects to a sort of primal feeling of time out of time, time set aside from one’s regular busy life, and to me a lovely pile of specially selected books is an inextricable part of such time.

"Solsbury Hill," by Susan M. Wyler

Usually, in my experience, sequels, prequels, and other takeoffs written by (much!) lesser known writers on a famous author’s novels are poorly, or at best merely competently, written. I won’t say they are ripoffs, because sometimes it is obvious they are written at least partly out of love of the great authors’ works. Although I feel this way, I have read my share of such follow-up novels, especially those related to Jane Austen’s great, great novels. And once in a while, I am surprised and impressed by such “tribute” novels that have real literary value in and of themselves. For example, as I wrote about on 3/15/14, Rachel Pastan’s novel “Alena,” loosely based on Daphne du Maurier’s classic novel “Rebecca,” is beautifully written, actually better written than “Rebecca.” The other day I picked up at a library sale a novel titled “Solsbury Hill” (Riverhead, 2014), by Susan M. Wyler. The back cover states rather breathlessly that this novel is “inspired by” “Wuthering Heights,” and that the setting is a great house and estate on the Yorkshire moors that, supposedly, Emily Bronte and/or her fictional Heathcliff and Catherine (the book is a bit muddled in explaining this) lived in. The main character in “Solsbury Hill,” Eleanor, is a young woman in New York who is unexpectedly called to visit her long-out-of-touch and now dying aunt, Alice, at the estate in question, and finds out that when Alice dies, the place will be hers. This is one of many improbable plot turns in the novel: apparently Eleanor knew nothing about all of this until now. Eleanor also sees ghosts, is led to secret documents that tell us about a previously unknown lover of Emily Bronte’s, and eventually realizes a highly surprising and unlikely fact about Eleanor's own family. Meanwhile, she is torn between two good-looking, clever, adoring men; one is her longtime boyfriend in New York, Miles, and the other is the newly met Mead, who lives on the estate. This is somehow (again, in a rather muddled way) connected with a supposed long family history of women’s deciding between two men and generally making the wrong decision; we are meant to hope that Eleanor’s decision will finally reverse this trend. The writing in this novel is sometimes quite competent, and then suddenly veers into pure romance novel prose. The sudden changes can be quite disconcerting to the reader. I actually almost didn’t post about this book, thinking it was too close to the romance novel genre, and too exploitative of the putative connection with Bronte and “Wuthering Heights,” but then I thought it was interesting in the context of the genre of tributes to classic writers. However, I don’t recommend “Solsbury Hill” to anyone except perhaps Emily Bronte fans who are willing to overlook the coincidences, ghosts, and often clichéd writing because they simply want to feel close to the “Wuthering Heights” story.

"Astonish Me," by Maggie Shipstead

In college and afterward, when I started attending dance performances – ballet and other – I fell in love with this great art. Over the years, I have been fortunate to see some of the great ballet and modern dance companies of the United States, Europe, and elsewhere. I have also gone to Indian dance concerts (which have resonated with me because of my childhood in India), and sometimes to the annual Ethnic Dance Festival here in San Francisco, which consists of performances by a wide variety of dance groups, mostly local but with origins in various countries around the world: Indonesia, Mexico, Scotland, the Philippines, China, Ireland, various countries in Africa, and many more. Then when my daughter started taking ballet lessons, she took to it and was good at it, and that was a big part of her life for many years. All of this is a preface to saying I enjoy seeing dance and, by extension, reading about it. A new novel by Maggie Shipstead, “Astonish Me” (Knopf, 2014), tells the story of a dancer called Joan and the Russian male dance star whom Joan helped to defect, Arslan. It is also, later, the story of Joan’s son Harry, who also becomes a star ballet dancer. The story is fiction, but there are elements that seem drawn from reality. The company seems to be based on the New York City Ballet, and the director/choreographer seems to be based on the great Balanchine. The defecting Russian dancer is clearly a version of Mikhail Baryshnikov. All of these are loose fictional portrayals, of course, but the bones of the similarities are there. The novel moves back and forth among several time periods, over a period of about three decades, and also moves among geographical locations, mostly New York but also Europe, California, and elsewhere. The portrayal of the world of ballet is powerful, moving, attractive, and sad in turns. The novel is compact, but much happens. The central events have to do with Joan’s love of dance, her being a good dancer but realizing she will never be a great dancer, her love of and affair with Arslan, his rejection of her for a more gifted ballerina who is also from Russia, her marriage to a good man completely outside of the dance world, their move to California, their gradual realization that their son Harry is becoming an immensely talented dancer, and the consequences as past meets present, including a surprise revelation near the end of the novel. This novel is fascinating as a portrayal of the dance world, as a story about choices in life, and as a reminder of the ways that life can surprise us. "Astonish Me" is psychologically intriguing and definitely keeps the reader’s interest throughout.

Why I Read So Much

As I have mentioned here before, I often read several books at the same time. In addition, I may be listening to an audiobook in my car, and reading stories in magazines. So during any period of time, I have several stories streaming through my mind, and I thrive on that. I sometimes wonder if this love of, even dependence on, a constant stream of stories is maybe a little unhealthy, a means of escape or avoidance of my real life. On the other hand, I revel in the way so many stories open up the world to so much knowledge of how people live and feel in so many places, so many contexts, so many situations. In what other way could I possibly be exposed to such a panoply of human experience? And to such knowledge? In what other way could I both realize the variety of human experience and understand its universals? To me, what reading, especially reading fiction, does for us is a miracle, a way of extending ourselves out into the world. Yes, our own experiences are very important, as are those of our family and friends and others we know, observe, and speak with firsthand. Yes, there are other important ways to extend our experiences, such as education and travel, which I also value highly. But nothing else can give us the breadth of experience than reading can. And the huge bonus is that reading is also such a rich and enjoyable experience. I know the above thoughts are not original by any means, but once in a while I like to stop and reflect on the grandness, depth and breadth that reading brings to our lives.

"Turn of Mind," by Alice LaPlante

After I read Alice LaPlante’s novel “A Circle of Wives,” which I wrote about last week (5/26/14), I decided to read her earlier novel, the bestselling “Turn of Mind” (Atlantic Monthly Press, 2011). This too is a sort of murder mystery, but one incredibly complicated by the fact that the main suspect is a former doctor, Jennifer White, a woman in her mid-sixties who has had to retire because of the onset of Alzheimer’s. The story is told through Dr. White’s own observations, journals, and random thoughts, as well as her interactions with her caregiver and her two grown children, all of whom have their own complicated lives, motivations, secrets, and agendas. The police investigating the crime must struggle through the frustration of dealing with Jennifer’s shifting condition and memory; some days she is quite clear and others not at all. I must admit that upon initially looking at the premise of the book, and the fact that much of it is told through the eyes of a woman with dementia, I was somewhat daunted, and considered not reading it. But after a few pages, I was utterly engaged in it, and I read it in a few hours. The character of Dr. White is a fascinating one, even as she alternates among a deep fog, acerbic comments, and deeply etched memories of her career as a very capable and respected doctor, and as a wife and mother. Of course the topic of Alzheimer’s and other forms of dementia is one much discussed these days, as we all know sufferers of these diseases. (And by coincidence, the book discussed in the guest post here of 5/31/14 also addressed dementia.) LaPlante reminds us of the strange, deeply debilitating, tragic effects of the disease, yet also reminds us of the humanity and personalities of those affected by it. She honors them by acknowledging their true selves, not just focusing on their current conditions. Finally, the solution to the mystery in "Turn of Mind" is a satisfying one, one with an unexpected twist. This post is dedicated, with love, to those in my life who have experienced this disease, including my late grandmother F., my late Uncle L., my late Aunt J., my Uncle B., and my friend B.'s husband S., as well as their closest family members and friends who have loved and supported them amidst the sadness and difficulties of watching the progress of the disease.

Guest Post: "Can't We Talk about Something More Pleasant?" by Roz Chast

My friend Mary emailed me about how much she liked the New Yorker cartoonist Roz Chast’s new graphic/cartoon book, “Can’t We Talk about Something More Pleasant?” (Bloomsbury, 2014). I have now read it and agree that it is wonderful. But Mary described the book, and her own reactions to it, so well that, with her kind permission, the rest of this post is a slightly edited version of her email. Mary says: “This book reads like a novel – or a gripping memoir, which it is. It’s a combination of funny and heartbreaking. It describes her parents during the last few years of their lives, when they are very old. Chast had a very unhappy childhood, and an especially difficult mother. Her parents are both now dead. But despite this, I laughed out loud, with tears of hilarity rolling down my face during much of the time I read it. Yet much of it was also very touching, brutally, unflatteringly honest, and very sad. Sometimes the sad parts and the hilarious parts were interwoven. The written and the visual combine in a powerful way, as they do in graphic novels. Since I read it, the theme of her story has been haunting me. Chast is unblinking in her description of the last, raggedy endings of her parents’ lives. This is a funny, sad, lovely and eloquent book throughout.”

RIP Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou, poet, memoirist, civil rights advocate, women's rights advocate, singer, dancer, film director, and educator, died yesterday at the age of 86. She was a great woman, and had a great presence and influence. The papers and the Internet are full of details, quotes, etc., so I will simply say that I, like countless others, greatly admired her, and will here share some times and ways in which she and her work entered my life more specifically. First, some years ago, Dr. Angelou read her work at the University of San Francisco (USF), where I teach. I was awed by her work, her voice, and her presence, as were the students and other faculty in attendance. I don't think anyone who has ever seen or heard her will ever forget that experience. Second, last fall a six-evening reading/discussion group of faculty women, especially but not only faculty women of color, took place at USF; I was a member. The group was called "And Still We Rise," after Angelou's great poem "And Still I Rise." Her spirit inspired and infused the group. I have also taught that poem, and others by her. Another connection is that Angelou lived here in San Francisco on and off for many years of her life. RIP Dr. Maya Angelou.