"My Salinger Year," by Joanna Rakoff

“My Salinger Year” (Knopf, 2014) a memoir by Joanna Rakoff, tells of her experiences in the mid-1990s as a young, newly minted assistant to a literary agent whose most famous client was J.D. Salinger. Rakoff occasionally spoke with “Jerry” on the phone, but only actually met him once or twice; apparently his very few visits to the agency’s office were major events. This memoir is about Rakoff's own young life, her initial steps toward being a writer, her romances, her life in New York City, and her plans and dreams for the future, as well as her daily routines at the agency and the people she worked with there. In a sense, she represents all the young people who flock to New York to live a literary life, however much on the fringes they may be; their hopefulness is touching if naive. Her recounting of her experiences with Salinger is mainly a thread on which to hang her own story, but she does manage to give readers a sense of what kind of person he was; in her experience, he was friendly and genuine, if somewhat eccentric. And toward the end of the book, she conveys quite vividly what his fiction means to her. When she finally reads his fiction, which she has avoided in the past because it is so popular with young people, she is transfixed: “The experience of reading a Salinger story is less like reading a short story and more like having Salinger himself whisper…into your ear. The world he creates is at once palpably real and terrifically heightened, as if he walked the earth with his nerve endings exposed,” she writes (p. 199). This memoir is a combination of young-writer-starting-out memories, literary gossip, insightful portrayals of the various people in her life, and reflections on literature, love, and life. For those of us who love to hear about the world of literature, writing, publishing, and all related matters, this is a lovely, enjoyable, and satisfying memoir. I also enjoyed Rakoff’s 2010 novel, “Fortunate Lives”; she is a writer to watch out for.

The Elizabeth Gaskell Train

I just stumbled across the information that there is now an Elizabeth Gaskell train! It is located in the Manchester (England) area where she lived, and where much of her fiction is set. What a wonderful idea and tribute to this great writer! As I wrote here on 4/20/10, Gaskell is a writer whose work I admire and love. Her work was popular in her time, then little read for years, then rediscovered during the 1970s by feminist scholars. Her novels include “Mary Barton,” "Wives and Daughters,” “North and South,” and – my favorite – “Cranford.” She also wrote a biography of her friend Charlotte Bronte. So this news about the Elizabeth Gaskell train made me happy. And in a delightful coincidence: When I was traveling by train in Norway last month, a young female German physician sat next to me and we had a long, enjoyable conversation about all sorts of things, including literature; she, like me, was a great reader. She mentioned reading and liking Gaskell’s “North and South,” and I recommended she also read “Cranford.” To have had an unexpected conversation about Gaskell on a train in a faraway (for me) country, and then a few days later, just by chance, to learn about the Gaskell train, seemed like a lovely case of serendipity!

The Austen Project

During my recent European trip, I picked up a book by Joanna Trollope titled “Sense and Sensibility” (The Borough Press, 2013 - this is the British version that I read; the U.S. publisher is Harper, 2013) which, after an initial double take, I realized was her modern reworking of Jane Austen’s novel. Upon closer examination, I learned that this was the first book in the Austen Project, which is matching contemporary writers with Jane Austen’s six novels, each one providing a modern version of the original, in a twenty-first century setting and context. After I returned home, I found the second book in the Austen Project series, “Northanger Abbey” (Grove Press, 2014) by Val McDermid. These two are the only two published so far. Curtis Sittenfeld’s version of “Pride and Prejudice” is the next one up, scheduled to be published this fall. The authors of the other three novel reworkings have not yet been announced; it will definitely be interesting to find out who is chosen to write them. So, what about the first two? I had my usual conflicted feelings (which I have discussed in this blog before) about Austen prequels, sequels, retellings from the viewpoint of other characters, modern versions, etc. But the Austen Project seems more intentionally organized and coordinated than other versions I have seen, with the authors being carefully chosen. And I have to say that both Trollope and McDermid did a good job of capturing the feelings and characters of the Austen novels, but with enough tweaks to make them feel fresh and contemporary. There is, in each, much use of technology and of slang, to signal the contemporary nature of the novel. There are allowances for women’s vastly – but not completely – changed circumstances, along with other changes in society. Both novels are competently written and quite entertaining. So overall, I think the project is a fine idea, and I look forward to reading the other four novels as they come out. Of course no other versions, modern or otherwise, can possibly come anywhere close to living up to the originals, but reading these new versions is all part of the fun of finding different ways to live for a few hours in Jane Austen’s world.

What I Read on My Trip

As I have alluded to in a couple of earlier posts, I very recently went on a two and a half week trip to Finland, Norway, and Denmark, partly for a conference in Finland and partly as a tourist in an area of Europe I had not been before. As I mentioned, when I travel I choose a small pile of paperback books ahead of time, and then leave them along the way when I finish. If I am in danger of running out of books, I look for bookstores with books in English. In the case of this trip, I did in fact run out, but fortunately was able to find English books and magazines in various bookstores and newsstands to supplement the ones I had brought. Most serendipitously, just when I was worrying about what to read on the plane trips home, I stumbled onto a particularly good bookstore in Copenhagen, just a couple of blocks from my hotel. During the two and a half weeks on my trip, especially on the plane trips, I read eleven books. I am not going to post about them individually, especially since several of them were definitely light reading. But here I will mention three of them that I do recommend. First, I re-read one of Alice Munro’s wonderful story collections, “The Beggar Maid,” and as always when I read Munro, I was caught up in her amazing stories and insights. Second, it was great fun to read Edward St. Aubyn’s new novel “Lost for Words.” St. Aubyn is known for his dark, painful (but extremely well written) novels, but this one goes in another direction; it satirizes the administrators and jury and process of a major literary prize (the Booker?). For booklovers, this is a witty, amusing romp of a book. And finally, I picked up a copy of David Lodge’s “Small World,” which is 30 years old and which I have read before and found hilarious. It describes academics traveling the world to various conferences, behaving both pretentiously and badly in many cases, but without real malice in most cases, and often endearingly haplessly. It is a little dated, and I had to overlook a bit of sexism due to the age of the book, but I still found it laugh-out-loud funny. It was especially humorous and enjoyable for me in the context of my own trip’s being for an academic conference. I have to say that my conference seemed relatively decorous, but still there were small, funny connections with the behaviors in the book.

Walking Where Great Authors Walked

One of the many joys of travel is seeing the places where great authors that one has read and admired actually lived and worked. For example, I was moved to tears when, about eight years ago, I visited my beloved Jane Austen’s last home in Chawton, which is now a small museum preserving the house as she lived in it with her mother and sister during some of the happiest and most productive years of her life, until she became ill. To see her bedroom, the small table she wrote at, and other aspects of this home was something I won’t forget. Then I visited her burial place in Winchester Cathedral, which was also an extremely moving experience for me. A few days ago, during a trip through Finland, Norway, and Denmark, I walked on Henrik Ibsens Gate street in Oslo, and saw the Ibsen Museum, reconstructed from Ibsen’s last home, also in Oslo. It reminded me of Ibsen's austere, powerful plays, many of which I read years ago, but still remember. In particular, “A Doll’s House” resonated for me, as it has for so many women throughout the years, with its powerful message about the destructive effects of society’s constricting, inflexible roles and requirements for women throughout much of history. This great playwright with his profound understanding has influenced so many readers and theater-goers, once again illustrating the power of literature. So seeing the places where he lived and worked was a moving and meaningful experience for me. Turning to another author-related experience on the same trip, regarding a very different but also important writer: When I was in Copenhagen, I walked along Hans Christian Andersen Street, and during a canal tour there, saw three of the buildings where he lived. Whenever I have experiences such as these, seeing up close places where a great writer lived or worked or is memorialized, I feel, just for a moment, a spark of connection with that author and her or his era and work. Those moments, those sparks, feel like gifts, for which I am very grateful.

"Wish You Were Here," by Stewart O'Nan

I was happy to “discover” Stewart O’Nan’s fiction these past couple of years (see my posts of 5/17/11, 1/26/12, and 3/14/13), and very much appreciate and enjoy his writing. I have just read one of his earlier novels, “Wish You Were Here” (Grove, 2002), and although I enjoyed it and admired, as always, his insights into his characters and their relationships, especially family relationships, I enjoyed it less than I did the other novels I have posted on here. I am guessing this is because it was written earlier, and in most (although not all) cases, as a writer practices and refines his/her craft, that writer becomes better with time. All O’Nan’s wonderful qualities are in this book, but parts of it seem a bit belabored. The novel describes a week in a family’s summer house in Chautauqua (New York), as they are closing up the house one final time, in order to sell it. Emily, recently widowed when her longtime husband Henry died, has made this decision; neither Henry’s sister Arlene nor Emily's and Henry’s two adult children Meg and Kenneth (and Kenneth’s wife Lise) are happy about this, but none of them can afford to keep up the place. Four young grandchildren are also present during this week. Each character has her or his own memories, worries, problems, and flashes of happiness during the week. The family does various activities, including following certain traditions such as certain outings, certain dinners. This is actually a kind of set-up that I really like in a novel: a family or group of friends gathered together in one place for a certain period of time; a vacation setting; a chance to observe the characters as they interact. Not a lot “happens,” yet the dynamics of the family are increasingly revealed throughout. The family is basically a loving one, but it is hard to ignore some of the fissures and resentments present, some springing from childhood days and some more recently. It took me a while to finish this long (517 pages) novel, and I put it aside a couple of times while reading other things. I know this sounds philistine-ish, but I think the novel could have been a hundred or so pages shorter. But even as I type this, I feel a bit reluctant, because I do so admire O’Nan’s writing, and do not want to say anything that would discourage readers from pursuing his novels. I will say that my favorite novel by him is still “Emily, Alone,” which I posted about on 5/17/11; I highly recommend it. And by the way, the Emily of that title is the same Emily as in this novel, “Wish You Were Here.”

"Love, Nina: A Nanny Writes Home," by Nina Stibbe

What a treat it was to read Nina Stibbe’s dryly hilarious memoir of a certain time in her life, told through letters to her sister. “Love, Nina: A Nanny Writes Home” (Little, Brown, 2013) tells of the time in her life (1982-1987) when she was a nanny and then family friend and lodger to the family of Mary-Kay Wilmers (MK), deputy editor of The London Review of Books, and her two young sons Sam and Will. A frequent visitor to the household is Alan Bennett, the famous playwright, screenwriter, and actor; he comes over for dinner from across the street almost every evening. Many of MK’s and therefore the family’s neighbors and friends are also in the worlds of literature, the theater, and music; these include the film director Stephen Frears (father of MK’s two sons), the theater director and actor Jonathan Miller, the writer and editor Claire Tomalin, and the writer Michael Frayn. Other characters in the stories told by Stibbe include neighbors, the boys’ friends, Nina’s family members, fellow nannies, and Nina’s classmates when she starts at a local university. So part of the fun of reading this book is the glimpses into the lives of these well-known and witty literary people. But what is fascinating is that the everyday conversations in the home, between MK, Stibbe, and the boys, are just as funny, witty, and meaningful as the adult conversations reported. And Stibbe’s own voice as she tells her sister snippets of her life in London is original, deadpan, and sometimes laugh-out-loud funny. The actual events Stibbe narrates are far from earthshaking, but she makes the reader care about them, and want to know what happens next. She is a great observer, and can be wry and pointed in her descriptions, but basically has a good-hearted and good-humored perspective on life and on those she knows. She is confident enough to be amusingly self-deprecatory, and is very funny about her literature classes and her preferences in reading matter. It helps too if the reader loves –- as I do -- literature, all things British, and understated humor. “Love, Nina” is one of those rare books that doesn’t remind you of other books, because it is so fully and uniquely itself; it is truly sui generis.