"Red at the Bone," by Jacqueline Woodson

Jacqueline Woodson, the acclaimed author of many books for children, and of a bestselling memoir, “Brown Girl Dreaming,” was also widely praised for her 2016 novel for adults, “Another Brooklyn,” about which I wrote here on 2/5/17. The latter is a powerful novel about young African American girls and adolescents, and portrays the severe sexism and racism they endured. Just as I recommended that novel, I now recommend Woodson’s new novel, “Red at the Bone” (Riverhead, 2019). This is the story of a teenaged mother, Iris, pregnant too soon, and her daughter, Melody. Iris’s well-to-do parents disapprove of Iris’s pregnancy, but fall in love with their new granddaughter and raise her, while Iris goes to college, as she had always dreamed. She dearly loves her daughter, but is not willing to give up her dreams for her, and their relationship is fraught because of this. There is a complex and vexed, although loving, relationship among these three generations, as well as with Melody’s father, Aubrey. There are themes of women’s aspirations, social class, race, and family relationships. This spare book is beautifully written and thought-provoking, never oversimplifies the issues, and never lets the issues overshadow the characters themselves. Woodson is now on my list of writers whose novels I will always read.

Please forgive the gap

I apologize for the gap in time since my last post. There has been a death in my family which I am deeply mourning, so I have fallen behind with many things unrelated to that death, or to my absolutely necessary work and life obligations. I am writing now to let readers know why I haven't posted for about three weeks. I also want to say that one thing that has provided me comfort, besides the wonderfully kind support and love from family members and friends, is -- as always -- reading, especially novels. In particular, I have been re-reading all of Barbara Pym's novels (for at least the third time) and find them immensely comforting. I'll be back posting soon.

"Maybe You Should Talk to Someone," by Lori Gottlieb

“Maybe You Should Talk to Someone” (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2019), the title suggests, just as so many people (including, to her credit, Dear Abby and other advice givers) have suggested to those struggling with various issues. The author, Lori Gottlieb, writes from the perspective of the therapist she is, as well as the perspective of a person in therapy herself. This book gives readers fascinating close-up insights of what really happens in therapy sessions. Gottlieb is a wonderful storyteller and writer, and her vividly told stories draw us in. Of course she protects the confidentiality of therapy; she disguises the identities of, and some details about, her patients. Her own visits to a therapist are not the usual ones required during the training of psychiatrists and psychologists, but are in response to a crisis in Gottlieb’s own life that she can’t seem to process in healthy ways. The stories of her patients and of her own therapy are interwoven in this book, and Gottlieb writes so well that we look forward to hearing each new installment of all the stories. There are also some unexpected twists in the stories and at times in the overlaps that occur. Equally important as the “what happened” aspect of each story are the people, the characters. Gradually, during the course of the accumulating fifty-minute sessions, we get to know each of them better, and sometimes we change our initial opinions about them, just as Gottlieb herself does. We find ourselves pulling for them, wanting them to figure out how to manage or transcend their issues, and to find peace despite problems, some rooted deeply in their pasts. This book is revealing, compassionate, deeply human, with many welcome touches of humor. And -- on a personal note -- I am reminded of my late father, a psychiatrist, and of all the good he did; some of his patients spoke at his memorial service, and in correspondence to my family, of how much he helped them.

"Educated," by Tara Westover

I am embarrassed to admit the reason that I did not read Tara Westover’s memoir, “Educated” (Random House, 2018), which has been a huge critical and popular success, sooner. The reason: I heard an extensive interview of the author by Terry Gross on Fresh Air, and I felt that I had already heard the whole story. I often hear authors interviewed, and don’t have this response, so I don’t know what it was about this particular interview that made me feel that way. OK, there was another reason I didn't read this memoir earlier: I really didn’t feel like reading about a religious fanatic/survivalist, especially one who dragged his whole family into his fanaticism, as Westover’s father did. I don’t know what changed my mind; it was probably the recommendations from several good friends whose judgment I trust. Now that I have read it, I am very glad that I did. It is an absolutely fascinating and unusual story, giving readers insight into a world we rarely read about. Westover and her six siblings grew up very isolated in the mountains of Idaho, working hard for their parents, not attending school, not seeing doctors even for severe injuries, cut off from most other people, and always preparing for the worst. Somehow, despite much hardship and resistance, she (like two of her older brothers) almost miraculously made her way to college, and then to graduate school at Harvard and Cambridge. She did this with pure grit and determination. Along the way, she mostly felt like an outsider, as there was so much she did not know about “normal” American life. Gradually she learned more, made friends, had romances. But the cost was that her parents and some of her siblings cut off relationships and communication with her. Fortunately, three of her siblings did not do so. Still, it was a huge sacrifice for this young woman, and she struggled and suffered greatly as she came to terms with the situation. Westover is a compelling teller of her own story. Despite everything that happened with her family (including a disturbed and violent brother), she tells her story with remarkable restraint; this is not a “tell-all” in the sense of payback, nor a rant, but rather a genuine attempt to be fair, to understand, and to acknowledge that she still loves her family but needed very badly to leave and build a better, saner, more fulfilling life for herself. The story is psychologically and sociologically of great interest, as well as being well-written in an almost novelistic style.

"Chances Are...." by Richard Russo

What more can I say about Richard Russo and his wonderful novels (as well as his short stories, memoir, essays, and other writings)? I read most of his novels published before I started this blog, and have written here about his work (novels, short story collections, a memoir, and essay collections) since then. I have always been deeply impressed with his work, and with his profound understanding of life, families, relationships, and so much more. The word I have often used about his writing and his understanding of his characters and of life is “humane.” So of course I had to read his new novel, “Chances Are…” (Knopf, 2019). It tells the story of three men who were friends in college in the late 1960s, and now, decades later, after not keeping much in touch in the meanwhile, have met for a sort of mini-reunion on Martha’s Vineyard. They are happy to see each other, despite feeling they both know and don’t know each other any more. They are now 66 years old, and much has happened in each of their very different lives. A central focus during this reunion is trying to figure out what happened to the fourth in their college friendship group, a young woman named Jacy who mysteriously disappeared from Martha’s Vineyard shortly after they all graduated from college. Each of the three men was at least a little in love with Jacy at the time. There are many revelations in the novel, most especially toward the end, where there is a very big reveal. Russo’s brilliant ability to portray characters in depth, and to portray their relationships and interactions with each other, is -- as always -- impressive. He is an author who reminds me that sometimes I just don’t have enough words, or the right words, to convey how good a writer he is, and what a rich experience it is to read his novels. I am reduced to wanting to say “Just read this novel! And all his novels! You won’t be sorry!”

"Sixth Man," by Andre Iguodala

Readers of The New York Times (Sunday) Book Review will know the weekly feature “By the Book,” which consists of interviews with famous writers, and will recognize one of the questions almost always asked: “What book would we be surprised to see on your bookshelves?” Readers of this blog -- knowing that I write almost exclusively about the (mostly literary) novels and memoirs that I predominantly read -- may be surprised to learn that I read -- and loved -- “Sixth Man,” by Andre Iguodala, one of the preeminent players on our local (and very famous all over the world) championship professional basketball team, the Golden State Warriors. Of course I am not comparing myself to the famous writers being interviewed in the NYTBR, but if I were asked the question, I would reveal that I am a big fan of the Warriors, especially the past few years when they have been winning, and love to read about them. (My interest in them even led me to become a regular reader of the San Francisco Chronicle sports section, a section I used to skip in the past.) The team not only wins, but also is a particularly functional team with admirable players and coaches who respect and support each other. Thus I was very happy to hear that Iguodala, who is known not only for his playing but for his leadership on the team, his intelligence, his thoughtfulness, his wide range of interests, his business and technology acumen, and his philanthropy, had written a memoir (with some help from the writer Carvell Wallace). This memoir is fascinating, well-paced, and well-written. The author writes of his sometimes difficult childhood, which however was always anchored by his remarkable mother. He writes of, and gives credit to, all the coaches and mentors he had along the way, throughout school, various leagues, college, and the NBA. Iguodala is now 35 years old, and he predicts that he might not play much longer, because of the various aches and pains and injuries he has suffered, despite taking extremely good care of his body. While completely appreciative of all he has been able to do because of his career as a professional basketball player, he is clear about the cost to his body, as well as the emotional cost at times. He writes not only about how this affects him, but about how it is a larger issue for professional athletes. He writes insightfully about such social issues as ever-present racism. He writes of the way black men who form the majority of players are often exploited and mistreated. I admire that he writes about these difficult issues. I also like that he takes every opportunity to praise and support his teammates and other players he has known during his professional career. A bonus for this reader: He is also a great reader, and writes about what he reads. You can see that I respect and admire Iguodala not only as a great player, but as a person. “Sixth Man” is of special interest to those of us who support the Warriors (and who will continue to support and admire Iguodala in the future, even as he has very recently been traded to another team), and who have watched Iguodala’s career for some years, but I think it would be of interest to anyone who is interested in sports as well as social issues.

"The Most Fun We Ever Had," by Claire Lombardo

Family, family, family, family, and more family! Claire Lombardo’s debut novel, “The Most Fun We Ever Had” (Doubleday, 2019) consists of 544 pages focused on one family over about four decades. As readers of this blog may remember, I truly appreciate and enjoy novels focused on family, as I do this one. I just note – not as a criticism – that the focus is closer up and more exclusive than most such fictional portrayals. Sure, we see various family members’ interactions with the outside world, and the novel engages with issues of gender and class, but mostly we see, very specifically, how this family (and their spouses, partners, and children) engage with each other. This does not mean the family members are always cozily happy with each other. Not at all. But despite all the difficulties they go through, individually, collectively, and in various combinations, the family is always the true subject. The parents, Marilyn and David, meet in 1975, soon marry, and have four daughters: Wendy, Violet, Liza, and Grace. Each character has her or his own combination of gifts and troubles. The story is anchored in the present, when a big secret in one daughter’s life is revealed, and we see how everyone in the family responds. But the whole story goes back and forth in time (occasionally a little confusingly), with stops at various points between the 1970s and the present. Some of the issues that arise are alcoholism, pregnancy (both wanted and unwanted, both difficult and relatively easy), infidelity, work pressures, sibling rivalry, and eating disorders. One particularly interesting, and quite central, aspect of the story is that Marilyn and David (the parents) have a very, very close marriage, and everyone around them believes it is a perfect marriage. As it turns out, they have their own issues, but overall it is in fact a remarkable marriage. The daughters (and their partners, and even their children – the third generation) derive much strength and comfort from their parents’ marriage, but it is also daunting, seemingly impossible, for them to try to achieve the same kind of marriage. This is a novel that shows a high level of sensitivity to, and understanding of, family dynamics. There are times when the points being made are a little too obvious, a little too close to psychological or sociological “lessons.” But the interweaving individual stories, like branches impossible to separate from the sturdy tree trunk of the original nuclear family, are satisfying and compelling. I loved all 544 pages of this novel.