"The Jane Austen Society" and "Jane Austen Made Me Do It"

Regular readers of this blog KNOW with great certainty that periodically I will write about Jane Austen’s novels, as well as books about the author, her novels, and the many tribute novels and related books by others. Here I write about two more books in this category that I have recently read. “The Jane Austen Society” (St. Martin’s, 2020), a novel by Natalie Jenner, imagines a fictional version of the group of Austen fans who got together in the 1940s to preserve the house in Chawton where Austen spent her last and most productive years. Some of the members of this society already live in Chawton, and others have connected with those locals to form the Society. The members are mixed in terms of background, nationality, gender, age, class, type of work, and more, but they are bound by their common desire to buy, save, and take care of the house as a permanent tribute to Austen. There are many backstories and subplots, all interesting in a low-key, sometimes melancholic way. The writing is lovely and the devotion of the author and her characters is evident. I truly enjoyed this charming and thoughtful novel, not only for the Austen focus, but also for the portrayal of the small village of Chawton and its inhabitants and visitors. Some readers may remember that I visited the house in Chawton some years ago, and was incredibly moved by being in the very house where Austen lived and wrote a large portion of her works. The second book is a collection of short stories titled “Jane Austen Made Me Do It: Original Stories Inspired by Literature’s Most Astute Observer of the Human Heart” (Ballantine, 2011), edited by Laurel Ann Nattress. The stories are all connected to Austen in various remarkably creative and intriguing ways. There are love stories, satires, ghost stories, and many other genres. I wasn’t sure that I would enjoy this collection, but, although the book is not as compelling as "The Jane Austen Society," I definitely did enjoy it.

"Queenie," by Candice Carty-Williams

The British novel “Queenie” (Simon & Schuster/Scout Press, paperback version 2019), which takes place in contemporary London, has been termed “Black Bridget Jones meets Americanah,” and that gives readers a very rough idea of the book. But the “Bridget Jones” books seemed much more lighthearted than this book; even the wonderful novel “Americanah,” although it focuses on racial analysis regarding the United States, has more of a wry, satirical tone in its observations than “Queenie” does. Queenie, the character, attempts to be a modern, free-spirited young woman, and there is certainly plenty of sex and drink and some drugs involved. But there is much pain as well. Some of the pain comes from a kind of depression that hangs over Queenie, getting worse as the novel progresses (although – spoiler alert – there is a cautiously optimistic ending to the novel). And some comes from being broken up with by a boyfriend. But some of that pain and depression comes from racial prejudice and discrimination, some of it internalized. So the book is a slightly uneasy mixture of “young and free woman in the city” (there is even a slight “Sex in the City” vibe as Queenie and her three best friends often meet and share their experiences about life, men, sex, work, and more) and of commentary on racial (and gender as well) matters. I like the portrayals of Queenie’s friends and how supportive and loving they are, as are some family members. Even her boss tolerates a lot of flakiness on Queenie’s part (some of it brought on by her troubles). The format of the book includes frequent series of tweets among the friends, which gives the book a contemporary vibe. At times the various aspects of the novel don’t quite fit together, but the result is still a compelling read.

"Home Baked," by Alia Volz

“Home Baked” (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2020), by Alia Volz, is a combination of biography, memoir, San Francisco history, social commentary, political advocacy, and -- at times --humorous romp. Volz tells the story of her mother’s career baking and selling marijuana brownies in San Francisco, mostly in the 1970s and 1980s. Volz’s mother Meridy was a “good girl,” a “square,” at college in Wisconsin before she moved to San Francisco for adventure and freedom, and stumbled upon the opportunity to bake and sell these special treats; her venture was called Sticky Fingers Brownies. She would dress in hippie-type clothing and make her rounds in various San Francisco neighborhoods, selling to regular customers and others. Her friends and later her husband helped in the enterprise, with the procuring of the marijuana, the baking, and the selling. Meridy was fearless, and somehow avoided getting into serious trouble during those years. She often made decisions based on the I Ching. Alia grew up with this, and always felt loved and safe, enjoying the adventures her mother took her along on. The book portrays the atmosphere, spirit and feeling of San Francisco during the 70s. Later, as AIDS became the scourge of the city, Meridy provided her brownies to many who suffered from that disease, easing their symptoms such as pain, nausea, and lack of appetite. Alia also conveys the horrors and sadness of that disease and its destruction of huge numbers of the young people, mostly but not only gay, and their diverse, creative community. She also shows the underside of San Francisco’s freedom and reputation: she tells of the Jim Jones devastation in Guyana, and of the assassinations of Mayor George Moscone and City Supervisor – the first openly gay Supervisor – Harvey Milk. As an adult writer, in preparation for writing this book, Volz did extensive research and many interviews, including of her mother and her father, and she has created a book full of descriptions and details of that unique time in a unique city. She has done something that seems difficult to me for a child to do: try to give an honest, accurate portrayal of her parents, their strengths and weaknesses, their eccentricities, and their (Meridy’s and Doug’s) initially close but later troubled relationship with each other (leading to divorce, but in later life to a friendship again). (Parenthetically, I have lived in San Francisco since those days, and I treasure the descriptions in this book of times and events that are very familiar to me, although my life and career have obviously been quite different than those of Meridy.)

Short Takes: "Days of Distraction," by Alexandra Chang, and "All Adults Here," by Emma Straub

I am reading (even) more than ever during these pandemic stay-at-home times, and getting behind with posting on what I have read. I don’t always post on every book I read, even in ordinary times, but I want to at least briefly mention the two that I write about today, because I recommend each of them to your attention. First is Alexandra Chang’s novel “Days of Distraction” (Ecco/HarperCollins, 2020), in which a young Chinese-American woman writer in Silicon Valley impulsively decides to move to upstate New York with her boyfriend. There she feels somewhat adrift, but makes some realizations about herself and her gender and ethnicity. I initially was attracted to the part about Silicon Valley (just south of where I live in Marin County and work in San Francisco), but soon was drawn into the story with all its low-key but important daily events and thoughts and new understandings. Chang is an excellent writer, and one cannot help getting caught up in her main character’s story. Next is “All Adults Here” (Riverhead, 2020), by Emma Straub, author of “The Vacationers,” which I wrote about here on 6/8/14, and of “Modern Lovers.” In all three of these novels, Straub writes about families, lovers, and relationships. She often focuses, as she does in this latest novel, on relationships among parents, adult children, and grandchildren. The story is deceptively breezy at times, but then we see some of the darker undertones of the relationships. Interestingly, a New York Times review of Straub’s earlier work compares her work to that of Anne Tyler (“All the pleasure of Anne Tyler’s compelling family portraits”), whose most recent novel I posted about a few days ago, on 6/14/20. I would not have thought of that comparison, and I think the younger writer Straub is excellent but not at Anne Tyler’s level (yet, at least). Still, there is something related in both authors’ preoccupation with, and uncanny understanding of, families and generations and their complex interactions.

"Lost and Wanted," by Nell Freudenberger

I almost didn’t read Nell Freudenberger’s novel, “Lost and Wanted” (Vintage, 2019), because the reviews and cover copy indicated that it had some spiritual-ish, semi-science fiction-ish aspects. Those who know my reading tastes know that I tend (with exceptions) to dislike and avoid both of these aspects/genres. However, something drew me to read the book anyway, and I am glad I did. The aspects mentioned above are embedded in a much broader context and story, where they make sense. In fact, the main character, Helen, is a professor of physics, and is very rational in her thinking. How she deals with what appears to be irrational and supernatural, in the time period after her best friend Charlie’s death, is the crux of this novel. But of course the true focuses are the friendship, the grappling with what a friendship means, and the coming to terms with grief and the finality of death. The novel also addresses romance, marriage, single parenthood, the relationships of young adults with their parents, career paths, and race (Helen is White and Charlie is Black). There is a little too much scientific exposition about physics, astronomy, and related matters for my taste. (I can frame this positively as my complete engagement with the arts and humanities and my comparatively lesser interest in science, or I can less positively but probably more accurately admit a kind of ignorance about such areas as physics.) This is an intelligent, thoughtful and engaging novel. For me, it was also a reminder that I should not dismiss too easily fiction that seems that it will be a little different than what I usually tend to read. In the case of “Lost and Wanted,” it had all the focus on relationships among family members and friends that I could ask for. And as for the other parts: well, it is good for me to stretch my reading choices.

"Redhead by the Side of the Road," by Anne Tyler

There are certain writers whose latest work I will always look for and read as soon as possible after it is published. These authors include, but are far from limited to, Anne Enright, Jane Gardam, Penelope Lively, Alice Munro, Lori Ostlund, Ann Patchett, Anne Raeff, Richard Russo, Zadie Smith, Colm Toibin, Kate Walbert, and Meg Wolitzer. Another, and the one I focus on today, is the wonderful Anne Tyler; I believe I have read, admired, and enjoyed every one of her twenty-two published novels. Highlights include “Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant,” “The Accidental Tourist,” “The Amateur Marriage,” “Digging to America” (which I twice taught), and “A Spool of Blue Thread”; I have posted here on several of these. I have just read her newest novel, “Redhead by the Side of the Road” (Knopf, 2020), and it too is excellent. Like most of her novels, it takes place in Baltimore, where she lives. And like most of her novels, the characters are very “ordinary” and down-to-earth (but like all people, more complex than they initially appear). Often not a lot “happens” in Tyler’s novels, and that is true of this one too. The main character, Micah Mortimer, is a middle-aged man with a simple life. He is good to his family, friends, and clients (he has a one-man computer repair service). He likes people, and people like him, but he has trouble connecting in a deeper way. His relationships with women are always pretty good, but somehow the women eventually leave because they feel he is not committed enough, or emotionally available enough. He doesn’t quite understand why they leave, and is rather passive in simply accepting the end of these relationships. Micah reminds me, in his somewhat isolated life, emotional limitations, and passivity, of the main characters in some of Tyler’s earlier novels, including Noah in “Noah’s Compass” (2009). Micah meets some new people and has some new experiences during the course of this new novel; none of these are dramatic, but they ease him toward new insights and new or renewed connections with people. As always with Tyler’s novels, “Redhead by the Side of the Road” is deceptively low-key but very "real" and very satisfying.

"Stray," by Stephanie Danler

I have often, and most recently in the past three months or so, posted here about memoirs of women writers who have dealt with extremely difficult, even traumatic, childhoods and sometimes adulthoods as well. I have just read another such memoir: “Stray” (Knopf, 2020), by Stephanie Danler. Danler is the author of the bestselling novel “Sweetbitter” (about which I posted on 6/8/16), which is about a young woman training in New York City to be a professional in the world of fine dining; although “Sweetbitter” is a novel, it is at least somewhat based on the author’s own experiences. But “Stray” covers a much wider and deeper range of Danler’s difficult life, especially her extremely damaged parents. She, along with her sister, has been greatly scarred by these parents, and has a love/hate relationship (although that oversimplifies her feelings) with each of them. Both are alcoholic and drug-addicted, although they – especially her father after he leaves the family – live an upper middle class life. They both, especially her mother, have extreme health problems, at least partly related to their substance abuse. Fortunately, Danler has other relatives – grandparents and an aunt – who provide more “normal” support and affection. And she has some successes in her own life, both personal and professional. But her own damage causes her to have unhealthy relationships with charming but difficult, unavailable men, including the married lover she calls the “Monster.” This is a harrowing story, with so much pain involved. I don’t want to give any spoilers, but I will just say that her years of therapy and work on herself do help, and do allow her to live a better life by the end of the time period of the memoir.