"The Swimmers," by Julie Otsuka

It has been about ten years since the second of Julie Otsuka’s two earlier novels was published, so I was very pleased to hear from my friend S. that Otsuka has a new novel just out: “The Swimmers” (Knopf, 2022). I wrote here about “When the Emperor Was Divine” on 12/22/11, and about “The Buddha in the Attic” on 1/15/12. All three novels are short, intense, poetic. The first two focus on Japanese-American characters and certain historical contexts; “The Swimmers” does not; although a main character is Japanese-American, that identity is mentioned only briefly. This novel is divided into two connected parts. The first part tells, in the voice of the whole group as a sort of chorus, about the setting, atmosphere, people, and habitual customs found in a very specific group of swimmers, who form a very specific community, at a very specific public pool. One of the swimmers, Alice, is sliding into dementia, but still manages to swim regularly, and her fellow swimmers, all of whom seem to feel more at home in the pool than almost anywhere else, gently help her out as needed. The second half of the book focuses on Alice, describing her past and her present, including the time when she can no longer swim at the pool, what she remembers, and what she doesn’t. It seems to be a realistic portrayal, showing how hard the situation is, yet fully acknowledging her as a person and not “just” a “person with dementia.” The writing is detailed and concrete, and at the same time conveys the blurriness of Alice’s memory. The past and present mix. Toward the end of the novel, the story seamlessly slips into being told by Alice’s daughter. This story is a thoughtful, respectful, and very human portrayal of this difficult disease. It reminds me of how people I have known who had dementia, including a beloved close relative, still preserved their basic personalities (although I understand that this is not true for everyone who has dementia). The writing is sensitive, poetic, caring, yet not sentimentalized. It mainly does not sugarcoat the disease, although very occasionally it slips a little too close to doing so. This book is exquisitely written, and I am very glad I read it, but I also admit that because of my late dear relative’s dementia, and my beautiful but sad memories of her, there were times when I was reading “The Swimmers” that it was quite painful for me. I do, though, highly recommend the book.

"These Precious Days," by Ann Patchett

I –- like many other readers -- am a big fan of Ann Patchett’s novels. I am also a fan of her wonderful essays. On 12/8/13, I wrote of how much I admired her collection of engaging essays, “This is the Story of a Happy Marriage” (2013). I have now just read her new essay collection, “These Precious Days” (HarperCollins, 2021), and was equally enchanted by the new essays. Reading them, I felt that Patchett was speaking directly, conversationally, to me, much as a good friend would do. Of course there is much writerly craftmanship involved, but it doesn’t draw attention to itself. The author is generous in sharing her life, her experiences, and her feelings, but also is always aware of the reader and of the larger world. Her topics include family, travel, why she has chosen not to have children, her love of Eudora Welty’s writing, Snoopy, cutting back on shopping/consumerism, the privilege and joy of spending time with and helping her friend with cancer, flying, and so much more. By the way, if you think you don’t particularly care for reading essays, don’t let that stop you from reading these ones; they are as much memoir and stories as they are what you might consider traditional essays. I know it is a cliché, but I promise that by the end of the book, you will feel as if you know and relate to the author of these irresistible essays.

"Sankofa," by Chibundu Onuzo

“Sankofa” (Catapult, 2021), by the British writer Chibundu Onuzo, is a story about identity, family, and culture. Anna, the main character, lives in London and has a white mother and a black African father whom she has never met, and knows very little about. She now has a fraying marriage and a happy but complex relationship with her a loving relationship with her adult daughter. At the beginning of the novel, Anna’s mother, whom she dearly loved, has just died, and Anna has discovered a trunk that contains the diary of her father, Francis. Francis had been a student in London, boarding with Anna’s mother’s family. After Francis’ and Anna’s mother’s brief affair, Francis returned to his small country in Africa, Bamana, and never knew he was a father. After reading Francis’ diary, Anna finds out that Francis, now Kofi, had become the (now former but still powerful) president of Bamana, and was and is both revered and feared. She decides to travel to Bamana to meet him. Things get complicated; I don’t want to give away too much of the plot, but I can say that Anna, who had suffered discrimination in London for being mixed-race, and who had had questions about her identity, learns much about her family, her identity, and herself. The novel is compelling as a story, and also addresses important issues about race, colonialism, family, and the compromises that postcolonial governments often have to make.

"Late in the Day," by Tessa Hadley

Tessa Hadley is an English author whose works I have savored and admired over the years (see my posts of 7/12/11, 7/13/11, 12/18/12, 3/12/14, 2/27/16, and 6/5/17). They mostly focus on relationships of various types: romantic, marital, friendship, and more. They are very character-driven. And the writing seems effortless yet perfectly controlled. All of these characteristics are ones that draw me in when reading fiction. “Late in the Day” (Harper, 2019) is a very “Hadley” novel, in that it follows in her “usual” genre (but I do not mean to imply that her books are predictable). The main characters are two couples who have known and been close to each other for many years. These characters are all devastated when one of the four, Zach, dies (this happens at the beginning of the novel, so my telling you is not a spoiler). Alex and Christine and Zach’s widow Lydia support each other, but their histories and a few secrets come back to complicate their changing relationships. The story of these four -- separately and together -- throughout the years is kept from being too hermetic by the inclusion of the stories of their grown children, as well as by consideration of the characters’ work and art. Hadley is excellent in portraying the contradictions and complications present in any relationships, within couples and families, which become even more complex when close friendships and various entanglements enter the picture.

"Skinship," by Yoon Choi

As it turns out, I have read several books by Korean American writers lately. One that I just finished is a collection of short stories titled “Skinship” (Knopf, 2021), by Yoon Choi. Most of the stories are set in the USA, with brief visits to Korea. The main characters are generally either first or second generation immigrants, and there are often painful misunderstandings and tensions between generations, as is true for immigrants from many other countries as well. Many of the stories are written from the point of view of children of immigrants, and of the many, often delicate, sometimes debilitating balancing acts they learn to perform. Their conflicted relationships with their parents are palpably fraught with both pain and tenderness. Of course the same is sometimes true of non-immigrant families, but there are particular cultural, historical, linguistic, and other factors associated with immigration. The stories are suffused with specific, sharply drawn details about language, food, family, expectations, relationships, silences. Although the stories are embedded in “the immigrant experience,” each story has its own identity, and is about, but also about more than, “just” immigrants’ lives and feelings.

The Fiction of English Author Elizabeth Taylor

During difficult times, I often find myself revisiting old friends: authors and books that I have loved and admired greatly, and that I have frequently re-read. One such author whose books I have turned to again lately is the mid-20th century English writer Elizabeth Taylor. I have read and re-read almost all of her fiction, and have written here before (2/23/10, 6/27/15, 7/31/15), highly appreciatively, of her novels and short stories. I just re-read Taylor’s first novel, “At Mrs. Lippincote’s” (1945), and read for the first time her last book, completed while she was dying of cancer, and published posthumously, “Blaming” (1976). I won’t repeat all that I have written about Taylor’s work before, except to say that it is low-key in plot, highly focused on character, especially of women, and meticulously observant of the daily lives, thoughts, and feelings of her characters. Taylor does not shy away from portraying the less admirable aspects of her characters’ thoughts and behaviors, but always makes us understand them. She does not sentimentalize or dramatize, yet we readers are drawn in, mulling over and savoring each passage, each minute revelation.

"Small Pleasures," by Clare Chambers

Being something of an Anglophile, I regret that some fiction published in the UK is not published in the U.S. But when a really good novel published only in the UK makes its way into U.S. book reviews, and/or libraries or bookstores, it feels like a gift. My latest “discovery” of an author is a case in point. Clare Chambers’ 2020 novel, “Small Pleasures” (Weidenfeld and Nicolson) received glowing reviews in several U.S. periodicals. Don’t be put off by the main plot catalyst, that the protagonist, London-based journalist Jean Swinney, is investigating a woman’s claim that her daughter was the result of a virgin birth. I was almost put off myself, reading the reviews that revealed this unlikely plot point. But when I got a copy of the novel, I was completely seduced by the book blurbs (I know, one can't always trust book blurbs, but sometimes they are helpful in getting a general sense of a novel), partly because so many of them made comparisons between Clare Chambers and some of my very favorite authors: Barbara Pym in particular, but also Anita Brookner, Elizabeth Taylor, and Dorothy Whipple. I did read the book, and enjoyed and admired it thoroughly. Plot, character, originality, and the high quality of the writing drew me in. It turned out that “Small Pleasures” was Chambers’ first novel in ten years. Of course I then looked for her earlier novels, which were not easily accessible, but I did find some in my local library and online. The other two I have read so far, “Learning to Swim” (Arrow Books, 1998) and “The Editor’s Wife” (Century, 2007) are also excellent. I will keep looking for more of her fiction.