"Brown Girls," by Daphne Palasi Andreades

I cannot speak highly enough of first time novelist Daphne Palasi Andreades’ “Brown Girls” (Random House, 2022). The story is told in the plural voice, a sort of chorus, of an extended group of girls of various ethnic and national backgrounds who grow up together in the borough of Queens, New York City. They, or their parents or grandparents, are from the Dominican Republic, Pakistan, the Philippines, the Bahamas, Vietnam, India, Mexico, and many more countries. They tell stories of their families, their neighborhoods, their schools, the boys and girls they date and love, the music, the excitements and the dangers, and most of all, their extended sisterhood and their pride in their heritages and cultures. The group story takes them through girlhood, young womanhood, and into middle age and beyond, but with an emphasis on their teen years and their twenties. There is much to celebrate, but there are also sad and even tragic events. This novel is beautifully written, with the “chorus” structure being very effective. The novel bursts with life in all its aspects, and is exhilarating in its breadth and vividness. Highly recommended!

"Seeking Fortune Elsewhere: Stories," by Sindya Bhanoo

I often read and very much enjoy collections of short stories, but less often write about them here, since it is harder to capture in a short blogpost a set of short works than a whole, unified world such as that found in a novel or memoir, my most frequent readings. As I was reading “Seeking Fortune Elsewhere: Stories” (Catapult, 2022), I became so immersed in the world that author Sindya Bhanoo portrayed that I had to write about the book. The setting of many of the stories, in South India, surfaced memories and nostalgia for me, as I spent much of my childhood there. Obviously, my situation was different than that of the Indian and Indian-American characters in these stories; although I cherish my memories, my family and I as White Canadians, while privileged in many ways, were of course also always outsiders in very real ways. Still, one’s feelings, one’s memories of childhood, do not obey one’s knowledge of one’s actual roles. Beyond my own connection with the settings of these stories, the focus on both Indians and Indian-Americans, and more widely, on immigrants, those who move back and forth between and among cultures, is one I have always found of great interest. I married someone who did just that, as did others in my family and among my friends, colleagues, and students. I eagerly read fiction and nonfiction about the topic. Some of my academic publications have addressed aspects of the topic. So all of these factors drew me in to this thoughtful and evocative story collection. But they would not have done so if not for the author’s skillful and moving portrayals of the characters and their families and interactions. Bhanoo writes so beautifully, with so much truth, of love, heartache, conflict, compromise, pride, and more. She particularly focuses on contemporary women characters and their ambivalences and balancing acts. Her portrayals of children are realistic and revealing as well. As you can tell, I was struck by this book, caught up in its world, and highly recommend it.

"I Came All This Way to Meet You: Writing Myself Home," by Jami Attenberg

I described Jami Attenberg’s best-known novel, “The Middlesteins” (2012) as a “sprawling family story” (one which I very much admired and enjoyed), in contrast to her 2017 novel, “All Grown Up” (see my post of 4/5/17). Her current memoir, “I Came All This Way to Meet You: Writing Myself Home” (Ecco, 2022) has some overlaps with “All Grown Up,” such as the non-linear structure of each book, the erratic dating life of both main characters that never leads to settling down with one person (which the characters both bemoan and celebrate), and the setting (mostly) in New York City. The memoir is generously candid, sharing with readers the author’s insecurities, traumas, bad as well as good decisions, and – most of all – her clear and certain sense of herself as a writer. It took her a while to get there, and she had to struggle through many temporary jobs, many apartments, financial issues, good and bad lovers, and friends who were good but often didn’t stick in her life. Which doesn’t mean she didn’t enjoy her life a good portion of the time. But she also dealt, at times, with reliance on alcohol and drugs, anxiety and depression, and other obstacles. However, once she determined to find a way, no matter what, to enact her writing dreams, she was able to do so, with slow but eventual success. She tells us that when she is writing, even when it is hard, she feels most “right,” most at peace. She also shows us how she is sustained by books, bookstores, other writers, other artists, art exhibits, and music. As mentioned above, Attenberg tells her story in a non-linear, non-chronological way, but weaves its parts together in an accessible and satisfying way.

"Solid Ivory," by James Ivory

Oh, what fun it was to read James Ivory’s memoir, “Solid Ivory” (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2021)! James Ivory is the director of the famous Merchant Ivory films, working with his late producer and partner in business and in life, Ismail Merchant. The third of their film-making trio was the late Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, the screenwriter. Many of these films are based on novels by such authors as Henry James (e.g., "The Europeans," "The Bostonians") and E.M. Forster (e.g., "A Room with a View," "Howard's End"). They usually feature highly respected and acclaimed actors, beautiful scenery and costumes, and very high production values. The films are rich, luxurious, somewhat slow, literary but accessible, and pure joy for those of us who love the above-mentioned novels and who love literary films. This memoir is actually a series of memoiristic essays, some of them previously published in such venues as The New Yorker, about Ivory’s life and work, and about the famous people he knew. The book is informative, gossipy, and very frank about the author’s love and sex life. He has lived and worked in many different places in the United States, Europe, and in India, the latter a favorite locale. Photographs of the people and places in his life and work are generously sprinkled throughout the book. Although the Merchant Ivory Jhabvala style of films may be slightly out of fashion now, there are definitely descendants – similar if not quite up to the same standards -- to be found in some of today’s luxe period pieces on television, such as “The Crown,” “Sanditon,” and “The Gilded Age.”

"Disorientation," by Elaine Hsieh Chou

I enjoyed Elaine Hsieh Chou’s novel “Disorientation” (Penguin, 2022) on several levels. It is a very perceptive satirical campus novel, which I always enjoy, being an academic myself. It is about ethnic and gender identities in the United States, specifically what it is like to be a Chinese American woman. And it is a literary mystery, which itself brings up issues of identity and authenticity. It is also funny, although occasionally the humor seems a little exaggerated. The main character, Ingrid Yang, is studying for her PhD, a process that has been dragged out by issues of rather manipulative advisors, as well as by her own boredom with the topic that she feels she was pushed into. She is studying a famous Chinese American poet who taught at Ingrid’s university; during the course of her research, she finds clues that not all is what it seems with that poet and his identity and history. Ingrid soon finds that some other people she knows at the university are not as they seem either. She finds herself in some daring and unorthodox situations as she tries to solve the mystery. Meanwhile she is having some doubts about her supposedly ideal fiancé, a white man who seems a little too proud of himself and his "open-mindedness" for having a Chinese American fiancee. These several elements of the novel are adeptly woven together, and readers are definitely entertained along the way. They also learn quite a bit about ethnic stereotyping, microagressions, and other issues arising out of ignorance but also out of racism and sexism. The author deserves much credit for her vivid portrayals of these issues.

"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.