"Fellowship Point," by Alice Elliott Dark

I have just stumbled, half-dazed (in a good way!), out of the complicated, layered world of the novel “Fellowship Point” (Scribner, 2022), by Alice Elliott Dark. This is a truly original, striking novel that powerfully draws the reader in. The Fellowship Point of the title is an idyllic space in Maine where the main characters go during the summers. The homeowners there have formed – legally and socially – a unique community, one which is now threatened with development that would spoil the unique character of the area, along with its history and natural environment. The story also encompasses so much more – 80 years of history, family and other connections, concern for the environment and for the Native American original inhabitants of the area, two writers, one of whom writes two iconic book series, reflections on the roles of women in society, portrayals of childhood, issues of money and social class, and much more. The most compelling features of this 576-page novel are, for me, the main characters and the world they have created at Fellowship Point. The central character is Agnes, the author of the children’s book series, “Nan When,” and the secret author of an adult series, the “Franklin Square” novels, which is about the social world in Philadelphia, where she lives when not at Fellowship Point. She is active, thoughtful, feminist, strong-willed, opinionated, judgmental but empathetic (sometimes!). Her voice is distinctive. Her best and dearest friend since childhood, Polly, is more traditional, in her roles of wife and mother, but is much more of an individual thinker than others realize. One of my favorite things about the novel is its focus on two older women (in their early eighties), a focus that is not very common in fiction. There are also other compelling characters, including children. The story is mainly situated in the 1960s and the 2000s (jumping back and forth). Themes include family, love, duty, freedom, independence, interconnection, nature, varying definitions of “home,” trauma, mental health, and so much more. This is a unique, engrossing, and thought-provoking novel, and I recommend it highly.

RIP Camen Callil, Founder of Virago Press

Carmen Callil, the founder of Virago Press, died October 17, 2022, at the age of 84, of leukemia. This is sad news indeed. But I write to celebrate the groundbreaking, earthshaking press she started in 1973, which focused on reviving literary works by women authors. Its imprint “Virago Modern Classics” reissued the work of such “forgotten” writers as Rebecca West and Antonia White. Virago’s distinctive green covers alerted readers to the hundreds of women writers it published. I personally read many of these. The Guardian states that with Virago, Callil “transformed the canon of English literature.” (Thanks too to the New York Times’ obituary for some of the information above.) I and many, many other readers are deeply grateful to Callil and to Virago. RIP, Carmen Callil, and thank you!

"Waiting at Chez Panisse: Memoirs of an Exiled Maitre d': Volume 1," by Jerry Budrick

Regular readers of this blog will know that I savor reading about the world of restaurants, and I enjoy memoirs. I have written here about memoirs of various restaurateurs, chefs, servers, and critics, as well as about other food-related books; see my posts of, for example, 2/4/10 (which contains a list of such books), 4/26/11, and 5/12/12. Recently I read “Waiting at Chez Panisse: Memoirs of an Exiled Maitre d’: Volume 1,” (Service Non Compris Books, 2021) by Jerry Budrick. Budrick was one of the co-founders of the famed Berkeley, California restaurant, Chez Panisse, and was also, as the title suggests, the maître d’ there for many years. As one of the leaders of the restaurant, his duties were far more, and more diverse, than the (of course important) role of maître d’/server. He tells readers that he has been writing this book for many, many years, long after he left Chez Panisse, finally completing it last year, and with the subtitle of “Volume 1,” planning to write more about the Chez Panisse experience. Unfortunately, he died soon after this book was published – July 24, 2022, at age 78 – and so, sadly, there will be no Volume 2. The book is very frank, and full of many delicious details of great interest to anyone who loves the world of restaurants, including lots of good gossip. We definitely get the sense of being taken behind the scenes at this iconic restaurant. Since Chez Panisse is just across the Bay from where I live, and I have been fortunate enough to have several amazing meals there, I was even more interested. Of course Alice Waters is the face of the restaurant, and chef Jeremiah Tower, who was involved with the restaurant early on, is the other “big name” associated with the restaurant. But Budrick makes clear that it was a group, a community, that built and ran the restaurant, including himself. There is a streak in this book of the author’s occasional resentment against, if not Alice Waters herself (who was also at one point Budrick’s romantic partner) directly, then definitely against the idolization of and mystique around Waters at the expense of all the other people who contributed to – in fact allowed and ensured – the great success and fame of Chez Panisse, including surviving some precarious times. There is even a tincture of score-settling. But overall, the tone of the book is positive, in the sense of the author’s being proud of the restaurant and all it has achieved over the years. The restaurant also became a community, one that was important for, and treasured by, Budrick. The quality of the writing is competent but not striking, but it almost doesn’t matter, because the subject matter, and the author’s candor, are so appealing. Although I had already read several accounts of the beginnings and development of Chez Panisse, including accounts by and about Alice Waters and Jeremiah Tower, I very much enjoyed reading Budrick’s book and learning more about this amazing restaurant, as well as feeling I was getting an inside scoop about the happenings and intrigues there.

"First Love" and "My Phantoms," by Gwendoline Riley

I only very recently heard of the English writer Gwendoline Riley, probably partly because it seems that only her newest books are widely available in the United States. I just read her 2017 novel, “First Love” (New York Review Books) and her 2021 novel, “My Phantoms” (New York Review Books), and found these short (under 200 pages each) books to be rather bleak but compelling. The main characters of each, Neve of “First Love” and Bridget of “My Phantoms,” are very similar in some ways, with life circumstances perhaps somewhat similar to those of the author (based on the limited information I found about her). For Neve and Bridget, these include connections to Manchester, England; difficult childhoods with very difficult parents; enmeshed and fraught relationships between both of the two main characters as adults and their mothers; work as writers or academics. Each daughter struggles with a push-pull relationship with her mother: both enmeshed and fraught. The daughters avoid seeing their mothers much, and dread their meetings, but they feel responsible for them as well, and try to do their duty by them. In the case of “First Love,” the other major relationship portrayed is the extremely complicated and often terribly contentious relationship between Neve and her older husband Edwyn. Neve is almost always on tenterhooks with Edwyn, never knowing what will set him off. One of Riley’s strengths in this novel is her vivid (uncomfortably so) depictions of marital conversations, fights, and reconciliations. The last chapter of “First Love” is a masterpiece, albeit a painful one, describing a scene between Neve and Edwyn in which they both – but mostly Edwyn – use words as weapons, turn every remark or memory into something horrible, and cannot let the other one ever “win.” Riley is a genius at showing the particular cruelty that people who know each other well, and can use that knowledge as ammunition, can perpetrate on their partners. It is a scene that both rings true and devastates not only the characters but the reader. Both novels are depressing in their depictions of family, yet there is always a kernel of love, care, and responsibility as well, and conventions are often maintained, if barely and if with very little enthusiasm. So, yes, these books are bleak. The appeal to me, as always, is in learning from the way human relationships are rendered in these novels.

"The Poet's House," by Jean Thompson

Jean Thompson is an author whose work I have sometimes admired and enjoyed very much, and at other times felt disappointed with (see my posts of 5/24/11, 5/17/13, 8/12/16, and 12/21/18). Because I did like the last novel I read by her, “A Cloud in the Shape of a Girl,” (see my 12/21/18 post), and because the description and reviews of her newest novel intrigued me, I read “The Poet’s House” (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2022). I was not disappointed. The book has many elements that I enjoy in fiction, including characters who are writers; detailed, vivid descriptions of the world of poets and poetry (retreats, workshops, publishers, etc.); characters who are well-written; complex relationships among the various characters (writers or not); and a setting in Marin County, California, where I live. The main character is a young woman, Carla, currently a landscaper, who is a bit at sea about what is next in her life, and who has recently “discovered” the joys and attractions of poetry through meeting a leading poet named Viridiana, who takes her up as a kind of assistant and friend. Carla, and her life, are greatly influenced by Viridiana and by the other people in the world of writers whom Carla now meets and interacts with. There is plenty of plot moving the story along, and I enjoyed that, but the best parts of "The Poet's House" are the portrayals of the world of poets and the well-drawn, sometimes with notes of satire, characters who are both “types” (and fun to guess who they might be modeled on!) and complete originals.

"Frances and Bernard," by Carlene Bauer

A fictionalized version of the relationship between two famous writers? I am so there for a book like that! Actually the publicity for the novel “Frances and Bernard” (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2012), by Carlene Bauer, only claims that the book is “inspired by the lives of" Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell, a surprise to me. Like any good English major, I knew the work of each of these great authors to some extent, but did not know, or at least did not remember knowing, that they had a long, close friendship. This novel imagines that the relationship went further, into the realm of a romantic affair; however, everything I read to check on this says that in real life their relationship was almost entirely through letters. Notably, this novel is also written through letters, but the letters (between the two writers, and to and from their friends and editors) refer to many actual meetings between the two writers. So, although the story is based loosely on two brilliant and intense writers, the real pleasures of reading this novel are the explorations of the two fictional characters, Frances and Bernard, of their support of each other during difficult times, of their shared struggle with questions of religion and philosophy, and of that intangible, unclassifiable connection that sometimes happens between two people, irrespective of specifiable labels for their relationships. The writing is beautiful, and combines the pleasures of plot with those of character and of meaningful exploration of the complexities of life.

"A Blind Corner: Stories," by Caitlin Macy

The book-cover flap of “A Blind Corner: Stories” (Little, Brown, 2022), by Caitlin Macy, states that “this collection reclaims the absurdities and paradoxes of real life from the American fantasy of ‘niceness.’” Yes, it does. Words that I jotted down while reading this book included “biting,” “mordant,” and “caustic.” I also noted that I frequently winced while reading the book. Yes, I also wrote “observant.” And I noticed the collection’s interest in, and apt comments on, social class, a topic in which I am very interested; I also noted and appreciated Macy’s treatment of social class in two of her earlier books, both novels: “Spoiled,” which I posted about here on 4/26/18, and “Mrs.,” which I wrote about here on 7/2/18. But the stories in “A Blind Corner” lean too heavily on the absurdities, the mordant, the caustic, for my taste. Does this mean I want my fiction to be smooth, and not to be challenging? No, not at all. But my ongoing feeling throughout the current book was not, as the book-cover flap also claims, that “Macy foregoes easy moralization in favor of uncomfortable truths that reveal the complexity of what it means to be human.” Rather it appeared to me that she sometimes takes the easy way out, using her stories to negate, to shock. To my eyes, there was something not quite real about some of the situations portrayed. This is not to say that Macy is not a compelling writer – she is. And I admit that my reaction to this book could very well be a matter of taste, or even of my own mood during these difficult times. I did admire some of the stories, as I did the two earlier books mentioned above. But I was not sorry to reach the end of “A Blind Corner.”