"Signal Fires," by Dani Shapiro

This post will be short and to the point. Dani Shapiro’s newest novel, “Signal Fires” (Knopf, 2022), is brilliant, gripping, and beautifully written. It makes readers reflect on family, memory, history, gender, youth and age, secrets, and the subconscious. But it is not only “about” these themes. It is mysterious, suspenseful, haunting, yet completely realistic. It makes the reader care about the characters. It reminds readers of events and people in their lives. You will not find more compelling characters than Dr. Wilf and the young boy Waldo. And yes, the plot draws readers in, but I don't want to spoil it by telling you too much about it, and the novel is so much more than its plot, with its mystery, pain, and transcendence.

"The Woman Next Door" and "Dele Weds Destiny"

Two novels I read this month are set in Africa. “The Woman Next Door” (Picador, 2016), by Yewande Omotoso, takes place in South Africa, and “Dele Weds Destiny" (Knopf, 2022), by Tomi Obaro, takes place mostly in Nigeria. Omotoso’s book focuses on two older women – both widows, both successful, one Black and one White -- who live next door to each other in a mostly white neighborhood in a suburb of Cape Town. They do not like each other at all, and Hortensia feels that Marion does not understand racial issues. Each woman is portrayed with understanding, pathos, humor, and most of all with dignity. Events bring them together in a common cause, and they become something close to friends. This perhaps sounds schematic, but the author reveals the gradual change in a believable way. Obaro’s book, in contrast to Omotoso’s, focuses on three young women in Nigeria who become friends during college, then go in different directions, but are always connected. They come together for the wedding of the daughter of one of the women, and various tensions and truths are revealed. Both novels deal with race, gender, class, family, culture, women’s friendships, and the effects of time on all of us. Both also have engaging characters and intriguing plots.

The Best Books I Read in 2022

Here I list the dozen best books I read in 2022, with the dates of my blogposts on those books. As always, most of them are novels, along with one short-story collection, one memoir, and two essayistic volumes. Eleven of the twelve are by women authors; one is by a man. What can I say? Regular readers of this blog know I mostly -- but definitely not only! -- read books by women. Most but not all of these twelve books were published in 2022. For convenience of reference to my blog for details, I list the books in chronological order of when I posted on them. 1. “Oh William!” by Elizabeth Strout (1/26/22). 2. “What About the Baby? Some Thoughts on the Art of Fiction,” by Alice McDermott (1/31/22). 3. “These Precious Days” [Essays], by Ann Patchett (3/31/22). 4. “The Swimmers,” by Julie Otsuka (4/9/22). 5. “Seeking Fortune Elsewhere: Stories,” by Sindya Bhanoo (5/15/22). 6. “Brown Girls,” by Daphne Palasi Andreades ((5/28/22). 7. “Love Marriage,” by Monica Ali (7/2/22). 8. “The Latecomer,” by Jean Hanff Korelitz (7/20/22). 9. “Lessons in Chemistry,” by Bonnie Garmus (7/24/22). 10. “Frances and Bernard,” by Carlene Bauer (10/12/22. 11. “Fellowship Point,” by Alice Elliott Dark (11/16/22). 12. “Stay True” [Memoir], by Hua Hsu (12/1/22).

Three "Topical" Novels: "On the Rooftop," "Young Jane Young," and "The Complicities"

Remember Bernie Madoff? Monica Lewinsky? The destruction of the Black Fillmore District in San Francisco? I have mixed feelings about fiction based at least loosely on real events in the news. When done well, such fiction can be illuminating; otherwise, it can appear unimaginative or even exploitative. I have just read three such novels, each based on events in the news during the last half of the 20th century or the beginning of the 21st century, and I felt each book added context, depth, and understanding regarding political/cultural/historical events, while also providing some of the other benefits and pleasures of good fiction, such as character, plot, and imagination. First, chronologically by event, is “On the Rooftop” (Ecco, 2022), by Margaret Wilkerson Sexton. It tells the devastating story of how the city of San Francisco’s predominantly Black district, the Fillmore, an area with a rich history and culture, was in the 1950s and 1960s destroyed for the financial benefit of powerful (mostly white) businessmen and politicians. The characters of this novel who live there are a mother and her three daughters (who are musicians), their friends and lovers, and their neighbors. Their personal stories are intertwined with the larger story of their neighborhood. This is a powerful revelation of one particular manifestation of racism and its effects. Next chronologically is Gabrielle Zevin’s “Young Jane Young” (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2017), which features a young woman working for a Congressman who is drawn into a secret sexual relationship and eventually abandoned; when the relationship is discovered, it is she who is lambasted by the press and everyone else, not he. The novel mentions the Clinton/Lewinsky parallel, so the plot is not directly based on that event, but is emblematic of all too many similar instances. Finally, “The Complicities” (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2022), by Stacey D’Erasmo, is narrated by the wife of a man who has committed massive financial fraud, crimes which have deeply harmed, even bankrupted, many clients who trusted him too much. The novel portrays the ways in which Suzanne has managed to not know what her husband was doing, and her struggles with her greatly reduced financial situation (as her husband goes to prison, and the two divorce), as well as her slowly coming to grips with her own complicity that the title alludes to. All three of these books are “topical,” which quality focuses the reader’s interest; all three also stand on their own in terms of being admirable fiction.

Reading for Comfort during Bereavement

I have written here before that books, among all their many other functions and joys, provide comfort. This past year, since the death of my beloved husband of decades, I have experienced this as never before. I mourn that he wasn’t allowed more time in life, and I grieve and miss him beyond measure. I have received great comfort from the memories of our time together, as well as from loving and supportive family members and friends. I have also received much comfort from one of the most continuous and sustaining elements in my life: reading. Books have been an ever-present, ever-loved part of my life since early childhood. Their companionship has been consistent and dependable, and they have not let me down during this difficult, sad time in my life. I have found myself reading more than ever this year. Sometimes I read about situations close to mine; sometimes I read for distraction; mainly I read to lose myself in the infinite joys and rewards of good books. All of these purposes lead to comfort, for which I am now particularly grateful.

"Like a Rolling Stone," by Jann S. Wenner

I feel as if I have just surfaced from a long journey back into my teens and twenties and beyond. I inhaled (no pun intended, given the times and topic of the book!) Jann S. Wenner’s 556-page memoir, “Like a Rolling Stone” (Little, Brown, 2022) in four days. Wenner was the founder/publisher/editor of the magazine Rolling Stone for 50 years, just recently selling the publication and retiring. The magazine was cutting edge, very high quality, and very popular, a source of great journalism and reviews and photography related to music (most of all), culture, and politics. What drew me in to the magazine, back in my youth, and to the memoir (now) was the intimate and detailed portraits of the musicians, writers, photographers, politicians, and other big players of the past five decades, especially during the earlier years (the years of my own youth). Writers and photographers who worked at Rolling Stone included Ralph J. Gleason, Cameron Crowe, Hunter S. Thompson, Tom Wolfe, Ben Fong-Torres, and Annie Leibovitz, and so many more. (And yes, it is unfortunately -- but typical of the times -- true that there were far more men than women on the staff, especially in the star positions.) And it seemed that Wenner knew and knows all the musicians and writers and politicians, and was close friends with many, many of them, including Bob Dylan, Mick Jagger, John Lennon, Yoko Ono, Bono, Boz Scaggs, Bruce Springsteen, Jackie Onassis and her son John Kennedy, Al Gore, Michael Douglas, Bette Midler, John Belushi, and many more. One might be tempted to think that Wenner is exaggerating his closeness to these super-famous people, but his stories of time spent with each of these over the years ring true. Wenner has also had a complicated family life, which he describes (seemingly, at least) candidly. He was married for years to Jane, and they had/have three children together. At some point he realized he was gay, but wanted to preserve his close connection to Jane and to their children, and felt that occasional brief affairs with men did not threaten his marriage. But then he met Matt Nye and fell in love with him. They became partners and eventually married and had three children of their own. Although Jane was unhappy, remarkably they were able to all get along well, and the children of the two families became close as well. I imagine some difficult times were somewhat glossed over in this memoir, but still, one has to admire the maturity and caring involved in everyone in the family getting along and supporting each other. I never had strong feelings about Wenner, although I did read and enjoy Rolling Stone during my college years and for a while afterward. But he manages to make this book about much more than himself (aside from occasional self-aggrandizement – but after all, it is his memoir!) This book just grabbed me, with its sweeping story of the times, the times in which I grew up as well. I was particularly swept up in remembering the music of the early days of my youth – the 1960s and the 1970s - with all the dramatic changes that took place during those years, when we felt that youth would make the world a better place. It made me remember the personal and communal power of music, especially in one’s teens and twenties: the way the music insistently and intensely intertwined with our lives, our loves, our longings, our politics, our dreams.

"Stay True," by Hua Hsu

I have recently accumulated a small pile of books about grief and loss, wanting to have the books but mostly unable to actually read them yet, almost a year after the death of my beloved husband. When I read about New Yorker writer Hua Hsu’s memoir about the sudden, violent death of his best friend in college, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to read it, because it would be too painful. But although I was torn, I did read “Stay True” (Doubleday, 2022), partly because I had read some of Hsu’s New Yorker articles and been impressed and drawn in by them, and partly because I was intrigued by his focusing on the death of a friend, a less common focus than the many (important and valuable) books about deaths of parents, spouses, children, siblings, and other family members. Hsu went to Berkeley, and since the campus is just across a bridge from where I live, the setting was also an attraction. But the main feature that drew me in was that Hsu captures so well the lives of college students, with their intense friendships and interests and emotions. Even though I teach at a university, I sometimes forget what an exciting but also fraught time one’s college years are. This book made me remember, including remembering my own college days, long ago as they were. Hsu's friend Ken was an important part of Hsu's college experience, and the author honors Ken by portraying him in such detail, and portraying their friendship so vividly. "Stay True" is powerful, authentic, emotional, full of telling details, and very well written. Highly recommended.