"A Living Remedy," by Nicole Chung

Regular readers of this blog know that next to novels, my favorite genre is memoirs. They may also know that I have recently had a major loss in my life, with the death of my husband. And of course, like all of us, I have had earlier losses too, including those of both my parents and of several close friends. I find myself drawn to memoirs about bereavement. Reading such memoirs is often painful, but also makes me feel connected to others who have experienced this huge change in one's life (which of course, eventually, is everyone...). They too know the great pain of loss of loved ones, and the intense grieving that follows, with all of its manifestations (emotional, mental, physical, social, and logistical). Nicole Chung's memoir, "A Living Remedy" (Ecco, 2023) describes the illnesses and deaths of both of her parents within two years, in the context of Chung's complicated relationship with them and their surroundings, and her painful sense of not being able to do enough for them during their illnesses. Chung is Korean-American, and was adopted as an infant by a white American couple living in a rural part of Oregon; she is their only child. Chung loves them very much, but being the only Asian person in her schools and area, was determined to leave home as soon as she could. She was an excellent student, and received scholarships that enabled her to attend a good East Coast college. Although she loved her parents, and stayed in regular touch, her job and marriage and parenthood prevented her from visiting them very often in the ensuing years. As they became ill, she struggled with feeling inadequate to deal with their health issues, and felt guilty. Although this is a sad story, full of regret and grief, it is clear that there was much love on both sides, and that love becomes the overriding truth that allows everyone to experience grace during the wrenching time of illness, death, and mourning.

"Pete and Alice in Maine," by Caitlin Shetterly

Good reviews, along with blurbs by two of my favorite authors -- Richard Russo and Alice Elliott Dark -- impelled me to read "Pete and Alice in Maine" (Harper, 2023), by Caitlin Shetterly. I was also intrigued that it is one of the early novels set in the COVID-19 pandemic, and grapples with some of the on-the-ground issues that families were dealing with in the early part of the pandemic, and in some cases still. Even for those who were fortunate enough not to experience serious illness or death among their families and friends, it was (and still is in many ways) a frightening, difficult time, in large and small ways. Soon after the pandemic begins, Pete and Alice and their two children move from New York to a family home in Maine to wait it out. Of course that last sentence shows the privilege this family has, and to their credit, the couple is aware of that privilege. But, although being away from the city feels safer, and although there are the pleasures of living in a bucolic setting, there are still very real difficulties to contend with. It is hard to get necessary supplies. The local people consider Pete and Alice outsiders, and actively undermine them in various ways. The children are especially affected, with schooling issues and with emotional turmoil at times. Work also becomes harder for both the adults. The elephant in the room, in the context of the pandemic, is Pete and Alice's recently troubled marriage. Alice in particular feels betrayed, beleaguered, overwhelmed by all of the above. The descriptions of the situation and, especially, of the family dynamics, are compelling, and the book is insightful about the inner workings of marriages and families.

"Snow Road Station" and "All Things Consoled," both by Elizabeth Hay

I try to keep up at least a little bit with Canadian literature, since I was born in Canada, where my parents grew up and where I still have a large extended family, and feel connected to it, even though I have lived in two other countries (India and the United States) most of my life. But I did not know Elizabeth Hay's work until I recently read her 2023 novel, “Snow Road Station” (Knopf Canada). It is a wrenching story about a woman in her sixties, an actor who feels herself being edged out of the theater world and retreats to the small town of Snow Road Station, Ontario. There she tries to assess her life, past and present; her perspective is bleak. The big focus, aside from but related to her loss of career and identity, is her lifelong essential but complex friendship with another woman, as they try to untangle their lives and the friendship. This is a beautiful book, but not actually the one I especially want to focus on in this post. Reading “Snow Road Station” led me to Hay’s piercing, melancholy, grief-filled memoir, “All Things Consoled” (McClelland & Stewart, 2018), one that manages, despite the grim events that Hay describes, to be life-affirming. The focus of the memoir is the difficult, trying time in which her parents are aging, and the ways in which Hay’s often fraught relationship with her parents in the past complicates her current relationship with them as, despite herself, she worries more and more about them, and takes on more and more of their caregiving. This memoir is so moving, so uncomfortable, so heartbreaking to read that I can barely write about it. But it is also so important, so beautiful that I feel compelled to bring it to your attention. The pain is in the way that the heartbreak co-exists with so much (complicated) love. Hay describes her parents so well, such as her father’s frightening temper and her mother’s extreme frugality. The details of these qualities and other aspects of their lives are distressing but perfectly wrought. And the situation of adult children’s taking care of, worrying about, tending to, loving but sometimes resenting their elderly parents, is so common that many readers will be able to relate to it, even if the particulars of their situations and feelings are different. I highly recommend this gorgeously written memoir.

"Somebody's Fool," by Richard Russo

On 8/13/23, I wrote here with great enthusiasm about Ann Patchett’s new novel, “Tom Lake.” Soon after, I read the newest novel of another of my very favorite authors, Richard Russo, and read it with equal enthusiasm. The novel, titled “Somebody’s Fool” (Knopf, 2023) is the third in Russo’s “North Bath” trilogy; the first two novels are “Nobody’s Fool” (1993) and “Everybody’s Fool” (2016) (about which I posted here in some detail on 5/14/16, including some amateur analysis of gendered aspects of writing displayed by many novelists, but transcended, in my view, by Russo). Each novel in the trilogy stands alone; one does not have to have read the earlier novels to thoroughly enjoy “Somebody’s Fool” (although I highly recommend reading all three!). But the site (North Bath, located in Upstate New York, and surroundings) and many of the characters, are the same, but at different time periods. Sully, the complicated, flawed, tough-but-kind, part eccentric and part working-class-male-archetype main character in the two earlier novels, has now died, but his legacy still pervades this most recent novel. The characters in the novels all know each other and each other’s histories and strengths and foibles, in the way of small towns everywhere. I mentioned Ann Patchett in my first sentence here, not only because she and Russo are both such essential and treasured writers for me, but because they share some qualities. They are both profoundly humane in their treatment of their characters, and in their attitudes toward life. They both care deeply about, and thoroughly understand their characters, and they care most of all about the relationships among those characters’ family members, friends, lovers, co-workers, and neighbors. And both authors care about the settings of their novels: they describe them in clear and loving detail. I must add that Russo’s novels also have intriguing plots that keep readers involved, and that his novels, including this one, are suffused with humor.

"A Life of One's Own: Nine Women Writers Begin Again," by Joanna Biggs

Readers can see why I would choose to read “A Life of One’s Own: Nine Women Writers Begin Again” (Ecco, 2023), by Joanna Biggs: It is a combination of literary discussion of eight famous and outstanding women writers with Biggs’ making connections with her own life and work (thus she takes the position of the ninth writer included in the title, which sounds presumptuous, but is done in a humble way). The writers’ lives and work are the main focus, but the author’s own experiences provide a kind of bridge between readers and the eight famed writers. I know you will want to know which writers are the focus of the book; they are Mary Wollstonecraft, George Eliot, Zora Neale Hurston, Virginia Woolf, Simone de Beauvoir, Sylvia Plath, Toni Morrison, and Elena Ferrante. I have read and admired and treasured each of these writers. Readers might wonder about the “begin again” part of the subtitle. In each case, the writer went through some kind of difficulty or obstacle, whether physical, financial, marital, mental, emotional, or otherwise, while working her way toward writing, and managed to transcend that obstacle. This focus was a good reminder that for so long, women were not encouraged to be writers, and women writers had so much less support in writing than men did. Although I already knew quite a bit about each of the eight writers, I still found much to learn and think about. I savored the book, even loved it, as it offered such wonderful insights into the specific writers, their lives and their work, and to the situations of women writers more generally, historically and still.

"Tom Lake," by Ann Patchett

Oh, Ann Patchett! She is such a genius, such an amazing writer! Yet she does it with seeming ease, and with such grace. I have treasured all her books, fiction and nonfiction, but most especially her novels. My posts on her books include those of 9/19/11, 12/8/13, 11/6/16, 3/22/18, 11/15/19, and 3/31/22 (you can also always use the small search bar in the upper lefthand corner of this blogpage). Patchett also co-owns and operates an independent bookstore, Parnassus Books, in Nashville, Tennessee – brava for that! Her brand-new novel, “Tom Lake” (Harper, 2023) is a terrific addition to her fiction. When I heard Patchett was about to publish this novel, and that it involved family, youth, middle age and aging, dreams that evolve, how we figure out what is really important in life, and the power of theater, among other themes, I was first in line to buy a copy. And the fact that it was set in cherry country in northern Michigan, very near to the area of my parents’ former lakeside cottage, where I spent many weeks over many summers, I was even more eager to read the novel. It did not let me down. The novel goes back and forth between the past and the present of its main character, Lara. In the present, during the pandemic when many of the usual workers are gone, she and her husband and their three daughters in their twenties are picking cherries on their cherry farm. Partly to pass the time while picking, Lara’s daughters are eager to hear the story of their mother’s youthful experiences acting in a summer stock theater nearby, at Tom Lake. They are especially interested to hear about her romance with an actor who later became very famous. Thornton Wilder’s play, “Our Town,” has a big role in this story. Lara played that play's character Emily in high school, in college, and at Tom Lake. Her daughters are also curious about why Lara quit acting, and if she ever regrets it. Each of the daughers is, of course, also figuring out what is important in her own life, and on some level is looking for clues in her mother's story. During the weaving of the past and present throughout the novel, we readers are as eager as Lara’s daughters are to find out what happened. But as with all of Patchett’s novels, although the plot is very compelling, equally compelling are the portraits of the characters and of their relationships, and the connections between the past and the present in all of their lives. I thoroughly admired and enjoyed “Tom Lake,” and (as you can tell by now!) I highly recommend it.

"The Best of Everything," by Rona Jaffe

Rona Jaffe’s novel “The Best of Everything,” when it was originally published in 1958, was considered risqué, even shocking, for its candid portrayal of the lives of young women working in New York City, most of them planning to work only until they found husbands. The “shocking” part had to do with their romantic and sexual lives, as well as with the blatant and unchallenged discrimination against them at work, and the rampant sexual harassment they endured. It also had to do with the fact that some of these young women wanted more than just marriage and children; they wanted to be able to continue working as well. In other words, despite society’s expectations, they wanted to “have it all.” But this ambition was mostly not considered acceptable in the society of the times. This was the time a few years before second wave feminism (then known as “women’s liberation” or “women’s lib”) began to be a movement in the U.S. and elsewhere. The recent reissue (Penguin, 2023) of “The Best of Everything” includes an excellent introduction written by New Yorker writer Rachel Syme, one that provides a useful perspective about the social climate of the times. The main characters in the novel are several young women who work in a publishing house, and the story tells of their work lives, their friendships, and their relationships with the men in their lives. The young women sometimes compete with each other, but mostly are loyal to each other; the solidarity among them, especially when some of them suffer very difficult times, is a high point of the novel. They cannot complain to their employers, or to anyone else with any power, about the discrimination and harassment they endure, but they can and do look out for each other, and comfort and help each other. Although the novel is a “page turner” and perhaps not at the highest levels of literature, it is fascinating to read. Besides the usual pleasures of character and plot, the cultural environment of the times is of interest, as well as the portrayal of life in New York City and surroundings. Most of all, to me and perhaps to other women of my generation, the book is a timely reminder (in case we had forgotten) of how much sexism and discrimination existed, and of how blatant it was. It could be instructive for younger women and men to read as well. Reading it from the perspective of our own times offers a contrast, as matters have improved for many women in many – though definitely not all -- parts of the world, sometimes dramatically. (I do note that this book focuses on a particular subset of women – young, white, heterosexual, mostly middle-class, fairly well-educated, American, urban – and although the lives of this group reflect in many ways the situation of women of other identities and places, the differences are important to remember as well.) But the reminder the novel provides is also somewhat chilling, in that very recent years have forced us to realize that progress is not all linear, and victories we thought we had won can be, and have been, taken away from us, in a way that we could never imagine. I am glad “The Best of Everything” has been reissued, as it offers us both reading enjoyment and important instruction on the lives and rights – or lack thereof – of women, and of the need for ongoing vigilance and action.