"Ana Turns" and two other books by Lisa Gornick

I very recently "discovered" the novels of Lisa Gornick. How glorious it always is to find a new (to me) author! I stumbled across "Ana Turns" (Keylight, 2023) in the new books section of my wonderful local library. The main character, Ana, has been called (by writer Helen Simonson), aptly, "a modern-day Mrs. Dalloway," and is clearly intended by Gornick as such. In this novel, as in Virginia Woolf's "Mrs. Dalloway" (one of my very favorite and most admired novels), we read the story of the day of a woman, with many flashbacks to, and thoughts on, the complicated events and relationships she has experienced. Both novels lead up to a dinner party. Along the way in "Ana Turns," as 60-year-old Ana moves about in current-day New York, we learn of her complex family history, her lovers, her friends. Gornick expertly interweaves these various actors and actions, vividly painting one woman's life, a life that will resonate with the lives of many contemporary women. I was so enchanted with "Ana Turns" that I then found and read two of Gornick's earlier books. "Louisa Meets Bear" (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2015), is a novel that is formed by a set of interlinked stories in which it is not at first clear what the connections are among the stories, but gradually (almost) all is revealed. The third Gornick book I read was "The Peacock Feast" (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2019). As with the other two books, this novel is not at all linear, but roams back and forth in time over a century, focusing on a now almost-100-year-old woman, Prudence, and her family history, mostly in New York City and environs, but with visits to Europe and elsewhere. Also as with the other narratives, the family history holds both great love and great troubles. Readers must be patient as the various plot lines are untangled, but this is not onerous and is part of the pleasure of the books. What a brilliant writer Gornick is, drawing us into her stories, making us wonder and speculate and, in at least one instance for this reader, weep. I highly recommend all three books. (Oh, and yes, the author is, as I wondered about and then found out with a little online research, the niece of feminist essayist/memoirist/literary critic Vivian Gornick, a writer whose work I have long admired and treasured; see my posts of 10/15/15 and 3/28/20.)

"Fourteen Days," edited by Margaret Atwood and Douglas Preston

Although many people feel that we are now beyond the COVID pandemic, it is still with us, and there are an increasing number of novels about it. "Fourteen Days" (Harper, 2024) describes the first two weeks after the lockdown was declared in New York City in March 2020. The unusual thing about the book -- besides the topic -- is that it is subtitled "A Collaborative Novel" and is co-authored by 36 prominent writers, such as Celeste Ng, Tommy Orange, Dave Eggers, Ishmael Reed, Scott Turow, and Meg Wolitzer (and edited by Margaret Atwood and Douglas Preston), and that the individual pieces/chapters do not reveal which was written by which author (although one can find this information in the back of the book). The premise of the book is that the residents of a rundown apartment building start to gather on the rooftop, the only place they can get fresh air while socially distancing. Gradually, these characters start telling stories, some eagerly and some reluctantly, about very different topics at different time periods and in very different styles. The effect is to draw the residents together, although many are still wary of each other. The stories are almost all very compelling, for the participants as well as for us, the readers. The collection of stories, the ways they are told, and the relationships among the tellers, are reminiscent of The Canterbury Tales and the Decameron. We are also reminded of other storytelling situations through history, especially those in the midst of difficult, precarious times. Part of the appeal here is the confluence of the various characters and stories with the current dilemma they all share, as they are trapped by the pandemic, and are surrounded by its effects (sirens wailing, refrigerated trucks with bodies, the deterioration of their building and of course the psychological impacts of it all). I wasn't quite sure how I would respond to this book, but I found myself completely drawn into it; it is truly -- despite the terrible events -- enthralling reading.

RIP Alice Munro

A great light has gone out. Generally acknowledged to be one of the best short story writers ever, the Canadian writer Alice Munro died yesterday. She was 92 years old. She was highly lauded by many, and received many awards, including the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2013. Most of her stories are set in rural Ontario, which is where Munro lived for most of her life, and most often focus on women in that milieu. She has been compared to fellow short story writers Katherine Anne Porter and Raymond Carver. Fellow writers have praised her highly. Edna O'Brien ranked her with William Faulkner and James Joyce as influences on her work. Cynthia Ozick called her "our Chekhov." (I drew on today's New York Times article/obituary, by Anthony DePalma, for some of the above.) I have long read and loved Munro's stories (and her one novel, which she later said was more a series of linked stories); her work is so very original, powerful, psychologically astute, and perceptive. I have posted about her work here (e.g., on 7/22/10, 12/6/12, 10/10/13, and 8/3/14). What I have written today seems vastly inadequate, but I hope readers either already know her work, or will seek it out.

Why I Read Sports Stories: Because they are STORIES

Some readers may be surprised to hear that I am a big fan of certain sports, in particular NBA basketball, and most especially my hometown team, the Golden State Warriors. During the ten-plus years that I have been enthusiastically following the Warriors, I have somehow also gone from tepid interest in the sports played at my own and my daughter's former schools to becoming somewhat more interested in sports in general. One indication of this development is that although for decades I had no interest in the sports section of the newspaper, and would immediately put it in recycling (after my husband had read it), I gradually became more interested in reading the Sporting Green of the San Francisco Chronicle, as well as other sources of sports news. I followed tennis a bit since my husband played tennis and was a huge fan of professional tennis. I always watched at least some of the Olympics. I was pleased as women's sports developed and became more prominent on the scene. I became increasingly interested in stories about several sports, although my main sports focus was and still is the Warriors. Readers will not be surprised to hear that I especially like sports news that covers not only the scores and descriptions of the games/competitions, but the human angles, the stories behind the stories. And that leads me to my main point here: good sports writing has all the pleasures of fiction or memoir, in that there are intriguing characters, plots, and settings; there is suspense; there are wonderful turns of phrases and descriptive passages; there are various compelling writing styles. Good sports writing informs and entertains us, and makes us care. Of course many, perhaps most of the stories are about the competitions themselves, not only who won, but by how much, and in what ways, and with what surprises. But there are also stories about the developments experienced by an athlete or team throughout a season, and throughout the years (changes in ownership, owners who are willing to spend a lot and those who are not, moves to different cities, dynasties). There are profiles of individual athletes, including their family backgrounds (Whose parent was also a player? Who recently got married or divorced? Who has adorable small children who occasionally pop up at press events?). Also their lives (Who sails a boat to work every day? Who is a basketball superstar who has also won golf tournaments? Who does a lot of philanthropy? Who is featured in many commercials? Who crashed his car?), their reputations (the leader, the role model, the quiet one, the rebel, the one who plays dirty), their quirks. And there are stories about the relationships among the players as well as the coaches, referees, and other relevant personnel (Who gets along with whom? Who is competitive with whom? Who feels the coach is not being fair to him? Who thinks the referees are out to get him?). Some stories come out of left field (so to speak!), such as the recent one about a Japanese baseball superstar whose translator has, it turns out, been stealing millions from him to pay his gambling debts. And of course there is much speculation about the future (Who will be kept on the team? Who will be sent back to the minor leagues? Who will be traded? Who will be a a starter? Who will retire? Which team has a good chance to win it all next year, and which must be content with rebuilding?) I find so many of these stories to be compelling. I also appreciate the high quality writing of (in addition to sports reporters) excellent sports columnists, who provide a combination of news and commentary. For example, we who read the San Francisco Chronicle are fortunate to have excellent longtime sports columnists, especially Ann Killion and Scott Ostler. So, in conclusion: Sports stories are STORIES, like other forms of stories, and that is why, although I am far from athletic myself, I am a regular, even passionate, reader and fan of those stories.

The Ruth Gallagher mystery novels, by Elly Griffiths

I won't belabor here, yet again, my lifelong on-and-off relationship with mystery novels. But I will say that I have just had a prolonged "on" period, reading the Ruth Galloway mystery novels of Elly Griffiths. These were recommended to me by my dear friend Mary V., and once I started reading the series (in order, of course!), I couldn't stop! I have now read all fifteen novels in the series, ending with "The Last Remains" (Mariner Books, 2023), which Griffiths has told us is the final book in the series. I wish there were more! Ruth Galloway is an archeologist and professor, and is often consulted by the police when they find bodies buried, sometimes ancient and sometimes recent, as happens often -- at least according to these novels -- near the sea in Norfolk, England, where there is so much history and so much mysterious, even mythic, atmosphere. I like Ruth, who is smart and accomplished, confident yet modest and unpretentious. She loves her cottage in the marshlands and her cats. She is good with people but really loves solitude as well. She has an unplanned but dearly loved young daughter with DCI (Detective Chief Inspector) Harry Nelson, the result of a brief affair, but as he is married, they have an unsettled relationship except for sharing a love of that daughter, and except for working together on many cases where police work and archeology overlap. Let's say their relationship is "complicated." There are other interesting and believable characters in the novels, such as Ruth's friend the druid Cathbad, her other friends, her lovers, her colleagues at the university where she teaches, and Nelson's family members and detective colleagues. A real bonus of this series is that if one reads several or all of the books, one has the pleasure of seeing the characters and storylines develop, although each book also stands alone. The mysteries are well-plotted and intelligent, and in each one I learn (in a non-didactic, "goes down easy" way) interesting things about areas of England, about English history, mythology, architecture, and culture, and how English police departments work, as well as, of course, about archeology. I highly recommend this mystery series.

"Banyan Moon," by Thao Thai

My friend SM, who recently recommended the novel "Bellies," by Nicola Dinan, to me (see my post of 1/27/24), also recommended "Banyan Moon" (Mariner Books, 2023), by Thao Thai. This is a novel about three generations of Vietnamese American women and their fraught histories and complex relationships with each other. Although Minh and Hoang originally came to the U.S. from Vietnam in the wake of the "Vietnam War," the bulk of the book is set in the Florida family home, Banyan House, where the grandmother, Minh, lived and died, and where the mother, Huong, who lives nearby, and her daughter, Ann, who lives in Michigan, came back after Minh's death. These three women had all had difficult relationships with men, and with each other. The two older women each raised a daughter mostly on her own, and now Ann is possibly on the same path. The novel is about family, but family greatly complicated by historical, cultural and social forces. Each chapter is told by one of the three women; we see their different perspectives and learn about the devastating secrets that formed them and divided them. "Banyan Moon" is at times painful to read, as readers are taken on a difficult journey through the family's history, individually and collectively. But despite the elements of anger, misunderstanding, and self-protection, there are also threads of fierce love throughout. This is a powerful and compelling book, one which I am glad I have read.

Three (More) Books about Loss and Grief (by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Paul Auster, and Joan Didion)

Regular readers of this blog know that my beloved husband died just over two years ago, and that since then I have read quite a few books about loss, grief, and mourning. I have posted about some of these (e.g., 2/22/22, 12/1/22, 2/24/23, 11/7/23, 11/15/23). Reading these books is always painful, and at first I could not read them, but after some time I found that they were sometimes comforting, in the sense of connecting me with others' experiences of loss, and experiencing the universality and community of bereavement and grief. I have just read three more books about grief, and will describe each one very briefly here. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's "Notes on Grief" (Knopf, 2021) is a slim volume, an acute cry of pain at the recent death of her dear father, one which also celebrates the person and father he was. "Baumgartner" (Grove, 2023) is a novel by Paul Auster in which the title character deeply mourns his wife Anna, who died nine years before, and cannot seem to get past his grief and pain. Auster explores the intertwining of pain and happy memories, and the nature of memory itself. The third book is one I read almost twenty years ago, soon after the death of my dear father: Joan Didion's "The Year of Magical Thinking" (Knopf, 2005; Vintage, 2007), about the death of her husband John Gregory Dunne (and the illness and later death of her daughter Quintana, about whose death Didion later wrote a book titled "Blue Nights," which I have also read). I was struck at that time by Didion's description of her feelings and actions during the year or so after her husband's sudden death, many of which resonated with me about my father's death, especially such aspects as disbelief/denial, numbness and confusion. I tried to re-read the book about a year ago, but just couldn't; I have just now finally read it again, and found it as powerful and resonant as ever, now in light of the profound loss of my husband of decades. Among other aspects that Didion describes well is the terrible tangible loss of the dailiness, the ongoing conversations and habits, of a long-married couple's life. These two nonfiction books and one novel are all extremely difficult and sad to read, but also insightful and reassuring in a strange way: they remind us that although each death is unique, it is also part of all deaths, and that all mourners have many things in common. We who are left behind are part of a huge community of the bereaved, those who are grieving loved ones.