"Absolution," by Alice McDermott

Like most of you, I am fairly certain, I have certain authors that, the minute I hear they have new books out, I put those books on my to-read list. Alice McDermott is one of those authors for me, and her new novel, "Absolution" (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2023) came out very recently. Here McDermott has portrayed a group of women seldom written about: American wives of U.S. soldiers in the "Vietnam War." More specifically, the women in this story are wives of officers, and live with their husbands in Saigon. They have comfortable houses and employ servants. Like women everywhere who are in effect part of a colonial enterprise, they are betwixt and between cultures. Two of these women, the powerhouse Charlene and her shyer friend Tricia, choose to use some of their time and resources to help local people who are poor or ill. Again, the colonial comparison reminds us that American (and other) colonizers (to continue that characterization of "colonizers," although I emphasize that McDermott herself does not explicitly use this language) are often a mixture of dutiful patriots and do-gooders, who out of a combination of arrogance, innocence, and genuine efforts to be helpful, try to make a difference. McDermott is clear-eyed but not unsympathetic about the motivations and efforts of these women and others like them. She understands their need for meaning and purpose, and their recognition that as supportive wives and often mothers, especially in a country far from their own, they have few avenues outside of their homes to use their talents and to do something that feels worthwhile. In "Absolution," we readers are immersed in these women's world; we can imagine and sympathize with them, while also questioning their impact on those around them, or sometimes lack thereof. The novel is framed as Tricia's recounting, decades later, the story of those years in Saigon to Charlene's daughter. During the course of their communication, some plot questions are answered, and some new facts are revealed. This is an absorbing, thought-provoking story, and as always with Alice McDermott, we know we are in good hands and will close the book with these characters and these dilemmas taking residence in our minds for some time after.

"Day," by Michael Cunningham

Widely published and respected author Michael Cunningham is best known for his prizewinning 1998 novel "The Hours," which is divided into three parts, all related to Virginia Woolf, her novel "Mrs. Dalloway," and her suicide by drowning. One part of the book focuses on Woolf, the other two on other main characters in other time periods, but all are related somehow to Woolf and "Mrs. Dalloway." As someone who has read much of Woolf's work, in some cases multiple times, and treasures her writings, I was of course drawn to "The Hours" when it came out twenty-five years ago and completely swept up in it. I have just read Cunningham's new novel, "Day" (Random House, 2023), which displays multiple stylistic and thematic connections to "The Hours." "Day" too is divided into three parts, in this case into three days, exactly a year apart in each case: April 5th of 2019, 2020, and 2021. Readers will note that these were years just before, during the worst of, and during the partial easing of the COVID pandemic. The focus is on one family and their connections. Married couple Isabel and Dan, their young children Nathan and Violet, Isabel's brother Robbie, Dan's brother Garth, and Chess, who is the mother of Garth's very young child Odin, are the main characters, and their complicated relationships with each other form the spine of the novel. In particular, and this is a somewhat uncommon focus in fiction, there is much attention to the intensely close but also extremely fraught relationships of the sibling pairs: Isabel and Robbie, Dan and Garth, and Nathan and Violet. There are of course additional characters: friends, employers, lovers, former lovers, and more. Because of the setting during the pandemic years, there are also themes of confinement and isolation, and minute-to-minute densely described slivers of time. The structure of three days, three different years, also supplies a striking distillation of the events, evolutions, and dissolutions portrayed in the story. The writing is gorgeous, perhaps a bit ornate and even precious in places, but spellbinding. Often while reading "Day" I was struck by the author's insights, which made me pause and go back and read them again. For just one example, a description of 17-month old baby Odin's love of habit and repetition causes his mother Chess to be "able to share his attachment to repetition, which resembles the chants of monks and nuns, reciting their devotions so unvaryingly that devotion becomes an involuntary bodily function, like breath and heartbeat" (p. 142). Returning to the connections with Cunningham's earlier novel, "The Hours," and to the references in that book to Virginia Woolf already mentioned above: there are other allusions to Woolf and her work in this book. For example, siblings Isobel and Robbie write social posts in the voice of an imaginary friend of theirs, Wolfe. An actual wolf is also mentioned. And one character's behavior at one point seems to echo Virginia Woolf's behavior, although with a different result. (I don't want to give away plot points.) There is also something about the quality of the language, of the descriptions, that is reminiscent of Woolf's writing. A related noticeable attribute of this novel is the way Cunningham understands and takes seriously the inner lives of children. And, like "The Hours," "The Day" is driven by a sense of time and its effects. This fascinating although sometimes unsettling novel is full of broken and yet somehow resilient characters, doing their best to muddle through the pandemic and through all the difficult times in life, all with their own struggles and their own coping mechanisms. Like all good fiction, "Day" is ultimately a study of human nature, with both its individual quirks and its universalities.

The Queen Elizabeth mystery series, by SJ Bennett

For some delightful, well-written mysteries, I recommend a series by SJ Bennett that I have recently read: "The Windsor Knot" (2021); "The Queen's Men" (2022), and "Murder Most Royal: Her Majesty the Queen Investigates" (2023), all published by William Morrow. Readers of this blog may remember that I have had a lifelong love of mysteries, but with occasional "breaks" away from the genre for months or years at a time. I have been mostly in a "break" phase for at least a couple of years lately. But when I ran across this series about Queen Elizabeth of England's doing some detecting and solving of mysteries, I was hooked. The series, set in the past few years, shows the Queen as interested in, and very clever about, investigating and solving murder cases in her own palaces and castles. But she does it very discreetly, only confiding in and getting help from a high-level female aide. She then drops indirect clues to the police in charge of investigating, allowing them to think they have been the ones to solve the cases. I admit I also enjoy the parts of these novels about the palaces and castles and social events where the events take place. And I like the way the author has some fun with slightly puncturing the egos of some pompous high-level (male) police officials who, condescending to her advanced age and perceived removal from "regular life," believe that the Queen may not understand the intricacies of their thinking, and feel they need to explain them to her; in fact, they have been -- unknown to them -- completely "managed" by her. I have some emotional connection to the British royalty, because of my Canadian background, and my grandmother who adored the royal family. Yet I also understand the objections many people have to the system of royalty persisting into the current day. But -- back to these three novels -- if you enjoy mystery novels, and don't have objections to light, enjoyable, well-written mysteries in which the "detective" happens to be the Queen of England, you may well enjoy these three very much, as I did.

"The Upstairs Delicatessen," by Dwight Garner

How could I resist a book titled "The Upstairs Delicatessen: On Eating, Reading, Reading about Eating, and Eating While Reading" (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2023)? For someone like me (and, I imagine, many of you) who also loves to read, loves to eat, loves to read about eating, and loves to eat while reading....well, this book is irresistible! Regular readers of this blog of course know how much I like to read, but also may have noticed that I have fairly frequently posted about books about the restaurant world and other food-related topics. The author of this book, Dwight Garner, is a longtime book critic at The New York Times, and is obviously, not surprisingly, tremendously well read. In this book he writes enthusiastically about food and his own experiences with food and restaurants; the book is crammed with entertaining anecdotes, as well as with many quotations by famous authors about food (and drink). The tone of the book is light, generous, humorous, joyous, and celebratory of the pleasures of life.

"A Widow's Story," by Joyce Carol Oates

Not to dwell on loss, as I have in some recent posts, but I just read "A Widow's Story" (Ecco, 2011), by Joyce Carol Oates, a powerful, wrenching telling of the story of the first few months of the famous author's widowhood in 2008. She recounts the story in a series of short snapshots of events and of her intense emotional experiences. This style has the effect of a series of punches in the gut (forgive the cliche that Oates herself would never use). She and her husband Raymond Smith, a fellow professor and an editor, had been married for decades, and were extremely close. His illness was fairly sudden, and Oates was completely unprepared for his death. She goes over all the "what ifs," and questions and blames herself, wondering if she could or should have done more, done things differently. She becomes so distraught that she takes several medications for insomnia and anxiety, and at various points considers, or at least contemplates, suicide. Yet at the same time she forces herself to continue with her professional life, going on a long planned book tour within days of her husband's death, priding herself on not letting anyone down and on not showing her devastating grief. She also struggles with all the tasks that a survivor has to deal with: legal and financial matters, deciding what to do with her husband's duties and possessions, etc. (On a personal note, I will add here that everyone I know who has gone through a spouse's -- or other close family member's -- death and the aftermath is shocked at both the stunning depth of their own grief, and the plethora of logistical tasks that await them, in the midst of their mourning and feeling of paralysis. All of this is very familiar to me since my husband's death.) I couldn't have read this book very soon after my husband died, but now that it has been almost two years, I could and did. So much of it resonated with me, although not all, of course. On a surprise note, not mentioned in the book, except for a very vague allusion on the very last page, is that Oates met and married someone else -- another professor -- about a year later. I must admit that before I read this book, I had heard about the remarriage, and almost didn't read the book because of that. How could she do that after her long, good marriage? How could she go from devastating grief to finding a new partner so quickly? Then I thought about it more, and chided myself for being judgmental; who was I to judge the grief of anyone else, or what works for them or consoles them? In any case, this is a powerful, and (not surprisingly!) well-written book, and I recommend it for anyone who is ready for it, but with the warning that it is very difficult, painful, and emotional to read.

"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.

"The Critic's Daughter: A Memoir," by Priscilla Gilman

As readers of this blog know, I love literature, especially fiction. I love memoirs and biographies. So of course I love the perfect combination of memoirs and biographies of writers and others involved in the world of literature – critics, editors, publishers, and more. “The Critic’s Daughter: A Memoir” (Norton, 2023), by Priscilla Gilman, like "Lives of the Wives” (see my post of 7/4/23), is a perfect mixture of the above preferences. Gilman writes about her life as the daughter of her late father, the eminent literary critic Richard Gilman. It is almost a dual (auto)biography, in that the author was extremely close to her father, and felt responsible for him in many ways, starting in her childhood and continuing until his death decades later. She admired him, even adored him, learned from him, and was extremely protective of him. Much of her own life and career was modelled on his. He was a very loving father. But he was also a complicated, sometimes insecure and difficult man, one with his own unhappy secrets, and not only Priscilla but her sister and others had to tiptoe around him, propitiate and try to shore him up and please him. It was too much (partly self-imposed) responsibility for his daughters, especially for Priscilla; she both welcomed the responsibility and sometimes felt overwhelmed and even angry about it. This is a loving but clear-eyed portrait of Gilman’s father, and of the dynamics of a literary family (the author's mother was the famous literary agent Lynn Nesbit) in the midst of the literary life in New York City in the mid-to-late twentieth century and into the twenty-first century. Along the way, we readers learn much about the literary scene of that time period. The book features many famous writers and others in the worlds of literature and the arts. This memoir is fascinating for its psychological insights and for its literature-related portraits. It is also beautifully written.

"Lives of the Wives: Five Literary Marriages," by Carmela Ciuraru

There is nothing like well-written, informative, insightful literary biography with a splash of good gossip for good measure! “Lives of the Wives: Five Literary Marriages” (Harper, 2023), by Carmela Ciuraru, gives the life stories of each member of five twentieth-century couples, along with astute analysis of each couple’s relationship. The couples are Una Troubridge and Radclyffe Hall (although they were both women, Troubridge was clearly the “wife” figure); Elsa Morante and Alberto Moravia; Elaine Dundy and Kenneth Tynan; Elizabeth Jane Howard and Kingsley Amis; and Patricia Neal and Roald Dahl. The author’s clear focus is on the ways that the wives, although mostly writers themselves, were very much in traditional “wifely” roles of supporting the “great men” writers. They had to squeeze their own writing (or acting, in the case of Patricia Neal) between and around the housework, childcare, typing, editing, emotional shoring-up, way-smoothing, and other typical “duties” of wives, literary or otherwise. It was assumed by their male partners (and the lesbian Radclyffe Hall) that things should and would be this way. The misogyny was unsurprising for the time, but still disturbing and sad to read about. There was also often jealousy by the male writers when their wives’ literary works were more successful than their own. The biographies and analyses in this book are fascinating, and the writing is excellent. And I admit that the (fairly discreet but definitely juicy) gossipy parts are both shocking and intriguing. I highly recommend this book.

"You Could Make This Place Beautiful," by Maggie Smith

Bereavement is one kind of loss, one that I have written several times about (e.g., 12/22/22) because of my own grieving the death of my beloved husband. I just finished a book about the grieving of a different kind of loss: the end of a marriage. Maggie Smith (“Not that one,” as she writes!) has written an affecting, painful, but ultimately hopeful memoir titled “You Could Make This Place Beautiful” (One Signal/Atria, 2023) about the end of her marriage. She writes the story of the marriage itself, as well as its end, and of the time after. She tries hard to be fair to her ex-husband, and preserves his privacy as much as possible. But she is first in disbelief, then very angry and very sad for a long time. A thread running through the book is not only her own pain, but her worry about how the divorce affects her two children. Another thread is her realization that throughout her marriage, she had tried so hard to make herself small, to allow her husband’s needs to come first, and to minimize the time and energy that her writing and editing career took. Afterward, she is angry at her ex-spouse and, to some extent, herself for this unspoken agreement the two of them seem to have had, and for his expectation that she would always put the roles of wife and mother before any of her own work and personal needs. He doesn’t put the same demands upon himself, giving the rationale that he is making more money than she is. The story is written in short vignettes that have a poetic feel (Smith is in fact a poet), and the author’s experiences, told this way, feel very immediate. She takes us through her journey, and we are happy for her that -- eventually -- she works her way toward a kind of acceptance and peace, and even joy in her new life. But of course there are scars. I admire the writer’s candor, and her generosity in sharing her experiences and feelings -- both visceral and thoughtful -- in a way that many people -- women especially, but not only --will relate to.

The Power of Story; the Power of "Charlotte's Web"

I have written often about the power of narrative, of story, and how stories have always drawn me (as they do most human beings). I have also written here (12/22/22, for example) about the comfort of reading memoirs and novels during times of great loss. I thought about both of these ideas when recently, I am not sure why, the great children’s book, “Charlotte’s Web” (1952), written by E.B. White and illustrated by Garth Williams, came to mind. I remembered that when my mother read this book to me when I was about 5 or 6 years old, I would love it, but also would weep at the sad parts near the end, and then I would ask her to read it again, and again, and again. The sadness was part of the story, and painful as it was, the power of the story made me want to hear it again and again. And although sad, it is a lovely story, a story about love, nature, respect, and kindness. I can remember so clearly my feelings during those readings. As I said: the power of story. I am still absolutely and completely in thrall to that same power of story, these many decades and countless stories later. (P.S. Even if you are an adult, if you have never read “Charlotte’s Web,” please do! I am sure you will be moved by the words, the illustrations, the characters, the gentle humor, the pathos, and most of all, the story.)

"We Should Not Be Friends: The Story of a Friendship," by Will Schwalbe

So many books – both fiction and nonfiction – are written about romantic love and about family love, but far fewer are written about friendship. Yet for most of us, friendship is a huge and treasured component of our lives. I look out for books focusing on friendship, and I very much enjoyed Will Schwalbe’s memoir “We Should Not Be Friends: The Story of a Friendship” (Knopf, 2023). The author writes of a lifelong friendship with a young man he met in college, Chris Maxey, known to all as Maxey. The author, a gay man interested in the arts, was biased against the “jocks” at Yale, yet when he joined a secret society there, he and Maxey –- a straight man and a star wrestler -- against all expectations became closer and closer friends, and their friendship only deepened throughout the years. They continued to live very different lives after college, yet they both dealt with matters of family, romance, career, and aging, and they became great supporters of each other. Schwalbe grew to admire Maxey deeply for his work as an educator and an environmentalist, and for his utter loyalty as a friend. This memoir moves along briskly, with stops for reflecting on friendship (and life, more generally). The writer is an excellent storyteller, and the two protagonists have each had interesting and fulfilling lives. But the best part of the memoir is the throughline of the friendship between the two men. This friendship meant and means so much to each of them, and has been such a sustaining part of each of their lives, even when they sometimes didn’t see each other for fairly long periods of time, and even occasionally fell out slightly over a disagreement or misunderstanding. It is a story which is compelling and even inspiring, without trying to be stereotypically “inspiring.” I truly appreciated this thoughtful and enjoyable look at two very relatable men and their long friendship. ________

"Hello Beautiful," by Ann Napolitano

“Hello Beautiful” (Dial Press, 2023), by Ann Napolitano, is a gorgeously written novel. It focuses on all my favorite themes: family, love, friendship, the passing of time, emotions, what changes and what stays the same in life, and more. The family at the center of the story is, in a very real sense, collectively the main character. Loosely – very loosely – an “homage” to the famous story “Little Women,” the Padavano family, of Chicago, consists of four sisters who argue about who is Beth and who is Jo in “Little Women,” but they are extremely close…until they aren’t (for a while…). They have a loving but strict and even at times unforgiving mother, and a loving but alcoholic and somewhat ineffectual father. The other main character is William, who grew up in a very cold family, one that was nearly destroyed by the death of William’s adored sister at the age of three, and never recovered. He basically falls in love with the whole Padavano family. Other relatives, friends, neighbors, and classmates are characters as well, winding in and out of the story. The interactions among these characters over the years are intense and volatile. The plot keeps us interested, and the reader (at least this reader) becomes caught up in the strong relationships and emotions. I want to emphasize how well the novel is written; the same events in a lesser writer’s hands would perhaps seem run-of-the-mill, but Napolitano creates something original and special here. A bonus for me: William is a basketball player and later a “physio” who works with basketball players, and the author describes many aspects of the basketball world. (But don't worry if you are not a basketball fan; this part of the novel is fairly small.) It happens that basketball is the one sport I watch somewhat regularly (see my post of 3/29/23 about why I like to read the sports section of the newspaper). In the acknowledgements section, Napolitano mentions that she is a Golden State Warriors fan (that’s my team!) and specifically mentions a few players such as our star, Steph Curry, “for the joy with which he plays.” My sentiments exactly!

"The Chinese Groove," by Kathryn Ma

The descriptions in reviews of “The Chinese Groove” (Counterpoint, 2023), a novel by Kathryn Ma, did not immediately draw me in. But I had read Ma’s previous book, “All That Work and Still No Boys,” and very much liked it, so I thought I would try this novel. An added attraction was that it takes place (mostly) in San Francisco. The term “the Chinese groove” refers to what (some) new immigrants from China to the U.S. believe and hope will be true: that the network of already-settled-in-the-U.S. family members, friends, and even new acquaintances will help smooth the way for new immigrants, helping them find jobs, housing, and more. In the experience of the protagonist of this novel, whose American name is Shelley, this belief turns out to be, at various times, both very untrue and then sometimes very true. Shelley is a character who is both very naïve and very smart, one who picks up vibes and nuances quite quickly. He learns to “use” people but not in an obnoxious or harmful way; he is actually very loyal to anyone even tangentially related to him, and/or anyone who is kind to him. And he truly cares about the people he meets along the way in his new situation. He is a romantic at heart. He – and the novel – are also very funny. We readers are happy to follow along as Shelley finds his way.

"Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow," by Gabriel Zevin

I never thought I would enjoy reading a novel about video game designers. I have never played a video game, or really, in my adult life, any games at all other than the very occasional card or board game. But the reviews lured me in, and I read Gabrielle Zevin’s 400-page novel, “Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow” (Knopf, 2022) in about two days. The gaming world, or at least this version of it, was more interesting to me than I expected. It was good for me to explore this world so different from my own. But of course the elements that made me read the novel so quickly were the ones I always look for in good fiction: interesting characters, relatable situations, much focus on relationships among the characters, and themes of identity, family, and yes, love in all its varieties. The two main characters, Sadie and Sam, the ones whose games become famous, have known each other since childhood, and have become bonded as friends and something greater than friends, although not lovers. Along with creativity and success, there are bumps, misunderstandings, and even tragedies along the way. But what drew them to each other persists.

Four Novels Recently Read

As regular visitors to this blog might remember, I do not post on all the books I read. Sometimes I have no strong feelings about a certain book; or it is too forgettable; or maybe I am embarrassed to post about a book that is not very literary but is a “guilty pleasure”; or perhaps I have read so many books at that time that I am too far behind to post about each one, even the ones not in the other categories listed above. Occasionally I do what I am about to do now: instead of trying to post a full entry about each book, I “catch up” by listing several books I have recently read and liked, and a very brief summary of and/or response to each one. I liked each of the following four novels very much. So without further ado, in the order I recently read them: 1. “Strangers and Cousins” (Riverhead, 2019), by Leah Hager Cohen, is a novel revolving around the days leading up to and including a wedding at the rural home of one bride’s parents. The events of those days reveal the history of, and relationships among, the family and friends of the two brides. The author beautifully explores the complexities and the joys of close family networks, with all their quirks, missteps and misunderstandings along the way. 2. “Vintage Contemporaries” (Harper, 2023), by Dan Kois, tells a version of a story we have all read: young friends in New York City (here, Emily and Emily, confusingly enough at first but we readers figure it out) are hopeful as they start off their careers and families, have ups and downs in their friendships, yet always feel the pull of those friendships well into their future lives. In this novel, one is a writer, both (but one more than the other) participate in the political process of “squatting” in empty buildings; each eventually finds her own way, and finds her way back to her friend, years later. 3. The story of a young Chinese American woman who leaves her small town in Illinois, and her very difficult relationship with her strict immigrant mother, for a life in New York City, and then returns to Illinois for a visit eight years later with her new fiancé, “Central Places” (Ballantine, 2023), by Delia Cai, is about family, the tug-of-war between first generation immigrants and their children, and another tug-of-war between one’s roots and one’s new chosen life. Love and friendship are also tested in this story. 4. A powerful, even wrenching recounting of two young people who were sent to a conversion camp to “cure” them of being gay, “Tell the Rest” (Akashic, 2023), by Lucy Jane Bledsoe, moves back and forth between, on the one hand, the terrible experiences at that camp and between the two friends who escaped together, and on the other hand, the lives of these two young people as they are in the present, twenty-five years later.

"The Beauty of Dusk," by Frank Bruni

I first came to know Frank Bruni’s writing when he was the restaurant critic for The New York Times, and I savored his clever, vivid reviews. He has also had other writing roles at The New York Times and elsewhere, in addition to writing several books. His new memoir, “The Beauty of Dusk” (Avid Reader, 2022), focuses on the story of a stroke he had that seriously affected his vision. He writes of the treatments he had, the various emotions he went through, and what he learned from the experience (which is ongoing, although now somewhat better). That story is certainly compelling. What makes the book even more of interest is that Bruni interweaves his own story with those of others with similar or related medical situations, and more generally with those of people who have experienced various types of setbacks and challenges in life. He explores how people handle these situations, logistically but especially emotionally and psychologically. He writes quite candidly about his own life, feelings, limitations, and growth. Of course, understandably so, he is sometimes sad, angry, worried, and feels sorry for himself at times. But he also takes the opportunity of his medical problem to learn, to adjust his attitude, to see the positive side of even such injuries, and to develop a sense of appreciation of and gratitude for the many joys of life. This sounds like an “inspirational” self-help book, and there is perhaps a small element of that, but Bruni is too good a writer and thinker, and too generous with his own experiences and feelings, for the book to be put in the “self-help” box. He writes so well that any insights, any epiphanies he has feel so natural as he shares them with us, and seem, quite honestly, like a gift to us, his readers.

On My Faithful Reading of the Sports Section

Readers of this blog may be surprised that I am a faithful reader of the Sports Section of the San Francisco Chronicle, my local newspaper. Until about a dozen years ago, I had no interest in this section, and only a very mild interest in following sports, such as those at my alma mater and those at my daughter’s alma mater. It turned out that my fair-weather fan interest in the San Francisco Giants baseball team – in other words, only when they were winning in the early 2010s – and later and more dramatically in the Golden State Warriors – when they started winning in 2014 – was what made the difference. In particular, I have become an enthusiastic fan of The Warriors, the NBA professional basketball team based in the San Francisco Bay Area. This was, initially, mostly the influence of my late husband, and we enjoyed watching games (on TV) together. I was hooked, and continue to watch quite faithfully. Of course it was exciting when they did so well, and won four championships in the past eight years. So although in the past I would pass the sports section to my husband, or if he was not there, sometimes just put it directly into the recycling pile (yes, I read the newspaper in old-fashioned print!), I now turn to it first (maybe after a quick glance at the headlines, which I return to later). I read about the Warriors in particular, but I find myself reading about other sports as well, even sports I dislike (American football!). I especially like the stories about the human interest side of sports, such as profiles of players, discussion of controversies, and columns on political and social aspects of sports. To tie this back to my general love of reading, especially novels, memoirs, and biographies: I see the same main thread of my interest in characters, plots, themes that sports stories share with fiction and memoir. They are all stories about people and life, and I never tire of those!

Still more on author Dani Shapiro

I have taken a deep, deep dive into the work of Dani Shapiro, within a short period of time. Often when I like a book, I very soon read others by the same author. With Dani Shapiro’s work, I have done so more systematically than usual. I have now read all of her novels and all of her memoirs. (Earlier posts here about her work include those of 8/14/11, 9/7/17, 2/2/23, and 2/16/23.) All of her work is compelling, even gripping. Of particular interest are the ways in which she has taken the events and feelings of her own life and used them not only in the memoirs, but also in the novels. I don’t mean they are exactly the same, but similar themes come up over and over again. The biggest theme is that of difficult families and childhoods, and in particular, extremely difficult mothers, and the lifelong consequences of these for daughters. The plots of the novels are different, but there is an immediately recognizable world found in both the memoirs and the novels, especially since I (for the most part) read the memoirs first and the novels second, although they actually appeared mostly in the opposite order. There is certainly a sense that Shapiro is working out her feelings and issues over and over again in various guises. This might sound off-putting, but it is actually intriguing, and despite their common themes, the books do not feel repetitive.

My on-and-off relationship with mystery novels

Readers who have read this blog for a while know that I have read many, many mystery novels in my life, but that over and over again, since childhood, I have gone through a cycle regarding them. I have loved them, then have gotten tired of them, then somehow started a new phase of reading them. Over and over. (See my posts of 1/27/10, 1/5/16, and 11/12/16 on this topic, for example.) As a refresher: I have gone from the Nancy Drews and Hardy Boys of childhood, through the great classic British novels (some classified as “cozies”) (e.g., by Agatha Christie, Dorothy Sayers, Josephine Tey, and more recently, Elizabeth George), the stories of tough American women detectives (by, e.g., Marcia Muller, Sue Grafton), the historical mysteries (by Jacqueline Winspear, Charles Todd), and many more, including, fairly recently, Deborah Crombie, Louise Penny, and Donna Leon. I also sometimes re-read mysteries that I last read years or decades before (and therefore have conveniently forgotten the solutions to the mysteries). Often, unfortunately, I don’t find the same interest in those favorites of yore. For example, I re-read one or two novels of Josephine Tey and Dorothy Sayers, and did not feel the same about them any more. The exception was re-reading the always-wonderful P.D. James. In the past couple of months, I had one of my resurgences of reading mysteries, focusing on more Tana French novels, and on the Thursday Murder Club series, by Richard Osman. Those were enjoyable to read, but suddenly – I never know when or why this will happen – once again, I got tired of mysteries. By now I have accepted this ebb and flow of my interest in this genre, and the unpredictability of when it ebbs and when it flows. But I always return to mysteries eventually…

Two Books about Loss: "Seeing Ghosts," by Kat Chow, and "A Quiet Life," by Ethan Joella

Books about loss are often difficult to read, especially if one has recently lost a loved one, but are also sometimes comforting. “Seeing Ghosts” (Grand Central Publishing, 2021), by Kat Chow, is a memoir that focuses on the effects on the author of her mother’s death, as well as of all the deaths in the family’s history. The book is about family, history, trauma, and love; it is beautifully written and very evocative. Ethan Joella’s novel “A Quiet Life” (Scribner, 2022) tells the interwoven stories of three characters who have each had serious losses of someone close to them. Each character is vivid and relatable. When their paths cross in various ways, the three find ways to help each other. This is a sad but also hopeful novel, gentle and life-affirming.

Five Memoirs by Dani Shapiro

In my most recent post (2/2/23), I wrote with great admiration of Dani Shapiro’s newest novel, “Signal Fires.” Shapiro is known as both a novelist and a memoirist, and her memoirs are as wonderful as her novels. Today I write of her five memoirs, all of which I have recently read. “Slow Motion: A Memoir of a Life Rescued by Tragedy” (HarperCollins, 1998) is about her difficult and somewhat self-destructive youth. (I posted here on 8/14/11 about Shapiro’s article in which, many years after publishing this book, she struggles with the possibility that her now teenaged son will read it, and ponders the decisions that memoirists have to make when considering others in their lives.) Shapiro’s second memoir is “Devotion” (HarperCollins, 2010), in which she writes of her search for spiritual meaning in her life. Third to be published is “Still Writing: The Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life” (Atlantic Monthly Press, 2013), which is a combination of memoir and advice about writing. Fourth, “Hourglass: Time, Memory, Marriage” (Knopf, 2017), about which I posted here on 9/7/17 (I read it back then, and re-read it this year), is a candid look at her own loving but complicated marriage (and which marriage is not complicated?). Finally (so far!), “Inheritance: A Memoir of Genealogy, Paternity, and Love” (Knopf, 2019) tells of a shocking and traumatic discovery the author makes about her own history, causing her to reconsider much of her life. Each of these memoirs is thoughtful, revealing, and beautifully written. Each addresses a different time period and/or focus in the author's life, and read together, they form a compelling whole. I hope Shapiro will continue to write memoirs, and I for one will read them all.

"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).