This is a very entertaining book, and I would certainly recommend it for any fan of Churchill or of history. Millard was recommended to me as someone who wrote history in a very accessible way, and I certainly agree. Her prose is lively, and she shapes her narrative for its maximum entertainment value. And the story of Churchill's escape from a prisoner of war camp was a ripping good yarn.
Sunday, April 30, 2017
A Coffin for Demetrios by Eric Ambler
While I was doing informal research about Alan Furst on the Internet, after I'd read Hero of France, I came across an interview somewhere in which Furst reported, if I remember correctly, that he'd started his first novel after finishing A Coffin for Demetrios. I think I remember Frederick Pohl mentioning Ambler's novel in his book about espionage novels. I checked it out from my local library, finished it a few days ago, and must say that I really enjoyed it.
I thought that Ambler's prose was sometimes a little florid, and I found myself having an expectation that his exposition would be concise and his prose plain. Neither was true, and I found that I really enjoyed his prose.
Of course, I felt at sea reading this novel set in about 1925. The novel opens with a writer meeting a government official at a party in Istanbul. It turns out that the Turkish government official, Colonel Haki, is a great fan of police procedurals although, he points out, they bear very little relation to reality.
Latimer, the writer, is facing a deadline from his publisher. He's feeling uninspired, and an experience he has while visiting Colonel Haki intrigues him, and he's soon tempted away from his work by the project of acting as a detective himself, and uncovering the criminal career of a man who seemed to be notoriously amoral among the few who knew of him.
When Latimer first encounters a man whom he later learns is an associate of Demetrios, I found myself feeling, "This is the fifth or so really bizarre character that Latimer has met in the course of this novel." I felt Latimer was entirely too accepting of the company of these strange people. But, of course, these strange characters make the story.
I thought that Ambler's prose was sometimes a little florid, and I found myself having an expectation that his exposition would be concise and his prose plain. Neither was true, and I found that I really enjoyed his prose.
Of course, I felt at sea reading this novel set in about 1925. The novel opens with a writer meeting a government official at a party in Istanbul. It turns out that the Turkish government official, Colonel Haki, is a great fan of police procedurals although, he points out, they bear very little relation to reality.
Latimer, the writer, is facing a deadline from his publisher. He's feeling uninspired, and an experience he has while visiting Colonel Haki intrigues him, and he's soon tempted away from his work by the project of acting as a detective himself, and uncovering the criminal career of a man who seemed to be notoriously amoral among the few who knew of him.
When Latimer first encounters a man whom he later learns is an associate of Demetrios, I found myself feeling, "This is the fifth or so really bizarre character that Latimer has met in the course of this novel." I felt Latimer was entirely too accepting of the company of these strange people. But, of course, these strange characters make the story.
Wednesday, April 26, 2017
Regeneration by Pat Barker
Regeneration is a tough novel to sum up. It's historical fiction: an imagining of the relationship of some real people, Dr. Williams Rivers, and his shell-shock patients at the Craiglockhart Hospital, renowned war poets Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen.
Author Pat Barker wrote this novel after she realized that her work had been pigeon-holed as women's fiction.
I find the inclusion of real people among the characters engaging. Barker did a lot of research, and I find myself imagining that this gave her the freedom to imagine her characters while grounding them reality, giving her work authenticity.
Underneath it all, Barker conveys something tough-minded and honest, and I think that is part of the appeal of the novel to me. Another aspect that I think interests me is the sense that this moment in time is a turning-point, a switch, or a change, from one culture to another, although in reality, contradictory cultural currents exist side by side.
A review I found somewhere emphasized the character of Billy Prior. Prior is not a historical person, and he is perhaps the least sympathetic of Rivers' patients in the book. As this essay asserted, Prior is an officer who is working-class, and has earned his rank through merit, and his attitude is one of fairly obvious scorn and disdain for the upper-class young men with whom he shares his rank.
Prior starts dating a girl in town during the course of the novel. At times, he feels anger toward her, and this may be simply a reflection of a soldier's contempt for civilians, or something darker. I felt I could never quite get a fix on his feelings for her. My difficulty understanding Prior, or fixing his identity, was the thing that troubled me the most about this novel. I wonder if the difficulty I had "fixing him," or pinpointing his identity, reflects his crossing class lines and his discomfort in the place where he has arrived.
I'd read this novel years ago, perhaps 15 or 20 - I can't remember exactly. As I read it again, I found myself feeling as if I were reading it for the first time. I loved the novel when I read it before, and I struggled to try to recapture the feeling that I had then. After turning over the elements of the novel in my mind, I suspect now that what moved me so greatly was Rivers' character, his kindness and his openness.
It was interesting to read Regeneration right after Longbourn, because the appearance of class in the former novel somehow made me feel more keenly the element of class in Longbourn.
7/29/17 Today I read an interesting personal essay about how reading Regeneration influenced one student's feeling about her own disability. I found it interesting. Here's a link: http://bit.ly/2vGrrTL
Author Pat Barker wrote this novel after she realized that her work had been pigeon-holed as women's fiction.
I find the inclusion of real people among the characters engaging. Barker did a lot of research, and I find myself imagining that this gave her the freedom to imagine her characters while grounding them reality, giving her work authenticity.
Underneath it all, Barker conveys something tough-minded and honest, and I think that is part of the appeal of the novel to me. Another aspect that I think interests me is the sense that this moment in time is a turning-point, a switch, or a change, from one culture to another, although in reality, contradictory cultural currents exist side by side.
A review I found somewhere emphasized the character of Billy Prior. Prior is not a historical person, and he is perhaps the least sympathetic of Rivers' patients in the book. As this essay asserted, Prior is an officer who is working-class, and has earned his rank through merit, and his attitude is one of fairly obvious scorn and disdain for the upper-class young men with whom he shares his rank.
Prior starts dating a girl in town during the course of the novel. At times, he feels anger toward her, and this may be simply a reflection of a soldier's contempt for civilians, or something darker. I felt I could never quite get a fix on his feelings for her. My difficulty understanding Prior, or fixing his identity, was the thing that troubled me the most about this novel. I wonder if the difficulty I had "fixing him," or pinpointing his identity, reflects his crossing class lines and his discomfort in the place where he has arrived.
I'd read this novel years ago, perhaps 15 or 20 - I can't remember exactly. As I read it again, I found myself feeling as if I were reading it for the first time. I loved the novel when I read it before, and I struggled to try to recapture the feeling that I had then. After turning over the elements of the novel in my mind, I suspect now that what moved me so greatly was Rivers' character, his kindness and his openness.
It was interesting to read Regeneration right after Longbourn, because the appearance of class in the former novel somehow made me feel more keenly the element of class in Longbourn.
7/29/17 Today I read an interesting personal essay about how reading Regeneration influenced one student's feeling about her own disability. I found it interesting. Here's a link: http://bit.ly/2vGrrTL
Monday, April 3, 2017
Longbourn by Jo Baker
Longbourn is an historical fiction novel about the servants' lives at Longbourn, the home of the Bennet family in Pride and Prejudice.
The Longbourn house is too grand to be without servants but not nearly grand enough for there to be much of an hierarchy. Mr. and Mrs. Hill are assisted by two young girls that came to them from the local workhouse to help with the massive amount of laundry generated by the five Bennet sisters; both serving girls are orphans. Although none of the servants are related to each other, they make up a kind of chosen family. Sarah, for instance, as deeply exhausted as she is, allows Polly, the younger girl, to slack off early recognizing her need to play. Mrs. Hill becomes concerned when Jane, Lizzie and Lydia marry, knowing that there will no longer be enough work for Sarah and Polly.
Sarah is older, and perhaps a little more interesting because, as Baker tells us, Sarah has memories of her life with her parents, weavers, before they died.
While the world of the novel seems to make clear that there is nothing for Sarah and Polly than a life of service, both are readers, lent books by the Bennets. Nevertheless, Polly eventually becomes the village teacher.
A stranger arrives to work as a footman, and his arrival perplexes Sarah greatly. She alternately hates him and confesses to herself that she is attracted to him. He, for his part, becomes gradually attached to her until he suddenly realizes that he loves her. I saw this as the chief way that Longbourn mirrored Pride and Prejudice.
Another way, though perhaps less obviously, Longbourn mirrors Pride and Prejudice is the concern of Longbourn with class. One example is Wickham himself; here is portrayed as "neither fish nor fowl," a man whose varied background has left him able to charm the Bennet sisters while he remains more comfortable visiting the Bennet servants. Pride and Prejudice implies that Wickham is a sexual predator; Longbourn makes this explicit.
Longbourn is gritty, lingering on Sarah's chilblains, on the long hours worked by the servants.
The characters are well-rounded and feel like real people.
Baker's novel feels deeply authentic, in part because the characters behave in a way that seems to reflect the restrictions of the period. One note that I found jarring is when Mrs. Hill talks to Lizzie about Lizzie's engagement to Darcy; Mrs. Hill thinks to herself that she understood that Lizzie had made "a spectacular deal." That language seemed a little too modern for me, although it's certainly true. I like best historical fiction that feels authentic and seems to convey the concerns of the period rather than our own concerns. Longbourn is very good in this respect, and some of my favorite historical fiction ever.
The things that I liked best about Longbourn were:
1. The "downstairs" story mirrored the upstairs story, with a romance that included a "true" and a "false" suitor;
2. Sarah, the protagonist, was a complicated, sympathetic and interesting person;
3. Wickham, Lydia and Mrs. Bennet all make an appearance, and their character here is entirely consistent with the same in Pride and Prejudice, while elaborated.
4. Baker's prose is very beautiful. She uses metaphor for economy in her description is a way that's quite poetic.
5. The novel is full of historical details that I imagine Baker carefully researched.
The Longbourn house is too grand to be without servants but not nearly grand enough for there to be much of an hierarchy. Mr. and Mrs. Hill are assisted by two young girls that came to them from the local workhouse to help with the massive amount of laundry generated by the five Bennet sisters; both serving girls are orphans. Although none of the servants are related to each other, they make up a kind of chosen family. Sarah, for instance, as deeply exhausted as she is, allows Polly, the younger girl, to slack off early recognizing her need to play. Mrs. Hill becomes concerned when Jane, Lizzie and Lydia marry, knowing that there will no longer be enough work for Sarah and Polly.
Sarah is older, and perhaps a little more interesting because, as Baker tells us, Sarah has memories of her life with her parents, weavers, before they died.
While the world of the novel seems to make clear that there is nothing for Sarah and Polly than a life of service, both are readers, lent books by the Bennets. Nevertheless, Polly eventually becomes the village teacher.
A stranger arrives to work as a footman, and his arrival perplexes Sarah greatly. She alternately hates him and confesses to herself that she is attracted to him. He, for his part, becomes gradually attached to her until he suddenly realizes that he loves her. I saw this as the chief way that Longbourn mirrored Pride and Prejudice.
Another way, though perhaps less obviously, Longbourn mirrors Pride and Prejudice is the concern of Longbourn with class. One example is Wickham himself; here is portrayed as "neither fish nor fowl," a man whose varied background has left him able to charm the Bennet sisters while he remains more comfortable visiting the Bennet servants. Pride and Prejudice implies that Wickham is a sexual predator; Longbourn makes this explicit.
Longbourn is gritty, lingering on Sarah's chilblains, on the long hours worked by the servants.
The characters are well-rounded and feel like real people.
Baker's novel feels deeply authentic, in part because the characters behave in a way that seems to reflect the restrictions of the period. One note that I found jarring is when Mrs. Hill talks to Lizzie about Lizzie's engagement to Darcy; Mrs. Hill thinks to herself that she understood that Lizzie had made "a spectacular deal." That language seemed a little too modern for me, although it's certainly true. I like best historical fiction that feels authentic and seems to convey the concerns of the period rather than our own concerns. Longbourn is very good in this respect, and some of my favorite historical fiction ever.
The things that I liked best about Longbourn were:
1. The "downstairs" story mirrored the upstairs story, with a romance that included a "true" and a "false" suitor;
2. Sarah, the protagonist, was a complicated, sympathetic and interesting person;
3. Wickham, Lydia and Mrs. Bennet all make an appearance, and their character here is entirely consistent with the same in Pride and Prejudice, while elaborated.
4. Baker's prose is very beautiful. She uses metaphor for economy in her description is a way that's quite poetic.
5. The novel is full of historical details that I imagine Baker carefully researched.
The Lewis Man by Peter May
Peter May, a television writer, has written a series of mystery novels set in Scotland. The Lewis Man is full of sharp observations of nature written in lyrical prose. Good choice for fans of police procedurals who do not mind some poetical writing. Loved it; recommend it.
This book is a good choice for folks who enjoy mysteries where the setting is strongly described, present, and/or influences the action.
This book is a good choice for folks who enjoy mysteries where the setting is strongly described, present, and/or influences the action.
Friday, February 24, 2017
A Hero of France by Alan Furst
A Hero of France was on the Washington Post's list of best mysteries of 2016. It has seemed to me that over the past few years, each newly released Furst novel of wartime Europe has been widely reviewed and greatly publicized. After reading The Nightingale, The Paris Architect (by Charles Belfoure; I recommended it for its wonderfully clever premise, its clearly motivated characters, its detail and suspense), All the Things We Cannot See and The City of Women, I thought it was a bit surprising that I'd never read Furst.
Furst's novels are often described as spy novels, and his most loyal readers are probably those who have enjoyed LeCarre, MacDonald, and Follett. I don't see A Hero of France as a spy novel, however. There are a few spies, and some spy characters who recur from other of Fursts' novels, but this novel is primarily about the leader of French resistance cell who is in contact with English spies and bringing downed British pilots out of German-occupied France.
Reviews that I read suggested that this is not Furst's most accomplished novel, and I found myself feeling that it did not quite make sense that the cell leader was so trusting, especially when he characterized himself as a shrewd judge of nature. I found suspense slow to build but did find the middle of the novel very suspenseful. The novel does have a very happy ending indeed, something that I am sure will please many readers.
Furst's novels are often described as spy novels, and his most loyal readers are probably those who have enjoyed LeCarre, MacDonald, and Follett. I don't see A Hero of France as a spy novel, however. There are a few spies, and some spy characters who recur from other of Fursts' novels, but this novel is primarily about the leader of French resistance cell who is in contact with English spies and bringing downed British pilots out of German-occupied France.
Reviews that I read suggested that this is not Furst's most accomplished novel, and I found myself feeling that it did not quite make sense that the cell leader was so trusting, especially when he characterized himself as a shrewd judge of nature. I found suspense slow to build but did find the middle of the novel very suspenseful. The novel does have a very happy ending indeed, something that I am sure will please many readers.
Thursday, December 29, 2016
What I'm reading now
I am slowly reading Underground Railroad, by Whitehead Colson, and also reading Jane's Fame by Claire Herman.
Perhaps the most interesting chapter of Herman's book is the one entitled, Divine Jane, which chronicles the rising popularity of Austen (only among some: I think I recall reading that John Irving never read Austen).
Herman talks about Austen's reputation as a miniaturist and I'd like to reread that again. I think Austen valued that subject and I think "miniatures" were a popular thing in the 18th and early 19th century. Today I think many think Austen too romantic and possibly too trivial. I don't agree with that assessment and I want to read Herman's book again with an eye toward collecting evidence to support my point of view.
Perhaps the most interesting chapter of Herman's book is the one entitled, Divine Jane, which chronicles the rising popularity of Austen (only among some: I think I recall reading that John Irving never read Austen).
Herman talks about Austen's reputation as a miniaturist and I'd like to reread that again. I think Austen valued that subject and I think "miniatures" were a popular thing in the 18th and early 19th century. Today I think many think Austen too romantic and possibly too trivial. I don't agree with that assessment and I want to read Herman's book again with an eye toward collecting evidence to support my point of view.
Wednesday, December 7, 2016
What I've read recently
I read Martin Cruz Smith's somewhat surprising Girl from Venice, a World War II story set in the Venice lagoon. I think of Smith as a Follett-like thriller writer but the Girl from Venice is enchantingly lyrical, meticulously researched, romantic in the best sense, and an easy read. I thought it was beautifully written, and the information conveyed about fishing and the Venice lagoon's ecosystem made me think of Randy Wayne White and Melville.
I just read Deadline by John Sandford. I found it a very funny book, about people who appreciate camo, guns, and dogs, sometimes all at the same time and not necessarily in that order. There's a lot of blue language in the book which makes it a little bit harder for me to recommend, knowing that many of the readers who might enjoy this book would be bothered by that.
Loved reading 101 Things About Jane Austen: I knew a lot about Austen, but was interested to learn more details about her family, their literary interests and especially about her mother's talent for versifying.
I just read Deadline by John Sandford. I found it a very funny book, about people who appreciate camo, guns, and dogs, sometimes all at the same time and not necessarily in that order. There's a lot of blue language in the book which makes it a little bit harder for me to recommend, knowing that many of the readers who might enjoy this book would be bothered by that.
Loved reading 101 Things About Jane Austen: I knew a lot about Austen, but was interested to learn more details about her family, their literary interests and especially about her mother's talent for versifying.
Saturday, October 15, 2016
Walk through the Woods by Colin Dexter
This is one of the later Inspector Morse novels, and it's the first one I've ever read.
I loved it.
I thought it was so clever (the mystery's solution is advanced by the letters column of the local paper where enthusiastic amateurs offer the police their assistance in deducing clues from a poem ostensibly written, and published in the paper, by the murderer).
I was also charmed and bemused by Inspector Morse's need to correct the grammar of the suspects he is interrogating.
I felt the ending was very surprising. Of course, I should say that I am not as good as guessing the ending as many other mystery readers, and I think I'm looking for local color, character, surprises, and originality rather than solutions. Plenty of color and character here.
I loved it.
I thought it was so clever (the mystery's solution is advanced by the letters column of the local paper where enthusiastic amateurs offer the police their assistance in deducing clues from a poem ostensibly written, and published in the paper, by the murderer).
I was also charmed and bemused by Inspector Morse's need to correct the grammar of the suspects he is interrogating.
I felt the ending was very surprising. Of course, I should say that I am not as good as guessing the ending as many other mystery readers, and I think I'm looking for local color, character, surprises, and originality rather than solutions. Plenty of color and character here.
The Snack Thief by Andrea Camilleri
This is the third book I've read in this series, and I've read them out of order.
First, I read The Shape of Water, which I loved. It had plenty of local color and satire. Then I read the Voice of the Violin, and was a little disappointed by what I viewed as a more conventional mystery. I couldn't help noticing, however, what an odd jumble of characteristics Inspector Montalbano had - loved classical music, was clearly an avid connoisseur of fine cuisine, but also seemed to be intolerant, impatient, rude, judgmental and impulsive. Well!
Now that I've seen the Italian TV show I know that the gourmet Montalbano has flat abs and couture clothes as well as the tastes of a gourmet. Who knew?
I loved the Snack Thief, however, because while it was partly about how we live today in that there was a subplot about illegal immigration, it was also about how we would like to live in that Livia, Inspector Montalbano's long-time love, finds great joy in caring for an orphan.
Livia and I must be sisters under the skin, because I always find I enjoy a mystery more if there's a subplot involving an orphan in peril.
First, I read The Shape of Water, which I loved. It had plenty of local color and satire. Then I read the Voice of the Violin, and was a little disappointed by what I viewed as a more conventional mystery. I couldn't help noticing, however, what an odd jumble of characteristics Inspector Montalbano had - loved classical music, was clearly an avid connoisseur of fine cuisine, but also seemed to be intolerant, impatient, rude, judgmental and impulsive. Well!
Now that I've seen the Italian TV show I know that the gourmet Montalbano has flat abs and couture clothes as well as the tastes of a gourmet. Who knew?
I loved the Snack Thief, however, because while it was partly about how we live today in that there was a subplot about illegal immigration, it was also about how we would like to live in that Livia, Inspector Montalbano's long-time love, finds great joy in caring for an orphan.
Livia and I must be sisters under the skin, because I always find I enjoy a mystery more if there's a subplot involving an orphan in peril.
Sunday, September 25, 2016
After Visiting Friends by Michael Hainey/All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven
After Visiting Friends is a memoir told like a mystery tale. I thought it was very well written.
How important is good writing to a memoir? I think it's very important. I think it's like the old tale of The Pot of Broth (per Yeats) or Stone Soup (per Danny Kaye). With creativity and writing skill you can make a lot out of a little.
On the other hand, in his memoir, Hainey himself writes that the secret of good writing is good reporting. I know when I have talked to students I've said that a good term paper requires good research. It is almost like a sculpture. If you have plenty of information to work with, it's much to shape that information in a useful and aesthetic way (including by cutting things that don't fit your shape).
Hainey grew up with unanswered questions about his father's death, a loss he suffered when he was six years old. (Actually, there are so many intriguing little things about this short memoir that I could write for paragraphs about it: At one point, Hainey speculates that he might have been a better man if his early loss had not been deepened by the secrecy surrounding it (I longed to know more!); in a publicity video on the Simon & Schuster website, Hainey, a fascinatingly soft spoken man, states that the memoir is really his parents' love story, a claim I'd like to see him prove).
Hainey includes many of his memories of his boyhood in the seventies on the northwest side of Chicago. I think that there's no question that folks who've lived in Chicago, especially in this period, will enjoy revisiting some of the moments and places that Hainey visits in his quest for the truth which is also sometimes a sentimental journey. Hainey's father was a newspaperman and he is a magazine journalist and editor. He's a good storyteller, and I both enjoy and respect that. I think different kinds of readers will find different reasons to enjoy this book.
All the Bright Places is a YA novel. Two teens have perhaps the "cute meet" of all time when they are both thinking about suicide and independently find themselves on the six story-high ledge of a campus bell tower. One talks the other down and they find a great deal of meaning in their ensuing friendship/romance. The boy, Theodore Finch, ensnares the girl, Violet Markey, in a road trip of sorts: a Geography class assignment to wander the wonders of Indiana. This proves to be charming, amusing and affecting and my favorite was the bookmobile farm they visited (but the farmer's backyard roller coaster was great fun, too). This book reminded me of something I hadn't thought about for a long time but which I think is important: the stigma surrounding mental illness and the natural reluctance of those affected to be pigeon-holed in that category.
I've unfairly given both these titles short shrift because of time's winged chariot, etc.
How important is good writing to a memoir? I think it's very important. I think it's like the old tale of The Pot of Broth (per Yeats) or Stone Soup (per Danny Kaye). With creativity and writing skill you can make a lot out of a little.
On the other hand, in his memoir, Hainey himself writes that the secret of good writing is good reporting. I know when I have talked to students I've said that a good term paper requires good research. It is almost like a sculpture. If you have plenty of information to work with, it's much to shape that information in a useful and aesthetic way (including by cutting things that don't fit your shape).
Hainey grew up with unanswered questions about his father's death, a loss he suffered when he was six years old. (Actually, there are so many intriguing little things about this short memoir that I could write for paragraphs about it: At one point, Hainey speculates that he might have been a better man if his early loss had not been deepened by the secrecy surrounding it (I longed to know more!); in a publicity video on the Simon & Schuster website, Hainey, a fascinatingly soft spoken man, states that the memoir is really his parents' love story, a claim I'd like to see him prove).
Hainey includes many of his memories of his boyhood in the seventies on the northwest side of Chicago. I think that there's no question that folks who've lived in Chicago, especially in this period, will enjoy revisiting some of the moments and places that Hainey visits in his quest for the truth which is also sometimes a sentimental journey. Hainey's father was a newspaperman and he is a magazine journalist and editor. He's a good storyteller, and I both enjoy and respect that. I think different kinds of readers will find different reasons to enjoy this book.
All the Bright Places is a YA novel. Two teens have perhaps the "cute meet" of all time when they are both thinking about suicide and independently find themselves on the six story-high ledge of a campus bell tower. One talks the other down and they find a great deal of meaning in their ensuing friendship/romance. The boy, Theodore Finch, ensnares the girl, Violet Markey, in a road trip of sorts: a Geography class assignment to wander the wonders of Indiana. This proves to be charming, amusing and affecting and my favorite was the bookmobile farm they visited (but the farmer's backyard roller coaster was great fun, too). This book reminded me of something I hadn't thought about for a long time but which I think is important: the stigma surrounding mental illness and the natural reluctance of those affected to be pigeon-holed in that category.
I've unfairly given both these titles short shrift because of time's winged chariot, etc.
After Visiting Friends by Michael Hainey/All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven
After Visiting Friends is a memoir told like a mystery tale. I thought it was very well written.
How important is good writing to a memoir? I think it's very important. I think it's like the old tale of The Pot of Broth (per Yeats) or Stone Soup (per Danny Kaye). With creativity and writing skill you can make a lot out of a little.
On the other hand, in his memoir, Hainey himself writes that the secret of good writing is good reporting. I know when I have talked to students I've said that a good term paper requires good research. It is almost like a sculpture. If you have plenty of information to work with, it's much easier to shape that information in a useful and aesthetic way (including by cutting things that don't fit your shape).
Hainey grew up with unanswered questions about his father's death, a loss he suffered when he was six years old. (Actually, there are so many intriguing little things about this short memoir that I could write for paragraphs about it: At one point, Hainey speculates that he might have been a better man if his early loss had not been deepened by the secrecy surrounding it (I longed to know more!); in a publicity video on the Simon & Schuster website, Hainey, a fascinatingly soft spoken man, states that the memoir is really his parents' love story).
Hainey includes many of his memories of his boyhood in the seventies on the northwest side of Chicago. I think that there's no question that folks who've lived in Chicago, especially in this period, will enjoy revisiting some of the moments and places that Hainey visits in his quest for the truth which is also sometimes a sentimental journey. Hainey's father was a newspaperman and he is a magazine journalist and editor. He's a good storyteller, and I both enjoy and respect that. I think different kinds of readers will find different reasons to enjoy this book.
All the Bright Places is a YA novel. Two teens have perhaps the "cute meet" of all time when they are both thinking about suicide and independently find themselves on the six story-high ledge of a campus bell tower. One talks the other down and they find a great deal of meaning in their ensuing friendship/romance. The boy, Theodore Finch, ensnares the girl, Violet Markey, in a road trip of sorts: a Geography class assignment to wander the wonders of Indiana. This proves to be charming, amusing and affecting and my favorite was the bookmobile farm they visited (but the farmer's backyard roller coaster was great fun, too). This book reminded me of something I hadn't thought about for a long time but which I think is important: the stigma surrounding mental illness and the natural reluctance of those affected to be pigeon-holed in that category.
I've unfairly given both these titles short shrift because of time's winged chariot, etc.
How important is good writing to a memoir? I think it's very important. I think it's like the old tale of The Pot of Broth (per Yeats) or Stone Soup (per Danny Kaye). With creativity and writing skill you can make a lot out of a little.
On the other hand, in his memoir, Hainey himself writes that the secret of good writing is good reporting. I know when I have talked to students I've said that a good term paper requires good research. It is almost like a sculpture. If you have plenty of information to work with, it's much easier to shape that information in a useful and aesthetic way (including by cutting things that don't fit your shape).
Hainey grew up with unanswered questions about his father's death, a loss he suffered when he was six years old. (Actually, there are so many intriguing little things about this short memoir that I could write for paragraphs about it: At one point, Hainey speculates that he might have been a better man if his early loss had not been deepened by the secrecy surrounding it (I longed to know more!); in a publicity video on the Simon & Schuster website, Hainey, a fascinatingly soft spoken man, states that the memoir is really his parents' love story).
Hainey includes many of his memories of his boyhood in the seventies on the northwest side of Chicago. I think that there's no question that folks who've lived in Chicago, especially in this period, will enjoy revisiting some of the moments and places that Hainey visits in his quest for the truth which is also sometimes a sentimental journey. Hainey's father was a newspaperman and he is a magazine journalist and editor. He's a good storyteller, and I both enjoy and respect that. I think different kinds of readers will find different reasons to enjoy this book.
All the Bright Places is a YA novel. Two teens have perhaps the "cute meet" of all time when they are both thinking about suicide and independently find themselves on the six story-high ledge of a campus bell tower. One talks the other down and they find a great deal of meaning in their ensuing friendship/romance. The boy, Theodore Finch, ensnares the girl, Violet Markey, in a road trip of sorts: a Geography class assignment to wander the wonders of Indiana. This proves to be charming, amusing and affecting and my favorite was the bookmobile farm they visited (but the farmer's backyard roller coaster was great fun, too). This book reminded me of something I hadn't thought about for a long time but which I think is important: the stigma surrounding mental illness and the natural reluctance of those affected to be pigeon-holed in that category.
I've unfairly given both these titles short shrift because of time's winged chariot, etc.
Saturday, September 3, 2016
Miracle on Monhegan Island by Elizabeth Kelly
What an unlikely book! No wonder it has not yet taken the world by storm!
I loved it.
I hate to try to describe the book's plot because I don't think I can do it justice. I think I read the book mainly because I had a professor who summered on Monhegan, and perhaps also because a book set on an island seemed appealing. I didn't choose it because of its description because the story of a troubled family, narrated by its dog, didn't seem immediately compelling.
Three generations of a family live on Monhegan Island. The grandfather is a pastor; the uncle is a painter; and the grandson is only twelve. Although the father is a pastor there's little that's mild about him and his sons frequently compare notes and speculate about their father's plans and intentions. He's a master manipulator and they're a little bit afraid of him, too.
The story begins when the absent son/brother/father, Spark, decides that he has neglected his son too long, and must return home to try to grow/repair their relationship. Along the way, he steals a purebred Shih-Tzu from the back of an idling Mercedes.
This is quite shocking to the dog and to Spark's companion, but Spark cheerfully insists he loves the dog already. The dog, who narrates this tale, soon loves Spark in return.
The dog, now renamed Neddy, falls for Spark because he is sure that he can intuit that beneath Spark's sarcasm and banter is a wounded, sensitive soul who has buried his pain very deep indeed.
The charm of this book, in my view, is its narrator. Is it interesting and entertaining to know what the dog is thinking? It certainly is. But Neddy has a very unique viewpoint, equal parts affection, concern, loyalty, and a sure sense of self. Neddy is an avid and entertained observer of the family's dynamics, and seen through Neddy's loving eyes they become important and fascinating.
In the book's acknowledgements, the author thanks her agent for "letting me have what for" and thanks her editor for editing and offers as evidence of her devotion the news that she cut her favorite joke from the book at her editor's suggestion.
Kelly's humor and sensibility is what brings Neddy's irresistible charm to life. This is her third book: her others are Apologize! Apologize! and The Last Summer of the Cumperdowns. I hope she will write other books because the glimpse I've had of her view of the world is engaging.
I loved it.
I hate to try to describe the book's plot because I don't think I can do it justice. I think I read the book mainly because I had a professor who summered on Monhegan, and perhaps also because a book set on an island seemed appealing. I didn't choose it because of its description because the story of a troubled family, narrated by its dog, didn't seem immediately compelling.
Three generations of a family live on Monhegan Island. The grandfather is a pastor; the uncle is a painter; and the grandson is only twelve. Although the father is a pastor there's little that's mild about him and his sons frequently compare notes and speculate about their father's plans and intentions. He's a master manipulator and they're a little bit afraid of him, too.
The story begins when the absent son/brother/father, Spark, decides that he has neglected his son too long, and must return home to try to grow/repair their relationship. Along the way, he steals a purebred Shih-Tzu from the back of an idling Mercedes.
This is quite shocking to the dog and to Spark's companion, but Spark cheerfully insists he loves the dog already. The dog, who narrates this tale, soon loves Spark in return.
The dog, now renamed Neddy, falls for Spark because he is sure that he can intuit that beneath Spark's sarcasm and banter is a wounded, sensitive soul who has buried his pain very deep indeed.
The charm of this book, in my view, is its narrator. Is it interesting and entertaining to know what the dog is thinking? It certainly is. But Neddy has a very unique viewpoint, equal parts affection, concern, loyalty, and a sure sense of self. Neddy is an avid and entertained observer of the family's dynamics, and seen through Neddy's loving eyes they become important and fascinating.
In the book's acknowledgements, the author thanks her agent for "letting me have what for" and thanks her editor for editing and offers as evidence of her devotion the news that she cut her favorite joke from the book at her editor's suggestion.
Kelly's humor and sensibility is what brings Neddy's irresistible charm to life. This is her third book: her others are Apologize! Apologize! and The Last Summer of the Cumperdowns. I hope she will write other books because the glimpse I've had of her view of the world is engaging.
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