“Taft” by Ann Patchett

Another one moves from the "I'd Like To Read All Of Her Books" group to the "I've Read All Of Her Books" group! 

Ann Patchett's writing is magical. While I haven't unequivocally loved all of her novels (see Bel Canto and The Magician's Assistant, though these were still Very Good), I have found most of them to be brilliant, beautiful gems. Taft is up there with the best of them. 

Taft is the story of John Nickel, a former drummer who now manages a bar on Beale Street. He has a nine-year-old son, Franklin, who has moved to Miami with his mother Marian. Nickel hires a young waitress named Fay Taft, whose life (and that of her brother Carl) quickly gets tangled up with Nickel's. And there's a parallel story running through it all: Fay and Carl growing up back east, out in Coalfield, before the sudden and unexpected death of their father.

So have I done it? Have I really read them all? Well, apparently Ann Patchett collaborated on a book called Nashville: Scenes from the New American South, which (although it was published in 2018) I only heard about for the first time about ten minutes ago. I'll probably end up reading that someday, just because I can't not, but for today I'll give myself a pass so she can be in The Club. I'll just change it from "I've Read All Of Her Books" to "I've Read All Of Her Novels." 

“The Heavens” by Sandra Newman

I found this book really depressing and I’m failing to see any redeeming qualities in it. I don’t mean that it was terribly written, or that it was boring, but what I mean is that I could not find a good excuse in the story for being so depressing. (I found the excuse in the author’s acknowledgments, though.)

This, I think, is a difficult book to summarize. It's a love story between Kate and Ben, who live charmed lives of perfect happiness in New York City when they first meet. But life is complicated by the fact that Kate repeatedly dreams about being Emilia in 1593, in England. And life is further complicated by the fact that, every time Kate wakes from this dream, something about the world is a little bit worse. Things get darker, and darker, and darker still.

I didn't see this as I was reading, but maybe the story is an extreme metaphor for romantic relationships in general. At the beginning, everything is lovely and beautiful, but time has a way of exposing the ugly bits. And when all that's left is ugly bits, it takes a conscious decision to stick with it, to stay, to grit your teeth and bear it even though you know there isn't any way to save this world.

For the record, I want to point out that I don't see this as a metaphor for my relationship! 

“House of Leaves” by Mark Z Danielewski

This book took me more than a decade to read. 

No, really. It wasn’t the book itself that was the problem (or at least that’s mostly true); it was my timing. I first started reading House of Leaves right before my life turned upside down (actually, with hindsight, I can see that what happened at that time is that my life turned right side up after having been upside down for years) and I could not continue reading it. It became tinged with sadness.

But I always intended to finish it someday, and so I have. Although even the finishing of it was beset with difficulties. First, I had to start again at the beginning. It had been far too long, and I remembered nothing. Then, after I had gotten perhaps halfway through, we went on a ten-day trip, and if you are trying to pack light, this is not the book to bring. That was last May. I did not touch the book again until this past week.

And the reading of this book was . . . an experience. It reminded me of reading Ulysses, but it was simultaneously both more and less creative. (The similarity was in the inscrutability.) HoL is, shall we say, very meta (in the pre-Zuckerberg sense). The story at the very center is The Navidson Record: a family moves into a house and finds out that it's bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. This starts as merely an intriguing curiosity but ends up as a horror show, and it is all recorded on film. A mysterious scholar named Zampanò analyzes the film and leaves an unfinished manuscript that is bursting with eclectic quotes and academic citations. LA tattoo apprentice Johnny Truant finds this manuscript and attempts to transcribe it, adding his own experiences along the way. The book itself is full of footnotes and appendices and even a 42-page index that I think might possibly include almost every word in the text (even and is in there, though not the). Many pages have "creative" text placement (upside-down, sideways, diagonal in the corners) and there are even some full-color copies of pages scribbled with Zampano's original notations (many of which I had to use my cell phone camera to zoom in on in order to read). Towards the end, Sam looked over my shoulder and said, Ugh, I feel sorry for you reading that. 

So, yeah, I'm kind of looking forward to reading a plain and simple book next. 

“The Last Supper” by Rachel Cusk

The Last Supper is a summer-long memoir of a three-month visit to Italy.

This book called to me for two reasons. One, I’m a sucker for reading about travels in Italy. Reading about traveling in Italy is obvs not as fun as experiencing it firsthand, but it's definitely cheaper, and I can fit it into my usual daily life. While I read, I reminisce about my own travels in Italy, I daydream that I'm the one I'm reading about, and I tuck ideas into the back of my mind for the next time I go there (if I am so lucky). 

Two, I’m also a sucker for Rachel Cusk. I have a list of favorite authors, who appear there for a variety of reasons: either they have written a book (or books!) that I love, or I have read all of the novels they've had published (or I aspire to do so), or I would put anything they publish on my TBR. (There is considerable overlap between these three categories.) Cusk is #5 on the list. 

But what I most want to remember about The Last Supper appears on page 196, and I will quote it here:

The longer we stay in Italy, the less we are able to conduct ourselves like visitors. Yet to live here, really live, would involve the same things as living anywhere. There would be school and routine, anxiety and conformity, judgment and separation, success and failure. There would be all the ripples of effect that are sent out when people establish themselves among other people. . . To live in another country requires a fundamental acceptance of things that are true in all countries. . . [People] seem to believe that when they moved, the bad things would remain behind. And perhaps they did: but the good things stayed there also.

Maybe that's a bit depressing when considering a dream of living somewhere else, somewhere better. How many times have I been on vacation, blissful and relaxed, looking around and thinking, Wouldn't it be great if we could live here? I typically follow that thought with the pragmatic downer of But if we lived here it wouldn't be like this. This doesn't stop me from dreaming, though. I just want to do it with my eyes wide open.

Cool side note: This book was published the year I started my blog! Which was also the year I first traveled to Italy.

“Case Closed” by Gerald Posner

Case Closed was first published in 1993, but I only recently heard about it from an interview with Gerald Posner on one of the older episodes of SGU (specifically, I believe it was #435 which was recorded 11/16/2013). I was intrigued enough by what I heard in the interview, especially the parts about how the author doesn't ascribe to any of the conspiracy theories and how several of the Rogues had read the book and were impressed by it, that I got myself a copy to read. 

This is an extensive and detailed look into the assassination of JFK, focusing on Lee Harvey Oswald. I'm no history buff, nor have I ever been one of those who is obsessed with the details of that fateful day in 1963. And obviously I can't answer the "where were you when" question (I may be getting old, but I'm not quite that old). But I have actually been to The Sixth Floor (a museum in the old Texas School Book Depository building in Dallas), and the assassination has always seemed mystery-shrouded, swirling with speculation and questions. 

This book scratched whatever minor itch I may have had about JFK's assassination. I found it really comprehensive, logical and reasonable. I guess if it were in any way lopsided, or if it left out any important information, I wouldn't know; but it sure seemed to cover all aspects and left me certain of its merits. I would be curious to know whether any conspiracy theorists could actually successfully attack it (though not really curious enough to put any effort into finding out). 

“Nobody Wants Your Sh*t” by Messie Condo

Now, was that really necessary?

Despite the fact that the note at the beginning of Nobody Wants Your Sh*t assured me that it wouldn’t just rehash all the same info from the previous book… it turned out it pretty much does. Reading it was necessary for me (I had to know what it said, just in case it said something useful). But I didn’t really come away from it with any new information.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. NWYS takes the first book’s question “does this make me happy?” and adds “what happens to it when I’m gone?” The concept of "death cleaning" is introduced: getting rid of all the crap that you don't really want anyway, to avoid passing that responsibility on when you pass on. And it addresses the issue of future plans for all the crap that you really do want, taking a good hard look at whether it will immediately turn in to crap that no one wants after you're gone. 

I was on board with the idea of death cleaning long before I started reading the book, and I was looking for concrete ideas and instructions. (I definitely didn't need Chapter 1, which is the motivation to do death cleaning.) Here are a few tidbits I noted: 

• The author lists fifteen benefits of “death cleaning”, and suggests you focus on the benefit that “calls to you”. I’m going with “a deeper appreciation of what you have” and “a clutter-free space you can be proud of.”
• Fear is not the best motivator; pick a motivator that makes you feel good instead. 
• Make declutterring a priority.
• Start small: declutter for five minutes a day, or get rid of one thing at a time. 

Guess what? This book was the first thing I decluttered when I finished reading it. 

“tidy the f*ck up” by messie condo

It’s been almost ten years since Marie Kondo both baffled and inspired me, but during that time I’m sure I’ve accumulated way more stuff than I’ve tossed. And I’ve never tidied a room, or even a closet, by removing everything from it and putting it all in one big pile to sort through. I’ve never been tempted to empty my purse nightly, or to thank my old belongings for their years of service before dropping them off at Goodwill. 

I have, however, retained the desire to pare down and tidy up. So obviously when I first saw this *new tidying book (*from 2019), I was tempted to give it a try. On closer inspection, I saw that it is marketed as a parody (which I could have guessed from the author's name if nothing else) so I initially gave it a pass. I don't have anything against a little humor, but I assumed this book would be heavy on the laughs and light on the actual helpful tidying ideas. 

But I kept seeing this book, and eventually I gave in and bought it. I think that's mainly because there is a sequel related to "decluttering before you die"--I think I've already mentioned that's a life goal of mine--but I figured I should start at the beginning. 

This is a quick, fun read, to the extent that I realized I was enjoying my way through it so fast that I wasn't really retaining anything, so I slowed down and started taking notes. And now you will be the beneficiary of said notes. This, in brief, is "the american art of organizing your sh*t":

1. Get rid of sh*t that doesn't make you happy (and anything that is useless). Do you like it? Do you use it? Do you need it--REALLY need it? Does it fit into the life you want? If the answer to these questions is no, especially if it is something you could replace cheaply and easily, LET IT GO. That includes the "shoulds" (I should keep this because . . . ) Start with the easy stuff--leave sentimental items for later, when you've gotten good at tossing things. Finish this step before moving on to Step 2! (Note: I can not get on board with the Step 1 advice about books to only keep a "desert island" selection. I LOVE having shelves and shelves full of books in my house. Besides, the author also says "let your home reflect who you are" and I'm nothing if not a reader and book-hoarder lover.) Obviously most of the work is in Step 1. 

2. Find a place for what's left. Store things where it makes sense! Keep it simple, and avoid stacking things: if you can't see it, you won't use it. Step 2 is the fun part (at least it is if you like to organize). 

3. Stop buying sh*t you don't need. This step is more of a mindset-change than a task, but that doesn't mean it won't be difficult. 

Some extra tips to remember: 

Don't expect instant gratification, but stop to appreciate the small victories. Don't aim for perfection, aim for happy. But to reach happy, you need to do some thinking. What makes you happy? Start thinking about how the things in your house make you feel, rather than focusing on how they look. Prioritize what's important to you. If you don't know what you want and why you want it, browse Pinterest or home decor magazines to try to figure out what you want from your space. The whole process will take work, and part of that work is getting past the laziness. You're never going to FEEL like doing it, so you need to just push through and DO it, knowing the result will be worth the effort. Because remember: mimosas are for winners!

“Eileen” by Ottessa Moshfegh

Reading this book was a slightly surreal experience. I think that no matter what, I would have had the same response as I turned the last page (that response being,  “Well, that was weird.”). But pile on top the juxtaposition of the book’s setting (the East coat of the U.S. in freezing weather, and everything was ugly) with my own setting (vacation in Costa Rica, where it is never freezing and everything is beautiful) and the weird coincidences (the book takes place in the days leading up to Christmas, and I read it in the days following Christmas) and you get the surreality. I also oddly conflated this book with the one I read before it (the main character could be described as atypical, had a strained relationship with her father, and her mother had passed away previously) and the two I read before that (since this character kept mentioning her future in NYC). 

Eileen is a 24-year old girl who lives with her alcoholic ex-cop father and works as a secretary at the local prison for boys. Her life is filled with shame and disgust, mixed in with a bit of fantasy. She plans to run away to NYC at some point in the nebulous future, but currently she is… well, content is probably the wrong word, as she’s really just numbly moving forward in time, keeping her father stocked with gin and occasionally daydreaming about Randy the prison guard. Enter Rebecca, a beautiful redheaded new hire at the prison who surprises Eileen by paying attention to her, and who surprised me at least once. 

I’m so glad I had *something* to read, even if it felt like it knocked me a little off balance. 

“Rules for Visiting” by Jessica Francis Kane

I really loved this book. I hadn’t known at all what to expect from it. Some unknown amount of time ago, for some unremembered reason, I’d noted the title and author on a short list of Books I Want To Read that I happened to re-discover during Black Friday week, so I went ahead and bought it with only the knowledge that at some point in the past, something about it had interested me. 

As it turns out, this is the story of May Attaway, forty-year-old botanist at a local university (working in the grounds rather than as a professor) who still lives with her father and doesn’t really have any friends. She had a few friends in the past, but didn’t really make any effort to keep them, and hadn’t tried making any new ones for quite a while. 

But recently she had started to notice all the friendships going on around her, and had begun to wonder if maybe she was missing out on something. So when the university gifted her with an extra month of paid vacation to thank her for her years of service, she decided to use the time to visit her four closest friends from the past. 

This book is what I would describe as a treatise on friendship disguised as a novel. As I read, I realized I was looking for instruction in the same way I did with the handful of conversation-related books I read a few years back, only with a different outcome. I did not improve my conversational skills by reading those previous books (nor was I reassured that my current skills were adequate). With Rules for Visiting, while I didn’t gather any useful advice on how to make new friends, it did make me feel good about my cultivation of old friendships. 

Finishing this book was, however, a narrowly avoided catastrophe. We are on vacation, and (looking back now I can see it) I very stupidly only packed two books. And this was the second one. I just assumed I wouldn’t want to have my nose constantly in a book. (Do I know myself at all??) Luckily Sam dug up a book in our rental—and it’s actually one we have at home, on my TBR shelf. Whew! Disaster averted. 

“My Salinger Year” by Joanna Rakoff

I really enjoyed this book, which coincidentally also took place in New York City, just like the last book I read. 

This is a memoir about a year in the life of Joanna Rakoff, which she spent as the assistant to a literary agent at Harold Ober Associates (or so Wikipedia tells me, as her book only ever refers to The Agency). One of said agent’s main clients was a man named Jerry or, as most of the world knew him, JD Salinger. 

One of Joanna’s duties at The Agency was to respond to Salinger’s fan mail, which he had requested to never see. Her official duty was to type the same scripted reply to everyone, only changing the addressee. However, as Rakoff read more and more of the fan mail, she found some of it so touching or soul-baring that she could not resist crafting more heartfelt replies. 

I’m going to tell you a secret. Years ago I had a friend, TF, who loved to ready maybe as much as I do, and we bonded over books. TF’s literary hero was JD Salinger (no matter how unoriginal that might be). I think I was impressed by this because I did not have a literary hero; I just liked to read. Well, anyone would like to meet their literary hero, right? I knew how reclusive Salinger was (though probably only because TF had told me) so I knew this was a total long shot, but I wrote a letter to JD Salinger… inviting him to have lunch with TF. (Insert crying laughing emoji here. This can kind of be equated to writing to Santa.) My letter, of course, acknowledged the fact that this was highly unlikely, but it never (or rarely) hurts to ask, right? I mean, TF would certainly never have lunch with Salinger if such a meeting were never requested. 

The short story is, of course, that TF never had lunch with Salinger. But I did receive a reply to my letter. (Not from Salinger himself, of course.) The letter was typed by someone who introduced themself as Salinger’s assistant, and in my memory the writer said it was a very kind request to make for TF, who was lucky to have a friend like me.

As I read Rakoff’s book, an idea occurred to me. Could Rakoff have been the one to reply to my letter to Salinger? The timing works out relatively well (Rakoff took the assistant job in 1996; I met TF in 1994 and would likely have written the letter between then and 2000, with 1996-7 as my best guess). The only thing is, in my memory the assistant was a male, and as Joanna signed her own name to her letters, I don’t know where I would have gotten the wrong idea about her gender. And really, Joanna’s boss could have had a male assistant before or after Joanna—one who took the same tack in terms of not sticking to the formulaic reply, but also one who never wrote a book about the experience (at least not one that I’m aware of). But it’s much more fun to think it was actually Joanna who replied to me. 

“Grief is for People” by Sloane Crosley

I wish I could remember how I heard about this book. I was thinking it must have been in Oh Reader magazine, but I flipped back through the most recent issue and didn't find any mention of it. My next guess is Bookstagram. Either way, when I saw Crosley had a new book out, I ordered a copy with hardly a second thought. It seems that my memory is full of how much I loved the first book of essays I read by her, and time has dimmed my disappointment in the second one. 

Okay so actually when I said I ordered this book with hardly a second thought, I kind of lied. I did read a few reviews first, including one I wish I hadn't. Some Amazon reviewer going by the name of John Berry stated, "In the context of a book about coping with the suicide of a best friend, the number of pages devoted to stolen jewelry seemed out of place." I feel like that one sentence colored my entire reading experience, and the insignificance of stolen jewelry next to the devastation of suicide really stood out to me. Would it have, if the contrast hadn't been pointed out to me ahead of time? That seems like a stupid question, where the obvious answer is "of course it would have," but I guess the real question is: would it have bothered me?

Honestly, when it comes right down to it, I don't think it actually did bother me. It was noticeable, but I was okay with it. To me, what Crosley was trying to say was that she found parallels between the burglary and the death, but also that she was well aware that the two situations were SO NOT THE SAME. And I appreciate that the writing was thought-provoking but not emotionally manipulative. I don't think it was full of universal truths about grief; rather, it has more of an "everyone grieves in their own way" vibe. And it included the biting humor and the taste of New York City that I enjoyed in Crosley's previous writing. 

“Murder in the Bookshop” by Anita Davison

My daughter (formerly known as Bookworm Child, though she is now no longer a child) gave me a great experience for my birthday: she ordered me a Blind Date With a Book from @TheMysteriousBookcase on Etsy. I got a package in the mail, wrapped in brown paper and twine, that included a mystery novel and a Galaxy bar! You can see photos here. What a great idea for a Bookworm Mom!

Unfortunately, the book itself was not . . . my cup of tea. (Groan. If you've read Murder in the Bookshop, or anything remotely like it, you get the reference.) I mean, you know I love Agatha Christie, and I love a good cozy mystery, so it wouldn't be a stretch to think I would like a murder mystery set in WWI-era London. But this one . . . the characters were all over the place. Was the protagonist a feisty heroine, or a brat? Was her aunt a feminist living on the fringes of society or was she a femme fatale? Was Hannah's love interest a cardboard cutout of Superman, his conspicuously broad shoulders dressed in Edwardian extravagance? 

The writing, generally, was not good. In the Acknowledgements, the author thanks her editors "for smoothing out of my clumsy phrasing" which makes me wonder how bad it must have been before said smoothing. I could not sink into the story because I was constantly re-writing in my head. And the plot was such a jarring mixture of pearl-clutching and tongue-in-cheek. Not to mention that on every other page, someone was making tea! (Gosh, I'm tired, I'll make a pot of tea. Oh, I just woke up, would you make me a pot of tea? Dancing makes me thirsty, let's make a pot of tea. Gracious, there's a dead body in my bookstore. This calls for a pot of tea. Oh, and it's my best friend . . . might as well start a second pot!) It honestly crossed the line from cozy to ridiculous.

Still, it was a mystery! And I remain afflicted by the inability to abandon a book once I've started reading it. So of course I read the whole thing, and overall it was a positive experience. I mean, some books are so bad that they actually make me angry. This one wasn't that bad.