“Notes on an Execution” by Danya Kukafka

I found this book through one of those Buzzfeed articles that so often convinces me to waste time. The article in question was a compilation of the best first lines of books (see here, if you're curious), which means it was an article more worthy of reading than is typical for Buzzfeed, although most of the lines mentioned were either from books I'd already read, or they did not grab me. This one… well, tbh the lines quoted seemed more inscrutable than amazing, but they did pique my curiosity, and I recognized the author's name from when I read and enjoyed her previous book, Girl in Snow. So I gave this new one a go.

And it was definitely a good choice! This is the story of Ansel Packer, abandoned by his parents at the age of 4 and raised in the foster system, who at age 17 goes through a brief stage of killing girls before settling down to a more acceptable existence with his future wife. The story leaps nimbly from death row to Ansel’s childhood and everything in between, told mostly from the perspective of Ansel’s mother and wife, plus the detective working the case of the murdered girls. While at times the story was unsettling, it was always very compelling.

Despite my enjoyment of the reading experience, I do have one complaint about the book. While I am aware that conventional wisdom disparages the use of adverbs in writing, surely this doesn’t mean we need to eschew them entirely? The first few times an adjective was conspicuously used where tradition indicated an adverb, it seemed quirky and experimental (in a good way), but the more often it happened, the more annoying and pretentious it seemed. Like, if it had only been done two or three times, it would have seemed like a positive, even impressive, thing. Or maybe if it was only used in relation to a single one of the narrators? But by the time I noticed it was happening every ten pages or so (fingers twitching nervous, dangling graceless, averted uncomfortable, the air tinged lavish…) the lack of ly was sticking out like a sore thumb and was definitely rubbing me the wrong way. 

But that’s the worst thing (in fact, probably the only bad thing!) I have to say about this book. 

“What Alice Forgot” by Liane Moriarty

The spell has broken. After having enjoyed the Nine Perfect Strangers TV series and the books Apples Never Fall and Big Little Lies, this one missed the mark for me. It was just so . .  . silly. I mean of course I like to have fun while I read! But this book felt like it was firmly in the Chick Lit category which I always suspected Moriarty's books belonged in, and which I typically can't stomach (even if I can't explain why). 

What Alice Forgot is the story of Alice Love, a soon-to-be forty-year-old mom of three, who comes to on the gym floor thinking it is 1998 instead of 2008. She remembers her first thirty years of life perfectly normally, but it's as if the bump on her head knocked the past decade right out of her memory. Her children are strangers to her, and what's this? She and her husband have separated? AND she's in charge of Mega Meringue Day, which will put the local school in the Guinness Book of World Records? Ahahaha lol blech. 

I think I have reached the point where I’ve read enough of this author’s books. To be fair . . . I really enjoyed her other stories, and possibly my enjoyment increased with their chronological releases? (Like, I've enjoyed the newest one the most, etc.) I could be wrong but it seems like the books have become more clever as they've gone along, and it's the cleverness that draws me in and that makes me more accepting of the Chicky-Litty aspects. Also, maybe I had some personal issues with this book? For instance, the thought of getting back together with my ex makes me gag. And the idea of my best friends being a couple named Mike and Gina is laughable (inside joke). But my gut instinct is currently telling me to move on. 

And part of the reason I need to move on is because I have too many other books I want to read more. Actually I know just exactly how many unread books I have in my house at the moment (and I think I might possibly have ordered eleven more yesterday . . . ?) thanks to something super cool: my favorite new app, BookBuddy. (And I don't even get any kind of compensation for telling you about it, but I'm telling you about it anyway. That's how much I love it.) I have scanned all of the books I own into this app, and it's like my own little super-useful digital card catalog. I can see how many are read, unread, or being read; I can view them by author, or by title, or by genre (and then some); I can mark books as favorites or "loaned out"; I can search for books by key word, title, author. Using this app I even discovered I unintentionally had a half dozen or so duplicate copies of books! Anyway, if you are a reading this blog I assume you are a reader, and I just thought you might appreciate this app as much as I do. 

“Big Little Lies” by Liane Moriarty

During our most recent foray into Half Price Books, Sam discovered two more Liane Moriarty books for me. (I really enjoyed watching her Nine Perfect Strangers TV series, and I had fun reading Apples Never Fall. Both stories were suspenseful and engaging and tightly plotted and peopled with interesting characters and maybe a little bit fluffy but so much fun that the fluffiness was entirely palatable.) So Sam was right in suspecting that I would like more Moriarty books. 

And Big Little Lies was just as fun! I’m not sure what sets Moriarty’s stories apart from the women’s fiction or Chick Lit or beach reads that I typically scorn (maybe nothing?) but somehow they go down easy and don’t leave me feeling ill and remorseful. 

BLL has a huge cast of characters, most of whom have a kindergartner starting at Pirriwee Public. There’s a lot of drama going on, both among the kids and their parents, and from the very beginning we know that someone is going to die on Trivia Night, but we don’t know who or how or why. 

Moriarty really manages to balance the lighthearted and the serious in a way that the novel I read just before this one, which I can now see was heavy-handed, did not. As I read BLL I became interested in the characters; in the previous book I felt like I was being forced to care, which did not work. 

We just started watching the BLL TV series last night. So far it's not as good as the book, but it's good enough that I plan to keep watching.

“Home Comforts: The Art & Science of Keeping House” by Cheryl Mendelson

Why, oh why did I think I would want to read this book?

Actually (uncharacteristically for me) I remember exactly what drew me to this book. It was the statement that appears on its front cover: “Home Comforts is to the house what Joy of Cooking is to food.” I thought this book might provide me with some reasonable guidelines in conjunction with effective but rapid techniques to elevate my housekeeping efficiency as well as the quality of my results. (But, never having perused JoC, maybe my expectations were skewed?)

I think this book is probably not meant to be read cover to cover and is intended more as a reference to dip into as needed; nevertheless, reading it cover to cover is what I set out to do. And it worked until I got to chapter 14, The Fabric of Your Home. OMG. I will never need to know that level of detail about ALL the different types of materials that exist. I was totally derailed.

But I managed to tough it out, for the most part. I definitely skimmed over sections that I was pretty sure would never apply to me, but I read everything that seemed like it might be helpful. And most of the way through this book, my assumption was that once I finished reading it I would hang onto it as a reference just in case. But the closer I got to the end, the more I noticed that I was not finding any information that I would actually make use of in my life. And you know what else? There's this thing called the Internet. As it turns out, I've found the Internet to be a pretty dang good reference. Not to mention that it can typically give me an answer that doesn't go unnecessarily deeply into details, AND that doesn't make me feel bad because I will never vacuum my curtains weekly. Not until they make a Roomba capable of doing that. 

"The Dilemma" by B.A. Paris

I have been in a reading slump. For some reason all I’ve been able to do recently is crossword puzzles. It has certainly not been for lack of good books waiting for me to read them. I don’t really know how to explain it, but there it was. 

Until last week, when obligations brought us past our nearest Half Price Books store (two hours away) where I gathered a teetering stack of (almost) new books. On the way home (I promise I wasn’t driving!) I chose the one I was least interested in and started reading. Forty-eight hours later (minus two full work shifts), I’d finished it, a reader once again. 

This is the story of Adam and Olivia, who are preparing for her 40th birthday bash—something that’s been in the works for years. Their 22-year-old son Josh is there to celebrate with them and help out, but their 19–year-old daughter Marnie is studying in Hong Kong for the year. And of course everyone has secrets… Adam has a surprise for Livia, not realizing she might not be pleased by it; Marnie is hiding something from her parents, though she doesn’t know Livia has already figured it out, and Livia knows she should have told Adam but hasn’t yet; Josh has changed his plans and is afraid to tell Adam; so everyone has A Dilemma of their own. And then Adam realizes something terrible may have happened, but he’s not entirely certain yet…

Given the fact that I read 340 pages in 2 days, this book was obviously a page-turner. And I did enjoy reading it. But I didn’t love it. It wasn’t one of those fully immersive experiences. For me, somehow, the writing wasn’t real enough. It was just a made up story about imaginary characters. Yes, yes, I know in a literal sense that’s true of all fiction… but in the best books, it doesn’t feel like it. Not that I would be capable of recreating that myself. But I am capable of recognizing it when presented with it.

"The Marriage Plot" by Jeffrey Eugenides

This book was kind of depressing. It's the 80s, and Madeleine Hanna is graduating from Brown University. She's in love with (but no longer together with) Leonard Bankhead, and Mitchell Grammaticus (what the heck kind of last name is that?) is in love with Madeleine. No one really knows what they're going to do with their lives, but this turns out to be especially true for Leonard, since he stopped taking his lithium and ended up in a mental hospital. In other words, if a love triangle weren't bad enough, let's throw a little bipolar disorder into the mix and see just exactly how bad it can get. (Turns out that's bad enough to make me focus on how lucky I am that neither I nor any of my loved ones have had to deal with extreme mania or life-pausing depression.)

I don't think I really enjoyed reading this book. It wasn't boring, and there's nothing wrong with the writing, except I didn't like the voice. It started out with a kind of la-di-dah tone. As time went by I decided the problem was that I just didn't like Madeleine. And the ending felt forced. 

Other than that, it was great!

"Commonwealth" by Ann Patchett

I love a book I can sink into, with a deep velvety story and writing so good you hardly even notice it. 

Commonwealth, I think, is slightly autobiographical. I know from reading Patchett's non-fiction that she lived in California with her cop dad and beautiful mother until her parents split up and she moved a couple thousand miles away with her new stepfamily. That may be where the similarity between the story and her life ends, but it's enough to bring an immediacy or a vibrance to the book. 

The story centers on Franny (who I almost called Ann! Oops!) and her relationships with her sister and stepsiblings, though more tangential bonds are also explored. The plot is one I'm having real trouble with describing concisely and I feel like all I can say is that throughout the book we see the children grow and change, and their interactions grow and change along with them. What I most want to remember about this book, though, is how much I enjoyed the reading experience.

"These Precious Days" by Ann Patchett

I could have sworn that I wrote a blog post about this book! But I see now that I started a draft and never wrote anything. And now, whatever I might have said three weeks ago is gone into the void. 

What remains is that I love Ann Patchett's writing. And especially after having read a couple of her non-fiction collections of essays, I feel like she is my friend. I know she's not, and that this is a completely one-way street, but I feel like I know Ann, and like her, and would enjoy spending time with her. 

“The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue” by VE Schwab

This book and I did not get off to a good start. 

Sam read it first. His suggestion that I might like it seemed lukewarm. “It was pretty good.” And then I saw that someone for whose literary opinion I lack respect had read this book and enjoyed it. I don’t know why Sam’s (respected) positive opinion should carry less weight than the (disrespected) positive opinion of one-who-must-not-be-named. But apparently it did. 

Eventually Addie LaRue worked its way to the top of my TBR pile, so I picked it up. And put it down. And reluctantly picked it up. And put it down again. It took me quite a while to get into this book. Like, weeks. If I had reached the point in my life where I could finally allow myself to give up on a book after 50 pages, I would never have finished this one. I found that every time when I had a quiet moment to read, I was instead picking through the mess of old copies of Readers Digest that my mom had brought with her at Christmas. I was actively avoiding Addie LaRue. At first I wasn’t sure why, other than the fact that the story had not grabbed me yet, but I came to realize that the writing annoyed me. I’m sure this is partly because it followed so closely on the heels of Ann Patchett, whose writing I really admire, but I did not like the voice of Addie LaRue. And I was almost insulted by the cadence. 

Why so many paragraphs of one sentence?

And so many fragments? 

(Annoying, right?)

But this week we have been on a journey, and I forced myself to finish this book by packing it and bringing only one other reading option with me. (Well, truth be told, I also brought the last two Readers Digests.) And would you believe that (after reading the RDs) when I finally picked up Addie LaRue again, I got INTO it and ENJOYED it and didn’t want to put it down? 

I hate being wrong. 

Anyway, for those of you who have been living under a rock, here’s the synopsis. Three hundred years ago there was a 23-year-old French girl named Adeline LaRue who did not want to get married. So she sold her soul to the devil in return for what she thought of as freedom, but what turned out to be the inability to leave a mark on the world. No one is able to remember her once she leaves their sight—not even her own parents, who now believe they never had a child. The deal stands until she is ready to give up, and Addie turns out to be quite tenacious, which means her story spans centuries. I found myself more interested in her 21st century life than anything else, but without the rest of it there wouldn’t have been a story. 

"Rose Royal" by Nicolas Mathieu

This was an intriguing little novella that just flew by. It felt like I'd only been reading for about five minutes when I noticed that I was already more than halfway through. Another five minutes later it was over--well, five minutes and a shock. (Yeah, I'm exaggerating about the five minutes, but not about the shock.)

The story here is about Rose, an aging-but-still-hot administrative assistant who spends most of her evenings drinking among friendly acquaintances at a dive bar. Though her life is not devoid of happy moments, neither is it incredibly satisfying. Yet she doesn't strive much towards making changes that would increase elements of value, and this is more due to inertia than to being content. 

Enter Luc. 

The subtitle of this book is "a love story" but I have it on good authority that that's meant in irony. Whereas at first blush being with Luc seemed like an improvement, in many ways it turned out to merely highlight Rose's dissatisfaction with her life. 

Overall I found this novella to be a fun momentary diversion: strong writing that flows well, a story that moves the reader through it effortlessly, and a powerful ending that took me by surprise.

"Hell of a Book" by Jason Mott

This is a really hard blog post for me to write. It would have been hard anyway, for two reasons, but unfortunately it's made even more difficult by the fact that I finished reading this book about two weeks ago and we all know by now that such a delay does not help a literary amnesiac write a blog post.

The author of Hell of a Book has written a book about an author who has written a hell of a book and is on a book tour to promote it. The writing from the author's author's perspective seems light-hearted and tongue-in-cheek, reminding me somewhat of Christopher Moore. Mott describes a man who is a bit self-destructive (drinking too much, being surprised by an angry husband who chases him through hotel hallways away from the wife he hadn't known was married) but Mott does not at first describe what the author looks like, so initially I didn't even think about it, and then I started to wonder, and finally Mott confirmed that the author was black. (That's not a spoiler. It's right there in the blurb on the cover--how did I not notice that at the beginning?)

Flitting around the periphery of the author's story is a news story. A tragedy has occurred, and everyone knows the details--everyone, that is, except for the author (the one in the book, not the one of the book). When people ask if he's heard about the tragedy he truthfully says yes, because of course he has heard people talking about a tragedy, but he hasn't heard any details. Throughout the book, those details emerge slowly: from an amorphous blur to a vague outline to harrowing details. 

So are you wondering about the two reasons that this blog post would have been difficult for me to write even if I'd written it right away? One is (in case you hadn't already guessed) because I am white. And while on one hand Mott has done an excellent job of portraying the disturbing reality of being black in America (particularly of being black and male) without alienating those who are not, I still feel uncomfortable expressing an opinion (especially publicly) on that disturbing reality. Like . . . who am I to say anything? The other is that this was a pretty complex story, with enigmatic characters whose relationships with Mott's author are difficult to determine and possibly even open to interpretation. Including too many details would surely either give away spoilers or contribute erroneous interpretations or possibly even both. 

"Apples Never Fall" by Liane Moriarty

I JUST REALLY ENJOYED THIS BOOK. I never wanted it to end, I was enjoying it so much. It was almost like a guilty pleasure, but I just couldn't stop reading, though it's inevitable that when that happens the book eventually ends. And so this one did. But oh, I had so much fun while it lasted! 

Sam and I (purely due to me being influenced by ads) had watched and enjoyed the TV series "Nine Perfect Strangers" last fall, which is based on a book by that title which was also written by Moriarty. So Sam gave me this book for Christmas (or was it for my birthday? they're close enough in time that sometimes they blend together) and what a perfect gift idea it was!

This was the story of Stan and Joy Delaney, recent retirees who sold their highly-successful tennis school a year ago and had since found themselves at loose ends. Their four grown children, each recovering from a childhood as a tennis prodigy, lead adult lives with varying degrees of success and happiness--lives which didn't necessarily match up with what their mother wanted for them. It was a mystery and a family drama infused with humor, but that describes the type of book that would normally make me want to vomit (well, maybe not the mystery part, but definitely the rest of it) though somehow this book evaded that fate. In fact, between the abrupt appearance of Savannah on the doorstep one night in September, contrasted with Joy's unexpected disappearance the following February, I was hooked (and no vomit in the forecast).  

As avid readers, I expect you all know about Chekov's gun? The playwright was known to have repeated on several occasions that if a gun is placed in a scene it must at some point be used. Well, it was not obvious from the very beginning (and that in itself is a good thing), but in Moriarty's book, nothing appeared that didn't later fit in as an integral piece of a very complex puzzle. One might think this could be annoying--having everything explained, nothing left vague, all the loose ends tied up so neatly with a bow--but instead it was so completely satisfying, and clever. The cleverness!! And it was all fair and above-board. There may have been misdirections, but there were no true red herrings.

When I was almost finished with this book, I was telling Sam about it and comparing it to the story of Nine Perfect Strangers. My take at the time was that the two stories were quite similar, with dark themes that somehow all ended happily. But that was before I read the last chapter of Apples. 

Shudder.