“The Thirteen Problems” by Agatha Christie

I should probably slow down and savor these books a bit, but that’s a difficult thing to do. They’re just so, as they say, page-turney!

This one is a book of short stories, which only serves to increase the level of page-turney-ness. (What? That could be a word.) When the solution to a mystery is only a few short pages away, it’s really hard to put the book down. And then, once you’ve reached one satisfying conclusion, it’s so easy to just flip to the next page and start a whole new story. It’s right there. 

Surprisingly, I actually guessed the solution to several of these, so there goes my conviction that Christie always manages to surprise me. Of course, it’s entirely possible that I already read this book at some point in the past, and the solutions lodged themselves in my subconscious. That would be both a rational conclusion to draw, and one that preserves my amazement at Christie’s genius. (Because she was a genius. Don’t you agree?) But also—whereas in my memory I had guessed “most” of the solutions, in flipping back through the book I see that it was really only four of the thirteen…

Just one observation, neither here nor there; I don’t really understand the order that Harper Collins published these editions in. This book was published second chronologically (which is, of course, why I read it second) but it’s the second to last book in the boxed sets. There is another (Sleeping Murder) which was published second-to-last chronologically, but it appears fourth in the boxed sets. I believe this one and the last one may be the only Marple short stories, which explains their juxtaposition. Maybe I will understand the odd placement of Sleeping Murder later. 

“The Murder at the Vicarage” by Agatha Christie

It’s no secret that I love Agatha Christie mysteries. But it has to have been more than 14 years since I last read one. (The only reason I'm sure of this is because of my trusty blog. Since 2009, I would not have read a book without mentioning it here, and the only Christie book that appears on my blog is a Reading in Retrospect title: books I read before I started my blog, but kept notes on, and at some point I used those notes to create a blog post.)

My Agatha Christie reading was never very systematic. I have no idea how many of her 66 mysteries I've read, I certainly didn't go in any sort of order, and--excluding a small handful, probably comprising the ones I read more than once--with my memory (or lack thereof) it's as if I never read them at all; the only thing that remains is the certainty that I've always found the plots clever and enjoyable and compelling. 

We have recently enjoyed watching all three of Kenneth Branagh's Christie adaptations, and on the heels of that, my lovely husband surprised me with ALL FOURTEEN Miss Marple mysteries for my birthday. So of course I got started right away! Miss Marple makes her debut in the one where the vicar, Leonard Clement, returns home one evening to find Colonel Protheroe in his study as expected, though (quite unexpectedly, to be sure!) the colonel is dead, a bullet wound in the back of his head. But wouldn't you know it? Len's next door neighbor is none other than the intrepid Jane Marple. Who solves the mystery, of course, though it takes her three days and 298 pages. 

Did I guess whodunnit? No. I suspected the poor vicar all the way through, and I feel a bit guilty about that. And even if he didn’t commit the murder, I suspected him of peculation. But it’s his own fault. If you’re not the culprit, you shouldn’t have such a shifty demeanor! There were a few others I briefly suspected in a minor manner, though I won't list them all for fear of spoiling it for you. But I will confirm I had written the murderer off as innocent!

Remember how I was just saying I must be reading all the wrong books? Yeah, this was one of them. And there are thirteen more to come. But they're such fun, and it's still reading. It's not like they'll make my brain get fat. 

“Beyond the Door of No Return” by David Diop

Here's a book that has the honor of being on the short list for the National Book Award for Translated Fiction this year. And really, seeing the list (five finalists in each category, the other four categories being fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and young adult) makes me realize I must be reading all the wrong books. Not only have I not read any of the other twenty-four books; I hadn't even heard of them before nationalbook.org announced them.

So I'll just console myself with the fact that I have read this one! The story starts early in the nineteenth century with the protagonist on his deathbed, attended by his adult daughter from whom he'd been estranged for a large part of her life. Even if they'd always been close, however, he might not have told his daughter the formative story of his youth; anyway, the possibility is made moot by the fact that the formative story of his youth is the major reason Michel Adanson is not close to his daughter (or anyone, really). 

We learn Adanson's story along with his daughter, Aglaé, as she reads the memoir he had hidden for her where she would only find it if she truly cared for him. Adanson, a white French botanist, had traveled to Senegal at the age of twenty-three to collect specimens and make a name for himself as a scientist, but he found more than he bargained for: love and passion, and ultimately, tragedy. Hidden within his story is an attempt at explaining how someone who recognizes the horror and injustice of slavery could end up complicit in the very institution they abhor.

Expertly translated from the French by none other than my favorite traducteur (he's the best!), I would say this book is a shoo-in for the prize, though obviously I'm a poor judge, not having read the other four contenders. Fingers crossed, though! 

“Dinner in French: My Recipes By Way of France” by Melissa Clark

A cookbook is definitely not my typical reading fare. But when Sam gave me this cookbook for Mother's Day last May--partly because I was too intimidated to dive right in and actually start cooking any of the recipes in this book, but partly because the pictures are so beautiful and I wanted to get an idea of what I'm in for--I got into the habit of reading a recipe or two most evenings just before bed. And now, can you believe it? I've actually read the whole thing!

Sam bought this cookbook for me because I love Clark’s Dinner: Changing the Game so much. (199 recipes down, 26 to go!) I have never before owned a cookbook from which I believe I will cook every single recipe. To me, most cookbooks are like most short story collections: Two or three standouts, the majority are ho-hum, and there are always several clunkers. (This is not a perfect analogy because I do read all the stories in the collection.) But Dinner is amazing, because of the sheer number of recipes that turn out amazingly delicious and make me feel like a chef. Anyway, as I began to approach my goal of cooking all 225 recipes in Dinner, I started to worry about what I would work on next. Sure, I could start repeating the best ones in the book (of which there are legion!), but I really enjoy trying recipes that are new to me. Hence Dinner in French!

But, yeah, I'm a bit scared of this book. Luckily I can ease my way into it while I whittle away at the original Dinner, but after that . . . wow, a lot of these France-inspired recipes seem long, drawn-out and complicated. Not to mention the fact that where the heck am I supposed to get things like fresh currants? Not where I live, that's for sure. At this point I am not planning to challenge myself to make every single recipe in Dinner in French. But I have already made two of them! (Well, yes, they were the two simplest ones, why do you ask?) One was lavender lemonade, the other was marzipan bonbons (half rose-flavored, half lemon), and everything was pronounced delicious by everyone right down to the ten-year-old. Miam! 

“Birnam Wood” by Eleanor Catton

Sam read this book recently and loved it. And a few years back I read Catton's The Luminaries and really enjoyed that (although I never did get into the TV series, for some reason). So, with motivation both internal and external, I figured I needed to read this book too. 

Well, I didn’t love it like Sam did, but I'm not really sure why. It is a pretty compelling story, and basically what I think could be considered a literary thriller. It's about a group of young socialist gardeners in New Zealand (they call their group Birnam Wood) and what happens when they align themselves with someone who is basically an Elon Musk-esque American billionaire. 

My favorite thing about this book was the fact that the characters had some really interesting and intelligent conversations. Specifically, my favorite quote was this: Democracy isn't about everyone voting the exact same way, it's about whether you agree to go along with the outcome of the vote even if it turns out you're in the minority. 

Hmmmm, I wonder who that was directed towards??

“What Now?” by Ann Patchett

Before I got started reading Ann Patchett's most recent novel, Tom Lake, I glanced at the list of her other publications and noticed I had already read all but three. Just three! Totally do-able. So I ordered copies of them, and the completist in me rejoiced. 

Once my three new books arrived, I chose to read What Now? first. This is partly because it is just a little slip of a book (112 small pages with huge print!) but it is also because I really love Ann Patchett's nonfiction, maybe even more than her novels. Or, definitely more than some of her novels, and at least as much as my favorites. I have never found fault with Patchett's writing, but she is really good at writing about reality.

It's not surprising that this book is teeny tiny, because it basically comprises a commencement address Patchett gave at her alma mater, Sarah Lawrence, in 2006. (I have just realized I have absolutely no memory of any speakers at my college graduation. I feel sure none of them were remotely as interesting, or as famous, as Patchett.)

As someone who has already found a path in life that I am happy with, this book was not something that deeply inspired me, but it was encouraging and uplifting and fun to read. It would make a nice gift for a graduate (along with a lovely check, please). The next time you are tempted to purchase yet another commencement copy of Dr Seuss's Oh The Places You'll Go, you ought to opt for What Now? instead.

I do have one tiny complaint about the book. The text is interspersed with black and white photos, all in the same vein as the one on the cover (people on paths, in mazes, leaving footprints in sand, trying to decide which direction to go), but the placement of these photos was a bit distracting. I wish they had been more like punctuation than interruption.

“Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow” by Gabrielle Zevin

Video games are not my thing. It's not like I've never played any (I really enjoyed The Dig, like, a quarter of a century ago!) but gaming is not something I ever got into, and back when my high school friends tried to convince me to play Super Mario Brothers, I don't think I ever got beyond the initial "doot doot doot" of the music before some kind of evil mushroom jumped on my head and I had to start over. So, a book that is all about video games and game designers? If Sam (also not a gamer!) hadn't read it first and loved it, I might never have been interested in reading it. I care nothing about video games, but this book grabbed me from the very beginning. (And, in case you were worried, it did not creep in a petty pace.)

TaTaT is one of those epic stories that is really about deep and enduring (if intermittent) friendship. Sadie Green and Sam Masur met as children, when Sam was recovering from a grave injury to his left foot. Their connection was instantaneous, and they spent hours (690, in fact!) bonding over video games and the vagaries of life until, in one of those aforementioned vagaries, they experienced their first rift. The real story picks up when they meet again during their college years and decide to design a video game together. Funnily enough, despite my lack of interest in video games, Gabrielle Zevin managed to make their creation intriguing and compelling (helped along by leaving out programming minutae and focusing on storylines). As Sam said, this book opened our eyes to the creative and artistic aspect of video game design. But for me, it was the relationships that made this book. 

I also liked the big words! There were not an annoying number of them, but there were enough to make me feel like I was reading a smart book. I even kept a list! It's been years since my last "Words of the Day" post, and I don't feel especially driven to create one now, but if I did, the words from TaTaT would have been perfect. It's a great mix of ones whose definitions I think I might know (but I'm not certain) and ones I'm not sure I'd ever heard before: cicerone, echt, ersatz, ludic, grok, bromide (not in the chemical sense), Weltschmerz, collogue, trenchant, kenophobia, Torschlusspanik, viridescent, itinerancy, roundelay, Zweisamkeit, deictic, jejune, eidetic. 

After having enjoyed this book so much, we of course are interested in reading more by Zevin. But here is where we diverge: I want to read Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac (despite the fact that it is marketed for teenagers; it's that reference to amnesia that grabs me), while Sam has already purchased a copy of The Storied Life of AJ Fikry. 

“Tom Lake” by Ann Patchett

I just finished reading Ann Patchett's pandemic project, which causes my own (paint-by-number) to pale in comparison. (Actually I'm not sure that Patchett really wrote this book during lockdown, but it was partially set then.) 

First, I just want to ask: How in the world did Ann Patchett publish a new book and I had no idea it was coming? I didn't even hear a peep about it before I saw it on the shelf at Target two weeks ago. I must be reading the wrong news. Although I did feel a bit better when I saw it was only released on August 1st, so it's not as if it's been out there for months. 

I'll tell you a secret, though. I didn't buy it when I saw it at Target. You know why? I don't like the dust jacket. It looks so shiny and cheap! I thought surely it was just the shiny cheap Target version and figured I would find a nicer one to buy online. But nope, this is it. Shiny and cheap. But you know what they say about books and their covers, and that's, like, a thousand percent true here.

Because this book is super awesome. I enjoyed reading it so, so much. It tells the story of Lara (formerly Laura) Kenison, one-time ingenue who starred in a famous movie but ended up finding her happiness and her life on a cherry farm in Michigan. During the summer of 2020, when all three of her twenty-something daughters have come home to weather out the pandemic and help with the harvest, Lara finds herself telling them of that long-ago summer at Tom Lake when she played Emily in a summer stock production of Our Town. And whereas the story of that summer alone could have been a novel, here is where Ann Patchett reveals her genius: what might have been melodramatic or cloying if told on its own becomes so much more when viewed through the hazy lens of time and nostalgia. It's a gripping story, and as I read I almost felt like I was Lara's fourth daughter. I was definitely absorbed by this book, which Sam can attest to after seeing me wander around the house with it glued to my face. 

SO here's something really weird. You know that I tend to read every single word in a book--especially books I really like--from the Advance Praise to the author's bio. So of course I noticed that Patchett's author photo in this book appears to have been taken in her bookstore, as do some of her previous author photos, but in this one I can see several stacks of multiple copies of the same book (not uncommon with new bestsellers in bookstores). One of these looked so familiar to me--cream colored book, dark frame on the spine--so much so that I thought for sure I owned a copy of it. I literally scanned all my bookshelves looking for it, only to discover that no, I do not have a copy of this book, although Wicked and The Mysterious Benedict Society are probably the reasons I found it familiar-seeming. I figured that I needed to make like Elsa and let it go. BUT as I was scanning the interwebs just now to make SURE there isn't a less shiny and more luxurious-looking version of Tom Lake, I FIGURED IT OUT. It's Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver (which I don't have a copy of, but probably should). It's weird to me that that book just popped up in relation to Tom Lake. I wonder if there are other weirdos like me who had to know what book that was. And now they're inextricably linked. Or maybe it was just the Pulitzer thing.

The staycation continues! Well, for a few more hours, anyway . . .

“Take What You Need” by Idra Novey

I did not expect to finish this book in less than twenty-four hours. (And of course I would not have, except for the fact that I am on staycation, which is basically synonymous with read-a-thon and also synonymous with awesome.)

Take What You Need tells the story of a complicated character named Jean, an older (though not elderly) woman who has lived her whole life in a small town in the Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania. Her story is told in alternating chapters, half through her own eyes and half through the eyes of her estranged adult stepdaughter Leah. The important things in Jean's life are her love for Leah that arose from the nine years she spent as her mother figure, Elliott who is her short-term next-door neighbor, and the Manglements she welds in her living room--metal boxes that are her Art and her form of expressing herself. And I feel like it's impossible to say more about this book, because it's so tightly woven and evocative that it seems impossible to express in a sentence or two.

One of my favorite things about this book (though it's a minor aspect, and really just serves as a backdrop to the setting) is the thinly veiled references to hated political figures. It was kind of like reverse name-dropping, as no names were actually named, but it was oh so satisfying. 

“My Dear I Wanted to Tell You” by Louisa Young

What is it with Sam continually giving me books that make me want to cry? (If you can refer to two in succession as "continually.") Is he just testing my resolve? Well, I'll tell you what. I've come up with a new system, even better than disguising tears as sweat. I lean back in my chair and raise my book above me so that I have to tilt my head back while I read. This way the tears disappear back inside me, somewhere behind my eyeballs, rather than coming out in front of them. I'm destroying the evidence. It's quite clever, really.

But yeah this was another moving story. Also encompassing unspeakable tragedy (but this time the Great War rather than Aberfan), and also so terribly British. The main character is Riley Purefoy, a handsome but lower-class young British man who, despite (or maybe because of) his love for upper-class Nadine Waveney, runs off to Flanders to join the army and fight against the Huns. It's all very horrors-of-war which you know I hate, but as it was heavy on the humanity and light on the strategy, I managed. There are also three other characters who are almost as main but not quite: Riley's commanding officer, Peter Locke; Peter's beautiful but vapid wife waiting for him at home (she was so silly and yet I still felt sorry for her); and Peter's homely but so very helpful cousin Rose, who works as a nurse during the war. Three guesses whose nurse she ends up being.

It's funny how much I liked this book in the end, because I was not impressed when I first started reading it. I actually put it down and read two other books before I picked it up again. 

“Rich and Pretty” by Rumaan Alam

As promised 55 pages ago, here's my break. Total beach read. (Except, unfortunately, I did not read it at the beach--although there is a section of this book where the main characters travel to Turks and Caicos. Which is not quite the same as me being at the beach, but vicarious is better than nothing.) 

This is definitely not my usual type of book. How did I end up with it, you ask? Well, it all started (as this sort of thing often does) at Half Price Books. My habitual method there is to head straight to the Fiction section and peruse spines until I get a crick in my neck. What catches my eye? Interesting titles, Penguin orange, and the names of familiar authors. In this case it was the latter. One year into the pandemic I read Alam's Leave the World Behind and found it interesting enough to give another one of his books a try.

Rich and Pretty tells the story of Lauren (who is pretty) and Sarah (who is rich), thirty-something New Yorkers who have been best friends (at least in name) since the age of eleven. About the time we make it through Sarah's beautiful, forty-page fairytale wedding with no mishaps, I started to realize: there really is no point to this book. Nothing has happened, and nothing is going to happen. My assumption that Dan and Meredith were having an affair? Pfffft. Way off. Dan really is exactly as predictable as he seems. But then there is a point, and it's the best one of all: Relaxation. Escapism. Just the pure enjoyment of reading a story. A bit like vegging out in front of the TV except it feels slightly more intellectually healthy just by virtue of the act of reading. And that is exactly what I needed. 

“A Terrible Kindness” by Jo Browning Wroe

I still have a deep stack of books to read on my end table, and it still seems impossible to pick which one should be next, but after Flaubert's Parrot, Sam chose this novel for me. He had read it not long ago and found it incredibly moving and wanted me to experience it too. 

I think I finished reading it about a week ago, but I’m just now getting around to writing about it. That's never a good thing. It may indicate laziness, or a lack of things to say about my reading experience, or an inability to put my feelings into words. In this case it was really none of those--it was more of a lack of time to sit down and compose something coherent. For a day or two I stuck to my rule (don't start the next book until you blog about the last one) but, sensing my anguish, Sam told me to give myself a break, so I did. And soon (after about 55 more pages, in fact) you will see just how much of a break I gave myself. But not yet. 

Sam was right about this book being moving, especially Part I. I mean, it's about Aberfan. Only the Queen of England could fail to shed a tear when confronted with that tragedy (and that's only if The Crown is to be believed). You know me, though; I sternly resist crying over stories (but maybe that doesn't necessarily apply to stories so deeply rooted in reality). Luckily it is summertime, possibly the hottest one ever, and I was sitting outside wearing sunglasses while reading. If anyone had asked, I would never have admitted it was more than just sweat running down my cheeks.  

It must be said that this is one of those books where the main character can be annoyingly obtuse or self-flagellating. But it was still beautifully written and a really, really good book.