“Abyss” by Pilar Quintana

*Translated from the Spanish by Lisa Dillman

This is the second of four books that ChatGPT chose for me from my TBR (and I have just now realized s/he—it?—must not have made it very far down the alphabetized list: the four books include one whose title starts with a number, and three whose titles start with the letter A. Lazy much? . . . says the girl who outsourced the choosing of her next books to read).

But I digress. I must confess that I was not super-excited about reading Abyss, as evidenced by the fact that we bought it more than two years ago and I hadn't touched it yet. In 2023, it was one of the five finalists for the National Book Award for Translated Literature and while on one hand I do believe this honor is bestowed on high-quality works, on the other hand I have the (possibly mistaken?) feeling that the finalists for this award are often so . . . worthy. (Yes, worthy of renown, but that's not what I mean in this case; what I really mean is too worthy: maybe a bit pretentious, maybe taking itself a little too seriously, maybe just too earnest. Maybe not very fun). 

I should not have had these fears about Abyss. This book was worthy only in the good sense. This is the story of eight-year-old Claudia, living in Cali, Colombia. She's the only child of her older, hard-working father and her young, beautiful, bored mother. Claudia watches the adults around her, half-understanding some of the things she sees and hears; she's more oblivious to other circumstances, but feels the undercurrents of tension anyway.

This tension is definitely passed on to the reader. The tightly-wound narrative gave me a near-constant feeling of dread (but the good kind). Without even meaning to, I read half the book the first night I picked it up. 

*I should be more diligent about noting information like this on my blog. I obviously have not read the book in Spanish so I can't compare the two versions, but I was impressed by the natural way Dillman preserved the childlike voice of the narrator.

“My Good Bright Wolf” by Sarah Moss

My Good Bright Wolf is a deeply personal memoir by Sarah Moss, who also wrote several other books I have enjoyed. I didn't know what to expect ahead of time (other than good writing!)--this is one of the books I bought as a vacation treat for myself in July, and the only recommendation I needed was the author's name. 

I was right, of course, about the good writing. But I was a bit blindsided by the intensity of Moss's story. I had no idea that she has been battling anorexia for most of her life, to the extent that she has been at death's door more than once. Now I think back to the mother character in Summerwater, running through the woods, with the hint of impending heart failure that I didn't understand. At the time I thought, Why would a fit young mother be nearing heart failure? Now, having read MGBW, I think that mother was the author: also a runner, also with a damaged heart.

There are two kinds of people in the world: there are those who, like me, will find this book very eye-opening; it's a window on a harrowing disorder that I have (fortunately) never had to deal with, whether in myself or in any of my loved ones. And there are those who will find solace in it, because it helps them to understand the struggle they have witnessed in others--or even in themselves. But no matter which group you are in, I think you will find this a powerful and engaging read. 

(Maybe it's not necessarily a vacation book, though?)

Sarah Moss is very brave, not only because she has opened herself up and shared her story with the world, but also because she endured and survived her story.

“This Must Be the Place” by Maggie O’Farrell

I'm not doing a very good job of reading my four ChatGPT-selected titles from my TBR pile. One down, three to go, and this was not one of them. But it felt like it was time to test my two-Maggie-O'Farrells theory, and I already had a copy of this book. 

To start with my overall verdict as relates to my theory: I have decided there are not two Maggie O'Farrells, because this book belongs somewhere between the categories of "Amazing" and "Doesn't Quite Measure Up." There's obviously more of a continuum than a bimodal distribution. 

This Must be the Place tells the story of Daniel Sullivan, starting in the remote countryside of Ireland in 2010 where he lives with his beautiful, spunky (though O'Farrell would never use that adjective to describe her) wife Claudette and their two young children, but it spreads its tentacles into the past, the future, and the minds of others: the two children from Daniel's first marriage, his roommates when he was a postgrad in London, Claudette herself, and even her son from her first marriage. In 2010, Daniel and Claudette are happy and in love, but their complicated pasts make their future complicated as well. 

Overall, it was an enjoyable if imperfect read. I think my main complaint is that Daniel's character seemed like too many different people. Throughout it all, he has piercing blue eyes, but other than that he's all over the place. I guess there's a fine line between a complex persona and one who just isn't cohesive. And my secondary complaint is that Daniel's son Niall and Claudette's son Ari seem like they could have been one and the same person. Not that they don't each have distinguishing features, but that they seem to serve the same purpose in the narrative.

Even if this book doesn't belong in the Amazing category, I'm not done with Maggie O'Farrell. I've been meaning to read her Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox ever since I first heard about it, which was all the way back in 2010. But for whatever reason, I had never bothered to get myself a copy of it. So you'll be happy to know I've just ordered it. Hopefully I'll read it before another decade and a half goes by. 

Speaking of the passage of time, this reminds me: it's been quite a while since I had the realization that I don't have enough years remaining to read all the books I want to read. I remind myself of this every now and then in hopes of becoming one of those people who is able to stop reading a book that they're not enjoying (though so far this has had no effect). But I had an idea the other day. Right now, while I'm still working full time, I obviously can't read all day long. But what if, after I retire, I make it my life's goal to read All The Books? Could I possibly read a book a day? (Probably not. But I could certainly read more than one a week, if my vacations are any indication.) By my calculations, I could read all the books on my TBR shelves in anywhere from 1.5 years (at the rate of one per day) to 11 years (at the rate of one per week). Only problem is, I keep buying more . . .

“The Bradshaw Variations” by Rachel Cusk

Next in the lineup of Book Treats for our July vacation (even though the vacation has now ended), an old-but-new-to-me book by Rachel Cusk. (I did read most of it on the plane on the way home, for what it’s worth.)

Unsurprisingly, this book isn’t plot-heavy; it’s more descriptive about family relationships and the thoughts of the individuals in those relationships. It starts with Tonie and Thomas Bradshaw, who have recently made a change that flips the dynamic in their lives: Tonie is now working full-time while Thomas stays home with their young daughter Alexa. Then we move on to Howard (brother to Thomas) and his wife Claudia and their three children. We also see Leo (a third brother), his wife Susie, and their two kids, and we even meet Mr and Mrs Bradshaw, the parents of the three brothers. The book is written almost like a group of short stories with a strong Bradshaw thread running through them all. 

So the title obviously refers to the various Bradshaws—how they are similar, what makes them different. But it also refers to the subtle shifts that occur within the group of relationships. We are given less about what the Bradshaws do than about what they notice (or fail to notice) about themselves and each other, but the hidden tensions are palpable. And in the end it seems the old cliché is true: the more things change, the more they stay the same. 

But did I like it? Yeah, I liked it. I don’t think I’ve ever been disappointed in Rachel Cusk’s writing before. I wouldn’t name this as one of my favorites of hers, but I still want to (eventually) make my way through all of her books.