"Nicotine" by Nell Zink

As I finished this book and put it down, my exact words to myself were, "Well, that was weird." 

I didn't like Nicotine anywhere near as much as I liked The Wallcreeper, which is unfortunate but not surprising. I mean, I really really liked The Wallcreeper. It would be amazing for another book (even one by the same author) to live up to the expectations it set. But saying I didn't like this one as much as I liked the other one doesn't mean I didn't like this one. This one was just . . . weird. 

So, weirdness. Nicotine is about a bunch of weird characters from weird backgrounds in weird situations. It had never even crossed my mind that there may be groups of activists squatting in abandoned houses throughout the US. Meth-heads or soap-making fight club members, sure, but political statement-makers? Nah. (Guess it hadn't crossed the mind of the main character, Penny, or anyone else in her family, either, until they were actually confronted with the reality.) 

Nicotine starts with the weird Norm Baker, founder of a weird quasi-cult for the terminally ill, who has become terminally ill himself. His daughter Penny (whose mother was formerly Norm's unofficially-adopted daughter . . . yeah, weird) is by his side for his weeks-long death, after which she finds herself somewhat homeless. So she goes to check out the house Norm grew up in (which he still owned at the time of his death, but had ignored for years) and finds it full of the aforementioned squatting activists. And of course she falls in love with the first one she sees: beautiful golden boy Rob with an embarrassing secret in his pants. 

I feel like the weirdest thing about this book, though--the thing that left me with the lasting impression of its weirdness--was how everyone lived happily ever after. I'm not going to list actual spoilers here (you're welcome), but it's basically the fact that everyone gets what (read: who) they want. (Well, except maybe Susannah?) That just felt surprising to me. I kind of expected more angst and torment. 

"In Five Years" by Rebecca Serle

I can't believe I spent seventeen dollars on this book. Not that there's inherently anything wrong with the book itself. But it's a ROmance. Ugh. 

This book caught my eye because every now and then I like to do this thing where I imagine what my life will be like five years from now. And then when I read the premise (the main character gets an unexpected glimpse of her life in five years, then goes back to life as she knew it) I was intrigued. (I can imagine that if, in 2007, I had jumped ahead to 2012, it would have blown my mind.) 

But when I brought this book home and showed it to Sam, he looked slightly bemused and asked, "Isn't that a romance?" I gasped. He was right. How could I have overlooked all the clues?? It was definitely a romance, firmly in the category at which I scoff. At least it was relatively short, so I was able to get it over with quickly. 

Here's one good thing about the book, though. It inspired me to write an email to myself. I'll receive it in five years.

"The Saturday Night Ghost Club" by Craig Davidson

I tagged along to a bookstore with a friend, not intending to buy anything. (Yeah, right. Like that's ever going to happen! I should have known better.) That bright orange Penguin spine always catches my eye. And I'm a sucker for ghost stories, and for the dark mysteries promised by the back cover. So what if this is probably a YA book? (Who actually decides that, anyway? Isn't it more in the marketing than anything else?)

Anyway, this book was fun to read but I don't have a lot to say about it. It's the story of 12-year-old Jake Baker who is somewhat of an ostracized nerd growing up in Niagara Falls. His best friend is his Uncle Calvin, who owns a store of the occult and who believes in things that most adults have outgrown. When Billy Yellowbird moves to town and it seems like Jake might finally have a friend his own age, Uncle C decides it's time they join him in some ghost-hunting. They spend a summer visiting the sites of several creepy myths and legends around town, hardly stopping to think about the possible truth to their origins. 

I'd say this book rises above the level of what I used to find at Scholastic book fairs, but it doesn't match something like What Dies In Summer. 

Two birds with one stone: Susanna Clarke

Books like these are unfair to all the other books. 

I wish I hadn't done this, but I didn't blog about either of these books right away. When I finished Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, Sam had just finished reading Piranesi and he was eager for me to read it immediately, so he encouraged me not to take the time to blog about Strange & Norrell but to wait and do one blog post covering both books. I figured it wouldn't hurt for me to break my rules for once. The only problem is that now I'll not end up doing either book justice . . . though I have a feeling that I never could have. 

Both books were so well-written and so engaging. Strange & Norrell was, to me, everything that Grossman's The Magicians had promised me but had failed to follow through on. It tells the story of the return of magicians to nineteenth century England. The book was looooong, and yet it went by so fast! And now I'm eager to watch the TV series. Piranesi, though quite a bit shorter, was every bit as intriguing (or possibly more so, as it had more of an element of mystery), one of those stories that begins with everything cloaked in secrets, leaving you to puzzle your way through. Neither book caused me to deeply contemplate The Meaning of Life, but both were completely engrossing, and the reading experience was the way I wish it could be with every book. 

"The Wife" by Meg Wolitzer

This is, I think, my first Wolitzer, although I've had The Interestings waiting in the wings since we first came across it at Emerald Isle Books & Toys just over five years ago (no idea why I haven't read it yet). 

The Wife is a good read (if somewhat bitter). It's well-written and compelling and I wish I had more to say about it. It's the story of Joan Castleman and her life with her famous writer husband, delving into both the inception of their relationship (which was when Professor Castleman--young, handsome, and married--was Joan's creative writing instructor at Smith College) and its demise years later, during a trip to Finland where Joseph Castleman is to be awarded the Helsinki Prize (not a Nobel, but close enough to be a distinction). 

It's short, I enjoyed it, but I think what I will remember most about this book is that there is a twist (maybe more of a shift of perspective?) revealed towards the end, and I'd been suspecting it for a long time. I mean, my suspicions started with the mention of a "shocking revelation" on the back cover. How can you not look for a promised revelation, and if you're looking, how can you avoid seeing it before you're supposed to? 

Have you read it, and did you guess? 

"Dad's Maybe Book" by Tim O'Brien

Here's a book that caught my eye at Half Price Books, mainly because I recognized the author's name; I read his Tomcat in Love--wow, nearly 12 years ago? (And no, I would never have remembered those specifics without the help of my blog.)

This is basically a book that O'Brien wrote for his young sons. He became a father later in life (at an age more typical for becoming a grandfather) and, with the knowledge that Timmy and Tad may not have as many years with him as kids who are born to a younger dad, he wanted a way for his kids to get to know him after he was no longer there. 

The result is . . . well, I couldn't help but see it as self-indulgent. The book is a very sweet idea (for Timmy and Tad) and it's a really nice thing for them to have, but to me it's also the sort of thing you maybe only self-publish, giving a limited number of copies to family and friends. It's fully of clever and funny things the boys said in their childhood (which the parents found wildly clever and funny; to me, only mildly so) and sappy late-night ramblings about how much he loves his sons and how heartbreaking it is that he could die at any minute. 

And (if you know anything about Tim O'Brien you won't be surprised to hear this) it includes way too much about war. I know O'Brien's experience in the Vietnam War is a big part of who he is, and the book's whole purpose was to tell his sons who he is, but you know how I feel about war. 

"How To Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy" by Jenny Odell

What this book is not: how to back away from the feeling that you always have to be getting something accomplished, how to meditate, or how to lie in a hammock without purpose (without reading, without intentionally napping, without worrying about all the things you should be doing instead). I'm pretty sure Sam thought this was what he was getting when he bought this book for me, and it's certainly what I expected. 

What this book is: a treatise for being aware of "nothing" activities of little value (mainly, social media and other ways to kill time that involve scrolling on your phone) and increasing your "nothing" activities of high value (like bird-watching and enjoying nature) which give your brain the gift of time for rumination. 

I do feel like the "How To" part of the title is a bit misleading, though I see that it sounds better and probably sells more copies than "Why You Should" would have. It's interesting reading, and it got me thinking about why we are better off contemplating more deeply rather than constantly reacting to a barrage of falsely equivalent and out-of-context information. This is not something I was previously unaware of, but it is something I had never addressed in this level of detail. 

"From Spare Oom to War Drobe: Travels in Narnia With My Nine-Year Old Self" by Katherine Langrish

This book was a very thoughtful anniversary gift to me from Sam. Have I ever told you how much I love the Chronicles of Narnia? Well, even if you didn't know, Sam certainly did. Of course he also knew there was a chance I might not enjoy this book, but the topic was a perfect one for me and it was a risk worth taking.

When I was about halfway through reading, Sam asked what my impressions were. I started by saying, "It's what I imagine Cliffs Notes must be like--" at which point Sam interrupted me to ask, "It's dry and boring?!" in a horrified voice. But he hadn't let me finish, and NO, it's not dry and boring; I just meant the main structure is a brief synopsis of each of the seven books in the set. But it also brings in the author's memories of her impressions as she read the books as a child, contrasted with her impressions from re-reading them as an adult (quite a few of which pointed out problematic themes when viewed through the lens of our current century--though not quite to the same degree as Philip Pullman!), as well as pulling in references that surely influenced Lewis's stories. 

This book was fun as a quick retrospective, and it was interesting to hear about all the stories, books and poems that fed Lewis's imagination, but my very favorite parts of the book were the endpapers (a photo of Langrish's handwritten Narnia fanfiction from her childhood--I was so disappointed to find the same photo at the back, instead of a continuation--I want to read more of that story!!) and the very last paragraph of the book where Langrish shares where she now stands. 

"This is the Story of a Happy Marriage" by Ann Patchett

I like to come to a book with a blank slate: no preconceived notions, no spoilers, no expectations. That statement is completely true. But it is also true that I like to read books by authors whose previous works I have appreciated, or books that Sam recommends to me, or books that my mom does not recommend to me . . . which kind of means that I do like to have preconceived notions and expectations about my future reads. This sounds contradictory, but it all makes sense together when you think about it this way: I don't want to know about the plot or characters ahead of time, but I do want to know that I'm likely to enjoy the book. 

Funny thing is, sometimes coming to a book with no preconceived notions means the book turns out to be something completely different from what I thought it would be. That happened to me with This is the Story of a Happy Marriage. I did expect a memoir-style book rather than fiction (although the possibility of fiction did cross my mind), so that wasn't the issue; where the incongruity lay was in the fact that I actually thought the book would be about marriage. When I saw the title listed inside the front cover of The Dutch House, I thought, Oh how sweet, Ann Patchett has had a happy marriage like mine, and she's written a book about it. So of course I wanted to read it, because all happy marriages are alike, right? So surely reading this book would be like looking in a mirror and seeing me and Sam reflected back. 

Surprise! This is a book of short stories, and the title comes from just one of them. Throughout most of the book, marriage is barely mentioned. In fact, after the first few stories I started to wonder whether the titular "happy marriage" referred to Patchett's relationship to writing. (I still think that's a plausible interpretation.) But this surprise was quickly revealed to not be a disappointing one, because I enjoyed reading this book so much. Most of it comprises essays and articles that Patchett wrote for various magazines over the years, and it's such a treat to read them all together like this, because I never would have come across so many of them on my own. 

And you'll never believe this. When my copy of this book arrived, Sam said, "But I already gave you that book for Christmas!" and after a little bit of "no you didn't" and "yes I did" we discovered that Sam was right. (What more can you expect from a literary amnesiac?) Ah, well. It's a really good book and it deserved to be bought twice. 

"Census" by Jesse Ball

Here's a book that caught my eye at (can you guess?) Half Price Books. I'd never heard of it before, or its author, and at this point I really can't remember what drew me to it, unless it was these two sentences on the back cover: "Wrenching and beautiful, Census is a novel about free will, the power of memory, and the ferocity of parental love. It is also an indictment of the cruelties of our society by a major writer." 

Well, to be honest, now that I've read the book, I find I never would have described it that way. Maybe I've let too much time lapse since I finished reading, but I don't remember anything in it about free will, though I do remember a conversation with friends about determinism from the evening of June 12, 2021. And I don't remember anything in it about the power of memory, though that may be due more to the weakness of my own. And while the book centers on the narrator's relationship with his child, I would call his love kind, gentle, maybe slightly bemused, but never ferocious. And while at times he brushes up against the cruelties of our society, "indictment" is a pretty strong word for what is presented here. 

Census is the story of a widower who has had a successful career as a surgeon but who has just been told that he has a terminal illness. He needs to figure out how he wants to spend the brief remainder of his life, and who will care for his disabled son when he is gone. So he decides to become a census-taker, traveling through neighboring towns (from A to Z) with his son. This census is somewhat different from what you're used to: people are counted, yes, but then rather than gathering further demographic information, census-takers gather stories and impressions, asking questions that probe a person's essence rather than just collecting facts about them. And then each individual is given a tattoo on the correct rib to show that they have been counted. Kinda weird. 

Even more weird is the narrator's late wife's profession. She was what he calls a clown, but the description is not like any clown I've ever seen. I guess a more appropriate name for it would be "performance artist." I found myself searching for a point to these weirdnesses and not finding one. 

The power of this book lies in the very last chapter. "The train has left . . ." I had to step away from the book for a little while at that point . . . kind of return to real life and take a few deep breaths. But I gotta say that truly the best thing about this book was that I read most of it at the beach. 

"In the Dream House: A Memoir" by Carmen Maria Machado

It has never benefitted me to put off writing about the books I read. This time was no exception. I finished reading Dream House several days ago, not quite knowing what to say about it, and I haven't come up with any great ideas since then.

When I finished reading this book, my reaction was, "I really liked that and I don't know why." By which I partly meant that I can't put my finger on exactly what it was that I liked, beyond the fact that the writing was great and it was basically a compulsive page-turner; and I partly meant that the subject matter doesn't necessarily seem like something to be enjoyed; and I partly meant that there is a lot that I don't have in common with the narrator, though that fact was easy to ignore as I read. 

This book seems pretty unique to me (and I suppose that's another thing I liked about it). It's the story of an emotionally abusive lesbian relationship, told from the perspective of the abused, in the format of a series of very short chapters--each of which is written in a slightly different style that is introduced in the chapter titles. 

At first I was put off by those chapter titles, finding them distracting as I tried to match up what I knew of the mentioned genre with the text. However, it didn't take long before I was just going with the flow, and I really just could not stop reading. Every time I turned a page to another short little chapter I told myself, ooh, just one more!  

My impression is that the author's purpose in writing this book (other than, surely, catharsis) was to raise awareness about abuse in female relationships, as the typical thought when abuse is mentioned is that it's a male abusing a female. I can't help but wonder if Machado's abuser is aware of this book and has maybe even read it? I can imagine she either pretends this record doesn't exist, or she denies its veracity. 

"The Dutch House" by Ann Patchett

Have I come to expect too much of my favorite authors? First Geraldine Brooks, and now Ann Patchett. Up until now, I have really loved every book I've read by Ann Patchett (although I admit that has only added up to three--two novels and one work of non-fiction--of her fifteen). 

Don't get me wrong--I'm definitely not saying I did not like The Dutch House. It's a book you can sink into. The writing was impeccable. The characters were interesting and well-developed. The story was generally engaging. I was just . . . prepared to be amazed, and in the end I was merely entertained. It's a solid, good read, but not transcendent. 

Sam (who read this book a few months back) and I discussed our thoughts and he pointed out that too much happens at the end, in a way that seems quite rushed, and I agree with him. It may be a satisfying ending in some ways, but it also had a vibe of, "and then this happened and then this happened and then this happened the end." 

Sorry, Ann! I still want to visit Parnassus Books someday and hang out with you.