"Home Fire" by Kamila Shamsie

Sam read this book first, told me it was quite good, and put it on my pile of books in the Reading Room. (Speaking of which, my system has broken down. Remember that great plan where I would pick a group of four books to be my next reads, then read them from least interesting to most interesting, then pick another group of four books to be my next reads? Well, somehow that group of four has become a teetering stack of seventeen. I mostly blame Sam, but also I don't blame him, and I don't really mind.) 

I was hesitant as I first began to read, mostly because I did not feel like I identified with the characters. Maybe that is partly because the main characters are Muslim, and Islam is so far from what I know. But more broadly than that, any intensely held religious faith makes me uncomfortable

As the story evolved, it started to seem more like a Sally Rooney relationship book (not that there is a single thing wrong with those). I mentioned this to Sam at that point, and he disagreed pretty strongly. And now that I've finished the book, I can see that he was right. Because wow. This book became its own thing. And what an ending! 

This story is about a British family of Pakistani descent: the older sister Isma, and 19-year-old twins Aneeka and Parvaiz. They'd been orphaned seven years previously, and now that the twins were no longer children, Isma can finally pursue the education that she had put off for so long. Soon after arriving in Massachusetts to study, Isma runs across Eamonn Lone, who she actually already knows because of his politician father, though Eamonn does not know her. They form a friendship of sorts that is truncated when Eamonn returns to London. There, he hits it off with Isma's sister Aneeka . . . until it is revealed that Aneeka's twin brother Parvaiz left England to join ISIS, making Aneeka part of a family that the son of the new home secretary should not be associating with. And it was just about at this point where the book really took off.

One of the best things about this book is how hard it makes you think. Between the character development and the situation (encompassing huge themes of relationships, politics, religion), there are few clear villains and no pure heroes. I'm glad Shamsie did not attempt to make her story didactic; that would have been a huge turn-off. She is not trying to point to any of the main characters and say, Here's your bad guy, and here's who you should root for. Instead, she creates complicated, real characters, and those are always the best kind.

"Bel Canto" by Ann Patchett

I spent most of this book not enjoying myself. Which is odd, because (as I'm sure I've mentioned before) I really like Ann Patchett's writing. I think I didn't like the book even before I started reading it, just based on the premise: the guests at a fancy party in a nameless South American country are taken hostage at the home of the vice president. All of the women and children are allowed to leave the next morning, with the exception of the famous and beautiful opera singer, Roxane Coss, who is retained by the terrorists as a bargaining chip. And most of the book is exhausting, as the story drags by in palpable boredom and minutiae.  

But all of a sudden, twenty pages from the end, I was surprised by the realization of what a beautiful book it had been all along. And all of a sudden, the story that had been occurring at a snail's pace was moving forward at breakneck speed. And all of a sudden, the illusion of security that I had been lulled into was shattered. The beautiful future that I had come to trust in was revealed for the impossible fantasy it always had been, though I had failed to recognize it. And my faith in Ann Patchett was restored. 

"My Phantoms" by Gwendoline Riley

My Phantoms is narrated by Bridget, but we don't learn much about her through the course of the book; rather, we are treated to an intense character study of Bridget's parents (but mostly her mother). 

The pictures painted of Lee and Helen ("Hen") are so vivid--quirky, detailed, solid--that I am low-key consumed by trying to figure out if Gwendoline Riley is describing her actual parents. They seem so real (if not necessarily likeable). My only problem was trying to hear Lee make his constant obnoxious pronouncements in a British accent; he kept sliding into an American voice in my mind. Anyway, a quick internet search for an answer to this question has not provided me with a satisfying conclusion. I suppose it's most likely that the characters are a conflation of Riley's parents, other people she's known or come in contact with, and her imagination. 

This book is a short, absorbing read, with its engrossing depiction of Bridget's non-relationship with her dad and strained contact with her mom, but I found it fell apart somewhat towards the end, through Hen's illness. Still real, but almost too real, with the sense that I was reading about mundane boredom which was . . . kind of mundane and boring. 

"The Man in the Picture" by Susan Hill

I really enjoyed this creepy little story. I think it would lend itself well to a creepy little movie, which is not surprising as Susan Hill also wrote The Woman in Black. 

I probably should have read this on a dark and stormy night instead of in the thin sunlight of Thanksgiving Day, but it was still plenty of fun to read about a haunted painting and the story of revenge behind it. The writing was very atmospheric even without help from my surroundings. 

I find myself with two big questions after reading, and I'm not sure whether they are plot holes or intentional ambiguities. Why didn't Mr Parmitter appear in the picture? And what did Clarissa have against Oliver? (I can satisfy myself with explanations for my second question, but not for my first.)

"Mrs Dalloway" by Virginia Woolf

I am proud of myself for having read something by Virginia Woolf. (Now you know that I am not afraid.) However, I do not think I am interested in reading anything else of hers. Except that I do feel somewhat obliged, as a woman, to read A Room of One's Own. 

Mrs Dalloway takes place all in one day. The narrative follows a meandering path, always returning to Clarissa Dalloway and her preparations for the party she is throwing that evening, but diverging regularly into the minds of side characters. The stream- of-consciousness style of writing reminded me of Ulysses, but thankfully I did not find Mrs Dalloway quite so baffling. (Side note: I did wonder whether the difference was heightened by the fact that I read Ulysses on a Kindle? To me, it's just so much easier to find your bearings, or flip back and refresh your memory on what you've previously read, in a real book made of paper.) 

As I mentioned here nearly a year ago, Rachel Cusk's Arlington Park was inspired by this book. And as you can see from the book cover pictured here, it also inspired The Hours (though I have neither read that book nor seen that movie, and now I feel driven to do at least one of those two things). I definitely enjoyed my reading experience more with Cusk, but I am also glad to have read Woolf. 

“Where’d You Go, Bernadette” by Maria Semple

Sam suggested that I should read something I knew I would enjoy for my birthday weekend. I think he meant that I should re-read something I had enjoyed in the past, but I preferred to pick something new. There’s always the risk that I would end up choosing a clunker, but really—with so many books and so little time—I would rather try a new book (and not like it) than do a re-read. Especially considering the possibility that the re-read wouldn’t live up to my memory of it!

This book totally worked for me. It was a lot of fun. Not necessarily a book that invited deep thought, but it was engaging and a pleasure to read. The only problem was that I finished it before the end of my birthday weekend!  

There was a lot of chatter about Bernadette in the blogosphere when this book first came out, but I'm nearly a decade behind the times by reading it in 2021. In case you missed it the first time around too (AND missed the 2019 Cate Blanchett movie), here's the story: Bee Fox is a highly intelligent young teenager about to finish middle school in Seattle. Remembering a promise they'd made years before based on her perfect grades, Bee's parents offer her anything she wants as a reward, and she chooses (of all things) a family trip to Antarctica, despite the fact that her mother (the titular Bernadette) is basically agoraphobic and really only leaves the house to get Bee to and from school. After a series of unfortunate events and before embarking on the planned voyage, Bernadette disappears. The story is told in a compilation of emails and a variety of other notes that Bee is collecting to try to figure out just exactly what happened. 

By now you know I'm one of those weird people who reads every single word in a book (ok, well, maybe I skip most of the colophon). So it should be no surprise to you that I read all the advance praise found in this book even though there were a dozen pages of it (or at least four). The odd thing is that almost every line claimed that this book was laugh out loud funny. I'm here to say no, it was not. I will agree that it was amusing and mostly light-hearted, but I'm pretty sure not a single giggle escaped me as I read, and that's not because I was intentionally keeping my giggles prisoner. Just trying to temper your expectations. You may smile on the inside as you read this book, but I won't promise that you'll laugh out loud. 

"Luster" by Raven Leilani

 

I feel I'm at a loss for words over this gritty, quirky, dark story told from the point of view of Edie, a young black woman in New York City. But Sam read this book before I did, and I am feeling lazy today, so I am going to turn this post over to him. 

SAM: Okay, since it's your birthday, I will write it for you! I really enjoyed this novel. I think what stood out for me, particularly considering it's a debut, was the vibrancy, consistency, distinctiveness and sheer confidence of the narrative voice. It was itself, all the way through. It also feels very compressed: it's only 227 pages long, but reading it is an experience. Every sentence feels charged, sometimes to the extent that you have to read them two or three times to unpack all the meaning. And even then, I felt like there were quite a lot of references that I didn't get. Maybe because I'm not American, or I'm too old.

Luster is a very 2020s novel in terms of its diction, frames of reference, subject matter, themes, and so on, but in other ways it's quite classical/traditional. It reminded me -- and I know this will sound incongruous, but it did --  of writers like John Updike, Philip Roth and Martin Amis. Partly it's the verbal pyrotechnics, partly the dark wit (sections of the book read almost like a highly poetic stand-up routine), and partly the unflinching, unsentimentalized, deglamorized (but still erotic) sex scenes. I'm pretty sure the title is intended to have a double meaning: not only sheen or gleam, but one who lusts.

KATHY: Thank you, Sam! I'll just add "yeah, what he said." And I'll try not to continue abusing my birthday powers too much throughout the rest of the day.

"Winning the Green New Deal: Why We Must, How We Can" edited by Varshini Prakash and Guido Girgenti

I had two main purposes in reading this book. First, to discover what the Green New Deal actually comprises (because all I really knew up until now was what I'd seen its detractors post online, which basically amounted to the idea that we should all be limited to very infrequent toilet-flushing). Second, I wanted to determine whether there was anything that I as an individual can do. 

While I do now have a better understanding of the purpose and goals of the Sunrise Movement and their Green New Deal, I was disappointed to find that they don't actually have a lot of specifics planned out yet. They are currently focusing more on gathering support (both in the private sector and within the government) than on hammering out the details of what needs to be done once they've acquired the power to take concrete action. And as far a what I as an individual can do--this book reinforced my prior thought that the changes necessary to have a positive impact on the environment will have to be of the huge, sweeping variety that can only be effected by organizations with incredible manpower and financial backing (i.e. the government). Unless I want to completely reinvent my apolitical self (hint: I don't) there's not much I can do beyond what I'm already doing.

This book enriched my knowledge of the hoped-for scope of the Green New Deal. I knew the GND involved changes to benefit the environment, along with ensuring that workers who lost their jobs due to these changes would be provided with equivalent (but greener) jobs. What I had not previously realized was that the ambitions of the Sunrise Movement are far greater, encompassing not only climate change, but also social movements, social justice, economics and politics. The aim of the Green New Deal is not merely to halt global warming and ensure that everyone who goes into this with a job also comes out of it with a job; the aim of the Green New Deal includes social equality and an end to injustice for all. This sounds pretty pie-in-the-sky. Not that I don't want what the GND calls for--who wouldn't want what they're suggesting??--but I am too cynical to believe that these lofty goals are possible to reach. 

It's obvious why the Sunrise Movement has chosen the Democrat party to be their champions in a simple big government vs small government calculation, but it's depressing to realize that most of the Democrats currently in office don't support change of this magnitude. I thought with a Democrat as president we would see progress for the environment, but that's not looking likely. It will take, as Sunrise knows, a realignment into a new coalition, supported by change from within (voting old party members out and voting in GND supporters). Disturbing as my lack of faith may be, once again I circle back to the feeling that this will be impossible. I feel like the American government never gets anything done, and what they do accomplish is only by half measures. 

I wish I knew more about the original New Deal. My vague understanding is that it was a big government intervention to restore the American economy after the Great Depression, and that it was a good and successful thing. I am sure that there are strong supporters of small government who think the New Deal was terrible, but (other than it being a prime example of big government) I wish I knew specifics of why they think it was terrible. Also, I can't imagine anything like the New Deal being enacted in today's political climate. (Yes, this is me once again saying that I find it hard to imagine that the Green New Deal will find success.) But . . . is the impossibility of reaching a worthy objective any reason not to try? Surely it's better to aim high and fall short than to remain where we are now. I know people who say that it is incredibly arrogant to believe that humans can have an effect on the environment; I say it is even worse to see the deterioration of our planet and not take steps to make the world a better place. Even if it turns out that nothing works, that possibility shouldn't be an excuse for inaction.

Big talk from me as I sit at my laptop bathed by air conditioning and sipping fresh clean ice water . . .

"The Night Tiger" by Yangsze Choo

The Night Tiger is a story of weretigers, Confucian virtues and murder in 1930s Malaysia. It is told from two points of view: that of Ren, a small houseboy for a recently-deceased doctor who moves to a new post to fulfill the last request of his old master; and that of Ji Lin, a smart young woman who has been prevented from reaching her potential due to her gender. There are missing fingers, a number of deaths (two natural, others not) and even a little bit of lovin'. 

I'm not sure why I never really got into this story. It had a relatively intriguing mystery at its heart (or actually a small collection of interrelated ones) but I wasn't sucked in the way you'd expect. Maybe it's because Ji Lin seemed to have the voice of a modern American. (No, I don't mean she talked about Twitter or wanted to be an "influencer." But also, I don't know how to put into words exactly what I do mean.) You would think (as I am a modern American) that this would help me identify with her. Instead, it made her seem less real to me. 

Another thing that I think kept me from really sinking into the story was that I would have preferred more subtlety. Yes, that same subtlety that can drive me crazy at times, as I wonder, "what did that mean??" and then I spend an inordinate amount of time speculating about possibilities. An example: Ren meets someone at the train station. There are hints about who she is, but then we are actually told her name. And then back at the hospital, there are hints about who is leaving on a stretcher . . . and then we are actually told her name. Please just let me guess! It's what I do!

"Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals" by Oliver Burkeman

Despite its title, Burkeman's is not the usual time management book. If you want a 1-2-3 for "here's what you do to make the most of your life," this is not that.

The purpose of this book is more to encourage a shift in perspective. Burkeman baldly states that for each of us, there just isn't enough time. There will always be too much to do. But far from allowing this to be a depressing realization culminating with "and everybody dies, the end," Burkeman pushes us to embrace the limits. Our time and attention are finite, therefore valuable.

Throughout his writing, Burkeman reminds us that "our lives are outrageously brief but full of shimmering possibilities . . . the world is bursting with wonder--the ultimate point is to experience more of that wonder . . . make room for engaging productively with your fellow citizens, current events, or the fate of the environment."

We can't "do it all," and we shouldn't even want to. Being more efficient and getting more done, far from giving us a calm and tranquil life with increased leisure time, actually leads to more anxiety and a greater possibility of feeling too busy. What we need to do instead is to pare down what we do to only what is important or necessary, then be fully present for it. This works better than what many people seem to do, which is to live mentally in the future, trying to reach a point where they have beaten back the chores enough to address whatever it is that they truly find important. That point is impossible to reach, so we need to be sure to incorporate those things we find truly important into our lives now. 

Burkeman asks a few questions at the end of the book, and one of them stuck with me. Is there anywhere in life I am pursuing comfort when what's called for is a little discomfort? What Burkeman means by this: Am I not pursuing life projects that matter the most, because it's easier not to? But I added my own spin. Is there any issue I am not addressing because doing so would cause me discomfort? It's a good question to contemplate.

Burkeman also makes some final suggestions, one of which is to keep two "to do" lists: one open (everything you'll ever want to do goes on here) and one closed (a limited list of perhaps ten things that you actually plan to do very soon). As you mark things off the closed list, you can move other items to it from the open list. This was my favorite suggestion, both because it is something I was already doing before I read this book (yay me!) and because it's a solid, reasonable method that I have found works well. 

Did this book change my life? I am thinking more about my finitude. I intend to be more mindful of the ways I choose to spend my time. And this pushes me one step closer to the freedom of not finishing books that I'm not enjoying. Still not there yet, though. 

“Remember the Alamo?” by Alison Rattle and Allison Vale

Here’s a little book I picked up a while back and have been reading very slowly ever since. When I first saw it at Books-A-Million, I thought reading "American History in Bite-Sized Chunks" sounded like a worthy use of my time. My grasp of history has always been abysmal; maybe I would finally learn something! And when I was flipping through the book and came to the list of US presidents on page xix-xx, my decision was made immediately. The list ended more than ten years ago. I had to have this book. 

So, yeah, I bought this book because it was out of date. Which makes it perverse of me to complain about the weirdly abrupt ending, with Watergate in 1974. That seems an odd year to halt a book on American history that was first published in 2009. Had nothing historically important happened in the intervening years? I mean 9/11 is a huge one. Even Reaganomics and the War on Drugs would seem to merit a mention.

Overall, did this book do what I wanted it to do? Well, if I had any kind of memory it would have. It seems like a pretty comprehensive (at least up until 1974), if not in-depth, overview of our nation’s history. But I don’t feel like I retained any of it. It’s like when I read it, it’s all totally familiar—there wasn’t much in here that I hadn’t at least heard of before. But as soon as I read it, it was gone out of my head again. I’m thinking about re-reading the book. (You might say I’m doomed to repeat it.) But just exactly how many times will I have to go through this?

"Second Place" by Rachel Cusk

I liked this less than other books by Cusk that I've read. I somehow found it less easy to identify with or engage with. It's the story of a middle-aged woman, M, wife of Tony and mother to Justine (from M's first marriage; Justine is now a woman herself, married to Kurt). M had discovered the paintings of L years before in Paris. Now, living with Tony at the edge of a beautiful marsh, M decides to write to L and invite him to stay for a time in the guest house on the marsh. L actually does come to stay, but it's nothing like M imagined. L is harsh and rude and ungrateful, not to mention accompanied by a young woman named Brett.  

As with Arlington Park, Second Place was inspired by a work of literature I'm unfamiliar with (in this case, one I've never even heard of: Lorenzo in Taos by Mabel Dodge Luhan; thus, L is inspired by DH Lawrence). I can't decide if I'm curious enough about that book to actively pursue finding a copy, but I'm definitely curious enough to put it on my TBR list. 

Oh, and who the heck is Jeffers?