The Charming Quirks of Others, Alexander McCall Smith

Henry Raeburn, Mrs. Alexander Allan With Her Granddaughter, Matilda, 1815ish

(February 15) Love, love, love Isabel. But was a little disturbed in this book by how faithless she was about Jamie, and how she went to others first the moment she heard news that made her doubt him. Also noticing for the first time (or it feels like it) that Isabel is almost always 100 per cent wrong with her first conjectures. She is anti-Holmes, who always knows immediately who’s done the deed and only reveals it later. It’s a different way of keeping the reader in suspense, because you always want to agree with Isabel and her first conjecture.

Stories and misunderstandings were interesting as usual and Isabel is so charming in the way she thinks.

But she is always wrong and I think she always was and I just didn’t absorb it till now -- I gave her the benefit of the doubt.

Jamie cries a lot in this book. Thought that was going to come to something.

Also, garlic gets dwelt upon a couple of times, and I thought that was going to come to something, too.

Neither did.

And, in fact, a lot hinges on a visual impairment that we don’t know about till the very end... so... ::head tilt::.

Gunn’s Golden Rules: Life’s Little Lessons for Making It Work, A Guide to Taste, Quality and Style, Tim Gunn with Ada Calhoun, Kate Moloney

(February 4, February 16) I really like Tim Gunn -- he’s open, naive, he enjoys a good story, he loves pasta and meatloaf. In Golden Rules, he says he’s revealing his secrets for good manners, which surprised me -- I thought it was going to be a fashion book --, but really he wants to dish the dirt on people, well-known and anonymous, who have been rude. There is some anger there, some love of revenge, so it made me a bit squeamish... until this sentence at the end:

But let’s talk some more about the bad ones, because they’re the most fun to gossip about, and they deserve a little public shaming.

and he’s right, so, OK.

Contains the most unexpected sentence ever:

Sometimes it takes two years for these patients to build up the strength in their stumps so that the prosthetics will work.

O_o

A Guide to Taste, Quality and Style was much more the style guide that I expected with the other, but I still felt less style-guided than I did with the Nina Garcia books. This book is very witty and fun, like the other. His beliefs about posture jive with all my own beliefs about posture, and this was very gratifying.

The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley

The Forgotten Goddess, Blue Morgana

(February 19) This took months to read -- it’s an enormous book and I had to put it down several times to read other books that were on tighter deadlines at the library, but I kept on coming back to it enthusiastically.

What a saga -- not just because it’s long and has two or three perspectives (two major, one minor), but because Zimmer Bradley has incorporated all the old sagas known to English lit into one big ball of cohesive saga-material. I was really impressed by how she endeavoured to “make sense” of the many contradictions in Arthurian legends.

She tries to do the same with all Western religions while she’s at it.

I was also impressed by Zimmer Bradley’s ability to capture the “feel” of Old English narratives in speech and dialogue -- there was enough OE vocabulary and sentence structure to sound “right” but not so much as to become unintelligible or twee or ridiculous.

I called it “The Mists of Estrogen” in my head because it was dripping with '70s - '80s feminism -- the idea that women are run by (and have power because of) their menstrual cycles and birthing and breastfeeding and being receptacles of the creation of life -- the Gaia-Goddess-Fecundity-Vegetation Mystery Tour. From reading just a little background, I think she may in fact have had a big hand in creating that gestalt.

Anatomy of the Spirit, Caroline Myss

Fernando Vicente, Deslenguado, 2008

(January 19) This book was a roller-coaster ride, if a roller-coaster ride can be thought of as starting off in a mildly exciting way, then becoming totally disappointing, and then turning out OK.

A Greener Tea recommended this, and it sounded vaguely interesting (spiritual, in an Eat, Love, Pray kind of way), but when I got it home, it turned out Myss is an amazing mystic intuitive, able to diagnose illnesses and physical problems simply by meeting a person and even by just hearing about a person through a certain person. And she said that this book would teach you how to become one yourself!

But after a few amazing stories of her diagnoses and cures of various people, the book got severely disappointing. It suddenly appeared that she wanted to do an exercise in comparative religions -- she was going to show us how the seven Christian sacraments, the ten Jewish sefirot and the seven Hindu chakras were all the same thing. (She didn’t add in Islam because she doesn’t know anything about it. :/)

So she goes through all these moral truths and shows how they relate to the sacraments and the sefirot, etc., but she really isn’t teaching us to be medical intuitives! And some of the so-called parallelisms between the three religions were pretty forced. And what about those of us who don’t need to have ideas legitimized by Christianity, Judaism and Hinduism?

It was very strange. It was a sudden shift and a kind of incoherent one.

But then about two-thirds through, the stories about people who were sick or in trouble because of something they screwed up in their chakras seemed to become more interesting. So... OK.

Cool Water, Dianne Warren

Marlys Farn-Guillette, The Fence Is Down

(December 25) Got this when I heard it won a 2010 Governor General's Literary Award for Fiction. Can see why it won something -- it's very serious (reminds me of Ann Patchett) -- everything happens in one day and everything that happens echoes an event that occurred in the area 100 years ago (to the day) -- so the Saskatchewan landscape never changes and is the ultimate victor over puny human happenings à la Ozymandias -- and so on and so forth.

But a book like this -- you can never stop being aware that you are reading a book that has been carefully crafted to evoke all this symbolism -- it never lifts you out of yourself and out of the feeling that you are reading a carefully crafted book and into the realm of vicariously lived excitement, and that's what I really want from a book.

However, I was surprised and enchanted to learn that there's a desert in Saskatchewan. Everyone in the book acknowledges or comments fleetingly on the fact that no one knows there is a desert in Saskatchewan, and they are right. Which is kind of cool.

Cutting for Stone, Abraham Verghese

Aleka Gebre Selassie Adil, Mother Ethiopia, 1960

(December 6) Really liked it, especially at first: for about the first two-thirds, it was wondrous... vivid and evocative in a way that reminded me of Half of a Yellow Sun, with a mild hint of magic reality to it à la Gabriel García Márquez, which was lovely. (I'm thinking of the story of the parents, particularly.)

But then, once it left Ethiopia, the story seemed to think it was about medicine primarily; instead of being about people who also practiced medicine, it morphed into a creaking, artificial set-up for a medical drama. The symbolism groaned at you.

But the first two-thirds -- gold.

One Day, David Nicholls

Niki Sands, Love's Melody

(November 16) This book surprised me in two ways: first, I didn't realize it was a rom-com till I was well into it and really liking the characters. It was written by a man, after all! But it was totally rom-commy ... so light, so like a Sophie Kinsella book ... but with just a slight bit more.... complexity? I had to keep looking at the book jacket photo to make sure Nicholls was a man.

It was so likable. When at one point I had to return it to the library half-read, I really missed Em and Dex.

Second, this book blindsided me like no other in a long time. Well, Fingersmith blindsided me only six months ago... but, really, only those two books in my whole life, I think.

Ape House, Sara Gruen

Marc Johnson, Smoking Monkey

(October 21) She had me at "Ape," plus I already loved Water for Elephants.

This book was worth it for the information about bonobos alone, but Gruen also kept a few plot-plates spinning with great flair.

The book did devolve a bit into TV-sitcom territory eventually, but I was fine with that since the alternative might easily have been animal abuse and too much drama.

There were ironic-twist sub-stories showing how an L.A. lifestyle compels people to change everything that's unique and lovable about them (for example, the parallel between two characters who get a lot of plastic surgery, one because of injuries from an explosion and the other because she's trying to make it in Hollywood) and questioning whether prestige and integrity go hand-in-hand in the media (a writer only finds himself when he stoops to work for the worst rag in the country).

But mainly, it was the bonobos.

The Global Forest, Diana Beresford-Kroeger

Laura Milnor Iverson, Nature's Bright Peace

(October 13) Heard her interviewed on the CBC and was entranced with her descriptions of the biochemistry of trees, wanted to read more.

And this book is interesting, eventually... but I had a hard time getting past the style at times. She wants to invest her remarks with "ancient wisdom" and tries all sorts of methods of doing this -- writing in the style of fairy tales, children's readers, the Bible, and so on. (She even tries an erotic style once or twice.)

A favourite style is to machine-gun you with a lengthy series of short declarative sentences. I enjoy a short declarative sentence, but more than 10 in a row and you begin to think a writer's first language is not English. Sample:

There is a new violence in the world. This violence stands apart from all the other familiar forms. This one is silent and it shows no mercy to the young and the old. It is in the air we breathe. The air is no longer clean.

The new violence is measured in microns, a size smaller than a pollen grain. The violence is particulate pollution. This form of pollution is composed of tiny fragments of matter that will become airborne. Anything can become airborne if it is small enough or light enough or has the right kind of aerodynamic form to fly. These tiny particles are now finding a new name depending on their diameter, expressed as particle microns, or PM for short.

Size matters. Any pollution particles that measure PM 2.5 or less are lethal to the human body. They are also lethal to much of the rest of the animal kingdom.

The book is billed as a collection of essays, so I guess this entitles a writer to try different techniques of infusing grandiosity, but since none of the essays repeat information, you know they were intended to be published together, so "collection of essays" just becomes a license to not have a more intrinsic structural plan.

Plus, overall, there is this cliché of "we are destroying the planet" at every turn. I could maybe forgive her if the book were five years old, but the publishing date is 2010, and, lady, we've heard this refrain.

Don't know why the biochemistry of trees can't be treated as interesting for its own sake.

Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert

Pablo Picasso, Girl Before a Mirror, 1932

(September 29) Read this to be able to join in on the general sneering, for that's the only reaction to it I ever saw on my internet travels. Case in point: it was endorsed by Oprah, in some ways the worst thing that can happen to a book's credibility (though it means it will sell well).

But I liked Eat, Pray, Love quite a bit. I liked Gilbert's voice, I identified with her quest, I laughed out loud many times.

The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, Mockingjay, Suzanne Collins

(September 15, September 20, September 25) This "Young Adult" series was getting all kinds of hype because Mockingjay came out in August... so I took it up in hopes it was the next Harry Potter or Golden Compass.

The Hunger Games was a bit disappointing, at first, because nothing can be Harry Potter or The Golden Compass or even Twilight, after all, and also because I found it really Young Adult, really teenagery... with teenage preoccupations (dating, clothes, rejecting authority). Collins worked hard to come up with a story that would allow her heroine to balance two amazing love interests forever.

But then, by Catching Fire, the story had built up momentum for me, despite the Contrive-o-matic Machine lumbering along in the background. It was interesting to see what Collins was going to do with this love triangle, after all.

Mockingjay took the series into darker and more horrific territory than I ever would have imagined. There were some really interesting points made about how a rebel movement can be just as corrupt as the government it attempts to overthrow; it wasn't just a Star Wars-style battle between good and evil. But the final book is one long blood-bath and the resolution of Katniss's love troubles is very anti-climactic.

Year of Wonders, Geraldine Brooks

Hendrik Kerstens, Shopping Bag, 2008

(September 5) I enjoyed this quite a bit, even though it is a tad grisly in its descriptions of plague victims and the day-to-day brutality of 17th-century village life.

It's a little like a Sarah Waters novel, in that the first-person narrator is crafted to have the preoccupations and language of a bygone age -- but Brooks is not as convincing with this as Waters was with her Victorians. On the other hand, if Brooks did try to make it as authentic as possible, no one would be able to understand it. See Pepys' Twitter account.

This is also a little like Diana Gabaldon's 18th-century novels with all the interesting details about medical knowledge and superstitions of the time.

What I really liked about it was that it set up certain expectations about the outcomes for certain individuals -- and then did not take us there at all! Quite surprising! In fact, the way the novel ends is basically a bolt from the blue. But an interesting bolt -- for our heroine is much better off and more empowered in the culture of "our enemy" than she ever was before.

What I found hard to take: all the sad dying. But, what are you gonna do? It's a novel about the Plague Year.

The Amazing Power of Deliberate Intent; Ask and It Is Given, Esther and Jerry Hicks

Goddess Selket, Pharaoh Tutankhamun, Egyptian Museum, Egypt, 1323 BCE

(August 31, February 20) This is another version of The Secret and The Science of Getting Rich; this one is a lot more sure about the way things are, especially death.

I really like Abraham's voice, actually -- "they" are very no-nonsense, balls-to-the-wall about everything.

Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov

Polixeni Papapetrou, Olympia as Lewis Carroll’s Beatrice Hatch before White Cliffs, 2003

(August 25) I am so surprised to be saying that this is a great book and that I enjoyed it. I never wanted to read about pedophilia and believed I'd never read this novel, but Lolita is always included on "best" book lists, including recently a "30 books to read before 30" -- which is really cutting it fine, right? -- so I gave in.

And so it is a great book -- an amazing book, all the more amazing because it makes an unsavory subject completely enjoyable. As Stephen Metcalf says, "with Lolita, you must work past its beauty to recognize how shocking it is", and it is sometimes very hard work to get past the beauty.

The Little Stranger, Sarah Waters

Bsidez, Photo of the Chateau de Miranda

(August 3) This is Waters’ fifth and most recent book; ::sigh:: now I will have to wait two and half years for the next one.

Like Night Watch, this is set in post-Second World War England; like Affinity, there is a supernatural element; like the first three (Tipping the Velvet, Affinity and Fingersmith) it is a first-person narrative.

But unlike them all, the narrator is a heterosexual man... and there is no lesbianism in it at all... unless you count the very slight hint that Caroline might be lesbian. (This is never resolved, nor in some ways even relevant.)

AND.

There’s no plot twist! Unless the lack of a plot twist is the twist!

For, knowing Waters, I paid careful attention all through the book to any doubts or suspicions hanging vaguely around a character’s words or motives, and yet none of the “planted” clues -- the narrator’s early destructive act in the house and his latter despair and recklessness over his broken engagement, Seeley’s pompousness, Caroline’s hardness, Mrs. Ayres’ snobbishness, Roderick’s shell-shock, Betty’s acting skills... and dozens of other little sinister moments -- none of them congealed into a villain responsible for a number of deaths.

The house was tagged as the villain from the start, and that is how it is left. In fact, it is a little alarming at the end that the narrator is still hanging about the house, although Waters doesn’t make him seem insane.

Nonetheless, I expected till the very last page that there would be a rational explanation, since Affinity created the same air of the possibility of supernatural events and then quite dashed it in the end.

Here it was not dashed; this time there is no real explanation. And, really, it’s the house that dominates the story like a lead character. The house has amazing presence for an inanimate object.

Atmosphere is everything in this story, and is actually very rewarding despite the absence of a neat tying-up of loose ends. It’s spooky and suspenseful... haunting... the more so because of those loose ends, really.

Furious Love: Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, and the Marriage of the Century, Sam Kashner and Nancy Schoenberger

Howard Terpning, detail of art for Cleopatra movie poster, 1963

(July 22) It took two people to write this? Heh.

Actually, it was really professionally written -- really easy to breeze through, with lots of timely repetition and signposting so you don’t have to think too hard about anything.

The book doesn’t surprise with more inside dirt than I remember from the gossip mags of the time, which built an industry on Liz’n’Dick stories (today’s “Brangelina” phenomenon is a mere shadow in comparison). Still, it’s good at organizing everything into a linear narrative, drawing parallels and pointing out significant turning points.

It was surprising to get to the end of what is touted as the story of a romance and find out the book was really meant to be a biography of Richard Burton -- at least that’s apparently what the authors let on to Elizabeth Taylor it would be, since she wanted a memorial to Burton.

But I guess that’s not a cheat -- it’s clear Burton’s whole life was affected by Elizabeth Taylor, right down to how he’s memorialized.

The Night Watch, Sarah Waters

Clive Branson, Blitz: Plane Flying (1940)

(July 18) I’m still binging on Sarah Waters. This one is set during the blitzing of London in World War II and is third-person... so a departure from first-person faux Victoriana. The structural twist is in the sequence of the narrative; you know you’re going to find out why all the characters are behaving the way they do, and it’s fun to speculate on what those psychological turning points will be.

“Night watch” turned out to mean many different things, none of them dwelt on in a LOOK AT THIS SYMBOL way, which was a nice subtlety.

I liked it a lot, but Fingersmith is still my favourite.

Tinkers, Paul Harding

Dale Mathis, David Mechanica

(June 30) This is really a long poem, or that’s, at least, the kindest way of describing it... it’s another Housekeeping style description of lost souls, with the same aimless cataloguing of feelings and impressions as they wander in the wilderness. These people always wander in the wilderness for good lengths of time.

The thing is, it’s not a novel.

No wonder Marilynne Robinson is quoted on the cover (her comment: “Tinkers is truly remarkable”).

This is about the deaths of three generations of fathers and sons, all telescoping into one another. Because each of them tinkers in one way or another, I hoped that the climax of the “story” might be some tour de force of literary clockwork mechanics, something impressive in the invention of narrative. Alas, that was not to be.

Many BookCel members raved about it.

There were many beautiful moments in it; don’t get me wrong.

Tipping the Velvet, Sarah Waters

Portrait of Vesta Tilley, 1901 (artist unknown)

(June 11) This is Waters' first novel and is quite different from the second and third. The latter were more carefully structured and full of clever twists, and lesbianism was incidental; here, the narrative is a picaresque life, with wildly disproportionate pacing (like life), and lesbianism is first and foremost.

Also, the "voicing" of the Victorian narrator is not trying to be as authentic as it is in Affinity and Fingersmith; in fact, the narrator sounds quite modern.

But these are just differences I didn't expect. I can see why Tipping was an impressive first novel and won prizes, but I think Waters' best was yet to come.

It's odd to have read the second and third novels first, I suppose, but I don't think I would have been so keen to read more Waters had I read Tipping first. So... lucky for me.

Affinity, Sarah Waters

Evelyn Pickering De Morgan, Hope in the Prison of Despair

(June 1) Like Fingersmith, another well done twist... oh, Waters is good at making unreliable narrators seem reliable. Everything is so plausible. And this was a fascinating exposé of spiritualism. A little darker than Fingersmith in some ways -- different kind of dark, anyway... so interesting how one is quick to identify with a first-person narrator and see all her good points and empathize with her struggles, and ignore her weaknesses and illusions, even though they are all there for the observing.

Waters so authentically captures the way Victorians thought and expressed themselves. She has read a shit-ton of diaries, letters and novels of the period, fo sho.

The Little Black Book of Style and The One Hundred: A Guide to the Pieces Every Stylish Woman Must Own, Nina Garcia

(May 31, June 3) These are not "books" of course but, rather, really long fashion-magazine articles. But they're really good fashion-magazine articles. Nina Garcia has a good eye, in-depth knowledge and a charming writing style. Ah, it is so nice to read well-edited fluff! It's almost kind of "deep fluff." Garcia offers lots of practical, usable tips, as well as entertainment.





Ruben Toledo, Illustration for The Little Black Book of Style

Fingersmith, Sarah Waters

John Everett Millais, Twins, 1876

(May 21) This book Blew. Me. Away. By the end of Part One, I felt like an innocent country bumpkin who had wandered into Dickensian London and had been fleeced and filleted, and all my worldly goods fenced before I even knew they were gone.

Then the plot becomes a leeetle overcomplicated... but it is still a tour de force of mirroring and false identities and interweaving points of view. And -- the narrators! After Part One, I thought I could never invest in any other narrator but Sue... NEVER! Yet, the next narrator, Maud, was just as compelling, if not more. Sweet.

It's a faux Victorian novel, and hits all the beloved leitmotifs of the genre: pickpockets, orphans, grim prisons, lunatic asylums, "laughing villains," stolen fortunes and girls made out to be mad -- but it actually feels more authentic than even a genuine Victorian novel like The Woman in White (which it resembles a lot). It was well done.

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, Alan Bradley

Russell H. Tandy, detail of cover art for The Secret in the Old Attic, 1944

(May 4) As fresh and cheerful as a babbling mountain brook and as bracing as a flash flood.

Loved this book, love Flavia. Her picture should be in the dictionary to illustrate "plucky." Loved the dramatic similes.

The Help, Kathryn Stockett

Larry "Poncho" Brown, Black Is Black (Female)

(April 23) This was surprisingly gripping: that is, it's straightforwardly gripping because it's set at the beginning of the civil rights movement in the States, so the reader is well aware that death and destruction could occur at any moment; but the setting is also completely small and domestic -- it's about women with families fussing over food, housecleaning, raising children; it's not about laws and statutes. Thus, it is so odd to be worried about what might happen to any of the main characters, whether black, or white, or "high yaller," when all they are doing on a surface level is trading tips for making cakes or sewing curtains or potty-training.

Yet, of course, these homely, homespun activities are as fraught with racism and inequity as any Jim Crow law, for it's still a time of slavery, if only the last few gasps of it. So that tension is there and is built up very skillfully.

The characters are engaging, and the good and evil is spread pretty evenly throughout the cast, no matter their colour.

Lord John and the Hand of Devils, Diana Gabaldon

William Hogarth, The Ball

(March 27) Really liked it -- really like Lord John, love Gabaldon's way with details and human nature, don't think she needs to bring in Jamie Fraser so much -- that is no longer the reason I'm reading the Lord John books -- in fact, John doesn't even sound like himself when he "writes" to Jamie.....

Anyway, so this is a collection of three novellas containing "supernatural" elements... these paranormal mysteries are kind of murky and never clearly resolved, although nothing is ultimately attributed to the unexplainable... and plot is not the thing you look for with Gabaldon anyway... but the novellas were enjoyable and I'm sorry I've got nothing else to read till a new Lord John or Jamie-and-Claire comes out.

Note to self: Apparently, there are no stories about John's spy work. Why do I think he's a spy?

Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade, Diana Gabaldon

Sir Joshua Reynolds, Alexander, 10th Duke of Hamilton

(March 17) Have come to love John Grey as much as Jamie and Claire. Gabaldon has a fascination with homosexuality, and also gore. Is this supposed to be a mystery? I guess so. But John doesn't really do detective work in the usual way. Maybe this will be more pronounced in the stories about his spy work??

Gabaldon writes in a "screenplay" way. You can see the action... right down to each breath and throat-clearing.

Anyways, love John, enjoyed the book. That's Percy above.

Like Water for Chocolate, Laura Esquivel (translated by Carol Christenson and Thomas Christenson)

Frida Kahlo. My Grandparents, My Parents, and I

(March 3) After years of hearing about this book, I was expecting "Betty Crocker meets Love Potion No. 9," but it was not that kind of book at all.

It was wonderful magical realism à la Gabriel Garciá Marquez or Isabelle Allende, which I love. And what was really fascinating and kind of satisfying about this version of it was that Esquivel carefully contrived all the supernatural events to have a rational interpretation... "it was Pedro's and Tita's undying passion that immolated the ranch, but afterwards people said that spilt wax was what started the fire that burned down the place"... that kind of thing. It's about how history becomes mythology. Well done.

Love it when love is the driving force in major events, sigh.

The Outcast, Sadie Jones

Ron Francis, Dad (Self-Portrait as My Father)

(February 23) Sad, sadder, saddest.

Took me more than six weeks to read these 346 pages... cf the 600 pages of The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest in four days and the 850 pages of Echo in the Bone in about two weeks.

Because it was just so effin' sad. So many miserable things to happen to a grieving boy. Relentless.

I bore with it only out of respect for the presentation... it was well written... economy of words and all that.

There is a lovely scene at the very, very, very end -- but it feels like scant reward for the price paid.

Wolf Hall, Hilary Mantel

Hans Holbein, Thomas Cromwell

(February) So I went into Wolf Hall with a certain amount of skepticism, first, because I gorged myself on Henry-VIII-and-his-wives books, TV shows and movies when I was a kid, and thought I was jaded, and, second, because of the comments at the copy-editing list and elsewhere about the sloppy pronominal antecedents.

But I really, really liked it -- Cromwell as the "good guy" and More as the "bad guy"? That was fascinating. And I thought the ambiguous-pronoun business was effective in the end. After a few backtracks to figure out whether it was Cromwell, Wolsey or Henry thinking or speaking, I decided Mantel was making the point that one of Cromwell's great talents was the ability "get into the head of" the magnate he was serving (or anyone else's, really). It was a cool effect. In fact, the narrative would have quite a different quality if the antecedence were "properly" copy-edited.

Despite the date stamp on this post, I didn't finish reading Wolf Hall till May 14. I waited in line for it at the library three times, through a 150-odd person queue each time. Which tells you: I liked it enough to wait for it three times, but not enough to buy it. I endured three long waits for it because it was compelling, fresh... even haunting. But it was not hard to wait.

"Is it me or ---?" comment: I think Mantel has Cromwell and his scholar friends inventing the internet at one point. Their dream system for organizing books was very internetty, anyway. Fun.

Lord John and the Private Matter, Diana Gabaldon

Thomas Gainsborough, Gainsborough Dupont

(January 7) Like the Outlander series, what's enjoyable is the author's attractive voice and her great love of the 18th century.

Lord John is really likable; he's gentle, genteel, honorable, enlightened; he has a dry wit: there's lots to like. He's a sympathetic point of view, for sure... different from Claire and Jamie in temperament, but equally someone whose party you want to join.

The novel is nominally a mystery, and questions do get answered, but Lord John is not a professional or even amateur detective in the usual sense. He's just able to put two and two together if enough clues fall into his lap.

Gabaldon indulges her fascination with the history of medicine once again -- it's entertaining to read how 18th-century coroners had to work out times and causes of death, given the lack of modern instruments and science to do such things as distinguish pig's blood from human and so on, and there's some interesting trivia, like the belief that a malarial fever could cure syphilis. Plus it's a bit of an exposé of the gay underworld of 18th-century London.

An Echo in the Bone, Diana Gabaldon

John Trumbull, The Surrender of General Burgoyne at Saratoga

(December 30) Love these books, this series. Love Claire and Jamie and the thousands of secondary characters, each one created in vivid detail, all of them interesting, right down to the dogs and cats. So much detail! In everything!

The author loves the eighteenth century, and she communicates her joy in it. Things go over the top sometimes, but I forgive her. I like her voice... something about her syntax, vocabulary, pacing, sense of humour, whatever else, is like a pleasant drug. I like her insights into human nature. There's an agreeable feeling that you're learning a lot about history, even though there is no scholarly annotation.

Never cared for the Bree/Roger thread when it first introduced, but I kind of liked them a lot in this take... perhaps because of the two time lines?? Or because Bree is less of a selfish diva now?? There are four threads in this book, I find out afterward from reading the jacket blurbs. I can't be sure what the fourth one is. Ian and Rachel? Rachel and Denzell? Percy Wainwright? Jennie and Ian Sr. and the rest of the folks in Scotland? Actually, it's probably William.

Liked the Lord John element as well... enough to make me go and purchase Lord John and the Private Matter. Well, this is partly because of newfound interest in Lord John and partly just to have more of Gabaldon's voice telling a story.

Woman is a storyteller -- no doubt about it.

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets’ Nest, Stieg Larsson (translated by Reg Keeland)

Johannes Wessmark, Ostgotastreet, Stockholm

(December 28) Inhaled it (600 pages) in four days flat... loved the whole series and was so happy to get ahold of the newest and, alas, final one. After The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, I was leery of Larsson -- he can get a bit graphic -- but that is, at the same time, part of the thrill of the books -- the fear that things will get worse than they already have.

Thankfully, this book is not as over the top that way as the first two were... although there is a freaky bit at the end there with a nail gun... heh.

It’s a good continuation of the series -- the plot gets so thick by this book that it sets a record for elemental density, I'm sure -- but basically it brings all the action and personalities to a fever pitch and delivers the necessary ending and ties up all the loose ends (except: what about Camilla?).

Mainly I love these books for the hero -- the anti-hero -- Lisbeth Salander -- except for her, these books are on the level of a decent television crime drama, or thriller novels like The Bourne Identity or The Little Drummer Girl, etc., -- but the creation of Lisbeth elevates them -- she is original -- dorky and punk and kind of soulless -- but your heart goes out to her the more for that -- and she is the equal of any classic female protagonist -- Lizzie Bennet, Miss Marple, Jo March, Anne Shirley, Nancy Drew, Clarice Starling... she inspires.

Love the food in these novels. People are always stopping for coffee and sandwiches that sound fabulous.

Official Book Club Selection: A Memoir According to Kathy Griffin, Kathy Griffin

Daniel Edwards, Monument to Pro-Life: The Birth of Sean Preston

(November 30) So funny. Sample story:

We started class, and in the Groundlings curriculum, one of the first exercises you do is the clichéd "trust" game. I made everyone stand in a circle, with me in the center, and I said, "Being onstage, you have to trust your fellow actors, especially when you're an improviser. You're going to be there for each other, and they're going to be there for you. For example, I'm going to fall back, knowing that you'll catch me."

Then I let myself fall backward, and sure enough, I was caught. Everyone gets out some nervous laughter, and then they all took turns doing it. By the time it got around to Mariska Hargitay, we'd already done it with ten or eleven students, and they clearly had gotten the point. Then it was Mariska's turn. "Okay, Mariska, cross your arms in front of you and gently fall back," I said.

She fell back and nobody caught her. She fell flat on her ass.

I was horrified. This had never happened in one of my classes before. I don't know if there was a fly buzzing in front of our faces, or being typical actors, we were just dIstracted. People must have turned their heads at the wrong time, but as the teacher, I took full and complete responsibility. And this was a 5'10" girl, too. It's true, the bigger they are, the harder they fall, and BOOM, she went right down on her coccyx. Like a ton of bricks. No, not a ton of bricks. A few very beautiful bricks. She giggled and got right back up like a pro, but it looked like it just fucking killed her. I mean, everybody else got caught except Mariska Hargitay. Nobody else wanted to do the trust exercise after her. Nobody trusted anybody. It was a terrible way to start that class.

I've laughed at Kathy Griffin's performances and thought I'd be reading about how she exaggerates and embellishes her stories to make herself sound more pathetic than she actually is and therefore funnier. However, now, after reading this, I don't think she actually is exaggerating much and is probably more pathetic than even she realizes. I mean -- still funny, but less self-aware than I thought. So, in fact, funnier.

The Lost Art of Gratitude, Alexander McCall Smith

William Holman Hunt, Mrs Wilson and Her Child

(November 5) More of wonderful same. As always, not much happens, but Isabel's every thought and deed is thoroughly analyzed. McCall Smith seems to be saying with this series that life is quietly bizarre.

Anything new or notable at all? Well, Jamie and Isabel have kind of morphed into a comedy team, which is nice, because it hasn't been absolutely clear before now what they see in each other. Second, Isabel is really duped by Minty (she's been misled before, but never so deliberately and evilly), and Minty is the first sociopath Isabel's had to deal with, which changes the rules of the game. Finally, Isabel gets really angry twice in this book -- something we haven't seen her do yet.

The Devil in the White City, Erik Larson

Louis Sullivan, Transportation Building

(November 2) I stuck with this book through to the end because I love architectural history and am OK with serial-killer biographies, and I kept hoping there would be a good reason the author was trying to entwine these two threads.

There wasn't! On the thin premise that large undertakings like the 1893 Chicago Exposition draw madmen, the author shamelessly holds out the carrot of lurid murder sprees while plodding through the story of building the fair. If there had been anything in common, no matter how minuscule, between Daniel Burnham and Henry Holmes, or if the Chicago fair had actually affected Holmes' activities in one little way, you could forgive Larson. But there are no parallels whatsoever.

So one has to assume that the author is not convinced the Exposition history is interesting on its own... or he didn't have enough material on either topic to make a book.

It's a drag when an author doesn't think his own narrative is interesting.

Other tell-tale signs: too much false suspense. Every section seems to end with "a decision that would affect the whole future of the exposition" and then you don't find out what that decision is for many pages. Also, the falsely energetic writing: people are not just "talented," they're "intensely talented"; they're not just "wealthy," they're "profoundly wealthy," etc.

All in all, a lesson in applying carny showmanship to writing.

The Lovely Bones, Alice Sebold

Erik Nagels, You Girls

(September 29) I thought The Lovely Bones started out really strong -- Sebold seemed to have the same gift for combining cheerfulness and repulsiveness that Jeffrey Eugenides demonstrated in The Virgin Suicides, and I liked that book a lot, partly because of that weird combination.

But about halfway through, I thought The Lovely Bones got a little distracted from its original mission and wanted to be Marilynne Robinson's Housekeeping or Ann Patchett's Patron Saint of Liars -- in other words, a book about a woman who takes road trips through America and can't quite focus, who's supposed to be charismatic and heroic but who's really a kind of a deadbeat.

So that was strange. And then all of a sudden that sidetrack wrapped up, and the original story was quickly dispatched, and it was like, "Oh, yeah, here's why I named it The Lovely Bones, a-a-a-and we're outta here in 3, 2, ...."

To me it seemed the author had never experienced losing a family member too soon, so I went and looked Sebold up to see if she actually had. There was nothing to suggest she'd had that misfortune, but I was shocked to discover that she had suffered a brutal rape and beating in real life... which ...should have given more edge and credibility to the murder scene in The Lovely Bones... but... didn't.

A puzzlement.

Olive Kitteridge, Elizabeth Strout

Curious Expeditions, Oldest surviving figurehead from a Maine vessel, Maine Maritime Museum, Bath, Maine

(September 11) A collection of short stories about people who live in a small town in Maine, linked by the presence of Olive Kitteridge in each story. Sometimes the story is principally about Olive; other times she is a secondary character; other times she is mentioned only in passing. The stories are gentle and subtle, and, other than the setting and various degrees of Olive, have only the question "Why are people the way they are?" in common. The private trials and tribulations of all the characters in this town are themselves very different.

But even though they're short stories, the effect of the whole thing is of reading a novel. You feel like you've had a full meal, not just a series of appetizers. It's just that the book doesn't have a novel's usual building-to-a-crisis-that-is-eventually-resolved format. There's no real crisis, no real resolution to anything, no definitive answer to the question of why people are certain ways.

So the book is more like real life than a regular novel, and is such a subtle comment on real life itself, on how we are all secondary or tertiary characters in someone else's story and they are the same in ours.

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played With Fire, Stieg Larsson (translated by Reg Keeland)

Stina Persson, from the series Graphic Girls

(August 30, September 9) Nice little thriller in the John Grisham or Dan Brown tradition, but a little more thoughtful in some ways than those two examples (Larsson was very knowledgeable about economics and shared some of this) and interesting because of the setting (Sweden). Larsson is good about throwing slightly different twists into the conventional form -- the mystery's not absolutely predictable -- but there is after all a certain amount of convention about this form.

There are a few gruesome episodes throughout owing to the use of a very unsavoury sub-culture as a plot mechanism, but you've got to find a way to keep the "thrill" amped up if you're writing a "thriller" and this does... so...

I loved the heroine, Lisbeth Salander, and am reading the next one in the trilogy, The Girl Who Played With Fire, because of her... and also because of the exoticness of all the open-faced sandwiches and the shopping at IKEA and Konsum. Never thought too much about Sweden before and am now intrigued.

ETA: The Girl Who Played With Fire is also good -- in some ways I like the story better, actually. Am looking forward to The Girl Who Ran With Scissors The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest when it comes out at the end of October.

This second book reinforced the impression I got from the first that Larsson was doing product placements, like a movie. It's either that, or Swedes really like to know the brands of furniture, appliances and so on that characters are using in a book. Strange? Or clever?

Tea Time for the Traditionally Built, Alexander McCall Smith

Godfrey Ndaba, Ladies With Pots

(August 9) I love this series and am happy when there's a new one out, but I couldn't squash down the disloyal feeling that McCall Smith is just grinding them out a little bit at this point.

The quirkiness and the surprising little turns of events that make his otherwise hum-drum stories sparkle was kinda lacking from this installment.

Also, there was this off-putting comparison of men's and women's interests that was packaged to come off as "women are smarter than men" but really came off as "women are smarter than men, bless their little hearts." o_O

Cut: Movies in Fifteen Minutes, Cleolinda Jones

Johnny Cannon, Les Clark, Frenchy de Tremaudan, Joe D'Igalo, Norm Ferguson, Blue Rhythm

(July 28) My heh-ing muscles are worn out. Every page of this book made me heh-heh-heh aloud.

So these are capsule parodies of 10 blockbuster movies of the '90s and early 2000s, and they are brilliant. They are excellent summaries -- sometimes... often, actually... they impose more sense and logic than the movie in question ever had.

But they are also very funny, especially when you know the movie, and even when you don't, since Jones pokes affectionate fun at the generic clichés of movie-making as well as the ones specific to the franchises. From "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Sorcerer's Philosopher's Stone in Fifteen Minutes," for example:

Dinner in the Great Hall

DUMBLEDORE:I would like to announce that I am absentmindedly beneficent.

NEARLY HEADLESS NICK: I'm a ghost!

HERMINONE: I know everything, because I read it in Hogwart's: A History!

NEVILLE: I'm completely hapless -- OW! MY FORK IS IN MY EYE!

NEARLY HEADLESS NICK: I'm a headless ghost!

SEAMUS: I'm a half-blood! Has my water turned to rum yet?

RON: Dude, and possibly a burgeoning alcoholic.

SEAMUS: Yeah? Well, you're POOR.

RON: SHUT UP, I KNOW.

NEARLY HEADLESS NICK: I'm a disgruntled headless ghost!

PERCY: I'm overweeningly officious, which will be important four books from now.

THE FAT LADY: I'm a painting!

THE STAIRCASES: We're fickle bitches!

NEARLY HEADLESS NICK: PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEEEEEEE!

Even the scene titles are funny:
Gandalf's Cart of Exposition (from "The Fellowship of the Ring in Fifteen Minutes")
Hissyfit Chamber, Imperial Palace (from "Gladiator in Fifteen Minutes")
The Planet Seattle Kamino (from "Star Wars: Episode Two -- Attack of the Clones in Fifteen Minutes")

Ah, it's hard not to just quote the whole book.

Interview With the Vampire, Anne Rice

Richard Westall, Lord Byron

(July 22) Polar opposite of Dead Until Dark and about a beelyun times more profound than Twilight. Rich, complex, totally compelling on the poignancy of death. Dark, occasionally repulsively so; not as sexual as I expected from the hype, but extremely passionate. Louis is irresistible. True literature: all the characters are vivid and multi-layered; the settings are feasts for the senses; the passion is real and enthralling.

Amazon.com review by Patrick O'Kelley: "It is that rare work that blends a childlike fascination for the supernatural with a profound vision of the human condition." Iggziggly.

It was like a real home-cooked meal after the bland fast-food of Dead Until Dark.

Still, that's it for me with the vampire fiction. Too much gratuitous and lingered-over killing.

Dead Until Dark, Charlaine Harris

Alien Figure Running With Beer Mug, from the PSB Gallery of Thrift Store Art

(July 8) Yuck. This is one of those books that make you feel dumber for having read them; I finished it only to see if Harris ever lifted it out of the dime-store-romance bracket. She did not.

The concept is a wacky mishmash -- DUD mixes the romance novel with the murder mystery, hewing closely to all the conventions of both of those "gendres," then adds a thin veneer of sci-fi (vampirism and shapeshifterism) and a thin veneer of fantasy (telepathy).

Harris could have been so creative with this, but instead put in the barest of minimum efforts. The characters are one-dimensional and often incoherent, both the romance and the mystery are predictable, the telepathy device is vaguely sketched out and seems to come into play only when convenient, the vampirism is cursory as well.

Worse, Harris is careless with the "craft" of telling her story, which is kind of insulting to the reader in the end. DUD is supposed to be a first-person narrative, but other characters' points of view crop up randomly, even when the narrator isn't mind-reading; there are lots of lazy writing shortcuts, like "he said nostalgically" and "he guessed softly," and some downright ineptness, like "'Sure,' I said, after a notable pause"; there are lots of continuity errors -- for example, at one point, a vampire gives a talk at a historical society meeting, which turns out to be scheduled for 7:30 p.m., but the rest of the time during this one-month period this same vampire can't be out and about before 10 p.m. because it's summer and the days are long. There's an unmistakable atmosphere of cranking it out to get the book up to 300 pages and paycheque time.

I was totally shocked by this -- since it's the basis of the beloved TV show True Blood, I thought it would be at least as good, and probably better than, Twilight... but, believe it or not, Twilight somehow leaves it in the dust.

Inside the Victorian Home: A Portrait of Domestic Life in Victorian England, Judith Flanders

George Elgar Hicks, "Companion to Manhood," from Woman's Mission

(June 30) I loved this because of the time-travel effect of learning how people actually coped from day to day without electricity, running water and sound medical knowledge, and Judith Flanders did an impressively massive research job.

She presents the meticulous portrait partly as a way of explaining some of the unfamiliar practices of Victorian novels, like call-paying and card-leaving, partly to expose how strangely the Victorians applied morality to everything, and partly to protest the institutions and beliefs that oppressed women.

But even without these more scholarly excuses for the research, the details of domestic life are absorbing. I was fascinated by how dirty life was living with coal (your hairbrush would be black every day, even though you wore a hat outdoors) -- and how clean the Victorians actually strove to be (laundry was boiled at least three times during an eight-stage process) -- and how long and drudging all this husbandry was with the tools they had.

On the other hand, I was surprised that the time-travel effect was ultimately delusional. Flanders, I think, wanted to stress how different the Victorians were from us, but, in the end, it's apparent the differences between us are infinitesimal. We still have bizarre notions about cleanliness, food and health; we still oppress women; we still think we're in charge of the world.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows

Britannia

(June 3) Andrea recommended this as a book she couldn't put down, but for the first third of it, and more, I thought I must have misunderstood her. The book was pleasant enough, but it was not "unputdownable" -- in fact, I thought it was a bit of an old chestnut -- one of those spirited romantic comedies about plucky post-war Brits who are all very well-bred and educated, even though they work for a newspaper or whatever, who have tasteful adventures righting wrongs and jolly-well throwing a teapot or two at a deserving target, and often citing lines from or telling anecdotes about Great Writers in a chummy, inner-circle-y way, all the time calling one another "darling."

There were a lot of old chestnuts in this bag, actually -- there's a lovely, gifted writer-heroine, a real Mary Sue, obviously about to fall for the wrong man when-the-man-she-should-marry-is-right-in-front-of-her, and there's her search for the topic of a new book (when of course, as always, the book you're reading is the book that was sought), and there's having the entire story told through letters (and a little bit of diary-writing, because there are things that have to be revealed that you're never going to find someone explaining to someone else in a letter) -- so, lots of irons in the fire, and overall kind of a lightweight read.

And then the heroine gets to Guernsey and many, many cool twists come into play -- all completely legitimate -- and the book does become unputdownable. It also becomes kind of completely harrowing, in terms of the whole strange concept of Guernsey having being occupied by Nazis as well as because of the individual stories of the losses, sufferings and heroics of Guernsey Islanders.

The fulsome acknowledgements the authors wrote for this smallish (260-page) book (which apparently took several decades and two people to write) suggest they were most proud of having brought to light some of the stories of the occupation of Guernsey... and perhaps they are to be congratulated for doing that... but I am baffled over why they'd decide to wrap such a story up in a light-hearted literary-snob epistolary romcom.

Did they feel they had to lighten up the occupation stories? Were there not enough Guernsey stories on their own to make a book? Or did it actually seem this was the best way to showcase an important but under-acknowledged historical event? It's like telling the story of the internment of Japanese North Americans through recipes or something.

Marley and Me, John Grogan

Lorena Pugh, Yellow Yearning

(May 28) I came to this really late -- I had heard so much about it that it became one of those books you feel like you've already read before you even open it, and from the reports everywhere I was a little afraid of its being soppy and sentimental, a kind of Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover's Soul.

But my mom had a copy and wanted to pass it on. She said, "Oh, read it, it's cute."

Well, it is cute, and I was pleasantly surprised that it was not too soppy and sentimental. In fact, I'm scratching my head about the reports of how people cried over it and also about how quickly it was made into a big Hollywood movie.

For I didn't feel that I got to know Marley as an individual at all -- he was just a collection of stories about things he destroyed, and they were pretty standard stories, I thought. My dog-nephew Buster was a way more creative thief and destructive force in his lifetime. So, I'm guessing that's what made the book so popular -- people thought of their own dogs, whom they did know and love, and they cried about losing them.

I was also a little creeped out by how often Marley was walloped and allowed to choke himself on a choke chain, and by how matter-of-factly Grogan described coming home time and again to find Marley bleeding from the mouth and paws from having tried to rip an escape hatch through a wall or a metal crate in a panic. I admit I've never owned a 100-pound dog, but... geez.

The Comfort of Saturdays, Alexander McCall Smith

Samuel John Peploe, Betty

(May 16) More of the wonderful same. It's amazing how addictive this series is, given that nothing really happens in the books.

In this installment, I was surprised that we entered into Jamie's consciousness a few times (we haven't before), and surprised that (1) Jamie is still thinking longingly of Cat and (2) Isabel is still attached to John Liamoor (if only unconsciously).

The Reader, Bernhard Schlink (translated by Carol Brown Janeway)

B.S. Wise, Oedipus and Jocasta

(May 10) It's challenging to review this book since I had such a bizarre experience with it.

There was a lot of hoopla surrounding the movie last year but I kind of avoided interest in the story because it sounded pretty dark. Then the movie won a few Academy Awards this spring and people on BookCel who hadn't read it back when it was a bestseller had taken up the book. Their very positive reviews, and those of people who'd read it years ago, persuaded me to gamely sign on as the eighty-third waiter-in-line at the library.

But when I finally got the book, I realized I had read it before. I just couldn't remember how each act in the play ended -- until I got there and went "oh yeah." I kept thinking that I must have put the book down unfinished at some point when I "first read" it. But I kept recognizing every scene and conversation, every philosophical passage, as I came to them, right till the end.

So that was either the longest sustained episode of déjà vu ever or I read the book many years ago and wasn't impressed enough to remember I'd read it when the movie came out. Is that a kind of review in itself? On the other hand, I was impressed with it this time through. It's really a very thoughtful allegory about guilt, and the love story is weirdly compelling.

I can only imagine that the first time I read it I must have thought it was about first-generation German guilt and must have thought it was being very second- or third-removed about it all. And I bet I didn't appreciate the abstract philosophizing and probably just rushed through those bits. Maybe I thought The Reader couldn't hold a candle to the most traumatizing book about the Holocaust I ever read -- Anya, by Susan Fromberg Schaeffer.

But this time through I realized it was about second-generation guilt -- a whole different kind of psychological morass, and an absorbing one. I also appreciated the author's musings on his experience much more keenly than I must have originally. How awfully afloat one must feel to be the offspring of the most vilified generation in history. But then if that generation was collectively a Hanna, is it fair to vilify?

This whole interaction was further complicated by the fact that The Reader is a book about reading, and I'm a reader who normally doesn't like to re-read books. Also, it is a translation, which I always think of as the reading equivalent of washing your hands while wearing gloves. Strange bedfellows, The Reader and I.