Monday, November 11, 2019

Wilde Lake by Laura Lippman

You know what's cool about Wilde Lake by Laura Lippman - she uses  To Kill A Mockingbird as an influence on the story.  Reminder: Go Set a Watchman by Harper Lee was published in July 2015, and Wilde Lake was published in May 2016.  According to Lippman, she had already started her novel before Lee's second book was "found", as it were.  I just LOVE a story that is revisited or reworked from a different point of view, so I really enjoyed this aspect of Wilde Lake.  Done well, it enhances both the new work and the old one, because it calls you back and maybe helps you look at it a different way.

To wit, Lu (Louisa) is the first female state's attorney of her county in Maryland, following in the footsteps of her well-respected father, Andrew Brant.  Her brother AJ is the sort of person everyone admires, star athlete, strong student, friend to everyone.  They have a devoted black housekeeper, a gay neighbor kid that inserts himself into their lives, and, when they were younger, a girl from the wrong side of the tracks accused their black friend of raping her.

The story straddles two time-lines - one of Lu and her brother as teenagers (Lu a bit younger and sort of tagging along with AJ's friends.  For the most part, her father helps keep the accusation of the rape secret, everyone agreeing that it was most likely perpetrated by her abusive father.  In the present-day, Lu is taking the lead on a case of a woman murdered in her condo, with no apparent motive.  It's a good mystery, and she connects the dots nicely. 

Although Go Set a Watchman wasn't very well received, I quite liked parts of it, particularly the "you can't go home again" (to put it mildly) aspect.  Just as Scout finds that her father and brother aren't the white shining heroes of her youth, Lu is also struggling with interacting with her father as an adult, recognizing that the man she and so many others idolized isn't perfect.  There's also a continuing theme of how "people thought then".  Lu and other characters are grappling with how the casual racism and misogyny of the past continues to impact people today, and what the statute of limitations is on those actions.

He was a man of a certain generation, a man of his time. We always want our heroes to be better than their times, to hold the enlightened views we have achieved one hundred, fifty, ten years later. We want Jefferson to free his slaves and not to father children with any of them. We want Lindbergh to keep his Nazi sympathies to himself. We want Bill Clinton to keep it in his pants. Martin Luther King Jr., too.  And that's just what we expect of the men.  The present is swollen with self-regard for itself, but soon enough the present becomes the past. The present, this day, this very moment we inhabit - it all will be held accountable for the things it didn't know, didn't understand.

The Mothers by Brit Bennett

Brit Bennett's 2016 The Mothers was a wonderful read.  She creates a strong sense of place (southern
Cal, around San Diego and the military bases down there.  I visited that area this summer and it's really unique) and characters - Nadia and Aubrey are the type of girls you want to be best friends with.

In the beginning, Nadia and Luke, the minister's son, are secretly dating, and she gets pregnant.  She has an abortion and this connects them for a long time.  Nadia meets Aubrey, another motherless child in her town and church, and they become like sisters.  Nadia's mother died by suicide shortly after she was born, and Aubrey's mother failed to protect her from her abusive boyfriend, so she left.  These two black girls form a strong bond that surpasses Nadia going to college and law school in other cities.

The "Mothers" of the title are actually the collective elder mothers of the church, who operate as something like a Greek chorus in the book.  Bennett writes them from first person plural, like an omniscient narrator, but with some sass.
We would've told her that all together, we got centuries on her. If we laid all our lives toes to heel, we were born before the Depression, the Civil War, even America itself. In all that living, we have known men. Oh girl, we have known littlebit love. That littlebit of honest left in an empty jar that traps the sweetness in your mouth long enough to mask you hunger. We have run tongues over teeth to savor that last littlebit as long as we could, and in all our living, nothing has starved us more.
Spoiler!

The end of the book was exquisite.  The Mothers move from the position as distant narrators to active participants in the story as they casually share their observances about Nadia and Luke and Luke's parents, causing membership in the church to flag and eventually the church fails, the paster and his wife no longer pillars of their community.  And this last paragraph!  I die.
We see the span of her life unspooling in colorful threads and we chase it, wrapping it around our hands as more tumbles out. She's her mother's age now. Double her age. Our age. You're our mother. We're climbing inside of you.

Friday, November 01, 2019

Frankissstein by Jeanette Winterson

Oh, how I loved Jeannette Winterson's Frankissstein (and the gorge cover art, which helps makes sense of those extra esses!) Winterson, who's such a genius at mixing contemporary language and thought while telling an "old" tale, brilliantly merges the stories of Mary and Percy Shelley, Byron and Co., as they famously shared a house in Italy in 1816 and Mary began writing the novel Frankenstein, with a contemporary (perhaps in the not-to-distant future) cast of characters that resemble (/are?) that group.  Ry Shelley is a doctor researching the effect of robots on humans' health. Ry is transgendered and confuses many of the other characters by not presenting as a binary figure, but they are firmly and happily secure in their non-binary body.  I don't want to reveal the other names because I think they're rather clever and will leave that to the reader to discover.  Anyway, Ry meets with various people involved in robotics, hilariously, a man who creates sex-bots and thinks they're the wave of the future (and makes a pretty good case for it, tbh). 

Winterson conjures all sorts of fascinating themes in her book including where (and if) the nature of the soul resides in the body and the created body (ie Frankenstein's monster, sex-bots, and characters in books); creativity and computation; the mind and the computer as a holder of knowledge; and the ownership of creation - you know, like a lot of the stuff that makes us human.

Joy of joys, I also convinced husband to read this book which was a particular coup for moi, filling me with a pride unparalleled since he started using the term "toxic masculinity" with some regularity.  I personally loved the bits re: the nineteenth century while husband naturally enjoyed the 21st.  Percy and Byron are lauded as these brilliant British master poets and meanwhile there's this trickling little side story that goes, Oh, did you know Mary Shelley wrote one of the most enduring stories in the English language and, oh yeah, she was only 19?  But what Winterson draws out is her enduring humanity, mourning the loss of her children while trying to maintain a semblance of a home while her husband flits around renting homes in broke-down mansions in remote locations.  Mary's frustrations build to a culminating excoriation of the male poet:
 "His lordship upholds the law when it suits him. So do they all. Revolutionaries and radicals until it touches on property - and that includes women and children. Till it comes to whatever hurts them personally. Whatever checks their stride. God! Their infidelities, their indifference, their insensitivity. Great God! The insensitivity of poets. [...] 
How many 'great artists? How many dead/mad/disused/forgotten/blames and fallen women?"  
As startling and electrifying as Mary's rage is, Ry's experience as a trans person - amidst their careful academic exploration is an event of shocking violence that the reader learns has happened multiple times before and they quietly deal with, knowing from past experience that notifying the police will not help.  The sudden violence was a visceral reminder of how unsafe life can be for trans people - it comes without warning or reason.  The disruption I felt as a reader was merely a glimpse of what it must be like to experience that as a person, and I thank Winterson for showing me a bit of what that might feel like. 

So many wonderful things wrapped into this relatively small book, not least of all how reading and writing are such amicable contributors to our human experience.  Frankissstein is really a must-read for book lovers. 

Tuesday, October 29, 2019

After the End by Clare Mackintosh

I asked Mike to pick up a copy of After the End on his last trip to London because it was getting a bunch of good press and I like my books to come from somewhere interesting if entirely possible.  In fact, I've finally started writing in the front of my books where I bought them so I can remember better.  And here's a free marketing tip from me to independent book stores out there:  why not make cool book plates of your bookstore and stick them in the inside cover?  Then it'd create like a cool badge of honor for people who go out their way not to buy from Amazon.

Anyway, I love bookplates (see my pinterest board on them!)

After the End is a desperately sad book.  Reading it made me very very sad and reminded me of a terrible time in my life and some of my worst fears coming true.  I asked myself many times, "Why am I reading this book?" before I skipped about 100 pages and finally read the last 20 or so.  It's about a loving couple who's child has brain cancer, and at the beginning is lying in a hospital bed, brain damaged, with a bit of cancer still in his brain, on a ventilator, unable to speak and barely move.  They disagree about the medical path they should take and go to court.  Then, this is about halfway through (SPOILER coming) the judge rules that the child shall receive no further care (beyond palliative, of course) and in another timeline, he rules the child shall receive additional care.  So, in one timeline, or reality, their son dies shortly after, and in another (alternating chapters), he lives an additional six years.  In both realities, the parents' marriage suffers greatly and their lives are forever altered by their devastating loss. Both parents and doctor question their decision. Following the two story lines allows the reader (and the author) to indulge in the fantasy of actually knowing the result of the other choice.  They are haunted by their choice, but at least in the book, the other choice's outcome is known.

You have to applaud Mackintosh for writing such an unflinching book.  She obviously set out to confront the horror of losing a child and that is precisely what she did.  In an "Author's Note", "This has been an incredibly difficult book to write, but one that has also brought me great joy" she writes. She also writes that she had to make a life and death decision for her son and I suspect that writing it was a cathartic experience for her. I'm glad she found joy in writing these parallel tales, but I honestly can't imagine many will find joy in reading it - although some people really love sad stories.  If so, this one is for you!

Saturday, October 05, 2019

New England Vacation Reading

When I go on vacation, I like to read fiction from or about the area.  For our trip from Boston to Acadia National Park in Maine, I read:

North of Boston by Elisabeth Elo.  This is a mystery about a woman who is out lobstering with her friend when they're hit by a larger ship.  Her friend dies, and she surely would have if she didn't have the uncanny ability to survive in ungodly cold temps.  Truthfully I found the book a bit convoluted with what felt like over-the-top details, like the main character's mother was a famous perfumer and her step dad was like a Ukranian mobster or something, and her best friend is a beautiful heiress and an alcoholic.  I mean, maybe I don't understand the northeast that well, but I was like, why was this girl out lobstering at night?  Anyway, Elo wrapped it all up with a bow and I had fun reading it, so, who cares?

Run, Ann Patchett.  Run takes place mostly around Cambridge, Mass.  It begins, as her books often do, with a killer first chapter that reads like a beautiful, stand-alone story (that nevertheless perfectly sets the stage for the novel).  One snowy evening, a father and his sons become entangled with a woman and her daughter.  A tender look at family, inheritance (tangible and intangible), race and class, this is Peak Patchett.  I love her.

Vacationland, by John Hodgman.  Did you know Maine license plates read "vacationland"?  That might seem funny to some jackass from Chicago (guess who? Me!) until you see how very beautiful it is there, and apparently in summer quite overrun with weekenders - in late September it was overrun with pensioners.  Hodgman is from Brookline, Mass, but writes at length about Maine and its curmudgeonly  and antisocial denizens.  Although most of the book is Hodgman cracking wise about making cairns while getting high and how he accidentally got famous and kind of rich making Apple commercials, he wrote this book while continually acknowledging his own white male privilege, just honestly and forwardly.  That was pretty damn refreshing to read.  He ends with a hard look at how in a place like Maine, composed mostly of wealthy white people, you can pretty much ignore the existence of racism and its terrible effect on minorities in this country.  I think about that sometimes too, like, I could quit reading news about black people being killed by police and I would probably be a lot happier. Anyway, a substantial chapter by a white male comedian on the importance of the Black Lives Matter movement and how white people need to commit themselves improving our society.  Then he immediately writes how he online trolled a dummy online after making a similar commitment and felt like an ass.  Because life is really complicated.  Unexpectedly woke and thoughtful.

Wednesday, October 02, 2019

Monday, August 12, 2019

The Silence of the Girls

Pat Barker tells the story of the Iliad mostly through the eyes of Briseis, who was a princess until the Greeks destroyed her city and gave her to Achilles as a slave.  Generally the story of Briseis and Achilles is portrayed as a love story, but Barker imagines the relationship quite differently, with Briseis feeling all the love a woman would feel for the person who had just killed her entire family and enslaved her, which is to say: not much.

Like Circe, Madeline Miller's wonderful novel about another minor female character in the Odyssey (and Galatea, and Livinia), the author tells the story from a feminist point of view, literally giving voice to a character who has just a handful of words in a book that is perhaps the first written account of toxic masculinity in western literature. 

Even though I knew what was going to happen, having seen Brad Pitt's ab-tactular rendition in Troy and, you know, other STUFF,  I could barely put The Silence of the Girls down.  What Barker does very well is move the focus to the women and help the reader imagine what it would be like to go from a life of freedom to one of enslavement.  "In later life, wherever I went, I always looked for the women of Troy who'd been scattered all over the Greek world. that skinny old woman with brown-spotted hands shuffling to answer her master's door, can that really be Queen Hecuba, who, as a young and beautiful girl, newly married, had led  the dancing in King Priam's hall? That that girl in the torn and shabby dress, hurrying to fetch water from the well, that that be one of Priam's daughters?"  The men fight in battles and either preserve their glory in conquest or perhaps in an honorable, brave death, but women suffer the consequences for the rest of their lives, a sorry footnote to the battle scenes.  But in these masterful retellings, the women not only become active participants in their own stories, but they also bear witness to the events.

The book reminded me of a performance of Trojan Women the IU theatre school did back in the 90s.  I was on the stage crew so I saw the show many times.  (What a season: Rough Crossing, Tom Stoppard, Trojan Women, Euripides, Hurleyburley, David Rabe, Uncle Vanya and Cabaret!) The actors created their own monologues that were interspersed throughout the show - it was all very 90's and felt like something special.  Anyway, I remember it fondly and also it wasn't too much work because all the sets were welded together and they didn't let the undergrads do that. 

image via
Silence of the Girls was shortlisted for the Women's Prize for Fiction if that impresses you (it does me!)  Happy reading!

Stay and Fight

My review of Stay and Fight, by Madeline ffitch, on Newcity!