2023 #50: Invisible Cities (Calvino)

 

Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I often feel that Calvino could have written about a slice of cheese and would have made it interesting. William Weaver's translation is superb (at least as far as reading experience goes--I have not/can not compare it to the original). The book is full of metaphor, but instead of feeling tedious, we start to understand the metaphors as truths and not just mere symbols. The context is a fictitious conversation between Marco Polo and Kublai Khan, the founder and first emperor of the Yuan dynasty of China, and the subject of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's famous poem. Rather that set it completely in dialogue, however, the book offers vignettes of these "invisible cities" to which Marco Polo has "traveled"--the scare quotes will have to suffice here as I do not wish to offer spoilers. Occasionally dialogue from Khan and Polo interject to wax philosophical, but it is far from gratuitous. For those new to Calvino's writing, it is a great entry! It did not take me ten years to read this book---I just started it on my Kindle ten years ago and put it aside for awhile.

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2023 #49: Haven (Donoghue)

 

Haven by Emma Donoghue
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This was close to five stars for me, but I can see why some struggle with it. It is NOT a fast-paced book, but it is the slowness that invites you to experience the intense isolation and bare-bones intensity of the story. Set on a remote "island" (more of a rock) in the Atlantic, Haven is a story about three souls, all of them bound by faith, and how those ties become challenged by religion. The austerity of the backdrop puts the psychological in the foreground, and the end result is compelling. It did not immediately engage me, but I felt it was very worth sticking with it. Donoghue really calls into being the fine threads that might tie together obedience and obsession and how our existence can sometimes sever those same threads to find our own agency and reason to live.

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2023 #48: Chaos at Carnegie Hall --Fiona Figg and Kitty Lane #1 (Oliver)

 

Chaos at Carnegie Hall by Kelly Oliver
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I very much wanted to enjoy this book -- a music-centric cozy mystery with a fun heroine seemed just my speed, so I enjoyed this freebie on Kindle. Unfortunately, Fiona Figg is not Phryne Fisher (which was what I was hoping for) and at least for me, was a truly unlikeable character--fickle, judgmental, prudish, and a bore. She can't decide if she admires her fellow women ("I would be spending the night in jail with the best and brightest female minds in America") or whether her prudish sensibilities will rule the day ("I was glad when the luncheon was over. Mrs. (Dorothy) Parker's flamboyance was giving me indigestion.")

The book suffers from a lack of editing...how many times do we need to see cigars referred to as "foul"? How many times must Eliza be a little minx, or does she have "some cheek"? How many times do we hear that Eliza is not all she seems? When we are told for the umpteenth time, "But I suspected there was more to the girl than met the eye" it has already been revealed what that "more" is, at least in part. There are two references to Sherlock Holmes used as a quipped observation of two different characters in a matter of pages. The ending seemed a rather fantastical turn of events and I found myself rather sore at the protagonist.

There are moments of humor and the cast of historical figures lends some fun, when Fiona isn't busy judging them (outside of her murder investigation): Margaret Sanger, Dorothy Parker, Thomas Edison, etc. Eliza's character is fun, as is her little puppy, but I found myself wishing that she was the main protagonist. Sometimes the "Odd Couple" routine was a bit tiresome.

I realize this is the first book in the series, so I might try another since I feel the character(s) have a lot of potential to grow.


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2023 #47: Zoli (McCann)

 

Zoli by Colum McCann
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I had no idea what this book was about, but I needed a book that started with Z for my 2023 A-Z reading challenge, and I knew Colum McCann's work from Let the Great World Spin.
Zoli is a beautifully written book that traces the life and loves of a Romani woman, based loosely on Polish poet Papusza (1910 - 1987). Drawing from archival and authoritative sources (e.g. the Romani Archives and Documentation Center at UT Austin), McCann offers a narrative that bears witness to the history of the Romani people in how they were outcasts and exploited in the name of "advocacy". Zoli herself is a wonderful multi-dimensional character who must navigate and choose identities for her own survival. We see her as a child, raised by her grandfather, a young poet/songwriter--exploited and caught in political contexts out of her control, an exile and refugee both, and as an aging mother still determined to express her own agency.

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2023 #46: Year of Wonders (Brooks)

 

Year of Wonders by Geraldine Brooks
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

It may be erroneous to say a work of historical fiction is prescient, but this 2001 novel took on new life in 2020. Based on the true story of the remote English village of Eyam that communally sacrificed itself during an outbreak of the bubonic plague in 1666, Year of Wonders is a miraculously beautiful novel. The characterization is rich and dimensional, with housemaid Anna Frith as a wonderfully developed (and developing) narrator. When the village rector convinces (most of) the village to self-quarantine from outlying towns, the loss is immense, but there is hope and growth and surprises. What is good and what is bad become murky and no one is immune from the challenges, even if they manage to stay healthy. The writing is extraordinary, wrapping in references to seventeenth-century village life and social structure without artifice. For all its graphic depiction of disease and childbirth, there is an underlying elegance which carries the reader along with just enough distance that we can understand 1666 to be 1918, or 2020, or whatever catastrophes we may face in the future.

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2023 #45 On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous (Vuong)

 

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

"Novel" does not seem the most apt descriptor for this collection of prosepoetry. And no, that is not a typo. The language is reason alone to pick up this book. It is like watching a painter. If this is at the sacrifice of plot and conventional narrative, so be it. The language of this book is extraordinary.

And while there is not a single trajectory (really more a rhizomatic network of recollections and memories), we meet characters who embody truth in their realness, whether it is the protagonist's mother in her ability to be both mother and demon, the grandmother in her frailty and strength, or Trevor, in his sexual awakening and moments of tenderness juxtaposed with every red-blooded American masculine trope. Most of the characters seem to be reconciling (or not) the opposites within.

Where I grew slightly weary was in the sexual awakening passages. While written beautifully, I relegate that many words devoted to sex to a different genre, and don't prefer it taking up that much space in a "novel" where I anticipate some sort of narrative arc. The arc is there, but it is subtle, and the retracing of steps/revisiting of sexual experiences found me scrolling through the pages of the e-book a bit faster in places. Mileage will definitely vary on this front, so I offer this criticism in humility and with full acknowledgment that it is my personal preference.

As I said, however, I don't think I've ever read such a poetic novel and it is well worth the time to see how words can be briefly gorgeous.

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2023 #44 The Terraformers (Newitz)

 

The Terraformers by Annalee Newitz
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

In all honesty there were long passages wherein I never thought I'd give this book five out of five stars, but the plusses definitely outweigh the minuses for me. This is an incredibly imaginative, yet very real, book. Newitz has a gift for world-making, but also weaves in extended metaphors that are occasionally heavy-handed, but too relevant to ignore. In some ways, there’s a sense that we are all part of some cosmic and cyclical raison d’etre to build and destroy and rebuild. On the other hand, there’s also a hope for taking two steps forward without the compulsory step back.

Fans of Octavia Butler's Earthseed series (e.g. Parable of the Sower ) will appreciate the "ERT" (Environmental Rescue Team) for its idealism in a dystopic context. The characters are diverse in shape, gender identity, hominid status, and Newitz challenges the idea of human vs. animal. Frustratingly, however, just as one gets attached to characters the story shifts forward in time. This is effective in demonstrating generational legacy, but leaves a hollow space, particularly in the case of the first protagonist, Destry, and her friends in La Ronge. This was a similar complaint I had of Olivia Wolfgang-Smith's Glassworks, but The Terraformers works better in terms of continuity as it serves a larger statement about some inevitabilities of humankind. Despite the darker conclusions, the book is hopeful in some ways as well, not completely reliant upon dystopic tropes of ecological demise.

The acknowledgments are an inspiration--Newitz did their homework. While I don't have the expertise to fact check every idea in the book, it is rich with vision and foresight. Newitz asks us "what if" with just enough verisimilitude that we want to seek out the answer.

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2023 #43 The Long Call --Two Rivers #1 (Cleeves)

 

The Long Call by Ann Cleeves
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

As a long time fan of the series Vera, I was eager to read my first Ann Cleeves mystery! I deliberately chose this newer series (Two Rivers) with a new sleuth (Matthew Venn) because I didn't want to run into a story that I've already seen in the series Vera, and I wanted an untainted introduction to Cleeves's latest detective.

It took awhile to engage with it, although I recognize it is a difficult thing to introduce all new characters. Everything picks up speed in the last 15% of the book, but it is more procedural than thriller or suspense otherwise. Matthew is a troubled male detective with baggage and trauma and self-esteem issues, but is quietly competent. It is a shame that he has to get hit over the head for everything to become clear. Refreshing, on the other hand, is that he is a married gay man.

Some of the characters were a bit uneven and cloying. Cleeves offers some strong commentary on the power of abuse, and we even see how that abuse can be internalized. Some characters have an uneven presence--we meet Gaby early on, who seems so important as a flatmate of the victim, and then there's a big reveal, and then? Nothing. A final scene with Matthew and Gaby would have come full circle.

There are some interesting themes: parental relationships (Maurice and Lucy, Matthew and his dead father, Matthew and his mother, Jonathan and his folks, Caroline and her father), and bird imagery plays a significant role (the title of the book, for example).

There's an editing error wherein a character is given the wrong last name in one instance, which I'd have more tolerance for if it weren't such a procedural where one needs to keep track of all the various dramatis personae.

I'm intrigued enough to venture forth in the series, but I don't see myself following Matthew Venn for long unless he gets a bit more chutzpah, not just when confronting his own demons and traumas.

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2023 #42 Tranquility by Tuesday (Vanderkam)

 

Tranquility by Tuesday: 9 Ways to Calm the Chaos and Make Time for What Matters by Laura Vanderkam
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Importantly, the four star rating is for the content, NOT the mode of delivery. If you do not need to listen to this as an audio book, I would highly recommend buying it in hard copy for several reasons. Each chapter is very formulaic in structure, but the "Your Turn" sections will be more effective if in a workbook mode (hard to do with an audiobook). Vanderkam has a pleasant voice, but one can only emote so much when reading numbered listicles and anecdotes. There probably is a more engaging way to convey the material, and at times the delivery sounded like AI generated text to voice, and the enthusiasm behind the directives started to sound mechanical as well.

All of that aside, there is some really good advice and the participant responses are helpful to a point. The book looks at each of Vanderkam's 9 rules (outlined on her website but given in brief here):

Give yourself a bedtime
Plan on Fridays
Move by 3pm
Three times a week is a habit
Create a back-up slot
One big adventure, one little adventure
Take one night for you
Batch the little things
Effortful before Effortless

One of the overarching points that seems to be at the root of all the suggestions is to have increased awareness of one's own energy, and let it be the guide when determining what commitments we make. This was particularly useful in Rule 8: Batch the Little Things. Initially it feels like the opposite of a GTD (Getting Things Done (TM)) approach in some sense although really more of a recontextualization of an Inbox review. The emphasis here is on the "capture" mechanism that GTDers will recognize, rather than doing the little thing right at that moment. A good way to think about it is if doing an inbox review, the little actionable things go to a "Batch List" rather than a "Do it" if less than 2 minutes. I appreciated this because it acknowledges who hopping into email to answer something quickly can easily derail the bigger more important thing you are doing/about to do. Vanderkam says a two minute task can easily turn into: a "task hydra", a rabbit hole, or a procrastination cycle wherein you start doing a bunch of small tasks because now you are at the computer. Immediate reward supplants the longer term gain, in other words. She provides further guidance: Don't batch during your most productive hours, but set time aside maybe in the dip of the afternoon when your mental faculties aren't as energized and fresh.

Along similar lines, Rule 9 (Effortful vs. Effortless). Vanderkam encourages using pockets of leisure time (or even time confetti, a term coined by Brigid Schulte) for something more engaging like reading, rather than mindless social media scrolling. It isn't that she is suggesting one always read in lieu of social media, but to consider the more "effortful fun" first for a larger reward--working toward completing a book, for example. You will never reach the end of Instagram, she reminds us.

The narration of the study occupies too much space, and would have been more interesting if something had failed. While the narrative incorporates participant struggles, it starts to get tedious having the same structure applied to every chapter. While the book could have been shorter, it is still a worthwhile read, especially if you are skeptical in reading the list above. She does include anecdotes from participants who were initially reluctant or were immediate naysayers, and that did address my own reaction from time to time.

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2023 #41: Landscape with Invisible Hand (Anderson)

 

Landscape with Invisible Hand by M.T. Anderson
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Full disclosure: I know the author.

If Salvador Dali and H.G. Wells birthed a novella together, this is what I imagine it might look like. It is a model of crafting dystopia, wherein humankind seemingly has welcomed our vuvv overlords, and "creativity" becomes the currency of survival--at least for a time. Seemingly very few stones are left unturned as the book takes aim at the climate crisis, capitalistic inequity, voyeurism of social media...just to name a few.

While marketed as a book for young adults, I think anyone who enjoys satirical dystopian fiction would enjoy this. My only issue was that it seemed too short--I didn't get to invest deeply in any of the characters, but as they are stand-ins for you, me, and possibility, I guess that makes sense.

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2023 #40:Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow (Zevin)

 

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Is this a book about gaming? Yes and no. Is it a book about love? Very much so. Love and life are a series of restarts, and this works better as a theme in Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow than a plot device. The characters are vibrant and take turns being exasperating and insufferable--in a good way should we choose to see it occasionally in ourselves. The character of Marx, in particular, is so well-crafted by Zevin that the reader is captured by him along with everyone else in his fictional world. But Marx can only really shine because of his contrast to Sam and Sadie, and his function as an anchor in the tempests constantly created by those two characters.

There's a lot here that isn't cliché. Sadie's family is wealthy. But they are just that. Her grandmother and her mother aren't stereotypes of the wealthy and privileged, as witnessed in Freda's counsel to Sadie about charity and friendship. Not that rich folks need defense or apologetics, but it was refreshingly humanizing to be able to like characters who happen to have money. There are other issues that get just a brief nod (appropriation), and others that seem to be in the background but are fairly central to the story (disability, race).

For the characters and the prose this book deserves every star. Marx encapsulates beautifully the underpinning of ludic existence: "It's the possibility of infinite rebirth, infinite redemption. The idea that if you keep playing you could win. No loss is permanent, because nothing is permanent, ever. (336)." Even if our play is not captured in pixels and bytes, we can see ourselves in these dreams of the infinite, and so this is a book for not only gamers, but anyone who dares to dream.

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2023 #39: Glassworks (Wolfgang-Smith)

 

Glassworks by Olivia Wolfgang-Smith
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Honestly, this book is absolutely between 3 and 4 stars for me. I could give each part of the book its own rating. Like Michael Cunningham's Specimen Days, the book has separate sections that almost alone, but are also interconnected. While I appreciate what Wolfgang-Smith tried to do in terms of style (adjusting the narrative style to the time period/circumstances of each section), I did not feel that approach was terribly successful.

In the first section we meet Agnes and Ignace. While slow to build in plot, this is where Wolfgang-Smith's gift for language is on full display. Written with a beautifully archaic elegance, there are moments of stunning simile: "If Ignace heard the menace in her voice, he did not signal it. She curdled in it herself--the spite she had absorbed and music now express to survive, like some blind and slimy subterranean creature." Like a gothic novel, we gain tremendous insights into the dark nights of the character's souls, whether driven by depression, abuse, or just the murky trenches of human existence. Agnes, in particular, is an astoundingly robust character who transforms with a self-consciousness that is honest: "She understood the appeal now, of this brand of abuse. There was an evil comfort in it." While the book could not have ended with the first section, I do wish we had simply extended the story of Agnes and Ignace because what followed really diminished my love for the book.

The second section does tie directly to Agnes and Ignace, who, for reasons not fully explained--but implied--have undergone a transformation from people we might care about to aloof artisans who are terrible parents. That in and of itself might have been interesting, but the section focuses on their son Edward. His lack of self-esteem, obviously a symptom of his upbringing, began to wear thin. At least initially, his love interest Charlotte was a far more engaging character, and just seemed to make Edward's self-disparagement and impulsive behavior all the more irritating. Then, Charlotte, too, transforms. These change of characters are a theme, as it turns out, and I found myself wanting to just gather them all in a room and take stock of where everyone started and where they wound up. That isn't a criticism and was in fact one of the aspects that kept me going. And even in this section of the book, we get wonderful, highlight-worthy sentences: "It was like Edward had traded his soul for seventy-two hours of tin-pan euphoria." Chef's kiss.

Edward's last years provide a quiet, almost invisible, backdrop as we meet his legacy in the third section. Wolfgang-Smith skillfully retraces her steps just enough to answer some questions that are important for everything else that comes later. It is when the character of Novak attends a Broadway play and meets Cecily that I felt things started to unravel a bit. Novak goes from a slightly grouchy realist to an obsessive savior figure and while there are enough psychological clues as to why, I didn't care enough about the focus of her obsession to want to keep following. The end of that section just went a bit off the rails for me.

Finally the book ends with the story of Flip. Here there are some very well crafted "hints" where Wolfgang-Smith drops something in passing, and we only later realize the significance. I loved that part of this final section. Flip and Tabitha are twins, and relate to the other three parts in a less direct, but interesting way. The problem is that Flip is even less likeable than young Edward, so again I was faced with a pathetic and tiresome "protagonist." By the time she transforms, it really didn't feel like enough, and the last section of the book was hard to finish.

Ultimately, however, I'm glad I did finish. I suspect other readers might resonate less with the first part, and more with the last, or the middle two sections. And I applaud the effort here, particularly since I believe this is a first novel--it is a hugely ambitious undertaking to write across four generations, shifting both style and plot directions. I will eagerly pick up Wolfgang-Smith's next novel, because her capacity for crafting beautiful sentences is some of the best I've encountered. The title of the book is fitting on many levels, and the book is very strong in some ways, but even a beautiful kaleidoscope can become too dizzying.

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2023 #38: Lessons in Chemistry (Garmus)

 

Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

As I began reading this book, I was prepared to wind up with a "meh" for an overall review. I was wrong.
Elizabeth Zott is a heroine in her own time, and ours. We need not work hard to translate the sexist transgressions of the 50s and 60s to today. Maybe we don't fully identify with Elizabeth, but Garmus provides Calvin, Harriet, Mad, Walter, and even Six-Thirty to fill in the gaps. Writing omniscient narration for the dog provided something more than whimsy. There's truth in animal sense. Six-Thirty is the sage observer, and the little windows we get into Six-Thirty's mind are sometimes as heart-wrenching as they are smile-inducing.

I am mildly sympathetic to the fatigue expressed by some regarding feminists being cast as social misfits, but I feel this particular character is a real opportunity to understand neurodiversity and how one's calling and focus can shape how they relate to the world. This is why Calvin and Elizabeth find each other. I can also see how some expected an easy beach read, but discovered some really crushing scenes of the terrifying reality that many women face. Garmus owes no one an apology, from my perspective. It is exactly that these scenes are interwoven into more comical and lighthearted engagement that makes this such an excellent book. The cover's mid-century vintage design might belie the true nature of the book, but isn't that the entire point? It encapsulates the status of women in the 1950s it its use of that art.

There are yes, a few bra-burning clichés of feminist narratives, but they are used sparingly and with care toward the protagonist's character, so they seem plausible and less like clichés. What appears at first to be the central relationship of the book, is soon supplanted by a "it takes a village" story that includes villagers with secrets and skeletons aplenty, but who are ultimately so human in their stumbling and bumbling and sometimes successful attempts at growth.

An absolute favorite book for me.

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2023 #37: Other Birds (Allen)

 

Other Birds by Sarah Addison Allen
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is a really beautiful book, peppered with just enough magical realism to keep things interesting. Zoey, the protagonist, is so very like-able. As is Charlotte. There’s even a Boo Radley type and I’m impressed that this character has one denouement moment, but remains a mystery at the end—she doesn’t change, but the people in her orbit, and how they relate to her, do. That’s nuanced.

These "other birds," joined by Mac and Frasier, create their own flock, and that's ultimately the point of the book. But along the way, there are painful histories, ghosts--real and imagined, and a special "bird" named Pigeon.

There are some artful reveals, and those that should be obvious, but might not be. The book is slightly weakened by an unevenness in narrative--there are times when we aren't quite sure whose story is center stage because there's a bit of stream-of-consciousness jumping from one character to the next. Ultimately, however, the real value is in how Allen doesn't resort to cliché--what typically detonates fizzles out instead, and we are left satisfied with the unanswered questions just as we must be in real life in order to grow and have meaningful relationships.

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2023 #36 The Four Winds (Hannah)

 

The Four Winds by Kristin Hannah
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

As someone who grew up in California, I find it deeply shameful that my education (which was in many ways excellent) did not address nor talk about the horrors of the Dustbowl and the migrants who came West seeking refuge. Sure, there was mention of Cesar Chavez and the Delano Table Grape strike at some point, but other than that, if you had asked me who the "Okies" were, I could not have told you until much later in life, when Dorothea Lange's famous photograph "Migrant Mother" (1936) finally posted on my radar screen. Kristin Hannah's beautiful novel helps to give voice to the Americans who were so mistreated--by local governments, by the Federal government, by private interests--and in so doing unearths a pattern of power that has plagued us since the first colonists oppressed and stole land from indigenous peoples.

The story is generational as well...Elsa Martinelli works hard not to recommit the sins of her unloving and abusive parents, and each new challenge adds dimension and growth to her character. Elsa's daughter Loreda navigates abandonment while also slowly shaping her own sense of justice. Elsa's in-laws represent the deep connection farmers have to the land, and the faith they hold on to that it will provide--even when it does not. Hannah writes of community in the darkest hours--whether it is a kindred soul in a tent-city, a handful of folks with the courage of their convictions, or a librarian surreptitiously providing access to education. Her characters are strong and vibrant, set against beautifully rendered scenery (some of it gorgeous, some of it awful).

[VERY MILD SPOILER IN NEXT PARAGRAPH]
The American Dream is very real, and Hannah exposes the rips and tattered shreds alongside the hope and abundance. The Great Depression is in the past, yes, but it would be folly not to understand the legacy of its narratives. My only true disappointment with the book is the deaths, as there are but two major ones--both women--and I think it (slightly) undermines the celebration of women that is the spine of the story, but it is recompensed by the unresolved disappearance of someone who seems like he might be a major character. Hannah artfully turns the road of the narrative from where it might have gone at the outset and centers it on the story of Elsa.

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2023 #35: These Precious Days (Patchett)

 

These Precious Days: Essays by Ann Patchett
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

"People want you to want what they want. If you want the same things they want, their want is validated. If you don't want the same things, your lack of wanting can, to certain people, come across as judgement." (143).

This is just one of many tremendous insights (this one from "There Are No Children Here") tucked into this marvelous series of essays. Patchett writes with honesty that is neither brutal nor saccharine in its emotion. From "Three Fathers", where Patchett narrates navigating paternal relationships with her mother's three husbands, to "Flight Plan", where she articulates so beautifully the relationship between fear, love, and anger, these essays are as intimate as they are universal in the way they express multifaceted humanity. Patchett makes us want to look more deeply at our own lives, whether it is the mundane stuff we decided to keep or toss ("My Year of No Shopping", "The Nightstand"), or the relationships that just happen, redirecting our lives in ways we don't anticipate. It is this last area where Patchett's writing shines the most. The title essay, "These Precious Days" is the longest essay and tells the story of Patchett's friend Sooki, whom she first met as Tom Hanks's assistant. Much as she often does in her fiction, it is the conversations and the small moments that draw us in, rather than the rhetorical denouements and anticipated endings so common in narratives. The essays are best read in order, capturing what at first glance seems a whimsical curation of musings and soon reveals itself to be a carefully crafted meditation on exactly these (or this) precious days. Fans of Patchett's fiction will find several of these essays particularly enriching, both in providing some back story (particularly about The Dutch House) and illuminating the author's process, devotion to her craft, and relationship with life itself.

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2023 # 34 The Dutch House (Patchett)

 

The Dutch House by Ann Patchett
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This novel succeeds because the characters are believable and in some ways, ordinary. In Danny and Maeve Conroy we have two siblings, the former who grows up in The Dutch House, and the latter who chooses to play the role of mother to her younger brother. This is not a strange and esoteric tale, but the nuances that Patchett weaves into her characters makes this a powerful narrative. Danny Conroy learns how to negotiate his past in all his decisions, and the skillful back and forth of past and present lays bare how much of living is this constant dance with our past. He can't escape his father's paternalism, foisting a house on his wife and children much in the same way his father did to Danny's mother. He's at the mercy of his sister, who sets him on a path that is very much about her desire to get revenge. Maeve is headstrong and rebellious. Their mother makes a deeply misguided decision that impacts their lives forever. Their stepmother, Andrea, is perhaps the most archetypal, although she too gets recast in the latter half of the book. Even with all these traumatic situations, however, Patchett manages to illuminate the messiness of love.

As the main narrator, Danny seems almost unfazed, seemingly a passive participant in his own life. But this is what makes the story so compelling--we are allowed to bring our own backgrounds into the experience. When Danny says, "Thinking about the past impeded my efforts to be decent in the present" (304), I had to stop reading for a bit, reflecting upon when I, too, had this realization. Danny has astoundingly beautiful turns of phrase and uses of metaphor that spring forward without preamble, made all the more potent by the lack of emotional window dressing. Likewise, one of the most tragic losses in the book happens without drama or ceremony--a sentence at the end of a chapter, the final item on life's great checklist.

This is a remarkable book that should be savored and read carefully. Anyone who has a mixed or blended family will likely relate to much of the book and even those that don't should appreciate the multi-dimensional, heart-wrenchingly human characters.

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2023 #33: Braiding Sweet Grass (Kimmerer)

 

Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants by Robin Wall Kimmerer
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Robin Wall Kimmerer, in her own voice on the audiobook, brings forth the lessons of sweetgrass and so much more, with compassion, erudition, and occasionally a tone that manages to embrace both anger and sadness. The main theme of the book advocates for regenerative reciprocity, a concept embodied by much of the natural world and echoed in the practices of many Indigenous peoples. Rather than Hardin's "Tragedy of the Commons", Kimmerer envisions an "Economy of the Commons", wherein "resources fundamental to our well-being...are commonly held rather than commodified." She balances her narrative in order to keep the vision in arms reach, or at least parts of it that we might endeavor to create.

A botanist and enrolled member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation, Kimmerer braids together the teachings of plants and those of her ancestors to create a work that is reminiscent of the "poetic sensibility" of Loren Eiseley, and gives rise to the increasingly popular work of people like Peter Wohlleben. The book is packed with information about indigenous culture and plant life, in equal measure, and the main criticism I have is that it could use a stronger editorial hand in places. There are moments when a metaphor starts to wear a bit thin, losing a bit of its "oomph" through constant repetition. However, these moments (which seem to increase toward the end of the book) are minor inconveniences in the face of what Kimmerer accomplishes.

Take language, for example. Kimmerer boldly weaves in linguistics to support her main contentions. Indigenous language offers concepts that bring us nearer to a true understanding of the natural world versus science, which she calls "a language of distance" (mind you, one in which she is fluent and leverages in powerful ways). In the chapter "Learning the Grammar of Animacy" she writes of the Potawotami language (an Anishinaabe dialect), wherein a noun such as "bay" (wiikegama)-- a body of water in English--is actually a verb--more "to be a bay"-- because it is living, part of the natural world. This respect for and lack of objectification of natural elements is a key point of contention between colonialist thought and indigenous thought, and as Kimmerer shows, really creates tremendous knots in our ability to co-exist peacefully with our natural world.

'To be a bay' holds the wonder than for this moment, the living water has decided to shelter itself between these shores, conversing with cedar roots and a flock of baby mergansers. Because it could do otherwise--become a stream or an ocean or a waterfall--and there are verbs for that too.

She talks about the relationship between reciprocity and restoration and this idea that reciprocity is the real requirement for sustainability of our restorative efforts. It isn't the land that is damaged, she says, but the relationship we have to it. I think that is largely true, but it is a sound byte that doesn't get as thoroughly interrogated as it might.

Whether it is her own struggles with clearing pond scum so that her daughters might swim, embracing the multitudes contained in a strawberry, or illuminating the ecological ramifications of strategic and not-strategic harvesting, Kimmerer's book (first published in 2013) provides a path forward that may not save us at this juncture, but would undoubtedly make us better citizens of the planet.



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2023 #32: How Far the Light Reaches: A Life in Ten Sea Creatures (Imbler)

 

How Far the Light Reaches: A Life in Ten Sea Creatures by Sabrina Imbler
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is a remarkable book that manages to combine "memoir with marine biology" as the podcast Science Friday put it (which was the impetus for me to put the book on my reading list). What keeps it from a full five stars for me is the whiplash between the two, but I'll address that in a bit.

The words after the colon in the title are important here: A Life in Ten Sea Creatures. Imbler is a very gifted writer who sets upon the task of creating substantial and meaningful metaphor through ten creatures: the goldfish, the octopus, the sturgeon, the sperm whale, the yeti crab, the sand striker, the butterflyfish, the salp, the cuttlefish, and the immortal jellyfish. Imbler hones in on the characteristics and circumstances of each of these creatures and connects to those as a queer and mixed-race person. Ira Flatow's interview didn't quite prepare me for the level of intimacy that Imbler brings to this book, but I am better for it. The metaphors are not forced, but seem to blossom forth: "They are one of the best-studied jellyfish in the world, and yet no one noticed the moon jelly's power of regeneration until someone gave it time and trust that it might grow into itself." Often, it is the passages focused on the sea creatures where Imbler offers their most potent observations. There are passages that brought me to tears: "But life always finds a place to begin anew, and communities in need will always find one another and invent new ways to glitter, together, in the dark"--some of them hopeful, some of them recognizing the darkness in the depths of identity.

And this is very much a book about identity and taxonomy--biological and social. There are moments where just as you are caught up in either the science or the memoir, however, the prose switches abruptly. This seems like a stylistic choice on Imbler's part, but it didn't work for me, as I felt yanked out of things just as I was connecting to the intimacy of their narratives. I worry that the title and marketing (the Science Friday interview downplays the memoir side) might mean potential readers may miss out if deep sea creatures aren't a ready-made point of interest. Imbler's personal experiences no doubt mirror that of many queer youths, swimming in the murky waters of identity. I hope they know this book is for them, because Imbler's words reach up from the bottom like a kelp forest toward the light, and everyone is better for it. Perhaps if we could all embrace a little bit more of ourselves in the creatures we know and don't yet know, existence might be a bit less fraught.

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2023 #31 The Haunted Abbot (Sister Fidelma #12) - Tremayne

 

The Haunted Abbot by Peter Tremayne
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

For anyone not reading the series in order, there is a mild spoiler below.



Fildelma, now Eadulf's ben cahrrthach, accompanies him to his Saxon homelands to Aldred's Abbey, where Eadulf has received an urgent summons from his old friend Brother Botulf. While warned that the abbey is home to great evil, they journey through perilous weather to arrive at the abbey only to find Botfulf dead and the abbot in charge to be a tyrannical misogynist.

The first half might be more aptly called a "Brother Eadulf" mystery than a Sister Fildema mystery, and some may find that more pleasing than others. Sadly, given than readers have waited eleven prior installments for Fidelma and Eadulf to be more than companions, this book does little to develop their relationship (one might argue until the very last sentence of the book). In what is probably the most chaste representation of a couple I've ever encountered, the final page seems almost to say: "I'll get to them in the next installment, promise!". I guess I will find out.

There's a supernatural tinge here, which of course faithful Fidelma readers will know always holds some other explanation. The characterization is a bit more complex across the board than in some of the other books. Allies can't be trusted, there are several folks who aren't quite antagonists, but neither are they allies, and as always there are mistaken identities. Aldhere, an outlaw, has a rich backstory that provides him with a certain depth and nuance of character. Women get very little airtime (partially due to the setting of Abbot Cild's vehemently male-only abbey), save for a peasant girl named Lioba, the Abbot's wife (in memoriam), and Bertha, the "woman" of Aldhere.

What is most refreshing in this particular book is that we get more sense of Anglo-Saxon history in the Heptarchy: the kingdom of Mercia, vs. East Anglia, etc. Much is made of the different systems of justice, not just between Christian and pagan, but more specifically between that of Eireann and Saxon. As I cannot speak to authority on either culture, I will simply say that there is a clear implication as to which is more enlightened (which will not come as a surprise).

The story benefits from a few different locations--the abbey, outside the abbey, and the farmhouse of 'Mad' Mul. There are some labyrinthine passages--both actual and metaphorical--that help keep the narrative alive. The arrival of Sigeric, high steward to Ealdwulf, King of East Anglia, provides a bit of a jumpstart just as things start to lag a bit, as does a murder just before the end of the book.

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2023 #30 Recursion (Crouch)

 

Recursion by Blake Crouch
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Memory. Dreams. Reality. All are questioned in Recursion. If you had the opportunity to unmake a reality by entering a memory, would you?

As with Crouch's other books in the genre (Dark Matter, Upgrade), Recursion tests the limits of science and imagination as measured against our understanding of reality (and for some of us, science itself). In the background is always the suggestion of a truth--perhaps metaphorical--that drives our decisions as humans.

One might see this as a love story, as the focus is on two characters: Barry and Helena, and this becomes increasingly the case as the book progresses. There's a bit of a Twilight Zone phenomenon here, and fans of time loops will enjoy (note: the "time loop" here is more complex than your average, run-of-the-mill time loop, which saves the narrative). Even with the inventiveness in the narrative, the "recursion" aspect did start to wear thin, but there was no question of finishing the book. Readers who need/enjoy everything wrapped up in a bow at the end may be disappointed, but to answer all the questions would have undermined the major premise of the book.

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2023 #29: Our Lady of Darkness (Sister Fidelma #10) - Tremayne

 

Our Lady Of Darkness by Peter Tremayne
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

cw: sexual assault

Tremayne seems to have hit his stride with this tenth installment of the Sister Fidelma series. Brother Eadulf faces the noose for a crime he did not commit and Sister Fidelma must race against the clock to prove his innocence. The red herrings are plentiful here, some more obvious than others. As with Valley of the Shadow, if memory serves, evil is spread far and wide, not just focused on one person. There are helpers, of course, along the way, but sometimes they are a bit too implausible, such as the Apollo-like entrance of the Cashel guards near the end. Where these book still falter for me is the ever-present "court" scene being the centerpiece and method for Fidelma's revelations. I get that she's a dalaigh, but in this particular instance it was particularly frustrating because she does an "almost" reveal in a different location (with an audience far more interesting than the typical peanut gallery), but then no...we have the formal (and formulaic) grandstanding that appears in every novel. I'm just waiting for something more interesting to happen, but I think I will be disappointed.
Outside the Fidelma-a-la-Perry Mason aspect, however, this is probably the strongest book of the first ten in the series. I will say that more recent audiences should be aware that sexual assault plays a very big role in this book, so consider that a content warning.

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2023 #28: The Red Garden (Hoffman)

 

The Red Garden by Alice Hoffman
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The Red Garden reads like a collection of interconnected short stories that weave together a generational tapestry of the Brady, Partridge, Starr, and Mott families in the small town of Blackwell, Massachusetts in the Berkshires. Each chapter is a treasure, and subtly communicates concepts of generational trauma, generational legacy, and something altogether a bit magical. The scenery isn't just a backdrop but an essential role in this drama, which is peppered with moments of light-heartedness. Hoffman is telling a tale of lives and while the stories of each person are interesting enough, it is the artful way in which she reaches the thread back to an earlier story and loops it in that made this book compelling. There are elements of magical realism: bonds with bears, a garden that turns all plants red, transformations, and ghosts, but it never distracts from the core humanity of the stories. On the contrary, these elements help illuminate the potential magic in our imaginations and maybe even our lives.

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2023 #27: The Xibalba Murders (Hamilton) - Lara McClintoch #1

 

The Xibalba Murders by Lyn Hamilton
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This was a great read and Hamilton did amazing work in integrating the archeological/Mayan aspects. I learned a lot, but without the sometimes agonizing attempts to educate the reader through pages of explanatory dialogue that plagues historical fiction. Lara McClintoch is a great character--both relatable in her life challenges (divorce, losing her business, etc) but also a bit of an armchair superhero sleuth, who isn't afraid to put her neck on the line in search of writing rabbits (read the book and that makes sense). Most of the story takes place in Mérida, Mexico, and Hamilton really makes the city come alive. Each chapter is named for a day of the Mayan calendar, but it isn't frivolous--McClintoch knows her stuff (and so does Hamilton). Portents and symbology abound, as do some good old-fashioned murders. While I am no expert in Mayan culture, I did fact check some of what Hamilton offered and it seems legit.
The author died of cancer in 2009, but she managed 11 in the series, and I can't wait to read them.

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2023 #26 Scorched Grace (Douaihy) - Sister Holiday #1

 

Scorched Grace by Margot Douaihy
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

If nun mysteries are a sub-genre, then queer-ex-punkrocker-nun mysteries must be a sub-subgenre. And we are better for it. Margot Douaihy's Sister Holiday is as engaging a sleuth as you will ever meet--she has a dark past like Luther (the cop, not the monk-turned-Protestant icon), the chutzpah of Vera, and some certain original je ne sais quoi that made this a very enjoyable read.

Douaihy, who has published several collections of poetry, has jumped into the genre with welcome audacity. Set in New Orleans, at a Catholic school run by a small cadre of Sisters of the Sublime Blood, the book is brimming with humidity, sweat, music, smoke, and all the distinctive sounds and smells of New Orleans. The characters are bold, although there were times I felt Sister Honor and Rosemary Flynn were overwritten. Most intriguing is Detective Riveaux who tangos with Sister Holiday as equal parts protagonist and antagonist, depending on the context. Douaihy's gift of language sets this apart from a lot of offerings in the genre, and sometimes descriptive language pours forth like an exploding geyser when you least expect it. But it makes for amazing multi-sensory grit.

She slowly reveals just enough of Sister Holiday's secrets to make us want the next installment. Where the rhythm became a bit too rushed is at the end. When we finally learn who has set the fires and committed the murders there's too much that doesn't get explained. I could offer more nuance in that critique, but I'd have to post spoilers and I'd rather not.

This is a fresh and unique heroine--extremely flawed, but heroic all the same. I hope we get a series because there's a lot to unpack in this character, and Douaihy writes a great mystery.

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2023 #25 The Trail (Hashimoto)

 

The Trail by Meika Hashimoto
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I read a lot of reviews of this book because it occurred to me that I don't have a good sense of reading through an eleven or twelve-year old's eyes. My goddaughter was assigned this book for school, so I read it (as are her parents). I sat with it for awhile and looked back through it, trying to parse the pet peeves from the genuine criticisms.

There's a lot about it I don't like. The 12-year old protagonist Toby was not, in my opinion, at all memorable. When I think back to books I read at that age, even if I disliked them, the characters stuck with me (e.g. Holden Caulfield, Piggy, etc--and I REALLY disliked Lord of the Flies). Again, I recognize that having spent over four decades on the planet may bias me, but it wasn't until the last 15 pages or so that I started to like this character. I understand that he's on a journey and I do want to say that I respect that the "journey" does turn out to be far deeper and metaphorical than a 12 year old hiking the Appalachian Trail.  And the human characters he meets often give the story some more heft, but there is an imbalance and weak sense of rhythm in terms of how and when these characters appear. 

And yes, about that. How many 12 year olds undertake hiking the AT--by themselves? Is that something we really want 12 year olds thinking they should do to go find themselves? This isn't a situation where he's lost (at least physically), or some sort of adventure where he got marooned on a desert island and has to save himself. He makes a conscious decision to do this horribly dangerous thing, and evidently hiking with his friend Lukas and his dad a few times equips Toby to be fairly adept at solo hiking, for miles at a time, in all conditions--enough to feel confident hitchhiking. Again, I'm sure there are very adventurous 12 year olds out there, but the moral of this particular story doesn't necessarily dissuade readers from undertaking a similar journey.

This book barely passes the Bechdel test either--and while that normally isn't a huge issue for me, I think for a book that is assigned reading, it falls really short. There are only a few women characters: the "offscreen" Gran, Abbey with her "beautiful face", the spunky Sadie (who I wish had been a prominent character throughout), and the motherly Marsha. With the exception of Sadie, the interesting characters are all male (Denver, "Wingin' It", Washboard--even the dog) -- or presumably so. While race is not frequently mentioned (if at all -- I wasn't reading for it), let's just say The Bluest Eye this book is not. Again, for an assigned read, I would have hoped to have more obvious amplification of diversity. I don't believe we are yet at the place where we can take it for granted, particularly when it is part of living discourse for young folks.

In the first part of the book the product placement was to the point of distraction. I do realize this may be targeted to the age group and their budding consumerism, and while I, too, am a fan of Darn Tough socks, I'm just not sure what these particular details (REI, Subarus, etc) added to the narrative except to reinforce branding and consumerist culture.

What I did like was the specifics about the Appalachian Trail. Children who live outside of hiking culture might struggle with some of the references or lose interest. I liked the map at the end, but would have loved to see it integrated---perhaps tracing Toby's path as he moves through the trail in each chapter. Particularly for those readers who are not familiar with the AT, little details like that would have lent a lot to the book, making the ending all the more powerful. Like I said, I did like the end, and I hope that discussions and class sessions help young people see their personal Katahdins.

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2023 #24: Teaching Music History with Cases: A Teacher's Guide (Haefeli)

 

Teaching Music History with Cases: A Teacher's Guide by Sara Haefeli
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Review forthcoming.

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2023 #23: Wild Seed (Butler) - The Patternist Series, Book I

 

Wild Seed by Octavia E. Butler
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

It was difficult not to give this five stars because as with so much of Butler's oeuvre, there are parts of it that are simply extraordinary. Butler's capacity to create worlds within worlds that seem simultaneously urgently relevant but also extraterrestrial is spellbinding. The protagonist, Anyanwu, is an immortal who can alter herself at the cellular level to heal herself, change identities, and in some cases, species. Much like Lauren Olamina in Parable of the Sower, Anyanwu is a multi-faceted, sometimes ambiguous, incredibly strong protagonist. Her antagonist, Doro, is a megalomaniacal spirit who has lived for thousands of years, who prolongs his life through cruel and terrible means. Fixated on forming his own society, his humanity is so deeply buried as to be thought lost.

Themes of community and kinship made this an important contribution of Afrofuturism when it was published, and it remains so today. It takes a multi-pronged approach to engaging with colonialism and in turn, postcolonialism. While much of this is transparent, Butler does not every lose sight of the storytelling and her characterization. This is where it is necessary to give Robin Miles, the reader of the audiobook, absolute accolades. Nuances in accents and intonation abound and each character, major or minor, shines through her portrayals.

Where I struggled with the book was near the ending. I found some of the plot directions difficult to reconcile, and while I generally like that Butler does not feel it necessary to explain all contexts for all events, there are several significant events that happen toward the end of the novel that were uncomfortably dissonant with the characterization. While Butler is making a case, perhaps, for transformation, the changes seemed rush and disproportionate to the major narratives that take up the book.

Aside from that, however, it is a book that, while it shares similarities with works here and there, manages to blend social commentary, speculative fiction, and fantasy in a seamless and organic way.



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2023 #22: Deep South (Theroux)

Deep South: Four Seasons on Back Roads by Paul Theroux
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Part travelogue, part memoir, part commentary on poverty, Paul Theroux's Deep South: Four Seasons on Back Roads attempts to follow in the footsteps of James Agee and Walker Evans (see Let Us Now Praise Famous Men), but the lack of a cohesion makes this a bit more stream-of-consciousness (my real rating is 3.5 stars). Theroux seems to tease out important elements in fits and starts and then gets a bit lost in the landscape or musings about its people--all of which are important, but get a bit flattened by the lack of overarching game plan. Gun shows seem to be a major epicenter, and indeed some of those vignettes are some of the most revealing. Where the book is differentiated is in its ability to (for the most part) keep a voice that is in an in-between space, flanked by disinterest on one side and passion on the other...some might call it a style. But his allegiances are enigmatic, and that can be frustrating, particularly when there is so much at stake. He has been criticized for racializing poverty, and the lack of obvious through-line does not help (the line is there, but there's little about the presentation to highlight it). Sometimes Theroux allows ample space for various voices of the Deep South, but then seems to stand in front of the camera without warning, and very often the impact is one of condescension. Where I most appreciated Theroux's interjections was when he wrote about Southern writers: Faulkner, Portis, O'Connor, etc. (see his "Interlude: The Fantastications of Southern Fiction). Here Theroux seemed to be on more solid ground in terms of firsthand experience with literature.
When Theroux does move out of the way, or fosters a real dialogue (as with the farmers in Arkansas), the book has riches to offer. Dignity does seem to be something which Theroux wishes to amplify and in this, Deep South is successful.

But perhaps it is reading with post-2020 eyes that makes his ambivalence seem inadequate for a travel memoir of this area. There are moments where his opinion is clear -- Clinton's seeming abandonment of poor people in Arkansas, for example--but the meandering (and as one critic said, languid) book dilutes the moments of potential power. Yet, in its 441 pages are voices that are important and have stories and lives to share--some of which are heartbreaking, and some of which are angering. The earnest bigotry of some of those voices is frightening, but not in a sensationalized way. Instead, readers should understand that the "us vs. them" mindset is of limited value because "those" minds are just as set as "ours." The back roads of the Deep South contain multitudes, and what seems like occasional disinterest on the part of Theroux, might be a reminder that those back roads should be more front-and-center.



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2023 #21: Life On Mars (Smith)

 

Life on Mars: Poems by Tracy K. Smith
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The title of this collection, Life on Mars seems almost tongue-in-cheek as the collection is VERY much about life here on earth, in a very visceral, beautiful, and sometimes intensely difficult, way. Poems like "Everything That Ever Was" manage to dance with the universe without overly lofty ambition, keeping our feet on the ground. "The Universe as Primal Scream" marries biblical storytelling with the everyday tedium of our existence. Occasionally Smith packs a huge punch with just a few words (your mileage will vary, based on personal experiences). When I read, "Tonight, I'm at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. I don't know where I end" ("They May Love All That He Has Chosen and Hate All That He Has Rejected"), I was transported to that exact state of being. Prior to reading the collection I had been at an event where Tracy K. Smith spoke about her father, and many of the poems in this collection revealed much about that relationship--in particular the one dedicated to his memory, "The Speed of Belief".

At that same event, Smith said, "When you read a poem you become humble." In humility there is great wisdom and beauty and it is woven throughout this wonderful collection.

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2023 #20: Undermining Racial Justice (Johnson)

 

Undermining Racial Justice: How One University Embraced Inclusion and Inequality by Matthew Johnson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I started this book in 2020 and have read it in fits and starts since then, but truly I cannot imagine a better book to have returned to in the last few weeks as the Supreme Court erodes justice. While the book could have used more judicious editing, the major takeaway here is about co-optation of diversity initiatives. This insidious behavior infects many companies and institutions of higher learning, partially because it is often done in the name of "DEI." This carefully researched book details the ongoing saga of co-optation at the University of Michigan, but the lessons apply to many different institutions. "Diversity" is often more convenient and aligned with maintaining classist infrastructures than "inclusion", and Johnson chronicles the history of how such programs develop and undermine actual justice for those who fight for it the most. Racial retrenchment is sustained by propaganda and programs that masquerade as restorative of justice. Johnson's epilogue is prescient:

"As I write the final words of this book, anti-affirmative action cases against Harvard University and the University of North Carolina- Chapel Hill make the urgency for disruptive change even more pressing. It's possible that the Supreme Court will ban affirmative action in all American universities, public and private, in the next five years. It's a sobering thought. It's even more sobering when you consider that affirmative action in higher education has been a tool of co-optation that preserved the institutional values that continued to privilege white middle-and upper-class students. If anti-affirmative action forces put this much effort into challenging practices that preserve racial disparities, imagine the forces that will coalesce to resist efforts to disrupt institutional values and create a truly fair and equitable system."

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2023 #19 The Overstory (Powers)

 

The Overstory by Richard Powers
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is an incredibly artful book, both in its writing and its metaphorical structure (the tree analogy is overt). Powers has the ability to look at the present as if it were the past (and vice-versa), leaving us with a strong blend of optimism and pessimism (pessimoptimism?) in looking at the future. There are nine protagonists (we can use the term loosely) whose stories intertwine like a leafy canopy, but the real focus of the story is the power, history, and life of trees. Honestly, if that doesn't engage you, you are probably the perfect audience for this book. NOT engaging with trees is the not-so-subtle criticism Powers offers humanity. His powerful and descriptive language draws us to the trees, or at least the idea of them. The research aspects are excellent, and it seems clear that a lot of the ideas of Peter Wohlleben and others surface through the story and the characters.

What is particularly compelling is how Powers pulls in ideas of generational trauma and legacy, so not only are there nine main characters, but a variety of generational lessons packed into several of the individual's story lines. The connections become apparent in the first section of the novel as Powers introduces each character and there are one or more links from one character to the next.

Suzanne Toren does an astounding job voicing all the different characters, although as always, I wish audiobooks didn't resort to voicing folks of other ethnicities with accents--while understandably an efficiency, it seems a missed opportunity. I was somewhat uncomfortable, assuming Toren does not have a hearing-related disability, with her voicing of Patricia Westerford, whose character does not speak until the age of three, and is revealed to have a deformation of her inner ear. That said, it IS an essential part of the character and Toren's depiction allows the words, not how they are said, to be front and center.

As much as it is about trees, it is also about humans. Not just how we inhabit and interact with the planet, but how we create our own overstories and understories in the relationships we have--those that we damage and allow to decay, and those that we plant and nurture.

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2023 #18: The Spider's Web (Tremayne) - Sister Fidelma #5

 

The Spider's Web by Peter Tremayne
My rating: 3 of 5 stars


For reasons I can't quite discern, the front matter (often essential for a Fidelma book) is put at the end of the Kindle edition. This was rather unfortunate as this fifth installment in the series definitely benefits from a preview of the Principal Characters. Not unfitting for the "web" Tremayne sought to create, but a headache for readers--particularly those for whom medieval Celtic names are rather foreign.

The beauty of the valley provides a fitting contrast to the evil operating within Araglin. As with several Fidelma stories, there is a character who stands accused of two murders (just two of the five in the book), and we know at the outset that Sister Fidelma will exonerate him, because that's what she does. But Tremayne starts weaving his "web" before we even get there with what, initially, seems to be an unrelated land dispute over which Fidelma is presiding. I don't want to give away spoilers, but suffice it to say that modern readers would not be surprised if the book came with a content/trigger warning if it was published today. "Evil" is a word Fidelma uses several times in the book to describe the people of Araglin (many of them anyway), and here it seems more apt than the typical Christian binary moralities. Tremayne uses this to his advantage, manipulating us into momentary solidarities and conflicts with different characters. As with other books, Fidelma's "enlightened" Christianity is on full display, particularly as it butts heads with the local Father Gormán, whose hellfire and brimstone seems to have a stranglehold on many people.

In the end, however, I had trouble keeping interest as there were just too many characters, including some that we never meet but are in fact essential to the story. At times it felt as though new characters were created to steer a path back to some sort of connection when a thread of the story started to unravel. Sister Fidelma's standard "big reveal" is a bit tedious for that reason, and I was disappointed that the accused did not have more opportunity to "speak" for himself (he is deaf, mute, and blind--but can communicate, we come to find out), and Fidelma is less-than-likeable at times in this book. In later volumes she becomes more sympathetic, but the haughty "I'm an advocate of the courts" attitude was grating at times. Eadulf, too, is still in his occasional nincompoop phase, needing Fidelma to explain the obvious or he's foaming at the mouth about his Christian beliefs.

In retrospect, having read several volumes that come after this one, it is valuable to be reading them in order now because Sister Fidelma does grow and whether or not her more "youthful folly" is intentional in these early volumes, it is a relief to know that it doesn't last for the entire series.
If you are interested in reading the series for this reason (or others), go for it. If you want a really great installment of the series to try it out--skip this one for now. Click the "Sister Fidelma" tag for all my reviews of books in the series.

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2023 #17: Quicksilver - The Baroque Cycle #1 (Stephenson)

 

Quicksilver by Neal Stephenson
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I really need to preface this with the following: This was probably not a good choice as an audiobook. So, please know that this rating might be much better if I had read the print version--I hope. Visual tedium doesn't bother me nearly as much as aural tedium, so with that out of the way...

I had heard some good things about Neal Stephenson's books, and as someone who enjoys historical fiction, and is a music historian, I thought this initial volume of The Baroque Cycle would be a "no-brainer" (of a choice). The story is immeasurably creative and inspired, taking place in both in 1713 and in flashbacks some 40 years earlier. The protagonist--not the right word--is Daniel Waterhouse, an ex-Puritan scientist ("natural philosopher"), who is living in Massachusetts Bay Colony and is on board a ship (the Minerva) headed back to England to resolve one of the many intellectual disputes which seem to have been the lifeblood of thinking men in the eighteenth century. And yes, the cronies of the Royal Society and the illustrious historical figures are names that Stephenson whisks out of the history books and into his drama: Samuel Pepys, Isaac Newton, Gottfried Leibniz, Robert Hooke...just to name a few. The droll humor was the saving grace and largely what had me coming back to finish.

Where I struggled were the long passages of historical minutiae which seemed utterly superfluous to the story and very much an attempt to show Stephenson's immense research and knowledge of the time period. A discussion of coinage, for example, added very little to the story, and was one of the most tedious things I have ever listened to within the context of a piece of fiction. Encyclopedic detail has a place, and I prefer it to historical fictions that are so absurd as to be unethical, but historical fiction is still literature and I felt there were far too many moments where the "plot" came to halting stop to luxuriate (fixate) upon some historical icon of progress.

On the other hand, there are clever moments where Stephenson shines as an author: the discussion between John Wilkins and Daniel Waterhouse regarding redundancies in the philosophical language they are creating is subtly mirrored in Wilkins running to write something down and grabbing his quill, and shaking off the "redundant" ink. Ha!

About halfway through I felt perhaps I was doing this book a real disservice by listening to it instead of reading it, and it made me think about modalities. I have the privilege of choice here, and I'm wondering if I didn't, perhaps I would not have found the book so tedious. The failing may be mine, because even when I was frustrated with rabbit holes of endless details, I had a sense that there is a brilliance to what Stephenson has created here. In amongst all the self-indulgent navel gazing (of the characters), there is a coming-of-age story, a seafaring adventure story, a recasting of historical figures (Newton as a masochistic emaciated brat was essential), and the more traditional history-as-scenic-backdrop moves (the Great Fire of London, the bubonic plague) that Stephenson does more justice to than most.

Listening to the book was an experience--and while it wasn't altogether joyful or pleasurable, I came away from it wanting to pick up the next volume in print. I respected and enjoyed Stephenson's ability to enliven historical narratives with multi-dimensional perspectives and wit, to boot.

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2023 #16: The Novice's Tale (Sister Frevisse #1) - Frazer

 

The Novice's Tale by Margaret Frazer
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

As much a fan as I am of Peter Tremayne's Sister Fidelma series, I think it has met its match with Frazer's Sister Frevisse. Frazer's sense for character development is obvious at the outset, and she manages to create a colorful cast of characters who are not caricatures. Pious Thomasine becomes a murder suspect when her aunt Lady Ermentrude--who I pictured like the Red Queen from Alice and Wonderland--succumbs to her own "strange and sudden death" (that's from the back cover, so I'm not counting it as a spoiler!). There is also Dame Claire, the herbalist and someone who deserves a large bit of credit, as does the entire convent of St. Frideswide, and their leader Domina Edith. One of the contrasts with Tremayne's series is that Sister Frevisse, while a major player, is not the only player. Granted, given the fifteenth-century setting and the Benedictine context, Frazer has less to explain than Tremayne with his seventh-century tensions between the Roman and Irish churches. Those who like fast-moving plots may be a bit frustrated here, but Frazer does an artful job of making everything matter! Take your time with this one--enjoy each and every character as they are all important here and there. Quite a great first book in the series--I'll be reading the rest!

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2023 #15: Contemporary Music Notation (Valle)

 

Contemporary Music Notation: Semiotic and Aesthetic Aspects by Andrea Valle
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I want to preface this with the recognition that I read the book in English translation, so I'm not sure my criticisms of the writing are altogether fair. This is an important book, full of enriching insights, but the writing obfuscates with an over-abundance of dependent clauses, inflated vocabulary, and esoteric references. In other words, a quintessential academic tome. I recognize that semiotics prides itself in jargon-creation, so I do see some of this as symptomatic of the field. That said, semioticians who are fond of quoting and referencing Umberto Eco would do well to read some of his books on writing, or simply to note his ability to write with humor, clarity, and relative concision.

Valle has an impressive knowledge of both semiotics and musical scores, and the inclusion of figures both well known and lesser known makes this a very valuable book. Valle does not look at graphic scores in isolation either (although that is the primary focus), instead tracing lines of connection and departure with integral serialism and the like. Readers who are not at least roughly acquainted with the works of Charles Sanders Peirce and Umberto Eco may find themselves frustrated, especially as Valle ultimately relies heavily on Peircean conceptions of "sign." Inasmuch as the author claims their aim was to "outline a picture as complex as possible" (187), the book truly succeeds. The complexity provides many springboards for further interrogation and anyone pursuing scholarly work in this area would be well-advised to familiarize themselves with Valle's work here. The complexity, on the other hand, sometimes makes the overall narrative rather unwieldy, diving too deeply into self-referentialism and the "'fuga an infitum' of semiosis as a mental process" (186). There are rather fascinating topics that Valle touches upon briefly, such as looking at a new concept of "oral tradition" in works of Stockhausen and Bussotti, and it becomes clear that the author has an expansive mind and ability to make fascinating connections. Many of the more frustrating aspects could have been mitigated with some rigorous editing: in Chapter 2, for example, the revelation of three basic hieroglyphic aspects of notation comes approximately twenty pages after the subject is introduced.

The book is beautifully researched, and along with crucial semiotic sources, also dialogues intentionally with the work of Erhard Karkoschka, REGINALD SMITH-BRINDLE and other foundational scholarship. The absence of an index is extremely frustrating, but certainly not a criticism unique to this particular book. The frustration, however, attests to how much Valle packs into approximately 180 pages, as my own notes are filled with cross-references and maps to navigate Valle's useful and thoughtful interrogations

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2023 #14: Horse (Brooks)

 

Horse by Geraldine Brooks
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This really is a remarkable book for all it sets out to accomplish. A truly fine example of historical fiction, I enjoyed reading the Afterword and "Historical Connections" almost as much as the novel itself. There are a lot of threads to interweave, across centuries, and Brooks does an admirable job of it. It is a book about a horse, yes, but also a book about legacies of racism and how they are perpetuated in overt and subtle ways. The character of Jarret Lewis is the focal point, and Brooks gives him such vibrant courage and heart without resorting to sentimentality. His relationship with Mary Barr, in particular, is nuanced and reflective of much deeper dimensions of race relations than the surface rhetorical glosses found in many other fictional narratives of the antebellum period. The echoes in the relationship between Theo and Jess are thoughtfully considered.

Where the book falters a bit is in its rhythmic arc. The book is slow, and that is appropriate, given its focus on character development. Brooks carefully weaves together several characters and stories--sometimes the trajectory is obvious and other times less so, and this keeps the reader interested. However, the last fourth of the book moves from 0 to 60 in almost no time at all, and the shift in action is a bit jarring--enough to feel like a different book altogether. That said, however, this is a book that reveals the authors own curiosity in the best of ways. She wields the art of historical fiction without artifice and cliché and offers something for multiple readers--even those who may not be horse buffs.

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