New Century Reading

Sister Mine

This is what I love about the Tournament of Books. Every year, it introduces me to a writer I didn't know about that I'm thrilled to discover.

This book showed up in the comments at the end of this year's Tournament. And boy, am I glad it did.

Sister Mine is the story of two sisters, Makeda (the narrator) and Abby. They're twins; but more unusual than that, they're conjoined twins who were separated. But the uniqueness doesn't end there--they're half-human, half-demigod.Their unusual birth has not left them evenly accounted for; Abby has her own form of magic that becomes stronger as she grows up, while Makeda has more of the human side of the equation--as in, no magic or mojo of her own, and thus an object of scorn to the demigod side of the family.

Their mother is long gone under somewhat mysterious circumstances, and they're beloved father, from the demigod side, is failing. One day he disappears. Makeda and Abby, who struggle mightily with sisterly bonds and dysfunctional family gatherings (the demigod side is referred to, amusingly, as "the Family", as it was a mafia group), must find him before dire things happen--and as they search, they realize that things are far more dire than they already supposed.

So, it's magical realism, or fantasy, or whatever you'd like to call it. It's also a raucous wild ride. Makeda is a prickly, spitfire narrator with a warped sense of humor who has to keep looking over her shoulder for the haint that is determined to stalk her down. She's fierce and fragile at the same time. She wants more than anything to build a life separate from Abby and escape the feelings of mediocrity that having no mojo gives her. But she needs Abby to find their dad.

There's also a person who used to be Jimi Hendrix's guitar, cats that act as security guards, and--for the knitters in the crowd--knitting that plays a key role in the story.

I really loved this book. It's a bit uneven in places--it's a little slow to get going in the beginning, and at times the writing is clunky. But other times, it's soaring, and the plot flies along at a briskly entertaining pace. For all her prickliness and thin skin, Makeda is a wonderful narrator to hang out with.

 

The Japanese have a word for my condition.

All Gone

It might seem odd that so soon after my mother's death from Alzheimer's, I'd pick a book called "All Gone: A Memoir of My Mother's Dementia, with Refreshments." I happen to find books on relevant topics soothing at times of stress or sadness. I know that wouldn't work for many people, but it does for me. To each his own, right?

Unfortunately, this was not the book I was hoping for. Wouldn't you think a book that has "A Memoir of My Mother's Dementia" as a subtitle would focus almost entirely on that aspect?

Instead, this is a mishmash of information about Alex Witchel's own life, her career, her relationship with her siblings; she's a food writer, but the food connection to her mother is tenuous--she seems to have had more of a food relationship with her grandmothers than her own mother, who didn't really like to cook.

Sure, there are parts about her mother's dementia. Mostly it's about Witchel's feelings about the dementia. And all the things Witchel did to try and stop the dementia, which is understandable, if rather a lost cause. There's very little about her siblings' response to the dementia, and most of the parts about her father are about her own dysfunctional relationship with him.

This could have been an insightful, downright searing, read about this all too prevalent condition. Instead, it read as if written in haste and it could have used a good edit. More, though, it could have used some significant focus.

The refreshments are recipes at the end of the chapters. There are some related to her mother, but some have nothing to do with her. Witchel is a food writer and apparently really wanted to make this connection, but it's forced too often.

The ending is slap-bang fast. We've plodded along Witchel's path with her mother, then whoosh! Three years have past! Mom's still alive! But we don't know how her disease has progressed (and over three years, it's likely to have progressed quite a lot), yet the book just--ends.

For a better--if fictional--look at dementia, you're better off reading Turn of Mind.

Benediction

I've seen a lot of love out there for this book, but I just didn't feel the love myself. I liked some of Haruf's earlier books, but this one didn't work for me. It got off to a bad start with the lack of quotation marks, a quirk I can overcome with a book I love, but here it was glaring and annoying.

This is the story of several residents of the small town of Holt. Dad Lewis (yes, everyone in town calls him Dad) is dying. His wife is there. His adult daughter is there. His adult son is not, likely because Dad Lewis does not approve of his son's homosexuality. The next door neighbor and her orphaned grandchild are there. An elderly mother and her middle-aged daughter who live together are there. The town's new preacher, who was kicked out of his previous assignment and isn't doing well in this one, is there, along with his wife and teenage son.

Yeah, that's a lot of people. I'd say at least half of them weren't critical to the story. The preacher in particular struck me as a subplot that was shoe-horned in for no good reason. His story line was out of place and made me roll my eyes.

In some spots, the writing is good. But other times, combined with the sad lack of quotation marks (why do writers do that??), led to some wincingly bad parts:

"He was still trying to be nice when they were in bed, and he slid down in the sheets and helped her to have her desire first."

Oh, please.

So. I'm disappointed. Maybe it was the wrong book at the wrong time--I just finished a re-read of Where'd You Go Bernadette for book club and loved it just as much as the first time I read it, and right after that I finished Life After Life, which I also loved. I dunno, though. Takes a lot to get me past no quotation marks.

Life After life

Well. I hardly even know where to start with Life After Life. How about with: I loved it, just flat-out loved it.

I don't think everyone will. I suspect this is going to be a love-it-or-hate-it book.

This is the story of Ursula Todd, born in February 1910, who dies at birth. Then she's born again--as Ursula Todd, in February 1910, only this time she lives a little longer. Once again, she dies; once again, she's born as Ursula Todd, in February 1910, and lives a little longer yet. So instead of traditional reincarnation, Ursula's lives are all her own, all the same.

And yet not. While she doesn't remember being born repeatedly, as she progressively lives longer and longer, she has trace memories, deja vu, of things to avoid. Eventually she arrives at World War II and experiences various iterations. Sometimes things end well; sometimes they do not.

I don't know how much more I can tell you about this book without tipping over into spoilers. Ursula's family is full of interesting, flawed people, and how they change throughout Ursula's journeys is just as fascinating as Ursula's own lives.

Author Kate Atkinson takes a very straightforward approach to her prose, which works well with such a fantastic premise. Sometimes there's a sly humor operating:

"Lottie was a reserved woman. Some might have said narcoleptic."

Or just tartly observant, as in this description of Ursula's mother's relationship with her (many) children:

"Sylvie's children only really came into focus for her when in isolation. Together they were an unwieldy flock, singly they had character."

I wish I could tell you more, but I'm committed to no spoilers. This one strikes me as a book that will definitely be worth a re-read. Bravo to Atkinson.

My thanks to the publisher for providing me an ARC via Netgalley.

Tournament of Books 2014?

At the end of last year's Tournament of Books, the moderators put forth a list of books that they said might be up for the 2013 ToB. They cautioned that not all would make it, since it was so early in the year. I went through that list, highlighted several that sounded good, and went to work. By the time the 2013 shortlist was announced, I'd read 8 of the books that were on it--a very nice head start to this year's Tournament.

This year the moderators said they didn't have time to put together a preliminary ideas list and asked commenters to make suggestions.

Because--ahem--I have so much spare time on my hands and nothing of any greater importance to do, I went through all the comments and made a list of the books recommended. Again, who knows which of these, if any, will turn up next March. But at the very least, there are some really intriguing books on this list. So, for your edification and enjoyment, I give you: some possibilities for the 2014 ToB.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: Americanah

Kate Atkinson: Life After Life

Margaret Atwood: MaddAddam

Matt Bell: In the House Upon the Dirt Between the Lake and the Woods

Anne Carson: Red doc>

Edwidge Danticat: Claire of the Sea Light

Ariel Djanikian: The Office of Mercy

Tom Drury: Pacific

Warren Ellis: Gun Machine

Tim Finch: The House of Journalists

Neil Gaiman: The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Lauren Grodstein: The Explanation for Everything

Austin Grossman: You

Rawi Hage: Carnival

Kent Haruf: Benediction

Aleksander Hemon: The Book of My Lives

Joe Hill: NOS4A2

Nalo Hopkinson: Sister Mine

Kristopher Jansma: The Unchangeable Spots of Leopards

Stephen King: Doctor Sleep

Barbara Kingsolver: Flight Behavior

Laszlo Krasznahorkai: Seiobo There Below

Jhumpa Lahiri: The Lowland

Wally Lamb: We Are Water

Jonathan Lethem: Dissident Gardens

Karen Lord: The Best of All Possible Worlds

Colum McCann: Transatlantic

Ian McEwan: Sweet Tooth

Alissa Nutting: Tampa

Lisa O'Donnell: The Death of Bees

Yoko Ogawa: Revenge

Ruth Ozeki: A Tale for the Time Being

Marisha Pessl: Night Film

Thomas Pynchon: Bleeding Edge

Ron Rash: Nothing Gold Can Stay

Karen Russell: Vampires in the Lemon Grove

George Saunders: Tenth of December

Taiye Selasi: Ghana Must Go

Lionel Shriver: Big Brother

Curtis Sittenfeld: Sisterland

Manil Suri: The City of Devi

Donna Tartt: The Goldfinch

Juan Gabriel Vasquez: The Sound of Things Falling

Teddy Wayne: The Love Song of Jonny Valentine

Meg Wolitzer: The Interestings

Alejandro Zambra: Ways of Going Home

Behind the Beautiful Forevers

There's no way someone could have written this as a novel and gotten anyone to read it. We'd all roll our eyes and say, "So over the top! So exaggerated! That would never happen."

As is often the case, however, it did happen.

This is quite a book. It's an account of a slum in Mumbai, the people who live there, how they live, the challenges they face, the bureaucracy and corruption that constricts them, while battle potential destruction from both monsoons and from the government, which threatens to bulldoze the slum to make room for more airport construction.

Author Katherine Boo spent three years exploring this particular slum and getting to know its residents, and she's got a remarkable tale to tell. The story unfolds around the framework of a legal case involving two of the slum's families, one of which claims the other drove Fatima "One Leg" to try and burn herself to death. But it's far more complicated than that sentence implies. Family and neighborhood feuds and alliances, legalities, bribes, the less-than-ideal court system, and the psychological, physical, and financial toll the battle takes on everyone is presented in brutal detail.

Boo is clear and succinct and not romantic about her subject matter:

"What Abdul wanted was this: a wife, innocent of words like pimp and sisterfucker, who didn't much mind how he smelled; and eventually a home somewhere, anywhere, that was not Annawadi. Like most people in the slum, and in the world, for that matter, he believed his own dreams properly aligned to his capacities."

Abdul later says, "I tell Allah I love him immensely, immensely. But I tell Him I cannot be better, because of how the world is."

I thought for a bit about sharing the story behind the title, but frankly, if you haven't read the book, it's a wonderful story and very fitting for the book, so I'll leave it to you. I don't read a lot of nonfiction, but this is just a wonderful piece of writing.

 

Odds 'n' Ends

A big thank you to all of you who commented and emailed/chatted with me on Twitter/Facebook after my last post. I truly appreciate the support, hugely appreciate it. It's been a long few weeks.

But true to form, I have been reading. I'm probably not going to get caught up in reviewing everything I've read, but I will say that I lovedlovedloved The Round House by Louise Erdrich and thought Barbara Demick's nonfiction book Nothing to Envy was fascinating and terrifying, especially in light of recent events in North Korea.

There was some chatter after a bunch of us finished reading Bleak House about doing another read-along next winter. More Dickens? David Copperfield, perhaps? It works well for a read-along, the way Dickens published in serial form. But there are also other classics that are big gaps in my reading history. Moby Dick? Ulysses? Do any of these speak to any of you who might like a nice long classic winter read-along? Speak up!

Finally, I'd intended to finish off the Bleak House read-along with a discussion of the various introductions we read in our respective editions. That kind of fell apart with my mother's final decline, but I think it's still worthwhile. So here, in short form, are some of the interesting things from my editions. If the Bleak House bunch is still out there and wants to revisit their edition's intro, please do!

In the Norton Critical Edition (actually in the back, not the front), there's a round-up of reviews of Bleak House that were published at its original publication. George Brimley's review in the Spectator had me choking with giggles:

"Mr. Dickens has a greater power of amusing the book-buying public of England than any other living writer; and moreover establishes, what we should scarcely have thought probable, that his power of amusing is not weakened now that the novelty of his style has passed away, nor his public wearied by the repetition of effects in which truth of nature and sobriety of thought are largely sacrificed to mannerism and point. Author and public react upon each other; and it is no wonder that a writer, who finds that his peculiar genius and his method of exhibiting it secure him an extensive and sustained popularity, should be deaf to the remonstrances of critics when they warn him of defects that his public does not care for, or urge him to a change of method which might very probably thin his audience for the immediate present, and substitute the quiet approval of the judicious for the noisy and profitable applause of crowded pit and gallery. Intellectual habits, too, become strengthened by use, and a period comes in the life of a man of genius when it is hopeless to expect from him growth of faculty or correction of faults."

Oh, my.

Does this mean that in 150 years' time, people will be reading Jodi Picoult's books as great literature?

In the Oxford edition, Stephen Gill sums up what to me was the great power of the book, and why it stayed with me after I finished it:

"The darkness of Bleak House must not be exaggerated...The abandoned child, born in shame and brought up to believe that it would have been better if she had never been born, marries the dark, handsome doctor. Her capacity for making order and decency in a home, whether it be the chaotic dwelling of the Jellyby family or the grander house of John Jarndyce; her unobtrusive tendernesses to Charley or Caddy Jellyby; her loyalty to Ada and Richard--all of these personal virtues, circumscribed though their action might be by all the possibilities determined by Esther's gender, are not so much counterpointed with as opposed to all the evidence of cruelty, neglect, chicanery, self-seeking, corruption, and self-righteousness that characterizes the world, and it is she who pens the novel's closing words.

"In previous novels, however, vice has been punished and individual virtue has triumphed in energetic and cathartically satisfying ways...All the tension that has built up as evil has consolidated its hold over the innocent and unwary is released in physical action and a dramatic expulsion of the wicked. Not in Bleak House. Here the climactic moments that release the strain and tension engendered by the story consist of the reader's gaze at the wasted body of Jo, or at the corpse of Lady Dedlock crouched near the grave of her lover, or in the knot of lawyers guffawing at the joke that costs have absorbed the whole substance of the Chancery suit, Jarndyce and Jarndyce. Yes, Esther Woodcourt, formerly Summerson, lives in the new Bleak House with her husband and children, but outside its walls nothing has changed or is likely to change. Each morning 'the great tee-totum is set up for its daily spin and whirl'."

Thoughts?

Not bad for an old broad

Things have been very quiet here at New Century Reading in recent weeks, and the following is the reason for that.

Oof-dah. Where to begin? I’m not sure what Mom would think about having her funeral on tax day. Maybe she’d just shrug and say, as she often did, “Whatever.”

When she died on April 9, Eudora Annette Beck Frickstad Crippen had lived a very full 82 years. There were things in life she wasn’t fond of, like the snake that wrapped itself around her ankle when she was out in the yard one day, or the hair curler that she picked up off the floor that turned out to be a live mouse. She claimed not to like Democrats, but if they liked her pie, she could be persuaded. She preferred to be called Dora rather than Eudora, but allowed a few people to call her Eldora. Even though she wasn’t fond of her name, she did enjoy traveling to several small towns in the southern U.S. that were called Eudora. Those towns returned her interest, and she got quite a kick out of being interviewed by the local newspaper in Eudora, AR.

There were many things she did love: homemade pie (although she disagreed with her husband on how to make pie crusts and noted that she’d been making pies 30 years longer than he had), lefse, Elvis Presley, taking road trips around the U.S. and a much-loved 25th anniversary trip to Hawaii. She loved her sewing machine and serger and for many years, sewed clothes for family members and eventually began quilting. She would get so caught up in her creations that other things, like potatoes boiling in a pan, would be forgotten, to the detriment of the potatoes and the pan.

Burned potatoes aside, she loved food and was well known as an excellent cook and baker who often kept pie crusts and pans of lasagna in the freezer for unexpected visitors. Nothing made her happier than to have friends show up on her doorstep, where they were certain to find the coffee already on (as it was from the moment she woke daily) and sit down for a good visit. Everyone in the family had their favorite food that she’d make for them.

Music was very important to her, and she spent many happy Saturdays ironing while listening to Judy Garland, Mario Lanza, Teresa Brewer, and Patti Page. The love of music is something she passed down to both her kids and shared with her husband, as they spent many happy years taking in concerts and musical plays.

Her career in banking gave her a close-knit circle of lifelong friends, with whom she shared many happy girlfriends’ lunches at the Keg & Cork in Bemidji.

She loved a good joke, and she loved sharing jokes with others. As one friend said, “When we invite Ernie to visit, we want him to bring Dora, so we’re sure to laugh.”

But most of all, Dora loved her family. Her parents Elvina and Louis Beck, siblings Wilbur, Eileen, and Milton, all of whom predeceased her. Her cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and in-laws, whom she loved to visit with during family reunions. She loved cooking for her family, and her family loved her cooking. In recent days, while reminiscing about Dora, we all remembered our favorites from her food repertoire. Grandson Steve Frickstad loved her twice-baked potatoes, while grandsons Mitchell and Michael Rea both chose sloppy Joes. Her son Mike Frickstad still salivates at the thought of her beef strips with rice, while daughter Amy Rea recreates Dora’s spaghetti with meat sauce on a regular basis. And then there’s Ernie “Mine Ern” Crippen, her husband of nearly 54 years, whom she loved even more than Mark Harmon on NCIS. After much deliberation, he narrowed his choice down to Dora’s pot roast.

Alzheimer’s is a cruel disease, robbing the inflicted of much, but right up to the end, when Ernie visited, she’d smile, and when he asked, “Would you like a kiss?” she puckered up. Sometimes almost scandalously so.

Although so much of what made Dora Dora disappeared in the last months of her life, the real Dora still popped out on occasion, such as when Mike asked her how she was. Her eyes popped open and she said, “Not bad for an old broad!”

Eudora Annette Beck Frickstad Crippen, 12/20/30-4/9/13.

Bleak House: The End!

We did it!

I'm not going to recap the final eight chapters of Bleak House, because you've read them, right? Instead, I'll say that I found the ending extremely satisfying. Unlike Our Mutual Friend, which wrapped up in an overly rapid fashion, I found the pacing here to work. I love that Esther got her happy ending--but she's all too aware of all the people around her who didn't get theirs, whether it's her guardian who kindly backed away from marrying her so she could pursue her heart (thus making him possibly an even better person than Esther herself, something she wouldn't argue), or the widowed Ada with her young child, or Caddy, who's life is perhaps better than it would have been had she stayed with her mother, but still, it's poignant to think of her with her deaf and mute child. There's Skimpole and his unforgivably cruel assessment of John Jarndyce in his journals. Glad that old goat finally died. The hilarious reappearance of Mr. Guppy and his second proposal. And of course there's Richard, dead to his cause ("beginning the world", what a great phrase) and for nothing; and Miss Flite, finally releasing her birds; and the heart-tugging Sir Dedlock, wasting away and grieving at the mausoleum where Lady Dedlock rests.

I might even have teared up a little when the name of Woodcourt's cottage was revealed to Esther, and the guardian revealed his secret plans.

The only thing missing for me--and this is a minor quibble--is I would have loved a little scene where Mrs. Woodcourt has to admit to Esther that she was wrong about Esther. But, obviously she came around.

I am so glad I finally read this. It's part of a huge, yawning gap in my reading (similar to what Girl Detective mentions here), and it was so delightful. I'm glad I read it over winter too. Even though not all the book takes place in winter, it feels like a wintery read.

There were so many passages I marked in this last section. Here are a few of my favorites:

"I proceed to other passages of my narrative." Esther, in her first section after her mother's death. Oh, fine, Esther, just BREAK MY HEART why don't you.

"[Mr. Kenge] said this at the stair-head, gently moving his right hand as if it were a silver trowel, with which to spread the cement of his words on the structures of the system, and consolidate it for a thousand ages."

"Thus Chesney Wold. With so much of itself abandoned to darkness and vacancy; with so litle change under the summer shining or the wintry lowering; so sombre and motionless always--no flag flying now by day, no rows of lights sparkling by night; with no family to come and go, no visitors to be the souls of pale cold shapes of rooms, no stir of life about it;--passion and pride, even to the stranger's eye, have died away from the place in Lincolnshire, and yielded it to dull repose."

For me, Dickens' willingness to not have all the story threads end happily makes this such a full and rich ending. Of the books I've read by Dickens (Great Expectations, Tale of Two Cities, Our Mutual Friend, A Christmas Carol, and The Chimes, this is far and away my favorite.

Next week we'll reconvene once more to talk about introductions and last thoughts. Thanks for joining in, everyone, this was great fun!

A few more Goreys for your visual pleasure:

Miss Flite frees her birds.

Sir Dedlock visits Lady Dedlock's final resting place.

Esther and Allan at the new Bleak House.