Recommended Reading: Life After Life, by Kate Atkinson

I’d been lingering for two months on the library waitlist for Kate Atkinson’s new book, so it was with glee that I delved in to this 500+-page thumper.  Life after Life

I went in cold, and was blind-sided by the inventive structure. The novel attempts to answer that unanswerable question: what would you do if you could live your whole life over again? What would you change? How would you try to get it “right?”

You see, Ursula Todd, the novel’s lens and protagonist, can live her life over again, and not just once. This twist ensures that she also dies, over, and over, and over again, so many times that I lost count. She begins again at her birth (though sometimes, mercifully, Atkinson fast-forwards to another precipitous event), and, until she makes it past childhood, her first focus is to avoid the things that carried her off in those years: accident and illness.

Once she successfully navigates into adolescence, Ursula begins to recognize her peculiar form of reincarnation, and starts trying to prevent not only her own death, but those of her family and neighbors, and finally, even greater catastrophes. But she finds that every choice engenders unintended, often dangerous consequences.

I loved this book, not only for its unconventional, even experimental form, but also for its carefully-chosen language and attention to the details of time and place and families. If I had the chance to speak with Ms. Atkinson, I’d ask her how she kept track of the detailed strands of narrative; the continuity across times and lines of plot is striking.

And I’d ask how she decided when to stop the book, when in theory the variations could continue on and on.  And I’d ask her if she’d like the chance to live over and over again, or if once is enough. I’m asking myself that question right now.

7 Last-Minute Gifts for the Bibliophile, Recommended by Your Friendly Neighborhood Book Blogger*

Joy and lightThis is my favorite time of year. I love the lights that seem to keep the ever-encroaching darkness at bay, carols, ornaments, sending Christmas cards (one of those traditions that’s quite sadly going by the wayside), finding Christmas cards in the mail . . . I even like snow. I love that people are especially generous this time of year, with those they love and with complete strangers.

So whether you’re celebrating Christmas, Solstice, Festivus, Kwanzaa, (belated) Hanukkah, or just the end of the year, here’s a roundup of gift picks for readers, in no particular order.

1. A donation to a book- or literacy-related charity in your giftee’s name: Try First Book, Room to Read, and Reading is Fundamental, for starters.
2. Page nibs: For the inveterate dog-earer and library borrower (ahem). You know that friend whose paperbacks look a half-inch thicker on top because of the turned-down pages? Think page nibs. Levenger.com 
3. Typographic ornaments: Nothing makes a book lover’s tree look cheerier than ampersands, fleurons, and nautical stars (I would know). Absolutely Icebox! on Etsy
4. Gift card (or membership!) to a local independent bookstore: For example, the ever-wonderful Newtonville Books.
5. Litographs gift certificate: This website has amazing T-shirts and prints with designs created from whole texts. Way cool. They’re made to order, so you’re too late for the holidays if you need something specific, but a gift certificate means your bibliophile can choose the text they like best. My personal favorite: The Leaves of Grass T-shirt. Litographs.com  
6. Jane Austen paperweight: Captain Wentworth and Anne Elliot are probably the most romantic, and definitely the too-often overlooked pairing in Austen’s work.  Bixler and Johnson on Etsy
7. Writer-ly prints and cards: Prints and cards featuring writers’ houses — especially the Romantics and the Bloomsbury group. Amanda White on Etsy

*Hint, hint.

Early Read: The Antigone Poems*, by Marie Slaight; Drawings by Terrence Tasker

The Antigone PoemsThe Antigone Poems is a collaboration between poet Marie Slaight and artist Terrence Tasker, produced in the 1970s but forthcoming, in print-only form, in early 2014 from Altaire, a small press.

The slim volume is divided into five chapters, which are accompanied by Mr. Tasker’s charcoal drawings, which, as you can see from the cover, are strong, assured, and, at times, rather alarming. Like the poems, they’re evocative of the complexities of Sophocles’s play. I’ve taught the play several times, and I wish I’d had access to this book to share with my students.

The poems (all free verse) are surprisingly intimate, given that they often feel like screams of rage. The voice throughout appears to be Antigone’s, as she considers death, life, family, sexuality, punishment, and rebellion. The poems are simple, some fragmentary, but they’re smoldering and haunting. Some reviewers may take issue with the repetitive nature of the imagery, but I found it to be an appropriate stylistic echo of Greek tragedy.

I recommend finding a copy of The Antigone Poems when it comes out next year; try the library first.

* I received an ARC of this book through LibraryThing’s Early Reviewer program. I was in no way compensated for this review.

Recommended Reading: A Constellation of Vital Phenomena, by Anthony Marra

If I hadn’t read the jacket copy, I would have assumed A Constellation of Vital Phenomena is the work of an accomplished, many-times-published novelist. A Constellation of Vital Phenomena

But it’s Anthony Marra’s first novel, and when you read it, you’re going to weep, not just because there’s no way that should be possible, but because the story is so moving and so perfectly told, a gut-wrenching exploration of two Chechen wars, history, family, and the significance of place.

Eight-year-old Havaa’s father, Dokka, is disappeared by Russian forces in the middle of the night. Their neighbor Akhmed (like Dokka and Havaa, an ethnic Chechen) finds Havaa in the woods the next morning, and (rightly) fearing for her safety, takes her to the last doctor in the only hospital in the neighboring city, an ethnic Russian named Sonja. Sonja is processing her own trauma — the disappearance of her sister, Natasha. Over the course of the novel, the threads connecting all the principal characters — Dokka, Havaa, Akhmed, Sonja, Natasha, and Dokka’s betrayer and the betrayer’s father — slowly reveal themselves, forming a web more complicated and more harrowing than any of the characters understand.

The narrative jumps back and forward over a period of ten years, but the tendrils of connection reach back into Soviet Russia and forward into a future that’s not yet known. Tangential sequences that reveal information about secondary characters were masterful; the level of detail, the attentiveness to the minutiae of human survival, are impeccable.

I could write about this book for pages and pages, but I don’t want to ruin anyone else’s sense of discovery. It’s a December book, in that it will make you feel grateful for whatever and whomever you have to wrap around you.

*Be forewarned: there are torture scenes that made me physically ill, and I have a strong stomach.

“They also serve who only stand and waite.”

Milton Shorter PoemsMilton’s Sonnet 19,  “When I consider how my light is spent” is one of the best sonnets in English and a poignant meditation on the poet’s own blindness and responsibility to the world and his God.

Written more than a decade before the publication of Paradise Lost, Sonnet 19 finds the poet/speaker disconsolate at its opening, unsure how he will use his talents when he is blind, unsure how he can serve his God (and in a further implication, his country) in his affliction and at his advancing age.

The turn of the sonnet appears when “patience” counsels that God does not *need* any person’s labor, since God is omnipotent and, besides, his servants work by the thousands for his glory. To serve the lord, the speaker reflects, he must merely bear his own burden with grace: “They also serve who only stand and waite.”

And Milton waited, and in his waiting, created Paradise Lost.

Here it is, in all its exquisite glory:

Sonnet 19

When I consider how my light is spent,
E’re half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide,
Lodg’d with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present [ 5 ]
My true account, least he returning chide,
Doth God exact day labour, light deny’d,
I fondly ask; But patience to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts, who best [ 10 ]
Bear his milde yoak, they serve him best, his State
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’re Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and waite.

Literary Wives: The Wife, The Maid, and the Mistress, by Ariel Lawhon

literarywives2If you missed the Literary Wives introductory post, here’s the summary:  I’ll be joining bloggers Ariel, Audra, Emily, Cecilia, Kay, and Lynn, as we post every other month about a different book with the word “wife” in the title. This month, we’re writing about Ariel Lawhon’s novel The Wife, The Maid, and the Mistress, which will be published in early 2014.

Full disclosure: I, like the other Literary Wives bloggers, received an ARC of The Wife, The Maid, and the Mistress from the publisher, in exchange for an honest review and a link to Ms. Lawhon’s site, http://www.ariellawhon.com/.

Ms. Lawhon kindly answered our questions about the novel and her writing process; you can read the full interview, hosted on Audra’s blog, here: http://unabridged-expression.blogspot.com/2013/12/literary-wives-interview-with-ariel.html

Readers take note: Although I usually refrain from spoilers, what follows is a consideration of one aspect of the novel, and so I shall be spoiling away. Beware!

Here’s the Goodreads summary:

A tantalizing reimagining of a scandalous mystery that rocked the nation in 1930-Justice Joseph Crater’s infamous disappearance-as seen through the eyes of the three women who knew him best.

They say behind every great man, there’s a woman. In this case, there are three. Stella Crater, the judge’s wife, is the picture of propriety draped in long pearls and the latest Chanel. Ritzi, a leggy showgirl with Broadway aspirations, thinks moonlighting in the judge’s bed is the quickest way off the chorus line. Maria Simon, the dutiful maid, has the judge to thank for her husband’s recent promotion to detective in the NYPD. Meanwhile, Crater is equally indebted to Tammany Hall leaders and the city’s most notorious gangster, Owney “The Killer” Madden.

On a sultry summer night, as rumors circulate about the judge’s involvement in wide-scale political corruption, the Honorable Joseph Crater steps into a cab and disappears without a trace. Or does he?

After 39 years of necessary duplicity, Stella Crater is finally ready to reveal what she knows. Sliding into a plush leather banquette at Club Abbey, the site of many absinthe-soaked affairs and the judge’s favorite watering hole back in the day, Stella orders two whiskeys on the rocks-one for her and one in honor of her missing husband. Stirring the ice cubes in the lowball glass, Stella begins to tell a tale-of greed, lust, and deceit. As the novel unfolds and the women slyly break out of their prescribed roles, it becomes clear that each knows more than she has initially let on.

LawhonI didn’t care for this book; the pacing is off and the author relies too much on the reader’s ability to remember very specific dates when cutting back and forth in the narrative. Others have described the novel as funny, but I didn’t find it amusing at all. On the other hand, I think it’s an interesting foray into the Jazz Age that doesn’t sugarcoat just how difficult and desperate some women’s circumstances were.

And now, my responses to the Literary Wives questions:

1. What does this book say about wives or about the experience of being a wife?

In short: being a wife is the worst.

Stella’s husband, the judge, is a philandering cad with some serious honesty issues, who makes zero attempt to hide his affair(s) from his wife and who demands that she become the 1930s equivalent of Jackie Kennedy.

Ritzi (her nickname makes me gag), it turns out, is a wife too. She was so bored with her midwest farmer husband that she ran off to become a showgirl. Clearly, this did not work out well for her, what with the murder of the judge and the attempted forced abortion. In the end, however, her husband reveals himself to be the forgiving and stand-up type. We don’t get enough backstory to learn if Ritzi’s departure was motivated by any bad behavior on his part.

Maria’s husband is a pleasant-enough guy, when he’s not hiding his work troubles from her or breaking her treasured rosary.  She loves her husband, but keeps important information from him, some of which isn’t revealed until the very end of the novel. Of all the characters, she’s the most sympathetic, the most moral actor in an ethically grey landscape. Naturally, she’s diagnosed with cancer and dies a year after the events in the book.

2. In what way does this woman define “wife”—or in what way is she defined by “wife”?

I’m going to stick with Stella here, since she’s the “wife” in the title. At first, I liked Stella. She slams her husband’s hand in his car door when she finds evidence of his nonchalant cheating; she seems like the kind of person who stands up for herself. As the novel goes along, we learn that this is a recent development. After her husband decides to go into politics, some years before the main events of the novel, Stella acquiesces to his demands that she be seen and not heard, that she frequent the “right” stores, that she turn a blind eye to his bribery and illegal dealings. We enter her life at the point when she is utterly fed up with the ordeal of appearing as The Good and Dutiful Wife. The final straw is her husband’s attempt to take her personal property as part of the exchange for his judgeship. Stella gets it back. Joe gets dead.

Oddly, Stella’s yearly ritual of the drink and the toast to her husband seems to signal a devotion to Joe’s memory, the kind of devotion that she doesn’t display in life. Perhaps it’s their early affection that she remembers fondly; perhaps she only wishes to be at the center of things again. Either way, Stella never escapes being Joe’s wife.

Please visit the other Literary Wives bloggers to get their takes on the book! 

Emily at The Bookshelf of Emily J. 

Audra at Unabridged Chick

Ariel at One Little Library

Cecilia at Only You

Kay at WhatMeRead

Lynn at Smoke and Mirrors

Recommended Reading: If You Could Be Mine, by Sara Farizan

Happy Thanksgiving, dear Readers! And Happy Thursday, non-American friends!

If You Could Be MineAs you may have noticed, YA fiction doesn’t make it onto my reading list very often, but in the spirit of omnivorous reading, I thought I should try out a new YA novel (a couple years ago I read The Hunger Games trilogy, which I quite liked). I chose Sara Farizan’s If You Could Be Minebecause I’m interested in reading fiction set in other countries, and because the novel focuses on LBGT* issues (near and dear to my heart).

Sahar has been in love with her best friend, Nasrin, since they were children. Nasrin loves Sahar too, but also feels the pull of a traditional life trajectory — marriage, children, a house and social position. And they live in Iran, where homosexuality is punishable by death — even for teenagers like Sahar and Nasrin.

Then Nasrin’s family arranges a marriage for her, and Sahar, desperate to save their relationship, explores drastic measures to keep them together.

Sahar’s narration makes me want to give her a big hug, and I loved the careful construction of the secondary characters, especially Sahar’s father and Nasrin’s mother.  The language is geared toward younger readers, which I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting the frank discussions of transsexuality that’s an integral part of the novel. I appreciated Sahar’s honesty and humanity, and the unflinching portrayal of how difficult life is for the gender-nonconforming in modern Iran.

And, of course, there’s plenty about the dangers of being a woman. You know, stuff like your sleeve inching past your elbow or wearing too much makeup getting you raped or beaten. Shudder.

Nasrin is often annoying, and doesn’t seem like a worthy object for Sahar’s affection, except insofar as she listens to Sahar attentively (as Sahar points out). At first, I felt that this was a flaw in the novel, because as a reader, I wanted to be invested in both girls. About midway through, however, Nasrin grew on me. She rebels against the strictures of her society in her own way, even if it’s not the way Sahar wants (or we want, for that matter). Nasrin’s flaws make the story more real, more relatable, and all the more heartbreaking for Sahar.

If You Could Be Mine would pair well with the first volume of Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis, especially in a teaching setting, and I think the pair together would make a great Christmas/Hannukah/Festivus/Yule/December present.

Late-November Round-Up

Been a bit busy over here in Boston these last few weeks. I gave up on NaNoWriMo, and then I gave up on writing a post about why I gave up on NaNoWriMo, and then my mom visited, which made me feel validated on the first two counts, because I’d rather sit around with my mom and drink tea than write my (let’s face it) pretentious sophomore attempt a novel.

Anyway. One of the reasons I gave up on NaNoWriMo was that I missed reading too darn much. My non-toddler time is limited as it is, and when you’re churning out more than 1600 words a day, it’s difficult to squeeze in reading of any kind. I wasn’t blogging last year, and this year I found that I missed you, dear readers, and your delightful blogs.

So, in the interests of my sanity, I’m not going to write a separate post about each of the books I’ve sneaked in over the last couple weeks. Presenting, then, a round-up:

photo 1 (11)

Inspired by Rick’s Novellas in November read-along, I picked up a book that’s been on my shelf for years: Gabriel García Márquez’s Memories of My Melancholy Whores. It’s a fast read, very Márquez, if you know what I mean. Sure, there’s the way-creepy nonagenarian crushing on the young, always naked teen virgin . . . but somehow we’re also in the realm of hope, aging, death,  personal history, and acceptance of a life lived. I loved it.

Next up:

Pierre Lemaitre’s acclaimed Alex, translated from French photo 2 (8)into English by Frank Wynne. Apparently it’s part of a trilogy focused on the detective in the story, Camille Verhoeven. Short in stature but long on insight, Verhoeven is brought in to investigate the nearly clue-less case of a missing woman, which flows outward into an increasingly complicated web of characters and events. I found it wholly unexpected and engrossing. However, there’s some very graphic violent content, so avoid if you don’t have a strong stomach.

photo 3 (4)I’m not sure who to blame for the fact that I didn’t know until this month that there are sequels to Nick Bantock’s gorgeous Griffin & Sabine. Once I found out, I promptly bought Sabine’s Notebook and The Golden Mean, and read them, along with the original, in one sitting. The first book is the best of the three, but the sequels feature art just as beautiful, and the story gets even weirder. Though written for adults, the trilogy would make an excellent gift for an artistically inclined teenager, or one who’s a devotee of comic books. My Uncle Neil sent me Griffin & Sabine for my fourteenth birthday, and it was the perfect fit. I loved the story and the inventive design of the book (envelopes with letters you pull out to read, and because the book features adult themes, I felt proud because it meant my uncle, who’s one of the readers I respect most, thought of me as a serious reader too.

Here’s an odd duck of a book: Charles Palliser’s Rustication. Published this year, it reads like a photo 4 (4)salacious nineteenth-century journal. It’s a cross between period fiction and crime fiction, with one of the most unreliable narrators I’ve encountered this year. I had parts of the plot figured out a bit too early (my area of study has left me with a weird assortment of herbal knowledge, which intruded at the mention of pennyroyal), but the novel still surprised me with its readability, especially considering the plethora of entirely unlikeable characters. There’s no one to cheer for, really, but the impulse to learn what’s true and what’s fiction in this tawdry little town is irresistible. A few words of caution: some ugly, violent language and imagery peppered throughout the novel.

Coming Up in December:

I will eviscerate Peter Jackson’s first Hobbit movie, so you can be fully equipped with rage for the second movie.

Reviews of A Constellation of Vital Phenomena, Life after Life, Orkney, and Snow Hunters

Poetry by John Donne and John Milton

Announcement of my super-rad 2014 read-along

My list of suggested prezzies for the book lovers in your life

A year-in-review type of deal, possibly with best-of lists

Yuletide cheer.

Recommended Reading: The Ocean at the End of the Lane, by Neil Gaiman

Unless you’ve been insensate for the last ten years or so, you know that Mr. Gaiman is a book world superstar with novels, short stories, and children’s books to his credit. I loved American Gods and Smoke and Mirrors, so I knew I was in for a treat when I picked up The Ocean at the End of the Lane. It’s received amazing press and Mr. Gaiman commands round-the-block lines whenever he reads at a local bookstore. photo (26)

Now, I found American Gods suspenseful, and Smoke and Mirrors occasionally chilling, but The Ocean At the End of the Lane is downright terrifying. It’s a tribute to Mr. Gaiman’s storytelling that I kept reading, because the whole novel turns around big time child endangerment, which is almost always a book-closer for me. I went into this one not knowing anything about the plot, though, so I wasn’t really prepared for how frightening the book would become.

To say much about the plot would make me feel like a thief in the night, so I’ll refrain.

But you should read this. You’re going to fall in love with the Hempstock family.