The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark (1961)

An unorthodox teacher at a 1930s Edinburgh girls' school selects six young acolytes whose lives will be changed, as will her own.

Book Review: The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, although best known because of the film adaptation, is a classic because Jean Brodie is one of the great characters of literature. She is independent, unpredictable, original, nonconformist, eccentric, all of which are adjectives that apply equally well to Muriel Spark's novels, of which this may be the best. She is both adorable and unlikable. Miss Brodie is known only through the thoughts and observations of others, mostly her girls, and we never see inside her mind. She resorts to a few standard phrases: her mantras, precepts, incantations, talismans, which give order and hope to her life. She is in her "prime," her girls are the "creme de la creme," her opinions become facts and facts are whatever she wants them to be. Miss Brodie instructs her girls not in the academic curriculum but in life as seen through her unorthodox eyes. She is a character of bewildering complexity. She is barely holding on to her prime, her girls are not the creme de la creme, but that is the world she is trying to create by pure force of will. She admires fascism and art equally; she travels the world; she is ruled by her passions. Miss Brodie aspires to put her stamp on her followers. She fascinates her girls, who are drawn irresistibly into her loves, her affairs, her attitudes, as they examine their budding thoughts about sex, life, and the world. The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, like Muriel Spark and Miss Brodie herself, is never predictable or simple, it contains contradictions, mixed motives, uncertainty. This is best illustrated by the moment in the book, repeatedly acknowledged beforehand, when Miss Brodie is betrayed by one of her girls. The discussion of the incentive for the betrayal is nearly infinite and endlessly arguable. Is it that she happily lived in fantasies until Miss Brodie's fantasy world became too real? Muriel Spark is never easy, her world is one of endless shades of gray. She cannot be fit into a box, there is subtlety beneath the subtlety, and her novels (novellas really) bear repeated reading. She is an exacting craftsman and a veiled philosopher. The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie may not be for everyone in its careful construction and gem-like perfection, but for the right readers it is treasure. [5★]

Algren: A Life by Mary Wisniewski (2016)

A biography of the Chicago author who wrote The Man with the Golden Arm and A Walk on the Wild Side.

Book Review: Algren: A Life, like its subject, gets the job done. This is a solid biography, fair and balanced (a sometimes forgotten necessity), hitting all the major details and giving the reader all the required basics. Mary Wisniewski gives (too) long summaries of Algren's novels, but her analysis is to the point. The reader comes away knowing enough, without any big gaps or questions.

A friend to Richard Wright, lover of Simone de Beauvoir (author of The Second Sex), admired by (the often jealous) Hemingway, known for writing sexy potboilers. Algren felt he had to live where he was writing about, and cared about the people he was writing about. People liked him. How can you not admire an author who spent time in jail for stealing a typewriter? Because that fact is emblematic of Algren, who wrote not of the working class, but the class beneath that, those living in the shadows, the world of petty criminals, prostitutes, poverty, pimps, pushers, and addicts. Mentally damaged veterans. The wretched and confused. Those not employable in the traditional sense. But unlike most chroniclers of the underclass, his work was more literary than simply sensationalist, he had concern and compassion for those he wrote about. Algren may not have been a feminist, but his influence on The Second Sex, his recognition of the hypocrisy of those patronize hookers only to blame the women, and his take on the Playboy empire are all spot on. He also recognized the hypocrisy and corruption of "politicians who believe the poor can take care of themselves while the rich need government help."

Reading Algren: A Life I had no major complaints, but a number of smaller ones, though none that detracted from the essential value of the book. Wisniewski refers to Algren almost uniformly as "Nelson" throughout the book, sounding like an elderly aunt talking about her nephew. But this habit is not unique to Wisniewski, about half the biographies on my shelf do so; it just seems somehow unprofessional to me. More unprofessional is that the sentences sometimes sink to the elementary school level: "Nelson got so mad he threatened to tell the postal authorities on Wallie." "Got so mad," "tell on"? Editing or proofing could have helped: characters change names for no apparent reason and some sentences resist repeated reading. The Polish in Chicago get a fair amount of screen time, and the author very nicely quotes her dad. I've not read the 1989 biography, Nelson Algren: A Life on the Wild Side by Bettina Drew (35 ratings, 3.9 on Goodreads), so I can't compare them. But Algren: A Life was a quick, informative, and valuable read if you're interested in this little known and largely forgotten American author. [4★]

Not This Pig by Philip Levine (1968)

The second book by working class American poet, and poet laureate, Philip Levine (1928-2015).

Poetry Review: Not This Pig was Philip Levine's second book, published at age 40, five years after his first, On the Edge. During his lifetime he won two National Book Awards, the Pulitzer prize in 1995, and in 2011 was appointed poet laureate of the United States. Levine was a proud poet of the working class, born in the industrial city of Detroit, then still car maker to the world. He was influenced by Spanish poetry, having traveled there and having read Garcia Lorca, Jimenez, Machado, Alberti, among others. He also was an admirer of John Keats, and edited a collection of Keats's poems. In this early collection, Levine wrote often about work, family, time and memory. His wife, children, father live here. In Not This Pig, people and places are named: Eugene, Little Joe, Dr. Leo, Lonnie; Toledo, Dubuque, Fresno, Barcelona. The late 60's were a turbulent time in America, and he wrote of Latinos, blacks, Jews. He wrote of things that are used, are worn from use, and of work. Levine describes the assembly line: "the slow elephant feet/of the presses sliding down/in grooves"; lunch break: "marked/my bread with the black/print of my thumb/and ate it,"; mornings on the job: "it's 5:30, middle June./I rise, dress,/assume my name/and feel my/face against a hard towel." Perhaps in part because of the Spanish poets, in these poems Levine takes everyday incidents and finds the poetry in the moment, abstracting it from the commonplace, placing it at a higher level, a better thought. As such, although there is something valuable to be found in each of the poems, some are difficult to understand, and I won't lie, some are downright baffling (the titles are often a valuable clue). Here are bits of four of the poems that stood out to me:

"To a Child Trapped in a Barber Shop"
    You think your life is over?
    It's just begun.

"The Midget"
    no one hears or no one cares
    that I sing to this late born freak
    of the old world swelling my lap,
    I sing lullaby, and sing.

"Animals Are Passing from Our Lives"
    The boy
    who drives me along believes
    that any moment I'll fall
    on my side and drum my toes
    like a typewriter or squeal
    and shit like a new housewife
    discovering television

"Baby Villon":

    ... he holds my shoulders,
    Kisses my lips, his eyes still open,
    My imaginary brother, my cousin,
    Myself made otherwise by all his pain.

This was only his second book, but already the strengths that mark Levine's later work were visible. In Not This Pig Philip Levine sees the real world through a poetic veil, but he sees the real world. [3½★]

Swing Time by Zadie Smith (2016)

A story about dance: a dance between friends, families, strangers, colors, cultures, countries.

Book Review: Swing Time is a transitional novel for Zadie Smith, but also deceptively simple. Dedicated to her mother, here Smith ventures into first person narration for (I think) the first time in a novel. This is not an optimistic book. None of the characters grow in the novel as they only fulfill their destinies, as the twig is bent. None succeed and in the end there is no resolution and little hope. No one escapes their fate. There are three time-lines here, one beginning in childhood, one as young adults, and the third, a framing device, after the book's climactic event. Two young, brown girls who want to dance become friends and frenemies. Our unnamed narrator (OUN) has an ambitious, immigrant black mother who works hard at her own education, but is distant and removed, and a loving, white, English father who supports the family but is otherwise passive and ineffectual. The other girl, Tracey has an absent, black father, ambitious but criminal, and a white, English mother who is a bit of a mess but dotes on her daughter. Tracey becomes a dancer in the West End until she hits a ceiling in her career. OUN becomes a personal assistant to an older, international pop star (picture a younger Madonna) who decides to build a girls' school in West Africa, another invading white savior. There OUN meets and slowly (she may be too African for England, but she's too English for Africa) makes friends with Africans who have a poor but idealized (they can connect) life, however, their lives too are changing as the effects of colonization continue.

Much of Swing Time seemed like a simple description of the lives of two girls (sometimes friends) growing up, with no apparent reason for telling the story. The meaning, however, is not in the events, but the interplay between the characters, their trajectories, how their backgrounds create their futures, how love is not found, lives are not lived. Smith, using OUN, is endlessly perceptive, defying stereotypes, seeing through pretense and political correctness, creating rounded, contradictory characters who fail to connect. She creates seemingly meaningless, throw away scenes (especially in the two girls' childhood) that only resonate much later, providing insights that complete the jigsaw puzzle of these lives. Characters love and are not loved in return, become shadows in the lives of others, live on the periphery, fail to find joy or even contentment. Few people work. As the seeds are sown so they've grown. At times the reader just wants to shake them and say, use your skills! Use what you've been given, do what you can! Swing Time's most driven character, OUN's mother, can't pass on that ambition, even as she can't parent and has little time for love. They can't escape their "tribes" (Smith's word). Although the characters are all flawed and frustrating, I had to keep reading, I still wanted to know what became of them, and I still wonder even now after finishing the book. My only negative here is that at times Zadie Smith seemed to lose interest, her writing becoming quite average, as if she'd lost her way for a page. Part of it may reflect the lack of direction, or the frustrated direction, of the characters. But I wonder if Smith herself became a little frustrated with the story, as she tried to find her way in what I think is a new direction for her. But no mistake, this is a book worth reading, society on the page, with endless parallels between characters that will become people you know, and leave you thinking. [4★]

Moonglow by Michael Chabon (2016)

A man recounts the incredible stories told him by his dying grandfather.

Book Review: Moonglow is a work of fiction. A novel. I only say that because so many in the national media seem to be treating it as a lightly fictionalized memoir, when Michael Chabon himself says it's all made up. In interviews he's said that he believes that many memoirs out there are not memoirs, that is, not truthful, so he decided to make Moonglow feel "like a genuine work of literary memoir," wanting his work of "mimicry" to seem "plausible," that "it's a game." His maternal grandparents were not like that. While creating verisimilitude with footnotes, bits and bobs of fact, and imaginary interviews, he also drops numerous hints within that it's all just a work of fiction (the mention of Munchausen should've been enough). And a very well done work of fiction at that. Chabon is a facile writer and he recreates the human swirl of memories in the structure of his novel: time darts back and forth, from person to person, from state to state, from country to country. Reading Moonglow I felt the warm heart within the novel; I was sucked in by the character of the stoic grandfather, but even more so by the shattered grandmother and the mother who bore the brunt of the family's insanity. These are strong, imprinted characters, and the narrator is the least interesting of all, but he tells a mean, powerful, and at times disturbing story. Chabon is in complete control of the many brilliant moments in the book (at times I felt Philip Roth hovering Chagall-like above the page -- Gravity's Rainbow is cited). Not just a master of time and space, but of the portraits he creates, the wonderful language he uses, how the stories are presented. I loved the framing device of the grandfather with a cat and a window at the beginning of the book, and the grandfather with a cat (Ramon!) and a snake at the end of the novel. Just one of many such touches for the reader to find. And that's my one problem (and it is just my problem) with the book. Moonglow does a fantastic job of appearing as a warm, heartfelt memoir that tells the family history of "Chabon's" grandparents, but at the same time as he reaches for my emotions, the IRL Chabon, the author, can't let go of the fact that it's all meta, a shuck, post-modern. As though he can't quite commit either way. For me (and just me), Moonglow would have been stronger if he had wholeheartedly picked one road, if he'd really committed. But that's not what he wanted to do here. Chabon makes us see all the masterful touches that say: "It's just a play, I made it up, but isn't it a great story?" Yes it is. [4★]

FilmLit: Shakespeare in Love (1998)

Film Review: Shakespeare in Love, Academy Award winner, is the perfect definition of what literature in film should be. Set in London of 1593, the star-bedazzled cast presents Will Shakespeare as he desperately seeks love, his muse, and to complete his latest work, Romeo and Ethel the Pirate's Daughter. The script is full of in-jokes: the more you know of Shakespeare and his time, the more you'll get the movie. Lines from his great plays are strewn throughout the dialog. We meet (an uncredited) Kit Marlowe, a young and vicious John Webster, a Lord Wessex (Thomas Hardy, anyone?). We see the immortal playwright, a skull on his shelf, practicing his signature, writing sonnets, visiting his shrink. Since we know so little of him, the comedic imagining of Shakespeare rings true with only a little suspension of disbelief. He is humanized in Shakespeare in Love, given a credible life and personality that compels the viewer to keep watching, even while knowing how it all must come out. The audience roots him on. Shakespeare writes his great romantic tragedy scene by scene, even as the play is being rehearsed, the rehearsal of the growing play mirroring the budding romance between Shakespeare and Viola, his love and muse. There is ample humor, adequate swashbuckling, and just enough bawdiness to fit the times. The film's sets, score, and costumes are immaculate, the whole generously textured with perfect detail. The actors, both leads and supporting, are uniformly brilliant, and Judi Dench even more so as Queen Elizabeth. In the end this romantic comedy and tragedy reveals the power and beauty to be found in Shakespeare, and convincingly argues why we continue to read and watch his work after so many centuries. Shakespeare in Love is a vital film for anyone who appreciates, or wants to appreciate, the genius of William Shakespeare. How did they make this virtually perfect movie? I don't know. It's a mystery.  🐢

Frantumaglia by Elena Ferrante (2003)

The author of the Neapolitan Quartet shares her letters, interviews, drafts, papers, memories, and thoughts from a quarter century of writing.

Book Review: Frantumaglia takes the reader inside a writer's mind like nothing I've ever seen before. Elena Ferrante thinks so deeply, cares so passionately, works so diligently at her craft that the reader can only sit open-mouthed. This book is like a PhD course in writing. There is so much here, almost too much. She shares everything that goes into her writing, and I couldn't help but be impressed at how profound is her dedication. She writes and remembers deeply the city of Naples (and Italy itself), which is so important to and is so strongly felt in her books. Her commitment to truth in writing is inspiring for any would be author: "when one writes one must never lie. In literary fiction you have to be sincere to the point where it's unbearable, where you suffer the emptiness of the pages." For Ferrante there is a great divide between verisimilitude and authenticity in literature. She also provides draft pages cut from the final versions of her books, and lengthy explanations of why the pages were deleted. Multilayered interpretations of her plots and characters are given.

She discusses in depth her themes of the mother-daughter relationship, friendships between women, and feminism (especially her interest in difference feminism). She writes of her own parents, her mother, and her own friendships, and the dangers of friendships. She candidly admits that initially she was more attracted to female characters written by men, than such written by women, and it took her time to "to learn to love women writers." She also notes how problematic it is that some women prefer "the worst male characters" in her books. Ferrante sees numerous difficulties for women in our not yet adequately redefined modern age, and that despite the advances of feminism, women cannot "lower our guard." Addressing women in writing, she states, "Every woman novelist ... should aim at being not only the best women novelist but the best of the most skilled practitioners of literature, whether male or female. To do so we have to avoid every ideological conformity, every false show of thought, every adherence to a party line or canon." She writes of the deep significance that feminism and post-feminism have had on her writing, though not overtly included in her work, and the fragility of the gains that have been won.

Ferrante is known for writing under a pseudonym and keeping her private life to herself, in her belief "that books, once they are written, have no need of their authors." Her thoughts and writing on this issue are some of the most profound of Frantumaglia (and there's a whole section on that word), taking a razor to the concept of fandom and author as celebrity. She thinks that "for real readers, who wrote it isn't important," and that even Tolstoy "is an insignificant shadow if he takes a stroll with Anna Karenina." "I believe that the true reader shouldn't be confused with the fan." She regrets that in many cases the name of the writer is "better known than his works." Ferrante notes that we know little about Shakespeare and other great writers, that knowledge of the writer is unnecessary for understanding an author's books. "A story is truly alive not because the author is photogenic."

For anyone who has read Ferrante's books and wants to know more about the stories behind the stories, this is a perfect book. For potential writers who wish to see the process of an expert, this is a great opportunity. Apparently this book was published in part to satisfy the interest in information about Ferrante, and to placate and accommodate her very patient publishers desire for more publicity for her books. Frantumaglia was first published in Italian, and came out greatly expanded in English and updated to this year (2016). Goodreads lists it at 224 pages, but my edition had 384 pages of text. [4★]

Just Kids by Patti Smith (2010)

Patti Smith's memoir of the summer she arrived in New York and the Chelsea Hotel to conquer the world.

Book Review: Just Kids is a wonderful memoir, and I don't even like memoirs (but it also has a great title, so ...). Patti Smith, former music reviewer, poet, and punk rock princess, shows she's also a qualified writer in relating her early life up to the time she was first crowned rock royalty. A seasoned and wiser self engages the reader in her tales of scrabbling to survive (including selling serendipitously found rare books) while sinking into the chaos that was the seedier side of New York and developing the magical creativity that guided her unique contribution to rock music. She was a visual artist, a lover of music, a book lover, in love with Robert Mapplethorpe, so much was going on there in the Chelsea Hotel and elsewhere, as she began her career in fits and starts, living poor, that gradually coalesced into something that would last. Ostensibly Just Kids focuses on Smith reminiscing about her unique friendship with Mapplethorpe (and many odd, interesting, and to-be-famous others), but there is much else of value here. This is a great book for anyone interested in a role model for burgeoning creativity in all its forms, poetry, art, music, life. Smith's was (and is, I'm sure) a creative life, and she constantly worked hard to infuse her life with creation and magic. Watching her first tentative steps and slow growth, her dedication to the artist's life, is inspiring. Just Kids is valuable and riveting for anyone interested in the avant-garde, making your own way, finding the creativity within you. Personally, I liked it more than M Street, her subsequent, but quite different, memoir. A wonderful and useful book. [5★]

Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff (2015)

Two people in a life-long marriage, told from the perspective of each, to try to make a whole of the story.

Book Review: Fates and Furies was all the rage about a year ago, compared to Gone Girl, enjoyed by President Obama, reviewed everywhere. I'm a little late, waiting to read it after it came out in paperback, but still glad I did because there is so much to say. I've seen some comments about it as a commentary on marriage, but it's not, it's a commentary on a marriage. And an unlikely one at that. Fates and Furies didn't even feel like a book about a marriage, but about two people that somehow got married. The comparison to Gone Girl is inapposite and meaningless -- the only similarity is that the first half of the book is told from the husband's point of view and the second half from the wife's. But because of the chatter I was somewhat misled: don't trust the hype, it's a red herring. The story is of two "unlikeable" people (I liked both) who marry relatively young, are opposites, idealize each other and try to make it succeed. The couple fit together intricately, as do their satellites of family and friends. The husband is charismatic, larger than life, born wealthy, just wants to be loved and is, struggles as an actor, but loves to work and will never stop his attempts. The wife, born poor, is withdrawn, distant with hidden depths, whose interior life is richly and definitively drawn by Lauren Groff. The writing in Fates and Furies is the first thing I noticed. It's detailed, intricate, angular, unusual, but striking. The author worked long and hard over her sentences and it shows; there are incredible passages worth the price of the book. It took some getting used to, sometimes I had to go back and re-read a section, sometimes there were new words, but the sentences are brilliant and worth the effort. She sees all and deep with her ice pick words. Fates and Furies is a literary novel, with numerous literary references for the literature majors, but doesn't detract for everyone else, and it's a compelling read. What's worthwhile here is that Groff threw everything into this book, she aimed high, made a diligent concerted effort to write something great, and almost did. Very, very good, but not great. Not quite good enough, not a failure, not as brilliant as it often seemed. I can't fault her for that. The effort shows and the wonderful writing glows. She didn't miss by much. I want to read her previous, Arcadia, and Groff has the ability to make her next a classic. What didn't work was some pandering to correctness for no apparent reason, some overly sensational plot points to conform to current trends, characters so far from the norm as to seem unreal -- these are not people I'll ever read about except in fiction. I'll never meet Gatsby, yet somehow that book seemed more believable. But I like the comparison to Fitzgerald, and would love to see Groff tone it down just a little and write something more of the world. I think she can write deep within reality, and make it sensational. [4★]

The Year of Reading Dangerously by Andy Miller (2012)

An author decides to start a year of reading the books he's been lying about having read.

Book Review: The Year of Reading Dangerously is the (great) title, with a handy subtitle of How Fifty Great Books (and Two Not-So-Great Ones) Saved My Life. Unfortunately the reading wasn't all that dangerous, and this was not the book I expected or wanted to read. So ... disappointing ... and it's just me. Andy Miller wrote the book he wanted to write, and fair play to him, sadly, because The Year of Reading Dangerously should have been right up my street. Of the 50 books he planned to read, I've read, or have on my shelf to read, exactly half of them. And he started his year of reading because he was tired of lying to people about the books he'd read. When he saw Salman Rushdie caught out on a chat show as not having read Middlemarch by George Eliot, he decided to read the books other people expected him to have read. And I too had started a year (now almost at the end of year 2) of reading the books I need to have read to know what people are talking about. So what didn't work? Andy Miller wanted to write more about his life than about the books (which is fair), and I was reading his book to read about the books (also fair), though in fact he doesn't cover all the books on his list. So, in short, The Year of Reading Dangerously is an okay book, innocuous, humorous in parts (he works hard at being funny), nothing special but nothing bad, and when he was writing about books I was right there with him, even when we might have disagreed about one or two. But overall it's not going to change your life, or even add much to it. But I did get a tip on a book to read, Absolute Beginners by Colin MacInnes, a favorite of Miller's from his youth that he did convince me to find. Thanks, Andy. [2½★]

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (1813)

The story of the five Bennet sisters, seeking marriage, love, and happiness, not necessarily in that order.

Book Review: Pride and Prejudice is a brilliant example of reading diversely; I don't know of any world like this, but I enjoy it. Much more than reading about the sex trade or natural disasters. Maybe this is what it's like for people who enjoy reading fantasy, about magic and fanciful kingdoms. Jane Austen describes a very insular world (not necessarily her own), where the characters come into contact with a limited number of people who are mostly just like them, generally stay, or are made to stay, within their class, and do little work, which also shrinks their world. This narrow life makes the smallest issues large, and maintaining the way of life is all consuming. Everything is rules and codes of conduct, people know what is expected of them and what they should say or do in any situation. Except in Pride and Prejudice one daughter willingly flouts the rules in a way that would have been scandalous to the middle class in early 1960's America. But all the rules, codes, and predictability are a reassuring blanket for those of us in the chaotic 21st Century. I enjoy fiction written in earlier times as a kind of time machine, here showing us an early feminism for women of a certain class in a certain place, making their own choices when they can. Here are women doing, or not doing, what they need to do to survive and maintain. The aging Charlotte Lucas makes a choice that will enable her to survive; the fearless Elizabeth and Lydia make choices that should've led to disaster. Later Elizabeth can joke that her love for Darcy began upon seeing the magnificence of his estate; which is Austen enjoying herself. Although Austen's defenders point to her as a satirist, long stretches of Pride and Prejudice are not satirical, showing genuine efforts to hold onto one's place, and genuine emotions understandable to anyone anywhere. Although the classism is strong (servants are barely seen and rarely named), Lady Catherine is just as silly in her way as Mrs. Bennet, and Wickham is just as silly as Mr. Collins. To a degree Austen invented the rom com and modern romance: how many times have these themes and plots been repeated in any number of novels and films? Even something as current as Gail Carriger's steampunk Parasol Protectorate series owes a debt to Austen's wit and humor. In this well-plotted and surprisingly complex book, Austen created rounded, flawed characters, most caught being unkind at some point (except Jane, of course), and all just like someone you might meet or know, though perhaps not of the 19th Century, white, hetero, or English. For those capable of reading diversely, Pride and Prejudice is an enjoyable escape to another place and time, whether it truly existed or not. [5★]

James Joyce: Portrait of a Dubliner - A Graphic Biography by Alfonso Zapico (2011)

A wonderfully drawn "graphic biography" of groundbreaking and controversial Irish writer, James Joyce.

Book Review: The art in James Joyce: Portrait of a Dubliner, consists of lovely "ink-wash" drawings that both tenderly evoke landscapes and lightly capture the characters involved in Joyce's tumultuous life. It's a quick and informative read with the art well documenting the story line. One bit of new information for me was that, ironically, when no printer in England would accept Joyce's play Exiles, it was published in New York; later the States, however, would be the site of the notorious Ulysses obscenity trial (for more see The Most Dangerous Book: The Battle for James Joyce's Ulysses by Kevin Birmingham). The narration in James Joyce: Portrait of a Dubliner is well written, though it occasionally goes off on a puzzling tangent, and could have used some editing, e.g., H.G. Wells is not an "American author." Although the translation by David Prendergast is transparent and well done, there were a few bumps (e.g., "took a decision" instead of "made a decision"?). My only real quibble with the book is that I'm not sure of the target audience. The narrative seems aimed at students of high school age or younger, but the art is a touch more adult. James Joyce: Portrait of a Dubliner is fine as a quick intro to Joyce in an easy to digest format, and should be good tool for English language learners. Enjoyable and fun to read. [3★]

Chronicle of a Death Foretold by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (1981)

A novella about an honor killing, which almost everyone in town knew would happen, but almost no one tried to keep from occurring.

Book Review: Chronicle of a Death Foretold takes us back to the world of One Hundred Years of Solitude, written in a similar tone, with a few similar events, and the legend of Colonel Aureliano Buendia. The main plot points in Chronicle of a Death Foretold are quickly revealed: 27 years ago there was a wedding, that night the bride was returned to her family for lack of virginity, and early the next morning the bride's twin brothers intended to kill the man who had deflowered their sister and shamed their family. Gabriel Garcia Marquez apparently based this story on real life, included some actual incidents, and then spun the events of these few hours into a confusion of facts, time, morals, friendship, responsibility, culpability. Just as in a real crime, witness versions vary wildly, so the characters in Chronicle of a Death Foretold dispute what occurred 27 years before, can't even agree whether there it was raining or sunny that morning. Similarly (this is the mastery of Marquez), the book's readers themselves see many false facts, tell the story different ways, express details that do not occur in the book. These 118 pages (Spanish version; the English version ably translated by Gregory Rabassa) are a confusion of religion, twitches of time, old hatreds, families, customs, change, those who didn't do enough, those who did more than they wanted to, chance, coincidences, fatal irony. Garcia Marquez describes a willingness to stand, watch and be silent as violent death approaches. There is no hero in Chronicle of a Death Foretold, no one with clean hands, no one to save the day. Much of the crime consisted of sins of omission, failure to act. The bride decided not to feign virginity as she'd been taught, the groom decided not to ignore a common wedding night surprise, the townspeople know but do little. The brothers don't even question whether they have the right man, although Garcia Marquez answers that question three times in the book, by my reading. There is so much here to ponder that this book could be taught in an Ethics class, a criminal justice course, a seminary. Friends could go through many pots of coffee discussing, perfect for a book club. Chronicle of a Death Foretold is short, simply and quietly told, with depths upon depths, well worth reading, and re-reading. [4½★]

So We Read On: How The Great Gatsby Came to Be & Why it Endures by Maureen Corrigan (2014)

An appreciation and defense of The Great Gatsby by the book critic of NPR's "Fresh Air."

Book Review: So We Read On is one of the most valuable books ever written. Really. This book has the voodoo to enrich, maybe even save, countless lives. Do I exaggerate? Maybe. A little. If you love The Great Gatsby, or, like me, both love it and believe it's the Great American Novel (but first I must digress, why the GAN? Is there a Great Scottish, Spanish, or German novel?), you must have cringed many, many times as people told you how much they hated it when they read it in high school. Perhaps you mounted a defense, futilely argued, and ended up getting nowhere and convincing no one. Then So We Read On is for you, as this is the ammunition you needed in your feeble clash of minds. Maureen Corrigan makes the point that since Gatsby is so short, it is routinely assigned in school, when we are too young, know too little about America, or simply resent it as a book assigned to interfere with our teen-aged lives. So it is less appreciated than it should be -- read as an adult it is brilliant and irresistible. In her advocacy for Gatsby as the GAN (a small part of the book, but quite welcome as a comrade-in-arms), Corrigan claims it addresses who we want to be as Americans, reaching for the green light. That it not only says something big about America, but is also beautifully written. Her energy, enthusiasm, and love for Gatsby is infectious. She examines all of the book's elements to the smallest of details: social class, water imagery, New York City, cars, the intricate patterns, and much more. This is also a book for writers. Corrigan writes of the writing and publishing of the book, the classic cover, film adaptations, noir, the Fitzgeralds' lives -- it's all here. One point she makes is this is Fitzgerald's one completely successful novel. I agree again! We think his greatest strength was the short story, not the novel, and 50,000 words was the longest he could stretch the short story and still make it work, which was Gatsby. If you hate The Great Gatsby, are over 30 (mentally or chronologically), and have a shred of decency left in you, race to your local library and confront So We Read On, and then re-read The Great Gatsby. This is a challenge you shouldn't refuse. For all Gatsby fans and writers-to-be, an invaluable, informative, and enjoyable read. [5★]

A Gambler's Anatomy by Jonathan Lethem (2016)

A professional backgammon player confronts a medical challenge that changes his life.

Book Review: A Gambler's Anatomy was my first Jonathan Lethem, so I really don't know the tropes when it comes to his writing. There may be patterns or influences I'm unaware of, and I went into this completely blind. The main character, Alexander Bruno (also called Bruno Alexander, which I assume is a typo, among others) travels his arc as a backgammon player through three ever more controlling overseers, meets two beautiful and mysterious women, undergoes extreme (and graphically described) surgery, rediscovers a hidden ability, loses everything, and finally reaches a point of stasis. Our gambler is played by the rest of the cast as he played his backgammon opponents, and other characters are doubled in his mind as bets are doubled in backgammon. A little knowledge of backgammon will be helpful, though probably not necessary. Although the plot of A Gambler's Anatomy depended on incredible coincidences, Lethem's writing is entertaining and compelling; I read this quite quickly at thriller speed. He seems a straighter, less humorous, version of Thomas Pynchon, as he name checks Bix Beiderbecke, Flashman, Magister Ludi, Jimi Hendrix, the Big Lebowski, Abraham Polonsky, Lawrence of Arabia, the Alexander Technique, Baader-Meinhof, Bakunin (plus many more) and flashes vocabulary such as catamite, panopticon, zaftig ... the book's cast are better read and more knowledgeable than they have any right to be. I found A Gambler's Anatomy interesting and irresistible until about two thirds through when the plot began to come apart, loose ends from earlier in the book unraveled further, and I was no longer sure what or why I was reading until it wrapped up neatly, as I'd expected it to several times before. While reading I was reminded of several other books, most notably Dying Inside by Robert Silverberg. A good read, interesting (loved Lethem's descriptions of the backgammon games) and well written, but toward the end it all became careless as though the book's purpose had been lost or the author's interest had wandered. [3½★]

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (1967)

An account of a mythical century, the magical life of the tragic Buendía family, and the fleeting town of Macondo.

Classics Review: One Hundred Years of Solitude is that kind of book. Once upon a time, at the Royal Palm Tavern, a small white, red, and green paperback was kept behind the bar, slotted neatly between the Jameson and the Bushmills, with at least a half dozen bookmarks randomly placed, one being a beer coaster and one a dollar bill. When certain of the regulars sat at the bar, at any time of day but often in the late afternoon, the bartender would bring forth both book and a beer, so the customer could return to Macondo and continue reading the irresistible story of the Buendías. One Hundred Years of Solitude has its fierce defenders and those who soon acknowledge it's not for them. A book that writers wish they had written and can find the seeds of four hundred other novels in its pages, but can't discern how it was born. A book that must be read slowly, carefully, as if deciphering an ancient text. Go back and reread a paragraph, reread a page, and consult the family tree at the front of the book often, otherwise there's no point in reading, you're just losing time. One Hundred Years of Solitude is a story like no other, a story that can't be adequately summarized. A story of those born not of love, but in solitude. We see the town of Macondo founded by a confused passion and then a century of fearful solitude, refuge in solitude, solitude unto death, a pact with solitude, the pox of solitude, a desert of solitude, until the end when the inhabitants are seeking the paradise of shared solitude, an unfathomable solitude that separates and unites at the same time, and finally are "secluded by solitude and love and by the solitude of love." The Buendía family are fated to live in the repetition of history, a family of women "with insides made of flint" and men with "the inconceivable patience of disillusionment" and an "impermeability of affection." A family for which "time was not passing" but "turning in a circle," seen even in the repetitions and permutations of the family names. A family where some have such long lives that children and grandchildren become indistinguishable. Where the centenarian matriarch asks God if He believed "people were made of iron in order to bear so many troubles." One Hundred Years of Solitude is also a history of his country and the continent by Nobel Prize laureate, Gabriel García Márquez (1927-2014). From the endless wars to the imperial banana companies, the rich and the poor, the mountains and the sea. All told in simple, slightly surreal but straightforward, alive and beautiful prose. The book is often credited as the birth of magical realism. If this is for you, it'll be a treasure that you'll remember often, from the plague of insomnia to the yellow butterflies. There are many joys and complexities to be found here, but maybe it's quite simple: "It's enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment."  [5★]

The Most Dangerous Book: The Battle for James Joyce's Ulysses by Kevin Birmingham (2014)

How James Joyce's Ulysses came to be read in America, despite the government's determination that the book not enter the country. 

Book Review: The Most Dangerous Book tells a story from a time when books could be dangerous, the story of literary soldiers battling for liberty. Today many authors try so hard to be dangerously daring and cutting edge, and end up just being shallow and precious. This is the real deal, when Joyce was writing Ulysses, it was the book he had to write, and it was an all-time, tho difficult, classic.  Interestingly, Joyce doesn't come off as well as many of the other actors in the tale, all of whom were needed to make his book a reality. Many put their livelihood, money, and reputation on the line to protect, advance, and disseminate Joyce's classic. Heroes. When compared to the porn that's so easily found today, it's hard to believe that this masterpiece was ever a book that had to be fought for because of alleged obscenity. Nothing relating to Ulysses is too small for the author, from Joyce's eye problems and surgeries, problems with printers, the arduous writing process, rich patrons, smuggling, confiscations, the legal battles. The Most Dangerous Book is the kind of necessary nonfiction that amplifies our enjoyment and understanding of fiction. And I kinda like the idea of a book written about a book. If you like Joyce or Ulysses, are interested in censorship, prudishness, and the legal system, or simply want to read about a turning point in literary history, The Most Dangerous Book is the book for you. Now I've just got to read the darn book itself. [5★]

The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury (1950)

A series of short stories of humankind's landing on Mars and interactions with its indigenous peoples.

Book Review: The Martian Chronicles wasn't exactly what I expected. Bradbury's stories are usually classified as SF, but these aren't based on science: his Mars is warm with an atmosphere breathable by humans. The settlers plant oaks, elms, aspens. Realism wasn't his main point, and the book is more thoughtful and evocative than about hard science (though he does consider terraforming). His interest was more in what was happening on Earth (primarily the U.S.) at the time, and how that would translate to a new planet. Even before 1950, Bradbury was deeply concerned about pollution, religion, racism, nuclear war, and destruction of the environment. He saw that all these crimes would follow humans to a new planet: there is no easy fresh start. So much SF from the first half of the 20th Century had a "can do" attitude that while settling the universe might not be easy, it would be settled. Needless to say, this is not Bradbury's view and his vision in The Martian Chronicles is darker and he sees humanity's (America's) flaws writ large, put in sharp relief on the blank canvas of Mars; at times the stories seem like fables or allegories. One settler from Earth says, "Yes, their cities are good. They knew how to blend art into their living. It's always been a thing apart for Americans." Bradbury's Martians are a more evolved, less damaging race.

Bradbury must be one of the earliest SF writers to address the perils of colonization for native peoples. He wrote about women coming to the Mars, and about missionaries, as well: "Shouldn't we solve our own sins on Earth? Aren't we running from our lives here?" There is also humor, the first humans on Mars do not get the welcome they were expecting. Some of the stories do deal with the Martians themselves, and for me these were the most enjoyable and interesting stories. But many of the stories are bit depressing as they showed what issues Earth was addressing (and still is) and how those same problems would then affect settlement of new planets. The stories were especially interesting considering how much talk there is today of expeditions to Mars, even if perhaps only one way. But The Martian Chronicles do offer a ray of hope, as the Martians show what we could become and the possibility of learning a lesson from our mistakes with Earth. [4★]

FilmLit: Sylvia (2003)

A film covering the last seven years of the life of American poet, Sylvia Plath (1932-63).

Film Review: Sylvia gives a good solid try, but ends up being too much bio and not enough pic. The film begins with Sylvia Plath meeting her future husband and the future poet laureate, Ted Hughes, and carefully checks off key points in Plath's life: driven, Fulbright Scholar, past suicide attempts, Cambridge, his book, America, a child, jealousy, moving to the country, her book, his cheating, another child, The Bell Jar, and we know how it ends. Which is one of the two problems here: although there is an underlying tension, the audience knows how the story will end, so how does the film get past that and become immediate, rather than simply a set up for what we know is coming? Gwyneth Paltrow works hard, and gives a visually convincing portrayal of Plath. But despite a game effort, the film finally doesn't really connect us to the poetry (the second problem with the film; perhaps insurmountable) or give us a sense of what made Plath a great poet. Much of the time Paltrow is left to silently sit, stand, or stare, lost in emotion. Meshing film and poetry is no easy task, and I just don't see many viewers wanting to run out and read Plath's amazing poetry after seeing Sylvia. Daniel Craig is also visually solid, but isn't given a lot to do except to be harsh, cold, and abusive while continually cheating, despite his knowledge of Plath's insecurity and fragility. We know from his biographers that he was a serial cheater and was carrying on at least two affairs at the time of Plath's death. A key moment is when Plath says, "Now he's gone. I'm free. I can finally write," but the beginning of the Ariel poems, the sudden unfiltered release of emotion, is also too much for her. Although Plath is presented as proto-feminist, both domestic goddess, saddled alone with two children, and ambitious writer, that is not what made her one of the most underrated poets of our time (known more for her life than her shattering poetry). Plath reached the stage most poets never do: perfectly combining emotion, words, and herself. Although I've focused here on the difficulties the filmmakers faced, the end result is still worth watching for the strong performances despite any frustrations with the finished product.

American Primitive by Mary Oliver (1983)

The Pulitzer Prize winning fourth book by American poet Mary Oliver, published when she was 48.

Poetry Review: American Primitive is a book of nature poetry. If you like ponds, wind, trees, herons, wild grapes, bees, you will find them here in abundance. Mary Oliver is a nature poet. If you like passion, joy, exuberance, feeling, all of it honest, unironic, clear, credible, open, vulnerable, all that too is here. Mary Oliver is not hip or cool; she may be the best selling poet in America (I think Milk and Honey is giving that claim some pressure at the moment), and that hurts her street cred. But although Mary Oliver is not my favorite poet, I believe these poems will last longer than 80% of what's being written now. These poems will still be readable, accessible, 20, 30, 50 years from now when the fads and trends of the fashionably stylish hipster poets of today have faded and are forgotten. Future readers will still understand and feel and touch these poems, unless we've destroyed all nature and other creatures and are living in some Philip K. Dick horror of a world, and even then people will read Mary Oliver to learn and know what nature was like.

The poems in this book investigate the rich black of earth and berries, and a mystical whiteness of nature:

   ... three egrets --
         a shower
           of white fire!

or

   brushing over the dark pond,
   for all of us, the white flower
   of dreams.

The imagery is of water: ponds, creeks, pools, the harbor, the sea, a "field of dark water," and yet even more so of fire. The magic of nature is found burning, blazing, flaming -- ice burns in Oliver's world.

   igniting the fields,
   turning the ponds
   to plates of fire.

American Primitive seems about evenly divided between poems about the wild and poems about people interacting with the wild. The themes are the joy to be found in nature, the harshness of the cycle of life, the power, the wonder, beauty, strength, solace, enlightenment, realization, transcendence of nature. Each poem contains its own individual and unique moment and statement that it takes from the natural world. There's a spirituality here. She addresses death, ghosts, vultures, the wrongs of history. Some of the most powerful poems touch on the American Indians, the Sioux and the Shawnee. She says:

   ... there's a sickness
   worse than the risk of death and that's
   forgetting what we should never forget.

The book is dedicated to the great Ohio poet James Wright (Oliver, too, was an Ohioan), who died three years before American Primitive was published. There are lines here which would have fit well in his best book, The Branch Will Not Break, and Oliver's poem "Clapp's Pond" in particular reminded me of Wright. Mary Oliver was not young when she wrote this, and she shares some of her thoughts:

   To live in this world

   you must be able
   to do three things:
   to love what is mortal;
   to hold it

   against your bones knowing
   your own life depends on it;
   and, when the time comes to let it go,
   to let it go.

These poems, while not difficult, are more complex than the open clarity of much of Oliver's later work. Accessibility is not a bad thing. I read each poem twice, and a few three times, to get the meaning. And then I might've read each one more time just for the pleasure of it. American Primitive will make you feel new. [4★]

Shirley Jackson: A Rather Haunted Life by Ruth Franklin (2016)

A biography of the too often overlooked American writer Shirley Jackson (1916-65), author of "The Lottery," The Haunting of Hill House, and other tales of a damaged psyche.

Book Review: Despite the recent renewal of her reputation (all her major work seems to be in print) Shirley Jackson is one of the most underrated authors of the 20th Century, so I much anticipated this new biography by Ruth Franklin. Unfortunately, I was disappointed and this is not the definitive volume I hoped for. To paraphrase Franklin herself: I am impressed by "the amount of work that has gone into the book, but am underwhelmed by its argument."

Shirley Jackson: A Rather Haunted Life reads as if Ruth Franklin wanted to write a biography of Jackson's husband, critic Stanley Hyman, found no takers, so decided to turn it into a biography of Jackson. There are still, however, long stretches devoted solely to Hyman, and Franklin is his strong defender despite his obvious cruelties to his wife. There are large chunks of the book in which Jackson is only an afterthought, as Hyman and other of Franklin's preoccupations are discussed. This could have been a better and more effective biography of Jackson at 300 to 350 pages, cutting the irrelevant bits (ironic, as she notes Jackson's advice to "avoid anything extraneous to the narrative"). Although Franklin fails to acknowledge the prior major biography of Jackson, Private Demons: The Life of Shirley Jackson by Judy Oppenheimer (1988), in the text (it's mentioned in the notes), that book is warmer, more alive, more affectionate, and more satisfying; Franklin also fails to include some of the invaluable revelations about Jackson contained in that volume. As this book was written with significant help from Jackson's children, it's unclear how much she chose not to publish because of that assistance (she states they read the manuscript before publication, but "ceded approval of its final version"). Despite Franklin's own interviews and access to new documents, the book ends suddenly, leaving questions unanswered, and it's unclear whether Franklin tried to answer them. There are curious silences in this book (there is no bibliography or list of supplemental commentaries or references).

At times it seems this was too big a project and the writing suffers for it, perhaps more editing was needed. Some stories are repeated two or three times, and the many detours away from Jackson's story are distracting and unhelpful. Plot summaries of Jackson's works can be inaccurate, or plots given only a single interpretation, when other views are equally likely. The author often makes value judgments and conjectures wildly about rape, bigotry, and the like, providing little or no evidence to support her opinions and theories. Better to let the reader decide, rather than merely speculate. At one point Franklin asks, "What is witchcraft, after all, but the desire to generate fear in others and instill their obedience?" Well, that is not my understanding of witchcraft. Later Franklin writes, "Witchcraft ... was important to Jackson for what it symbolized: female strength and potency." Female strength is generating fear and instilling obedience?

Franklin's take on situations is frequently questionable. In one novel, when a mentally disabled girl seeking art to decorate their shabby house accidentally orders pornographic pictures, Franklin finds this to be one of the books "wonderful moments of humor." Mocking the disabled is not what Jackson, always sensitive to outcasts, would find humorous. But admittedly Franklin finds much more levity (as opposed to incisive satire) in Jackson's writing than I do. She finds Jackson's novel about multiple personality disorder her "most overtly comic novel," but another novel is her "funniest." In yet another, a character I only found annoying and offensive, is described as "comic relief." I know I don't have a great sense of humor, but this is puzzling if you've read all Jackson's novels. At one point after a large meal together, a friend of Jackson and Hyman wrote that "They got up hungry." Franklin, doubting, asks, "How could he know" this? What? Gosh, maybe they said, "I'm still hungry" when they rose from the table. Later, a Catholic girl "probably did not consider abortion." Why speculate if you don't know? At some points Franklin takes Jackson's statements at face value, and other times notes that Jackson took "liberties with the factual record." There's also a constant reliance on Betty Friedan as the only feminist writer worth quoting (nine times in the index), though she later criticizes Friedan as myopic. Her take on Ralph Ellison is also arguable.

There are spots where the writing seems immature. Serious biographers rarely rely on exclamation points to make a point. After one of Hyman's repeated infidelities, Jackson refrains from sending him an angry letter and then suffers a throat infection. Franklin writes, "the metaphorical connection is too rich to ignore ... after choking back the words ... she fell ill with a swollen throat!" But it was a letter she failed to send, there's no mention of a conversation. At another point Franklin notes that Jackson "no longer had to fight for her turn at the typewriter. Of course, she also had a baby to take care of!" Was that a surprise? But then Franklin undercuts her own excitement by saying, "she also seemed to have derived imaginative energy from the constraints" of being a housewife. Franklin will also provide a quote, and then tell us what we should think about that quote, that it was "not especially kindly," "wrote sourly," "wrote sadly," "commented, unhelpfully," "wrote insultingly," "wrote cheerfully," "wrote snidely," a "snide line," "condescending caption," "responded huffily," "unkindly described," etc.etc. But when reading the quote, these statements were not necessarily sad, snide, sour. Again, better to let readers think for themselves, because sometimes her adverbs seem askew.

A careful, thoughtful reader of this book will find much to question. All of these points may seem minor individually, but so many flawed opinions and dubious value judgments can make the reader doubt the lens through which the narrative was filtered, challenge the reporting and interpretation. A close reading shows that the author's preferences are never far from the surface and considered equally important as Jackson herself, or why so many tangents away from the subject.

Franklin also tries to pigeonhole Jackson's writing, with which Jackson would have disagreed, as her concerns were broader and more universal, investigating "the demon in the mind," the damaged psyche. Jackson wrote that her work was "one long documentation of anxiety." But despite major reservations, although I didn't enjoy it, I'm still glad I read A Rather Haunted Life. Together with Judy Oppenheimer's biography, it's a contribution to our knowledge and understanding of the too much underappreciated Shirley Jackson; it just isn't the definitive summation that Jackson deserves. What is still needed, what I'd hoped to read, is something like the controversial but wonderful biography of poet Anne Sexton by Diane Wood Middlebrook (1991). [3 Stars]

Mothering Sunday by Graham Swift (2016)

A maid in a wealthy English family meditates on her affair with a young heir, on story telling, and on the rich store of the world around her, "once upon a time." 

Book Review: Mothering Sunday is the first I've read by Graham Swift (where has he been? where have I been?), but I don't think it'll be the last. This book, a novella, reminds me a little of Virginia Woolf and Muriel Spark, both masters of short novels. Within these few pages set in 1924, Swift encompasses the damage wrought by the First World War, the extent and decline of the British class system, women's place in society, the importance of reading, despair, ambition, writing, story telling, how lives become fiction; it begins, "Once upon a time." Written in a dreamy, poetic language but with an undercurrent of tension and anticipation, we float through thoughts barely touched by what is. And since Mothering Sunday is subtitled "A Romance," there are a few thoughts, too, about love. In a swirling narrative that plays with time, lying in bed after a tryst with the engaged and only remaining son of an upper class family, our lowly servant and story teller looks at her life before and ahead, wonders what might have been, what could be, what was. The writer she'll become is still distant, but already part of her, her thoughts clearly show the writer to be. In her lover's silence, she imagines what "another man, in another story, might be saying." She ponders that if his fiancee had interrupted them "then there might have been a scene, a wild and frantic scene. And the day would have turned out very differently." In her thoughts we see the fruits of her almost taboo reading of boys' adventure stories, her almost secret self-education, and her nascent writer's mind despite the limits of her social standing. Her thoughts slowly whirl through possibilities. She thinks of "All the scenes. To imagine them was only to imagine the possible, even to predict the actual. But it was also to conjure the non-existent." On this morning, after making love, was "when she really became a writer," when her lover leaves to meet his fiancee, leaving her alone in his family's mansion to wander naked through the rooms, breaking social mores, the social mores her ambition would break to become a writer: "It was what she would have to do to become a writer: cross an impossible barrier." Being free to cross barriers, to ignore social norms, would enable her to become a different person, no longer in service, a person that wouldn't just read books, but could write them. Mothering Sunday also shows the decimation and fundamental loss caused by the Great War, which helps lead to the decline of the young heir and his upper class family. And the subsequent ambition and rise of those below, in particular our young servant, soon to be no longer as limited by sex and education. This is modernist writing in service to historical fiction. I was surprised at how stimulating this book was, as in exploring the maid's mind Graham Swift raised even more thoughts in mine. Mothering Sunday is a quick and excellent read, philosophical and enjoyable. [4 Stars]

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston (1937)

A woman in 1930s America attempts to live life on her own terms against both natural and societal obstacles, charting her path through the three men she married.

Book Review: Their Eyes Were Watching God is like sitting on the front stoop, listening to the wisest person in the neighborhood who's heard, remembered, and can tell all the best stories. Zora Neale Hurston wrote a book, more complex than it first seems, that can be approached from several angles all of which are rewarding, beyond simply being wonderful to read and enjoy. Historically, the book was written at a time in which former slaves were still alive. Hurston, an anthropologist and folklorist, was familiar with their stories, heard first hand, which inform every page. From a feminist perspective, this early effort is irreducibly a product of its time, and includes aspects that current writers might not address in the same way, but which reveal the unvarnished reality and necessity of life for women back then. It's not pretty. Our heroine's personal growth is revealed through her three marriages, reflecting the limited world available to women in that time and place, although she persevered. As the statement of an African American writer, the book describes the life of an all-black community, the world of interaction between black people and white people, and a woman who refuses to be a victim of anything that is arrayed against her. And simply as a story, the book doesn't at all need the layers of meaning I'm trying to throw at it. This was an irresistible read, and I devoured it in great long chunks as I wanted to know Janie Crawford and find how her life turns out -- what was next for this resilient, hungry, and determined woman. She had a vision for her life from childhood, and she patiently worked her way toward it. Their Eyes Were Watching God is a near perfect story, and that it was published in 1937 is all the more amazing. Two more points. First, the dialog is written in black vernacular ("Ebonics," to use Valerie Boyd's term), which took a little getting used to, but for me was more bothersome because so often such transcription is used to stereotype and demean. But Hurston, a folklorist, was using the vernacular to reflect the time and place, social realism. Second, as Henry Louis Gates, Jr. notes, the book has elements of Hurston's racial views, similar to those of the "militant integrationist" Albert Murray, that black lives are not simply a reaction to white actions, and as such she managed to offend black and white alike so that her career eventually went into decline. But put all of that aside: Their Eyes Were Watching God is a wonderful book and one which I was way overdue in reading. Hurston wrote four novels; I think I need to read them all. [4.5 Stars]

Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen (1811)

Two sisters, different as night and day, seek love and matrimony in Jane Austen's first published novel.

Book Review: Sense and Sensibility is so ubiquitous, the classic novel, the screen adaptations, that it's become part of our common knowledge. There is no need to repeat the story, but only make a few observations. Jane Austen's writing style takes a bit of getting used to, averaging about four commas per sentence with not infrequent semi-colons just for fun. But once accustomed, there's a certain comforting formality about her language, like a cozy blanket on a winter day, mirroring the cozy formality of the story and customs of the time. But within that comfort, Austen writes with a wry, arch, dry humor, and sarcasm, irony, and the occasional satirical bite, all of which serve to throw some daring decolletage among the prim and proper. Austen is not as socially conscious a writer as Dickens, instead writing of a class in which having only three servants puts one near poverty and those servants are as near invisible as it's possible to be. But beneath the class consciousness in Sense and Sensibility is the awareness that a woman who makes a bad match, or fails to make a match, could fall into genuine, desperate poverty unless a kind relation serves as safety net. Hence the constant concern and mention of money and income, making Austen appear part accountant. Marrying for money, for both women and men, is understandable and forgivable as a means to maintain class, which is why marrying for love is almost a surprise ending. And although perhaps not a feminist tract, because of their potentially desperate position Austen throws some sharp elbows in the fight for women's place in society. Of one character she notes that through his "unaccountable bias in favour of beauty, he was the husband of a very silly woman." When a mother considers a woman for the wife of one of her two sons, the comment is made, "The lady, I suppose, has no choice in the affair," the assumption being she will willingly marry either son for money. When a young man is thrown over for money, he is "convinced that nothing could have been more natural ... nor more self-evident." At the same time, the main actors, both heroes and villains, in Sense and Sensibility are primarily women, having all the best lines and doing most of the heavy lifting in moving the plot. The fate of the three pairs of lovers rests on women: one rational, protecting her family; one passionate, and almost dying for it; one scheming, getting what she wished for if not what she wanted. Our protagonist is logical, educated, uninterested in the stereotypical feminine concerns of the time, and makes the best match of the three. A classic, in all senses of the word. [4 Stars]

The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories by Angela Carter (1979)

A collection of 10 re-imaginings of fairy tales, simultaneously both old and modern, bawdy and pure.

Book Review: The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories was written by Angela Carter, and Angela Carter is a force of nature. Nature inhabits, possesses, overwhelms these stories, trees and bushes and shrubs, dark forests and animals, wild beasts, wolves, lions, tigers, horses, cats, more wolves, werewolves, and even vampires. Carter sees and writes her own versions of Bluebeard, Puss in Boots, Little Red Riding Hood, and more. At times the tales are hardly recognizable, so much she's made them her own. In making them her own she's put her own unique stamp on them, her rich, too rich, voluptuous, Rubenesque language. Angela Carter is no careful carpenter, carving out every extra sentence, cutting away every unnecessary word, agonizing over too much. No, she glories in words, loves them, cannot get enough, more words, more sentences, more, she wants "too much." She's drunk on words. The Bloody Chamber is not a poor half drowned cat, deflated and sad. Her stories are rich with all the words that fit, and what words they are: sere, glistering, lustratory, lubbery, tenebrous catafalques, and when she combines them she produces phrases that no one has ever written: "a sombre delirium," "atrocious loneliness," "a fugue of the continuous, a world of sensual immediacy," "overseer of somnambulists," "rusted with a wash of pain," "lupine fiestas," "feral disorder," "her furred thoughts and primal sentience." Even though the stories are updated to include automobiles, telephones, New York, bicycles, and women doing it for themselves, they still retain fairy tales' ancient chill of dungeons and shadowy darkness of forests. A little sex never hurt anyone, either. The stories, as do the sentences, intertwine, repeat, enfold, as Carter writes variations of her own variations of the old stories from olden times. This is not a quick read, but a worthwhile one. Any potential authors will find so much here that they will want to steal and keep as their own. Either as a reader or a writer, The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories is a learning experience, rich, warm, and lush as an ermine blanket. [4 Stars]

My Bookstore, ed. by Ronald Rice (2012)

Eighty-two writers briefly tell why they love their favorite bookstores.

Book Review: My Bookstore consists of short appreciations of bookstores by many authors, including such names as Isabel Allende, Dave Eggers, Louise Erdrich, Henry Louis Gates, Jr., John Grisham, Chuck Palahniuk, and Lisa See, with an Introduction by Richard Russo and an Afterword by Emily St. John Mandel. Of course, the big name independent bookstores such as Powell's, the Strand, and the Tattered Cover are included. All in all, this is a paean to independent bookshops in the United States, and a lovely one at that, with some of the stories sure to make you feel a bit misty as the authors describe how valuable, how necessary, how part of the family, bookshops have been in their lives. Most readers adore bookshops, and this is almost like bookstore-porn (or a love letter to bookstores, if you prefer), making a cross-country road trip to visit them all seem like a necessity. Personally, I love wandering through shelves wondering what I'll find that I didn't know I needed, but as I read My Bookstore I also wondered how many of these bookshops have closed since 2012 when the book was published. Many of the stories contain histories of the various shops that have opened and closed in their towns over the years. I'm lucky to live near what seems like a fairly sturdy bookstore (yes, it's in the book), but not everyone is so fortunate. The other thing I should mention is that it took me over three years to read My Bookstore, as I kept it by my reading chair and when in the mood, I'd read a few pages. This would be a hard book to read straight through and I didn't try. Reading was much more fun with just a few luscious tidbits at a time. Enjoyable, touching, personal, funny, this is a collection of many tiny memoirs about the importance of books, reading, and bookshops. I'd love to see an international edition. [5 Stars]

The Best American Short Stories, ed. by Junot Diaz (2016)

The title best describes the intent of this series, presented in its current format with a "name" guest editor, since 1978. 

Book review: The Best American Short Stories 2016, that ambitious claim assumes a significant responsibility. When Junot Diaz, author of the beyond brilliant The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, was announced as the editor for 2016 my hopes were raised, but this installment was disappointing. There are some notable names: Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Louise Erdrich, Lauren Groff, John Edgar Wideman. There are some good stories: "Wonders of the Shore" by Andrea Barrett (so aware), "The Prospectors" by Karen Russell (my favorite), "On This Side" by Yuko Sakata (so good), or "Williamsburg Bridge" by John Edgar Wideman (or is this my favorite?). But it's hard to accept that this book contains the best short stories of the year from U.S. and Canadian magazines (no Canadian magazines included -- sorry), because then it must've been a bad year for the form. About a third of the stories seemed successful, but too many seemed incomplete or the product of an undergraduate writing workshop, when young writers believe they're the first people to have ever experienced life and write about it. Some seemed like medicine: read this because it's good for you. Diaz is to be acknowledged for giving young writers publicity, but the intent here is to identify the best stories in the country, not up and coming authors; there are other outlets for that. This series should be, like the New York Times, the publication of record. Thirty years from now researchers should be able to look back and use The Best American Short Stories as the barometer of what was considered good writing in 2016, and I don't want to believe that the short story has fallen on such hard times. Sure there are interesting ideas, good sections, nice lines, insightful sketches, but are these really the best stories written? My other regret is that I don't have the time or money to read all 3,000+ stories that Ms. Pitlor does annually, so I rely on this book to give me what I should've read during the year. I scour used-book shops looking for back copies of The Best American Short Stories, because of the usual high quality of this series, which may be the reason for some of my personal disappointment here. Every year this should be a 5-Star book. I'm not saying you won't find stories to enjoy, just that it may be about a third, even though we all enjoy different flavors. There was an interesting series of doubles here: two stories each about a parent reacting badly to a child's problem, suicides from heights, thieving couples, bored affairs. Thirteen stories here are by women, seven by male authors, about the same ratio as last year. Undoubtedly there's something here for you, as long as you're willing to read through the rest. [3 Stars]

The Wonder by Emma Donoghue (2016)

An English nurse is hired to travel to Ireland and watch Anna, a young Irish girl who is said to have, miraculously, eaten nothing for four months.

Book review: The Wonder has many parallels with Irish author Emma Donoghue's successful previous novel, Room, some for the better, some worse. Donoghue has certainly established her ability to tell a story with a single overriding plot line that compels the reader to keep on, a question that drives the novel, that overwhelms all other elements in the book. But there are other elements here, as the 19th century edges into the 20th, valuable tho tangential to the plot. The overwhelming contempt that the English have for the Irish is hammered home with a sledge, as Nurse Wright painfully interprets everything the Irish villagers do in the worst possible light, completely ignorant of their customs, and invariably wrong. Just as you'd think Scully would've started believing in aliens, you'd think Wright would have begun hesitating to leap to her bigoted and ignorant conclusions. She's slow to learn and slow to understand. She also seems to have entirely missed any hint of the recent Famine, in which Ireland lost a quarter of its population, although she is bright, educated, and trained in science. A reporter fills her in on the history of the blight and England's role in the mass starvation (a parallel to the young girl going without food). The nurse also served during the Crimean War, where the massive horrors and loss of life contrast to the concern for a single life here. One strength of The Wonder is that the nurse acts realistically, as a woman of the time would, understandably constrained and conspicuously frustrated by the restrictions of the time. She is not a 21st Century woman miraculously having traveled back in time, as is so commonly done by less talented novelists. There's significant discussion and demonstration in The Wonder of the power and harm of religion in rural Ireland, the blind faith and superstition of the populace, which leads to the question whether the devout Anna is being driven by religious mania, hers or others'. Donoghue's descriptions of priest-ridden Ireland at the time seem spot on (put in high relief by the changes in recent years). The characters of Anna and the nurse (other than as noted) are well drawn, the suspense and mystery carry the reader along, and the background on Florence Nightingale (who trained Nurse Wright) is welcome. On the other hand, the romantic element, although limited, seemed odd, insensitive, and inappropriate to me, tho it may work for some. Donoghue also inserts the requisite over-sensationalized plot twists, which have become expected in successful novels (thank you Gone Girl) these days. Additionally, the success of the ending will be a matter of personal taste; to me it seemed a wee bit too easy and tacked on, especially after the strength of the story that preceded it. The nurse is awfully slow at figuring things out; the audience will be way ahead of the character. The Wonder is a good, not great, novel, well worth the read, with a touch of grace (much of it from the young girl, Anna) that may linger, and containing strengths that outweigh awkward weaknesses. [3.5 Stars]

Banned Books Week 2016

Banned Books Week ends tomorrow, so I'm getting this in just under the wire. Let's talk about the central issue with banned books, that even tho there are books we'd all like to ban -- we don't do it. Come on, you know there are some books that just shouldn't exist, like Mein Kampf or anything "written" by the Kardashians (how can you write a book if you can't ... ? Never mind.). For you Trump haters, how about the Art of the Deal (of course, they say Trump didn't write that either)? How about right-wing conspiracy books? Left-wing conspiracy books? Books that deny the Holocaust and books that blame 9/11 on Israel (of course some blame 9/11 on Saudi Arabia, so which is it?)? How about books that glorify rape and abuse of women? How about Twilight? There are a lot of evil books out there. Outlaw them! But in fact we don't try to forbid them.

Let me tell you about something shameful. I once read a biography of one of my favorite authors. The author of the bio was so obviously eaten up with jealousy (why was she famous and successful and I'm not?) that every page dripped with envy, bitterness, and hate. If there was anyway to twist facts to put the subject in a bad light, she did. I feel sorry for the author of the bio. How horrible it must've been to write an entire book about someone she despised. Accordingly, it was a horrible read. I didn't even review it because I didn't want to give the book the attention and I hate writing bad reviews. When I was finished reading the book, I threw it away. I usually sell my read books or give them to charity; this one I didn't. I banned the book. Now only this one copy of the book, and because it's so bad I'm sure the charity shops and used-book stores are full of copies. I owned the book, it was my right to do what I wanted with my property. But no matter how many excuses I make, I denied anyone else the opportunity to read this book. It's the only time I did this thing, and I'm not proud of it. But I did, and I hope I wouldn't do it again, because it was wrong.

And that's my point: it's wrong to ban books. So even tho there are books we may well believe should never see the light of day, we don't proscribe them, because it's better that all the ideas be out there in the great debate, than we should lose any good ideas along with the ideas of which we disapprove. That's why we have Banned Books Week, to draw attention. We don't have to buy all the books, or talk about all the books, or agree with all the books, but we don't have them removed from our libraries and we don't picket or boycott book shops that sell books we don't like, and we don't burn books. Freedom of thought is too important. Bad ideas get to coexist with good ideas. And we support the banned books themselves, so go buy a banned book, check one out from the library, read a banned book for your own enjoyment. It doesn't have to be this week, it can be, should be, must be, any week of the year. Every week of the year should be Banned Books Week.