The Bachelors by Muriel Spark (1960)

The disparate lives of a number of London bachelors converge during a medium's trial for forgery and fraudulent conversion.

Book Review: The Bachelors is not my favorite of Muriel Spark's novels, but being by Muriel Spark it is well worth reading and re-reading. Spark writes for the head as well as the heart, and this one spends more time with the cerebral. Our bachelors are all a bit selfish, somewhat neurotic, a little lost, weak, having too much time on their hands and not enough meat or meaning in their lives. As always with her novels, Spark is writing about morality, even as she notes the mundane details of life such as buying spices at Fortnum's. And as usual there is quite a lot about religion in general and Catholicism in particular, interaction between a group of seemingly unconnected characters, inner lives and fraught decisions, evil, and varying levels of good. Here is added spiritualism and quite a bit about the nature of bachelorhood. Yet everything is buried in layers of the everyday, as though daring the reader to find her deeper thoughts beneath the meandering, minimal plot, and wry incisive writing. Although The Bachelors is not my favorite, there is little I could say as to why that is so -- it's still written with her keen observation and dry wit. I doubt I will ever find a Muriel Spark novel that isn't worth reading, and in this one I felt the opportunity of seeing a little of Spark herself come through. Always a strong, independent woman, often single and always attractive to men, Spark appears to pass judgment on a certain class of men of her acquaintance, and finds them wanting. Maybe that's just me. Or maybe a helpful biographer could identify which of these characters actually were in Spark's life. Just idle curiosity ... . [3½★]

The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov (1966)

The fantastic story of Satan's visit to Moscow, but that description only scratches the surface.

Book Review: The Master and Margarita is the masterpiece by Russian author Mikhail Bulgakov (1891-1940), but is much less intimidating than I thought and much richer as well -- both easier and more entertaining than I expected. I can only give you a series of my impressions: (1) the book is reminiscent of Alice in Wonderland and the Wizard of Oz, if Wonderland and Oz were Moscow in the 1930s; (2) there are four different threads: Pontius Pilate, life in Soviet Russia, Satan's visit, and the love story of the Master and Margarita (which is both the most and least important bit); (3) I'm sure my appreciation of the book would be enhanced if I had greater familiarity with the sociopolitical aspects of Moscow at the time, but I also felt that I didn't miss anything; (4) the translation by Mirra Ginsburg (who has translated at least six of Bulgakov's books) is fluid and easily readable, although it may be based on the censored version -- again, I felt I didn't miss a thing; (5) the book is intended to be both humorous and yet is eerily reflective of the times -- what is the persecution of black cats in Russia but a metaphor of suffering?; (6) since it was not published in his lifetime, Bulgakov could write without fear of censorship, ignoring both Communist, Christian, and any other dogma; (7) Russian names are as always mildly challenging for those unfamiliar with their structure (given name/patronymic/surname or family name), keep a cheat sheet if you want (Bulgakov's playfulness doesn't help, two intertwined characters are Nikolay Ivanovich and Ivan Nikolayevich -- why?); (8) don't think too much, don't fret, don't try to understand every little thing, just hang on for the ride and go with the flow. If you want to analyze it, do it on a reread, as I plan to do; (9) this deserves to be more than a cult classic; (10) is this Magical Realism? Read it and decide for yourself; (11) despite the brutality of the times and the book's jarring moments, the final message is that of love, which I found unexpectedly reassuring. I put off reading The Master and Margarita because I expected it to be a monumental challenge. Nope. Delightfully entertaining. Don't wait to read it. [4½★]

Our Emily Dickinsons by Vivian R. Pollak (2017)

A scholarly examination of Emily Dickinson's influence and effect on several American women poets.

Book Review: Our Emily Dickinsons is a more academic approach than I (a non-academic) was expecting, and is not a Michael Lewis-like effort to make the esoteric approachable. I'm not sure why I thought this would be a pop-lit endeavor, since it is published by the University of Pennsylvania Press and Professor Pollak teaches English at the esteemed Washington University in St. Louis. But the erudite nature of the book is not a bad thing. For those studying in the field, Pollak raises intriguing and creative approaches to the issues addressed, which are an invaluable resource and an excellent jumping-off point (she herself jumping off from Muriel Rukeyser's writings) for further investigations in American women's poetry. The author states that in "intellectually challenging, emotionally arduous poems that invite and repel intimacy, Dickinson links ... ugly feelings (such as shame and envy) to what I call trace scenes, scenes that evoke collective experience but mystify important personal particulars," and that she views "Dickinson's achievement as an extended meditation on the risks of social, psychological, and aesthetic difference." That seems like a mouthful to me, but if that speaks clearly to you, this is your book. The Notes, Bibliography, and Indexes are truly impressive; if you want someone to do your research, go no further. The book's subtitle is "American Women Poets and the Intimacies of Difference," and Pollak first examines some of Dickinson's biography and then relates her work to that of Helen Hunt Jackson, Marianne Moore, Sylvia Plath, and Elizabeth Bishop (Ted Hughes and Adrienne Rich also make idiosyncratic appearances), and how those poets related to Dickinson. Let me admit I'm not fully qualified to evaluate this book, but I can tell you why I believe it's valuable. Dickinson and Plath are two of America's four or five greatest poets (although Plath's best output is tiny, like the statistics of a spectacular athlete whose career was cut short), and Moore and Bishop are today too much forgotten and due for revival. Pollak has looked into some dark corners of women's poetry that needed to be explored: In "some of the intimate reading practices through which women poets interrogate Dickinson, her literary culture, their literary cultures, and themselves." Pollak concludes that Dickinson's "multifaceted achievement exceeds any critic's ability to define it" even as she argues that women poets who write about Dickinson "are writing about themselves as well. They use Dickinson to test the validity of their own emotional and intellectual needs" as her "paradoxical self-awareness encourages us to draw close and to keep our distance." I enjoyed it for what I could take away at my level, as there's much to appreciate even without climbing the ivory tower, though it's certainly there for those who want to go up the steps. Personally I've always enjoyed going deeper and deeper into Dickinson's small poems, like going into the nucleus of an atom -- her small poems are enormous (a wonderful contrast with Whitman). Our Emily Dickinsons is an excellent examination of some of America's finest poets, and should find its way into myriad footnotes in scholarly papers and journals. [4★]

The Invisible Circus by Jennifer Egan (1995)

The debut novel by the author of the Pulitzer Prize winning A Visit from the Goon Squad.

Book Review: The Invisible Circus is set in the 1970s, which adds a quaint touch in showing the end of the Aquarian Age, but in its other themes could be set in any time. I very much enjoyed Goon Squad, so was looking forward to reading Jennifer Egan's first novel, and was only mildly disappointed. The book is well written, easy to read, and the first half of the book compels the reader forward to find out what happens. I was impressed with Egan's evocative language and happily being carried along on her writing. But this does read like a first novel, and by the second half the pace had slowed, characters had failed to grow, and the reality had gotten progressively weaker. The story then became predictable, melodrama for the sake of melodrama, and the bratty main character became tiresome, being far too naive for the life she is portrayed as having led. She also had become self-centered, self-indulgent, cruel and willful for no apparent reason. It became hard to suspend disbelief, and there were gaps in the arc making the story seem incomplete, again for no apparent reason. The main character's sister just couldn't carry all the novelistic weight put on her. By this time there are so many similes and metaphors that some were failing to work. And the last 70 pages or so seemed to be chapter after chapter in search of an ending, until it was all neatly wrapped up for our main character, who may have been about to begin her own story. Other than the name on the cover I wouldn't have thought this was by the author of Goon Squad. All that snarkiness being said, I still enjoyed reading this and seeing Egan's early (21 years ago) writing. I could read it again and it was enjoyable (especially the first half), just not up to her best work. I still want to read her other books. [3½★]  🐢

The Last Shift: Poems by Philip Levine (2016)

The final collection of poems selected by Philip Levine (1928-2015), National Book Award and Pulitzer Prize winner, and the former Poet Laureate of the United States.

Poetry Review: The Last Shift may not be Philip Levine's strongest collection of poems, but it is a representative one, sampling topics from all areas of his life and thoughts. Something like a "Best of" record, he returns to moments reminiscent of a number of his previous works. The Last Shift is not only the title of the fine final poem of the collection, but an appropriate title for the final book by this proud poet of the working class. One of his collections was titled What Work Is (winner of the 1991 National Book Award), not a topic often addressed by American poets. One of the striking attributes of this book, a useful primer for all learning poets, is just what a fine craftsman Levine is, how well these poems are written, how well put together, how well he expresses his thoughts. Anyone could learn much from the poems in this book, how to construct a poem, how to choose the right words, how to say enough without saying too much ("each in her best flowered dress,/each with her worn Bible in hand"). And then there are the subjects and the language in The Last Shift. Levine writes of things that are used, are worn, that are touched and felt: "armies of picks/and shovels, their handles/stained with our fathers' lives." He ends that poem with simple beauty:

   All that's left
   are these few unread words
   without rhythm or breath
   fading before your eyes.

At times he touches on the Spanish poets and the Biblical (Psalm 137):

   By the waters of the Llobregat
   no one sits down to weep for the children

   of the world, by the Ebro, the Tagus,
   the Guadalquivir, by the waters
   of the world no one sits down and weeps.

The Last Shift is a book of history, of memories, memories of his youth in Detroit, labor, women, work, angels, family, travel.

   A lifetime passes
   in the blink of an eye. You look back and think,
   That was heaven, so of course it had to end.

Or even,

   Oh
   to be young and strong and dumb
   again in Michigan!

Perhaps Levine's whole life is wrapped up in the pages of The Last Shift, he selected these poems, showing his skill and his dreams, and in these pages you can find all the poems he ever wrote, just in other words. He's written his own elegy. [3½★] 🐢

Jonah's Gourd Vine by Zora Neale Hurston (1934)

The first novel by the author of Their Eyes Were Watching God, the story of a young man growing up to adulthood, but never fully reconciling himself.

Book Review: Jonah's Gourd Vine is just as good as Their Eyes Were Watching God, but is a smaller more focused story. While reading this wonderful novel, I felt as if I was sitting on the front steps, listening to the wisest woman on the block weave her stories of people she'd known long ago, staying up till late at night because I never wanted the words to end. As with Zadie Smith's writing, the characters come alive and the reader becomes fully invested, as if the people we meet are relatives or next door neighbors. In this book from 1934, Hurston says more about feminism, race in America, women and men, class, and poverty than any book written this year. She writes without self-pity and without defeat. Black people in Jonah's Gourd Vine are not less, incomplete, victimized, or somehow deprived versions of whites. They are whole, strong, determined, living full lives and confronting the world as they find it. Hurston is fully aware and writes of their reality, but for her white people are just another fact of life, like the weather, nature, fortune and misfortune. She has no time for hating or railing against the inequality she recognizes. Her characters are strong, intelligent, self-contained, they persevere, determined to carve their lives out of the wilderness. They are just as happy and realized as others; perhaps more so. This is a beautifully written book, poetry oozing between the words, lucky I get to see that world through other people's eyes. I'd never have known this was a first novel, it was so complete and rewarding. Only occasionally did I have the feeling that Hurston's field studies were being quoted at too great a length, but at the same time I enjoyed the idea of getting to see the results of her sociological and anthropological research. Don't forget that this is literature, with a fascinating readable surface, but with many thoughts and messages underneath. Readers could endlessly discuss what forces drive Lucy and John (the names of Hurston's parents), the role of religion, the strength and sorority of the women, the reality of hoodoo in the book, relations between classes and races. Jonah's Gourd Vine is as deep as the reader is willing to go (the Foreword by Rita Dove and Afterword by Henry Louis Gates, Jr. are both well worth reading after you've read the novel -- you'll find they encapsulate many of your own ideas). The book was also a call to action for me: I want to: (1) learn more about Zora Neale Hurston's biography (she was forgotten for decades until Alice Walker published an article about her in 1975); (2) read her other two novels; (3) find more of her short stories (I read "Sweat," it was brilliant). This little review only scratches the surface. For me Hurston is now a must read. [4★]

We by Yevgeny Zamyatin (1924)

In the far future, desire leads D-503 to question the virtues of the One State and the wisdom of the powerful Benefactor. 

Book Review: We was written by a Russian (Evgenij Zamjatin) and published in the early 1920s, both of which make this book of historical as well as literary interest. There are two types of dystopian novels (at the time called "anti-utopian"), too much government (The Hunger Games) or too little (The Road). This is the former, and considered a precursor to George Orwell's 1984. Our journaling narrator is the engineer in charge of the One State's first interstellar rocket. He's content in his rigidly controlled society where people literally live in glass houses where everyone can be seen rising at the same time, eating at the same time, going to work at the same time (not sleeping at night is a criminal offence -- no mention of bathrooms); every act and emotion is prescribed. Content, that is, until he meets a mysterious woman, I-330, strong, intelligent, daring, who stirs him to acts he never even dared imagine. Which lead to endless mental anguish and torment. That's what it's about, but what did I think? In We, the reader is always one step ahead of our naive narrator, seeing and understanding more than he does; we know what is to come as he stumbles along. The world building is well done, creating a sterile society literally walled off from nature and all that is natural. A society where numbers (not "people") blindly follow directions, cheering on the repressive Guardians, and the Benefactor is annually elected unanimously. Overall the plot is fairly simple and simply told, but still a compelling story that read quickly and was satisfying at every step. Enjoyable, thought-provoking, and well-translated by Mirra Ginsburg. Knowledge of the time and place in which it was written (shortly after the Russian revolution) will add to an appreciation of We. Although some of the details may seem obvious or derivative, it's only because of the many books that came after and paid tribute to this one. [4★] 🐢

Best Books of 2016!

Making sure we're on the same page, these books were read in 2016, but most weren't published last year. Rather than having a top ten list or something of that sort, my best books will be divided into categories just for funsies. Let's get into it:

Nonfiction: My best nonfiction book from 2016 was Charlotte Bronte: A Fiery Heart by Claire Harman. Well researched, detailed, and covering much about all three sisters. Many of my false preconceptions were corrected, and I learned all that could've been expected. Honorable mention for 2016 goes to Frantumaglia , a writing auto-biography of sorts, by Elena Ferrante (The Neapolitan Quartet), because as good as it was at showing the passion and deep thought of the author, I think it would only be of interest to other writers and Ferrante devotees. My best nonfiction read in 2016 goes to Private Demons: The Life of Shirley Jackson (1988) by Judy Oppenheimer. Another biography of Shirley Jackson came out this year, but I prefer this volume, mature, balanced, and fun to read.

Poetry: Sad to say, I read no poetry published in 2016 that blew me away, but my honorable mention goes to May Day by Gretchen Marquette, which was well worth the read and contained some first rate poems. I read Mary Oliver's Pulitzer Prize winning American Primitive (1983) last year, and found it mature, deep, and it made me fall in love with nature all over again. Oliver's earlier writing is more complex and (I hate to say it) "traditional" than her simpler, more direct later writings. If you need more complexity in your poetry, American Primitive should meet that need. I also need to mention two quite different but perhaps equally unknown and hard to find poets I read this year. Bill Knott was an American poet who is generally either adored or hated. For the right reader, The Naomi Poems (1968) and Auto-Necrophilia (1971) will be irresistible; for others these books will be puzzling or annoying. They are his two best books, and no other poetry ever written is quite like them. The other unknown poet is Japanese tanka (like five-line haiku) poet Akiko Yosano whose Tangled Hair (1901) explores the emotional facets of love in a way to touch your soul.

Fiction: I read more fiction published in 2016 than I expected, and while I may be hyper-critical, not much of it live up to the classics I read the rest of the time. My best read published in 2016 was largely overlooked, as it was too odd and quirky for most readers, and that was Nutshell by Ian McEwan. It actually reminded me of his early, Kafkaesque short stories, and it was brilliant, crude, and inspired. Something completely different. Kind of impossible to describe, and if I tried it would just deny you the opportunity to discover it yourself. Honorable mention for 2016 goes to Graham Swift for Mothering Sunday, a small but intriguing slice of life. The best novel I read last year, while ostensibly a mystery is much more than that, was In the Woods (2007) by Tana French. Multi-layered, razor-edged detail, and emotionally wrenching. And best of all it's just the first in her Dublin Murder Squad Series (there are now six), in which she focuses on a different detective in each book. Tied was The Casual Vacancy by J.K. Rowling, which would be considered a masterpiece if she hadn't written Harry Potter. Honorable mention goes to After Dark (2007), one of Haruki Murakami's most overlooked books. Second honorable mention goes to Richard Farina's Been Down So Long It looks Like Up to Me (1966), a lost 60's classic, with all the sins and virtues of that decade's long strange trip.

Classics: This is getting long, and classics are classics for a reason, so I'll just list the ones that blew me away in 2016 (there are other classics I read, but some are too predictable, and others I just wasn't quite as amazed by, classics though they were): Muriel Spark, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (1961); Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937); Shirley Jackson, The Road Through the Wall (1948); Hubert Selby, Jr., Last Exit to Brooklyn (1964)(not for kids). All classic in their own way, all different, all worth reading.

Forgotten Gems: This is the category closest to my heart: novels that I loved beyond reason, but have sadly sunk into obscurity. This is my chance to mention them once again. It Happened in Boston? (1968) by Russell Greenan did get a reprint in 2003, but again was quickly lost. An artist confronts life and God. Brilliant, but again too unique and odd to succeed, like a A Confederacy of Dunces that didn't make it. Check your library. My second attempt at resurrection is all four mysteries written by Sarah Caudwell in her short life: Thus Was Adonis Murdered (1981), The Shortest Way to Hades (1984), The Sirens Sang of Murder (1989), and The Sibyl in Her Grave (2000). Cozy British mysteries with a difference, and the kind of books you can fall in love with, if you can stand the dry humor, arch writing, and all the darned lawyers.

So, that's my best of 2016. Reviews of all of these are on the blog. I loved reading these books, and just hope I can find more to love in 2017.

Mansfield Park by Jane Austen (1814)

A poor relation goes to live with her wealthy cousins, where her moral superiority is soon revealed.

Book Review: Mansfield Park is still quality Austen, although to my mind not quite up to Sense and Sensibility or Pride and Prejudice. Here she was going for something new, trying to work with more disparate characters, but the ensemble just didn't come together. And a previous plot point is recycled. This is still Austen's monochromatic world, where servants rarely have names, rules are rules one daren't break, and money is rarely a problem we must dwell on for long. Even the poor relations, who send not one but two daughters to the wealthy relations, have two servants. This world is like nothing I've ever known, an unreal fantasy, quite diverse from my life. But it's also sometimes comforting in its predictable manners and mores -- I enjoy the strange world building. Our main character in Mansfield Park, Fanny Price, is too good to be true: judgmental, quite the prig, self righteous, quick to moralize about others but afraid to live life herself. She judges every other character in the book, to their detriment. She is contrasted to her somewhat "immoral" female cousins (and all other characters), but it's unclear from where her moral purity and certainty derives. Certainly not from the slovenly home in which she was born (her father described: "he swore and he drank, he was dirty and gross"), or Mansfield Park where her female cousins were raised. She also agonizes for an untoward number of pages over the marriage proposal of a wealthy man truly and passionately in love with her. Her rejection leads him to sin. Austen is not saying that the noble poor are somehow better than the immoral rich. Both are found wanting. But in Mansfield Park at least there is some consideration of the English class system (such as how Fanny is treated by her Aunt Norris), which is interesting and I liked that Austen raises class more than in her previous novels. The most intriguing characters are the Crawfords, a wealthy brother (charming, what we might now call a "player") and sister (lively and vivacious, a "party girl") who come to town and upset the apple cart. These are the people who prim, proper, and apprehensive Fanny is meant to contrast. Both are entertaining, attractive, and part of the changing times. It's clear to me that clever, satirical, sharp-tongued Jane Austen identifies with Mary Crawford, even as she approvingly nods at Fanny's strict moral code. Finally, and this is not Austen's intent, it seems that the intense moral strictures, codes, and customs of the time lead directly to the "dreadful crimes" that occur: a married woman running off with another man, a young woman eloping rather than return to the repressive atmosphere of her father's house. Obviously, the horrors that young Fanny condemns (an engaged woman kissing another man in a play) are not considered quite so dreadful today, but it seems the rules of the day led to the bad acts. Fathers approved and disapproved marriages, a woman had the obligation to marry money, a young person had a quite limited number of acceptable partners to choose from, the opportunity to get to know each other (even when engaged) was sharply curtailed. As a result, no one even bats an eye at marriage between first cousins. For me, Mansfield Park has too many preachy, judgmental pages, with too little uncondemned fun and too much agonized moralizing. I still enjoyed Austen's fantasy world (a re-read may be in order), but wanted more Mary Crawford and less Fanny Price. [3½★]

2016 Reading Recap!

Well the New Year is here, so it must be the day to look back at last year, since as Socrates used to repeat all the time, the unexamined life is not worth living. This is going to be mostly numbers (often the number 14) and a little narcissistic, so feel free to skip it if your inner accountant is sleeping in today. I had an excellent reading year in 2016, reading 102 books and 28,116 pages. Whew! More than I expected. Of those 102 books, 52 were written by women, 46 by men (four were edited collections), 74 were fiction, 14 nonfiction, and 14 were poetry. I'd thought to read more classics this year, but only read 14 classics (by my definition), along with 17 books in translation, and 22 by writers of color. Since I read 102 books in 2016, my reading percentages are just about the same as the raw numbers. The longest book I read last year was The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt, at 772 pages. I also added FilmLit to my blog, which I need to get back to since I have several films I want to watch and blather about. Later this week will be a review of Jane Austen's Mansfield Park, and my favorite books read in 2016, which mostly will not be books from 2016.   🐢   Happy New Year!