|
|
Unpredictable, by Eileen Cook: Sophie Kintock has the home of her dreams in a beautiful city, and a job she enjoys with hours friendly for a late sleeper. She's got a supportive best friend. Unfortunately, she's also just been dumped by her longtime boyfriend who has run straight to a woman with melon breasts. Does Sophie take this lying down? Well, at first she ends up lying down in his laundry room clutching one of his socks. But she recovers quickly enough to pose as a psychic to sabotage her ex's new relationship. Sophie's fake psychic gig spirals out of control, and meanwhile, is she going to overlook the nerdy but nice man right in front of her nose, the skeptic Nick McKenna? This is a fun, funny debut with a winning heroine, and by the way, it would make a terrific movie.
|
|
Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides, leaves my jaw hanging open. As a writer, I'm staggered by his ambitious undertaking and profound success. Three generations of family saga from the shores of Smyrna to post-riot Detroit suburbs and modern day Germany would be plenty to tackle for any novelist, but he tells this family story through an intersex narrator, Cal, who would be known in old-fashioned parlance as a hermaphrodite. Cal was born Calliope, and as he narrates -- sometimes using first person, sometimes third person as he speaks of the young girl Callie -- the wit and sensitivity of his storytelling is magical. It took me weeks upon weeks to read it, but it was well worth the time.
|
|
|
|
|
An Invisible Sign of My Own, by Aimee Bender is quirky, creative and endearing, not to mention funny and poignant in a most unusual way. The plot involves 20-year-old math prodigy Mona Gray and her unstoppable tic of knocking wood, but to characterize the plot beyond that wouldn't do it justice. Suffice to say that if you're expecting a linear, ordinary story that progresses naturally from beginning to end, don't pick up this book. And if you read it thinking, "Wait, no way, a math teacher would never do that" the book will fail for you. But if you go along for the ride, you'll be delighted and touched. Bender's inventive language is my favorite part of this book. For example, "There is a long pause and I am waiting, and my hope is eighty airplanes, poised on the runway, ready for takeoff: please, please, please, please. And then he smiles. No, he says." I will definitely be reading this one again, to soak up what I missed the first time.
|
|
For Keeps, by Victoria Zackheim (editor). Two friends of mine are featured in this anthology of essays about women reflecting on their bodies and how their relationship to their bodies affects their lives. Carrie Kabak's essay, "Every Eyelash, Mole and Freckle" is about confronting an overpowering, critical mother and trying to take her power back. She has a poet's eye for detail and you can feel her mother's laser-like scrutiny. Susan Ito's essay, "The Puzzle of My Body," is about the mystery of her birth father, and her own body. Susan is half-Japenese, that much she knows. But her other half is a mystery, one her birth mother could solve, if she chooses to. It's riveting and thought-provoking. The other essays are no less fascinating. In particular, one essay about a writer's glee -- yes, glee -- over her double mastectomy will stick with me for a long time. Women of any age will find this collection inspiring and powerful.
|
|
|
|
|
Charlie Wilson's War, by George Crile. Charlie Wilson is a Congressman who defies definition. He's a liberal representing Bible Belt Texas, who gets caught with exotic dancers and cocaine in a hot tub and yet his electorate still loves him. He is passionate about supporting Israel, despite having just a handful of Jews in his home district, and much to the chagrin of fellow Democrats, he becomes hawkish and over-the-top about supporting the mujahideen in Afghanistan. It's a weird, wonderful story with a bittersweet ending of yes, victory for the rebels and defeat for the Soviets, but the scary denoument left us with 9/11. In the book -- as in the movie -- it's the character of Gust Avrokotos, the rough-edged CIA agent responsible for carrying out Charlie's crusade, who steals the show. I found him to be a more fascinating and complex character, and a guy truly worth rooting for.
|
|
Durable Goods, by Elizabeth Berg. This lovely novel was recommended by a friend, and I can surely see why. It's a slim volume told from the perspective of a 12-year-old girl coping with a dead mother, an Army father prone to violent outbursts, an older sister who has one foot out the door, and her own budding womanhood. Katie's narration is in plain, spare language but there are moments of startling truth, and I found myself nodding along, thinking, "Yes, it is just like that, isn't it?" I'm not sure the father character rang true for me, but this was such a compelling read that I was whipping through the pages at the end.
|
|
|
|
|
Playing With the Moon, by Eliza Graham, is a story of loss, and how we can't overcome it unless we face it. As the novel opens, a young British woman, Minna, is with her husband on a beach along the South Coast of the United Kingdom. But rather than a holiday, it's an escape from a devastating personal tragedy. That day on the beach, Minna discovers the bones of a long-dead soldier, later revealed to be a black GI named Lew Campbell. Minna's path soon crosses with Felicity (better known as Felix), an elderly woman who seems to know more about the soldier than she will let on. The story weaves between both timelines: the modern-day Minna and Felix grappling with their own ghosts, and Felix as a girl in a tiny village that must be evacauted so soldiers can practice landing on the beach. The characters are engrossing, the story is rich, layered and developed and the writing is graceful. This is a wonderful debut and I can't wait to read more.
|
|
Free Food for Millionaires, by Min Jin Lee. This novel threw me off at first, because unlike much contemporary fiction I've been reading lately, the perspective shifts between characters freely, even to minor characters, even if for just one sentence. But over 500 pages later, I'm glad I stuck with it. At core it's the story of Casey Han. Casey stars in essentially another "young girl struggles to make it in The City" story, with the requisite career and financial struggles, questions of identity, and gutting romantic disasters. But Lee extends the story far beyond Casey to the lives in her orbit, from the deep exploration into her naïve mother with the voice of angels, Leah, to a quick glimpse into the life of Latino doorman, George. It also covers years of Casey's life, so the result is a sprawling, lush narrative that you sink into like a featherbed. In hindsight, I still find the beginning a bit disjointed and unnecessarily frantic in its roving of point-of-view, and I'm not wild about the ending, which left me thinking, "Sure, but what changed? Won't she end up right back where she started, yet again?" However, Lee is clearly a gifted writer, and FREE FOOD FOR MILLIONAIRES was worth the time.
|
|
|
|
|
Up In Honey's Room, by Elmore Leonard. Where has Elmore been all my life? I can't believe I'm only just now picking up one of his books, and the writer himself is in his 80s! This book is his latest, and it's a witty crime drama that reached the last page all too soon. The title character is Honey Deal, which tells you something right there about the kind of book it will be. Honey is working at Hudson's in Detroit (selling "better dresses") in the midst of World War II, and as the book begins, has walked out on her husband, a daft German named Walter Schoen who is a dead ringer for his hero, Heinrich Himmler. It's through this loose connection that Honey gets mixed up with a German spy ring and some escaped POWs, and federal marshal Carl Webster, the "hot kid" of an earlier novel. The plot is almost beside the point, anyway. It's the crazy characters and the sexy banter between Honey and various men that really make this book a pleasure. According to Publishers Weekly, this book isn't Leonard's best work. Maybe not, but I'm hooked anyway. Any Elmore fans out there want to direct me to your favorites? E-mail me at the "contact" link above…
|
|
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, by J. K. Rowling. I have to admit it, my predominant feeling is relief that the series is over. I like Harry, but I'm not wild about him like much of his rabid fan base. I first started reading them on recommendation of a friend, and I found the first books inventive and whimsical and funny. Frankly I preferred the 11-year-old Harry to the brooding, angry adolescent. After all, I read these books as a simplistic escape, and preferred the earlier ones where the body count wasn't so high. As the books got more bloated, I kept reading because I'd been reading along so far, but I found myself skimming more. Yet, for all my grousing, I really did come to care what happened to the characters, and I was not about to stop before the last one. I read it furiously fast, because I've been afraid someone would spoil the big ending. I'll only say that I find the ending satisfactory and believable. The first half of Deathly Hallows is a bit of a slog, though. Lots of wandering in the wilderness. When you take them out of Hogwarts, the book really loses something, because Hogwarts was like a character in itself. It was necessary for the plot, but still a bit disappointing. I think Rowling was trapped by her "everything must happen in the school year so all climactic endings must happen in the spring" convention, requiring her characters to waste vast amounts of time accomplishing very little. But by the second half, the book really picks up and as I said, ends very satisfactorily. At first I was complaining about all the hype -- who likes to feel like a lemming running off a cliff with everyone else? -- but a writer friend reminded me that this much hype over a book should be cause for celebration. When will we see that again in our lifetimes?
|
|
|
|
|
Then We Came To The End, by Joshua Ferris. This comic novel of the workplace is surprisingly sensitive and poignant, and for those of us cubicle jockeys (or those recovering from this affliction) all too familiar. It's a story of an advertising agency hitting the skids as "dot com" became "dot bomb" at the turn of the millennium. The most striking part of the book is the narrative voice, most often a nebulous "we" referring to the office workers as a collective, worrying about who next would "walk Spanish" ("getting downsized" in their own office vernacular) or who might come back, guns blazing, to take revenge on the callous corporate world. I thought this device might get annoyingly precious, but instead I found that it fit the story perfectly. Doesn't it get to be that way after a while? That office workers, even when they dislike each other, tend to band together under seige? Sometimes the narrative will follow one particular character for a while in third person, sounding like traditional storytelling again, but soon we're back with "we" and how "we" all reacted to that tale as it gets bounced through the office gossip network. The action takes place almost entirely at work, and a middle section following one character in her private life, though engaging and necessary for the plot, is the one place I felt the novel lost some of its spark. This book captures with hilarious accuracy the oddball characters and oddball behaviors common in the habitat of the Typical American Officeworker, and then reaches into those prosaic lives to show us how work intersects with everything else: pain, grief, life and love.
|
|
A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini. I'm sorry to say I was disappointed by this book. I'd heard Hosseini speak in Midland after THE KITE RUNNER came out, and he promised his next book would focus on Afghan women. So I got my hands on this book as soon as I could. Unfortunately, where his debut had a fully realized and complex protagonist, the heroines of SUNS -- Maryam and Laila -- serve mainly as vessels of woe and trauma. Horror after horror is visited upon these women in their marriage to the brutal fundamentalist Rasheed. I can't remember reading a book with the protagonists so utterly powerless. I guess that's the point -- Afghan women of the time certainly were powerless -- but they lack the spark of life. Even their rare attempts to escape or stand up to Rasheed seem rote, and destined to fail. Also, a major plot twist was completely obvious to me, although it was meant to be a surprise. I did find the book sadly educational. It was a reminder of the tragedies that occur when warring powers fight their battles in someone else's backyard.
|
|
|
|
|
The Mistress's Daughter, by A.M. Homes is an adoption memoir that doesn't exactly have a movie-of-the-week resolution. The author is a successful writer when her birth mother seeks her out, and Homes's fantasies of her birth mother as a vision of perfection are quickly dispelled. Instead, Ellen is grasping and demanding, to the point of stalking her at a book signing, and her father -- who conceived her during an extramarital affair -- keeps her at arm's length like a dirty Kleenex. This memoir is necessarily a bit scanty. After all, Homes never learned that much and her interactions with her birth parents were limited. A whole middle section devoted to Internet and library research is brilliantly written but still a little dull, compared to the emotional territory covered in the rest of the volume. Still, it's a compelling read, and anyone who has ever pondered her identity will find that it resonates.
|
|
The Epicure's Lament, by Kate Christensen. I hated the protagonist of this book, Hugo Whittier. He's an arrogant misanthropic hermit, and manipulates the lives of those around him regardless of the damage he might cause, as long as he can get closer to his goals: sex and complete solitude. The premise of the book is that he's killing himself by smoking. Lots of people do that, but he has a rare disease which will literally kill him with cigarettes, soon and painfully. All he has to do to save his life is quit, but he won't. He's also a foodie, hence the "epicure" part of the title. I was ready to give up on the book in frustration, because everyone in Hugo's orbit seems to fall for his schemes like Grade A chumps. I was thinking, will nothing stop him? This is getting dull. I wanted somebody, anybody, to throw him off his game. And finally, someone does. And then someone else. And Hugo's carefully planned slow suicide is disrupted as his hermit haven is suddenly filled with people. The plot involves a hitman, a pedophile, a daughter who is probably not Hugo's, a couple of falling-apart marriages, and other bits of drama. But the real fun of this book is how Christensen somehow brings the reader firmly into Hugo's corner, despite how awful he is, because we eventually see that he really is human. And therefore, not so different from the rest of us.
|
|
|
|
|
The Namesake, by Jhumpa Lahiriis a novel about names -- the names chosen for us, the names we choose for ourselves, and what those names say about our identities. Gogol is a first-generation American of Bengali Indian descent. Tradition demands he should have a "good" name for the outside world, and a nickname. As it happens, he ends up with only his nickname, Gogol, for his father's favorite writer. Little does Gogol realize his name actually holds a much deeper significance. The book follows Gogol from before his birth and into his thirties as he navigates two worlds: his parents as immigrants, always with one foot back in India, and as an American yearning to be free of his legacy. The point of view is a bit removed, told in third person with some narrative distance from Gogol. Yet this does not lessen the emotional impact, and in fact I found myself firmly in Gogol's mind throughout this novel. It's a quiet book, but with profound insights into what it means to live up to a name.
|
|
Catching Genius, by Kristy Kiernan, is a promising debut novel about two sisters split apart by genius and their father's preference for the more brilliant child. As adults, Connie and Estella have been estranged from one another, but the impending sale of their family's childhood home on the Gulf Coast of Florida forces them to face each other and their past. Kiernan paints a vivid and beautiful picture of the Floridian beach, and her character portraits are realistic and emotional. Not only are the sisters reckoning with past hurts and secrets, but present day woes. Estella has been plagued with mysterious headaches, which may or may not be connected to her astonishing genius with numbers. And Connie's marriage has begun to crumble, and on top of that, it seems there may be another genius in the family, something that frightens Connie to the core, considering what damage was wrought by Estella's "gift". This is a beautiful and involving debut, and I look forward to more from Kiernan.
|
|
|
|
|
The Blade Itself, by Marcus Sakey. This is a taut crime novel that will drive you through the pages with a classic dilemma. A likeable protagonist with a checkered past is forced back into his old criminal ways by a shadowy and violent former friend. The stakes are as high as they can get; he stands to lose everything he holds dear and could ruin several other lives in the process. Even as our brains scream out “No, don’t do it, Danny!” we understand exactly why he enters into a scheme with the menacing Evan McGann. And when Danny’s plan to keep things under control comes apart at the seams (and of course we knew it would), we can’t stop reading until we get to the climax. From the chillingly apt title (“The blade itself incites to violence,” reads the epigraph from Homer) to the resolution, this is a very good crime fiction debut.
|
|
ELEMENTS OF STYLE, by Wendy Wasserstein. The author -- who sadly passed away all too soon of lymphoma, on January 30, 2006 -- was a Pulitzer-prize winning playwright. So when I picked up this post 9/11 satire of Manhattan's elite, yes, I expected fireworks from the first page. I was initially disappointed that it seemed to start from such an ordinary place. An earnest Manhattan pediatrician with a social conscience, Francesca Weissman, is trying to fend off the spoiled society moms throwing tantrums in her office, just weeks after the terrorists struck. It's a character-sketching kind of opening, the sign of an author still getting comfortable with her characters, and for a time, nothing much happens. However, I found it was worth the wait for the sharp satire and convoluted motivations that would eventually be revealed. Most of her characters behave badly to varying degrees: from selfish and stupid to downright calculating evil, leaving poor Frankie Weissman really put through the wringer. I had to keep reading, to find out exactly who would self-destruct, who would be destroyed, and whether Frankie would ever get what she really wanted. I stopped by the Amazon page for this book today and was shocked to see the reader reviews were so overwhelmingly negative, most said in one sense or another they felt "let down" by Wasserstein. Maybe those readers would have been better served by looking at this book in isolation from her career as a playwright. Because for all her success on the stage, this was her first -- and sadly, her last -- novel. I enjoyed it very much.
|
|
|
|
|
Don't Chew Jesus!: A Collection of Memorable Nun Stories, by Danielle Schaaf, Michael Prendergast. These anecdotes -- hilarious, touching, offbeat and sometimes jaw-dropping -- are perfect for Catholic-educated kids in the pre-Vatican II generation. The stories will spark warm nostalgia and no doubt cause many readers to say to their spouses: "Honey, get this!" before reading aloud a passage or three or twelve. For this Gen-X Protestant, it's a bit like a cultural expedition: nothing I can relate to directly, but still fascinating. My favorite parts were the stories of Sisterly tenderness, and nuns turning a deliberate blind eye to really funny pranks. These tales -- of baseball-playing nuns, skinny-dipping nuns, and boxing nuns -- lend humanity and depth to these women who prove to be much more than a ruler-wielding stereotype.
|
|
What Was She Thinking? Notes on a Scandal, by Zoe Heller, is one of my favorite books of the year. On the surface, it's a story about art teacher Sheba's affair with a teen-age boy, as told by her friend, fellow schoolteacher Barbara. But the story reveals much more about the older, spinsterish Barbara Covett than she realizes, as she narrates Sheba's story with alternating notes of pity and superiority. The complexity in Barbara elevates this tale beyond the territory of lurid trysts into a true psychological exploration of both women. Sheba is no vicious predator, but her affair with a boy is no victimless crime. Barbara's narration is often colored with class distinctions, as she puts Sheba and her family above her own station (and mocks them for upper class affectations) and yet Barbara sets herself far apart from those she considers beneath her. Once again, Barbara appears to be unaware of this tendency. This lack of self-awareness would be frustrating in many other fictional characters, but in Heller's capable hands, it lends yet another layer to a fascinating portrayal. The film is coming out soon, starring Cate Blanchett as Sheba and Dame Judi Dench as Barbara. The casting seems perfect to me, and I can't wait to see it.
|
|
|
|
|
AMBITIOUS BREW, by Maureen Ogle. I guarantee, this book will make you thirsty. It will also make you laugh, and read aloud bits to your life's partner because beer -- as it happens -- is pretty damn interesting. So goes Ambitious Brew, by Maureen Ogle, a history of beer in America that's anything but dry. My favorite part has to be the 1893 World's Columbian Exposition, as the two pre-eminent beer barons battle for the crown, even though the powers that be tried to sap the competition out of the event, to avoid just the kind of brouhaha that ensued. Ever looked closely at a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon? You'll never look at that label the same way again. Another highlight of the book is the section on the end of Prohibition, with so much colorful detail you'll feel like you're right in the thick of it. Ogle also traces the changing composition of American beer, from the heavy, to the light, back to the more flavorful microbrews. It was fascinating -- and unexpected -- how our national taste in beer seemed to match our national mood at various points in history. Ogle's writing is as accessible and colorful as her subjects. An entertaining book to be sure, and not to be missed.
|
|
RUMSPRINGA: To Be Or Not To Be Amish, by Tom Shachtman. I was in the midst of reading this when the horrible shooting took place at the Amish schoolhouse, so reading this book was a surreal experience for me. The author produces what seems to be a fair and honest portrait of the Amish community and in particular, their tradition of rumspringa, which loosely translates to "running around time." Their children at age 16 are allowed to experience the things forbidden by their religion -- like cell phones, cars, drinking -- with the expectation and hope that after they run around, they will "join church" and get married, being baptized as adults fully aware of everything they're passing up to remain Amish. In fact, finding a mate is part of this tradition, though the Amish youth do mix in with the "English" teens. ("English" being the word they use to describe the outsiders.) As one could imagine, problems crop up during this time. Some Amish youth get in over their heads, and some never come back to the fold. The author also covers other aspects of Amish youth culture, such as the ban on education past eighth grade. He does his best to neither idealize nor harshly criticize his subjects. They are neither the pure bastions of holy simplicity as portrayed in the national media, nor are they simpletons. He is upfront about his discomfort with their ban on higher education, and sees this as a threat to their continuance as a culture. A fascinating read, with plenty of firsthand interviews. I do recommend it.
|
|
|
|
|
The Once and Future King, by T.H. White. This was like reading a series of books by the same person. It's an epic re-telling of the King Arthur legend, and the first part -- bout the formative years of "Wart," then a bastard child being raised by Sir Ector and tutored by a weird old magician -- reads like the best of farce. It cracked me up, out loud, repeatedly, drawing strange looks from other coffee shop patrons. Then, after the Wart pulls the sword out of the stone and becomes King Arthur, it becomes a treatise on war, what makes a "good" war (if there is such a thing) and Might vs. Right, all the considerations that went into the famous Round Table. This section is still somewhat funny in spots, with wry commentary that still resonates in 2006. And then…Lancelot and Queen Guenevere meet, and from that moment on the book becomes a march into doom. You don't have to know much about Arthurian legend to anticipate this three-cornered love affair won't go well, and when you add blood feuds and witches… It becomes an entirely different story. Yet, the narrator's voice is consistent throughout and the writing is lovely, in some spots jaw-droppingly impressive. This is a must if you're a fan of sword-and-sorcery stuff, or Arthurian epic, but if that's the case for you, I'm sure you've already read it. It was an interesting departure for me, and though the length (600-some pages in mass market paperback with teeny-tiny print) made it a bit of a slog in parts, I'm glad I read it in the end.
|
|
Coupon Girl, by Becky Motew. A public service announcement for anyone reading Becky Motew’s Coupon Girl in a public place: You will laugh out loud, and people will stare. I learned this lesson firsthand recently, reading this delightful debut novel about Jeannie Callahan, a witty narrator with the unusual job of selling coupons to businesses. The coupon business is more cutthroat than you would imagine and her fellow salespeople – not to mention the customers -- run the gamut from amusing to bizarre, and that’s before we even meet the wacky cast of a local production of the Sound of Music, featuring Jeannie in a chorus role. Hilarity ensues, and more intrigue than you would expect from a comic novel about theatre and coupons. I’ll never look at my Val-Pak coupon mailer the same way again…
|
|
|
|
|
Water for Elephants, by Sara Gruen is a New York Times bestseller and it’s no surprise to me. This engrossing page-turner flips between Jacob Jankowski in a nursing home, age 90 or perhaps 93 (he can’t remember) and the 1930s, when a family tragedy eventually steers him onto a circus train and into an adventure of a lifetime. As a protagonist, Jacob is engaging and real in his old and young versions. The circus setting is vivid and stirring, with a frightening villian, his beautiful wife, and a very special elephant you won’t soon forget. Once you start turning the pages, you won’t be able to stop.
|
|
The Corrections, by Jonathan Franzen. I was prepared to hate this book. You see, Oprah picked this novel for her book club, and then Franzen went around on a book tour making snide comments about her previous picks and her viewing audience (gee, thanks) until he was dis-invited. Thus, I thought I’d get 500-plus pages of self-indulgent, self-conscious, literary twaddle. I’d say it was more like 50 pages of twaddle, and the rest was a riveting portrait of a family so splendidly screwed up, so poignantly and hilariously mental, that I was almost completely enthralled (with the exception of the aforementioned rambling that could have been deleted with no ill effects). It’s sometimes funny, sometimes tragic, sometimes nauseating (he doesn’t shy from gross bodily functions), but mostly it’s deeply emotional and affecting.
|
|
|
|
|
Digging to America, by Anne Tyler. I’m a huge fan of Tyler’s, and her latest book was more of what I love best: poignant tales of ordinary human drama, told through beautifully represented characters. In this book, two families – one Iranian-American and one as white-bread American as could be – adopt baby girls from Korea, on the same day. The book follows these very different families through the formative years of the little girls’ lives, through the lens of the sometimes-rocky friendship that evolves between the adults. The most stirring story is that of Maryam, the Iranian immigrant grandmother, as she navigates life as a widow, with some romantic interest from a most unexpected person. I had a negative reaction to one of the young mothers in the book, Bitsy, who is so harsh and judgmental that she’s hard to like, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying this touching novel.
|
|
Murder on the Leviathan, by Boris Akunin, an author phenomenally popular in Russia, and whose translated works are catching fire here in the States. I heard an interview with him on the Diane Rehm show on NPR, and he was so funny and the callers so rapturous in their adoration I decided to check him out. This book takes place in 1878, largely aboard a passenger ship referenced in the title. It’s a typical murder mystery but the fun here is in how the story is told from the perspectives of all the various suspects. Seeing the varying reactions to the same incidents is great fun, and Akunin captures their foibles with sharp-eyed, understated wit. I was disappointed we didn’t get to see much from the perspective of the hero, however, because he was one of the most interesting characters.
|
|
|
|
|
Oryx and Crake, by Margaret Atwood, was loaned to me by Ms. Atwood’s number one fan in West Michigan, my buddy Ann. So, Ann will hunt me down with a pointed stick if I say anything less than stellar. Fortunately for both of us, I have a good report. This is a near-future, post-apocalyptic tale of genetic engineering gone horribly awry. (Doesn’t technology in these books always go horribly awry? I guess that’s the point...) The thrill here, though, is in piecing together the big “What Happened?” question, as the opening pages bring you to Snowman, who might be the last real human left on earth. Though I long ago read the last page, I can’t stop thinking about pigoons, ChickieNobs, and the compelling title characters: the “intellectually honourable” Crake and the beautiful, enigmatic Oryx. It’s a haunting, thought-provoking tale, laced with Atwood’s wickedly funny black humor.
|
|
The Dirty Girls’ Social Club, by Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez, reminded me very much of Waiting to Exhale. Similar to McMillan’s story of four African-American girlfriends, this tale attempts to paint the whole rainbow of Latina possibilities. We have a Jewish Latina housewife, a half-white, half-Cuban journalist, a black Latina from Colombia, and more. One of the sucias is a closeted lesbian. Six in all, at first it’s hard to keep track of them. It’s an enjoyable read that kept me turning the pages, but I think the author would have been better served by fewer characters, leaving more time to delve into their stories with more depth. As it is, each storyline feels rushed and ties up too quickly. That said, to be left wanting more is not such a bad thing in a novel.
|
|
|
|
|
Phobos, by Ty Drago is an impressive science fiction debut. Its hero, Lt. Brogue, is an aberration, the lone Martian officer in a military ruled by Terrans. He must solve the mystery of the Phobos Beast, some kind of deadly creature hidden in the dusts of that Martian moon, tearing apart scientists and military personnel seemingly at random. Part mystery, part action-adventure, with just a dash of social commentary on prejudice, this is one page-turner of a story and would make a kick-ass movie. The real treat here is the finely drawn characterizations, especially the stoic Sgt. Choi, portrayed with wry humor and sensitivity.
|
|
The Sweetheart Season, by Karen Joy Fowler is a treat to read, largely due to the winning voice of the narrator, who imagines the life of her mother, Irini Doyle, as a 19-year-old mill worker in the summer of 1947. The plot involves girls playing baseball (badly), a generations-old rift in the town of Magrit, ghosts, Ghandi, and love, both with and without lust. Highlights include the tender and complicated relationship of Irini with her drunken father, and the offbeat imaginary persona, Maggie Collins, the Martha Stewart of her day. None of this will do this book justice. Read it for yourself; you’ll smirk and chuckle along as Fowler’s compelling and oddball characters pull you through this quirky, touching tale.
|
|
|
|
|
Waiting to Exhale, by Terry McMillan is a classic of the chicklit genre. It’s an old favorite of mine and I’ve come back to it years after I first enjoyed it. It’s still good, but now some sloppy writer-type mistakes bother me: flimsy character motivation in spots, switching character points of view mid-paragraph (wait, I thought these were Bernadine’s thoughts? Why are we in a convenience store clerk’s head?) and cliché. That all said, it was great fun to read. The characters – despite all of the above – feel real and the ending is not all sweetness and violins with everyone capturing her Dream Man. It’s also full of period references like “Quantum Leap” and “Cagney and Lacey.” Who knew 1990 would feel like a million years ago already?
|
|
The Robber Bride, by Margaret Atwood tells of three unusual women whose lives spin around the destructive female at center, the powerful and not-quite-dead Zenia. In anyone else’s hands this tale would be the stuff of soap opera, but Margaret Atwood’s many-layered story is rich with psychological drama and symbolism. The histories of each woman are no dull diversion from the modern day story. Each one is as compelling as the day Zenia, believed to be dead for years, saunters into a restaurant where the three women are having lunch.
|
|
|
|