Books I read for the second (or third, fourth, etc.) time (so I am not including a review):
Life of Pi -- Yann Martel
Purple Hibiscus -- Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche
The Handmaid’s Tale -- Margaret Atwood
Persepolis -- Marjane Satrapi
Books I read for the first time, and some thoughts about them:
Les Misérables -- Victor Hugo
“Here is all I ask of a book- give me everything. Everything, and don't leave out a single word.” -- Pat Conroy
Julie Rose's translation of Victor Hugo's novel certainly does this.
I decided this fall that I was finally going to read this book, and in choosing a translation I took Jeanette Winterson's advice: "This is the one to read – more than a thousand pages of it, and if you are flying, just carry it under your arm as you board." In fact, I did that too; I began reading on a flight to Minneapolis shortly before Thanksgiving, one in which I was traveling alone and didn't have to worry about keeping track of my children's luggage as well as my own. (However, this is exactly what prevented me from bringing it along on our flight at Christmas.) I do not regret one bit splurging for the hardcover, however awkward it was to haul around. It wasn't a book I could slip into my purse, but it withstood lots of underlining and trips to my daughter's gymnastics classes on Saturday mornings.
Admittedly, it took me a long time to read, but I should also point out that I read in spurts. There were many weeks in which I didn't pick it up at all, and there were times when I would read a couple hundred pages straight through. I found that the longer I went without picking it up the less I wanted to -- this is a book that requires commitment, and I have such a long reading list! -- but every single time I did, I was glad. I was genuinely moved throughout the entire book and wept at the end, and I'm a little sorry to let it go.
In his introduction, Adam Gopnik writes:
There is...a natural urge on the part of the reader to skip the gassy bits and go directly to the dramatic bits. This would be a mistake, and one that this new translation by Julie Rose, which marvelously removes the yellowed varnish from Hugo's prose and gives us the racy, breathless, and passionate intelligence of the original, makes easy to avoid. The gassy bits in Les Misérables aren't really gassy. They're as good as the good bits. They're what give the good bits the gas that gets them aloft.
Do yourself a favor and read the unabridged version. Also, resist the urge to skim. There were points at which I wondered why I was reading pages upon pages of something that seemed to have little connection to the plot, but had I not dug in and read them anyway, I might have missed the breathtaking moment in which I got it. And then I was filled with renewed appreciation for Victor Hugo's genius, because I still can't believe that one human mind could produce a book that truly does contain everything. Reading it was an experience that will stay with me.
The Joys of Love -- Madeleine L'Engle
This is actually a very sweet little book but I would only recommend it to people who really love Madeleine L'Engle. I enjoyed it quite a bit because I was excited to read one of her earliest and previously unpublished works and I could see the beginning of what I loved in many of her later books, but I certainly wouldn't recommend it as an introduction to L’Engle.
Listening for Madeleine: A Portrait of Madeleine L’Engle in Many Voices -- Leonard S. Marcus
What I'd really love is for someone to actually write a full biography of L'Engle, but this was really interesting. The book is divided into different sections, each focusing on L'Engle from a different perspective -- writer, matriarch, mentor, friend, icon. I think many of us who have loved her books feel like we know her so intimately, as she really is that kind of writer, but this adds a little dose of reality and presents her as more flawed and human. I didn't view that as a bad thing, though. Didn't she herself warn against the dangers of putting people on pedestals?
(The infamous New Yorker article from 2004 was mentioned so many times that I rather wish they'd included it in the book, even though I've read it myself.)
97 Orchard : An Edible History of Five Immigrant Families in One New York Tenement -- Jane Ziegelman
I bought this at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum when we were in NYC just after Christmas. I loved the Tenement Museum and I thought, based on the title, that this book would give me more insight into the lives of the people who lived there.
Well, it doesn't really do that. It's not really about the families, so I was a little disappointed -- but my disappointment gave way to pleasure soon enough, because it is still quite an engaging and interesting read. If you're at all interested in history or food (who doesn't love good writing about food?) I recommend this one.
(I think I'd have enjoyed this even if I'd never been to NYC or the Tenement Museum, but I'm glad I read it after I ate my first knish at the Yonah Schimmel Knishery!)
The Round House -- Louise Erdrich
This is Louise Erdrich doing what she does best. It's a compulsively readable story -- I couldn't stand to put it down and would have read it straight through in one sitting if I could have -- but what really makes it soar are her characters. So well done.
I Know it’s Over -- C.K. Kelly Martin
"Fans of John Green will love this"? I don't think so. And I'm really disappointed -- I tried to find a copy of this forever after hearing about how great it was. Now I think I understand why that was difficult.
Anyway, a YA novel about teenage pregnancy (with the token divorced parents, gay friend, etc. thrown in) should not be this excruciatingly boring. And when it wasn't excruciatingly boring, it was just awkward -- badly written dialogue, badly written characters. I'll probably toss this one on my classroom bookshelf, but I won't recommend it to anyone.
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn -- Betty Smith
This is one of those books I've thought I should read for years, and part of me really wishes my fifteen-year-old self could have discovered it. But 34-year-old me found it a pretty wonderful book, too.
Code Name Verity -- Elizabeth Wein
I stayed up until the wee morning hours finishing this book. I LOVED the characters. Other than that, I don't want to say a single thing more about it, as I believe it's one of those books that is best when the reader enters it knowing as little as possible.
Banished: Surviving My Years in the Westboro Baptist Church -- Lauren Drain
I picked this up at the library after watching a documentary on the Westboro Baptist Church. Two stars because it’s not exactly fabulous journalism, although it is a fast and pretty interesting read (it took me a day). The book is unsettling in a couple of ways. First, obviously, the subject matter is pretty mind-blowing and I find myself thinking about it a lot. Second of all, Lauren Drain was obviously deeply hurt by the WBC and by her family, who literally threw her away without a second thought; this book really reads like a heartbroken love letter to them. (Her father’s behavior is as repulsive to me as any member of the Phelps family.)
The WBC loves any and all exposure they get, and I have no doubt they’ll love this book for that reason. And even though Lauren has (I believe earnestly) rejected the teachings of this “church,” the book doesn’t paint them in an entirely negative light. It’ll be interesting to hear from more of those who are leaving the WBC, as more and more seem to be, and I can only hope Lauren’s siblings follow her some day -- her obvious and sincere love for them still is the most poignant and sad part of her story.
Evolving in Monkey Town: How a Girl Who Knew all the Answers Learned to Ask the Questions -- Rachel Held Evans
Minus a star because the author is perhaps just a touch too fond of parallel structure, but as someone whose faith has also "evolved" after a somewhat similar upbringing, I really loved this.
Midnight’s Children -- Salman Rushdie
This is emphatically not an easy read, and it is highly demanding of its readers. Saleem Sinai is an unreliable and at times insufferable narrator. And yet, this book is well worth the effort -- it absolutely deserves the Best of the Bookers, and it left me delighted, exasperated, and ultimately awed.
Prairie Silence: A Memoir -- Melanie Hoffert
When I began reading this, I didn’t know it was written by someone who graduated from my alma mater four years before I did! I picked this up at a great little bookstore in my hometown because it took exactly one glance at the cover (“a rural expatriate’s journey to reconcile home, love, and faith”) for me to know it would resonate. And it did. Hoffert writes beautifully about her longing for the prairie of her childhood and the struggles she faces returning as an adult.
I think anyone who has loved and left similar landscapes will understand this book on a deeply familiar level, but what I really loved about it was not so much her particular story -- although that’s what drew me to the book. Rather, I love the greater implication that we all have a story to tell, even if it’s a quiet one, and the connections we can make with other human beings often happen precisely in those ordinary moments of our lives. She takes notice of them the way writers do, and I find myself thinking about it (as well as my own stories) long after I finished the book. Because really, our stories are never finished.
Life After Life -- Kate Atkinson
Kate Atkinson is always fun to read, and I expected as much of her latest. What I didn’t quite expect was the way I keep going back to it, thinking about it, noticing little intricacies that would be easy to miss at first because the story is so very readable. It lingers. Love the structure, love the storytelling, love the characters. I think this is one of those books I’d recommend to pretty much anyone.
The Warmth of Other Suns -- Isabel Wilkerson
If I read one book this year that I think absolutely every single person should read, this is it.
The Best Day the Worst Day: Life with Jane Kenyon -- Donald Hall
Matt gave me the Jane Kenyon’s Collected Poems for my 27th birthday and I have loved her ever since. I came to appreciate Donald Hall later, but just as much, and his memoir of their marriage and Jane’s death is nearly perfect. It’s strange to think of such a book as beautiful, and even -- at times -- uplifting and inspiring, but it is. Still, I read the last two chapters very slowly, not wanting to read the inevitable end. It is a book both heavy and light, and I think this is one that will stay with me for a long time.
A Year of Biblical Womanhood -- Rachel Held Evans
Oh, how I wish I could have had this book on hand six months after I got married when my grandmother told me she didn’t think women had any business planning their weddings because “the husband is the head of the household.” Or the following year, when a friend of mine proudly informed me that she’d walked right out of church when a woman stood up to preach.
Seriously, though, I loved this, and Rachel Held Evans is someone I’ll keep reading.
Gilead -- Marilynne Robinson
I love this book the more I think about it, the longer it sits with me. It reminds me a bit of reading To the Lighthouse back in college -- it’s a novel that demands its reader to slow down, to notice the language, to feel every word. I keep coming back to the word grace. I think it’s one of the most perfect novels I read this year.
Olive Kitteridge -- Elizabeth Strout
Elizabeth Strout was one of my earliest teachers of fiction, but I didn’t realize that until I read “Ship in a Bottle,” one of the stories in this novel-in-stories. I knew almost right away that I’d read that story before, carefully, and more than once, because the memory of the sentences was so clear. Still, I couldn’t place it right away, and it took a google search to remind me where I’d first read it -- in Seventeen magazine, of all places, when I was only thirteen years old. I remember reading and rereading that story, studying it really, fascinated by the ways in which the writer revealed the characters through the perspective of an eleven-year-old girl. The story has since been revised quite a bit -- it references Abu Ghraib, for instance. But the essence is the same, and the same sentences that captivated me as a thirteen-year-old who loved language are there.
That said, I loved this book before I recognized that story. The format worked well for me; instead of a continuous narrative, the book is comprised of thirteen stories that can stand alone but are connected by the title character. Often, Olive is right at the center of the story and the reader sees right into her loneliness, her bitterness and disappointments and small flashes of joy and contentment. Other times, she is a character who merely passes through a story about someone else. Those serve as a reminder of our interconnectedness, even when we might not be aware of it. It’s a relief from her own unrelenting narrative, although even the stories in which she plays a minor part uncover some uncomfortable truths.
I read so many reviews that depict this book as “depressing,” but I didn’t really find it that; reading about ordinary people and their deep loneliness, their deep humanity, which doesn’t always make them seem terribly lovable, is somehow comforting to me. Sometimes I loved Olive Kitteridge the way I love Harry Angstrom in John Updike’s Rabbit novels. No one in those novels is particularly lovable or heroic, but one can’t really hate any of the characters, either. Such stories can be uncomfortable to read, but only because we recognize something of ourselves in them, and that’s how we develop a sense of empathy -- one of the reasons I believe reading fiction matters.
Create Dangerously: The Immigrant Artist at Work -- Edwidge Danticat
Collections of essays that are probably meant to stand alone are difficult to rate as a whole. Overall, this is a powerful book and some of the pieces will undoubtedly stay with me. I’m not sure reading them all at once was the way to go, though I’d still recommend it without reservation.
An Invisible Sign of My Own -- Aimee Bender
This book was a beautiful, hot little knife through my soul. If you’re looking for a realistic novel about teaching, say, or kids, or anything, look somewhere else. If you’re looking for something true, though, and if you can take the ache that comes with it, this delivers.
A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: How I Learned to Live a Better Story -- Donald Miller
I liked the idea quite a bit -- living a better story -- but I wish he’d included a bit more actual storytelling and a little less advice peppered with anecdotes. I was hoping it would read like one of Anne Lamott’s books (and she claims to love Donald Miller), but, for me, it didn’t.
The Burgess Boys -- Elizabeth Strout
Olive Kitteridge was so good -- I wonder if I should have read this so soon afterwards. On one hand, I enjoyed it as a summer read; Elizabeth Strout writes some uncomfortable stuff, but man, it’s kind of great to read. I didn’t particularly like anyone in this book, but I trusted that they would be redeemed in the end -- and not in the sense that they’d become good, or even likable, but because I would recognize their humanity and love them for that. This is Strout’s strength. And she writes some really wonderful things about family, especially towards the end. The story itself is very readable, and it’s exactly what I wanted out of a summer book.
On the other hand, it just wasn’t of the same caliber as Olive Kitteridge, which blew me away. The story will stay with me, and there are great moments -- Strout is a skilled writer -- but I just didn’t find this as well-crafted as her previous work.
The Remains of the Day -- Kazuo Ishiguro
This is a quiet book in that nothing actually happens, really, but I was still completely absorbed. It is a beautifully written book. Stevens’ voice, the tone, the pacing, the nuance -- it’s all pitch-perfect. And it broke my heart a bit at the very end.
Kafka on the Shore -- Haruki Murakami
I read this in just over two days -- it was so hard to put down and try to walk around in the “real” world after immersing myself in this one. I loved noticing the way Murakami connects the dots throughout this bizarre story that managed to be both deeply unsettling and deeply moving. Of course, he’s at his surreal best as well, and the experience reminded me a lot of reading The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle several years ago.
The Interestings -- Meg Wolitzer
4.5 stars, really, and sometimes 5, except that I didn’t love the last third of the book as much as the first two-thirds. Still. The reviewers who compare Meg Wolitzer to John Updike are pretty much spot-on; this reminded me a lot of reading the Rabbit novels, not because the stories are like each other but because Wolitzer has the same ability to see people as they really are and share them with us in such a way that we see ourselves in them as well. I also have a particular love for books that follow adolescent relationships of all kinds into adulthood and do it convincingly. (A side rant: when reviewers want to really compliment a woman writer, they compare her favorably to men. Sometimes women are compared favorably with other women, of course, but does anyone ever compare a man to a woman when they want to compliment his work?)
This is an ambitious book, and it’s a lot of what I love in a novel -- exceptional characterization, a well-plotted story with an interesting and not-entirely-linear structure, and really great sentences. This is the kind of book I usually underline and annotate quite a bit, although I read almost all of this either in the car or on an airplane during my summer vacation, and I was so swept up by it right away that I didn’t want to look up to reach for a pen.
At Swim, Two Boys -- Jamie O'Neill
This love story of two boys set against the backdrop of the 1916 Easter Rising broke my heart; the experience of reading the novel filled it right up. This wasn’t an easy read, necessarily, and at times I wished I’d have read it years ago when I was also reading Joyce and Yeats in my lit class on the Moderns (I’d have appreciated the context of all the Irish history I learned then), but it was such a worthwhile one. O’Neill is a master of characterization and of capturing the beautifully tender human moments between people. The language soars, especially if you let yourself really hear it while you’re reading. I loved it.
Americanah -- Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche
“Why did people ask ‘What is it about?’ as if a novel had to be about only one thing.”
Americanah is a book about race, to be sure, but it is about so many other things: home, family, identity, love. And it’s a story, first and foremost. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is a wonderful storyteller, which is one reason I love teaching Purple Hibiscus to my sophomores; her voice is so strong, and her novels do exactly the thing novels should do -- they put you down in someone else’s shoes for awhile, and hopefully a window in your own understanding of the world widens just a bit, or, at the very least, they give you a willingness to see the world from a different perspective. Novels like this have the power to make us more empathetic, more compassionate, and more aware.
Night Film -- Marisha Pessl
I really loved Special Topics in Calamity Physics, so I could not wait to get my hands on a copy of Marisha Pessl’s long-awaited new novel. In fact, I loved Special Topics so much that I was ready to forgive every single flaw in this novel, clutching it protectively to my chest and yelling at all the haters to back off, that I didn’t caaaaare what they had to say. But I can’t give it five stars, because there were just too many sloppy sentences, and my word, has Marisha Pessl ever met a simile she didn’t like? (She was awfully fond of them in Special Topics, too, but for some reason I found them more irritating and distracting this time.)
But still. It was a totally immersive reading experience, and I did have an insane amount of fun reading it. The first night I had the book in my hot little hands, I stayed up until 2 a.m. reading it, and there was a moment, alone in my living room in the middle of the night, when I felt like I was actually watching a horror movie. It actually scared me, deliciously. The book reads a little like Nancy Drew meets David Lynch (although our protagonist is a middle-aged father and “disgraced journalist”). That’s not a bad thing, since I love David Lynch.
I don’t want to give away a single detail about the story itself, since a spoiler would have ruined the book for me, at least a little bit, but if the premise intrigues you, go ahead and pick it up. This would make a pretty fantastic fall read -- dark and stormy nights and all that. Have fun.
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life -- Barbara Kingsolver
"Eaters, that is, must understand that eating takes place inescapably in the world, that it is inescapably an agricultural act, and how we eat determines, to a considerable extent, how the world is used.” -- Wendell Berry
Critics of Barbara Kingsolver tend to agree that one of her faults is “preaching.” But in a nonfiction book like this, you’re hardly ambushed by her so-called agenda. And here’s the thing: it’s a book about food, and it’s pretty impossible to write about food without sounding “preachy.” It’s not a neutral subject. So maybe “preaching” is simply “passion.” And I would venture to guess that anyone who picks up this book is at least a little bit interested in mindful, ethical eating, or the implications of our choices.
And honestly, I didn’t find Kingsolver to be preachy or condescending here. If I did, I probably wouldn’t have felt inspired to join a CSA or try much harder to make sure we’re choosing to eat in-season, locally grown produce. We certainly don’t do it all perfectly; when Matt and I read Eating Animals a few years ago and decided to avoid buying and eating factory-farmed meat, it wasn’t because Jonathan Safran Foer tried to tell us we had to be vegetarian. In Animal, Vegetable, Miracle Kingsolver writes, “If a friend had a coronary scary and finally started exercising three days a week, who would hound him about the other four days?” We begin where we can, and we learn, and we do better when we know better.
If you need another selling point, it’s Kingsolver. She writes gorgeous sentences. I read this book slowly, all summer long, and I looked forward to picking it up every time. And I loved the last couple of chapters so much I reread them after I finished the book. Maybe minus one teeny-tiny star for glossing over (I felt) the very real class issues in our country -- not everyone has this kind of choice -- but one book can’t do everything.
Atlas of the Human Heart: A Memoir -- Ariel Gore
I just love Ariel Gore’s voice. I might be biased, since I took two writing classes with her this year, but she’s just fantastic, and I can’t wait for her new memoir to come out.
The Sense of an Ending -- Julian Barnes
I do love books that explore the nature of time and memory -- I underlined a lot of passages in this one -- but I wished the ending would have given me more.
Pastrix: The Cranky, Beautiful Faith of a Sinner & Saint -- Nadia Bolz-Weber
Well, first of all, I’m definitely glad I bought this in hardcover, because I’m going to wear it out with rereading.
Seriously, I loved it. LOVED it. I could be biased; I read the book a day after hearing Nadia Bolz-Weber speak here in Seattle, and she was incredible. But mostly, this book spoke straight to my heart. I never had the kind of falling away from the faith of my youth that she had, but I can say now that if it weren’t for people like her, I’m not all that convinced that I’d feel at home in my church now. If you’ve ever been hurt by the church, if you’ve ever felt like you don’t have a place there anymore, if you’ve ever realized that you don’t hold the same convictions that you did when you were fourteen and absolutely certain about everything, definitely read this book. If you like to laugh, read this book. If you appreciate rawness and honesty, read this book. If you have eyes and breathe air, read this book.
Where’d You Go, Bernadette -- Maria Semple
Solidly entertaining all the way through -- I laughed out loud at several parts and just had a blast reading it. I think a large part of my enjoyment stems from the fact that this is set mostly in Seattle, but I also really enjoyed the characters and the satire of private school, privilege, Microsoft, and even Seattle culture (and I love Seattle). What’s interesting to me is that at its core, this is a pretty dark, sad story, but Semple manages to turn it into a fabulous ride anyway.
MaddAddam -- Margaret Atwood
If anyone other than Margaret Atwood had written the MaddAddam trilogy, I’m not sure I’d have read or finished it. But she did, and it is objectively very good. She writes such horrifying stuff, but what makes it really horrifying is that -- as she told the audience when I was lucky enough to hear her read in Seattle (had to throw that in, and it motivated me to read this right away) -- she doesn’t write anything that isn’t already happening or that we don’t have the capabilities for right now. And that’s why she doesn’t call this science fiction.
And because she’s Margaret Atwood, you can also count on plenty of dark humor, real feeling, expertly crafted sentences, and the hope of redemption.
Facing the Wave: A Journey in the Wake of the Tsunami -- Gretel Erlich
Gretel Erlich manages to convey the utter devastation of the 2011 earthquake and tsunami in Japan with spectacularly beautiful prose, which I expected after reading and loving The Solace of Open Spaces. For most of the world, such an event remains abstract -- something that happened somewhere else, to people we don’t know. Erlich invites us into the stories of some of those people who survived and manage, somehow, to move forward after losing everything. Her writing brings us inside the horror, but it doesn’t leave us there. This is a book to remind us of our shared humanity and of the power of stories to connect us in the face of impermanence.
The Ocean at the End of the Lane -- Neil Gaiman
Enchanting, haunting, lovely, a little sad. Perfect reading for a foggy October night.
Salvation on the Small Screen: 24 Hours of Christian Television -- Nadia Bolz-Weber
I had a ton of fun reading this book; it would have come in handy back in college when I wrote my final paper for Mass Media on televangelism. (Actually, I kind of wish I’d have thought of this myself as an idea for that project, although I’d never be able to deliver the same fabulous and snarky yet reflective commentary.) I’d totally watch 24 hours of TBN if I could do it with Nadia Bolz-Weber.
The Orphan Master’s Son -- Adam Johnson
In an interview with David Evershoff (who edited the novel) Adam Johnson says, "If literature is a fiction that tells a deeper truth, I feel my book is a very accurate portrayal of how the tenets of totalitarianism eat away at the things that make us human: freedom, art, choice, identity, expression, love. And because few things about North Korea are verifiable (beyond satellite images and the testimonies of defectors), this seems to be a realm in which the imaginative reach of literary fiction is our best tool to discover the human dimension of such an elusive society.”
This book is so many things -- a love story, a literary thriller, an adventure/spy story, a “trauma narrative” -- and it succeeds at all of them. When I began reading it I wasn’t sure I’d have the stomach to continue, but I’m so glad I did. Adam Johnson is a phenomenal storyteller, and this story ranges from melancholic to darkly funny to horrifying (which I’d expect in a novel set in North Korea). It’s a window into an entirely different world, but a real one, and I think it will stay with me a long time.
Fangirl -- Rainbow Rowell
I wanted to love this more than I did, but I still enjoyed it enough to want to pick up Eleanor and Park soon.
The Death of Santini: The Story of a Father and His Son -- Pat Conroy
This book gets ALL the stars.
First, let’s get this out of the way: my love for Pat Conroy borders on the fanatic. If I had to choose a favorite author (and everyone who knows me knows how impossible this is), it’s him. Every time. So I may not be the most objective reviewer, and part of me doesn’t even want to share this book with anyone because it was such a deeply personal reading experience. That said, this book was everything I expected it to be and everything I wanted it to be. I felt like I’d read every word of it before, probably because Conroy’s fiction is so deeply autobiographical, but that's not a mark against this book. On the contrary, I fell into it hard, and in return, it took me through every feeling I’ve ever experienced when I read one of Pat Conroy’s books. It is dark, to be sure. Devastating, really. I also laughed out loud several times because Conroy writes some of the funniest scenes I’ve ever read anywhere. This book is full of everything Conroy does best. The ending pretty much left me leveled and breathless.
You’ve got to love Conroy before you read this book, I think, but for those lucky enough to be there already, this just soars.
Stitches: A Handbook on Meaning, Hope, and Repair -- Anne Lamott
This reads less like a book and more like the transcript of a talk (one could easily read this entire thing over a cup or two of coffee) and having heard Anne Lamott speak, I appreciated it in that sense. Her writing always seems to find its way into my life at the right time. I’m not sure I’ll pick this up when I want to dip into her writing (that’s what Traveling Mercies is for), but it still contains the essence of what I love about her.
The Lowland -- Jhumpa Lahiri
This was slow to start for me but in the end I really loved it. Lahiri is just so good. This felt like a subtle departure from her previous work, and it may be my favorite.
We Need to Talk About Kevin -- Lionel Shriver
I seriously have no idea how to rate this book. First of all, I appreciate what Ms. Shriver is trying to do, and for the most part, she does it well. She’s actually a brilliant writer. However: I think maternal ambivalence is something we’re often terrified to talk about, much less admit to, but I think what makes me bristle a bit is that this book turns something really common and perhaps even natural into something horrifying. (This reminds me a lot of Dorris Lessing’s The Fifth Child.)
I wanted to empathize with the main character, and I thought I would, even though I didn’t relate to her -- I don’t think likable protagonists are essential in a good novel. It was difficult, though, and not because of her feelings toward her son but because I found her really off-putting in so many other ways. Still, for me, she’s the most likable character in the novel. I found myself strongly not liking her husband, and neither of their children felt real enough to me to inspire much feeling at all. Kevin is a monster, this much is clear from the beginning, but he is so monstrous all along that I never forgot about Shriver’s clear agenda in writing the book. I wish she’d been able to convey nuances in the characters a bit more; maybe then I’d have believed in Kevin at the end.
The first half of the novel is tightly crafted; she structures the story so well. It felt a little sloppy in the second half, but that may also be because I raced through it with such a sense of dread -- I just so desperately wanted to be through reading it. I sort of hated reading it, but I also couldn’t put it down, and I found myself admiring the author throughout much of the story -- how many stars does that earn?
The Goldfinch -- Donna Tartt
Stunning, from start to finish. The perfect book to curl up with over winter break, and everything I want out of a reading experience.
Currently Reading: Men We Reaped, by Jesmyn Ward. She wrote Salvage the Bones, one of the best books I read last year, and her memoir, so far, is searing. I don’t think it will take me long at all to read, so next on the list is The Sportswriter by Richard Ford. Tomorrow, I’m heading to the Elliott Bay Book Company to spend my Christmas gift card -- on the list of “Things I Plan to Buy” are Tenth of December by George Saunders, Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosh, Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell, and Rose Under Fire by Elizabeth Wein. 2014 is already shaping up to be another fantastic reading year.
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