I debated on whether to make this post. This blog was something I
enjoyed for several years. I still love the idea of it. I just have little time
for it anymore. I still find myself thinking "hey, I should blog
that", but mostly just end up posting it to Facebook (O tempora, o mores).
These book lists seem to be the last gasp of what feels increasingly like a
private game with the universe.
This time I'll keep it simple. Here, in no particular order, are the books I read these last 6 months. I loved a few, loathed others (your mileage may vary).
The Drunken Botanist- Amy Stewart
Stewart's exploration of the botannical underpinnings of various
alcoholic mixers and elixirs is excellent applied science geekery, at least in
concept. Stewart offers a sometimes-insightful look at the connections between
the science, history, and alchemy of cocktail ingredients without getting too
deep in the weeds in any sphere. Although the descriptions seem to wane in
exuberance as the book wears on (and wear on it does...), it's still a
worthwhile read. I only wish she’s spent more time on the actual botany.
Wolf Hall - Hillary Mantel
The writing in this work of Tudor-era historical fiction seems
like it's better than it needed to be. I don't usually love this genre, but the
literature-grade dialogue and interplay between Thomas More and Thomas Cromwell
is handled deftly and with great deference to its historical superstructure. I
admit, I got this on audiobook because I desperately needed something for a
long ride, and it was the only thing I could find in a five-minute search of my
library's website. That being said, I ended up enjoying it far more than I
thought I would.
The Old Ace in the Hole - Annie Proulx
Proulx continues to prove herself a master of place and character.
This novel of a wayward son scouting pig farm locations and his interactions
with small town characters is less epic in scope and timeline than many of her
works. It feels to some degree like an elongated story from one of her Wyoming
stories collections. It's a tribute to her writing that a novel in which
nothing really much happens, set in a place I don't really care about, was so
engaging. It was especially poignant as an illustration of the mindset and
psychic landscape of midwest rural America, given current political
atmospheres.
Dead Wake - Eric Larson
I keep hoping that Larson will produce another book as
entertaining as Devil in the White City,
but either his style or the subjects he selects invariably fall short. Dead Wake delves into the time and
events surrounding the sinking of the Lusitania, a catalyst for the leadup to
American involvement in WWI. For such a turbulent era, and such a momentous
event, Larson's book feels more like a shallow summary. Larson does an adequate
job of giving a sense of both the zeitgeist through minor characters and
details, especially in terms of the German Uboats, but it never feels like he
delves deep enough into anything to really provide its flavor. It was readable,
but a bit bland given the incredible depth of story and drama the real event
surrounded.
Absalom, Absalom - William Faulkner
With the exception of As I
Lay Dying, Faulkner's work all blend and bleeds at the edges to me. This
is, however, not a bad thing, and takes nothing from his work. I just have a
hard time commenting on one work without connecting it to everything else.
Absalom's allegory of the decay and dissolution of the antebellum south through
a near-mythological southern family line is every bit as masterful as The Sound and the Fury (with which it
shares a protagonist). The novel manages to encapsulate Faulkner's love/hate
relationship with the south without being too on-the-nose in its symbolism. The
subtle use of unreliable narrators and stories told from multiple viewpoints,
unraveling as the novel goes on, is a nice counterpoint to the near-apocalyptic
imagery throughout. I would go so far as to argue that this is a better book
for high school English classes than Sound.
A Model World (and Other Stories)– Michael Chabon
Even
in this earlier work, Chabon’s flair for dense, kinetic writing is present.
None of these short pieces really stands out as a game-changing story in and of
itself, but they offer a sampling of things to come. The latter section of
coming of age stories cuts to the bone of family dynamics and disruption. I had to go back and read a synopsis to
remember the narratives, but there were several images and sentences that stuck
with me. It felt like a literary sketch book rather than solid stories, but one
filled with such captivating work that it was nonetheless a satisfying read.
Choke - Pahluniak
The
best thing I can say about this novel of sexual addiction and subculture is
that it was the least disappointing of the Pahluniak novels I read this year. I
wasn’t particularly impressed by the writing, the story, or the shock value.
There is some deft satire on selling image to the gullible, some of Pahluniak’s
dark humor shines through in places, and there are some poignant themes of
rebuilding. Overall it feels like there’s a good story that just didn’t come
into focus.
Blue at the Mizzen – Patrick O’Brian
Last
year I read almost all (19!) of O’Brian’s acclaimed Aubrey/Maturin cycle of
novels. Blue at the Mizzen is the
last, other than an unfinished 21st novel, of these stories of
1800’s naval life and spy intrigue. The book is lighter on action, which was a
little disappointing (as a big knock-down finale would have served the series
well). Given that the author didn’t intend this to be the final novel, or to
die before continuing the series, this is fairly excusable. Jack Aubrey finally
gets his admiralship, Steven Maturin ties of up some loose ends of a
multi-novel story arc of South American revolution, and the lives of the
characters generally are left on an uplifting note. It continued to be a blend
of Jane Austin-esque romance, Joseph Conrad-esque spy intrigue, and straight-up
naval battles.
It Can’t Happen Here – Sinclair Lewis
Yes,
I read this along with half the other horrified people in the country this
year. Lewis’ story of the growth and eventual downfall of an American fascist
government is chilling in the minutia, but fairly heavy-handed in the broader
narrative. If we weren’t so busy dealing with a real Buzz Windrip of our own,
this book may have been more enjoyable. As it is, it felt more like a redundant
reminder than a forewarning. At some point Lewis abandons all subtly and
realism in his depiction of the regime’s excesses, which takes away from the
underlying strength of the message and devolves into something less relatable
and more comical. Real evil is in the conglomeration of minor betrayals.
The Great Leader – Jim Harrison
Harrison
is an immensely talented author, but in a very bifurcated way. His more
austere, epic works (Legends of the Fall,
The River Swimmer, etc) seem almost the work of a different writer than his
grittier, excess-of-human-nature stories. The Great Leader is the story of a down-and-out, past his prime
detective struggling with banal minutia of divorce, retirement, and drinking/other
vices. He cannot let a case go after retirement (the ur-motif of countless
police thrillers), and the novel recounts his dogged but wayward pursuit of a
cult leader. Everyone in the novel is a collection of human failures, colliding
unavoidably in a morass of collected human failure. It’s a tribute to Harrison
that what could have been a formulaic thriller instead is elevated by his understated
literary prowess. Foremost is his skill at undressing the pretense and
romanticism of human experience to lay bare our base natures in a way that
creates fully fleshed, imminently fallible characters.
Gilead – Marilynne Robinson
I
really wanted to like Gilead’s exploration of the clash between harsh realities
of segregation, failure, and family ties with quiet theological reflection of a
small town minister. But the telling of the stories through the minister’s
staid and reserved tone is like making a copy of a vibrant painting with muted
watercolors. Robinson’s world is full of intriguing characters, from a radical
abolitionist preacher to ne’er do well prodigal sons, but the filtering of
their stories through the human equivalent of Nyquil makes their realities
unnecessarily gentle. I’m sure there are some deeper reflections on gentleness
and submission in faith in the face of the horrors of the world, but the latter
never feels fully fleshed, and the former dominates the conversation.
Damned/Doomed – Chuck Pahluniak
The
first two books of this unfinished trilogy about the adventures of a deceased
teenage girl in a capricious hellscape afterlife left me completely unconcerned
as to whether there will ever be a concluding chapter. Pahluniak abandons all
subtlty and craft and just piles on poorly written excess after excess. Even
his usual dark humor and satire is completely fumbling and unformed. The first
novel was passable, but disappointing. The retconning second novel was so
poorly executed it managed to retroactively damage the first. Even the cover art on Doomed seems like they
got an intern to sketch something in pencil right before publication.
The Handmaid’s Tale – Margaret Atwood
Ok,
so yes, this was another “book to accompany the devolution of the American
Democracy” read. That being said, Atwood’s story surprised me with its subtlty
and the chilling effect of its small touches. This is not the over-the-top
insanity of Lewis’ It Can’t Happen Here,
it’s a novel of claustrophobic horrors and intimate betrayals, slowly revealed.
Atwood’s account of a post-apocalyptic future in which fertile women are
enslaved to the wealthy as brood mares is equally a commentary on fascism as it
is a feminist exploration of control. It could have done either and be
satisfying, and could have simply been a sci fi pulp piece and been a good
enough premise to be worthwhile. Its strength is not in having a wild premise,
but in crafting a world very like our own, just shifted in jarring ways that
create a dissonance rather than a shock. What really drew me in was not just
the wealth of undertones the story hints at, but Atwood’s skill at revealing
the horrors and injustice with a surgeon’s scalpel rather than a blunt mallet.
I’ve only ever read her “The Year of the Flood”, which was not entirely
enjoyable, so I had no expectations for
Handmaid. I enjoyed the story, but also her style on this novel. As with other
works I really liked this year, it felt like it took a moderate premise and
elevated it to literature-grade storytelling. Even if the storyline hadn’t been
so poignant to the current war on women’s health, this is a strong piece on its
own merits.
Norse Mythology – Neil Gaiman
As
blasphemy as this may be to my general sensibilities about the lingering
importance of reading actual books in a digital world, part of me has the
sneaking suspicion that the absolute best way to experience Gaiman’s work is
through an audiobook in which he is the narrator. Gaiman’s writing is good, at
times great, but his greatest strength is as a teller of stories. He has a
voice and storytelling ability that seem to transcend whatever literary limitations
his writing may have. I don’t even think
of him as an author so much as a storyteller who works a lot in novel form.
Norse Mythology is the sum and substance of that fundamental character. Norse
mythos in general derive from an oral tradition of character-focused stories.
It’s not surprising that they have been a great influence to Gaiman (See: American Gods, etc.), but that his style
would be such a great match for retelling these myths. Gaiman doesn’t
completely reinterpret the classical Eddas
as much as he adds flavor, fleshes out characters, and weaves connections. It
doesn’t end up being my favorite of his works, but it was a very enjoyable
listen. Like all good storytellers, Gaiman takes a universally shared set of
stories, and then tells them through his own voice and imagination.
South of the Border, West of the Sun - Murakami
My
appreciation of Murakami continues to grow the more of his works I read (at
some point I’ll get around to the long-delayed 1Q84). I still feel like I’m missing some of the subtext and tone
that doesn’t transcend the strong Japanese themes of his characters’ worlds.
But his ability to meld messy, honest human emotion and relationships with
hints of Ishiguro-esque unreliable narration and magical realism make his reads
challenging and rewarding. South is another story of star crossed love, but
serves mostly as a reflection on our ties to our pasts, and the tangible
affects them have on us. The protagonist’s vacillation between the reality of
his family and business and the (maybe) ghost of a former love, and the past
she represents, is handled exceptionally well. Some authors are masters of
subtle cuts, some of devastating reveals. Murakami somehow manages to combine
both in an organic, human way. I’m sure there are deeper reflections on
post-war Japanese society and transition here that I’m missing, but the story
is satisfying enough to keep me from being too concerned.
The Revenant – Michael Punke
Oddly,
Punke’s period revenge thriller is unintentionally the third fur
trappers/voyageurs related novel I’ve been reading this year (still trying to
clear some space to properly enjoy Proulx’s Barkskins).
The writing is short of literary, but the story of a fur trapper fighting for
survival and revenge after being left for dead in the wake of a grizzly mauling
is a page turner. Punke’s writing is just sort of…there, but decent enough not
to distract from the pace and telling of the story. I found out afterwards that
the story is based to some extent on an actual historical person, which reduced
Punke a bit in my estimation, but simultaneously increased my interest in the
story. I have not yet seen the movie.
The Narrow Road to the Deep North – Richard
Flanagan
Flanagan
is a new author for me, and I’m excited to have become acquainted with his
works. Narrow Road is the story of an
Australian’s experience as a POW in WWII Japan, and the impact of his notoriety
later in life, but includes so many other times and perspectives that it’s hard
to really summarize it well. While the WWII POW motif has been over-, and
poorly, done as of late in a series of fairly schmaltzy-but-popular works
(looking at you, Unbroken), Narrow Road’s focus is far broader and
more literary (I know I keep using “literary” as if it was some sort of litmus
test of measurable value. I recognize it’s just a subjective thing. When I use
it, what I’m trying to get at is a work that focuses as strongly on the
crafting of the language and style as it does on the story.) Flanagan’s army
surgeon moves through beautiful set pieces in a story that reflects on the
infirmity of character, and the discrepancies between the images the world
assigns us and our internal realities. It reminded me a lot, without being at
all derivative, of Ondaatje’s The English
Patient as being a strong character study walking through robustly rendered
landscapes of war.
Afterword - Abandoned
Books
I
try not to abandon books, but as I have gotten older, and the endless
afternoons of youth have dwindled to stolen reading moments at night, etc, I
have less patience for books I don’t enjoy. Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy came
highly recommended, but I couldn’t get through it. It felt like a poorly
executed memoir that wasn’t particularly relevant to the broader social forces
it was touted as “explaining”. I also decided to finally sit down and read a
collection of Arthurian Romance, but
just couldn’t get through it. I appreciate the style and form and its
historical significance, but in the end it was mostly knights getting into
random fights with other knights for unapparent reasons and lengthy hyperbole
on the knightly character of knightly characters.
