Margaret Fuller is one of my patron saints and spiritual mentors. She'd make my list of famous people I'd love to have dinner with (but I have to admi...moreMargaret Fuller is one of my patron saints and spiritual mentors. She'd make my list of famous people I'd love to have dinner with (but I have to admit I'd be quite intimidated!).
A brilliant thinker, philosopher, and writer, Fuller grew up in the heady, fiery, intellectual Boston of the early 19th century, among famed Transcendentalists, philosophers, Unitarian ministers, agitators, organizers, social scions, ex-pat Britons, and blue-blood artists. Despite being a blazing star of her time, admired by some of the most famous American thinkers today, Fuller is depressingly unknown. Here's hoping Marshall's biography is a first step in returning Fuller to her proper place of prominence in American history.
Born to schoolmaster-turned-elected official, Fuller's father was a relentless taskmaster, crafting his clever daughter into the model American son -- all the while leaving Margaret to chafe at the limitations she faced as an adult woman. Unable to become a minister, she instead found herself becoming a teacher and writer, growing into a more recognized voice in the Boston literati scene. Conflicted about romantic relationships -- her female friends almost all disappeared once they became wives -- she was torn between an appreciation for the Romantic emphasis on sensuality and the real life ramifications of such behavior. In the end, while covering the revolutionary movements in Italy in the 1840s, she found love and became a mother, writing what she considered her greatest work -- only to die tragically in a shipwreck on her return to the US.
As with Winder's brief biography of Plath which I reviewed earlier, Marshall makes no bones about her obvious affection for her subject. That admiration shines through every page, but doesn't mean Marshall is blind to Fuller's flaws; she presents a complicated woman fully, in the context of her time. A blurb on the back describes this as an 'empathetic biography', which is precisely how I found this to read. (It helped immensely that Marshall has the same feelings toward the Transcendentalist and Unitarian crowd as I do -- when she suggested Bronson Alcott was, perhaps, a 'charlatan', I literally cackled with delight!)
In her Prologue, Marshall wrote she once wanted to write a biography of Fuller "that turned away from the intrigues of her private life, that spoke of public events solely," and I admit, my heart sank. Fuller is one of the original 'the personal is political' figures for me, and I bristled at the thought that her intimate life (experiences as woman, not her sex life) would be separated from her 'public' life. Marshall quickly explained how impossible that endeavor was -- even silly -- as Fuller lived and breathed philosophy, revolution, and identity.
Marshall's style is to use Fuller's own words to tell her story, which means the narrative doesn't read quite as smoothly as some biographies but I found I grew used to the style and was sucked in. There's a slightly circuitous feel to the book at times, as Marshall gleans from letters and journals of others to fill in the places where she doesn't have Fuller's exact language, but in the end, I found this style rather breathtaking. In a way, it felt as if Fuller was dictating her biography.
Although hefty -- 496 pages -- this reads much faster and while dense at moments (the book presumes some awareness of the Transcendentalists), it is completely readable. For those who love remembering the forgotten women of history, get this book (I'd recommend April Bernard's novel Miss Fuller first, then this book, to get a lovely picture of the woman.).(less)
One of the things book blogging has done has introduced me genres I rarely read, and sometimes that has blown my mind. Sometimes, it affirms a genre i...moreOne of the things book blogging has done has introduced me genres I rarely read, and sometimes that has blown my mind. Sometimes, it affirms a genre isn't my thing, like this read.
It took me some time to get into the story especially as I was initially put off by our heroine. A successful 30-something woman, Kate Vaughn is angsting away her adult life due to her Very Big Secret. She's the kind of heroine who sees an engagement ring and loses it -- and not in the screams-of-joy way. (I was reminded a bit of Siddalee from The Divine Secrets of Ya Ya Sisterhood.)
Flashing back to various chapters in her past, we learn that Kate has been torn between two loves: that of Jack, her childhood sweetheart, and her social work via an outdoors program in Arizona. When Jack finally moves on, Kate makes a move on him, and surprising no one, ends up pregnant. Kate gives up her child, but carries the burden of that, combined with her lingering hurt over her failed relationship. Thirteen years later, she's still stuck, despite her dream boyfriend, concerned family and friends, and vibrant life.
I can't say why some flawed characters resonate with me while others don't, but sadly, in this case, I hated our broken heroine. In fact, I only read this book in small chunks as I was so frustrated with Kate I lost a lot of sympathy for her. I will admit, too, that this book is predicated on two plots I hate: based on the author's family and adults who have sex without being responsible enough to use birth control.
Still, Henry writes warmly and sympathetically about Kate; later, Henry splits the story between Kate and the daughter she adopted out. And Henry doesn't go for the easy out -- I was surprised and pleased that Henry allowed some 'ouch' to linger, rather than making everything shiny and easy at the end. It was a deeply human conclusion.
While I wasn't wild about our heroine, I was moved by the plight -- or blessing -- of a parent being contacted by a child adopted out to a family. Inspired by, no doubt, the author's real life experience, Kate's daughter finds her via Facebook. Confronted with the child who has been such a huge part of her adult life, Kate has to make peace once more with her choices.
For those who like women's fiction that's slightly tear-jerk-y, that's very heteronormative, and kind of has traditional values, I think this might be your book. If you like Sarah McCoy, Emily Jeanne Miller, Camille Noe Pagán, I think you'll enjoy Patti Callahan Henry. (less)
I feel kind of terrible writing this review because this book is awesome ... and not available in the U.S. (It is available in the UK.) As usual, with...moreI feel kind of terrible writing this review because this book is awesome ... and not available in the U.S. (It is available in the UK.) As usual, with a book I love this much, I'm having a hard time writing a coherent review. I really ought to just do a video review so I can wave my hands and make excited noises -- that'd probably convey more.
I'm a sucker for a fairy tale retold, especially when they're placed in a historical era, marrying 'real' with 'fantasy'. In this case, the fairy tale is Rapunzel, and the historical eras are 17th century France and 16th century Venice. Told in a story-within-a-story style, Forsyth manages to write a wonderfully solid historical novel with all the details I like -- customs, costumes, and characters -- as well as a fairy tale fantasy that resonates and delights. Shifting between three perspectives, this brick of a novel (about 500 pages) had me hanging on every word, literally, and I was lugging this thing with me everywhere and reading it with every free second.
Opening in late 17th century France, the novel focuses first on Charlotte-Rose de la Force, a witty noblewoman banished to a convent by the Sun King, Louis XIV. There, the woman once bedecked in jewels and luxurious fabrics finds herself stripped of her belongings (including her writing implements), head shorn, condemned to lowly tasks. When a nun takes Charlotte-Rose under her wing, she enchants the Frenchwoman with a tale from her own life, and the story shifts to Renaissance Venice. One of Titian's muses, Selena Leonelli, has taken to witchcraft to preserve her youth, and when a neighbor steals greens from her yard, the witch takes their Margherita for use in her own dark magic.
De La Force is the real life author of a Rapunzel variation, and Forsyth's novel guesses at how this Frenchwoman might have heard of the Venetian original. Using the Venetian motifs in her own version, Forsyth mixes magic and history, and comes up with a delicious and heartbreaking treat.
Forsyth's writing is evocative and pretty without feeling heavy or ornate; she conveys a sense of time and place without the dreaded infodump. What I appreciated, She also doesn't mince words about the way women were treated in these eras -- she creates strong heroines who are quite real but don't reek of anachronism.
Like others on this tour, I'm totally unwilling to part with my copy of this book. I had hoped to offer a giveaway but Book Depository doesn't have this one available yet. Keep your eye out -- if you like fairy tales, French history, and escapist historical fiction, you'll want this novel.(less)
Given the Downton Abbey craze, I was apprehensive about this trilogy: was it any good or just a marketing ploy to cash in while DA is hot?
Thankfully,...moreGiven the Downton Abbey craze, I was apprehensive about this trilogy: was it any good or just a marketing ploy to cash in while DA is hot?
Thankfully, happily, awesomely, this book is good. Great. Another meaty hist fic that satisfies. This review, however, is probably going to be a hot mess, because how do I describe what is contained in these 500+ pages without just squeeing stupidly? Here goes:
The novel follows a few families and tangential individuals from 1914 through 1920, and at first, the enormous cast was be a bit overwhelming. There are the rich, titled, old money families, the wealthy trade families who are trying to gain their own social standing, the working class, the serving class, and everything in between.
As a result, this book is massive, in size, cast, and scope. Still, I loved every frickin' page. It's the kind of epic book I love to snuggle up with and devour over a weekend, and devour I did -- I was sneaking reads as often as I can. (I recommend not putting this down for any length of time -- given the size of the cast, it could be very easy to forget who is who.)
Opening at the beautiful, bucolic country estate of Abingdon Pryory, the reader basks in the refined dramas of the titled rich -- marriages, love affairs, training house hold staff -- before widening to incorporate a wider lens. As the residents of Abingdon Pryory move to London for the season, we meet the educated tradesmen, American relatives, reporters, and politicians. Then war strikes and everything changes.
Rock's writing style reminded me of the 'classic' historical fiction I love. There's a little romance -- some vague intimations of sex among the younger set -- and a leeetle bit of philosophic ruminations on war and violence. As this was originally written in the late 1970s, Rock has some distance from the era to insert a little sharp and wry commentary and observation. Early on, for example, one of his characters muses about the inequality of marrying American heiress made rich from trade while an Englishwoman with a successful merchant father is completely out of the picture. It's a darkly funny moment and this novel is punctuated with that -- the hypocrisy and beauty of the pre-World War I era.
Rock's characters do change and shift and I liked them, all of them. Some are selfish, some are jerks, some are badly behaved -- but I found all of them to be real and settled in their 'place' -- even as their place shifted as time went on. (Rock conveys that shift so very well -- when one of the titled rich girls seeks out her former maid, now a nurse, their interaction is painful and striking.)
If you like family sagas, this is your book -- while I normally bristle now at sequels, I am bouncing with excitement for the second book. I don't want to leave these people yet. (less)
It is 1934 in Cascade, Massachusetts, a small town in the western part of the state. Picturesque, bucolic, it was once a thriving summer vacation spot...moreIt is 1934 in Cascade, Massachusetts, a small town in the western part of the state. Picturesque, bucolic, it was once a thriving summer vacation spot, with a gorgeous Shakespearean theater managed by the big-hearted, passionate William Hart. Then the crash happened, the Depression hit, and like everywhere in the U.S., Cascade started going through hard times.
For Desdemona Hart Spaulding, talented daughter of William, her sacrifice to survive came in exchange for her happiness. An artist who trained in Boston and New York City, she married Cascade-native Asa Spaulding, a mild pharmacist who wanted nothing more than to settle down and have many babies. Dez, afraid for her ailing father and his now-shuttered theater, married in hopes of saving what she could -- her remaining family -- only to lose that two months later. Against that bitter loss came additional heartbreak: that Cascade was in competition with another small town to be leveled for a reservoir. Just when things couldn't possibly make Dez's life more agonizing, she meets Jacob Solomon, a Jewish artist who evokes in her deep passion and reminds her of the life she once thought she'd live.
This is the novel's opening -- we learn all this in the first few chapters. This gutting, beautiful, emotional setting spills into a story far more complicated and rich than I initially thought. I anticipated a historical novel with a love triangle; and there is that, the history, and the triangle, but there's more, too. There's the conflict of obligation to one's self, one's family, one's reputation, one's hometown; the very real march of progress and of war. In small town Cascade, one's reputation is a major currency, and Dez, Asa, and Jacob all feel the brunt of their town's changing and shifting opinion of them.
There's tragedy and betrayal and romance on a Shakespearean scale, and Dez is a complicated, maddening, honorable, childish, and beautiful heroine. I liked her and felt angry with her in equal part, but O'Hara wrote Dez so well that even when I wanted to shake her, I still wanted to hug her. I appreciated where her choices came from; I felt like I really knew her.
This is a historical novel of place -- a small-town during the Depression, a beloved landmark in danger of destruction -- and a romance -- star-crossed lovers -- as well as a snapshot of wartime America in the '30s and '40s -- national prejudices, fears, patriotism, the New Deal. O'Hara's writing is beautiful -- simple and sparse, but not thin -- and I lingered over this novel because I was so unwilling for it to end. This is O'Hara's first novel and it has ensured I am going to be a slavish fangirl of hers.(less)
I fell in love with Melanie Benjamin's first novel, Alice I Have Been -- it was emotional and a bit raw, it made human this nearly mythological figur...more I fell in love with Melanie Benjamin's first novel, Alice I Have Been -- it was emotional and a bit raw, it made human this nearly mythological figure (Alice Liddell) -- and so I have been a slavish fangirl since. Which is why, as I'm no Lindbergh fan, I still went into this book with some excitement, curious about how Benjamin would handle Lindbergh's politics and later-in-life choices.
If you don't know much about Charles Lindbergh beyond his famous flight on The Spirit of Saint Louis, that won't be an impediment here. You can learn about him in much the same way his wife Anne Morrow did, by simply spending some time with him.
The novel opens in the 1970s, with Anne facing her dying husband and the proof of his last selfish acts. As she struggles to make peace with with the man, the story flashes back to their marriage, beginning in 1927 when Anne met Charles.
Anne Morrow was the daughter of an American banker who later became an ambassador. A student at Smith -- like her sister, like her mother -- Anne was the mousy, quiet, invisible Morrow. Her older brother Dwight was the Morrow heir; her older sister Elizabeth was golden and clever. Her younger sister Con was the baby, all excitement and enthusiasm. But Anne seemed to offer nothing of note until her surprise engagement to famed aviator Charles Lindbergh.
Their marriage propelled Anne into a world of stardom and fame unseen, Benjamin suggests, until Princess Diana. Chased by the press and public alike, Charles and Anne had to dress in disguises to go out and hire security guards for their homes. Worse, perhaps, was their marriage, full of expectations as well. Charles challenged Anne to be his co-pilot and crew, and she became a licensed pilot and radio operator, breaking records on her own. Yet her fame really lay, of course, in her connection with Charles. Their marriage becomes seriously fractured in 1932 when their 20-month old baby was kidnapped, and to my surprise, Anne's story didn't stop there. (Forty more years of things happen, but I'm not going to summarize them -- you'll want to see how things shake out here.)
Benjamin is a star at biographical historical fiction. She wrestles with the historical record and evokes people who are real, who answer to the choices we know they made. And while I might be dubious of Anne Morrow Lindbergh and seriously judge her as a person, I feel like I got a glimpse of who she was -- and I couldn't shake her. (Although I suppose my only critique -- and this is totally emotional knee jerk stuff -- is that I thought Benjamin was too much of an apologist, voicing for Anne an acknowledgment of Charles' dangerous political beliefs even though, in her lifetime, she made no noise of dissent or disagreement.)
As with Alice I Have Been, I was struck by Benjamin's ability to convey the both the mores and societal attitudes of the time as well as critique of those expectations and behaviors without feeling anachronistic or didactic. (less)
The novel opens in a chaotic jumble -- a staged family film -- that dissolves into mess of wiggling children, animals, snacks, arguments. It's a bit d...moreThe novel opens in a chaotic jumble -- a staged family film -- that dissolves into mess of wiggling children, animals, snacks, arguments. It's a bit difficult at first to make heads or tails of the story as Perkins literally plunges you into the middle of the Forrest family. Quickly, though, threads emerge: Frank Forrest, an aspiring actor, wants to leave it all and hauls his family from New York to New Zealand but fails in his theatrical endeavors, so the family, stranded now, lives off his trust fund allowance, which isn't enough to bring them back to the States. Lee, his wife, drags her four children and a neighbor's boy with her to a commune, and the story blossoms from there.
The novel follows (mostly) Dot through her life -- from her eight-year old self through to her elderly self, suffering dementia -- and the story she tells is unsurprising, conventional, slow, discomforting, confusing, and bittersweet. And, for me, that's what is so lovely and sad about it.
Honestly, from the first page, this book made me uncomfortable, deeply uncomfortable, but in a good way. From the first page, I was reminded of a less physically savage, feminine Mosquito Coast -- there's no man versus nature versus his own insanity struggle for survival -- but Dot and her family, caught in the whims of their parents -- struggle in their own ways. I wanted to scream at Dot's parents, Dot herself, constantly; I wanted to hug all of them. As the story follows Dot and her siblings, I was reminded of other sparse, uncomfortable coming-of-age novels: The Virgin Suicides, Lauren Groff's Arcadia,
Perkins writing style is sparse but dreamy; I didn't race through this book but I couldn't put it down. It's hard to get a feel for the characters but that distance feels intentional -- all the characters are struggling to survive, to keep on, to find some measure of happiness without losing themselves -- and it was depressing/amazing to follow them. But I was captured by this tragic, odd, damaged family -- horrified, moved, shocked, sympathetic -- and by the end ... I felt a bit gutted. (Even if the end had enough lift that I actually felt freed!)
If you like moody family sagas, this is your book. Or commune tales. Or so-uncomfortable-you-wiggle coming-of-age stories. If you want to be grateful for you own slightly less messed up childhood, pick this up. Like me, you might be seduced by the Forrests, entranced, mesmerized, and even saddened to finally leave them.(less)
Three things: 1) why did this book have to end?; 2) why is Sheila Kohler not sitting next to me telling me stories all the time?; and 3) why are Kohle...moreThree things: 1) why did this book have to end?; 2) why is Sheila Kohler not sitting next to me telling me stories all the time?; and 3) why are Kohler's novels not all in my hands this very instant?
Four word review: I adored this book.
Set in the mid-1970s, the novel follows Dawit, a young Ethiopian exile in Paris. After his family was brutally executed following the overthrow of Haile Selassie, emperor of Ethiopia, Dawit was imprisoned and tortured. A guard who was once a childhood friend helps Dawit escape, and he crosses into France illegally, living at the margins, a displaced person dependent on the generosity of friends. Born into a life of luxury, he has no skills as an illegal laborer, and when the story opens, Dawit is literally lingering over a coffee in a cafe, afraid to return to his friend's home without means, when he spots M. M. is a famous French author, now in her 60s, notorious for her spare novels about her childhood love affair with a Somali man. M. is immediately taken with Dawit, and in a matter of days, sweeps him into her life, clearly wanting to relieve her affair.
What seems like a Cinderella story, of course, dissolves into something darker. As M.'s obsession with Dawit grows, he feels himself experiencing the same apprehension, fear, and tension he did while imprisoned in Ethiopia. Feelings of gratitude transform into resentment. As he grows healthier, bolder, stronger, M.'s need for him in her life grows as well, until --
You get the idea. It's dark, twisted, gruesome, gorgeous, chilling, amusing, cowardly and heroic. I closed the book in love with everyone, messed up as they are, captivated by the superficial and glamorous world of 1970s Paris, Sardinia, and Rome. Pretty people, ugly secrets.
At 207 pages, this is a zippy fast read, but I lingered over this one because I didn't want it to end. Kohler's writing is spare, like Duras', like M.'s, but there's so much impact between the words. I was greatly reminded of Patricia Highsmith, right down to some of the plot elements, but found Kohler's homage to be delightful in its own right. (less)
I had a rough go with this book to start, partially because I thought the blurb was setting me up for a rosier story and what was unfolding was partic...moreI had a rough go with this book to start, partially because I thought the blurb was setting me up for a rosier story and what was unfolding was particularly, well, not rosy. 1907: Edith Wharton, in her late 40s, has been invigorated by Paris and most importantly, her acquaintance with the earthy, sensual Anna de Noailles and the handsome, inappropriate, and witty Morton Fullerton. With her are her husband Teddy and her governess-turned-secretary Anna Bahlmann, who have their own complicated feelings for each other. As Edith pursues an emotional, and then physical, affair with Fullerton, her life becomes unsurprisingly complicated.
I only have the scantest familiarity with Wharton's life so almost everything that unfolded was a surprise to me (my ARC didn't include any sort of Author's or Historical Note to outline what was invented or conjecture and what was historical, which sort of bugged me.).One of the challenges of historical fiction is that the author essentially has an outline to stick to, and the skill is in making what we know happened feel believable in context of the story the author has told, the characters they've painted.
We know Anna remained with Edith through World War I; clearly devoted to each other, recently it has come out that Anna had an immense hand in shaping Edith as a writer. Fields' articulation of Wharton felt right to me -- imperious, selfish, emotional stunted, self absorbed to the point of being cruel -- and so, her treatment of Anna seemed very possible. However close she and Anna were, Wharton strikes me as someone who always perceived help as the help, and so when she dismissed or sent Anna away, I believed that. What I couldn't quite buy is why Anna kept returning to her. Fields includes letters between them -- I'm unsure if they're real or penned by her for the book -- that evoke an emotional tenderness, but when they interacted in person, I felt the scenes swayed between coziness and coldness.
Edith with Fullerton was pathetic; I was often reminded of The Countess DeLave from The Women. What she saw as a life-changing romance was really something sadder, and it took me a while to get that Fields wasn't holding back in showing that. (She painted Fullerton so slimy I wanted to shake Edith -- he's obviously a cad! -- but once I realized this novel wasn't supposed to be a romance about the two of them, I could enjoy Fullerton's behavior.) Much of Fields' characterizations of the players was unflattering, and I appreciated that -- I still liked them -- but they felt appropriately pig-headed, selfish, and self-absorbed. (Vindictively, I liked Edith's cold pragmatism toward her husband at the end; male writers are always putting their wives away. So lovely to see the tables turned!)
I stayed up all night to read this one, compulsively, really, I just couldn't stop, it was potato chip fun. Certainly more on the chick lit spectrum of historical fiction, this offers some racy sexy scenes, armchair travel, wonderful descriptions of Gilded Age life, and a maddening look at a fascinating author. (less)
I started this book on my evening commute home, more out of curiosity than any desire to dig in; when I lifted my head, I was at the end of my line, a...moreI started this book on my evening commute home, more out of curiosity than any desire to dig in; when I lifted my head, I was at the end of my line, and nearly one hundred pages in. I was hooked -- sort of. In my flash judge-y way, I hadn't realized this was a dual narrative; I thought it was entirely a historical novel.
The story is split between two characters: Eva, a 1920s English missionary in Kashgar, China, and Frieda, a contemporary Londoner at the end of an affair. Eva and her sister Lizzie, freshly minted missionaries following the charismatic and commanding Millicent, end up in Kashgar, China, detained after Millicent assists in a birth that results in the mother's death. Millicent is enthralled with their circumstances and Lizzie keeps up with her photography, but Eva finds herself unlikely nursemaid to the orphaned infant, scared, worried, and overwhelmed. Her own project, writing a lady cyclist's guide to the East, doesn't seem to be going anywhere.
In contemporary London, freelance journalist Frieda meets Tayeb, a Yemeni man on the run from authorities. One night he sleeps in the hall of her building, leaving a beautiful drawing in his wake. When Frieda discovers she's inherited something, her pursuit of who -- and who her benefactress is -- connects her with Tayeb and her family's past.
In my opinion, Eva's story was marvelous. I loved her voice and her arc in the book: her doubts about Millicent, her doubts about her faith and missionary work, her concern for her increasingly dreamy-eyed sister, and her anxiety about the alarmingly foreign world she's in. I love 19th century travelogues and while this is 20th century, there's that wonderful (English) fish-out-of-water feel that I ate up. Frieda's story, however, was yawn-worthy and really should have been left out of the book -- or at least, plunked into another novel. She was having an affair with a married man, who was a total bore, and vaguely ignoring her free love parents. Her journalism work trotted her around the globe but she felt wildly pedestrian compared to Eva and her coterie. Even Tayeb and the mystery of Frieda's inheritance couldn't save her side of the story.
While this book might take best title for 2012, sadly, it just didn't totally win for me. Ultimately, this became a DNF as I got so sick of Frieda that I just started skipping her sections to remain in the portions with Eva. Eventually, Frieda's story connects with the one involving Eva's, and I liked that enough -- but not enough to go back and read Frieda's bits again.
I'd describe this book as slightly more chick-lit-y than hist-fic-y, but maybe that's because Frieda's sections felt fluffier than Eva's. A fun enough summer read -- might be fun for book clubs due to the differing voices -- and certainly pretty enough to carry on the train or show off at the beach!(less)
For an innocuous thriller, this book provoked a lot of emotion in me, and gave me much to chew over in terms of my expectations of a book, a heroine,...moreFor an innocuous thriller, this book provoked a lot of emotion in me, and gave me much to chew over in terms of my expectations of a book, a heroine, and a story. The premise of this book is simple: Grace, new mom, has moved to rural Yorkshire with her husband and their three-month old daughter. One wintry evening, she comes home to a note from her husband, saying he has something to tell her. She waits, and waits, and later finds her daughter in the pram outside of their cottage, husband gone.
He never returns.
A year later, Grace returns to the cottage to try to put it in order and decide what to do. Husband still missing, she's unable to sell the cottage, and she's scared at the future she faces. Does she move on? Hold out hope? The police suggest her husband simply abandoned them but Grace is reluctant to accept that in light of what she feels is the evidence of his happiness with them. Complicating matters is the ghostly nature of the Yorkshire moors, her odd neighbors,
Sounds pretty fascinating, right? The thing with stories like this, however, is that the heroine really needs to be able to carry the weight of a story. When the entire focus is on her -- her thoughts, her fears, her apprehensions, her decisions -- she's got to be pretty compelling to keep the story interesting and for me, Grace was just okay. Foster's writing is lovely -- I certainly 'felt' the moors and the poky cottage and the weird neighbors -- but I found Grace a bit bland. We're told she's compelling and interesting -- she and her husband had a glittering life in London, her best mate has been in love with her, the new handyman clearly has the hots for her -- and yet, I didn't see much evidence of Grace's magnetism. Foster certainly showed me a woman wracked with insecurity, frozen with fear, made passive by the looming unknown of her future, and all that resonated.
The pacing of this book is slow, which was maddening at times but also delightfully stressful (in a good way). Foster hints at other gothic-y dramas in this story -- Grace reads Rebecca and thinks of the handyman as a kind of Heathcliff -- and the mood and ambiance is one of waiting, agonized waiting. At one point, I was surprised to discover I was halfway through the book because it still all felt like build up to the real story, the point where Grace would start investigating her husband's disappearance, and instead, all we got was her unpacking boxes, dealing with her flashy sister, and running into the handsome handyman. By the time we got to the ah-ha! reveal, I was relieved to know, but it came a little to late in the story for my tastes.
Still, this was a promising novel that had ambiance in spades and I'll be keeping an eye out for Foster's other novels -- this was a creepy armchair escape.(less)
This book elicited some pretty strong feelings in me (I can't help it; I'm an all or nothing girl.) At moments, I really enjoyed this book; at moments...moreThis book elicited some pretty strong feelings in me (I can't help it; I'm an all or nothing girl.) At moments, I really enjoyed this book; at moments, I kind of wanted to lob it against the wall. I think my biggest challenge with this book is that I just couldn't tell what it was: a YA novel? A YA spoof? A feminist retelling of a Greek myth? A contemporary re-envisioning of a Greek myth? Not being sure of what the novel was aiming for made it tough for me to evaluate how well Dugan achieved her goal.
Told in various voices, the story articulates the relationship between Hades and Persephone. Everyone has a chance to share their side of the story, and Dugan's angle is to embrace the modern era. Zeus is obsessed with market shares; Hades is balancing his budget so he can improve the underworld. Persephone is a smothered teenager with an overprotective mother who does her best to shield Persephone from Hera's attentions (lest Zeus' wife get into a jealous rage or something like that.).
The novel has a bit of a spoof feel to it, someone exaggerating what teenagers in YA novels sound like. At times, it's a bit funny; at times, a little tiresome. As with so much about this book, I couldn't tell if Dugan was being wryly ironic or just didn't notice what she was doing. More than halfway through the book, Persephone gripes about how all her friends talk about just boys, and clothes and music, and yet, all Persephone has groused about was Hades, other boys, the rest of the Gods, her mother. She was hardly the nuanced conversationalist but she judged her friends for being like her. I couldn't tell if Dugan was being sly here, making a nudge about someone who can't see past her own wangst, or was Dugan so enamored of her character that she didn't notice her creation's flaws?
I'm not mythology or ethnographer, so I haven't spent huge amounts of time pondering the philosophical, social, and emotional implications of myths like the Persephone, but I do know there's a great deal of debate about the rape/kidnapping of Persephone. Some feminists have tried to reclaim the tale as one of deliberate choice on the part of Persephone, and I don't mind that. However, Dugan's Persephone was emphatically teenaged and I really just couldn't shake the squick of this teenager (however millenia she's lived, her behavior has made it clear she's not making choices like an adult) with the ambigu-adult Hades. (Who was rather a dreamboat, and he needed an adult woman, not a teen, no matter what Dugan tried to say.)
Reclaiming the Greek pantheon for romantic purposes is hardly new, but Dugan's unique spin was the delightfully meta feel to her story: characters responded to each other in their respective chapters -- when Hades observes something about Zeus, Zeus snaps a comeback -- and popular culture icons like David Beckham as well as other religious icons, like Jesus, are glibly mentioned. Like this riff between Hera and Zeus:
"That's sweet," says Hera in a voice that indicates it's not sweet. "What he's really advocating is the overthrow of the status quo: the first shall be the last and the last shall be the first, or some such, and he's not talking about standing in line for Aristophanes' latest."
"Yeah, well, the system isn't perfect. It needs some adjusting."
"We are the system, you big dolt." (p74-75)
So, I'm torn: what worked really worked for me, and what didn't work, really didn't work for me. To each their own; there are tons of positive reviews about this one so don't take just my word for it!(less)
I loved this book. I loved Jones' writing style, her language, her use of words -- I literally was jubilant while reading, delighted by the multifacet...moreI loved this book. I loved Jones' writing style, her language, her use of words -- I literally was jubilant while reading, delighted by the multifaceted bounce of her narrative and dialogue. The text of this novel had personality, was a character in this story, and the tale it offered captured me from the first line.
Set in 1912 at Sterne, an isolated English country estate, the story focuses on one night with the Torrington family: Charlotte, a 50-ish beauty with a cold demeanor and a loving second marriage; her three children -- Clovis, dark and bitter, Emerald, sweet and loyal, and Smudge, young, imaginative, and often forgotten; her second husband, the one-armed Edward Swift; Florence Trieves, a housekeeping in mourning; and Emerald's birthday party guests. On the eve of her party, the Torrington's learn of a terrible train accident that requires them to house the Third Class passengers until the railway company can send them on their way, and that is when things really begin to unravel. These uninvited guests provoke the Torringtons and their invited guests in ways none anticipated, and an eventful night transforms into something horrific, frightening, and illuminating for all.
I've read reviews that said this family was so unlikeable it was impossible to enjoy the story; to me, the characters were quite flawed but so human, I felt rather tenderly toward them, even Charlotte (who I think is the most despicable, mostly for her treatment of her children). This is a family raised in Victorian mores and ideals, living in an Edwardian society of flashy beauty and changing values, formerly affluent but now dependent on the possibility of a loan to keep them afloat. When I closed the book, I could say I loved every single character in this novel -- every one. They were real, anchored solidly by Jones' marvelous turn-of-phrase (the dialogue! the descriptive passages!) and given flight by the ludicrous and chilling plot. There's a madcap pace to the end of the novel that strained credulity (and shockingly, it wasn't the supernatural elements!) but I loved it for pushing me past my expectations.
Part domestic drama, part class exploration, part spoof on English country life, The Uninvited Guests is a fascinating, creepy, and moving look at obligation, motivation, and loyalty. Gushingly recommended.(less)
I hate writing this kind of review, because honestly, I should be all over a book like this, and it's not the book's fault it didn't click for me. (So...moreI hate writing this kind of review, because honestly, I should be all over a book like this, and it's not the book's fault it didn't click for me. (So far, everyone else on the blog tour has loved it, so definitely don't consider me only!) This is a lovely, quiet book about a girl who latches onto the idea of being a cardiologist before she even understands what that is, and grows up among loss, searching for love and safety.
Set in Boston, the story follows Naomi, a girl with a photographic memory, a mother suffering depression, and a father who adores Rose Kennedy. Noami adores her father and so attends Wellesley (like Rose Kennedy should have), where she finds a community of women she connects with, eventually learning to deal a little with loss and love. She becomes involved with the Shakespeare Society, an officially unofficial club of sorts on campus.
Despite the book's length, and Percer's lovely writing style, and the first person narration, I found Naomi very hard to know. Everyone felt at a distance and I just didn't click with Naomi. That was the huge reason for me that I'm not swooning over this book, I think. I don't know if that knowing Wellesley grads has affected my reading -- I've heard differing opinions on the Shakespeare Society for one thing -- and at times the story felt too close to read authentic. Percer clearly loved her time at Wellesley and it shows in this novel -- and/but at times, it also reads a bit like promotional material.
Place as character is huge here, from the Kennedy home in Brookline that Naomi spends so much time at as a child to the Wellesley campus (a beautiful and magical college campus as unreal as it sounds -- I've seen it!). If you want an armchair escape to a women's college that is as bucolic as you would imagine, this is your novel.(less)
I think if you're a fan of Lovely Bones but want something less inspirational in tone, then this might be your book. Unfortunately, despite my love of...moreI think if you're a fan of Lovely Bones but want something less inspirational in tone, then this might be your book. Unfortunately, despite my love of the woo-woo and supernatural/paranormal/just-plain-odd, I really didn't click with this book's conceit or the narrator. I made it about one hundred pages and quit, daunted by the remaining 300.
There are a few reasons why this didn't work for me, starting with the heroine, Grace. Or maybe it was the writing style first, and then Grace. Told by Grace's disembodied soul while she's in a coma at the hospital following a fire at the school her children attend, she recounts to her husband everything that happened following the fire. As a result, the narrative takes this weird second person POV, 'you' this and 'you' that (which, to be honest, made me wonder if there would be a We Need To Talk About Kevin-esque twist at the end).
Despite being in an incorporeal state, Grace decides to solve the mystery of who or what caused the school fire, which involves eavesdropping, watching television, and thinking back on various events while floating around the hospital with her comatose, disembodied daughter. She admires her family (all pretty and smart and dreamy and sweet) and is pretty smug about her life. Maybe she does more but as I said, I didn't get far into the story.
Scanning GoodReads, it seems opinions are pretty mixed, with some folks who love this one and others who don't. I think it really is matter of whether the writing catches your fancy, so don't take my word necessarily -- you can read an extract at Lupton's website and see if it clicks. (less)
This is the pour-and-bake brownie of books: easy, junky, tasty, fast, and fun. And like those insta-brownies, this book was kind of a weekend lifesave...moreThis is the pour-and-bake brownie of books: easy, junky, tasty, fast, and fun. And like those insta-brownies, this book was kind of a weekend lifesaver for me.
My mother went to the hospital on Thursday and this book spent the weekend with me, alleviating two long nights sleeping in a hospital chair and two chaotic and stressful days. It was the diverting, engrossing, easy to dip in and out of distraction I needed. (This review might not convey my grateful relief as I'm still a bit sleep-deprived.)
Set in pretty, bucolic, suburban Haven Woods (in my head I made it a town in Connecticut, but I think it's sort of ambigu-East Coast), the story follows, loosely, two families: Audra, Paula, and Rowan Wittmore and Izzy and Marla Riley. Pretty quickly, we learn something is seriously wrong with the suburban royalty, the matrons and their families, but it's not until we're about 100 pages in does the action really pick up. (Perhaps my only complaint.) Paula's mother, Audra, is hospitalized with a vague, unspecified illness that makes Paula very suspicious; her daughter Rowan is even more put off by the odd way her grandmother's friends pry in to her life. The town's history is littered with horrible tragedies -- grotesque murders and shocking accidents -- that no one seems to find shocking until Paula and Rowan find themselves the focus of the women's murderous interest.
The writing style reminded me a bit of Stephen King -- parenthetical asides and vaguely stream-of-consciousness-y threads interspersing the narrative -- as well as the themes of the story -- the things we're willing to trade for our heart's desires, the secrets a town will keep even to its detriment, and I really enjoyed Moloney's exploration of mother-daughter relationships and parental sacrifices (in some cases, literally).
A perfect summer beach read, this is also a fun book to consider for October: creepy, over-the-top, a little bit gross (but not over-the-top), with a tiny bit of romance to add sweetness to the story. (less)
Margaret Fuller might be one of the most famous American women you've never heard of; I really learned of her when I read The Margaret-Ghost by Barba...more Margaret Fuller might be one of the most famous American women you've never heard of; I really learned of her when I read The Margaret-Ghost by Barbara Novak. Since then, I've been pretty hot for her, and so I was over-the-moon to learn about a new novel about her and her life.
April Bernard's novel didn't disappoint, and I don't think one needs to be familiar with Fuller to appreciate and enjoy this story. Set in 1850, the novel opens with Fuller's tragic death -- a shipwreck that claimed her as well as her husband and son -- and Henry David Thoreau combing the beach for their bodies and their effects. His younger sister, Anne, muses on Miss Fuller and her legacy, her thinking, her life. But a good portion of the novel is an unsent letter from Margaret Fuller to Sophia Hawthorne, Nathaniel Hawthorne's wife, and it shows us Fuller's real fears, passion, and blind admiration for those in her life.
In some ways, the novel is less about Fuller than about the people around her, the men and women she called friends and loved like family, and the uncomfortably cold way (to me) they dissected Fuller and her life. This is a novel about reputation, too -- at least, that's something I took away. As Melanie Benjamin's Alice I Have Been made so clear for me, Fuller has to be accountable to the ludicrous judgments of the men around her. Her wisdom is tied in to her 'purity', and her normal, reasonable, understandable choices become the fodder with which the people she idolizes disparage her.
That the author is also a poet is no surprise, as there's a really lovely sense of language here, neither heavy nor ethereal. I'm reminded of other poetic novelists, like Anne Carson, and master wordsmiths like Ellen Feldmen and A.S. Byatt.
That was the clear end, the major crashing chord, of the essay. Although Miss Fuller threw in a bad poem treacled with high sentiments to close, Anne held the phrase a complete life of its kind and knew she would not forget it.
The awkward, herky-jerky force of the essay, rather like an electric eel, twisting, brilliant, sparkling -- that, and the heat-lightening flashing and filling the window-panes -- kept her awake until dawn. (p58)
This is a smart, quiet novel that provoked righteous indignation in me -- and inspired me to look up Bernard's other works. Language lovers, feminists, historical fiction fans, and anyone who enjoys learning about long forgotten historical figures will enjoy this slim novel. (I reread it about a week after finishing -- I couldn't help myself!)(less)
Sadly, this was a DNF for me. I tried about three times to get in to the story, employing my usual tactic of reading 100 pages in before giving up. In...moreSadly, this was a DNF for me. I tried about three times to get in to the story, employing my usual tactic of reading 100 pages in before giving up. In this case, I just didn't resonate with the characters or writing style, despite the book's interesting setting and potentially fun premise.
The book doesn't open with a date, so I had to guess when this is set -- through Rosa's discovery of a tommy gun and liquor casks it's clear the setting is sometime during the Prohibition -- but whether that's 1919 or 1930, I don't know. The heroine, Rosa, has had eight children, four of whom have died of a mysterious illness. Of her four remaining children, two are stricken with the same illness, while two -- born of another father -- are healthy and fine. (I learned this tidbit about the different fathers from the book blurb; it wasn't made very clear to me in the 100 pages I did read.) Rosa is in an abusive marriage to a man who, from what I read, picked on her since she was a child. Despite being in love with another much kinder man, Rosa marries this jerk, and the book opens with him slapping her around.
I don't want to victim blame as the cycle of domestic violence is complex, complicated, and difficult to break out of, but from the first page, I just couldn't stand Rosa. I'm not sure if she was featured in previous Elm Creek Quilts novels and thus the reader already cared for her, but when the story opens with her four dead children, two more dying, and a guy who beats her, I just wanted to toss the book to the wall. What motivates her to leave this time seems flimsy -- certainly no more shocking than the previous times her husband has attacked her -- and so I couldn't become invested in her flight or her fear.
The writing is fine and the setting very unique. From other reviews I've seen, I understand the book goes a bit in to the plight of the California wineries during Prohibition, and explores the way the Catholic Church perpetuated and excused domestic violence. The feel of this novel is cozy drama, if such a thing is possible.
Other reviewers on the tour enjoyed this book, so do check out other opinions to see if this is a book for you.
*** *** ***
3/14/12: Alas, a DNF despite my best, multiple, efforts. Full review, or, non-review of the first 100 pages to come soon.(less)
I started this book and felt a bit stony about the story: the writing felt kind of casually journalistic, like an A&E piece in a local paper, and...moreI started this book and felt a bit stony about the story: the writing felt kind of casually journalistic, like an A&E piece in a local paper, and rather snobbily I thought this might be a topical, fluffy read. After picking up the book yesterday morning in bed, I had my nose in it on my walk to the subway, and I settled in once seated on the train. When my commute ended, I was irritated at having to put my book away -- and stunned to see I had raced through more than half the book. What I initially wrote off as something simplistic turned out to be an engrossing, engaging, and moving exploration of love, family, obligation, and the terrible grey area we live in.
Modern-day Reba, a reporter with emotional damage and an eating disorder, interviews a German baker on Christmas traditions. The German baker, Elsie, remembers only the Christmas in 1944 when she went to a Nazi party, got engaged to an SS officer, and tried to leverage that power to help a few people she could. Reba is engaged to a by-the-book Border Patrol Agent whose feelings on immigration are shifting and changing as he continues to face the reality of the immigration crisis in the US.
I definitely expected some simplistic acknowledgement of the gray areas in history -- not every German was a Nazi, not every undocumented immigrant is a criminal -- but McCoy's story tackles more than that. Without getting pedantic or uncomfortably political, her characters wade through intense emotional challenges that would best anyone, and as I was reading, I found myself empathizing with just about everyone. There were no handy villains to hate on; the world Elsie and Reba live in is sticky, and I so appreciated McCoy's articulation of that. All the secondary characters were vivid, which made me care so much more, as I was as invested in them as Elsie and Reba were.
The book closes with recipes, the ones featured in the narrative, which is wonderful because ohemgee, the food descriptions made my mouth water. I raided my local Danish bakery at one point because I was, like Reba, absolutely craving the baked goods.
This would make a great book club pick -- so many facets to invite conversation and discussion -- and it would make a good gift for someone who isn't sure they like historical fiction. This is an easy novel to read despite the complicated story and I have to applaud McCoy for presenting these stories in a human way.(less)
Three things: one, Jane Harris, where have you been all my life?; two, imagine Shirley Jackson meets A.S. Byatt, with a little Sarah Waters and Zoe He...moreThree things: one, Jane Harris, where have you been all my life?; two, imagine Shirley Jackson meets A.S. Byatt, with a little Sarah Waters and Zoe Heller thrown in, all set in Scotland, and you've got the feel of the story; and three, I loved this book.
I'm sort of just going to flail and squee, and I'm not sure how helpful this review will be. Sorry!
In brief: this novel had everything I love in a great book -- wonderful writing, real characters, and a compelling plot that surprised me -- and I hated having to put it down. It's a meaty chunkster that races along, but honestly, could have been twice the length and I would have cheerfully kept reading.
Set in the 1930s, the story is told by Harriet Baxter, an Englishwoman reflecting on her time in Glasgow in the late 1880s, during the International Expo. While there, she befriends Ned Gillespie and his family: his wife Annie, his mother Elspeth, his sister Mabel and brother Kenneth, and his daughters, Sibyl and Rose. Ned's star is rising and Harriet is eager to help him achieve the fame he deserves. She becomes a family confidante of sorts and as a result, is with the family during a horrific tragedy that deeply impacts all of them.
The thing with the story is that Harriet doesn't feel totally solid as a narrator. She's very self-complimentary, filled with importance, and from the first page, I doubted her. As time went on, however, she grew on me, and I assumed she was just fussy, until--
But I'm going to stop there. I don't want to give away anything.
This is a historical novel for those who hate historical fiction. There's no royal scandal (but there's a great mystery) or sweeping romance. Harris' story is set squarely in Victorian Glasgow with the mores, behavior, and values, and nothing feels anachronistic or out-of-step. The crimes of the late 1880s -- Jack the Ripper, the Arran murder -- are in the background along with the wonder and beauty of the International Expo and the Scottish art scene.
I don't mean to be coy about the plot but I don't want to spoil the fun for anyone. This was such a delicious, gripping novel -- get it. If you like suspicious old ladies and Victorian crimes, insidiously lovely writing that is blackly amusing and plot twists that sneak up on you, then this is your book. (less)
Unfortunately, this book suffers from being one I've been desperate to read -- and as a result, I'm probably a little more disappointed that it didn't...moreUnfortunately, this book suffers from being one I've been desperate to read -- and as a result, I'm probably a little more disappointed that it didn't excite me as much as Marr's YA novels have.
I'll be honest, I'm not sure what makes this novel not a YA novel, as the elements of it -- from the character,s plot, to the cover -- feel like a straight up supernatural YA. The heroine, Rebekkah, is annoyingly borderline and wicked moody, all whiny and self-destructive, yet everyone loves her anyway. The other characters spend all their time coddling, defending, and complimenting her for reasons that are baffling to me. Add in a totally maddening will-they-won't-they romance that exists solely because the heroine refuses to let herself be in love with the hero for a rather flimsy reason, and you've got what felt to me like many YA novels I've already read.
There's a kernel of awesomeness to this book: bucolic Claysville is blessed -- or cursed -- to have happy, safe residents as long as the dead are cared for by a Graveminder and Undertaker. For a few hundred years, two families have held these positions, a sort of open secret in town that everyone seems to know about -- save for Rebekkah and her love interested, for totally mystifying reasons. When Rebekkah and her love interest take on their roles as Graveminder and Undertaker, they have to learn in a rush, as the dead are walking in Claysville, and the dead are hungry.
Anytime I got excited about the book, Rebekkah would ruin it. Annoyingly, a good deal of the plot depends on her putting off conversations that would have otherwise staved off the resulting drama; pretty much, when Rebekkah goes to bed thinking she's too tired to call X or talk to Y, we know something awful is about to happen.
Marr does some interesting stuff in her books with love and the challenges of loving someone when a supernatural element requires you to be 'paired' with someone else. Sadly, I found Marr's exploration more deft in her YA novel, Wicked Lovely, than here. The secondary characters in this book, as with Marr's other novels, were fantastic -- really fun -- and in this case, I wished spiky, sexy bartender Amity were our heroine, rather than whinge-y Rebekkah.
If I ignored Rebekkah (which wasn't too hard, given the plethora of other characters), the novel worked for me, and I really enjoyed the supernatural world building. This is a zombie novel for people who hate zombies, more urban fantasy than gothic. A diverting read, easily sucked down in a few hours. I'm still a Marr fan, and I'm looking forward to her other books -- and I think this is a great novel for those new to urban fantasy.(less)
A very cool, restrained book, this historical novel is set on St. Kilda, an island that is the furthest part of the British Isles. Beginning in 1830,...moreA very cool, restrained book, this historical novel is set on St. Kilda, an island that is the furthest part of the British Isles. Beginning in 1830, the story follows Lizzie and her husband, missionary Rev. Neil MacKenzie, as they move from urban Scotland to the isolated, rocky, backwards island.
In some ways, the novel's arc is unsurprising -- the proper British couple is first charmed, then horrified, by the savage land -- but Altenberg's writing is controlled and captivating, and the development of Lizzie and Neil is surprising and familiar in a way that satisfies. I was strongly reminded of Jane Campion movies (like The Piano) in this novel: the focus on women, the impact of men on their lives, and a harsh and unforgiving world (both literally and emotionally).
There's a kind of historical mystery to the story, too, in the background, that Altenberg fully explains in her Notes. Altenberg's background is in archaeology, which comes out in the novel's almost naturalistic style of narrative, which fits the story: it has that kind of clinical feel of 19th century amateur scientists. The formal, controlled language, of course, does nothing to control, prevent, or manage the more 'earthy' events that occur, and it is that clash of aspiration and reality that provokes and changes Lizzie.
This is a sad novel, but not miserable, moving, with slightly unlikable characters. I felt affection and aggravation at Lizzie, some empathy and irritation toward her husband, Neil, and their marriage was one I rooted for and wished would end. They were, in short, real people, complicated and full, and their story and that of St. Kilda's is one that is moving, engrossing, and atmospheric. An unexpectedly rich novel for the end of my year.(less)
This collection isn't bad; it just isn't great. I described this to a friend as a Sex and the City, featuring a gay man and the arts scene rather than...moreThis collection isn't bad; it just isn't great. I described this to a friend as a Sex and the City, featuring a gay man and the arts scene rather than fashion. I suppose that's not a wholly apt comparison, as there's no sex or dating shenanigans; mostly, it's artsy name dropping and the silliness of pretentious Manhattanites. The opening story, 'Hey, that's me up there on the printed page!' is about a man desperate to be memorialized in fiction, poetry, or theater, and he's disappointed at how his opportunity eventually comes. It's an amusing story as I was hot to be a muse while in college and swooning over all the lit majors and their works-in-progress, but the joke gets tiring since we all can see a mile away what's going to happen. (For a fascinating look at a writer who mined her real life and acquaintances for her work, I recommend Wendy and the Lost Boys by Julie Salamon.)
Finkle's stories depend on the reader's knowledge of artists and the art world, and as a result, I think the stories might not resonate if one is unfamiliar with the artist in question (and it's hard to tell when he's name dropping someone real or someone invented). 'Rembrandt paints again' was amusing and funny and probably would work for most readers, while 'Duck! Here comes Diane Arbus!' depends on the reader being familiar with Arbus' work. If not, it just reads a bit oddly.
For a slice of a particular kind of life in New York City, this collection will sate. They're fast, amusing reads, good for commutes or waiting in line when you want something that doesn't require a lot of mental exercise. Certainly, if you want an armchair escape to artsy Manhattan, this is your ticket!(less)
Daphne du Maurier is one of my patron saints, one of the handful of writers who indelibly shaped me and my tastes in literature, so I expected I'd lov...moreDaphne du Maurier is one of my patron saints, one of the handful of writers who indelibly shaped me and my tastes in literature, so I expected I'd love this collection of 'lost' short stories. I wasn't disappointed: the pieces here are wry and a little dark and deliciously British. These stories span her career, from her start to her post-Rebecca and post-The Birds days, and it's really exciting to see her entire career captured here.
While du Maurier is known for her deliciously Gothic novels, these short stories show her skill at seeing the darker side of romance. Her snappy portraits of marriages, affairs, and couples in love were delightful -- spot on, familiar, droll, and pointed. One of the earliest stories, 'And Now to God the Father' was written when she was 22, and it is a wicked portrayal of an Anglican priest who cares more for society than souls. I howled. A few of the stories were duds for me, including the opening piece, 'East Wind', which is sort of 'eh' (so if you're cold on it too, just keep going, I promise it gets better!).
If you haven't read Rebecca yet (and that's okay, I still love you, but please for the love of everything that's good, read it immediately!), I wouldn't say this is exactly an intro to du Maurier, as these stories are, in the majority, more flip than her Gothic novels. But as an example of scathing British humor, this is a delight.
Grab this when you're with your loved ones over the holidays, and you need something to make you laugh and confirm that it isn't just you who finds being married/in love/dating exasperating at times. Halloween shouldn't be the only time for indulging in darker themes, and these stories are twisted without being scary. Trust me: when it's all happy holiday time, you'll love having this collection to escape in to!(less)
This is Blædel's American (or English-language) debut, which is unfortunate, because this novel is the second in Blædel's series featuring Danish dete...moreThis is Blædel's American (or English-language) debut, which is unfortunate, because this novel is the second in Blædel's series featuring Danish detective Louise Rick. By page 44, I noted on GoodReads that I was feeling a disconnect with the characters and I wondered if it was because I was coming in midseries -- so I feel slightly vindicated that is, indeed, the case.
The novel opens with a graphic, detailed rape so I knew immediately that this wasn't going to be my kind of book. I was expecting a little more nuanced plot, but instead, the crime is straight-forward: a man is raping women he meets online. I wasn't wild about the writing style (or translation, I'm not sure which): despite the detailed scenes of violence, the rest of the book detailing the investigation felt very vague and aloof. I didn't connect with the lead character, Detective Louise Rick, her bestie Camille, or anyone else in the story. Louise had interesting potential: she displayed a mixture of empathy and impatience with the victims, which felt real to me, and I would have liked to learn more about her. Sadly, despite the foreign locale, so much of the story felt familiar, from our heroine's failing romantic life to her tension with her supervisor. I didn't get a sense of Copenhagen or Denmark, either: the story really could have been set anywhere in the US.
In the end, not a favorite for me, but something must have grabbed because now, about a week or so later, I'm still wondering about some parts of Louise's life and I've been searching for info about the possible next English-language translation in the series. (less)
Loosely inspired by the life of British photographer Julia Margaret Cameron, The Luminist tells the story of Catherine Colebrook, a British woman stat...moreLoosely inspired by the life of British photographer Julia Margaret Cameron, The Luminist tells the story of Catherine Colebrook, a British woman stationed in Ceylon with her aging diplomat husband. Mourning the death of her son's twin, she becomes obsessed with the science of photography. Rocklin captures the breathless zeal of the 19th century hobbyists, who had the luxury of time, money, and help to pursue -- or in Catherine's case -- perfect a craft. Photography was in its nascent stages, in which every step was a series of variables, barely understood. For Catherine, it is an opportunity to capture life in a way portraiture can't.
Assisting in her endeavors is a young Tamil man named Eligius. Much like Karen Blixen and her beloved Farah, Eligius becomes a crucial companion and assistant to Catherine's work. The relationship between the white colonialist and native is heavily romanticized in literature and even if it reflects a historical reality, I'm still often uncomfortable with frequently unacknowledged power and privilege at play in such a relationship. What saved this book from having a kind of White Man's Burden-ness was that Eligius' story was told alongside Catherine's. After his father was killed by British soldiers, Eligius grows up in a village simmering with anger and resentment. He's encouraged to steal from the British to fund insurrectionists but he's impatient with anyone commanding him, Tamil or British. Captivated by photography himself, he struggles with his family's wishes, his own desires, and the weight of the watchful eye of the British who both need and fear the Tamil.
The mood of the story is mute anger and simmering sadness; the characters brusque and unlikeable. But I found something in them, the story, and Rocklin's writing that moved me. Despite the raw, vulnerable hostility (or maybe because of), I wanted to follow Catherine and Eligius' story. I felt some sympathy, some bewilderment, some frustration, and even impatience, but I also found flashes of real beauty in the unapologetic, bald honesty of the characters. This was an era of unspoken feelings, sublimated desires, willful ignorance, and naive arrogance -- but the story dips beneath that controlled veneer to reveal the unvarnished grace of growing up, finding one's passion, or learning to hold one's self in full regard.
The narrative style is dense at times, but not heavy or overwrought. It's substantial and solid, bracing the story, and I found myself frequently rereading passages to enjoy a phrase or mull on a sentence's meaning. The narrative style is philosophical. Dense -- but not clunky. So much detail is conveyed in a paragraph but I never felt exhausted by it. I'm having a hard time articulating it. The style felt familiar - very literary, a la Byatt and Rushdie - although not quite so deft as those two. But good nonetheless: I was entertained and my brain had something to work at while I read.
A meaty literary historical novel, especially good for those who like fiction that tackles religion, loss, identity, motherhood, the creative urge, colonialism, conflict, love, inspiration ... the list of themes could go on and on, but I'll stop. This is a unique debut and I'm excited for Rocklin's next offering. (less)
This uneven first novel promises the start of an entertaining series for those who enjoy supernatural/paranormal historicals. Big, dramatic, and lurid...moreThis uneven first novel promises the start of an entertaining series for those who enjoy supernatural/paranormal historicals. Big, dramatic, and lurid, this novel tells the story of Lanny McIlvrae, a woman born in 19th century rural Maine, who still walks the Earth some two centuries later, tortured by her past. Alternating between now -- when she convinces the ER doctor to help her escape to Canada and then Paris -- and recounting her past -- how she ended up immortal -- the story features sex, violence, a hint of supernatural elements, and unrequited love.
This book felt very familiar to me in tone and plot (most notably Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles and Cate Tiernan's Balefire books), especially with the story-within-a-story style Katsu employs. According to her website, she was particularly inspired by the Pinnochio story which can be seen in Lanny's developmental arc; but unfortunately, to me, the story just seemed a bit tired and 'done': the excesses and immoral decadence of the immortals, the fascination with beautiful people being immortalized, the desire to atone for one's centuries-long sins. Which is a shame because Katsu's writing is good and her heroine Lanny had promise. I greatly enjoyed the historical sections, following Lanny's adolescence in her repressive, small village, where she nurtured a one-side love for the town's rich, beautiful playboy. Her devotion to him leads to her downfall, of course, the slow eroding of her soul as she does what she can to remain his, in whatever form.
The contemporary portions of the novel rang most awkward and unrealistic; in a novel this size, I would have liked more time developing why this small town doc would give up everything to help Lanny. He's a flimsy foil for Lanny to tell her story; I'd much rather this have been her diaries or a letter although I suppose the doctor will feature in the next book.
I've seen a lot of reviews that describe this book as 'sexy' which I find baffling: certainly, there's a ton of sex in it, but it's often violent and/or non-consensual, which isn't my idea of hot. It is, however, dramatic and titillating and grotesque and entertaining, over-the-top escapism for the autumn, a beach read when it's too chilly for the beach(less)
I loved this book. And in that way when I'm totally smitten, I'm not even sure I can compose complete sentences explaining why I loved this book so. I...moreI loved this book. And in that way when I'm totally smitten, I'm not even sure I can compose complete sentences explaining why I loved this book so. In short: the writing is gorgeous, the romance sensual and sexy, and the characters sketched quickly but warmly despite their flaws.
First, the setting. I'm mad for Paris in the late '20s and I love the circle of artists the novel focuses on; Avery creates the ambiance without bogging down the story in details. There's a mix of hard scrabble poverty and excessive wealth, titles and nobodies, post-war and pre-war. The novel references de Lempicka's art from 1927 on, which can be seen online -- and should, because they're gorgeous. And sexy.
Second, the characters. I really fell in love with everyone, even the unappealing ones, the shameful ones, the shameless ones, the selfish jerks and the too-saintly-to-be true mouses. They felt real to me, even though Avery doesn't spend tons of time describing them, either. (I'm afraid I'm making this sound like the narrative is thin, but it isn't!) Through snappy dialogue and Rafaela's viewpoint (and for a brief time, Tamara's) we see meet these rapacious souls (food, money, sex, artistic inspiration, safety -- the need various, but there's unceasing hunger!). Shamefully (?), I liked Tamara despite her cruel, predatory, and selfish behavior, because Avery made her so real for me. The manipulative, passionate woman we see through Rafaela's eyes tells her side of the story, briefly, late in life.
And finally, the writing. This novel races even though it isn't a fast-paced or intricately plotted novel. The hot burn of desire propels the story; like Rafaela impatient for the day to end so she can go to Tamara, I was impatient for the next liaison, the next drink, the next painting. I ate up every word because each sentence fulfilled and left me yearning. The end of the book killed me dead in the best way, oh-so-bittersweet and sad and yummy.
For those uncomfortable with sex, this novel might be too spicy. Avery writes some of the sexiest lesbian sex I've read in a novel in a long time, and while it isn't graphic, it also isn't discreet. The sex is part of the story, like the paintings, like Paris, and feels right, not gratuitous.
I'm making myself want to read this all over again. Right now.(less)
This book is twisted, hilarious, sad, horrifying, bittersweet, shocking, and wildly fun. The story follows Jean Vale Horemarsh, a ceramicist who, afte...moreThis book is twisted, hilarious, sad, horrifying, bittersweet, shocking, and wildly fun. The story follows Jean Vale Horemarsh, a ceramicist who, after watching her mother's slow death from cancer, decides the truest way to show her dear friends how much she loves them is to ensure they die quick deaths while happy. So she makes her list, and her fuzzy plan (she likes to go by feel, the same way she creates her art), and goes to work.
The result is awesome. Cole's writing is wonderful -- effortless and playful -- and I tore through this book in a matter of hours on a Saturday night. I like black comedy and satire and I loved the absurdity of Jean and her grand plan. Twisted and wrong, Jean was motivated by friendship, a desire to ensure those she cared about were happy, and I found myself really enjoying the ruminations on friendship. Jean's friendships spanned decades, went through various rough patches and estrangements, but in the end, she tried to maintain and remain connected with those who had a shared emotional history with her. It was moving, in a way, and obviously twisted, and I really delighted in that mix of tender and effed up! (Dear besties reading this review, I swear I'm not going to murderate you out of love!)
This book isn't gross or violent, however, despite the premise, and I think those who don't like gore but enjoy some macabre will get a kick out of this story. Certainly, I found it a perfect read for my October, and it has provoked some conversation among my friends about loyalty, love, and friendship. I don't know if it would exactly be a good group read -- those who don't dig black comedy will probably hate Jean -- but I found her to be a fascinating character. She might be my favorite anti-heroine of the year! (less)
This book kept me up for two nights because I had to know to know how it ended. I had to know the answer to the two mysteries. Sort of literary thrill...moreThis book kept me up for two nights because I had to know to know how it ended. I had to know the answer to the two mysteries. Sort of literary thriller-ish, the story alternates between two women and two mysteries that tie together in the end.
My favorite character was Caroline, the early 20th-century American beauty who marries an Oklahoma rancher for love, and eventually ends up in England, reluctant matriarch to the Calcott family. I loved her and her mystery and I was desperate to learn the truth in her story; when I did, I gasped. It was perfect -- deliciously horrifying and wonderfully dramatic.
The other story follows Erica and Beth Calcott, Caroline's great-granddaughters, who inherit the family estate. It holds bad memories, both of their unfriendly grandmother and the mysterious disappearance of their cousin when they were children. Beth, who suffers from serious depression, is happy to retreat and hide while Erica is determined to shed light on that time.
There were moments when the story dragged for me, mostly during the contemporary sections, when it felt like Erica was spending a lot of time wandering and looking at things. I skimmed a bit, now and then (mostly during the wandering and looking), but for the most part, the story had me riveted and the writing style grabbed me. There's a little Gothic drama, some romance, and a lovely twisted mystery that totally surprised me.
This book would make a great book club pick -- it's dramatic and full of questionable life choices. I spent a night yammering to my wife about the twists and postulating on what I would have done (I'm not sure I would have done any better). Summer might be over but this is a great escapist read, appropriately moody for the fall, easily done in a week or so. Get it and have fun!(less)
Audra (Unabridged Chick)
>
Books:
heroine-unlikable
(62)
×
Loading...
