2020 Reading–January
Starting the year off slowly, with just six books finished this month. (My goal for the year is 66 books, so I’m just a little ahead of schedule.)
[image error]Olive, Again by Elizabeth Strout
Olive, Again by Elizabeth Strout is a sequel to Strout’s Pulitzer Prize-winning book Olive Kitteridge. I’ve heard from many people that they like this book even more than the original, and I think I do too. When I read the first book, although I admired the writing, I really didn’t like the character of Olive. Maybe she’s grown on me by this time, but now I like her bluntness. She definitely doesn’t pull punches. It’s also interesting to watch Olive advance into old age over the course of the book, absorbing the punches that time delivers. In the first book time also passed, but the endpoint didn’t seem quite so near, even though Olive’s husband does die in that book. While I’m not quite as old as Olive yet, it is sobering to read about her difficulties, and it was a bit depressing. On the other hand, it was great to see Olive react so negatively to a woman who had a Trump sticker on her car (although Strout doesn’t use Trump’s name).
[image error]The Testaments by Margaret Atwood
The
Testaments by Margaret Atwood was my book club’s pick for January, although
I had been determined not to read it. I read The Handmaid’s Tale some time ago and enjoyed it well enough, but I
didn’t feel the need to spend time on the sequel. (Also, I didn’t see any of
the TV series.) What more was there to say on the subject? And I was right that
I don’t think this book takes us much further than the original did. For one
thing, the writing isn’t particularly strong—lots of clichés—and the
organization is peculiar. I also never get a clear picture of Aunt Lydia’s
motivation. She puts herself at great risk to undermine Gilead, and yet she was
complicit in its creation and the oppression of a generation of women,
apparently to save herself. I’m not saying I didn’t like it, but it didn’t
exceed my low expectations.
[image error]The Bonfire of the Vanities by Tom Wolfe
The Bonfire of the
Vanities by Tom Wolfe was first published in 1987 and apparently I bought a
hardcover copy shortly thereafter (full price, $19.95, at Rizzoli, whose
Chicago store I visited when in town once or twice a year). It’s been on my
bookshelf, unread, ever since (moving several times, including back and forth
across the Pacific Ocean), probably because of its daunting length. Since then,
though, I had the pleasure of meeting Wolfe a few times and got a couple of
books signed by him (but not this one). Anyway, I was inspired to finally read
this one because while reading Stephen Greenblatt’s The Swerve recently I learned about the original Bonfire of the
Vanities perpetrated by Savanarola in Florence in 1497 in which various sinful
objects were burned. So, now that I’ve read the book, I realize that it is
satire, or at least it reads as satire when viewed from the perspective of 2020.
The Master of the Universe, Sherman McCoy, a bond trader on Wall Street, is a
cartoon character, and surely seemed that way even in the ‘80s when the book
was written. The question is whether he learns anything from his ordeal. He
says he does, but one wonders. The whole thing feels like a cartoon, come to
think of it, with no one—the press, the lawyers, the bankers, the gold-diggers,
the activists—coming away unscathed in their portrayals. It’s one of the
densest books I’ve read, in the sense of getting deeply—very deeply—into the
thoughts of many characters. If Wolfe had focused only on the plot, which is excellent,
it would have been half the length.
[image error]Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan
Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan isn’t a novel for everyone. It is set in Singapore, and I think it helps to have some familiarity with that country to really grasp what’s happening in the book (although maybe the movie would work better). The book deals with an American woman who is in a relationship with a Singaporean in New York, where they are both academics. He invites her to join him in Singapore for summer vacation, but he doesn’t tell her that he’s from a very wealthy and powerful family. Even when she arrives and starts experiencing the absurd extravagance of the lifestyle of his family and friends, she doesn’t fully understand that she’s basically now on another planet and there’s no way the natives will ever accept her. Having lived in Singapore for almost ten years, I’m very familiar with the landscape Kwan is describing here, although I had no dealings with the people he’s describing. I lived and worked on planet earth, I’m happy to say. In the end, I found the book to be kind of silly—a farcical soap opera of the rich and powerful—but I actually did enjoy it in the end. Kwan is a very good storyteller. I gather there are several sequels, and right now I don’t feel compelled to read on, but that may change.
[image error]Death in Spring by Merce Rodorero
Death in Spring by
Mercé Rodorero is beautiful, but nearly impenetrable. Rodorero was a Catalan
writer and I picked this book up in Barcelona last month in order to get a
taste of the literary culture. Given that the cover included a blurb from
Gabriel Garcia Marquez, I knew to expect some magical realism, but the story
goes far beyond that into a world that is difficult to comprehend. I take it
that on some level the novel is anti-authoritarian allegory, but in that case
some of its elements are difficult for me to comprehend. The stepmother with
the deformed arm who marries her step-son? Their child born with the same
deformity? The burial of villagers in trees in the forest? And what’s with all
the butterflies? And the river that flows under the village? Perhaps someone
has spent time parsing it all in a PhD dissertation, but I’m not sure I want to
make the effort to discover all the book’s meaning. I’m glad I read it, though,
and it adds something to my Barcelona trip.
[image error]Private by James Patterson and Maxine Paetro
Private by James
Patterson and Maxine Paetro is the first in a series, part of the Patterson
franchise, but I’m reasonably confident I won’t read beyond this first book and
I doubt that another Patterson will darken my door. I guess some people like
these action-filled books filled with stock characters, clichés, and trite
plots, but not me. Here, the hero is Jack Morgan (Seriously? Did they work
really hard to choose such a bland name?), impossibly handsome, ex-military who
has some kind of suppressed memory from action he saw in Afghanistan, and he
runs a fancy private investigation firm called Private. Oh, and he’s extremely
wealthy, partly because of dirty money he inherited from his father (who died
in prison), and partly because he’s good at the investigations game. Like other
books of the genre, there are several plot lines that have little to do with
each other, except that Jack Morgan is chasing down several different sets of
bad guys. There are several women in the story too, and Jack has slept with
most of them, of course, except for the unattractive ones.
