September Reading, 2023

First, Thank you! Thanks for all the comments on my last couple of posts. I haven’t managed to respond to them, but I’ve read and appreciated every one.

I briefly debated abandoning my monthly book post because this trip has been rather chock-a-block, free time at a premium, free time with expendable energy even rarer. But I do like our reading conversations, and I’d already written a few book entries in my reading journal before leaving home, so only needed to write a few more and then transcribe my scribbles into something more legible and screen-friendly. Here it is.

Turns out that September was heavy on the escape/light reading, mostly because I was trying to distract myself from pre-travel anxiety. There are a couple of books here that ask a bit more from readers — and repay richly. I’d pass any of the eight along to a friend, and that’s what you are, right? Let me know if you find something you like here — or something you’ve already read and liked or disliked. . . Always interesting to compare notes.

I say this every book post now, for those who are new here and as a reminder to regular readers: As usual, the numbering comes from my annual handwritten reading journal, and the italicized text below is directly transcribed from that journal’s pages (once upon a time, I simply included photographs of those pages, but too many of you found my handwriting tough to decipher, especially in the photographed format). Notes to myself, that is, so that I can remember a book and remember my response to it, rather than any attempt at a more polished, edited review.

I’ve used regular font for any additions to my journal notes and included references to any posts from my Instagram Reading account.

58. Enter Ghost. Isabella Hammond. Literary Fiction; Set in contemporary Palestine; Palestinian/Israeli history; Shakespearean theater; Shakespeare in Translation; British-Palestinian female protagonist; British-Palestinian female writer.

38-year-old stage actor Sonia lives in England, but between roles and having recently ended an affair with a married director, she goes back to visit her sister in Haifa. She hasn’t been back to her family’s homeland since summers spent there through childhood and adolescence.

She is convinced by her sister, Haneen, to help a friend — Mariam’s a director with an ambitious and politically charged project: staging Hamlet in Classical Arabic . . . in Gaza. And although Sonia first says she’ll only fill in for a few days until another actor is found, she eventually accepts the role of Gertrude — and even, for a few weeks, of Gertrude and Ophelia both.

Clever use of Hamlet — and of the conceit of theatre in general — to explore Sonia’s return to her ancestral home, to contend with its history of betrayal and disruption . . . and with her struggle with identity and relationships, alienation and belonging. Sonia and her fellow theatre members are represented in several chapters via dialogue which looks like a play manuscript in which they are characters.

Art as protest, social commentary. Eurocentric Shakespeare, yet, but translatable and still relevant, becoming a medium for something else? How much of his plays is “universal”? how much particular? And how much can be translated? So much Sofia doesn’t understand at first. And so much has been censored — even her own adolescent knowledge, which she didn’t let herself know.

I wrote about Hammad’s earlier novel, The Parisian, in my July Boooks post.

Recommended as a novel that moves, informs, and provokes thought. My Instagram post here. Please note that I read the novel and wrote this response well before what happened last week in Gaza. I would recommend it still as a way to understand some of the historical, political, geographical, and cultural complexities of the region, but perhaps some readers will need to wait. . .

59. The Puppet Show. M.W. Craven. Mystery/Crime novel; police procedural; serial killer; Washington Poe series.

Thanks to “Dottoressa” for recommending this series to me.

The first pages of this first volume in the series, however, were horrifying and might deter some readers. But the plotting is tight and gripping — and most of all the characterization of the two detectives. One, the curiously named Washington Poe, an experienced, hardened former Detective Inspector, currently on suspension and enjoying the solitude of his rural retreat; the other, Matilda Bradshaw, a brilliant computer analyst/statistician, a 20-something young woman (she got her 1st degree at 16, then a Master’s and two PhD’s) who still lives with her mother and has limited social skills.

While Poe is at first impatient with Bradshaw’s overly literal interpretations of everyday expressions, he quickly recognizes her skills — and his intolerance of bullying not only brings him to her defence when he overhears her being ridiculed, but pushes him — against advice to the contrary — to bring her to Cumbria with him on the hunt for a serial killer.

As well as a thrilling plot and well-drawn characters (I loved watching Poe and Tilly’s friendship develop, seeing her blossom in its warmth, gaining confidence along the way), there’s also the Cumbrian setting and some convincing indictment of the censoring of information that can be had with money or political power, even when serious crimes are suspected (also the theme of a Mick Herron thriller I’ve read lately).

60. State of Terror Louise Penny and Hillary Clinton. Political thriller; Roman à clef; American politics; International politics; Strong female protagonist; Friendship; Love.

My (Italian class) friend Margaret lent this to me — I wouldn’t have picked it up on my own, and, in fact, I found the first chapter or two annoying, felt like too much description of the “Don’t tell them, Show Them!” variety (i.e. it told . . . and told . . . )

But once the action and characters “caught,” I found myself curious, intrigued, amused, and horrified in turn. Given that the woman who’s co-writing about actions overseen and engaged in by a female Secretary of State is herself a former one, it’s tough to say that the fictional characters and plot are unconvincing.

And thoughtless or malicious or stupid decisions made at the White House? That affect all of us and bring us close to international disaster? All too convincing!

61. The Last Voice You Hear. Mick Herron. Mystery/thriller; Oxford series; Zoe Boehm, female detective; single women, mid-life.

Another in Mick Herron’s Oxford series (from his backlist). This time, the focus is on Zoe Boehm, (introduced as helping Sarah Tucker, protagonist of the series’ first volume) who pulls on a loose thread (a dead boy who’d fallen to his death from a high-rise rooftop, despite his fear of heights) while trying to confirm that an apparent suicide by train (by a woman whose employer was concerned, hadn’t seen any signs) was just that.

So two suicides, both suspicious to Zoe. . . and in one of those lines of enquiry, she pisses off the wrong people — police detectives — and, fleeing after a serious beating, tracks down her friend Sarah. . . . and I can’t tell you more than that without spoiling the story, but it gets very tense.

Same appeal as always with Herron’s writing — clever and funny — and surprisingly thoughtful, even insightful, on women at mid-life, single ones in particular (although, perhaps, how would I know, but the writing feels both considered and oftenconvincing).

62. Grief Is the Thing with Feathers. Max Porter. Literary fiction; Bereavement; Fathers, Sons; Ted Hughes; Crow.

Strange and beautiful little book — something like a novella leaning towards fairy tale? A father and two young sons who have just lost their wife/mother. The father is a scholar, working on a book about Ted Hughes . . . and a very “Hughes-ian” crow invades their home, troubles them, consoles them, bullies and entertains them until he deems them ready — or at least better able — to live in the world without her.

Poetic writing, stylistically compelling. The boys, speaking collectively and retroactively from adulthood:

After the advent of laser surgery, but before puberty, before self-consciousness, before secondary school, before money, time or gender got their teeth in. Before language was a trap, when it was a maze. Before Dad was a man in the last thirty years of his life. Really on reflection, the best possible time to lose a mum.

Grief Is the Thing with Feathers. Max Porter.

That last sentence in the quotation? Gut punch. Mic drop.

63. Why We Die. Mick Herron. Mystery/Thriller. Oxford Series/Zoe Boehm; female detective.

My 3rd Mick Herron Oxford series book in not much more than a month, and I enjoyed it as much as the others — except . . . I have a serious problem with the ending, and of course I can’t explain what that is. But if you read it (or already have) we can chat. . . .

Some great characters again — several of them verging on classic grotesque. Also, note that Herron regularly sacrifices characters — in his Slough House series we lose at least one per volume. . . . and in this, someone we come to like and respect will not make it to the end. I’m not telling. . .

Zoe and her persistence, but so much has been bashed out of her, taken from her. The abused woman, Herron’s seemingly sympathetic and perceptive take on her, on the phenomenology of violence against women, of abused women’s limited options.

Fights, escapes, rescues, red herrings, very sneaky sleights of hand . . . and the Venerable Bede’s sparrow (and the novel’s title). He’s very entertaining and funny and thought-provoking, is Mr. Herron. So I find it nearly churlish to be annoyed with him for this book’s ending, but it really does bother me. I’d say more (politics, feminism, etc. etc.), but don’t want to spoil it for other readers. . . .I’ll look forward to discussing it with you later perhaps.

64. Hello Beautiful. Ann Napolitano. Literary fiction; Domestic fiction; Coming-of-Age; Sisterhood; Romance; Depression; Family.

A book about family and love, parents and children, grief and depression. About egregious loss and the damage one can do to others by clinging to that loss or by being too rigid, stubborn, in the face of it.

Four lively, bright, creative sisters (20th century Little Women) with a hard-working mother who wants the best for them but finds it hard to show her love — especially to her husband who appears too soft for her, not driven enough. . . but whose girls adore him. (He’s the one who characteristically greets them “Hello Beautiful”). Is it fair that they adore him so unreservedly when their mother is the one who has to work so hard, to sacrifice her own dreams? We readers may be tempted to prefer him as well, but Napolitano shows us the complexity of the gendered politics and generational patterns that shape the couple’s relationship.

The novel’s male protagonist, Will, a boy who’s essentially been emotionally abandoned by his parents almost from birth, although they meet his material and educational needs. He finds his connection to the world, meets his meagre social needs by developing basketball skills. And then he meets the sisters. . .

Honestly, if I weren’t writing these entries in a hotel room in Tuscany after an 18-kilometre walk, with dinner waiting in the restaurant downstairs, I could write so much more about this one. Maybe you’ve read it?

65. Murder in Chianti. Camilla Trinchieri. Mystery; Tuscan Mystery Series; Armchair Travel; Italian Cuisine. Widower, Nico Doyle.

This was the last book I read in September, finishing it just in time to return to the library before we left for Rome on the 1st of October:

I went back to read the first in this series (wrote about the second one here), and I found it quite satisfying. Interesting and likeable characters — and the community of the small village that widower Nico Doyle moves to after his wife dies (she grew up there and they visited often during her lifetime) is a wonderful character of its own.

Families and all their complexities , the way the present is visited by the past, constant references to Dante (enjoyable, not irritating at all, although often puzzling to all but the character Gogol who utters them), and male friendships. Great armchair travel as well.

That’s it for my September reading — hardly seems that I was reading these books only a month or so ago, given the way that travel always seems to distort time, for me at least. It’s been a challenge finding a confluence of time, energy, enough Wifi strength, and a decent writing surface to put this post together, and I apologize in advance for its shortcomings. Proof-reading has been giving short shrift in preference to hitting “publish” before the signal fades again.

But I won’t apologize for looking forward to your comments. I won’t find much time for commenting, but perhaps you’ll chat among yourselves — I always appreciate the book-ish conversations that build here.