Whoooosh! Can you still hear the echo of 2023 being swept away? All those pages turned, pulled into time’s vortex. . . I try to hold some fragments of them by jotting a few notes about each book I read in my hand-written (hand-scribbled, more like!) Moleskine. And then share those notes here each month, where, occasionally, some of you may choose to read a book I’ve mentioned, anchoring a small piece of “the backlist” in the current year. Often enough, some of you recommend a book and a few of us will add its name to our TBR list. I dream, sometimes, of inviting you all for a lovely book chat, tea and cookies, or wine and cheese and crackers. Meanwhile, though, I do enjoy our monthly meet-ups right here.
By the end of the month, I hope to post my list of books read in 2023, but I can’t do that before I tell you what I read in December. So here we go. . .
But first: 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.
77. The City and the Mountains. Eça de Queirós. Trans. Margaret Jull Costa. Literature in translation; 19th-century Portuguese literature; satire; 19th-century Paris; rural Portugal; novel of manners.
Someone online recommended this as interesting to someone planning a trip to Portugal (so perhaps I read about it on Sue’s blog?) and I misunderstood it to be a more contemporary (20th century, at least) memoir. Instead, it’s a very witty 19th-century novel taking satiric aim at Parisian so-called civilization in the last decades of that century. The narrator comes from rural Portugal, and the Paris friend, whose story he narrates, has roots there (and a vast estate) but shudders to think of living in “so much nature.”
Until after years of filling his home with every possible “modern convenience” and his days with a full schedule of superficial social outings, he essays a return to his ancestral home. With entertaining results.
I posted an excerpt in my Instagram Books account.
78. What Strange Paradise. Omar El Akkad. Literary fiction; Giller prize-winner; Egyptian-Canadian novelist; Syrian refugee / boat migrant; child refugee.
A sad and hopeful and almost sweet story (the possibilities . . . if only) of a small boy who’s a Syrian refugee on a boat of migrants, washed ashore. He’s one of the few to survive, but is immediately pursued for detention in an unnamed country. And he finds a surprising rescuer, a teenaged girl fed up with her family, her life.
We’d just watched The Swimmers on Netflix, a fictionalized version about two Syrian sisters, Yusra and Sarah Mardini, one an Olympic hopeful, refugees on an abysmally un-seaworthy boat; after managing to pull it to shore, they then had to get past border crossings and were then detained in a refugee camp for months on end.
It’s becoming such a familiar story, horrifically, that it’s tempting to turn away from witness (or, become witness, to distance it as merely spectacle, something akin to entertainment). So I am grateful for writers like El Akkad who help me keep looking, who find fresh ways to help me try to imagine, ways to maintain and exercise the agency my privilege might offer. As the much less privileged teen rescuer does almost instinctively and at considerable risk. . . Not to say we’re offered a happy ending, necessarily. But hopeful ways to imagine humanity, yes.
79. Lessons in Chemistry. Bonnie Garmus. “STEM-inist fiction”; “Quirky tragicomedy” (genre labels thanks to this Slate article); feminist fiction; literary fiction; NYT bestseller; neurodivergent female protagonist.
Sue really didn’t like this one, finding too many stereotypes, especially of male characters. Another friend of mine noted in her IG post that while it “touched on some serious issues,” it took on “too many, too superficially” and that “the theme of misogyny is too commonplace to be radical so probably fails to provoke serious reflexion.”
Both critiques are probably fair enough, but sometimes we just want to laugh and be entertained and recognize in exaggerated form some of our own experience. I enjoyed this as a light, sharp novel, and I was charmed by the three main characters — Elizabeth, her daughter Madeline, and their dog Six-Thirty. The latter alone clearly indicates that we should understand the narrator’s stance and tone as tongue-in-cheek. But as I remember the workplaces of the late 60s through the 70s (and beyond until today, of course) and as I remember what, as a child, I heard even good, thoughtful men say about the women who were their friends and spouses, there is plenty of truth coming from that tongue, even tucked tightly in that cheek.
I was surprised I stuck with the book so soon after I’d seen the TV series (my library Hold took that long to become available) — and intrigued throughout to see how much the series differed — the inclusion of so many Black characters and the important history of Black neighbourhoods being razed by urban “development.” Also intriguing to see how Six-Thirty and his relationship with his people was manifest differently in the two media. The series did well in capturing the book’s narrative tone — always wry, perhaps a bit warmer than satiric, but distanced, tongue-in-cheek, as I said. The series captured this well in the voiceovers. . .
Read the Guardian article for yet another review.
80. Yellowface. R.F. Kuang. Literary fiction; Satirical thriller; Dark humour; Racial diversity; Social media; Book publication/distribution; Writing life; Asian-American writing.
A young white woman, writer June Hayward, has been disappointed with the world’s reception of her debut novel and has watched with envy the meteoric success of a friend (barely, she insinuates at first) from her student years at Yale. She attributes her friend Athena’s success partially to her being Asian-American and thus claiming the “diversity spot” on bestseller lists, in critical attention, etc.
And then, shockingly, Athena chokes to death in front of her after they’ve shared too many drinks in the writer’s gorgeous apartment. And the next day, still shocked but looking through her friend’s new manuscript draft, just completed but read by no one else, June makes a bold decision.
What I found so interesting about this book — besides the commentary on social media, on the publishing industry, the fickleness of public opinion, the loneliness of a writing life — was the narrator’s ability to shift my perspective, so subtly. June gradually reveals details about her friend Athena that make the ethics — or even morals — of the situation more complicated than they first appear.
81. The New Parisienne: The Women and Ideas Shaping Paris. Lindsey Tramuta. Non-fiction; Mini-biographies, interviews; women’s lives; diversity; Paris; Urban life; Urban planning/policy; Travel.
Almost a coffee-table book with great photos (by Joanne Pai) and illustrations (Agathe Singer) throughout. As journalist and antiracist activist Rokhaya Diallo says in one of the book’s interviews, “There’s a whole image around the Parisienne that needs to be reconstructed because it’s been a long time since she’s looked like Brigitte Bardot or Edith Piaf. Paris is one of the most multicultural cities of Europe.”
That said, the women represented in this collection — these dynamic and diverse women working in various fields — all manifest a Parisian elegance or “chic” and the book offers enormous aesthetic pleasures while it presents them and their ideas in categories such as The Activists, Creators, Disruptors, Storytellers, Tastemakers, Visionaries. Tramuta considers what motherhood looks like in Paris, for the women who have children, and explores what life-career balance looks like for all of them The range of careers and of the personal “parcours” followed is fascinating, but I also love the range of tips and favourite spots each interviewee offers to the book’s readers. Following these tips, visiting these spots, promises to expand notions of Paris, a central goal of The New Parisienne.
I borrowed this from the library but would love to own a copy. Not to be read in one gulp, but fun to dip in and out of, to go back to at my leisure. It would make a great gift for a Parisophile girlfriend, especially if she’s open to a broader and more diverse view of The City of Light.
82. Il Giardino che vorrei. Pia Pera. Read in Italian (My English translation of title: The Garden that I would like). Memoir; Gardening; Italian gardens.
I discovered this book through Alba Donati’s Diary of a Tuscan Bookshop –where both the author and this particular title were mentioned numerous times, counted among the day’s sales or special orders. Part memoir, part gardener’s guide, it’s beautifully written — and a real joy for a gardener who reads Italian and is interested in horticultural nomenclature. I’m planning to go through it again, making a list of all the plants I recognize — with both their English and Italian names to identify them.
Pera sets out her idea of an ideal garden, how she likes it to relate to its surroundings, how to create natural enough transitions from the less-cultivated areas bordering whatever is left of “Nature” nearby . . . being more evidently structured and planted as the garden approaches the house. She describes and lists suitable plantings for woodlands, for wildflower/grass meadows, hedges, tree borders, ponds and bog gardens, seaside or desert gardens, urban courtyards — and always with descriptions of the exemplary gardens she’s visited, grown, or known.
Unfortunately, this doesn’t seem to be available in an English translation. (But I’m currently reading another of hers which has been. More on that later.
83. The Bookbinder. Pip Williams. Historical Fiction; Feminist fiction; Bibliophilic fiction; Set in Oxford; WWI; Neurodivergent character.
I’m not sure I’d call this (as some have) a sequel to The Dictionary of Lost Words — which I wrote about here, but some of the characters from that book appear here (or are briefly mentioned). Whereas The Dictionary was set in the workspace where the Oxford Dictionary was compiled, the main characters here work in the bindery at the university press where that great project was printed. The protagonist of The Bookbinder, Peggy, and her twin, Maude (neurodivergent, perhaps autistic), work there and live on a narrowboat in Oxford.
Before their mother became ill and died, still relatively young, Peggy had some hope of an education, but now she not only has to work to support herself, but also feels obliged to care for her sister. She does whatever she can, however, to get her hands on books which she reads and studies, trying to understand as much as possible about the world around her.
As Belgian refugees from the Great War arrive in Oxford, Peggy takes on volunteer work which exposes her to people and ideas that push her to envision new possibilities. Is she hoping too much for someone of her class? It’s hard enough for women of the upper classes — those still fighting for suffrage — but Peggy has so much catching-up to do and lamentably fewer resources.
And there are complications — love, the grievous losses of War, the dreaded ‘flu, the need to protect her sister. . .
Throughout, I was mesmerized by the description of bookbinding, the precision demanded of those who folded the pages, then of thouse who stitched, those who bound . . .
Instagram post with a photo of me, this book, my cosy reading corner. . .
84. Harriet the Spy. Louise Fitzhugh. Children’s novel; Set in New York City’s Upper East Side early 1960s; 11-year-old protagonist (Grade 6).
I read this to a granddaughter who shares her name with the protagonist — we read together at her bedtime via FaceTime over several months, because we started mid-September but then had to stop while I was away (that 9-hour time difference couldn’t adapt to her bedtime!) . It took us a bit to get back on track once I was home again, as her school and extra-curricular schedule had become very busy.
Many aspects of this book benefit from a Nana who can offer some context, as it’s published in ’64. And not only is it dated in terms of gender roles (especially notable with Harriet’s parents and mirrored in many of her classmates’ homes, albeit with a few exceptions) . . . but it’s set in a New York City in which a nanny (Ole Golly) provides much of Harriet’s care (father’s a busy executive; mother’s an equally busy socialite) . . . and even while the nanny’s around, Harriet has an amount of freedom in her wandering and her spycraft that astounds today’s 6th-grader.
But the social pickle Harriet’s notebook (where she records her spying observations) gets her into at school is one that still resonates. And Fitzhugh writes Harriet’s perspective with so much insight while respecting her reader’s ability to tease out all the moral implications.
Outrage and humour and intrigue, frustration, pain, relief. . . and Growth! If you have a 6th-grader in your life (or even if you don’t). Recommended!
I wrote a bit about this book — and pictures of my Facebook audience while I read it — in this post.
85. Dark Mother Earth. Kristian Novak. Trans. Ellen Elias-Bursac. Literature in translation; Croatian literature; Fantastic/realism; Balkans; Historical fiction (mid to late 20th century).
I read this because Dottoressa recommended the author, and since my first visit to Croatia, I’ve wanted to know more about the country’s culture (before that visit, actually, with Dottoressa as a marvellous ambassador in the comments and in her guest posts — enter “croatia” or “croatian guest post” in the search box here to see what I mean). This book is Novak’s first one published in an English translation, but the Croatian original has been awarded numerous honours, among them being included on the Večernji list of the ten best Croatian novels in the last 50 years. According to the fly-leaf of my VPL copy, there’s been a successful stage adaptation and a film adaptation is underway.
As compelling a book as this is to read, it’s neither easy nor comfortable. It tells of a young novelist who, after two successful books, finds himself blocked on the third. His girlfriend has left him after catching him out in yet another lie. And he’s begun admitting to himself that the complete absence of memory he holds of his childhood — the reason, perhaps. that he’s resorted to building a false camouflaging narrative, a network of lies — covers something very dark.
We follow him back through childhood to a dark village life, primordial yet in contemporary times, characters drawn from folk tale iconography, yet tainted with political and ideological contructions of late 20th century life in the Balkans. Yet however specific that geography and history, however different it might be from our own, the broader similarities of colonization and exploitation of mother earth’s resources have lessons for all of us.
Worthy, but not light. At all.
Okay, that’s it for my December reading — and, of course, that’s the end of my 2023 reading as well. Like you I’ve made a start already on 2024 reading . . . but before I post on that, you’ll see a recap here, 2023 books through the rear-view mirror.
That will take me a bit to put together, though, so in the meantime, perhaps you’d like to tell me which books you’ve begun the New Year with, which ones you’re savouring in these shorter, colder days (we’ve broken another record this past week — -14C one clear cold night, BRRRrrrrr! Warming up today, just enough to snow tonight, apparently, so we might have some pretty snowscapes tomorrow — and then it will warm up even more and rain that snow into a big mushy mess. So I will be very happy to read your Books-related content as a pleasant distraction!! The microphone is all yours! And stay cosy! (Those of you currently hanging out on a gorgeous Australian beach, feel free to share your titles as well — hammock books translate reasonably well to an armchair by the fire 😉
xo,
f
I would love to join you for a book chat! I’d even bring wine. I just ordered The Bookbinder from the library. I enjoyed The Dictionary of Lost Words, so I’m looking forward to reading another book by the same author. My reading so far this month has included The Tattooist of Auschwitz and Cilka’s Journey, both by Heather Morris. They weren’t easy reading because of the content, but I could hardly put them down.
Author
C’mon in, Elaine! Take off your coat and shake off the snow. Thanks for the bottle, let’s pour a glass for ourselves and we can talk books! I think you’ll enjoy The Bookbinder, even if — as some others have said — not quite as much as you enjoyed The Dictionary of Lost Words. (I always think it’s best to be loose about expectations when following up a book we really loved!).
Thanks for joining our conversation and contributing to our book list.
You usually read most things before me but not this month. I read and enjoyed Lessons in Chemistry at Christmas in 2022 and I read the Bookbinder of Jericho last year. I liked Bonnie Garmus’s voice and I agree that her tongue was firmly planted in her cheek. The book wasn’t as wonderful as I’d heard but it was still an enjoyable and very quick read. I also enjoyed the tv series, which we finished only last week.
The Bookbinder was a bit of an odd follow-on from The Dictionary of Lost Words in that it covered a very similar time period from a different perspective. I agree that the bookbinding descriptions are mesmerising but for me, the book didn’t quite equal the originality of theme and setting that Williams presented in her earlier book. I heard Williams speak about both books at the Sydney Writers Festival last autumn. She was delightful and engaging and very absorbed by details, like bone folding and the minutiae of the lives of women who lived long ago.
At the moment I’m reading The Anniversary by Australian author Stephanie Bishop. I’m almost half way through and am enjoying it. A bit of a psychological thriller about an author and her film maker/academic husband. So far so good.
Author
I hadn’t paid attention to the change in The Bookbinder’s title from the UK/Au market to the Canadian one. It’s on our bookshelves here as The Bookbinder: A Novel — perhaps because the Jericho (as a neighbourhood in Oxford) reference connotes a different and confusing reference here?
I seem to remember you writing here that you’d seen Williams speak about both her books — lucky! I would love to hear more about her research process.
I’ll have to check out Stephanie Bishop’s writing — so many Australian authors I don’t know. . .
Frances,thank you very much for reading Dark Mother Earth and a very thoughtful review. Yes,all Kristian Novak books are dealing with important social (and personal)issues and hence are dark and difficult to read
What is better to get as a present than a book? I’ve got one,from my son,and many from me 🙂
One of them is Study for Obedience,the second one The Mystery Guest (can’t wait!) and Babel and Yellowface are on my wishing list for some time
It seems that there will be some from your December list,too
I’ve read Lessons in Chemisty and,as I said chez Sue,not so bad,agree with you
My last book in 2023.was Paul Lynch’s Prophet Song,winner of the Booker Prize 2023.,a dystopian novel set in the near future as The Republic of Ireland (or literally anywhere,past,present or future) slips into totalitarian state,seen and felt by the Stack family,especially mother of four,Eilish. There are no paragraph breaks and I’ve read it like this,I sometimes had to think to breathe.
One could feel how things change from day to day,from hour to hour,with cold wind shivers,but not believing that this is possible at all and not seeing that it is coming(I remember some of the feelings,distantly mine,too,but I’ve worked with people who went through something very similar and awful). It is difficult,devastating,brilliant,haunting and such a powerful book-don’t read if you are not ready to be utterly sad,but it is great . And yes,refugees….
Chetna Maroo’s debut novel Western Lane (shotlisted for Booker) is a book about young girl – Gopi-fighting with grief after her mother passed away. She is,in a way,both united and separated with/ from her sisters and father in their sadness and loss. Their father decided to fight their loss enlisting his daughters in a exhausting squash training,so squash becames her world. Through her regime,points,shots,echoes and pauses,we see what’s happening in her mind and her life. Empty spaces are important as the words are,what’s said and done as well as what is not. A wonderful book
It reminds me to C. Keegan’s Foster,maybe it’s more a feel…..
I’ve read Tríona Walsh’s The Snowstorm,a crime story I’ve liked as well as S. Blædel’s The Last Woman and (together with Mads Peder Norobo) Dissolved. The latter one was a bit too scary for me.
Dottoressa
Author
Ah K, no, thank you! Thank you for keeping me alert to possibilities of Croatian authors I can read in translation. More than ever we need to be crossing borders, if only literary and fictional ones.
You’ve done a fair bit of dark reading, and Prophet Song (which I will make sure to read, especially after your review) apparently adds the challenge of stylistic experimentation. But then, dystopia is a place that can’t or shouldn’t be mapped using the same form as we use for “divertissement.”
And I will also put Western Lane on my list — I’m very curious about your comparison of it to Foster (which I’ve only seen, so far, the film Quiet Girl).
Your three crime stories — duly noted. Just finished the second Poe and Bradshaw and oh my, I really thank you for recommending these. So good!
These last few days have been perfect for reading, frigid, icy and even a few inches of snow. I read The Santa Suit by Mary Kay Andrews, a book club selection last month. It is I suppose popular fiction, chosen no doubt for it’s upbeat narrative in this holiday season. Next was Home Fire, Kamila Shamsie, a British/Pakistani writer. It involves 2 families of Pakistani origin Living in London. One family has considerable political power. The other has a family member who has become involved in terrorism. Very intense and for me hard to put down, though not an easy read. For my Global book we are appropriately reading Isabel Allende’s In the Midst Of Winter. it involves Richard ,a middle aged college professor of Latin American studies but American, quite set in his ways Lucia, another teacher, From South America who teaches in the same program as Richard. In fact they live in the same apartment building in Brooklyn NY. During a record setting blizzard a fender bender auto accident puts then in contact with Evelyn, an undocumented immigrant from Guatemala. Over the course of the next few days they will learn each others backstories, often tragic. Together they will set themselves an unnerving task, and the results are life changing. If this sounds dire I found it also had humor. Highly recommended. One if my favorite crime authors is Donna Leon, so was delighted to see she had a new Guido Brunetti novel set as always in Venice. And now I am reading and nearly finished with A Plague of Doves, Louise Erdrich, a Native American writer. This is an older book if hers, one I had not read previously. Very complex. moving across, and back and forth the last century. The awful murder of a white family sparks an equally horrific response towards a small group if Native Americans. We see how these groups interact with each other over the years, not just fear or anger, often as not with intense love. And now to get back to reading.
Author
I see I missed your comment, Darby, and then read it but forgot to respond — I think because I let myself get sidetracked by a quick visit to the library website to put the new Brunetti on hold. Amazingly, they had it for me within a week, and I’ve since read and enjoyed it — thank you!
I’m also making a note of Home Fire. . . and I can’t remember if I’ve read A Plague of Doves or not. I highly recommend her last two books (The Sentence; The Night Watchman) in case you haven’t read those.
I always look forward to your monthly book recaps. I must say I feel as if all of us here are in a book club, and one of best aspects is that I’ll often pick up one of the books mentioned that I normally wouldn’t have. I finished 2023 reading “The Frozen River” by Ariel Lawhon. It’s historically based on Martha Ballard and her diary entries. She was an American midwife and healer (1785-1812), attended 800+ births and never lost a mother during birth. It’s a fascinating read as midwives in that era were often called upon for other medical needs (think medical examiner, etc.). Consequently, she was the keeper of secrets. I highly recommend it as a perfect book to cozy up with during these chilly winter days.
Author
I feel the same way, Beth, as if we have the resources of a book club right here, with so many reader recommendations besides my own.
I hadn’t heard of The Frozen River until you mentioned it and then shortly after reading your comment, I saw my niece post about it as a book she’d just finished and loved. She echoed your sentiment that it was perfect reading during the cold snowy weather we’ve had this week.
I’ll certainly say an enthusiastic yes for the book chat at your place! Will bring wine and nibblies. I may be doing more listening than contributing as my reading mojo is still hiding.
Have started ‘Light over Liskeard’ Louis de Bernieres which I’m enjoying so far. I also really enjoyed ‘Diary of a Tuscan bookshop’ (thanks to your recommendation).
Author
Welcome, Genevieve! I’ll put those nibblies on a plate and grab you a glass of wine! I’m pleased to know that you enjoyed Diary of a Tuscan Bookshop. I remember enjoying de Bernières’ book Captain Corelli’s Mandolin many years ago — over 25, I think! Wow! How does time do that?! — and I don’t think I’ve read anything by him since.This latest one sounds very different, judging from the review (The Guardian) I just skimmed.
I’m attracted to The Bookbinder and The New Parisienne by your descriptions. So far this year I’ve read mostly factual works, apart from the French novels for my online course. Of these I did not get on at all with Un Jour Ce Sera Vide and refused to finish it, and loved Les Impatients (which I think I’ve mentioned last time and have just re-read I liked it so much). On the factual side I’ve read the huge Family Britain by David Kynaston (British history/social history 1951-57), part of his ongoing series aiming to get up to 1979. Tragic to see how the seeds of Brexit were already being sown in conservative political attitudes in the 1950s. I wished Down to the Sea in Ships by Horatio Clare would never end, it was so fascinating. He travelled from the UK to California on a vast container ship (apart from a bit in the Somalian pirate area where the company wouldn’t take the risk of having a passenger), and then on a smaller container ship from Europe to New York. Enthralling, and also deeply concerning how much of what we consume is coming from China. I’ve just finished The Path of Peace: Walking the Western Front Way by Anthony Seldon. Famous (in the UK) public (ie private) school headmaster and history advisor to British Prime Ministers trying to establish a pilgrim route along the Western Front in France and Belgium. An account of his walk plus his musings on his own lack of inner peace/Covid times. I expected to love it but was irritated by his haplessness in organising himself on the walk eg constantly losing kit along the way, didn’t plan any rest days on a 30+ day walk doing over 25km a day. Wondered how he got where he did in life being so hapless. Finally, a light read I picked up on Kindle for 99p and very glad I didn’t waste any more money on: Love, Nina, by Nina Stibbe. Takes the form of letters she wrote when a nanny in London, and meant to be hilarious. The mum of the family was a literary agent and well-known thesps and literary figures are frequent visitors to the house. These are described in a “quirky” fashion, as well as conversations within the family. I found it utter twaddle and was amazed that anyone would publish it, let along review it positively. All is explained perhaps by the mum’s literary agent career, the fact that Nina herself went on to become a literary agent, and presumably current day literary agents felt obliged to love it. Could be subtitled “how the publishing industry works”.
Author
Will you mind very much, Linda, if I chuckle a bit at your very strong responses to your reading?
I’ll temper the chuckling with admiration for your commitment to non-fiction, particularly historical and memoir/biography.
I’m trying to remember a walking memoir I read in the last couple of years that disappointed and irritated me almost as much as your hapless fellow’s account.
I hope that if you do read The Bookbinder and/or The New Parisienne, you might not find yourself throwing either/both across the room and being cross with me for giving them a good word 😉
Chuckle away! I did think while reading Path of Peace, “Well, Frances organised her walk in Italy much better than you did”…I haven’t read The Salt Path which everyone is meant to love, but several people I know have found it twaddle “middle class self-indulgence” , if not attaining the depths of utter twaddle, so I’m unlikely to venture into it. By contrast, another Salt title which I forgot I also read recently, was wonderful: The Salt Roads – the story of how salt fish from the Shetland Isles became one of the staple foods of Europe. I now feel compelled to read The Bookbinder and will report to you whether or not the book made it safely back onto the shelf after reading.
Author
I loved The Salt Path, and considering the real hardship faced by the couple doing the walking, I’m surprised it would be labeled as either “middle class” or “self-indulgent.” But we all bring such different perspectives to our reading, and there are enough choices that we should be able to find what pleases or informs or challenges us, depending what we are looking for.
I’ve long been interested in Mark Kurlansky’s cultural history of Salt, but not got ’round to reading that. Perhaps your comment will push me in that direction, although I recognize the book you mention is a different one.
(I rather trust that whether you like it or not, The Bookbinder is likely to get through the reading unscathed — I doubt you’re inclined to the kind of indulgence that has people flinging books. I don’t think I could ever do it, myself, at least. Perhaps I’m projecting 😉
I think in Britain we have very finely-tuned class sensibilities, which add another hurdle to a book being found acceptable. The people who didn’t like The Salt Path surprised me, as I would have thought it their cup of tea. Which goes to show that one shouldn’t pre-judge another’s reading tastes.
I didn’t know about the Kurlansky book but will add it to my very long non-fiction list.
I have never intentionally harmed a book other than my Maths jotters at school, making a celebratory pyre of them in the garden after I passed O Grade Maths at second attempt, which allowed me to apply to university. Back in my day, Scottish universities required O Grade passes in Maths or a science plus a language for entry to ANY degree programme.
Well Linda , let’s pretend we are chatting in our local book club . I’ve enjoyed David Kynaston’s books but haven’t reached the 50s yet . I bought the Anthony Seldon book as a christmas present for my husband & have now warned him about the haplessness . Love Nina ? I liked it . I enjoyed her view of the literary neighbours ( especially Alan B ) & it made me laugh . One woman’s twaddle is another woman’s pleasure ? Your enthusiastic criticism made me laugh too 😁
Thanks for the book club chat, Wendy! I was a member of a book club in Edinburgh when my children were young but left, not because of twaddle, but because the sessions mainly revolved round vicarious child-centred competition. I think a lot of my disappointment with Love Nina was that I expected to like it – indeed needed to like it at moment when I really needed cheering up. Disappointed expectations are often the worst. I found the Alan B observations “tolerable”, quoting Mr Darcy, but my sticking point was the reported meal-time conversations and especially the exchanges between the two boy. I found myself in that dangerous state of mind of wishing I’d written down what my children had said at that age, and musing that I too could have become a publishing sensation. There are things to enjoy in the Anthony Seldon book, and it has fired me to want to explore this area of France of which I only know Verdun. I hope your husband does like it and not have the experience of mine. I gave him a book translated from Swedish by one of his Swedish lecturers at university (husband’s degree is in Swedish and German). It has remained unread on the shelf, as I half expected. In his defence, it is very long….Osebol, Voices from a Swedish Village in case you’re wondering.
Our expectations of a book can cause all sorts of problems can’t they . I’ve learnt not to read the latest big best seller as it usually doesn’t live up to the hype . Then I come to it years later , when the fuss has died down & really enjoy it . Some of my favourite people recommend a book to me & after reading it , I wonder why . I recommend a book to them & I can tell it has left them cold . We have a saying in Yorkshire “ there’s nowt so queer as folk “ ( I expect your dad knew that expression Frances )
Author
Thanks so much, Wendy and Linda! These bookposts live for such interchanges and I love listening in!
And yes, Wendy, my dad definitely used that expression from time to time. . .
I had the Emily Wilson translation of The Odyssey from the library but of course it was not going to be finished within the time frame and I returned it, with a ‘buy this’ note for later. Norton edition so full of interesting material (I was in the introduction for days! Reading and thinking about the history of the text.)
Also A Girl Returned (L’Arminuta) by Donatella Di Pietrantonio, translated by Ann Goldstein. Does Ann Goldstein have a strong voice of her own or does Di Pietrantonio sound like Elena Ferrante (but without the hard edge I like so much)? Hm.
And also in translation If on a Winter’s Night a Traveller (Italo Calvino). A reread, yes, but so long ago I remembered nothing except the attractive premise of the unfinished stories. I still like that, and the translation is a good one, the words are beautiful.
That’s all, besides the stack on the bedside table of rereads to be chosen based on pre-sleep mood and seasonal conditions. Of which I could make a template and use it every year as my December/January comment 🙂
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She really gets around, that Ann, doesn’t she?
I read If On a Winter’s Night a year or two ago (actually, it might have taken me a year or two!) — in Italian, but with the English translation open next to me for consultation and confirmation. You remind me that I still haven’t read Invisible Cities — in either language. Must get to that.
And I could enjoy having a translation of The Odyssey on my bedside table — aspirational, as with the copy I picked up a few years ago of Ovid’s Metamorphosis (translation, ovviamente!). . . I don’t know anything about L’Arminuta. . . .
Do you head out on other linguistic adventure soon? I rather envy that structure for travelling. I’m assuming you’d recommend it!
On the 14th. A little flurry of final payments and a language test are coming this week. And I would recommend it whole-heartedly. I do love an adventure 🙂
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A flight to Italy on the 14th of February? That is how to celebrate St. Valentine’s Day — Sister, Love Thyself!! Brava! I do hope you’ll upload a few photos and post occasionally on Instagram, as last time. . .
I read “Lessons in Chemistry” quite some time ago and enjoyed it very much. I am not sure I agree with the criticism. I think we tend to forget how women WERE treated in academia and especially in the sciences not so very long ago. These last months I have only read books on sociology, and mostly in German. One notable exception: “Per questo mi chiamo Giovanni” by Luigi Garlando. It is the life of Giovanni Falcone, told to a young boy. We are reading it in Italian class, but I could not wait and read the entire book right away. Easy from the language point of view, but pretty hard stuff as concerns the story.
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That’s how I feel, Eleonore. I remember some egregious examples of male behaviour towards women who dared to cross the line into “their” professional territory. Garmus keeps her satire relatively light, I think, but yes, it’s pointed. And often funny. And I couldn’t resist that clever dog with the wonderful emotional intelligence.
I’m making a note of Luigi Garlando’s book. This history is fascinating to me, and inspiring as to what difference a person can make in fighting evil.
It’s brutally cold here, prime reading weather! Can I throw a title into the (your) hat? Alice McDermott’s most recent, Absolution, transports the moral dilemmas faced by most of her NY Catholics to a balmier setting…Viet Nam just before the war. About as good a look at the fallibility of humans and the motives for altruism that I’ve read.
One thing that struck me about Yellowface (which I didn’t hate, didn’t love) was the irony and code switching required for all the identities involved and the idea I could not shake that Kuang had really been put through the mill by the publishing industry.
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Ah, okay! I have seen a few recommendations of this one, but you put it in a bigger context (humanity! 😉 than American culture and history. And I’ve appreciated all your previous recommendations, — I’ll put this on hold at the library.
And I’d say the same thing about Yellowface (didn’t hate it; didn’t love it) . . . That irony and code-switching fascinated me for the way it (to use some of my hard-won critical theory vocab) “interpellated” the reader (in the Althusserian sense) depending on what we brought to the page and what the words triggered in us, vis-a-vis our (socially constructed) identities. I could see positions I thought I should occupy and simultaneously see alternative (often oppositional) ones the writer offered me. That complication worked well to trouble the discourse around “cultural appropriation” . . . thoughtfully and productively. . .
I would bet American or Canadian dollars you are the first/only to employ Althusser in a discussion of Yellowface! Well played!