Wolf Hall--Book Ten

Wolf Hall

By Hilary Mantel

Henry Holt and Company

Winner of the 2009 Man Booker Prize

I'm going to like this one. I know what's going to happen -- Henry VIII is a central character even if he's not the THE central character. Rather, this book tells the story of the men around Henry: lots of Thomases: Cromwell, Cardinal Wolsey, More. Even Anne Boleyn's father is a Thomas. Gotta pay attention to keep them all straight.

Cromwell is at the center. A frightened, abused boy on page one, he's become a learned man who knows the New Testament by heart (at a time when reading the Bible just wasn't considered acceptable) and who knows how to handle the sensitive and powerful men around him. He's married well and has a loving family -- so different from the violent father he knew.

I like the perspective -- the politics of church and state, the pragmatism of needing a male heir, the mix of Spanish and English royalty in the royal court, the images of a London so different from the city I've seen. Thomas More is no saint here, more of a bully insisting upon pain of death that his fellow Englishmen abide by church law. It's a far different point of view than I've seen before. (Let's hear it for separation of church and state--thank you founders of my home state for your experiment in freedom of conscience.)

It's a thick, heavy book about an exceedingly difficult time. I'll be with all those Thomases for a long time.

After You've Gone--Book 9

After You've Gone

By Jeffrey Lent

Atlantic Monthly Press

This is not the cover of the book I read. My daughter, seeing the image of a woman lying across a red book cover, asked, "WHAT are you reading?!" I heard the shock in her voice. It was a totally inappropriate cover for a charming if terribly sad book.

Yes, once again, I've read a sad book. Beautiful, though. This was a carefully written character study of a man going through grief. Not only did he miss the wife he had loved so well, he missed love. So he went to Amsterdam to take cello lessons after quitting the job he'd loved at a small women's college. Isn't that what we all want to do when faced with loss?

I liked this character for his response to the new woman in his life. I liked him for his newfound interest in the cello and his admiration for his cello teacher -- I even identified with this since I have been taking piano lessons. But from the beginning I knew it would be sad. It had to be; I knew it was about grief. But it only got sadder and sadder. And wrapped up in the final pages of the book -- I couldn't put it down in the final chapters -- I braced myself. I knew it would end in tragedy. The books I've read this year have been filled with tragedy. Why would this one be any different?

A final thought. I'm sick of reading these sad books. Thank you Washington Post for your list of 2009's best books but I'd really have enjoyed a bit of wry humor, a sentimental journey, a lesson learned, a moment of triumph over difficulty. Yes, I'll keep reading but there's no way I'll ever get through the whole list. I'm going to start tossing aside the really sad ones unless a character draws me in.

How I Became a Famous Novelist Book--LOL

Really and truly -- LAUGH OUT LOUD!

Finally a book that entertained me. A jaded look at the publishing business, it ended perfectly. I laughed all the way to the last page -- except for the lecture by a writer the author didn't like. And he was great, explaining what he was trying to do when he wrote his books. I honestly didn't know whether this was for real or more satire. And that's why I really liked it. Every single page. Hurray for a funny book.

How I Became a Famous Novelist Book 8, I think

How I Became a Famous Novelist

by Steve Hely,

Black Cat, publisher

If Holden Caulfield got a bogus job writing essays for some lame students applying to lousy Ivy League colleges or some crap like that, he'd write this novel. I admit it's been some time since I read Catcher in the Rye (I should read it again, RIP JD Salinger), but I think Steve Hely has read it recently. He's got the tone down perfectly: smart, smart-alecky, maybe even wise, though I'm not sure yet.

But this is a funny book. A cynical look at book publishing and novel-writing and the whole literary scene. I'm loving every badly-written, carefully-punctuated sentence. As he observes, so does he write. I didn't actually notice that at first but my astute literature-loving daughter who's also reading this book, showed me and I am the richer for it. Well, it's making the read even more fun.

Wanting -- Book 7

Wanting

By Richard Flanigan

Atlantic Monthly Press

By the time I had finished the biography of Louis Armstrong, Pops, I was ready for Wanting -- a book with Charles Dickens at the center.

But, ugh, it is so full of ugliness I can't bear it. Already this year I've seen plenty of ugliness -- even poor Pops had his share of sadness, ugliness, violence. But this -- a story of everything from disappointment to cannibalism -- no, I can't. I don't really know how Charles Dickens figures in this dreary tale yet -- but even he is miserable. He's successful, surrounded by family -- and he's disappointed by his wife, bereaved by the death of his youngest child -- and I can't bear it.

It is so miserable after reading Pops. I had no real opinion of Satchmo before I read this biography and there were plenty of times I grew bored with the tedious explanations of his music -- not a trained musician, it meant nothing without a soundtrack. But he was an interesting character, not a saint, but an interesting character with a lot of passion. Now I want to listen to his music.

But I can tell I won't want to reach for David Copperfield after reading Wanting. I may never want to reach for a Dickens book again if I keep reading this awful tale.

I tried. It's the second one I've put down. I gave The Museum of Innocence back to the library rather than finish it. Too many other books, aren't there? How I Became a Famous Novelist, by Steve Hely, is waiting.

Pops--This book needs a sound track

Dear Mr. Teachout,

I am really enjoying your biography of Louis Armstrong. I cannot get over his passion, his single-minded desire to blow his horn no matter what. Gangsters don't bother him. Unsavory characters in his life are of no concern. He doesn't even care if the musicians he plays with aren't up to his talents. Not even the nastiness of segregation seems to get him down (though he clearly feels it) He just wants to blow his horn and make music.

He's not perfect, mind you. I appreciate the efforts of this good man in spite of all the hurdles he faced.

But what I really want is to hear his music. I am familiar with very little of what you're writing about, Mr. Teachout. I don't know the difference between syncopation, bebop, big band and Dixieland. I would if I could hear it I think.

So here's what I suggest. An audio book with a sound track. I'll order it the minute it's ready. The book is really interesting to read -- a soundtrack would make it great.

Thanks.

Pops--Book 6

Pops, A Life of Louis Armstrong

By Terry Teachout

Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, Boston/New York

Mardi Gras today! But my head and imagination have been in New Orleans since last week when I started reading Pops. I've only read 45 pages but have discovered a determined little kid seeking greatness without knowing it. Born to an indifferent mother and absent father in terrible poverty with violence all around him, he managed to be strong, musical and proud. He was only a teenager when he felt compelled to spend his days earning money the hard way for his family and spend his nights blowing a horn and earning money the way he wanted. He was such a responsible kid he'd adopted his orphaned cousin. Partly his character was formed in the Colored Waifs Home where he spent time for stealing newspapers (which he may or may not actually have done) and found a mentor who encouraged his music. But mostly his character was something he developed from the inside out. At least that's the story so far.

I can't help but be impressed with the young Louis (And it's Louis--Lewiss, not Louie. He's not French, he would tell people.) And I can't wait to learn more about him.

I have moved from fiction to biography with this book -- and I'll go right back to fiction after this one. I couldn't resist a story about Louis Armstrong set at least in the beginning in one of my favorite cities.

Border Songs--Book 5

Border Songs

by Jim Lynch

Alfred A. Knopf, New York

Sorry, I didn't like this book. I liked the idea of this book but I didn't like the book. I liked ideas in the book, but...

The border is the Canadian border and the atmosphere is one of paranoia brought on by government worries about terrorists and drug smugglers and illegal aliens crossing the border and by Canadians worried about Big Brother watching their every move.

Brandon, the main character, would rather be birdwatching, or even taking care of the cows at his father's dairy farm but instead he's on the Border Patrol. And he's really good at his job--in spite of himself. He's dyslexic, clumsy and uncomfortable around people so he tends to prefer being a loner. He'll wander off in search of more birds for his daily count and end up with the "Queen of Nowhere" or something else suspicious.

But Lynch kept me guessing sometimes about who he was talking about. I really didn't think the characters were as carefully drawn as Jodi Picoult's characters in Handle with Care. I always felt like I had to squint to see them clearly. And I never did get it straight which side of the border people lived on. Was Madeline a Canadian? I spend the whole book trying to get people straight--that drives me crazy. In fact, I almost closed it midway through. If it weren't for the blizzard we are now digging out from, I'm sure I would have stopped reading it.

The tone of the book is cold hearted. I never warmed up to anybody until the last chapter when Brandon's mother finally comes into focus and gives the book a heart. A couple more passages and the whole tone changes to almost girly-love-story. It ends happily!! My first book this year to do so. So I'll probably recommend it with a warning. After all, others just may like these characters.

Handle With Care -- Book #4 --A Two-Day Read

Handle With Care

by Jodi Picoult

I had two long train rides ahead of me so I chucked The Museum of Innocence in favor of this "family" story. I knew it would be a difficult read. It's about a family suing for "wrongful birth" at the suggestion of a lawyer to help pay the bills that pile up for the care of their younger, smart and way to mature for her age (5 to 6 1/2) daughter with brittle bone disease.

It's pretty much a soap opera except that I found myself caring too much for these characters: the cop dad with a heart of gold, the mom that thinks she can protect her daughter from the fallout of this suit even though she must say publicly she wishes the child had never been born, the older daughter so full of self-hate she can't see her own value even though she's a doll and the child herself who clearly is one everybody would love even if she's apt to break a bone by sneezing.

This is the second book I've read this year that's narrated by all of the main characters, except Willow and including the lawyer. In fact, all the characters are telling her their side of the story, talking to "you." The tone is confessional, though not always filled with regret. Love, humor, and a lot of anger manage to bubble to the surface, as well.

And surprisingly, it wasn't hard to read. The characters are lovingly drawn. The narration makes it possible to get the full story from everybody's point of view. And although we're always a step from Willow, she's drawn with great detail (as is her disease) so that you have a true sense of how this is affecting her.

I thought there was a strong pro-life message throughout the reasoning that went on, maybe the rationalization that went on, as they worked their way to the trial. No one was calling for a ban on abortion but this family clearly could never have considered abortion.

I felt strangely ambivalent about the lawsuit -- I understood the mother's desire to be able to have the things that would make life for her daughter (and their family) easier. This seemed to be the only way. Insurance would only pay for so much. She spent her whole day hoping her daughter wouldn't fall. The father worked extra hours to help pay the bills when he really wanted to be home with his family. The regret at not knowing some of the details of his daughters' lives is painful.

But the cost of the lawsuit was high: it cost everybody friendships, reputation, and tore the family apart.

Somehow I knew the ending would be sad. It's the trend of all these books. None have ended happily yet.

But it's such a satisfying story I had to keep reading. And I'd definitely recommend this one, with a warning.

New books to read: Why is everything sad?

Last night, I knew I couldn't read another page of The Museum of Innocence. The women, I hope, are safely away from the clutches of the self-centered, obsessed Kemal -- so far. There's still half a book to go. The question is will I finish it? The answer, at least immediately, is not right now.

So I went to the library to see what from the Washington Post's list was on the shelves. Something, I hoped, would be happy.

I found three books from the list, including Terry Teachout's biography of Louis Armstrong, Pops, which I've heard good things about (although Armstrong's life was said to be sad, too.) I hadn't planned on reading any of the non-fiction but I'm learning to play Armstrong's Wonderful World on the piano so I couldn't resist. Besides, who could resist the photo of Pops, a knowing smile on his warm face, a dapper red tie with his tuxedo and his horn tucked under his arm?

Also on my coffee table for the next couple of weeks:

• Handle With Care by Jodi Picoult: the story of a family coping with a cheerful child's horrible birth defect and considering a wrongful birth lawsuit. I have to admit when I couldn't sleep last night, this didn't help. I became completely absorbed by these charming characters and read nearly half the book. I stopped for breakfast. Sad story but all loveable characters. Take that, Kemal! You can love without destroying the people around you (including yourself.)
• Border Songs by Jim Lynch: A Border Patrol man (on the Canadian border) who likes bird-watching. Maybe this one won't be sad.

I don't like having to steel myself to open a book. Yet it's something I've had to do with every book so far. I have to admit, however, they've all delighted me in different ways. The narrators of Stalin Epigram, the weather in A Gate at the Stairs, the young women of The Museum of Innocence as well as the descriptions of Istanbul which mix exotic detail with the smells and sounds of a small town with flashes of terrorism--not bombs going off but comments that people live with a sliver of fear that a bomb may go off and ruin their day.

So I'll keep reading. So much good writing even if it may be sad.

The Museum of Innocence -- I read for the women

It has become painful to read this book. My heart is broken for the young women that are part of the triangle central to the story. Both are as easy to like as the main character is dislikable.

Sibel is sophisticated, educated, and on top of the world. She's preparing for marriage, a smart marriage one would say. She likes the guy. She's content. And she's blind to what's going on. There are hints that she knows something's wrong but doesn't see.

Then there's Fusun, a very young woman, practically a girl, whose beauty stops men in their tracks. She knows what she's in the middle of. She seems so far to remain hopeful that there will always be a place for her. And yet you can see how much pain she feels. I can't imagine how awful it must be to find yourself drawn to a man so bad for you. And here she is arriving as if on command to be with Kemal full of love for him and, worse, full of trust.

The author, Orhan Pamuk, has focused so much more on Fusun -- the afternoon rendezvous are written in minute detail -- while keeping Sibel at a distance. It's terrible, really, that the bride should be secondary in her fiance's life. And yet, it's clearer with every page, that his interest in her is obligatory now that he's met Fusun.

I'm expecting disaster on every page and yet Kemal keeps on going. He calls himself a playboy and says it with obvious pride. I realize these are days of great change in Turkey, westernization and more liberal views toward the sexes are discussed, and so is the value of virginity and a woman's reputation, as Pamuk describes new acquisitions for his museum. But every time Kemal approaches either of these women, I can't help but think skewed his thinking is: he's excited to see this sexual liberation. But who's liberated?

I'll keep reading for Fusun and Sibel. Even if it feels as if I'm watching disaster in slow motion.

The Museum of Innocence -- the hero

Plain and simple, I can't stand the main character, the narrator. A 30-year-old Turkish man, employed in the family business, well-to-do and doted upon. He's preparing to marry an educated, beautiful Turkish woman whom he has known for a year.

He has no goals, no interests beyond his own pleasures. He speaks of soccer matches and dinners with too much alcohol. He is disinterested in the religion of his family, a faith his parents are cool to as well. He doesn't even work very hard. I am not even sure of his name.

But instead of living a life of meaning, or at least preparing to live one, he's become obsessed with a distant cousin 12 years is junior. This 18-year-old beauty has, it appears, fallen in love with him even though she knows he's engaged. She's had an ugly life surrounded by creepy men and creepy boys. She works in a shop while she studies for entrance exams for the university. And she's spending her afternoons in bed with this self-centered man. She's innocent and trusting--even if she does ask him if he's lying to her. Of course, he lies about lying.

So I'm making my way through this heavy book grossed out by the main character. Is he a hero at all?

I don't think so. But the two women who love him will keep me reading. Both are drawn sympathetically, graced with charm, compassion and sweetness. I ache for them both. I worry about them. One of them has to be hurt by this vile man. Even if he doesn't see how cruel he's being, I do. And I don't like it one bit.

The Museum of Innocence -- Book #3

The Museum of Innocence

by Orhan Pamuk

Alfred A. Knopf, 2009

I picked up this heavy tome knowing Pamuk has won the Nobel Prize and thought, I'll never be able to read this. I've tried other current Nobel Prize winners and found myself lost in strange imagery, stream of consciousness sentences, ideas way beyond my comprehension. I gave up every time.

I'm not going to do that this time. Pamuk has written in language clear as a bell -- although I don't know if this was written in English first. No, he wrote it in Turkish. Thanks to his translator, Maureen Freely.

And slowly I realized I was being taken through a museum. Pamuk was showing me artifacts from what he called in the first sentence "the happiest moment of my life." There's a menu and napkin from the restaurant where he used to go with his fiancee. He describes a handbag, a yellow dress. Sometimes he speaks directly to the reader as if showing them the napkin and menu. Other times the paragraph points to objects subtly, showing them as the story progresses.

It's a big museum and the artifacts are small. The memories seem to be both grand and the meaningless little stuff that remains with you because it really has meaning. I'm in Turkey though I don't quite know when it is yet -- modern time but which decade? So I'm in for a tour of the mundane as well as the exotic, everyday mixed with the life-changing.

The Gate at the Stairs--finished

I should have known the gate at the stairs wouldn't protect anybody.

Not Tassie, the babysitter.

Not her parents or her brother.

Not Sarah or Edward.

Not Mary Emma.

And, no, it didn't even protect me.

All fall down! as the children's nursery rhyme goes. Have you ever watched as someone you loved took a tumble down the stairs and you were helpless to stop them, catch them, keep them from getting hurt? All you could do was watch.

At three o'clock this morning, I couldn't stop watching as this sweet domestic novel took a turn to to the dark side of life. Everybody fell. It hurt. How it hurt to see these people fall. I couldn't stop it but I had to keep reading as if I could at least help them up. No, of course, I couldn't; but I read to see that they picked themselves up as best they could.

And they did. Followed by a weather report. A lyrical moment followed a tragic moment. And then a wise moment.

and then

The End.

Two books down from my list. I'm way behind and now I move onto 500 pages of Orham Pamuk's The Museum of Innocence. A Nobel Prize winner, no less. I'm intimidated.

The Gate at the Stairs--what's the weather like?

What is it with the weather? The author must have a very good reason for long passages on the temperature, the season, the precipitation. "Classes began in a deep cold spell, a high of one-below for the week."

Now if I had written this book (oh that I could) I'd have left the weather right there. But Lorrie Moore went on (and on) about how really cold it was. I understand how cold weather can eat right through your gloves--it practically did while we skied in three-degree temperatures in Western Maryland this past New Years. In the book, we are shown frozen laundry, icicles, even boiling water thrown off a porch to see whether it would freeze right away. It did not.

When the book opened -- with the weather of course -- I thought it set a lyrical tone for the book which really is about a babysitter. But enough of the weather, already. It was winter on the first page and it's still winter on page 143.

The thing that bothers me is that this is a story about the babysitter and I've only had two or three wide-angle views of baby and babysitter. I have been told a bond is forming between them but I don't really see it. The problem, I think, is the details are left for other parts of the book. I don't really know what Emma looks like, though I know she's of mixed race. I don't know what the babysitter looks like, come to think of it--though first-person narratives usually don't include self-description, do they? We've had better descriptions of the missing roommate, the cute Brazilian guy in her Sufism class and even the creepy husband. Well, he seems creepy to me; I don't know how Tassie feels.

I came to this book looking for a study of baby and babysitter. I like Tassie and want to see her taking care of her charge. I am interested as a mother who hired plenty of babysitters and as the mother of daughters the same age as Tassie.

Themes of disconnection of post 9/11 America, the insidiousness of racism, recklessness in the name of love...these are supposed to be in here. I'll keep reading and maybe they'll appear. If scenes of Tassie and Emma develop I'll be happy with that. These two characters are why I'm still reading.

The Stalin Epigram -- finished

I didn't want this book to end. I knew it had to and I knew, at least I thought I knew how it would end. But I didn't want to read it.

These were characters—real people—I learned to love and admire in 363 simply written, carefully written pages. I don't know how they carried on as they lived and worked in an atmosphere tense with paranoia. But they did. They continued not only to live, but to create new poetry, to cherish friends and colleagues. The weightlifter's innocence charmed me. The poet couple's dedication to one another inspired me. Stalin and his cronies terrified me more and more with each new sentence.

And now it's over. But I think this is one of those books I will remember.

A good way to begin 2010, a year of reading and writing.

A Gate at the Stairs-- Book #2

A Gate at the Stairs

by Lorrie Moore

Alfred A. Knopf

When Isabel Allende heard her grandfather was dying, she sat down to write him a letter. (This story comes from Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac on NPR.) The first sentence became the first sentence of her book The House of the Spirits. Since that time, she begins all of her novels on January 8, the date she wrote that first sentence. The first sentence determines the path of the new book.

This is a long way of saying what Dorothy tells Jerry Maguire. "You had me at 'hello.' "

Lorrie Moore had me at the first sentence of her 2009 book, A Gate at the Stairs. "The cold came late that fall and the songbirds were caught off guard."

I thought of Isabel Allende the minute I read that sentence. I thought of Dorothy much later. What a sentence. I had to go back to the inside cover flap to read what what this book was about. Remember, I just went to the library and got whatever The Washington Post listed as the ten best of 2009.

Ah, yes. I wrapped myself up in my grandmother's afghan and settled in for some fun. Especially welcome after The Stalin Epigram (only half read.) I didn't get far; it was 3 in the morning and I needed to read something, anything but Epigram.

What I got was 30 pages of fun: a charming college student far from her family's truck farm and the beginning of her new job as nanny.

Thirty pages of beautiful sentences touched off by that very first sentence about the cold and songbirds.

The Stalin Epigram -- Book #1

This book, set in 1930s Moscow, haunts me. Each new account of prison interrogations leaves me cold, horrified at the possibility of living in such an insane society. And I keep thinking, This isn't some futuristic nightmare tale. These are people who really existed. Writers and poets, some of whose books I have read. (Or in the case of Pasternak, have memorized the movie and play the theme on the piano. Now I really want to read his own words.)

As sad and frightening as this book is with every new chapter, I can't stay away from it. Vividly-drawn characters draw me into the story. These are passionate people who love their country, love each other, love words. But it all takes place in Stalinist Russia; I expect things to turn out badly. Doesn't matter, I want to know them for as long as I can.

A year of reading the best

As 2009 neared its final moments, The Washington Post's Book World listed the best books of the past year -- and not one of them was by John Grisham or Dan Brown. In fact, I hadn't heard of many of them. But as I went through the list, I was intrigued. Here were invitations to visit Stalin's Soviet Union, to walk with roommates in love with the same woman, to meet Charles Dickens not once, but in two different books. (And I thought I knew him pretty well, already.)

There are 80 fiction books listed in this supplement. (I'm skipping the non-fiction for now. I just may have to get Pops: A Life of Louis Armstrong, though....) No, I don't think I can read them all in the coming months. But I'm going to see how many I can read, how many I consider the best, and which ones force me to wonder what makes a good novel.

As an unpublished novelist (raise your hand if you're with me), I never fail to marvel at creative prose, glossy descriptions, dialogue that snaps and plot lines that leave me breathless.

I started with a trip to the local public library -- which had two of the 10 Best Books of the Year. The Stalin Epigram by Robert Littell (Simon & Schuster) is up first. Poets, Stalin, Soviet Russia, already I'm intrigued.