Earlier this year, I stacked my library holds with popular books from 2013, but I was a bit hesitant to add The Luminaries. I have a pretty narrow threshold for historical ﬁction, yet clearly people loved it. With Eleanor Catton being the youngest winner of the Man Booker Prize, ultimately my curiosity won out. Though when I ﬁnally waited my way to the top of the hold list, the book’s second distinction as Booker winner suddenly loomed and heavily, as it’s also the longest book to win so far. It wasn’t too ago that I breezed through The Goldﬁnch, and within the shadow of that memory, the ﬁrst twenty pages felt like a literary eternity. But I gave it...more
I think what I love about Lydia Davis is how she ﬁnds signiﬁcance and narrative in the banalities of the every day. I know most people consider recounting dreams to be one of the most socially unacceptable things you can do, perhaps just below subway grooming, but rarely do I dislike a dream story. Whether or not you try to ﬁnd the subconscious logic in it, the underlying humor of dream narratives are endlessly entertaining. Hence it follows that my favorite parts in this collection are the dream stories, some of which are hers and some those of family and friends.
We are about to buy a new piano. Our old upright has a crack all the
This slim novel could easily be read in a day, but I happened to read part of it on a Saturday and the rest on a Sunday morning, when I woke up far earlier than usual. It was the perfect thing for a quiet morning, the sky still lightening to day. While I’m sure some people would try to call this a lyric essay, as championed in Reality Hunger, Jenny Oﬃll isn’t a fan of the term, which she talks about in her interview on The Bat Segundo Show. Unlike The Self Unstable, this has a stronger narrative while still reading a lot like poetry. Oﬃll mentions in that interview how she probably reads more poetry than...more
I’ve been under this misguided impression that I’ve read a few things by Lorrie Moore when actually I have read just one novel, a long time ago, during such a hectic period that even my notes conjure up very little to remember it now. While these stories circle around themes of disappointment and regret, there’s still a wry humor and playfulness with language. I like how David Gates put it in his New York Times review:
Her characters banter and wisecrack their way through their largely mirthless lives in screwball-comedy style but for them it’s a compulsive tic whose aim is sometimes self-protection (utterance that warns others oﬀ and forms a protective shell) and sometimes just to ﬁll...more
The Goldﬁnch has become one of the most talked-about novels I can recall in recent years, especially now, coming oﬀ its Pulitzer win. It’s the most successful, post-9/11 ﬁction where an actual experience of terrorism is portrayed that I’ve read — though since the book suggests that its bombing at the Metropolitan Museum of Art replaces 9/11 as the major event in NYC (I can’t recall any mention of the WTC), this gives room for an exploration of the notion of such trauma without treading on the inviolable ground of real-life events.
Most reviews I read made Dickensian comparisons, perhaps with a garnish of Salinger, which rings true. The Goldﬁnch is seriously epic, but the hundreds (and hundreds) of pages...more
When I saw this book was coming out last year, I assumed I’d missed a book from Lahiri since her short story collection Unaccustomed Earth that came out in 2008. But this is the ﬁrst book of hers to be published since then; the meticulousness of it suggests that time was spent ﬁnely honing.
The word that repeatedly comes to mind when I think of how to describe this story is quiet. So much of it is comprised of the silence and distance between characters, shaded by the loneliness they cling to out of pride and regret. The Lowland starts as a story about two brothers who are very close but are also a bit competitive. Or at...more
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
After reading some rather lackluster ﬁction lately, starting Adichie’s third novel felt similarly rejuvenating to the spring-like days that have arrived as we near the end of a long winter. Centered around high school sweethearts, Ifemelu and Obinze, Americanah traces the start of their relationship and the turn it takes when Ifemelu leaves Nigeria amidst ongoing teacher strikes to study in the US. As the book begins, she is older, planning to return home to Nigeria and reconnecting with Obinze, as they’ve been out of touch for many years. Ifemelu is living at Princeton on a fellowship and goes to Newark to get her hair braided. This scene in the salon becomes the recurring central support of the narrative,...more
Page-turning thrillers aren’t my usual pick, but this one was entertaining and at times hard to put down. The creepiness centers around a ﬁlmmaker who creates horrors so awfully scary, most of them were only released in underground venues (sometimes literally, like screenings in Paris’s catacombs). As the book opens, his daughter is found dead of an apparent suicide. A reporter who was attempting to write an exposé of the father months ago and wound up losing his career by saying too much in a live interview decides to ramp up his investigation again, suspecting that her death is not what it seems. He collects two younger sidekicks, somewhat improbably, and then they all run all over the place collecting...more
I heard Karen Russell read from part of the story “Reeling for the Empire” at a Fiction Addiction reading last year, and I didn’t feel too inclined to read the whole story afterward. But I found my way to this collection regardless of that insuﬃciency of interest and will admit that I appreciated that story more hearing it in my own head. Russell is at her best for me when she’s creepy and sinister, and I get a bit less intrigued when her quirky humor is dominating. Though I have noticed lately that quirky doesn’t appeal to me as much as it used to.
Russell’s language is occasionally captivating, though it doesn’t always make sense in context. The...more
After reading Against Interpretation, these stories are as cerebral and absent of symbolic content as I expected. Sontag plays with form rather than creating complex plots laden with meanings, and there isn’t an extensive amount of descriptive detail. Nearly all the stories are written from some kind of ﬁrst person perspective, though not in the traditional narrative sense in which it enables a feeling that the reader is somehow inside that character’s mind, privy to any passing thought. In “Old Complaints Revisited,” the narrator admits to purposefully obfuscating their identity:
But I don’t want to go into too much detail. I’m afraid of your losing the sense of my problem as a general one.
That’s why I have...more