What I'm Reading This Week (May 20, 2024)

Last week turned out to be a lot different than I had anticipated it would be. First the good news: it was one of those rare weeks during which I actually finished up four books: Remarkably Bright Creatures, Displaced Persons, The Coast Road, and Clete. Even better, I really enjoyed the latter three books...a lot. 

Now for the bad news: Houston endured one of the most powerful thunderstorms in its history on Thursday night. We all know here what to expect from a hurricane or one of those tropical storms that sit atop the city for two or three days, but the intensity of this thunderstorm surprised all of us. Overnight we experienced wind gusts of up to 117 mph and sustained winds of 60 mph over much of the county. Seven people were killed, most of them from being crushed by falling trees, and well over a million people lost power anywhere from a few hours to several days. As of this morning, some 300,000 people in the area still don't have electricity - and high temperatures are going to be in the nineties all week long so I pity them. Thankfully, repair crews from Oklahoma and Louisiana are here in large numbers to help out the local utility companies. Below is an example of what that kind of wind is capable of and what the repair crews are dealing with:

These are the massive transmission towers that you see in lots of the county right-of-ways around here.

So there was that. 

Although I begin this new week with three books in progress, I'm really not far enough into any of them yet to know if they will stick: Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant by Anne Tyler, Dad Camp by Evan S. Porter, and The Humans by Matt Haig. I am pretty certain that I'll be completing my re-read of the Tyler novel, and I like what I've read from The Humans so far, but Dad Camp is not really doing it for me. Only thirty pages in, and I already find myself avoiding it in favor of just about anything else I have on hand. Definitely not a good sign.

I also spent a little time slimming down my immediate TBR last week, resulting in the abandonment of two books and the decision not to begin another at all. I have two library holds to pick up this week that I'm really curious about, so I needed to make a little room for them anyway - an essay collection by Shannon Reed called Why We Read and a fantasy novel by Julia Alvarez called The Cemetery of Untold Stories. But since I'm also in the mood to pare down the number of books I have going at once, I think it was a good time to dump those three.

The only other Matt Haig novel I've read up to now is The Midnight Library, a fantasy novel I had mixed feelings about, and The Humans sounds every bit as strange as that one. It's a story about an alien from a planet much more advanced than Earth who is sent on a special mission to this planet by his leaders - a mission that Earthlings, for good reason, are not going to appreciate. The alien is at first disgusted by everything about humans, but he gradually changes his mind and learns to appreciate them. The main reason I want to try this one is because I recently enjoyed a season of a television series called Resident Alien that seems to share much the same premise. I don't know if the television shows were based on this novel - they don't appear to be - but the similarities are striking. 

Dad Camp is described this way by the Dutton people: "A heartwarming novel about a loving dad who drags his eleven-year-old daughter to 'father-daughter week' at a remote summer camp - their last chance to bond before he loses her to teenage girlhood entirely." I was in the mood for an old-fashioned feel-good novel when I chose this one, but through the first thirty pages or so, all the characters feel like such clichés that I'm struggling to get back to it. I hope it proves me wrong soon; otherwise it's going to end up in the DNF basket.

I'm curious to see if cutting back to two simultaneous reads slows me down or speeds me up. I hope that choosing the right two books will keep me invested enough that I don't stray during the week if something shinier catches my eye. It's not so much that reading six or seven books at a time hasn't worked well enough for me, because it has. It's more a desire to shake up the whole reading experience a little bit than anything else.

In the relatively immediate wings are these:

I have the feeling that I'm going to be DNFing books a lot quicker than in the recent past because it doesn't happen very often that continuing with a book I was already doubting at the 50-page mark has paid off. I'd say it happens positively for me maybe twice in every ten decisions to keep reading beyond my arbitrary page-limit. I've only abandoned seven books during 2024, but I can think of at least another half-dozen I wish I'd abandoned - and that's not a fun way to read for anyone. Thank you, Remarkably Bright Creatures.

Here's hoping that you all have great weeks, reading and otherwise. I'm looking forward to making my 220-mile roundtrip to have lunch with some old high school friends on Thursday, something I always enjoy. Happy Reading!

The Coast Road - Alan Murrin

 

The Coast Road, set in Ireland in the mid-nineties when divorce was still illegal in Ireland, is a story about three women and their families. The women live in one of those small towns where everyone knows the business of everyone else in town and lives to talk about it, so when Colette convinces Dolores and her husband to rent her their empty cottage, a cottage in sight of the family home, secrets are not destined to be kept for very long. And that's going to be a big problem for all three of them.

First we meet, Izzy and her husband James. Izzy is not particularly happy with James, a local politician, these days. James probably feels the same way, but he doesn't seem to focus a whole lot on anything much other than staying popular with the voting public, so he's happy enough, really, with things as they are. Next up, are Dolores and Donal, parents of three small children, who are working hard just to make ends meet. Now, Colette, who has abandoned her own three sons to live with a man in Dublin, offers them the chance to earn a little rental income on a property otherwise never used so, of course, they jump at the chance.        

The three women obviously have cracks in their marriages, but in 1995 Ireland there is little a woman can do to end an unhappy marriage or to escape an abusive husband. She is forever tied to her husband in the eyes of the law as well as, according to the Church, in the eyes of God. And this combination of Izzy, who gets roped into helping Colette see her son behind her husband's back; Dolores, whose husband recognizes just how vulnerable Colette is as soon as he sees her; and Colette, who in her despair turns to drink, is not one that is going to help anybody's marriage. 

It's hard to imagine that divorce was still illegal in Ireland only 30 years ago, but I remember what a big deal it was when the referendum on legalizing divorce passed by a one percent margin in 1995. Alan Murrin has done a remarkable job capturing that period and the quiet despair that so many thousands of Irish women experienced then. Izzy, Colette, and Dolores are three women right on the cusp of being at least offered choices they have never had before. Whether or not it will be too late for them is the rest of the story Murrin tells in The Coast Road.

And it's a good one.

Alan Murrin publisher photo

(The Coast Road will be published on June 4, 2024. Look for it then.)

Displaced Persons - Joan Leegant

 

I generally read about ten short story compilations a year, and even though I've been doing that for quite a long time now, I've found very few story collections as consistently good as Joan Leegant's Displaced Persons.  

The stories, half of which take place in Israel and half in the United States, share a common theme hinted at by the book's title. Each features one or more "displaced persons" struggling to fit into a world that bears little resemblance to the one left behind. Some characters manage the transition with limited difficulty, some take years even to begin feeling comfortable with the change, and others never manage the job at all. Regardless, Leegant's people have more in common than not. 

The seven stories set in Israel are presented in "Part One: The East." "The East" includes stories about those who left and the people they left behind, such as "The Baghdadi," in which an Iraqi Jew moves to Israel against the wishes of his father, or the story about a young Israeli who, against the wishes of his mother, wants to make a fresh start by moving to Germany. There are stories about "displaced" Americans naive enough to get themselves into dangerous situations, such as the one about two sixteen-year-old girls whose youthful rebelliousness places them in life-altering danger they will be lucky to escape. And there are stories about others who come to Israel expecting to go back home soon only to find that they have finally found in Israel the real home they've been yearning for.

The seven stories in "Part Two: The West" are about a different kind of displacement, one in which American Jewish families are more often than not coming apart at the seams. These stories are more about generational and religious displacement than about the physical kind. Some stories tell of children who no longer feel connected to the old ways of their immigrant parents, others of disillusioned elders who have lost the faith much to the dismay of their children. There are stories here about redemption and the kind of wisdom that comes only with age and experience. They are stories about people trying to figure out who they are and where they fit into the world. 

Displaced Persons offers, I think, an especially timely glimpse into Jewish life both in Israel and in the United States, and what it is like to be caught between those two very different worlds during the turbulent times we live in today. Joan Leegant has packed so much into these twenty-something-page stories that I will remember them for a long time to come. 

Joan Leegant jacket photo

(This New American Fiction Prize winner will be published in early June 2024. Look for it then.)

What I'm Reading This Week (May 13, 2024)

 

Remarkably Bright Creatures was one of the hottest books of 2022 and, at least in my recollection, of 2023. I got on my library wait list a little late and finally threw in the towel when I realized that it would be most of a year before I would get hold of it that way. It wasn't until this year that I thought about the novel again and decided to get back on the list - and I still started at number 65. But I had also signed up for the large print edition book and started the wait for that one in the mid-twenties. As it turns out, the wait for that edition was only three weeks, and I spent a lot of time last week finally reading Remarkably Bright Creatures. With just a few pages to go, I'm still not sure what to think of it - and that's probably not a good thing. 

I did finish up both Alice McDermott's Absolution and the Mark Twain classic The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn as well, and made good starts on James Lee Burke's Clete and Alan Murrin's The Coast Road. Too, I've started re-reading Anne Tyler's Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant, the novel that turned me into a lifetime fan of Tyler's work the first time that I read it back in the eighties - and I'm down to the last short story in Joan Leegant's Displaced Persons. This was one of those weeks that I found it particularly hard to focus, so I found myself moving from book to book quicker than I normally do, with shorter bursts of reading that I don't find nearly as satisfying as reading at least fifty or so pages from one book before moving on to the next. I do hope that changes this week.

Clete is a little bit different in that it is being correctly marketed as book number 24 in James Lee Burke's Dave Robicheaux series despite Dave being very much a secondary character in the novel - at least through the first third of the book. This time around the narrator is Clete Purcell, a private investigator who has been Dave's closest friend since their days in Vietnam. Once again, Dave and Clete are dealing with some truly evil people in small town Louisiana, but it's been eye-opening to see Dave through the eyes of a man who knows him better than anyone else in the world could ever know him. (I've read the first 23 books in the series so it's interesting to learn that Clete sees him a bit differently than I see him.)

I'm about thirty percent of the way through The Coast Road and I still haven't settled into it comfortably. The characters, all of whom are women with marital problems of one degree or another, have not separated themselves in my mind yet, and that makes it hard to keep up with the intricacies of their day-to-day experiences together. It's still hard to know which of them can be relied on to tell the truth and which of them are lying to themselves. I do expect this one to suck me in soon - well at least I hope that's about to happen.

I first read Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant in 1983 or so, and it turned out to be one of those books that influenced my reading for decades to come. It made me a lifetime fan of Anne Tyler's work, and I've pretty much read everything she's ever written now. But guess what? I don't remember a whole lot about the plot anymore, only how immersed I ended up being in the world Tyler created and how fascinating I found the characters to be. This is one of those risky re-reads that I hope doesn't end up lessening my fondness for a book that's been on my shelves for a long, long time.

Oh, and I also gave up on Susan Orlean's On Animals because the pieces I read from the essay collection didn't seem to work together as a whole. Maybe if I had read them as standalone magazine articles they would have struck me differently. 

The little stack of books still waiting for their turn includes this bunch:

That's my Monday morning start to the week. I do have a couple of short road trips scheduled for later this week: a baseball game against Arkansas over in College Station and a lunch date with a few of my old high school friends down toward Beaumont, but it looks like we're in for another round of hard rains that are likely to wash out both trips. Whether that ends up translating into more reading time or more time frittered away remains to be seen. 

I hope you are all doing well, and I hope to visit a bunch of blogs this week that I missed out on last week...have fun.

An American Dreamer - David Finkel

 

If cotton candy were a book, it would be called American Dreamer: Living in a Divided Country. Maybe because David Finkel is a Pulitzer Prize Winner I expected too much, but my lingering impression of American Dreamer is that no one living in the United States during the last decade will be surprised by, or much enlightened by, anything that Finkel has to say here. Any American who has paid even the least attention to what has been happening all around them (and who has the ability to express themselves on paper) could have written this one. If like me, you expected to learn how and why the country became so politically divided, and what we can do together to become more united, you are going to be disappointed.

American Dreamer opens on the morning following the 2016 election as Brent Cummings and his wife wake up to the (to them) appalling realization that Donald J. Trump is the president-elect of the United States. Cummings, an Iraq War veteran with twenty-five years of service, was born in Mississippi but moved to New Jersey with his family when he was eight years old. By November 2016, he is in charge of 750 ROTC cadets at the University of North Georgia. The book is primarily from Cummings's point of view, and how he reacts to his very conservative next-door neighbor, a wheelchair bound man who is just as thrilled as Cummings is upset about Trump's election.

Finkel observes that the two men can barely speak with each other without the distinct possibility that one, or both, of them will lose their temper and say something that there will be no coming back from. So they take to being super-polite to each other and purposely talking very little about politics at all. Consequently, they don't really know each other and never will. 

Then the book is over.

The reader has been treated to a rather short and unremarkable biography of Brent and a much less detailed one of Michael, his neighbor. It is not difficult to see which of the two men Finkel sees as the more sympathetic, especially because one of the most widely debunked charges against Trump from the last several years is mentioned several times in the book without once representing Michael's understanding of the same event. Finkel seems to believe that the two men will never really understand each other. Their political beliefs and expectations are just too far apart for that to happen. By extension, I have to wonder if Finkel sees the whole country that way, and not just these two individuals. If so, I can't agree with him.

The big problem for me is that I don't think Finkel has made a serious effort here to identify solutions or causes of America's (the world's?) political divide. American Dreamer reads more like something Finkel threw together between more serious work, and as a result it had the same impact on me as all the empty calories found inside a state fair serving of pink cotton candy...still empty, and wonder why I bothered.

Mercury - Amy Jo Burns

 

"Two young women arrived in this town, twenty years apart. The first was named Elise, the second named Marley. They lived in the same house. They loved the same men. They raised their children. Elise never loved Marley like a daughter, and yet together they built a family."

Elise and Marley even shared a surname. The difference is that Elise gave birth to the three Joseph boys, and Marley married one of them before giving birth to a Joseph boy of her own.

Mercury is a coming-of-age novel in which it is not always clear who is coming of age and who is doing the raising, especially when it comes to Marley. When she arrives in Mercury, Pennsylvania, Marley is more concerned with fitting in to her new high school than finding a new boyfriend. It's not like Marley dosen't know what to expect because her mother, constantly on the lookout for a better paying nursing job, is always up for a fresh start in a new town. This time, though it's going to be very different. 

Marley immediately catches the eye of one of the Jospeh boys, and before she knows it she's become a regular at the family dinner table. Right up until, that is, the moment she's unceremoniously dumped by Baylor Joseph - only to secretly take up with the steady one in the family, Baylor's younger brother, Waylon. (And yes, the notorious Joseph boys are known locally as Bay, Way, and Shay.) By nature, as well as by circumstance, Marley is a loner, but what she aches for more than anything else in the world is a family of her own and, as she sees it, a "place at someone's table." 

She gets more than she bargained for with the Josephs, becoming a surrogate mother to the youngest boy, manager of the family roofing business, and protector of the woman who never really stops resenting her. That Marley becomes as loyal a member of the Joseph family as any of them is no accident, but her ability to hold the family together is seriously tested years later by a disturbing discovery that Waylon and Baylor make in the church attic. The Joseph family has secrets...and Marley wants to help them keep it that way.

"Do you think it's possible to spend your life loving the wrong people?"   (Waylon)

"I think it's more likely that we love the right people the wrong way."      (Jade, Marley's best friend)

Mercury is one of those character-driven novels that, layer by layer, make themselves really difficult to put down. Even when I wasn't turning pages, I sometimes found myself wondering about the main characters and what Burns would reveal about them next. My biggest surprise is who the real hero of the Joseph story turns out to be, and how that realization made the book so much more memorable to me than I expected it would ever be. This one is perfect for book club reads because you'll find yourself wanting to talk about it with someone else who's read it, too. Good stuff. 

Amy Jo Burns jacket photo