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On Chesil Beach, by Ian McEwan, is the best book I’ve read in a while. It was beautiful and breathtaking and melancholy and almost perfect. (I include the “almost” because it didn’t do my laundry.)
The novella takes place in 1962 on Edward and Florence’s wedding night. While the foregoing sentence is technically true, it actually covers a great deal more than that because of the flash backs. Still, the pivotal moments occur because the virgins have some unspoken issues that they will be forced to deal with on this momentous night. Here is the first line:
They were young, educated, and both virgins on this, their wedding night, and they lived in a time when a conversation about sexual difficulties was plainly impossible.
The plot and character development were done so deftly that I was always in the moment and yet always looking forward to the next point. Perhaps what I liked most was that Edward and Florence were normal people. They had no excessive horrors in their lives or personalities. They were everyman and everywoman with their own set of issues and fears and strengths and weaknesses. This book was ultimately human.
The writing was simple and yet complex in its beauty. I particularly liked this passage:
She watched him coming along the strand, his form at first no more than an indigo stain against the darkening shingle, sometimes appearing motionless, flickering and dissolving at its outlines, and at others suddenly closer, as though moved like a chess piece a few squares toward her.
Ian McEwan was impressively adept at writing both the male and female perspectives realistically. There is no easy answer to the questions before the newlyweds, and McEwan shows how differently they both perceive the same situation. McEwan also portrays their young love very realistically. He describes the two lovers retelling their first meeting, which was “by now enriched by a private mythology.”
Okay, I could go on and on. Just read this book! One note of caution, this book does deal with sex. While I personally thought the subject was treated respectfully and realistically, not voyeuristically, this book may not be for everyone.
On Chesil Beach, by Ian McEwan (35) * * * * *
Last fall, in a Newberry Award streak, I picked up Princess Academy, by Shannon Hale (a 2006 Newberry Honor book). I loved the book, and the fact that Shannon Hales lives near me. In fact, I recently went to one of her signings. Anyway, after Princess Academy, I read Book of a Thousand Days and Austenland. I hadn’t, though, delved into her Bayern series. Thus, when my book club picked the first Bayern book, The Goose Girl, for this month’s read, I was thrilled.
The Goose Girl is based on the fairy tale of the same name. I knew the basic plot of the fairy tale (princess goes to marry a prince in a foreign land, her lady-in-waiting switches places and tells everyone she is the princess, the princess becomes a goose-keeper, eventually the true princess is restored to her rightful place and the lady-in-waiting is killed), but Hale’s retelling of the book was intruiging and magical and heartfelt. I was swept along with Ani/Isi (the goose girl) and her tale of becoming a princess by being a commoner. The character development was a little spotty with regard to most of the other characters, as with most fairy tales, but the development of Ani was amazing. I felt her uncertainty and longing and the building of her character and sense of self. (Also, I loved the prince.)
Some of the more fantastical elements, like Ani’s the communications with the wind, were a little much for me. But I loved Ani’s mystical aunt and Ani’s communications with Jok, the goose, and Falada, her horse. There was a bit of everything in this story: heartbreak, intrigue, murder, royalty, love, friendship, betrayal, loyalty, bravery, and self-discovery. And, most importantly, they all lived happily ever after. At least until the next book starts. Sigh. I’ll read this book again. And again.
The Goose Girl, by Shannon Hale (75) * * * * *
Other reviews:
Persepolis, by Marjane Satrapi has been on my TBR list since the movie was nominated for an Oscar earlier this year. It moved up on the list because of the good reviews I’ve read on book blogs. When Dewey announced that latecomers to her Graphic Novel Challenge could join and read half the books, I requested Persepolis from the library.
Persepolis is a memoir in graphic novel form. It takes place in Tehran, Iran from about 1978-1983. It covers the fall of the Shah, the Iranian Revolution, and the Iran/Iraq War from the perspective of a preteen/teen. It’s actually a pretty good history lesson.
This book got to me. The combination of the pictures and the honest reactions were, at times, very effective. It was a fast read, and I was immediately emotionally involved. Also, I felt like the perspective of the narrator was true to her age. In other words, it felt like a 10-14 year-old was actually writing the book and telling us exactly how she felt.
Though I liked this book, I’m pretty sure graphic novels are not going to become main fare in my reading diet. I tend to process the words and the pictures separately. I sometimes became confused and frustrated when the words and/or pictures weren’t clear. For example, the pictures are all drawn in black and white and it was sometimes hard to tell the mother from the daughter. The reckless use of dangling pronouns only added to the problem. I often had to go back and read whole pages to confirm who a pronoun was referring to and sometimes it wasn’t clear after a reread. (Also, a note: the book did have some profanities and dealt rather bluntly with torture.)
Whew. Now that I’m done ranting about pronouns, I will say that this book was well done. It was honest. It was funny. It was touching. The ending almost made me cry. I’ve put Persepolis 2 on reserve at the library.
Persepolis, by Marjane Satrapi: (55) * * * *
Other reviews:
I am quite delighted with this book. I’m so glad that I picked it up from the library today on a whim. The Invention of Hugo Cabret was awarded the 2008 Caldecott Medal.
With a combintion of black and white pen sketches and black and white printed words, this book is unlike any I’ve ever read. At 526 pages in a hardbound binding, it looks a little daunting. However, I read it carefully in less than an hour and a half. At least half of the pages are beautiful sketches, with a few black and white photographs thrown in. The presence of the pictures and the opening instructions to “picture yourself sitting in the darkness, like the beginning of a movie” set a magical tone to the book.
The story is (though I don’t like to use the term) heartwarming. Little Hugo Cabret has been orphaned and is living a precarious life as a clockkeeper in a train station. His father died trying to fix an old automaton, and Hugo has taken it upon himself to fix it. This quest leads him through a fantasical and yet very believable adventure that ends with him finding his true self. The writing itself is simple and rich. The combination of the pictures and the story is a beautiful work of art that defies proper description. I cant wait to see what Brian Selznick does next.
Everyone needs to read this book. Go on. Go read it.
The Invention of Hugo Cabret, by Brian Selznick: (75) * * * * *
I think I’m going to be unpopular with this one, but it is what it is. Here we go. The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly is indisputedly about the loss of innocence, of leaving the cocoon of childhood and becoming an adult. I get it. I just didn’t get it. I thought it was too dark – unnecessarily dark. An example, only one of many, is the story I’ve already alluded to elsewhere in which Little Red Riding Hood had a bit of a different encounter with the wolf and created a new species of man-wolves: Loups. Also, I feel like the revisionist fairy tale thing has been done. While I appreciate that the author was using the loss of magic in stories to illustrate the loss of youth, fairy tales can still hold magic for adults. It felt like desecration rather than authorial manipulation.
Despite the above objectons, there were many things I liked in the book. Connolly’s descriptions are awesome. Here is one of my favorite examples:
“Roland took a stick and poked at the fire, sending sparks flying upward into the night. They fizzled out before they got very far, like insects that were already being consumed by the flams even as they struggled to escape them.”
I also liked the very very end. I didn’t like the ending though, the official one. I just liked the aftermath. The aftermath saved the book, in my opinion, making it worth the read.
The Book of Lost Things, by John Connolly: (55) * * *
For other reviews, see Dewey’s review over at The Hidden Side of a Leaf and the links at the end of the post.
This was my first Wodehouse (apparently pronounced “Woodhouse”). Since the guy published over ninety books during his lifetime, I just randomly picked one off of my library’s shelves. I must say that I picked pretty well. Joy in the Morning is part of the Wooster and Jeeves saga. Jeeves, Wooster’s butler, has apparently become the standard for stereotypical butlers. It was nice to meet the original.
Bertie Wooster is manipulated into visiting Steeple Bumpleigh to help out his Uncle Percy, who once chased him around for a mile brandishing a riding crop. Mishaps and setbacks follow upon disasters and misunderstandings. Jeeves is ever clever and ever relied on for solutions to the plethora of problems. While Jeeves is the brains of the outfit, Wooster is definitely the actions. Wooster, the innocent dupe, is called upon to perform unpleasant task after unpleasant task in the service of his relatives and friends. Comedy, of course, ensues and, in the end, all ends well.
I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed this reading experience. It was don’t-drink-milk-whilst-reading-this hilarious. I read it in a restaurant at lunch and laughed out loud. (Great for my public image.) All of the names in the book were hilarious and perfect: Steeple Bumpliegh, Boko Fiddleworth, Percy Lord Worplesdon. One of the best characters was Edwin, a ten-year-old boy scout who had a “kink in his psychology which made him such a menace to society.” The writing is clearly informed by great artists. Wooster is always incompletely or incorrectly citing great literature and poetry. Jeeves then fills in the correct quote. This added high brow touch as well as opening up opportunities for comedy what with Wooster constantly belittling Shakespeare. There are also a satisfying number of “Tally hos!” The only disappointing thing about this book (which I feel I must point out however slight) was the minimal character development. However, this is easily overlooked. The wit constantly boils over. I’m happy that this was only one of ninety or so of P.G.’s books. I’ll be picking up another one or ten.
Joy in the Morning, by P.G. Wodehouse: (75) * * * *
In The Gathering (winner of the Man Booker Prize for Fiction 2007), Anne Enright tells the story of a bitter and bruised family in bitter and bruised prose. I was sucked in for the ride – even though I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to go.
Veronica Hagerty narrates the story about her Irish Catholic family of twelve children. She is particularly concerned with a disturbing event that occurred one summer when she and two of her siblings, Liam and Kitty, are sent to live with their grandmother. Liam never quite recovers from the events of that summer and some thirty years later has killed himself. Veronica, whose life is picture perfect on the outside, is deeply troubled on the inside. The novel is a sort of journey (though not quite a linear one) through Veronica’s imbittered and coarse memories straight on to dealing with the now of Liam’s death, wake, and funeral.
Despite the subject matter, I found the writing enjoyable. No, more than enjoyable, compelling. Ravenous Reader summed it up: “depressing, but compulsively readable.” I loved the insight into the Irish Catholic world. I was most intrigued by the character of the mother who had born twelve children and miscarried seven and who was so detached from life that she couldn’t remember Veronica’s name. I felt, overall, that the difficult subject matter of abuse was handled realistically but respectfully. Also, the ending, I thought, was pulled off particularly well. (See, there, I commented on the ending without spoilers. Go team.) Anne Enright has a gift, and I will be picking up something on her backlist in the near future.
The Gathering, by Anne Enright: (55) * * * *
Knocking another one down for the novella challenge, I finished Death in Venice this evening. I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting when I choose this story, but it certainly wasn’t the tale of a respected older writer gentleman who falls in love with a fourteen year-old demigod boy and eventually dies of cholera because of it. Nope. That’s not what I expected at all.
Gustav von Aschenbach sees a strange red-headed man in Munich and suddenly decides to go on vacation. Before retiring to his summer house, he stops in Venice, a city he has visited often. The red-headed man makes numberous appearances throughout the story as a man on the ship, a gondolier, and a street musician. Aschenbach arrives at the hotel and sees Tadzio, a young polish boy, “[p]ale and elegantly reserved, with ringlets of honey-colored hair, a straight sloping nose, a lovely mouth and an expression of divinely belseed solemnity, his face called to mind Greek sculputres of the best period.” Aschenback falls in love with the boy and begins to follow him around Venice. Meanwhile, Venice is suffering from the plague. Aschenback knows this but keeps the secret along with the government officials of Venice. Becoming further and further debased, Aschenback falls ill with the cholera and dies.
I did enjoy the progression of the story, though there, at times, seemed to be a number of digressions that slowed down the plot. However, the story is packed with metaphors and literary allusions to Greek mythology and other arresting techniques. For example, the health of the city of Venice declines at the same rate as does the mental health of our hero. Also, our hero’s greatest written achievement is a short story entitled “A True Wretch.” I think you can guess by this point who turns out to be that True Wretch. The best part about the story is that a second reading would reveal a number of insights that I missed the first time.
Here are a few of my favorite passages:
“But he discovered in the end that his thoughts and inspirations were like the intimations of a dream, which always seem inspired at the time but prove utterly shallow and useless to the waking mind.”
“His nerves lapped up the tooting and jangling, the vulgar pining melodies, for passion criples taste, solemnly following the lure of pleasures that sobriety would either laugh at or reject altogether.”
“Ultimately, we are only as old as we feel in our hearts and minds.”
Death in Venice, by Thomas Mann (35) * * * *
I’m not a big nonfiction reader. I generally prefer my books to be fictive. Sometimes, though, a nonfiction title will catch my eye, as did Maps and Legends, recently released by Michael Chabon. Maps and Legends is a collection of Chabon’s essays. The essays and their arrangement were infinitely readable. I scarfed down essay after essay about maps and comic books and Sherlock Holmes and Israel. My favorite essays, though, were those that comprised the last half of the book—the essays about Michael Chabon’s own writing adventures. I love writing about writing, which is the main reason I checked out this book.
Michael Chabon has a nice writing style that is difficult to describe. It’s affable and talkative and at the same time, erudite and literary. I’m now working on The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. I’m sure I’ll be as pleased with it as I was with Maps and Legends.
Maps and Legends, by Michael Chabon: (55) * * *
Stephenie Meyer’s new book, The Host, is about aliens, the way her Twilight series is about vampires. The Host is being billed as Meyer’s first novel for adults. I was therefore expecting more from this book than from the vampires. However, this book is written in almost exactly the same style as the teen romances found between the covers of the Twilight series. Once I stopped expecting literary fiction and accepted that the only thing that made this an “adult” book is the fact that the main character is twenty-one rather than seventeen, I enjoyed it more.
The world has been taken over by aliens. Aliens who inhabit the human bodies and live exactly the way humans do. Sort of. Without all the violence and money. Anyway, Wanderer, our hero alien, has previously lived on eight planets and has decided to give the newly conquered earth a try. She gets inserted into Melanie’s body. Melanie was a human insurgent, who tried to commit suicide rather than be used as a host. Most humans fade away when an alien is inserted into them. Not Melanie. Melanie and Wanderer are forced to coexist in the same body, sharing the same memories and experiences. They eventually unite in their hatred of a Seeker (an alien who hunts down remaining humans) and fall in love with the same human. They go off in search of the human and find romance, adventure, and true happiness.
The story is good, even, dare I say, spellbinding, if a little treacly. The main characters, Melanie and Wanderer, are well drawn. But, at 600+ pages, this novel could have used a trim. In spite of the length, I cruised through the slow patches. The major theme–the nature of humanity–was nicely touched on but not wallowed upon. I thought the desert setting was very effectively used. Finally, in the interest of full disclosure, I must note that I think the author should have stuck with the first ending and not ventured on into the happy-let’s-see-how far-I-can-stretch-believability ending. Overall, worth the read. The Host, by Stephenie Meyer (75) * * *
(I’m excited to meet Stephenie Meyer on Friday!)
