Adult Fiction

The Lost Art of Mixing

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by Erica Bauermeister
ages: adult
First sentence: “Lillian stood at the restaurant kitchen counter, considering the empty expanse in front of her.”
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Sequel to: The School of Essential Ingredients.

When I first saw this one, I thought: “Hey! I like books where food play a part.” And then, “I kind of remember liking School of Essential Ingredients.” And “That’s a happy cover. I think I’ll pick this one up.”

Then I read it.

When I finished, I actually went back and checked my review f Bauermeister’s other book. Two sentences popped out at me:

 “It was more like a series of connected short stories, and because of that, I felt unfulfilled when the story was over.”

and

“It seemed that once their story was done, Bauermeister didn’t quite know what to do with them, and pushed them out of the picture.”

Exactly.

I’m not sure the plot really matters (Lillian is pregnant, there are assorted other Crises and Discoveries), because it’s essentially the same book again. And it’s not that the book was bad. It wasn’t. It was… nice. Good enough to finish, but not good enough to run around saying “YOU HAVE TO READ THIS” to friends.

Which means: I need to do a better job at checking my own reviews before checking books out from the library. That’s why I have this blog, after all!

Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore

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by Robin Sloan
ages: adult
First sentence: “
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After graduation from college, Clay Jannon is ready to take on the world. Except it’s a recession, and there aren’t many jobs out there for him. After a stint as a marketing/advertising designer for NewBagels in San Francisco, Clay finds himself unemployed, wandering around looking through Craigslist for a new job. On one of his daily wanderings, he stumbles upon Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore, which has an opening for a night clerk. He goes in on a whim, and finds himself not only employed, but immersed in an increasingly strange world.

There are two kinds of customers that frequent Penumbra’s — who is, by all accounts, an odd sort of man — store, especially at 2 a.m.: late-night wanderers who buy some of the normal stock, and those wandering in, bleary-eyed, asking for something off what Clay comes to call the Waybacklist. It’s those customers who pique Clay’s imagination, and get his creative juices flowing: just what is the Waybacklist, and what are these customers doing?

It’s that question that sends Clay into a world of codes and cults, of computers and books (Google plays a huge role and is almost a character in itself), of adventures and immortality. It sounds more magical than it is; there isn’t a drop of magical realism, just good programming and smart people figuring puzzles out. Even so, there’s a whiff of fantasy here: as part of everything, Sloan involves sweeping fantasy trilogies and a Dungeons & Dragons-like game but only as a slight framework in which to lean his story about the relationship between books and technology. (The conclusion? We still need both.)

It was a delightful, charming book (I hesitate to call it that, even though it was. It seems that books like this should be Deep and Edgy), one in which I thoroughly enjoyed.

Audiobook: Fragile Things

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by Neil Gaiman
read by the author
ages: adult
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I decided, upon finishing listening to this, that I wouldn’t mind if Neil Gaiman came and narrated my life. He has such a wonderful reading voice, spellbinding on its own, that he could be reading my grocery list, and I would listen, captivated.

But, thankfully, I didn’t have to listen to my grocery list, which would have gotten quite tedious after a while. Rather, I got a collection of some fascinating, some entertaining, some disturbing Gaiman stories. I didn’t love them all, but the ones I liked, I really liked. I think, perhaps, that I like Gaiman in short doses — I absolutely love his stuff for kids — rather than his long novels. So, a collection of stories and poems was just about my speed.

Some of my favorites? “A Study in Emerald,” his take on a Sherlock Holmes story which is weird and wild, and has an absolutely brilliant twist at the end. Or “October in the Chair,” a delightful story personalizing the months of the year and their gathering where they each take turns telling one story, and the story that October (it’s his year) tells. Or “How to Talk to Girls at Parties,” which is a mundane awkward boy party until you realize that they crashed a party of alien girls. Or “Sunbird” which is about an epicurean club who have basically tried eating everything there is to eat. Except for the sunbird. Or, the poem “Instructions”, which is one of my favorite picture books.

Sure, there were some missteps (I had issues with ” The Problem of Susan” and another story, where the sex just felt gratuitous), but for the most part, I thoroughly enjoyed listening to this one. Then again, it may have been because I’d listen to Gaiman read anything.

Unchangeable Spots of Leopards

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by Kristopher Jansma
ages: adult
First sentence: “I’ve lost every book I’ve ever written.”
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I’ve been wondering about  how to blog about this ever since I started it, really.  See: it’s not a book where you can tidily sum up the plot, giving you a character arc and a climax. It’s not really a book where the author divulges secrets or sucks the reader in with thrills.

No, it’s more a book of ideas: of lies and truth and the nature of stories.

The things you need to know before going in: 1) the narrator remains nameless, and you never learn his true name. And 2) he’s incredibly unreliable. It’s not like in Code Name Verity, where you learn one side of the story, and then have the second half throw everything into question. No: after the first chapter, you start wondering where the Lies end and the Truth begins. Or, if even there is a Truth to be told.

In fact, about half way through, I ran across this passage, and it struck me that this is the heart of what Jansma was trying to illustrate:

Ours is a new generation of plagiarists. Armed with Wikipedia and Google, we can manufacture our own truths. What else should we expected in an age whenever the real reporters, off in the Middle East, sent back only government-approved messages? Move over Jennings and Murrow. No need for the cold, uninterpreted facts. Make was for Stewart and Colbert! In our era, truthiness is in the dictionary, and Dan Rather got fired for not authenticating the Killian documents. And in his wake we’ve found, twisting and shouting, the Bill O’Reillys and the Chris Matthewses, spinning us sugar-sweet falsehoods. Plagiarism, class, is the new American art form.

He takes this idea — of spinning us what we want to believe — and takes pushes it to the edge, giving us an narrator who is constantly changing the story, the names of the characters themselves, the basic facts. What are we, as readers, to believe?

Well, only one thing: that you won’t be able to put this fascinating novel down.

Audiobook: Pride and Prejudice

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by Jane Austen

read by Josephine Bailey
ages: adult
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I’ve already reviewed Pride and Prejudice here on the blog, so I’m not going to do that again. (Though, looking back, my review really isn’t much of a review.) I picked this one up again because I was inspired to do a reread of all of Austen’s works by A Jane Austen Education.  But, I decided to do something different: listen to it on audio book. (In fact, between that and listening to To Kill a Mockingbird, I’ve decided that I’ll try to listen to classics this year. We’ll see how that goes.)

So. Thoughts.

The narrator was good. Though her Lady Catherine and Mr. Darcy were wrong. I mentioned that to M, and she said that’s because I’ve watched the A&E movie too many times and Colin Firth will always be Mr. Darcy, and no one else will do. She’s right, you know.

I know some of the lines well enough that I can say them right along.

The humor came out really well when I was listening. I catch it when I read, but I actually laughed aloud when listening and that’s something I don’t usually do when I read it.

One of the themes I caught this time was how much appearance matters. They’re always talking about the way people look — whether they give off a good impression, whether they have “goodness” in their “countenance” — and that sat uneasily with me. I try very hard not to judge on my first impression, though I do have to admit that it’s a human trait: we all do it. Even if we think we don’t. The more I think about it, the more I think the original title of this one — First Impressions — is almost more accurate. There’s a lot in here about judging and being judged for they way people (not only yourself, but your family) acts in public. And the sad thing is that it’s still applicable.

It’s still a delightful read, after 200 years and multiple rereads (on my part, anyway). It doesn’t get much better than that.

Tell the Wolves I’m home

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by Carol Rifka Brunt
ages: adult
First sentence: “My sister, Greta, and I were having our portrait painted by our uncle Finn that afternoon because he knew he was dying.”
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It’s 1987, and June is 14 years old. Her uncle Finn has recently died AIDS, something which (as I well remember) is new and Scary in 1987. Finn and June had a special bond, they shared interests and outings, but it was more than that: to June, Finn was the only one who really Understood her. And to say his passing has really upset her is an understatement.

Little does she know there is a balm for her wound (sorry: too much Jane Austen lately): Toby, Finn’s boyfriend, whom the family shuns, reaches out to June for help and healing. Together these two people who cared immensely for Finn, and whom Finn cared for as well, might just figure out how to go on living without him.

While I enjoyed this novel, and I understood June’s connection with her uncle, a couple things bothered me. First, I’m not really sure it needed to be in 1987. Perhaps it was just so the family could be so deeply homophobic (they’re okay with Finn being gay, he’s just not allowed to have a relationship, so he keeps Toby under wraps). Maybe it was so that June could run around the forest behind her school or into NYC on a whim, because as we all know, parenting in the 1980s was much more permissive than it is today. But it disappointed me that there wasn’t much done with the whole AIDS scare. There were brief mentions of it here and there, but I didn’t feel anything substantial was achieved by it.

What I did like, however, was the exploration of June’s relationships. Not only with her uncle and his boyfriend, but also with her mother and sister as well. June’s perceptions of all those relationships were — partially because she’s 14 — off, sometimes drastically. And it’s a growing process for her to realize that everything isn’t quite how she perceives, that the truth of everything is multilayered and complex. For me, the true draw of the novel, the true heartache, was watching June grow up.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

Audiobook: Madame Bovary

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by Gustave Flaubert
read by : Donada Peters
ages: adult

So,  thought I’d listen to the classics this year. And, since I’ve never read Madame Bovary, I figured why not listen to it? I admit that I had no idea what it was about going in, and also that the back blurb was singularly unhelpful.

That said, even though Donada Peters sounds vaguely like Judy Dench, I found myself highly — HIGHLY — bored with listening to this one. After a while, Peters voice began to grate on me, and I just bailed. Nothing — not a single thing — about the story was drawing me in. Not the characters, not the writing, and definitely not the narration.

So, that leaves me with this: was it the translation? Was it the audiobook? There has to be a reason this is considered a classic. Should I give it another try?

Big Boned

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by Meg Cabot
ages: adult
First sentence: “You came!”
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Others in the series: Size 14 is Not Fat Either

Heather Wells, former pop star and current assistant Fischer Hall director, is quite happy with her life. Sure, her new boss is a bit of a stick in the mud, and sure her boyfriend Tad is a vegan who doesn’t watch TV and is trying to get her to *gasp* exercise, and sure it’s not really the guy she wants to be with, but all in all, she’s doing okay.

Then, one morning without warning, her boss gets shot in the head.

Something about Heather just attracts murder, doesn’t it?

An aside: about a third of the way in, I started wondering: how long can Meg Cabot keep up this Death Dorm thing? I mean, three murders in the same hall over three books? I need to read the next one to figure out whether or not she branches out and starts solving murders at other places.

This one was actually murder lite this time around. Heather, of course, is on the case (no matter how much Cooper tries to tell her not to get involved), mostly because her grad assistant Sarah’s not-quite-boyfriend is the primary suspect. Of course he didn’t do it, and it’s up to Heather to figure out who did. Mostly, though, this was Heather obsessing about her relationship with Tad and wishing that Cooper was her boyfriend. That’s not to say this wasn’t interesting — Cabot is really a fun and engaging writer — but that I don’t think I enjoyed it as much as I did the first time around. Perhaps because it was that I read it rather than listening to it (the narrator really was that good). Even so, I enjoyed hanging with Heather and her crowd, and even though the mystery wasn’t that great, it was good enough.

Which means: 1) I’ll be reading the next one eventually and 2) it’s some good fluff. I’m converted to the cult of Cabot.

Audiobook: To Kill a Mockingbird

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by Harper Lee
Read by Sissy Spacek
ages: adult
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I’m not going to sum this one up; everyone has read it already. So here are my thoughts from listening to this one for the first time since high school.

1. They say the n-word a lot. A lot. And, while I understand that it was part of the south in the 1930s, it sure made me uncomfortable.

2. I had to keep reminding myself that not everyone in the south is like most people in this book. That we need more Atticuses and Scouts and Jems and Boo Radleys in this world and less Bob Ewells.

3. That said, Sissy Spacek’s Southern drawl was just delightful. I got out of the car many a time speaking Southern myself.

4. Not much happens in the book, which surprised me. Check that: two Really Big Things happen, but in between it’s a lot of daily life, a lot of character sketches. And I wasn’t bored. Which also really surprised me.

5. I want to be a parent like Atticus. I sometimes wish my girls could have childhoods like Jem and Scout did.

6. Anyone who says that courts are fair is lying. Still. And that made me sad. Tom Robinson was TOTALLY innocent.

7. I think I finally understand the title now. It wasn’t something I remembered from before.

8. I’m so glad I decided to reread it. I hadn’t remembered much from the book at all, and it was delightful rediscovering this classic.

The Homecoming of Samuel Lake

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by Jenny Wingfield
ages: adult
First sentence: “John Moses couldn’t have chosen a worse day, or a worse way to die, if he’d planned it for a lifetime.”
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I finished this several days ago — having devoured it almost entirely in one sitting — and I’m still at a loss how to put my thoughts on this book into words.

The plot centers around the Moses family in 1950s Arkansas. John Moses, the patriarch, has been slowly drinking himself into oblivion, and at a family reunion, decides he can’t take any more and kills himself. This propels Willadee’s, John’s only daughter, husband, Sam Lake, back to Arkansas — granted, he didn’t have a church assignment for the year, so being unemployed kind of helped — to try and figure out what God wants him to do with his life. Their three children — Noble, Bienville, and Swan (yes, that is her name) — try to adjust to life as something other than preacher’s kids. Especially after they meet the neighbor’s boy, Blade Ballenger.

Actually, it was Blade’s father that kept me turning pages. And that solely because he’s the most hateful character I’ve read since Kristin Cashore’s Lek. He was pure evil, and many of his actions were more than difficult to stomach. And yet, I kept reading, desperately needing to know whether or not he got what I felt he deserved. I suppose it’s wrong to spend a book wishing someone would die a violent death, but there you have it: I wished it, and I wished it hard. (I was also depressed to realize that people like that exist. Still. It’s horrible.)

Even with the evil running through the pages, it wasn’t a dark book. There is a lot of love and hope in the pages as well. And thoughts about religion and God, too. And the characters were written — from John’s wife, Calla through to the rest of the family — in ways that made them all unique and fully fleshed out. And I really didn’t think there were any words out of place, which is unusual for me and an adult novel.

All of which made this one a book to both devour and savor.