by Wilkie Collins
ages: adult(ish)
First sentence: “This is the story of what a Woman’s patience can endure, and what a Man’s resolution can achieve.”

First off — and I know it’s bad form to do this — I have to say novels that have been serialized and I have not gotten along in the past. Yes, I stand here and say that I dislike Dickens. Sorry. But, novels like these tend to go on and on and on and round and round and round and take FOREVER to get to the stinking point. Which drives me batty.

That said, I — mostly — liked this one. Yes, it was serialized, but for the most part, Collins handled that serialization quite well. He is a master of the cliffhanger. At one point while reading this book (if you really need a summary go here; it takes way too bloody long to explain, as I discovered the other night when trying to sum it up for my husband…) that if I had been alive in 1859 when this was being serialized, I would have totally lined up to get a copy. Every single day/week/time.

The mostly part is because the middle part is the best. It takes a while to get going — say 150 to 200 pages. But by the time Walter (our hero) is out-of-country (having been Spurned in Love) and Marian and Laura (our two heroines: Marian being strong and sensible and ugly; Laura weak, flighty and beautiful. Guess which one gets the guy…) are in the house of Sir Percival and under the influence of Count Fosco (our villains) and you don’t quite know what everyone is up to… that’s the good part. It’s okay after the first couple of twists, and Walter (who came back) sets about avenging the women, and is on the trail of Sir Percival’s Secret and there are still several twists you don’t quite expect. But the last 120 pages… yawn. I skimmed. I slid. I wished it would go faster… think of it as a really, really good TV show that kept you engaged throughout the entire run, and then completely and totally tanked on the season/series finale. Then you’ve pretty much got how I felt.

That said, I think I’m going to give Moonstone a go, if only because I’ve heard it’s better (that, and it’s on the schedule for my in-person book group…). And because, all my complaining aside, I did enjoy the ride that this book was.

by C. S. Lewis
ages: adult
First sentence: “My dear Wormwood, I note what you say about guiding your patient’s reading and taking care that he sees a good deal of his materialist friend.”

This book is a difficult one. To categorize — where does a religious epistolary allegory go? Non-fiction? Fiction? To read — it’s a dip-in-and-put-down book, not one that can be devoured, or even read in large chunks. And, to review — what does one say about the formidable C.S. Lewis, especially about his Christian writing?

Well, for one: I’m glad I read it. It gave me a lot to think about, even if I didn’t particularly get “into” it (lack of plot, lack of characters except for Screwtape himself). And not just the idea of everyone having a personal devil, but Lewis’s idea of Christianity itself, and what it should be, and what Christians should be doing.

For two: the preface that C.S. Lewis wrote in 1960. That I found fascinating. My favorite quote in the whole book was from the preface:

I like bats much better than bureaucrats. I live in the Managerial Age, in a world of “Admin.” The greatest eveil is not now done in those sordid “dens of crime” that Dickens loved to paint. It is not done even in concentration camps and labour camps. In those we see its final result. But it is conceived and ordered (moved, seconded, carried and minuted) in clean, carpeted, warmed, and well-lighted offices, by quiet men with white collars and cut fingernails and smooth-shaven cheeks who do not need to raise their voice.

I can get behind that.

For three: Well… it’s about time I read something other than Narnia, actually diving into some of Lewis’s Christian writing. So, for that, the experience was worth it.

Will I be reading more? I’m not going to rush downstairs (yes, we own them all) to pick up another one. It’s not really my “kind” of reading. But, eventually, some opportunity will present itself to read Mere Christianity or The Great Divorce or one of the other ones, and I won’t turn it down.

by Geraldine Brooks
ages: adult
First sentence: “I might as well say, right from the jump: it wasn’t my usual kind of job.”

I have heard nothing but wonderful things about this book (a close friend of mine adored it, as well as many of the book bloggers I read), and so when Julie at FSB Associates wrote and offered me a review copy, I jumped at the chance. (Granted, I did wonder why she wasoffering me a popular book, a critically acclaimed book… I don’t usually get the “good” stuff.) Sure, I said, I’ve had decent enough luck with Geraldine Brooks in the past (liked Year of Wonders; didn’t like March, which just goes to show that I have vastly different tastes in books than the Pulitzer Prize committee). Why not give this one a try?

For those of you who don’t know, People of the Book is a sweeping work of historical fiction that centers around a real book: the Sarajevo Haggadah. It’s a beautifully illuminated manuscript, something that has baffled historians for centuries: Where did it come from? Who illustrated it? A situation just ripe for a vivid imagination.

Brooks grounds her work in the character of Hanna Heath, an Australian book conservator, who in 1996 was hired to conserve the book before it went on display in the Bosnian National Museum. In the process, she discovers things about the book which leads the story back through time. The format is one of the wonderful things about the book: it reads almost like several short stories, yet the overlying plot of Hanna, her life, and her connection with the book binds it together as a novel. It’s really quite brilliant.

But the thing I really liked about this one is that grounds her historical fiction in the human element. It’s a re-imagining history that feels historical, yet isn’t horribly offensive (though there are definitely some cringe-worthy moments). I also enjoyed the twist at the end, and how it all managed to get resolved. Very, very nice.

I’ll stop effusing now, mostly because I’m supposed to be hanging out with A and K, and they’re bugging me. Seriously, though: if you haven’t read this one, do. It’s worth all the praise it’s getting.

by Leo Tolstoy
ages: adult
First sentence: “On learning of Ivan Ilyich’s sudden demise and death, his former colleagues begin vying for promotion; it seems neither in life nor in death has Ivan Ilyich made any lasting impression.”

I haven’t read anything by Tolstoy in quite a long time; after finishing Anna Karenina about 12 years ago, I figured there really wasn’t much else I needed to read by him. Thankfully, I have book groups (and challenges) to knock me out of my little box, and get me to read things I normally wouldn’t have. This (obviously) was one of those times.

Ivan Ilyich leads a completely proper and ordinary life. He had a nondescript childhood, he worked his way through primary and law school, a woman fell in love with him and so he got married. He worked his way up through the bureaucracy, and when things got annoying at home, he threw himself into his work. The money wasn’t always enough, and his wife was often a pain, but he was mostly happy.

Then his side began hurting him.

The bulk of the novella is spent with Ivan Ilyich coming to terms with (eventually; he tries to deny it for quite a while) his eventual death. But, really, it’s all about the ideas (which is good, because NOBODY in the novella is even remotely likeable. Except for maybe that peasant guy whose name escapes me. He was okay. Everyone else was shallow and completely annoying). And it made me think. How am I living my life? Am I as shallow and superficial as Ivan is? What could I do differently? What will I do when faced with death? How will I handle the pain? (Thank heavens for modern medicine: they can at least diagnose things correctly, and give us pain medication that will work!) Am I ready to die? (No. Is it wrong that I go through my life as if I will never die?)

Deep thoughts, no?

In the end, I suppose, that’s why this book is a classic — I found Tolstoy’s prose rambling, but not overly long, by the way — because it addresses the basic human condition: the reasons why we do what we do in life, and the challenge that we have in facing our ultimate end. Which is always worth thinking about.

by Marsha Mehran
ages: adult
First sentence: “Mrs. Dervla Quigley, perpetual widow of James Ignatius Quigley, was the self-proclaimed arbiter of all that was decent and holy in the coastal village of Ballinacroagh.”

I had high hopes for this one. I wanted to like it as much as I loved Pomegranate Soup, I wanted to be captivated by the Aminpour sisters again, to be transported by the food and the tastes and the atmosphere of it all. I was happy to jettison it to the top of my reading pile (due to a 14 day checkout rather than the normal 4 week period), and happily began.

I don’t know if it was my mood, or if it was the book, but I just couldn’t get into it. All the elements were there: Marjan was still cooking, and her sisters Bahar and Layla were still as exotic as ever. But there was something off. Bahar was less sad, finding solace in religion — she converts to Catholicism — but in her devotion to a new religion, becomes intolerant, which was disturbing. Marjan finds love, and in so doing, loses the magic that she had in the previous book; she is often scatterbrained and at loose ends trying to make everything work. She is also trying to face her past — she was in love before, and was arrested during the Iranian Revolution — as well as deal with this stranger that washed up on the beach and that their Italian landlord, Estelle, has taken under her wing. And Layla; all she’s interested in is finding a moment to have sex with her boyfriend. She lost her magic, her appeal and became a (uninteresting) teenager. I didn’t like most of the minor characters, either: Dervla was irritating, Father Mahoney was superfluous, and the rest of the town isn’t worth mentioning.

I did, however, like the new characters: Julian, Marjan’s love interest, whom I spent the whole book anxious that he not turn out to be a cad. And the mysterious girl who washes up on the beach; she was fascinating (Is she mermaid? How did she get pregnant? Why was she trying to abort the baby? How did she end up on the beach?) and mysterious, though I have to admit that the mystery got a bit old. It wasn’t until the final third of the book that I even became interested in the story enough to really care. But the final third was interesting and the ending was nice. And the food, while not as wonderful as the first book, was okay.

Maybe it wasn’t my mood, after all.

by Myla Goldberg
ages: adult
First sentence: “At precisely 11 a.m. every teacher in every classroom at McKinley Elementary School tells their students to stand.”

Ever have the experience where a book starts out relatively promising — not great, but good, and with potential — and so you keep reading. Then, about halfway through, you start wondering where this is all going, but because of the initial promise, you keep going. Then, a few dozen more pages later, you realize that the book is going nowhere slowly, and so you start skipping around (say, reading the end just to see if it’s good or not). But, then, you read something that is mildly confusing or interesting (how on earth did she come to make that decision? Or, why is she doing that!? Or, is she completely nuts, or am I reading this wrong?), and so you go back and begin plodding through again. But, by the time you make it to that interesting decision or situation, it’s no longer intriguing. In fact, by the time you finally close the book, you’re tearing your hair out, wishing you would have just stopped halfway through, lamenting the time that you can’t get back. In fact, the more you think about it, the worse the book is, the more annoyed you are that you’ve even attempted it. In fact, you wonder why you even try adult fiction, if this drivel is all there is. Granted, that will probably wear off in a day or so, but right now, right after finishing it, you just want to go and scrub your brain out with a good Hilary McKay book.

Ever read a book like that?

(I just did.)
(More coherent thoughts are over at the Jewish Literature Challenge Blog.)

by Jeanne Harris
ages: adult
First sentence: “We came on the wind of the carnival.”

I finished this a couple of days ago, but put off writing a review because I wanted to watch the movie again, mostly so I could compare the two. But, alas, the planets/stars/karma aligned against me, and I wasn’t able to get a copy. Not willing to wait another week until I could get one (that whole bad memory thing), I’ll just have to write my impressions of the book, and save the whole comparison thing for later.

Vianne Rocher and her daughter Anouk move into tiny, drab, sober, religious Lansquenet on Mardi Gras. Vianne decides that her services are needed in this village, and sets up a chocolate shop, La Praline. Because the world that Harris has set up is a magical one, Vianne is possessed with the ability to know each of the villiagers Favorites, and fairly quickly wins not only customers, but loyal friends. This rankles the villiage priest, Pere Reynaud, who is hell-bent on keeping his flock in what he determines is a straight line.

It sounds like a greater conflict than it really is. The chapters alternate between Vianne and Reynaud narrating, and by the end of the book, I didn’t trust either as a narrator. Reynaud is despicable as a priest, more set on his right way rather than actually being a Christian. Vianne, on the other hand, is more set on finding the path of happiness through indulgence and freedom of desire. The book sets the Church up as wrong and oppressive, and Vianne as right and the way to True Happiness. Which isn’t entirely bad, since Vianne does some admirable things — things that a priest should have — while in town. However, I got to the point where I felt that because she was actively working against Reynaud, fool that he was, she provoked him in ways that were unnecessary. I felt like the “true” story, as well as the moral center, was somewhere in between the two narrators. (Then there’s the whole deal with Roux, the riverboat gypsy, but since I think I need to see the movie to fully formulate my thoughts on him, I think I’ll have to give him a pass.)

While the writing was captivating at times, I suffered from the same problem I did in Dear Julia: too many French names, not enough lush description. Please, please, describe the smells, the textures, the tastes of the chocolate, not just the names. Harris is better at this, for she does delve into that at times, but not enough for my taste. I do have to admit that at times I was reminded of Isak Dineson’s story” Babette’s Feast”, but there are quite a few stories about a woman’s ability to work magic, and therefore change, through food.

That’s not to say that the book is bad; I did enjoy it, for the most part. A friend of mine, when I told her I was reading this one, said that while she liked the book, she thought the movie was better. Perhaps this is just really one of “those” books.

by Joshua Henkin
age: adult
First sentence: “Out! Out! Out!”
Review copy from the author.

This is a quiet novel. I think that’s the best way to describe it. A sweeping portrait of everyday life, focusing on the ebb and flow of the relationship of Julian and Mia from the time they met as freshmen in college through to the birth of their first baby nearly 20 years later. There’s drama — divorce, infidelity, deaths — but, the novel doesn’t focus on the drama, but rather how that drama affects everyday life.

That’s not to say that the book was boring. It wasn’t. Rather, it was often just ordinary. Julian and Mia meet, live together, go to grad school, have a falling out, get back together, move to the Big City, and have a kid. Every day things — dealing with who’s going to wash the dishes or the stress of graduate school — took the forefront. But I think that was the purpose; to find the elegant in the every day. Sometimes, though, I thought that the scenery — Ann Arbor for much of the book — took the forefront. Like Julie, I found it difficult to get past the descriptions of the cafes, streets, or everyday workings of Ann Arbor in the book. The Fab Five? (You’re really from Ann Arbor if you know who they are.) The Art Fair? The Arboretum? The Diag? Zingermans? Caribou Coffee? It’s all there. I think the only thing he didn’t mention was The Rock at the corner of Hill and Washtenaw. I don’t know why this got in the way for me; perhaps it’s because I’m from the Ann Arbor area, though it’s been nearly 20 years since I lived there. But in a sense, I felt like Henkin was trying to showcase the town, which is all fine and good, but it seemed to get in the way of the story.

In general, though, I liked the book, the quietness of the book. I liked that the characters were all generally likable, even if they weren’t always doing likable things. I liked Julian’s struggles as a writer — how it was a struggle for him to find the novel that was waiting inside him (though I have to admit I often found it a bit pretentious, I felt like telling him to just do it already). And, as the title suggests, there’s much about the give and take in a relationship — being committed to each other, supporting each other’s dreams. I liked that it wasn’t perfect, that there were times when Julian and Mia had problems and fights and couldn’t seem to get things quite right. But, on the other hand, they weren’t horribly messed up with horribly messed up families, dealing with back-biting and dischord in their lives. It was refreshingly… well… normal.

In the end, while there was nothing really to shout about, nothing really that bowled me over enough to say “Wow, this book is great,” it was a good read.