Category: What I’m Reading

My Amazon and Goodreads review of Deacon King Kong: A Novel by James McBride (Rating 3) – More Show Off Than Show. Writers like myself (see my Amazon author page and Goodreads author page) are familiar with the advice “Show, Don’t Tell.” I wish the editor of Deacon King Kong by James McBride had give the author the advice “Show, Don’t Show Off.” At first his over-the-top riffs on the marginal people and politics in Brooklyn’s fictitious Cause Houses are mildly entertaining, but I soon skimmed past them to get back to the story. When McBride does return to the intersecting lives of his diverse characters — black, Italian, Irish, and Puerto Rican — the book picks up energy. The title character is actually the least interesting, and the criminal shenanigans are too convoluted to follow, but the emotional and spiritual turns in people’s lives are moving. I understand that many of the details in Deacon King Kong are based on McBride’s own life growing up in Brooklyn’s Projects. Having read his wonderful memoir The Color of Water, I wish he’d chosen memoir instead of fiction for this book too.

My Amazon and Goodreads review of The Dutch House: A Novel (Rating 5) – As Many Twists and Turns as a Spiral Staircase. Many years ago, I was forced to flee a one-of-a-kind home that I loved. While the circumstances were nothing like the eviction of the brother and sister in Ann Patchett’s The Dutch House, my ouster was also precipitated by an unimaginable act of cruelty. Unlike the protagonists, I wasn’t able to go back to the house, but I’ve often wondered what it would be like to once again step inside. I can only hope the visit would be as gratifying as the tale in this novel. The plot has as many twists and turns as a spiral staircase, each a surprise, yet also as inevitable as a well-drawn blueprint. Vivid characters spill intense emotions: love, hate, longing, guilt. As a writer myself (see my Amazon author page and my Goodreads author page), I am filled with admiration for Patchett’s memorable storytelling. The Dutch House is ultimately about letting go, but readers won’t want to let go of this book.

My Amazon and Goodreads review of Fly Girls: How Five Daring Women Defied All Odds and Made Aviation History (Rating 4) – More Deaths Per Page Than a War Book. In the battle for the skies, the history of aviation is littered with shattered bodies. All were intrepid souls, none more so than the women in Keith O’Brien’s Fly Girls: How Five Daring Women Defied All Odds and Made Aviation History. Male aviators had to fight physics, mechanics, and weather. Women overcame all those and also the men who, both on and off the field, demeaned and tried to defeat them. Fortunately, the support among the women handily counteracted the discouragement of the men. “Fly Girls,” as the press dubbed them, were competitors but also friends. While some were bent on promoting themselves, all were primarily out to promote women’s full participation in aviation. Despite harrowing accounts of sacrifices and tragedies, this book is ultimately about victory and the amazing women whose dreams and persistence made their success possible. As a writer of historical fiction who often features women overcoming tough odds (see my Amazon author page and Goodreads author page), I cheered them to the heavens.

My Amazon and Goodreads review of Olive, Again (Rating 5) – Godfrey. Thank God Olive Kittridge is Back. In Olive, Again, Elizabeth Strout returns us to the coastal town of Crosby, Maine. All I can say is, “Godfrey. Thank God Olive Kittridge is back.” In stories that feature Olive, or bring her on for a cameo, Strout introduces us to residents whose lives are filled with sadness, even tragedy, but who evince a New England determination not to complain and to carry on. Olive delights us with her own small epiphanies, often reached reluctantly but embraced when she accepts that they are inescapable. One of Strout’s most satisfying creations is Jack Kennison, Olive’s late-in-life second husband, who is her match in irascibility and likability. Best about Jack is how much he likes Olive. Olive herself is one hot, leaky mess of contradictions: tactless and kind; humorless and funny; oblivious and self-aware; judgmental and open-minded; exasperating and endearing. I was reluctant to read the last story because I didn’t want the book to end. As a writer (see my Amazon author page and Goodreads author page), I know that my characters never leave me. I hope that is true for writer Elizabeth Strout, because as a reader, all I can say is “Godfrey. Please don’t ever die Olive. I can’t bear the thought of a world without your bulk.”

My Amazon and Goodreads review of On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous (Rating 5) – The Balm of Words. On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by award-winning poet and debut novelist Ocean Vuong is a semi-autobiographical coming-of-age and coming out story. The narrator, Little Dog, writes of being a Vietnamese immigrant and a gay man, growing up alien and poor in Hartford, Connecticut. The novel takes the form of a letter to his illiterate mother, traumatized by a childhood napalm attack and often abusive. The odds of her reading, let alone understanding, the letter are slim so Little Dog is writing to himself as much as to her, trying to make sense of the forces that shaped him: his mother and grandmother, his quasi-grandfather, and the older redneck boy who was his first love. The imagery is transporting, invoking not only the five senses, but also hallucinatory states. As a fiction writer, I know how difficult it is to describe the indescribable. (See my Amazon author page and Goodreads author page.) I attribute Vuong’s metaphorical acuity to his gifts as a poet. Some descriptions are overwritten and desensitizing, but then a shattering scene reawakens readers’ nerves. Little Dog, like Vuong, escapes in books and writing. When his mother and grandmother are mocked for their lack of language, he vows never to be without words himself. The novel tells that tale, and is a testament to the phenomenal fruits of his pledge. Words are Little Dog’s balm. Vuong’s family story is horrific and while far removed from the lives of most readers, it remains a common truth for refugees today. Vuong triumphed, but the rare beauty of his writing reminds us that most trauma survivors will not.

My Amazon and Goodreads review of The Friend: A Novel (Rating 4) – A Grieving Woman’s Best Friend. In The Friend: A Novel by Sigrid Nunez, a woman writer, grieving the suicide of her friend and mentor, adopts his dog. The Great Dane is named Apollo, the multifaceted Greek god of archery, music and dance, poetry, truth and prophecy, healing and diseases, the Sun and light, and the epitome of beauty. Slightly imperfect, but still stunning, the beast is the book’s only named character. He is a stand-in for the man, prompting the question: If dog is man’s best friend, and the man was the woman’s best friend, can the dog becomes the woman’s best friend? The suicide comes as a shock to her. The dog, old and ailing, will soon die too. The difference is that the woman has time to prepare herself for the dog’s death. Some say authors write fiction in order to rewrite history, their own or society’s. As a writer (see my Amazon author page and Goodreads author page), I find this motivation limiting; it chains imagination to the past. But in the novel, the woman does attempt to edit her relationship with the absent man through her connection with his dog. Given that her aim is to come to terms with her grief, she is only partially successful. She skirts around it. Avoidance is fine for a character, but I wish Nunez herself had been less reluctant to plumb how inexplicable grief writes on us with indelible ink.

My Amazon and Goodreads review of Stoner (Rating 5) – A lacerating yet loving look at academia. In understated and simple prose, Stoner by John Williams nails the complexity of university life. A belated reader to this 1965 classic, I nevertheless found it a lacerating yet loving look at academia as it endures today. Williams’s controlled prose is masterful, a skill I appreciate both as a reader and a writer (see my Amazon author page and Goodreads author page). He lulls readers with the sameness of Professor Stoner’s life, then ignites a spark that inflames both the character and us. We urge Stoner to rebel against his wife’s sabotage and department chair’s vindictiveness. Instead, Williams holds steadfast to his character’s acquiescent nature, in turn persuading readers to acquiesce to the author’s choice. Thus do Stoner, and Williams, earn their place in the literary pantheon.

My Amazon and Goodreads review of Five Days Gone: The Mystery of My Mother’s Disappearance as a Child (Rating 3) – A Wordy Book About a Taciturn Town. In Five Days Gone: The Mystery of My Mother’s Disappearance as a Child, Laura Cumming sets out to solve the intriguing mystery of her mother’s brief abduction at age three. Her mother did not learn of the incident for decades. Nor was she told she was adopted until ten years after her disappearance. About both instances, her parents were close-mouthed, as was the entire village. Cumming seeks to uncover the facts of the kidnapping, and more challenging, to learn why the townsfolk remained so taciturn. She therefore goes into great detail about the rural English landscape and historical setting, details which interest Cumming as she investigates her roots, but won’t engage readers because they fail to explain the silence. We are also introduced to many characters, who are hard to keep straight because many don’t come to life on the page. As a fiction writer who extensively researches my books (see my Amazon author page and Goodreads author page), I’ve learned to only include information that furthers character and plot development. Cumming is too self-absorbed to pare down her narrative. Because her mother (and father) were artists, she draws analogies between famous paintings or photos and people and scenes in her search. Some succeed; too many are forced. Most disappointing, while Cumming paints a loving and sympathetic portrait of her mother, readers don’t emerge with any deep insights into why, decades hence, the community still refuses to talk.

My Amazon and Goodreads review of My Name is Lucy Barton (Rating 5) – Acute Awe. Elizabeth Strout’s My Name is Lucy Barton offers hope to the despairing. In deceptively plain language, Strout evokes a panoply of emotions that leaves readers as wrung-out as Lucy’s debilitating illness, yet equally jubilant over her eventual, if mysterious, recovery. Lucy suffers from the shame of childhood poverty, imperfectly requited longing for maternal affection, indifferent children, humiliating peer rejection, snobbish criticism, and acute anxiety induced by a prolonged but undiagnosed illness. Despite being brought low by circumstance, Lucy the survivor retains her sense of awe at the wonders of the universe. Having been raised with so little, she delights in small gifts that are free: the canvas of a prairie sky at sunset, lights twinkling on at dusk in the city, a rich boy’s courtesy toward a poor woman. Lucy Barton’s only request, in the form of the title’s simple statement, is that her existence be acknowledged. Readers will not forget her name, or this book. Ditto the name and talent of prize-winning author Elizabeth Strout. As a writer myself (see my author pages on Amazon and Goodreads), I offer that testament as the highest praise.

My Amazon and Goodreads review of Gingerbread (Rating 2) – Tasteless. I finished Helen Oyeyemi’s Gingerbread only because I hate to waste food. Despite the fact that gingerbread is the book’s main entree, readers never get to relish its sensory delights. Oyeyemi does little to evoke the unique pungency of this savory-sweet confection, instead serving a tasteless meal that meanders among people, places, and times in a half-baked batter. Her themes may be the strength of inter-generational ties and the transcendent bonds of female friendship, but her characters lack heart. Not that they are cardboard; their stories are distinctive, if not downright weird. As a writer (see my Amazon author page and Goodreads author page), I appreciate Oyeyemi’s imaginative powers. But whether her creations are real people, changelings, dolls, or figments of the author’s mind, their oddity fails to warm readers’ hearts as much as the gingerbread fails to warm our bellies. If you’re hungry for a good read, search elsewhere.