In an effort to clean house and get caught up, here are some titles I read to close out 2013 and begin 2014. Not a bad start to the year.
Mudbound by Hillary Jordan
I found a copy in a chateau where we stayed in France this past summer. It was on a shelf with other books you could borrow during your stay though most were in French. Even better, this was a signed copy and since I was fairly certain most vacationers wouldn't appreciate that as much as I would, I nicked it. Just call me the Book Thief.
Petty larceny aside, I enjoyed the book immensely. Jordan crafts a story told from multiple viewpoints about love, temptation, race, PTSD, mud, and one bitter bastard of an old man. The book moves swiftly and deserves the many accolades it has received. Add it to your stack.
Giving Up The Ghost by Eric Nuzum
I'm a sucker for books set in the 80's but more often than not I end up hating them. This was no exception. I should have seen it coming when I saw blurbs by Chuck Klosterman AND Rob Sheffield, whose books I also hated. Even setting it in Canton, Ohio couldn't save this mess. You're welcome to my copy.
Mr. Penumbra's 24 Hour Bookstore by Robin Sloan
Let's see, some biting social satire and a secret society set in an odd, always-open San Fran bookstore? Where do I sign up? I absolutely loved this book. It reminded me a bit of Jedediah Berry's The Manual of Detection though it wasn't quite as dark. Sloan gives us a memorable debut and some great characters, particularly Mr. Penumbra himself. I didn't want it to end. More please, Mr. Sloan, and soon.
One More Thing: Stories and Other Stories by B. J. Novak
Too clever by half for my money. Either that or I've aged out of hip-lit. Some short pieces and some VERY short pieces make for an easy read but once I reached the hundred page mark and still felt nothing for it, I put it down and moved on to something better.
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie
Regular Reed-ers know of my deep and abiding love for the work of Sherman Alexie and also my many snobbish tendencies. Until this past year, when I finally relented and started taking YA seriously, I always held this book at arm's length despite knowing damn well that Alexie could write a great book for that audience. Still, I never bothered with it. Stupid me. This was a complete delight.
The story isn't unfamiliar to me; in fact, he has touched on many of these tales in his adult work (including the short story What You Pawn, I Will Redeem) but he manages to make these stories funny and poignant without dumbing them down. I laughed throughout, I cried when I was supposed to, and, as ever, I marveled at his ability to tell the story so well. The accompanying illustrations by Ellen Forney are the perfect complement to the prose and are as vital to the story as the narrative itself.
As is often the case, you don't need my thumbs-up. The book has won many awards, including the National Book Award, and it continues to be taught AND banned in schools throughout the country.
A number of things to mention:
The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce has made the Man Booker Prize long list. This will help it acquire the readership I think it deserves and my hopes are high it will make the short list, to be announced in September. Mrs. Next is reading it now and is enjoying Harold's exploits immensely. Go buy a copy.
Recently re-read Ramones: An American Band by Jim Bessman, which I'm happy to see is still in print since it came out in 1993 and thus published well before the deaths of Joey, Dee Dee, and Johnny. Bessman provides a capable chronicle of the band though Peter Guralnick he ain't. Then again, they weren't the type of band or men who needed a bio that went into the detail that Guralnick did. He writes in a simple, straightforward manner much like the music of the Ramones. Best of all, reading it made me re-visit my records. 1-2-3-4!! indeed.
I'm currently reading Who Will Run the Frog Hospital? by Lorrie Moore and I'm perplexed much in the same way I am about Paul Harding's Tinkers: why aren't these books lighting me up? Both contain captivating stories and sparkling prose but they seem to lack drive. Perhaps this is by design but I keep waiting for both to really grab me and with only 40 pages left in Moore's book, I'm left wanting. (I haven't even finished Tinkers and I started that two months ago.) Will their respective endings be what I'm after or are my expectations wrong? I'll find out soon enough.
Went to a re-sale shop yesterday where I always find good books on the cheap. Though pickings were a bit slim, I walked out with an old but intriguing short story collection from 1951, Love In the Time of Cholera, which I'm ashamed to say I've never read, a copy of Russo's brilliant Empire Falls, which I intend to give to a new, young friend, and Illusions by Richard Bach. Many will poo-poo the Bach book but I'm a fervent fan and re-read it most every summer. Since I often lend it out or give it away, I found myself without a copy recently so luck was on my side. Donald Shimoda is a remarkable character and even though Bach is dismissed as mawkish, I just love this story. Poo-poo all you wish. Illusions is to me a pleasure for which I feel no guilt.
Once again, I've been the recipient of much book love, this time from my homie, 'Chele, who sent a care package from Random House, et. al. which contains:
- Buddy: How A Rooster Made Me a Family Man by Brian McGory,
- Seating Arrangements by Maggie Shipstead about which I'm hearing good buzz,
- Robin Shulman's Eat the City, which looks absolutely fascinating,
- The People of Forever Are Not Afraid by Shani Boianjiu, about which I know nothing so I'm trusting 'Chele, and
- Giving Up the Ghost by Eric Nuzum. The caveat here is that it was blurbed by the insufferable Chuck Klosterman who I think is so overrated, his popularity defies all logic, and by Rob Sheffield, whose rock writing credentials are solid but who grossly disappointed me with Talking to Girls About Duran Duran. It should have been brilliant. It wasn't.
Most exciting is The Cocktail Waitress, the "lost, final novel" by James M. Cain. I'm attempting to keep my expectations low since, if it's so good, one wonders why it wasn't found sooner. Still, if it's half as good as his classic noir tales, it might be a worthy though late addition to his small but influential body of work.
