Currently physically on my bedtable:
Wally Lamb, I
Know This Much is True
Unfortunately, I didn't know this was coming out in time to catch him at the Tattered Cover. However, this way I got to buy it from the UConn Co-op and Suzy, which is how I prefer to buy my books. The Co-op was my second stop (Scheduling first, natch) at UConn and the third thing I saw there (the first Suzy, the second CEZ) was I Know This Much is True. Suzy told me right off that it was wonderful. Of course, she is obliged to say so, with her name in the acknowledgments, but I know she actually thinks so.
I didn't read a drop while in Connecticut; I finished Geek Love on the eastward flight and didn't start this until safely seated on the westward flight (which is a story in itself). I came crying to its end on the homeward bus Wednesday afternoon, and considering I'd been unable to read all of Monday night (also crying), and the novel is 900 pages long, I either read as fast as I think I do or the novel itself is a fast read, or both.
Suzy said it's Dickensian. Maybe I haven't read enough Dickens, but I didn't see that. Dickensian because a young(ish) man searches for his father looking for his identity? Oliver Twist, Pip, and I believe David Copperfield each do discover their past, yes. Dickensian because it's long? She didn't mean only that, although it's true. There is a sweatshop, for Oliver; and unexpected windfall, for Pip. Nobody does a far, far better thing; nobody is forbidden to plaster a wall with a flowery paper; nobody doesn't inherits a house. Okay, maybe I haven't read enough Dickens.
I have read A Prayer for Owen Meany, though; and, of course, She's Come Undone. I Know This Much Is True has much in common with each. It shares its weakest point with She's Come Undone--need we know word-for-word outtakes from psychiatric counseling? AIDS, rape, and self-absorbed men also appear in both. Perhaps I see A Prayer for Owen Meany in I Know This Much Is True because of the debt they both pay to The Odyssey; and doesn't much of western literature (including the three Dickens novels) derive from Telemachus's search for his father?
Reviews at Amazon slam Lamb for the detail about and reliance upon popular culture. The night of the moon landing is memorable to Dolores of She's Come Undone and Dominick of I Know This Much is True for much more than Apollo 11. I don't see why this is a fault. She's Come Undone is shaped and colored by songs, television shows' expressions (facial and verbal), fads, and the historical events that frame Dolores's life. When a character plays with an Etch-a-Sketch or a Rubik's Cube or watches Watergate unfold, Lamb has deliberate reason (say I, assuming the dread authorial intent) to do so. To place the event in time, to stir empathy in the reader, to evoke the memory (or the idea) of a particular time. Born in 1968, I don't remember July 19, 1969, but should not Dominick and his brother, born on the cusp of 1949 to 1950, be connected to the majority-rule culture they helped to form just by virtue of their age?
All the pop culture references do limit the audience. I wanted to recommend this book to a Danish friend of mine, but I didn't for fear the references would alienate her. I still have not heard the song "She's Come Undone." I don't know what Julie's sneer in "The Mod Squad" looked like and I only just now at Amazon found the cover of Santana's Abraxas (chacune à son generation).
Was I talking about I Know This Much is True or about She's Come Undone? Okay, I'm back with the program. I think I Know This Much is True suffers from its pop references while She's Come Undone thrives with its. Pop was integral to She's Come Undone but not to I Know This Much is True; does anyone who doesn't live near Ledyard, Connecticut or anyone who isn't closely interested in Native American issues or in gambling, really care about the Mashuntucket casino? Not as Lamb has written it.
I care because I am from there; I care because I lived near the road whose odd spelling he mocks (and cleaned a house and know two other families on it); I care because I've eaten at the Sugar Shack (check the Acknowledgments); I care because I buy books from an Acknowledged person; I care because I had one of my best ever classes from yet another Acknowledged person; I care because I love She's Come Undone.
However. It's always easier for me to criticize than to praise, so while I
can profess at length about why She's
Come Undone is really so very good (by countering others' arguments)
and also at length about how I
Know This Much is True falters, I won't be able to say much at length
(let alone brilliant) about how I
Know This Much is True shines. Which it does. I defend it as I do She's
Come Undone: It's not Great Literature but it is true fiction. Tim O'Brien
knows you sometimes have to make stuff up to get to the truth, and Wally Lamb
knows that much is true.
980701
Randy Shilts, And
the Band Played On: Politics, People, and the AIDS Epidemic
I read about half of this two years ago over several weekends in Aspen. CLH's roommate had it. I admire it for the same reason I admire Cornelius Ryan's The Longest Day. Just the amount of research is daunting. Shilts acknowledges that he had the advantage of the researchers' and public servants' habit of noting every conversation and discovery, which is how he can date everything to a nicety. (I don't remember if Ryan timed a lot; obviously the dating was easy.) And the Band Played On should be on anyone's reading list for a Persuasive Voice class. Shilts absolutely has an agenda that sometimes limits his credibility (his stance was never disinterested).
To wit: Discussing the timeline of the discovery of HIV as the causative agent of AIDS, Shilts posits that if work had been done in a timely fashion, the virus would have been discovered in 1982, "before it had made its vast penetration into American life." Earlier, he asserts that wen researchers realized HIV's long incubation period, they realized the virus had been endemic in the at-risk populations since 1982.
I shan't quibble over how he spins his facts, though, because it is only spin, and I believe the veracity of the facts themselves.
A coworker saw the book on my desk awaiting the return trip to the library. She affects an interest in books because she knows it's a Good Thing, not because she reads or wants to read. She wants to have read a socially acceptable number and assortment of books the way I enjoy having exercised for the day without often enjoying actual exercising. I'm not certain that she thought And the Band Played On was a novel (she didn't even recognize the origin of the phrase) but I guess she did because she asked if it was a movie. Yes. Sigh.
980708
Amy Tan, The
Joy Luck Club
I really like Tan's writing style. Maybe it's the exotic nature of wholly different family interactions, but she seems so fresh and original to me. And no matter how unknown to me personally the general family life of immigrant Chinese people is, certainly I empathized with the daughters' relationships with their mothers. Particularly the theory that a child somehow understands that her mother values and loves her through continual put-downs and denigration. Sure. That makes sense.
(Of course there's the other extreme, a cartoon I recently saw in The New Yorker: a kid brings its report card to the easy-chair-bound parent, exclaiming, "Look! I got an A for not smoking!")
980712
Martin Amis, London
Fields
Whoever said this author plays with words wasn't joking. I like his wordplay so much maybe I'll even transfer my sympathy a generation and give Lucky Jim a third chance. The different schools of humor in Lucky Jim and London Fields exemplify the generational taste in humor I was trying to articulate in Wally Lamb. I can see how Lamb's two novels might date so fast that they'll be inaccessible to the casual reader 20 years hence. As far as Lucky Jim goes, though, its wit is slapstick like Auntie Mame's; and I found that palatable enough that that was the first adult book I read. Maybe I should have read Lucky Jim when I was 13 too. (I laughed rereading Auntie Mame for the first time in 12 years this winter more for reminiscence's sake than for any humor value its jokes still held. Also I laughed at myself, for the jokes I didn't get 17 years ago.
Anyway, London Fields. He couldn't have written this without If on a Winter's Night a Traveler; and anyone who can be intelligibly, articulately inspired by Calvino (not merely gape-mouthed in wonder) is okay in my book.
25 July 1998
Martin Amis, Dead
Babies
Someone named Keith must have traumatized Martin in his cradle.
I like his working maxim: "Author's Note: Not only are all characters
and scenes in this book entirely fictitious; most of the technical, medical,
and psychological data are too. My working maxim here has been as follows: I
may not know much about science but I know what I like."
29 July 1998
Frank B. Gilbreth Jr. Time out for Happiness
Is this about the preciousest title ever? Almost as bad as Chicken Soup
for the Soul (which, I wish to broadcast, a stupid, severely Christian woman
I had to work with once complained that she couldn't find anywhere after looking
only in Sam's Club. A runaway bestseller, a warehouse that only sells
remainders. Hmm. Oil and water, anyone? How unnecessarily snippy of me.) I loved
Cheaper by the Dozen and Belles on Their Toes in high school.
PGN had assigned them to Dewey 920, or biography, and while looking for Al Franken's
book (see below), I suddenly remembered these books. Arbitrary as Dewey is,
DPL keeps these books wholly elsewhere (it keeps Lloyd Alexander under 398,
for fantasy, instead of A, for fiction. This makes no sense), but I found them.
If I owned these books, they would go in the Twinkie-Chicken Soup (I have nothing
against chicken soup itself, you understand) shelf along with Rosamund Pilcher
and Mrs. Miniver and other titles I don't admit to. I wonder if early
Gilbreth influence is how I became such an adamant assembly-line loving love-child
of Henry Ford type chick. Certainly the Gilbreths' idea that the laziest
worker should be motion-studied first applies to me.
31 July 1998
Al Franken, Rush
Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot and Other Observations
1 August 1998
Douglas Coupland, Polaroids
from the Dead
How much he must regret ending this book with the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson
and Ron Goldman instead of anticipating the death of Diana Spencer.
3 August 1998
Jane Hamilton, A
Map of the World
I gave up after about 30 pages of The Book of Ruth. "I have suffered,
therefore pity and read me" is not a theme I voluntarily read a novel for.
"I have suffered, and I tell a good story" or "I have suffered,
and I write well" is a reason to read such a novel. A Map of the World
wasn't wonderful, but I have this dreadful habit of reading books I start. Life
is too short, but I haven't stopped yet. Anyway. Hamilton turns some lovely
phrases and displays an easy intimacy with geographical surroundings.
5 August 1998
Clare Boylan, ed. The Agony and the Ego
First I read the essays by the authors I favor--Graham Swift, Penelope Fitzgerald--then
the ones I know, then the rest. I'm so proud of myself.
7 August 1998
Helen Fielding, Bridget
Jones's Diary
HAO
told me that reading this, she thought of my mother, whom she has never met.
There is but one similarity between Bridget's mother and mine; it is spot-on.
Mother suggests idea for Christmas present, daughter firmly says "I don't
want a little bag with wheels on," mother chats roughshod over this. At
end of conversation, having browbeat daughter into submission on another point
(attending parental coterie), mother demonstrates her selective hearing: "…And
you'll be able to use your new suitcase." Exactly.
Maybe two similarities: After
mother suddenly finds meaning in her life through men, suddenly nothing daughter
thinks or does is justifiable unless it meshes with mother's foundling
meaning.
The Amazon reviews go up and down.
The best I gleaned from them was the recommendation of the Adrian Mole Diaries.
Comments range from enthusiasm from Ally McBeal mope-and-pine-alikes, through
distaste from those who assert it's bad because snide and pessimistic about
women, to disdain from people who seemed to approach it with tongs (and hammer)
to critique its (lack of) literary merit. To these I have neither criticism
nor praise to add; merely an observation: While I think anyone who lives as
portrayed herein is intellectually bankrupt, spine- and rudderless, I enjoy
my contraposition (read superiority); and while the book's form as a novel
seems weak (with its shorthand, subjectless sentences, pogo-stick shifts in
plot and mood), those weaknesses do mark the style of a diary (see title);
and finally, while no one would mistake this for a work of literary consequence,
neither should anyone read it expecting such.
Verdict: Diverting, disconcertingly
funny for the non-British English reader with recognizable but unfamiliar slang,
feeds superiority complex while prompting me-too moments. Its detractors on
grounds of its dubious literary merit might well next critique a disposable
camera for not taking as fine a photograph as an expertly adjusted manual camera
will produce. Not its purpose.
8 August 1998
Truman Capote, The
Grass Harp
Strangely beautiful. I am interested to read In Cold Blood now for the
contrast. This was very beautiful. Lots of unstated homosexuality led me to
call up HAO mid-sentence: "Truman
Capote was gay, right?" She laughed at me. So I'm ignorant. Hey! A post-Faulkner
Southern novel without incest. How novel. And what a novel. If the characters
are stereotypes, they are the freshest, most compelling stereotypes I've come
across in a long time.
9800813
Barry Unsworth, The
Stone Virgin
Mm-hmmm. I like art history, I like immersing myself in academics and artists,
and I was displeased to find myself at the end distancing myself from it for
fear it might be defined as a mystery (because of the presence of a corpse whose
death is solved). Watch Lisa shy from anything smacking of genre in fear it
might mar her superiority complex.
980819
Katherine Paterson, Park's
Quest
Found in the used-paperback store I finally visited during lunch, Park's
Quest belongs to that class of books I will read solely because of the author.
How many other novelists have been granted the Newbery twice? One: E.L. Konigsburg.
Fine and rare company, that is. Bridge to Terabithia had the profoundest
effect on me as a child, Jesse to my friend Elizabeth's Leslie. And Jacob
Have I Loved has never failed to move me to tears. For these shining achievements
is Paterson allowed weaker books like Park's Quest. I hope young readers
are drawn to Malory and White through Park; that positive effect might be overshadowed
by the inadequate resolution of Park and his mother, Park and his grandfather,
Park and Thahn, Park and the crow, for pity's sake.
980825
Cynthia Voigt, Izzy,
Willy-Nilly
Acquired in the same bookstore jaunt as the above, this is one of the
few Voigts I haven't reread to tatters. On second reading (and I think this
was only my first reread, the read having happened in high school) it improves.
Perhaps I tolerate such storylines better now; perhaps my conscious decision
that Voigt is infallible leads me to forgive that wretched, stupid title. (Webster's
earlier definition is applicable: "by compulsion: without choice";
its later is not: "in a haphazard or spontaneous manner." The etymology
is interesting, from 1608, alternative of "will I nill I" or "will
ye nill ye" or "will he nill he," and has slight but possible
bearing on the story.
Overall, a reasonable but best-case-scenario portrait of a teenage amputee.
Her family's wealth and the sudden appearance of a super new best-bud cushion
the blow; in fact the second half is more about Isobel's relationship with Rosamunde
than about her adjusting to having a leg and a half. Perhaps adjusting for her
does mean more the new and improved friendship more than any effect directly
related to the loss of limb. I would happily be Dicey, Mina, Jeff, or
Bullet, Margalo or Mikey, Enny or Orfe, Gwyn or Birle. Those books whose protagonists
fade in favor of the sidekick's (Griff or Rosamunde) stronger presence seem
unVoigt-like in comparison.
Now that I've read Park's Quest,
maybe I should reread Building Blocks.
980825
This book is out of print, which is a mistake. In one blurb, I read him described
as a blend of Martin Amis and A.S. Byatt, so of course I had to read him. I
had him on my booklist from longer ago than that; but I forget from where. I
consider the process of one book or author leading a reader to other books a
fascinating and organic process and really should keep better track of how I
learn about different titles. I once made a start of it, but decided that to
do so was more record than any life needs. However, since it's what most interests
me, I shouldn't worry about what I think of it and just do it.
The early visions I thought quite brilliant; the juxtaposition of Christian
and Alice is genius, and hysterical to boot. Ackroyd lost me in the sections
on Bird and the like, which I attribute to my own ignorance rather than any
failing of Ackroyd (a weight off his mind I am sure). As an introduction to
the author, it worked: now I want to read everything. Unfortunately my admiration
for him currently overshoots my capacity to understand his wit.
980826
Peter Høeg, The
Woman and the Ape
My least favorite Høeg so far (I haven't read The History of Danish
Dreams yet). The best thing about it for me is that I bought it at a booksale
held by the friends of the San Francisco Public Library and read it with CLH-less
meals and in a CLH-ful hotel room south of Big Sur. I have to remember that
much can be lost in translation and I haven't talked with Ulla about it yet.
980914 0525454152
Lloyd Alexander, The
Arkadians
What Alexander did for (or to) the Mabinogion, he here tries to do for Greek
mythology, with less success. He relies overmuch on coincidence. And he draws
on Jean Auel and Marion Zimmer Bradley too obviously, with clans and patriarchy
and trying to explain mythic origins from the female point of view. There is
probably as much room with Greek myth to do that as Bradley had with Arthurian
legends, but sadly there's just as much room after Arkadians as before.
Still, it's Lloyd Alexander and I can forgive him a lot.
980918
I just found out from rec.arts.books.children the author and titles of books
I loved about a girl named Katie John. This was the first Calhoun book on the
shelf I hadn't read yet. It has an Important Tree, which any book benefits
from, but it lacked credibility and flesh tones. That's two children's
books in a row, books by dependable authors no less, that I haven't liked. Am
I becoming a grown-up?
980920
Vladimir Nabokov, Pale
Fire
I'm so ashamed. When I began to flip through this I cringed at the poetry.
I don't appreciate poetry much; I'm an ignorant suck (see above).
I think I need a study guide for Nabokov, poetry or no.
980927
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