Tag Archives: award winner

The Things We Never Say – Elizabeth Strout

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Like Olive Kitteridge and My Name is Lucy Barton, Elizabeth Strout’s newest novel The Things We Never Say is a character study more than it’s a story driven by plot.

Artie Dam is a high school history teacher in Revere, Massachusetts. He’s been married to Evie for over thirty years and they share a son, Rob, who is in his late 20s.

Lately, Artie has been thinking a lot about dying.

For more than two months, he had been thinking about how to kill himself without his wife or son (or students) knowing that he had done so. It was a great deal more complicated than he had originally thought. And this frightened him, to think it could not be done swiftly.

Artie is feeling isolated. He is a beloved and respected teacher, has a solid relationship with his son and wife, and has good friends but he doesn’t know how to talk to them, to share his unsettling feelings of hopelessness (the novel is set very much in the here and now, so Artie is especially concerned about the state of the world and his own country under its current administration). He also has no real understanding of how he is viewed by the people closest to him because

All of us live with a huge blind spot before our eyes, meaning that no matter what we think we know we can never fully understand how we appear to others. This was true for Artie Dam.

To Evie, Artie “appeared the most considerate man she had ever known, though irritating in his way.” The fact that he wears white socks, for example, drives her nuts. Although one senses that Artie and Evie have had a good marriage, and love each other, there is also a sense that they don’t really talk to each other any more and when Artie gets a shocking piece of news he does not share the knowledge with his wife.

Nothing much happens in this novel but honestly I could have cared less because Artie was such a recognizable character. Maybe it’s because he’s a teacher and so am I; maybe it’s because he is of a similar vintage; maybe it’s because his concerns about what is happening in the world mirror my own. As he tries to make sense of his life, and as he encounters moments of decency and kindness, I found him to be wholly sympathetic and human.

Ultimately, Artie comes to the conclusion that real connection is extremely difficult and rare.

And now he knew why. Because to say anything real was to say things that nobody wanted to know. Or if they wanted to know, they would not care in the right way. Or even understand.

It was a private thing, to be alive. He understood this now.

Five stars. No Notes. Highly recommend.

Martyr! – Kaveh Akbar

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Kaveh Akbar’s fiction debut, Martyr! would likely not have made it onto my tbr list if it weren’t for my #bookclubof3. Last year my friends Luke (former student and voracious reader) and Lauren (his wife and voracious reader) and I discussed John Williams’ novel Stoner and when they made plans to come home for a visit this summer we decided to talk about Martyr!. So, I have them to thank for this reading experience, which I thoroughly enjoyed.

Maybe it was that Cyrus had done the wrong drugs in the right order, or the right drugs in the wrong order, but when God finally spoke back to him after twenty-seven years of silence, what Cyrus wanted more than anything was a do-over.

A recovering alcoholic (and aspiring writer), Cyrus Shams is crushed by the debilitating knowledge that he is not making anything of his life. Cyrus “told his AA sponsor Gabe that he believed himself to be a fundamentally bad person. Selfish, self-seeking. Cruel, even.”

Life hasn’t been easy for Cyrus. Born in Iran, his father Ali immigrated to the US after his wife, Roya, was killed when the U.S. Navy mistook the passenger jet she was on for something else and shot it out of the sky. (True event.) It was 1988, at the tail end of the conflict between Iran and Iraq. Cyrus was only an infant and has no memory of his mother.

Although Cyrus is essentially an American kid, he carries with him the trauma of his mother’s death and the stories his father has told him about Iran. After his father dies, Cyrus starts to consider – well, all the things you start to think about at a certain point in your life: your mortality and your purpose on earth chief among them.

Cyrus decides he wants to write a book about martyrs. According to the Cambridge dictionary, a martyr is “a person who suffers very much or is killed because of their religious or political beliefs and is often admired because of it.” I don’t think Cyrus has a particular religious belief he wants to die for. I think, in fact, this second definition is more appropriate: “someone who tries to get sympathy from others when he or she has a problem or too much work, usually when that person caused the problem or chose to do the work himself or herself.”

Like many 20-somethings, Cyrus is a bit of a navel-gazer. He admits that he wants his “little life to have something of scale. For the stakes to matter. […] For [his] having lived to matter.” To be fair, I think most humans would probably like that to be true, right? But it sucks Cyrus down a deep dark well as he searches for something meaningful in his life.

Then he stumbles on Marina Abramović-esque performance artist Orkideh, an Iran-born NYC-based woman who is spending her final days living (she’s dying of cancer) at the Brooklyn Museum where she will talk to anyone about anything. No appointment necessary. Who could possible know more about Cyrus’ quandary than her?

Luke, Lauren and I all agreed that Martyr! was a great read. Luke said he originally thought it might even be a five-star read for him, but as he gained a little distance from the book, he thought it was probably more of a four star read. That’s probably where I would land, too. I agreed with Lauren that the book had perhaps too many ideas to land all of them successfully. At least one of the reveals felt a bit contrived to me. There wasn’t a sucker punch of an ending which is something I look for in a five star read.

I wondered how Luke and Lauren might feel about Cyrus as they are far closer to his age than I am. Although some of the time his angst felt a bit circular, I still found him relatively sympathetic. I didn’t want to shake him at any rate.

Minor complaints aside, this is a beautifully written – and often original – book that asks (but doesn’t always answer) some of life’s big questions and tries to figure out exactly what it is to live a meaningful life.

Bunny – Mona Awad

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For a while, Bunny was everywhere and so I bought it and shelved it and, finally, I’ve read it. Canadian writer Mona Awad’s story of academia, writing, and mental health (??) is a masterclass of a fever dream and more than once I was scratching my head and asking myself just what in the heck is going on. When I turned the last page, I still can’t say for sure what I read.

Samantha Mackey is in the graduate writing program at an elite New England college, Warren University. In her writing class of five, she is the outlier; the other four women in the class, The Duchess, Cupcake, Creepy Doll, and Vignette, are an insular group who affectionately call each other Bunny. Their affectation drives Samantha crazy and she and her bestie, Ava, spend most of their time mocking the other women.

How fiercely they gripped each other’s pink-and-white bodies. forming a hot little circle of such rib-crushing love and understanding it took my break away.

[…]

I quietly prayed for the hug implosion all last year. That their ardent squeezing might cause the flesh to ooze from the sleeves, neckholes and A-line hems of their cupcake dresses like so much inane frosting.

But then, one day, Samantha gets invited to Smut Salon, a gathering of the bunnies where they share their “Absolute Truth” and drink a “bile-green concoction in which what looks like a small black turd floats.” Suddenly Samantha finds herself one of the members of this strange sisterhood and losing, it seems, her grip on reality.

This is a crazy novel, honestly, but I gobbled it up in a couple sittings without complaint. I think much of what happens is deliberately ambiguous. Is Samantha going crazy? Are the student bunnies really turning actual bunnies into subservient men (although men without penises and who have to wear gloves because their hands are deformed)? Is the whole thing a metaphor for the creative process? Why can’t Samantha write anything? Why does Ava disappear? Who is Max? So many questions and although none of them are answered in a specific way, I think I am satisfied with my own interpretation of the the book. Which I am not going to share here because you’ll want your own.

Definitely worth a read.

Heatwave – Victor Jestin

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French writer Victor Jestin’s debut novella, Heatwave, was published to much acclaim when he was just twenty six. Translated by Sam Taylor, this is the story of an introverted and angsty 17-year-old called Leo who is on the last day of a camping holiday with his parents and younger siblings. The opening of the novel is definitely punchy.

Oscar is dead because I watched him die and did nothing. He was strangled by the ropes of a swing, like one of those children you read about in the newspapers. But Oscar was not a child. At seventeen, you don’t die like that by accident. You tie the rope around your neck because you want to feel something. Maybe he was trying to find a new form of pleasure. After all, that was what we were here for: the pleasure. Anyway, I did nothing. Everything stemmed from that.

Heatwave captures the last 36 hours or so of Leo’s holiday at “the Landes, in the southwest corner of France. Three stars. Surrounded by pine forest. Close to the ocean. Swimming pool with slide. Children’s playground. Karaoke, gym, special events every night.” For the other teenagers on site, it’s endless partying and hookups, but Leo is quiet and awkward. The only friend Leo has made in his two weeks at the campsite is Louis, who “didn’t have any other friends, so he put up with [Leo].”

After the novel’s inciting incident, and the decision Leo makes afterwards, the novel just follows Leo around “annoyed with everyone on the beach–for failing to hear [his] silent screams, for failing to guess.” He considers telling various people about what he knows, his parents, Oscar’s mother, Luce, the girl he wants to hook up with, but he is never quite able to say the words.

I think Jestin’s novel is trying to capture the claustrophobic, confusing business of being a teenager on the cusp pf adulthood. Pettiness, a failure to communicate, poor decision making, and a longing to shed our own skins, to be someone cooler and more in control, are feelings everyone can relate to (or remember). I think this book would likely be more meaningful to a younger reader, but it was easy to turn the pages and even though I didn’t really understand Leo’s brain and felt sort of disconnected from the story, it was an interesting and disconcerting read.

My Brilliant Friend -Elena Ferrante

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A former student, someone for whom I have a lot of respect and admiration, encouraged (aka begged) me to read Elena Ferrante’s novel My Brilliant Friend, a book that was recently named #1 Book of the Century by the New York Times. I didn’t own the book and I don’t know whether I would have ever gotten around to reading the book given the state of my physical TBR pile, but I was next up for book club and so I chose this one, mostly in deference to Luke. Despite the fact that it was published in 2012 and is relatively popular (and has its own series on Prime), none of the members of my book club had ever read it.

This novel is the first of a quartet by the famously private Ferrante. Apparently, no one actually knows who she is, so the author’s name is actually a pseudonym, and since we don’t know very much about her, claims that My Brilliant Friend is autofiction is also an unfair characterization. How can we say the events of the novel are drawn from the author’s own life if we don’t know anything about her? Or him? Whether or not who the author is makes any real difference is beside the point at any rate.

Luke loved it. Two of the women in my book club of eight didn’t finish it. Three women loved it. (My best friend, Michelle, is on book three and has already watched the entire series.) Two women hated it (one of these is one of the DNFers). And two of us (myself included) felt just meh about it.

In a nutshell, the novel opens when 60-something Elena (also known as Lenu) receives a phone call from Rino, the adult son of her oldest friend, Lila (also known as Raffaella or Lina). Lila is missing. Poof. Vanished. This news seems unsurprising to Elena even though “it’s been three decades since [Lila] told [her] that she wanted to disappear without leaving a trace.”

Elena seems annoyed by the news and she doesn’t offer Rino much in the way of comfort. Instead she thinks

I was really angry.

We’ll see who wins this time, I said to myself. I turned the computer on and began to write– all the details of our story, everything that still remained in my memory.

And that’s essentially what My Brilliant Friend is, the written account of the friendship/rivalry love/hate relationship between these two girls beginning in the 1950s, in a neighbourhood outside of Naples, Italy. It’s the story of poverty, crime, the power of education, loyalty, family and friendship.

This is what Luke said:

“I loved the portrayal of friendship and how central it was to forming them into who they are. I loved the background setting of Naples and how poverty is corrupting everyone’s life. All of the characters come alive for me and I find her such an incredibly powerful writer. I was so invested in Lila and Elena’s relationship. […] I think she’s a beautiful writer telling a wonderful story…”

Luke and I talk about books whenever we have the chance. When he was in my Young Adult Lit class he read more than anyone and he read widely. If I talked about a book I really loved, chances were pretty high that he would read it. So it hurt me a little bit not to love this book as much as he loved this book. For me, I found it sort of slow and dry and although the friendship between the two characters was well-drawn, I didn’t especially care about either of them. I certainly feel no compulsion to carry on with the books, although I may watch the series this winter.

The New York Times compiled their Top 100 books by asking 503 literary luminaries to provide their list of all-time best books based on the following criteria: impact, originality and lasting influence. It’s an interesting list which demonstrates just how subjective a ‘best books’ list can be. Number 2 was The Warmth of Other Suns, a book I have never heard of by an author I have never heard of. Kazou Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go barely made the top ten. Atonement by Ian McEwan was #26. 26!!! Both my children would say Atonement is one of the best books ever written…and I would agree. Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch, which won the Pulitzer (although not without controversy), came in at #46. Station Eleven was #93.

I tasked the ladies in my book club to pick their top three books of all time based on the criteria provided by the Times. We’ll share those Top 3 lists at our next meeting and with their permission, I will share them with you here after we meet.

The fact that no one reads the same book is one of the best things about reading, but I am sad that I didn’t love My Brilliant Friend more than I did. Sorry, Luke.

The Serpent King – Jeff Zentner

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The Serpent King by Jeff Zentner has been in my classroom library for ages, but a friend on Litsy recommended I read it based on some other recent books I have read and enjoyed (Shiner, Midnight is the Darkest Hour).

No question – The Serpent King will be in my Top Ten books of the year. It’s a five-star read.

Dill, Travis and Lydia live in Forrestville, Tennessee – a backwater, Bible belt town near Nashville. In their senior year of high school, the three are each other’s besties. Actually, they are each other’s only friends.

Dill Early is the son of a disgraced preacher, currently serving time for possessing child pornography. He and his mother live in abject poverty, buried under the weight of the debts which have piled up due to the senior Early’s incarceration and a car accident which has left Dill’s mother suffering from chronic pain. Dill worries constantly about his faith, his future, and his unrequited feelings for Lydia.

Travis Bohannon is a 6’6″ dork. He “wore a necklace with a chintzy pewter dragon gripping a purple crystal ball” and often carried a staff and a battered copy of a book from the Bloodfall series. He belonged to the same church as Dill – back before Early sr. was arrested – and that’s where the two became friends. Travis’s older brother Matthew had been killed in the Middle East and the loss of his older brother had soured Travis’s father even more towards Travis. He is a truly odious human.

Lydia Blankenship runs a successful fashion blog called Dollywould, named after one of her sheroes, Dolly Parton. She takes crap from no one, but she is often the target of the school bullies, who poke at her for everything from her appearance to her Internet success. Every time she claps back against the asshats in her school, I just wanted to high-five her. Lydia is different from Dill and Travis though in that she lives in a nice house (her father is the town dentist) and her parents support her dreams. Her parents are also two of the only adults in this novel I actually didn’t want to run over with my car. Lydia speaks her mind and she wants more for her friends, particularly Dill.

So, it’s their last year of high school. Time to start thinking about the future. Lydia’s life is planned. She has a list of schools she’s gunning for; NYU at the top of the list. Travis intends to stay in Forrestville and work at the family lumber yard. Dill’s mother wants him to work full time at the grocery store and help pay off the family debt. In fact, she’d be just as happy if he quit school now and went straight to work.

I cannot tell you how much I loved these three teenagers. Their dreams (or lack thereof), their insecurities, their successes, their complicated family dynamics and, most of all, their love for each other. These characters are so heartbreakingly human that when tragedy strikes, it rips your heart out.

When I think about the qualities of a five star book, I am looking for a great story, great writing, realistic characters. Icing on the cake is a book that makes me laugh – which I did. Sometimes these characters, particularly Lydia, say amusing, quippy things. The needle goes up a notch – don’t ask me why – if a book makes me cry. The Serpent King definitely made me cry.

Growing up is hard enough without having all the cards stacked against you. I have never hoped for the wellbeing of characters, particularly Dill and Travis, more than I did in this book. That this is Zentner’s debut is astounding. It’s a knockout.

Highly times a thousand recommended.

Brother – David Chariandy

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New-to-me Canadian writer David Chariandy’s novel Brother is an elegy to family. Published in 2017, this novel topped all the Best Of lists and won a Writers’ Trust of Canada award, as well as being nominated for the Giller. I have had it on my TBR shelf for several years, and in an attempt to tackle some of my backlist, I finally read it.

Michael and his older brother Francis live with their Trinidadian mother in The Park, a “cluster of low-rises and townhomes and leaning concrete apartment towers” – a not-so-nice suburb of Toronto. Their father is long gone.

When the novel opens, Michael is meeting with his friend, Aisha. They haven’t seen or spoken to each other in a decade and her arrival opens Michael up to the trauma of an event that transpired many years ago – one that he and his mother have never gotten over. This tragedy is alluded to early on in the book, but I’ll be vague about it here.

Brother toggles back and forth between Aisha’s return – which dredges up the past – and the past itself.

Francis was my older brother. His was a name a toughened kid might boast of knowing, or a name a parent might pronounce in warning. But before all of this, he was the shoulder pressed against me bare and warm, that body always just a skin away.

Francis and Michael are close, especially as young boys when they are often left to fend for themselves as they are left alone while their mother works. Their mother worked as a cleaner, and often took on extra work to try to make ends meet.

She was never happy about abandoning us, and if she learned the evening before of an impending night shift, she would spend precious sleep time cooking and worrying over the details of meals and activities for the following day.

Chariandy captures the poverty, violence, and hopelessness of the lives of the people who live in The Park, but he also captures the sibling bond, the friendships and the hope for a better future. I particularly admired the subtlety of Francis’s relationship with Jelly, a wannabe DJ.

When Aisha arrives back at The Park, she tries to unclog the grief Michael and his mother have been stifled by for many years. And by allowing Michael to finally tell his story, perhaps she has succeeded.

Beautiful writing and a timely story about police violence and the immigrant experience make Brother worth checking out.

Small Things Like These – Claire Keegan

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Irish writer Claire Keegan seems to be having a moment these days, at least in the bookish circles in which I travel. Her novella Small Things Like These was shortlisted for the 2022 Rathbones Folio Prize, awarded for the finest work of literature published in English, and it won several other awards including the Kerry Group Irish Novel of the Year.

At just over 100 pages, the story follows Bill Furlong, “the coal and timber merchant” as he goes about his daily rounds in New Ross. It is 1985, in the weeks leading up to Christmas, and Bill, married father of five daughters, is in an introspective mood. He is aware of his humble beginnings: “Furlong had come from nothing” and he is also aware of his relative success – he owns his business and is able to provide for his family and he feels “a deep, private joy that these children were his own.” He is aware that in some ways he is an outsider: his mother was an unwed teen and he grew up in a large house under the care of his mother’s employer, Mrs. Wilson, a widowed Protestant. He doesn’t know who his father is. He thinks about this sometimes as he also considers the daily grind of life, but ultimately Furlong seems to be a glass half full sort of bloke.

Before long, he caught a hold of himself and concluded that nothing ever did happen again; to each was given days and chances which wouldn’t come back around. And wasn’t it sweet to be where you were and let it remind you of the past for once, despite the upset, instead of always looking on into the mechanics of the days and the trouble ahead, which might never come.

A delivery to the local convent shakes something loose in Furlong, though. He grapples with what makes someone good and how can one be truly good if they turn a blind eye.

Small Things Like These is a essentially about one good man’s defiant act. It is a quiet, beautiful novella.

Mayflies – Andrew O’Hagan

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I had no real expectations going into Andrew O’Hagan’s 2020 novel Mayflies, but even if I had know what I was getting myself into, my reading experience would have exceeded all of them.

The novel opens in 1986 and the narrator, James, and his best friend, Tully, are just finished secondary school. They live in Glasgow and things aren’t easy for them. James’ father “wandered off in search of himself” and his mother “decided that the life of a single mother was not for her, and flitted to Arran.” He spends a lot of time at Tully’s house.

James admires Tully.

Other guys were funny and brilliant and better at this and that, but Tully loved you. He had the leader thing, when he was young, the guts of the classic frontman, and if any of us got together we instantly wanted to know where he was.

The first part of the novel focuses on one weekend when James, Tully and some of their other friends, travel down to Manchester to a music festival. It’s a weekend of total debauchery, as you might imagine when a group of young lads get together. I was in my 20s in the 1980s – and big into British music because I had a boyfriend from England – and so I loved all the pop culture references. The bands playing the festival included Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark (which they trash, but which I recall liking) and The Smith (whom I didn’t appreciate then, but do now).

What we had that day was our story. We didn’t have the other bit, the future, and we had no way of knowing what that would be like. Perhaps it would change our memory of all this, or perhaps it would draw from it, nobody knew. But I’m sure I felt the story of that hall and how we reached it would never vanish.

Tully and James also quote movies back and forth at each other and engage in the silly banter you might expect from boys their age, but they also talk meaningfully about James’ missing parents, Tully’s strained relationship with his father, and the politics of the day. Theirs is a true and profound relationship, which makes the second part of this novel even more poignant.

Flash forward to 2017, when James receives a call from Tully. I’ll leave it at that. The second half of the book is a love letter to the friendship and shared memories between the two men and it is utterly beautiful. In fact, I found the whole book just, well, truly heartbreaking.

They say you know nothing at eighteen. But there are things you know at eighteen that you will never know again. Morrissey would lose his youth, and not just his youth, but the gusto that took him across the stage with a banner saying ‘The Queen Is Dead’ is a thing of permanence. We didn’t know it at the time, but it was also, for all of us, a tender goodbye, and we would never be those people again.

For anyone who has more behind them than ahead of them, this book will certainly speak to the person you were, the memories and the people you shared the journey with. But even for a young person, this book will surely resonate. I found it deeply moving and cried on more than one occasion.

Highly recommended.

Demon Copperhead – Barbara Kingsolver

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I might have never gotten around to reading Barbara Kingsolver’s Pulitzer Prize winning novel Demon Copperhead if it hadn’t been chosen for our book club. Like A Little Life , the book seems to be pretty divisive. I hated that book; I did not hate this one.

“First, I got myself born,” says Demon, mimicking Charles Dickens’ classic David Copperfield in which the titular narrator says “To begin my life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born…” in the book’s opening paragraph. Kingsolver thanks Dickens in her acknowledgement and her novel definitely owes a debt to him.

Born Damon Fields to a teenage mother with few prospects, Demon survives poverty, his mother’s addictions, and physical abuse at the hands of her boyfriend, Stoner, mostly because he lives next door to the Peggots and their grandson, Demon’s best friend, Maggot. (Yes, there are a lot of weird names in this book, but they correspond to names from Dickens’ novel.) The Peggots’ home in rural Virginia was “a place where things got put where they went.” The Peggots were de facto grandparents to Demon, Mrs. Peggot making sure that “she played no favorites: same Hostess cakes, same cowboy shirts she made for both of us with the fringe on the sleeves. Same little smack on the shoulder with her knuckles if you cussed or wore your ball cap to her table.” For this reason, with the exception of his mother having difficulty staying sober, Demon would probably say that he had a wonderful childhood, until he didn’t.

Forced into the foster system at age 11, Demon’s life deteriorates and I won’t spoil the ups and downs of his journey to adulthood because those details are the meat and potatoes of his story. Let’s just say that I was wholly invested until about the midpoint of the story (which clocks in at 546 pages).

I was happy to spend time with Demon. I enjoyed his ‘voice’ and admired his resilience in the face of tremendous adversity. I shared his minor victories and bemoaned his poor choices and bad luck. I didn’t 100% believe all of it. He was lucky and unlucky in equal measure and despite having a really solid supporting cast, he still didn’t always make the best choices. That’s probably to be expected, though, as he’s young and young people do stupid things even when they acknowledge that they are stupid.

Kingsolver has lots of opinions on capitalism, pharmaceutical companies, education, the foster system, rural life and readers will certainly be aware when didactics trickle into fiction. It doesn’t interfere, per se, although sometimes it’s pretty obvious when her point of view wants to take center stage.

I am not sure when I stopped being 100% invested in his story. I will say that I really didn’t like the ending of the book. I will also say that I had zero trouble turning the pages even though Demon’s story was generally grim. He is a memorable character and I was invested in his survival.