Something old, something new

The Singles - Meredith Goldstein (Plume, 2012)

This novel dips into two of my favorite genres: the chick lit (naturally) and the college-friends-in-their-lives-after-college that has the potential to cross into literary fiction.

And it's set at a wedding (a commonplace venue for the latter type mentioned above) - a time of hubbub and ridiculousness that feels familiar smack in the midst of the holiday season.

It's Bee's wedding. Don't get too attached to Bee though, because although there are all sorts of interesting hints about her and her relationships to the people around her, we really don't get to meet her much. It's really about the group that at most other weddings would be tossed together at the "singles" table, but for some reason aren't here: three college friends (one of whom is a bridesmaid), an uncle, and the groom's mother's friend (or rather, her son).

Chapters skip from the perspective of one to the next. Over the course of the evening, each undergoes a crisis (or two or three) and as they bump into each other, you get hints of the ways they might yet come to be one another's saviors. Although there are plenty of red herrings thrown in. And in the end (spoiler? I guess?) each emerges from Bee's wedding ready to enter a new stage of life, perhaps even more so than Bee herself.

Maybe I've done it wrong, but I've never had quite this experience at a wedding. But then again, that's probably for the best.

Spies and otherwise

What Happens In London - Julia Quinn (Avon, 2009)

I didn't really get the title. I guess there's a lot of intrigue afoot - some gossip, spying, a haughty prince who may have a variety of nefarious plans - but it's not as though anything "stays" in London once the action moves somewhere else. Eh, whatever.

Which reminds me - there aren't any London-themed hotels in Vegas, are there? I wonder why not...

Anyway, it was all very charming. I've got nothing else to add, I'm afraid. Oh, and no fake marriages, sadly.

Dream lover

Imaginary Men - Anjali Banerjee (Downtown Press, 2005)

Yet another book that mysteriously made its way onto my "to read" list. But it seems right up my alley. Once upon a time I was reading a lot of South Asian-inflected fiction, and chick lit is my specialty. But to be honest, I'm still not quite sure how I felt about this one.

The premise totally works - Lina is a matchmaker (one of those professions I really only hear about in novels) and in the eyes of her Indian family, an old maid now that she's crossed 30. And to avoid a relative's meddling matchmaking, she claims to be engaged. And hijinks ensue. Mainly because she uses the name of the hot (but terribly conservative) man she just met, and because her family gets SO excited and demands to meet him, and because she's still trying to come to terms with the death of her former fiance.

The plot moves quickly, and I plowed through this book during finals week like it was candy. All good. But I found myself wondering what role Lina's fiance played in the book. People seemed blithely inconsiderate of her loss, and I couldn't quite understand why. And then we have Lina's imaginary man, who is either a)aforementioned lost love; b)her fake new lover; c)the new man she's actually falling for; d)some weird amalgamation. The answer is e)all of the above, but I somehow wanted more from him.

Am I too demanding? Is this why I'm still unmarried?

On the other hand, I really appreciated the ending, which offered a richer, more real portrait of how "happily ever after" doesn't just happen.

Did we meet in Capri?

The Overnight Socialite  - Bridie Clark (Weinstein Books, 2009)

So, the rain in Spain now falls mainly on the isle of Capri. Or something like that. The novel is billed as a modern retelling of Pygmalion, but it's really far more My Fair Lady, up to and including the moment where I expect our good Pygmalion to dance Eliza around the room.

Lucy is a wannabe designer from the heartland, and Wyatt is the best of Old Money New York as well as a promising anthropologist who never bothered to have a career. So when he breaks up with his It Girl girlfriend, he claims he can train anyone to be a blue blood socialite... and he'll write a book about the process. Lucy just happens to be nearby when he hits on this plan, and besides, she could use the connections to make inroads with the fashion industry.

And the plot is pretty obvious from there, but with some nice minor character plots as well. It's fun to get to know Wyatt's mom, and the "will he propose or won't he?" drama between Wyatt's best friend and his longtime girlfriend is probably the most interesting relationship question of the entire novel. Plus you get a whole bunch of aspirational brand name-dropping, even though the book is set against the collapse of the financial industry. All the chick lit Ts crossed and Is dotted.

And while we are adapting GB Shaw, can I get Arms and the Man?

Snakes and snails....

This Boy's Life: Tobias Wolff (Harper & Row, 1989)

In short: a memoir of a kid growing up in the school of hard knocks during the 1950s and 60s. Tobias and his mom move around a lot, as she tries to get away from an abusive boyfriend and eventually form a new family. (Meanwhile his dad and brother are living among the wealthy on the East Coast, although heaven knows we get enough hints that this situation isn't without its perils.)

Toby becomes Jack, and dreams big dreams, but along the way he is a liar, a thief, a truant, and a general hoodlum. Possibly nothing really outside the ordinary boundaries of being a working-class boy at the time, but it was hard for this girl reader to identify.

Also, I was completely distracted by marginalia. This copy previously belonged to someone who read the book for school - guessing high school. And she had plenty to say about the book. She was very troubled by the men in the story (with good enough reason, I'll admit) and had plenty of smiley faces for the mom. Marginalia tells you so much about a reader and the times in which that reader lives and ... well, anyway, it was fun.

The best part of the book (for me) came at the very end, with this line:

When we are green, still half-created, we believe that our dreams are rights, that the world is disposed to act in our best interests, and that falling and dying are for quitters. We live on the innocent and monstrous assurance that we alone, of all the people ever born, have a special arrangement whereby we will be allowed to stay green forever.

This quote struck such a chord for me. My teenage reader, on the other hand, let it slide by unremarked.

Runaway Bride!

The Great Escape - Susan Elizabeth Phillips (William Morrow, 2012)

Instead of a fake marriage, we have a wedding that aborts just before takeoff. And if this sounds familiar, it may be in part because it's the other half of Phillips' last novel. There, the runaway bride's best friend finds herself stranded with the just-too-perfect groom. Here, we ditch Texas for the Great Lakes, where the bride ends up after a stint on the back of a motorcycle. (This, btw, is not the first time this scenario has played out in a Phillips' novel.)

Did we mention the bride is the daughter of the former president, and thus this non-wedding is a huge scandal?

Lucy didn't get to sow any wild oats during her teen years. So she's going to do that now. With a reluctant biker named Panda, and some hair dye, and fake tattoos, and whatever else it takes. The love story plays out more or less the way you'd expect. But the B and C plots are delightful. Lucy picks up some girlfriends along the way, and an orphaned boy, and there are some nice lessons learned about resilience, vulnerability, and the ways in which communities can provide for one another. Pretty charming.

(Why did I never set up an "absurd but adorable marriage plot" tag for my blog?)

Inside magical thinking

An Invisible Sign of My Own - Aimee Bender (Doubleday, 2000)

For me, Bender's novel was alternately a zoomingly fast read, and almost unreadable. This world was too terrifying to me, perhaps because of how much I recognized it. Mona is 20, and an elementary school math teacher. Set the unlikeliness of this aside. Because there's plenty more weird where that came from.

She's fixated on numbers, and their significance. She has help in this from her high school math teacher neighbor turned hardware store owner. He wears numbers around his neck corresponding to his mood - often very low. She sees numbers appear in people's yards, that just happen to herald the age of a resident within who is about to die. When these show up again in the novel, the dread I felt as I waited for Bender to prove the causality untrue was unbearable. I recognize these superstitions, these intuited "meanings," these compulsions. Because I haven't even told you about all the compulsions.

I finished the book a week ago, and have been playing around with some of the themes in my head ever since. They aren't easy. We find clues and significance in coincidence. We believe we have the power to shape outcomes with our thoughts and actions. We believe that if we shout our fears and stay fixated on them, they cannot come to pass. (Or, that at the very least we will court the faceoff and get it over with.) We bind things that make us feel good and connected with things that make us feel sick and alone.

Or do we? I found the actions of the characters to be (generally) exaggerated versions of the ways our own neuroses manifest. But does spotlighting these thoughts and behaviors diminish their power, or merely feed it. I'm still not sure.

Spirited away

The Night Circus - Erin Morgenstern (Doubleday, 2011)

I am going to admit that I held off on reading this book because I was jealous that someone named Erin wrote such a well-received novel. Stealing my thunder and all. But thank goodness I got over this absurdity. Because this book is magical. MAGICAL.

Most of the week I was reading The Night Circus, I spent non-reading time really wishing I were reading. It was transporting. Short chapters (and intros and such) whisk through between characters, times, and places. Which is a little like the circus itself. The circus, which appears as if by magic, runs only at night and only in black & white, and is the venue for increasingly inspired flights of magical imagination.

It is also the venue for a competition of sorts. Two men facing off; their proxies young, well-trained, and mostly ignorant of the rules governing their battle. And can two practitioners of such powerful magic grow to know their opponent so well without falling in love?

The novel is stunning. I reached the climactic scene one sofa over from my boyfriend, who was engrossed in someone on the television. (Fringe maybe?) And when I started silently weeping just because I was too overcome by the emotion of the whole thing, I had to hide it, because how do you explain that you're crying because it's just all too lovely?

Vaguely disagreeable olde England

Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh (Laurel Edition, 1944, 1945)

It's kind of fun to read old paperbacks. This one cost 75 cents when it was printed in 1965 (I think) and it is falling apart something pretty impressive. I think I'll be its final reader.

That sentiment is probably not true for the novel itself. (Obviously.) I am not crazy about Waugh, and it was a bit of a slog at the beginning. Lots of chummy gay college boys or something. Someone told me to not bother with the read and go straight to the movie, and I was sorely tempted. But I was glad to have stuck it through. Because after a spell it gets easier, and then suddenly, it gets much much easier. And without offering spoilers, I'm perhaps a little troubled by why I might find certain plots more agreeable than others.

That said, I still didn't have much affection or sympathy for any of the characters. It's been a week since I finished reading, and I had forgotten the narrator's name. He seems ... so distant, I suppose.

But! Onto the film adaptations!

The absurd marriage makes a lot more sense in books set in the 1800s

His at Night - Sherry Thomas (Bantam Books, 2010)

Ravishing the Heiress - Sherry Thomas (Berkley Sensation, 2012)

And returning to historical romance, which is a far more hilarious genre than I had really given it credit for being. A few months back, I read my first novel by Thomas, which launched the trilogy that RTH picks up. And for a variety of reasons involving book requests, I also ended up with His at Night.

And Thomas doesn't disappoint in the earlier novel, with my favorite "marriage under false pretenses" scenario. Elissande sees unexpected company as her chance to get herself and her aunt out of an abusive home, and swindles a poor, hapless duke into getting caught with her in a compromising position. Of course, he is neither poor nor hapless (just pretending to be) and he sees her trap (which, of course, doesn't stop him falling into it) and hates them both for it.

So again! Everyone's pretending to be something they're not, and lust and romance ensue. Plus there's a scandalous plot involving (more!) secret identities and scandals. Yippie. But again, high on the ZOMG SO CUTE scale.

I was less satisfied by the second read. It's a more ambitious plot - "marriage under forced pretenses" so to speak. Millie is an heiress, Fitz an accidental duke who has to marry well to save his family's land and whatnot. But he has a childhood sweetheart that he really really does not want to let go of. So the book bounces back and forth between the present, eight years after their wedding, and the past, concerning the early days and years of their marriage. It's a lovely testament to the possible success of arranged marriage, as what makes their relationship sparkle is the friendship and respect that have grown over time. But at the same time, you miss the wicked banter and push-and-pull of the romances where both parties are simultaneously attracted and repulsed by one another. But that's coming in the third installment of the trilogy, so huzzah for that.

All's fair in love, war, and politics

Queen Margot - Alexandre Dumas (Hyperion, 1994)

In high school, my friends and I watched the film adaptation of this novel a whole bunch of times. the people in it were all too beautiful. It was ... well, memorable. So while I found the book at some book sale, I bought it. And it languished on my shelf. Until a couple weeks ago.

"Queen Margot"is Marguerite de Valois, daughter of one French king, sister of two more, and wife (pre-annulment) of a fourth, Henri de Navarre. But the novel, thick as it may be, covers only two years in her eventful life. It begins with her marriage to Henri, intended to settle unrest between Catholics and Protestants, and ends when Henri flees back to Navarre, to stay safe until he can one day assume the throne. In between: the St. Bartholomew Massacre, several assassination attempts (most engineered by the queen mother, Catherine de Medicis), and a couple pretty fantastic love affairs.

The most memorable part of the film (well, to 16-year-old Erin at least) was the love between Marguerite and a lesser noble, La Mole. (There is also an unintentional murder that was pretty amazing.) But in the book, this relationship is almost surpassed by a strange and enduring friendship that extends unto death. And also much more about the machinations of Queen Catherine. In the book, it becomes a point of humor. She started to remind me of Wile E. Coyote, devising ever more certain plots to take out Henri de Navarre, and having each go awry.

I had far too much fun reading this, as I'm sure did the 19th-century audience that first encountered it in serial form. First of all: history! I mean, I'm not sure entirely where Dumas' imagination takes over, but still... And then romance and intrigue and beautiful costumes and and and. Does it come as any surprise that I have the DVD waiting for me to watch this evening?

Struggling with the concept of "never forget"

Sarah's Key - Tatiana de Rosnay (St. Martin's Griffin, 2007)

Let me start with the frivolous. I somehow found myself, in conversation with a friend, comparing this book to The Da Vinci Code. And then feeling terrible. What I meant is that both novels employ the use of short chapters to create a propulsive effect. You're driven to continue reading.

And secondly, I was drawn to the use of font (typeface? I never know when to use which term). The narrative cuts back and forth between a little girl in 1942 - and her efforts to save her brother when all the Jews in Paris were rounded up before being sent to death camps - and a middle-aged American expat reporter in 2002, whose investigation into the events of July 1942 unearths secrets that remained hidden for six decades. Um... where was I before I got caught up in that rambling sentence? Oh, right, the font. Each of these narrative lines employs a different font, which somehow both emphasizes the difference between them and adds internal coherence within each plotline. If that makes sense. (Also, can you do this on an e-reader? I'm guessing yes, but would like confirmation.)

This novel deals with some pretty horrific stuff. (Obviously.) But there's a lot of room for beauty without it being some sort of paean to the triumph of the human spirit. People act out of love, fear, hate, decency, confusion, and pride. Not everyone gets a happy ending. (Again, obviously.) But there's catharsis, and above it all rises American Julia's insistence that the truth should - must - out.

I feel sorta babbly. Like all the above were comments I would make in a book club discussion, rather than forming some sort of coherent reaction to the novel. This book, by the way, has Book Club written all over it. Which reminds me that I want to join a book club. All of which brings me back to the "babbly" point, and leads to the question of whether this is the sort of book that one must talk around, rather than through.

What lies ahead for Mother Earth

The Vanishing Face of Gaia: A Final Warning - James Lovelock (Basic Books, 2009)

Sounds like a cheery topic, no? But books that make their way onto my shelves must eventually be read, and now was this book's time. Lovelock is a major scientist and the man behind Gaia theory, which postulates that the Earth and everything on it together comprise a single, self-regulating, complex system. This is the kind of idea that strikes me as completely intuitive, yet another area in which the ideas I was taught in my childhood turn out not to be as pervasive and widely-held as I realized. Apparently over the years Lovelock has taken a lock of shit for the theory, and in some ways this book is one giant - slightly, but just barely, premature - "I told you so." The idea is that human, through man-made climate change and other activities, have stressed Gaia's self-regulating ability to the max. And in order to survive, Gaia is going to react in ways that won't be so good for us.

But "green" living isn't enough, per Lovelock. And trying to revert to some earlier time, to live with a smaller footprint? Insufficient. This book made waves when it was released because of his full-throated endorsement of nuclear power as both the safest and most effective form of energy. I'm not wholly persuaded, but I also admit that I have no idea what should be done. I often feel that we're very much the dance band on the Titanic, and I'm not actually sure that there are better options that being precisely that.

But before I go too far afield, back to Lovelock, who discusses both potential last ditch efforts to moderate global warming and strategies that will allow mankind to adapt to a future hot state. But what I took away is his exhortation that we not try to be something that we are not:

Even if we had time, and we do not, to change out genes to make us act with love and live lightly on the Earth, it would not work. We are what we are because natural selection has made us the toughest predator the world has ever seen. ... It is as absurd to expect us to change ourselves as it would be to expect crocodiles or sharks to become through some great act of will, vegetarian. We cannot alter our natures, and as we shall see the bred-in tribalism and nationalism that we pretend to deplore is the amplifier that makes us powerful. All that we can do is to try to temper our strength with decency.

Is this true? I'm not sure. Nor do I know that this will chance what I do in any significant way. But is it food for thought? Certainly.

My boyfriend plays video games, I read romance novels

Crazy For You - Jennifer Crusie (St. Martin's, 1999)

Hot Stuff - Carly Phillips (HQN, 2004)

Phillips is sexier, Crusie is funnier. Both stories (sort of) revolve around a dog. Everyone's kinda adorable. Battlefield 3 is getting old. :P

Want to read more of these, but will probably turn my attention back to some heavier fare for a little while. At the very least, I don't want to fun through everything by these authors. Not right away.

We Need to Talk

We Need to Talk About Kevin - Lionel Shriver (Harper Perennial, 2003)

Do you believe me that I picked out this book to read next before Aurora happened? The idea of reading a novel about the aftermath (ish) of a mass shooting seemed a little much to handle, but I pushed on. And was in the thick of it when the Oak Creek shooting occurred. All of which could send me off on a diatribe about violence and weapons and cavalier disregard for the sanctity of human life and and and.

But no. This novel has too much to say on its own. The Post-Birthday World is one of my favorite novels - although no one I've foisted it on has enjoyed it as much as I did - but this one is the award-winner. And it was time to tackle something difficult.

It's November 2000, about 18 months after Eva's son changed their worlds forever by murdering a handful of classmates and two school staff members, about a week before Columbine. And Eva shares her story in epistolary fashion, in a series of letters to her estranged husband. The result is three narratives that unfold over about six months, with the final letter in April 2001. The first is world events; remember that election? and how it dominated everything? The second takes us back in time, as Eva details the couple's decision to have a baby, and the child's early years. The third is also current, about her ongoing relationship with Kevin, her visits to him in the juvenile prison upstate, as she strives to come to terms - to the extent such a phrase even makes sense - with his horrific acts, and her part in them.

Never has anything made me so scared about the prospect of having a child. From even before his birth, Eva was uneasy about Kevin. And Kevin made everyone uneasy except her husband, who desperation to adore his own son is so touchingly naive as seen through Eva's eyes. Whether or not Kevin was really a sociopath from Day One, how terrifying to consider not loving your own child.

And then some sort of trigger switched inside me. Eva does this complicated dance, of assuming all the responsibility for Kevin and his actions, and simultaneously abjuring it in favor of an argument that sort of runs, "I tried to warn you about him." It made me uncomfortable, which I can only assume was Shriver's intent. As are the growing signs that maybe Eva really is to blame, that maybe Kevin has always, desperately, sought his mother's love and affection. That maybe his malicious attacks on people's passions were both a way of destroying what he didn't have and couldn't abide in others. And even more so, a cry for his mom to notice and love him.

I feel terribly inarticulate trying to get at what I mean. Besides, did I really just place the responsibility for all these murders on this poor woman's shoulders? Plenty of people have awful parents who they fear don't really love them, and the vast majority of these people do not become killers at age 15. It's pretty much bullshit to absolve Kevin of any responsibility. And yet, I fear he just wanted to impress her. Although impress isn't quite the right word.

Before I fall too deeply down a rabbit hole, let me just say what I probably should have said in summary from the very start: this novel disquieted me in ways that few novels have. I will be thinking about Kevin for a long time to come.