Summer Reading List

What makes for a great summer read? I remember listening to a great episode of Slate’s Culture Gabfest (if you don’t listen, this podcast is the only reason I know the terribly little I know about movies, music and celebrity – looking at you P.) on the qualities of a summer book that included arguments for books of ‘escape’ (that is, books that aren’t emotionally or intellectually challenging), giant books that you’d otherwise not have time to dedicate to reading and books with heady plots that might capture interest for long stretches.

I’m not sure I have a ready answer to ‘the qualities of a great summer read’ question. Perhaps I’ll use this summer’s list to develop some kind of framework or taxonomy. What I do know is that each year I put out a call to friends and family for their suggestions. I populate a list that sits outside my usual, ongoing and interminable pile of recommendations and to-reads, because this list is the one that I promise to read, and do read while on vacation.

And so this week coming I head out on my first of two vacations this summer. I’m grateful to have the time, and looking forward to the chance to read. Thanks to those who suggested titles for me. I’ve put in my order at the library, and have picked up the following

Annihilation – Jeff Vandermeer (already fifty pages in to this one) Double suggestion made me put this one right to the top of the list. That and it was the only suggestion that clocked in under 400 pages (really? you all want me to read giant books?) and I wanted an early success.

Bleeding Edge – Thomas Pynchon (those who have been reading the blog for any duration will know that I have long resisted the urging (taunting?) of N. to read Thomas Pynchon. Perhaps he’s worn me down. Perhaps it’s my guilt for not being a better long-distance friend. Perhaps it’s my sympathy for his soon-to-be-no-sleep-ever-father-of-twins status, but I’ve committed to read it. The real shit of it is I secretly worried he’s been right the whole time and I’m going to love it.

Boy, Snow, Bird – Helen Oyeyemi I know nothing about this one other than P. recommended it and she’s been right with all her other suggestions. Even in suggesting a short story collection. Gasp.

The Pope and Mussolini : the secret history of Pius XI and the rise of Fascism in Europe – David Kertzer 99% of the time my mum is right about the book she suggests I’ll love. It helps that she reads 99% more than I do (she reads a lot) and that she knows enough about me to know what I’ll like. I have to say, she’s been going on and on about this one lately to the point that I’ve suspended my outright ban on non-fiction and am prepared to read it. Also because I love her. 

My Struggle – Karl Ove Knausgård One part deferrance to my supervisor-hero’s wisdom, one part realization that this book is on the top of a bazillion best-of lists, and one part guilt that the last book L. suggested (a collection of Lorna Crozier’s poetry) I actually read but failed to blog (don’t worry, it’s the only time that’s ever happened. *wink*). Let’s be clear: I’m not committing to all four volumes.

Station Eleven – Emily  St John Mandel Because Amazon said I should. (And a half a dozen others).

It’s exciting to imagine that with *two* vacations this summer I’ll get to put out *another* call and collect another set of magic. Until then I thought I’d leave you with one or two of my own suggestions for you to read this summer. Books that I’ve read in summers past (I’ve chosen books from the pre-blog era to give you something I’ve not otherwise reviewed) and really loved. Read em’ if you like. Let me know what you think.

City of Thieves – David Benioff: Siege of Leningrad. Boy must find a dozen eggs or be sentenced to death. Incredible mix of humour, intensity and imagination. Oh, and historical fiction.

The Shadow of the Wind – Carlos Ruiz Zafon: The book that introduced the image and mystery of  ‘the cemetery of forgotten books’. Mystery, literary love affair and suspense coiled around magic realist elements.

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The Truth According to Us: Why Second Novels Suck

The summer of 2008 was a magical book summer for me (stay tuned for my next post on ‘what I’m reading this summer and what you should read’). I read a series of incredible novels, in some cases staying up all night to finish them. Such was the case with Annie Barrow’s first novel, The Gurnsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (a title that belies the brilliance of the story and makes it difficult to recommend to others because of the constant fumbling about for the proper order of words). I devoured it; I cried in earnest at the ending; I recommended it to others.

So imagine my delight in seeing Annie Barrow’s has a new novel: The Truth According to Us. I signed up for an Advance Review Copy and put aside other books on my to-read list to read it. I filled the bath, poured my wine. Veritably rubbing my hands with excitement.  I anticipated an immersive world full of rich characters and affecting themes. I hoped for the terrific realist American fiction focused on small town life that one finds in Songs in Ordinary Times or Empire Falls or anything by my beloved favourite, Anne Tyler.

Instead I got an interminably dull plot, with unbelievable, unsympathetic, uncomplicated characters, set in the necessarily arid and characteristically tired moment of Depression era, midwestern America. If I had only one word to describe this novel it would be “dust.”  The supposed point of conflict centers around a high-class woman, Layla, who is sent to Macedonia, the outpost of the midwest, to write the chronicle of the town. Layla boards with the once-wealthy-now-rocked-by-scandal-and-poverty Romeyn family and finds herself “embroiled” (I use quotes as embroiled suggests some level of urgency or intrigue, which are decidedly lacking from this plot) in their history. There’s some attempt to raise questions about truth-telling and historiography. The gist? History (capital H) is shaped by those telling it.

This book was the first time in recent memory I’ve properly considered a) throwing a book at a wall b) buying an e-reader (this 400+ tomb -dustdustdust- was my unfortunate and only travel companion on a cross-country trip – I even considered buying a magazine to save myself the horror of being stuck with this thing on the plane).

So what went wrong? You might be expecting some grand theory on the fate of second books (as my click-bait title suggested). Instead I pose this: The Gurnsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society was co-authored. A collaboration between Barrows and Mary Ann Shaffer. It was brilliant. This second, solo effort? Not so much.

Here’s hoping for better luck with my summer reading list. Which brings me to: what do you want me to read this summer? I promise to read the first three suggestions, and consider all others. (note: I put this call out last summer and read all that was recommended!)

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Filed under American literature, Book I'll Forget I Read, Fiction, Worst Books

Strange Bodies: Why we need the Humanities

Sometimes – let’s admit it, often – I’m asked about the purpose of the Humanities. Why not take a course in accounting? Or better yet, something in engineering? Why not, indeed.

Marcel Theroux’s Strange Bodies gives us the great, and oft repeated, justification for the Humanities: the Humanities let us explore the moral and ethical dimensions of our current (and future) worlds, with keen critical awareness and imaginative and robust analyses of complex problems. And what does that mean?

In the novel it means humans have developed the capacity to download an individual consciousness (not as far off as you might think) into a ‘new’ (that is to say, harvested) body. It means the humans involved need to work out all the philosophical and ethical implications of this new technology: who/what/where is the individual? what is the relationship among body, mind and spirit? how can one consent to a technological and biological process with unknown or unforeseen outcomes? just because we can do something with technology, ought we to? It means we read a novel to explore these questions through story in a way that lets the nuances and complexities of the questions unfold through plot and character.

We also get the book’s provocative thematic question on the relationship between immortality achieved in text and immortality in body. That is, the novel poses that all writers of all ages who have active readers have already achieved a certain kind of immortality (hardly a new argument, but a fascinating one all the same). In writing and reading we engage in a dialogue that transcends time and space. (you might want to say ‘dun dun dun’ right now – as if you’ve just realized something brand new and shocking, rather than something you’ve always known).

I admit I found the conceit of the novel exciting at first. I eagerly read the quasi-mystery, quasi-thriller as I worked to figure out how our protagonist could be at once living and dead. Midway through the book, once the urgency of the mystery resolved into the still-urgent-if-less-car-chasing-and-explosions questions of the nature of humanity, identity, memory and the soul, I was a little less wholly captivated. Call me a lazy reader, or more properly, call me one who likes her philosophy and ethics neatly packed in a story compelling in its own right. That is, I’m a student of literature, and not of philosophy.

But I’m nevertheless a proud student of the Humanities. I see this novel as a prescient and provocative call to question (if not challenge) the way we make use of technology and the way we work towards technological change that is neither good nor bad on its own. So we need the Humanities to help us make sense, to urge us to pause, to discuss, to question. And we need this book as a captivating means to do just this work.

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The Girl on the Train: Over-hyped, misogynistic nonsense

I admit I bought in to the hype around The Girl on the Train. I heard about it three times in two days and couldn’t resist the summer blockbuster appeal. I bought in to the point of buying the book (something I rarely do what with the existence of libraries and the scarcity of free money), though I got it for $10 as a ‘Heather’s Pick’ at Chapters (my local and fantastic bookshop was sold out and I had to have it Right Now). I’m embarrassed by the whole thing. (Would I be as embarrassed if it had been a better book? Or if J. hadn’t warned me that it wasn’t as great as people were saying?). Continue reading

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