Tag Archives: books

Tell Me Everything: Elizabeth Strout is Not a Unitarian. But could be.

I’ve told so many people recently to read Elizabeth Strout’s Tell Me Everything and I’m desperately anxious that other people won’t love it as much as I did, so if you hated it, or even felt kind of ambivalent about it, just let’s pretend neither of us read it and never talk about it together.

In the universe of Olive Kitteridge and Lucy Barton this one is a close look at Bob Burgess who cannot see himself clearly. A book about Bob, but a book about how every life – those we know and more those we don’t – has a story (and in that story, matters). And how we try to figure out what a life means (in one heartbreaking and also sideways funny scene Lucy asks Bob exactly that – what does it mean) even when this is a question as pointless as it is pressing.

How Bob saves and doesn’t save – and eats the sins – of all those around him. How he sacrifices what he barely realizes he wants in aid of those around him, knowing, somehow the right thing to do quickly and with exhaustion.

The writing, as always, is this hard-to-explain balance of direct – telling you exactly what a character is thinking, or meaning, or what a thematic moment is “about” – and the evocative – letting a gesture carry the weight of all the possible explanations: Lucy wears odd socks. LUCY WEARS ODD SOCKS.

Take Bob’s wife, Margaret, the Unitarian minister, who only in nearly losing her job realizes the humility with which she must approach the pulpit. And in nearly losing Bob realizes what he needs of her as partner. I loved Margaret for her fullness (all of the characters in these books are full) and the scene that describes her nightgown – which may be the same scene or one adjacent where Bob speculates she is a narcissist – that does this brilliant work of both telling us exactly what is happening and lets it unfold in the scene itself.

(So many Unitarian threads beyond Margaret (meaning in community; community to support individual journey; life is meaningful for the impact we have on others; etc etc and on) I just googled whether Strout is a Unitarian: she is not.)

I’m not sure whether to tell you to start with this one if you’ve not read Strout before, but maybe it doesn’t matter – grab any one of the books and enjoy a universe where the small moments are worthy and your story is, too.

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Filed under American literature, Fiction, Prize Winner

A Closed and Common Orbit: So great!

Book two of Becky Chamber’s Wayfarer series, A Closed and Common Orbit, was – for me – better than the first. You wonder whether I liked it more because it is preoccupied with what it means to be human? With what agency and identity is owed a sentient AI intelligence? With what we owe in respect, or time, or care, or compassion for other species – particular the AI kind? Well… yes. Yes that is why I liked it more.

I am, as they say, a little obsessed with wondering about our AI future. And while I have a new job that is 96% less AI then my previous one, I find myself still reading the things and listening and thinking and wondering – (like maybe we all ought to stop investing in our retirements when super intelligence is years away, but then what respectable millennial has a decent retirement plan, anyway?).

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Filed under Fiction, Prize Winner

The Bright Sword: It’s No Mists of Avalon

I probably read The Mists of Avalon 26 times when I was a teenager. Between it and Gone With the Wind its hard to say which I read more, but in both I found something of the epic (and the romance). (While I haven’t tried to reread The Mists of Avalon, I did attempt to read GWTW again in my twenties and was aghast at the racism and had to stop. A post for another time is the particular feeling of re-reading a book from childhood only to discover you have so changed).

So when I saw the description of Lev Grossman’s The Bright Sword as an epic to rival that of The Mists, I eagerly picked it up – undaunted or swayed by the mighty thousand pages. And I did enjoy the first 700 enough that I kept going. But eventually the slog got me. The epic quest too much for this failed knight. The weight of the journey too much to bear. Etc repeat.

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Filed under Book I'll Forget I Read, Worst Books

Long Dark River

Liz Moore’s Long Dark River starts out with such promise. It opens with a captivating premise and mystery. Two sisters (Mickey and Kasey) – one a police officer and one an opioid addict working and living the same streets. Kasey goes missing, there is a serial killer on the loose, and Mickey tries to find Kasey to keep her safe (or at least that’s what we think at the start).

And this plot carries us for the first half of the book and it is wrenching to hold the two parallel lives at once in our minds (what when wrong? how did the sisters end up estranged?). At some points Mickey forces the question of what did Kasey do wrong to end up living the life she is living and not the moral one that Mickey does – and I find this point irritating, for nothing about addiction suggests choice and in the framing of the question there is (at least at first) the idea that there is some kind of moral failing on Kasey’s part. Later in the book this question is – really far too patly and again with some kind of pinning of individual blame – explained in that their mother was in the throws of her own addiction when she was pregnant with Kasey, and so Kasey was born addicted herself. The whole thing makes it as though opioid addiction is an individual failing made by individual choice. And if there’s one thing we took from the utterly brilliant Demon Copperhead it is that this mess is not the fault of the individual user.

I digress. So halfway through when some of the questions about Kasey are resolved, the book turns – instead of to a conclusion that might be complex and nuanced about the sisters and their relationship (which is, I think, what the book is best about) to instead solving the murder mystery element. Like we care who the serial killer is? I guess we’re supposed to care who the serial killer is. And so we have to work our way through the plot structure of a Law and Order episode to chase some red herrings and eventually find the killer. It was all just so bizarrely beside the point to (what this reader saw as) the heart of the story: the relationship between Kasey and Mickey.

So I’m not sure I’d recommend it. I mean I did recommend it to a bunch of people (sorry M.) when I first started reading it because I was so taken with the family dynamic and some of the writing is Not Bad. But by the end I was sort of embarrassed to have suggested it because it becomes some other kind of book. Maybe if you go into it expecting that turn you’ll enjoy it the whole way through. You let me know.

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Filed under Bestseller, Fiction, Mystery