One of the good things about taking a break from everything is the sheer amount of reading you can get done. Here’s what’s adorning by bedside table lately.
Nineteen Minutes, Plain Truth, and Change of Heart by Jodi Picoult: Picoult is one of my favorite authors for the simple reason that while she’s a fabulous writer and can weave together scenes and dialogue like no other, she also has the unique gift of asking the difficult questions and then taking a stab at answering them. Her characters are always faced with very difficult dilemmas. “Your son says the bullying was unbearable. But his revenge was murder. What would you do?” “Your baby is born in secret. If your father finds him, you will lose everything. What would you do?” “Your daughter needs a new heart. The only match comes from a murderer. What would you do?” And if those questions weren’t enough, the themes of these three books are, in order, school shootings, Amish life, and alternative Christian theories. Who says you can’t learn anything from novels?
Portrait of an Artist, as an Old Man by Joseph Heller: This novel is Joseph Heller’s last book, published in 2000 posthumously, and I have to say it seems a bit autobiographical. The story is about a novelist, Eugene Pota, who as a young man published a first book that won over readers and critics alike but has had no equivalent successes, not unlike Heller himself. Now he’s at the end of his life and career and he wants to write his last earth-shattering book. This novel is about his quest to do so and the various fits and starts as he attempts to undertake this. I loved this book with the crazy ideas that Pota embarks on, and the glimpse into a novelist as an old man.
Animal Farm by George Orwell: We were getting to a point in our marriage where Sam stated that I couldn’t in good conscience call myself an avid reader if I hadn’t read certain books, including this one. So I did. There’s always a problem with reading books that you’ve known about, read about, but never got around to reading, and that is that they’re almost always a disappointment. This one, however, as you can probably attest yourself, wasn’t. Helps that it was a quick read too.
The Brighest Star in the Sky by Marian Keyes: Okay, I have to admit that I couldn’t quite get into this one. I found it a bit too long-winded for my taste, and by the time you got to the end, you’d already figured out what the big suspense was, so there was a huge let down. It also just wasn’t as funny or touching as her usual fare. You might want to pick it up though for a good long day of easy reading if you’re already a Keyes fan. If not, skip this. It doesn’t compare to her earlier work.
Caught by Harlan Coben: I’m all caught up now, having read all of Coben’s books. This was just released this year, and as always, my work day was shot. You can’t pick up a Harlan Coben book and then expect to put it down midway (when will I learn?). Anyway, I loved that characters from Coben’s Myron Bolitar series made an appearance in this one. If you’re new to his work, I’d suggest working from the backlist. Start with his novels from the early nineties and work your way up.
I can’t possibly categorize into sections the varied books I’ve been reading lately, but I want to share them with you, so I’ll just dive in and tell you all about them.
You probably don’t know this about me (unless you’re my mother), but every bookshelf I’ve ever had has been divided into two sections: read and not yet read. Many a guest has given me a puzzled look when I’ve pointed out that if they wanted to borrow something, they could choose from this shelf, that shelf or the one over there (the read), and don’t even bother looking at the rest (the unread). Now I have to admit, the unread pile, despite my best intentions to read more often and not buy any more books before finishing this lot, is three times as large as the read one.
What can I say about this book that hasn’t already been said? I knew of the controversy, I read it like a novel, I loved the writing, and I was still disappointed at just how fabricated the whole thing was. I don’t necessarily think the blame lies completely with the author in these situations, but in interviews, Frey has described how he would read books to an illiterate inmate, etc, when he’s never actually spent time behind bars. It isn’t that SOME of this book is fictionalized, MOST of it is.
The Mistress of Spices, the Queen of Dreams, I can’t wait to see what Divakaruni is going to come up with next. I haven’t read all her books yet, but I think this year I’ll get copies of them all and make my way through them.
How I love Murakami! I love his perspective, I love his imagery, I love his imagination, and I love his language. You’ve got minute details such as his character’s choice in sofas and why it’s so important to have a good one, you’ve got language likening chubby girls in pink to big strawberry shortcakes waltzing on a dance floor to his description of hearing Bob Dylan as “a kid standing at the window watching the rain.” And I haven’t even talked about the plot yet.
I didn’t expect to like this book, but picked it up because it looked like an easy read that I could get through over the course of the next couple of days as I deal with high-pressure work. I certainly wasn’t expecting that I’d get so hooked within ten pages that I’d read it in one sitting, totally ignoring all I have to do in my work day. Clearly, I loved it. There’s enough history, suspense, science and culture thrown in this book that it could become overkill, but it doesn’t. The pacing is fast, the characters likeable, and the plot intense. And who doesn’t love Calcutta? I have to say, also, that I love when there’s an Indian angle to a complex scientific plot. Set aside a few hours. You’re not going to be able to stop reading.
This could be a book about my life. The story isn’t mine, but the underlying theme is. Right from the journey of struggling to accept my given name (like the protagonist, I have a “real name” and a nickname, and a large portion of my family doesn’t recognize my real name Mridu) to the finding of an awkward balance between east and west, ritual and responsibility.
I am, and have always been a Jodi Picoult fan, so I was expecting to like this book anyway (the premise itself draws you in), but I was completely blown away. Typically, when a novel is written in first-person in different characters’ voices you always have a favorite who you can’t wait to hear from, but in this book, I simply couldn’t decide whose feelings and thoughts I wanted to hear more of: Anna, the kid who is suing her parents for the rights to her body, Sara, the mother, who in trying to save one child is risking the well-being of another, Brian, the dad, who despite understanding Anna’s viewpoint is conflicted, Jesse, the boy who lost his parents’ attention when his sister got sick, or the smartass lawyer Campbell, who comes up with a new and funny excuse every time he’s asked why he has a service dog. The best part of the book is the ending and how it hits you completely by surprise.
I became a fan of Amy Tan after reading A Hundred Secret Senses, and was told by at least half a dozen people that I had to read The Joy Luck Club if I wanted to see what Tan was really capable of. Many consider The Joy Luck Club, her first book, to also be her best. For good reason– the intimacy of the mother-daughter relationship is conveyed in a manner that is downplayed, yet emotionally very strong. Tan also has a special way of taking the reader into cultures and countries far removed from the present day and still have it all make sense and tie in together. All that said, I still ended up liking A Hundred Secret Senses better. I’ve decided it has to do with style– the first time you read an Amy Tan novel, you’re immediately taken by her keen eye and character quirks that you’re thrilled you just read a marvelous piece of fiction. The next time, you’re already aware and waiting to be awed. Either way, while favorites may differ, she certainly doesn’t disappoint.
Latest Comments