My Friends - Hisham Matar

One of the many books suggested by my mother, and yet again one of her many on-point suggestions. I greatly enjoyed reading this, but for me it was very much a story of two halves. 

The first half, with the main character's walk from King's Cross to his home in Shepherd's Bush was a work of art, introducing me to something I didn't know about (the shooting from the Libyan embassy in 1984), talking about something that I feel I know so well (that part of London, in particular the shout-out to the caryatids of St Pancras New Church, right outside my beloved undergraduate student hall), and making me think about some of my favourite London writers (Kureishi obviously, given the period being discussed and the immigrants' stories). 

The second half, however, was just a bit much. While it is true that wars are being increasingly fought by middle-aged men, I found it a bit far fetched and hard to buy into that two semi-intellectuals would find themselves at the forefront of the violent actions of the initial phases of the Libyan Civil War, and  reading about their discovery of Ghedaffi in hiding really appeared excessive to me. 

I Giorni di Vetro - Nicoletta Verna

 

Once in a while, it's quite good to realize that there are contemporary Italian writers that, well, know how to write. Like so many in her generation, Verna appears to have a remarkably sombre approach to writing, but even then the story is truly a compelling one. 

The reader understands both the appeal and horror of the titular Vetro, and the deep flaws of his friend (and Redenta's father) get more and more disturbing as the pages turn. Yet, what stands out is the inspiring forms of resistance (be it to a regime, to societal norms, or to family members) that the book celebrates in what feels at times like a touching tribute to Fenoglio. 

And while the surprising spin towards the end of the book (the identity of the mysterious Diaz) is really rather expectable, the surprise in the very final pages (what happened at the ball that marked so much of Redenta and Bruno's lives) is truly surprising. 

The Regeneration Trilogy - Pat Barker

 

What an absolute work of art! And to think that Pat Barker studied history (what I teach...) at the university where I work, and I actually had to discover her because my auntie told my mom about her. In my defence, she did graduate a few decades before my arrival at least...

The Regeneration Trilogy is possibly the best WWI book(s) I have ever read. Barker has a truly unique way of describing, through her characters, the ugly beauty of war, how it plays with the minds of soldiers who can never leave war behind and are often attracted to it for various reasons even when given a chance to leave. 

Her ability to weave real history and fiction together in an inextricable mix is also remarkable, and the last few chapters of The Ghost Road are an agony to read, as the reader clearly knows how things are going to end for Billy Prior, the beautifully troubled and scarred main fictional character of the trilogy. 

Empty Hearts - Juli Zeh

I didn't quite know what to read at some point this summer, so I landed on another book by Juli Zeh as I had greatly enjoyed Unterleuten. 

Empty Hearts wasn't quite as good a read. The wacky premise (an agency that identifies, recruits and trains potential suicidal terrorists to then assign to organizations) reminded me a bit of some of Franzen's most original plot twists. The problem for me, however, was that it's something that becomes very quickly hard to sustain and would place any author in danger of having to jump the shark in order to reach some sort of conclusion. 

And ultimately Juli Zeh jumps the shark here, without great results (at least for me). 

Prophet Song - Paul Lynch

Every now and again I have to read a dystopian novel. And every now and again I have to be reminded that I don't really love them. Unless they are The Road. 

Prophet Song is undeniably good, but the fact that the dynamics between the frictions between the two warring factions are never discussed (the novel begins as the situation is already beginning to spiral out of control, with almost no explanations) made it quite hard for me to "buy into" the book. 

That said, I really was impressed by how the author makes the reader realize that so many of the main characters' decisions are, ultimately, wrong, yet dramatically understandable and justifiable. 

Invisible Man - Ralph Ellison

 

What a book!

And to think that I picked it up almost by chance, because I loved its title and the cover picture. Just like with James Baldwin (the world's most banal comparison, sorry!) I was astonished by how current it felt despite its year of publication. 

The exoticization of black people by many well-intentioned whites who then get scared (or sceptical, or bored) is something that I see - and am most likely guilty of - on a daily basis, as is the slipping through the cracks of formal education of countless black students. And let's not get started on the hopelessness of certain excessively cerebral approaches to politics of some people whose problem is not so much their privilege (though that's an undeniable fact), but rather their complete isolation and inability to imagine a world in which their idea(l)s are not the most important thing for everyone. 

Sono Mancato all'Affetto dei Miei Cari -Andrea Vitali

File this under "Italian book read because the title was appealing" (in this case the loose translation is "I died and left my loved ones"). Also file this under "very low expectation, and just read for harmless entertainment". 

If anything, the book did give me something more than I was expecting (which really wasn't much). It is quite well-written, and ultimately does a good job of explaining the position of everyone in this clashing family and how everyone is both in the right and in the wrong most of the time. 

Bonus points for not pretending that the narrator's death at the end was a surprise (it was in the title!) malus points for having a dead man narrating the story (for me it didn't work in Sunset Boulevard, it was unlikely that it would work here...). 
 

Le Madri Non Dormono Mai - Lorenzo Marone

 

A book that I read on my phone as I couldn't really carry anything bigger with me as I jogged for 800 km along the Camino de Santiago this summer. 

And despite being dog-tired, I did manage to finish this and a couple of other novels, but none really impressed me that much. 

Crucially, with this book, I kept on wondering whether it is better for a man to tell the story of those Italian mothers who have to raise their children in jail, or whether we should wait for - dare I say it - a woman to do that. On top of that, the depiction of poverty and crime in Naples really feels gimmicky (here, as in so many other depictions). 

Fame d'Aria - Daniele Mencarelli

 

Another book that I borrowed from my hometown's e-library chiefly because of its appealing title (loosely translatable as "hunger for air"). 

Because of the themes it deals with (a desolate father running away with a disabled child who is growing into a man, the poverty of those who have a job and because of that are not supported by the state, the drama of the daily challenges that families on the brink have to face) one can't not like the book. 

Yet, it also reads as excessively melodramatic (or perhaps excessively influenced by the well-meaning values of the Italian petit-bourgeoisie) to really leave a mark on me, or go beyond being the kind of book that one has to read every now and again. 

The Twenty-Seventh City - Jonathan Franzen

 

I read this book because, well, it's Franzen and I've read every other Franzen novel (I believe - I know I could check on Wikipedia, but I can't be bothered at the moment). 

Despite the low expectations, I enjoyed this book "enough". That said, I was a bit at odds with the scheming police officer's background. Indian people have got a little less than zero visibility in North-American literature as as I know, and in here Jammu essentially comes across as the Palpatine of St Louis. On the other hand, Franzen does look at one individual and the influence she has on "her people" (both in terms of those around her in general, and the Indian community in the city) and does not seem to make (too many) harsh generalizations. 

The book packs in a lot. As is the case at times with Franzen, it probably packs in too much. And by the time the final pages come, the novel and its author definitely jump the shark. 

Silverview - John le Carrè

 

Only picked up this book because of the dearth of remotely readable titles in the Southwark e-library, but I really didn't feel the need for a half-finished le Carrè novel that had been left behind until after his death. 

I do understand that le Carrè had four children and they might have to find a way to live off their father's royalties, but I was assuming they would have enough of the money coming in from his 454078 bestsellers and respective movie rights. 

Besides questioning the decision to publish (and edit on behalf of a deceased author) this novel, I must admit that the book is actually OK, and I do enjoy the late le Carrè's faith in the - often excessively idealistic - younger generations. Yet, I felt that Agent Running in the Field or A Legacy of Spies would have been much more fitting final novels for one of Britain's greatest authors of the last century or so. 

I Titoli di Coda di una Vita Insieme - Diego De Silva

 

A book that I only got because I was out of ideas, it was on the landing page of my library's e-library, the title was catchy (it roughly translates as "the closing credits of a life together") and the picture on the cover was nice. 

All very valid reasons when picking an unchallenging read, and unchallenging it was. Too unchallenging actually. 

Noah Baumbach couldn't make separations fully interesting in A Marriage Story, and so it's rather unsurprising that a minor Italian author didn't manage either. Yet, I really could have done without the male protagonist's return to his only summer home with all its sappy poetry. And I do realize this is a male author, but damn this separation feels oh so very one-sided, and it really looks as if De Silva went out of his way to make the reader side with the husband. 

Trust - Hernan Diaz

I probably should stop reading novels just because they won a prize, though in this case Trust had won the Pulitzer, not a random local award handed out in the courtyard of a primary school!

What the novel doesn't lack is ambition, as it tackles the Great Depression from the perspective of four people deeply connected to the events and - each in their own way - rather influential in shaping the experiences and perceptions of their fictional contemporaries. 

What it lacks, however, is something truly gripping. The conflicts - open or tacit - between the various forces and characters often feel petty, and the final chapter, with tokenistic surprise element, is rather uninspiring and doesn't leave the reader (or at least it didn't leave me!) with any particular desire to find an answer to the last unanswered questions of the novel. 

The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat - Oliver Sacks

I must admit I had heard of the book, and assumed it was a semi-humorous novel (in my defence, I suspect I wasn't the only one) and not a series of case-studies, narrated with remarkable tact, covering the stories of a number of psychiatric patients. 

This book ended up being a very "informative" read, if one can label it as such, despite really not being what I had initially envisaged. The loss - of control, of inhibitions, and often of self - of the people described in the chapters is absolutely terrifying and has remained with me for quite some time. 

Yet, like a lot of other people, I suspect. This book (un)covers aspects of human life and illnesses that I find so disturbing that I would almost prefer not to think about them (not something that I am proud of, but something that I still need to acknowledge). 

My Family and Other Animals - Gerald Durrell

Not really a book I would have ever picked, but hey, we went to a wedding in Corfu and the reception was held in the location that had been used to film the TV series about the Durrells, so why not...

I do understand that lazy days on the Mediterranean and expat family life can be very appealing to certain readers, but this really isn't for me. I just didn't have much time for the explorations of local mountains and bushes, or for the poetically stereotypical Greek characters on the island. And the lives of very wealthy and entitled Brits hasn't been interestingly dissected since E.M. Forster. 

Also, for a book of this length and levity, it took me a surprisingly long time to finish it, which really can't be a good sign.