Dimmi di Te - Chiara Gamberale

 

A book that I picked only because I liked its cover (again) and because I had vaguely heard of its author because of a radio program of hers. 

While I don't dispute the personal sufferings of the author, and the complexity of raising a child as an old(er) semi-single mother, I really didn't enjoy this romanced autobiography of hers. 

At best, this book's purpose is chiefly a therapeutic exercise for Gamberale. Good for her, but it doesn't make for a great for me, and her attachment to many more or less significant figures from her high-school decades before left me quite untouched. 

At worst, this book capitalizes on the sufferings of her high-school best friend, and on the life of her young daughter. Which just doesn't sit right with me. 

Beautiful World, Where Are You - Sally Rooney

 

And the last of the Sally Rooney novels that I've read lately (and, actually, the last Sally Rooney novel I hadn't read). In my very own rankings, it sits as a comfortable second, but the gap between this and Intermezzo is significant. 

I greatly enjoyed the e-mail exchanges between Alice and Eileen that alternate with the narrative chapters, but I found it odd that, while the written communication between the two of them felt so real, the dialogues in the other chapters (and the overall dynamics of the four main characters) felt somewhat unnatural. Or maybe my experience of dysfunctional relationships is too limited for me to understand these people's interactions. 

Also, I somehow kept on picturing Felix as the bold "heavy" from Anora. 

Embers - Sándor Márai

 

After reading The Door I felt that I should read another Hungarian book in the hope of striking gold again. 

What I struck, ultimately, wasn't gold, at least not for me. Yet, it was a pleasant read about friendship and love in front of a dying fire (and/or in front of a dying empire, despite the fact that by the book's publication Austria-Hungary had been dissolved for more than 20 years). 

It is one of those books whose plot I can't remember, but I do remember the sensations it evoked. Still, as far as authors covering (and celebrating) the decadence of a former glorious central European empire go, Joseph Roth wins, hands down. 

La pouponnière d'Himmler - Caroline de Mulder

 

One of the usual random books that I pick up because I like the title (well, I really, really, really don't like Himmler, but let's say the title sparked my curiosity). 

Bonus points for allowing me to read about a reality that I vaguely knew of, but that I rarely read about in my history books and articles. And in general for being quite touching in the portrayal of the solitude of a young girl who comes to the realization that she has been taken for a ride and that will always be an outsider, no matter where she is. 

And to be honest, given the nature of book, I'm also quite willing to accept the (relatively) uplifting finale (also because it's not overly saccharine after all). 

Normal People - Sally Rooney

And this is the third book of Sally Rooney that I've read, and probably the one that I liked the least (though in all honesty I was most likely put off by the mention of the "Netflix series inspired by this book" on the cover). 

Problem 1: the decision to only look at particular episodes in the characters' lives and jump ahead in time feels overdone (I find it cheap in general, though at least Rooney does it better than Michael Cunningham in his latest book)

Problem 2: the 50 Shades of Grey turn left me indifferent to say the least

Problem 3: Marianne comes across as a bit too desperate and devoid of agency by the end of the novel, which I found a bit too much of a downer

The Bee Sting - Paul Murray

 

Beware the Ides of March. 

But also, beware the "instant classic" (The Washington Post). 

This is a novel that I thought desperately tried to be a Great American Novel. Except it isn't great, and it isn't American (on the plus side, it's a novel). As I was reading it, I often had to remind myself that the book wasn't set in the American Midwest, but actually in Ireland. And when I thought the plot was getting almost incestuous, well, it got even more incestuous. 

On the plus side, it was a pretty quick and almost effortless read. At times it was even quite pleasant, but between that and considering this one of the best novels of the last few years there's a big difference!

Conversations with Friends - Sally Rooney

And this is the second book book by Sally Rooney that I read. 

I suspect my impressions of it were influenced by sky-high expectations after having read Intermezzo and by the fact that I read Conversations with Friends at a time in which we were beginning to gut out a house, living with an army of burly builders working around us, and sleeping in blankets covered in dust. 

Still, I was somewhat underwhelmed by this book. While I still recognised Rooney's ability to explore social relations and write a good book with something somewhere between a very simple plot and no plot at all, I ultimately couldn't bring myself to be interested in the lives of these characters, be them young artsy types trying to find their way into the world, or middle-aged rich people who are a bit bored and/or a bit dysfunctional. 

The Man in the High Castle - Philip K. Dick

 

On the one hand, I didn't like Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? and was sceptical of the literary value of something that in my head was inextricably linked to an Amazon series. On the other hand, The Plot Against America is one of the best books I've ever read, so I figured I should give The Man in the High Castle a chance. 

For me, it was a story of two halves (well, not really two halves, more three quarters vs one quarter): until Dick starts to play with the readers' minds and their perception of this alternative reality, it was a great read, compelling and scarily plausible. 

And then Tagomi saw the Embarcadero in San Francisco, my head went for a spin, I got way too confused and started to lose interest in the novel and its direction (though luckily I did still remember with certainty how WWII ended, at least in our world, otherwise my teaching on the early Cold War the following week would have been a bit too wild...). 

Intermezzo - Sally Rooney

 

I just wanted to see what the fuss was all about. And, wow, turns out the fuss was about a truly excellent book. 

Having never read anything by Rooney, I didn't quite know what to expect, and was truly carried away by her ability to make the reader care for (while not necessarily like) what happened to all the broken and flawed characters in this book. 

It wasn't enough to tempt me to learn how to play chess (luckily, most likely!) or return to Ireland (my one visit to Dublin remains rather underwhelming, though I really should visit the rest of the country), but it was enough for me to binge on all the other Rooney novels so far (which, good as they might be, in my opinion pale in comparison to Intermezzo). 

Patria - Fernando Aramburu

In my desperate search for something to read over the last couple of months, I decided to read this widely acclaimed novel. Winner of all sorts of awards and, for me, very much in the mould of A Little Life - something so bad that it made me question the sanity of thousands of supposed intellectuals around the world. 

While I do understand that ETA caused a lot of problems to people in the Basque countries and all over Spain, the vision of the book feels excessively Manichean. Miren feels little more than a caricature from a 1950s B-movie. And while on critic wrote that this is War and Peace for our times, I think it's more like a very low calibre feuilleton (then again, I have never actually read War and Peace!). 

I unfortunately read this in translation, and the translator did a monumentally pathetic job: some  Spanish expression were translated literally, others more freely, the verbal tenses (already confusing in the original, I've been informed) were all over the place, and the whole prose was so incredibly stilted. 

The Door - Magda Szabó

 

I was really grasping at straws as most of my e-libraries didn't seem to have anything particularly appealing on offer. Then my daughter's Hungarian BFF came over for a playdate and that made me realize that, other than The Paul Street Boys, I had never never a single Hungarian book, so I chanced upon this novel. 

The start was a bit of a slog, with the focus on female companionship and bickering not being something I found engaging, but then I got into the novel ("getting into a novel" - what an awful turn of phrase...) and I was left in awe of what I think can be considered a small masterpiece. 

Szabó's book is one of small secrets that are justifiably oh-so-important to her characters. It is one of love between people who at first glance have very little in common. And crucially is one in which the reader (or at least, that was the case for me) finds him/herself justifying most of the narrator's decisions and actions, while eventually accepting also Emerenc's viewpoint and, at the end of the day, wishing s/he was more like the cantankerous cleaning lady who appears to singlehandedly hold a small community together. 

Mon Assassin - Daniel Pennac

 

The book that I didn't know I needed. Seriously. The last novel by Pennac had left me so unmoved and disappointed, but this short book (not quite a novella, not fully an autobiography) brought me peace and closure. 

It is extremely tactful, and I ultimately see it as an attempt by Pennac to exorcise some of his demons, talk about loss, give his real-life friends and unorthodox family members their chance to take centre stage, and in general come to terms with the end of his career and, in the not so distant future, eventually the end of his own life. 

Unfortunately, I'm rather certain that in a couple of years he'll be persuaded to write something else, or someone will unearth an early draft of an unfinished novel and decide to publish it, or something equally unappealing. And sadly Pennac will have his own Baugmartner or, possibly worse, Silverview or,  possibly worse, Go Set a Watchman. 

Look at Me - Jennifer Egan

 

After liking-without-loving A Visit from the Goon Squad I decided to read another Egan novel as I had just read a couple of books by Rachel Kushner and felt that I might as well read something more by the another widely acclaimed American female author. 

And this one absolutely blew me away. It had all the markers of a "great American novel" for me. Part suburbia, part big city. A healthy dose of criticism of systemic flaws. A main characters who is complex, multifaceted and, ultimately, oddly relatable. 

Yet, the novel's greatest accomplishment is probably its being ahead of the times, with a character in Z who just about predates the drama of 9/11 and whose life shares so many similarities with what we know of those of many other terrorists who have emerged ever since. 

Dentro il Palazzo - Carlo Cottarelli

My parents went to a book presentation by Cottarelli and enjoyed it so much that they managed to come out of it with five copies of this book. Partly they liked him because he's an engaging speaker, partly because they share enough of his political positions, partly because my mom had a bit of a crush on him, but mostly because he studied at LSE, which in my family's highly informal global university rankings sits at the very top (now, try to guess where their only child works?!?). 

As far as non-fiction books go, this is one of the best I've read. It's very well-written, and I got plenty of ideas and a lot of clarifications about the intricacies of the Italian political system. Like at the end of a good essay, the first part of the book (dealing with the Italian parliamentary system, while the second part deals with the period that saw Cottarelli appear as a viable candidate for Prime Minister) concludes with a series of recommendations that the author makes to improve Italian politics. 

Yet, I can't help but feel that this book ultimately doesn't fulfil its ambition to revitalize the interest of the population in the Italian political system. Its ideal audience is ultimately people like me and my parents, people willing to actually concentrate to understand some of the (relatively) intricate points that Cottarelli makes, and who are (reasonably) dissatisfied with the system but still acknowledge its usefulness. Those who are opposed to the status quo, or too disengaged, would most likely see in this book a clear demonstration of the fact that there are too many things that are inherently wrong, and we should just burn the house (or the Italian parliament) down. 

Due - Enrico Brizzi

 

It must be hard to have written one hugely successful book, and follow it up with a list of very uninspiring novels, and Brizzi was just trying to milk (again) the one thing that gave him fame. 

I was expecting/hoping this book would be a sequel covering Aidi and Alex's lives 30 years after their high-school years - that kind of nostalgic operation (kind of like in Trainspotting 2) I could have got behind. 

Instead, this is an immediate sequel of Jack Frusciante E' Uscito dal Gruppo and it just doesn't work for me - Aidi is boring, on a high-school exchange that I look down upon because I am a snob, in a place that I find uninspiring, and the charm of interrail travelling and backpacking like Alex has long lost its appeal for me. 

Still, I'm reasonably happy to have read this because, while this is not a good book by any measure, I liked the original one enough to bring myself to care a bit about its sequel and it was obviously an easy way to pass a day or two during the Christmas holiday. Still, Enrico Brizzi, please, move on...