Nutshell - Ian McEwan

 

Oh, McEwan can write. And oh, as of late I've become increasingly fond of well-written adaptation of historical works (in this case, yet again, Hamlet). 

This is a book that I thoroughly enjoyed, also because of its setting in a London that is ultimately home for me. Perhaps not a full return to form (it's a novella after all, and the plot is quite clearly derivative) but this book did keep me thoroughly entertained for a weekend. 

The ending is somewhat predictable, with a deus ex machina that has been there all along (or at least for 40 weeks or so), but that doesn't take away from the overall pleasure of the read. 

Under the Volcano - Malcolm Lowry

 

One of those books that I read because I felt I had to. 

Also, one of those books that with hindsight I don't know if I really had to read. 

Dysfunctional couples, self-destructive machos, impotent lovers and rivers of alcohol in exotic settings. Hemingway also had them all. And Hemingway also had me when I was a teenager. I'm now much older, and feel like I have no time for this (despite the fact that, speaking of time, a lot of mine went into reading Under the Volcano). 

Love in the Time of Cholera - Gabriel García Márquez

 

I spent years telling myself that I had outgrown Márquez and magical realism. Perhaps though I had only outgrown the latter and not the former. 

Love in the Time of Cholera was a truly surprisingly pleasant read, most likely because love (as a concept) is eternal and love stories are relatable. Love triangles are intriguing. And getting old is something that happens to everyone (and I love to describe myself as middle-age despite the fact that I haven't yet turned 40). 

While some of the sappiest passages left me suitably untouched, I find it undeniable that a book essentially solely about people's relationships has got a timelessness to it that can make it appealing to a very wide audience. 

The Long Goodbye - Raymond Chandler

 

I loved the movie. I also saw it so long ago that I had completely forgotten about its plot, other than the final scene with Elliot Gould shooting his former friend (and quite clearly the major point of divergence between the novel and the movie). 

As often happens with (good) noir books, I really enjoyed it. And this time I didn't feel guilty about it in the slightest - it had been years since I had read anything by Chandler (or Hammett, or anyone of those writers) and it was long overdue. 

Obviously Marlowe is still a bit too smug, and the first-person narrative gets a bit on my nerves as I don't think I'd be able to recall every single verbal exchange I had in the past like he does. But then again, I'm not a private investigator (or an author for that matter!). Still, despite any potential qualm about the genre in general, for me Chandler remains one of the great storytellers of the 20th century.

Riparare i Torti - Pino Cacucci

 

I hadn't read a book by Cacucci in ages. And it's lovely to see that he's still mildly obsessed with Mexico, and that he remains an excellent storyteller. 

As usual, he tells a (fictional) story of forgotten characters based on real events: the Italian sailors left stranded and uncertain in Mexico as a result of their country's entry into WWII. The story is compelling, and while most of the characters and rather dogmatically sketched (there is often little room for nuances) I found it quite easy to grow fond of a lot of them. 

Through the life of the "proper Fascist" whose identity gets stolen Cacucci shows some very justifiable sympathy for those poor idiots who were taken (or allowed themselves to be taken) for a ride by a regime based on hollow promises and misconceptions. Yet, I wish he wouldn't err so much towards the conspirational at times, because he has enough factual history on his hands to make for a really good novel without resorting to too many mysteries and subterfuges. 

Creation Lake - Rachel Kushner

 

Underwhelming. Well-written, obviously, but underwhelming. 

This is a fairly customary Kushner plot - with one woman very much going her own way regardless of the reader's (and society's) expectations. I don't think I've ever had a problem with her main characters being, in one way or another, dislikeable. But in this case Sadie (let's call her that, even if we are reminded time and again that it's not her real name) is not just dislikeable, she's uninteresting. 

Her occasional bouts of self-criticism are too cynical to feel like anything more than just a literary trope, her personalities are so many and so different that it ultimately looks like she doesn't have one at all, and the ending (with her Catalan buen ritiro) is actually pathetically trite (much like her realization that those "stars" that move are actually satellites and the potential for intrusion by powerful entities virtually limitless). 

The Fathers - John Niven

 

A book that I picked up by chance, and chiefly because I felt that it could provide some light entertainment and occasional insight. 

And that it did. With the obvious clash of cultures and classes that its cover promised, but done with a gracious touch that reminded me of John Lanchester. 

Nothing in the book is excessively surprising. Things seem to take a turn for the worse, then everything works out for pretty much everyone. Yet, there are enough moments - funny, dramatic (this book did nothing to placate my fear of children and grapes), insightful - to make it a compelling read. And Niven does a really good job of highlighting what I think is one of the most overlooked issues for "my" people: middle and upper-middle class people don't have children, or have them very late in life. 

Stoner - John Williams

 

A book that I read this Christmas during a solo trip to see my parents. And what a pleasant read it was!

Perhaps the beauty of campus novels is that (when they are good?) they age remarkably well. Or perhaps it's just that, having been on a campus for the last 20 years, I feel particularly drawn to these kind of stories. 

Stoner though has a significant added value: its main character is one of those figures who seem to be particularly dear to (some) students despite not having the infinite list of credentials of senior academics. And, go figure, I rather relate to that!

Though one thing I can't quite relate to is Stoner's (at times dreadful, at times simply improbable) family life, or his rivalries at work (perhaps I'm too unimportant at my university to even be on anyone's radar!). 

Money - Martin Amis

 

London Fields, I was fully behind. Witty, engaging, "reasonably excessive". 

Money, on the other hand, was for me a completely pointless exercise. Its vitriolic portrayal of the excesses of the 1980s didn't read particularly vitriolic; just boring. And its depictions of the dodgy minor characters that populate the book are as lazily caricatural as their own names. 

I found this book to be as devoid of meaning as Wall Street with Michael Douglas. The biggest difference is that Wall Street made me lose a couple of hours, Money is a book that I dragged along for a good couple of weeks...

The Centaur - John Updike

 

After years without doing it, I went to the Barbican library and picked up this book for 30p. I was very pleased to see that inflation hadn't caught up quite yet (though perhaps books used to sell for 20p back in the day?!?). 

Having only ever read Rabbit, Run I was very happy to read another book by Updike and The Centaur did prove to be a remarkably good pick-up. 

I most definitely don't know Greek mythology well enough to understand all the parallels (and find the novel excessively pretentious as a result), but I do know a hypocondriac father when I see one, remain a sucker for suburban American settings, and think that there is nothing better than a good campus novel. 

The Night Watchman - Louise Erdrich

 

I read this book after hearing two close friends talk about Native American languages and their preservation (or lack thereof). It was truly significant to hear them talk about the communities they are part of and the challenges they face. So I decided I should read something by one of their great (mainstream) story-tellers. 

The Night Watchman was a beautiful read, mixing capitalized History with non-capitalized family histories. I honestly loved reading about these people and their attempts to stop their economic decline, physical disappearance, and the dispersal of people and traditions. 

Also, discovering the figure of Senator Watkins, someone simultaneously able to contribute to the end of the dark McCarthy era and to the demise of thousands of Native American people, was eerily fascinating (and scary). 

What remains after reading this book is the beauty of these people, the parallels between so many of their small problems and the small problems I am exposed to, the uniqueness of the governmental campaigns and policies they have been subject to for centuries, and the profound admiration I felt for so many of the characters, whether they were night watchmen, ghosts (spirits?) or amateur boxers. 

Demon Copperhead - Barbara Kingsolver

 

The second book by Kingsolver that I've read, and one that I picked partly because, you know, it won a Pulitzer and all, partly because a friend I generally recommend book to actually recommended it to me. 

At time I absolutely loved this book, at times I merely liked it, most likely because I often have limited love for adaptations/transpositions of previous novels and because this meant there was relatively little surprise through the novel (I haven't read David Copperfield, but I'm at least familiar with much of its plot). 

Still, no matter my relative familiarity with Uriah Heep (both the character and the rock band), damn U-Haul is a hell of a grotesque and disturbing figure!

Long Island - Colm Tóibín

 

Perhaps it was a mistake to read this without having read Brooklyn, but hey it is a standalone book after all. 

I read it to understand what makes Tóibín so popular and I can see that. The writing is extremely smooth, his ability to talk about reality in a small village is remarkable, and the stereotypical descriptions of how gossip spreads in a small place somehow don't really feel stereotypical. 

Yet, I'm afraid this was also a novel that attempted to appeal to a sentimental side of me that I have long repressed (and/or that I've never possessed) and as a result I didn't get out of this book as much as other people did. 

Deluge - Stephen Markley

Wowzer. 

One, at the very least, has to appreciate the audacity of Markley in even contemplating writing a book like this. I had to renew my library loan, as I couldn't quite finish it within the canonical two-week loan period. 

What makes this book different from so many other dystopian novels (and then again, is the best term really "dystopian"? the reality of the book feels like an increasingly possible near future) is that it doesn't start with the world being in a state of absolute chaos recognizable even by the most distracted readers; rather, it starts with our current world and our utter inability to understand how badly we are messing it up, and the descent into absolute disaster is gradually described by Markley. 

Of the various plots that run in parallel, some are obviously more compelling than others, and some are more original than others (and within them, there are some passages that are not particularly surprising, and others in which you see the author and humanity unleashing their creative and destructive potential at its finest - the Weathermen being a perfectly fitting example). 

It would have been an almost perfect book had it not been for the almost Hollywoodesque ending. I understand the author needed to sell a few more copies, but the final chapter felt a bit too hopeful and optimistic after all the drama of the previous 1000+ pages. 

Life & Times of Michael K - J.M. Coetzee

Another book that I got from my neighbour's donation box. Though in this case I didn't confuse Coetzee with someone else, in the same vein as I had confused Bulgakov and Nabokov. 

I thoroughly enjoyed Life & Times of Michael K. I didn't find the description of Michael's thought process to be heavy-handed or patronizing; rather, I found them to be a great reflection of the depth of a man who is judged by other people because of his appearance and has come to internalize many of those judgements. 

Much like with Disgrace, I found Coetzee's description of divisions in South Africa to be more immediately believable in its rawness than Nadine Godimer's (then again, perhaps I should read more South African authors to actually have a better appreciation of their literary heritage eh...). 

Some of the more dream-like sequences reminded me of his Jesus trilogy, though perhaps given the setting I found them much easier to digest.