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).