The Pilgrimage - Paulo Coelho

OK, I've only read this book because I intend to walk the Camino de Santiago this summer, and I felt like I needed to read the book that made it ever so popular among many (already outdated) new age Italian readers in the 1990s. 

I was expecting it to be bad, but damn, not this bad!

In my mind, it would offer at least some sort of inspiration (and valuable information) for someone wanting to walk the Camino, but I found more useful information in random blog posts by improbable pilgrims. 

And the search for spirituality really grows old and uninspiring from the book's jacket onwards. 

If anything, this book could have put me off from my summer walking plans, but hey, tickets are booked already...

La Ricreazione E' Finita - Dario Ferrari

I got this book thinking it'd be a (reasonably) pleasant light read that would leave no lasting memory. Said assumption was motivated by the synopsis on the novel's jacket presenting the main character as a symbol of the generation of the pseudo-promising pseudo-young pseudo-intellectuals that fill the Italian universities on precarious contracts. So something that was bound to resonate with me, but also something that I've heard so much about that was quite unlikely to find this book particularly interesting and novel. 

Clearly, I was in for a big surprise. The sections on the beginning of the protagonist's doctorate are pleasant and fresh (and his web of relationships made me think of Eshkol Nevo's World Cup Wishes), but the detailed story of the fictional writer/terrorist that he ends up researching is something that absolutely steals the scene. 

Sure, I could have done without some things (I would have loved for the main character to also interact with some non-Italians in Paris - man, do my people ever leave their country, even when they cross its borders?!? - and his infatuation for the pretty younger girl in the second half of the book leaves a lot to be desired), but the final pages, with a twist that I definitely did not see coming, make up for any  minor shortcoming. 

The Biographer's Tale - Antonia S. Byatt

 

The grass is always greener on the other side, and the books left behind in the lobby of the next door building are always better than the ones left in our lobby. Luckily, every now and again I go and check what the neighbours' stock is like, and a couple of weeks ago there I found this book. 

Most of the time, Byatt would be quite low on my priority list, but I wanted to read a hard copy book for once and this looked like the most approachable out of the pile I had on my bedside table. 

And what a surprising pleasure this was. Having just gone to a - mediocre - Tate exhibition of the Rossettis I was prepared for a deep-dive into the life stories of 19th century figures that I didn't really like interlinked with contemporary life stories of fictional characters that I didn't find too interesting, much like in Possession. 

Instead, what I got was a deep-dive into the life stories of 19th century figures that I liked, interlinked with contemporary life stories of fictional characters that I found very interesting. And that made me happy. 

Flaubert's Parrot - Julian Barnes

  

Had this been a book about a figure that I find more interesting, my opinion of it would most likely be different. My lack of fascination for Maupassant is ultimately mirrored by my lack of fascination for Flaubert, and this no doubt affected my judgement. 

While it's obviously written with the usual inventiveness typical of Barnes, Flaubert's Parrot didn't leave a lasting impression on me. Though, I have to admit that, reading again its synopsis now, I found his invectives against literary critics (and academic literary critics above all) to be pretty much spot on. 

Possibly my least-favourite Barnes novel, but still most likely better than 94% of the things that get published.

Solar - Ian McEwan

  

I much prefer McEwan doing "science" (or thereabouts) like in this book than him doing sci-fi like in Machines Like Me, but that's not saying much. 

Solar wasn't a bad read, but I have the feeling it's already aged quite a bit over the span of a dozen years. The main driving force behind it shouldn't be the personal life of its main character (which is not as interesting as that of a number of his other characters), but rather its scientific approach, which in 2022/3 already feels quite dated. 

And the finale, with the chickens coming home to roost isn't really the most surprising.

Judas - Amos Oz

  

A fitting end to the career - and life - of the greatest Israeli author (at least to my knowledge, and in my opinion). This was another book that I surprisingly found in our building's lobby, which was rather unexpected considering how few books by Israeli authors I've seen in stock in London bookshops over the years. 

Judas is a novel of secrets, mysteries, incomprehensions and unfulfilled hopes and desires. It oozes maturity and the wisdom of an old man permeates its pages, and I suspect that there is probably quite a bit of Oz in the reclusive Wald. 

A book that I decided to keep on my Billy bookshelf (despite being a rather large hardback), which is now starting to look decrepit itself and would probably deserve to be replaced.

Everything Is Illuminated - Jonathan Safran Foer

One of the last "big" buys at the local farm - nowadays I'm not 100% sure if most of the half-decent books they sell are old ones of mine, or whether there's simply another reader somewhere in the area with a similar taste in books who discards virtually the same titles.

I went in with big expectations, having watched the movie a few years ago, and it really didn't disappoint. Actually, it was in many ways better than the movie itself - the grandfather an even more complex character, Alex's writing even funnier than his spoken English (and also, Alex himself is quite a lot deeper), and really rather interesting description of Ukraine and its 20th century history.

If not one of my all-time top-10 books, then definitely one of last year's top-10. It now is in the hands of a couple of friends who went to Ukraine for a trip a month or so ago. 20p say the book will never land back on my shelf. Oh well, at least I really like those guys...

The Book of Illusions – Paul Auster

Quite possibly the best Paul Auster novel I’ve ever read, and I don’t say this lightly.  

Hector Mann, the real protagonist of the book, is as mysterious and fascinating a figure as Master Yehudi in Mr Vertigo (and his bizarre career path post-acting reminds one of Walt’s life in the same book). The love story between the narrator and Alma is a thing of beautiful delicacy, and by the end of the book the reader is happy to know that Zimmer has moved on, but also that he sees no need to tell us anything about who has taken Alma’s place. And it is always refreshing to read an Auster novel that is not set in New York (despite the fact that Zimmer lives there for a while, accidentally in Brooklyn – who would have ever thought…).

The fact that Auster went through the trouble of inventing not just a character, but also his movie plots and his entire body of work, is something that deserves a literary standing ovation (and they’re so realistic that I actually had to look up Hector Mann on Wikipedia, thinking he was a real – if a bit obscure – figure of the silent film era that I had never heard of…). 

Disgrace – J.M. Coetzzee

I somehow have the feeling that this book is about actual life in South Africa much more than any of the works by Nadine Gordimer.

No matter how far he has fallen, David always seems to find a way to reach new lows. Despite the fact that so many of his actions are condemnable, the reader (or at least, in my case, the white reader with a sheltered life) wants his misery to end well before the invasion of Lucy’s farm. And the depiction of Lucy’s apathy after the robbery and rape is absolutely paralyzing. I am not quite sure whether things will improve for David after the end of the book, I’m afraid not – and surely things are going to spiral downwards for Lucy.

Notwithstanding its uncontainable grimness and harshness, or possibly because of that, this is one of the best novels I’ve ever read.

Nausea – Jean Paul Sartre

It took me years to read my first novel by Sartre. I blame it on the (mutual) dislike for my high-school philosophy teacher and his classes on existentialism (disclaimer: he was a great teacher, but wasn’t particularly nice to me and my then girlfriend – the same girl I ended up marrying).

Despite its title, Nausea is a really enjoyable book. Much to my surprise, its apathy doesn’t rub onto the reader, and I actually managed to appreciate its deep and reflective passages a lot more than I would have expected.

And I was a big fan of the Autodidact (probably because I like to think of myself as having a similar approach to my cultural growth), but I really wish he would keep his hands in their place...