Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter – Mario Vargas Llosa

Another book that I’ve read this Christmas in Bolivia (my first snowless, sleeveless Christmas) assuming that it would have been about Peru but later discovering that it had countless mentions of the country where I was staying (and also of the beauty of the women from Santa Cruz, where half of my wife’s family is from).

Like so many of the Latin American novels that I’ve read lately, I find this one to be plenty of potential that is often not fulfilled (although this is probably reflective of a change in my reading habits, since I thought that all the Latin American books that I read as a teenager were fulfilling their potential). Yes, the story is sweet, and the throwback to an era in which people’s life-rhythms were dictated by radio is chic and class.

The problem for me was that, while the main story was interesting and fairly captivating, the progressively disjointed chapters on the radio programs (which make up exactly half of the novel – every other chapter) became progressively more boring.

The Uncommon Reader – Alan Bennett

Probably my favourite book by Alan Bennett. The market is saturated with 90-page novellas that are meant to make readers laugh. This one didn’t make me laugh, but it did make me smile – and that’s probably a much greater accomplishment.

An even greater accomplishment is that, despite the fact that the monarch portrayed has probably got very little to do with the actual Elizabeth II, Bennett actually made me like the Queen a lot more (something that, at the London Olympics, also James Bond managed to do). I mean, who wouldn’t like to have a Head of State who sneaks out to read Dickens and Hardy (and Proust too, but why? Why? Why should anyone do that to him/herself?!?)

I wish there was someone in Italy capable of producing something this enjoyable. I’m not saying a masterpiece (this book is lovely, but it isn’t one), but something so delicate. Unfortunately, most Italian writers have spent their last 20 years copying themselves (at best) or failing to reinvent the wheel (at worst).

Animal Farm – George Orwell

Another book we read in our English class for the linguistically challenged in Canada. It led to wonderful class discussions about “Esnowball” (most of our classmates where native Spanish speakers) and his leadership skills.

I understand why this book was a great read at the time of its publication and for years to follow, but I think it’s now simply too dated (that being said, it should still be read because of its historical value, because its prose is beautiful, and because reading such a short book can give non-readers a much-needed boost).

Also, I’m not a fan of allegories. And, being a historian, the book didn’t really have many surprises for me (although you don’t need to be a historian to feel this way, clearly). So yeah, everyone should read this book for what it meant, but without expecting his/her mind to be blown away by a unique, cutting-edge and insightful critique of the Soviet system.

Il Nome della Rosa – Umberto Eco

Considering my dislike (no, scrap that, it was actual hatred) for Latin, I was not expecting to enjoy so much a tome of these dimensions and with so many passages in a dead language with which I fruitlessly struggled for three years.

Yes, there have been tons of mystery and detective stories set in the Middle Ages lately, but this is something else. Guglielmo and Adso, like Sherlock and Watson, aren’t just insightful, they are a perfect tandem, complement each other, and also have a (monastic, but still highly developed) sense of humour.

The book is a joy to read, although because of its size it’s clearly not one that can be read in a day. And it’s downright thrilling (and scary, at times). Also, we can finally forget the pursuit of the Holy Grail (the only time this was fun was when Indiana Jones was chasing it) or that of other boring relics – for once these monks are fighting for something that actually matters.

Journey to the End of the Night – Luis-Ferdinand Céline

I read this book in Bolivia, in the internet-less and TV-less flat of my wife’s grandma, with no people around me. The perfect place to dedicate your full attention to a book. And yet, I got bored, my mind wondered, and I frequently asked myself what was the point of this novel.

Sure, the writing is innovative, but other than that? Wikipedia talks about cynic humour. I couldn’t see that. Sure, seeing Bardamu travel from place to place can be exciting, but what’s left after the novelty of the different location dies out? Very little, and even the final scene left me completely unmoved.

My literary taste is probably too underdeveloped to appreciate the uniqueness of this book. I’ll happily trade my copy of it for anything with a linear story and a protagonist who is not such a jackass. Just kidding: I would never give my copy away, I think it’s a book you need to have, even if just to dismiss it.