His Illegal Self - Peter Carey

 

This book was OK, which is a pretty sad statement for anything written by Peter Carey, but hey, you can't write something Booker-worthy every time. 

His Illegal Self  has a wild and pyrotechnic beginning, but once the actions shifts to Australia and the secrets of Che's "mom" are uncovered (a bit late to cause significant shockwaves) the book appears to settle, which is bizarre considering that I was expecting Carey to be - quite literally - at home there. 

And the ragtag Australian hippies are on the whole rather boring (or maybe it's just the nature of their anachronistically alternative lifestyle that doesn't attract me anymore?) and quite caricatural, which makes for many dull passages spent discussing the present and future of a former stray cat.  

The Testaments - Margaret Atwood

 

Perhaps I should go back and read The Handmaid's Tale, as I recall liking it, but not as much as its sequel. 

From what I can recall, the former is a book about persecution, and the latter is a book about an escape. Both have tortuous attempts at rebellion at their heart, but the first novel is an agonizing one in which every page adds another layer of cruelty, while the second one is an action-packed page turner. 

In The Testaments Atwood doesn't seem to dwell as much on human cruelty - that was already explored more than enough in The Handmaid's Tale and often a quick hint to something allows even forgetful readers like myself to remember the sensation of oppression left by the first book. 

All in all, The Testaments is most likely the more enjoyable read, but The Handmaid's Tale is the better book. 

Omero, Iliade - Alessandro Baricco

 

The most significant thing about this book was finding an old copy of it in my parents' library, with a message from my mom to my grandfather - one of those wise uneducated people who studied until he was 12 before starting to work in the fields but still had time to learn the first book of the Iliad by heart. 

This book is a truly commendable effort, making Homer accessible to a wider public, retelling the story in prose, and focusing on the human dynamics (so much so that the gods are completely left out as an editorial decision). 

Compared to Christa Wolf, obviously, it pales in terms of literary significance, but in terms of bringing Greek mythology "to the Italian masses" I really think this book is second to none and, because of that, it should be applauded. 

La Verita' Su Tutto - Vanni Santoni

 

I find Santoni to be one of the few beacons of light in the desolate landscape of Italian contemporary literature. He knows how to write, and he does actually have something to write about, while most other celebrated authors appear only able to do one or the other. 

That said, while this book covers a number of topics that other readers might find fascinating, I find most things related to spirituality rather uninteresting (perhaps because I have no spirit in the first place?!?). This unfortunately meant that my reactions to the book were lukewarm. 

In addition, I didn't quite understand the premise (with a journalist interviewing the main character, a device that then gets dropped and picked up apparently at random in a couple of odd places in the book) and was rather surprised to see so many pages dedicated to the initial stages of the main character's "career" and then see her meteoric rise to stardom covered (and explained) oh ever so briefly.  

The Noise of Time - Julian Barnes

 

Of all the "pet topics" that authors have, I find Barnes's interest in the idiosyncrasies of the Soviet system to be particularly compelling. 

Yet, unlike the reviewers of The Observer I didn't find The Noise of Time to be a masterpiece, but merely a good book. While the first few pages, with Shostakovich waiting for his arrest by spending the night next to the lift by his flat, blew me away, the rest of the book felt relatively flat. 

Perhaps Soviet Russia was just not the best setting for Barnes to showcase his brilliant humour?

Blonde Roots - Bernardine Evaristo

 

In all honesty, I wouldn't have read this book had it not been for the fact that the Southwark libraries app grants access to many of Evaristo's books since she won the Booker Prize. 

On the plus side, it made me realize that the "good" but not "one in a generation" kind of authors very rarely invent something from scratch and that, in this case, Colson Whitehead must have borrowed quite a bit from Blonde Roots for his The Underground Railroad (or maybe it's an incredible coincidence that both main characters take an actual underground railroad to try to escape slavery?). 

On the down side, I never really found myself gripped by this book. 

One interesting thing though: despite the frequent reminders that the slaves are white and the slave-owners black, I struggled to picture them as such and my mental image of Doris often switched between that of a white and a black woman. Talk about the power of ingrained perceptions and experience...

Snow - John Banville

 

Running out of readable ebooks on the Southwark libraries app (add some new decent titles, please!) I decided to give Banville's attempt to write a detective story a go. 

And I spent most of my time thinking (and sometimes saying aloud) "John Banville, come on, since when have you become a banal author reverting to all the most obvious plot twists used in airport paperbacks?!?". 

Seriously, rarely a writer has disappointed me as much as Banville did with this book. It had them all: the detective with the troubled love life, the manipulated and mentally unstable black sheep of the family, the abusive Catholic priests (I'm really, really far from being even just remotely a fan of the Catholic Church, but this is one of the three easiest and most annoying tropes around), etc. 

And not a single actual surprising moment through the book. Never. 

Le Perfezioni - Vincenzo Latronico

 

This was one of my frequent attempts to engage with Italian literature by going through the shortlists of the country's biggest literary prizes. 

As usual, I despair for the present and future of (just?) Italian literature. I can  picture authors stopping to re-read a sentence and spending 10 self-congratulatory minutes to remind themselves of how wonderful their prose is, and how imaginative their plot twists are, when in reality they are "meh" at the very, very best. 

But this is a book that I absolutely loved to detest. The main characters are obnoxious, the kind of Italians abroad that I hate with passion, those who leave the country but can't think of learning a new language besides basic rudiments, who are completely unable to break the umbilical chord that links them to the motherland, who anyway will always be able to count upon family wealth as and when needed and who only really have meaningful interactions - no matter where they are - with people born within 500 km of their native village. 

If Latronico's book is an ironic critique of this kind of people, I might read something else by him, but I actually doubt he had any intention of criticizing his characters or their way to see the world. 

Agent Running in the Field - John le Carré

 

A book that I read in part in digital form, and in part as a hard copy at our local library while my younger daughter was busy reading (well, actually just leafing through, she's three!) dozens of Bluey, Spot and - much to my chagrin - Peppa Pig books. 

Le Carré is one of those authors who make me wonder whether one can be both a great writer and have near universal reach. Very few can, and I believe le Carré belongs in that list. 

Sure, the ending of the book feels rushed and underexplored, but we're talking about an author who, at the tender age of 88, was probably feeling the pressure of time more than others (and he might have a point, as he died soon after the publication of this book). 

Apparently Agent Running in the Field has been described by many as le Carré's Brexit novel, which is obviously reductive, but I did love his decision to air out his anger and frustration with that whole bonkers project: while the likes of Ali Smith and Ian McEwan are preaching to the choir when they criticize Brexit, I suspect le Carré's readership covers a much broader socio-political spectrum and so his move was a lot bolder and riskier (though again, at 88 he probably didn't have too much to lose). 

Leviathan - Paul Auster

 

With my most sincere apologies to 4 3 2 1 , I think this is the Paul Auster novel to end all Paul Auster novels. 

It is the first Auster's novel I had heard of (possibly the first that my parents read?), but, not being as ubiquitous in all second-hand bookshops as The New York Trilogy, also one that I hadn't touched until the Westminster library kindly gave me access to the e-book. 

Besides the traditional Auster trademarks (chance, mystery, fortuitous crossings of metaphorical paths) what particularly struck me of this novel is how relevant to today's world it still feels. Perhaps, after all, America and its identity (crisis) hasn't changed that much since the end of the Cold War...

Il Colibrì - Sandro Veronesi

 

Granted, my parents had warned me (I had just forgotten about it, but hey...), yet I was expecting more from Veronesi. Not sooo much more, but at least a little more. 

This book is light as its titular hummingbird. And I don't mean that as a good thing. The long protracted story of a pretty uninteresting main character left me rather untouched. The sappy final scenes of love, forgiveness and hope openly annoyed me. 

At most, this is the sort of book that I think one should read over the span of a couple of afternoons at the beach. Except that I don't like beaches, so I don't think this book really has any space in my life, and will have very little space in my memory. 

La Traversata Notturna - Andrea Canobbio

 

I guess that when you don't have many ideas, you can write an autobiographical book. 

I guess that when you aren't the best of writers, you can borrow from other authors' approaches and styles (hello Perec!). 

And I guess that when you have interesting sources and artefacts (the family heirlooms pictured in the book are often the most interesting parts), you might as well use them. 

This is actually an OK book; I'm glad I've read it as it's an interesting perspective on a city - Turin - that I know quite well. I just think that it really shouldn't be considered one of the best Italian books of 2022, but since that's apparently the case, mala tempora currunt, 

Cassandra - Christa Wolf

Why did I have to spend years being taught - and being made to absolutely hate - ancient Greek grammar, instead of spending more time actually learning their (hi)stories?

Seriously, had a teacher ever thought of making me read this book (instead of memorizing μῆνιν ἄειδε θεὰ Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος and repeating it like a parrot!) I would have actually quickly grown to like - and later most likely to love - Greek mythology. 

Instead, it took my 36 years to get closer to the life, troubles, thoughts and loves of some of the most fascinating characters ever produced by the human imagination. My daughters (aged 3 and 6 now) ask to be read stories from a children's version of The Odyssey before bed and won't have to study ancient Greek unless they really, really want to - who knows how that will work out!

Life: A User's Manual - Georges Perec

 

One of my dad's favourite books, and one that he has re-read recently. 

While I can understand why it was popular "back then", I really don't think it has aged that well. The idea of short stories and anecdotes held together by a red thread (in this case the building itself and some of the people who live/have lived there) has been done a lot, and I find many contemporary authors' approaches (Strout above all) much better. 

Style above everything - much like with many French writers of the period - works wonders for many readers, just not me in this case. 

Moon Palace - Paul Auster

 

The one time in my life I had to request a renewal of a library book loan (it took me more than two weeks to read it!) and it was a Paul Auster novel...

Testament to the fact that we had a lot going on (family holidays, in part, and a huge kitchen refurb waiting for us back home), but also to the fact that this wasn't my favourite Auster book. 

Had it not been for the fact that I've read most of his other works, I would have probably enjoyed Moon Palace a lot more, but (un?)fortunately I have read most of his other works, and had already come across much better renditions of his traditional "cultured and troubled Columbia student is confused and tossed around by chance and mysterious fortuitous encounters".