Maybe I’ll change it to 5. It affected me in a big way. Review to follow. -- Seymour Tecumseh (“ST”) Baumgartner, philosophy professor at Princeton, is Maybe I’ll change it to 5. It affected me in a big way. Review to follow. -- Seymour Tecumseh (“ST”) Baumgartner, philosophy professor at Princeton, is approaching his seventh decade. He’s a widower whose beloved wife Anna died in a tragic beach accident ten years ago, a loss that left him reeling. He’s picked up the pieces, has a new love, and is getting ready to retire. But his body and mind aren’t what they were, and lately he’s been wondering if he’s made the right choices. Pervading the novel is the notion: will old(er) age end in loneliness?
I became a Paul Auster fan many years ago when I perused my wife’s bookshelf when we were first dating. Always good to share interests, right? That set me on a path, which left off six years ago with the masterpiece, 4321. This is now the ninth book of his I’ve read, and I cherish them all (with 4321, Leviathan, and Moon Palace taking top billing).
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That said, I was skeptical because of the layout of this novel. Nearly plotless, heady, introspective, intensely philosophical? Hmm. Those are all the reasons I never finished any Proust (yes, I’m a troglodyte). But, at just 208 pages, I figured that even if I did get bogged down, the traffic jam of thought wouldn’t last long.
I forgot, however, why I love this author in the first place. You philosophy majors can go ahead and laugh, but I find his writing deeply existential in a common-man way. OK, Sy isn’t exactly Joe Sixpack, as a Princeton professor and all, but Auster tortures him in a manner to which we can all relate. I adored the first chapter: the accidents, the solitude, the rambling of thoughts, things that happen to anyone. It’s all told in Sy’s head, and the sentences are Faulkner-esque, stretching for nearly half a page…but since it’s tactile, easy to imagine, it absolutely works. It’s not, “He loved his wife with all his heart,” but rather, “Anna looked like this,” and “She ran like the wind.” Auster illustrates his MC’s feelings, and somehow I was made to feel them intensely. Only a master does that.
He also has a way of describing characters with such intricacy, importance, and care. Even the gasman that shows up is given a personality, a tenderness that challenges our assumptions and fits in perfectly with Sy’s thoughts. Each gets a little backstory, which you think would be tedious. But no, “show, don’t tell” wins again. We see the contrast between Anna and Judith (his new love) shown through Judith’s upper-middle-class upbringing. We get a sense of every member of Sy’s family through the dress shop, through lived history, through interpersonal conflict. Again, it’s palpable, and thus, it’s not really introspection, is it?
Even better, Auster gives us love, pain, long-ago happiness using a tremendously creative and well-executed tactic: the main characters’ writings. Sy stumbles across short stories and poems written by his wife and shares them with us. I love an author who can portray different voices in the same novel, and Auster’s no slouch. Anna’s childhood memoir flattened me, and I’m no lover of poetry, but I adored the verse that seemed to be the beginning of their love affair. Not as crazy about one of Sy’s memoirs, but it was still an interesting way to share feelings and thoughts. The ending is a little abrupt and vague, but I gave it some thought and I’m OK with it now.
So, once again, if you consider yourself a budding philosopher, I won’t begrudge your snickering. But the reason I loved this novel was the everyman existentialism, the contemplation of Sy’s place in the world, his contributions to society, his struggle with his fears of loneliness. He looks, for example, at his relationship with his sister Naomi with regret and longing, and through real-life actions and tangible memories, we feel those regrets. Time and again I set down my Kindle, letting the sensations wash over me. But not for long, since I ripped through this novel, not your stereotypical “page-turner,” in a day and a half.
I could sit in these feelings all day. The ideas and situations Auster presents are the kinds that would remind me that the examined life is worth living.
Thank you to NetGalley and Grove Press for the distinct honor of receiving an advance copy of this novel in exchange for an honest review.
Alien spaceships appear over every major city in the world, hover for a while, then…poof! They take a space-hike. That leaves three groups of people iAlien spaceships appear over every major city in the world, hover for a while, then…poof! They take a space-hike. That leaves three groups of people in a tizzy: Oliver, a human vegetable who suddenly regains his faculties; Heather, a gap-year stepchild who resents her brilliant brother and dorky but accomplished stepdad; and Blaine, a water technician who’s noticing odder than usual behavior from Anne, his bacon- and plastic-obsessed superwoman of a wife.
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First off, great humor here. Tough to write funny, but Jane whacks me in the funny bone enough times to get me to scare my family by laughing out loud in the peace of the living room. She writes the characters with awesome flaws and quirks and turns of phrase, in particular those wacky kids of Blaine and Anne’s. Loved Oliver and Heather, even Dave. Everyone was fun and complex. The writing smacked of Dave Barry.
The premise is one that might very well be an offshoot of legalization of certain substances, because why anyone would think of alien invasion in this way, I’ll never know. But Jane’s prediction of how Americans would react to aliens giving us the brush-off is better than I’d have thought. She wanted to write aliens living among us, and her imaging how they’d live and how they’d thrive silently is wonderful. I loved the Malort, and I’d love to meet one!
The pace is quick and never really lets up. Lots of dialogue, action, and whatever inner monologue is met with occurrences every time. There’s a big “Close Encounters” crescendo going to the end, a little better than your average “first contact” story, with a lovely and fun ending.
And…cats. If you’re a cat person, you’ve been waiting for this book your whole life. I’ll say no more. But oh, those chonky bois!
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Little side note: I got a real White Noise vibe when Blaine and Anne’s family hit the road, destination unknown. I saw some reviews calling it “trippy,” but for me, the whole thing was explainable and coherent, if a little goofy and weird. You want psychedelic, murky, and indecipherable? Try some Don DeLillo.
Great stuff, and I’ll looking for more from this debut author. My overall rating? Klaatu, Barada, Nikto!
Living in a small town outside Dublin, the Barnes family is in a wee bit of trouble. Dickie is struggling to keep afloat the family business, a car deLiving in a small town outside Dublin, the Barnes family is in a wee bit of trouble. Dickie is struggling to keep afloat the family business, a car dealership owned by his father-in-law. Imelda is dealing with her past demons and trying to keep the house solvent. Cass needs to pass her exams but has friend troubles. PJ just wants to run away.
WOW.
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A family drama done beautifully! Each family member’s issues were so well-constructed, so brilliantly described. I had instant empathy for all of the above. I was so invested in each character’s lives, really wanting it all to work out. I felt so bad for each! I loved Cass and her issues with her friend! I loved PJ, wanted him to get away from the bully! Oh, and Imelda’s tale, her long-lost love, his issues, and the “bee sting!” And Dickie’s problems, his history in college! The emotions were really roiling.
I loved the “voices,” too. Each chapter is third person but in the mind of one of the four family members. Later, even some of the side characters are given a voice (and I liked how Big Mike’s voice turned out!). I don’t normally go for the “no punctuation” that was Imelda, but after a while I just adored it. Murray just nails the concerns, feelings, thought processes of each generation. He jumped into a boy’s thoughts, a teenager’s, all. This was Barbara Kingsolver-like.
The flow was wonderful. It’s a long book but didn’t feel like it at all. And a fantastic, crescendo, cliffhanger ending. Excellent!
Side note: I NEED to visit Ireland. I always wanted to see where my grandmother grew up, and maybe see long-lost relatives. Yeah, this seals it.
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I loved An Evening of Long Goodbyes and Skippy Dies, but this tops them both. Easily in my top 5, maybe even 2, of the year! GO GET IT RIGHT NOW!!! -- Trigger warning: graphic rape...more
Beware the thought, “I’ve read everything there is to read about WWII.” Instead, perhaps consider what I learned in my twenties: “Everyone has a storyBeware the thought, “I’ve read everything there is to read about WWII.” Instead, perhaps consider what I learned in my twenties: “Everyone has a story to tell.”
The title character escapes an abusive relationship and overbearing family of modest Staten Island wealth to enlist in the Red Cross during the middle years of World War Two. She makes it through training and soon ships overseas to serve as an attendant to something called a “Clubmobile.” The instructions are suspect but clear: to remind the troops for what they’re fighting. That means not just coffee and donuts, but conversation and a little flirtation wouldn’t hurt. The sheltered Irene meets the towering Indiana farm girl Dorothy, and together they ride all over Europe after the D-Day Invasion.
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The first part is simply charming. Sometimes it can be a little difficult to read, since the conversations are stuck in the kind of slang I only remember from Bugs Bunny cartoons. People back then were so much more skilled at witty banter, so I slowed my reading so I could appreciate it. Once I did, I got a vivid look into the conflicts and fears going on inside Irene’s head. I wasn’t crazy about the abrupt perspective shifts, sometimes within the same chapter, but Urrea saves it with real-life, tangible character actions and emotions.
As I expected, the novel shines during the most dangerous scenes. It’s war, after all, and we’re not spared the terror. Tanks plow through homes, shots meet their targets, death lurks at every corner, even for our two “Donut Dollies.” Urrea does it well: it’s not just used for melodrama, but gets shared in a human way. Certainly not glorified, the violence is simply experienced by us through the eyes of a non-combatant (though for Dorothy that changes a bit), and hence it’s both frightening and realistic. There’s a dogfight scene written with sheer poetry, a standalone chapter that just sings.
I was also charmed by the love affair that brews between Irene and “Handyman,” a pilot she meets in her early training days. The R&R they share on the French Riviera was authentic, heartwarming, and sweet as sugar. Perhaps it was made more special knowing that this really was Irene’s first true love.
There’s a pivotal scene about 75% through that also has that magical, dreamy but realistic tinge. The fever dream within is not my thing, and as it always does, it slowed me down. But I wouldn’t have done without it. Although many of the scenes stirred deep and powerful emotions in me, this one ran through my heart like a shooting star.
Then, it pulled me through a final section, fifty years after Irene’s service. It was tough to read only because I was so emotionally invested, so sad and angry and thrilled for what would happen to her next. Some have called it a little too schmaltzy (not in those words), but I’ll say no more except that I was on the verge of tears.
I see this as a wonderful book club pick. Plenty to discuss here, and plenty of scenes over which to gush and praise. It’s historical fiction, it’s real-life, it’s romance, it’s friendship. And all of it woven together with brilliant prose and true, deep feeling. Among the best 2023 has had to offer so far! 4.75 stars!
I almost gave up on this one. Can you believe that? It started oddly, a little dreamy, so there was something about it that thought it’d be a slog.
GoI almost gave up on this one. Can you believe that? It started oddly, a little dreamy, so there was something about it that thought it’d be a slog.
Good thing I didn’t trust my instincts.
Not your traditional Vietnam-era novel. We have three stories: Dan, the American vet; Trang and Quyhn, Vietnamese women in the late 60s trying to earn money to support their family; and Phong, an Amerasian trying to learn about his origins and escape the poverty and racism of modern-day Vietnam. The time flits between the war and present-day, but it works so well. The changes are seamless and important to the plot.
Wonderful character development. All of the above have personalities and traits spelled out nearly perfectly. All the reasons for the actions make sense, all the tragedies they encounter are so very real.
The storyline is just tremendous. Flows quickly and beautifully. Such incredible descriptions: the landscapes, the people, the ugliness of war. Once in a while a character experiences a PTSD-fueled flashback, and even those are amazing.
I was emotionally invested. I’m a sucker for a family drama, for having children involved, so I was on the verge of tears as I listened to the later chapters. (The ratio of print to audio was about 65/35.) Everything unrolled at the end so effortlessly, so smoothly, and with so much feeling. I took a very small issue with a decision made by Quynh toward the end, but I can reconcile that. And the occasional “telling” sentences don’t last long, and are overshadowed by brilliant illustrations. It’s like she painted pain, joy, redemption, fear, regret, all so wonderful, so vividly, like a painting at the MoMa at which I could stare for hours, as it gets right to my heart.
You heard it here: the leader in the clubhouse for best book of 2023. Gloriously written, deeply emotional. A five-star triumph! ...more
The most striking part of this novel was the plot. Kind of an obvious statement, but I don’t know if I’ve ever read a romance novel with such nervous,The most striking part of this novel was the plot. Kind of an obvious statement, but I don’t know if I’ve ever read a romance novel with such nervous, edge-of-your-seat moments. It elicited thoughts like, “No, don’t do that!” or “Oh, don’t act that way, you don’t know what he’s thinking!” Here I thought it was a fluffy fluff piece of fluff, and less than halfway through I was hoping my new friends wouldn’t get hurt.
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Was it the stakes? Man decides to give a kidney to someone’s brother, before he gets romantically involved. Woman falls for the co-worker who helps her beloved brother.
Was it the types of characters? Smart, successful, but seemingly humble professionals with vulnerabilities to which I can relate. We got a warning about mental health issues in the preference, and while I’ve never been diagnosed with social anxiety, embedding it in Jacob’s character was tastefully and expertly done. Near and dear to me.
I enjoyed the dual first-person narrative. That doesn’t always work for me, but the character development was so full and robust, I empathized with Jacob and Briana instantly. And again, the plot: a few times we’d reach a “happy ending” point, some goal achieved. Then I’d look at how many pages were left and think, “Huh, either there’s gonna be a ton of denouement, or…” Then, WHAM! Something unexpected happens. And it’s not like one of those deux ex machina things, some random misfortune like a flash flood or sharknado or something (see The Four Winds). They have to do with aspects of the character’s personality or upbringing. That’s where the investment is: I liked them so much, I didn’t want the bad stuff to happen.
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Of course, there’s the epilogue. *Sigh.* Everyone’s mega-happy and successful and they rescue a pack of puppies and babies from a burning school bus careening into the Grand Canyon. Eh, I’d have liked it ended with the last chapter. Are all rom-coms like this? (I should talk: I kinda feel that way with the epilogue of Richie the Caseworker.)
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A colleague saw me reading this and called it “brain candy.” Well, I better brush my brain teeth, because I’ll read this author’s work anytime. Maybe the best of this genre I’ve ever read!
A boy is placed on the Kindertransport in 1938 to escape the Nazi regime in Austria, never to see his parents again. A blind Salvadoran girl is separaA boy is placed on the Kindertransport in 1938 to escape the Nazi regime in Austria, never to see his parents again. A blind Salvadoran girl is separated from her mother at the US border. A social worker seeks the help of a high-powered lawyer to help her secure asylum. And the girl’s only known relative is a live-in housekeeper in Berkeley…at the home of the boy who’d escaped the Nazis.
No one breathes beautiful, poetic, magic life into the souls of her characters like Allende. Spend some time with them, and not only will you understand how they feel and think, you’ll see that human life and human feeling is complex and amazing. I adored them all, and the villains were real and scary.
Anita, the blind girl, narrates a good part of the story. I was almost in tears reading her parts. I’m a sucker for a good kid story – what can I say? She has a vivid imagination, brought about through trauma. And it’s my kind of magical realism: simple, heartfelt, relatable. Same for the “ghosts” and spirits some of the characters, including Samuel (the octogenarian escapee): their experiences were subtle, understandable, and made me smile.
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The story arc is quick, maybe a little buried by character description. But whenever there was action, it was detailed and vivid. I enjoyed Selena and Frank’s (social worker and lawyer) trips to El Salvador, their taxi trips, their visit to Anita’s grandmother. There’s more development and explanation in the first half, but that changes a bit about a third of the way through. It has a very nice ending as well.
And I LOVE this title. Not sure where it came from, but when I saw it in the text, I almost lost it. Again…I’m a sucker for kids in literature. A friend says that changed when I became a dad. So be it.
Allende is becoming one of my favorite authors. Perhaps an odd, dreamy taste for most. Maybe you need to be in the right mindset to read her. But read her you should. This is one of her shorter works, so absolutely a must-read and a good intro into the work of one of our generation’s best novelists.
Tara Connelly is ending her 18-month prison stretch in Westchester County, NY. Showing up on her last day is Detective Brian Nolan, who her sent thereTara Connelly is ending her 18-month prison stretch in Westchester County, NY. Showing up on her last day is Detective Brian Nolan, who her sent there…but who also feels guilty about it. He drives her to her family home in Port Chester to live with her sister Geraldine, who runs an accounting firm, and her brother Eddie, a construction guy dealing with a traumatic brain injury. Getting in the way of her re-entry are a whole host of secrets, from why she was involved with a drug ring in the first place, to Geraldine’s hidden problem, to Eddie’s reason for supporting Tara no matter what.
But that’s not even the HALF of it.
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Tracey Lange takes the family secrecy from We Are the Brennans and slams the pedal to the floor. The real-life, textured, flawed, likeable characters, the ones you think are just everyday people, are tangled in the most intricate web of hidden tales and grudges. Whatever she did in her last book she perfects in this one. Everything was unveiled with style, skill, and precision. Lots of past history creeping into the plot. Sure, maybe a little explain-y at times, but there’s always, ALWAYS something happening from page to page.
And you’d think it’s mundane, until the robust, deep feelings arise. There aren’t any bad guys here, just characters making bad decisions for the maybe right, maybe wrong reasons. (In fact, at one point I said aloud, “They should call this book ‘The Bad Decisions Playbook’.)
But that’s what makes this book so great! I love a book that makes me yell, “No, don’t do that!” And here, it’s so murky when, for example, Tara and Eddie accompany Geraldine for therapy. Or, when the romance takes hold. Oh boy, the forbidden-ness of that relationship really stung me. Yeah, it was a little quick, but it was easy to lean in: both Tara and X (no spoilers) were shown as really good people, deserving of a little love. Oooh, the intrigue, the sneaky things the characters do, the tenuous relationships…Wow. Lange flexes her relationship-story muscles here.
Great pace, too. The ending swims, pulses from about 75% on. Loved the connection Tara makes in the Bronx. I liked how Eddie was involved with the drug dealer, how Geraldine was twisted with her employer, how Brian was mixed up with his uncle, how his uncle dealt with issues late in the novel. There’s a lot going on, but Lange winds it all together so perfectly.
Heartfelt, twisty, sharp, and tender. Yes, I grew up in and around this area, so maybe I’m biased. But I can see this winning some awards…because it already won me over! Well done!
I never put it up on GR, but I have a little secret: I DNF’ed David Copperfield. Gasp! I was complaining about it to a coworker, who repeated what manI never put it up on GR, but I have a little secret: I DNF’ed David Copperfield. Gasp! I was complaining about it to a coworker, who repeated what many of you said: “Life’s too short to read books you don’t like.” Look, I found it tedious. He describes the dirt under his fingernails for like, three full pages. I get it: the guy got paid by the word. Doesn’t mean I have to read all of ‘em. Sue me.
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Not only that, but lots of you GR faithful told me that in order to enjoy Demon Copperhead, I needn’t read Dickens. In fact, to save me from surrendering forty-odd hours of my life on such drudgery, some of you provided a pithy summary of the original: “Life sucks and then you die.” Got it. Hooray!
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So, I was free to enjoy Kingsolver’s latest. And had I not been such a lousy skinflint and read the sucker in 2022 like I should’ve, I’d have ranked it alongside Our Missing Hearts as my favorite of the year.
I guided myself with the general story arc of Copperfield: a young man born into poverty and perilous circumstance. That was good enough to soak in the meaning and feeling. I needed a few pages to get accustomed to the unusual language, the narrative of a teen with a thick Appalachia accent. But WOW, she did it again. She delivered the perfect voice, the precise perspective of this troubled kid. Demon’s thoughts, musings, worldview were so unbelievably genuine. Every happening was described with such detail, but detail as only Demon himself would have seen them. Every character was developed with incredible precision: they all seemed so real, so true to life. It’s about as human a book as I could have imagined.
Especially in the first half, I found myself laughing out loud at some of the hilarious things Demon would say. I almost felt bad about it, considering how tragic every step was. Reminded me of friends and family I know, the kind that can tell a riotous anecdote about an idiot cousin or ridiculous happening at the DMV. Or a really good comedian I saw once in the Village: basically, just complaining about having to take the subway every day but telling the story with the most rakish tilt.
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I also liked the existential tension here: Demon bemoans his crummy childhood but knows in his heart that it takes his own actions to make things better. It doesn’t get solved in any corny way, either: I wouldn’t have expected that from Kingsolver. I was a little surprised, but plenty satisfied, by the ending with that in mind.
One note: I was glad I read it as fast as I did. Not sure this makes sense, but had I stepped away more often, I might have felt it bogged down a bit. It’s awfully long, and I can see how others might find it a little repetitive. (It’s how I felt about The Grapes of Wrath: I love it, but the “life sucks” theme just keeps going.) It helped listening to the audiobook for a bit of it, and the guy did a marvelous job, what with the thick accent and teenage colloquialisms. Me, I loved the pace. Lean into it like you’re listening to a sharp, funny kid tell a story, and you’ll move it along, maybe even too fast.
Another magic tome by one of my favorite authors, who I’d love to meet one day. And add this to my list of best books of the 21st Century. Must-read....more
“Success to me looked like developing the empowered athlete, not just the winning athlete.”
Could it be that athletics is just as much about attaining “Success to me looked like developing the empowered athlete, not just the winning athlete.”
Could it be that athletics is just as much about attaining pride in one’s form, one’s life satisfaction, than about winning? That confidence, self-actualization, and the pursuit of the mind-body-soul balance should be the true goals of sport? That pushing the body to the limit just for the sake of the win might not be the healthiest thing?
And most importantly, must we continue to ignore the reality of young women in sports having to conform to a male paradigm?
Fleshman absolutely opened my eyes to a number of important issues affecting female athletes. The body dysmorphia, the eating disorders, the different standards, all brought to light through her own story of success on a tightrope. I surely enjoyed hearing those running stories, but cringed at some of the problems competition at that level developed. I especially found myself gripping the edges and gritting my teeth when I heard how major sports sponsors view pregnancy. I was thrilled to see her find a home with a company with women’s issues at its forefront.
It's all backed up with solid research. Clearly she knows her stuff, both on the biological and sociological side. It does make the story a little jerky, flipping back and forth through an interesting idea and her own personal reflections and stories. The writing gets a little slow at times, just offering details about practices or meets without that sharp view of the issues, truly the hallmark of this book. But a fantastic final chapter, offering wonderful philosophy on the future of sport, and chuck full of quotes like the one I cited above.
An important text that’s shifted my view of sports. A must-read for any athlete, any gender, in any sport (especially track and field).
Do yourself a favor, even if you can’t swim: go get yourself a good maritime disaster story. It wouldn’t be published if it weren’t all mixed up with Do yourself a favor, even if you can’t swim: go get yourself a good maritime disaster story. It wouldn’t be published if it weren’t all mixed up with murder, hurricanes, shark/whale/sea gull attacks, coffins, mutiny, and of course, lost clownfish. Someone’s stuck in a canoe with Richard Parker, someone’s marooned on an island with nothing but coconuts and seaweed, someone needs a bigger boat.
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Grann’s book seems to have it all. And it all happened.
The Wager was part of a British strike force that departed England in 1740 to capture a Spanish galleon. After a harrowing effort to round Cape Horn (give me a Magellan-esque tale of traversing the edge of the world any day ), she encounters a storm off the coast of Patagonia (modern-day Chile) and runs aground on a cold, desolate island. A group of survivors makes it back to Brazil, then returns to England to tell the tale. But just months later, another group returns with an entirely different version of survival.
We learn all the juicy, spooky, and sordid details from the doomed voyage that we could possibly want. Kudos to Grann and his researchers for sharing an incredibly vivid picture, as though it happened last week. It also runs very, very quickly for a historical text, perhaps because it covers only one incident in the much longer colonial period. But maintaining such a thrill could only have been done with expert storytelling. He sets up the final court-martial scenes with impressive, movie-like suspense. Just the way I like it!
To feed my love of history (that was my minor in college), he tells short snippets of interesting information around that time. He gives us a wonderful description of two different tribes the sailors encountered, right down to what they wore, what they ate, how they traveled, and even how they talked. There’s also an explanation of British naval law of the time, which might have bored me to tears otherwise, but he made it enthralling. Also, without spoilers, I’ll say I was surprised by the resolution, and I attribute that again to the expert preparation of the topic by Grann.
I was left thinking a few things. First, which account did I think was right? Then, how did I feel about how things were left? And, strangely, I got something of an Apollo 13 vibe. Things went wrong, and the dilemmas flowed: should they continue the search for the galleon, or just seek survival? In fact, I’m still thinking it all over. That’s what a good non-fiction book does.
Yet another great account of a wild time on the seas. See below for some of my favorite maritime tales, fiction and non-fiction alike.
I’d never heard of Jennette McCurdy before this, since I was in my 30s when iCarly was on Nickelodeon. But geez, what a childhood. So many terrible isI’d never heard of Jennette McCurdy before this, since I was in my 30s when iCarly was on Nickelodeon. But geez, what a childhood. So many terrible issues, so much abuse and trauma. Almost hard to imagine.
I hope there aren’t too many readers out there who’ll judge this book right from the title. I was carrying this around and could’ve sworn I had a few harsh glances. Call it tongue-in-cheek, but there’s quite a bit of truth to the phrase, once you read the harrowing stories. To my mind, the title is a multi-colored window into the author’s soul. It’s not one thing or the other. It’s many different emotions at once. What I’m trying to say is: don’t judge the author by the title. (And I’ll read what I want. Right?)
I kept saying, “That poor woman.” I hope that’s OK. No one should have to endure all that: the manipulation, the distorted body image, the eating disorders, the illnesses. I felt terrible for her, and since she’s only 30, we’re left with a sense of incompleteness, or rather a small and growing sense of hope for the future. I enjoyed the last chapter for that reason. Oh, and child television behind the scenes is as bad as I thought it’d be. Yep.
It's plain-stated and straightforward. I was going to say “matter-of-fact,” but the pain exuded in the words and stories are far more than cold facts. The language isn’t flowery and is often tremendously blunt, so it comes off as a personal journal. Short chapters and sentences and down-to-earth vocabulary, so easy to read, almost in one sitting. You also don’t need to know anything about the programs on which she starred, since I knew nothing about them but could still follow along. Trigger warnings: eating disorders, verbal abuse. (But I don’t know if you’d read this if you weren’t expecting them.)
It's a stirring and shocking look at the struggles of a young woman thrust into the spotlight. I wish her the best....more
The story goes deeper than the book cover: there are a number of good reasons Charlie doesn’t “participate.” He’s struggled with his emotions, with hiThe story goes deeper than the book cover: there are a number of good reasons Charlie doesn’t “participate.” He’s struggled with his emotions, with his past, with your garden-variety teenage awkwardness. He does what I did for a while there: write out his feelings. But he sends them to some unnamed “friend”: is it a journal? A random letter, an appear for help? Either way, it’s a tremendously emotional, cutting and insightful tour of a troubled teen’s innermost thoughts.
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Oh, my. Just brilliant. I don’t agree with the synopsis, that it’s a common remembrance of the teenage years. Charlie’s much more expressive and bright than me, and he’s been through things I’d never experienced. I loved his perspective: unsure of how to interact with his friends, he defers to what others want, looking to please them, eschewing his own wants, just going with the flow. He loves his friends, sees the good and bad points, always wishing the best for them, wishing he could step out and do something. He’s an amazing gift-giver, so thoughtful and sensitive to his friends’ needs. He’s understanding and patient with everyone’s issues, but maybe not his own. The language is just perfect, depicting Charlie exactly as I’d have imagined. The story helped me remember how important mental health among teens is, how I should always be aware of what my students experience. Their emotional state is just as important as the physical, the academic, the vocational.
I had a version that included a letter from 20 years later: not crazy about it, but I understand. I can see how the informality might rankle some readers, or maybe the material makes some uncomfortable. Me, I can’t find fault with it. I loved it, but you know what? I don’t / didn’t want a sequel. It was a great tale of teenage years that belongs where it belongs.
One of the best teenage narratives I’ve ever read.
TW: sexual assault, mental health.
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QOTD: Were you a wallflower, a dancer, or “it depends”?...more
To be honest, it starts slowly. We meet Macon, Susan, hear about their marriage, hear about what happened to their son, and it takes a while. Then we To be honest, it starts slowly. We meet Macon, Susan, hear about their marriage, hear about what happened to their son, and it takes a while. Then we see Macon’s downward spiral, his struggles with his dog, Edward, and then he meets Muriel. I really liked her! I wish that had happened sooner, but knowing the brilliance that happens next, I’m OK with it…
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Tyler is the master of describing flawed characters and watching them work through the plot. She also does a wonderful job of making them seem fresh and non-cliched. Not caricatures. Following Macon was very interesting, smooth, even funny. I really felt what he felt, understood when he acted to make changes, or when something happened and he had a new reaction. He’s a unique mix of passive and assertive, or maybe we just see that latter half emerge through the story.
Wonderful prose, too. I saw one line that was a little “tell, not show,” but for the most part we see what’s important to Macon, his philosophy and place in the world, through action, or maybe through some profound thoughts. Like this:
“The real adventure, he thought, is the flow of time; it’s as much adventure as anyone could wish.”
There was something that connected with me here, maybe that sense of feeling lost. It’s my brand of existentialism: when do you act, when do you let things happen, and how do you evolve? I enjoyed the turn of the story in those terms. Maybe I felt like that once.
Hey: I have an aversion to watching movies of the books I love. But what do you think: See the movie?
Deeply emotional. Funny, intriguing, and complex characters. Great and simple storyline. Best of all: given to me by Shirley. 4.75 stars, and the top book of 2023 so far!
Christopher
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