Thomas Keech's Blog
December 9, 2019
Big Little Lies by Liane Moriarty
The Ten Rules of Liane Moriarty: (1) Lies are the bonding agent that holds suburban domestic life together. (2) Lies can hide and foster evil, but what can you do? (3) You can’t figure out the truth of anything until your mid-thirties anyway. (4) The most attractive and successful men have hidden violent streaks or are secretly lusting after some forbidden female. (4) Ordinary blokes, preferably bald or almost bald, are wisest and best. (6) That horrible thing that happened when you were much younger was not at all what you’ve believed your whole life. (7) All kids are good and eventually even the snotty teenagers will come around. (8) Business success and wealth are pretty much randomly distributed and they can’t compare to, oh, those feelings you have from the way your mother looked at you that day. (9) When shocking disaster strikes, your remaining women friends – and the bald men – will stand by you. (10) Laugh at yourself; everybody else is anyway.
September 27, 2017
Oola by Brittany Newell
Hipster Nonchalance Carried to Extremes.
This book reminds me a lot of The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt, except it’s better. There’s the same young male character who thinks and acts like a girl. The same bisexuality. The same absence of any apparent emotional connection with parents or family. The same total lack of any type of conventional morals, together with the almost magical ability to float around the world making half-hearted sexual and drug connections and committing minor crimes without consequence. The same obsession with the offbeat way someone acted or looked or talked, but without any interest in the actual act or the content of the speech. The same lack of a plot.
The first sixty pages succeeded in doing what Tartt failed to do – make this interesting. Oola is just better written, in my opinion. But Oola the character is so cool and unaffected I eventually lost interest in what was happening to her. A promising pianist from a wealthy family, she travels the world with her boyfriend, Lief, in a house-sitting binge for their parents’ wealthy friends. They settle in a house in Big Sur, where they pretty much give up sex and Lief secretly gives up his writing ambitions and instead spends his days cataloging the minutiae of her life. She does say a lot of weird things, but you get tired of it. She casually mentions one day that she prostituted herself at age twelve, apparently just for fun. He doesn’t follow up. He is fascinated by her body and her clothes, but none of it inspires any lust. They mostly hang around, sometimes going to parties, where her weird behavior apparently inspires nothing more than mild bemusement on the part of the other guests.
It’s at this point that the excellent writing just can’t carry the novel all by itself. As if to make up for the lack of a plot, the writing becomes more bizarre:
“The sun set slowly in her scalp: her head looked like a pineapple upside-down cake.”
“I watched her belly button irrigate. ‘You look beautiful,’ I squelched.”
“Suffice it to say it was a sore spot between us, ever since I asked if I could put her tampon in my tea.”
Near the end, Lief imagines in advance, and in its entirety, his long trip to the dentist’s office. Then he tells us about his actual trip. Nothing much happens on either one.
The characters never let anything in their lives really upset them, and after a while some readers might adopt the same attitude. Although the writing makes the book a really promising first novel, the characters’ blasé attitude and their focus on the trivia of life might wear some readers down.
This book reminds me a lot of The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt, except it’s better. There’s the same young male character who thinks and acts like a girl. The same bisexuality. The same absence of any apparent emotional connection with parents or family. The same total lack of any type of conventional morals, together with the almost magical ability to float around the world making half-hearted sexual and drug connections and committing minor crimes without consequence. The same obsession with the offbeat way someone acted or looked or talked, but without any interest in the actual act or the content of the speech. The same lack of a plot.
The first sixty pages succeeded in doing what Tartt failed to do – make this interesting. Oola is just better written, in my opinion. But Oola the character is so cool and unaffected I eventually lost interest in what was happening to her. A promising pianist from a wealthy family, she travels the world with her boyfriend, Lief, in a house-sitting binge for their parents’ wealthy friends. They settle in a house in Big Sur, where they pretty much give up sex and Lief secretly gives up his writing ambitions and instead spends his days cataloging the minutiae of her life. She does say a lot of weird things, but you get tired of it. She casually mentions one day that she prostituted herself at age twelve, apparently just for fun. He doesn’t follow up. He is fascinated by her body and her clothes, but none of it inspires any lust. They mostly hang around, sometimes going to parties, where her weird behavior apparently inspires nothing more than mild bemusement on the part of the other guests.
It’s at this point that the excellent writing just can’t carry the novel all by itself. As if to make up for the lack of a plot, the writing becomes more bizarre:
“The sun set slowly in her scalp: her head looked like a pineapple upside-down cake.”
“I watched her belly button irrigate. ‘You look beautiful,’ I squelched.”
“Suffice it to say it was a sore spot between us, ever since I asked if I could put her tampon in my tea.”
Near the end, Lief imagines in advance, and in its entirety, his long trip to the dentist’s office. Then he tells us about his actual trip. Nothing much happens on either one.
The characters never let anything in their lives really upset them, and after a while some readers might adopt the same attitude. Although the writing makes the book a really promising first novel, the characters’ blasé attitude and their focus on the trivia of life might wear some readers down.
July 2, 2017
Unfair Chick Lit Review
Barefoot Beach by Toby Devins
I'm probably the only male who ever read this book. But I met the author and she was nice and so I bought her book. It turns out I'm not a fan of this kind of thing, and of course it wasn't meant for the likes of me anyway, so you should probably take this review with a grain of salt.
Barefoot Beach takes place in a small beach town on the Atlantic coast of Maryland. The beach and the ocean, together with the town itself, with its homey little businesses like dance studios and ice-cream shops, are the real centers of the story.
The beautifully written descriptions of the ocean and the sky with their ever-changing colors and currents, the tactile descriptions of the feel of the wind and the sand and the shells and sea life underfoot on any given day, and the obvious appreciation of even the grey and cloudy days as just part of a multifaceted but benevolent nature, all make it credible that Nora would treasure this place even as it reminds her constantly of her beloved but deceased husband.
But Nora is lonely and, to make things worse, she is a born worrier. She worries about her son’s attraction to his new girlfriend – whom she has never met – and is terrified that her son, who was conceived by artificial insemination, will hook up with his biological father. She worries about her friend’s teenage daughter who is rebelling against her ultra-strict father. She worries that another friend’s longtime husband might be having an affair.
Granted, these are all potentially worrisome things, but most of them could probably be put into the category of “mind your own business.” I found myself wishing she would.
She does have a real financial problem actually facing her, but, amazingly enough, she doesn’t worry about that too much. She just takes action to solve the problem. I got that.
A man reading this book might be put off by Nora’s all-encompassing need to influence and manipulate the emotions of everyone around her – and especially by her assumption that men need women to do this for them. Nora is fond of a local girl, Clair, because “beneath the flutter of this girl was a woman as bright and guiding as a lighthouse.” In case the reader misses who Claire is supposed to be guiding, Nora is quite clear: “Go after my son.” I rooted her on. “Hook him with cookies; reel him in with cleavage.”
And, although he might in some passages seem like a dumb animal who can be manipulated by cookies and cleavage, her son at other times sounds more like an anxious middle-aged woman himself. “Do you know what time it is?” he asks her when she arrives home one night. “Past midnight … I’ve been crazy worried about you.” A nineteen-year-old guy says this? Really? Some of the other men don’t sound like any men I know. For example, a middle-aged husband of her friend confides in her. “I could use a little spousal-caring credit.” Really? Men say that?
The basic concept of the book seems to be that relationships trump everything else. When one of Nora’s dance students keels over with a heart attack, his wife cries out, “Marty! Fifty-two years together. Don’t leave me!” Touching? Maybe. But I couldn’t help feeling that the “Marty” part was not really as important to the woman as the “fifty-two years” part. In other words, really, deep down, the long marriage was more important than the particular man in it.
But this is not supposed to be a story written for men, or about them either. It’s the story about enduring female friendships. When the handsome, kind, manly, wounded-but-very-vigorous (and newly divorced) war hero comes to town, no one will be surprised at what happens next. But that’s okay. This story isn’t about him or any of the other men in town. It’s about a woman surrounded by beauty and engulfed in a warm sea of friendship and kindness so calm and satisfying she doesn’t really need (even though she still kind of yearns for) the sexual lifeboat relentlessly motoring her way.
I'm probably the only male who ever read this book. But I met the author and she was nice and so I bought her book. It turns out I'm not a fan of this kind of thing, and of course it wasn't meant for the likes of me anyway, so you should probably take this review with a grain of salt.
Barefoot Beach takes place in a small beach town on the Atlantic coast of Maryland. The beach and the ocean, together with the town itself, with its homey little businesses like dance studios and ice-cream shops, are the real centers of the story.
The beautifully written descriptions of the ocean and the sky with their ever-changing colors and currents, the tactile descriptions of the feel of the wind and the sand and the shells and sea life underfoot on any given day, and the obvious appreciation of even the grey and cloudy days as just part of a multifaceted but benevolent nature, all make it credible that Nora would treasure this place even as it reminds her constantly of her beloved but deceased husband.
But Nora is lonely and, to make things worse, she is a born worrier. She worries about her son’s attraction to his new girlfriend – whom she has never met – and is terrified that her son, who was conceived by artificial insemination, will hook up with his biological father. She worries about her friend’s teenage daughter who is rebelling against her ultra-strict father. She worries that another friend’s longtime husband might be having an affair.
Granted, these are all potentially worrisome things, but most of them could probably be put into the category of “mind your own business.” I found myself wishing she would.
She does have a real financial problem actually facing her, but, amazingly enough, she doesn’t worry about that too much. She just takes action to solve the problem. I got that.
A man reading this book might be put off by Nora’s all-encompassing need to influence and manipulate the emotions of everyone around her – and especially by her assumption that men need women to do this for them. Nora is fond of a local girl, Clair, because “beneath the flutter of this girl was a woman as bright and guiding as a lighthouse.” In case the reader misses who Claire is supposed to be guiding, Nora is quite clear: “Go after my son.” I rooted her on. “Hook him with cookies; reel him in with cleavage.”
And, although he might in some passages seem like a dumb animal who can be manipulated by cookies and cleavage, her son at other times sounds more like an anxious middle-aged woman himself. “Do you know what time it is?” he asks her when she arrives home one night. “Past midnight … I’ve been crazy worried about you.” A nineteen-year-old guy says this? Really? Some of the other men don’t sound like any men I know. For example, a middle-aged husband of her friend confides in her. “I could use a little spousal-caring credit.” Really? Men say that?
The basic concept of the book seems to be that relationships trump everything else. When one of Nora’s dance students keels over with a heart attack, his wife cries out, “Marty! Fifty-two years together. Don’t leave me!” Touching? Maybe. But I couldn’t help feeling that the “Marty” part was not really as important to the woman as the “fifty-two years” part. In other words, really, deep down, the long marriage was more important than the particular man in it.
But this is not supposed to be a story written for men, or about them either. It’s the story about enduring female friendships. When the handsome, kind, manly, wounded-but-very-vigorous (and newly divorced) war hero comes to town, no one will be surprised at what happens next. But that’s okay. This story isn’t about him or any of the other men in town. It’s about a woman surrounded by beauty and engulfed in a warm sea of friendship and kindness so calm and satisfying she doesn’t really need (even though she still kind of yearns for) the sexual lifeboat relentlessly motoring her way.
Unfair Chick Lit Review
I'm probably the only male who ever read this book. But I met the author and she was nice and so I bought her book. It turns out I'm not a fan of this kind of thing, and of course it wasn't meant for the likes of me anyway, so you should probably take this review with a grain of salt.
Barefoot Beach takes place in a small beach town on the Atlantic coast of Maryland. The beach and the ocean, together with the town itself, with its homey little businesses like dance studios and ice-cream shops, are the real centers of the story.
The beautifully written descriptions of the ocean and the sky with their ever-changing colors and currents, the tactile descriptions of the feel of the wind and the sand and the shells and sea life underfoot on any given day, and the obvious appreciation of even the grey and cloudy days as just part of a multifaceted but benevolent nature, all make it credible that Nora would treasure this place even as it reminds her constantly of her beloved but deceased husband.
But Nora is lonely and, to make things worse, she is a born worrier. She worries about her son’s attraction to his new girlfriend – whom she has never met – and is terrified that her son, who was conceived by artificial insemination, will hook up with his biological father. She worries about her friend’s teenage daughter who is rebelling against her ultra-strict father. She worries that another friend’s longtime husband might be having an affair.
Granted, these are all potentially worrisome things, but most of them could probably be put into the category of “mind your own business.” I found myself wishing she would.
She does have a real financial problem actually facing her, but, amazingly enough, she doesn’t worry about that too much. She just takes action to solve the problem. I got that.
A man reading this book might be put off by Nora’s all-encompassing need to influence and manipulate the emotions of everyone around her – and especially by her assumption that men need women to do this for them. Nora is fond of a local girl, Clair, because “beneath the flutter of this girl was a woman as bright and guiding as a lighthouse.” In case the reader misses who Claire is supposed to be guiding, Nora is quite clear: “Go after my son.” I rooted her on. “Hook him with cookies; reel him in with cleavage.”
And, although he might in some passages seem like a dumb animal who can be manipulated by cookies and cleavage, her son at other times sounds more like an anxious middle-aged woman himself. “Do you know what time it is?” he asks her when she arrives home one night. “Past midnight … I’ve been crazy worried about you.” A nineteen-year-old guy says this? Really? Some of the other men don’t sound like any men I know. For example, a middle-aged husband of her friend confides in her. “I could use a little spousal-caring credit.” Really? Men say that?
The basic concept of the book seems to be that relationships trump everything else. When one of Nora’s dance students keels over with a heart attack, his wife cries out, “Marty! Fifty-two years together. Don’t leave me!” Touching? Maybe. But I couldn’t help feeling that the “Marty” part was not really as important to the woman as the “fifty-two years” part. In other words, really, deep down, the long marriage was more important than the particular man in it.
But this is not supposed to be a story written for men, or about them either. It’s the story about enduring female friendships. When the handsome, kind, manly, wounded-but-very-vigorous (and newly divorced) war hero comes to town, no one will be surprised at what happens next. But that’s okay. This story isn’t about him or any of the other men in town. It’s about a woman surrounded by beauty and engulfed in a warm sea of friendship and kindness so calm and satisfying she doesn’t really need (even though she still kind of yearns for) the sexual lifeboat relentlessly motoring her way.
Barefoot Beach takes place in a small beach town on the Atlantic coast of Maryland. The beach and the ocean, together with the town itself, with its homey little businesses like dance studios and ice-cream shops, are the real centers of the story.
The beautifully written descriptions of the ocean and the sky with their ever-changing colors and currents, the tactile descriptions of the feel of the wind and the sand and the shells and sea life underfoot on any given day, and the obvious appreciation of even the grey and cloudy days as just part of a multifaceted but benevolent nature, all make it credible that Nora would treasure this place even as it reminds her constantly of her beloved but deceased husband.
But Nora is lonely and, to make things worse, she is a born worrier. She worries about her son’s attraction to his new girlfriend – whom she has never met – and is terrified that her son, who was conceived by artificial insemination, will hook up with his biological father. She worries about her friend’s teenage daughter who is rebelling against her ultra-strict father. She worries that another friend’s longtime husband might be having an affair.
Granted, these are all potentially worrisome things, but most of them could probably be put into the category of “mind your own business.” I found myself wishing she would.
She does have a real financial problem actually facing her, but, amazingly enough, she doesn’t worry about that too much. She just takes action to solve the problem. I got that.
A man reading this book might be put off by Nora’s all-encompassing need to influence and manipulate the emotions of everyone around her – and especially by her assumption that men need women to do this for them. Nora is fond of a local girl, Clair, because “beneath the flutter of this girl was a woman as bright and guiding as a lighthouse.” In case the reader misses who Claire is supposed to be guiding, Nora is quite clear: “Go after my son.” I rooted her on. “Hook him with cookies; reel him in with cleavage.”
And, although he might in some passages seem like a dumb animal who can be manipulated by cookies and cleavage, her son at other times sounds more like an anxious middle-aged woman himself. “Do you know what time it is?” he asks her when she arrives home one night. “Past midnight … I’ve been crazy worried about you.” A nineteen-year-old guy says this? Really? Some of the other men don’t sound like any men I know. For example, a middle-aged husband of her friend confides in her. “I could use a little spousal-caring credit.” Really? Men say that?
The basic concept of the book seems to be that relationships trump everything else. When one of Nora’s dance students keels over with a heart attack, his wife cries out, “Marty! Fifty-two years together. Don’t leave me!” Touching? Maybe. But I couldn’t help feeling that the “Marty” part was not really as important to the woman as the “fifty-two years” part. In other words, really, deep down, the long marriage was more important than the particular man in it.
But this is not supposed to be a story written for men, or about them either. It’s the story about enduring female friendships. When the handsome, kind, manly, wounded-but-very-vigorous (and newly divorced) war hero comes to town, no one will be surprised at what happens next. But that’s okay. This story isn’t about him or any of the other men in town. It’s about a woman surrounded by beauty and engulfed in a warm sea of friendship and kindness so calm and satisfying she doesn’t really need (even though she still kind of yearns for) the sexual lifeboat relentlessly motoring her way.
December 29, 2016
Two 1950s French Mysteries Newly Published
These are short, quick reads for action/mystery lovers only. This may be the first time they were published in English.
247 To Go: The Wicked Go to Hell by Frederic Dard.
This is only one of 248 thrillers written by Frederic Dard. It’s not his best. I know that, even though I’ve read only two.
As a prisoner is being tortured in an adjacent room, a secret agent is given the task of befriending an inmate to get information from him. Since the secret agent is not identified by name, the reader doesn’t know who is the agent and who is the targeted prisoner. Together they stage a bloody breakout from the prison.
One of the escapees is wounded, gets better, gets worse, gets better, over and over again, complaining about it throughout the whole story. A beautiful young woman becomes stranded with them in a shack on a small island, and they each alternately lust after her and accuse the other of having bad intentions toward her, acting toward her more like insecure ten-year-old boys than the violent killers they both are. There’s violence at the end. One character shoots at another while desperately hoping he’ll miss.
I didn’t get it. The action wasn’t really that exciting, nor were there any believable characters. The gritty depiction of the harsh prison, with its background motif of routine torture, was the most vivid, though repulsive, part of the book.
Not Exactly a Christmas Miracle: Bird in a Cage by Frederic Dard
After being away for several years, a young man returns on Christmas Eve to his deceased mother’s dusty flat in a dilapidated neighborhood in Paris.
Fighting off a pervasive sense of vague remorse and guilt, he tries to divert himself by joining the neighborhood residents celebrating the holiday at a local restaurant. There, he meets an attractive, lonely woman with an eight-year-old daughter. She takes him back to her place.
It’s not what you think. It’s much more shocking, much more ingeniously evil. The reader is never quite sure of anyone’s motives. The complex plot is hinted at by a raft of mundane clues. The narrator sees them all along, but they don’t resonate with him in his depressed and lonely state. I didn’t pick up on them either. It’s a lot of fun without a lot of blood and gore. I really liked this short and engaging mystery.
247 To Go: The Wicked Go to Hell by Frederic Dard.
This is only one of 248 thrillers written by Frederic Dard. It’s not his best. I know that, even though I’ve read only two.
As a prisoner is being tortured in an adjacent room, a secret agent is given the task of befriending an inmate to get information from him. Since the secret agent is not identified by name, the reader doesn’t know who is the agent and who is the targeted prisoner. Together they stage a bloody breakout from the prison.
One of the escapees is wounded, gets better, gets worse, gets better, over and over again, complaining about it throughout the whole story. A beautiful young woman becomes stranded with them in a shack on a small island, and they each alternately lust after her and accuse the other of having bad intentions toward her, acting toward her more like insecure ten-year-old boys than the violent killers they both are. There’s violence at the end. One character shoots at another while desperately hoping he’ll miss.
I didn’t get it. The action wasn’t really that exciting, nor were there any believable characters. The gritty depiction of the harsh prison, with its background motif of routine torture, was the most vivid, though repulsive, part of the book.
Not Exactly a Christmas Miracle: Bird in a Cage by Frederic Dard
After being away for several years, a young man returns on Christmas Eve to his deceased mother’s dusty flat in a dilapidated neighborhood in Paris.
Fighting off a pervasive sense of vague remorse and guilt, he tries to divert himself by joining the neighborhood residents celebrating the holiday at a local restaurant. There, he meets an attractive, lonely woman with an eight-year-old daughter. She takes him back to her place.
It’s not what you think. It’s much more shocking, much more ingeniously evil. The reader is never quite sure of anyone’s motives. The complex plot is hinted at by a raft of mundane clues. The narrator sees them all along, but they don’t resonate with him in his depressed and lonely state. I didn’t pick up on them either. It’s a lot of fun without a lot of blood and gore. I really liked this short and engaging mystery.
Two 1950s French Mysteries Newly Published
These are short, quick reads for action/mystery lovers only. This may be the first time they were published in English.
247 To Go: The Wicked Go to Hell by Frederic Dard.
This is only one of 248 thrillers written by Frederic Dard. It’s not his best. I know that, even though I’ve read only two.
As a prisoner is being tortured in an adjacent room, a secret agent is given the task of befriending an inmate to get information from him. Since the secret agent is not identified by name, the reader doesn’t know who is the agent and who is the targeted prisoner. Together they stage a bloody breakout from the prison.
One of the escapees is wounded, gets better, gets worse, gets better, over and over again, complaining about it throughout the whole story. A beautiful young woman becomes stranded with them in a shack on a small island, and they each alternately lust after her and accuse the other of having bad intentions toward her, acting toward her more like insecure ten-year-old boys than the violent killers they both are. There’s violence at the end. One character shoots at another while desperately hoping he’ll miss.
I didn’t get it. The action wasn’t really that exciting, nor were there any believable characters. The gritty depiction of the harsh prison, with its background motif of routine torture, was the most vivid, though repulsive, part of the book.
Not Exactly a Christmas Miracle: Bird in a Cage by Frederic Dard
After being away for several years, a young man returns on Christmas Eve to his deceased mother’s dusty flat in a dilapidated neighborhood in Paris.
Fighting off a pervasive sense of vague remorse and guilt, he tries to divert himself by joining the neighborhood residents celebrating the holiday at a local restaurant. There, he meets an attractive, lonely woman with an eight-year-old daughter. She takes him back to her place.
It’s not what you think. It’s much more shocking, much more ingeniously evil. The reader is never quite sure of anyone’s motives. The complex plot is hinted at by a raft of mundane clues. The narrator sees them all along, but they don’t resonate with him in his depressed and lonely state. I didn’t pick up on them either. It’s a lot of fun without a lot of blood and gore. I really liked this short and engaging mystery.
247 To Go: The Wicked Go to Hell by Frederic Dard.
This is only one of 248 thrillers written by Frederic Dard. It’s not his best. I know that, even though I’ve read only two.
As a prisoner is being tortured in an adjacent room, a secret agent is given the task of befriending an inmate to get information from him. Since the secret agent is not identified by name, the reader doesn’t know who is the agent and who is the targeted prisoner. Together they stage a bloody breakout from the prison.
One of the escapees is wounded, gets better, gets worse, gets better, over and over again, complaining about it throughout the whole story. A beautiful young woman becomes stranded with them in a shack on a small island, and they each alternately lust after her and accuse the other of having bad intentions toward her, acting toward her more like insecure ten-year-old boys than the violent killers they both are. There’s violence at the end. One character shoots at another while desperately hoping he’ll miss.
I didn’t get it. The action wasn’t really that exciting, nor were there any believable characters. The gritty depiction of the harsh prison, with its background motif of routine torture, was the most vivid, though repulsive, part of the book.
Not Exactly a Christmas Miracle: Bird in a Cage by Frederic Dard
After being away for several years, a young man returns on Christmas Eve to his deceased mother’s dusty flat in a dilapidated neighborhood in Paris.
Fighting off a pervasive sense of vague remorse and guilt, he tries to divert himself by joining the neighborhood residents celebrating the holiday at a local restaurant. There, he meets an attractive, lonely woman with an eight-year-old daughter. She takes him back to her place.
It’s not what you think. It’s much more shocking, much more ingeniously evil. The reader is never quite sure of anyone’s motives. The complex plot is hinted at by a raft of mundane clues. The narrator sees them all along, but they don’t resonate with him in his depressed and lonely state. I didn’t pick up on them either. It’s a lot of fun without a lot of blood and gore. I really liked this short and engaging mystery.
November 25, 2016
Millenial Half-Lives: Two New Works of Twenty-Something Fiction
The young, the underemployed and the mildly horny take front stage in two new works of fiction.
Barbara the Slut and Other People, by Lauren Holmes
This is a collection of ten really engaging stories about underemployed and less than passionate twenty-somethings who are being drawn into or drifting out of intimate relationships, jobs and sexual roles.
For example, in "I Will Crawl to Raleigh If I Have To," a college girl spends a drama-filled weekend at the beach with her flawed but strongly grounded step family while she tries to get up the courage to break up with her boyfriend. His passion and neediness has grown tiresome to her, and she believes she has wasted her freshman year loving him.
In "Desert Hearts," a new lawyer decides instead to work in a sex-toy shop and dallies with changing her sexual orientation, again.
All of the characters want sex, whether standard, oral, anal or same-sex, at times, but we are told whether they come or not as casually as we would be told whether the oven was left on or off. They are seeking more, and they don’t get that they’re not getting it through sex. The only hints of devotion are between brother and sister, mother and daughter, stepfather and step daughter – and especially between owner and dog. All of the characters suffer from a lack of attachment to a human partner.
Holmes absolutely nails this self-defeating mindset of non-committed striving, contrasting it poignantly with the more fully committed life existing all around. There’s no tension or mystery or memorable characters – or even any good sex – in this book, but there are clever new perspectives, good insights, and sharp wit.
You Too Can Have a Body Like Mine, a novel by Alexandra Kleeman
The narrator, identified only as A, has a roommate named B and a boyfriend, C. A fears that B is taking over her psyche and that their identities are merging. A and C watch cruel reality shows and pornography on TV. C tells A to stop worrying and accept the simple, passive, C-centered life he wants.
A is not really sure who she is. An attempt to turn B into a clone of herself has mixed results. She is obsessed with a slapstick cartoon commercial in which a frustrated cat endlessly chases a brand-name cupcake. A is eventually drawn into a cult that worships nothingness.
I started skimming a little about halfway through because A didn’t seem to have a consistent character. Since it was never clear what she wanted, it was hard to root either for or against her. She occasionally comes up with clever observations or ideas, but her paralyzing self-consciousness is not that attractive or engaging, and her interactions with pop- and cult-culture didn’t seem that original or funny to me.
Barbara the Slut and Other People, by Lauren Holmes
This is a collection of ten really engaging stories about underemployed and less than passionate twenty-somethings who are being drawn into or drifting out of intimate relationships, jobs and sexual roles.
For example, in "I Will Crawl to Raleigh If I Have To," a college girl spends a drama-filled weekend at the beach with her flawed but strongly grounded step family while she tries to get up the courage to break up with her boyfriend. His passion and neediness has grown tiresome to her, and she believes she has wasted her freshman year loving him.
In "Desert Hearts," a new lawyer decides instead to work in a sex-toy shop and dallies with changing her sexual orientation, again.
All of the characters want sex, whether standard, oral, anal or same-sex, at times, but we are told whether they come or not as casually as we would be told whether the oven was left on or off. They are seeking more, and they don’t get that they’re not getting it through sex. The only hints of devotion are between brother and sister, mother and daughter, stepfather and step daughter – and especially between owner and dog. All of the characters suffer from a lack of attachment to a human partner.
Holmes absolutely nails this self-defeating mindset of non-committed striving, contrasting it poignantly with the more fully committed life existing all around. There’s no tension or mystery or memorable characters – or even any good sex – in this book, but there are clever new perspectives, good insights, and sharp wit.
You Too Can Have a Body Like Mine, a novel by Alexandra Kleeman
The narrator, identified only as A, has a roommate named B and a boyfriend, C. A fears that B is taking over her psyche and that their identities are merging. A and C watch cruel reality shows and pornography on TV. C tells A to stop worrying and accept the simple, passive, C-centered life he wants.
A is not really sure who she is. An attempt to turn B into a clone of herself has mixed results. She is obsessed with a slapstick cartoon commercial in which a frustrated cat endlessly chases a brand-name cupcake. A is eventually drawn into a cult that worships nothingness.
I started skimming a little about halfway through because A didn’t seem to have a consistent character. Since it was never clear what she wanted, it was hard to root either for or against her. She occasionally comes up with clever observations or ideas, but her paralyzing self-consciousness is not that attractive or engaging, and her interactions with pop- and cult-culture didn’t seem that original or funny to me.
November 17, 2016
What? Four New Gospels?
What? Four New Gospels? A review of The Liars’ Gospel by Naomi Alderman.
This is a novel of historical fiction reinterpreting the life and death of Yehoshuah (Jesus) as told by four new narrators.
His mother, Miriam (Mary), is spurned throughout her life by her cold and querulous son. Deeply disappointed in his life, and his death, she has no choice but to carry on for the sake of her other children.
His disciple, Iehuda from Queriot (Judas Iscariot), desperately tries to keep his sincere young friend and teacher from betraying his own principles and going on an ego trip like no other. Iehuda reaches his tipping point when Yehoshuah makes clear that his own comfort and glorification is more important to him than caring for the poor.
Caiphas the high priest is mostly concerned with placating the Romans without violating God’s precepts about the Temple – and with testing his wife for her suspected adultery. He has some sympathy for the poor young peasant zealot who caused a ruckus in the temple, but then Yehoshuah makes the mistake of speaking God’s name out loud, thus incurring the mandatory death penalty.
Bar Avo (Barabbas) outsmarts Pontius Pilate and goes on to a life of pillage and murder. His belief that God gave the land to the Jews is justification enough in his mind for him to commit the most heinous of crimes.
This is a fascinating take on the times, powerfully portraying the pre-modern mindsets of both the Jews and the Romans as well as the texture and feel of life everywhere – in the peasant fields and houses, within the temple walls, and out in the raucous streets. The pragmatic brutality of the Romans prevails again and again over the suicidal zealotry of the Jewish rebels.
The author seems to be making the point that the priest class’s slavish devotion to strict religious rituals borders on the absurd. For example, she describes in detail the test for adultery in which the high priest’s wife is required to drink a special pitcher of water. If she then becomes pregnant – it is proof that she did NOT commit adultery! Whaaa??
The priests’ utter conviction that these arcane rituals are required by a meticulously picayune God parallels the zealots’ conviction that a bloodthirsty God requires them to kill their way out from under the Romans, even to the point of murdering their own people just so they can blame it on the Romans.
Yehoshuah plays a very small role in this story, as he did in the history of the Middle East at the time, and he doesn’t come off looking nearly as good here as he did in those other four gospels that we hear a lot more about.
This book is a little slow starting as it (no doubt accurately) portrays the peasant life of Miriam and her fellow villagers, but it’s a great read for anyone interested in the subject.
This is a novel of historical fiction reinterpreting the life and death of Yehoshuah (Jesus) as told by four new narrators.
His mother, Miriam (Mary), is spurned throughout her life by her cold and querulous son. Deeply disappointed in his life, and his death, she has no choice but to carry on for the sake of her other children.
His disciple, Iehuda from Queriot (Judas Iscariot), desperately tries to keep his sincere young friend and teacher from betraying his own principles and going on an ego trip like no other. Iehuda reaches his tipping point when Yehoshuah makes clear that his own comfort and glorification is more important to him than caring for the poor.
Caiphas the high priest is mostly concerned with placating the Romans without violating God’s precepts about the Temple – and with testing his wife for her suspected adultery. He has some sympathy for the poor young peasant zealot who caused a ruckus in the temple, but then Yehoshuah makes the mistake of speaking God’s name out loud, thus incurring the mandatory death penalty.
Bar Avo (Barabbas) outsmarts Pontius Pilate and goes on to a life of pillage and murder. His belief that God gave the land to the Jews is justification enough in his mind for him to commit the most heinous of crimes.
This is a fascinating take on the times, powerfully portraying the pre-modern mindsets of both the Jews and the Romans as well as the texture and feel of life everywhere – in the peasant fields and houses, within the temple walls, and out in the raucous streets. The pragmatic brutality of the Romans prevails again and again over the suicidal zealotry of the Jewish rebels.
The author seems to be making the point that the priest class’s slavish devotion to strict religious rituals borders on the absurd. For example, she describes in detail the test for adultery in which the high priest’s wife is required to drink a special pitcher of water. If she then becomes pregnant – it is proof that she did NOT commit adultery! Whaaa??
The priests’ utter conviction that these arcane rituals are required by a meticulously picayune God parallels the zealots’ conviction that a bloodthirsty God requires them to kill their way out from under the Romans, even to the point of murdering their own people just so they can blame it on the Romans.
Yehoshuah plays a very small role in this story, as he did in the history of the Middle East at the time, and he doesn’t come off looking nearly as good here as he did in those other four gospels that we hear a lot more about.
This book is a little slow starting as it (no doubt accurately) portrays the peasant life of Miriam and her fellow villagers, but it’s a great read for anyone interested in the subject.
August 3, 2016
Hard Red Spring: a historical novel from the ground level
Four U.S. citizens, a seven-year-old girl who is the daughter of a family who owns a mountain in Maya country, the wife of the U.S. ambassador to Guatemala, a fundamentalist Christian on a mission touted by Pat Robertson, and the distressed mother of a fifteen-year-old adopted girl on a journey to show her daughter her Mayan roots, narrate their experiences in mysterious and strife-torn Guatemala at different points in the 20th century.
There are some unforgettable moments in this book: the U.S. ambassador pimping teenage Guatemalan maids for wealthy U.S. businessmen; an eight-year-old orphan Mayan boy given to European planters not as an adopted son but as a houseboy to do with as they wished; a completely fake civil war enacted so as to instigate a real one; a fundamentalist religious mission that begins to resemble a concentration camp. It’s mind-blowing, especially when you realize it’s all based on truth.
Some others don't share this view, but I thought the writing was original and evocative, and sometimes sarcastic in a wonderfully subtle way. A cave’s “cold limestone jaws, frozen open, perpetually dripped water.” A car speeding up the mountain “ascended in a fury of potholes and dust.” Helicopters “rip” through the air. At a remote and peaceful scenic overlook, “soldiers with AK-47s sat guarding the view.” And even the "home" scenes in the U.S. are not safe from sardonic mockery. “She knew how Pastor Wayne prayed for people, wrapping his large hands around their heads and pulling them to his chest, like a basketball he was about to pass.”
Each one of the four narratives may have gone on a little too long, and the connections between the four were maybe a little sketchy and contrived. Don’t read this book if you’re looking for a nail-biting plot. But if you want a unique, human, ground-level view of the whole dramatic history of one of our nearest American neighbors, don’t miss this one.
There are some unforgettable moments in this book: the U.S. ambassador pimping teenage Guatemalan maids for wealthy U.S. businessmen; an eight-year-old orphan Mayan boy given to European planters not as an adopted son but as a houseboy to do with as they wished; a completely fake civil war enacted so as to instigate a real one; a fundamentalist religious mission that begins to resemble a concentration camp. It’s mind-blowing, especially when you realize it’s all based on truth.
Some others don't share this view, but I thought the writing was original and evocative, and sometimes sarcastic in a wonderfully subtle way. A cave’s “cold limestone jaws, frozen open, perpetually dripped water.” A car speeding up the mountain “ascended in a fury of potholes and dust.” Helicopters “rip” through the air. At a remote and peaceful scenic overlook, “soldiers with AK-47s sat guarding the view.” And even the "home" scenes in the U.S. are not safe from sardonic mockery. “She knew how Pastor Wayne prayed for people, wrapping his large hands around their heads and pulling them to his chest, like a basketball he was about to pass.”
Each one of the four narratives may have gone on a little too long, and the connections between the four were maybe a little sketchy and contrived. Don’t read this book if you’re looking for a nail-biting plot. But if you want a unique, human, ground-level view of the whole dramatic history of one of our nearest American neighbors, don’t miss this one.
July 7, 2016
Dysfunctional Women: Three Novels
This seems to be a trend. Two of these novels won major literary prizes and the third is by a popular and upcoming new novelist. The writing styles are very different, and main characters are very different, but you end up doubting you'd want to meet any of them.
Good on Paper by Rachel Cantor
Shira is 43, has a PhD, an eight-year-old daughter named Andi, a history of short sexual affairs with her exotic Manhattan neighbors, and a gay friend, Ahmad, who supports her and Andi in his large apartment and handles the bulk of the child-care duties. What Shira does not have is a job, a career goal, any apparent memory of her ex-husband, or any good feelings toward anyone in her life, past or present, except for Andi – and Ahmad to a certain extent.
Shira gets an assignment translating a new work by an Italian Nobel prize winner. This gets her involved in trilingual textual esoterica too complicated to explain here. Ahmad has a sudden change of character and threatens to take Andi away with him. Shira gets involved with a bookstore owner/rabbi/literary guru with a history or preying on fragile young females.
The almost-affair with the rabbi goes back and forth, back and forth until even the characters are complaining about it. Like all of Shira’s affairs, this is described without the least hint of sensuality or affection. The rabbi affair gets mixed up with the translation esoterica in complicated ways that are neither credible nor interesting. The translation plot is unbelievable – as in, you could not possibly believe it. The novel is full of interesting little linguistic tidbits, and snapshots of a strong-willed woman with little income nevertheless living a sophisticated life in Manhattan, but it lacks a real plot or any sympathetic or credible characters.
Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout
Olive’s outlook on life is so dark she spreads depression wherever she goes. Her husband brings her flowers and embraces her while she “waits for the hug to end.” She doesn’t like to be alone. “Even more, she doesn’t like being with people.” She’s concerned that her exercise regimen might “make her life longer.” She visits an acquaintance “hoping to feel better by knowing the woman suffered.” She is “lightened in spirit” to learn of her ancestors’ history of “scalpings, freezing winters with no food, barns burning from a lightning flash, children dying left and right.” She steals her daughter-in-law’s shoe and bra and marks up her sweater at the wedding reception. She hates both of her son’s wives whenever they show the slightest bit of affection for him. She hit her son when he was young. “Not just spanked. Hit.” Reading about her life, you feel that her poor, long-suffering husband would be better off dead. So does she. “You can die now, Henry. Go ahead.”
Olive’s vision is so relentlessly dark that the reader barely gets a glimpse of the apparently beautiful New England seacoast town where she lives. There are some other stories about townspeople thrown in, but every one of them exemplifies lost hope, unfulfilled longings, pathetic and doomed attempts to reach for a spark of life or a moment of joy. Olive has apparently infected the whole town with permanent gloom.
A personality disorder is a deep-seated, long-lasting, inflexible pattern of deleterious behavior. Olive clearly suffers from a personality disorder, and the book’s portrayal of it may be clinically accurate. But it makes for an awful read.
Lila by Marilynne Robinson
As a very young child, Lila is kidnapped and saved from almost certain starvation by Doll, who then joins a small, informal family walking the roads of the Midwest, sleeping out in the open and finding farm work when they can.
No one can read or write. They have no idea where they are in the world and, because they can’t read the signs, they can’t even recall the names of the small towns they sometimes pass through. Other than noting the passing of the seasons, they have no concept of time. Despite the physical hardships, there is a pristine, Garden of Eden quality to this life that is described in compelling, almost hypnotic language.
Cut to ten years later – or is it 20? – or 30? The author seems to give up early on the idea of telling the reader what actually happened, or when. Now Lila is living with an old, silver-haired preacher. Now she’s not. Flashback to the open road. She yearns for Doll who is now gone and just might have killed somebody. Or not. The preacher baptizes her and she tries to unbaptize herself in the river. She suggests they get married and they do. Flashback to her life in a whorehouse and as a cleaning lady in a hotel. Flash forward to the preacher never being able to figure her out but loving her steadily all the same.
Lila, however, will never get over her attachment to her memory of Doll, or her lack of a real family, or something. She accepts her husband’s love but can’t really return it. She can’t really relate to anyone or make friends. The only thing she really understands and enjoys is hard outdoor work. She might be saved by an event that happens at the end, but I doubt it.
This is an easy book to read at first because of the compelling (although unrealistic) portrait of Lila’s idyllic life on the road, her love of nature and her insights into the personalities of the wide range of people she meets. But about halfway through I got really tired of her stunted personality, and the scenes from her present life seemed repetitious. I guess that’s what you get in a story about someone who can’t really grow, change or connect with others. You keep hoping she shows a little spark, but she never really does.
This is an aggravating book because the quality of the writing, and the colorful past history of Lila, can’t in the end overcome the dead weight of her deep-seated personality problems.
Quick Opinions
Good on Paper didn’t have enough of a plot or credible characters for me to strongly recommend it. But it might be the flashiest and easiest read of the three, maybe because Shira is the closest to normal of the three heroines and seems to have just fallen into her unusual circumstances.
If you’re a writer, and you have to write a story about someone with a personality disorder, at least choose someone with a lot of good qualities, and an interesting past, like Lila. Then write lyrically about her mythic childhood in the Garden of Eden so the reader can understand how she can’t quite make the transition to a new world of abundance and normal human emotions.
If, on the other hand, you’ve got nothing to say except that a woman with a poisonous distaste for all humankind can relentlessly drive loved ones away and make her dull life even duller, then you should write Olive Kitteridge. But don’t read it.
Good on Paper by Rachel Cantor
Shira is 43, has a PhD, an eight-year-old daughter named Andi, a history of short sexual affairs with her exotic Manhattan neighbors, and a gay friend, Ahmad, who supports her and Andi in his large apartment and handles the bulk of the child-care duties. What Shira does not have is a job, a career goal, any apparent memory of her ex-husband, or any good feelings toward anyone in her life, past or present, except for Andi – and Ahmad to a certain extent.
Shira gets an assignment translating a new work by an Italian Nobel prize winner. This gets her involved in trilingual textual esoterica too complicated to explain here. Ahmad has a sudden change of character and threatens to take Andi away with him. Shira gets involved with a bookstore owner/rabbi/literary guru with a history or preying on fragile young females.
The almost-affair with the rabbi goes back and forth, back and forth until even the characters are complaining about it. Like all of Shira’s affairs, this is described without the least hint of sensuality or affection. The rabbi affair gets mixed up with the translation esoterica in complicated ways that are neither credible nor interesting. The translation plot is unbelievable – as in, you could not possibly believe it. The novel is full of interesting little linguistic tidbits, and snapshots of a strong-willed woman with little income nevertheless living a sophisticated life in Manhattan, but it lacks a real plot or any sympathetic or credible characters.
Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout
Olive’s outlook on life is so dark she spreads depression wherever she goes. Her husband brings her flowers and embraces her while she “waits for the hug to end.” She doesn’t like to be alone. “Even more, she doesn’t like being with people.” She’s concerned that her exercise regimen might “make her life longer.” She visits an acquaintance “hoping to feel better by knowing the woman suffered.” She is “lightened in spirit” to learn of her ancestors’ history of “scalpings, freezing winters with no food, barns burning from a lightning flash, children dying left and right.” She steals her daughter-in-law’s shoe and bra and marks up her sweater at the wedding reception. She hates both of her son’s wives whenever they show the slightest bit of affection for him. She hit her son when he was young. “Not just spanked. Hit.” Reading about her life, you feel that her poor, long-suffering husband would be better off dead. So does she. “You can die now, Henry. Go ahead.”
Olive’s vision is so relentlessly dark that the reader barely gets a glimpse of the apparently beautiful New England seacoast town where she lives. There are some other stories about townspeople thrown in, but every one of them exemplifies lost hope, unfulfilled longings, pathetic and doomed attempts to reach for a spark of life or a moment of joy. Olive has apparently infected the whole town with permanent gloom.
A personality disorder is a deep-seated, long-lasting, inflexible pattern of deleterious behavior. Olive clearly suffers from a personality disorder, and the book’s portrayal of it may be clinically accurate. But it makes for an awful read.
Lila by Marilynne Robinson
As a very young child, Lila is kidnapped and saved from almost certain starvation by Doll, who then joins a small, informal family walking the roads of the Midwest, sleeping out in the open and finding farm work when they can.
No one can read or write. They have no idea where they are in the world and, because they can’t read the signs, they can’t even recall the names of the small towns they sometimes pass through. Other than noting the passing of the seasons, they have no concept of time. Despite the physical hardships, there is a pristine, Garden of Eden quality to this life that is described in compelling, almost hypnotic language.
Cut to ten years later – or is it 20? – or 30? The author seems to give up early on the idea of telling the reader what actually happened, or when. Now Lila is living with an old, silver-haired preacher. Now she’s not. Flashback to the open road. She yearns for Doll who is now gone and just might have killed somebody. Or not. The preacher baptizes her and she tries to unbaptize herself in the river. She suggests they get married and they do. Flashback to her life in a whorehouse and as a cleaning lady in a hotel. Flash forward to the preacher never being able to figure her out but loving her steadily all the same.
Lila, however, will never get over her attachment to her memory of Doll, or her lack of a real family, or something. She accepts her husband’s love but can’t really return it. She can’t really relate to anyone or make friends. The only thing she really understands and enjoys is hard outdoor work. She might be saved by an event that happens at the end, but I doubt it.
This is an easy book to read at first because of the compelling (although unrealistic) portrait of Lila’s idyllic life on the road, her love of nature and her insights into the personalities of the wide range of people she meets. But about halfway through I got really tired of her stunted personality, and the scenes from her present life seemed repetitious. I guess that’s what you get in a story about someone who can’t really grow, change or connect with others. You keep hoping she shows a little spark, but she never really does.
This is an aggravating book because the quality of the writing, and the colorful past history of Lila, can’t in the end overcome the dead weight of her deep-seated personality problems.
Quick Opinions
Good on Paper didn’t have enough of a plot or credible characters for me to strongly recommend it. But it might be the flashiest and easiest read of the three, maybe because Shira is the closest to normal of the three heroines and seems to have just fallen into her unusual circumstances.
If you’re a writer, and you have to write a story about someone with a personality disorder, at least choose someone with a lot of good qualities, and an interesting past, like Lila. Then write lyrically about her mythic childhood in the Garden of Eden so the reader can understand how she can’t quite make the transition to a new world of abundance and normal human emotions.
If, on the other hand, you’ve got nothing to say except that a woman with a poisonous distaste for all humankind can relentlessly drive loved ones away and make her dull life even duller, then you should write Olive Kitteridge. But don’t read it.
