I Write Like . . .

Take note of The Book Bench's post on the I Write Like site. I dropped in some text and am told I write like Stephen King. I'm not sure how to take that. I've never read King so I know I'm not influenced by him. I felt an odd combination of amusement and gratification.

A fanboy's assessment of Kate Atkinson's Case Histories

Book 54: Case Histories by Kate Akinson

Raise the white flag.

Throw in the towel.

I surrender. Any attempt at objectivity or fairness is not possible. I am a Kate Atkinson fanboy.

With the completion yesterday of Case Histories, I have now read three books by Kate. And I like her better as a writer with each subsequent book.

Other than the fact that she's a great writer and storyteller, I like Kate's work (forgive the overly familiar use of her first name, but that's how we fanboys are) because it's Dickensian. There were obvious comparisons between Great Expectations and Kate's first book, Behind the Scenes of the Museum. But the similarities don't stop there.

Like Dickens, Kate has the knack for creating vivid minor characters. Characters who are not mere cardboard cut-outs, but who wear the mantle of humanity in ways that illuminate and amuse and that cause the reader to pause and say, "I know that man." "I've met that woman." Her characters are quirky and vulnerable and real.

And, like Dickens, Kate has the amazing ability to leaven horror -- a toddler gone missing, a teen-age woman inexplicably and brutally murdered -- with humor. She understands that one of the basic truths of life is that it goes on and that laughter and hope often follow the most horrific events.

Those moments of horror -- the missing toddler, the murdered teen -- along with a rural ax murder (it would have to be rural, wouldn't it), form the case histories that are presented to Jackson Brodie, Kate's retired military police and erstwhile police inspector, who is now a private investigator.

Some of the humor in Case Histories derives from Brodie's private musings and misgivings-- he's horrified by the stirring of an erection while in a dentist chair and he has absolutely no tolerance for his ex-wife's new husband. This is, of course, part of the reason Brodie is such a wonderful protagonist. He's smart and competent and affectionate and as deeply screwed up as the rest of us. He wants to move to France. He dwells on his eight-year-old daughter's safety and he sometimes sleeps with the wrong woman.

What important here, aren't the cases -- although Brodie does solve two of them and the third is resolved entirely to the reader's satisfaction (this reader anyway) -- but the interaction between Brodie and his clients. It is in this interaction that Kate's characters are at their most human and Kate is at her most entertaining as a writer.

I've completed three highly entertaining books as June turns to July.

Book 51: Do They Know I'm Running? by David Corbett
This is Corbett's fourth book and his second paperback original. Allow me to linger on that concept for a sentence or two. Apparently Corbett's publishers have decided -- because of low sales, I suppose -- that he is worthy of publishing, but not in hardbound editions. Some day, this book will be in hardbound as will its predecessor and those that follow. Corbett is superb. Don't believe me? The cover blurb to this book, from George Pelecanos, compares him to Robert Stone and Graham Greene. Blurbs on the back are from John Lescroat, Daniel Woodrell and Ken Bruen. Lescroat compares Corbett to Greene and Hemingway.

Yeah, he's that good. And, if it's possible, Corbett raises his game in Do They Know I'm Running? It can be read as a simple thriller, but, like Pelecanos and Lehane, Corbett is attempting to write a serious book about a serious societal problem . . . illegal immigrants who make their way (or attempt to do so) from Mexico and Central America to this country.

I shouldn't say "is attempting" but Corbett succeeds at exactly what he sets out to do. He has given us a thoroughly entertaining work that lingers long after the final page has been read. Do They Know I'm Running? is a provocative exploration of the innocent men and women, young and old, who come to this country because they are trying to build a life, and a future, for their families.

Unfortunately, they are subject to predators on both sides of the boarder. In this country, they live in constant fear of deportation. They work the meanest jobs -- the jobs we won't work -- for low pay and ill-treatment. South of the border they are subject to the not-so-tender mercies of gangs, drug cartels and corrupt military and police.

Do They Know I'm Running? is a powerful and sobering work. It is Corbett's finest book to date and that's saying a lot.

Book 52: Burley Cross Postbox Theft by Nicola Barker

This is an epistolary novel, meaning it unfolds through a series of letters. The letters are ours to read because someone has broken into the postbox in the picturesque village of Burley Cross. The letters are recovered by the police and entered into evidence.

Through the letters, written by a variety of townspeople, we gain insight into Burley Cross as well as the letter writers. There's a lot going on in this English village, mostly behind the scenes.

Burley Cross Postbox Theft is an inventive, comic novel of rare insight.

Book 53: Spies of the Balkans by Alan Furst

Tone, setting, vivid characters and splendid research -- from the nuances of European history to the proper brand of cigarettes -- are the hallmarks of Furst, who delivers another entertaining novel of intrigue, heroism and political reality.

This one is set in Greece in the early 1940s. France is under occupation and Nazi Germany is beginning to turn its attention to Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Albanian and Greece. Furst's hero is Costas Zannis, a senior police official in the Greek city of Salonika, who is soon drawn into the war when he meets a Jewish woman from Berlin who is trying to help two young children flee the Nazis.

Spies of the Balkans has so many reasons to recommend it: a gripping narrative, tone and setting that are absolutely spot on and characters who emerge fully formed and whom the reader quickly comes to care about. This is a top-notch work by Furst.

Finally the July 5 New Yorker contains a short story, The Erkling, by Sarah Shun-lien Bynum. She's one of the 20 under 40 authors spotlighted by the magazine. It's a good story, creepy and open-ended, and among the best put forward in the magazine's 20 under 40 campaign.

50 books as mid-year approaches

The Trade of Queens, Book Six of the Merchant Princes by Charles Stross

Beyond writing his own brilliant brand of science fiction, Charles Stross has an absolute knack for reviving sub-genres created by other writers.

There is, for example, the absolutely weird, but totally captivating "Laundry" series that blends the creepy "things-go-bump-in-the-night" imaginings of H.P. Lovecraft with the thrilling espionage novels of Len Deighton.

In his "Merchant Princes" series, Stross taps into territory mapped out by the late Roger Zelazny. (Stross also credits the influence of H. Beam Piper.)

The Trade of Queens is the sixth and -- for now -- final installment in the Merchant Princes series. Although Charlie leaves this particular series with more questions than answers, one can understand his desire to explore new ground.

It's a good series, not a great one. Inventive, as all Stross books are, and throughly entertaining. Where else would you find Dick Cheney conniving to lure an alternate-universe group of narco-terrorists into bombing Washington D.C. (dispatching both the President and his residence) so that he can seize the reins of government? That's not really a question, the answer is nowhere.

Don't worry, Cheney's reign as President doesn't last long, although his successor is no prize either. I'll miss the series, but I'm confident that whatever Stross cooks up to replace it will be equally satisfying. In the meantime, I have one installment of the Laundry series yet to read.

Roger Maris, Baseball's Reluctant Hero by Tom Clavin and Danny Peary

The authors of this overdue biography spend far too much time at the beginning of the book exploring a rift in the Maras family. Yes, Maras. Roger and his brother and parents changed the spelling of their name after moving from Minnesota to North Dakota.

The undue focus on the Maris family feud is the only quibble I have with this biography. The authors' knowledge of the game is sound and they do an especially good job of placing Maris' career in perspective.

A few observations gleaned from the book:

• Maris was a talented, all-around athlete who had a deep understanding of the game of baseball. He was no mere slugger who got lucky in 1961. His defensive skills have historically been over-looked and under-valued.
  
  
• In a 12-year career, he played in seven World Series, winning three. He was a four-time All-Star and two-time MVP. His teammates, whether the Yankees or the Cardinals, universally respected him as a man and an athlete. Mantle sobbed at his funeral.
  
  
• George Steinbrenner emerges as a hero in the Maris story. Treated abysmally by the Yankees ownership while a player there, Maris nursed a long and bitter grievance against the club. Steinbrenner finally convinced Maris to return to Yankee Stadium where he was gob-smacked by thunderous applause.
  
  
• The New York press in 1961 was mean-spirited and irresponsible.
  
  
• Cardinal fans were much more knowledgeable about the game than their New York counterparts.

There's a preponderance of baseball bios in print just now. This one belongs at the top of any sports fans reading list.

The New Yorker, June 14 & 21; June 28
The New Yorker unveiled its "20 Under 40" list -- 20 writers under 40 that the magazine believes are among the best of their generation.

My thoughts on the stories of these writers in the two issues listed above:

The Pilot by Joshua Ferris: Ferris is always interesting. This story is a little creepy, but in a good way.

Here We Aren't, So Quickly by Jonathan Safran Foer: Mercifully brief. His novels were better.

What You Do Out Here, When You're Alone by Philipp Meyer: Meyer's American Rust was good, but not great. I liked this short story a lot.

The Entire Northern Side Was Covered With Fire by Rivka Glachen: Must be part of a novel.

Lenny Hearts Eunice by Gary Shteyngart: I couldn't finish it. I liked Absurdistan a whole lot more. At least I finished it.

Dayward by ZZ Packer: Part of a novel that I really want to read.

The Kid by Salvatore Scibona: I liked this better than his novel, The End, which I didn't like much at all. Again, this must be part of a larger work.

Twins by C.E. Morgan: Promising.

The Young Painters by Nicole Krauss: Part of a novel? I certainly hope so, it didn't make the grade as a short story.

Book 48: The Girl With Glass Feet

Every reader comes to a book with a certain set of expectations. Sometimes those expectations are met. Occasionally exceeded, and -- all too often -- expectations fall short.

That was my experience with Ali Shaw's debut novel, The Girl With Glass Feet. I'm not sure where the expectation came from, but I was anticipating a fantasy novel. What I got was something altogether different.

There are elements of the fantastic in this novel: a beast who turns any creature who looks into its eyes entirely white, moth-winged bulls and, most notably, a girl who is slowly turning to glass beginning with her feet.

I expected these odd elements to come together into a fantastic whole. I expected a quest. Wizards. Great battles. Heroism. Fantasy novels require something of the epic even in a prosaic setting: Think of the terrifying barnyard battle between good and evil in Walter Wangerin's superb Book of the Dun Cow.

There's none of that here. There is a love story and while it doesn't rise to the level of say Romeo and Juliet it has its moments. The young lovers evoke something heroic in one another; each is able to rise above their limitations -- one to face death bravely, the other to confront life.

It's an OK debut, but only that. Over-written as such novels tend to be. Quiet, but perhaps too quiet, too reserved. It wouldn't be a bad book for a wintry weekend amid ice and snow and lowered expectations.

Further thoughts on The Hand That First Held Mine

I'm still thinking about Maggie O'Farrell's The Hand That First Held Mine.

This first observation contains something of a spoiler. I won't go in to much detail, but take note, I don't want to ruin this novel for anyone.

There's a character in the novel who is both the victim of a deception and who later deceives another character in a similar manner. I didn't pick up on this at first and then I was gobsmacked. It's a brilliant piece of writing on O'Farrell's part.

I also neglected to mention in my post yesterday that the author's handling of her two main female characters is extraordinarily tender. It reminds me of the song Be Careful by Patty Griffin. Here's a sample lyric from that song:

All the girls working overtime
Telling you everything is fine
All the girls in the beauty shops
Girls' tongues catching the raindrops

All the girls that you'll never see
Forever a mystery
All the girls with their secret ways
All the girls who have gone astray

Be careful how you bend me
Be careful where you send me
Careful how you end me
Be careful with me

Be careful how you bend me
Be careful with me

Book 47: Maggie O'Farrell's fine The Hand That First Held Mine

The Hand That First Held Mine by Maggie O'Farrell (book 47)

Both the writing and storytelling in Maggie O'Farrell's powerful The Hand That First Held Mine contain a rare elegance and skill. Authors often fall prey to overwriting, which distracts from the beauty of the narrative, but not O'Farrell who writes with a clarity and a certainty that are a joy from the opening sentence to the final one.

The novel is made up of two stories that ultimately converge, although initially it is difficult to see how this can be.

When we first meet Lexie Sinclair, in the mid '50s, she is in her early twenties and soon to flee her parent's home in Devon for the arms of her one true love in London. While in London, Lexie also learns a craft and later becomes a talented and enterprising journalist.

Elina Vilkuna, whose story is set in the present day, is a young Finnish artist married to a London film editor. When we first meet Elina she is recovering from a near fatal delivery of a baby boy.

Motherhood unites Lexie and Elina. O'Farrell writes poetically of the almost inexplicable love that wells up, like water from some spring deep in the earth, after the birth of a child. And, she writes with equal power of the drudgery -- the endless chores, the feeding, the crying, the cajoling.

In an article for her newspaper, Lexie writes: "We change shape . . . we buy low-heeled shoes, we cut off our long hair. We begin to carry in our bags half-eaten rusks, a small tractor, a shred of beloved fabric, a plastic doll. We lose muscle tone, sleep, reason, perspective. Our hearts begin to live outside our bodies. They breathe, they eat, they crawl and -- look! -- they walk, they begin to speak to us."

Motherhood, too, unites them in an unexpected way.

O'Farrell stitches the women's two stories together neatly with a slow, but steady hand. A painting is discovered in a bedroom. A name emerges that ties one character to another. And then the read becomes aware of a variation on another name.

As the novel's end approaches, it is clear that from Lexie's standpoint something horrific has taken place, but what and how only unfolds in the final pages.

There is great sadness here, but joy too; enough for a reader to smile through tears.

+++

One final note on this exquisite book. Take a look at the dust jacket from England that is pictured above and then find the jacket from an American edition. The American edition stinks. The cover of the English edition first attracted me to this book and, to me, perfectly captures the essence of the novel.

Three thrillers comprise June reading

Off the road. Back to the blog.

Three thrillers comprise my latest reading -- books 44, 45 and 46. There's no mystery here. These are all noir-ish, hard-boiled thrillers featuring a distinctive anti-hero.

The Last Good Kiss by James Crumley
Let's take them out of order and start with the book that influenced the others -- James Crumley's The Last Good Kiss. You can bet that Child and Corbett were influenced by Crumley. Even if they haven't read his work, they've read Lehane and Connelly and Pelcanos. And they have read Crumley.

In a September, 2008 interview with the Washington Post, written following Crumley's death, Pelecanos said: "If you asked us to name one book that got us jacked up to write crime novels, it would be The Last Good Kiss. He (Crumley) tried to describe the country in the wake of Vietnam. It wasn't a detective novel. It wasn't a cop novel. He showed us a crime novel could be about something bigger than the mystery itself."

There's violence and sex and a mystery here, but it's the tone that is most important. Crumley's P.I., C.W. Sughrue, is a man with a distinct code of right and wrong. He's hard drinking and has a touch of the romantic. He's the kind of guy that will take a beating silently, but get riled, to the point of murder, over the death of some dogs.

The Last Good Kiss doesn't end well. It's not meant to because Crumley's take on the world is that it's screwed up and men like Sughrue will do the best they can, but it's never enough. Ultimately, they have to walk away -- sadder, but wiser.

61 Hours by Lee Child
Child's anti-hero, Jack Reacher, would recognize Sughrue. Reacher's a bit more polished, but only a bit. Late in this novel Reacher dispatches a bad guy, who also happens to be the local sheriff, with a shot to the head. Reacher has never hesitated to execute his own brand of justice.

But I had problems with this book -- and I am a fan of Child's work. Reacher's a little late taking down the sheriff. The answer is right before him, but he doesn't recognize it until two good people die. That offended my sense of justice.

Plus, there is some doubt that Reacher survives his most recent escapade. Child's clever in how he sets this all up, even introducing a character that could conceivably (but not really) step in for Reacher in a new series. Authors get bored, I understand that, but I don't like the uncertainty created by this cliffhanger.

Besides, in a interview with journalist Craig McDonald Child notes that John D. MacDonald's Travis McGee series was "one of the great series of all time . . . He kept that going for 21 books. That would be a great target to aim at."

Reacher will be back.

The Devil's Redhead by David Corbett
I've been a fan of Corbett since reading his second novel, Done for a Dime. Such a fan, in fact, that I am flat out pissed that his most recent two books have been paperbound only. Obviously Corbett is still searching for his audience, but this decision by his publisher is inexplicable. Listen folks this guy is a great writer and a great read.

His first book, The Devil's Redhead, is a nice little love story. Really. Yes, there's a lot about moving shiploads of marijuana and the meth trade in California and the battle for supremacy of said trade, but the heart of the novel is Corbett's anti-hero, Danny Abatangelo's efforts to reunite with his lost love.

It's an exquisite tale that finds time to be instructional among the over-the-top violence.

Read all three books, but for my money Corbett is the guy.

Final photo from grand tour of Europe

This is my final "book" photo from Europe. This was taken at the Schloss Vollrads vineyards. I liked the juxtaposition of wine bottles and books.

Recently finished the new Jack Reacher novel, 61 Hours. Some thoughts on that book soon. It will contain spoilers.

Strasbourg and Amsterdam book stalls

The top two photos are from Amsterdam, where I stumbled on some book stalls. The bottom two photos were taken in Strasbourg, France, which has a lovely little book market near its city center. The books are sold in the shadow of the Notre Dame Cathedral.

Thoughts on Filthy English and other books

I am supposed to be in New York City for a book bloggers' convention. I couldn't do it. Not after traveling to five countries during the month of May. Home feels good just now.

Here's a quick summary of the last three books I've read:

Filthy English by Peter Silverton. Subtitled: "The How, Why, When and What of Everyday Swearing." I picked this book up in Alfriston, England. I debated the purchase. I was backpacking and had taken only two paperback books that I planned to discard after reading. Now I was without a book and wanted to read but didn't want to add to the weight I was carrying. I left without the book, but returned later to buy it. I'm glad I did. It's an entertaining exploration of cussing. BTW, I found Filthy English in Much Ado Books, which was named England's Independent Bookshop of the Year in 2007.



Notes From A Small Island by Bill Bryson. After traipsing the length of the South Downs Way, I knew I had to read a book by Bill Bryson. And I knew that book would have to be Notes From A Small Island. I read this book back in 1995 when it was first issued. I was hoping for something different from it this time around, some vertification of a shared experience, perhaps. I didn't find it. I was actually somewhat disappointed in the book. The humor seemed forced and juvenile and Bryson didn't write about any of the places I'd been. I was hoping for something about Winchester or Upper Beeding or Amberley, but it wasn't there.



Where the God of Love Hangs Out by Amy Bloom. There are many books yet to read in 2010, but this collection of short stories is going to be among my favorite reads of the year. I can't imagine too many books slipping ahead of it. Bloom's last book, Away, which appeared in 2007, was a novel. I didn't like it much, but Bloom is a wonder as a short story writer. The characters are vivid as is the writing. Bloom's perception and empathy for the human condition is extraordinary, as are these stories.

More pictures from trip to England

Three photos from London. I've been traveling more than reading this month.

The top photo is Bathurst Mews. It's one of those streets you never see in America, accessible only via a tight (for a small car) little archway. Near the far end is R.A. Gekoski Rare Books and Manuscripts.

In addition to dabbling in the rare book trade, Rick Gekoski has written two bibliomemoirs, my favorite, Tolkien's Gown, and the more recent, Outside of a Dog. Rick was kind enough to sign my copy of Tolkien's Gown, despite it being titled Nabokov's Butterfly in the States.

The decision to re-title the book was a curious decision by Rick's American publisher, and not one he's happy with it. He normally won't sign the American edition, indicating he did not have any input into renaming the book.

But read it. Read them both. They offer wonderful insight into the rare book trade.

Photo two is Cecil Court, which is described in Wikipedia as "a short but tranquil pedestrian street with charming Victorian shop-frontages in London . . . linking Charing Cross Road and St. Martin's Lane.

Most of those charming shops are bookstores. There's between a half-dozen to a dozen shops. Some stores specializing in maps and prints, too. Booksellers who often make the journey to London to acquire books indicate Cecil Court is not what it once was. It seemed pretty spectacular to me. Brilliant as the Brits say.

Photo three is an inside shot of the Globe Theatre, which I toured during my visit. It's cool. I bought a lot of souvenirs there.

Photos from Monk's House in Rodmell

During my walking tour of England, I visited the village of Rodmell, site of Monk's House. The house was a retreat from London for Virginia and Leonard Woolf.

The top photo shows Virginia's bedroom. The second photo is a bust of Leonard that sits in the Monk's House garden. The third shot shows the house from the garden and the final photo is representative of the garden's beauty.

Scenes of Winchester England

Two scenes from Winchester England. The photo on the top was taken at the Winchester Cathedral -- yes, that cathedral; the one made famous in the Rudy Vallee-like song by the New Vaudeville Band. The annual book sale raises funds to purchase music for the choir. The photo on bottom is a close (alley) just off the city center.

I read two books during my travels: Behind the Scenes at the Museum by Kate Atkinson and Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky. I highly recommend both books.

Museum is Atkinson's first books and only cements her standing (with me) as one of the finest writer's in England today. It's a David Copperfield-like story of a young York girl. As Ruby recounts her life, Atkinson leaps back in time to tell the story of Ruby's mother and grandmother and their extended family.

Suite Francaise is the story of the Nazi invasion of Paris and the occupation of a French village. Nemirovsky is as unsparing of the Parisians and French villagers as she is the Nazis. Ironically, Nemirovsky, a Jew, died in the Holocaust. The uncompleted novel (actually two novellas) was discovered decades after her death by her daughter. We are the richer for this discovery.

Two very fine novels.

The Unnamed; these boots ain't made for walking

Timing counts for a lot. Tomorrow evening I fly off to England to spend eight days walking the 100-mile long South Downs Way. Yesterday, I finished The Unnamed by Joshua Ferris, a novel about a man who literally walks himself to death.

It's an odd novel and I'm not certain what to make of it. A novel of alienation and disaffection, perhaps; of modern man's need to constantly put distance between himself and the so-called good life he has fashioned for himself? You could say that.

At a minimum, it's a cautionary tale for me.

Tim Farnsworth is a successful man; he is a partner in a robust Manhattan law firm; he loves his wife and they seem to have a healthy sex life; he's a little distant from his chubby daughter, but loves her nonetheless. And then he starts walking.

Ultimately, Tim walks himself out of his job, away from his wife and daughter and his nice house and wherever his legs take him. Tim is baffled by this compulsion. Is he mentally ill or is it some disease of one? Is there a biological component? Whatever the root source of Tim's walking, by the novels end it has wrecked his mind and body, although he stills clings to love for his family and they for him.

His reunion with his dying wife and the meeting with his infant grandson are powerful and affecting scenes. Still, it is difficult (at least for me) to say what it all adds up to.

***

When it comes to Canadian science fiction writer Robert Sawyer, I'm a fan boy. Watch is the second in his trilogy on an emergent consciousness that resides on the World Wide Web. I especially admire, and appreciate, Sawyer's ability to take aspects of science and dumb it down. I understand most of what he's writing about.

Sawyer also has created a nice cast of characters in the trilogy and the story -- with Rob's usual assortment of heroes and villains -- makes an entertaining read.

Thomson's debut novel is one fun read

To continue to believe in the mystery and magic of the Wizard, it's important not to pull back the curtain.

The same is true of certain books. It's dangerous to explore the premise because it's likely to fall apart. Such is the case with Keith Thomson's debut novel, Once A Spy.

The conceit of Once A Spy is that retired CIA agent Drummond Clark has Alzheimer's and a whole lot of people are concerned what Clark, now highly vulnerable, might tell other people. Consquently, Drummond's life is in danger from his own colleagues. So far, so good.

But despite the Alzheimer's, which damages his memory-retrieval process, Drummond still reacts like a spy. As the author explains through one of the characters, "Alzheimer's caused minimal motor impairment. Ten years from onset, patients could tie a tie, bake a cake, even create a web site." Or, in Drummond's case, fly a helicopter, conceive various schemes of escape and fire a variety of weapons with deadly accuracy.

If you think about it too long, it strains the bonds of credibility that a 60-something retiree with Alzheimer's is staying ahead of the bad guys, or escaping their nefarious clutches, as long (and as often) as Drummond manages to do. So, don't think about it. Because Thomson has given us a fun little novel. This is one great read.

Drummond is aided by his estranged son, Charlie. Charlie's a good guy -- and good looking -- but his downfall is the ponies. When the novel opens, Charlie owes a good deal of money to a Russian mobster because of a horse that finished well, but not well enough.

Charlie turns out to be a natural and together he and his father lead their pursuers on a merry chase.

Here's my recommendation: Block off a few hours, settle in to a cozy chair, suspend disbelief, have a little notepad handy to keep track of the body count and enjoy. And one other thing: Once A Spy doesn't read like a screenplay, but it's ultimate destiny is on the big screen. Join me in casting the movie to be made from this delightful book.

* * *

I hate to express disappointment over Alberto Manguel's newest book, A Reader on Reading, but disappointed I was. Manguel's written some terrific books on reading, but -- despite the title's promise -- this isn't one of them.

A Reader on Reading is a series of essays that appeared in a variety of venues . . . the preface to books, magazine articles . . . that sort of thing. As such, some of the essays are very much about reading, but in others reading is a peripheral to the subject at hand.

There's some nice stuff here, but not enough to sustain a book. If you are unfamiliar with Manguel, I encourage you to pick up The Library at Night. It's a far more satisfying work.

Three novels, but not a single recommendation

Maile Meloy's short story collection, Both Ways Is The Only Way I Want It, was one of the best books that I read last year. A Family Daughter, a 2006 novel by Meloy, won't be among my favorites in 2010.

It's an odd little novel. Ostensibly about a young California woman and her family there's an odd interlude in South American involving a beautiful, wealthy and narcissistic woman, her mother and her mother's adopted child.

There is the merest suggestion of the muscular writing and powerful insight Meloy displays in her story collection, but its only echoes. Unless you are interested in tracing the arc of a writer's growth, take a pass on A Family Daughter.

+ + +

Franklin Pierce by Michael F. Holt is another biography in the sterling Americans Presidents series by Times Books. There are other biographies on Pierce, a one-term President known more for his handsome appearance than his leadership, but I'm not familiar with any.

Holt's work, like Pierce's presidency, is not among the best in the series, but it's worth a day or two, and a 150-odd pages, to read this biography simply to know something about one of our more obscure presidents.

+ + +

I feel doubly cheated by Connie Willis' time travel novel, Blackout. For one, there's not much science in the science fiction. Blackout is largely the story of three historians trapped in London in the early days of World War II. That's fine, but if I wanted to read a history of WW II that's what I would have turned to, rather than a science fiction novel.

Why the three are trapped in the past is the second reason that I feel cheated. After almost 500 pages I discovered that Blackout is the first of two novels. I might have read Blackout in any case, but I certainly would have set it aside until this fall when its companion novel is scheduled for release.

The Ideal Reader

Per my post yesterday, I discovered the following quote today:

"The ideal reader is capable from falling in love with one of the book's characters."

The quote is from the essay, The Ideal Reader, from A Reader On Reading by Alberto Manguel.

Bradley's The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag is spot on

I have a colleague, a man in his early 60s, who confesses that he is in love with 10-year-old Flavia de Luce.

His passion for such a young girl might seem wrong, if not outright creepy, until you know that Flavia is a fictional character and that I, along with thousands of other readers, share his inordinate fondness for this coltish creature who seems to have escaped the boundaries of paper and ink.

Flavia is the creation of Alan Bradley and the star of his two mystery novels, The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie and The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag. The novels, set in the idyllic English village of Bishop's Lacey, are as delightful and as clever as the titles suggest.

In the most recent book, The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag, Flavia sets out to solve the murder of a puppeteer. His death seems tangled up with a local farmer growing cannabis and the mysterious death of a five-year-old a few years earlier. There's also a former German prisoner of war lingering about the village for good measure.

The plots are engaging and Bradley's depiction of the residents of Bishop Lacey and its customs are spot on, but -- make no mistake -- Flavia is the star attraction. She is equally adept at detection and chemistry, as knowledgeable as she is fond of all manner of poisons, and dashes about Bishop Lacey's on her bicycle named Gladys.

She's precocious enough to enjoy dazzling the local police constable with her explanation of how she solved the murder and precious enough to doctor the chocolates given to her sister by an admirer with hydrogen sulfide, which will unleash the stink of rotten eggs when the candy is consumed.

Books don't come more enjoyable than Bradley's and characters more vivid than Flavia de Luce. We had are all cheered to know that the third book in the series, A Red Herring Without Mustard, can be expected in 2011.

On Lee's The Surrendered and McEwan's Solar

It has been weeks since I posted to this blog. Sadly, in that time I have completed only two books. Reading before blogging. If reading does not take place, the blog goes neglected as well.

For the first time in quite a while the pace of my reading has slackened. In the first quarter of 2010 I have averaged less than 10 books a month. It took all of seven days in April to complete Ian McEwan's new book, Solar, and it is hardly a voluminous tome (the redundancy here is for effect).

There is nothing for it, but to forge on . . .

The first of the two books that have taken so much time is Chang-rae Lee's The Surrendered. I confess I have been hesitate to write about this book. Not because I didn't like it, I did, but because it deals with such a weighty subject.

The Surrendered is about the horrors of war, particularly its brutal effects upon the innocent who are caught up in its madness. Recently, when Lee read from the opening chapter of his novel at Politics & Prose (that lovely little D.C. bookstore) the audience paused for a beat, perhaps a beat and a half, before bursting into applause at the conclusion of his reading. It is that kind of book -- sober, horrific, vividly realistic.

It will give any serious reader pause. It is a book in which you admire the skill of the writer even as you wonder if you really want to read a book on such a grim topic.

The Surrendered will certainly rank as Lee's finest work (at least something new supplants it), although it is not without its flaws. The best of the book is set in a Korean orphanage where three victims of war come together: an American soldier who served in the Korean conflict; a Korean girl, orphaned by the war; and the wife of an American missionary, who is a survivor of the Chinese-Japanese conflict in Manchuria.

The novel loses its way during those passages involving what passes for present time in the book. The soldier and the orphan girl, now a grown woman dying of cancer, are brought together by the woman's desire to find their son (it gets complicated), who is somewhere in Europe. But the reader does not care for this missing son and his very presence in the book seems arbitrary and a mere device to bring these two damaged souls back together.

If Lee stumbles, it is only that . . . a stumble and not a fall. The final passage links to the opening chapter in a skillful, almost breathtaking display of authorial command. Ultimately, The Surrendered is a flawed, yet heart-breakingly beautiful book that demands we see war for the horror that it is and acknowledge the great damage its wreaks on the guilty and innocent alike.

Because Solar is written by Ian McEwan we must read it. And we must acknowledge that it is written with skill, that it is highly readable, at times slyly funny and insightful, but -- and this isn't easy to say -- it is a disappointing book.

Despite it's title and it's cover (an image of our sun), Solar is not about global warming. It is about Michael Beard, a frowzy Nobel Prize-winning physicist who seems determined to demonstrate all on his own the concept of entropy -- that nature tends from order to disorder.

When we meet him, Beard is overweight womanizer, well into the dissolution of his fifth marriage and living off the tidy crumbs that fall to a Nobel laureate. By the novel's conclusion, his health is failing. He is morbidly obese, constitutionally unable to bypass a meal or a drink. He's fathered a child by one woman (despite his age and protestations never to become a father) and asked an equally frowzy waitress to marry him, while in the throes of sexual passion. And that doesn't begin to describe the state of Beard's career, which is disintegrating at about the same pace as his body.

The trouble with Solar -- more correctly, my trouble with Solar -- is that Beard is such an unpleasant shit, I don't care. Within pages I'm ready for him to get his comeuppance and be done with it. The book is not so funny or clever or insightful to continue to spend time with this creep.
Solar is a well-written dud.