Randy's reads in 2021

Welcome. It’s my tenth year in the 75 Books Challenge and although I don’t always reach that goal, I always enjoy the journey. Here you will find an eclectic mix of literary fiction, a bit of non-fiction, and a few outliers. I enjoy writing brief reviews on every one.

I live in Waterloo, Ontario, Canada. This past year, my wife and I were due to spend six months in England as part of her sabbatical. Instead we were confined to our home offices. When we are finally able to travel again, I suspect we will want to return to all our favourite haunts in England and France (and Canada) before going anywhere new. Here is hoping we’ll all be able to travel safely again before the end of 2021.

Our one brief vacation this year was a week on Manitoulin Island staying with my wife’s sister. Peaceful and relaxing as ever. So a view of Lake Ontario at Providence Bay wins pride of place for this year’s thread topper.

Books read in 2021

January
1. Francis Plug: Writer In Residence by Paul Ewen
2. On Risk by Mark Kingwell
3. Midlife: a philosophical guide by Kieran Setiya
4. Suppose A Sentence by Brian Dillon
5. Hamnet and Judith: a novel by Maggie O'Farrell
6. Pond by Claire-Louise Bennett
7. The Murderbot Diaries: All Systems Red by Martha Wells
8. Intimations: Six Essays by Zadie Smith
9. Here is where we meet by John Berger

February
10. River by Esther Kinsky
11. Luster: a novel by Raven Leilani
12. Earthlings: a novel by Sayaka Murata
13. Machines Like Me by Ian McEwan
14. The City & The City by China Miéville
15. The Murderbot Diaries: Artificial Condition by Martha Wells

March
16. The Murderbot Diaries: Rogue Protocol by Martha Wells
17. The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchett
18. The Murderbot Diaries: Exit Strategy by Martha Wells
19. Klara and The Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro
20. Return of the Trickster by Eden Robinson

April
21. Nothing To See Here by Kevin Wilson
22. The Loser by Thomas Bernhard
23. A Swim in a Pond in the Rain by George Saunders
24. Hench by Natalie Zina Walschots

May
25. The Liar's Dictionary: a novel by Eley Williams
26. The Murderbot Diaries: Network Effect by Martha Wells

June
27. Double Blind: a novel by Edward St. Aubyn
28. Heaven: a novel by Mieko Kawakami

July
29. The Murderbot Diaries: Fugitive Telemetry by Martha Wells

August
30. Notes From The Burning Age by Claire North
31. Second Place by Rachel Cusk
32. Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir
33. Fight Night by Miriam Toews

September
34. The Pigeon by Patrick Süskind
35. The Secret to Superhuman Strength by Alison Bechdel
36. Helgoland: Making Sense of the Quantum Revolution by Carlo Rovelli
37. Shakespeare's Kitchen: stories by Lore Segal
38. The Friend: a novel by Sigrid Nunez
39. The Death of Francis Bacon: a novel by Max Porter
40. Last Comes the Raven and Other Stories by Italo Calvino

October
41. Ring by André Alexis
42. The Good Son: a novel by Carolyn Huizinga Mills

November
43. Lean Fall Stand by Jon McGregor
44. Persuasion: An Annotated Edition by Jane Austen

December
45. Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz
46. Not a Novel: A Memoir in Pieces by Jenny Erpenbeck
47. Perestroika in Paris: a novel by Jane Smiley
48. Before the coffee gets cold: a novel by Toshikazu Kawaguchi
49. Oh William!: a novel by Elizabeth Strout
50. How to Behave in a Crowd: a novel by Camille Bordas
51. The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark
52. Eileen: a novel by Ottessa Moshfegh
53. Young Once by Patrick Modiano
54. The Girls of Slender Means by Muriel Spark
55. Five Tuesdays in Winter: stories by Lily King

My top five reads of 2020

Writers & Lovers: A Novel by Lily King
It starts as one of those dreaded writer-writing-about-writing-a-novel books, which it is, but it’s so much more. The protagonist’s voice is very real and so is her sadness, because life kinda sucks. Sometimes. And she misses her mom. Both moving and thoughtful.

Ayoade on Top by Richard Ayoade
Absolutely brilliant. I didn’t think even Richard Ayoade could sustain this level of irony over the course of an entire book ostensibly critiquing a very minor Gwyneth Paltrow film, View From The Top. He does! And on top of all the humour, you’ll find a piercing critique of cinema practice that would be worthy of the most prominent cultural pundits of the moment.

The Following Story by Cees Nooteboom
Hermann Mussert wakes up in a hotel room in Lisbon despite having gone to sleep the previous night in Amsterdam. As Mussert attempts to retrace his steps he wanders through a strange and disordered life, his own. This is a slim volume that is intensely rich, filled with classical allusion and quotation. It is writing that absolutely demands rereading.

Lanny: a novel by Max Porter
Lanny is a little boy living in an English village. He is learning about life and art and the deeper stories on which English life is built. Such as the spirit of nature itself, Toothwort. But Toothwort isn’t just a story and his waking may not be entirely welcome. Almost like an extended poem, yet so dramatic. A significant achievement.

The Cold Millions: A Novel by Jess Walter
Set in Spokane, Washington, during the labour and free-speech strife of the early 20th century, the story follows two brothers seeking life, love, and a better world (or at least a better America). Walter is not averse to lyrical humanism so this reads like a blending of Steinbeck and E.L Doctorow. His characters leap off the page full of heart and folly, the best of whom are burdened by “first-degree aggravated empathy.” It’s a story of capitalist corruption, insidious graft, and idealistic campaigning for justice but it is also a beautifully paced and finely judged adventure.

Special mention: Claire North, Jenny Offill, Jeff Vandermeer, and Susanna Clarke

Welcome back!

>3 RandyMetcalfe: I really enjoyed Lanny when I read it last year.

Welcome back, Randy. Interesting picks for your best of year.

Enjoy your reading in 2021.

>1 RandyMetcalfe: looks so peaceful

>4 drneutron: Thanks, Jim. And especially thanks for setting up the group again. Can't tell you how much I appreciate having this little oasis on the Internet.

Welcome >5 SandDune: Rhian, >6 PaulCranswick: Paul, and >7 thornton37814: Lori

Best wishes for a better 2021!

>11 DianaNL: Thanks Diana. And all the best to you as well.

Happy reading in 2021, Randy!

>13 FAMeulstee: Thanks Anita! Have a great year.

And keep up with my friends here, Randy. Have a great 2021.

1. Francis Plug: Writer In Residence by Paul Ewen

Francis Plug is back. He is now a published author of a novel that has been characterized as “silly”. But it’s enough to get him a one-year post as Writer-in-Residence at the University of Greenwich. He just lacks the ability to teach creative writing students and, strangely, also the ability to write. However, he does know what he would like to write — a campus novel! And, fortunately, since he has taken the “residence” portion of his new position literally, he should be able to get down to work very soon. All he will need is a pint or two or perhaps a wee dram of Cutty Sark Whisky. Or some wine. Now where was he, what was he meant to be doing?

Paul Ewen has once again brought Francis Plug joyfully to life. And despite Francis’ taste for the drink, he manages the research portion of writing his new novel with aplomb. Chapter by chapter Francis canvases a vast array of campus novels for inspiration and insight — all duly signed, with best wishes, by their authors. It’s a whirlwind tour of literary events and campus novel plot points. And if it doesn’t all turn out the way Francis hopes, he can hardly be held accountable.

As delightful as its predecessor, and just as fabulously silly. Recommended for friends.

2. On Risk by Mark Kingwell

We live in a risk society. Nearly everything we do involves risk. Our ability to assess those risks and to make rational choices to either mitigate risk or act in the face of risk may largely determine our ultimate success, as individuals, as a polity, and as a species. So it makes sense, even for lay thinkers, to give a bit of effort over to understanding the nature of risk. Whether a breezy, sometimes glib, treatment by a serious philosopher who has written at length (and I assume less glibly) on such matters will be the ideal medium to foster such thinking remains to be seen. Certainly the innumerable recounting of film and television plots, and charming personal anecdotes will carry the reader some distance. But will it hold their interest when the going gets tough? Serious thinking, even philosophy, is rarely a light read. On the other hand, when a writer describes those he disagrees with as “wackadoodle” perhaps it’s clear that the mantle of serious thinking has been set aside.

This is a slight book that might just as persuasively have made all its useful points if it were a slim article in a journal. Despite those reservations, this book is still worth reading though for the good stuff it might be best to just read through the footnotes.

>1 RandyMetcalfe: Good luck to you with the 2021 challenge! Happy reading!

>18 ocgreg34: thanks Greg. And to you as well.

3. Midlife: a philosophical guide by Kieran Setiya

If the asymmetry problem — that is, the fact that we often display contrasting responses to our pre-natal non-existence and our non-existence subsequent to our death — captures the frame or extent of our lives, then, I suppose, all of our life is effectively midlife. Here, philosopher Kieran Setiya narrows his focus to what 20th century psychologists and popular imagination identify as the midlife crisis, which typically occurs some time after one’s 35th year. Whether it is induced by an anxiety about the future (Is that all there is?) or regret about the past, whether actions or choices, Setiya argues that the midlife crisis is a real phenomenon. It is, he confesses, one that he faces himself. Fortunately Setiya has access to a philosophical tradition, practice, and insight that, he thinks, will help him deal with this potentially egoistical problem.

Setiya writes with confidence and clarity. Whenever he restricts himself to philosophical matters, I find him clear headed and persuasive. Unfortunately, his goal here lies outside philosophy. What he really wants is to write a self-help book. In the latter portions of the book he repeatedly misapplies the phrase “philosophical therapy” treating it as a synonym for psychological therapy. But traditionally (as least in the anglo-analytic tradition) philosophy serves as a cure for specifically philosophical conundrums. To assuage one’s anxiety, it is generally thought more efficacious to partake of pharmaceuticals or to watch cricket. Thus what starts out as an interesting discussion of a collection of related philosophical problems degenerates into handwaving fluff and adjurements to live in the moment and transform one’s telic activities into atelic practices. Sigh.

What disappoints most of all is that this book is published by Princeton University Press and labelled as “Philosophy” on its back cover. Yes, philosophy, not self-help, self-improvement, or pop psychology.

It’s entirely possible that some readers will find this book helpful. But, I would argue, that it’s also entirely possible they might get just as much (and much the same kind of ) help by watching cricket.

Not recommended.

Randy, You are off to a grate start with two good reads.

All good wishes for a wonderful 2021.

>21 Whisper1: Thanks Linda. And very best wishes to you as well for 2021.

Happy 2021, Randy.

>23 ffortsa: Thanks Judy! Hope your reading year is wonderful!

4. Suppose A Sentence by Brian Dillon

It’s not unusual for writers to become entranced with, enthused by, enamoured of the sentences of other writers. For years, Brian Dillon wrote out sentences that caught his eye in the backs of notebooks. Then, as a project, he sifted through these sentences, selecting his favourites, and tasking himself with writing an essay provoked by each sentence. Some of these essays focused on the grammatical structure of the sentence. Some focused on the unusual word choices. Some spun off into flights of imagination about the writer, their life, their other sentences, their many other sentences, their oeuvre. Some fixated on the colons, the semi-colons, the commas. 28 essays in total. A feast of sentences. And some of the loveliest writing about prose styling that you could hope for.

Many, indeed most, of these sentences may not be familiar to you. I had encountered very few of them in prior reading. Yet Dillon’s enthusiasm for the sentence itself and its place within its text, or wider place within the writer’s larger output is infectious. However, I wonder whether I’ll bother going on to follow these up. Unlike other enthusiasts of sentences (yes, the phenomenon is not unique), Dillon doesn’t really lead you past his own essays. Much as I admired his writing, it didn’t draw me to the writers he discussed. I wonder why that was. Perhaps his choices were so singular, so niche, that they never rose above his own prose, his own idiosyncratic engagement with his targets. For example, when he discusses Roland Barthes colons, his own essay (and indeed his essays thereafter) take on a preponderance of colons. His enthusiasm for the sentence fragment tends him towards fragmentary sentences of his own. The close reading of linguistic tics, leads the reader to spot Dillon’s own tics, (eg. “For sure,…”).

I enjoyed all of these essays but rather wish that Dillon were more enamoured with more of the sentences of fiction than of non-fiction. The stylings of essayists can be a delight, and perhaps it is a special delight for a renowned essayist, but it doesn’t always draw me in. And so I’d have to say that I’m probably not the ideal reader of this collection (though I suspect my wife might be).

And thus, only gently recommended (at least by me).

5. Hamnet and Judith: a novel by Maggie O'Farrell

William Shakespeare had a son. A son who died as a youth. This is the imagined circumstance of that life and death, its coming and its consequence, its possible reverberation across the centuries. But mostly it is the story of Agnes, sometimes known as ‘Anne’, who was William’s wife, the mother of Hamnet (which is an alternate spelling of ‘Hamlet’), he who was twinned with Judith and died, in this account, in her place, the collateral damage of pestilence.

This is a lyrical tale primarily told from Agnes’ perspective. She is unusual for her time, a creature as much of the forest as of the town. She communes with bees, hunts with a kestrel, gathers herbs and medicinal flowers. She knows her own mind and, more significantly, the minds of others through a glance or a touch. From her first encounter with the young Latin tutor, she perceives worlds upon worlds within him, more than he himself yet dreams of. And so against the advice of others she will have him for her own. And life, as they say, develops.

O’Farrell writes with great assurance, comfortable with her subject and at ease with the movement back and forth in time from the immediate hours preceding Hamnet’s death to the earlier wooing of Agnes and William. She writes propulsively — you will be thrust forward ceaselessly as though the continuance of this story and yourself depends upon it. It really is a remarkable feat. And virtually impossible not to fall in love with.

So easy to recommend.

>26 RandyMetcalfe: Glad you enjoyed that one. It was my favorite book in 2020.

6. Pond by Claire-Louise Bennett

What exactly are the twenty titled sections of Pond? Not exactly stories, most of them. Only very loosely could they be considered meditations. They aren’t essays, though they seem to carry motifs and themes across their surface. And even though characters are scarce, the unnamed narrator becomes intimately characterized. It’s a bit like facets of a well-cut gem, each refraction bending the light, distorting any hoped-for view of the whole. Yet beautiful, all the same.

In the absence of narrative drive, reactive characters, and a strong sense of place, inevitably the reader is forced back upon the sentences that Bennett deploys. Indeed you may find yourself reading her sentences multiple times in order to catch the rhythm she is using, to luxuriate in her startling word choices. Even a flight of joycean exuberance seems to just naturally fit in when it arrives. And throughout this highly self-conscious wordplay, there is particularity. Plain-wrapper, banal, particularity: about oven knobs, dirt and weeds, a sign warning(?) or declaring(?) — Pond!

But does it work? Honestly, I don’t know. While thoroughly enjoying, even delighting, in the reading of the book, I find very shortly thereafter that I can’t recall much of anything in it, other than a vague impression and a certain reverence for language and astonishment at what can be accomplished with it. I suspect that means I need to read it again, which is something to look forward to very much.

Recommended.

7. The Murderbot Diaries: All Systems Red by Martha Wells

On a distant and largely unexplored planet, a SecUnit that has covertly hacked its governor module is providing security for a party of human planetary surveyors. ‘Murderbot’, as the SecUnit colourfully thinks of itself, mostly prefers watching movies, serials, and plays, or listening to music that it has downloaded from the combined feed of entertainment channels. But it has a job to do, if only to keep its hacked governor module hidden. What it wasn’t expecting, because it sounds like something out of one of the serials, was that another group of planetary surveyors would attempt to kill Murderbot’s group. Time to put all that watching of serials to good use and come up with a plan.

The writing here is pacy and punchy. It throws the reader immediately into this curious new world without preamble and with only Murderbot as a guide. Fortunately, Murderbot itself is wonderful company, despite being somewhat depressed. It is self aware enough to know that its lot in life is a dismal one and that only engagement with imaginative presentations raises life to the level of worth continuing. So, all too human, eh?

Martha Wells creates an interesting cast of characters and some aggressive tactics and action sequences, but it is her oblique investigation of what being alive is all about that holds one’s attention. Very keen to move on to the next novella in this series.

Recommended.

8. Intimations: Six Essays by Zadie Smith

The essays in this slim collection circle around the current pandemic, sometimes using it as a metaphor for other viral threats, sometimes catching its aftermath before there is an aftermath, and sometimes turning to face it head on. I’m not sure whether Zadie Smith could even write a poor piece of prose, and certainly not here. She is thoughtful and cautious, angry when anger is warranted (it’s often warranted), thinking through her actions and reactions, and periodically second or third guessing herself. She tends to straddle the Atlantic divide, drawing examples from Britain and from America, mingling them casually. But what I like best is when she is focussed on the tiny particularities of life, with love.

Of course there are some essays that I like more than others. But I think I wouldn’t want to have the whole without its many parts. Enjoy them each in their own way.

Gently recommended.

>30 RandyMetcalfe: I saw that in the Bookstore just before they closed and I may help myself to it once they open back.

>31 PaulCranswick: Although the copy I read was from the public library, I noted on the back cover that all of Zadie Smith's royalties from its sale will go to charity. So now I rather wish I had purchased a copy.

9. Here is where we meet by John Berger

This is a beautiful piece of writing, a sort of psychogeography crossed with memoir, in which John Berger explores places that are important to him at the same time as he engages with memories of people who were important to him. Here the dead are as active in Berger’s life and thoughts as the living. The opening encounter set in Lisbon wonderfully captures the tone that Berger wants to set. He is surprised to find his mother in this city that he loves. She too loved it and has chosen it as the place in which she and he can meet. His interactions with her are sensitive and instructive — she often chides him or reminds him not to be fanciful but always tell the truth in his writing. Which immediately has us wondering what truth he is conveying through this particular writing. Note: he is certainly not telling us that the dead walk the earth. Rather, it is the influence on us of people who may have died that remains operative.

The result is a fascinating, lyrical, and very human approach to memoir. So readable and yet almost uncomfortably intimate. Filled with history and esoteric facts, yet what will stay with you is his mother laughing as she must have when she was 17.

Warmly recommended.

10. River by Esther Kinsky

An unnamed woman arrives in an east London neighbourhood. She has come from distant lands but is familiar with the practices and provenance of the observant (and unobservant) Jews of this locale. Her own Jewish roots trace back to Poland but are mixed and mingled and she seems always somewhat at sea, as though, like many of these immigrants and refugees, she too had lost her home. She appears to be in mourning for the loss of her father and many of her memories are of him taking her to see rivers in different countries. But it is clear that she must find her own way now, which she does through following the many branches of rivers joining the Thames near London. She intersperses these journeys with memories of other journeys and other rivers in very different lands.

Esther Kinsky’s writing is both rich and melancholic. She offers dense paragraphs of description full of lists and eddies of sub-clauses. Her protagonist is an observer, primarily, so it is fitting that she both makes and seeks out photographs of her river haunts. Only rarely does she engage directly with the locals. So the prose is uninterrupted by dialogue, which makes it seem dense and, sometimes, monotonous. However, I think this muffled experience is something Kinsky specifically intends to achieve. It’s as though our reading needs to share this character’s own muffled (perhaps grief-laden) experience of life.

Always, no matter what the protagonist’s apparent interest in a chapter, there is a river. And she is always either approaching it or moving away from it, only rarely ever crossing any river. It’s as though her life is caught on the muddy banks of a tidal river, neither fully immersed nor ever fully out of the muck. And so two years pass and then she packs her belongings and moves back to eastern Europe. Has there been a narrative arc, or is she now much as she ever was? I think she does change but that change is subtle, not fully escaping whatever brought her to this point, but nonetheless willing to see the world in the light of a new dawn.

It takes a bit of fortitude to get through, but if you are up for it, it is well worth reading.

11. Luster: a novel by Raven Leilani

Edie is 23 and the way her life is going it’s anyone’s guess as to whether she’ll see 30. She has burned most of her bridges at the publishing house where she has a position just one rung up the ladder. But that seems at the very least consistent given the disorder of her teenage years. Her mother is some years dead, and she found out on Facebook that her father died six months earlier. About the only thing that excites her about life is this new online relationship she has with Eric, a man who is twice her age and white. But the likelihood that will not end in tears is beyond slim.

Despite her meagre prospects, there is something compelling about Edie. She is excruciatingly self-aware but seemingly helpless in putting her life in order. Perhaps only when she is painting does she, sometimes, achieve a kind of peace. But she isn’t as good as she could be and she’s not even sure she sees herself as an artist anymore. Events, however, have a way of imposing themselves, forcing a life in a certain direction regardless of intent. Which is a roundabout way of saying that Edie ends up in New Jersey living with Eric, his wife Rebecca, and their adopted black pre-teen daughter, Akila. You might be guessing there is a bumpy ride ahead.

This is visceral writing. Raven Leilani presents a protagonist who is, in many senses, extreme. Yet she becomes fully believable even though I can’t claim to understand her. There is always too much of her for me to get my head around. And the other characters — Eric, Rebecca, and Akali — are so thinly sketched that they rarely take on three dimensions, instead seeming to loom just out of focus in mist, until they are exploited, suddenly, for maximum impact. You will find yourself racing through the novel even as you wish you could slow down and savour the obvious skill and care on display in the crafting of Edie’s precarious life.

Certainly recommended.

12. Earthlings: a novel by Sayaka Murata

Beware. Here be monsters.

Don’t let the cutesy childish narrator and idyllic setting of the opening chapter prompt you to let down your guard. This is not an anime for children. What follows will horrify you. Chapter by chapter, it catalogues the worst of whatever you can imagine people doing to each: sexual abuse of a child, murder, incest, brutality, infidelity, revenge, even cannibalism. That said, it does make for curiously compelling reading.

The principle protagonist, Natsuki, is first introduced to us as a highly imaginative 11-year-old. She is harshly used by her older sister and her mother. But she seems to have a great deal of inner resources. However, even at this early point her survival mechanism is to dissociate, so much so that it is hard to know what she perceives as real. We see Natsuki at different ages, but increasingly she has to make greater and greater leaps of imagination to make her life bearable. Indeed, by the time we see her as an adult, it is increasingly improbable that she could persist in normal society without being found out. Fortunately she finds someone equally troubled and together they mask their inability to deal with the real world. However, eventually the real world — here often referred to as the “Factory” — catches up with them. And only a further leap into the extreme can result.

After the first chapter which was sickly sweet, I found this novel very hard to stomach. But it did have a grinding logic. I don’t think I could recommend to anyone, at least not without the warning with which I began this review.

Very grim reading.

13. Machines Like Me by Ian McEwan

Charlie is a bit of a loser. He comes into a modest inheritance and decides to use it all purchasing one of the twenty-five Adam and Eve androids recently released to the world, a first. Charlie would like to be in love with Miranda, his younger neighbour. She is beautiful and intelligent. He decides to share his Adam with Miranda, proposing that each of them contribute half of the answers to Adam’s initial parameters, creating in the process a shared project and a reason to spend time with her. It works. Their affection grows, complicated somewhat by the fact that Adam also falls in love with Miranda. Of course complications ensue since Miranda is both more and less than she appears to be and Adam is a bit of a miracle. Love, crime, revenge, and a full gamut of human emotions follow. Sigh.

McEwan sets Adam’s story in an alternate history. A lot of the 20th century is as we know it, but some key events are different. For example, in the 1980s, which is when this story takes place, Alan Turing is still alive and continuing to produce stellar original contributions to computing science and numerous other fields (which in part explains why computing has advance to the level it has at this point in history). Amidst the jumble of alternative history, McEwan rehearses numerous arguments from philosophy of mind, ethics, and consciousness studies. It reads a bit like a set of extended and overly complicated thought experiments. I hope that isn’t what McEwan thinks literature is because I’m afraid it results in a set of characters and situations for which the reader will have great difficulty having much empathy. I just found I didn’t care about any of them, despite having a reasonable grounding in the computational and philosophical problems that underlie Turing’s famous test. To the extent that the thought experiments were interesting, the entire alternate history of 20th century Britain was irrelevant, and vice versa. In a very real sense, Charlie and Miranda failed to come to life, and certainly no more so than Adam.

I can’t really recommend this. Worse, I dread that it will show up on the reading list of an introductory philosophy course.

14. The City & The City by China Miéville

Nothing I write here is going to prepare you for your visit to the city, or the city. It’s enough to know that two cities exist, that they co-exist, but that they never intrude upon each other, even in the cross-hatched space that they ostensibly share. They don’t intrude or protrude because the citizens of each are circumspect, they unsee and unhear all protuberances from the city which they are not themselves in. They do it instinctually after years of practice. They also do it because it’s the law. Not the law of the city, or of the city. But rather the law of Breach. To see the other city, to go there without a visa and through the normal bureaucratic channels (and training), to interact with those others illicitly is breach. When you breach, Breach comes for you, silently, irrevocably, and you are never going to be seen by anyone in either city again. So when a murder appears to have been committed in one city and then that body is deposited in the other city, it looks, on the surface, like a clear case of breach. But what detective Tyador Borlú of the Extreme Crime Squad will shortly discover is that in this case almost nothing is what it appears to be, whether seen or unseen.

This is an astounding feat of careful craftsmanship from China Miéville. I dread to think what pains he must have taken not to get lost in the labyrinthine circumlocutions needed to describe his characters’ actions, thoughts, and the cities themselves. Honestly, it makes the book a real struggle to read at first, but eventually, and then increasingly, you simply sit back in awe at what he is doing. I am not easily impressed. Here I was entirely impressed.

There’s not much more to say. Go and give this book a try. But be patient with it. Don’t give up. It will eventually make sense even if your head hurts at the end of it all.

Certainly recommended.

15. The Murderbot Diaries: Artificial Condition by Martha Wells

Life sucks when you’re Murderbot. It’s just like a serial from the media feed — there’s angsty stuff about how to act, how to look, how to engage with humans, the anger, the wincing exasperation, the guilt, and, oh, all the killing too, I suppose. Here, Murderbot (now posing as ‘Eden’) is headed back to its roots, where everything went pear-shaped, and it “allegedly” went rogue and killed all the humans it was supposed to be protecting; back to Ganaka Pit. To get there Murderbot has hitched a ride on an unmanned research vessel currently working as a cargo carrier to help defray costs. Unmanned but not empty. Because a vastly intelligent bot that Murderbot christens ‘ART’ is eager and willing to aid Murderbot in its quest, so long as it lets it watch the serials on its feed during the journey. When a seriously depressed, paranoid, and scathingly sarcastic Murderbot meets a bot whose sarcasm is ratcheted up to its vastly more comprehensive level, Murderbot almost seems cheery by comparison. And events ensue…

Once again Martha Wells has created a pacy, action-packed adventure filled with curious new characters and some of the best artificial intelligence banter around. You’ll be gripped, filled with anxiety as to what will happen next, and you might just think a thought or two about what it means to be a conscious, self-directed being. It’s just like a serial from the media feed. Enjoy!

Recommended.

16. The Murderbot Diaries: Rogue Protocol by Martha Wells

Murderbot is on the case, gathering evidence against the GrayCris Corporation. It’s got a lead on some highly suspicious activity on what was supposed to be a terraforming operation that failed. However, when it makes its way there and infiltrates the reclamation crew it discovers that there is more pressing work at hand rescuing and protecting the crew, all friends of the bot, Miki. With combat bots trying to kill them and their own augmented-human security detail tasked with the surreptitious destruction of the terraforming station (regardless of the loss of the human life), there is bound to be an opportunity for Murderbot to show its true metal.

With lightening pace, Martha Wells returns us to the adventures of her serials-loving but highly efficient construct who just wants to secure its future by dealing with its past. With extreme violence, naturally. Here, Murderbot observes the relationship between the bot, Miki, and its friend/owner, Abene, and discerns that something has been missing in its relationships. And that confirms it in its determination to do whatever is necessary to gather evidence to aid Dr. Mensah’s case against GrayCris and possibly affirm their friendship as well.

Already I can hardly wait to read about Murderbot’s next adventure.

Recommended.

17. The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchett

This was a nostalgic reread of the first of the 40 Discworld novels that Terry Pratchett wrote beginning in 1985. I probably read this originally in the late ‘90s. I’m pretty sure I’ve read all of the Discworld novels. I thought it would be interesting to go back and revisit how the series began. Here, Pratchett is exceedingly busy world-building (indeed, universe building). It’s impressive how so many of the memorable features of the later books have a presence here — the fallible gods, DEATH as a somewhat forlorn figure, the place of chance in events, the many and varied societies across the discworld, the sometimes unpredictable effects of magic, the hero running from his heroic fate, the epic asides, and the exuberant good fun. The picaresque style was exactly right for an adventure showcasing many different areas and aspects of the discworld. And it perfectly sets the stage for almost anything that might follow.

I very much doubt that I will go on to reread the rest of the series. But it was fun remembering just how enjoyable that reading journey had been.

18. The Murderbot Diaries: Exit Strategy by Martha Wells

If only humans, at least the ones it cared about, didn’t keep getting in disastrous situations requiring Murderbot to come rescue them. Dr. Mensah has been kidnapped by GrayCris and her three companions are quickly discovering that negotiations over her release aren’t going to go well. Fortunately, Murderbot is on the case. Of course, with the levels of security and outright firepower on TranRollinHyfa, it was never going to be a walk in the park.

Martha Wells presents a rollicking rescue scenario that pushes Murderbot to its limits (and possibly beyond). But she also re-establishes the bond between Murderbot and Dr. Mensah. So it’s not all just energy and projectile weapons and code for hacking systems. There is also a fair bit of thinking about what it means to be Murderbot when you’re Murderbot. And that’s what lifts the adventure to higher heights.
Thought-provoking and sentimental but packed in a case of high-octane action. As ever, I can’t wait for the next instalment.

Recommended.

19. Klara and The Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro

Klara is an Artificial Friend (AF). She is specially designed for a young teen to help circumvent the loneliness seemingly inherent in human lives whether the young person has been “lifted” (i.e. genetically enhanced) or not. When Josie chooses Klara as her AF, it is a bond that will have life-long consequences for both Josie and Klara.

Although Klara is, perhaps, uniquely observant amongst her model of AF, she has limitations. For example, she has a curiously worked out metaphysics skewed by the fact that she is dependant on solar energy — The Sun. It might be fair to say that she, effectively, worships The Sun, and she believes that The Sun has healing powers far beyond the mere electrical charge she receives. So when Klara learns of Josie’s debilitating illness, she quite naturally turns to The Sun as the obvious source for Josie’s rehabilitation. But it’s not easy pleading with The Sun and consequences ensue.

As ever with an Ishiguro novel, there is no simple encapsulation that captures all that is in play. Along with conflicts between magical thinking and so-called rationalism, there are issues of created class difference, grief and its discontents, the merit of merit, the vagaries of love, how special pleading does and does not work, trans humanism and more. Yet the novel is so intricately plotted that all of Ishiguro’s themes and subjects run across the entire surface, as though, surprise, he had worked it all out in advance. And yet it reads with such beautiful fluidity that you imagine it being created as you read it, sentence by sentence.

As ever, highly recommended.

20. Return of the Trickster by Eden Robinson

Jared is back. And so are all of the characters we know and love (or fear). Most welcome is the return of Sarah, sans fireflies, but still thoroughly entwined in Jared’s heart. Maggie, his mom, is still Maggie. But there are also new characters and an even wider canvas for Robinson to work on. And there is a lot of work to do because the ogress, Georgina, isn’t through with Jared yet even though she is currently trapped in an alternate universe. Her minions, the coy wolves, are busy working to bring her back, which they will manage even if it requires killing every single person Jared loves or cares about. Now would be the perfect time for him to go on a bender, wouldn’t it? Bad choices are bad choices are bad choices. Fortunately Jared has so many people who love him and who are willing to do what it takes to save him that the final battle, when it comes, could be rather apocalyptic.

Eden Robinson offers a pacy conclusion to her Trickster trilogy. It is busy and involved and, if you’ve been waiting two years for it to arrive, you might be wise to go back and reread Trickster Drift before jumping straight into this. Otherwise it can be a bit confusing trying to keep everything straight, at least at first. But still a satisfying adventure.

Enjoy!

21. Nothing To See Here by Kevin Wilson

Life kinda sucks for Lilian. As a young girl she knew she didn’t have a great start in life with an unknown father and a mother who entertained a series of “uncles”. To get anywhere she would have to do things herself. Fortunately she was both smart and resourceful. And she really enjoyed playing basketball. It was the former traits that she put to use in secretly excelling at school, so much so that she got offered a scholarship place at the Iron Mountain academy for girls, a “good” school that would be her stepping stone to a life elsewhere. There she met Madison, fell hard for her, and played basketball with her (Lilian as point guard and Madison as a towering, but incredibly beautiful, centre). Madison was not a scholarship student. Just the opposite. She came from money. Big money. And when Madison got caught with coke in her desk drawer, her big money father swooped in to save her. He did this by convincing Lilian’s mom, with his big money, to take the fall for Madison, which inevitably meant that Lilian would be kicked out of Iron Mountain and her big plan for getting away from her disappointing childhood would not be realized.

Some years later Lilian receives an offer from Madison. She wants Lilian, whom she still describes as her best friend, to come join her and serve as governess or nanny or whatever to her twin step-children, Bessie and Roland. Madison, of course, has everything she’s ever wanted in life — a wealthy and important husband, a beautiful son, Timothy, and an outside shot at eventually moving into the White House. But her husband’s children from his first marriage are “problem” children. However, their problem is unique. They periodically burst into the flames. Not to worry. It doesn’t harm them. But it does harm everything else they are around. It seems to happen when they are upset or angry or excessively emotional. And with their mother having killed herself, it is now necessary for Madison’s husband to bring the children back within his household, or at least a purposefully constructed safe guest house out back. Madison is inviting Lilian to take on the task of shepherding these children, of keeping them safe, and of putting out the flames if they light up. What could go wrong?

Kevin Wilson has a knack for high concept stories. Sometimes they are so high concept that the setup alone requires most of the novel. And setups like that rarely deliver in the long run. Here, however, he has the great benefit of having a central character, Lilian, who is just weird enough to take this situation in stride and believe that she can do something about it. It’s an opportunity for growth, for exploring the sometimes rocky notions we have of family, and for love in various forms to go through a bit of a trial by fire. I liked it. Not earth-shatteringly brilliant, but definitely an enjoyable read. And I especially like the characters of Lilian and her charges, Bessie and Roland. If they can survive their childhoods, we all can.

Gently recommended.

22. The Loser by Thomas Bernhard

The unnamed narrator of this novel enrolls in a class in Salzburg offered by the piano virtuoso, Horowitz. There he encounters and befriends Wertheimer, the eponymous “loser”, and Glenn Gould, the Canadian pianist and genius. Gould’s playing of The Goldberg Variations so astonishes Wertheimer that he finds he must give up the piano entirely. The narrator also abandons his hopes for a career as a virtuoso. Both acknowledge Gould’s supremacy, even greater than that of their teacher, Horowitz. That Gould himself gives up his career of public performance in order to become a recluse in the woods outside New York continuously perfecting his Bach (note — this is Bernhard’s fictional Gould) only underscores Wertheimer’s and the narrator’s need to also have abandoned their careers. But it is Gould’s early demise (in this novel, by stroke) that triggers Wertheimer’s eventual suicide at much the same age. The narrator considers both events and what led up to and surrounds them, what lends them significance, and in the process reevaluates his own life choices.

For devotees of Bernhard’s late style of uninterrupted misanthropic monologue, The Loser satisfies every hope. It is bleak, full of envy and spite, wreathed in self-loathing, and sporadically darkly humorous. And yet, with the almost miraculous figure of Gould, it’s clear that Bernhard commits himself to the possibility of a kind of human perfection, though that might necessitate an unremitting devotion to a specific artistic project. Still, the very possibility of Gould’s recordings makes life, for some, bearable. Alas, not for Wertheimer as he was, from the outset and always, the loser.

Heartily recommended for those who love Bernhard’s style, and gently so for everyone else.

23. A Swim in a Pond in the Rain by George Saunders

It is such a pleasure to spend a few hours in George Saunders’ company. Here he shares a taster of what he has learned over the past 20 years teaching the 19th century Russian short story in the creative writing programme at Syracuse University. He is a thoughtful but challenging reader. And since he reads as a writer, he is constantly wondering why the writer of the story wrote that, or included that section, or didn’t tell us this but did tell us that, and so on. He is sensitive to even slight potential misunderstandings and fully aware that he is reading works in translation, yet marvelling that, even so, their strengths show through.

Seven stories by Chekhov, Turgenev, Tolstoy, and Gogol are presented in full and then considered at length. In each case, Saunders then offers an afterthought, which may challenge or even reverse his previous opinion. Revision, both in reading and in writing, is the key message. Though it might be better to say that, “Find your own writerly voice,” is the real message. However, revision — lots of it iterated over a lengthy period — is probably the quickest route to finding that voice. So the method, it seems, is to read great literature, think about what it says and how it says it, and then do the same thing with your own writing until it won’t bear further revision (and still have your voice). Saunders modestly acknowledges that this won’t be especially new advice for writers. Still, it is very encouraging to go through the process with him.

This isn’t a manual on how to write short stories. Nevertheless, almost any writer (or reader) could benefit from working with George Saunders. His gentle humanism, touching anecdotes about his own writing, and cautious advice on precisely what it is that writing fiction can actually accomplish anyway, serve as a fine model for the kind of mentorship many of us rather wish we’d had at some point (and through this book have found, in a way).

Warmly recommended for all writers and readers.

24. Hench by Natalie Zina Walschots

Anna is a temp. Actually she’s a minor minion of ne’erdowells, a hench, in other words, working short-term contracts. It’s not great work but it pays the bills. Sometimes. Anna’s life and work changes when she takes a data entry contract with the Electric Eel. He’s really more of a wish-I-was-really-bad guy. But his ineptitude inadvertently puts Anna in harms way. Or more precisely, in invincible superhero Supercollider’s way. As she is brushed aside by the “hero” her leg shatters and so does the rest of her life. Fortunately, once she is on the mend, she finds new employment with a villain who knows better how to put her unique talents to work, Leviathan. It can only be a matter of time before an ultimate showdown is on its way.

This is a fun read. It’s rather like a children’s animated film novelization, with larger than life heroes and zeroes. It’s full of gags, spit takes, and snarky one liners. And despite the comic book violence, it’s basically very PG. It has an interesting premise but not a thoroughly thought through consideration of either its own premise or the metaphysics that makes a world with heroes possible. Anna’s gift for casuistry is disguised as a near-scientific calculus of collateral damage. Of course it’s nonsense, but, in the context of the novel, at least it’s fun nonsense.

Structurally things happen rather repetitively here, even the gags. So it can feel like a longer novel than maybe it really is as we wait for the literal punch line. A bit of fun, but not so much as to warrant passing on to others.

25. The Liar's Dictionary: a novel by Eley Williams

In alternating chapters set nearly a century apart, two sets of loves are chronicled. The first involves Peter, a falsely lisping lexicographer working on the letter ’S’ for Swansby’s Encyclopaedic Dictionary, and Sophia, a free-spirited Russian distantly related to the Tsar. The other love is between Mallory, working a long-term internship to digitize Swansby’s unfinished dictionary and Mallory’s love, Pip, who works at a coffee shop, doodles on her digits, and, as opposed to Mallory, is fully forthright about being out. The chapters are organized alphabetically with either real or mountweazel definitions of words from the dictionary. It is a clever structure that offers up the opportunity for a series of sometimes comic, sometimes painfully sweet set-pieces.

So far, so charming, but does a larger narrative arc emerge? Eventually, perhaps, but the two storylines remain fully separated and only loosely parallel. However, just as you begin to think that it’s all just a bit of contrived fun (with added wordplay), you may find yourself actually caring about each of these characters in their separate stories. That took me by surprise. Perhaps romance trumps cynicism after all.

Gently recommended for word lovers and those who enjoy a sweet read that isn’t necessarily saccharine.

26. The Murderbot Diaries: Network Effect by Martha Wells

Things are going well for Murderbot — if getting shot at and needing to rescue its Preservation Station clients from raiders fits within the parameters of “going well” — until on the return journey to Preservation Station an old “friend” shows up and starts shooting, eventually kidnapping you and (inadvertently) the daughter of your most respected human colleague (and technical “owner” at least within the Corporation Rim). But things are even less well than they appear (did they seem to be going well to you?) because the huge transport that has captured them is missing the very thing that made it a “friend”, i.e. the vast AI pilot bot that Murderbot calls ART. ART, it seems, has been deleted. And that leads to a catastrophic emotional collapse for Murderbot. But then he just gets mad. Really mad. And when Murderbot gets mad…well, you can probably guess what might happen. (No, you can’t, not really; you’ll definitely still need to read the novel to find out.)

This is another tremendously enjoyable, rollicking adventure for Murderbot and his “friends”. There is so much action happening that you might lose track of the sheer fun of Murderbot’s snarky conversational gambits, his understated (ha!) level of paranoia with everyone (but especially with those who threaten to harm his clients), and the very intriguing exploration of multiple identities, emotional relations between “bots”, and the growing realization that other people care about it as much as it cares about (some of) them.

Even in the longer novel form, Murderbot and Martha Wells, have enough fizz to totally keep the party afloat right through to the end. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.

Recommended.

27. Double Blind: a novel by Edward St. Aubyn

In Double Blind, Edward St. Aubyn has an agenda. There are a set of themes, or at least topics — the hegemony of science, nature’s capacity to heal itself, the mapping of consciousness, and so on — and St. Aubyn has a series of key points to make about each of his topics or themes. In a novel, that is sometimes accomplished by gifting those points to various characters, which here seems to be the principle reason any character is present. Of course there is also the unfortunate necessity of moving these cipher-characters to the right place at the right time to say what St. Aubyn, I think, would like to say himself. Hence the laborious plodding of plot.

Lucie and Olivia are friends from school where they were both immensely smart. Olivia is still a scientist. Lucie is a scientific consultant, mostly for vastly rich individuals who want to take advantage of whatever is hot in science these days. Olivia likes Francis who is a practical environmentalist involved in a rewilding project. Lucie likes her new boss, Hunter, whose megalomania is remarkably tempered by his growing affection for Lucie. There are other characters too. But having got his various characters to say the various things he needs them to say, St. Aubyn just stops. Which is rather a limiting factor for anything like a narrative arc that might be developing via that clunky plot thing. Alas!

This wants to be a novel of ideas. Perhaps it wants to be a Don DeLillo novel. Or failing that an Ian McEwan novel. But it doesn’t even reach that less heroic height. It ends up just being a disappointment. (Even where you might want to agree with points in St. Aubyn’s agenda, you’ll just be embarrassed.) And, most regrettably, it’s not funny either.

Not recommended.

Have a great weekend, Randy.

28. Heaven: a novel by Mieko Kawakami

A young teenage boy is horrendously bullied in his middle school. Because of a lazy eye, he is regularly called “Eyes”. He thinks this is the reason he is picked on. A young teenage girl, Kojima, is also horribly bullied. Kojima sends the boy a series of short notes, convinced that they will become friends. And a friendship does develop, though they keep it entirely secret. Meanwhile the bullying continues in frighteningly violent ways. Kojima sees a kind of nobility in their suffering. The boy is not so sure. What does it all mean, he wonders. And this question of meaning comes to the boil when the boy confronts one of his persecutors, Momose. Momose professes an almost pure nihilism declaring that there is no meaning at all in the world. He doesn’t feel bad about what he does when picking on the boy because there is no such thing as good or bad. The boy defends the view that meaning infuses everything, perhaps convinced by Kojima. Their somewhat out-of-place and unresolved argument serves as the fulcrum of the novel. After this point the boy is less convinced of the virtue in his suffering. Moreover, Kojima suspects him of losing faith and her response is rejection. Nothing, however, prevents the continued bullying. But without their hidden solidarity it becomes much harder to cope. The decline reaches an unfortunate but perhaps predictable extreme. And then life changes again for the boy.

On the surface this is a novel about teen suffering with a scaffolding of conflicting philosophical worldviews lending it significance. Nevertheless, at some point the scaffolding becomes more substantial than that which it surrounds and it really does become a challenging novel of ideas. That the contrast between the views presented is so stark does not prevent a kind of subtlety to arise as the boy struggles to navigate through these waters. Periodically adults contribute to his thinking but ultimately the question remains open despite the near apotheosis of the boy’s “vision” at the end. As his doctor suggests in a different context, after one’s life changes one often cannot even remember what it was like previously. Perhaps.

Gently recommended.

29. The Murderbot Diaries: Fugitive Telemetry by Martha Wells

Can a rogue SecUnit engage safely and sensibly with station security in the investigation of the murder of an unidentified human? I don’t know. Can sarcasm exist without animosity? Well, in the case of Murderbot, sarcasm is just a default setting and paranoia is just the rational response to everybody (from the Corporation Rim) trying to kill you. Sure, it can assist station security, especially if Dr Mensah says it is the right thing to do. Even if that means talking to humans face to face. Ugh!

It’s another Murderbot adventure that tests our hero to its limits, though without the high bodycount its engagement sometimes elicits. At first it is just a mysterious murder at play, but soon enough the complications set in. And even though GrayGris is not involved, it’s highly likely that some corporate lies behind whatever is happening here. So it’s probably a good thing that Murderbot is on the case.

Fun hardly begins to describe the pleasure in picking up another Murderbot story. From pacing to perspective, I like everything about this series. And I can hardly wait for the next one to arrive.

Recommended.

30. Notes From The Burning Age by Claire North

The Burning Age is the irretrievable past. In the ashes of the Burning Age came the kakuy who had no regard for humans. And in their wake a restless truce was forged with nature, at the behest of Temple, and there was peace. For centuries. But a new Humanism has arisen that defies the old gods and the new harmony, that mocks the very notion of the kakuy, and, in the figure of Georg Mestri, seeks power beyond power, even if it means opening the archives of the Burning Age to reclaim their technology and their hubris. Ven is a spy sent by the Inquisition to infiltrate this Humanist Brotherhood. But can he alone prevent the conflagration that the world is barrelling toward?

Once again, Claire North has created a tense (extremely tense!) environment in which the bravery of a few individuals may shape outcomes for many. It takes a bit of time at the outset to get to grips with this distant future. Don’t give up. Give the story that time and you will be rewarded. Eventually it all makes sense, even if the future doesn’t seem so enticing. And of course there will be action and adventure and the chase. Claire North is a master of the chase and is given ample opportunity to display her expertise here. If you can hold on to your hat long enough, there is also fair bit of spy-thriller in play.

Read it as a bit of fun or as a commentary on our blasted present. In either case it will satisfy, entertain, and edify.

Recommended.

31. Second Place by Rachel Cusk

Once at a dark point in her life, M stumbled upon a gallery exhibiting works by L. She was transfixed. L’s paintings were like a recognition of oneself, they knew her entirely. Years later when her circumstances had changed and she was living with her second husband, Tony, on a plot of land near the Norfolk marshes, she writes to L offering the use of their guest house, which she and Tony refer to as their “second place”, as a retreat, a studio, a refuge for as long as he might like to make use of it. At some point L takes M up on her offer. He arrives precipitously with an unannounced companion, a much younger woman named Brett, and takes up residence in M’s second place. L is not exactly as M imagined he would be. But what exactly was she expecting? It’s a question M asks herself as she writes about this period of her life to a correspondent named Jeffers.

Rachel Cusk’s epistolary novel is meandering and introspective. M is filled with self-doubt but also anger and a kind of wistfulness. Her guard is nearly always up, yet she allows herself to be nearly destroyed by L’s rejection of her sympathies. They are seemingly at loggerheads. But it becomes increasingly clear that M’s desperate desire for L’s acknowledgement threatens to undermine her relationship with Tony and with her adult daughter, Justine, who happens to also be staying with them that summer. And then, perhaps not surprisingly, there is the question of art. For both L and M (she is described as having written “little” books), the wellspring of artistic creation may be personal pain. Is it ever anything more than that? And how does M’s narrative drive, or compulsion, fit in with her conception of artistic truth? And hey, you might be wondering, who the heck is Jeffers?

Not all questions have answers here, not least the one about Jeffers, but M’s understandings and misapprehensions become rhythmically fascinating. She is remarkably opaque to herself, though perhaps not nearly so to her daughter and her husband. At some point you will get a niggle about just how much you want to trust her narrative account to Jeffers of these events and her reported thoughts and feelings.

I liked it. More than I thought I would. And it will keep me thinking for some time.

Recommended.

32. Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir

It is no easy thing to wake up on a spaceship many light years from your home and have no idea what you are doing there or what you are meant to accomplish or even who you are. Hurdles. Dr. Ryland Grace (yes, he later recalls his own name), has hurdles ahead of him. Some of them are as simple as remembering his own name (though actually that hurdle was pretty high). Others are a bit more substantial, such as how to save all of Earth from its imminent demise. Oh, and also there appears to be an alien spaceship in close proximity. What? Aliens? Some of these hurdles are positively inter-galactic.

Fortunately, Grace is a scientist. Yes, a scientist. If he doesn’t know something he comes up with a theory and then devises experiments to test that theory and then either he knows something or he starts another iteration of the scientific method. Of course, he’s no engineer. If he were an engineer, now that would be cool. Good thing then that the alien in that spaceship off the port bow is an engineer. With a clever scientist and a rock star engineer, you can do just about anything. And anything and everything is just about what Grace and his new alien buddy, “Rocky,” have to do in order to get over all of their hurdles and save their respective planets.

It’s a story filled with science (some of it speculative) and a more than passing appreciation for the power of reasoning. If neither of those appeal to you, perhaps this isn’t the book for you. Andy Weir, however, is determined to give those budding scientists or wannabe engineers out there exactly what they are looking for. And for the most part, he delivers. It may not be great literature, but it is a passable page turner (possibly with a host of plot holes as big as a solar system if you are clever enough to spot them — I’m not).

Gently recommended.

Just got this one from Overdrive. Looking forward to diving in!

33. Fight Night by Miriam Toews

Swiv is not sure who is crazier, her mom or her grandma. Both have their ups and downs, though her mom’s downs are hard to navigate. Whereas her grandma is never far from laughter. But maybe her mom is crazy because she’s pregnant with Gord, who might be a boy or a girl but is definitely a Gord. And where is Swiv’s father in the midst of all this intergenerational womanly angst and excitement? He’s nowhere to be found. So Swiv has taken on the task of writing to him to tell him about what is going on.

Miriam Toews has created a vibrant and memorable pre-adolescent with Swiv. What she lacks in knowledge (having been expelled from school), she more than makes up for in sheer bloody-mindedness. There is a strength in Swiv. And despite the emotional rollercoaster she takes everyone on, there is strength in Swiv’s mom. Everyone says so. And without a doubt their strength has its roots in Swiv’s grandma, who exhilarates in life, even though life is ridiculous.

There is a lot to like in these three women. Though I’m not sure there is enough here to hold together a well-knit story. Or rather, there is so much baggage in tow that it’s hard for the characters in the present to move forward under their own steam. Does that make sense? Whatever. You’ll end up staying with the story because of Swiv and just let the pieces fall where they will.

Very gently recommended.

34. The Pigeon by Patrick Süskind

An exquisite miniature. A day of existential torment, even terror. Death, or pre-death, or post-death — it’s all one. And all of it set in motion by the pigeon. One pigeon that Jonathan Noel, a bank security guard in Paris, cannot accommodate or banish from his circumscribed existence. One pigeon that serves as catalyst to the most horrific day of Jonathan’s life. Perhaps.

“Perhaps,” because it is clear from the paragraph-long summary of his life to date that Jonathan Noel has suffered so many horrific days including the disappearance and presumed death of his mother, and then his father. A miserable childhood followed by a miserable youth and early manhood, a miserable national service that leaves him wounded, and now a miserable life, day by day, year by year, in a mindlessly miserable little job. All of which Jonathan has accepted sanguinely. Until today.

Süskind has woven an absolute masterpiece here. Truly remarkable and highly recommended.

35. The Secret to Superhuman Strength by Alison Bechel

There are lots of useful quotes in these pages from people important the the Romantic movement. There are tidbits from the Wordsworths and Cooleridge, from Jack Kerouac and Margaret Fuller, from Emerson and Thoreau, and Jack LaLanne, and even a fair number from texts on Buddhism. So you might pick up something of use here without even really trying. Which might be just what you need if you are ever on Jeopardy. There’s also a running potted history of the late-20th and early 21st centuries. But those are mostly just signposts as to when in Alison Bechdel’s life this personal history is taking place. The rest is the relentless desire to change one’s life, even if that only means changing one’s fitness regime. Inevitably all this comes across as slight, despite the mountains that get climbed. Walden’s Pond is over 100 feet deep, but if you don’t seriously plumb the depths, you’re just skimming the surface.

This is a book with a great deal of potential. I think there is something interesting to be thought and written about the fitness movement in America. Perhaps it needs more time or less borrowing from others. Or just less self regard and a bit more regard of and for others. But it’s churlish to review the book you wish had been written. And on the surface, this is an enjoyable read. However, I can only slightly recommend it.

36. Helgoland: Making Sense of the Quantum Revolution by Carlo Rovelli

The first two parts of this book provide an account of the origins of quantum theory and canvas a number of interpretations of how best to make sense of the curious world that appears to arise in light of this theory. These are challenging sections to read, even though the real math is shunted off to endnotes. Fortunately Rovelli is never less than exceptionally clear and even though the math is certainly beyond me, the argument was comprehensible and persuasive. Ultimately Rovelli defends a relational account of quantum mechanics that sensibly avoids the kinds of hostages to metaphysical fortune that burden the other major competing accounts.

The third part of the book then moves away from the difficult but well-trodden ground (at least for Rovelli) of quantum theory into areas less certain and less satisfactory. I appreciate that Rovelli is remarkably well-read but I worry that outside the confines of physics he does not bring an equal scrutiny to bear on statements that might superficially appear to lend tangential support to his relational account. That is unfortunate because it suggests that he doesn’t think these disciplines can sustain equal critical weight. Or is he simply having too much fun in these regions outside his safe (but mathematically rigorous) realm? In any case, I fear it leads to a much weaker book than might otherwise have been the case.

Nevertheless, I’m happy to recommend this book on the strength of those first two parts and shall continue to look forward to Rovelli’s further explications of physics.

37. Shakespeare's Kitchen: stories by Lore Segal

When Ilka arrives at the Concordance Institute, she is almost at a complete loss. She doesn’t know anyone and she doesn’t know the first thing about meeting the other members of the faculty or, more important, becoming a colleague and a friend of them. Fortunately she falls in with the Shakespeares. Leslie Shakespeare is the new director of the Institute and his wife, Eliza, is viciously intelligent, a bit extreme, and, ultimately, painfully sad. On the other hand, Ilka’s had a bit of a rough start to life herself, having been got out of Austria via the Kindertransport prior to the Anschluss. Indeed, there is a fair bit of sadness in almost every corner of Concordance. It seeps in, even in the midst of the funny, almost absurd, happenings of the Institute. How can anyone, or anything, survive such sadness? Only love could have the strength to rescue you, and love, it seems, is Ilka’s one great resource.

Lore Segal’s collection of stories paint a complex and moving picture of a post-war émigré academic community in America. Ilka is the quirky and moving focus, but we learn to care for many here, a virtual concordance of types and kinds. It’s very hard to treat these as independent short stories since they collectively form such a coherent whole. But there is a range here. And a development. And finally it becomes clear that Ilka has been at the heart of Shakespeare’s Kitchen from almost the first moment she was invited in for brunch.

Pleasingly wrong footing and awkwardly sentimental, I have to say that I fell for Ilka and Concordance completely. So easy to highly recommend.

38. The Friend: a novel by Sigrid Nunez

The death of a longtime friend, a mentor in the realm of writing and publishing, yet a flawed and provoking man, occasions transformational change in the female narrator here. Grief requires accommodation certainly, but also a huge Great Dane that the friend’s Third Wife foists on the narrator, despite her protestations that she lives in a very small apartment which does not allow pets. The narrator is a writer and a teacher of writing. Almost anything that happens to her is grounds for reflection on writing and the goal of writing, which might loosely be described as learning how to live. She ruminates on her mentor friend, his aggressive womanizing, the subject and object of writing, dogs, big dogs, and dogs in literature. At first there doesn’t seem to be any clear direction to these musings. But gradually her palpable grief gets revealed and her ongoing difficulty in dealing with the fact that her friend’s death has been through suicide.

There is much to admire here, though it took me a long time to warm up to this book. The narrator is regularly quoting various writers on the subject on which she dwells. I find that off-putting. But I admire her for wisely not quoting from philosophers, noting that her friend had warned her that there is no way to do that without taking them out of context. Ultimately the narrator’s care of the large dog is also a process in letting go. Since the dog was already five years old when she received it, it could not reasonably have more than a few more years to live. And while this will occasion new grief, it is something that the narrator, by that time is able to cope with.

Recommended.

39. The Death of Francis Bacon: a novel by Max Porter

Nothing can really prepare you for this. Unless it were the paintings of Francis Bacon or the earlier work of Max Porter. And it’s unclear whether your delight or distaste for either of those would improve or hinder your appreciation of these gaudy impressions. But you certainly won’t be complaining that it’s just the same old tripe you’ve been reading elsewhere. It’s either new tripe or not tripe at all.

I’d have to read this too many times to be able to know whether I really like it or just don’t get it. So I’m going to simply recommend it and hope that someone else will be able to respond to it in the way that Max intended. Or will be surprised by.

40. Last Comes the Raven and Other Stories by Italo Calvino

This collection of early stories by Italo Calvino presents an author developing his craft. The stories are short, focussed on one or two individuals, often taking place in a rural environment. At times the fabulous, or the allegorical, breaks through. A large number of the stories touch on the involuted allegiances of Italy in wartime. But all of the stories seem motivated by a strong sense of justice. Usually that is cashed out in terms of social justice and hence the divisions of class and region come to the fore. But rougher forms of justice are also to be found in the stories set during and after the war.

There are more than enough hints here of the wonderful writer that Calvino will develop into. And that makes this collection easy to recommend.

41. Ring by André Alexis

There is something formal about an André Alexis novel. The subject matter may be love and romance and hereditary blessings (or curses) set in a world of art, and poetry, and music, and fine cuisine, and legendary wealth. But there is a courtliness to the interactions between characters, to the things they say and most of the things they do, which can come across as stiff. Like Gwen and Tancred, or Olivier and Simone. (Maybe that only occurs when Alexis’ characters are meant to be flesh and blood human beings because I didn’t notice this in his earlier novel, Fifteen Dogs.) In short this is a love story, principally the fated love between Gwen and Tancred, but also by contrast the love between Olivier and Simone, Michael and Morgan, Nadia and Robbie, and that between Gwen’s mother, Helen, and Gwen’s father, Alun. And there is a magic ring involved.

I enjoyed following Gwen’s story even when though I found her predicaments, or what she thought of as predicaments, to be not very much at all. Falling in love at first sight (and vice versa) with someone who just happens to have half a billion dollars in the bank does pose challenges, I suppose. As does hobnobbing with the ultra rich in Toronto. (Curiously the ultra rich here are great supporters of poetry, literature, painting, and other fine arts, and they always pay their taxes — which flags this as fantasy, I guess.) However, although more than a third of the novel takes place before the magic ring comes on the scene, it still wasn’t enough time to get a sense of Gwen as a fully fledged person. And that’s surprising. Because Alexis is nothing if not a master wordsmith. So does he then intend for me to be thinking this? I just don’t know.

If you’ve read any of the other novels in Alexis’ Quincunx series (and I hope you will have read them all), then you’ll find this one riddled with characters and incidents that first appeared in earlier novels. The most significant of these, of course, is the character Tancred. Here, Tancred’s role is constrained to being “the rich guy that our heroine falls in love with.” He’s almost too nice for words. Alas, there isn’t much more to him on the evidence of this novel. Or maybe a passionate story of love between two really nice people will inevitably fall flat.

In any case, I’m still recommending this novel for everyone who has enjoyed earlier Alexis novels. But newcomers might better start with one of those.

42. The Good Son: a novel by Carolyn Huizinga Mills

Witnesses are often victims, even if they aren’t aware of it at the time. For 9 year old Zoe, seeing her 6 year old neighbour, Amy, get into a blue car on their street doesn’t mean much at the time. But later Amy turns up dead and Zoe is plunged into a nightmare wondering who was in that car, and more important, was her older brother, Ricky, involved. It is festering suspicion that poisons an already dysfunctional sibling relationship. Thirty years later, Zoe is still traumatized by events of those childhood days, though she has hidden that fact from everyone, friends and family both. Her suspicions, and her fear about what they reveal about the kind of person her brother is, have mangled the trajectory of her life.

The story is told in a series of flashback. In the present, Zoe is working at a water treatment plant in her home town of Dunnsford. She is in a relationship but clearly has commitment issues (all of Zoe’s issues, whatever they might be seem to stem from her early trauma). She finds herself looking back on her life in some detail, both the traumatic event of Amy’s disappearance, but also numerous occasions both before and after that lend credence to her suspicion that her brother is at best a creep and at worst, well, much worse. Further complications arise but with so much labour spent on painting the brother in a particular light, it would hardly be a surprise to discover that things aren’t exactly as Zoe thinks they are, or were.

This is a reasonably solid first novel. It has enough tension to hold the reader’s attention. There are weaknesses as well, such as the number of the times that Zoe has to tell us that her life is a mess or falling apart. The twist, when it comes, is expected but also unconnected to the story we’ve read. So it feels delivered. And the conclusion, especially in regard to the sibling relationship going forward is, at best, doubtful.

Still, I think I will gently recommend this novel and look for even better from the author on her next outing.

Update: I haven't been reading much in the past month. In October I promised a friend that I would try NaNoWriMo this year if they did. They didn't, but a bit to my surprise, I did.

I spent about 10 days at the end of October doing prep work, going down blind alleys, deciding on a structure, main characters, and more. I wrote a lot of brainstorming documents and some back stories for my main characters. On the first of November I was ready to begin.

The prep work paid off. I stuck to the structure I had laid out in advance, with very few additions or deletions. I'm happy with the first draft that resulted from this effort. And now I'll stick it in a drawer and get back to reading. When I've cleared my head sufficiently I may take another look at it and see if I still think it warrants a second draft (or more).

I don't suppose the NaNoWriMo constraint of writing an entire first draft in one calendar month would work for every writer or every novel. I don't know if I would do it again. It did, however, help me focus my attention.

43. Lean Fall Stand by Jon McGregor

A dramatic opening set amidst a sudden blizzard near a remote station in Antarctica results in catastrophic loss. Some of these losses are definite. The dead require retrieval and mourning. But the loss that Robert suffers is altogether more difficult to put into words, and not just for him. Coincident with the storm Robert suffers a stroke. His power of speech is taken from him as well as much of his mobility and vitality. From utterly immobile patient unable to communicate, we witness Robert’s excruciatingly slow and painful partial recovery.

This story, however, is not just Robert’s. It also belongs to his wife, Anna, who is obligated to set aside her career as a professor of climate science in order to nurse her husband back to some semblance of normalcy. Anna is not especially communicative herself. And this lack of communication iterates in other forms across the novel as various modes and means of story telling — inquest, narrative, drama, report, etc. — fail to convey what Robert has experienced. Perhaps only the dance or motion therapy that Robert is asked to engage in offers a fresh approach to, if not communicate, at least create new meaning.

Jon McGregor’s writing is masterful, as always. His opening set-piece has the pacing of a thriller. But it is his sensitive portrayal of aphasia, and especially the reality that aphasia can be very different for each sufferer, that makes the novel especially poignant. But it is equally worth reading just because of Anna. She is a wonderful character.

Highly recommended.

44. Persuasion: An Annotated Edition by Jane Austen

Time, even eight and a half years, cannot alter the affection of one’s true love. Anne Elliot may have lost her bloom. She may have withered somewhat, unlike her elder sister. But Anne’s heart remains constant and her love for, now Captain, Wentworth, is undiminished, though she has no real hope that he might still hold out hope for her. When she broke off their engagement at the urging of Lady Russell, she felt duty bound to obey the wishes of her dead mother’s dearest friend. When events bring about a fresh encounter with Captain Wentworth after so many year, she only hopes that he may have ceased to despise her susceptibility to persuasion. But more, much more, is in store for Anne. A man’s heart once pierced, she’ll find, may be as true and constant as her own.

Austen’s late novel lacks some of the charm of her first successes, but it is filled with warm familial feelings and friendship, despite there being no small amount of silliness in the vanity and pride of Anne’s father and sisters. The obstacles to Anne and Captain Wentworth renewing their affections are, ultimately, minimal. There are no great intrigues, though some are feared, and no real villain, though her cousin was certainly villainous in the past. We have instead a close study of Anne’s inner anguish as she seeks to interpret Wentworth’s motives and his behaviour toward her. There are highs and lows for both of them, but it all ends well in a rushed last couple of chapters.

For me, it remains a lesser Austen work. Yet I still find myself returning to it years later and finding that absence has neither reduced nor augmented its charms. I do rather wish, however, that Lady Russell had trusted Anne’s discernment and good sense from the start, as Anne and Wentworth would surely have been as happy in married life as their older models in Admiral Croft and his wife.

Recommended, as with all of Austen’s works.

45. Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

Aristotle and Dante are teen mexican-american boys living in El Paso in the summer of 1987. They have challenges. Aristotle can’t swim. Dante can’t abide wearing shoes. Aristotle is as silent as his father. Dante is as talkative and friendly as his father. Neither of them have ever kissed a girl or a boy. And worst of all, they are burdened by parents that love them. It’s hard to figure out who you are or what you want to be at the best of times. Fortunately best friends help cut through all the distractions.

Both a coming of age story and a coming out story, the novel is presented from the point of view Aristotle. He is a late child in the marriage of his parents. He has much older adult sisters and a brother in prison of whom no one speaks. His father, a Vietnam vet, has his own demons and nightmares about which he cannot speak. And Aristotle is very like his father. By contrast, Dante knows himself better but not always how to tell his parents about himself. He is brave in his way and extremely loyal. When bad things happen to both boys, it’s almost impossible not to root for them to overcome the obstacles in the way of their happiness.

I especially like the treatment of both sets of parents in this novel. Everyone is a complex individual and their relationships are equally complex. Of course there is melodrama, but it won’t seem excessive if you too were ever an angst-ridden teen.

Recommended.

46. Not a Novel: A Memoir in Pieces by Jenny Erpenbeck

Collected non-fiction occasional pieces, as Erpenbeck’s title declares, do not constitute a novel. They also, however, may not amount to a memoir. They are, at best, a publisher’s amalgam enabling the publisher to strike, as it where, while the iron is hot. Jenny Erpenbeck’s literary iron is rather hot and certainly there are sparks that fly here when she brings her hammer down, especially in the opening six pieces under the heading, “Life.” As we are presented these pieces in chronological order, it is clear that Erpenbeck’s skill as an essayist develops over time. She passes through an ungainly period of introspection on her writing talents, but flourishes again when considering the works of those she admires, such as Fallada or Mann. The result is thus somewhat uneven. And, given the forms she is set — e.g. the award acceptance speech — there is a fair bit of repetition.

Still, there is no doubting her talent. I only regret that she is so often called away from the serious business of crafting her small literary masterpieces to write such pieces as these, despite their sometime charm.

The fans of Erpenbeck will read this collection without my recommendation. For others, I recommend any of Erpenbeck’s novels.

47. Perestroika in Paris: a novel by Jane Smiley

Paras, short for Perestroika, is a prize-winning filly. She’s also a touch curious and after a successful race at a course on the outskirts of Paris, she takes advantage of an opportunity to go explore the wider world. The wider world, in this case, is the Parisian environs of the Eiffel Tour and the Champs de Mars. Paras befriends a grief stricken street dog named Frida, a raven named Raoul, and, latterly, a rat named Kurt, and a small boy named Étienne. Adventures ensue and also a kind of magic descends on all the creatures such that they do not get captured or even really acknowledged as such for the better course of a year despite living in the heart of Paris.

Smiley nicely treads the borderline of anthropomorphism. She endows her animals with the ability to discourse but she also constrains them within their limits as a species. Horses understand much of the world through sound, dogs through smell, birds through sight from above. She gives them freedom within the narrative but keeps them grounded in their particularity. It is no small task for a writer to avoid sentimentality when writing with animal characters. Smiley does it charmingly. (Okay, it might get a little bit sentimental toward the end, but I think we can let that slide.)
I
enjoyed this adventure immensely, not least because it reminded what a fine and sensitive writer Jane Smiley is. And the fact that I’m missing Paris rather much at the moment has nothing to do with it ;-)

Recommended.

48. Before the coffee gets cold: a novel by Toshikazu Kawaguchi

A metaphysical device — time travel by means of a cup of coffee — presents the opportunity for four stories set in a café in Tokyo. Although the stories are independent, the characters in each story are connected through their presence in the café, either as staff or customers. The trick to remember is that travel to the past cannot change the present. So why go at all? That question, perhaps, gets answered through the way in which each of these temporal engagements affects the time traveller. Change it seems, as presented here, is primarily change of oneself.

The writing here is straightforward. Not surprisingly the stories are affecting, even sentimental. But the other strictures involved in the journey which lasts no longer than the time in which a cup of coffee gets cold, prevent sentiment spilling over into melodrama. And that rescues the stories, somewhat, I think. They may, in a sense, be predictable, but they are always kind and full of care. An antidote to somewhat troubled times perhaps.

Gently recommended.

49. Oh William!: a novel by Elizabeth Strout

William was Lucy Barton’s first husband. He’s now a septuagenarian and things, maybe, aren’t going so well. William is on his third wife, Estelle, with whom he has a lovely young daughter, Bridget. His older, adult daughters, whom he had with Lucy, are friendly with their step-sister. But Lucy discerns that Estelle is not as happy with William as she lets on. When Estelle decamps, taking Bridget with her, William is bereft. Worse, he’s just discovered that his saintly dead mother had another child, a girl whom she abandoned at one year of age to go be with the man who would become William’s father. Not that things are a walk in the park for Lucy either. Her second husband, David, has recently passed away. There is plenty of sadness to go around. And, if you are watching closely, as Lucy always is, a fair bit of revelation going on, even some much-needed self-revelation.

Elizabeth Strout’s return to the voice of Lucy Barton is welcome indeed. Lucy is a wonderful creation, coming from worse than abject poverty and yet, despite never feeling at home in the wider world, recreating herself as a highly successful novelist. At times the descriptions of Lucy’s childhood and the hints we get of William’s mother’s childhood can overwhelm. But when placed in the context of Lucy and William travelling through near-ghost towns with truly shocking displays of poverty, these childhoods seem only too believable. The wonder is that Lucy could nevertheless grow up to be so filled with joy, as William observes.

Quite apart from the beautiful, controlled writing, what I admire greatly in Strout’s writing is that she allows her senior protagonists to be still learning about themselves. To still be growing.

Certainly recommended.

50. How to Behave in a Crowd: a novel by Camille Bordas

The Mazal family are a bit clever. The older five children have each skipped numerous grades; the oldest are completing Ph.D.s before “regular” people even finish college. The youngest Mazal, however, is not like his siblings. Isidore hasn’t skipped any grades. He believes he’s not especially smart. And to be honest, he’s feeling a bit isolated, or alienated, or, frankly, just lonely. Izzy, as he wishes to be called though no one does, considers his plight and that of his siblings and parents over the course of two pivotal years between the ages of 11 and 13. Although his clever family is startlingly successful in academia, they aren’t terribly good at life. Indeed, they tend to look toward Dore (see what I mean about not getting them to call him Izzy?) as both their exemplar and guide as to how to behave with regular people. The trouble is that Isidore doesn’t feel especially adept at that himself.

Bordas writes with charm and assurance, liberally sprinkling her prose with humorous scenes and witticisms. It could become tiresome if it weren’t for the honest, even literal, perspective of young Isidore. Bordas also avoids veering toward unearned profundity, always a risk in the quirky-family novel. The tone is light even when some of the events are dark indeed. I enjoyed the writing and spending time with Isidore, though the rest of his family might be a bit much.

Gently recommended.

51. The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark

Jean Brodie is in her prime. At least that is what she says. She regularly informs her girls, her special set of students whom she is developing into the créme de la créme, that when one is in one’s prime, as she is, all manner of art and beauty is open to one. Mostly, however, her girls assume she is talking about sex. Maybe not when they were 10, when she first took them under her wing, but increasingly through the years in which they stay in close contact even after the two years she taught them directly. Her girls range from the bright to the dull, from the beautiful to the plain, but they all share an absolute devotion to Miss Brodie. Any act of betrayal on their part is almost inconceivable. And yet…

The writing here is marvellously subtle and playful as the narrator jumps between characters and over time-spans to reveal, early on, outcomes for the various girls. It is so light and knowing that you will be astounded at Spark’s reinvention of the school novel. If it is your first direct encounter with her writing, as it has been for me, you will immediately want to commit yourself to reading everything that Spark has written. But you’ll probably find yourself returning to Jean Brodie in her prime simply to admire the craft and sparkle of Muriel Spark’s prose.

Certainly recommended.

52. Eileen: a novel by Ottessa Moshfegh

Eileen is a piece of work. A sad and twisted piece of work, the product of a massively dysfunctional family and consequent extremely low self-esteem. Looking back on her life from the vantage point of fifty years in the future, her 24-year-old self was ripe for change. All she really needed was a catalyst. And that’s what Rebecca was, whatever else she might have been. In the cold days leading up to Christmas 1964, we watch Eileen deal with her lack of prospects, her alcoholic and abusive father, and her thwarted desire for a co-worker named Randy. If it weren’t for her active imagination, she’d have no life at all. But Rebecca changes all that and leads Eileen down a dark path to crisis and a sort of freedom.

This is a fine piece of well-crafted first-person narrative fiction. Eileen is both more unpredictable that you’ll predict and darker than you’ll guess. The retrospective narration, surprisingly, does not diminish the tension as the noir aspects of the story develop. Indeed, that probably ratchets up the tension since it is very hard to anticipate where Eileen’s story will go. Rebecca, perhaps, is the more challenging character, more force of nature, even enigma. We never learn Rebeccas’s story, which as Eileen informs us, is only fair as this is Eileen’s story. As such, it is tragically gripping.

Ottessa Moshfegh is a very fine writer indeed.

Recommended.

53. Young Once by Patrick Modiano

Louis and Odile are not yet old, just turning 35, yet the occasion of their birthdays has them reflecting on their lives fifteen years earlier when they were young, naive, in love, and in Paris. Odile was, then, hopeful of starting a career as a singer. In a brief span she experienced the best that such a career in its infancy could offer and, perhaps inevitably, also the worst. Louis, fresh out of his two years of National Service, was recruited by older, almost friends, to work as a night watchman of sorts with special errands from time to time. He knows deep down that there must be something not quite right about what his employers are doing, but he purposefully doesn’t ask too many questions. When Louis meets Odile, the vagueness of both their lives begins to evaporate. At least they can be certain of each other, mostly at least.

Patrick Modiano’s trademark anxious realism captures a Paris of the not so distant past which was as gritty and bleak as a noir film. Uncertainty permeates all relations. Decisive action, if it is ever really possible, is opportunistic. Louis and Odile are sympathetic protagonists. You will find yourself hoping for them to succeed but not seeing any route out of their predicament. I enjoyed following their story and, especially, wandering the streets of Parisian arrondissements with which I am familiar. The writing is thoughtful and reflective and so atmospheric.

Recommended.

54. The Girls of Slender Means by Muriel Spark

In 1945, between the VE day and VJ day celebrations, the girls of slender means who reside at the May of Teck Club in London, opposite the Albert Memorial, generally had one of two things on their minds: boys, for pleasure or as prospective husbands, and food, for brain work. And throughout such pursuits there was the ever-present need of an equanimity of body and mind, as poise is perfect balance. Into their lives stumbles Nicholas Farringdon, who, years later would lose his life in Haiti, a martyr to his own obnoxious interference in local practices, though at this point in time he thought himself an anarchist who nevertheless had a high regard for the royal family. His tragic end, which might actually have been comic, was preceded way back in 1945 by a more tragic ending, a loss of both innocence and fine elocution.

Muriel Spark is in high comic form here, both bitingly acerbic and bawdily frank. But it is the flittering anxiety of purpose, whether spiritual or profane, that permeates this club of genteel poverty which holds our interest. As Spark moves amongst the many inhabitants, of whom we rarely gain more than a sketch, she reveals both their weaknesses and their strength. None more so than Jane, who is not slender herself, but who observes all her slender peers and busies herself with brain work in the world of books. The result is a delightful comic presentation of a world which, most probably, was already a distant memory when Spark chose to capture it.

Recommended.

Have a lovely holiday, Randy.

>83 PaulCranswick: Thanks, Paul. And a Merry Christmas to you as well.

55. Five Tuesdays in Winter: stories by Lily King

Lily King appreciates a love story. The title story in this collection is a very sweet tale of a father and daughter and the woman who enters their lives. That’s not untypical of Kings’s approach to short stories. She tends towards psychological realism, intergenerational angst, and our fraught response to momentous change through grief or other complex emotions. I enjoyed each of these stories without, I suppose, being astounded by any of them. I guess that makes King a very readable writer of short stories.

And also very easy to at least gently recommend.

My numbers are down a bit this year but I still have a good of reading, I think. Too many distractions, perhaps, this year. Still, I’m already looking forward to what I might read next year.

Herewith, my top five.

Randy’s Top Five

The Pigeon by Patrick Süskind

An exquisite miniature. A day of existential torment, even terror. Death, or pre-death, or post-death — it’s all one. And all of it set in motion by the pigeon. One pigeon that Jonathan Noel, a bank security guard in Paris, cannot accommodate or banish from his circumscribed existence. One pigeon that serves as catalyst to the most horrific day of Jonathan’s life. Perhaps.

The City & The City by China Miéville

Nothing can prepare you for your visit to the city, or the city. It’s enough to know that two cities exist, that they co-exist, but that they never intrude upon each other, even in the cross-hatched space that they ostensibly share. So when a murder appears to have been committed in one city and then that body is deposited in the other city, it looks, on the surface, like a clear case of breach. But what detective Tyador Borlú of the Extreme Crime Squad will shortly discover is that in this case almost nothing is what it appears to be, whether seen or unseen.
This is an astounding feat of careful craftsmanship from China Miéville. I dread to think what pains he must have taken not to get lost in the labyrinthine circumlocutions needed to describe his characters’ actions, thoughts, and the cities themselves. But be patient with it. Don’t give up. It will eventually make sense even if your head hurts at the end of it all.

A Swim in a Pond in the Rain: In Which Four Russians Give a Master Class on Writing, Reading, and Life by George Saunders

Seven stories by Chekhov, Turgenev, Tolstoy, and Gogol are presented in full and then considered at length by George Saunders. This isn’t a manual on how to write short stories. Nevertheless, almost any writer (or reader) could benefit from working with George Saunders. His gentle humanism, touching anecdotes about his own writing, and cautious advice on precisely what it is that writing fiction can actually accomplish anyway, serve as a fine model for the kind of mentorship many of us rather wish we’d had at some point (and through this book have found, in a way).

Lean Fall Stand by Jon McGregor

A dramatic opening set amidst a sudden blizzard near a remote station in Antarctica results in catastrophic loss. Some of these losses are definite. The dead require retrieval and mourning. But the loss that Robert suffers is altogether more difficult to put into words, and not just for him. Coincident with the storm Robert suffers a stroke. From utterly immobile patient unable to communicate, we witness Robert’s excruciatingly slow and painful partial recovery. However, this story also belongs to his wife, Anna, who is obligated to set aside her career as a professor of climate science in order to nurse her husband back to some semblance of normalcy. Anna is not especially communicative herself. And this lack of communication iterates in other forms across the novel as various modes and means of story telling — inquest, narrative, drama, report, etc. — fail to convey what Robert has experienced.

Jon McGregor’s writing is masterful, as always. But it is his sensitive portrayal of aphasia, and especially the reality that aphasia can be very different for each sufferer, that makes the novel especially poignant. However, it is equally worth reading just because of Anna. She is a wonderful character.

Here is Where We Meet by John Berger

The is a fascinating, lyrical, and very human approach to memoir in which John Berger explores places that are important to him at the same time as he engages with memories of people who were important to him. Here the dead are as active in Berger’s life and thoughts as the living. So readable and yet almost uncomfortably intimate. Filled with history and esoteric facts, yet what will stay with you is his mother laughing as she must have when she was 17.

Special mention: Muriel Spark, and Martha Wells.

My thanks to those who visited my thread over the past year. See you in 2022.

Forget your stresses and strains
As the old year wanes;
All that now remains
Is to bring you good cheer
With wine, liquor or beer
And wish you a special new year.

Happy New Year, Randy.