Sorry I didn’t tell anyone I was on hiatus for the summer. Believe me, I had all intentions. We headed north this summer to Toronto for city vacay then outside of Montreal for some country time. I’d like to say I have some Toronto bookshops to recommend, however I really just patronized Joe Fresh (no more of them left in NYC), biked around Toronto Island and hung out in Kensington Market. All with the help of my perennial accommodations-fave, Airbnb, where I found a decent place in Queen West. Housing in Toronto is scarce and new affordable buildings seem to be coming up all over the place.
Anyhow, books. Later I’ll update with what I read over the summer, but now I’m reading “Outline” by Rachel Cusk (interspersed with “The Orphan Train by Christina Baker Cline–reason being Cusk’s writing demands closer attention and my need to read is constant.)
All I knew about Rachel Cusk going in to “Outline” was that she’s British, wrote what sounds like a brutal book about mothering (“A Life’s Work: On Becoming a Mother”) and got divorced during the past few years and wrote about that in “Aftermath: On Marriage and Separation”. I’ve read maybe half of “Outline”; not enough to figure out why it’s called “outline” (except to guess that the narrator is in Greece to teach an English Lit class?). Her style is sparse and the narrator’s observations about other people and of human interactions are certainly interesting enough for me to keep going.
School has started for my children so when things get settled in I plan on returning to “Outline”. Or maybe I’ll find a corner in the playground and make better use of the (excessive IMHO) amounts of time I spend there until it gets cold.
Today’s New York Times has a piece on Sherman Alexie’s new book, “You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me“, an “assemblage of 156 confessional essays, vignettes and poems inspired by the death of Mr. Alexie’s mother from cancer in 2015.”
A looo-o-ng time ago I read the award-winning “The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven“, a short story collection that featured Victor, a Spokane Indian who grows up on a reservation. Mr. Alexie himself is a Spokane-Coeur-d’Alene Indian. From what I remember the stories were great.
What struck me in the article were two things: what a hard life he’s had (born with hydroencephaly, diagnosed as bipolar, but there’s more–you can read the article to find out), and a quote about his typical reader and his ideal reader:
“When asked whom he considers his primary audience, he responded: “College-educated white women. That’s who buys and reads our books in mass numbers. To say otherwise is to either be purposefully or accidentally a liar. That said, my ideal reader is a poor, weird brown kid. And I get enough letters from them. When a weird brown kid says, ‘This story meant this to me,’ that’s the power.”
Teddy Wayne, you sure do know how to master creepy. Is Loner a gothic, this novel about a lonely Harvard boy from New Jersey who becomes obsessed with an immeasurably more sophisticated fellow student? Which descends into a tale of stalking with a surprise ending?
It’s not really a gothic. Although there is madness and he “..uses diction to build suspense and a sense of unease in the reader.” (Goodreads.com), it doesn’t stand up there with Dracula and Frankenstein. Let’s say it’s a modern gothic, although I don’t remember heavy use of the setting to build suspense. Two out of three ain’t bad.
I can’t say that I liked this book, though I had to finish it because I wanted to know how it ended. The strategic relationship between the main character and the stalkee’s roommate disgusted me, though it did illustrate the degree of his alienation.
Teddy Wayne writes “Daily Shouts” for The New Yorker. If you read those and his book, you’ll wonder how the same person wrote them.
The take from a recent book sale at the Park Slope branch of the Brooklyn Public Library. Maybe I’ve read the Jhumpa Lahiri or parts of it already. Been known to happen. After having a love-hate relationship with Augusten Burroughs’ books (“This is not something a normal person would do. But I am not normal.”) I’ve gone over to appreciating his mix of brutality and hilarity again. It’d be hard to miss the universality in his understanding of being human. The hyper-self-consciousness of Augusten-world; the magnetic pull towards certain people and then the sheer oddity of being close to another person.
Haruki Murakami: I loved, loved “Norwegian Wood”. This book looks like it might be a mystery about libraries? Not sure, but it’s intriguing-looking. I read at least the foreword (by Abraham Verghese) of Paul Kalanithi’s memoir and that alone was stunning.
Then there’s Ariel Levy’s memoir, “The Rules Do Not Apply.” That set me back six bucks brand new. Something like a total of $24 for these six books. I’ll be set for awhile.