Category: ragdoll reads

#44 – Dark Places

There’s a certain macabre element to Gillian Flynn’s writing that I can appreciate. Yes, it scares the crap out of me (but I am easily frightened). Yes, it seems a little overtly horrific at times. But, overall, they’re solid thrillers that camp more in the David Fincher and Mo Hayder side of the genre than say the Law and Order and Alexander McCall Smith side. Her latest novel, Dark Places, climbs into just that, both metaphorically and literally. 

Libby Day survives one of the most brutal crimes ever to take place in Kinnakee, Kansas. She’s just seven when her mother and two sisters are murdered (in cold blood, yes, indeed) late one winter night. Dashing from the house after taking refuge in her mother’s bedroom, Libby hides from her brother Ben, the only other survivor, when he comes calling for her. Based on her own fuzzy recollections, Ben is convicted of the murders and has spent the past 25 years in jail. 

Bittersweet and slightly morose, Libby has made a decent living from being the lone survivor of “The Satan Sacrifice of Kinnakee, Kansas.” Scraping the barrel of the trust fund that was set up after the deaths of her family members, her father lost to alcohol and hard living, Libby hasn’t ever truly held down a real job. Then along comes The Kill Club, a group of amateur sleuths who thrive on the more grotesque nature of the crimes, combing through old evidence to try and solve the unsolvable. The Kill Club, and its obsession with serial killers, gives Libby a second chance to come to terms with her life — they (and especially one of their main members, Lyle Wirth) don’t believe Ben committed the crime and they’re willing to pay her to dig deeper into her past to find out the truth. And find out the truth she does, but it’s not what Libby, or the reader for that matter, expects.

Whenever I read a book that circles around  such disturbing events, I can’t help but think about something Alissa York said once, that a writer’s imagination, because it’s that, made-up, can go places that people don’t normally go. They explore situations and characters that seemingly come from out of left field and that only work in the context of that particular book. Flynn does a great job with these dark places, both from the novel’s title and from the pages within, and if I have one complaint, it’s that I’m not entirely convinced by the conclusion. Like her first novel, Sharp Objects, the novel rips along like mad for the first two-thirds, and then falls down just slightly when the penultimate moment arrives. The true ending, however, as in the very last chapter of the book, was utterly satisfying.

#43 – The Wife’s Tale

Lori Lansens has yet again written an all-consuming kind of novel. Just like her two previous books, Rush Home Road and The Girls, The Wife’s Tale, from start to finish, remains the kind of novel that once you’ve read the first sentence you don’t stop until you’ve finished the entire book. When the whole appendicitis turned from bad dream into nightmare, I’m not ashamed to admit that The Wife’s Tale was a big part of holding on to my sanity that second week I spent in the hospital.

The novel opens with Mary Gooch on the cusp of celebrating her 25th wedding anniversary. She married her high school sweetheart but they’ve drifted apart over the years. And the losses, personal, professional, have manifested in her psychological and physical self. Borderline agoraphobic (she still leaves the house) and morbidly obese, Mary has tightened up her life in such a way that it couldn’t be any smaller. Her menial job at the pharmacy in town is a means to an end (and a chocolate delivery) and her husband Gooch’s isn’t much more satisfying. Once a golden boy, Gooch isn’t apparently unsatisfied with his life, but when he disappears leaving nothing behind but a fat bank account, Mary must face life for the first time alone.

In a way, it’s a novel of discovery for Mary, a long, rambling Chaucer-like adventure that transforms her in ways she never would have imagined. The narrative keeps tight to Mary: you’re on the edge when Gooch doesn’t come home, you feel her pain when she finds herself completely lost without him, and when she takes the steps towards becoming her own person you can’t help but cheer her on. Lansens has a way of writing this character, this woman who could be the butt of so many jokes, without any caricature. While she may come from a small town, she’s not a hick; she’s not a stereotype, and her transformation is kind of movie-esque magical.

There are unsatisfying elements to the story that I’m not going to spoil here. I’m going to leave off with my first impressions of this book, remembered now a month after reading: it takes a hell of a writer to take such a Hollywood plot, “woman abandoned on her 25th anniversary, obese, unsatisfied and unhappy” and turn it into moments that bring tears to your eyes for their honesty, originality and utter good-heartedness. 

READING CHALLENGES: I’m counting The Wife’s Tale as the second book in my Canadian Book Challenge. While I haven’t done my “official” post about the theme I’m going to try just yet because I honestly haven’t decided what I want to read for the rest of the year, I still think a year that includes The Wife’s Tale and February can only be counted as inspiring. 

#42 – February

Hands down, Lisa Moore’s excellent February might just be my favourite Can-lit book of the year. When I read it over about 24 hours in the hospital I couldn’t help but admire both Moore’s storytelling abilities, how her plot drifts around like clouds but with all the purpose of the weather behind them, and her emotional resonance, how each of the characters carry their sadness and happiness around with them in almost equal measure.

In 1982, almost at the start of their lives together, at the very least within the first, happy, happy years, Helen O’Mara’s husband Cal tragically loses his life in a major oil rig accident. Over the course of the novel, moving backwards and forwards from the past to the present (sometimes even within the same paragraph), Moore reveals Helen’s life. How she raised her four children almost by herself, how they grow up, stay or leave, and relate to her as both a mother and then a grandmother. But the astonishing truth about the story isn’t just Helen’s ability to get on with her life while at the same time being utterly unable to forget Cal, it’s more how she manages to fit all of the pieces in without completely breaking down outwardly.

The sharp contrast between the Helen that lives inside her mind and the reality of Helen’s world ensures February endlessly (and easily) drifts between the two pulling the reader closer and closer to the character. It’s impossible not to get emotionally involved with Helen’s life, with the loss of her greatest love, with her difficult relationship to her equally difficult son, with the glimmer of hope when the chance for happiness comes around.

In short, I guess you could say that I loved this novel. And I can’t think of a better book to start off my latest Canadian Book Challenge. That’s one down. Also, I was reminded of Marilynne Robinson’s equally excellent Home while reading February. They both have similar plots in the sense that a son must return home to face up to the consequences of their lives…if you enjoy Robinson’s writing, you would enjoy Moore’s latest.

#41 – We Need To Talk About Kevin

Lionel Shriver’s Orange prize-winning novel has been on my “to be read” pile ever since I started working at HarperCollins Canada, two point five years ago. Somehow, it always got shuffled around, whether or not I was trying to start or finish a challenge, or something flashy had caught my eye, the book remained on the pile. I guess I found the subject matter a little daunting: a mother talks through letters to her ex-husband about their troubled child, Kevin, who was responsible for a serious school shooting incident.

But once you start We Need to Talk About Kevin, it’s almost impossible to put down. Shriver has a way with character that forces the reader to confront human nature head on — both the good and the bad. There’s no stereotype in Eva. She’s an individual who has made her way in the world, created a successful company and lives a happy life with her husband. She’s hesitant to start a family for a number of reasons: will she be a good mother, how will a baby change their lives, what will it do to her relationship, all of which seem rational when making a decision as big as whether or not to start a family. And it’s apparent that it’s a decision, and not an accident, when she gets pregnant with Kevin. Everything else that happens later seems to fall from Eva as a result of her inability to feel happy about the birth of her son. It’s not as if she blames herself but more that she’s working through the blame, the denial, the regret, as she sends letter after letter to her estranged husband, Franklin.

The letters are personal and they are obviously missing a bit of perspective. But that’s why they are just so effective, you are in Eva’s life irrevocably, and you feel her pain, are motivated by her hurt, and want to understand what went wrong almost as much as she does. I don’t think you can write a book like this without laying bare the limitations of humanity in a way — of society’s ability to forgive and forget to a point that benefits those directly involved in tragedy. For Eva, she’s haunted by her losses, surely, but she’s also haunted by the simple fact that life doesn’t end even if you might want it to, even if you believe it should. You take a step and move into a more, miserable life, but you’re alive nonetheless.

Her relationship to her son, the mass murderer, is complex, difficult, aching, and utterly real. But what I loved most about my Perennial edition, was the story behind the book at the end. Apparently, Shriver (and I’m paraphrasing so hopefully I don’t get this too wrong) wrote this novel really quickly and sent it to her agent at the time who rejected it entirely. The string of novels she’d written up to that point hadn’t been enormously successful and when the agent refused to sell it, Shriver took it upon herself to send it to an editor friend, who ultimately (I think) published the book. Then, as we all know, it won a well-deserved Orange Prize. Sometimes a writer simply has to trust her own voice. Right?

#36 – The Little Stranger

After finally (with a month-long struggle) finishing Sarah Waters’s The Little Stranger, I have to admit that I’m hit or miss with her books. I adored both Fingersmith and The Night Watch. But really didn’t like Tipping the Velvet. And I’m afraid I’ll have to add The Little Stranger to the cons side simply because the book just failed to grab me. No, wait, let me restate that, after the first 100 pages or so, I lost interest in the book entirely.

By fate and circumstance, a bachelor rural doctor becomes inextricably involved with the fading Ayers family (Mrs. Ayers, Caroline and Roderick), owners of Hundreds Hall, a decaying house that was once the centre of society for their corner of Warwickshire. The war has just ended, leaving the country and its young men wounded, and Roderick, the eldest son, suffers. Dr. Faraday, called out to the house in place of the Ayers’s regular doctor, soon finds himself an indispensible friend to the family.

With his frequent visits to Hundreds Hall, Dr. Faraday soon becomes embroiled in the myriad problems the family begins to have. First, it’s a terrible accident involving a family pet, a particular favourite of Caroline’s. Then, as Roderick suffers through emotional and physical difficulties, another terrible accident happens. Soon, the family, and even the servants, a young Betty and the older Mrs. Bazeley, feel as if all of the bad luck converging remains squarely the fault of the house itself.

This theme, of suspicious activity coupled with the belief that the house is haunted felt a little like The X-Files, the Ayers’s Mulder to Dr. Faraday’s Scully. In a fairly typical way, each occurance is dismissed by various members of the scientific community and yet life for the Ayers’s doesn’t seem to get any better. It’s almost as if Waters was watching far too many episodes of Most Haunted during the writing of this novel. But, mainly, for me, I couldn’t hang on to the main character — I found him staid, kind of boring and a little two predictable. I’m a huge fan of Waters, as I’ve said above, but this novel put me right to sleep, and despite one or two truly terrifying scenes, left me without the necessary chill required from a book that’s supposed to scare the pants off of you.

READING CHALLENGES: Nothing to see here.

WHAT’S UP NEXT: Summer is short: reading Dorothy Allison’s Trash. And I’ve got to finish a Canadian book this weekend to sum up my Canadian Book Challenge.

#35 – Dune Road

I’ve been conflicted over the last few days about whether or not to create a post for Jane Green’s latest book, Dune Road. There were two things I liked about the book — the attempt to move beyond generic chicklit into a more mature story and it’s perfection for an easy read if you’re sitting on the beach for an afternoon. That said, there were a lot of problems with the book too. Continuity (or lack thereof) really makes me crazy, both in film and in fiction, and when authors repeat themselves, use the same cliches to describe multiple situations, add in unnecessary and completely irrelevant scenes, I get a little frustrated. So much about Dune Road could have been better — that’s not to say that it’s bad — but there are too many characters with too disperate storylines that don’t always connect. Simply, there’s just too much going on in this book and had Green slowed down and tackled maybe just one relationship instead of four or five, Dune Road would have been all the better improved by it.

But maybe I’m putting too much pressure on a book that’s clearly meant to be escapist in terms of its read. The novel tells the story of divorcee (she’s in her early 40s) Kit Hargrove and her family, which includes her ex-husband, two kids, a mother, and surrogate mother (her next door neighbour) as she navigates her new life. That means finding a new love (but can he be trusted?), a new job (as an assistant to a best-selling but secretive novelist with a tragic past akin to Robert Wagner and Natalie Wood), and finding her way to happiness. Accompanying her on this journey are her two best friends, Charlie and Tracy, who each have their own complex stories that further complicate both the novel and Kit’s life. The book throws in multiple mysteries, then tops them off with various cliched happenstances (long-lost relatives; shady pasts; soap opera love affairs) and tosses all of this about like a salad hoping a novel appears.

Primarily what the books could haved used was a bit of editing. Please let’s not use the exact same phraseology to describe more than one relationship. Please don’t introduce characters with vivid backstories who have absolutely no relevance to the central storyline. Please take more care to introduce shady characters who actually appear in the novel. More action, less telling, and for goodness sake, why not make it a triology — exploring each character: Kit, Charlie and Tracy in a full-length book so we feel at least satisfied that we, as readers, are getting the whole story.

In general, I can accept commercial fiction as it is — fun, frivolous and frothy. That’s why I whip through these books at lightning speed when I need a bit of a holiday from the tedium of everyday life. Remember, I’m nothing but a sappy girl at heart, as I’ve said many times in the past, but I also enjoy and am consistently impressed by writers who take up the challenge of moving beyond the cliches and the “read it all befores” to kickstart a genre that’s truly in need of a little facelift. I’ve been consistently disappointed with my latest chicklit reads, and have honestly enjoyed some of the Harlequins I blurbed over the last year far more. They may be predictable (as was this novel), but at least they feel a little bit more honest in terms of using their formulas in new and innovative ways.

However, I don’t want to end on such a negative note. I was sucked in from the very beginning of this book and read it over the course of a day. I even took the long way home via the TTC so I could get in a few more moments with the characters. There’s something special in a writer who can convincingly pull you along until the end of the book — someone who creates emotional lives for her characters in a way that you are consistently empathizing versus sympatizing, which for me, is always a richer reading experience. All in all this is a very good book for me to pass along to my adorable mother-in-law who broadly reads this kind of woman’s fiction. I think she’d like it very, very much.

#34 – Love Begins in Winter

From the P.S. Section of Simon Van Booy’s collection of short stories, Love Begins in Winter, I learned he’s a solitary writer. Not that writing isn’t always a solitary act, but that he actively heads out of town and travels alone specifically so he can conceptualize a story before he puts it down on paper. His writing embodies the nature of this travel — it’s touched with the insights of a keen observer but not without a haunting sense of loneliness, one that informs every character that comes alive throughout the five stories.

Each has its basis in a love story, whether it’s traditional or parental, love in its various forms remains the central theme of each piece. Entire lives are defined by it, or the absence of it, and as his characters come to find it, unexpectedly in most cases, love changes them in not-so subtle ways. Setting informs every inch of this book — it’s rich in its description, from the rain on the streets of Sweden to the snow in Quebec, you get the feeling that the author, and not just the characters, have walked the streets, lain in the cold white sheets of the hotels, and explored every inch of what’s detailed.

Poets have such a way with prose. I know we take that forgranted, that poets actually know what to do with language, but sometimes they stumble over the longer form (I’m sorry Anne Michaels, I am sorry to say that outloud; I know you are beloved), and get lost in trying to find the right words. And yes, what Van Booy does with language is breathtaking. I’m forever impressed by writers who can create a vivid character, a vivacious situation, with just one sentence, and this book was full of moments that made me hand the book over to my RRHB and say, “see, THIS is how I feel.”

I’m a romantic at heart. I wept at the sickly-sweet ending of the utterly terrible He’s Just Not That Into You. I stumble over cliches of chicklit, and often find myself welling up even though I know I’ve read it all before. But here, in Love Begins in Winter, I’ve never come across love in quite this way before — never stretched it out like a road underneath a motorcycle or jumped with it off a cliff as a backstory, and it’s refreshing to see how it changes Van Booy’s characters when it appears in front of them whether they’re expecting it or not. Walter the Irish-Romany’s knees get a little weak but pages later you see how true love vests itself into his life. George gets a letter in the mail and it changes his life forever, and for the better. And if you’re patient, and read this book slowly, carefully, you can’t help but get swept away in the romance of it all, at least I couldn’t.

READING CHALLENGES: The “Summer is Short. Read a Story.” challenge for work. Next up is actually trying to finish Sarah Waters’ latest novel, and hoping that it doesn’t continue to put me to sleep at the turn of every single page. Zzzzzzzz. Wait? What?

NOT FOR A WHOLE POST, BUT STILL: Speaking of romantics, I finished Gemma Townley’s latest novel, A Wild Affair (#35) and have to admit that I wasn’t as enamoured as I usually am with her books. The plot seemed really contrived and her usual way of writing smart situations within a genre that really exploits cliches just wasn’t there. On the whole, I’m not sure if the Jessica Wild character is someone to hang a series of novels upon, and the “twist” felt more like a plot necessity than a life-shattering event. However, I still adore her, and highly recommend her chicklit as a cut above many of the other writers attempting the same kind of fiction.

#31 – Tea Time for the Traditionally Built

When I first started to work at Random House, I spent a lot of time getting to know the lists. It’s not something that happens organically until you’ve worked at a publishing house for a while, and so I spent a lot of time combing through blogs getting to know the books. One of the first authors that I discovered was Alexander McCall Smith, and I started to read the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency, quite simply because Sarah W had said so many nice things about the series that my curiosity was piqued. But the books are so short and easy to read, which meant that I devoured about six of them before feeling like I’d eaten too much candy: a little upset in the stomach but still somewhat high on the sugar.

Then, the TV show came along and I was worried, at first, that they wouldn’t be able to capture the spirit and essence of the books. They did. Completely. Which meant that this weekend as the show came to a close, I was left without my weekly dose of Mma Romotswe. Well, that just won’t do, so I picked up McCall Smith’s latest book, Tea Time for the Traditionally Built. And it’s just as sweet as the six or so other books I’ve read. The central mystery revolves around Mma Ramotswe discovering the reasons why a local football (read: soccer) club keeps losing matches, fixing up Mma Makutst’s love life (oh Phuti!), and figuring out what strange noises the little white van is making and why. The themes that are present in each of the other novels are present: a strong moral sense, defining people by how they are treated and treat one another instead of their social and/or monetary status, simple solutions to complex problems. What’s also present is Mma Ramotswe’s particular talent of coming to conclusions that are both full of common sense and sassy smartness that you wish you had a No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency to figure out your life.

If I have one (slight) criticism, it’s that all of the books are essentially the same: local mystery, personal problem (either Mmas) that needs sorting, and larger life lesson. Yet, this is the very sameness I craved this week while feeling terribly unwell. Familiar characters, familiar situations. The experience of reading these books is akin to watching every episode of ER or Law & Order. And I know a lot of the repitition is for the people picking up the series halfway through…so really, it’s not a true critique of the novels themselves.

The book was delightful, I mean, of course it was — it was just what I needed this week and my only complaint was that I read it too fast. Yesterday as I was waiting for the very late TTC, I finished this book, read the P.S. section of Bonjour Tristesse, and bemoaned the fact that all of my electronic reading gadgets had run out of juice. There’s nothing worse than being a reader caught with no words to feast her eyes upon.

READING CHALLENGES: AMS was born in Zimbabwe. And he’s actually the first African novelist I’ve read in ages for my Around the World in 52 Books challenge.

NOT WORTHY OF A FULL POST NOTE: I also read #32 this week — Pillow Talk by UK chicklit author Freya North. The story was sweet, and I’m not going to lie, there were places where I actually teared up, even if I did get a little embarrassed by a couple throbbing members along the way.

WHAT’S UP NEXT: Pulitzer Prize-winning Olive Kitteridge.

#30 – Bonjour Tristesse

Francoise Sagan published Bonjour Tristesse when she was just eighteen years old. Precocious, intelligent and hideously spoiled, the novel’s heroine, Cecile, leaves Paris to spend the summer on the coast of the Mediterranean with her father and his mistress, Elsa. As Cecile describes, “The first few days were dazzling.” Romance floats by on a boat carrying a young man named Cyril, and the two begin a love affair. Her days are carefree until her father, a bit of a playboy who has never settled down, invites a friend, Anne, to come and stay with them as well. 

Anne and Elsa are as different as two women can be, and what starts off innocently soon morphs into a love triangle that Cecile manipulates from her position as daughter, lover and friend. Spoiled and used to getting her own way, Cecile isn’t happy with a very specific turn of events so she does everything within her adolescent power to impose her will upon the adults. Her childish actions have very grown up consequences, and not a single person on that dazzling vacation walks away unscathed. 

The novel is short, succinct, and the narrative style reminded me a little of Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Cecile’s own short fallings are endearing, and the entire book makes you long for those days when you were foolish enough to act upon your feelings every single moment of every single day. The P.S. section in my copy contained an interview with the author as well as a truly captivating essay about driving — just perfect for the start of summer when all I can think about is taking a road trip and spending hours in the car just driving, not really caring if I get anywhere in particular. 

READING CHALLENGES: Sagan was born in France, so that takes care of that country for Around the World in 52 Books. Reading her novel made me long for Paris, because it was just about a year ago that I was there with Sam. Also, Bonjour Tristesse is on the 1001 Books list, so that’s two challenges with one short page count (130!).

#29 – Brooklyn

Weeks have passed since I finished reading Colm Toibin’s ridiculously fabulous new novel, Brooklyn. When the book arrived in the mail, I let it sit on my desk for a couple of days because I knew it was one of those books that once I started reading, I wouldn’t be able to put it down. Both of Toibin’s previous books were equally excellent but Brooklyn is hands down my favourite. In fact, I’m going to say that it’s probably the best book I’ve read so far this year. 

Eilis has spent her entire life in the village of Enniscorthy where she spends her days taking bookkeeping classes and her nights being ignored by local boys at local dances. She lives in the shadow of her successful, poised, well-dressed older sister Rose, who has built an existence for herself in the small town with a good job and a passion for golf. When a priest from Brooklyn comes to visit and offers Eilis the chance at a new life — a job, a place to stay, a world away from Enniscorthy — and she takes it. After all, both of her brothers have left to make their fortunes in England, and Rose does nothing but encourage her to take the chance. 

In Brooklyn, Eilis finds herself, she works hard as a shop girl during the day, and continues to learn bookkeeping at night. Simple goals, but all within reach. And her life truly opens up when she meets Tony. Her homesickness has passed, and despite the moral strictness of 1950s America (not to mention Ireland), Eilis actually feels happy until tragedy brings her home. Everything is different now. Eilis is different, changed, more confident, schooled, and experienced, which leads her to a crossroads. Does she stay in Enniscorthy or does she return to Brooklyn, to Tony?

The story reads overtly simplistic when you think about it — a coming of age tale, an immigrant’s experience — but Toibin’s skill at telling it remains unwavering throughout. His language, his ability to cast the characters, to explore their emotional situation without ever having them openly express an emotion stunned me. What more can you ask of a book than it be a well told story with well developed characters who make a choice that ultimately defines their life in the end? How many young girls emigrated, found themselves away from home, unhappy, and then surprisingly ensconced in a new life that widens their world? 

Eilis doesn’t always make the right decisions. Her human flaws are always apparent. Yet, her story has you engaged from the very moment the novel opens with the simple action of her watching Rose come home from work. If anyone out there has read and hasn’t fallen completely in love with this novel as I have, I will swear right now that we can never be friends. 

READING CHALLENGES: I’m counting Toibin as my Irish entry for Around the World in 52 Books. It’s also #1 so far in terms of the 30-odd books I’ve read so far this year…