Fall 2017 Happy Families Are Alike. What Are You Reading Now?

detailed - its the one subtitled a revenge on life by david caute

Great title - will be on the lookout.

I'm not a fan of Amis/McEwan/Barnes, but my university library was giving away free copies of "Sense of an Ending" - I read it over a day and it was... okay? Compelling plot but wincing useless dialogue and no sense of place. It's kind of a mini-me Atonement. Both of them do that really annoying thing of being genre books that end with a deliberate anticlimax to prove how very "above the genre" they are.

Both of them do that really annoying thing of being genre books that end with a deliberate anticlimax to prove how very "above the genre" they are.

I can't really think of Sense Of An Ending as a genre novel, unless we're doing the "literary realist fiction is a genre" thing. Sure there's a mystery in it, but it's not a crime novel/detective kind of mystery.

I will agree with you the ending's rubbish, though - felt very melodramatic and ridiculous to me, like something straight out of a 19th century novel.

No, you're right, it's not a genre novel. But the trope of using mystery and suspense in the service of a deliberate anticlimax - "because that's how life really is" - is (and has always been) a tiresome cliche, imho - in both literary and genre fiction. I think Tana French gets it right, though.

(The ending of Broken Harbour, for example. It's a quotidian ending, but it's not like it retroactively judges you for enjoying the "thriller" elements.)

george meredith - the egoist

I finished A Way of Life, Like Any Other. It's an interesting book that I'd have to study a while to get at. The story is plain enough. Everything that happens it described clearly enough to understand. What lingers is the author's voice and tone, which kind of hovers in an indeterminate space, touching irony, sadness, farce and a hint of anger, while rarely touching any one of these notes exclusively, but more often striking several at once, as if playing minor chords. The effect never raised me out of my seat in amazement, but it did affect me. Worth a read. Plus, it's short.

I haven't hit on my next book. I keep toying with the idea of plowing into a monstrously long book, like Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, or Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, but so far I'm too timorous to take the plunge. Maybe further into winter. I'll probably make a brief excursion into Greene's Ministry of Fear, instead.

I had a go at Very Merry by Zsigmond Moriscz, Hungarian Minot Gentry hi-Hils, got bored and drifted off about halfway through.

Then I read “Mothering Sunday” by Graham Swift, on a lens from my mum, it was alright, I liked the way it seemed abstracted from a huge Barbara Taylor Bradford potboiler but it left me largely unmoved.

I read the 33 1/3 about The Raincoats, as covered elsewhere.

I read a book of sharp little short stories by Lara Williams, called “Treats”.

Now I’m a chapter in to “Let The Blood of Man Not Flow” by Mikhailo Stelmakh, Ukrainian Soviet mythmaking by the looks.

aimless, i forget, do you have a kindle at all? burton is surprisingly lighter-feeling when you don't have to lug around that brick of an nyrb edition.

I own a Kindle, but I rarely make much use of it. I own an older edition of Robert Burton in hardback, copyright 1927, Floyd Dell and Paul Jordan-Smith, editors, Farrar & Rinehart publishers, ~1000 pages total including front matter. All the hundreds of Latin tags are translated into English, which is nice.

I'm already partway into Ministry of Fear with a Georges Simenon novel on deck. As I said, the prospects for my tackling an ultra-long book will improve as winter deepens. Last winter it was The Man Without Qualities, Musil. The previous winter it was Shelby Foote's civil war history.

After a few books i could not get into, due to failures sometimes on their part, sometimes on mine, I'm reading B. A Shapiro's 'The Art Forger', a crime novel which is not exactly brilliant, but is very interesting on the details of creating a fake Great Master painting

Yesterday I finished Moby-Dick, and it took me til the very end to realize that everything Ahab says is mock-Shakespeare.

Had Kazou Ishiruo's The Buried Giant lying around for over a year now, guess the recent Nobelification is as good a reason as any to tackle it.

Be interested to hear what you think - I keep on feeling I should read it (great reviews, including some people I trust, nobel prize etc), but can't summon up the enthusiasm. also reading the mysterious affair at styles atm, so enthusiasm for evenly moderately heavy lifting is at a bit of an ebb at the moment.

Aw, Fizzles, read some shiny bauble or other and give yourself a lull. I have a soft spot for the Aubrey-Maturin novels by Patrick O'Brian when I need some light entertainment that isn't poorly written. Afterwards Ishiguro may not seem like such a slog.

Ishiguro Ishiruo

^ brain fart

No, you were right, it was Daniel's brain that dealt it

I'm an ishiguro fan but I cannot fathom the good reviews for the buried giant.

Ursula K. LeGuinn came out against it, was irked by something Ishiguro said about it being a gamble for readers to accept fantasy tropes - LeGuinn rules obv and has fought this good fight for a long time, but in a world where GoT is the biggest show on tv, ehhhh. And at the same time, Ishiguro wasn't wrong to assume much of his audience would be somewhat resistant.

Dan it's Ishiuro

Oh shit, sorry.

...wait, no it isn't! :O

Dan it's Le Guin

https://i.imgur.com/6VjoC0J.png

Dan sonned in a fake news beef?

Another lyricist wins the Nobel---where will it end??

I've read everything of Ishi(g)uro - even the short stories - except the Buried Giant. Just doesn't sound like something I'd enjoy at all. But he's the only one of that generation of Booker-type writers - Amis, McEwan, Barnes, Rushdie et al - that I really have any time for.

The Boulez-Cage Correspondence. I'm only at the gushing, you're-so-wonderful, stage in the correspondence - and John really thinks PB is wonderful - it might sour later. PB's écolier anglais is so cute though.

Quite a way into The Buried Giant by REDACTED. LeGuin's criticisms make more sense to me now - I didn't expect this to be quite as straight a fantasy novel! In the interviews I'd read with REDACTED he talked about putting himself into the mindset of a person from that age, and that a belief in say ogres was common, but I expected this to manifest in dialogue and not actual characters. Anyway, I'm enjoying it as these things go, there's not a Chosen One or anything rote like that. Reminds me a lot of T.H. White, also I'm playing the new Zelda and that works well as a companion piece too.

Zelda---an album, a game? Please describe.

I finished Ministry of Fear. It's a more literate than average British thriller that could as easily been the script treatment for a Hitchcock movie from the same era (early 1940s).

It is, as the author directly states on the fly leaf, an entertainment. At one point Greene tips the reader a broad wink, stating that his main character felt 'like a man whose life is being controlled by a larger force with a knack for the surreal'.

It does hint at larger themes than the garden variety spy intrigues at the center of the plot, but doesn't really embrace them. For instance, Greene keeps circling around the role of pity in human life, but his presumed insights are never very clear and verge on self-contradiction. He even includes a dream narrative, with a mother figure speaking from the grave, but however portentous it appears at the time, nothing is made of it. It all amounts to pseudo-meaningful window dressing, designed to lift it above the ordinary pot-boiler, but the quality of the prose would have been sufficient. otoh, it does give a vivid sense of the air bombardment of London.

I finished Farrell's Troubles. Hard to praise it enough without sounding dumb. I want to say something like: it reminded me of what novels can do. Highly recommended.

Nothing Holds Back the Darkness by Delphine de Vigan, a memoir of sorts about her mother's messed up family, mental health problems, and death; also about goes into her doubts, motivations, and problems in writing such a memoir. I thought it was great, far more engaging than My Struggle. Then I read the follow-up, Based on a True Story, also supposedly an account of real events, what happened after the memoir was published - but it becomes more and more like a hollywood thriller, less and less plausible as non fiction. The characters discuss the appeal & validity of fiction vs non fiction, and at one point the narrator says something like "you want me to say [the previous memoir about her mother] was made up? Ok, I made it all up!". Confusing. There's a memorable section where a character reads uninterrupted a list of titles from a bookshelf; it goes on, hypnotically, for almost a whole page, and because it's translated from the french and so I presume most of the titles are french novels, I have no idea whether they are real or invented.

Now reading Three Bedrooms in Manhattan, Georges Simenon.

Joan Didion - The White Album. The style is something you can just eat up, though there is very little I am learning about anything. The kind of thing I might have really loved at 19/20, not sure now.

i felt the same way when i read her at 20. her disses are so cutting and the writing so good you want her to like you, but ultimately that elliptical style, always circling outwards, felt supercilious

Yeah, I think she later admitted some of the early slick magazine Highbrow writing got shticky, but try for instance The Year of Magical Thinking.

Joanna Walsh: Vertigo -- as good as everyone said it was a couple of years ago when everyone was reading it

J.D. Vance - Hillbilly Elegy - This was an (unasked-for) gift from last year that I hadn't gotten around to reading yet. Mostly a fairly sanitized memoir of a hard-luck childhood (with a happy ending), it also dips into amateur sociology, with uplifting bromides masquerading as political hardheadedness. Not sure why someone would write a book like this in their early 30s unless they're thinking about running for office someday. Having said that, it's well-paced and hits some emotional notes that feel authentic.

weird to read a measured review of that book, which I only know from everyone on twitter making a big deal out of hating

i think the ppl i follow hated it because the wrong people liked it, or something

didion's deep topic is anxiety -- that's what she marks in herself and hence registers always very acutely in others

her political coverage, which didn't really begin till the late 70s, was as astute as anyone's: you'd think (all things considered) that she'd be quite bad at new york race politics in the 80s, for example, but (rereading recently w/hindsight, thru lens of ta-nehisi etc) this isn't so

my sister and i both read year of magical thinking after my mum's death and got a lot out of it -- i've reread it several times - but i lent it to a close friend after her dad died and she more or less threw it across the room

(a book it unexpectedly reminds me of: paul morley's ±nothing, in which mannerism -- albeit not a very similar mannerism, all those lists -- is a manifestation of the underpinning feelings* PM can't or daren't talk about)

*this word is too weak: i mean anxieties about overwhelming emotions, like grief or anger, and the ways you set controls on those)

Didion managed that change from delineating anxiety instigated by vague correspondences to delineating how vague correspondences among political elites can instigate anxiety. It's a neat trick. Miami and Political Fictions are among my favorite boks.

The Tiger: A True Story of Vengeance and Survival by John Valiant.

this is the kind of page-turning non-fiction thing that i like to read but so rarely do

I finished Simenon's Three Bedrooms in Manhattan. Apparently it was based on his meeting his second wife, whom he met less than a year before writing this novel.

The story really only contains two characters, the man and the woman, who meet and fall deeply in love. What struck me most about the book was the degree to which the narrator, who writes in the third person with a kind of omniscience, spends all of his effort examining the internal thoughts, feelings and reactions of the man. The woman's character is described solely through externalities. So, in a way, it is a book with just one character.

The second thing that struck me was that in spite of the narrator's obvious affinity with and sympathy for the man, the man came off as very egoistic, almost a narcissist, and hence very unlikable. The woman was neither likeable nor unlikeable, in that she never fully came alive to me; she only existed as a catalyst for the man's feelings and her declarations of her own feelings were never given an independent basis upon which to stand.

As a a result of the above-mentioned problems, the book lacked the one element I most enjoyed in the previous Simenon's I've read, a discerning and accurate portrayal of the psychology of the main characters. The numerous, rather hectic attempts by the narrator to explain the man's motives are merely confused rather than penetrating. For me, the book was an unexpected failure, interesting mainly as an artifact, not as art.

Anna Kavan: Ice -- mad as a cut snake, but enjoyable. Can see why Ballard loved it.

About to start a book with the best title ever, Alexander Kluge's 'Learning Processes with a Deadly Outcome'.

I read a big anthology of Didion called Live And Learn last year and - challop alert - found The White Album to be kind of the weakest link in it: Slouching Towards Bethlehem has that great piece on John Wayne, "Goodbey To All That" and a long thing on Haight-Ashbury that kinda puts the lie to to the narrative of the 60's that a lot of ppl paint (with The White Album as a canonical text!) where things were nice and groovy and then suddenly Manson and Altamont threw everyone into a spiral of paranoia - Didion herself seemed to view the whole scene as pretty paranoid and fucked up even at its flower power height. Of the later stuff, the piece on the Central Park jogger case (which I assume mark is refering to) is essential reading.

Finished The Buried Giant - it's a nice enough fantasy novel. Found the relationship at the centre of it quite touching. Now I'm reading John Buchan's Greenmantle, which is one of those books that signals what you're in for from the very first paragraph:

"I had just finished breakfast and was filling my pipe when I got Bullivant's telegram. It was at Furling, the big country house in Hampshire where I had come to convalesce after Loos, and Sandy, who was in the same case, was hunting for the marmalade. I flung him the flimsy with the blue strip pasted down on it, and he whistled."

currently reading

Captain Cook: Master of the Seas by Frank McLynn, re-reading Game of Death by PKD, and am about to start Europe in Autumn by Dave Hutchinson. The Cook bio is p fascinating but sad lolz @ me for being lost when all the nautical terminology gets brought in.

Finishing The White Album. I think the essay on Feminism is something quite sharp -- as someone who observes this stuff from afar -- Didion is certainly mapping out some of the issues that are very much live and being worked out.

I think w/the title-essay and first section I found myself thinking that the music has pretty much covered this. So I huffed a bit on my one-liner above.

My favourite piece (as I finish) is called In Bed, a 3/4 pager on migraines that is just a marvel, Walser-like Feuilleton piece that is strenghtened by the factual matter she brings in crossed with that anxiety too.

I will definitely read more from her next year.