As 2018 gives way to 2019, it's time to take stock of the books that
will stay with me into the new year. My resolution a year ago was to
read more broadly, of ideas, of cultures, of places, and this I managed
to do. From the Palestinian diaspora to America's opioid epidemic, my reading delved into subject matter I previously knew little of. I'll keep the same resolution for 2019.
More than previous years, my reading was also shaped by the contours of life. I read more than one work on neuroscience, and, not unrelated, an equal number on the impacts of the foods we eat on the workings of that most mysterious organ. Tony Danza's I'd Like to Apologize to Every Teacher I Ever Had,
his memoir about teaching for a year at an inner city school, resonated
with me in light of our decision to send our son to an urban school,
rather than our suburban home district - and the ways in which my eyes,
too, have been opened by the circumstances such schools face.
Out of the 70ish books I read this year, here are the ones I loved best:
Over
the years, some of my favorite memoirs have been those of Edmund Love,
the Gilbreths, and James Herriot (all of whom lived lives so rich they
cannot be contained in a single volume). Mary MacLeod's Call the Nurse and Nurse, Come You Here!
are works of this same, fine tradition. Each is steeped in the time
and, especially, the place (the Shetland Islands) where MacLeod lived;
these are easily the most delightful memoirs I read this year.
As regards general non-fiction, three books stand out to me:
Chesapeake Requiem: A Year with the Watermen of Vanishing Tangier Island;
The Lost City of the Monkey God;
Thomas Jefferson and the Tripoli Pirates
Chesapeake Requiem remains
the most important, thought-provoking work I have read this year. Earl
Swift so captures the culture, contradictions, and history of a people
and a place, and in doing so brings to the fore all of the issues
dividing this country so deeply today.
In a similar way, Lost City of the Monkey God
poses crucial questions about the ownership of culture and history,
what we know versus what we think we know, and also the limits of
science, knowledge, and medicine in the face of the vast and the
unknowable.
As for Thomas Jefferson and the Tripoli Pirates, it's easily the most important volume on history I've read since Hero,
another work that so eloquently lays out how the world's problems are
not new and are perhaps more intractable that any currently-powerful
individual (whenever "current" may be) would like to believe. This, too,
is a story of cultural clash and the limits to reconciling cultures
across such a vast schism.
For the first time, the
fiction I read surpassed the non-fiction, and the year was rich was
soaring, multi-generational works whose characters, plots, and prose
captivated me. These five books rose to the top:
Pachinko;
What We Were Promised;
Tai-Pan;
A Gentleman in Moscow;
Last Bus to Wisdom
The first three are set in Asia, though at varying times and in varying places, from early twentieth century Korea and Japan (Pachinko) to modern-day Shanghai (What We Were Promised), to the founding of Hong Kong (Tai-Pan); given my affinity for both history and Asia, it's not surprising they rose to the top, although
plenty of Asian-centered books did not. What sets these apart is the
stories they tell, the characters the authors bring to life, and the
language that evokes time and place: from beginning to end, these works
feel authentic.
A Gentleman in Moscow
is more subtle, occurring entirely within the confines of a single
hotel across the birth, rise, and decline of the Soviet Union. Through
it all, Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov, Recipient of the Order of Saint
Andrew, member of the Jockey Club retains his loyalty to the Russia or
yore.
Of all the fiction I read, though, it is Last Bus to Wisdom
that left the most lasting impression on me, whose characters reached
through the pages, whose words I could hear and faces I could see. I am
with Donal and Herman the German yet as they ride that last bus.
Monday, December 31, 2018
Thursday, December 27, 2018
Ghostland (and other unfinished stories)
For ages now, I've been slogging my way through three books, none of which is bad, but none of which grips my attention and keeps me turning the pages. Reading Idiot Brain last week, I was struck by Dean Burnett's musings on the nature of motivation and particular what motivates readers to force themselves to finish a book that they've long determined doesn't constitute pleasurable reading material. On the cusp of the new year, Burnett's veiled admonition spoke to me and I resolved not to be that reader anymore. Thus, I've reached the end of the line with these three books:
Wanderlust: A History of Walking by Rebecca Solnit
In five words: Too much philosophizing; too boring. More plainly, just because I like to do something doesn't mean a book about that activity (or object, see Paper) makes for an enthralling read.
Far Afield by Susanna Kaysen
Kaysen's Far Afield caught my eye for being set in the Faroe Islands. I'd not read anything there and, hoping it might by similar to Mary MacLeod's delightful Call the Nurse and Nurse, Come You Here!, both of which are set in the neighboring Shetlands, I harbored great hope for this fictional account of life in the Faroes. In the end, Far Afield was both too similar to too different to hold my interest. Would I consider going back to this when MacLeod is less fresh in my mind? Perhaps. But my reading list is long and the time to read too short.
Ghostland: An American History in Haunted Places by Coline Dickey
Of the three books, Dickey's Ghostland is the one that held my attention longest and that I liked best. Each chapter explores a purportedly haunted place in America, from the early homes of Salem, Massachusetts, to a Toys R Us in California. Dickey visits each and explains the history behind the place, when it was first reported as haunted, the ways in which haunting is tied to the commercial value, and so on, generally systematically dismantling the notion of the haunting. "Many times a ghost story is simply an attempt to account for scattered tidbits, some disconnected facts, that don't add up," Dickey writes halfway through the book, but he's said as much at least a half dozen times before that. Ultimately, Ghostland was just too repetitive for me. Each chapter followed the formula I've described, and, while the setting changes from hotel to home or brothel to bar, each feels the same. After 150 or so pages, I'd had my fill.
Wanderlust: A History of Walking by Rebecca Solnit
In five words: Too much philosophizing; too boring. More plainly, just because I like to do something doesn't mean a book about that activity (or object, see Paper) makes for an enthralling read.
Far Afield by Susanna Kaysen
Kaysen's Far Afield caught my eye for being set in the Faroe Islands. I'd not read anything there and, hoping it might by similar to Mary MacLeod's delightful Call the Nurse and Nurse, Come You Here!, both of which are set in the neighboring Shetlands, I harbored great hope for this fictional account of life in the Faroes. In the end, Far Afield was both too similar to too different to hold my interest. Would I consider going back to this when MacLeod is less fresh in my mind? Perhaps. But my reading list is long and the time to read too short.
Ghostland: An American History in Haunted Places by Coline Dickey
Of the three books, Dickey's Ghostland is the one that held my attention longest and that I liked best. Each chapter explores a purportedly haunted place in America, from the early homes of Salem, Massachusetts, to a Toys R Us in California. Dickey visits each and explains the history behind the place, when it was first reported as haunted, the ways in which haunting is tied to the commercial value, and so on, generally systematically dismantling the notion of the haunting. "Many times a ghost story is simply an attempt to account for scattered tidbits, some disconnected facts, that don't add up," Dickey writes halfway through the book, but he's said as much at least a half dozen times before that. Ultimately, Ghostland was just too repetitive for me. Each chapter followed the formula I've described, and, while the setting changes from hotel to home or brothel to bar, each feels the same. After 150 or so pages, I'd had my fill.
Saturday, December 22, 2018
Idiot Brain: What Your Head Is Really Up To
My latest foray into learning how brains work (and thereby being able to converse intelligently with the legion of neurologists who are part of our lives) is Dean Burnett's Idiot Brain, an entertaining look at the brain's various functions, from regulating hunger (Burnett clearly explains the process by which one always has room for a cookie) to fight or flight, language processing, and managing anger (the brain often prefers to be angry - go figure). Much of this he does with an eye toward evolution and, specifically, how our brains have not quite caught up with our non-hunter-gatherer, non-neanderthal ways.
Burnett taught me quite a bit, both about the brain in general, as well as regarding some specific - and relevant - conditions (hello, aphasia!). Honestly, it probably isn't a book that everyone needs to read, although it's never a bad thing to learn more about how a major, or in this case, the major organ works. The first half was a bit drier than the second half, but I appreciated Burnett's humor throughout.
Since most people are unlikely to read more than one brain book for fun, I also feel obliged to add a quick note of comparison to James Fallon's The Psychopath Inside. These books are very different books. Fallon is focused on psychopathic brains, but particularly the influence of genes on brain structure and function. Burnett is much more straightforward in terms of explaining how the brain works, how disorders (depression, schizophrenia, etc.) occur, and typical activity, while acknowledging individual difference. In that sense, Burnett's book is broader and, perhaps, more useful as a brain primer.
Four stars.
Burnett taught me quite a bit, both about the brain in general, as well as regarding some specific - and relevant - conditions (hello, aphasia!). Honestly, it probably isn't a book that everyone needs to read, although it's never a bad thing to learn more about how a major, or in this case, the major organ works. The first half was a bit drier than the second half, but I appreciated Burnett's humor throughout.
Since most people are unlikely to read more than one brain book for fun, I also feel obliged to add a quick note of comparison to James Fallon's The Psychopath Inside. These books are very different books. Fallon is focused on psychopathic brains, but particularly the influence of genes on brain structure and function. Burnett is much more straightforward in terms of explaining how the brain works, how disorders (depression, schizophrenia, etc.) occur, and typical activity, while acknowledging individual difference. In that sense, Burnett's book is broader and, perhaps, more useful as a brain primer.
Four stars.
Saturday, December 15, 2018
The Marriage Bureau: The True Story of How Two Matchmakers Arranged Love in Wartime London
Penrose Halson's The Marriage Bureau is essentially a history of the early years of the marriage agency that she later owned. That summary does little justice to the book itself, which, while obscure, is a fascinating read for anyone with an interest in World War II London.
Let's begin at the beginning: In the late 30s, Heather Jenner and Mary Oliver decided to open a marriage bureau. The decision was remarkable for so many reasons: marriage agencies simply did not exist (the bureaucrats only wished they'd been able to site a regulation against such a business in the early days!). Equally, it was so unbecoming for a young woman, especially from the upper classes, to strike out on her own this way that Mary Oliver is but a pseudonym, so afraid was Audrey Mary Parsons that her parents would learn of her work.
The clients ranged from MPs and aristocrats to shop girls, mariners, and dock workers - with a heavy does of active duty military (men and women) thrown in. Given the number of foreigners passing through London during the war, there were also no shortages of foreigners. (Notably, the original idea for the marriage bureau originated with Mary's Uncle George who suggested she try to find the many young men scattered across the Empire a wife during their rare leaves home.)
Using a system they devised, and relying heavily on the class strictures of the times, they consistently matched and married their clients. The Marriage Bureau is the story of these clients - some bordering on the hilarious and some downright tragic (there was a war on!) - but it's also the history of civilian life in a city under siege. For it's against the backdrop of air raids and ration coupons that Heather and Mary, later assisted by a broader cast of characters, do their work.
My favorite part of the book was actually the appendix, which includes the requirements of the clients, as written by themselves on their registration forms. Some were specific, as the woman who wished a man who was "Educated. Good looking. Self-assured. Mechanically minded. Handy around the house. Must have wavy hair." Another stated that any perspective husband must have a February or May birthday. The most touching are those who hope fervently to stymie the pain of war: "My boy was killed during the war. If I can find through you someone like or as near as possible to what he was I should be very grateful." The men's requirements, too, were often tinged with fear and loss and war, from the men who have several years left in the service, to the many who has lost both of his hands but is keen for any prospective wife to know that he can manage everything for himself. It is these succinct little statements that ooze zeitgeist and human nature; a collection of these by itself would be worthy reading; the rest is all icing on top.
As far as a recommendation, if you can't get enough of World War II history, particularly the more obscure bits, The Marriage Bureau will absolutely suit. For the reader who's less sold on the topic, it's probably closer to three-and-a-half stars than five.
Let's begin at the beginning: In the late 30s, Heather Jenner and Mary Oliver decided to open a marriage bureau. The decision was remarkable for so many reasons: marriage agencies simply did not exist (the bureaucrats only wished they'd been able to site a regulation against such a business in the early days!). Equally, it was so unbecoming for a young woman, especially from the upper classes, to strike out on her own this way that Mary Oliver is but a pseudonym, so afraid was Audrey Mary Parsons that her parents would learn of her work.
The clients ranged from MPs and aristocrats to shop girls, mariners, and dock workers - with a heavy does of active duty military (men and women) thrown in. Given the number of foreigners passing through London during the war, there were also no shortages of foreigners. (Notably, the original idea for the marriage bureau originated with Mary's Uncle George who suggested she try to find the many young men scattered across the Empire a wife during their rare leaves home.)
Using a system they devised, and relying heavily on the class strictures of the times, they consistently matched and married their clients. The Marriage Bureau is the story of these clients - some bordering on the hilarious and some downright tragic (there was a war on!) - but it's also the history of civilian life in a city under siege. For it's against the backdrop of air raids and ration coupons that Heather and Mary, later assisted by a broader cast of characters, do their work.
My favorite part of the book was actually the appendix, which includes the requirements of the clients, as written by themselves on their registration forms. Some were specific, as the woman who wished a man who was "Educated. Good looking. Self-assured. Mechanically minded. Handy around the house. Must have wavy hair." Another stated that any perspective husband must have a February or May birthday. The most touching are those who hope fervently to stymie the pain of war: "My boy was killed during the war. If I can find through you someone like or as near as possible to what he was I should be very grateful." The men's requirements, too, were often tinged with fear and loss and war, from the men who have several years left in the service, to the many who has lost both of his hands but is keen for any prospective wife to know that he can manage everything for himself. It is these succinct little statements that ooze zeitgeist and human nature; a collection of these by itself would be worthy reading; the rest is all icing on top.
As far as a recommendation, if you can't get enough of World War II history, particularly the more obscure bits, The Marriage Bureau will absolutely suit. For the reader who's less sold on the topic, it's probably closer to three-and-a-half stars than five.
Monday, December 10, 2018
All You Can Ever Know
Nicole Chung's All You Can Ever Know is the memoir of growing up Korean in a white family in small town Oregon circa 1985. I was interested in it as an adoption memoir, and Chung certainly touches on her emotions regarding feelings of abandonment and not fitting in. Much of the latter owes, it seems from the book, to the fact that Chung was raised in a town so small and so white that the only other people of color she ever saw were a handful of Asians in stereotypical roles (aka, dry cleaning and Chinese takeout). Chung's experience was also colored by the fact that she knew much of her early history (born prematurely, immigrant parents unable to cope with the expected special needs, etc.) and as she describes, her birth mother went as far as to attempt to make contact with her when she was still quite young.
Ultimately All You Can Ever Know vacillates between Chung's memoir of a mostly unhappy childhood and then her adult quest to locate her birth family. This she does successfully and, owing to the relationship she forges with a sister, she is also able to tell the family's story, frequently woven through chapters of Chung's own experiences.
Final verdict: I liked it, but I didn't love it. There are a lot of memoirs out there, and a lot of adoption-related books, memoirs, advice, and so on as well. Certainly there's an audience for this work, but on the whole it's a pretty niche read.
Three-and-a-half stars.
Ultimately All You Can Ever Know vacillates between Chung's memoir of a mostly unhappy childhood and then her adult quest to locate her birth family. This she does successfully and, owing to the relationship she forges with a sister, she is also able to tell the family's story, frequently woven through chapters of Chung's own experiences.
Final verdict: I liked it, but I didn't love it. There are a lot of memoirs out there, and a lot of adoption-related books, memoirs, advice, and so on as well. Certainly there's an audience for this work, but on the whole it's a pretty niche read.
Three-and-a-half stars.
Wednesday, December 5, 2018
Crazy Rich Asians
Kevin Kwan makes me want to go back to Singapore. (It doesn't take much, but still.)
If you haven't yet read Crazy Rich Asians - and you should - the essence is that economics professor Rachel Chu gets more than she bargains for when she agrees to spend the summer in Asia with her boyfriend, who is also a fellow professor. Unfortunately, there are a few little details that Nicholas Young has omitted to tell her - like is family is filthy rich, the family home is basically a palace, and every woman in Singapore is angling to get her hooks into him. Also, his mother is absolutely, over-the-top cray-cray. All of which makes for an entertaining read of the highest degree.
What Kwan does especially well is infuse his characters (most of them anyway) with genuine likability so that even when the reader is struck dumb by the behavior, you can't help but root for them. Also, the infusion of Singapore. I love a book that enables to me to recapture the best of a place that I've visited, and Kwan does that so well with the city state.
Five stars.
If you haven't yet read Crazy Rich Asians - and you should - the essence is that economics professor Rachel Chu gets more than she bargains for when she agrees to spend the summer in Asia with her boyfriend, who is also a fellow professor. Unfortunately, there are a few little details that Nicholas Young has omitted to tell her - like is family is filthy rich, the family home is basically a palace, and every woman in Singapore is angling to get her hooks into him. Also, his mother is absolutely, over-the-top cray-cray. All of which makes for an entertaining read of the highest degree.
What Kwan does especially well is infuse his characters (most of them anyway) with genuine likability so that even when the reader is struck dumb by the behavior, you can't help but root for them. Also, the infusion of Singapore. I love a book that enables to me to recapture the best of a place that I've visited, and Kwan does that so well with the city state.
Five stars.
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