The first thing to say is that A.J. Jacobs' wife deserves a medal. Seriously. If my husband told me he was going to stop shaving for a year (we're not talking about a tidy little Abe Lincoln beard here; we're talking terrorist facial hair), wear only white garments (sometimes in the form of a shepherd's robe), carry around his own seat (one of those old and infirm cane-with-built-in-seat contraptions) so as not to sit anywhere "impure," carry unleavened bread upon his back (even if only for a day), and eat no fruit grown on tree less than five years old, there is a distinct possibility that I would file for divorce. I would certainly insist he have his mental health examined. And that's before you consider the constant nattering about the Bible, amending "God willing" to virtually every future-tense statement, or replacing certain choice words with "sugar" or "fudge." That his wife merely takes to whistling the theme song from The Andy Griffith Show is a testament to at least one virtue, patience. I'm sure it helps that this quest was undertaken for the purposes of writing a book, which undoubtedly pays a good many bills.
That said: The Year of Living Biblically was referred to several times in Good Book, I like The Know-It-All (A.J. Jacobs' previous book about reading the entire Encyclopedia Britannica from a-z) well enough, and Clio recently listened to it on tape and heartily recommended it. All good enough reasons for me to pluck it from the library shelves. Parts of it were definitely laugh-out-loud funny. Even greater parts were head scratchingly bizarre. But, I'm sure because I read them so close together, I couldn't help but compare these two Bible books, both written by secular East Coast Jews, and sprinkled liberally with humor and irony, as well as Biblical scholarship. In a head-to-head contest, Good Book comes out ahead, although I can recommend them both, but maybe not in immediate succession.
Both Jacobs and Plotz note that their religious studies/immersion/projects changed them intrinsically in ways they couldn't necessarily articulate, but which definitely were spiritual in nature. This phenomenon, if you will, makes me curious about earlier decades, when society was, on a whole, more religious. Essentially, my question is this: Were people simply more religious because they spent more time with the Bible? And did they spend more time with the Bible simply for lack of Nintendo Wii and the Internet, or was there something inherently different about them? My guess is the former, but I think I'll pass on undertaking the research myself. I wouldn't want to turn into a Bible thumper.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Thursday, January 24, 2013
The Age of Empire: 1875-1914
I heard about this book from my friend Clio, who gave it a pretty positive review last October, despite not finishing the book. It's a time period that I find interesting - a world in transition from an older, nearly unrecognizable world, to a modern one with airplanes, telephones, women who work and vote and all of the other accoutrements of modern life - as well as a period about which I've read quite a bit already. All of which is to say that I was really looking forward to reading this book, and that I'm terribly disappointed in it. And I've chalked up my first "did not finish" of 2013.
So what's the problem? There were a few actually. For starters, The Age of Empire is incredibly, incredibly dry. It reads like a textbook, and not an engaging one. It's incredibly dense, so that I often found myself rereading a given paragraph or page 2-3 times to get my head around the information being presented. (I gave up after 200 pages, though I'd probably read more than the 340 in the entire book!) The Age of Empire also has tables of numbers, sometimes within the text, and regularly refers readers around the book (i.e., see pages 114-115, earlier) and to other books written by Eric Hobsbawm (i.e., see The Age of Capital, chapter 14, 11). I found these things distracting.
I also did not care for the organization of the book. Neither chronological, nor organized by empire (British, Ottoman, Habsburg, etc.), The Age of Empire is organized by theme and, therefore, seems to jump around quite a bit. The development of socialism as a political philosophy, for example, or the increasing liberation of women and growing suffrage movement are covered, then referenced, then re-referenced, to an extent that I felt I was reading in circles.
Lastly, I was disappointed with the extent to which The Age of Empire truly seemed to examine and confront imperialism. Honestly, that was probably my greatest disappointment, because I expected to read a book about empires, within the context of the wider socio-political-economic issues. Instead, this was a book about the social/political/economic issues at a time that just happened to coincide with the apex of imperialism/colonialism. Two books, one British (The Perfect Summer, England 1911: Just Before the Storm) and one American (The Imperial Cruise: A Secret History of Empire and War) handle the subject matter and time period much more deftly - and are eminently more readable.
So what's the problem? There were a few actually. For starters, The Age of Empire is incredibly, incredibly dry. It reads like a textbook, and not an engaging one. It's incredibly dense, so that I often found myself rereading a given paragraph or page 2-3 times to get my head around the information being presented. (I gave up after 200 pages, though I'd probably read more than the 340 in the entire book!) The Age of Empire also has tables of numbers, sometimes within the text, and regularly refers readers around the book (i.e., see pages 114-115, earlier) and to other books written by Eric Hobsbawm (i.e., see The Age of Capital, chapter 14, 11). I found these things distracting.
I also did not care for the organization of the book. Neither chronological, nor organized by empire (British, Ottoman, Habsburg, etc.), The Age of Empire is organized by theme and, therefore, seems to jump around quite a bit. The development of socialism as a political philosophy, for example, or the increasing liberation of women and growing suffrage movement are covered, then referenced, then re-referenced, to an extent that I felt I was reading in circles.
Lastly, I was disappointed with the extent to which The Age of Empire truly seemed to examine and confront imperialism. Honestly, that was probably my greatest disappointment, because I expected to read a book about empires, within the context of the wider socio-political-economic issues. Instead, this was a book about the social/political/economic issues at a time that just happened to coincide with the apex of imperialism/colonialism. Two books, one British (The Perfect Summer, England 1911: Just Before the Storm) and one American (The Imperial Cruise: A Secret History of Empire and War) handle the subject matter and time period much more deftly - and are eminently more readable.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
The Sushi Economy
Tuna is big business in Japan. How big? In the first auction of 2013, one sold for $1.7 million. Yes, for a single fish.
A friend recommended The Sushi Economy: Globalization and the Making of a Modern Delicacy by Sasha Issenberg before I went to Japan last August. I ordered it...and promptly allowed it to begin collecting dust in my office. This past week I decided that I really, really needed to read it, and I have to admit I'm glad that I did. It's an incredibly readable look at the world's changing food cultures, supply chain, and interconnectedness. Issenberg is hot on the tail of sushi from the massive Tsukiji market in Tokyo to sushi restaurants from LA to the Bahamas, to the source of the tuna itself, in the waters off Prince Edward Island, Gibraltar, and Australia. Along the way, he meets and interviews everyone from fishermen to environmentalists to sushi chefs, giving a human face to every step of the process.
In many ways, The Sushi Economy reminded me of The Beekeeper's Lament, in that it takes its reader on a circuitous route to understand the ins and outs of a single product, as well as the perils of feeding a world that increasingly wants more of the "best things." In China alone, Issenberg predicts 50 million new sushi fiends by 2020, assuming only one-tenth of China's middle-class population develops a taste for the food.
(As a side note, I never include pictures in my blog, but I'm adding a couple that I took at Tsukiji last August, so you can get a sense of the place that sells a million dollar fish.)
A friend recommended The Sushi Economy: Globalization and the Making of a Modern Delicacy by Sasha Issenberg before I went to Japan last August. I ordered it...and promptly allowed it to begin collecting dust in my office. This past week I decided that I really, really needed to read it, and I have to admit I'm glad that I did. It's an incredibly readable look at the world's changing food cultures, supply chain, and interconnectedness. Issenberg is hot on the tail of sushi from the massive Tsukiji market in Tokyo to sushi restaurants from LA to the Bahamas, to the source of the tuna itself, in the waters off Prince Edward Island, Gibraltar, and Australia. Along the way, he meets and interviews everyone from fishermen to environmentalists to sushi chefs, giving a human face to every step of the process.
In many ways, The Sushi Economy reminded me of The Beekeeper's Lament, in that it takes its reader on a circuitous route to understand the ins and outs of a single product, as well as the perils of feeding a world that increasingly wants more of the "best things." In China alone, Issenberg predicts 50 million new sushi fiends by 2020, assuming only one-tenth of China's middle-class population develops a taste for the food.
(As a side note, I never include pictures in my blog, but I'm adding a couple that I took at Tsukiji last August, so you can get a sense of the place that sells a million dollar fish.)
Monday, January 14, 2013
Good Book
The full title of this book is Good Book: The Bizarre, Hilarious, Disturbing, Marvelous, and Inspiring Things I Learned When I Read Every Single Word of the Bible. A mouthful, right? It's so long that it actually summarizes the entire book perfectly. For example, the bizarre: after Jonah was swallowed by the whale, he was actually spit back on a beach and continued on his merry way. Did I learn this in Sunday school? I can't remember. I have a vague notion that Jonah and the whale was somehow miraculous, but really this tale is nuts.
The hilarious: Now, this assumes that David Plotz is not pulling his readers' legs (and since most of us will probably never undertake such a close reading of the Bible, I suppose it would be easy enough for him to do), but Plotz writes that in 2 Kings 2, "As Elisha is walking to Bethel, a group of boys - 'small boys' - starts mocking him: 'Go away, baldhead! Go away, baldhead!' ... Elisha turns around and curses the taunting kids in the name of the Lord. After his curse, 'two she-bears came out of the woods and mangled forty-two of the boys.'" I should note that this is also highly disturbing.
Plotz's writing is lively and, frankly, hilarious throughout and so Good Book is a quick and enjoyable read, right up until you realize "twenty-five hundred years later and it's the same fights, the same land, the same people." Or, in Biblical terms, Judges 11: Do you not hold what Chemosh your God gives you to possess? So we will hold on to everything that the Lord our God has given us to possess." As Plotz concludes, "And there, my friends, you have practically the entire history of Israel, of the Middle East, and of planet Earth, in two short sentences."
The hilarious: Now, this assumes that David Plotz is not pulling his readers' legs (and since most of us will probably never undertake such a close reading of the Bible, I suppose it would be easy enough for him to do), but Plotz writes that in 2 Kings 2, "As Elisha is walking to Bethel, a group of boys - 'small boys' - starts mocking him: 'Go away, baldhead! Go away, baldhead!' ... Elisha turns around and curses the taunting kids in the name of the Lord. After his curse, 'two she-bears came out of the woods and mangled forty-two of the boys.'" I should note that this is also highly disturbing.
Plotz's writing is lively and, frankly, hilarious throughout and so Good Book is a quick and enjoyable read, right up until you realize "twenty-five hundred years later and it's the same fights, the same land, the same people." Or, in Biblical terms, Judges 11: Do you not hold what Chemosh your God gives you to possess? So we will hold on to everything that the Lord our God has given us to possess." As Plotz concludes, "And there, my friends, you have practically the entire history of Israel, of the Middle East, and of planet Earth, in two short sentences."
Thursday, January 10, 2013
The Guns of August
I added Barbara Tuchman's tome on the opening days of World War I to my reading list after I read my friend Clio's review. The Guns of August is as good as advertised, although depressing in ways that few books - even war books - can manage.
The crux of the book is the many failures - diplomatic and military - that ultimately led to four years of unrelenting bloodshed across Europe, and eventually the world. For a decade and a half France and Germany waited for the right moment to make war on one another; for years diplomats and generals alike had predicted the catalyst to would be "some damned foolish thing in the Baltics." And to think I always thought that the assassination of Franz Ferdinand was the cause of the war. Add this to the books that reveal the inadequacy of my education, at least in world history. (Of course, my ever-reasonable husband points out that it's not realistic - or even possible - to think one can learn every last detail of history.) But I digress.
Tuchman's prose is both spare and soaring; the war, she knows, is imbued with enough tragedy that she needed go all melodramatic on her readers. Again and again she captures the human details - the smell of half a million unbathed men marching hard in wool uniforms and August heat; the terror rained upon the Belgians by the Germans (somehow the horrors inflicted in 1914, when men still went to war on horseback and charged with another with fixed bayonets, seems more intimate - and therefore more terrifying - that even the horrors this same country would conjure 25 years later); the sacrifice of an entire army by the Russians to prove their commitment to the Allies. All so unthinkably awful.
The crux of the book is the many failures - diplomatic and military - that ultimately led to four years of unrelenting bloodshed across Europe, and eventually the world. For a decade and a half France and Germany waited for the right moment to make war on one another; for years diplomats and generals alike had predicted the catalyst to would be "some damned foolish thing in the Baltics." And to think I always thought that the assassination of Franz Ferdinand was the cause of the war. Add this to the books that reveal the inadequacy of my education, at least in world history. (Of course, my ever-reasonable husband points out that it's not realistic - or even possible - to think one can learn every last detail of history.) But I digress.
Tuchman's prose is both spare and soaring; the war, she knows, is imbued with enough tragedy that she needed go all melodramatic on her readers. Again and again she captures the human details - the smell of half a million unbathed men marching hard in wool uniforms and August heat; the terror rained upon the Belgians by the Germans (somehow the horrors inflicted in 1914, when men still went to war on horseback and charged with another with fixed bayonets, seems more intimate - and therefore more terrifying - that even the horrors this same country would conjure 25 years later); the sacrifice of an entire army by the Russians to prove their commitment to the Allies. All so unthinkably awful.
For me, the entire 500 pages can be summed up in a single passage, two short, but heart-wrenching sentences: “At dawn the voice of the enemy’s cannon begins; 'the
Germans salute the sun with their shells.' Through the incessant crash and
thunder the French hear the brave scream of their own 75s.”
Monday, December 31, 2012
The Best of 2012
By my count, I read 60 books cover-to-cover in 2012, started but couldn't manage to finish four others, and began reading one book (The Guns of August), which I anticipate finishing in early 2013. In keeping with the same formula from 2011, I've chosen to highlight the top 15% of what I've read this year. I've also included three "honorable mentions" that are nearly as deserving. My best of list, like my reading list, is dominated by non-fiction, but I have included two fiction titles that stood out from the crowd.
Appearing in the order in which I read them originally, the best of my 2012 reading list follows:
Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine, and the Murder of a President
(reviewed February 9, 2012)
I knew virtually nothing about James A. Garfield before I read this book, but came away with a deep admiration for him, as well as deepened cynicism about the current state of politics in this country.
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
(reviewed March 13, 2012)
A lovely and fun historical fiction read set in the immediate aftermath of World War II in the Channel Islands. Yes, I hope to visit them someday.
Flyboys
(reviewed April 29, 2012)
James Bradley is the only author to appear twice on my list this year; clearly he has the touch. I had no way of knowing when I read this book last April that it would tell the story of Japanese-American relations up to and during World War II so perfectly that I would feel compelled to actually assign and teach the book to my Japanese culture class this coming spring.
The Food of a Younger Land
(reviewed May 10, 2012)
It is neigh on impossible for me to imagine an American in which ravioli is an ethnic specialty, eaten only in the homes of bonafide Italians. This book transports the reader to that place and enables one to see what we have gained in the past 80 years - and what we have lost.
The Worst Hard Time
(reviewed July 6, 2012)
Timothy Egan takes an unflinching look at the Dust Bowl and the series of calamities faced by those at its geographic center,as well as the government's role in creating the conditions that led to a decade of impossible-to-imagine drought and disaster. It seems justified to believe the end is coming when it rains mud from the sky.
An African in Greenland
(reviewed August 25, 2012)
From the lush, snake infested coast of West Africa to the snow- and ice-covered villages of Greenland, Tete-Michel Kpomassie's journey is as improbable as it is fascinating. Part memoir, part travelogue, and entirely anthropological, this book was engrossing from beginning to end. And of course now I want to visit the Arctic.
The Imperial Cruise: A Secret History of Empire and War
(reviewed October 3, 2012)
Such a secret history, in fact, that it's seldom (if ever?) taught in school. James Bradley's account of the imperialistic policies of the first Roosevelt administration is as eye-opening as it is damning and proves, rather conclusively, that the more things change, the more they stay the same. From trumped up charges to garner support for the Spanish-American War (when Roosevelt was Assistant Secretary of the Navy and an aggressive war hawk) to waterboarding in the Philippines, the book covers some of the darker episodes in American history.
Suite Française
(reviewed October 8, 2012)
Written with a poignant urgency that vibrates through the pages, Suite Française is a book about war when the days are early and the outcome is uncertain. How long would this war go on? Sadly, Irène Némirovsky would never find out; she died at Auschwitz in 1942.
April, 1865: The Month That Saved America
(reviewed November 18, 2012)
When I finished this book, I thought, "My God, but that I should be able to write so masterfully myself." More than the story of a single month, it is the story of the choices that defined that month, as well as those that came before it and those that came after it - essentially, a synopsis of the American Civil War and a biography of all the major actors in it.
Honorable Mentions:
Devil in the White City
(reviewed January 13, 2012)
Erik Larson seems to have an especial genius for finding and depicting evil in this world (and in this book, at the Chicago World Fair). I look forward to reading whatever he writes next.
The Beauty and the Sorrow
(reviewed March 14, 2012)
Calling all Downton Abbey fans. The war as even Julian Fellowes would not dare to present it: raw, wrenching, and completely uncut. Clearly far more sorrow than beauty in this book, but a rich and fantastic read.
America, 1908
(reviewed March 15, 2012)
Evidently March was a very good month for reading. In any case: perhaps I am a bit biased because my own great-grandfather entered the world in early February of 1909, but I found it fascinating to see how this country was a century ago. I was especially enthralled by the New York to Paris automobile race...across thousands of miles of virtually non-existent roads.
Appearing in the order in which I read them originally, the best of my 2012 reading list follows:
Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine, and the Murder of a President
(reviewed February 9, 2012)
I knew virtually nothing about James A. Garfield before I read this book, but came away with a deep admiration for him, as well as deepened cynicism about the current state of politics in this country.
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
(reviewed March 13, 2012)
A lovely and fun historical fiction read set in the immediate aftermath of World War II in the Channel Islands. Yes, I hope to visit them someday.
Flyboys
(reviewed April 29, 2012)
James Bradley is the only author to appear twice on my list this year; clearly he has the touch. I had no way of knowing when I read this book last April that it would tell the story of Japanese-American relations up to and during World War II so perfectly that I would feel compelled to actually assign and teach the book to my Japanese culture class this coming spring.
The Food of a Younger Land
(reviewed May 10, 2012)
It is neigh on impossible for me to imagine an American in which ravioli is an ethnic specialty, eaten only in the homes of bonafide Italians. This book transports the reader to that place and enables one to see what we have gained in the past 80 years - and what we have lost.
The Worst Hard Time
(reviewed July 6, 2012)
Timothy Egan takes an unflinching look at the Dust Bowl and the series of calamities faced by those at its geographic center,as well as the government's role in creating the conditions that led to a decade of impossible-to-imagine drought and disaster. It seems justified to believe the end is coming when it rains mud from the sky.
An African in Greenland
(reviewed August 25, 2012)
From the lush, snake infested coast of West Africa to the snow- and ice-covered villages of Greenland, Tete-Michel Kpomassie's journey is as improbable as it is fascinating. Part memoir, part travelogue, and entirely anthropological, this book was engrossing from beginning to end. And of course now I want to visit the Arctic.
The Imperial Cruise: A Secret History of Empire and War
(reviewed October 3, 2012)
Such a secret history, in fact, that it's seldom (if ever?) taught in school. James Bradley's account of the imperialistic policies of the first Roosevelt administration is as eye-opening as it is damning and proves, rather conclusively, that the more things change, the more they stay the same. From trumped up charges to garner support for the Spanish-American War (when Roosevelt was Assistant Secretary of the Navy and an aggressive war hawk) to waterboarding in the Philippines, the book covers some of the darker episodes in American history.
Suite Française
(reviewed October 8, 2012)
Written with a poignant urgency that vibrates through the pages, Suite Française is a book about war when the days are early and the outcome is uncertain. How long would this war go on? Sadly, Irène Némirovsky would never find out; she died at Auschwitz in 1942.
April, 1865: The Month That Saved America
(reviewed November 18, 2012)
When I finished this book, I thought, "My God, but that I should be able to write so masterfully myself." More than the story of a single month, it is the story of the choices that defined that month, as well as those that came before it and those that came after it - essentially, a synopsis of the American Civil War and a biography of all the major actors in it.
Honorable Mentions:
Devil in the White City
(reviewed January 13, 2012)
Erik Larson seems to have an especial genius for finding and depicting evil in this world (and in this book, at the Chicago World Fair). I look forward to reading whatever he writes next.
The Beauty and the Sorrow
(reviewed March 14, 2012)
Calling all Downton Abbey fans. The war as even Julian Fellowes would not dare to present it: raw, wrenching, and completely uncut. Clearly far more sorrow than beauty in this book, but a rich and fantastic read.
America, 1908
(reviewed March 15, 2012)
Evidently March was a very good month for reading. In any case: perhaps I am a bit biased because my own great-grandfather entered the world in early February of 1909, but I found it fascinating to see how this country was a century ago. I was especially enthralled by the New York to Paris automobile race...across thousands of miles of virtually non-existent roads.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Vacation Reading
I've just returned from a lovely vacation which afforded me loads of time to luxuriate in good books (and also sunshine, lots and lots of sunshine). Rather than write a separate review for each of the four books I read, I figured I'd write give a quickie review of each of them here. If you want more details on any of them, just ask.
All Our Worldly Goods - Irène Némirovsky
I actually read two Némirovsky books on vacation, but preferred this one, which is similar in tone and style to Suite Française. The book is set in France between 1910 and 1940 and follows the love and life of a single couple, Pierre and Agnes, across the decades. As the book cover notes, they marry against the wishes of their family, provoking a multi-generational feud with ramifications cascading through time. (And if this weren't enough of a cross to bear, the time period covers two world wars and the depression.) Némirovsky's characters are endearing and believable and what I admire about her writing is how concisely she tells her stories. After all, she covers 30 years in only 264 pages. At times, the lack of detail can be frustrating (wait, did seven years of communal life just pass in a single sentence?), but the whole is better than the sum of the parts and I found myself caring what happened to the protagonists through the very end. That said, this book lacks the poignant urgency of Suite Française, which I ultimately preferred to either of the books I read this past week.
A Moveable Feast - Ernest Hemingway
I have been wanting to read this book ever since I finished A Paris Wife last year, and really the two go hand-in-hand. A Paris Wife takes a more intimate look at the day-to-day life of the Hemingways in Paris, and especially their relationship with one another, but A Moveable Feast paints a beautiful picture of a time and place that exists today only in literature and the imagination. Hemingway opens the book with a preface that some names, places, and faces may have been omitted or changed, but really the expatriate world of 1920s Paris is the star: F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein, Sylvia Beach, and entirely too much time imbibing wine in smoky cafes while filling reams of paper with the books that were to become a staple of many a high school's American literature courses. Turning the pages of this book, the reader can not only picture but can truly feel Paris as it was.
America, But Better - Chris Cannon
According to Amazon.com, this book is based on a "hilarious viral campaign" in which a new candidate - Canada - announces its "Canadacy" for president in 2012. I must have heard of this book during that campaign, because I added it to my list sometime last fall. It is certainly a witty and satirical look at, essentially, all the ways in which Canada is alike, and yet superior to, the United States. The book is cleverly done (although honestly the over-reliance on hockey references came to seem lazy). The first half, especially the maps and timeline of U.S. Canadian History, was probably a bit better than the second half, but at only 100 pages or so, it's worth the read for anyone looking for a bit of cynical amusement.
The Wine of Solitude - Irène Némirovsky
This is the second of the Némirovsky books I read on vacation, and although I ultimately preferred All Our Worldly Goods, I enjoyed the change of setting with this one. Unlike her other novels that I've read, The Wine of Solitude is not set (entirely) within France. The book begins in a small Ukrainian town (a fictionalized Kiev, according to the description on the book jacket), then winding through St. Petersburg, rural Finland, Helsinki, Nice, and finally Paris, it is the story of an unhappy White Russian family whose fortunes rise and fall like the world around them. Like Goods, this book covers a vast expanse of time (roughly 15 years) and weaves in the geopolitical situation with which Némirovsky herself was only too familiar. At their core, Némirovsky's works seem to revolve around a few central relationships, and Wine is no different. It is an intricately spun coming-of-age story of a mother and her daughter, a daughter and her father, the daughter and the governess, and how love, anger, jealousy, and hatred make and undermine a family. World war, revolution, and depression are the backdrop against which decisions are made, but Némirovsky gives us protagonists whose characters seemed forged (of iron) almost independently of the events around them.
All Our Worldly Goods - Irène Némirovsky
I actually read two Némirovsky books on vacation, but preferred this one, which is similar in tone and style to Suite Française. The book is set in France between 1910 and 1940 and follows the love and life of a single couple, Pierre and Agnes, across the decades. As the book cover notes, they marry against the wishes of their family, provoking a multi-generational feud with ramifications cascading through time. (And if this weren't enough of a cross to bear, the time period covers two world wars and the depression.) Némirovsky's characters are endearing and believable and what I admire about her writing is how concisely she tells her stories. After all, she covers 30 years in only 264 pages. At times, the lack of detail can be frustrating (wait, did seven years of communal life just pass in a single sentence?), but the whole is better than the sum of the parts and I found myself caring what happened to the protagonists through the very end. That said, this book lacks the poignant urgency of Suite Française, which I ultimately preferred to either of the books I read this past week.
A Moveable Feast - Ernest Hemingway
I have been wanting to read this book ever since I finished A Paris Wife last year, and really the two go hand-in-hand. A Paris Wife takes a more intimate look at the day-to-day life of the Hemingways in Paris, and especially their relationship with one another, but A Moveable Feast paints a beautiful picture of a time and place that exists today only in literature and the imagination. Hemingway opens the book with a preface that some names, places, and faces may have been omitted or changed, but really the expatriate world of 1920s Paris is the star: F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein, Sylvia Beach, and entirely too much time imbibing wine in smoky cafes while filling reams of paper with the books that were to become a staple of many a high school's American literature courses. Turning the pages of this book, the reader can not only picture but can truly feel Paris as it was.
America, But Better - Chris Cannon
According to Amazon.com, this book is based on a "hilarious viral campaign" in which a new candidate - Canada - announces its "Canadacy" for president in 2012. I must have heard of this book during that campaign, because I added it to my list sometime last fall. It is certainly a witty and satirical look at, essentially, all the ways in which Canada is alike, and yet superior to, the United States. The book is cleverly done (although honestly the over-reliance on hockey references came to seem lazy). The first half, especially the maps and timeline of U.S. Canadian History, was probably a bit better than the second half, but at only 100 pages or so, it's worth the read for anyone looking for a bit of cynical amusement.
The Wine of Solitude - Irène Némirovsky
This is the second of the Némirovsky books I read on vacation, and although I ultimately preferred All Our Worldly Goods, I enjoyed the change of setting with this one. Unlike her other novels that I've read, The Wine of Solitude is not set (entirely) within France. The book begins in a small Ukrainian town (a fictionalized Kiev, according to the description on the book jacket), then winding through St. Petersburg, rural Finland, Helsinki, Nice, and finally Paris, it is the story of an unhappy White Russian family whose fortunes rise and fall like the world around them. Like Goods, this book covers a vast expanse of time (roughly 15 years) and weaves in the geopolitical situation with which Némirovsky herself was only too familiar. At their core, Némirovsky's works seem to revolve around a few central relationships, and Wine is no different. It is an intricately spun coming-of-age story of a mother and her daughter, a daughter and her father, the daughter and the governess, and how love, anger, jealousy, and hatred make and undermine a family. World war, revolution, and depression are the backdrop against which decisions are made, but Némirovsky gives us protagonists whose characters seemed forged (of iron) almost independently of the events around them.
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