Tag: Female writer

LONG ISLAND COMPROMISE by Taffy Brodesser-Akner

God I loved this book. It is a family drama about the long term impact of a kidnapping, but who cares what it was about. It was the kind of book that as soon as I open it I know I am going to like it; it basically deletes you out of your life for hours at a time. Enjoy this, about an aggrieved woman about to give the eulogy at her mother’s funeral:

. . . Marjorie, who was normally a seismograph for people’s regard of her, had quickly become drunk on the wide-scale pronouncement of the category of grievances she frequently referred to (in crowds smaller than this, mostly gathered on folding chairs in a circle) as ‘her truth.’

The category of grievances that were her truth. LOL!

I loved the pull of the plot, but almost more I loved the weird freedom of the narrative voice. I’ll end with her describing some McMansions:

. . . And the details were atrocious: curling wrought-iron gates and shutters that couldn’t possibly work and stone-ish siding and my god, the columns: Corinthian, Doric, Ionic, tragic.

Now here is a separate paragraph just for the doors. The doors on these homes were huge. . .

THE FUTURE by Naomi Alderman

This is a fun novel in which the near future is densely imagined. I was not so much sold on the plot, which for me was a bit too close to wishful-thinking. If I was to summarize reductively, it pushed the idea that if we could just get control of Big Tech we could somehow solve the climate crisis.

I am not sure anything can solve the climate crisis at this point. I just hope we can hold on till human population peaks in 2100 and then it somehow heals itself as our species begins to decline back down to more rational numbers. In any case, I admired the density of the imagining, and loved some of the ideas. Try this:

“. . . . the sun will go supernova and boil the seas and we’re just one stinking species and species live and die, that’s what we do. There’ll be no audience and no final judgement and no redeemer is going to liveth and no one will come along at the end of the show and tell us our score and what we could have won.”

I like that idea, that I’ll never find out about the wonderful alternate life I could be living if only I’d made better choices.

ALL FOURS by Miranda July

I’m not sure I’ve ever read a book about the menopause before, but here we are.  Enjoy this, the protagonist on her age, which is in many ways the central problem of the book:

“I was no closer to being sixty-five than twenty-five, but since time moved forward, not backward, sixty-five was tomorrow and twenty-five was moot.  I didn’t think a lot about death, but I was getting ready to.  I understood that death was coming and that all my current preoccupations were kind of naïve; I still operated as if I could win somehow.  Not the vast and total winning I had hoped for in the previous decade, but a last chance to get it together before winter came, my final season” 

‘The vast and total winning,’ we’ve all been there, LOL. 

She decides to go on a roadtrip from California to New York, which her husband thinks will be a good challenge for her.  About a half hour in, she checks into a motel and just impulsively decides to hang out and decorate the room.  She doesn’t tell her husband.  This part I loved.  The protagonist feels no need to explain or pathologize why she is doing it: she just follows her impulse. I found this wonderfully fun and free-ing.  She then SPOILER ALERT falls for a young guy who works at the local Hertz.  At this point, things get a bit more predictable, as we get into how she navigates having an open relationship.  I found this part a bit slow, maybe because it’s a story I feel I’ve heard a few too many times before.  Poly people are much like vegans in being overly willing to tell you all about it.   But even this was enlivened by the intense amount of menopause and more general midlife panic she weaves in.  It shows how few women have really been allowed to write across history, that this experience should be so rarely described.  I love the idea that it might be an opportunity to be more free, possibly even wildly more free.  Though I’m not sure I’m signing up for an affair with the car rental guy. 

GREEN DOT by Madeleine Gray

Here is how this book begins:

“For some years of my twenties I was very much in love with a man who would not leave his wife.  For not one moment of this relationship was I unaware of what every single popular culture representation of such an arrangement portended my fate to be.

Having done well in school but having found little scope in which to win things since then, it is possible that my dedication to this relationship was in fact a dedication to my belief in myself – that I could make a man love me so much that he would leave what he had always known, all his so-called responsibilities, purely to attain my company forever.  I offered nothing but myself, you see.”

That, in two paragraphs, is what the book is about. It is pretty sad, overall.  Especially sad is the lack of cynicism of the man, who does genuinely seem to love her and to suffer over his inability to choose. 

As the author points out, one reason she got so interested in him was because she had no other interests.  This part, perhaps unfairly, I just found annoying. Here she is on how all her old schoolmates are getting jobs:

“Obviously we would all need money to feed and house ourselves when school was over; I didn’t not forsee that.  Maybe for most of us this would mean having to do stuff for companies or whatever happened in business. KPIs? P&Ls? Circling back? But why were we all talking like the way we wanted  to subsist was via indefinitely spending most of our waking hours doing something with very little relation to the formation and development of ourselves, a development which, until this point, we’d been told by our teachers and parents was very important?”

It is a bizarrely youthful contempt for a whole huge aspect of the human experience, which is world of commerce.  A not unimportant part of the world, if you happen to live in late capitalism.  And she does, oh god she does.  Here she is having lunch one day:

“Eating this dry sushi, I am utterly dejected”

So she has standards as to the wetness of her sushi but somehow still feels she should not be weighed down by such petty matters as making an income. 

It was a gripping story of terrible choices and I enjoyed it. 

SMALL FRY by Lisa Brennan-Jobs

To say this is a memoir by the daughter of Steve Jobs does the book a disservice. It certainly is that, and you do learn some scuttle-butt about Steve Jobs (who does seem to be a really weird guy), but what is mostly interesting is the very real, detailed effort to re-create a specific childhood.

It is a real mystery of the memoir form how any life – no matter how foreign – told with enough specificity, becomes relatable. This specific child was born to a pair of hig school sweethearts. The mother decides to keep her, and is a loving parent, but also struggles very much with what she has given up in doing so. The father eventually accepts paternity after a DNA test, and agrees child support amounts just days before a little computer company he founded goes public, making him a multi-millionaire.

This makes it sound like a bitter book, but it’s not really. I enjoyed it.

FUNNY STORY by Emily Henry

This is fun genre romance. I have never been much of a reader of genre fiction, but I like this lady Emily Henry. She writes quick, funny novels that make a vacation fly by. She is an enormous best seller, and I was interested to read how she thinks about the ‘romance genre’ tag. See below, from CBC. It is continually weird that somehow Stephen King (genre: thriller) is so much more respectable than any female genre writer I can think of

For Henry, it’s important to call herself a romance writer because she’s tired of people looking down on the genre and dismissing its value. 

“There is still a lot of snobbery around the genre and I find it really bizarre because it’s one of the very few genres that is so centered on women,” she says. “Obviously, it’s not just for or about women, but the authorship is dominated by women, the readership is dominated by women and I just don’t think it’s really a coincidence that it’s the genre that gets dismissed so readily…. Romance is so significant because it values women’s stories.”

ADVENTURES IN MASHONALAND by Rose Blennerhassett and Lucy Sleeman

Clearly I did not really understand what total ballers some Victorian woman were.  This book is the first-person account of some young nurses who decided to come to Mashonaland in the 1890s, and it is some hair-raising stuff. I thought they were all at home wearing corsets and having vapours, but apparently not. 

This was when Florence Nightingale had made nursing acceptable for Victorian women, and what I got from this book is that girls who wanted out grabbed this opportunity with both hands. In this case, the nurses are asked to go to Mashonaland when there is no road or train, and after various efforts by boat, (and being abandoned by the Bishop), they get tired of waiting and decide to walk – from Beira!  Here is a discussion with the various men telling them not to try it:

No women he had known had ever walked in Africa; even men found it trying, and sometimes died on the way.  We told our excellent advisors that we could only  die once, and that dying was just as disagreeabale in a room as on the veldt.  If women had never walked in Africa there was no reason why they should not begin

It’s an extraordinary walk, and when they get there the hospital is hardly a hut.  They spend two years dealing with ‘fever’ (I assume malaria?), and with all kinds of other wild problems, lions, etc.  One of them finds someone to marry.  I liked this line:

Africa is the land of the unforeseen. . . ‘Questions,’ ‘wars,’ ‘difficulties’ spring up at an instant’s notice.

So true still today, though we call them ‘challenges.’  So tough are the conditions that when the next batch of nurses arrive to take over (a road having been built) half of them turn around and go back to Beira! 

An amazing story of people leading big crazy lives against the odds.

SALLY IN RHODESIA by Sheila McDonald

If you are from London, you have many books about past life in your town. If you are from Harare, not so many, in part because Harare is just that little bit younger than London.  This is a book created out of letters sent home by a young wife after moving to what was then Salisbury in 1909, shortly after the city’s founding. 

I am struck by how very little seems to have changed.  People are in and out of each other’s houses, without calling in advance; people take pride in not being thrown by accidents and emergencies (I am not quite Rhodesian yet, she confesses at one point, when she weeps after an unplanned 10 mile hike with a baby); and people love a little drink at sunset.  ‘I’ll never think of Salisbury without the sundowners,’ she says, and 110 years on it’s still the case.  Her mother, who she wrote the letters to, was obviously worried about her moving from England to the colonies, and the letters are remarkable for the enthusiasm with which she adopts her new country.  I guess pioneers are self-selecting.

I was also very interested to learn that Rhodesian women were thought to be ‘fast.’  She assures us this is the wrong impression (sadly I agree). Apparently it comes form a book called VIRGINIA AMONG THE RHODESIANS, which was a huge hit.  I am naturally in hot pursuit of a copy to find out that hot 1900s goss

A YEAR ON EARTH WITH MR HELL by Young Kim

The review I first read about this book was illustrated with a photo of a young Asian woman holding the hand of a much older European man.  The review spent much time discussing whether or not the book is revenge porn, and to my surprise the pornographer is in fact the young woman.

Basically, the guy was married, and had an affair with this lady, and this is the story of that affair.  This is all sounds very salacious but in fact for a book with really a lot of sex in it, it is remarkably straightforward.  There’s a lot of chat about what she wore, and when he did or not text her back.  It was drafted in real-time, as the relationship was happening, which gives it an interesting kind of immediacy.

What I found especially interesting was what this lady did for a living, which, as far as I can tell, was nothing too much.  She had previously been with another much older man, Malcolm McLaren, who she met when she was a student at Yale, and after his death (about which she is clearly heart-broken) she mostly curates his artistic legacy.  She spends her year going between New York and various European capitals, having dinners, going to openings, and wearing designer shoes. I tried not to think the word ‘parasite,’ as of course that is uncharitable.  I guess I like my artists starving.

HELP WANTED by Adelle Waldman

It is striking how few novels there are about the world of work. I wonder why that is? Work is the place where most people spend most of their adult lives, and yet somehow it doesn’t seem to qualify as literary content. Maybe it’s because jobs are too specific? Or maybe on some level we are don’t feel that they are our ‘real’ lives, and so don’t deserve real consideration? In any case, here is one. It’s about the team that unloads boxes at a lowbrow department store. It’s enjoyably about the mechanics of the work (not easy) and about their efforts to get rid of their noxious boss by getting her promoted away from them. It’s unavoidably also about how stressful and precarious it is to work a minimum wage job in the US. This aspect of it veered a little awkwardly close to education/lecture/etc, but Waldman is a good enough writer that the book survives all the same.

As side note on the author. Waldman’s first and only other book was the magnificent THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF NATHANIEL P, a brilliant evocation of a literary Brooklyn, which I have read multiple times. That was however overa decade ago; apparently the author did not write another because (to her own surprise) she did not have any other ideas. It’s funny how minds work.