Passage, by Connie Willis (2001)
Stunningly good, tense on many levels, startling ideas. It's science fiction, and what a pleasant surprise to find a contemporary book of that genre free of female warriors in leather studded bikinis, hair flowing freely behind them in a torrent as a gigantic sword is brandished. Bringing some science back into things, Connie Willis writes a book that, while technically science fiction, begs for more categories: medical thriller, suspense, horror, even perhaps some sort of spiritual something or other. Dr. Joanna Lander (thank you for not naming her Kate; I can't take one more spunky heroine named Kate) joins forces with Dr. Richard Wright to investigate the causes of near-death experiences, hoping to find a way to use such experiences to revive patients. That's all I can tell you, except that you should not plan to read this on vacation or you won't get out to see those enticing tourist attractions. Also that I sobbed--SOBBED--through an entire long section.
A Theory of Relativity, by Jacquelyn Mitchard (2001)
If I concede that fiction can and even should be about almost any topic that affects anyone, can I then go on to say that I don't read fiction hoping to be overwhelmed with rage and grief and nothing else for 351 pages? After 100 pages or so of someone else's awful, impossible, hopeless situation, where one side is absolutely black whereas the other side is absolutely white, I start feeling like I'm watching one of those TV movies "based on a true story," where typically a divorced woman with a heart of gold is fighting to get custody of her children from her child-molesting, wife-beating, kitten-kicking ex-husband, and of course the judge is a man so he's on the ex-husband's side and breaks laws left and right for his own chauvinistic purposes, and all the lawyers are working against her, and this poor woman stands in the middle of it all, tears streaming down her face as she speaks in the courtroom on behalf of all the women who have ever........I think you get the idea. I realize stark injustice exists, but it seems as if it's completely black and white only when we hear just one side of the story. And unrelieved awfulness, one thing going terribly wrong after another as two sides of a family battle to have custody of a small orphaned baby, is too hard to take when there is nothing, NOTHING but the awfulness. No breaks as we pursue a positive side-plot, no breakthroughs as we get closer to a happy resolution, just terrible icky people saying terrible icky things to nice loving people who have been through enough already. Jacquelyn Mitchard's writing is excellent as usual, but even the saddest, darkest plots need touches of happiness and light, if only for contrast.
The Nature of Water and Air, by Regina McBride (2001)
I don't know how I ended up with this book in my library bag: I don't like poetry and I like my fiction literal, so a book described as "lyrical" three times on the back cover alone is a book that stays on the shelf. But there it was, and I had nothing else to read, and so I read it. It was indeed lyrical. Like most lyrical books, it was broody and dreamy and sad and a little twisted. The characters are never happy; their moods range from a low point of suicidal depression to a high point of being deeply moved by beauty. The subject matter is dark and a little icky: adolescent sexuality, suicide, incest, ghosts.
September, by Rosamunde Pilcher (1990)
I read another book by Rosamunde Pilcher back in 1998 (see review if interested), and "I didn't much like it" sums it up. After much persuasion from other readers, I gave her another try. September is significantly better than Coming Home, but still no great shakes. The plot was predictable and drawn out, with unnatural emphasis on how everything came to a head in the month of September. Considering that the things coming to a head lacked the necessary tension to make the reader care very much, the significance was lost. Still, as I said, much better than Coming Home, probably worth reading if you want something that treads the fine line between "light" and "lite." Certainly it was improved by the lack of endless eye-color descriptions, if nothing else.
The Mermaids Singing, by Lisa Carey (1998)
I like books written with a narration team, books that flip back and forth from one point of view to another; I also like Irish accents. On the other hand, I've had my lifetime fill of reading about adolescent sexual longings, so this book is a toss-up. Fifteen-year-old Gráinne's mother dies, and Gráinne goes to Ireland to live with the grandmother she thought was dead. All three women tell their stories of, unfortunately, adolescent sexual longings--but also of other, more palatable topics.
Niagara Falls All Over Again, by Elizabeth McCracken (2001)
Written from the point of view of an old man who was once half of a famous WW2-era comedy team, this book is in turn funny and poignant. I appreciated the way the author gave fair warning before a tragic event such as the death of a child: pay attention to her cues and it won't be so hard. This was the sort of book I wasn't desperate to get back to, but while I was reading it I enjoyed it very much. It rings absolutely true: hard to believe it's not a real autobiography. Interesting insights into the word of vaudeville and performance arts, and an interesting character study of two very different comedians.
The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference, by Malcolm Gladwell (2000)
Fantastic book about how trends get started, how children's television has become so effectively educational, and which people are particularly important in persuading others to do/buy things. It's a fast, entertaining read that gives plenty to think about.
As Long as She Needs Me, by Nicholas Weinstock (2001)
When I noticed that the narrator of this novel was an editorial assistant, and that the author had worked in that position not once but three times, I was ready to put it down: books containing a narrator working in the field the author worked in before being published tend to be bitchy and snide. Indeed, the narrator is an angelic, competent man who babysits his hideous boss and does all her work for her; and the boss is a raving lunatic as stupid as she is loud. Nevertheless, the book manages to capture characters so splendidly even as it exaggerates (one assumes) for effect, that the overall message is not bitchy or snide but funny and clever. Oscar, the assistant, is put in charge of planning his boss's wedding. It's fortunate that Oscar has ten years' experience with this woman so that he manages to carry on even when she considers his domain even such details as who is to be invited and what day the wedding is to be. Manfully, Oscar digs in and begins planning. Along the way he encounters a woman named Lauren LaRose, a wedding columnist who helps him with some of the sticky decisions. Because the wedding is a big secret for publicity reasons, Lauren LaRose gets the incorrect impression that Oscar is the one getting married. If at any point during this book you think to yourself, "Hey, I'll bet I know where this is going," you are almost certainly correct. Dialogue and character sketches are masterful; the plot is fun and satisfying.
It's sad that where I used to give warnings only for extremely controversial topics not everyone would enjoy encountering by surprise, I now feel the need to warn that part of the book takes place in a World Trade Center tower. It's not the author's fault, of course, since the book was published before the tragedy--it's only bad luck.