Local Girls, by Alice Hoffman (1999)
This is a fun style of novel: each "chapter" is more like a short story that could stand on its own but happens to be about the same people as all the other chapters. The timeline isn't straight and the point of view changes. Sometimes you have to guess what happens; sometimes one story leaves you hanging but another story ties up the loose ends. The main character is Gretel; we join her as she experiences first love, loses family members, embarks on her education and career. Characters are beautifully drawn and detailed; we know them and love them and we root for their happiness even if it has to be dippy or mystical.
Miracle Play, by Susan Richards Shreve (1981)
I enjoy moody, dryly humorous, gossipy books about multiple generations of an oddball family, but I know not everyone does. Such books sometimes wallow, sometimes slog around in the inner turmoil of human existence for longer than strictly necessary, sometimes leave us hanging by making us guess what the "miracle" was this family supposedly experienced. But this sort of thing is right up my alley, except for the guessing part. I even loved the section headings: "The Birth of Julia," "Under the Direction Of...," etc.--good stuff. Julia is, roughly, the main character, though we by no means spend all our time on her. We also spy on her parents, on her grandparents, on her brothers and their wives and children, on Julia's husband and children. I'm nuts for all this multidimensional exploring of endless relationship combinations.
The Afterlife Diet, by Daniel Pinkwater (1995)
I'm hungry, and I have a little crush on the author. I'm a sucker anyway for a cutie with a little something TO him, but it's a rare jewel of a man who feels the same way about women. It's easy to find a book written by a female author, saying that fat women are attractive; it's not so easy to find that sort of thing written by a man. The closest I've come before now is the occasional male author who concedes that a woman weighing more than 125 is only "hefty" rather than "obese." Several of my readers have already leapt to the conclusion that I am fat, based on the hard scientific theory that a woman who is critical of books written by friends of theirs must just be bitter and mean because she's so fat and undersexed and overcatted. Think what you like, but speaking from personal experience, a thin woman, too, can be bitter and mean and can appreciate a man who thought she could stand to gain a pound or two. Pardon me while I drift into a reverie. I'm imagining Daniel Pinkwater saying, "Heavens, no, you're cute as a bug's ear; please, eat something before you waste away to nothing. You MUST keep up your strength."
The Afterlife Diet is not so much a novel as an anthology of digressions. I think about half of it went over my head while I was swooning over dialogue such as:
-"She doesn't want to let herself go. She says she doesn't want to weigh a hundred and eighty-seven."
-"That's not heavy for a girl."
The author clearly has an impressive vocabulary; I'm guessing he also has a number of odds and ends lying around he wanted to see published. A writer, for example, is submitting manuscripts for publication--and each sample manuscript will go on for several chapters, almost completely irrelevant to the plot. The book also got a little overly linky, trying to connect everyone to everyone else until I started losing track of who was whom and missing the clever coincidences. Some of the chapters are Artistically Short (less than a page), which bugs me but I can forgive anything for an author who whispers sweet nothings about double orders of greasy entrees.
I would have liked to see more of what was, for me, the most interesting plot line: a separate heaven for fat people. I was hoping one of them would lose weight and get to go to the heaven for thin people, so we could see what that was like too. I was interested in the game of Bardo, and wanted to hear about more of the prizes and where they led. I could also have taken just about limitless pages of Dr. Alan Plotkin, Deli Psychiatrist. (If he's real, I want his number; otherwise, I see a high-profit opportunity for some enterprising psych majors.) Lose the Blint stuff and in fact the whole icky Wiley Sinclair subplot, and give us a little more of the funny diet gurus and their profitable empires.
Class Reunion, by Rona Jaffe (1979)
In high school I had a friend who fancied herself a writer in the same "trimmings only" way many people consider lives of fame: she pored over the dedications to her unwritten novels and gave much thought to her pen name, but she did very little writing. Or, as it happened, reading, which was why the plots she devised tended to be the very ones high schoolers who fancy themselves writers come up with. One such plot, I remember, was going to be four friends going to their class reunion. We were going to meet each friend in school, then find out what their lives were like 20 years later. I don't remember the specifics, but I do remember that one girl was going to be rich/popular/beautiful, one was going to be an athletic straight-talking tomboy who didn't date, one would be a poor smart girl on a scholarship . . . oh, you get the idea, I'm sure. The book was going to be called--you guessed it--Class Reunion, as is this book, and the plot is pretty much as already stated. It's fine, it's fine--I mean, the reason people think of these plots so easily and often is that they're the sorts of plots that make for good stories: lots of characters, lots of the meat of life (dating, marriages, births, careers), plenty of surprises, getting to find out right away what happened. But it's been done and done and done, and now it's tired and would like a rest. One thing that makes this particular book worth reading is that it's from 1979, which means there are gay relationships with no fear of AIDS, a shocking novelty for anyone who's grown up with AIDS education in kindergarten.
At Home in Mitford, by Jan Karon (1994)
"What do you think of the Mitford books?," "Have you read the Mitford books?," "I don't see any reviews of the Mitford books on your site." So, okay, a Mitford book. And what do I think? Well, who could dislike it? Folksy small-town charm, an apple-cheeked rector as the main character in a town where the butter is churned, the floors are heart-of-pine, the sunlight is a golden glow, and the name of every wildflower is known. Think Heidi as written by Miss Read. But as a friend insightfully notes, the book reads as if purchased at a Christian bookstore (as I'm sure it can be). One expects a certain amount of pray-for-me and answering-God's-call in a book starring a church leader, but it's sneaky the way it starts out minor and ends up with almost nothing but that. By the end of the book, every conversation is an exchange of "thanks be to God" and "leaving it entirely in God's hands." Furthermore, the town favors the King James Version of the Bible, aka the Ye-thy-verily-hath Version. Beautiful for a sermon; a bit much for a chat about the garden and how kitty is faring since her surgery. Dooley, an adolescent boy whose toilet experiences are fodder for the most casual conversation, helps keep the treacle down--but when the rector develops diabetes, it is not surprising: the sticky-sweet atmosphere of Mitford would give anyone health problems. The book is genuinely good: warm, gentle, soothing fiction with no swearing or sex. I thought it was a very nice book, very nice. I might even read others, on days when the checks bounce and the fender bends and everything seems in need of the Mary Poppins touch--and when I have a shot of emergency insulin handy.
Girl With a Pearl Earring, by Tracy Chevalier (1999)
Vermeer's painting titled "Girl With a Pearl Earring" has been nicknamed The Dutch Mona Lisa because of the ambiguity of the girl's expression. This fictional account of the painting's subject seeks to discover the thoughts behind the face. It does an excellent, excellent job. The book is surprisingly tense: it artfully gives significance to even small things such as a girl's reluctance to show her hair. The girl herself, Griet, is an interesting, completely believable character, multi-dimensional and real. Too lazy to do research other than reading the book itself, I don't know how much of the story is true--but the author has me believing every word, and also wanting a print of the picture for myself.
Are Your Parents Driving You Crazy?, by Joseph A. Ilardo and Carole R. Rothman (2001)
Need I caution you that if the answer to this title is "yes," you should not leave this book lying around when your parents are due to come over? Perhaps you should make a false cover for it, just in case.
I expected that this book would have little more than a catchy title, but in fact I would call it a valuable resource. It isn't so much that the material is fresh and new (we're all familiar with saying "I feel..." instead of "You always...," and I think we know that screaming and yelling at elderly parents does little good), but the repetitive organization of it is effective at helping the reader painlessly incorporate the patterns to follow for his or her own difficult situation. For every situation you encounter, you use six problem-clarifying questions followed by six problem-solving instructions. After explaining the technique, the authors present 25 dilemmas to practice on: "My 82-year-old father wants to marry a woman he just met," "My mother treats my brother like a god, but I'm the one who does all the work," "My father wants to move in with us but my husband is against it," "My mother moved in with us and it's not working"---things like that. The twelve clarifying/solving elements are relentlessly followed, over and over again, until it becomes natural.
I appreciated the authors' matter-of-fact addressing of certain touchy elements of problems, such as the urge to be the "better child" by taking on more of the care, or the worry that a parent might spend all of one's inheritance; better still, these things are listed without comment, rather than muddied up with a lot of cloying "you can't control your feelings" or "it's okay to feel this way." I also liked their emphasis on the fact that in many cases, a parent's behavior might be annoying but not something that the child should be trying to change; for example, it might drive you crazy that your wealthy mother is scrimping every penny unnecessarily, but just because she's elderly doesn't mean she can't make her own choices about how to live. On the other hand, the book is frank about there being a point where the child needs to step in and assist, such as if that same wealthy mother is losing weight rapidly because she won't spend money on food. It's a fine line between caring for your parents and babying them, and the authors find the line and stick to it consistently.
Big Stone Gap, by Adriana Trigiani (2000)
For readers who dislike reading about twang culture, it will take a few pages to get into this book. The characters have names such as "Sweet Sue" and "Iva Lou," and they say things such as "I done figured that" and "God-a-mighty" and "I'm goin' to git me a man." Persevere, however, and it will all slip away. Ave Maria is in her mid-thirties, a pharmacist in a small, ma'am-sayin', grits-eatin' town in Virginia. Her parents have both died, and her mother has left her a note bearing distressing news. This year will be an active one for Ave Maria, who is going to be spending some time fighting off marriage proposals, disposing of her worldly goods, traveling overseas, and meeting relatives for the first time. We may not agree with Ave Maria that "because he loves me" is a good enough reason to love someone, but we still want her to end up with the guy.
After the Reunion, by Rona Jaffe (1985)
This painful sequel to Class Reunion (see review, above) picks up the story of Emily, Annabel, Daphne, and Chris five years after their 20th college reunion. Whereas the first book involved run-of-the-mill soap opera fodder (homosexual husband, cheating husband, nervous breakdown, pseudo-perfect marriage that is actually rife with problems, disabled child, etc.), this one struggles to find even more hideous ground. I had to stop reading because it was too awful. Can anything go right for these poor women? Okay, so Annabel has it pretty good, no one is denying that. But for god's sake, do the other three women have to have every problem ever invented? I found the scenes with Emily's husband disturbing and revolting, and when we turned to Daphne's new horrible crisis, it was too much to take and I closed the book. I think it's likely that if I were to continue reading, I would discover resolution and happiness, but I don't care. I had a stupid NIGHTMARE over this stupid book, so it can go hang. Some people do presumably live into their 40s without watching their lives shatter around them, but you'd never know it from reading Rona Jaffe.
Change Me Into Zeus's Daughter, by Barbara Robinette Moss (1999)
First, class, I would like you to notice that Barbara Robinette Moss has correctly made the word Zeus possessive by adding an apostrophe-s. She has not become confused by that final s, as many are, and made it "Zeus' "--or worse, and I have actually seen this happen: "Zeu's."
I think it's likely that this memoir has accomplished the author's stated purpose, which was to heal old wounds. If it hasn't healed them, it has at least aired them for all to see. The question, then, is: What is the purpose of READING this book? It's hard to say. This is a pitiful story about seven children brought up in a home with an alcoholic, abusive, neglectful father and a passive mother who allows it. First the children are being shot at, then molested, then starved, then slapped, then evicted, then beaten, then forced to get up at 3:00 in the morning to clean the house. Then their Christmas presents are sold for beer money and their few dear possessions are burned or thrown into the mud. If you're waiting for the good news, it's only that eventually all the children grow up.
The writing is good and the story vivid, but perhaps before embarking into the tunnel you could consider what you hope to dredge out.
Comfort Woman, by Nora Okja Keller (1997)
"Comfort women" are Korean girls forced into unpaid prostitution by the Japanese army during World War II. The Japanese apparently had a theory that the Koreans were a different species, and that Korean women were "made for" this sort of thing--unlike Japanese women, who were pure. Girls barely into puberty were enslaved in cubicles, receiving one soldier after another until they actually died from being raped day in and day out. It is possible that this book will cause readers to have lingering feelings about Japanese men.
One such comfort woman escapes, marries a missionary, and becomes an American. It does not surprise any of us that Akiko has regular psychotic episodes. Her daughter, Rebecca, learns at an early age to care for her mother during these times. It is fortunate that the two become acquainted with Reno, a woman who hires Akiko despite frequent inabilities to work, and also finds a way for them all to profit from Akiko's episodes.
This book falls into two categories: Horrifyingly Traumatic Asian Experience (e.g., Amy Tan books), and Mother-Daughter Relationships. Told in the voices of both Akiko and Rebecca, the book relates Akiko's difficulty reconciling her past and present lives, and Rebecca's struggle to live a normal life herself after spending her childhood dealing with her mother's madness. It's a disturbing, distressing, mesmerizing book.