Mystic River, by Dennis Lehane (2001)
From time to time I enjoy reading a little macho dialogue, and this one book has just about filled my quota for the year. Practically every character is someone who "shouldn't be f***ed with." The cops do their macho good-guy talk, and the criminals do their macho bad-guy talk. Unlike the macho talk in most movies, however, this is of a superior grade: the feeling is of real dialect, not of testosterone sculpted into tough-guy talk by a wannabe.
Three boys, about 11 years old, are playing together in the street when a cop-like car pulls over and a cop-like man climbs out to reprimand them. The cop-like man orders one boy to get into the car to be taken home. Perhaps it is already clear to you what all those "-like"s are leading up to: it was not a cop car, it was not a cop, and that little boy is in for four days of unspecified activities before he escapes. Thank you to Dennis Lehane for not going into unnecessary child-abuse details, instead telling us only what we needed to know to follow the plot.
Skip forward 25 years. One boy is now a cop, one boy is now a reformed criminal, and one boy is now a average sort of guy who regularly suppresses the damage done to him when he was 11. When the reformed criminal's 19-year-old daughter Katie is murdered and his old friend is one of the officers assigned to the case, the unpleasant possibility arises that the third friend, the one who was kidnapped, may be involved. The tension stays steady throughout, mixing the good-guy-bad-guy stuff with genuinely good themes of friendship, marriage, and parenting. Make it into a movie and we might have something couples can go to together.
The resolution is pleasing, in that it explains everything, and also displeasing, in that it reveals the way small things here and there can lead up to something enormous. The only thing I wished for was an assurance that Brendan, fiance of Katie, and Michael, son of Dave Boyle, had some hope for happiness in their future.
The Dying Animal, by Philip Roth (2001)
Why would anyone want to read the narration of a lecherous old man whose proud world view includes the theories that married people are ridiculous and imprisoned; that any man professing himself happy with wife and children is deluded and/or deluding; that mid-sex is the only time anyone is purely, cleanly himself (actually, he uses the f-word so we won't mistake it for an act including either love or procreation); that having sex with everyone you feel like having sex with is the only self-respecting way to live; that being sexually free is the intellectually superior way to be; that wanting either marriage or family is primitive and intellectually inferior; that of course this means you should abandon any children you may conceive, because you can't be sexually free with children around; that women trick men into marriage and family; that men who have been thus trapped should of course leave the wife and children if they have the slightest inclination to have sex with younger/more women. I am without words to describe this icky withered dinosaur of a creature.
So why WOULD anyone want to read this idiot geezer's theory that ripe young girls should have sex with him? Because at the end, there's a hint of something else. I was left wondering if he really felt this way or if it was an attitude he was striking; he says one thing, but then he does another. That little gleam of hope isn't worth putting up with all his crap, though.
The Glass Lake, by Maeve Binchy (1995)
The Glass Lake is the story of Kit, whose miserable, movie-star-like mother disappears one day from the family's small town of Lough Glass. The book is half Classic Maeve Binchy Tale of Growing Up, as Kit and her friend Clio struggle to do so. The other half of the story concerns a middle-aged woman named Lena, who is dating a Classic Maeve Binchy Bad Boy: a charmer and a cheater, a man who can be kept only through strategies and suppressions (fans will notice that Louis Grey is a lot like Johnny Stone from Light a Penny Candle). Lena and Kit turn out to be connected through Kit's lost mother, and they begin an unusual correspondence. Sadder than most, The Glass Lake is not one of my top favorite Maeve Binchys--but of course I still recommend it.
Empire Falls, by Richard Russo (2001)
It would not have taken me so long to get into this fabulous book if the first 16 pages hadn't been in italics. I find italics difficult to read, especially for long sections. Unfortunately, there are also about six more long sections of italics later on.
Never mind. It's rare to find a book so fascinating. Miles Roby runs a little restaurant in Empire Falls, Maine, and hopes to own it one day when Francine Whiting, the town's rich old bat, kicks off. Miles's wife Janine, freshly interested in aerobics and sex after twenty years of marriage, is divorcing him. Miles's brother, David, may be getting back into the drugs that caused his maiming accident years ago. Miles's daughter, Tick, is struggling with the problem of being unpopular in high school---or, if she chooses to date the school bully, popular in a way she's not sure she wants. The bully, meanwhile, is getting out of hand, especially in his treatment of a boy named John Voss, a boy whose parents abused and then abandoned him.
You might be getting the impression that this is a grim, dismal book. Heavens no. Many lines of dialogue and of narrative had me laughing out loud, and the characters are for the most part warm and real. Their problems are intriguing and it doesn't take long before the reader feels invested in the solutions. Flashbacks (the italics) gradually reveal and then solve several town and personal mysteries. After the shaky start (because of the italics), the book fits snugly in the "hard to put down" category of good fiction.
However, I need to warn you that there are disturbing themes, particularly at the end, mostly surrounding that abused boy John Voss. The bully, too, can be upsettingly cruel, and the bully's dad is a corrupt cop. There is mention made of several men who try to kill their wives, and there is one graphic tale of animal abuse. I hope these things won't keep you from reading the book, but they did disturb and stay with me for days after finishing the book.
Facing the Wind, by Julie Salamon (2001)
A true story about a man who killed his wife and three children with a baseball bat would normally be too daytime television for my tastes, but I'd read another reviewer's report that it was one of the best books of the year--so, okay. In the first fifty pages, I decided four times that I was not up to reading the book; each time, I changed my mind and went back to it. I felt queasy all the way through, sometimes because of the plainly disturbing nature of the crime, sometimes because of the attitude of a man who couldn't believe people didn't realize he "wasn't responsible" for killing four people.
The author is spectacularly adept at guiding us through this shuddery tale without succumbing to the temptation to sensationalize. At around the time I would begin to get sick of reading about how Robert Rowe felt he'd been "proven innocent" (loose talk for a former lawyer) by reason of insanity, the book would shift focus to others who felt the same way I did. The author did not portray Bob Rowe as a murderous beast, nor did she ask us to like the guy. I'm not sure she could possibly have presented the details and facts more fairly: we are made to feel compassion and understanding (for parents of handicapped children in general, and for Bob Rowe specifically), but we are also struck cold by the step-by-step description of what Robert Rowe did and said on the day he called his wife to come home early because he "had a surprise" for her (her children were already dead, and when she arrived home he killed her too). For me, it was almost as bad to read what his said in later years about his "innocence"--saying he wasn't responsible for the killings and "what the hell did people want" from him. When just a few years later Robert Rowe remarries and has a child by this new wife (34 years his junior), the author walks the reader through the question of whether he has a right to do so. By the end of the book, I had a strong opinion about the whole matter--but I didn't feel that every reader would come out of it with the same opinion, nor did I feel I knew what the author herself thought.
The sources are unusually good for this sort of book. Lucky for the world, Bob Rowe kept a diary, had his court trials recorded on video, wrote letters about his situation to many people who saved them, and left behind a widow who was willing to talk.
The Kind of Love That Saves You, by Amy Yurk (2000)
Here's your Valentine's Day reading, girls. Sentimental and weepy, this touching story is about romance, marriage, death, grief, friendship, pregnancy, and motherhood. After reading it, you will love your boyfriend/husband more, you will love your children more, you will love your friends more. Even as you try to roll your eyes at a few over-the-top moments, you will be unable to do so because of all the tears tripping you up.
The author sets us up for tragic death from the first page. Not only does she start off with an italicized introduction about losing someone you love, she goes on to introduce The Impossibly Perfect Man: he rubs his wife's feet; he brings home flowers for no reason; he paints her toenails; he slow-dances with her for hours in the living room; he wants to cuddle and talk about the future; he is touched by her tears. It's a short mental leap to realize he's toast.
Sarah and Gavin have been married for several years when they decide the time is right for a child. Gavin cuts a heart-shaped hole in Sarah's diaphragm---awwwww. They conceive right then and there. Several months into the pregnancy, Gavin is killed in a car accident. Begin weeping here and don't plan on stopping for the rest of the book.
Highly recommended for those who appreciate a cathartic cry and that feeling of "wanting to make every moment count from now on." Very good writing and riveting story. Hope to see more from this author--perhaps a sequel to check up on how Sarah is doing?
Fat!so?: Because You Don't Have to Apologize for Your Size!, by Marilyn Wann (1998)
This astonishing and revolutionary book of pro-fat propaganda is one of the most startling things I've ever read. Because I am a reviewer and not a publicist, I do not typically give information about how to purchase a reviewed book. I'm about to make a major exception, because I doubt the average library carries this one and I think you've got to read it if you've ever thought about a diet or struggled with your weight. Go to http://www.fatso.com and they'll point you in the right direction. When you follow their purchasing link, be sure to read all the reader reviews at Am*z*n.com (ethically speaking, I'm torn between my strong opinion that I should not be selling books--and my strong opinion that you should buy this one).
Not only will you love all the "love the size you are, whatever that size is" stuff (it includes naturally-skinny people as well as fat ones, but of course the emphasis is on the fat ones), you'll love all the fun stuff. There's flip-art of a fat lady semi-stripping and then dancing sassily around. There's a Venus of Willendorf paper doll with nine complete outfits. There are 12 cut-out trading cards. There are photos of naked bottoms. There are craft projects. There's an article on "fat sex" which you are allowed to read first if you want to. There's a little "how to be a fatso" suggestion at the bottom of nearly every page. There are brilliant little sketches and cartoons, quotes and statistics, funny stories and articles. I was afraid the book would be bitter or overly aggressive, but I didn't find it so. Granted, it gets a little political, but what do you expect? It's a great book, really fun and entertaining; c'mon, give it a try, I can (almost) promise you'll like it. Even you, Miss Size 2.
Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas, by James Patterson (2001)
I resented every tear this maudlin story pulled from me. It's one thing to have a tragic tale of loss and grief; it's another thing entirely to invent impossible perfection and then destroy it on purpose to elicit a meaningless reaction. I felt like I was set up. I don't want to be too hard on the book since the author's bio says the book is based on an experience he had of losing a woman he loved and starting again with a new family--but for heaven's sake! The perfect man and the perfect woman have a perfect relationship followed by a perfect, ecstatically blissful marriage and a perfect child--and then tragedy strikes. And it doesn't even make sense: why would a woman with a life-threatening heart condition drive a car? And the "twist" near the end of the tragic part is even more contrived. I didn't enjoy having my strings pulled, and I don't think you will either. Recommended only for people who want to wallow in unrealistic, soft-focus, cloying, shallow sentiment--not to mention some really lame poetry.
Red Flags!: How to Know When You're Dating a Loser, by Gary S. Aumiller, Ph.D., and Daniel A. Goldfarb, Ph.D. (1999)
So many losers, and plenty of time to meet them all. Twenty-five types of loser guys are profiled, with case studies and tests for you to take to see if your guy fits the role. (The fun thing about a library copy is that others may have taken the tests, adding comments in the margins.) The likely course of a relationship with such a man is plotted, and a suggestion is made for the best course of action to take if you want to break up. The authors' goal is to give you enough information to spot and ditch a loser within three dates, before you're painfully emotionally involved.
The metaphors are plentiful and peculiar: "Men can be bullfrogs....If you choose to share a lily pad in his pond, bring some wart cream because you will not keep his company without major outgrowths making your skin crawl." The sample dialogues are combatively, awkwardly flirtatious, reminding us all why love is war and dating sucks. Better as a reference book but also good for reading straight through, this book may be just the thing for a woman needing a stronger loser-deflecting shield. (Women already happily settled may enjoy searching the categories for ex-boyfriends.)
Eva Moves the Furniture, by Margot Livesey (2001)
The day Eva is born, her mother dies. In her stead are ghosts whose purpose in Eva's life is unclear: Are they there to guide her? to thwart her? Are they inspired coaches, or are they fickle meddlers? Eva's whole life is touched by their interference, until she is unsure how many of her decisions were her own. It's a sad book but also an intriguing one.
Queen of Hearts, by Susan Richards Shreve (1986)
In the small town of Bethany, they have their share of strange. Francesca, granddaughter of a woman who made her living by fortune-telling and, er, accommodating the needs of men, seems to see into every window and know every secret. Will Weaver, snake-collector and Francesca-worshiper, is unfortunately crazy. Prince Hal, Francesca's younger brother, never enters puberty and eventually joins the circus.
When Francesca, pregnant and engaged, catches her fiance with another woman, she gets her father's gun and ensures that this infidelity is the last. She is not caught, but pays the price mentally. Rearing her son alone, she stretches her singing and fortune-telling talents. The only life she has no insight into is her own: several times she is in serious danger but has no forewarning.
Susan Richards Shreve tells a great story, the sort you keep wanting to neglect chores for. The book is upsetting at times (rape, madness, murder, etc.), but mesmerizing throughout.
Straight Man, by Richard Russo (1997)
What I love about Richard Russo is the way he gets a dozen or so plot lines going, then puts in motion the events that will tie them all together by the last chapter. I don't even notice it at first: I'm enjoying reading about this English professor and his wife; about how their daughter is facing bankruptcy trying to duplicate her childhood home; about the professor's secretary who writes short stories; about the hopeful students assuming various "writing student" attitudes (wan, strident, whatever); about the fellow professors and their private lives. By the time the professor threatens to kill a goose for every day his department budget doesn't come through, I'm putty: laughing where I'm supposed to laugh, noting the clever details that sum up a character, admiring the author's style without losing the suspension of disbelief. At the end, the tension is high enough to keep me from other things I'm supposed to be doing. Richard Russo is my pet author this month; every time I go to the library I check his shelf. Straight Man is even better than Empire Falls (see review, above)--happier, for one thing, with good futures handed out to pretty much everyone.