The Last Time They Met, by Anita Shreve (2001)
This is not a book for people who like to know what's going on. This is a book for people who like convenient "It was all just a dream"-type endings to difficult plotlines. (This is not exactly what happens with this ending, but it is close enough to warn you what to expect.) It is also a book for people who enjoy other people's endless vacation stories: I suspect that Anita Shreve spent some time in Africa and was looking for an excuse to tell us all about it. When the Africa-based scene began, I thought, "This book will be a lot better when they're out of Africa." More than 130 pages later, we emerge from the sea of African politics and African culture, all of which was completely unessential to the storyline and merely distracted from it.
The gimmick is this: we start when the characters meet at age 52, and we work backwards through all their meetings until they meet for the first time at 17. If the timeline moved in the usual direction, the story would generate almost no interest at all. We are expected to take it for granted that the two main characters have a special kind of love, but I saw no evidence of that. We are expected to be tense as things that happened in the past are alluded to and later finally revealed, but I felt only annoyance at being teased. As I neared the end, I did feel the inclination to begin again at the beginning--but after reading the ending, I felt the inclination to fling the book out the window. It is not pleasant to be deliberately tricked.
Until the Real Thing Comes Along, by Elizabeth Berg (1999)
With each Elizabeth Berg book I read, I fall more in love with the author. I want to be her BEST FRIEND!!! Sorry, sorry, she's just that kind of author. It hardly matters what the plot is, but in case you're interested, in this one a woman is in love with her gay male best friend. They have a brief relationship before he realizes he's gay. Later, in their 30s and still close friends, they both feel as if they will never find someone to marry and start a family with. They decide to have a child together, and even move in together and move somewhere else to try to live "a normal life."
I have a favor to ask of my male readers. Would you try an Elizabeth Berg book and tell me what you think? My female friends and relatives feel the same way I do about her: that she reads our minds, that she knows how we think, that she says what we didn't know we wanted to say, and so forth on and on like that. I made the mistake of saying so to all my male friends and relatives, and now none of them are willing to read any of the books, fearing the books are too girly and emotional. I need to know if these books are truly only for women, or if men can identify/enjoy as well. Come on, guys, try one. Then write me, if you would, please (krysdam@yahoo.com), and tell me what you thought.
Thursdays at Eight, by Debbie Macomber (2001)
Like many books in the all too often sadly mediocre category of "women's fiction," this one starts with the appealing but usually lame plot device of a group of female friends. Each friend is at best 2-dimensional, representing a type rather than a person. In this case, there's Clare, recently divorced by her husband of 23 years; Liz, widowed and about to learn to love again; Karen, young and idealistic; and Julia, having it all with successful business, children, and so forth. We stay with these people through one year, which is about all I could stand of any of them. The dialogue is made-for-TV, full of "amazed" and "miracle baby" and "I never realized I could..." and "incredible blessing" and "go ahead, let it out." The group friendship is cloyingly perfect, with everyone understanding everyone better than each understands herself. Each woman learns to understand herself, too. The ones who find New Love find it with irritatingly perfect men ("he really listens, he really cares for my needs" and the like). Any men who seem imperfect (creating an exhaustingly overused animosity/attraction situation) are revealed to be merely hiding an inner hurt. Anyone with children is amazed by each child's insight into situations; all such so-called insight could be printed on a greeting card. The women's insights into themselves are similarly trite and silly, making me dislike the entire female sex with their self-indulgent whining about "time for ME" and "it's a gift to myself" and "I decided to treat myself" and "I never stopped to think about what I wanted" and so on. A supposedly pithy quote begins each chapter; and while these particular quotes are admittedly better than the sort that scream "English major!," (i.e., indecipherable Old English poetry quotations) the practice is annoying and pretentious. Unnecessary emphasis is placed on each woman's breakfast order, which is mentioned each time they meet as if it gave us a window into their souls. We leave the women chatting in their cozy little group; the music swells as the camera lifts away, showing them from above, perhaps--laughing, loving, and living. Give me a break.
Mahogany Row, by Wayne J. Keeley (2001)
Note to aspiring writers: sometimes it is better not to be published at all than to be published by a low-quality publisher. The typos yanked me out of the story so many times, it was difficult to concentrate on the plot. A main character's name is spelled at least two different ways throughout the book; "illusive" is used for "elusive"; quotations end and then end again later in the paragraph; words and punctuation are missing and/or wrong. "Whom" is used correctly but intrusively. Word choices are sometimes poor to the point of being incorrect: "reaction," for example, when "impulse" was what the author presumably wanted, given that the action did not take place. And a quality editor might have suggested that characters named Sherry Rainey and Terrence Raines not exist in the same book unless involved in some clever name-related plot twist.
So is the mystery any good? I can hardly say. It seemed at least passably good (the murderer was a pleasing choice, as was the victim), but it's hard to tell when I can't stay in the story because of the distracting errors. This must be why hardly anyone wants to review books from small publishers.
The Empty Café, by Michael Hoffman (2001)
I confess that I have, before now, harbored a prejudice against small-publisher-published and self-published books. It has hovered in the back of my mind that if the books were good enough, they would have been published by a larger publisher. I will not back down completely from this point of view: I have read too many books that immediately revealed the reasons for their lowly births. However, I have been shown that it is not safe to hold this prejudice across the board. The Empty Café, while difficult reading for a girl like myself who prefers her fiction entertaining and straightforward, is not fiction but literature. Possibly I would want to add the word "fine": "fine literature," yes I believe that's better. Michael Hoffman is not merely an author but a writer.
I don't want to go over the top. As I've just said, I prefer my fiction straightforward. It is frustrating to reach the end of a short story and not know what was real and what was a fantasy, not know what really happened, not be able to guess what happened next. Many people, however, feel that a book isn't worthwhile unless it leaves them wondering. Some authors, in fact, seem to think that confusion is the equivalent of depth, whereas it is my opinion that it takes a truly excellent author to wrap things up realistically without resorting to an ending that seems like an ending. Lest you be misled by this little tangent, the author does not seem to be deliberately leaving things hanging in order to seem deep; it's just that it's not all-ends-neatly-tied-up writing, and you need to be prepared for that.
In one story, a young man matter-of-factly confesses a crime to his father. In another, a woman cries out upon seeing the face of a stranger, later forgetting the whole incident; her fiancé discovers the unsettling reason for her scream. In a third, a woman considers seducing her younger brother, who does not recognize her when he sees her after 12 years of estrangement.
The seven short stories and one novella in this collection are, for the most part, the sort that will leave the reader wondering what just happened. Some are mesmerizing; I found my mouth was usually dry. Characters are vivid and soft to the touch; settings are easily imagined. Many books in the literature category have a floaty, dreamlike quality that leaves the reader unable to describe a single visual detail; not so with this book. Dialogue is rich and true, without diving over the edge into jarring dialect.
Diary of a Mad Bride, by Laura Wolf (2001)
This book is no more than it claims to be: it reads exactly like the actual diary of someone planning a wedding. Those of you who know a bride-to-be will know what to expect; those of you who don't may prefer to linger in your innocence. There is no one more self-indulgent and spoiled than a bride. This particular bride is self-aware enough to make self-deprecating remarks about her own petty behavior, but not self-aware enough to knock it off. She can't possible have a wedding on an "anorexic" budget of more than $10,000; she demands that both sets of parents cough up more money because "after all, they can afford it." She's feeding her guests for a paltry $40 each. She's having her mother's wedding dress altered for only $500. Those of you who are saying, "Geez, only $40 per guest??? What a cheapskate!" can go read another book. Those of you who know a perfectly nice wedding can be had for under $3,000 if you don't get all stupid (or under $100 if you do it the private, dignified way)---may also want to go read another book.
Several things distinguish this book from others I've read. It's the only one I've ever seen without an "about the author." Some books don't have author photos, but I've never seen one without an author biography, even one as short as "So-and-so lives in New York." Another distinguishing feature: footnotes. I liked those. Another distinguishing feature: centered, wide-margined dialogue, as if it were some sort of play written by an undergrad who needed to fill up extra pages. And along those same lines: the wedding to-do list printed over and over and over again, using up 2-3 pages each time.
Finally, Diary of a Mad Bride wins the prize for most annoying comment ever read on the subject of weddings: "But not as bad as the fools who send us gifts that weren't on our registry. How smug are people who decide they know what you want better than you do?" Where to start with an atrocious remark like that one, even from a supposedly fictional character? Registries are tacky to begin with (no one beyond the age of believing in Santa Claus should be making lists of what they want other people to pay for), though they have their place in guiding people who truly don't care about you enough to put some thought into your gift, and I will submit to the idea that they have become a cultural norm. But registries are merely suggestion lists for people at a loss (your great-grandaunt who doesn't know "what young people want these days"), not order forms that all must choose from. Just as a handwritten note always outranks a pre-printed card, a specially-chosen gift always vastly outranks choosing something by price from the registry list. I realize this is a fictional novel, but this whole wedding-gifts-as-payment-due thing makes me feel like gagging. Furthermore, it makes me hate brides, because they are nearly ALWAYS like this: just as you think they can't get any more self-absorbed and petty, they cross one more line. What's next? Outrage that "freeloading" wedding guests won't pay for their own meals and then chip in for the dress and rings?
*Pant pant* I'm sorry; really, this topic (bridal couples being "owed" everything they've ever dreamed of) just puts me over the edge. People in their 30s, totally independent, expecting their parents to pay for their weddings. Expecting engagement gifts in addition to shower gifts and wedding gifts. Expecting wedding guests to finance their mortgage. Asking for cash in lieu of "junk we can't use." Spending tens of thousands on a party to celebrate themselves. This is revolting behavior from people supposedly mature enough to get married. No wonder the divorce rate....
...Again, I apologize. This book is not solely to blame for the cultural situation that turns me so unattractively choked and purple, so I'll lay off and go have a nice little drinky. My review, in short, is this: if you are a bride yourself, or if you are dying to know what it would be like to be friends with a bride, you will love this book. Everyone else will be partly entertained, partly amused, and partly nauseated by the depths to which human nature--even of nice, normal people--can descend. The book IS well-written. It IS insightful and appealingly self-aware at times. It IS funny. I feel I must give it its due, after scorching it with my wrath.
One more comment (I just can't seem to stop) for brides-to-be who get no farther than this fictional bride did in the Name Debate. There is at least one other option: you can replace your middle name with your maiden name and your maiden name with your husband's name (Amy Sarah Thomas marries Stephen Stewart and becomes Amy Thomas Stewart). You can, furthermore, use your married name socially and your maiden name professionally; it's perfectly legal--in fact, your maiden name is always yours to use legally, however many times you marry, as long as you're not using it for deceptive purposes.