One of my strongest-held beliefs is the power of fiction to increase our empathy as we inhabit others' lives. I'd go so far to say that reading fiction is, at least for now, the best way to time travel. Books have taken me to places I might eventually visit, but they have also taken me to other decades and centuries.

I read There, There, the earlier novel by Tommy Orange for which his latest, Wandering Stars, serves as both a prequel and sequel, when it first came out. Now I feel the urge to read it again, even though some parts of the novel are embedded in my brain. 

Wandering Stars starts after the 1864 Sand Creek Massacre, with the story of Jude Star, ancestor to the characters that make up most of the narrative. Orange helps to fill out the complicated history of the country's attempt to "reeducate" Indigenous children, purportedly to "Kill the Indian, Save the Man." 

The stories of extreme abuse in these boarding schools where families were forced to send their children can be found in a number of other novels. Orange follows the family lineage, picking up after the shooting at the Oakland powwow chronicled in There, There. Orange picks up with story lines of some of the characters in that story, but focuses on Orville Red Feather, now dealing with addiction to pain meds after being shot there. His friend Sean, an adopted boy who has recently lost his mother to cancer, finds through a DNA test that while he always assumed he was Black, he has a percentage of Native American blood. 

The novel deals with addiction, while examining identify and family connections. What struck me as I read, particularly since I have read such a range of books this summer, was how beautifully Orange tells the story. Even the references to the wandering stars--literal and figurative--are woven in with such a subtle hand. The book is also a reminder of the power and the necessity of reading books that make the reader uncomfortable.

Ann Patchett's Latest Novel: Tom Lake

 

I am predicting an uptick in readers of Thornton Wilder's Our Town now that Ann Patchett's new novel is out. The play is central to the novel's plot, first as Laura (who becomes Lara) decides at the last minute to try out of the role of Emily in a local production of the play after seeing the abysmal auditions of the other potential Emilys and then as she goes on to play the role in summer stock theatre in Michigan. 

Now in her late fifties, Lara is telling her three daughters, in episodes, about that experience at Tom Lake near the cherry orchards of Michigan. The three grown daughters are waiting out the pandemic at their parents' home, something Lara admits to herself she enjoys. Central to the narrative is one of her co-stars, Peter Duke, with whom she had a summer fling. Duke has gone on to achieve movie star status, leading to curiosity of her girls, particularly Emily, the oldest, who at one point believed he might have been her father.

The full role of the girls' actual father Joe, who has inherited the Nelson orchards, becomes more apparent as the story unfolds. As one would expect in a story woven around a play, Patchett has assembled a curious cast of characters--Lara's understudy Pallace, a Black dancer to whom Duke's brother "Saint Sebastian" is drawn; Uncle Wallace, a former TV star now playing the Stage Manager; Mr. Ripley, who chanced to discover Lara while watching his niece in the play and brought her to Hollywood for a movie role.

The three daughters are also distinctly rendered--Emily has been preparing her whole life to take over the family farm along with Benny, literally the boy next door. Maisie has not completed veterinary school, but the neighbors call on her for all their animal emergencies from birth to death. Nell, the youngest, wants to be an actor.

The impact of story--those we want to hear, those we are expected to tell--is an important part of the novel, including the impact of different perspectives on the interpretation of an event--or of a play. Lara says, "I learned so many things that summer at Tom Lake, and most of those lessons I would have gladly done without." 

Perhaps the most universal lesson, both for the novel and for the play it is wrapped around, is the one Patchett noted at her book launch: Life is so brief, just a piling up a little moments. Before you know it, you're in Act 3.

Ann Patchett's Latest Novel: Tom Lake

Fear Not! I'm Still Reading

 First, let me allay any fears that I have abandoned reading. Not so. I am ashamed that I have fallen so far behind on posting about my reading exploits though. I'm at that stage in my dissertation process that when I write, it's often academic. The end is in sight, though.

I may not be sharing what I am reading, but I never stop reading. I admit I have relied on audiobooks more, taking advantage of time in the car, at the gym, working around the house to listen. My latest such experience gave me a chance to hear audiobook reader extraordinaire Tom Hanks.

I had already enjoyed his reading his collection of short fiction Uncommon Types, as well as Ann Patchett's The Dutch House. While he has other actors reading parts for this newest book, The Making of Another Major Motion Picture Masterpiece, including his wife Rita Wilson, he does most of the reading, and he does it well.

We've all heard the old advice, "Write what you know." Hanks certainly followed that rule, pulling together disparate threads to weave the story of Knightshade: The Lathe of Firewall, the movie adaptation of a comic book, looking back at the late 40s childhood of the graphic artist and the uncle for whom he was named but who made himself scarce after returning from the way. In present time, readers meet Bill Johnson, the producer/director of the film, and a delightful cast of characters--literally. 

Some of the best characters in the story are women, particularly Alicia (Al) McTeer, Johnson's assistant director, whom he discovered working at a Garden Suites, and Ynes Gonzales-Cruz, a rideshare driver, who lands a job with the production. Both have found success by being good problem solvers in what might have seemed dead end jobs. Equally well-drawn are the lead actors in the film as well as such minor characters as the makeup artists, spouses, and bit actors.

While Hanks' strength is his character development, he also has a filmmaker's eye for sensory details. Lone Butte, the North California town where the movie is filmed, becomes so real, I think I could find Clark's Drug Store. He also has a knack for building suspense, but sometimes letting his characters elude disaster without use of deus ex machina. 

Most refreshing is the way characters genuinely care for one another. Yes, there are antagonists, but most often, those in power take the high road or give opportunities to people they might have overlooked, This may not be an accounting of "the making of every major motion picture," but I like to think the process could be more like the one in the story.

Fear Not! I'm Still Reading

My Reading Statistics

 Okay, so the title is a ruse. I was trying to figure the best way to introduce my constant dilemma this summer, since I am taking Quantitative Research Methods, a six-hour statistics course. I have to decide whether to read for pleasure or to read for homework. I've learned to tackle a statistics assignment and then reward myself by reading something fun. The motivation and the payoff work for me.

TJ Klune's The House in the Cerulean Sea was a recommendation from a reading friend. The protagonist Linus Baker, an employee of the Department In Charge of Magical Youth, lives an ordinary life--if you can call it that--as a caseworker, inspecting orphanages that provide housing for quite extraordinary children. Then he receives an assignment that takes him to an island by the sea--which he has never seen before. His first glimpse at the children's files is enough to make him faint. While there, he learns to champion others who don't quite fit the norm--from a garden gnome to a phoenix. 

When Linus decides to take the children on a field trip to the mainland, where he knows to expect resistance, I was reminded of Pat Conroy, in The Water Is Wide, taking the children he taught to trick or treat and then to visit D.C. I also recalled the second Harry Potter book when Dumbledore explained to Harry that one doesn't have to carry around the weight of the "sins of the father." Klune's tale also shows that how we become family doesn't always follow the expected path.

                                                                                                                                Having read Euphoria and Writers & Lovers, I knew I would want to read Five Tuesdays in Winter, Lily King's latest book. This one is a collection of short stories that really deliver. From the first story, I couldn't stop reading. The first story drew me in. The second, the title story, set in a small bookstore, was a particular favorite. Many of the protagonists are young people  --or adults reflecting on events that happened when they were younger. Sometimes, the point of view shifts a little--and always in a satisfying way. The writing is clever, and the literary references are never gratuitous. I suspect I will be thinking about some of King's characters for a long time.

Hernan Diaz's novel Trust is one of those rare reads that had me recommending it to others  before I was even finished because I knew I would want to talk about it. Diaz starts with a beautifully written story, but then he shifts to what at first seems a disconnected narrative--until it doesn't. The shift from one perspective to another, from one writing style to another, completes a story, leaving the reader with the challenge of figuring out what is true. 

The center of the narrative is the stock market crash of 1929 and those who may have manipulated trading. This is the story of a marriage or more than one story of what may be the same marriage. It is also the story of a woman charged with ghost-writing the tale, leading her to search for the full story. 

The narrative structure feels less like a gimmick and more like a puzzle, as the reader follows the threads toward the truth.

Anne Tyler's novel French Braid follows three generations (at least) of a Baltimore family. Beginning with an encounter in a train station between Serena and her cousin Nicholas, Tyler tells most of the story as a flashback. She begins in the 1950s with a family trip to a lake cabin, where readers get to know the three children of Robin and Mercy, who will go on to make up the bulk of the story. As I read, I kept wondering about Tyler's title. Although the reference is brief, its significance is a powerful observation of the way our families are always a part of us. 

The characters that populate the novel are quirky and believable. As Tyler lets them grow older, then old, they become more of themselves. The  conflicts of the novel are subtle--sibling rivalry, imperfect marriages, awkward parent-child relationships--and always mitigated by love.

I think the likelihood of my continuing to read for pleasure this summer (and all year long) is statistically significant. 

My Reading Statistics

Mixing in Some Nonfiction

I know my reading choices throw the algorithms of all those sites trying to sell me books. I'm amused that because I bought a particular textbook (Surpassing Shanghai), I am suddenly inundated by books and articles related to education in China--a month after the course ended. Of course, six years later, Pinterest is still sending me moving tips (No thank you!). I don't need their suggestions for rehearsal dinners either.

Even when the book suggestions align with my reading tastes, they come along too late. I read through saying, "Yep! I've read that one...and that one....."

All summer, I've worked some nonfiction into my fiction mix. After the aforementioned course (Comparative International Education), I re-read With Rigor for All by Carol Jago (from Heinemann Publishers). It is the best kind of publication aimed at educators: one that can immediately put to use in the classroom. I have long known Carol from all the years I attended the annual convention of the National Council of Teachers of English. She writes based on her experience "in the trenches," teaching high school English. By the way, she is also  a voracious reader whose lists I seek out. In this book, one of the main points is that when schools teach challenging literature only to the "top students," while others are assigned books they can easily read on their own, the gap gets wider. Rather than stopping with a theoretical claim, she shares strategies for guiding all students through these texts.

Another favorite book I've discovered this summer is Electric City by Thomas Hager. The main story, set near my North Alabama home, is one with which I have been long familiar: Henry Ford's failed plans to build a 75-mile city along the Tennessee River, where agriculture and manufacturing would coexist in a way to benefit the many workers who would be employed in this "new Detroit." Hagar discovered the story and found an appreciation for the people of the Muscle Shoals area during a visit where he discussed a book he had written about fertilizer. (No, I haven't read that one.) His interest was piqued and he completed the research for this fascinating book.

Another book I've recommended both to other educators and to parents of school-age children is The Smartest Kids in the World and How They Got That Way by Amanda Ripley. Interested in the P.I.S.A. results that show American students scoring far below nations with school systems as diverse as Norway and South Korea, the author visited American exchange students integrated into some of these other systems. The section of the book I found particularly interesting was the appendix, where Ripley explains how to recognize a first-class school. (Hint: watch the students, not the teachers.)

If you checked in for some fiction recommendations, hang on. I'll have those soon too. 

Mixing in Some Nonfiction

The Sound of Summer Running

Living  life on a school calendar, I have always been aware of how fast the summer goes, speeding faster as it reaches the end. I always play Alison Brown's beautiful instrumental piece "The Sound of Summer Running" in classes that first week. Even without words, it evokes that feeling. This year, I'll have to add John Prine's "Summer's End" from his last CD.

As I face creating my syllabus and reading for my classes, I realize that my time to read for pleasure will be more limited than it has been since mid-March. For that reason, I select carefully. Recently, I returned to an old favorite, perfect for summer reading, Ran Bradbury's Dandelion Wine. Written in little vignettes, the book gives readers the perspectives of brothers Tom and Douglas Spaulding, as they consider some complex matters: I am alive. Things change. People leave. We all die eventually.

Living right beside their grandparents, with a great grandmother living as well, the boys learn from others' experiences as well. As they help their grandfather bottling dandelion wine, they imagine the summer captured inside that amber liquid.

They live in that world when neighbors all knew each other, but they still faced fears and sadness.
Part reminiscence, part magic realism, the book has touched many of the students I've taught. One told me, years ago, he planned to read it every summer for the rest of his life. I hope he followed through.

Some years, I collected old bottles and corks, and we placed memories inside to set on the classroom shelves. As far as we are removed from Green Town in 1928, at the core, what remains is true.

As a side note, the title of Brown's song, "The Sound of Summer Running" is a Ray Bradbury title as well. Both, perhaps, give a nod to Andrew Marvell's "time's winged chariot."

The Sound of Summer Running

In Celebration of Summer Reading: Louise Erdrich's The Night Watchman

 

In some ways, I've lost track of time since the Covid-19 quarantine began in March. As spring gave way to summer--and it's always easy to tell the difference in Middle Tennessee--I have been able to read more and more without a trace of guilt. Summers are made for reading.

Never at a loss for a book to read, I still find myself moving back and forth between the unread books on my shelf and the ones I have popping up from my library holds. I am even revisiting Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury right now, a perfect summer book if ever there was one.

Over the weekend, I read Louise Erdrich's latest novel The Night Watchman, set in the 1950s when a bill was proposed in Washington to renege on the agreements made with Native American tribes. Thomas, the title character, works night shift as a security guard in a jewel bearing plant, sleeping maybe 12 hours a week and obsessively reading, writing letters, and gathering support for a trip to Washington to address Congress on behalf of the inhabitants of the Turtle Mountain reservation.

His niece Patrice, whom most people call Pixie--to her dismay--works at the plant to help provide support for her mother and brother, since her dad, a violent alcoholic, has left town. They haven't heard from her sister Vera, who moved to the Cities. Their dreams and visions, however, suggest she is alive but in danger, so Patrice takes a train trip to search for her.

Erdrich peoples all her novels and stories with interrelated characters, including Barnes, the white teacher who is attracted to Patrice, a pair of Mormon elders trying to make inroads with the people they call Lamanites, and the families of the reservation who practice Catholicism without abandoning their own spiritual ways and mysticism. 

The prologue and epilogue reveal that the story is based on experiences of Erdrich's own family, pointing me to a rabbit trail of research I am bound to follow. 

In Celebration of Summer Reading: Louise Erdrich's The Night Watchman

Camron Wright's novel The Rent Collector: A Favorite Book of the Summer of 2020

 I know I have a good book when, before I'm halfway through it, I'm thinking of people to whom I want to recommend it. I read some books that are quirky enough for me but are not for all sensibilities. During this summer, I have found myself reading more books that usual--and that's saying a lot. One that might not have come into my sights was a book club choice by my friend Barb. Camron Wright's novel The Rent Collector is set in a garbage dump in Cambodia, not exactly the kind of setting one would expect to be an uplifting book. Trust me; it was. 

The protagonist Sang Ly lives with her husband Ki Lim in the Stung Meanchey dump where her husband works as a "picker," going through the daily loads of trash, hunting for items of value that can be resold. Their young son Nisay is chronically sick with diarrhea, a continual source of concern. The story picks up when Ki Lim's finds include a picture book. When Sopeap Sin, the disagreeable woman who collects rent, sees the book, Sang Ly sees her reaction and realizes the woman can read. She bribes her with alcohol to teach her to read and discovers there is so much more to the woman that she could have imagined. For Sang Ly, reading is transformative. 

A story of survival, The Rent Collector is told almost in parables, as Sang Ly discovers the power of literature. The story is so beautifully told as the characters realize the power of books to change lives. Wright also demonstrates what can happen when we realize the layers that make up individuals we encounter. 

Camron Wright's novel The Rent Collector: A Favorite Book of the Summer of 2020

Louise Erdrich's Future Home of the Living God

Louise Erdrich never writes the same book twice. That should go without saying of any author, but plenty seem to write a variation of the same book over and over. (I'll not name names for diplomatic reasons.) Her most recent novel Future Home of the Living God starts as the story of a young woman Cedar Songmaker exploring her roots and meeting her birth mother. She does find it odd that as the child of a Native American mother, a non-native family had been able to adopt her, usually prevented by law to maintain ethnicity.

She meets Mary Potts, Senior. (since her own birth name was Mary Potts), Mary's husband,  and her own half sister, a troubled teenager with a drug habit whose clothing seems more like costuming.

Readers learn early that Cedar is pregnant and single, though she reveals some details about the baby's father early in the tale. Gradually, though, Erdrich's tale takes a dystopian turn, first merely suggested, and then explained for fully: Something has gone wrong in nature and evolution seems to be reversing. Not only are plant and animal life affected, but something strange seems to be happening with pregnancies and the delivery of new babies. In fact, as government control increases, pregnant women are expected to turn themselves in or to be arrested and held at special hospitals--conveniently housed in prison facilities.

Cedar is challenged to protect herself and her unborn baby, drawing on help and support--often by stealth--from both the family that raised her and the family of her birth mother. The biggest challenge is learning whom to trust, particularly as citizens are granted incentives to turn on one another.

One interesting thread in the novel comes as Cedar embraces Catholicism, the faith of her birth mother, despite her Songmaker family's agnostic or atheistic beliefs. She observes other-worldly visions by Mary Potts, Senior, and other members of her community.

Erdrich is at her best when she puts her characters into complicated situations that force them to decide between trusting themselves or the members of the network they have built around them. For someone wanting a light summer read, this isn't it; for anyone wanting to be unsettled and engaged, this is a good choice.

Louise Erdrich's Future Home of the Living God

Summer Solstice: Summer Reading

Diane Setterfield's latest novel begins and ends at the summer solstice at the Swan, a tavern on the Thames known for its storytellers. The owner Joe is in poor health but his wife Margot and their daughters (whom everyone calls the little Margots) keep the place running. Their only son Jonathan, born with Down's Syndrome livens up the place, hoping to learn to tell stories well himself.

On this particular June day, though, a man injured beyond recognition appears at the door, holding what appears to be a rag doll but is actually a four-year-old girl, presumably dead. When Rita, the local nurse is summoned to attend to the two victims, she is surprised when the girl begins to breathe again.

Having read and loved Setterfield's Thirteenth Tale many years ago, I was eager to read this one, but I struggled at first because of the many threads to the story. The girl is claimed by the Vaughans, whose daughter Amelia had disappeared from her bed two years before. His wife is so relieved to recover the girl that Mr. Vaughan hides his own skepticism about the girl's identity.

Also drawn into the tale are Robert Armstrong and his wife Bess. A large black man, Armstrong is the son of a young nobleman who fell in love with his maid. Though a marriage was out of the question, Robert was provided with support and an education. Around the time the nearly drowned girl appears, he has learned of a child of his stepson Robin and investigates to see if the girl might be his and Bess's grandchild.

Meanwhile Lily White, something of a hermit who cleans the parsonage, believes  (quite improbably) the drowned girl was her sister Anne.

As Setterfield weaves the threads of the story, building multi-layered, engaging characters, she draws the reader in further. She also adds a light touch of fantasy, including the mythical character called Quietly, the boatman believed either to ferry people across the river to the afterlife or to return them if their time has not come. With the motif of storytelling in the tale, the little elements of fantasy are rendered credible.

Adding to the charm of the well-developed plot, Setterfield pens memorable lines I found myself wanting to write down to consider again later.  Looking back on the book, I realize that nothing can keep me engaged in a story, even one that starts slow, more than good writing--the best words in the best order, Coleridge's definition of poetry.

Summer Solstice: Summer Reading

Nick Hornby Provides a Laughter and Light Reading

I'd love to have someone do a psychological analysis based solely on my reading list. I appreciated an observation by Dylan Thomas about his own habits: "I read indiscriminately and with my eyes hanging out."

I admit that I do discriminate sometimes, simply because I have so many choices. If I start a book and can tell right away it doesn't fit the bill, I will abandon it. Life's too short, and my book stack is too high.  In fact, the mere process of picking what to read next fills me with anxiety. Anything I choose means something else I postpone.

One of the perks, then, of audiobooks is that they are not in direct competition with the books on my shelves. While I could read while driving (and I'll confess that I have in the past), it's inadvisable.  As a result, my selection is narrowed to what I can find on the library shelves. Even though I work through the stacks of four different libraries, I'm less likely to go and find a specific book I was looking for than to discover something I just might want to read.

Funny Girl, Nick Hornby's latest, was just such a discovery. I had read (or listened to--honestly can't remember) Juliet Naked. I also have a couple of other novels of his on my shelves. This one, set in the sixties, follows a young woman, Barbara from Blackpool, a town in Northern England, who gives up her "Miss Blackpool" tiara within minutes of being selected, realizing she has little interest in going to ribbon cuttings at strip malls or making appearances at senior living facilities. She wants to be a comedian.

She goes instead to London, where she ends up working at the cosmetics counter of a department store--just as she had back home. Following a roommate's advice, she tries to meet men who might help her gain an advantage. While the plan doesn't work out quite right, by chance she does meet Brian, the man who opens doors for her--just not the ones he intended. A self-proclaimed "happily married man"--His wife is with him when he meets Barbara--he expects to "spray her gold and put her in a bikini." Instead, she goes to an interview for a 30-minute BBC show and lands the part of her life.

Hornby pulls together such a fun, quirky cast--Billy and Tony, the two script writers who met in jail; Clive, the actor who plays opposite Barbara but who gets second billing (in brackets in the title; and Dennis, the show's director who keeps his adoration of Barbara--with her new name Sophie Straw--quietly in check.

Funny Girl won't end up on high school summer reading or AP Lit recommendation lists, but it's great for a summer read.  Even better, it's perfect for a long drive, just enough time to fall in love with   a funny girl whose dreams come true.

Nick Hornby Provides a Laughter and Light Reading

It's ONLY July 14

Here it is, Bastille Day, mid-July, and I feel as if summer's nearly over. Ridiculous. But since I get more reading done in the summer, though, I feel "time's winged chariot" fast on my heels. My to-read stack doesn't seem to diminish at all. (Does anyone else remember school cafeteria spaghetti? It had a weird supernatural quality for me: I ate and ate and the quantity never seemed to change.)

I keep revising and re-prioritizing. Something catches my attention, and another book slides back down the list. I try to imagine if I had to queue my reading list the way I do Netflix DVD orders. I'd constantly be clicking move up and move down.

For now, I'm working on a couple I can't wait to share--one audio, one print--but I hear little voices over my shoulder whispering "Read me next."

It's ONLY July 14

Let Summer Begin--Bring on the Books

If I have seemed mysteriously absent here for a couple of weeks, I have a logical explanation: end of semester essay grading. I admit that going into the teaching profession--especially teaching English--I should have known to expect this challenge, but the quantities has certainly increased. Now, though, I have papers graded, and I'm close enough to completing all the little details of red tape that I feel like beginning my true summer reading regimen.

I've had to depend on audio books for the last couple of weeks, and I'll admit that I got through four discs of Margaret Atwood's The Year of the Flood and had to give it up. I appreciate her versatility in writing the lyrics and score for the songs that accompany the text, but I won't be downloading on the iPod! I can take grim, and I can take weird, but this novel--at least for me right now--was too much of both.

Fortunately, I have plenty of options lined up for reading. I have two selections for my May book club, Major Pettigrew's Last Stand (which so far is delightful) and Let the Great World Spin, which I started reading last night when I was caught without Major Pettigrew. I look forward to starting in front of my bookshelves and prioritizing. Summer reading is such a pleasure that I cannot imagine why parents and students bristle at their assignments. Meanwhile, I look forward to hearing from all my reading friends to learn what great choices are in their summer stacks.

Let Summer Begin--Bring on the Books