Category: Books

Books: The Lying Life of Adults. A Novel by Elena Ferrante, 2019

I have previously had mixed feelings about the writings of Elena Ferrante. My esteem of her rose after the film adaptation of “The Lost Daughter” by Maggie Gylenhaal, a truly original and thought-provoking film. My initial complaints about her fiction were related to the first part of the Neapolitan quartet – “My Brilliant Friend” which I found cliched and uninspiring, especially her very traditional class-struggles approach. In contrast – I was impressed by “Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay” which is an example of an in-depth look into the motherhood and womanhood themes of her previous books and a sort of more incisive continuation of “The Lost Daughter.” In the former, I enjoyed the string of character studies – contradictory and complex, the prose – dense and subtle, the non-judgemental representation of opposing kinds of “femininity,” the ambiguity of female strife for independence as a mix of libration and egotism. “We all narrate our lives as it suits us.” writes Ferrante. This is the powerful message of “Those Who Stay and Those Who Leave” – and it is the meta-revelation of the first-person narrative in that novel.

In “The Lying Life of Adults,” this principle is taken to a level of arbitrariness. An exceptionally smart girl, the author wants us to believe, is debunking the “narrative” of the adults that surround her as lies. Doing that she builds her own, supposedly innocent and honest, narrative. Not a new thing, by the way (i.e. What Maisie Knew) . The problem with the narrative of the coming-of-age girl, is that at some point the “disbelief” cannot be suspended. It becomes impossible to give credit to her unusual for her age intelligence, her interest in higher matters of politics and philosophy, the impression she creates for adults and peers, and her supposedly penetrating representations of the adults in her life. This time, Ferrante is invested too much in binary oppositions: ugly-beautiful, dreamy-cynical, rich-poor, entitled-self-made, so that instead of transforming into psychological “depth” the oppositions come across as confusing and arbitrary. In the main character’s narrative everything becomes possible and hence — not engaging.

Books: All the Lovers in the Night, a Novel by Mieko Kawakami, 2022, originally published in Japanese 2011

My first experience of Mieko Kawakami’s writing, a novelist and poet from Osaka. Very impressive talented prose! The first half of the novel is a fascinating in-depth description of excruciating loneliness.

A socially awkward Fuyuko, the protagonist, a proofreader by profession, finds it extremely hard to communicate with people. She discovers that having a drink helps. Slightly ironic and hurtfully honest, the narrative progresses through the daily ordeals of being alone. Proofreading becomes a metaphor for a specific attitude to life – reading without really getting into the content of the book but just looking for the errors in it… Another topic that is developed intricately to reach metaphorical power is the physical aspect of light and color. Kawakami’s descriptions of the mundane sometimes reach Knausgaardian dimensions.

The “female condition” is represented in several well-written scenes – the protagonist examining the shelves of a modern bookstore self-help section, her first sexual experience, her conversations with two female friends – the “happily married with children” one, and the “sleeping around fashionista.” Kawakami is not interested in making judgments, she is recording the female tragi-comedy in a cool incisive style.

The second half of the novel, with the appearance of a love interest, is more banal as a story because it is seasoned with the hope of happiness for the main character. And the hope of happiness takes a trivial form, promising the reader an American rom-com finale. But no, Kawakami is not providing one. An appropriate ending for a novel like this is finding strength to triumph over disappointment.

Books: The Lake by Banana Yoshimoto, 2015

Have not had much luck with American novels recently so I decided to switch to Japanese literature…Really, everything that I started reading from Bestseller lists or Book Club lists was unimpressive as literature, “literal” or lacking in style (e.g. The Lions of Fifth Avenue”) or “checking boxes” propaganda type (e.g. The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store by James McBride.) American fiction is becoming more of a “socialist realism” type of fiction, propaganda over belle lettres, politics over art….

So, here it goes – a Japanese novel. It was a strange experience. It is short, compared to American novels, obviously, Japanese publishers don’t have a recommended word count for a novel…It is definitely engaging – the existence of a secret is planted at the beginning of the novel and its disclosure represents its very end. It describes the relationship of two very fragile, very strange characters with a combination of naivete and depth that strikes me as a feature of modern Japanese literature. Here, for example, is a line, that I remembered: “You never know you are happy until later”…Simplicity and depth at the same time is very appealing. At times, the simplicity starts to dominate the narrative, unfortunately, and you are left with some very banal observations. On the other hand, Yoshimoto can definitely create haunting scenes – reminiscent of Gothic literature.

Books: First Lie Wins. A Novel by Ashley Elton. 2023

It is a book about a female con artist who is controlled by a mysterious Mr. Smith who instructs her to do various jobs and defines her marks. The protagonist does not know who is her Master. The plot follows her relationships with her most current mark, Mr. Smith and some “helpers” and antagonists. OK, so far so good. BUT – the plot is so arbitrary and incredible that a self-respecting reader would get very annoyed and offended by the stupidity of the whole thing.

Here is the heroine talking: “I shove a few fries in my mouth while I consider my next move.” This is exactly what the author was doing while writing this novel…The protagonist has about ten other aliases for her previous “jobs” and they are all called upon when something in this outrageous plot has to be motivated.

I found this title on the best-seller list and it was an editor’s pick on Amazon, and a book-club selection! It is either a symptom of the enormous power of advertising or the stupidity of the (mostly) female reader or both. Scary!

The Rachel Incident. A Novel by Caroline O’Donoghue.2023

I have not had a more enjoyable reading recently. The initial impression was of a cool witty language that would dominate the experience of reading the book but it soon became more than a captivating exercise in style.

It won me over with the best description of a book launch that was at the same time funny, cruel, and realistic. It captured the pathetic and the sublime in this culminating moment of an author’s experience and the ridiculous anticlimax in the encounter with their first audience.

The book has an original plot – it follows the dynamics of a love triangle of sorts but it is the triangle of a girl and her three archetypal lovers: the Teacher, the Friend and the Lover. Thus it allows the author to dissect the nature of adolescent desire or love – the combination of the erotic appeal of the intellectual, the platonic homo-erotic intimacy with the confidante, and the purely sexual attraction to the elusive man. The main character Rachel struggles her way to maturity by gradually sorting out the nature of her attractions and setting herself free from the first two along the way. But in retrospect, the time of her entanglement and confusing affinities with the three men is the happiest time of her life when love is diffuse and all-consuming before it becomes tamed and is channeled to culminate in a marriage.

O’Donoghue is a master of detail and the ability to capture the undercurrents of a scene. The one-liners can be smart and witty and dirty but are also vehicles of an underlying melancholy, the melancholy of growing up and fitting in.

She has more literary substance than some bearers of literary awards.

Books: Money, A Suicide Note. A Novel by Martin Amis, 1984

Thanks to Carl Hiaasen for discovering for me “Money” via the WSJ book-club. It’s such a pleasure to read a book where the language is not just a vehicle for the narrative – it’s a sheer source of aesthetic pleasure. It clicks so perfectly with the character it portrays. The novel’s main character is on an nightmarish rambling spree in search of himself. His hilarious monologue draws a satirical self-deprecating portrait of himself, the protagonist, and his surroundings. Still, the novel is not a pure satire. It is too mainstream in terms of plot, to qualify for this. A true satire would be totally unforgiving to its subjects (the way Gogol is). Amis’ main character is quite sympathetic and and on top of this — looking for redemption. The whole line of Self trying to win Martina’s love, and become “good” and “normal” is too sweet and romantic – it spoils what could have bee a true cynical work of art where nobody is spared and nobody is redeemable.

Still, the writer is at his best here. Quoting pieces of the book would not do it justice still I am tempted…:

…I am not allergic to the twentieth century. I am addicted to the twentieth century…
…Cold out there.When it’s cold. That’s when you really feel your money…
…the whole show has the suspended air and sickly texture of treated film, that funeral-parlor glow – numb, tranced, and shiny, like a corpse….
…his Latin rug sweats with vitamins…
[this woman].. has a wraparound mouth…
…My life was a joke.My death will be serious.That must be why I am so afraid….
…My theory is – we don’t really go that far into other people, even when we think we do.We hardly ever go in and bring them out. We just stand at the jaws of the cave, and strike a match, and quickly ask if anybody’s there.
…At sickening speed I have roared and clattered, I have rocketed through my time, breaking all the limits, time limits, speed limits, city limits, jumping lights and cutting corners, guzzling gas and burning rubber, staring through the foul screen with my fist on the horn. I am that fleeting train that goes screaming past you in the night. Though travelling nowhere I have hurtled with blind purpose to the very end of my time. I want to slow down now and check the scenery, and put in a stop or two. I want some semi-colons…

Pleasure to read when phrases create a short-circuit between meaning and wit and brevity+complexity of expression.

Books: The Good Girl, 2014 A Novel by Mary Kubica

Publishers Weekly needs to apologize for false advertising! The jacket quotes a review from them claiming that the book “will encourage comparisons with Gone Girl….” What a nonsense and a lie!
The book is a weak attempt at fiction writing by a housewife well-read in romance novels. The story could be transplanted in a fantasy “medieval” setting and could well be told as, for example, the story of a princess abducted by a Highlands shepherd who eventually fall in love. It is totally phony, banal, and boring. Too many pages dedicated to describing physical details don’t make a “psychological” novel. Literally describing looking, touching, walking, sitting, glancing, driving, etc. and doing all kinds of things a physical presence in the world comprises, is not the “detail” that fiction is made of. It fills pages. The author should go back to her other hobbies like “gardening, photography and taking care of animals in the local shelter” or find another way to make her kids proud of her, different from the fact that “mommy wrote a book.”

Books: The Nobel Prize for Literature

Patrick Modiano is a good author but Philip Roth is a formidable writer.

And the Nobel Prize can’t change that.

The Swedish Academy is playing politically correct games and Philip Roth is NOT politically correct. Great writers never are.

At least, (thank you, Academy!) Haruki Murakami did not win…But given that Elfriede Jelinek is a past winner – anything is possible….

Books: Biographie de la faim, A Novel by Amelie Nothomb, AKA The Life of Hunger, 2004

The Independent called the book a “memoir of a megalomaniac” and I can’t agree more. Who would not stop talking about herself and her childhood as if it is something so exceptional that every detail deserves attention. Can’t understand authors that consider their childhood memories worth sharing with the world. And, yet, I would read Knausgaard childhood memories…What makes Nothomb’s childhood memories so annoying is that sugar-syrup-dripping cuteness and narcissism that lives in every single page. Even the self-deprecating statements (“I am ugly and have a big head”) make a claim for exceptionalism. And why would I want to learn that she was finishing the glasses of champagne (such an exquisite taste at three!) of the guests of her “diplomat” father? This book is as annoying as the self-indulgent banter of a smart-ass child who has been told many times (by her parents) that she is so smart and so cute.
Unfortunately, there are still some guests lingering and watching the infantile woman play cute. The French reading audience amazes me. The woman with the big hat is their cult figure! No wonder Michel Houellebecq emigrated to Ireland.

Books: La Première Chose qu'on regarde. A Novel by Grégoire Delacourt

Have the French totally lost their taste for good literature? This is a best-selling author? Gregoire Delacourt sucks! This can’t be possibly “literature” — the writing is bland, transparently commercial, feels like reading the yellow press. The “idea” of the novel (if we can call it that) is so banal and tired… A looser imagines himself being visited by Scarlett Johansson but actually he’s fallen in love with another regular looser and since both are so messed up by the entertainment industry and gossip media, Scarlett Johansson becomes a vehicle of their dreams and desires. The author actually cannot even pull off that “idea”. The main female character is killed in a car crash because Delacourt does not know what to do with her and his story. The book lacks intelligence, the narrative revolves around the literal. The alleged sense of humor is pathetic. The novel falls apart before even having assembled. It probably intended to say something about the effect of the entertainment celebrity on the life of ordinary people but is so literal and unimaginative as literature that eventually it is just puzzling how it can hold any reader’s attention to the end.