Identity Theft

If you could examine the list of all of the books that we have read in our book group over the last 25 years you would notice that there are very few multiple books by the same author. That is not to say that there are none (there are: Philip Roth, Nadine Gordimer, Kazuo Ishiguro); and I’m not sure how that came about but it might be an unarticulated premise that one of the functions of the book group is simply to introduce us to an author through one specific work and then leave it to each member to pursue her interest in that author’s other works should she have such an interest. There are so many authors – and so many good ones.

So it is that we as a group read The Feast of Love by Charles Baxter in 2005 and I was prompted by the recollection of writing that well-deserved its nomination for the National Book Award to read his most recent book The Soul Thief. The book in its broadest outline is the story of the relationship between 2 graduate students Nathaniel Mason and Jerome Coolberg while in school in Buffalo, New York in the 1970’s and their meeting again 30 years later. When Jerome initiates contact with Nathaniel after 30 years I found myself desperately wanting to warn Nathaniel away from accepting the contact and at the same time wanting to follow through to see the outcome. Nathaniel never could resist Jerome. The scene at Niagara Falls during their school days still gives me chills. The relationship between Nathaniel and his sister is especially touching.

What I particularly noticed about the writing of this book is the author’s use of simile and metaphor. There were times when I actually stopped to count the number on a page. Some of them so perfectly capture the moment and the image that you almost gasp at their brilliance and the mind behind them. The book itself is short; some of the chapters are less than one page. It is the kind of book that you want to start reading again as soon as you have read the last page. And having read it once you can pick it up and read just a short section at random for the beauty of the writing. Of course, nothing’s perfect – you may find the ending a little contrived but it was not enough to spoil the overall experience for me. I am still wondering how someone could still be keeping a lover’s farewell letter unopened in a drawer after more than thirty years. Could you?

New Yorker Podcasts-Lorrie Moore

One of the joys of podcasts is the availability of good literature for listening, from books to short stories that sample the writing skills of numerous authors.  The New Yorker has a free  monthly Fiction Podcast, easy to subscribe to under "free" podcasts.  A recent short story, read and discussed by Louise Erdrich, was Dance in America by Lorrie Moore. Moore is a contemporary midwestern writer whose work Erdrich enjoys and respects. Erdrich became taken with Moore's writing after reading her novel Who Will Run the Frog Hospital? and quickly became aware of Moore's short story repertoire as well.  Dance in America, published in Birds of America: Stories by Lorrie Moore, tells of a dance teacher who moves to Philadelphia to teach children's dance classes. She encounters an old friend there, whose son is terminally ill and her relationship with the child and the way the family converses and copes informs her  characters. The sometimes absurd conversations within the family as a way of coping, are surprising.  The story reveals Moore's  humor, kindness and her depth as well as her sense of the absurd. Not to be dismissed as "chick lit" her writing is often about contemporary woman's issues with sharp observations noted, yet kindness and humor characterize her dealings with absurd or contradictory characters.  She writes with economy, quickly getting to the heart of her story, sometimes omitting preliminaries, yet every detail works toward the end of the story.  I'm delighted to anticipate  reading more works by this  thoughtful, humorous, highly observant writer who is cast as a "true original" by Erdrich. 

 

The Last Story from a Great Storyteller

John Cheever’s name has appeared on the many lists of “One Hundred Books to Read” or Pulitzer Prize winning authors to read, but I had never read any thing he had written. From 1943 to 1982 he wrote short stories, novels, and television scripts and has been called the “Chekhov of the suburbs”. But the John Cheever story most of us will remember is “The Swimmer”. It is hard to forget the strangely forlorn Burt Lancaster, in his swimming trunks, as he swims his way home from one swimming pool to another, only to find his own home empty and locked, in the 1968 film set in an upscale Connecticut suburb.

John Cheever‘s “Oh What A Paradise It Seems,” published in 1982, has been called the last great work of a master storyteller. It is the story of Lemuel Sears “an old man but not yet infirmed.” Sears lives in New York City but he likes to ice skate on Beasley’s Pond in the small town of Janice where his daughter lives. When the ice melts Sears discovers that his beloved pond is being used as a dump. Sears decides to investigate this tragedy. What follows is a incredibly well written, amusing story. John Cheever knew how to write a beautiful sentence and was able to express so much in a few words. He is very witty and his anecdote about the celebrated prophetess Lemuel encounters in Eastern Europe was great fantasy. The story twists and turns between life in Janice and his life in New York City where he is carrying on a love affair with the beautiful, real estate agent, Renee. It is an interesting, funny story well worth the read. Cheever’s style is unique but his characters seem to be dated or caricatures. “Oh What A Paradise It Seems” has been called a fable and Cheever may have been ahead of his time. Discovering a scheme to pollute the environment for greed is one that has been revealed more than once in the last twenty five years.

“The Stories of John Cheever” won the Pulitzer Prize in 1978. Cheever died in 1982 at the age of 70 and although "Oh What A Paradise It Seems" was the last book he wrote, there were letters, journals and a book of stories published posthumously.

Revisiting an Author

Like Anna I decided to read an earlier work by an author I enjoyed. This time it is Jeffrey Eugenides, who wrote Middlesex in 2003. His first novel was The Virgin Suicides. With the word suicide in the title, it's not surprising that one occurs on the first page. But it did surprise me. Here's the astounding first sentence of the book: “On the morning the last Lisbon daughter took her turn at suicide – it was Mary this time, and sleeping pills, like Therese – the two paramedics arrived at the house knowing exactly where the knife drawer was, and the gas oven, and the beam in the basement from which it was possible to tie a rope”. Mary is in fact the fifth of the Lisbon sisters to take her own life.

I wrote in an earlier blog (Office Life) of how unusual it seemed to have a novel written in the first person plural. The Virgin Suicides uses this technique as well. In this case the “we” are the neighborhood boys, now in their 30's, who as teenagers feverishly observed the beautiful Lisbon girls – mysterious and unattainable – and collected shards of evidence (a fading photo, pair of high-tops, old cosmetics) which they now try to piece together in hopes of an explanation. Eugenides does a wonderful job of expressing the adolescent confusion the boys felt – and still feel – about the girls. The events have clearly continued to affect their lives and their relationships with women. As a reader, we know only what the boys know, so the girls are an enigma for us as well. I found that frustrating, but very powerful. I think the unexpected death of someone we know always leaves us trying to piece together an explanation. The ending of the book beautifully expresses these feelings of guilt, longing and grief that we all experience as we try to deal with an inexplicable death.

Sofia Coppola directed a film version of the Virgin Suicides which I haven't seen. It's hard to imagine how this novel could be translated, but maybe I'll take a look.