A Work in Progress

Best Translated Book Award List

A few days ago the 2017 Best Translated Book Award Fiction Longlist was announced (there are twenty-five titles) and each book will be showcased between now and the forthcoming list of finalists.  Finally a list where I have read one of the books, have another in progress and own several more.  It is a reminder, however, of how few books in translation I have read this year and a reminder, too, that I need to be aware of and choose to read more books in translation.  The Three Percent Blog focuses entirely on translated works and the international authors and translators whose names should be much more widely known.  The 'three percent' comes from the paltry number of books that are published here in the US, which are translated works.  I try and read as many translated books as I can in a year and I hope by the end that I'll have read far more than 3% of my own total.  

The longlist:

The Queue by Basma Abdel Aziz, translated from Arabic by Elisabeth Jaquette (may have to pull this from my library's shelves as I have wanted to read it and have read good reviews)

The Young Bride by Alessandro Baricco, translated from the Italian by Ann Goldstein (I've just ordered this one)

Wicked Weeds by Pedro Cabiya, translated from the Spanish by Jessica Powell

Chronicle of the Murdered House by Lucio Cardoso, translated from the Portuguese by Margaret Jull Costa and Robin Patterson

On the Edge by Rafael Chirbes, translated from the Spanish by Margaret Jull Costa

Eve Out of Her Ruins by Ananda Devi, translated from the French by Jeffrey Zuckerman

Zama by Antonio di Benedetto, translated from the Spanish by Esther Allen

A Spare Life by Lidija Dimkovska, translated from the Macedonian by Christina Kramer (I don't think I have ever read anything written in Macedonian before--should check this one out!)

Doomi Golo by Boubacar Boris Diop, translated from the Wolof by Vera Wulfing-Leckie and El Hadji Moustapha Diop (the author is from Senegal and this is the first novel to be translated from Wolof to English--should also check this one out!)

Night Prayers by Santiago Gamboa, translated from the Spanish by Howard Curtis (another one I just ordered as it had been on my wishlist)

Angel of Oblivion by Maja Haderlap, translated from the German by Tess Lewis

War and Turpentine by Stefan Hertmans, translated from the Dutch by David McKay (I am waiting for a library copy of this--I requested it by chance before seeing it show up on this list)

Umami by Laia Jufresa, translated from the Spanish by Sophie Hughes

Last Wolf and Herman by Laszlo Krasznahorkai, translated from the Hungarian by John Batki

Oblivion by Sergei Lebedev, translated from the Russian by Antonina W. Bouis

Thus Bad Begins by Javier marias, translated from the Spanish by Margaret Jull Costa

In the Café of Lost Youth by Patrick Modiano, translated from the French by Chris Clarke (I read this last year as part of my NYRB subscription)

Ladivine by Marie NDiaye, translated from the French by Jordan Stump

Among Strange Victims by Daniel Saldana Paris, translated from the Spanish by Christina MacSweeney

Moonstone by Sjon, translated from the Icelandic by Victoria Cribb

Memoirs of a Polar Bear by Yoko Tawada, translated from the German by Susan Bernofsky

Vampire in Love by Enrique Vila-Matas, translated from the Spanish by Margaret Jull Costa

My Marriage by Jakob Wasserman, translated from the German by Michael Hofmann

Moshi Moshi by Banana Yoshimoto, translated from the Japanese by Asa Yoneda (am thinking of reading this one soon)

Super Extra Grande by Yoss, translated from the Spanish by David Frye

As for my own current reading pile--I've got two books in translation on the go and have three more from the library that I just brought home and hope to work into my reading very soon.  I'm nearly finished reading Bohumil Hrabal's Closely Watched Trains which is translated from the Czech by Edith Pargeter, and Seicho Matsumoto's A Quiet Place, which is a Japanese crime novel published in the mid-1970s and translated from Japanese by Louise Heal Kawai.  Matsumoto has been called Japan's Georges Simenon (he wrote something like 400+ books . . . why hasn't more been translated . . . he passed away in 1992).

My newest library finds: Mirror, Shoulder, Signal by Dorthe Nors and translated from the Danish by Misha Hoekstra; Swallowing Mercury by Wioletta Greg and translated from the Polish by Eliza Marciniak and The Breaking of a Wave by Fabio Genovesi and translated from the Italian by Will Shutt. 

Isn't it great to know that the world and all its stories (or lots of them) is literally at our fingertips through the pages of good books?  And then you wonder what wonderful stories are out there that we can't read as they are not being translated.

Teaser Tuesday: Rosemary's Baby

I have always wanted and meant to read Ira Levin's 1967 horror classic Rosemary's Baby.  I have seen the Roman Polanski film adaptation so many times I can practically quote entire lines or conversations.  It is one of those iconic stories that most people know even if they have never read the book or even seen the movie.  The movie is subtly creepy.  It is just the sort of scary film I can manage.  It is not graphic or bloody but is convincingly scary from its perfectly executed power of suggestion.  It's what you don't see, what you imagine to be happening that is so frightening. 

Last time I was at a bricks and mortar bookstore I came across a stack of remaindered copies of the book in a newly reissued edition.  Did you know that it was remade into a miniseries a couple of years ago?  I'm afraid I have not even the tiniest desire to watch it (and my book is actually rejacketed with a still from the TV movie).  I think it would be impossible to improve on the original, so why spoil it?  The new version must take place in Paris since Rosemary stands before a large window in front of a baby carriage.  Outside the window you can see the Eiffel Tower in the distance.  While I'll pass on watching a new adaptation I will happily buy a cheap copy of the book (even if I prefer the cover shown here). 

According to the introduction by Otto Penzler Ira Levin was a skeptic when it came to the Occult and had hoped that the story would dissuade people from believing in it.  But the book and shortly after the Polanski movie adaptation were hugely popular.  And the movie adaptation was also very faithful to the original story.  I can attest to that since I am finally reading the book (a little digression from my Baileys longlisters and other current reads).  Levin's writing style is pretty pared down and unadorned, but I think it is all the better for its simplicity.  The dialogue is spot on and carries the story along at a nice pace. 

My teaser is a description of the Castevet's who seem such mild mannered neighbors!  If you have seen the movie or read the book you might recall the 'suicide' of a young girl who had been staying with the Castevets.  But it is the description of the couple as they are returning from an evening out that is really marvelous. 

"Mrs. Castevet was wrapped in light blue, with snow-white dabs of gloves, purse, shoes, and hat.  Nurselike she supported her husband's forearm.  He was dazzling, in an every-color seersucker jacket, red slacks, a pink bow tie, and a gray fedora with a pink band.  He was seventy-eight or -nine.  They came closer with expressions of young alertness, with friendly quizzical smiles.  The policeman stepped forward to meet them and their smiles fell faltered and fell away.  Mrs. Castevet said something worryingly; Mr. Castevet frowned and shook his head.  His wide, thin-lipped mouth was rosy pink, as if lipsticked; his cheeks were chalky, his eyes small and bright in deep sockets.  She was big-nosed, with a sullen fleshy underlip.  She wore pink-rimmed eyeglasses on a neckchain that dipped down from behind plain pearl earrings."

Oh my, what colorful garb, don't you think! But remember this would have been mid-1960s, so they sound pretty hip all things considered.  This is engrossing reading and a nice change of pace from the usual pile of books.  Pure serendipity as the movie is being shown later this month at my favorite indie cinema.  It is only there for a couple of showings but I am going to try and make one of them, so the book will be finding a place in my bookbag every morning.  It's just what I need at the moment. 

A Monday Mishmash of Bookishness

It was a busy weekend and one without much reading time, which always throws me for a loop and makes me feel like I missed something necessary, but being busy (in a non-bookish way) can be an okay thing, too.  So just a few links for you today.

My reading is much like a pendulum--at least when it comes to the types of books I read at any given moment.  Right now the pendulum seems to be swinging away from me when it comes to mysteries, but I have noted this great list of mysteries and crime novels set in Amsterdam: Crime and the City.

Remember last week I was telling you about a character in a book I didn't particularly like (actually I didn't really like any of the characters . . .)?  Well, here is a whole list of one hundred unlikable characters (but 'must read' novels nonetheless).

Wondering what you should read next?  Here's a quiz to guide the way.  Apparently I should pick up Virginia Woolf (but then I knew that already).

So, this is probably not something I would buy for myself (or maybe I would . . .), but it is too fun and I can imagine buying it for a friend.  A "serial spoon" for your cereal.  Ar ar ar.  (Or maybe I should say crunch, crunch, crunch).

The Woman in Cabin 10 by Ruth Ware is being adapted to film.  Now where is my copy anyway?  (Actually I know where it is, but I don't know where all my reading time has gone lately).

I'm feeling very much (even more than normal) out of the bookish loop these days.  Life has been busy and work is entering a very hectic, crazy mode which means less time to think about blogging let alone reading.  So, do share what you have been up to--what are you reading or keeping busy with?  Or what you want to read or plan to do in the coming months.  I'm still chipping away at the stack of books you see on my sidebar.

Household Saints by Francine Prose

I think to understand Theresa Santangelo you must first meet her grandmother Carmela Santangelo, a widow who is visited by her dead husband Zio.  Really visited?  I'm not so sure, but on occasion she smells the smoke from his cigars and she does like to "talk" to him.  Or ask his advice, but she's a pretty strong woman and she has her household saints and strong faith to guide her.  Now when I say faith, don't imagine too much here.  Imagine a nice Italian matriarch living in 1950s NYC's Little Italy.  The proud mother of two children, Joseph and Evelyn, and a sausage maker par excellence.  Joseph is a butcher who likes to cheat (but in the nicest of ways) his customers, flirt with the ladies and play pinochle every weekend.  Evelyn, well Evelyn did not marry an Italian and moved to the suburbs, but she is there in the background.

Now, before I get too off track here, Francine Prose's Household Saints is a charming novel with much humor about an Italian family that is perhaps a little on the quirky side.  The story is tinged with sadness.  At least that was what I was expecting.  Tinged.  So while I am laughing and being amused, I will say on further reflection after having finished reading the book, I am thinking it is perhaps a serious, sad story that is tinged with a bit of humor.  I'm not sure really.  But if I was guffawing and smiling at the beginning of the story, but the end I was feeling markedly sober and reassessing things. 

So, Mrs. Santangelo is not especially thrilled by Joseph's choice of a wife.  Was it a choice?  He won her in a card game.  Pinochle.  It was September 1949.  And it was a hot end to the summer.  Really hot.  This is New York City and sometimes it really broils there.  He and his neighbors, the Falconetti's, were playing cards in the back of the butcher shop.  Their normal routine.  Lino Falconetti and his son Nicky have zero luck when it comes to cards (or much else really).  If Joseph cheats his customers when weighing out their meat (by putting just the tiniest bit of extra pressure on the scale with his finger . . .), you wonder what he does when he plays cards.  So, it's hot, Lino is losing and typically he never knows when to stop.  He begins with the IOUs and thinking what he can bet.  Well, the men had been drinking (NYC, September heat wave, can you blame them?), so maybe Lino was a little further gone than normal.  He bet his daughter in a card game.  The winner gets a cool blast of icy cold freezer air.  Yes, Joseph, if Lino wins, will open the meat locker for a cool blast of air.  Something really refreshing.  But the inevitable happens.  Lino loses, and we're not just talking about an IOU here, but his seventeen year old daughter, Catherine.

Catherine is a young woman who has grown up with no mother (she having died when Catherine was only a baby).  She's a bit runtish and loves movie magazines.  Her cooking leaves a little to be desired.  And she has no idea that her father bet her in a card game.  That little detail she will learn much much later.  Curiously when they marry, it all seems to work.  Pleasantly surprised as to their compatibility in the bedroom, she does not immediately conceive.  Did I mention the pair live with Mrs. Santangelo?  Mrs. S. is not terribly happy with her daughter-in-law.  With her religious overtures she sort of spooks Catherine into all the usual Italian/Catholic superstitions about child bearing so when Catherine does find herself pregnant, the house is pretty much ruled by the household saints.  But the baby dies.  And Catherine pretty much loses it.   And so does Mrs. S. more or less.

Things in the Santangelo household become strained to say the least.  And it takes something just short of a miracle for her to snap out of it.  When she does she and Joseph find their common ground and common happiness, in the bedroom, too, of course.  This time she conceives.  On the night of this wonderful, happy event that sees Catherine coming out of her darkness and depression Mrs. S. drops dead.  So one life begins and another ends.  Keep that in mind.  Her first pregnancy was a disaster, all that superstitious craziness.  This time she decides she is going to do it all well and proper-the American way.  Hospitals and prenatal visits.  She is going to have a modern, American daughter.

Welcome Theresa into the modern world.  Curiously (again), our modern young woman was conceived just as Mrs. S. was expiring, right?  This actually, is the curious thing, while the two--grandmother and granddaughter--don't actually cross paths, somewhere along the way it seems, they do.  Theresa Santangelo is the sainted grand-daughter that would make Carmela proud.  No modern thinking, no wishes to be the independent career girl.  She would prefer to join a nunnery.  Quite the reversal of fortunes you might say.   She takes as her guide the "Little Flower" St. Therese.  And she is truly and utterly devoted.

I won't give anymore of the plot away.  The ending was . . . curious (too), you might say.  It is a charming novel and I think Prose is really sort of playing with stereotypes a little bit, gentle pokes perhaps and an ending that is unexpected but maybe couldn't have ended any other way all things considered.  The novel was made into a movie, which I have not decided yet whether I will try and watch or not, but it would be interesting to see what the filmmakers did with this story.  Once again an author has surprised me by telling a story that I was not expecting to roll out in the way it did.  Not a bad thing.  But a very interesting reading experience. I will have to check out more of Prose's work.  I like it when a story takes a reader in a direction that is not entirely predictable.

Ten New Books that Just Caught My Eye

Only ten you say?  I know.  I'm slipping.  Actually I hate to show my greed by sharing all the books I have lately added to my wishlist.  They tend to be an unruly bunch, so these are the ten most tempting (at the moment).

Forest Dark by Nicole Krauss -- ". . . the award-winning, New York Times bestselling author of The History of Love, conjures an achingly beautiful and breathtakingly original novel about personal transformation that interweaves the stories of two disparate individuals—an older lawyer and a young novelist—whose transcendental search leads them to the same Israeli desert."

Séance Infernale by Jonathan Skariton -- "An extraordinary debut novel—dark, fast-paced, thrilling—set in contemporary and nineteenth-century Europe, the United States, and Scotland, involving the true inventor of moving pictures; his lost film made in Edinburgh in 1888; and a shocking series of crimes terrorizing the city in present time."

Walking in Berlin: A Flaneur in the Capital by Franz Hessel -- " In Walking in Berlin, Hessel captures the rhythm of Weimar-era Berlin, recording the seismic shifts in German culture. Nearly all of the essays take the form of a walk or outing, focusing on either a theme or part of the city, and many end at a theater, cinema, or club. Hessel deftly weaves the past with the present, walking through the city's history as well as its neighborhoods. Even today, his walks in the city, from the Alexanderplatz to Kreuzberg, can guide would-be flaneurs."

Birdcage Walk by Helen Dunmore -- "It is 1792 and Europe is seized by political turmoil and violence. Lizzie Fawkes has grown up in Radical circles where each step of the French Revolution is followed with eager idealism. But she has recently married John Diner Tredevant, a property developer who is heavily invested in Bristol’s housing boom, and he has everything to lose from social upheaval and the prospect of war. Soon his plans for a magnificent terrace built above the two-hundred-foot drop of the Gorge come under threat. Tormented and striving Diner believes that Lizzie’s independent, questioning spirit must be coerced and subdued. She belongs to him: law and custom confirm it, and she must live as he wants―his passion for Lizzie darkening until she finds herself dangerously alone."

White Fur by Jardine Libaire -- "A stunning star-crossed love story set against the glitz and grit of 1980s New York City.   Jardine Libaire combines the electricity of Less Than Zero with the timeless intensity of Romeo and Juliet in this searing, gorgeously written novel that perfectly captures the ferocity of young love."

New Boy (Hogarth Shakespeare) by Tracy Chevalier -- "The tragedy of Othello is transposed to a 1970s suburban Washington schoolyard, where kids fall in and out of love with each other before lunchtime, and practice a casual racism picked up from their parents and teachers. Peeking over the shoulders of four 11 year olds – Osei, Dee, Ian, and his reluctant ‘girlfriend’ Mimi – Tracy Chevalier's powerful drama of friends torn apart by jealousy, bullying and betrayal will leave you reeling."

What My Body Remembers by Agnete Friis -- "From New York Times bestselling author Agnete Friis comes the chilling story of a young mother who will do whatever it takes to protect her son."  I'm not sure I would have normally added this book to my list, but Sarah Weinman recommended it, so I know it will be good.

Infinite Summer by Edoardo Nesi -- "A novel set in Tuscany during the magical years when thousands of businesses blossomed, manufacturing objects for everyday life as well-made and beautiful as the Renaissance art that inspired them."  I have been in the mood for an Italian-destination novel!  This one does not come out until Summer.  Can I wait until then?

Love of Country: A Journey Through the Hebrides by Madeleine Bunting -- "For all who have wondered how it might feel to stand face-out at the edge of home, Love of Country is a revelatory journey through one of the world’s most remote, beautiful landscapes that encourages us to think of the many identities we wear as we walk our paths, and how it is possible to belong to many places while at the same time not wholly belonging to any."

Who You Think I Am by Camille Laurens -- "This psychological thriller dissects online relationships, offering a stunning indictment of the way society perceives women in contrast to men when age comes into play."

If I had a dime (no, make that a dollar) for every book I add to my wishlist, pick up and look at at the bookstore or library, or read about on someone's blog or otherwise just contemplate reading, I would be able to spend my days in a hammock with said books in hand!  What a fantasy that is.  Until then, I just just look and lust after . . .

The Gingerbread Woman, Jennifer Johnston

When you are reading a novel do you think how much you enjoy a story is colored by the likeableness of the characters?  Sometimes the best stories have some of the least likable characters.  Or maybe I should say some of the most interesting stories have nicely "complex" characters.  Jennifer Johnston's The Gingerbread Woman has two of the most prickliest protagonists I have come across in a long while.  Granted they each have every reason to be bristly and snappish.  This is a story of two very unlikely people who have suffered tragedies in their lives coming together, orbiting each other in a most unruly manner and then pinging apart, but all the better in the end for having crossed paths.

One rainy afternoon Clara is looking out over Dublin Bay, so close to the edge is she that a man walking by with his dog calls out to her thinking to stop her from taking a leap.  Actually Clara is only in a contemplative sort of mood, reflecting on her life and poor luck, but Lar is not to know that.  An Irishman from the North he has come to Dublin, well, run away from his life really, to escape his sympathetic parents.  Each is damaged either physically or psychologically (maybe both), neither is looking for help or sympathy, but their testy introduction is the start of, friendship might be too strong a description, an encounter that will begin to bring them out of their grief.

Clara, moving in a fog of self-pity, assured by her doctor that she is "post-operative" and really must be kinder to herself, is a lecturer of Irish Literature and is working on a book (or so she tells her anxious mother, so she might as well get a real start).  Lar is a mathematics teacher who was once married but has lost his wife and child, so has packed up his dog pansy and headed south to try and run away from his memories.  Neither is terribly successful at shedding those emotions.  Sorry to rely on a cliché but each has loved deeply and lost, and what remains is the bitter aftertaste of anger and grief.

Their stories are revealed in alternating voices.  Clara's is told through the book she is writing, called The Gingerbread Woman.  And Lar reflects on the tragedy that cost him his happiness as he recalls life before the event and life after.  In his mind he sees and remembers that lost life.  It takes both most of the book to come full circle and share the climactic moment and then the reader is privy to it all before the other character understands the cause of their grief.  After running into each other on their daily walks Clara invites Lar for coffee and then curiously (and maybe more for poor Pansy's sake since she must camp out in Lars's car since the hotel won't allow dogs) she offers him a room--but only very temporarily. 

I'm not really sure either even likes the other.  They most grate along, but each has a sort of restrained respect for the other.  And maybe those abrasive encounters is just what the other needs.  All very pared down emotionally and unsentimental advice one offers the other, which is not always appreciatively received.  And I'm not entirely sure how the story makes me feel.  There is a sense of a resolution of sorts, though I'm not sure I would call the ending a happy one.  Forward-looking, perhaps?  I'm not sure what exactly I was expecting from this story, but it was certainly interesting in the telling.  I do like Jennifer Johnston's storytelling abilities.  This is the third novel by her I have read (perhaps my least favorite to be honest).  I loved her How Many Miles to Babylon (which I have read twice now) and was suitably impressed by Truth or Fiction to know I wanted to read more of her work (she is prolific).  I have more of her work on my shelves, and certainly reading The Gingerbread Woman was not time wasted, but I do look forward to a novel that resonates a bit more next time around. 

This was my March prompt book, though I am indulging a little by squeezing in William Trevor's Nights at the Alexandra, which I started reading last night and am quite enjoying.  I have given April's possibilities (Paris in April) a little thought, but I haven't yet made a choice.  Of course choosing is half the fun.

Magnus by Slyvie Germain

The novel, Magnus, by Sylvie Germain (translated from the French by Christine Donougher) is one of those little literary gems that you might never have heard of but is well worth discovering and should have a much wider audience.  It has won a number of awards (or has been shortlisted for prizes) including one that is chosen by high school students between 15-18 years of age in France.  I can see the wide appeal for the story.  It is a novel about WWII but not like any other that I have read before.  The story is about identity and memory, neither of which is really very accurate, and the weight of guilt and the burdens of culpability that are carried down from one generation to the next.

The story of Magnus is told in fragments.  Inserted between the fragments are bits of stories, poems, notes on people and events, all very relevant to the unraveling of the mystery of the identity of a young boy who survives the war along with his parents, yet is orphaned soon after and must come to grips with the realization and shame that they were not who he thought they were and that he, by chance and by choice, is as much a victim of the war as his parents were perpetrators.

The fragmentary nature of the storytelling is the perfect mode in which to roll out this story.  It is aptly called a mosaic with each new shiny little piece inserted, not all the same color or shape or even identifiable by where it originally came from yet creating a picture or telling the story.  Magnus is the name of the teddy bear that belongs to the narrator, who at the start of the story is only a boy called Franz Georg.  Named for his two dead uncles who died in the previous war, the boy's bear is the one lone constant in his life, which as he learns of and begins to understand the role his parents, in particular his father, played in the war begins to take on a new and different persona with each new revelation.  Magnus is the name sewn on to the bear, which is the one item the boy held in his hand when he was found by The Dunkeltal roaming the ruins in the aftermath of a bombarded city.

"Magnus is a medium-sized bear with a rather worn coat of light-brown fur turned slightly orange in places.  A faint smell of scorching emanates from him."

"His ears are made of two large circles cut out of a piece of soft leather.  They have the reddish-brown color and smooth shiny appearance of chestnuts.  One is intact, and the other half burned away.  An oval is cut out of the same piece of leather trims the end of each of his paws.  His nose consists of strands of black wool closely stitched into the same of a ball."

"His eyes are unusual, with the same shape and of the same gleaming gold as the buttercup flower, giving him an expression of gentleness and amazement."

Magnus will follow Franz Georg through the story and through every iteration of the boy as he grows up and begins to understand who he is and what his circumstances are and as his identity changes.  It is a journey he must undertake, both literally and figuratively as he tries to understand his history and the culpability associated with his parents.  With each new revelation comes the feelings of blame and guilt.  The journey begins at the very end of the war as he and his mother and father must wander through the destruction of the German countryside and the hordes of other distraught people.

Franz Georg becomes Adam becomes Magnus.  He is an orphan who loses not only his parents but his country and his name.  His identity becomes befuddled.  He loses his innocence.  His journeying, his searching, is like a wandering through the desert (actually, it literally is).  If he finds enlightenment or truth, they come at a very high cost.  "This is a story that eludes all telling."  No surer words were ever spoken when it comes to a story like this one. 

Writing about this story eludes me a little bit, too.  It is a story so strange yet so eloquently told.  I was a little apprehensive at first by its fragmentary nature, but not a dozen pages in and I knew I was in the hands of a master storyteller.  You know how you can fall into a story and just know it is Good.  Really Good.  Without being able to explain exactly why?  This is that sort of story.

Many thanks to Caroline for selecting this novel for her Literature and War Readalong.  You can read her (also very praiseworthy) thoughts on the story here--do go over and read her post since she explains the story so much better than I have been able to.  Next up (for later this month) is Czech writer, Bohumil Hrabal's Closely Watched Trains, which is also a WWII novel, also with a postwar setting.  It is a slender book of less than 100 pages so hopefully manageable in the last couple of weeks of March.    

A Few Links for the Weekend

Just a little weekend randomness.  I have a few books I still need to write about, but I seem to be in a holding pattern (as in am reading away but making slow progress) in terms of finishing books.  Hopefully I can finish a couple this weekend.  I must admit I keep looking longingly at new purchases (even as I begin other new books).  I often feel like a hamster running on one of those wheels.  Running, running, running but not actually going anywhere.  But hey, the hamster usually looks pretty happy and content, so I will try and follow suit. 

Awards lists abound it seems.  Here are two more.  The first is one I had never even heard of, but the list looks interesting (and one title overlaps with the Baileys): BookExpo Editor's Buzz Finalists ("BookExpo has named its finalists for its Editors’ Buzz program, which highlights titles in three categories expected to resonate with readers in 2017"). 

And the Man Booker International Prize longlist was announced.  There is at least one book I know I want and likely more if I look closely at the list. 

And the Lambda Literary Awards finalists have been announced as well.

And, wait, one more.  The National Book Critics Circle Awards have been given out.  I am pleased to see Yaa Gyasi's wonderful novel has won an award!

Are you going to watch the new TV adaptation of The Handmaid's Tale?  It does indeed look pretty spooky.  I don't get Hulu, but I hope to see it at some point.

I love this!  I hate to think of the number of times I have thought of a book from my childhood or youth (or even the not so very distant past, sadly) where I know I have read a book but cannot recall the title or author.  I am all for reconnecting with books I loved but cannot remember!

I have this book on the very top of my TBR pile right now.  It has gotten lots of very good press and I can't wait to start reading.  In anticipation here is an interview with the translator!

And in honor of St. Patrick's Day a list of books that will take you there!  And another list of Irish authors you may (or may not) have heard of.  In honor of the holiday I will be spending time with (and hopefully finishing) this book.

Hope you find a pot of books at the end of your rainbow!

Reading Notes: The Bailey Longlist

Every year when the Baileys longlist is announced I have this surge of interest in many (if the list is especially good) of the titles.  I want to read them all, and I set about acquiring as many as I can either through the library or ordering the books I really really want to read (and in some rare cases I might even have a few on my shelves already).  And then every year I become distracted as new books are released or other library books cut in line and then it all just fizzles out.  In the back of my mind I was thinking perhaps this is the year I will make a real dent in the list.  Don't quote me (as those are 'famous last words'), but I think this year I am going to make a conscientious attempt to read as many of the books on the list as I can, as this year's list is, for me, an especially tempting list of books!

The shortlist will be announced April 6, which means there are a mere seventeen days before the list of sixteen books is whittled down to only six.  I am reading four at the moment and may well pick up a fifth this weekend.  And all the while trying to decide which six the judges will choose for their shortlist.  In progress now:

I will likely be finishing Little Deaths by Emma Flint first.  It is easy and quick reading though a little harrowing--not least since it is about the murder of two small children.  I wrote about it here a while back (it came as a recommendation by Sarah Weinman and she shared an intriguing interview with the author which cemented my desire to read it long before it made the Baileys list).  I am enjoying it immensely though it is hard to read about how a the mother of the children was treated (ca. 1965)--not particularly well.  But I wonder if things have changed much in circumstances like that?

I have never read (but have always meant to) anything by Rose Tremain, but if The Gustav Sonata is anything to go by, I think I must rectify that situation.  She writes beautifully and this is a story tinged in sadness and mystery.  It is set just after WWII in a small Swiss town about two young boys growing up in the shadow of the war.  Very eloquently done.  I can imagine this one making the shortlist.

Coming as a little bit of a surprise (but why, really?) is Yewande Omotoso's The Woman Next Door, which I think might not have crossed my path had it not been longlisted (and this is one of the reasons I really do want to explore these novels sooner than later--later so often comes far too late).  It is set in South Africa about two warring neighbors--two women, one black and one white.  It is quite witty and Omotoso has a wry and sharp sense of humor.

And lastly a book I was reticent to pick up, but I am not sure why.  I am absolutely loving (exclamation mark this one) Madeleine Thien's Do Not Say We Have Nothing.  It won the Giller Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker last year.  My library ordered a copy and I looked at it, and was just not enthused about it despite all the good reviews.  It must just not have been the moment.  Or maybe I was in some very weird way put off by the original paperback Canadian cover?  Sometimes I think I don't give a book enough of a chance to catch my interest.  Whatever the case . . . I knew I was thinking I might try and read as many of the Baileys titles as I could, I got a great deal on the US edition of the hardcover and just started reading out of curiosity and she just hooked me from the first page.  I very much hope this makes the shortlist!

I am still waiting on a number of books to show up either on the library hold shelf or my mailbox (since a few are coming from the UK I still have to be patient), but I did just get a copy of Mary Gaitskill's The Mare, so it might end up on my reading pile this weekend.

I know I am unlikely to read the whole list even by the announcement of the winning book, so a few may end up unread, but I shall do my best.  I admit I am dragging my feet on a few and maybe the most on Annie Proulx's Barkskins (so inevitably that will be the winner!).  I have never read Proulx and while I think she must be an exceptional writer, this is such a chunky (and hardcover only from what I can tell) book with a rather sobering subject matter . . . well, it is out there on my reading horizon.  In the very far distance. 

As usual I also still am working away on a few other reads--must keep up the (albeit slow) pace with my NYRB Green read.  And I am still hoping to read two books for my monthly prompt (and already contemplating April's prompt, too).  And then whatever other books nudges its way into my hands.  If things go quiet here in the coming weeks, you know what I'll be doing.

Reading!

Reading Pairs, or when books cross paths

Lately it seems as though I start a book and find another one pops in my head that would make a perfect companion read--it is either written in a similar vein or an interesting counterpoint or an alternate view.  I am always so very tempted to reach for that other book and in a few cases I will or hope to do just that! 

First, I must say thanks to all who commented on Henry Green and you are all correct--best to just dive in and let the rhythm take over.  I am getting used to his writing style and have to say I am sort of liking how he left out or collapsed all those definite articles.  It does create an interesting sort of cadence to the prose and his dialogue is very captivating!  I am finding now that I have gotten into the story a bit (I did look up some criticism to help guide me a little in terms of characters and what to expect from plot--which is sort of not a lot, but I am happy to know that ahead of time) I am looking forward to reaching for the book rather that looking at it a little warily.  (I think I even want to go back and buy his first book . . . and all the others now, too).

Somewhere in my reading it was mentioned that Evelyn Waugh's, Green's contemporary (and an admirer of Green's work) Vile Bodies was written at about the same time as Living and offers another satirical look at, in this case, London Society, though Green's Living is a glimpse at the working class.  In any case I would love to read more Waugh and I think he would make a good companion author.

And then there is the Baileys longlisted The Lesser Bohemians by Eimear McBride.  She won the 2014 Baileys Prize.  I think I want to give her new book a go (even had it not been longlisted I was intrigued by the story).  Since she also has an unusual (challenging?) prose style, but since I am reading Henry Green, maybe she will make his prose look straightforward in comparison.  Bohemians is set in 1990s London against the theatre world.

Also on the Baileys longlist is Margaret Atwood's Hag-Seed, which is a reimagining of Shakespeare's The Tempest.  It just makes sense to read the play first, so I bought a copy of the (No Fear Shakespeare series, which has the play side by side with common language) The Tempest and have the children's classic Tales from Shakespeare by Charles Lamb, which has many of the plays (including Tempest) written on an easy, entertaining level for children as an introduction (and I am all for that!).

Already planned, but temporarily put on hold, is Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway and Mrs. Dalloway's Party.  I am still waiting for my copy of the Mrs. Dalloway Reader to show up, so maybe just as well to hold off at the moment (Henry Green and Eimear McBride is more than enough to keep me busy at the moment).

And lastly two wonderful and recently acquired books that sound like great fun and which I can't wait to get to.  Have you heard about either (or both) of these books?  I keep seeing them pop up and had to have them--they are holiday gift card splurges.  Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk by Kathleen Rooney is a novel inspired by Macy's highest paid advertising woman in the 1930s.  "A love letter to city life in all its guts and grandeur, Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk by Kathleen Rooney paints a portrait of a remarkable woman across the canvas of a changing America: from the Jazz Age to the onset of the AIDS epidemic; the Great Depression to the birth of hip-hop."  Lillian is a "feisty flâneuse"!

So, it seems a perfect match of a story for Lauren Elkin's Flâneuse: Women Walk the City in Paris, New York, Tokyo, Venice, and London.  Part cultural meander, part memoir, Flâneuse takes us on a distinctly cosmopolitan jaunt that begins in New York, where Elkin grew up, and transports us to Paris via Venice, Tokyo, and London, all cities in which she’s lived. We are shown the paths beaten by such flâneuses as the cross-dressing nineteenth-century novelist George Sand, the Parisian artist Sophie Calle, the wartime correspondent Martha Gellhorn, and the writer Jean Rhys. With tenacity and insight, Elkin creates a mosaic of what urban settings have meant to women, charting through literature, art, history, and film the sometimes exhilarating, sometimes fraught relationship that women have with the metropolis.

Somehow these last two feel like vacation reads.  Warmer weather reads, so I can go out and enjoy the city, too!  Books for walkers, right up my alley!

See how easily one book leads to another.  (And sometimes another, and another . . .).