When I started reading prolific author John Irving‘s twelfth novel a  couple of weeks ago, I did not know that I was in for a real epic spanning five decades of a character’s life. Known chiefly for his popular reads, A Prayer for Owen Meany and The Cider House Rules, Irving does know how to weave a story in and out, over and under, much like a finely patterned quilt where the reader just wishes he or she could crawl up under it and not come out until the final stitch is sewn. Alas, few of us have that luxury, so long novels stretch out ahead of  us and call us back when we are weary, but not too tired, to read a few more pages before giving into cherished sleep.  Some may say Irving is wordy, but, hey, it’s worth it. Does he have an editor, or did his editor relinquish that job years ago, knowing that readers know what they are in for, and by savoring each word, phrase, sentence, and paragraph, the story becomes thicker and more mesmerizing.

So, at the outset the reader meets Danny, a sensitive and intelligent twelve-year-old boy, who lives with his father at a logging settlement on a river in New Hampshire in the early 1950s. His mother, who drowned in that same river when he was only two years old, had read and read to her toddler, creating in him the desire for the written word and planting in him, even at that young age, the seeds of an author in the making. What causes Danny and his cook father to flee the logging community and become fugitives for their entire lives, shall remain a secret, but suffice it to say that the violence which precipitated the run was never erased from the young boy’s memory.

One devoted friend, a burly, uneducated man named Ketchum, stays in contact with the cook and his son Danny throughout their lives and warns them of the villian ever close on their footsteps as they move from one community to the other, often being involved with mothers and their daughters as time passes.  Danny becomes a famous author and teaches at the Iowa Workshop for Writers, with a young son to rear alone, whose own mother (Danny’s absent wife) called him “the two-year-old” rather than his own name. Her purpose???… to keep the young men of America out of Vietnam even if it means messing up their lives for the time being while she moves through one sexual escapade to another.

Alas, I am about 100 + pages from the end of this convoluted, intriguing story, so I cannot even be tempted to tell you, a devoted reader, about the ending. I can only imagine that Irving will tie this thing up in his own talented way and leave the reader eagerly awaiting his 13th novel, on which I am quite sure he has already written at least the first 200 pages!……We at Lemuria are selling copies of this book every single day. Come get yours soon!

-Nan

I thought that some of you would find this story interesting!!

Maggie

Same Old Story: Best-Books Lists Snub Women Writers — Politics Daily.

by Kelly Pickerill

I never read The Time Traveler’s Wife.  I have a copy at home, but for some reason I was afraid it would be too romantic and whimsical for my tastes.  But when Audrey Niffenegger’s new book, Her Fearful Symmetry, was released, like Norma was afraid of, I was incredibly attracted to the cover.  To make matters worse (or better, depending on how you feel about owning two copies of the same book), there’s an equally if not more attractive SIGNED limited edition.  It features an illustration by Niffenegger on the cover and fabulous black page edges.

[click here to order]

Niffenegger’s new book is an exploration of identity.  The twin girls who inherit their aunt’s flat aren’t exactly identical; Valentina is a mirror image of Julia all the way down to her organs (which, as you may have guessed, results in many health problems for Valentina).  The twins are vapid, extraordinarily lazy, and besides a few failed attempts at college, have sponged off their mother (their aunt’s estranged twin) and father in Chicago since high school.

After their mother’s twin dies, the twins inherit her estate in London on their 21st birthday on the condition that they live in the flat for a year before they decide to sell it.  The back garden of the flat borders Highgate cemetery, where their aunt is buried in a family plot.  Julia and Valentina soon discover that their aunt Elspeth, whom they’ve never met, will be quite a large presence in their lives even after her death.  For one thing, they live one floor above her lover, Robert, a tour guide at Highgate who is writing his doctoral thesis on the cemetery, and who, though shaken by Elspeth’s death, finds strange comfort in getting to know her twin nieces who so uncannily resemble her.  Julia and Valentina also begin to unravel the mystery of their mother and Elspeth’s shattered relationship, which ended just as they were born, and which the reader grows to suspect may have a bigger influence on their lives than they know.

Niffenegger’s prose is refreshingly terse and quickly paced.  When I began to read the book, which is written in British English, I assumed she was British.  She’s not; she lives in Chicago.  But I like that she chose to write in that style (mostly just spelling differences: realize=realise, and a few idioms) because it allows the book to be “narrated” by a British presence.  The book is written in the third person with a pretty thorough omniscience, but because the “it” narrator is British, in some ways it feels as though Elspeth is narrating, relating the events that take place after her death, both because of and in spite of it.

Niffenegger’s book made me think a lot about the choices an author makes when they unfold their story.  And how much of that responsibility is “given” to their narrator, that presence that we get to know as we read, who is only partly the actual author of the book.  Which brings me back to my first statement about Her Fearful Symmetry: that it is a book about identity.  How much of the identity of a twin is dictated by her sister?  How much are any of us defined by our family or our work or who we surround ourselves with?  How much should we work at protecting that identity so that we don’t begin, as Valentina finds herself doing, fading away?  And how difficult would it really be, if one were determined enough, to slip into another person’s identity?

Her Fearful Symmetry is many things: a ghost story, a family saga, a coming of age story, and an exploration of what makes us unique.

This evening in London Hillary Mantel was awarded the Booker Prize for Wolf Hall.

Click here to read about Mantel and her prize-winning book on the official Booker website.

Previous blog on other titles shortlisted for the Booker.

The Wild Things by Dave Eggers is a novel for all ages. It is loosely based on the award-winning children’s book Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak and the screenplay for the movie. Maybe you have seen the fabulous previews for the movie, which was co-written by Dave Eggers and Spike Jonze. Click here to watch the trailer. Just watching these characters run and tumble makes me happy. The movie opens October 16th. The Wild Things is out today. Oh, and I just read the original story today. hee hee.

part five: shelley jackson

check out shelley jackson’s books by clicking on this sentence

the third policeman by flann o’brien

a high wind in jamaica by richard hughes

ryder by djuna barnes

moominpappa at sea by tove jansson

the essential anatomy of melancholy by robert burton

by Zita

Hardback April 2008 Random House

Paperback October 2008

Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout is truly a treasure–an immensely satisfying and deeply affecting work with one of the most full realized fictional characters I’ve encountered in some time.

Call by some “a novel in stories,” these thirteen linked stories set in a small town in Maine, focus on an acerbic, rather unlikeable retired school teacher named Olive Kitteridge. Not a particularly promising beginning, I’ll grant you. But in the hands of a gifted writer like Elizabeth Strout, Olive’s story comes alive, as do the stories of the lesser characters in the book. As the book progresses the author subtlety peels away layer upon layer of Olive’s protective armor–revealing finally, a much more complicated character. Ultimately Olive emerges as–yes–still irascible and blunt to the point of rudeness, but also as vulnerable, often fearful, sometimes compassionate, always complex–a very real human being.

Despite Olive’s larger than life presence throughout the book, the short stories themselves could stand alone. As one reviewer puts it: “Crosby, Maine, may seem like nowhere, but seen through this brilliant writer’s eyes it’s in essence the whole world, and the lives that are lived there are filled with all of the grand human drama–desire, despair, jealousy, hope and love.”

The same reviewer concludes: “As the townspeape grapple with their problems, mild and dire, Olive is brought to a deeper understanding of herself and her life–sometimes painfully, but always with ruthless honesty. Olive Kitteridge offers profound insights into the human condition–its conflicts, its tragedies and joys and the endurance its requires.”

Lest you be deterred by the thought of tackling such hefty themes, rest assured that Olive Kitteridge remains a remarkably accessible book–an easy read–if you will–which is, of course, yet another testimony to the genius of Elizabeth Strout. You’ll end up loving Olive and thanking Strout for offering a reading experience you won’t soon forget. -Billie

A Smiling Jug

I’m on page 266 now of a 600-something page book. I’ve got book darts to mark pages; I’ve got images downloaded from the web, satisfying my curiosity to remember/learn more about the Victorian Era; I’ve got a map of England; I’ve  gotten out my favorite Victorian Poetry book from school. This novel has turned me into a total book nerd. I carry the book wherever I go. And right now, I am really worried about one of the characters–as if he were alive. I’m pathetic.

I am reading an advanced copy of The Children’s Book by A. S. Byatt. It’s due out October 1st.

So you know already that the novel takes place in Victorian Era England through to World War I. Page 266 is still in the 1890s: a conservative government is in place but socialism is the buzz. William Morris textiles and tapestries are in the homes of the well-to-do, his poetry and prose read. The Arts and Crafts Movement–the romantic idealization of the craft of handmade goods in response to the increasing presence of machine-made goods–is the backdrop for much of the novel.

Olive Wellwood is a published writer of fairy tales. She is inspired by The Blue Fairy Book by Andrew Lang. In Olive’s circles, feminism is discussed, socialism and anarchy. Benedict Fludd is a talented and moody potter with a wife and daughters he describes as “pallid silk moths.” There is Prosper Cain who is the caretaker of precious metals at a museum. Philipp is the poor young boy found in the underground passage ways of the museum sleeping in an ancient Turkish crypt, his parents, workers/artisans in the pottery factories. Philipp worked in the bottle kilns in Burslem of Stoke-on-Trent in England. Yes, this was the child labor of the time. (This area is still home today–I believe–to Wedgewood, Spode, Portmeiron and Royal Doulton.)

Byatt mingles her characters with references to persons and events from the history books, and she skillfully deepens and interweaves the lives of these characters as children grow up and adults get older with Olive continuing to craft her fairy tales in the background of much change.

Needless to say, I love this book and am relishing every page. I had not read Byatt before, so I am wondering how this novel compares to her others. I do know that she won the Booker Prize for Possession in 1990 and The Children’s Book is longlisted for the Booker 2009. Also, Byatt has a sister who is also a published novelist. This sister, Margaret Drabble, has a memoir just out this week entitled Pattern in the Carpet. All very curious and stimulating indeed. I’ll keep you posted on The Children’s Book. I’m afraid you might even get tired of me–but oh well!

The St. Martin Brothers are referenced in the novel. I think whimsical and fanciful subjects--as in the jug to the right--capture some of the atmosphere.

Bottle Kilns in Burslem: Though the pottery houses employed workers who died tragically from lead poisoning, from a distance these kilns have been said to have the aura of a fairy tale.