Book: The End of Your Life Book Club
Author: Will Schwalbe
Pages: 336
Copy: library book
Read: I finished this book on December 26
Spoilers: the mother dies at the end--but you know that from page one
I still can't figure out why I don't love this book. I mean, I read it quickly and enjoyed it well enough. But something about it is off. This partly may be because I've read few memoirs--I may just not know quality when I see it. But I don't think that's it. It could be the writing style--though I usually abandon books that aren't written in a way I like. It's not death--I've read about that before. It might be the cancer--my mom went through breast cancer--but I don't really think that would bother me. Something about this book niggles at me, like a vaguely sore tooth.
The premise is engaging--a man starts a two-person book club with his dying mother. They read a wide variety of books, and he writes about each book and his mother's reaction. These stories are intertwined with stories from his life and his mother's life. At times the organization is a little unwieldy--I think Schwalbe is trying to accomplish an awful lot--but it's always pleasant to read.
In many ways, Schwalbe has provided an engaging guide to caring for a dying parent. He is so careful and so thoughtful, it is clear that he loves his mother and wants the best for her. I don't know that this book would help anyone who's had a parent recently die cope, but I think this book would help some who is going through the final stages of a parent's life--or even just preparing for the day when that comes.
This is a moving elegy, a thoughtful tribute. It doesn't take many pages before you are as in love with Mary Anne Schwalbe as Will is. Her death is moving. Schwalbe lets you into his private thoughts and feelings through his mother's illness, and such vulnerability is quite amazing. The reader isn't held at arm's length through this book; the reader is brought into the hospital, into the house, into chemo therapy. I appreciate that. Schwalbe has provided another way to cope with an ill parent, and I'm grateful he is as open as he is.
Perhaps a second reading, some day, will help me figure out what it is that is bothering me about this book. Perhaps this is just a prickly book that needs to grow on me. I will certainly think about this book often. I will certainly try to sell this book at work. I think this book is good for everyone--people with parents still living, people with parents dead, people with ill parents, people with healthy parents. Young people who don't need to worry about their parents; people who do worry about their parents. This book is quite readable and I think people who only read sparingly will still enjoy it. Find a copy and give it a shot--it may change the way you think of fatal illnesses.
--Benvolia
30 December 2012
29 December 2012
Not As Messy As You'd Think: "In Praise of Messy Lives"
Book: In Praise of Messy Lives
Author: Katie Roiphe
Pages: 261
Copy: library copy
Read: mid-December
Spoilers: back to essays!
I requested this book from the library because I read a review that discussed how controversial Katie Roiphe is. I was excited--a woman essayist who starts fights! This is the woman for me! Naturally, her book was a complete disappointment.
Her writing style isn't that interesting. She may attack Joan Didion in a long essay, but her own style isn't so different. She uses some personal details, but never fleshes them out (she complains that Joan Didion's memoir is described as "'deeply and intensely personal,' and yet what is striking is how impersonal the book actually is." Roiphe's essays may be "deeply and intensely personal," but they're still strikingly impersonal). She has little in the way of style--I didn't linger over any of her sentences, the way I did with Joan Didion and even Anne Fadiman. Her writing style is academic and utilitarian. There is little color and no music in her sentences. This is the style of modern academic essays, but I expect more from personal essays--especially essays sold to the wider public.
Perhaps the most aggravating part of this collection of essays is the banality of Roiphe's insights. It is no compliment to myself when I say I could have made the same observations as Roiphe. She doesn't enlighten--she points out the obvious. There are few interesting criticisms and almost no intriguing social commentary. George Orwell could take a very basic and very boring part of culture and make astonishing claims about what those things said about society as a whole. Roiphe can't do that.
What intrigued me the most is the fact that Roiphe seems secretly conservative. She writes all about her unconventional family--she is raising two children on her own--and writes at great length about all the criticism she gets. But I never got the feeling that she actually accepts her situation. To me, it seems that she actually agrees with all the criticism. But there's also the sense that she loves to be a martyr. "Look at poor me, raising two fatherless children! Give me your pity and your criticism, because I deserve it!" In more capable hands, Roiphe's life story could have been striking. (I couldn't help but think that if Cheryl Strayed had written Roiphe's book, it would have been absolutely the most stunning book of the year. In Roiphe's hands, everything falls utterly flat.)
Only one essay from this collection has stayed with me. In "Making the Incest Scene," Roiphe writes about the way that incest has become the go-to "dark secret" of modern literature and how no one does it believably. While I think her criticism is spot on, I'm not sure incest is as pervasive as she imagines. Still, while I've thought about that essay once or twice since I read this collection, her analysis and observations in that essay are as superficial as all the other essays. The essay has no point but to point out incest. It goes no deeper.
I really can't figure out what is so controversial about Roiphe. Once or twice I caught myself frowning as I read her essays, but I never felt the need to rail against her. Her essay on Joan Didion bothered me a little, but I thought she made fair points. How does this woman start fights? Perhaps it is the way she writes about her family--I could see some "family values" readers becoming irate about that. Still, how she's earned a name as a "bad girl" eludes me. Orwell says more outrageous things, and he's been dead for almost 63 years. Roiphe is going to have to try a lot harder if she wants to make a lasting impression on American letters.
I don't hate this book, exactly, I'm just disappointed. Yet again another essayist has failed. Perhaps the essay form is just too out-of-date; it seems like no one knows how to do it right anymore. How can a collection this light and shallow cause any sort of controversy at all? Is it because a woman is expressing her opinions? I can only hope that isn't the only reason. Surely women are allowed to express their opinions without being labelled a "controversial writer." George Will writes his opinion all the time, and he's been called "the most powerful journalist in America."
This might be a good introduction to essays--I mean, Roiphe is readable, and shallowness of interpretation might help a person get use to reading cultural essays. Still, I'm not sure exactly who the target audience here is. Women? I hope not. Women deserve well-written essays too. I suppose I can only recommend this to people who want to stay abreast of pop literary culture. I really don't care what is written, it has to be written well. Roiphe needs to learn more about craftsmanship before she can become truly enduring.
--Benvolia
Author: Katie Roiphe
Pages: 261
Copy: library copy
Read: mid-December
Spoilers: back to essays!
I requested this book from the library because I read a review that discussed how controversial Katie Roiphe is. I was excited--a woman essayist who starts fights! This is the woman for me! Naturally, her book was a complete disappointment.
Her writing style isn't that interesting. She may attack Joan Didion in a long essay, but her own style isn't so different. She uses some personal details, but never fleshes them out (she complains that Joan Didion's memoir is described as "'deeply and intensely personal,' and yet what is striking is how impersonal the book actually is." Roiphe's essays may be "deeply and intensely personal," but they're still strikingly impersonal). She has little in the way of style--I didn't linger over any of her sentences, the way I did with Joan Didion and even Anne Fadiman. Her writing style is academic and utilitarian. There is little color and no music in her sentences. This is the style of modern academic essays, but I expect more from personal essays--especially essays sold to the wider public.
Perhaps the most aggravating part of this collection of essays is the banality of Roiphe's insights. It is no compliment to myself when I say I could have made the same observations as Roiphe. She doesn't enlighten--she points out the obvious. There are few interesting criticisms and almost no intriguing social commentary. George Orwell could take a very basic and very boring part of culture and make astonishing claims about what those things said about society as a whole. Roiphe can't do that.
What intrigued me the most is the fact that Roiphe seems secretly conservative. She writes all about her unconventional family--she is raising two children on her own--and writes at great length about all the criticism she gets. But I never got the feeling that she actually accepts her situation. To me, it seems that she actually agrees with all the criticism. But there's also the sense that she loves to be a martyr. "Look at poor me, raising two fatherless children! Give me your pity and your criticism, because I deserve it!" In more capable hands, Roiphe's life story could have been striking. (I couldn't help but think that if Cheryl Strayed had written Roiphe's book, it would have been absolutely the most stunning book of the year. In Roiphe's hands, everything falls utterly flat.)
Only one essay from this collection has stayed with me. In "Making the Incest Scene," Roiphe writes about the way that incest has become the go-to "dark secret" of modern literature and how no one does it believably. While I think her criticism is spot on, I'm not sure incest is as pervasive as she imagines. Still, while I've thought about that essay once or twice since I read this collection, her analysis and observations in that essay are as superficial as all the other essays. The essay has no point but to point out incest. It goes no deeper.
I really can't figure out what is so controversial about Roiphe. Once or twice I caught myself frowning as I read her essays, but I never felt the need to rail against her. Her essay on Joan Didion bothered me a little, but I thought she made fair points. How does this woman start fights? Perhaps it is the way she writes about her family--I could see some "family values" readers becoming irate about that. Still, how she's earned a name as a "bad girl" eludes me. Orwell says more outrageous things, and he's been dead for almost 63 years. Roiphe is going to have to try a lot harder if she wants to make a lasting impression on American letters.
I don't hate this book, exactly, I'm just disappointed. Yet again another essayist has failed. Perhaps the essay form is just too out-of-date; it seems like no one knows how to do it right anymore. How can a collection this light and shallow cause any sort of controversy at all? Is it because a woman is expressing her opinions? I can only hope that isn't the only reason. Surely women are allowed to express their opinions without being labelled a "controversial writer." George Will writes his opinion all the time, and he's been called "the most powerful journalist in America."
This might be a good introduction to essays--I mean, Roiphe is readable, and shallowness of interpretation might help a person get use to reading cultural essays. Still, I'm not sure exactly who the target audience here is. Women? I hope not. Women deserve well-written essays too. I suppose I can only recommend this to people who want to stay abreast of pop literary culture. I really don't care what is written, it has to be written well. Roiphe needs to learn more about craftsmanship before she can become truly enduring.
--Benvolia
28 December 2012
Elminating the Mystery: "A Gun for Sale"
Book: A Gun for Sale
Author: Graham Greene
Pages: 184
Copy: Penguin Classic that I stole from my brother years ago
Read: early December (I read this for my noir mystery reading group)
Spoilers: nothing extraordinary--I mean, you already know people die
I think it's interesting--and by that, I mean I vaguely regret--that I assigned this book as a noir mystery. First off, there really isn't any mystery. There's suspense, there's uncertainty--but because the book is primarily from the point of view of the murderer, there isn't much mystery. There's a little unraveling that needs to be done, but Greene lays everything out, so it's easy enough to predict what is going to happen. I doubt Greene truly wants to leave people in the dark. Second, there isn't really a central detective the way there is in most noir mysteries. Third, the woman isn't a femme fatale in the usual sense.
I was surprisingly pleased with this book. I tried to read Brighton Rock a couple years ago and got completely bogged down. This book is more snappy, and has a little less of the Catholic moralizing that makes Brighton so gloomy. In the place of Catholicism, there's war. War infects the whole novel, from first page to last. The frenzy, the fear, the release--Greene captures the entire pre-war experience perfectly. He also knows why wars happen now--the book is an indictment of industrial warfare and the effect it has on common people.
What I found particularly interesting was the use of the sole female character. Noir mysteries are almost painfully sexist--women are sex objects, or they're manipulative, or they just want to control men, or they're just there to make phone calls and post letters. Anne is a femme fatale--men are captured and die because of her--but she isn't one in the way, say, Brigid O'Shaughnessy is. She really tries to avoid causing death and mayhem, but she gets trapped and has no choice. She makes morally ambiguous choices, tries to help the criminal, and ultimately makes choices that are in her best interest, not in anyone else's. In many ways, she occupies the space usually held by the detective. It is an interesting move on Greene's part, and it does a lot to upend usual noir tropes.
Greene's use of noir cliches accomplishes that which Chandler was never able to. Green transcends the conventions of genre fiction and manages to make a noir mystery into literature. He does this without the literary flourishes that Chandler attempted. His writing is understated and calm, moving ahead without those cringe-inducing metaphors and similes. His dialogue is stilted, though, and characters tend to monologue in a way that isn't particularly realistic. Additionally, even the criminal speaks like a well-educated, well-off man, which complicates the character. Is Raven as well-educated as he claims? Is he affecting a persona? Or is Greene making all the characters equal by making them all speak in relatively similar ways? There are clear class divisions in this novel, but the divisions aren't marked by the way a character speaks.
Noir mysteries rarely explore political issues. They are usually too wrapped up in the mystery at hand to comment on the wider world. Chandler may mention war a few times, but he doesn't comment on why the war is happening or how it impacts common citizens. Hammett seems to forget any other world exists, other than the world of the novel. Greene uses noir conventions to make a political statement and in doing so, he not only elevates the genre, but he also reveals how pervasive politics can be. Just because a man is a murderer doesn't mean he won't feel the impacts of an impending war. Just because a woman has to make ambiguous moral decisions doesn't mean war won't mean anything to her. The novel barely contains these complexities--if Greene had made his story much longer, it no doubt would have shattered--but that it manages to speaks to its power and its writer's talent.
I'm going to try some more Greene now. I know part of the reason I hesitated to read him is because George Orwell wrote a rather damning review of The Heart of the Matter for the New Yorker. He writes elsewhere about "Catholic writers" and how much he dislikes their work. I'll perhaps avoid the more Catholic of Greene's work at the beginning, but I'll still give him a shot.
As for recommending this particular novel, I can see it appealing to anyone interested in industrial warfare or anyone who is interested in noir mysteries but not in genre fiction (a small population, to be sure). Like most noir, this book is unlikely to appeal to most women, just because the woman (and there is really only one, though there are a couple supporting female characters) isn't well drawn or particularly believable. Still, any woman who likes noir mysteries will find something to like in these pages. This might be a good way to introduce a person to noir mysteries, but only if they know that few other noir stories are as literary.
--Benvolia
Author: Graham Greene
Pages: 184
Copy: Penguin Classic that I stole from my brother years ago
Read: early December (I read this for my noir mystery reading group)
Spoilers: nothing extraordinary--I mean, you already know people die
I think it's interesting--and by that, I mean I vaguely regret--that I assigned this book as a noir mystery. First off, there really isn't any mystery. There's suspense, there's uncertainty--but because the book is primarily from the point of view of the murderer, there isn't much mystery. There's a little unraveling that needs to be done, but Greene lays everything out, so it's easy enough to predict what is going to happen. I doubt Greene truly wants to leave people in the dark. Second, there isn't really a central detective the way there is in most noir mysteries. Third, the woman isn't a femme fatale in the usual sense.
I was surprisingly pleased with this book. I tried to read Brighton Rock a couple years ago and got completely bogged down. This book is more snappy, and has a little less of the Catholic moralizing that makes Brighton so gloomy. In the place of Catholicism, there's war. War infects the whole novel, from first page to last. The frenzy, the fear, the release--Greene captures the entire pre-war experience perfectly. He also knows why wars happen now--the book is an indictment of industrial warfare and the effect it has on common people.
What I found particularly interesting was the use of the sole female character. Noir mysteries are almost painfully sexist--women are sex objects, or they're manipulative, or they just want to control men, or they're just there to make phone calls and post letters. Anne is a femme fatale--men are captured and die because of her--but she isn't one in the way, say, Brigid O'Shaughnessy is. She really tries to avoid causing death and mayhem, but she gets trapped and has no choice. She makes morally ambiguous choices, tries to help the criminal, and ultimately makes choices that are in her best interest, not in anyone else's. In many ways, she occupies the space usually held by the detective. It is an interesting move on Greene's part, and it does a lot to upend usual noir tropes.
Greene's use of noir cliches accomplishes that which Chandler was never able to. Green transcends the conventions of genre fiction and manages to make a noir mystery into literature. He does this without the literary flourishes that Chandler attempted. His writing is understated and calm, moving ahead without those cringe-inducing metaphors and similes. His dialogue is stilted, though, and characters tend to monologue in a way that isn't particularly realistic. Additionally, even the criminal speaks like a well-educated, well-off man, which complicates the character. Is Raven as well-educated as he claims? Is he affecting a persona? Or is Greene making all the characters equal by making them all speak in relatively similar ways? There are clear class divisions in this novel, but the divisions aren't marked by the way a character speaks.
Noir mysteries rarely explore political issues. They are usually too wrapped up in the mystery at hand to comment on the wider world. Chandler may mention war a few times, but he doesn't comment on why the war is happening or how it impacts common citizens. Hammett seems to forget any other world exists, other than the world of the novel. Greene uses noir conventions to make a political statement and in doing so, he not only elevates the genre, but he also reveals how pervasive politics can be. Just because a man is a murderer doesn't mean he won't feel the impacts of an impending war. Just because a woman has to make ambiguous moral decisions doesn't mean war won't mean anything to her. The novel barely contains these complexities--if Greene had made his story much longer, it no doubt would have shattered--but that it manages to speaks to its power and its writer's talent.
I'm going to try some more Greene now. I know part of the reason I hesitated to read him is because George Orwell wrote a rather damning review of The Heart of the Matter for the New Yorker. He writes elsewhere about "Catholic writers" and how much he dislikes their work. I'll perhaps avoid the more Catholic of Greene's work at the beginning, but I'll still give him a shot.
As for recommending this particular novel, I can see it appealing to anyone interested in industrial warfare or anyone who is interested in noir mysteries but not in genre fiction (a small population, to be sure). Like most noir, this book is unlikely to appeal to most women, just because the woman (and there is really only one, though there are a couple supporting female characters) isn't well drawn or particularly believable. Still, any woman who likes noir mysteries will find something to like in these pages. This might be a good way to introduce a person to noir mysteries, but only if they know that few other noir stories are as literary.
--Benvolia
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