Every once in a while I tell about the books I’ve recently read. Some are current; others are ones I’ve been lucky enough to find through browsing; and one I purchased because of the hype. Here goes:
Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan. With an Irish Christmas as the background, a man hauls coal in the early dark hours to a convent that’s also a school and a girls’ home. In the coal storage bin, he discovers a young girl shivering, and he suspects that she’s been there all night. Though he was born of an unwed mother during a time when this circumstance carried condemnation, he and his mother were always treated with kindness, and recognizing this, he has a grateful heart. This is a story of how, in the face of his town’s corrupt conspiracy, he makes things right. It was uplifting and compelling, and I enjoyed it so much that I next read her novella, Foster. Also worth reading.
Old God’s Time by Sebastian Barry. The author is a major award winner in the UK, but this is the first of his books I’ve read. His prose is delicate and lyrical; and the way he strings words together is so beautiful that I got teary-eyed as soon as I started reading. What a gift he has. Set in Ireland, Old God’s Time is about a retired detective, highly respected, who, for many years, held tightly to a dark secret. As he sinks into dementia, lies and truths overlap and haunt. It’s not a merry book, but it is a profound one, and it’ll stay with you. And more good news—he’s quite prolific, so there are many more of his books out there for me to pick up.
The Maid by Nita Prose. Oh what a joy this was to read! The main character is a young woman, Molly, whose life consists only of her job as a hotel maid, and her apartment. Because she’s quiet and is careful to draw no notice, people forget her presence—and that’s how she knows things. The sardonic monologue running through her head, her finicky cleanliness, and her strict adherence to her schedule, combine to form a delightful character. While on one level it’s a mystery involving violence, drug-dealing, and other chicanery, it’s mostly about Molly being Molly. If there’s sequel, I’ll be there.
Horse by Geraldine Brooks. When a book wants to teach me about history, I usually yawn and walk away. Except when the author’s Geraldine Brooks, who’s masterful in her historic niche. This intriguing and deeply researched novel has it all—slavery into freedom, art history and skeletal rearticulation, romance, and a passion for digging up long-ago truths. The past and present are elegantly intertwined; though I’ll mention that one of the story strands culminates in a predictable and contrived way, which was disappointing, but not so disappointing that I wouldn’t recommend the read. If you’ve not inhaled a Geraldine Brooks novel, I suggest you pick one up. I also recommend March.
Blink by Malcolm Gladwell. I came across this at Mahjong where, for a reason that eludes me, there are old books stacked on a table. I usually prefer fiction, but I do think that Gladwell shines an interesting light on whatever subject he decides to take on. Blink studies our decision making processes. When making choices, some people lean heavily on intuition, some on training, and others on logic. Based on experimental research, he examines these three aspects and how they come into play as we make decisions in our daily lives. I found it fascinating. My husband didn’t. So, subjective.
The Rules of Magic by Alice Hoffman. Hoffman’s books are always enjoyable and always skillfully crafted. I’ve been a fan for a long time. But be aware, she does have a fantastical streak that might be off-putting for some—for example: strange relationships are formed when cats walk backwards, or: if a spider crawls on your toe someone will give you a chicken. This is a prequel to Practical Magic, her first and most famous witch book. In The Rules of Magic, three witch siblings, born under a curse, must live without falling in love because their lovers will die. Oh, dear, how will they get around this?
Killers of the Flower Moon by David Grann. This was recommended to me so many times, and so highly acclaimed, that I thought surely I would enjoy it. But nope. I only managed to get through twelve percent before I threw in the towel. In those thirty or so pages, the author had dropped in so many names, occupations, relationships, backstories, and standings in the community that I was completely overwhelmed. How disappointing. But hey, I have no doubt that it’s every bit as outstanding as the critics say. I almost always prefer the book to the movie, but this time I’ll let someone smarter than I decipher it, and then I’ll enjoy their interpretation on the big screen.
Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver. This is a modern retelling of Dickinson’s David Copperfield. It’s one of the best reads I’ve come across in years. Seeing an awful world through guileless eyes, witnessing the transformation of innocence to cynicism, cynicism to hope, and hope to triumph—these are the themes of the story. The ingredients of the tale are ignorance, cruelty, poverty, dishonesty, despair, drug use—pretty much a stew of everything malicious you can find to chuck into the pot. While this is obviously not a description to attract readers, the narrator, a growing-up boy, is darkly humorous, quite lovable, and someone you’ll want to root for. Demon Copperhead is a prime example of how fiction helps humans find their humanity.
My Kindle’s is on the mantle. Why? How’d it get there? I have no idea.
