Tag Archive for: fiction

The Plot by Jean Hanff Korelitz

/in /by

Character-driven versus plot-driven stories: Readers of literary fiction often claim the former while just about everyone else stakes the latter. (Just look at the bestseller lists.) But they are not mutually exclusive, of course. You can have both. One fairly recent example where varied readers said, “You have to read this,” to other readers would be Gone Girl, the plot a bucking bronco of she said/he said. Twin this with its strong character development, and you can count literary fiction readers among the beguiled.

I’ll add to that an example from this very year, fittingly titled The Plot by Jean Hanff Korelitz. The novel centers around Jacob Finch Bonner, a literary novelist who peaked early in his career. His first book actually made it into The New York Times Book Review. But his second—and then his third—book tanked, leaving this once “young and upcoming” novelist neither young, nor upcoming. He doesn’t even have a literary agent anymore.

Still “theoretically (as opposed to actually) working on’’ a current novel, he agrees to teach (strictly for money, doubtless) a writing workshop at some never-heard-of MFA school (Ripley). Anyone can sign up, and anyone does. Even the most earnest of students run the gamut, as in “the guy who’d wanted to correct Victor Hugo’s ‘mistakes’ in a new version of Les Misérables and the woman who’d conjured the indelible non-word ‘honeymelons.’”

Then there is Evan Parker, a student who appears to have never read a story, let alone aspired to write one. He’s a flat-out jerk who clearly doesn’t want Bonner’s advice. He’s there, he finally discloses to Bonner, to make connections that will lead to his finding a literary agent who will then, in turn, help him secure a book deal on the novel he’s writing. Bonner, in disbelief of all this, tries to convey how unlikely this is, especially since he won’t share any of his writing.

Parker’s unfazed, because the plot of his novel is a “sure thing.” He reluctantly acquiesces and allows a few pages to be read. Bonner inwardly concedes that this guy can write. It’s not great, but neither is it hackneyed. Then Parker unpacks the plot, and Bonner is stunned: The plot is amazing.

The workshop ends and Bonner moves on to other side gigs that are becoming less “side” than “main” because he has all but ceased writing. He creates a website “touting his editorial skills,” and it does not go well. “The writing he encountered in this new role of online editor, coach, and consultant (that marvelously malleable word) made the least of his Ripley students seem like Hemingway.”

A few years pass and Bonner wonders what became of Parker and his “sure thing.” After some online investigating, he learns that not only does the novel remain unpublished, but that Parker has died. And this is the moment, the crossroads. This amazing plot is now authorless. You can almost feel the rush of euphoria surge through Bonner as he justifies his decision. How can he deny a plot that needs a writer? Ignoring it is not an option; it would forever gnaw at him, at any true writer. And are not new stories mere retellings anyway? “Miss Saigon from Madame Butterfly. The Hours from Mrs. Dalloway. The Lion King from Hamlet, for goodness’ sake!” He was given an “urgent, shimmering thing,” so he, the literary writer, must write it.

Once published, Bonner’s book becomes every bit the success he hoped. Straight to the top of the bestseller list. Oprah blesses it. His appearances and readings now fill auditoriums. (He no longer has to suffer through the indignity—as he did during his earlier books—of having only his parents show up at a reading.)

He’s living the successful writerly life he has always wanted. Yet he’s terrified. At any moment someone could stand up during a reading and yell out that he is a fraud. And come it does, the allegation, via an anonymous email: “You are a thief.”

To say any more about what happens next would be criminal. (I will say: It’s engaging.) Stephen King has a blurb on the jacket calling it “Insanely readable.” I’m not quite sure what he means by that, but I’ll agree. And it’s more than the plot. Korelitz made Bonner a curious joy to spend time with. He’s pleasant enough on the outside but sardonic on the inside. To wit: Before his fame—and while teaching—he expresses to a colleague who teaches poetry that he wished he read more poetry. In reality: “He didn’t, actually, but he wished he wished he read more poetry, which ought to count for something.” After he’s famous, and after yet another bloke says to him, “My wife read your book,” Bonner thinks, “Five monosyllabic words, speaking volumes.”

Bonner’s genial affect belies his inner turmoil. But even if there wasn’t something weighing on his conscience during the height of his book’s success, I can’t see that he would be much happier. Not as stressed, sure. But adulation only goes so far. An old cliché fits Bonner perfectly: Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it.

Find in Catalog

Inside Story: A Novel by Martin Amis

/in /by

A frequently asked question of authors in “The New York Times Book Review” goes something like this. “You’re hosting a literary dinner party. Which authors do you invite?” From the answers, we are to glean literary leanings. To me, what’s also being revealed is authors’ idea of a dinner party.
I’m partial to lively dinner gatherings, so you, dear reader, will be seated next to Norman Mailer (the Mailer from the 1970s). Across from him will be the essayist Christopher Hitchens (the Hitchens from any decade). And it just so happens that Hitchens’ good friend is a fellow Oxford-educated writer, and one of my favorite novelists, Martin Amis. He’s the quintessential English wit to add a cool levity that will attenuate the other combustible personalities at the table. Let’s seat him across from you.
Amis is renowned for using his high style of prose to unveil modernity’s excesses and absurdities, often writing about characters you would never actually want to know (which, trust, works). He is in his seventh decade and has stated that his latest novel, Inside Story: A Novel, could very well be his last. It’s a work of autofiction, so some might be frustrated in delineating fact from fiction. It nonetheless certainly reads like an autobiography. (Amis doesn’t spare himself in the book. He quotes George Orwell: “Autobiography is only to be trusted when it reveals something disgraceful.”). Plus, those who like his work will not really care one way or the other. Amis knows how to turn a sentence, so we are willing to afford him a wide latitude. Example: In one of his earlier novels he placed himself as an actual character. This was too much for Amis’ father, the venerated novelist Kingsley Amis; for when he came across the portion of the novel that introduced the character “Martin Amis,” he threw the book across the room.
Here, Amis more/less oscillates among three individuals. Because Kingsley was a large presence in Martin’s excellent 2000 memoir, “Experience,” he’s not one of them. But, just you wait, one of these three will hand Martin some big news concerning Kingsley.
First is the novelist Saul Bellow, whom Amis revered. Conversations between the two came naturally, and Amis recounts many. We learn that Bellow, winner of the Nobel Prize, the Pulitzer Prize, and three National Book Awards, “despised with every neutrino of his being” what often passed as literary pedagogy. He did not abide attending literary conferences only to be told such things as what “Ahab’s harpoon symbolizes.”
We already know that novelists are users by nature. “Novelists are power-crazed usurpers,” cautions Amis. If you friend one, don’t be surprised to find yourself in a novel. Bellow, apparently, ran with this notion, ruining many of his marriages and driving some of his family members to cease speaking with him. Yet, according to Amis, Bellow’s last wife possessed an “atavistic fire” of devotion as Alzheimer’s plagued him.
“Writers die twice,” writes Amis. And it happened to Bellow. When Amis looked into his eyes one day, he knew that Bellow’s writing days were over. Gone was the prose that was a “force of nature.” Bellow was experiencing a “death of the mind: dissolution most foul.”
If Bellow’s prose was a force of nature, it could be said that Christopher Hitchens was a force of nature. To say he was a columnist and an orator understates Hitchens. He used the pen and the lectern about as fiercely and masterfully as one can, possessing “no ordinary powers of restiveness and mental orchestration.” And no institution or individual was safe. At times, especially in his later years, it almost seemed that Hitchens was becoming a contrarian for its own sake. But he remained consistent in challenging anything fascistic or nonsensical, which, to him, included religion.
Amis and Hitchens met in the early 1970s, their lives eventually following a similar pattern of marriage, children, divorce, and then remarriage. Amis has plenty of stories to share about his friend. And no recounting of Hitchens would be complete without mentioning his copious intake of alcohol and cigarettes. To wit: one night, Amis and Hitchens had an epic go with vodka, wine, and various other spirits. The next day, a severely hungover Amis found that not only had Hitchens made it to an early morning television appearance and debate, but he also wrote an article for publication. At noon, Hitchens let himself into Amis’ place, poured a whiskey for himself and inquired how Amis was feeling. In response to hearing of Amis’ dreadful state, Hitchens devilishly replied, “Mm. I don’t get hangovers. Can’t see the point of them.”
The point of them, of course, is to listen to your body’s distress moan: “Slow down, man.” This lack of communication caught up with Hichens in 2010 when he was diagnosed with stage four esophageal cancer. Amis says that Hitchens had a “compulsion to stride into his fears.” But still, there’s no small degree of poignancy to read that Hitchens quietly lamented the finality of it all: never seeing England again; missing his niece’s upcoming wedding. Hitchens’ two deaths were in proximity, and Amis was a dot-the-i friend to him through it all; he was by his side during treatment and at his death.
Then there is Phoebe Phelps, a girlfriend of Amis from the late 1970s, a woman he found “alluringly amoral.” When she went broke from gambling, Amis invited her to live with him. But cohabitating did not change the fact that she did not return love in kind. He knew he had made a mistake, that he was “out of his depth, and going under.” (You can find characters like her in Amis’ fiction. And you can see this version of Amis as well. In “The Information,” our protagonist awoke one morning “at six, as usual. He needed no alarm clock. He was already comprehensively alarmed.”)
Their relationship ended after five years. Decades later, Phelps reentered Amis’ life. On September 12, 2001, still shocked from the terrorist attacks the day prior, Amis was met with another jolt. Phelps rang him up to announce, “It’s been bothering me for twenty-four years and I don’t see why it shouldn’t start bothering you.” The bother: Phelps said that Kingsley had told her that he was not Martin’s father. The poet Philip Larkin was.
Martin’s wife tells him that this was just another contrived cruelty from Phelps. (And it certainly appeared that it was.) Martin can’t help but mull it about, however. Yes, Kingsley and Philip were friends. Yes, too, Martin appreciates Larkin’s poetry. But the thought of being “a Larkin” chills him. It’s clear that so much of Larkin repulses Martin: that Larkin skirted fighting the Nazis, that he was a sour and gloomy mess who hated children. (And Martin’s love life fell more on the Kingsley side of the ledger, meaning Kingsley had a staggering number of affairs. While Martin did not go to quite that extreme, he was more in line with Kingsley’s camp than with Larkin’s “irreducible church-mouse penury.” This clearly bothers Amis. Take from that what you will.) Phelps was jealous that it was Martin who went on to marry and have children. She couldn’t stand that it was she who became, in essence, “a Larkin.”
Amis also has plenty to impart on a range of topics, including writing. Here’s one: want to write a religious novel? Don’t, says Amis, “because fiction is essentially a temporal and rational form.” That’s why Amis can’t get on with Graham Greene. He likens reading Greene to riding a train. The prose moves along smoothly enough, but the tea trolley is rattling away. To Amis, that annoying rattle is religion.
As of this writing, I’ve left the last handful of the novel’s pages unread, for two reasons. 1) I don’t want good books to end. 2) I know that Amis is saying goodbye to his readers, so I’m trying to delay my bereavement. Over decades, he’s taken great care of his readers, his guests. If he had never written a word, Amis states that he would have been more than content with being just a reader. Because no other art form better reveals the depth of an inner life than literature. When we read of others doing, as Bellow writes, “the silent work of uneventful days,” we see in them derivatives of our own. Well, Mr. Amis, I’m pleased you wielded a pen and did the long work. And if this is it, and our visits have come to an end, then know this: Believe, the pleasure was all mine.

Find in Catalog

We Ride Upon Sticks by Quan Barry

/in /by

With its brightly colored cover and its strange title, WE RIDE UPON STICKS by QUAN BARRY caught my attention immediately. If I had been more familiar with the plot, it is possible that I would have been more suspicious of the way it instantly grabbed me.

In the summer of 1989, the members of a high school field hockey team pledge themselves to the powers of darkness in order to make it to the state championships.

The novel is set in Danvers, Massachusetts, a small town outside of Salem. It is common knowledge in Danvers that much of the chaos of the Salem witch trials actually happened in their town – which was called Salem Village at the time.

During the previous school year, Mel Boucher found herself reading a reference book about the trials. The story of the teenage girls whose interest in witchcraft sparked the witch hunt inspires Mel to do some dabbling of her own.

The Danvers Falcons have been consistently terrible for years. Starting with Mel Boucher, the team decides to take matters into their own hands and, one-by-one, sign their names over to the darkness – represented by a notebook featuring Emilio Estevez.

Each member has their own reasons for signing the book. Everyone wants the team to win the state championship, but they each have their own personal goals that become clear over the course of the novel.

Julie Kaling, for example, lives in a restrictive, uber-religious household. When she signs her name, she asks the darkness to help her with a project. Her dreams revolve around a dress she wants to make for prom. With the boldness given to her by “Emilio” she begins spending her free period in the Home Ec room, working on her masterpiece.

Initially, signing their names seems to be enough. They obliterate the competition at their summer training camp, but once the regular season starts, they are only scraping by with narrow wins.

As the team soon finds out, the only way to appease the darkness (and secure their victories) is by doing dark things. Which the team takes to with a vengeance. They use their new power to affect change in the school and come into their own power as young adults.

AJ Johnson is upset about the racism in her English class curriculum. She uses this anger to start a rumor about a teacher, but then she decides to affect change more directly and run for student council president. Thanks to the darkness, she wins easily without ever putting up a poster.

The Falcons’ varsity team – Abby Putnam, Jen Fiorenza, Girl Cory, Little Smitty, Mel Boucher, AJ Johnson, Boy Cory, Julie Kaling, Sue Yoon, Becca Bjelica, and Heather Houston – are seniors. Like many high school students, they are trying to reconcile who they have always been with who they want to be.

Ultimately the book is about the internal power we all have, if we choose to harness it. Many of the team’s accomplishments were within their own power, they just needed the confidence to take action. On the other hand, I’m not completely sure that they weren’t also doing magic.

Reading WE RIDE UPON STICKS was a delight. It was a very unique novel, with only a small amount of actual field hockey – for which I am grateful.

Barry’s writing style is very visual. I was not surprised to find out that she is also a prize-winning poet. Jen Fiorenza has the iconic 80s teased bangs, which the team lovingly refers to as “the Claw.” Every time she mentions the Claw, Barry describes its subtle movements – which reflect the way Jen is feeling – from a tall, platinum railroad spike to a sad stack of pancakes.

She also perfectly captures the spirit of high school. Barry uses little details to accomplish the high school atmosphere, like the fact that the Danvers Falcons think about each other as either a first and last combo name, Abby Putnam, or exclusively by a nickname: Boy Cory.

The reader is given a glimpse into each character in turn, watching them go through their biggest moment of change.

By relying on each other – and using the powers of Emilio – each member of the team is able to accomplish something they never thought they could. As long as they don’t go too deep into the darkness.

Find in Catalog

The Chicken Sisters by KJ Dell’Antonia

/in /by

When I heard of this book — “THE CHICKEN SISTERS” by KJ DELL’ANTONIA — thanks to Pittsburg (Kansas) Public Library’s “Chickenstock” campaign, I was intrigued. I had eaten at both Kansas restaurants — Chicken Mary’s and Chicken Annie’s — and loved the idea of basing a book on a rivalry between two local restaurants, even if it was very loosely based.

Sisters Mimi and Frannie used to operate a restaurant together in Merinac, Kansas, but when Frannie met and married Frank, they split off and opened their own restaurant. Fast forward three generations, both restaurants are still in operation. Chicken Mimi’s and Chicken Frannie’s both claim they serve the best fried chicken in Kansas. Today, Chicken Mimi’s is operated by Barbara Moore, and Chicken Frannie’s is operated by Amanda Pogociello, Barbara’s daughter, and Amanda’s mother-in-law Nancy Pogociello.

Amanda has lived in Merinac her whole life. She grew up working for her mom at Chicken Mimi’s, but when she met, fell in love with and married Frank Pogociello, she was no longer welcome at her mother’s restaurant. She’s been part of the Chicken Frannie’s operation ever since. Her two teenage kids, Gus and Frankie, and her mother-in-law are her world. Though she has had dreams of going to art school, after her husband and father-in-law both died, she did not feel like she could follow her dreams.

It is this restlessness that inspires Amanda to reach out to “Food Wars,” a restaurant competition reality television show that awards the winner $100,000. Things get even more interesting after Barbara only agrees to participate if Amanda’s sister, Mae, comes to support her during the competition.

Mae Moore has been away in New York City, working to make a name for herself in television thanks to her skills as an organizing expert. She is ambitious, and few know she is from a tiny town in Kansas. She has even told her husband that Merinac is a suburb of Kansas City. But after her latest foray into television falls through, helping her mom with “Food Wars” seems like a good idea to keep her brand and name in the forefront. Soon she, her two kids and her nanny are on their way to Merinac.

The television cameras bring out the competitors on both sides. Amanda is soon doing and saying things that will place Chicken Frannie’s as the front-runner, and Mae is quick to respond with her own antics. Family friends are soon involved, and thanks to the scheming “Food Wars” host, the competition is shaping up to be a heated one. Soon, the families will have to decide what is more important: winning or their relationship.

Dell’Antonia’s book was a New York Times bestseller and a Reese Whiterspoon’s book club pick and it is no wonder. It is a fun story. Dell’Antonia crafts a beautiful tale of family rivalry, sprinkled with secrets, love and mystery.

The characters are well developed with everyone’s flaws and strengths on full display at different points in the tale. It is sure to leave readers wanting to take the short drive to Kansas to pick up some fried chicken from Chicken Mary’s and Chicken Annie’s for a taste-off of their own.

Find in Catalog.

Moxie by Jennifer Mathieu

/in /by

A couple of months ago I saw a Netflix trailer for a movie called “Moxie.” It was set to be released on March 3, 2021. Looking further, I discovered that it was a book. Exciting news, so I placed it on hold, determined to read it before I watched the movie.

A bit of background before starting the review — the young adult novel “MOXIE” was published in 2017 by JENNIFER MATHIEU, and comedian Amy Poehler, who is also the director of the Netflix movie, is quoted on the cover of the book as saying, “Moxie” is sweet, funny, and fierce. Read this and then join the fight.”

Quiet, dependable, rule-following Vivian Carter has had enough of her small town high school’s tendency to support male football players over anyone else. The football players, especially principal’s son and quarterback Mitchell Wilson, get away with treating the girls at East Rockport High as second class citizens. Mitchell and his buddies continually harass Vivian’s classmates and friends, and despite complaints from the female students to the school’s administration, they are never disciplined, punished or even corrected.

The school administration’s lack of support for the females at the school shows through in the form of surprise dress code checks focused completely on the females, not doing anything about hallway and classroom harassment, and hosting expensive pep rallies for an average football team, while the winning girls’ soccer team wears dated uniforms and gets little recognition.

Inspired by her mom’s Riot Grrrl past and a box of paraphernalia labeled “My Misspent Youth” that she discovers in the attic, Vivian creates a zine that she is soon distributing, anonymously, from the restrooms at East Rockport High. Her first call to action is mild, with a request to decorate hands with stars and hearts, but after continued harassment, Vivian and Moxie supporters put an ambitious call forward that has the principal threatening suspensions for anyone participating.

Poehler’s book cover quote is accurate, Moxie is “sweet, funny, and fierce.” Vivian’s character is hard not to like, even when she’s acting like a stereotypical, hard-to-understand teenager. Her growth through the story is marked and interesting to follow. As is that of her friends, mom — all those around her. While she is the lead in the book, there are many strong supporting characters and Mathieu does a good job developing their personalities. It is a good introduction for teens to the topics of female empowerment, zine creation, and the Riot Grrrl movement of the ‘90s.

About the movie — I did watch it after I finished the book, but as is my usual experience with book-to-movie offerings, it was not my favorite. I liked the book so much better.

It must be hard to translate a book into film and keep all the fun things about it. I do not envy screenwriters and directors this challenge. They changed a lot of the original storyline — the calls to action, who was the top administrator, even how the zines were created — and I am not sure why. I do not feel like the changes made the film any more interesting, but I was probably too focused on the changes to really enjoy it.

I will say though, the movie props were great — I loved Vivian’s room decorations — and the diversity of the cast was refreshing.

Find in catalog.

The Silence by Don DeLillo

/in /by

Illusory though it is, there’s an endorphin-rush moment when you begin a novel that feels as though it was written just for you. The story’s arc is almost irrelevant. What blows your hair back are the observations in sentences that seem perfectly formed. It’s as if your limbic system has been waiting for this moment. And from this instant, you know that you will need to read everything ever written by this author, this new shadow of you. For me, one such author is Don DeLillo.
I don’t recall how it was in my twenties I ended up reading DeLillo’s “Libra,” a novel about Lee Harvey Oswald. I wasn’t particularly interested in traveling into an imagined rendering of Oswald’s mind. By novel’s end, however, I felt as though I learned more about him than any nonfiction book could reveal. But more than anything, it was DeLillo’s writing that had me up, pacing and reading. There was a rhythm to the words. To this day, I will reread a chapter of DeLillo, much in the same way we listen to our favorite musicians over and over.
DeLillo’s awards and accolades are many, his influence on a generation of writers legion, notably Jonathan Franzen and the late, great David Foster Wallace. His modernist style made him a talisman to those pondering modern life. While DeLillo may not be a widely read author, his writing reminds me of what someone said of The Velvet Underground: not many listened to their music, but those who did started a band. Reading DeLillo made one want to write. And, after 50 years as a published author, he’s still at it.
His latest novel, “The Silence,” could actually be considered a novella. It’s only 117 pages, double-spaced. (The fact that such a svelte book was released in a fickle publishing industry speaks to DeLillo’s reputation.) It takes place on Super Bowl night, the year 2022. A couple, Tessa and Jim, are flying back to New Jersey from Paris. As they approach stateside, the commercial plane loses its lift and plummets. Whereas Jim had been staring at the screen that tracks the plane’s location, airspeed, and estimated time of arrival, he now visualizes the soon-to-be news footage reporting their fiery demise.
At the same moment, another couple, Max and Diane, are ready to watch the game in their Manhattan apartment and are also waiting for Tessa and Jim to join them. Already there is Martin, a former university physics student of Diane’s. Then all electric currents and signals disappear. When it dawns on them that this outage is widespread and not likely to end soon, Max (who appears to have a slight gambling problem) loses it a little. He stops just staring at the blank screen and starts to announce a made-up football game, replete with commercials.
Martin, already a man with “a nowhere stare,” begins spouting thoughts that are sometimes thought-provoking, sometimes absurd. For him, that blank screen means so much more than a power outage. “What is it hiding from us?” Not knowing what else to do, Diane observes and listens to these two, a low-grade panic beginning to well insider her. “The pauses were turning into silences and beginning to feel like the wrong kind of normal.”
Tessa and Jim survive the crash and eventually find their way to Max and Diane’s apartment. (On the shuttle ride from the crash site to a medical clinic, the van comes across a woman jogging amidst this grid shutdown. An odd site, the van’s driver slows to the jogger’s pace, the shuttle riders watching her as she blithely jogs.)
DeLillo is a master of dialogue. In this novel, however, the characters don’t really converse with each other. More than once, someone will exclaim that they are just going to say what comes to mind, for—given the current situation—no one is going to remember it anyway.
During the Cold War, DeLillo’s work explored how life plays out under the threat of mutually assured destruction. There was a dread mixed with weapon-worship, as evidenced in his noting that we named warheads and rockets from Greek and Roman mythology. On this night, in the year 2022, there’s no electrical power to launch such force. The conversation is no longer about nuclear arms; it’s now “the language of living weaponry. Germs, genes, spores.” To Martin “the war rolls on and the terms accumulate.” In fact, he seems to think that this blackout is just the beginning of World War III.
If you have yet to read DeLillo, I would recommend beginning with earlier works, such as “White Noise” or “Libra.” The former devilishly satirizes university culture in an era of unyielding media saturation; the latter shows us how a disillusioned loner can make history. (I am not saying don’t read his latest novel, for it was certainly prescient, being that it was written before our own upheaval that greeted us soon after last year’s Super Bowl. I am saying that his earlier works are that of a virtuoso.)
Another theme DeLillo mines is the formidable nature of crowds. In the “Silence,” our characters try to avoid what they know is taking place on the streets. (Max ventures out briefly to take in the growing tension, “a thousand faces every minute,” “curses rising into the air.”) This power is on full display in “Mao II” (another recommendation), the book beginning with a mass wedding ceremony officiated by the Reverend Sun Myung Moon.
In “Underworld,” DeLillo’s brilliant magnum opus (and my favorite), we begin with “an assembling crowd,” making their way to game three of the 1951 National League pennant, these New Yorkers bringing “with them the body heat of a great city and their own small reveries and desperations, the unseen something that haunts the day.” Outside the Polo Grounds, a black kid, with “a shine in his eye that’s halfway hopeful,” gathers with other kids—black and white—who can’t afford a ticket. They briefly strategize the best way to jump the turnstiles.
Inside, during the game, Jackie Gleason holds comedic court. An F.B.I. agent whispers to J. Edgar Hoover that the Soviets detonated their first hydrogen bomb test. This is the game where Bobby Thomson hits the series-winning home run with “the shot heard around the world.” The kid who jumped the stiles catches the ball. “This is the people’s history and it has flesh and breath.” Such events are life-defining. Yet they are, as all moments are, fleeting, “fading indelibly into the past.” It’s an electrified blend of fact and fiction that reveals truth, the very reason we read serious fiction. This is why we read Don DeLillo.

Find in Catalog

In Five Years by Rebecca Serle

/in /by

Meet Dannie Kohan. Numbers are important to her.

Here are a few:

• Thirty-six — the number of minutes it takes Dannie to get ready each morning.

• Eighteen — the number of minutes it takes her to walk to work.

• Twenty-four — the number of months you should date someone before you move in together.

• Twenty-eight — the appropriate age to get engaged.

• Thirty — the opportune age to get married.

As you can tell, Dannie has her life measured and mapped out — all at the age of 28. She lives with her boyfriend David and is on the fast-track to being a partner in a large law firm that she has wanted to work at since she was 10 years old.

She is nothing like her best friend, Bella, who is happy-go-lucky and embraces the adventures in life to their fullest. They have known each other since they were 7 years old, when they met at a park, and have been inseparable ever since.

Both live in New York, but Bella is a frequent traveler and Dannie’s work rarely allows her to make it home in time for dinner.

Dannie and David agree on the importance of a plan. Their plan is to get engaged, continue on their current career paths, get married, move to Gramercy Park and have a couple of kids. It may not be happily ever after in the truest sense of the phrase, but it works for them.

Bella, an artist, owns a gallery and falls in love at the drop of a hat. Dannie lives vicariously through Bella’s many adventures and loves.

Things seem to be aligning perfectly in Dannie’s life, until one night, after David proposes, she drifts off and wakes up five years later. Surprisingly, her future looks nothing like her life of today, and during the brief time she is transported, she sees where she lives, and more surprisingly, who she is with. She does not stay in the future for long and when she wakes, back in her real life, she is not sure what to think. Was it a dream? Premonition? Is she losing her mind?

Flash forward 41/2 years, and Dannie is still engaged to David but not yet married; she is working for her dream law firm, and she is getting ready to meet Bella’s new boyfriend. This is where it gets interesting, and Dannie realizes that her premonition may have not been a dream.

REBECCA SERLE has created a captivating read in her novel, “IN FIVE YEARS.” She does an excellent job setting the scene and allowing the reader to be drawn into the story. Her descriptions of New York — the fashion, the art and the food — seem spot on. I felt like I was there.

The tale Serle has crafted is heart-wrenching and beautifully crafted. It is an unexpected love story that is hard to put down. Many readers will be inspired to question their daily lives, their choices and if they appreciate what they have and where they are in life.

Jeana Gockley is the director of the Joplin Public Library.

Find in Catalog.

Counting your read books — how many will you read in 2020? by Jeana Gockley

/in /by

The end of the year and the start of a new one is typically the time for readers to reflect on what they have read during the past year. And this year, I’m excited to get to be one of them, because I finally remembered to keep track of my year’s worth of reading. Huzzah!

I had not tracked my books read since first grade — that year, my total was 300, and I enjoyed a lot of “Book It” personal pan pizzas from Pizza Hut. But last December, I noticed several of my friends had tracked their 2018 books, so I thought I would give it a try.

Fast forward 12 months and I’m happy to report that I finished 30 books. It is not quite on par with my 300 titles from first grade, but I will take it. Life feels a bit busier nowadays, and the books I currently read are a tad longer.

Of those 30 titles, here are my top six picks, in no particular order:

• “A MAN CALLED OVE” by FREDRIK BACKHAM. Even though Backman has been popular for several years, this was the first one I’ve read by him. I loved it! The characters in this book are exceptionally drawn and real. Ove might seem like a crotchety old man on the outside, but underneath he’s a warm and kindhearted old grump who is beyond lonely. His busybody neighbors help rectify this, and man, what a good read.

• “CIRCE” by MADELINE MILLER. I listened to this one using our Overdrive service, and it was a powerful experience. Most everyone has heard of the Greek character Circe, the sorceress who famously turned men into pigs. But in Miller’s retelling of this tale, you learn so much more. The storytelling elements of this book are spot on, and readers will be hard pressed to not peek ahead while reading.

• “THE TEA GIRL OF HUMMINGBIRD LANE” by LISA SEE. I not only learned an amazing amount about tea from this book, I learned a lot about the Aka, a native tribe that live in the mountainous areas of China. See had to do a lot of research to pull this one off, and it shows in her descriptive and thorough writing. The characters, who are flawed, well-rounded and beautiful, combine with the unusual setting and compelling storyline to create a masterpiece of fiction.

• “THE STORY HOUR” by THRITY UMRIGAR. This is the story of Maggie, an American psychologist, and Lakshmi, a young Indian woman. The pair meet after Lakshmi tries to commit suicide, and Maggie is so affected by the woman and her silent grief that she agrees to counsel Lakshmi on a pro bono basis. Soon, they start to feel and act more like friends and less like doctor and patient. This makes for a complicated relationship and a fascinating story. You get to know Lakshmi’s backstory and the reason she felt like suicide was the only answer, and you get to learn about Maggie’s life at the same time. The story is engrossing and the ending has a nice surprise twist that will have readers guessing until the end.

• “EVVIE DRAKE STARTS OVER” by LINDA HOLMES. I wrote a full review for this one in October but could not pass up a chance to mention it again. Holmes’ writing style is quirky and captivating. Her tale of a guilt-ridden widow and a former Major League Baseball player will keep you interested until the final pages.

• “MRS. EVERYTHING” by JENNIFER WEINER. Jennifer Weiner is one of my favorite authors. If she writes it, I will read it. “Mrs. Everything” does not disappoint. Told through the alternative viewpoints of two sisters — Jo and Bethie Kaufman — from early childhood into their senior years, she weaves a story of love, loss and, ultimately, forgiveness.

I have enjoyed seeing my final reading list so much that I’m making one of my 2020 goals to do it again. I am not sure I will surpass 30, but we will see. Thanks for taking the time to share in my reflection and reading about my favorites. I wish you a wonderful new year of reading!

Jeana Gockley is the library director for the Joplin Public Library