I’d had this book on my shelf for ages and could never get past the first few chapters,  so donated it to the Friends of the SF Public Library and forgot about it.

Then, I discovered I was going to be in Maine, so checked it out as a Kindle book from the library – that’s just how I roll folks.

This novel tells the tale of three generations of Kelleher women;  Alice – the cruel matriarch, Kathleen –  flawed, recovering alcoholic, Anne Marie – duty-bound daughter-in-law, and Maggie – the young hapless victim.

Because I planned to read this while at a friends camp (cottage) on a lake in Maine, I thought this would be the perfect novel.  But, turns out Maine (the state) does not really have any role or influence on Maine, the book.

Despite the back cover/inside flap copy this book is NOT a fun beach read about a family’s enjoyable summer days spent at their summer house in Maine — there’s no fun in this Maine. Where’s the lobster dinners eaten outside while slapping the mosquitoes, the chilly early morning swims, or the lazy hot afternoons reading on the porch?

Maine is a dark and grim expose of women joined by dysfunctional drama.  Told in alternating narratives, each chapter is the voice of a different character.   The author sets up the plot of past hatreds and buried secrets and then lets each character delve into their viewpoints, resentments and pain.

The book is extremely well-written and really starts to take off halfway through, when the women come together in Maine at the family summer house.  But, I found it hard to relax and just enjoy this book.  This is a book where motives have to be analyzed and resulting actions dissected  – a good book group discussion could result from the family dynamics.   And as a bravo to Ms. Sullivan, much of the family dysfunction is made real and familiar for anyone with a family — issues or not.

Perhaps  that’s what Ms. Sullivan meant to achieve – an deep, unflinching look into a flawed and dysfunctional family.

So, don’t be mislead by the book’s “summer beach read” promotional copy and do read Maine if you want a well-written, darkly real and unflinching family saga.

Quote:  

Ann Marie sat at every family dinner and listened to them tell the same stories over and over.  She never met a family so tied up in their own mythology.

 

The film is coming – the film is coming.  So I grabbed this book off my shelves where it has been ignored for several years now. As always, I want to read the book before seeing the film (with Helen Mirren – oh boy).

I bought this paperback several years ago, solely based on the cover, call me shallow, but isn’t it delicious? See the gold embossing up the edge of the spine?…sigh.  My copy doesn’t have the red circle announcing the film.

Anyway, now to the book.  The Hundred Foot Journey tells the story of an Indian boy, Hassan Haji, whose family is forced to move from Mumbai, to England and finally to Lumiere, a small village in the French Alps.

They purchase a large country house and because Papa Haji is a entrepreneur and the aunt excels at Indian cuisine, they blithely open an Indian restaurant.  Just across the street is the Michelin starred restaurant of famous French chef, Madame Mallory.  As expected the cultures and cuisines clash, an Indian restaurant in the French countryside – mon dieu!  The main storyline follows the coming of age and the making of famous chef – young Hassan.

I found the book interesting and often captivating, but many aspects fell short for me.  The glimpses into the various cultures and their cuisine were superb – Mr. Morais obviously knows and loves food. The descriptions of meals served and eaten are cinematic (thus the film adaptation).  The kitchen scenes felt very realistic, but be warned  some of the meat slaughter and preparation scenes will have you contemplating vegetarianism.

The narrative fluctuates from first person to third person which I found a bit jarring and the pacing is a bit sporadic.  The book glossed over any real hurdles immigrant families might face – language, assimilation and what about the endless paperwork?

In the end, however, the food is the only thing that comes alive in this novel.  I found the characters lacking warmth or depth and some are an actual mockery – Papa Haji has a manufactured Indian dialect that I found condescending.  A relationship between Hassan and Margaret lacks any warmth or passion.  Hassan, robot-like, ascends the heights of his star chef status, without enthusiasm.   Madame Mallory is the most developed character, as Mr. Morais gives us insight into her past and emotions.  She is the one who singles Hassan out for greatness:    ”That skinny Indian teenager has that mysterious something that comes along once a generation. He is one of those rare chefs who is simply born. He is an artist.”

So why  did I finish this book? – THE FOOD – read this book for the vivid and mouthwatering descriptions of hot, frenetic kitchens, food lovingly prepared, wines carefully chosen and meals savored.

The real heart and soul of this book is the joy of cuisine.

Hoping to see the film soon.

 

 

This is the first book I purchased for my new Kindle (yes I’ve gone to the dark side – but I have room in my life for many reading methods).   The Goldfinch is over 700 pages and the hardback was almost $30 – while the Kindle version was $8.  Done!  I could not wait to read this.

Ms. Tartt is a precise and careful writer –her last book was 10 years ago, and her prior book 10 years before that, so I knew this would be well-written with a tautly crafted plot.  But at 771 pages I wondered how tight the storyline would be.

Well it turns out The Goldfinch has several story lines – it’s almost as if there are three books in this one novel.  But in her usual fashion Ms. Tartt keeps these narratives racing along without excess.

One of the reviews noted The Goldfinch was a Dickensian Bildungsroman , and yes, I had to look that word up.  

Here you go —  no charge:    

In literary criticism, a Bildungsroman, [a] novel of formation, novel of education, or coming-of-age story is a literary genre that focuses on the psychological and moral growth of the protagonist from youth to adulthood, and in which, therefore, character change is extremely important. 

At the risk of being hackneyed,  I could not put this book down.   I reluctantly went to sleep worried about the main character, Theo Dekker, as he moved from one miserable situation to a life threatening crises, to a hopeful place.

The detailed writing style requires a tenacious attention span but I was fully enthralled throughout the novel.  There are beautifully crafted scenes, vivid descriptions, wonderful characters – heartbreak, love and joy.

There are plenty of professional reviews out there,  go and read them and then please read this Pulitzer prize worthy novel.

(Edited later – The Goldfinch ultimately and deservedly did win the Pulitzer.)

 

Best to state this upfront, I’m a total sucker for epistolary novels, so I eagerly opened this novel on a weeknight with lots scheduled for the next few days.  Silly me, no early bed times for me for the next couple of nights.   And yes, I read this engaging novel in two evenings.

It’s 1912 and Elspeth, an isolated poet on the Isle of Skye, receives a fan letter from a young American, Davey, as he is about to start college.  Thus begins a  5-year correspondence that starts as a friendship and grows into a love affair.  The story spans two wars, and is intertwined with Elspeth’s daughter’s (Margaret) letters as she struggles to unravel the mystery of her mother’s early years, this correspondence (affair) with Davey and ultimately, the family breaking apart.

The story is told entirely via letters,  which is a very difficult format to pull off.  Many such novels can border on the gimmicky…but not Letters from Skye.  Ms. Brockmole deftly builds her characters, giving them depth, layers and feelings. With each letter, the story, the characters and their strong bond are slowly revealed.

I had to remind myself that this was fiction, that these weren’t real letters or real people.  The letters also are able to  convey the  beautiful  ruggedness of the Isle of Skye and the war-torn Edinburgh.

Importantly this book made acutely aware of the lost art of letter writing  — where the letter-writer captures the day’s weather, mundane bits of daily life and bare their secret feelings and dreams on good old-fashioned paper.  Letters that were eagerly awaited, opened and treasured. Not like today’s temporary emails, text messages, tweets and Facebook postings.  Our correspondences are no longer treasured – what will we have to re-open, re-read, re-live?

It is obvious that the author did a great deal of research, so it’s a shame that some of the letters didn’t ring true with some of the language a bit “off” for the time period  — but that’s a minor quibble.

An enchanting book with characters that work their way into your heart.

I almost never do this anymore, but I’m keeping my ARC copy to re-read.

A quote from the book:  “I should have told you, should’ve taught you to steel your heart. Taught you that a letter isn’t always just a letter. Words on the page can drench the soul…”

Advanced reading copy provided by Random House, Ballantine Books.