The Northern Clemency by Philip Hensher

A massive, character driven novel that follows two families who lived their lives in neighboring homes. Forgiveness is a theme that subtly shows itself regarding couples, parents, and people's relationships with themselves. Epic in scale, Hensher's novel spans decades and follows the intricate weave of lives in a small community. The characters are fully realized and immaculately written, and the characters' actions--some seeming small, some seeming large at the time--have overwhelming effects on daughters, sons, husbands, wives, etc. Timothy, who grows from a snake-obsessed child to a radical politics-obsessed professor, first takes and then gives cold, cruel, irrational treatment, and proves to be particularly fascinating. Each character has his or her own arc throug life, and Hensher writes each life with such care and precision, and never ceases to surprise.

Blue Genes: A Memoir of Loss and Survival by Christopher Lukas

While exploring the decades of his life, Christopher Lukas focuses on a central question: is depression genetic? His family's history is tragic, and frightening because of the relevance to questions I often ask about my own genes.

Hurry Down Sunshine by Michael Greenberg

A father's memoir of his daughter's first manic episode. A smart, well-written account of a horrible affliction and the uncontrollable changes it brings.

The Reader by Bernhard Schlink

A teenage boy has an affair with a woman twice his age. She mysteriously disappears, and the next time the boy sees her, he is a young man in law school and she is on trial. While the man observes a Nazi trial for one of his classes, he is shocked to find out that Hannah, his first love, was a Nazi. Hannah kept a secret that she found even more agonizing, and it is that secret that is supposed to shock the reader. Hannah is illiterate; she can neither read nor write. In an effort to toot my own horn, I must write that I figured this out very early on in the book.

I cannot figure out if the following idea was meant to be Schlink's main point or if it was just a bi-product of his story: Illiteracy is one of society's great crimes, capable of leading people to even greater crimes. There are questions of shame, love and reparation in this novel, which approaches the aftermath of possibly the most written about atrocity in human history from an entirely fresh angle.

Carefully chosen wordings and images pulled from the man's memory are showcased throughout the novel. Schlink writes cleanly and beautifully, allowing his story to tell itself without any unnecessary verbosity.

American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld

I was intrigued by the concept of this book: Sittenfeld borrowed the outline of former First Lady Laura Bush's life and built a novel on top of that frame. Laura Bush has always been a more likeable public figure than her husband, and the same proves true for their fictional representations, Alice and Charlie Blackwell. But, somehow, the intimate look at the president makes him more likeable, not less, despite his obvious failings and Alice's disappointment in his actions.

When Laura Bush was a teenager, she was at fault in a car accident in which the other driver was killed. Sittenfeld chose to give this event, and the other driver, central roles in this novel. The other driver is portrayed as Andrew Imhof, and Sittenfeld makes it clear that Alice would have married this boy had he not died. Alice devotes much time to imagining a life in which she never left her small town, in which she never met Charlie Blackwell, and in which she was never complicit in the larger failings of the Blackwell administration. Using the death of Andrew Imhof as a focal point of the novel was an interesting approach. It allowed Sittenfeld to compare the accidental taking of one life with the taking of many lives, via a prolonged and mishandled war. Sittenfeld's ending takes a likeable Alice and makes her complicit in Charlie's war.

Again, I was intrigued by the concept of this book. Unfortunately, Sittenfeld's language is a bit repetitive, and she leans on the same tricks over and over again. How often was I brought back to the present from flashback by a statement such as "In the car, Ella said. . . "? Plus, there were some descriptive paragraphs that were far too wordy, or even totally unnecessary.

I'm glad I read this book, as I am always fascinated by the goings-on within the White House. The story was fascinating, and I was impressed with Sittenfeld's rendering of the beginning of Alice's life--her time as a young girl, with her parents and eccentric grandmother. The imagined details of the life and inner workings of Laura Bush were stellar. Good story, mediocre writing.

Halflife by Meghan O'Rourke

This book, by the extremely young poetry editor of the Paris Review, has been on my "to read" list for quite a while. I finally got my hands on it, and I'm impressed. O'Rourke's poems are not like the poems of many of the other poets I like a lot, many of whom happen to be women. I learn towards somewhat nostalgic poetry that has a bit of a bite to it. O'Rourke's poems are a bit more clearer, brighter, less shadowed by memory, even though many are looking backwards. Her series of poems about a stillborn twin do seem nostalgic though, and are chillingly sad. Overall, I approve, and I look forward to following her development as a poet.

Night by Elie Wiesel

I re-read this book in order to refresh my memory, as I'm teaching it. Still intense, still horrifying, still painfully sad. I read it for the first time in high school, and I'm excited that now I get to teach it to high schoolers. I hope I can help them get something meaningful from it.

I See You Everywhere by Julia Glass

As an English teacher (on hiatus) I am compelled to begin by discussing the theme of this book. By weaving together the disparate lives of two sisters, Louisa and Clem, and ultimately ripping Clem from Louisa's life (when Clem kills herself), Glass puts herself in the position to tell us the idea she snaked through the twists and turns of the plot throughout the book.

As Glass's mouthpiece, Louisa experiences a realization on the last page of the book. After battling with grief, she is able to state the theme of the book, loud and clear, in the form of a realization. There are people we hold close, who play the largest roles in our lives, and who we love dearly. But it is only an "illusion. . . that because those people [are] somehow 'ours,' we [are] the ones with the power to hold them. "

I am reminded of a short story by Amy Bloom that both comforts and terrifies me. It is also about two sisters, one of whom has a psychotic break at an age so young she still attends high school. The mother tells the younger, saner daughter that she never has to worry--some people go crazy, and some people just never will, no matter how much they sometimes may want to do just that. As the always-sane observer, I relate to this younger sister in Bloom's story, as well as to Glass's Louisa. This is why I fall so hard into Glass's novels--I can always relate. In Three Junes, her debut novel that won the National Book Award, the main character was Fenno, a homosexual man living in Greenwich Village at the height of the AIDS panic. Were we drowning in surface similarities? Certainly not. But, Glass writes with such an eye and voice for the shared sorrows and pleasures of humanity that it's impossible not to find a bit of yourself somewhere within her carefully crafted lives, and the world--our world, the one world--that surrounds them.

Miles from Nowhere by Nami Mun

I am never a fan of a book that features copious drug use. I am always, without fail, frustrated and disgusted. Joon, the main character, was likeable enough, but I seem to have a problem sympathizing with drug use--not drug users, but drug use. Joon decision to runaway at the age of thirteen and her struggle with life on the street for the entirety of her teenage years inspired feelings of pity and understanding that life is difficult. Mun slowly unveiled Joon's relationships with her parents, as well as the dysfunction that characterized their family life. This is the aspect of the novel that kept me reading, as Joon's severely depressed mother was the most compelling character of the story. Her depression manifested itself creatively--through catatonic spells spent under the dining room table or face-down in dirt in the front yard. The story of Joon's days and the over-inclusion of drug paraphernalia didn't quite do it for me, even though that was supposed to be the main focus and her familial relationships were supposed to take a supporting role.

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

An inspirational poster turned into a book? A self-help book masquerading as a novel? At least it was a vivid story of a journey through unknown lands (Spain, Egypt, etc.). Makes for a good graduation gift, as it is of the "follow your dreams; you are capable of anything" genre.

Veronica by Mary Gaitskill

For the first few pages, I had difficulty slipping into this book's little world, but once I fell through the looking glass, I was hooked. Bittersweet is a cliched word when used in reference to life, but it's a cliche for a reason. And, Gaitskill managed to capture the sadness and love that reverberate through the ties that bind family. I'm always a sucker for a story of a character who is one of three sisters, which this was. The main character, Allison (not Veronica), is the "troubled" sister, the one who leaves. She runs off to be a literal flower child, selling flowers outside of strip clubs, and eventually becomes a model, which somehow is no cleaner or brighter than her first job. Watching the life of a lost girl unfurl while privy to her thoughts and feelings was absorbing, and I totally, totally understood. That's no great feat, on Gaitskill's part--I should have been drawn to Daphne's story, the story of the "good" sister, but Gaitskill's telling of Allison's story was compelling, thoughtful, and revealed that even though it may not have appeared to be so, Allison was just as good. Just as good, different, and seemingly fated to struggle.

Another Country by James Baldwin

Fabulous.

O My Darling by Amity Gaige

Amity Gaige writes the way I wish I did. Many writers, as I'm reading their carefully crafted stories, floor me with their precision, ability, control and vision. But, Amity Gaige reminds me of myself, but better--way, way better. Her characters exist in a dreamy haze, and she writes almost exclusively of love's various branches (romantic and filial, mostly) and its implications. Yes, this is a common theme. But, her stories are not cliched or overly romanticized. Human flaws take center stage, due to Gaige's focus on the juxtaposition of our inner and outer lives. Ho-hum on the outside, tumultuous inside.

Clark and Charlotte, a young and newly married couple, move into their new home which slowly reveals itself as a sort of ghost museum for the foibles of human relationships. Through the positive and the not so positive, Gaige's ability to hypnotize is professional, as her sentences are gorgeous, her plot complex and round, and her characters both tragically loveable and hateable, all rolled into one. Sensitivity and a preponderance of ponderings on the world's ways characterize the novel. Gaige's characters, as well as the third person narration, perceive the world in a fashion similar to the way I do. I was reminded of my actions and life while reading about Charlotte and Clark, but also found myself wishing my reality could more closely mirror the fabulous phrasings and adorable actions of the leading couple. Not only do I want the run of a home of my own (or even an apartment!) but I also want Clark and Charlotte's blanket game, and some of their own particular habits. This is the beauty of Gaige's writing--her characters are fabulously real, but the words--the words are better than in reality, but this only serves to make the world as it is seem sweeter. Gaige's characters, words, and reflection of the world cast a glow on it's mirror image.

Loving Frank by Nancy Horan

Historical fiction was a favorite during childhood and adolescence, when the genre spirited me away to romantic, and romanticized, places and times. I slipped silently off the paths of the underground railroad and into homes, candles shining in the windows as a signal of safety. I watched as a war was fought--but sat it out as a Quaker. I travelled on horseback. I read, I learned, and I loved historical fiction.

Unfortunately, as an adult, it's a tough job finding a good work within this genre. Sarma, who dedicatedly chews her way through the NYTimes bestsellers, handed me Loving Frank. It is a fabulous fabrication--a love story, for sure, and a true bubba meisa. I read the book and the after-notes wishing that a stronger guarantee of truth could have been present in the pages. I want to know for sure that the compassionate, intelligent, and brave Mamah Borthwick presented in the book is the same woman who existed at the turn of the century, throwing Chicago's society into an uproar. She left her husband and children for Frank Lloyd Wright and the strong love and affinity they found with each other.

Loving Frank is not Frank Lloyd Wright's story, it is the story of the woman who loved him and was loved by him in a house by the hills of Wisconsin. If the end of The Awakening had been changed, Mamah's story could be that of Edna Pontellier. This is a woman who dealt with her feelings, who knew she owed it to herself not to drown them. Nancy Horan clearly crafts Mamah into a woman who knows her children will be better served by a parent who knows who she is than by a parent who is stifled by the rules by which she is expected to abide.

Succumbing to desires frowned upon by her community was an act that looked quite different for Edna than it did to Mamah. Mamah made passionate love to an eccentric architect on the floor he had designed for Mamah and her husband. She lost herself in her ruminations, her plans for the next tryst, and eventually in her desire to live a "true" life. The so deeply loved Frank of the title was eccentric, genius, and incredibly self-important, as well as a partner in a romantic relationship--in other words, a man who at times, became quite strange to Mamah, and who frustrated her to a near-breaking point. This reality--of imperfection within the existence Mamah idealized while comparing her married life to that of the main character of The Yellow Wallpaper, is what makes this novel so realistic and captivating. And, Mamah not only questions her relationship with Frank, but with herself. She wants to be a woman who makes worthwhile contributions to the world, but struggles with the reality of that situation as well. Her translations of feminist writings initially bring her the feeling of satisfaction she desired, but soon enough, issues popped up and she questioned her scholarly work, which, incidentally, tied into her romantic life. Her scholarly work and personal life were two intertwined threads, and due to the climate of the times, she was faced with problems and heartache about both.

Loving Frank is a fascinating story, as it imagines the life of a singular woman of her time, but is also indicative of what a life might have been like for any intelligent, forward-thinking woman of the time. And, it proves that life would not have been simple.