In this entry I will be discussing MODERN GODS, by Nick Laird, THE FALLEN, by Ace Atkins, and HUNGER: A MEMOIR OF (MY) BODY, by Roxane Gay.
I read 19 books in July, during which I needed much distraction as I continued my eight month slog through the medical/insurance establishment in search of answers for the questions; “What disease do I have?” “Will this rash EVER go away?” “Why do so few doctors in Maryland accept my Maryland-assisted insurance that I have to drive an hour to an out-of-state provider to get treated?”
But those are issues for another type of blog-post, and, as a friend recently told me, “I think more people like your live-Tweeting about cooking than like your book blog entries because your cooking Tweets are shorter and funny.”
Okay then, short and funny, like most of my relationships. Got it. Or, wait, short and tragic? Whatever. Here are the final three reads of July.
Modern Gods, Nick Laird, Hardcover, 336pp, June 2017, Viking
I am of two minds about this novel, which is fitting since it feels like two half-novels awkwardly trying to meld into one cohesive whole. Two sisters on very different journeys of re-invention navigate foreign lands — metaphorically and physically — discovering during the treks that people are not at all what they seem, that they themselves may not be what they imagined themselves to be, and so they struggle to come to grips with the recondite realities of emotional connections, love, forgiveness, and the meaning of survival.
Alison Donnelly is about to be remarried. Liz Donnelly is leaving a disappointingly dishonest relationship and heading to Papua New Guinea to investigate a nascent religion for a BBC documentary. Alison’s husband to be has dangerous secrets she refuses to hear until it is impossible to ignore them, while the subject of Liz’s programme, Belef, a Melanesian woman who has gained a following for her pronouncements about the messages she claims to be receiving from a divine source, is also more and less than she appears to be.
There is a lot of marvelous writing and imagery here — the author is also a poet and it shines through — especially in the opening chapters which feel inspired in ways the middle of the novel does not, and the ending feels somewhat contrived and rushed, almost dishonest in its calculation. In short(ish), it feels both as if the author tried too hard and yet, not quite hard enough.
The Fallen (Quinn Colson #7), Ace Atkins, Hardcover, 384pp, July 2017, G.P.Putnam’s Sons
This is my third Ace Atkins novel and he has become a new “regular” for me. The books are fast paced, compellingly plotted, and I find the Quinn Colson world — a Southern gothic, near Flannery O’Connor collection of misfits operating in a steamy, dangerous, ole boy sort of noir world in which danger and humor compete for air — to be equally delightful and appalling — don’t want to be a spoiler but there is a death in this book, the occurrence of which made me weep. Be warned. In this installment, a series of well-executed bank robberies performed by bandits in Donald Trump masks vex Sheriff Quinn Colson who’s also busy falling for the new old girl in town who knew and crushed on him as a little girl — she’s not little now and she’s not alone in her crushing. Things do and don’t work out, there is plenty of ambiguity and the final pages set up the next installment and I am ready.
Hunger: A Memoir Of (My) Body, Roxane Gay, Hardcover, 320pp, June 2017, Harper Collins
This was devastating. A blunt, searingly honest exploration of what it is to be other, to be caged in cultural presumptions so powerful that you yourself reinforce your incarceration. So many passages in this memoir resonated for me and echoed my own experiences as a queer man who grew up in the 1970s, it felt as if Roxane Gay had accessed the painful and embarrassing places and traumas I had locked away, kept to myself, refused to face, and done some of the work for me. This isn’t just a memoir, it’s an act of extraordinary bravery and service. Warning: it is NOT easy, in fact, it is emotionally draining but also enlightening and thought-provoking and encouraging; Roxane Gay has survived what could have been an overwhelming amount of horror, pain and abuse (physical and emotional), and ugly energy — from herself (to which she freely cops) and others, and the culture at large. If I had the power, I would make every child entering adolescence read this as it would be a benefit to those who feel alone and unseen and not right (and what adolescent doesn’t feel those things?) as well as those who might be bullies, haters, judgey popular kids who think it’s okay to mock and torture others, never having a thought to the long-term (permanent?) damage it can do.
And so it goes . . . goodbye, July . . .
It’s been a long month of doctor visits and disappointments, but, bright side, I got to read 19 books of which three were 5 Star reads, three were 4 Star reads, twelve were 3 star reads, and only one was a 2 Star read. Pretty good. And I booked and did a couple of house/petsits, had some quality times with family and loved ones, and made the best cake I’m ever likely to make (or eat), Beringer’s Brooklyn Blackout Cake, and created a cookie recipe involving four kinds of chocolate, chipotle, and cayenne, called Milamos. So, in addition to reading quite a lot, wow, I did a lot, too. I’m getting a slower start in August, aghast at how slowly time is moving since January when the tragedies of the inauguration and the onset of my still undiagnosed illness occurred. Not original to me, but, these eight months feel like eight years.
Anyway, off to more reading and family-ing and cooking and pill-popping and such. So, Love and Light to my regulars, nice to meet you to my new friends, and here I am, going.