This Must Be the Place

I think it’s time for me to stop reading books that just help me fall asleep at night. This Must Be the Place by Maggie O’Farrell, who also wrote Hamnet, falls into that category. It’s a soothing practice I developed while I was still working, but now I’m ready to make a shift to compelling reading material—books that I can’t put down until I know how they end. 

For me, this story has been a leisurely drift down a lazy river in an inner tube. There’s nothing wrong with that actually, but I’m such a slow reader, my 21 day library rental doesn’t allow enough time for a jaunt at this pace. At 33% complete with other patrons waiting, I was unable to renew the book so I switched my Kindle to airplane mode. 

I’ve never been a fan of book chapters jumping around between the perspectives of different characters. IMHO the technique is overused, and the story always suffers when it isn’t skillfully executed. I really didn’t connect with any of the characters as they flitted from chapter to chapter taking turns sharing the spotlight. I wasn’t intrigued by the aging, reclusive actress, her arrogant, filmmaker first husband, or her precocious French-speaking children with her second husband. 

Daniel, the protagonist seemed to have a personality that shapeshifted from beginning, middle to the end of the story. Initially portrayed as a quirky but down to earth divorced father of two children, he became self-absorbed and annoying in flashbacks to his college days where he interacted with equally off-putting, newly introduced characters.

By the time I arrived at the chapter about Maeve adopting a child in China (about 65%), I no longer cared who she was or why her backstory was interrupting the flow of Daniel’s life. Oddly, I liked Daniel best in one chapter toward the end of the book that felt like a lone island adrift and completely disconnected from the vast ocean  of the rest of the story. Here he finds himself randomly on a no-frills  tour to the Salar de Uyuni salt desert in Bolivia with his oldest son Niall. The narrator of the chapter is a recently divorced, older British woman named Rosalind who hasn’t made an appearance before or after this section of the book. I found myself wanting to follow her life path as the chapter ended, not Daniel’s.

By the time I finished the book, I didn’t know if I was routing for Daniel to find happiness or just content to have his story come to a conclusion, one way or another.

My Friends

Here’s my experience with Fredrik Backman, the prolific, beloved Swedish author. Meredith recommended him, and I loved A Man Called Ove and My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry. I tried to read but gave up on Anxious People and Beartown. I wanted so badly to love My Friends, but I really didn’t. I didn’t abandon it though. I plodded my way to the bitter end even though every step of the way I found it overblown and overwhelming. 

This one-star review on Goodreads says it best. Something similar to when you over-highlight parts of a text. When everything is highlighted, it’s impossible to discern what has significance. This book tries so hard to be deep and ends up feeling shallow.

I actually polished off the resolution of My Friends on the plane to Puerto Rico for Sue and Bonnie’s excellent adventure to Vieques Island. The book redeemed itself briefly at the end and turned out to be a great entry point for my “Medicare-year-birthday-celebration" with my dear high school friend. Vintage1961. 

Strange Pictures

Strange Pictures by Uketsu is strange indeed. Even more mysterious is the author’s bio: “UKETSU only ever appears online, wearing a mask and speaking through a voice changer… His innovative ‘sketch mysteries’ challenge readers to discover the hidden clues in a series of sinister drawings… They have sold nearly 3 million copies in Japan since 2021. Uketsu‘s true name and identity remain unknown.”

In my opinion, the author’s premise and marketing strategy are brilliant, but the execution of the plot, not so much. That said, I had to rate it 4 stars because I—slow reader extraordinaire—devoured the book, making quick work of it in 11 days. In places where it became graphically descriptive, I choked a little on the details. Over all it went down smoothly, but undoubtedly will leave me with a bit of heartburn.

The story’s strong start devolved into a jumbled mess of “tell” not “show”, and the pictures lost their relevance by the end. Truthfully, the pictures alone would never have led me to solve the mystery. Luckily, I didn’t need to since it was so intricately spelled out by the author in the second half of the story. Could be that something was Lost in Translation here. In any event, while I find Japanese philosophy fascinating, their literature sure is deranged.

Final score: A+ for originality. C- for implementation. 

The Book of Fire

The Book of Fire by Christy Lefteri held my attention for about a month but clearly didn’t compel me to quickly zip through it to the end. It was kind of a slow burn for me, a leisurely and worthy bedtime companion during the month of January. Maybe it helped me assimilate into the post-holiday bleakness of the coldest winter I've encountered in years.

People magazine aptly describes the book, “A tender depiction of loss and healing that raises questions about guilt and blame in the age of climate change.”

I really liked the authenticity of the characters in this book, especially the sweet wife and mother, Irini Diamandis, who narrates the story. When a devastating fire rips through their village in present-day Greece, Irini is introspective about the many hardships they face as she is called to hold her family together.

The disaster has brought changes to their way of life and Irini ponders the complexities of human response to tragedy. “Was it Aristotle who said that man is a political animal? Not that we are all born to take an active interest in party politics, but it is in our nature to live in a polis, a community.” Deriving assurance from a reliance on social connections, is one of humanity’s greatest gifts.

Before the fire, Irini reflects on the highs and lows of life and the history of her ancestors. “Over the decades and centuries, there were many joys and many losses that could be peeled back like the fine translucent layers of an onion.” After the fire, she works to remain positive in the midst of so much devastation. “Yes, maybe, life will get better. I will focus only on the things still living; I will ignore the darkness and the deadness that surround them.” Most importantly, she uses all of her resources to mend and strengthen her relationships with her husband, Tasso, and daughter, Charo.

When I finished the book, I needed to reread the beginning. It turns out the plot device of shifting from past to present throughout was a bit confusing for me. I did gain better understanding of the events after reading the first few chapters a second time.

Reviewing the portions I highlighted on Goodreads reminded me how much I appreciated the themes of survival and rebirth. There is something deep within this novel about human connections, us-versus-them mentality, and rising above it all to embrace our own strengths and tolerate the differences of others. There is also a genuine respect for the environment, humanity, and cultural and familial bonds. These threads combine to create a pleasant experience inhabiting the inner thoughts of the main character, Irini, whose sincerity and integrity are endearing.

Lefteri also wrote The Beekeeper of Aleppo which is more well known. Maybe next winter I’ll find refuge in this story, immersing myself into the lives of a Syrian beekeeper and his blind wife.

Isola

I’m not sure what to make of the book Isola by Allegra Goodman, but I disagree with the negative reviews on Goodreads, some calling it “annoying and boring." This is the kind of historical fiction that needs to connect the dots and fill in the blanks because not much is known about the life of the real person on which the story is based, and I think the author did an admirable job. I like books that make me think, and shed light on other ways of living and different times.

What is known about Marguerite de La Rocque de Roberval, I found to be riveting, and her experiences have been written about many times. Born into French royalty in the 1500s, she fell into challenging times upon the death of her parents. She became well-known after surviving abandonment on the Isle of Demons off the coast of Canada, a treacherous and fantastical place with a rich history of its own. You can read a fascinating summary on Wikipedia here.

In order to fabricate a sense of time and place for Isola, Goodman not only read about Marguerite, but she studied objects and paintings from the time period. In the Author’s Notes of the novel, she recounts learning about the life of Marguerite this way:

“In an illustrated children’s book about Jacques Cartier, I read a passage that stopped me short. It went something like this: In 1542, a nobleman named Jean-François Roberval sailed separately with colonists to meet with Cartier in what is now called Canada. Roberval brought along his young ward, Marguerite de la Rocque who annoyed him by having an affair aboard ship. Roberval marooned Marguerite and her lover on an island in the Gulf of Saint Lawrence where she managed to survive for more than two years while fighting off polar bears.”

This is quite a tale for a woman to have lived through, especially in the 16th Century. Religion, duty, gender expectations, and class privilege mingle with the cold, harsh reality of daily survival during this period of time. Although the heroine’s inner thoughts and daily activities are full of melodrama and sentimentality, bordering on mawkishness, I believe this portrayal is true to the mannerisms of the times. 

The author’s writing style was also fitting. It transported me back to a different era. Nearing the end of the book, I began to wonder if I would even be able to write in this manner, with an old-fashioned flourish, like script from a quill. It might be fun to try!

Here is an example of the language used to describe Marguerite’s feelings of accomplishment having never had to perform household chores in the past but participating with the servants at her relative's home.

“Filling these packets and wood boxes, I felt a joy I had not known before. It was not love, and it was not comfort, nor was it mastery or beauty, but it was usefulness.”

And here, Marguerite contemplates all she has been through. “I have been alone, bereft, but I know now that in solitude we find our way, and in learning, and in God’s word.”

Finally, I love the Queen’s candor upon meeting Marguerite and hearing about her misadventures on the island.

“Those who know their faults are truly wise,” the Queen said. “And those who have endured the worst have most to teach. Do not say, then, that your story does not deserve retelling. Tell me, rather, how I might reward you for offering what you have learned.”

This is sage advice for any day and age.

A short YouTube video about Marguerite de La Rocque