Okay, a version of this post (going through Book #90) has been languishing in my drafts folder for many months. But since I did lay down the gauntlet early this year, it seems only fair to serve up my part of the bargain. I’m going to try and update the 75 Books series as time permits.
Unfortunately, due to accidentally knocking over my bookpiles, I have no idea what order I read Books #33-90 in (I have yet to log the books this year after Book #90; I only hope these “I have read” bookpiles will hold!). In addition, the “mystery” books for future Segundo podcasts remain very much a mystery to me, since my laptop (with the full books list) is currently packed away. But here goes:
Book #33 was A.M. Homes’ This Book Will Save Your Life. Where others found Homes’ unexpectedly positive tone to be something of a letdown, I enjoyed this book far more than I expected. The book often zeroes in on easy targets (yuppies, Hollywood), but in a contemporary literature environment that thumbs its nose at sincerity, I found Homes’ moody gamble a pleasant, if not perfect read. Of course, Homes didn’t abandon her hyperreal iconoclasm completely. The sinkhole that uproots Richard Novak’s home relays the hollow panacea of the doughnuts, as well as a certain anatomical reality that befalls middle-aged men. And I don’t entirely buy the resolution. But even so-so Homes is worth your time.
Book #34 was Sheila Heti’s Ticknor. With all due respect to Mr. Sarvas, I found this book to be a plodding introspective bore, a tome to be avoided at all costs. And rather than feed any ill will towards a pal of mine who did steer me well towards Scarlett Thomas’ The End of Mrs. Y, I’ll simply shut up and hope that all is forgiven. The less said about Ticknor, the better. We agree to disagree.
Book #35 was Jean-Phillippe Toussaint’s Television. I enjoyed the book’s tone, which is a bit like what would happen if Jacques Tati had turned his hands to books instead of film. The book features a distinct and quite funny approach to exposing the humdrum aspects of life, pointing out that even life with a purpose (or apparent purpose, such as penning a monograph) can be marred by seductive banalities.
Books #36, #37 and #38 pertain to a future Segundo interview.
Book #39 pertains to a future Segundo interview.
Book #40 was a reread of Alex Robinson’s Box Office Poison to prepare for my APE panel. Since I was interviewing the man in person, I did my best to play close attention to his paneling, in an effort to ask questions he hadn’t heard before. I even asked Mr. Robinson about two minor characters who he killed off with an uncanny glee. You’ll find the answer to this in Show #33 of The Bat Segundo Show. But if you haven’t read Robinson, I’d start with Box Office Poison so you can fully appreciate how his close behavioral observations blossomed into the ambitious Tricked.
Book #41 was a new read of Alex Robinson’s BOP! More Box Office Poison to prepare for my APE panel. This one’s for hard-core Robinson fans only, a collection of extras that can probably be skipped over. But as a missing link between Box Office Poison and Tricked, it’s fascinating to see how Robinson is contemplating his next bold move. It’s almost as if these particular strips
Book #42 was a reread of Dave King’s The Ha-Ha to prepare for a podcast interview. There are several reasons why I named this book as one of my favorite books of 2005. This time around, I paid close attention to King’s specific style, noting how the book’s minimalist observations often revealed larger truths about human beings: their selfishness, their compassion, and their love. This works exceedingly well when you also consider that King pulled this off while also making us believe in a character who suffers from a quite unusual affliction: a Vietnam veteran who cannot speak or write.
The Call by Yannick Murphy: The always interesting author of Here They Come and Signed, Mata Hari returns with a novel that whips up a worldview from a rather quirky set of limitations: namely, the call logs that a veterinarian maintains as his son is unexpectedly put into a coma and an unforgiving economy denies him work. What emerges is a surprisingly optimistic, often funny, and very moving account on how one family uses acceptance and forgiveness as a way to atone for hard knocks. (
Birds of Paradise by Diana Abu-Jaber: Forget Franzen and Eugenides. If you're looking for a social novel that counts, Diana Abu-Jaber is the author you're looking for. Building from the free-form exploration of consciousness and identity in Crescent and the gripping procedural structure of Origin, Abu-Jaber's latest novel is her finest, equally fluent with gutterpunk culture and smarmy real estate men. It has been suggested by The Washington Post's Ron Charles that you will likely gain some pounds while reading this novel. This is certainly true. Abu-Jaber's description of food is so precise that it often made me want to do more cooking. But I very much admired the way in which Abu-Jaber presents all her characters as unwitting victims of rough capitalism, which permits them some dignity even as they perform terrible acts.
The Last of the Live Nude Girls by Sheila McClear: This memoir isn't so much about the decline of the Times Square peepshow, as it is about one young woman's efforts to pull herself up by by her bootstraps when presented with few economic options. Filled with self-introspective candor and a quiet dignity, McClear's story is one that might befall any of us in these volatile times. While McClear does get back on her feet, her book leads one contemplating the terrible fates of other young women now moving to New York and falling into deadlier vocations. (
The Ha-Ha is a great read.
90? 90?!
I’m hanging my head in shame at 45. There’s always December…?