“Cult Classic” by Sloane Crosley

I’ve already read three different books by Sloane Crosley (two books of short stories that I assumed were autobiographical, but I could be wrong, and one grief memoir). But somehow the fact that Crosley has also written two novels had escaped my notice until very recently. This discovery surprised me. Somehow I'd gotten the idea that Crosley was a young, debut writer. (This is probably because I just stumbled upon her in 2022 and didn't realize the book I was reading had come out nearly a decade and a half earlier. I mentioned my surprise to Sam, explaining that I'd thought Crosley was young--too young to have already written so many books; then I looked up her age and said, "Well, she is quite young," which made Sam laugh, because she was born in 1979. Funny what constitutes young these days.) But as usual, I digress. The point I wanted to make was that, of course, as soon as I became aware of Crosley's novels, I had to buy them. 

I started with Cult Classic (published in 2022). I found it a bit disconcerting at first, because I kept trying to figure out where the story fit into the author’s life, and then remembering that this was a novel and was therefore unlikely to be autobiographical. Even once I got to the point where I felt I was regularly recognizing the story as fiction, I found the voice of the protagonist was quite similar to Crosley's voice in her other books. And New York City looms large, as usual. 

Lola, newly engaged to Boots (which is, thankfully, a  nickname), is out to dinner in Manhattan (Chinatown, specifically) with former coworkers when she unexpectedly runs into an ex she hadn't seen for years. They have a pleasant enough conversation, then they go their separate ways. The next night: same song, second verse. This time it's an ex from ten years ago. And the next day, you guessed it--she sees another ex. On one hand it was starting to seem like a literary device allowing the author to describe a handful of different relationships--like a bunch of short stories all linked to the same character--but as an actual plot point, it felt a bit contrived. Granted, I am not George Strait (because only one of my exes lives in Texas), so who knows what it would actually be like if I'd had a decade-long, extremely active dating life in NYC? Maybe running into an ex a day wouldn't be as implausible as it sounds. 

But then it turns out it actually was contrived. In a really quirky and unexpected way. That twist was both welcome (because we see it wasn't just a parade of exes for the sake of anecdotes) and a bit surreal. But it also allowed for more depth, bringing interesting introspection on love, commitment, and letting go of the past--all in a witty and stylish package. (The Classic, of course...)

“Ask Again, Yes” by Mary Beth Keane

Oops... I did it again. 

I don't even remember when I finished reading this book, but it was probably close to two weeks ago. I had intended to blog about it while sitting around at the airport on my way out of town on Friday the 12th. But when the time came, I realized I had forgotten to take a cover photo, which threw me off enough that I decided to wait until I got back home. But I didn't manage to squeeze it in until this evening. While I'm sure I never had anything profound to write, I'm also sure that if I had, I would have lost it to the mists of time by now. 

So you'll have to settle for whatever synopsis I can scrape from my brain, plus a brief verdict. This book starts in July 1973 with two rookie cops in NYC: Francis Gleeson and Brian Stanhope. They end up as next door neighbors in a small (fictional, I think, but idyllic) town north of the city, where they are friendly enough, but definitely not friends. Brian's wife Anne certainly never warms up to Francis's wife Lena, anyway. But eventually there are children in the picture, and Kate Gleeson and Peter Stanhope establish a strong bond despite the lack of connection between their parents. 

This is one of those really complicated family dramas. I honestly did not expect to like it that much, but it was very engrossing. At least I think that's what I thought. But I may need to read again, yes?

A realization

Postcard from Artillery in Savannah, GA

I was just taking a moment to admire the way my page views have increased recently. Not as if my book blog is going viral by any means, but individual post readership has gone from (high) single digits to (low) triple digits, which is nice to see. I’d like to say I have Bookstagram to thank for this, though I fear it’s more likely due to web crawlers and automated browsing from the likes of ChatGPT. 

But here is what I realized. I have been getting comments! Not lots and lots of them, but some--from this year!!--that I was not aware of. My blog used to be set up to email comments to me, but it appears that system must have failed somewhere across the years without me noticing (until now). 

I need to pay closer attention to this and maybe try some responses. 

“The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox” by Maggie O’Farrell

It isn’t often that I have five  uninterrupted hours to sit and read. But solo air travel  does have its benefits! I started reading this book while waiting for my (delayed) flight, and turned the last page while my eager fellow travelers were still clogging the aisle waiting for the doors to open at our destination.

TVAOEL gets off to a running start with Iris Lockhart in her vintage shop in Edinburgh. She is an intriguing character in her own right, but the real story centers around Esme, the great-aunt Iris never knew she had. We soon find out that Esme had been committed to an institution more than sixty years ago, but at first we don’t know why. We spend most of the book learning the details, skipping between past and present. 

I’ve decided I should have read this book years ago. I don’t know why I put it off, really. It piqued my interest from the moment I first heard about it (though of course I don’t remember exactly when that was). But it’s one of the good O’Farrells. Not the best (I still hold After You’d Gone in highest esteem, and Hamnet and The Marriage Portrait were both excellent), but I rank it as fourth best. I probably don’t even need to mention that the writing was excellent. But the characters were also solid and real. And while I guessed at a major reveal pretty early on, the ending took me by surprise. That’s generally a good thing, and definitely so in this case.

“Abyss” by Pilar Quintana

*Translated from the Spanish by Lisa Dillman

This is the second of four books that ChatGPT chose for me from my TBR (and I have just now realized s/he—it?—must not have made it very far down the alphabetized list: the four books include one whose title starts with a number, and three whose titles start with the letter A. Lazy much? . . . says the girl who outsourced the choosing of her next books to read).

But I digress. I must confess that I was not super-excited about reading Abyss, as evidenced by the fact that we bought it more than two years ago and I hadn't touched it yet. In 2023, it was one of the five finalists for the National Book Award for Translated Literature and while on one hand I do believe this honor is bestowed on high-quality works, on the other hand I have the (possibly mistaken?) feeling that the finalists for this award are often so . . . worthy. (Yes, worthy of renown, but that's not what I mean in this case; what I really mean is too worthy: maybe a bit pretentious, maybe taking itself a little too seriously, maybe just too earnest. Maybe not very fun). 

I should not have had these fears about Abyss. This book was worthy only in the good sense. This is the story of eight-year-old Claudia, living in Cali, Colombia. She's the only child of her older, hard-working father and her young, beautiful, bored mother. Claudia watches the adults around her, half-understanding some of the things she sees and hears; she's more oblivious to other circumstances, but feels the undercurrents of tension anyway.

This tension is definitely passed on to the reader. The tightly-wound narrative gave me a near-constant feeling of dread (but the good kind). Without even meaning to, I read half the book the first night I picked it up. 

*I should be more diligent about noting information like this on my blog. I obviously have not read the book in Spanish so I can't compare the two versions, but I was impressed by the natural way Dillman preserved the childlike voice of the narrator.

“My Good Bright Wolf” by Sarah Moss

My Good Bright Wolf is a deeply personal memoir by Sarah Moss, who also wrote several other books I have enjoyed. I didn't know what to expect ahead of time (other than good writing!)--this is one of the books I bought as a vacation treat for myself in July, and the only recommendation I needed was the author's name. 

I was right, of course, about the good writing. But I was a bit blindsided by the intensity of Moss's story. I had no idea that she has been battling anorexia for most of her life, to the extent that she has been at death's door more than once. Now I think back to the mother character in Summerwater, running through the woods, with the hint of impending heart failure that I didn't understand. At the time I thought, Why would a fit young mother be nearing heart failure? Now, having read MGBW, I think that mother was the author: also a runner, also with a damaged heart.

There are two kinds of people in the world: there are those who, like me, will find this book very eye-opening; it's a window on a harrowing disorder that I have (fortunately) never had to deal with, whether in myself or in any of my loved ones. And there are those who will find solace in it, because it helps them to understand the struggle they have witnessed in others--or even in themselves. But no matter which group you are in, I think you will find this a powerful and engaging read. 

(Maybe it's not necessarily a vacation book, though?)

Sarah Moss is very brave, not only because she has opened herself up and shared her story with the world, but also because she endured and survived her story.

“This Must Be the Place” by Maggie O’Farrell

I'm not doing a very good job of reading my four ChatGPT-selected titles from my TBR pile. One down, three to go, and this was not one of them. But it felt like it was time to test my two-Maggie-O'Farrells theory, and I already had a copy of this book. 

To start with my overall verdict as relates to my theory: I have decided there are not two Maggie O'Farrells, because this book belongs somewhere between the categories of "Amazing" and "Doesn't Quite Measure Up." There's obviously more of a continuum than a bimodal distribution. 

This Must be the Place tells the story of Daniel Sullivan, starting in the remote countryside of Ireland in 2010 where he lives with his beautiful, spunky (though O'Farrell would never use that adjective to describe her) wife Claudette and their two young children, but it spreads its tentacles into the past, the future, and the minds of others: the two children from Daniel's first marriage, his roommates when he was a postgrad in London, Claudette herself, and even her son from her first marriage. In 2010, Daniel and Claudette are happy and in love, but their complicated pasts make their future complicated as well. 

Overall, it was an enjoyable if imperfect read. I think my main complaint is that Daniel's character seemed like too many different people. Throughout it all, he has piercing blue eyes, but other than that he's all over the place. I guess there's a fine line between a complex persona and one who just isn't cohesive. And my secondary complaint is that Daniel's son Niall and Claudette's son Ari seem like they could have been one and the same person. Not that they don't each have distinguishing features, but that they seem to serve the same purpose in the narrative.

Even if this book doesn't belong in the Amazing category, I'm not done with Maggie O'Farrell. I've been meaning to read her Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox ever since I first heard about it, which was all the way back in 2010. But for whatever reason, I had never bothered to get myself a copy of it. So you'll be happy to know I've just ordered it. Hopefully I'll read it before another decade and a half goes by. 

Speaking of the passage of time, this reminds me: it's been quite a while since I had the realization that I don't have enough years remaining to read all the books I want to read. I remind myself of this every now and then in hopes of becoming one of those people who is able to stop reading a book that they're not enjoying (though so far this has had no effect). But I had an idea the other day. Right now, while I'm still working full time, I obviously can't read all day long. But what if, after I retire, I make it my life's goal to read All The Books? Could I possibly read a book a day? (Probably not. But I could certainly read more than one a week, if my vacations are any indication.) By my calculations, I could read all the books on my TBR shelves in anywhere from 1.5 years (at the rate of one per day) to 11 years (at the rate of one per week). Only problem is, I keep buying more . . .

“The Bradshaw Variations” by Rachel Cusk

Next in the lineup of Book Treats for our July vacation (even though the vacation has now ended), an old-but-new-to-me book by Rachel Cusk. (I did read most of it on the plane on the way home, for what it’s worth.)

Unsurprisingly, this book isn’t plot-heavy; it’s more descriptive about family relationships and the thoughts of the individuals in those relationships. It starts with Tonie and Thomas Bradshaw, who have recently made a change that flips the dynamic in their lives: Tonie is now working full-time while Thomas stays home with their young daughter Alexa. Then we move on to Howard (brother to Thomas) and his wife Claudia and their three children. We also see Leo (a third brother), his wife Susie, and their two kids, and we even meet Mr and Mrs Bradshaw, the parents of the three brothers. The book is written almost like a group of short stories with a strong Bradshaw thread running through them all. 

So the title obviously refers to the various Bradshaws—how they are similar, what makes them different. But it also refers to the subtle shifts that occur within the group of relationships. We are given less about what the Bradshaws do than about what they notice (or fail to notice) about themselves and each other, but the hidden tensions are palpable. And in the end it seems the old cliché is true: the more things change, the more they stay the same. 

But did I like it? Yeah, I liked it. I don’t think I’ve ever been disappointed in Rachel Cusk’s writing before. I wouldn’t name this as one of my favorites of hers, but I still want to (eventually) make my way through all of her books. 

“Memorial Days” by Geraldine Brooks

Don't let this immediately put you off, but Memorial Days is a grief memoir. Until his untimely death in 2019, Geraldine Brooks was married to Tony Horwitz, a Pulitzer prize-winning journalist and author (sounds like he was quite famous, though I'd never heard of him--not that there's any significance to that). What with the bureaucracy of death, and her own career, not to mention a global pandemic, Brooks never found the time to truly grieve her loss until she managed to escape to a remote island off the coast of Tasmania in 2023 to feel her feelings and write a book about it. 

The result is beautifully crafted and quietly heartbreaking. Brooks delves into her memory of Tony's death and its aftermath, and interleaves this with her experience on Flinders Island. The story is bittersweet and universally relatable (at least for anyone who is in a relationship that they want to be in). As I read I couldn't help but put my feet in Brooks' shoes and feel her grief right along with her, as I imagined and dreaded going through the same kind of loss in my life. In fact, I assumed that this is what everyone always does when confronted with death, so I was surprised to read in this book that three months before Tony died, his childhood friend had died suddenly at age 60. At that time, Brooks felt sympathy for the man's family but didn’t even think about what it would be like if the same thing happened to Tony . . . until it did. 

Another thing that stood out to me was that Tony used to scribble his thoughts all over the pages of the books he read. Brooks states, “I am glad of this now. If I pick up one of his books that I haven’t yet read, I can know what he thought of it.” I tend not to write in my books (well, other than cookbooks!) but this book blog fulfills that same purpose. My main reason for this blog is to keep track of what I've read and what I thought about it; but it is also a gift to you, Sam.

What I want to remember most from Memorial Days is the advice. Not because it's the most poignant or emotional part of the book, but because death is a fact of life and though no one ever wants to think about it, someday I will be glad to have this guidance. 

• First, the incredibly practical, and something that can and should be done as soon as possible: Jot down all the tasks you do to keep the household afloat. Brooks suggests creating a document called Your Life: How It Works and periodically updating it. 
• Very soon after Tony's death, a friend approached her with what he described as advice that couldn’t wait. There were three things:

1. Make it safe for others to talk about the loved one you have lost by talking about them first.

2. Don’t come home to a silent house; leave the radio on. 

3. Brooks couldn’t remember the third thing! Which is going to drive me crazy. What if it was the most important thing?? (I try to tell myself if that were the case she would have remembered it, but that's not working for me.)

• Make more time for the beauty. I don't think this is necessarily something that would be helpful right away, but it's what Brooks did on Flinders Island more than three years later.
• Accept the fact that the future you had expected is gone and there is no getting it back; make the life you do have as vivid and consequential as you can. 

I feel like Sam and I already do a good job of squeezing all the juice out of life, but this book was a good reminder of the importance of doing so; it brought it to the forefront. 

“My Lover’s Lover” by Maggie O’Farrell

I am becoming convinced that there are two different Maggie O’Farrells: one who has written amazing books like After You’d Gone, Hamnet, and The Marriage Portrait, and one who is readable but doesn’t quite measure up (The Hand That First Held Mine, and now this one). 

Am I being too harsh? There were parts of My Lover’s Lover that really shone. Like, true O’Farrell-level writing. And even in the parts that didn’t have the same gleam, I found myself really getting into the story. But there was a surprising amount of this book that struck me like the product of a creative writing course. Showing off? Trying too hard? Whatever it was, those parts didn’t ring true for me. 

The story starts with pretty but impulsive Lily, who has a meet-cute with handsome but impulsive Marcus, and suddenly they’re flatmates (along with the also-handsome but less impulsive Aiden). Lily quickly realizes she has replaced Sinead, who was until very recently Marcus’s girlfriend, but Lily is not quite sure of Sinead’s fate. All she’s gotten from Marcus is “Sinead is no longer with us.” 

So far this sounds like a relatively silly romantic comedy, right? Which you know is not exactly my thing. But you also know that not finishing a book is also not my thing. And I have O’Farrell Faith. So I kept going. 

And then it kind of became a ghost story, and I followed all sorts of red herrings. What had happened to Sinead? Did Marcus kill her?? Or maybe she wasn’t actually dead? I even took a crazy leap: Aiden is an anagram for Sinead (if you take away the S). Maybe Aiden was a trans man who used to be Sinead! (Spoiler alert: I was way off track.)

All of these parts of the book were disappointing but readable. It’s only when we get to go back in time and learn about the relationship between Sinead and Marcus that it stopped seeming like a creative writing effort and started seeming like a book by Maggie O’Farrell (the real one). Maybe this was just what Sam would call a “difficult second novel”? Anyway, it’s not going to stop me from reading her books. Six down, three to go. 

“Last Things” by Jenny Offill

This is my dream world: reading all the time. 

Before our vacation in May of 2022, we treated ourselves to a handful of new books to bring with us. (Pretty much the opposite of what we did in April 2025.) This year we decided it was time for another treat. Last Things is the first of five. 

Though new to me, this book was published a quarter of a century ago! I’ve already read Offill’s other two books (for adults) and really loved them, but somehow I’d totally missed the fact that this one even existed. Not surprisingly, I liked this one just as much as the others. I really enjoy Offill’s writing. 

Last Things encompasses the life of Grace Davitt at the age of 8. Her father Jonathan is a science teacher at the local school and her mother Anna works at the raptor rehabilitation center. Family life is eclectic but idyllic. But bit by bit, cracks appear. Jonathan loses his job. Anna decides to homeschool Grace. Jonathan temporarily leaves town for a new job. And all throughout, Anna’s behavior seems increasingly erratic. For a man who proposed to a woman because she never bored him, I would not be surprised if Jonathan found himself wishing for a more boring wife. 

And now, time for the next book!

“The 7th Function of Language” by Laurent Binet

After how long it took me to choose this book, I decided to take a surprising new tack: I asked ChatGPT to choose my next four reads. The 7th Function of Language was one of the four. 

This is a book I probably should have read years ago (though aren’t they all, to some extent?) but better late than never, right? I must admit a lot of the delay probably came from the fact that I felt a bit intimidated by the subject matter. I mean, I’m not sure I’d even heard of semiology before I became aware of this book, and I am not familiar with any of the writings of Barthes, Derrida, Foucault, et al. 

Binet weaves a story around the death of semiotician Roland Barthes in 1980. History tells us Barthes died as a result of injuries sustained when he was run over by a laundry van in the streets of Paris. Binet tells us this death was no accident: Barthes was in possession of a document describing the “seventh function of language”, one that allows the speaker to persuade anyone to do anything. Just think how dangerous such a skill could be if it fell into the wrong hands. 

While it’s entirely possible (maybe even likely) that my reading experience was a more superficial one than it might have been if I had any sort of foundation in linguistics, I am living proof that such a foundation isn’t necessary for reading (and even enjoying) this book. It’s basically a spy novel, and (despite, I’m sure, missing many references) I enjoyed reading this more than I enjoyed reading The Tailor of Panama. I’m sure this was due at least in part to the impeccable translation! I’m obviously not surprised, but I did find myself amazed on more than one occasion; this must have been a very difficult book to translate, but somehow it has the appearance of effortlessness.