We're in the last third of this challenging year, a year in which my reading has oscillated between indulging my need to escape and fulfilling my need to understand the challenges we face. August brought us (finally!) the warm weather here in Vancouver, and perhaps that's why last month's titles tend toward the indulgent, escapist side of the dial. . .
Not the first title, though. Carmen Machado's memoir In the Dream House draws its reader in with compelling story-telling about a love story gone wrong. Elegantly written, stylistically effective, and ultimately redemptive as it is, though, the narrative is often uncomfortable, even painful. I'm still recommending to you, though, for broadening our understanding of relationships and of the power negotiations within them--and for illuminating the way that silence and silencing work. (Reminding me of something I included in a post on my other blog recently, a quotation from Alice Zentner's L'Art de Perdre: "Personne ne sait ce que les autres vont faire de notre silence" -- no one knows what the others are going to make of our silence )
I posted a page from In the Dream House in an Instagram post, along with a few comments about the book, and I posted a different page on my other blog, inspired by a metaphor of Machado's that caught my attention
The next three books were all bought at a charming and thoughtfully stocked independent bookshop. Paul and I were the only customers, for the first ten or fifteen minutes, and what a pleasure it was to be able to take our time browsing physical shelves instead of choosing books online. Don't get me wrong; I'm grateful that we've had the online options during these months of physical distancing, but there's really nothing that compares to the sensory reality of shelves filled with new books (Used books are good as well, but different . . . ).
In fact, I think I did well to restrict myself to three books:
Jess Kidd's Mr. Flood's Last Resort -- because I enjoyed her Things in Jars so much. So well-written, such a romp. Contemporary Gothic mystery doesn't quite capture it, but something like that.
Susie Steiner's Remain Silent, latest/third in the very good Manon Bradshaw series. Fulfils all the promise of the first two volumes, with perhaps even more depth as Manon grapples with marriage, midlife, the challenges of childcare. . . The mystery also reflects (although coincidentally, rather than deliberately) Steiner's experience with brain cancer over the past year, as she discusses in this Guardian interview. And in case you don't already read High Heels in the Wilderness, Sue writes about Steiner as "kindred spirit" here, on the basis of what she learns in that Guardian interview.
