Book reviews based on my terrible memory

I’ve missed writing about books. I’ve had a stellar summer and fall, reading-wise, and it’s reignited something in me. I’m always an avid reader (which is why I married a bookstore guy—he keeps me awash in my drug of choice), but lately I’ve had this desperate love affair with the act of reading, as if, along with eating and breathing, it is one of the pillars of my very aliveness. It feels a little like having a crush.

The catch in all this, is that I can't remember shit.

I’ve always been envious of people who can quote lines from their favorite authors or make clever literary asides. I am not one of those people. I am the kind of person who will claim passionately (and honestly) to have loved a book and then recall almost nothing about it except the pleasure of reading it.

The other day I tried to remind myself of the plot and character names of The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James. I’ve read this book at least twice, probably three times. I’ve written papers in graduate school on it. I’ve discussed it in class, and I can’t remember the basic plot of the thing. An American girl named Isabel Archer goes to Europe—England and I think, Italy—and well, I suppose some bad things happen to her. She has a cousin who tries to protect her.

It’s not exactly a New York Review of Books caliber examination. And it's not the only book I've been awed by but fail to remember.

Some reviews of my favorite books based solely on memory:

Birds of America by Lorrie Moore: there’s a girl named Agnes who pronounces her name An-yez, like the French, and there’s a really funny line about modern dance. At some point some raccoons burn up in a chimney.

A History of Love by Nicole Krauss: Jewish post-911 New York. There’s a key or a lock with a lot of significance. Reminded me a lot of her husband’s novel Incredibly Loud and Extremely Close.

A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving: A tiny boy named Owen Meany is growing up in a working class granite town in New Hampshire. I think there’s a boarding school in it. I think there’s a scene having something to do with Christmas decorations. His voice is small and strange but people love him anyway.

Caramelo by Sandra Cisneros: Mexican-American girl from Texas moves to Chicago. Some of it takes place in Mexico. At one point I think she has sex with her boyfriend in a cheap hotel overlooking the plaza in Mexico City. Rebosos play an important role but I forget how.

The End of Vandalism by Tom Drury: Dry humor. Story of a Midwestern town. There is a water tower and a lot of people drive trucks. There’s a grocery store that closes, I think. And one of the main characters is a high school teacher. There is also a romance. I loved this book.

Look at Me by Jennifer Egan: There’s a model who gets in a car accident and it’s in the Midwest and somehow there’s a terrorist in it. I found it ambitious and prescient.

I'm back (and not in a Shining way)

OK, my dahlinks, I know I've been remiss. But, if it's any consolation, I have learned an important lesson about blogging: when you blog often you feel OK about writing a few cute lines of dialogue or describing your love affair with your new pink tights. But when you tell all nine of your readers that you will only be blogging once a week, well, all of a sudden you feel as if you have to have something BIG and IMPORTANT to say. And then you get all squirmy and self-critical and you're all, "No one wants to hear about my trip to the wildlife preserve in Pt. Arena," or "Maybe my children aren't quite as clever to everyone else as they are to me." Then you get sick. Then you get super into writing your novel and feel as if you are close to finishing a first draft.

This is actually not my belly

Then, I don't know, you obsess over your stomach for a while and toy with the idea of throwing in the towel and never dieting again. Then you see that Crystal Light is on sale and you buy some despite your objection to processed food and then it turns out that lemonade Crystal Light is really delicious and, God, you just go along, drinking your powdered drink mixes and examining your naked body in the full-length mirror (it's fine, right? I mean, its not perfect, but it's fine). And also, it's summer, and you feel as if you should be taking advantage of the daylight. And you bought that bench at that garage sale that you should finally just paint already so your backyard can be super cute, especially once you get a fire pit thingy.

Anyhow, before you know it, its been a month (well, 25 days, really) and you have not written anything and you assume that all nine of your readers have moved on (people are busy, after all) and you start to think about Decorno and how she just signed off one day, but you don't want to give up your blog, you don't. You just can't think of anything BIG and IMPORTANT to write. But then, two people write you in one day to say why aren't you blogging and it turns out that's all you needed. Just a little shout out from the anonymous buzzing molecules of data that are the Internet. And you're off again, happy as can be. Not in an every day kind of way, but more often. Often enough so that if it comes up, you feel pretty OK about blogging about socks. I mean, if they are especially cute.

Special bonus video starring moi about a novel that I LOVE and that I totally think you should read this summer:

Just take my word

Do you have a notepad? Go get a notepad. Seriously. I'll wait.

Now write down these two things because they are going to make you very happy.

1.) Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann. It won the National Book Award this year and it is so brilliant and moving and heartfelt and just plain awesome that I want to run away with it and live in exquisite, illicit bliss with it forever. Seriously great novel. Oh, and rent Man on Wire first. Once you read the book, this will make sense.



2.) Crazy Heart. Everyone knows you can't run away with a book and live in exquisite, illicit bliss. But, Jeff Bridges? He could work out nicely. If any part of you has ever liked country music, not the big-haired, spangly crap, but the Townes Van Zandt-Johnny Cash-Waylon Jennings kind of country music, go see this movie. Or, hell, go anyway. It's good.


Now you have a lot to do this weekend, so go. Go.

Read Olive Kitteridge, please

Looking for a book to read this weekend? May I suggest Olive Kitteridge, the novel in stories that won the 2009 Pulitzer Prize for fiction? I just finished it an hour ago and it is the most deeply human, empathetic, smart novel I've read in a while. I'm sort of speechless in its wake, actually.

You should try it. You won't be sorry. Thank me later; we'll have a good cry and a cup of General Foods International Coffee.