Book 1: The Life of Pi by Yann Manzel. I have not seen the movie, although I remember wanting to, and that impulse moved me to pick up the book. I'm glad I did. The narrator's love of "all religions" was very off-putting to me, and I almost stopped reading it after the confrontation with his parents and the three "holy men." However, his writing about wild animals was compelling to me, since we were adopted by a semi-tame crow in my childhood. Gradually, the psychology of his struggle took over my interest, and I was so glad I read to the end. Old themes that interested me in school popped up again: the unreliable narrator, post-modernism and the telling of story, etc. A good read for varied reasons.
Book 2: When Captain Flint was Still a Good Man by Nick Dybek. I like books that leave you feeling as if you've lived another life, and this was one of those. Another young boy as narrator, another "coming of age" story, although not quite as uplifting as Life of Pi (I know-if you've read Pi, you shudder. I say this because Pi was so hopeful, and Flint has more of a "things be gloomy" feel). The title is explained early in the story, and sets a fascinating motif. I didn't really like the ending, but I would still recommend it. I have now grown up in a small fishing village and punched my way through a few friendships.
Book 3: The Unnamed by Joshua Ferris. One of the best books I've ever read; this one will always stay with me. The main character has an illness no one can identify. If you or someone you love has ever struggled with doctors and diagnoses, this is a powerful portrayal of this aspect of real life. Good writing, good storytelling, takes you beyond the day-to-day; it gives words (with all their power) to our experiences. In sharing the words, we share our lives with the author, with other readers; we feel more connected. The book moves beyond the illness and becomes about the marriage, the family relationships. "Hope and denial, the front and rear guard of the chronically ill"...this phrase alone will always be part of my vocabulary.
Book 4: Crazyheart by Thomas Cobb. Again, I haven't seen the movie. But having read the book, I have now lived as a country music star who is past his prime but still on the stage. And I haven't contracted any std's, like the main character probably has. I enjoyed the pathos and hope in his narrative, his brilliance and the sadness of his choices. He is the kind of person I would strike up a conversation with at IHOP and then keep in my collection of people.
Book 6: Sycamore Row by John Grisham. Grisham, pardon the cliche, is a master storyteller, and one of my all-time favorite authors. I love his portrayal of the South, his exploration of racism, the inside look at the tedium and thrill of lawyering. This book was balanced between character-development and plot; his writing is so clean and beautiful. I love Grisham's worldview. If I were giving spoilers, I would expand on his worldview, which played into the two times the book made me cry. It is a sequel to his first novel, A Time to Kill, and I highly recommend it.
I am resisting the urge to simply go get another Grisham novel. I love reading them; I love telling his stories to my husband, reading select passages that made me laugh. I have a few non-fiction stacked near my reading chair; we'll see if I am able to finish them, or if the lack of story pushes me away.
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