Here’s a preview of the December Indie Next Great Reads list.
#1 Pick: Us: A Novel, by David Nicholls
(Harper, 9780062365583, $26.99)
“This gorgeous novel manages to be heart-wrenching and hilarious all at once. Connie tells Douglas that she suspects their 20-year marriage has ‘run its course’ right before they’re set to leave on a European tour with their teenage son. Regardless, they take the trip and flashbacks of their more passionate days are interspersed with the narrative of their everything-at-stake adventure. A brilliant and humanizing picture of mature love — and a look at whether or not people truly outgrow each other.” —Mary Cotton, Newtonville Books, Newton, MA
The Boston Girl: A Novel, by Anita Diamant
(Scribner, 9781439199350, $26)
“Diamant brings a generation of women to life through the voice of Addie Baum. Born in 1900, Addie tells of her early childhood in Boston as the child of immigrant parents; her formative years as a Saturday Club girl, where she found her lifelong friends; her career path as a typist and journalist; and meeting her husband and finding meaningful work as a social worker. Her story plays out against a backdrop of some of the most basic issues women had to face as they found their places in 20th century America. As I turned the last pages of The Boston Girl, I was left with a serene sense of satisfaction. A historical feat and a very enjoyable read.” —Jenny Lyons, The Vermont Book Shop, Middlebury, VT
The Gigantic Beard That Was Evil, by Stephen Collins
(Picador, 9781250050397, $20)
“Slip into a black and white world where order reigns supreme and all untidiness must be eradicated. Dave lives a nondescript life in Here, until the day an untamable beard sprouts from his chin. Could the beard be a maleficent portal to There? Collins gently addresses the tangles of human existence in this playful graphic fable, perfect for fans of Edward Gorey and Roald Dahl.” —Rhianna Walton, Powell’s Books, Portland, OR
Enter Pale Death: A Joe Sandilands Investigation, by Barbara Cleverly
(Soho Crime, 9781616954086, $26.95)
“The tales of pre-World War II Scotland Yard’s Joe Sandilands are becoming addictive. Intrigue, political manipulations, the ever-present undercurrent of class differences, and the rising spectre of Nazism run throughout the series. Joe always expected to one day wed Dorcas, a charming girl he watched grow up, and is alarmed to find that she has attached herself to her academic patron, Sir James Truelove. The detective is sent to Truelove’s family estate to investigate the death of Sir James’s wife. Murder investigations, just like true love, never run smoothly. Is Sandilands going to find the way through this snake’s nest?” —Becky Milner, Vintage Books, Vancouver, WA
The Happiest People in the World: A Novel, by Brock Clarke
(Algonquin Books, 9781616201111, $24.95)
“This satiric treatment of weighty topics, including religious intolerance, provincialism, and the American obsession with Homeland Security, ranges from a backwater in Denmark to a backwater in upstate New York. It follows the plight of a hapless Danish cartoonist who unleashes chaos in his life by authoring a politically incorrect cartoon of Muhammad. Put into a witness protection program and improbably installed as a guidance counselor in the local high school, he is at the mercy of bumbling agents of the CIA and Homeland Security, who seem to be feuding and hiding under every rock. His first time observations of America and Americans are priceless.” —Darwin Ellis, Books on the Common, Ridgefield, CT
Read the complete list for December at the American Booksellers Association site.
From Biographile, five books by and about Pythons —
From the debut of their absurdist sketch comedy show in 1969, the members of Monty Python — Graham Chapman, Eric Idle, John Cleese, Michael Palin, Terry Gilliam and Terry Jones — had a revolutionary impact on comedy. After four television seasons and four movies, the most recent released more than thirty years ago, their influence, and their legions of fans, only continues to grow.
First and last lines get all the attention. From single men, happy families, boats against the current, or cultivated gardens, they’re what stick in your mind. But what about the messy middle? See how well you know (or can guess) these quotes from the meat of the matter.
#1 Pick: Not My Father’s Son: A Memoir, by Alan Cumming
(Dey Street Books, 9780062225061, $26.99)
“Every so often reading a memoir feels like a conversation rather than a strict narrative or — the death knell for memoir — a self-indulgent romp down memory lane. Cumming’s memoir is a gorgeous, intimate conversation and it reads beautifully. The pace is perfect, the presentation truly lovely, and I felt like a close friend rather than an impersonal audience. Cumming’s early life was a struggle and he hardly shies from relating details, but the driving force behind this book is the demonstration of the many ways one can bring oneself to peace after hardship. I enjoyed it immensely.” —Demi Marshall, Park Road Books, Charlotte, NC
The Book of Strange New Things: A Novel, by Michel Faber
(Hogarth, 9780553418842, $28)
“Peter Leigh is an evangelical Christian pastor whose mission to serve the Lord leads him into space, where he ministers to an alien race. But is he truly converting them, or is his faith leading them astray? Questions abound: Why wasn’t his wife allowed to accompany him? Why is everyone in the human base camp uninterested in the catastrophes that are befalling Earth while they are light years away? Why was Peter’s appointment as pastor to the aliens so urgent? Faber does a great job addressing the question of faith and its consequences. A great book group selection!” —Susan M. Taylor, Market Block Books, Troy, NY
Crooked River: A Novel, by Valerie Geary
(William Morrow, 9780062326591, $25.99)
“Debut author Geary has written an engaging psychological thriller set in rural Oregon. After their mother’s sudden death, Sam and Ollie McAlister move to live with their recluse beekeeper father, Bear, in a tepee in the middle of a meadow. Shortly after their arrival, a young woman is found dead in the nearby river and their father is arrested for the murder. Both girls know their father is innocent — younger Ollie has been shown the real killer by the spirits that only she can see — and the sisters take it into their own hands to prove their father’s innocence.” —Liz Heywood, The Babbling Book, Haines, AK
Falling From Horses: A Novel, by Molly Gloss
(Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 9780544279292, $25)
“Falling From Horses is the story of a young man, a young woman, and the early days of Hollywood set against the memories of growing up in eastern Oregon among the horses, cattle, and hard work it takes to live there. Bud, the son of ranchers, buys a bus ticket to Hollywood to be a rider in cowboy movies. On the way, he meets Lily Shaw, a sassy screenwriter, and their lives become intertwined with the telling of what led Bud to leave home. Both brutal and beautiful, Falling From Horses is filled with stunning descriptions of the world of early movie-making and the landscapes that shape us.” —Rene Kirkpatrick, Eagle Harbor Book Company, Bainbridge Island, WA
Read the complete list for November at the American Booksellers Association site.
What happens when an E.F. Benson-worshipping, unreliable narrator-loving, BBC-lady-cop digging, feminist eye roller is compelled to read a flannel-clad, irony-free paean to cold beer and the dudes who quaff it?
(Originally posted in the What Are You Reading Now? discussion thread in the BookBalloon Forum [which, by the way, JOIN IN] with just a little editing.)
Well, I finished Shotgun Lovesongs, mainly by listening to it at double speed in the car and skipping a few chapters.
The salt-of-the-earth farmer dude who BY THE WAY is as handsome as a movie star. (This is an actual description from the book. Handsome as a movie star!) The head-injured rodeo dude who is still rodeo-lean and brutally handsome. (Another actual description.) The cocky commodities trader dude who is slickly handsome and has a wife with shiny hair and fingernails. The rockstar dude who is just too SOULFUL and CONNECTED and REAL and SAINTLY. Music, man, and beat-up guitars and old trucks and cold, cold beer. When will HE find the worshipful wife he deserves? All these dudes deserve hot, worshipful wives! And the personality-free, long-limbed woman who has loved and worshipped the possibility in all the dudes but mainly worships her farmer dude husband (there are several hymns of praise to his simple quiet handsome awesomeness), and their deep, thrumming, strumming, connected, rich, nothing fancy, church supper hotdish of a real American wild goose on the wing and woodsmoke in the crisp air life. Drinking Pabst at the VFW, and loving that movie star-handsome man as he tills the soil with his ropy flannel-clad forearms life. And friendship, man. Deep, rolling, dudely, strong-handclaspy, sitting-on-watertowers-at-dawn friendship.
Also, there are literally four weddings, all lit with golden light (both day and candle) and seemingly dreamed up by Blake Lively’s copywriter and/or planned by the Etsy hobo wedding people.
And a stripper with a heart of gold.
This book? Was. Not. For. Me.
I’m writing this sitting in the top suite of the Sheraton Norfolk Waterfront hotel, where an entire wall of the suite is floor-to-ceiling windows facing the harbor. The view has been a steady stream of small sail boats (some kind of sailing club?), the kitschy paddlewheel ferry running tourists between sides of harbor and looking small and toy-like against the backdrop of the occasional barge filled with coal and gravel. (I’m reminded of the children’s story “Little Toot on the Mississippi” even though Little Toot is a tugboat.) There is also a three-masted schooner doing tours of the harbor that goes out at sunrise and at sunset, red sails unfurled even though the boat is obviously under power.
It’s the last day of the “SIBA Discovery Show” — the annual book trade show put on by the Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance, and I’ve retreated to my hotel room. My back hurts, my feet are killing me, but I’m strangely satisfied at the close of an event that has dominated my life for the past two months.
For an organizer, the days leading up to the show is a snowstorm of a hundred thousand small details and situations that have to be anticipated or avoided, followed through and fixed. Who lined up the on site shipping? How much alcohol should we buy for the events and who is going to go get it? Have we arranged to pick up everyone from the airport that needed a ride? Did we know that one presenter was bringing his ancient MacIntosh and do we have an adapter that will work between his computer and our projector? Can we fit someone into the program who forgot to register? Did the craft beer arrive from Florida? (It didn’t). Could we get mangos at a reasonable price for one of the breakfasts? (We could.)
There were times in the week before the show opened that I wanted time to skip ahead to the moment it would all be over. But the truth is, I never fail to come through these things without feeling re-energized and re-invigorated, and somewhat humbled.
I’m reminded, almost every ten minutes during the entire weekend of the show, that regardless of the frantic pitch of the promoters, the tired language of the spindoctors, the focused aggression of the publicity people, that when it comes right down to it, every author there, standing in front of a crowd of booksellers with about ten minutes to make them more interested in his book than in the dinner they are eating, is there because they were driven get that story out into world.
And yeah, it might be a story that’s not my kind of thing. It might be exactly the kind of book I would never read. But I can recognize that drive, that desire to get the story in your head out into the world. It’s impossible not to respect these people who have gone and done it. I kind of think that need to tell a story is what will save the human race.
So the “Discovery Show” (a new, more sexy moniker for “trade show”) really did feel like a long series of discoveries. And although it is all a bit of a blur right now, in the hours after the last exhibitor has packed up and the last of the booksellers have piled into their cars (trunks loaded with review copies and book bags and all the crazy swag publishers make to promote their new titles–someone gave me a button that says “I’m a moody bitch” that I think—hope–is a book title. I saw someone else carrying around a sippy cup and a milk carton…no idea why)…even though it all runs together right now like an endless author reading, there are still so many moments that float to the surface with sudden, compelling clarity:
Ana Quincoces (yes, that Ana Quincoces, from The View) on writing The Versailles Restaurant Cookbook, and what it was like to get the six daughters of this long-established Cuban restaurant family to agree on any piece of family history or indeed any version of a family recipe.
Charles Martin, who insisted he didn’t intend to write a football story, but then got completely wrapped up in describing an imaginary game between a boy and his father. We in the audience were caught and captivated as well. It felt like we had fallen into the football version of A River Runs Through It.
Kathrine Erskine read a bit from her new middle-grade fiction “The Badger Knight” that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Georgia author Raymond Atkins gave a sample from his “Sweetwater Blues” that might be the most beautiful description of a Southern cemetery I’ve ever heard. I think of Atkins as Georgia’s Ron Rash, even though the two write completely differently.
We all stayed up late one night to hold a wake for a friend no longer with us…the theme was Cthulhu (he was a Lovecraft fan) so we all wore things with symbolic (and some not so symbolic) tentacles.
We all stayed up late the next night to attend “The Shoe Burnin’ Show” — an invention of NC/Georgia writer Shari Smith and her cohorts, and something that can only be described as a “Literary Hootenany.” I started writing down the names of storytellers (literary and musical) — Suzanne Hudson, “All the Way to Memphis”; Jennifer Horne, “The Other Shoe”; “Fat Back” from banjo player Tim Carter; “The Too Late Lounge” from Michael Reno Harrell. I’ll tell you, by the time I got to bed, I felt like something that had been kicked out of the Too Late Lounge.
But that’s the point of the show, isn’t it? To listen to people you’d never hear by clicking on somebody’s 99 cent daily deal. It’s a weekend of unforgettable encounters in a world usually buried under wholly forgettable clicks and transactions.
Which explains why even now, sitting here watching the sun set behind the western side of the Norfolk Harbor, I can still hear the quietly intense tone of Rick Bragg’s voice, explaining why he ended up writing a book about Jerry Lee Lewis: “He’s our people. He’s the bunched up fist. The swinging tire iron. We understand him.”
So how can I not read the book?
It’s September. Time for a little Lotte Lenya-esque bittersweet melancholia (and I personally prefer bittersweet to milk melancholia) as the days grow shorter, the air crisps, and the leaves turn to flame. Time to read and talk, talk, talk!
- Books you need to read before you’re 15 is the topic in Curious Collections. Designated so because 1) You need to read them when your mind is young and fresh and receptive — open to life and all its grand possibilities OR 2) You’re 15 and you have TERRIBLE taste in books. In either case, I think we can all agree remembering ourselves at 15 is something best done in private, or at least not in the middle of a coffee shop. [“Mommy, why is that lady crawling under the table and sobbing?” N.B. I’m happy to say Panera Bread really takes its vacuuming seriously. Unusual in these times.]
- In Culinary Arts, the annual pumpkin spice conversation is happening. Don’t throw the squash out with the latte! And think of the other potentially trendy fall vegetable flavor crossover combinations as yet untried: Cabbage-stuffed cronuts! Rutabaga chai paninis! Brussel sprout molten mini-charlottes!
- Movies! Movies, movies, movies! What are you looking forward to as the fall movie season approaches? Esoteric or blockbustery, it’s a dead cert you’ll find someone to agree with and/or enlighten you.
- Lots of titular talk lately. [N.B. Another Curious Collection worth pursuing: perfectly innocent words it’s hard to say with a straight face. Try it. Titular. Tit-u-lar. “Mommy, that lady under the table just said—Wait! I haven’t finished my cold-pressed rapini kuchen!”] Book titles that are complete sentences in the Literary Loft. Choosing titles and whether titles must appear somewhere in the text in Pencils and Whatnot.
- In What Are You Reading? it’s the usual fantastically mixed bag, titularly speaking (and I KNOW I’m using “titular” incorrectly, but it’s a “thing”). I can give you two really good reasons to check it out (library pun): 1) You will instantly find a half-dozen to a half-million books you want to read AND 2) You will instantly be able to nod knowingly and say “I’ve heard REALLY good things about that!” in any titular-type situation.
Well, I’ve gone on too long already and about 99.9% of the highly interesting and often hilarious discussion remains un-rounded up. But I’m stopping here, and trusting that you won’t take MY word for it. Besides, that bittersweet melancholia and kohlrabi clafoutis won’t eat itself.
The author of this book has been fascinated with the subject of death and dying since she was a young girl and witnessed the death of another young girl who took a fall at a local mall. For years afterwards she was filled with angst and trepidation and described herself as “functionally morbid.”
When she went to college she got a degree in medieval history with a focus on death and rituals and afterwards got a job working at a mortuary — the Westwind Cremation & Burial.
This book describes her experiences facing death straight on and how it actually eased her own existential angst and made her better able to appreciate and enjoy her own life. We not only read (detailed) descriptions of what happens to bodies in a crematorium, we also learn about other mortuary practices and what really happens behind the scenes.
The author makes such an important case against our own culture’s tendency to avoid death (and aging!) and to try to avoid its very existence. She points out how in the past and how even today — in other cultures — family and neighbors took care of their dead and witnessed dying all the time. She points out how important that is to accepting our own death and by doing so, make it less frightening and esoteric.
Lest I give the impression that this is a depressing book — it is anything but that. There are so many laugh-out-loud moments and when I finished the last page I found myself with a little less of my own existential angst.
This book reminded me a lot of science writer Mary Roach and I feel like I’d love to hang out and be friends with both of them. Ms. Doughty has such a pleasant writing style and when you’re finished reading, you will not only have been entertained but educated as well. She takes on this sobering and angst-filled subject with an abundance of wit and sensitivity. I hope this book gets the attention and audience it deserves.