What I Loved

The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery

I'm on my third book group. Third time's the charm, right? I have a lot of hope and heart for this one. It's small, exclusive, it's only women, and we have a great system set up for choosing books. Each month, one of us chooses 4-5 books and we vote on them. After averaging them out, we usually have a winner, though this time, it was a straight tie and two of our members had to flip a coin to determine our next book. Ahh, book club geekery. I love it. This past month, we read The Elegance of the Hedgehog, a book translated from French.

I didn't love it. I don't think I even liked it. I thought it had a very generic message that has been conveyed through generations of other books that fell flat. The book was entirely too didactic, forcing philosophy down the readers' throats when we originally thought we'd signed up for pure fiction. The characters were believable but completely unlikeable. The plot (was there a plot) thudded along drearily, while I waited for something- anything!- to happen. When it did happen, finally, there were a mere few pages until the end of the book. Which I suppose, is the whole moral of the story, but talk about holier than thou, self-righteousness. I felt like the central character, Renee, was most likely a personification of the author herself. Cranky, a miss-know-it-all, and completely self-involved. Blech.

Unless a natural disaster affects me or a loved one personally, I'll admit that I usually keep it at arms length. I'll read the headlines on a paper or learn at a distance what's been going on. Hurricane Katrina was one of those. I remember reading the horrible things that were happening there, purely from the storm. The thousands displaced, the thousands injured or dead or missing. I was not at all involved in detail regarding how the government was dealing with it, suffice to say, I did read about how they were not dealing with it.

Zeitoun is one man's account of how he dealt with the floods that ensued from the storm. His wife and children fled the city while he stubbornly stayed put to take care of their numerous rental properties and contracting business. I've read Eggers before. His account Valentino Achak Deng's story of being a Lost Boy of Sudan was harrowing, gripping and inspiring. And Zeitoun does much the same thing. Some can look at reading Eggers as a more an account in sociology, in history, in the importance of narrative. But it reads so well and so easily, that it's impossible not to think of it as a story. Because both those books are stories and they are truly some of the most intimate stories I have read.

It appalled me how many terrible atrocities occurred during and in the aftermath of Katrina. How many liberties were taken away, how many lives were at stake, and how much the goverment failed the people of New Orleans. I suppose it's a reflection of myself that I never read enough of the firsthand Katrina accounts. When earthquakes and natural disasters happen, I actually take a step backwards. Perhaps I fool myself into thinking that if I don't read it, it's not actually happening. But of course that's not true.

Zeitoun is harrowing. There were times I was reading it during a meal that I had to put it down and actually out of the room in order to continue my meal. There were times that tears pricked my eyes because this was reality. And there was anger. I was angry at Zeitoun for acting the martyr, for staying behind to help strangers and people who couldn't help themselves while the rest of his family worried themselves sick a few states away, in the grasp of safety. Mostly, I surprised myself at how emotional I got about this story, because it was a real story and because it was so raw and honest.

I saw that Dave Eggers recently wrote another; his own account of Where the Wild Things are, for adults. I can't wait to gobble it up.

One of the greatest things about reading and falling in love with a book is that invariably, I fall in love with the authors as well. Rohinton Mistry, Lionel Shriver, Wally Lamb, Thrity Umrigar, I think they are wonderful people and I can't wait to meet them. I met Rohinton Mistry at a panel discussion at The Asia Society, just after his last book, Family Matters, had been published. . He was incredibly humble, even modest, shy and quiet. In fact, I do wish he had spoken up a little more. He neatly avoided the question, "What are you working on now?"

I met Thrity Umrigar, who has fast become one of my favorite authors at McNally Jackson Bookstore, representing her latest book at the time, If Today Be Sweet. She was reading from The Space Between Us, which is truly one of the most insightful, honest, real Indian stories I have ever read. She was patient, warm and gracious. I was really impressed by her reading style, which, even if you're a great writer, you're not necessarily a good reader.

So imagine how excited I was when I heard that Jhumpa Lahiri was speaking and reading at McNally Jackson, representing a Mavis Gallant collection of short stories. Mavis Gallant has been an inspiration for Lahiri, and has influenced her writing. Lahiri wrote the introduction to her latest book and was reading a few excerpts from the Gallant collection, as well as signing her own books after the reading. Of course most of the people that showed up were Jhumpa fans, and weren't even sure who this Mavis Gallant was (though, she turned out to be an incredibly talented storyteller). After the reading, everyone lined up to get their books signed. I had brought along my Unaccustomed Earth, as had a handful of others, some of whom had the aforementioned book along with Interpreter of Maladies and The Namesake. Everyone had something short but sweet to say to Jhumpa as we neared the line. But it wasn't well accepted. Her publicity manager told the fans, "No personalized enscriptions, please. Just an autograph." Fine, fair enough. But I didn't expect this:

When I got the front of the line, with my book turned to the correct page for autographs as is the protocol for book signings, I quietly mentioned to her, "You've been such an inspiration."

...

No smile.

No eye contact.

No response.

She signed my book and handed it back to me without even acknowledging my presence.

Now look, lady. You're an incredibly talented writer. And you have a large fan base. And people, including myself, are going to continue buying and reading your books and will anticipate your next venture. But if you're going to be such a little b*tch about meeting your fans, either don't sign books, or don't appear in public. Because let's face it, you've changed a lot of lives, through your writing and your stories and your style that have encouraged people like me, and been inspiring as a successful Indian woman writer (there aren't too many of you). I know you're a mother and you have a husband and you have 1,000 projects going on at the same time. But next time? Please remember that a simple "thank you" and a smile and at the very least, eye contact, is the least you can do for the people that spend $24.95 on your books.

It's been awhile.
I'm sorry.
No, seriously, I'm really sorry. I've been reading, though, honest. This year, so far, I've already read 45 books and it's only October. I just had a very animated and heated (is that a bad thing? no, I think it's where you get very excited about something) discussion with some friends at work about books and we might start a book club. Now, I'm not holding my breath, because this will be the fourth book club that I have attempted to start. The other three fizzled because I was inevitably the only one who showed up and if not, I was the only one who showed up that had read the book and then finally, it was just me and another girl and a box of Krispy Kreme donuts, which is never healthy.

I digress...

I just finished reading the world's shortest collection of short stories. I read them exclusively on the train and finished them in two and a half train rides (twice on the way to work and once on the way home). I've never read anything by Vapnyar before, but these stories were a perfect introduction to her style. Very short, sweet yet delicious. Is it weird that while she was describing raw broccoli, that my mouth began to water? Is it weird that sauteed spinach sounded a lot more enticing than the Special K that I was looking forward to this morning for breakfast? Each story didn't take more than 15 minutes to finish, but I was happy that she hadn't belabored each one. Sometimes writers feel that they need to flower everything, and they end up leaving the reader with as much emotion about the characters and the plotline than if they had cut out half of their story. Vapnyar knows exactly how much to give. It's almost as if she is a tease, because at the end of the last story, Slicing Sauteed Spinach, I wanted to know what was going to happen to the protagonist of the story as she made a crucial decision that would change her life. I'm glad I was left hanging, though, as it allowed me to imagine what might have been.

I think it's safe to say that Lionel Shriver might be one of my new favorite authors. Sorry, Rohinton, but you haven't come out with anything in years, and the whole hiding out and not writing anything isn't sexy.
The thing I love about Shriver is that she really knows people inside and out. She doesn't pretend that her characters are martyrs or overachievers or the handsomest men in all the land. In fact, far from it. The best part of her writing is how flawed she makes each of her characters. In a book about a mother writing about her son who opens fire on his high school, you can't help but flaw your characters. We Need to Talk About Kevin was one of the most riveting books I've had the pleasure of reading. I finished at my desk at work during lunch and after I read the book, I remember breathing out, "huh" closing the book, sliding it away from me and staring at the cover for the next 10 minutes until someone came by to jar me from my thoughts.
The Post-Birthday World wasn't as taxing, in a sense; it wasn't about manslaughter, but about a woman who is tempted to have an affair, and at the same time isn't tempted. The book continues in two halves; one chapter where she does go for it and one where she doesn't and stays with her partner of 10 years. It's unbelievable the way she unwraps each storyline, the way each simple decision impacts something else you never would have thought would have been touched by that. Lionel Shriver is a genius, a true storyteller. I can't wait to tackle her other books which were born before Kevin.

Ok, so in all honesty, I didn't finish this book. But it's 973 pages and I really was into it at the beginning. So much so that I would lug the enormous tome everywhere just so I could get ahead a few pages every now and then. But then the whole Afghanistan scene happened, and I just lost it. I am bored. And I want to know what happens to the guy but now that I know that Johnny Depp is going to be playing Gregory David Roberts in the film version, I can't pull myself together to read the last 100 pages. Does that mean it's a bad book? I don't think so. It had good intentions from the start, but man, detail! Give it up! We are interested in smelling the smells, and seeing the sights, and feeling the emotions, but we don't need a total play by play about how you tackled every single problem and how you felt while you were doing it. Sorry, GDR. I think your autobiography should've ended awhile before it did. And I don't even know what ultimately happened.

Holy cow. KIDS read this?! How incredible. I thought I was jumping to conclusions when my dad read an article about the book and told me that it's just like 9/11 and I told him to be quiet before he ruined it for me. But it really was like 9/11. With their own Homeland Security and everything. The last scene (if you haven't read it and want to, stop reading here) was more gruesome than I had ever given Rowling credit for. Far, far more gruesome. I had to mime retching and put the book down a few times to accentuate my point to the people around me. And someone, I'm not going to say who, dies. But it's pivotal. And very sad. I cried. Harry is beginning to piss me off a little. Wish Hermione had gotten a little more airtime. And not just as the girl who is creating a lot of sexual tension between her and Ron.

Talk about the rivalry between England and France! This book was fun and quirky, unlike what I thought it would be--staid and didactic. For some reason, I originally thought this was about sociology and values in another country, not a poor Englishman's struggle to make it in Paris. Poor guy. I wish it had been less about his prospects in the sack and more about his experience interacting with French people, not sexy girls with big boobs. I'm being rather harsh right now, but I'm not entirely anticipating the sequel, which is apparently coming out in a year or two.

Bring back the Shopaholic! She is the only reason why I read this book! Although, I will admit that this was light and fun, and very summery; the timing was perfect for it to be published. Just wish I had the cash to live in a place like that and NOT have to be a housekeeper. At times, I wanted to just "screw it all" and go be someone's maid or nanny. I know that Kinsella writes from women's POVs all the time, but I felt like this was so...expected. "Ohh, the successful busineswomancan't keep it all together so she runs away." This girl wasn't half as endearing as Becky Brandon, nee Bloomwood.

Cute. But at times, I felt like each of the stories were forced, like she wrote the title of the essay to start with and then what she ended up with, wasn't the point of the title, so she wrote a sentence or two at the end of each essay to bring it full circle. Or maybe I'm just judgmental.
I enjoyed reading, though, and the shortness of the book made it all the more inviting. Probably, as most brown people can find, I found many of my family characters shining through here and I was a little disappointed that I am not as close to my family as Firoozeh is to hers, it seems. But very, very cute and entertaining. For the first time, when the author painted her young self as a genuine loser, I actually believed it. In a good way!