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hernamewaslily's reviews
237 reviews
Play It as It Lays by Joan Didion
4.0
My first experience with Joan Didion’s work was with her 1968 essay collection, ‘Slouching Towards Bethlehem.’ In the title essay, Didion reflects on her experience of the Haigh-Ashbury district of San Francisco - the then-Mecca of American counterculture - ultimately concluding that, in an allusion to the W. B. Yeats poem, ‘The Second Coming’ (of which the title of the essay also borrows from), ‘the centre [of American society] was not holding.’ Didion continues this theme in her 1970 fiction novel, ‘Play It as It Lays,’ though rather than exposing the underbelly of hippiedom, she instead shifts her focus to the corrupting and inhospitable landscapes of California and Nevada, and the lifestyles they produced. Written in her typical coolly detached and matter-of-fact prose style, Didion buffs away at shiny veneer of the Hollywood lifestyle to reveal its gloomy reality - illness, divorce, cheating, suicide, abortion, addiction, death.
At the centre of the text is Maria Wyeth, a 31-year-old sometime actress and model who has found herself flailing in all areas of her life: her career as an actress has faded, her marriage has fallen apart, she is estranged from her daughter, Kate, who is a permanent in-patient at a mental institution. All of this leads Maria into a spiral of self-destructive behaviours that ultimately ends with her being institutionalised. Despite this dark subject matter, the novel is not difficult to read and contains a rather funny cast of characters; all of whom are unlikeable and devoid of empathy yet are completely compelling in their brazen grossness.
What I love about Didion’s work, is how exacting she is about the American condition. This is better explored in her non-fiction, which I have to admit I do prefer; however I do think this novel is successful in its exploration of the bleak reality of loneliness against the backdrop of cultural degradation. One for the sad girlies.
At the centre of the text is Maria Wyeth, a 31-year-old sometime actress and model who has found herself flailing in all areas of her life: her career as an actress has faded, her marriage has fallen apart, she is estranged from her daughter, Kate, who is a permanent in-patient at a mental institution. All of this leads Maria into a spiral of self-destructive behaviours that ultimately ends with her being institutionalised. Despite this dark subject matter, the novel is not difficult to read and contains a rather funny cast of characters; all of whom are unlikeable and devoid of empathy yet are completely compelling in their brazen grossness.
What I love about Didion’s work, is how exacting she is about the American condition. This is better explored in her non-fiction, which I have to admit I do prefer; however I do think this novel is successful in its exploration of the bleak reality of loneliness against the backdrop of cultural degradation. One for the sad girlies.
The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
5.0
Holden Caulfield is 16 and fed up with phonies, who seem to be everywhere, especially at his upstate private school, Pencey Prep, which he has just been kicked out off. Scared to go home and face the wrath of his parents for getting expelled from yet another school, Holden decides to kill some time in New York. As he wanders around the city, Holden reflects on his life and reveals to the reader the events that lead him up to this point.
‘The Catcher in the Rye’ is a poignant yet humorous bildungsroman that despite having been written in the mid-century remains timeless. I re-read this book every year and each time I do, I fall in love with it all over again. Not only is Salinger a fine writer - his prose captures the adolescent voice so perfectly - but he understands the malaise of being a teenager, which when I first read this as a teen myself, I related to immensely and now reading it as an adult I empathise with and want to tell Holden that life does get better (sort of).
Nothing has yet to knock this off the top of my favourite books list - a timeless classic.
‘The Catcher in the Rye’ is a poignant yet humorous bildungsroman that despite having been written in the mid-century remains timeless. I re-read this book every year and each time I do, I fall in love with it all over again. Not only is Salinger a fine writer - his prose captures the adolescent voice so perfectly - but he understands the malaise of being a teenager, which when I first read this as a teen myself, I related to immensely and now reading it as an adult I empathise with and want to tell Holden that life does get better (sort of).
Nothing has yet to knock this off the top of my favourite books list - a timeless classic.
No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy
4.0
Having read and thoroughly enjoyed ‘Blood Meridian’ earlier this year — my first McCarthy - I decided that I would embark on reading the whole of his catalogue and the second instalment just so happened to be ‘No Country for Old Men.’ Both are arguably about the same topic — the decline of the American west — but they are rendered in contrasting ways: ‘Blood Meridian’ is a brutal, slow-placed, and meditative picaresque whilst ‘No Country for Old Men’ is a page-turning, pulpy, action-thriller — and both are equally as impressive.
In ‘No Country for Old Men,’ a hunter named Llewellyn Moss discovers a pickup truck surrounded by dead men, a package of heroin, and a briefcase full of cash. Moss grabs the cash, which would see him set for life, but little does he know that the psychotic Anton Chigurh - one of the most menacing characters in American literature — is following his every move, armed with a cattle stun gun. What follows is an intense and violent game of cat-and-mouse where Moss becomes the prey. Interspersed within this central narrative are passages by the town’s sheriff, Ed Tom Bell, who is haunted by his experiences of World War 2. These passages act as a meditation on the morality of violence and the senselessness of it all.
This novel enthralled me — it’s no wonder it was adapted into film as it is incredibly entertaining. It is dark and violent and gritty and masculine; which is exactly why I was drawn to McCarthy’s work in the first place. A good place to start for those wanting to dip their toe into the murky, blood-stained waters of McCarthy’s oeuvre.
In ‘No Country for Old Men,’ a hunter named Llewellyn Moss discovers a pickup truck surrounded by dead men, a package of heroin, and a briefcase full of cash. Moss grabs the cash, which would see him set for life, but little does he know that the psychotic Anton Chigurh - one of the most menacing characters in American literature — is following his every move, armed with a cattle stun gun. What follows is an intense and violent game of cat-and-mouse where Moss becomes the prey. Interspersed within this central narrative are passages by the town’s sheriff, Ed Tom Bell, who is haunted by his experiences of World War 2. These passages act as a meditation on the morality of violence and the senselessness of it all.
This novel enthralled me — it’s no wonder it was adapted into film as it is incredibly entertaining. It is dark and violent and gritty and masculine; which is exactly why I was drawn to McCarthy’s work in the first place. A good place to start for those wanting to dip their toe into the murky, blood-stained waters of McCarthy’s oeuvre.
When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris
3.0
In this collection of essays, radio contributor and humourist David Sedaris strikes a fine balance between poignant reflection and darkly sophisticated humour.
‘When You are Engulfed in Flames’ was my first introduction to Sedaris (a recommendation from the brilliant Ana Wallace Johnson on YouTube) and I can certainly see why he is so popular. The pieces in this collection remind me of something you’d read in a creative writing class in that they are brilliant examples of the form: masterful in their simplicity, cleverly and clearly structured, and satisfyingly concluded. They are the sort of pieces that you (I) wish you (I) could write.
As with most essay collections, the text contains weaker pieces that whilst were still objectively ‘good,’ failed to evoke the same emotional resonance that the stronger and more poignant examples – such as those about is long-time partner, Hugh, or his reflection in quitting smoking after half-a-lifetime of addiction.
Clearly, Sedaris’s strongest pieces concern topics that he is closest to. However, overall this is a solidly good collection that was enjoyable to read.
‘When You are Engulfed in Flames’ was my first introduction to Sedaris (a recommendation from the brilliant Ana Wallace Johnson on YouTube) and I can certainly see why he is so popular. The pieces in this collection remind me of something you’d read in a creative writing class in that they are brilliant examples of the form: masterful in their simplicity, cleverly and clearly structured, and satisfyingly concluded. They are the sort of pieces that you (I) wish you (I) could write.
As with most essay collections, the text contains weaker pieces that whilst were still objectively ‘good,’ failed to evoke the same emotional resonance that the stronger and more poignant examples – such as those about is long-time partner, Hugh, or his reflection in quitting smoking after half-a-lifetime of addiction.
Clearly, Sedaris’s strongest pieces concern topics that he is closest to. However, overall this is a solidly good collection that was enjoyable to read.
I'm Thinking of Ending Things by Iain Reid
3.0
The unnamed female narrator of Ian Reid’s debut novel ‘I’m Thinking of Ending Things’ has been invited to visit her new boyfriend’s parents at their remote farm. As they embark on their journey, the narrator reveals to the reader that she is ‘pretty sure I’m going to end it,’ but keeps finding excuses to put it off – he’s nice, she’s lonely, etc. – but as their journey grows increasingly more disturbing, the narrator realises that she might be too late.
This novel was different to what I usually read, but I wanted something for spooky season, and this had been on my bookish radar for a while, and for the first few chapters of the novel, I was genuinely creeped out; Reid does a great job at creating a sense of unease and foreboding in these early chapters. However, this atmosphere was not sustained throughout the remainder of the book, which was disappointing considering that the novel is a psychological thriller. A key reason as to why the novel struggled to sustain the tension, and what I consider to be a major weakness of the text, is that it didn’t make sense as to why the narrator could not tell her boyfriend about the disturbing phone calls she receives until the very end of the book. This unfortunately took me out of a fully immersive reading experience as it was always on my mind.
This aside, Reid packs a lot into this short book and I found it compelling and smart – so much so that I think a lot of the philosophical discussion between the narrator and Jake went over my head. The subtle feminist underpinnings worked perfectly without being preachy or overwrought (I think this would make for a good analysis if one was so inclined).
Upon reflection, I think this novel deserves a re-read as knowing how it ends puts the earlier part of the novel in perspective (e.g., the narrator not telling Jake about the phone calls).
This novel was different to what I usually read, but I wanted something for spooky season, and this had been on my bookish radar for a while, and for the first few chapters of the novel, I was genuinely creeped out; Reid does a great job at creating a sense of unease and foreboding in these early chapters. However, this atmosphere was not sustained throughout the remainder of the book, which was disappointing considering that the novel is a psychological thriller. A key reason as to why the novel struggled to sustain the tension, and what I consider to be a major weakness of the text, is that it didn’t make sense as to why the narrator could not tell her boyfriend about the disturbing phone calls she receives until the very end of the book. This unfortunately took me out of a fully immersive reading experience as it was always on my mind.
This aside, Reid packs a lot into this short book and I found it compelling and smart – so much so that I think a lot of the philosophical discussion between the narrator and Jake went over my head. The subtle feminist underpinnings worked perfectly without being preachy or overwrought (I think this would make for a good analysis if one was so inclined).
Upon reflection, I think this novel deserves a re-read as knowing how it ends puts the earlier part of the novel in perspective (e.g., the narrator not telling Jake about the phone calls).
Old School by Tobias Wolff
3.0
Though officially a novel, surprisingly the first from a writer as prolific as Tobias Wolff, ‘Old School’ could easily be considered a thinly veiled memoir, though it may be more apt (and fashionable) to call it an exercise in auto-fiction, detailing the author’s own school days.
The novel is narrated by an unnamed man, looking back at his time at an elite East Coast prep school during the 1960s (an experience also shared by Wolff – though, unlike the unnamed narrator who got into the school on a scholarship, Wolff instead fabricated his application, transcripts, and letters of recommendation to get in which was eventually discovered and led to Wolff’s expulsion). Every few months at this elite school that focuses on the literary arts, an author is invited to give a talk. Upon winning the writing competition held in the author’s honour, one student gets a private audience with them. When the narrator, a studious senior and aspiring writer, discovers that his favourite author, Ernest Hemmingway is scheduled to visit and that he might have the chance to meet him, the narrator suffers a lapse in judgment that jeopardises his entire academic career.
With ‘Old School,’ Wolff has crafted a compelling tale about the power of literature, not least through his pertinent observations of such authors as Robert Frost, Ayn Rand, and Hemmingway, but also through his meta-commentary on the fictionalisation of the self, which functions on two levels: Wolff’s fictionalisation of his biography and his protagonist’s fictionalisation of their identity as both a person and a writer.
On a sentence level, the book excels with literary prowess (unsurprising considering that Wolff taught creative writing at Syracuse University – where George Saunders was one of his students – and has been teaching creative writing at Stanford University since 1997), and some lovely literary analyses are woven nicely into the narrative that draws on and heightens the academic themes of the text.
This novel, however, is not without its faults. It took too long for the story to get going. Although enjoyable, Wolff spent too long on exposition than on the story and the novel suffered because of that. Similarly, towards the end of the novel, the shift in perspective was disorientating and unnecessary.
Nonetheless, much of the novel was enjoyable to read and something to keep my appetite in Academica whetted. A good campus novel for the literary inclined.
The novel is narrated by an unnamed man, looking back at his time at an elite East Coast prep school during the 1960s (an experience also shared by Wolff – though, unlike the unnamed narrator who got into the school on a scholarship, Wolff instead fabricated his application, transcripts, and letters of recommendation to get in which was eventually discovered and led to Wolff’s expulsion). Every few months at this elite school that focuses on the literary arts, an author is invited to give a talk. Upon winning the writing competition held in the author’s honour, one student gets a private audience with them. When the narrator, a studious senior and aspiring writer, discovers that his favourite author, Ernest Hemmingway is scheduled to visit and that he might have the chance to meet him, the narrator suffers a lapse in judgment that jeopardises his entire academic career.
With ‘Old School,’ Wolff has crafted a compelling tale about the power of literature, not least through his pertinent observations of such authors as Robert Frost, Ayn Rand, and Hemmingway, but also through his meta-commentary on the fictionalisation of the self, which functions on two levels: Wolff’s fictionalisation of his biography and his protagonist’s fictionalisation of their identity as both a person and a writer.
On a sentence level, the book excels with literary prowess (unsurprising considering that Wolff taught creative writing at Syracuse University – where George Saunders was one of his students – and has been teaching creative writing at Stanford University since 1997), and some lovely literary analyses are woven nicely into the narrative that draws on and heightens the academic themes of the text.
This novel, however, is not without its faults. It took too long for the story to get going. Although enjoyable, Wolff spent too long on exposition than on the story and the novel suffered because of that. Similarly, towards the end of the novel, the shift in perspective was disorientating and unnecessary.
Nonetheless, much of the novel was enjoyable to read and something to keep my appetite in Academica whetted. A good campus novel for the literary inclined.
Milkman by Anna Burns
5.0
While Anna Burns’ 2018 Booker Prize-winning novel, ‘Milkman’ is set against the backdrop of the Troubles, taking place somewhere in Northern Ireland, sometime in the late 1970s, this is not a novel about the Troubles. Rather, it is about the environment created by this conflict and its effects on the 18-year-old unnamed narrator’s life, which is catapulted into chaos when the menacing figure referred to as Milkman, a(n) (in)famed and feared ‘renouncer,’ commences a stalking campaign on her. When the narrator’s brother-in-law sees the two together, he misinterprets their interactions as romantic. A rumour quickly swells within the community that the two are having an affair. The narrator, frustratingly naïve to the implications of this gossip, does nothing to stop it, and quickly finds herself targeted for being ‘beyond the pale’ in this claustrophobic tale.
The language Burns deploys in her novel is purposely dense, with long, run-on sentences and a vocabulary – akin to the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century novels that the narrator loves to read – and the names of people and places are omitted, replaced instead by vague labels such as ‘Somebody McSomebody’ and ‘Thingy;’ a reflection of censorship and secrecy necessary during this period.
But don’t let this put you off; allow yourself to be immersed in this complicated world, to be swept up in the uncertainties and the anxieties that this prose reflects. ‘Milkman’ took me about a month to read and it was challenging – as a novel about such a topic should be. This is a masterful piece of literary fiction. A contender for one of the best books I’ve ever read.
The language Burns deploys in her novel is purposely dense, with long, run-on sentences and a vocabulary – akin to the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century novels that the narrator loves to read – and the names of people and places are omitted, replaced instead by vague labels such as ‘Somebody McSomebody’ and ‘Thingy;’ a reflection of censorship and secrecy necessary during this period.
But don’t let this put you off; allow yourself to be immersed in this complicated world, to be swept up in the uncertainties and the anxieties that this prose reflects. ‘Milkman’ took me about a month to read and it was challenging – as a novel about such a topic should be. This is a masterful piece of literary fiction. A contender for one of the best books I’ve ever read.
A Likely Lad by Pete Doherty
2.0
Pete Doherty is perhaps best remembered as the drug-addled frontman of seminal British indie-rock band, The Libertines. He later went on to front the Babyshambles and Pete Doherty and the Puta Madres. Today, he lives in the quiet French village of Etretat. Long live rock’n’roll.
Much of what is known about Doherty comes from sensational headlines grabbed from tabloid newspaper and bombastic interviews where the singer spieled exaggerated stories about his rockstar lifestyle or just blatantly told lies. In his book, ‘A Likely Lad,’ Doherty, with the help of writer, journalist and biographer Simon Spence, seeks to, ahem, set the record straight and tell the true story of one of British music’s most controversial stars.
Unfortunately, the mythology of Doherty is much more interesting than the reality. The issue is not that the book is lacking in salacious stories – there are plenty – it’s just that Doherty doesn’t seem to have much to say about them. Perhaps this is the result of the fact that, despite being a gifted lyricist and poet, Doherty did not write the book himself. Rather, he relayed his life story to Spence who then formed the narrative that makes up the few hundred or so pages of ‘A Likely Lad.’ As such, the book struggles to figure out what it is: Is it an interview? An oral history? A memoir? The latter is perhaps the most apt, but it lacks the reflective quality I look for in a memoir; much of the book feels like standard biographical information that one could find on Wikipedia. It is worth bearing in mind, however, that for much of Pete’s adult life, and thus for much of the book, he was in active addiction, so the repetitiveness and mundaneness mirrors this reality. His lack of reflection then is perhaps understandable given that he likely doesn’t remember a whole lot of what happened.
Towards the end of the book, Pete seems to open up more and takes on a much more optimistic tone with the musician finally seeming to grapple his life, meet a woman he loves, and commit himself to sobriety (sort of). I just wish more of the book had this sort of energy.
Maybe a bigger fan of Doherty’s music would find this more interesting than I did. I didn’t hate the book; I just didn’t find it as interesting as I would have liked.
Much of what is known about Doherty comes from sensational headlines grabbed from tabloid newspaper and bombastic interviews where the singer spieled exaggerated stories about his rockstar lifestyle or just blatantly told lies. In his book, ‘A Likely Lad,’ Doherty, with the help of writer, journalist and biographer Simon Spence, seeks to, ahem, set the record straight and tell the true story of one of British music’s most controversial stars.
Unfortunately, the mythology of Doherty is much more interesting than the reality. The issue is not that the book is lacking in salacious stories – there are plenty – it’s just that Doherty doesn’t seem to have much to say about them. Perhaps this is the result of the fact that, despite being a gifted lyricist and poet, Doherty did not write the book himself. Rather, he relayed his life story to Spence who then formed the narrative that makes up the few hundred or so pages of ‘A Likely Lad.’ As such, the book struggles to figure out what it is: Is it an interview? An oral history? A memoir? The latter is perhaps the most apt, but it lacks the reflective quality I look for in a memoir; much of the book feels like standard biographical information that one could find on Wikipedia. It is worth bearing in mind, however, that for much of Pete’s adult life, and thus for much of the book, he was in active addiction, so the repetitiveness and mundaneness mirrors this reality. His lack of reflection then is perhaps understandable given that he likely doesn’t remember a whole lot of what happened.
Towards the end of the book, Pete seems to open up more and takes on a much more optimistic tone with the musician finally seeming to grapple his life, meet a woman he loves, and commit himself to sobriety (sort of). I just wish more of the book had this sort of energy.
Maybe a bigger fan of Doherty’s music would find this more interesting than I did. I didn’t hate the book; I just didn’t find it as interesting as I would have liked.
The Cost of Living by Deborah Levy
3.0
In the second instalment of her trilogy of texts, Deborah Levy’s marriage has just broken down. At 50-years-old, she finds herself single, living alone with her teenage daughter in a run-down block of flats, living paycheque-to-paycheque and without a room in which to write.
‘The Cost of Living’ is a memoir, but not in the traditional sense. It is also a manifesto, but again, not in the traditional sense. It is somewhere in-between, a reflection of a pivotal moment in the author’s life and a space in which to voice grievances over the difficulties of being a female writer, a single mother, and a woman in today’s world.
This is an immensely readable piece of work. Levy writes with a lightness and humour that lifts the otherwise rather depressing subject matter from its tomb. Moreover, Levy is clearly an incredible writer. Nonetheless, the book left me wanting more. It lacks a sense of urgency (which is perhaps understandable considering that it takes place in the aftermath of a divorce, which I imagine is a rather liminal period where all sense of time and space is altered) and whilst Levy draws on vital feminist works from Virginia Wolf to Simone de Beauvoir, attributing their lessons to her own life and pondering their relevance, I would deem their inclusion as examples of ‘feminism-lite’; nothing Levy is commenting on is ground-breaking or revolutionary.
I am intrigued to read more by Levy. I enjoyed her writing and whilst this book did not give me everything I had hoped, it still gave me enough to be entertained.
‘The Cost of Living’ is a memoir, but not in the traditional sense. It is also a manifesto, but again, not in the traditional sense. It is somewhere in-between, a reflection of a pivotal moment in the author’s life and a space in which to voice grievances over the difficulties of being a female writer, a single mother, and a woman in today’s world.
This is an immensely readable piece of work. Levy writes with a lightness and humour that lifts the otherwise rather depressing subject matter from its tomb. Moreover, Levy is clearly an incredible writer. Nonetheless, the book left me wanting more. It lacks a sense of urgency (which is perhaps understandable considering that it takes place in the aftermath of a divorce, which I imagine is a rather liminal period where all sense of time and space is altered) and whilst Levy draws on vital feminist works from Virginia Wolf to Simone de Beauvoir, attributing their lessons to her own life and pondering their relevance, I would deem their inclusion as examples of ‘feminism-lite’; nothing Levy is commenting on is ground-breaking or revolutionary.
I am intrigued to read more by Levy. I enjoyed her writing and whilst this book did not give me everything I had hoped, it still gave me enough to be entertained.
Heartburn by Nora Ephron
4.0
Based on the author Nora Ephron’s own experience of her first husband’s extramarital affair, ‘Heartburn’ details protagonist and narrator Rachel Samstat’s discovery at 7-months pregnant with her second child that her husband is in love with someone else and follows the difficult decisions she has to make about what to do about it.
Written in a humorous, confessional tone, one really gets a feel for Rachel; it is like gossiping with an old friend. She is self-deprecating and witty, frustrating and charming. Ephron has crafted a character, not too distant from herself, that allows her to explore the nuance of the topic of marriage and what happens when it doesn’t live up to expectations.
Unsurprisingly Ephron, who wrote one of the best films of all time (‘When Harry Met Sally’ iykyk), excels at dialogue. The conversations between the various characters, all of whom despite how minor, feel fleshed out and identifiable, are whip-smart and full of great one-liners.
Interspersed within the story are recipes for various dishes – Rachel is a food writer – which I enjoyed. Yes, they are a bit gimmicky but somehow it just works. It feels authentic that Rachel would pause telling you about finding out her husband went furniture shopping with his mistress to give you a recipe on how to make the best scrambled eggs.
Witty, humorous, and heart-breaking, ‘Heartburn’ is a deliciously compelling read.
Incredibly witty, humorous, and heart-breaking, ‘Heartburn’ is a deliciously compelling read.
Written in a humorous, confessional tone, one really gets a feel for Rachel; it is like gossiping with an old friend. She is self-deprecating and witty, frustrating and charming. Ephron has crafted a character, not too distant from herself, that allows her to explore the nuance of the topic of marriage and what happens when it doesn’t live up to expectations.
Unsurprisingly Ephron, who wrote one of the best films of all time (‘When Harry Met Sally’ iykyk), excels at dialogue. The conversations between the various characters, all of whom despite how minor, feel fleshed out and identifiable, are whip-smart and full of great one-liners.
Interspersed within the story are recipes for various dishes – Rachel is a food writer – which I enjoyed. Yes, they are a bit gimmicky but somehow it just works. It feels authentic that Rachel would pause telling you about finding out her husband went furniture shopping with his mistress to give you a recipe on how to make the best scrambled eggs.
Witty, humorous, and heart-breaking, ‘Heartburn’ is a deliciously compelling read.
Incredibly witty, humorous, and heart-breaking, ‘Heartburn’ is a deliciously compelling read.