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thelizabeth's reviews
591 reviews
Tell Me a Riddle by Tillie Olsen
4.0
I was excited when I learned that this book of stories (three short, one long) is about a family. One of my favorite things is fiction that links places and characters through multiple works. I like a canon. I like the feeling that this is something, someone, who you know the way you know things and people over time, in your real life.
I loved these a lot. Generally they seem to be set near the 1960's, and are about certain transitional moments in relationships: parents and children (of course), chosen family, the dying of a friendship, the dying of a spouse. The author's style is internal and free, often jumping intentionally between disjointed thoughts and the things that are happening. It's really effective and moving writing.
The first story, "I Stand Here Ironing," is the only one I can't place in the set. I think it doesn't explicitly belong to the others. It's written essentially as a monologue of a mother's reflections about her college-age daughter, and how she grew up the way she has. The idea is somewhat simple, but it works. The author has a huge amount of honesty in her writing about the failures and successes of parenthood.
The second is by far my favorite: "Hey Sailor, What Ship?" It is outstandingly wonderful, 5 overwhelming stars for sure. It establishes the characters who recur, from the perspective of someone we won't meet again. I love him, though: a merchant sailor and irrevocable drunk, visiting his best friends and their children while in port. Their relationships are warm and real, and we pick up signals of a situation that is never fully discussed. We know the difference between what he thinks and what he says, and why they fight and why they love each other. He's been an uncle to the children and he loves them so much it is almost difficult to cope with as a reader. This author knows every beat of what it's like to have children with you, every bright and dark place. Jeannie, the teenager, and Carol, the middle-schooler, both show up in the following stories, though in this one they are mostly upstaged by the staggering cuteness of their baby sister, who probably has the most adorable kid dialogue I've ever read, ever. (Except maybe Lynda Barry's.)
The third story is the reason I bought the book, "O Yes," about Carol's transition with a friendship bogged down with race, religion, sexuality. I'm pretty sure that every person has a middle-school friend who stopped being their friend in some formative, influential way. This is about that, but about what it looks like to an adult. What happens to Carol is observed by her mother, who finds it just as keening an experience but must simply watch Carol through the reality of maturity. There's several pieces to the story: it begins at a black church service they are attending with their friends, where the powerful spiritual reactions of some of the congregation overwhelm Carol, and she faints. She can't bear to think about what it means, or why. Later, her friendship starts to fall apart, but what she takes note of isn't her feeling so much as what surrounds the circumstance that has changed them both: the way teachers treat her friend differently, the identity crisis other girls like her go through, how her classmates handle each other. Carol is borne on the tide of her immature age as her mother watches, and neither of them can make it easier.
The fourth piece is a long story about Carol's grandparents, married for too many years, the kind of marriage that is always in the clench of battle and resentment. They never call each other anything but mocking names. He is exasperated and lonely, and she has had too many children. Eva cannot hide how this has broken her: she can no longer be around anyone, even be nice to anyone, play with a child, or look at a baby. An unwanted visit to her youngest grandchildren is excruciating. Eva, however, is starting to die, and her husband makes her spend the last few weeks of her life visiting all her descendants. Appropriately, though, Jeannie is eventually there to help, as an adult: the awesome bitchy teenager of the last two stories now an awesome, loving nurse struggling with the amount of care she has for her patients.
It's a grim and difficult story, but a very strong one. Perhaps the strangest thing is the very, very thin thread of back story given to Eva: memories surface that don't make any sense, but are incredibly important. She recalls prison, in Russia, politics, from before she was married. We don't know why, what kind, or when. We don't understand how she began there, just that all that matters now is how she's ending.
Stories like these surprise me with their quietness. They are literary and strong, and so much, so much comes out of them. I'm certain I'll read them again someday.
I loved these a lot. Generally they seem to be set near the 1960's, and are about certain transitional moments in relationships: parents and children (of course), chosen family, the dying of a friendship, the dying of a spouse. The author's style is internal and free, often jumping intentionally between disjointed thoughts and the things that are happening. It's really effective and moving writing.
The first story, "I Stand Here Ironing," is the only one I can't place in the set. I think it doesn't explicitly belong to the others. It's written essentially as a monologue of a mother's reflections about her college-age daughter, and how she grew up the way she has. The idea is somewhat simple, but it works. The author has a huge amount of honesty in her writing about the failures and successes of parenthood.
The second is by far my favorite: "Hey Sailor, What Ship?" It is outstandingly wonderful, 5 overwhelming stars for sure. It establishes the characters who recur, from the perspective of someone we won't meet again. I love him, though: a merchant sailor and irrevocable drunk, visiting his best friends and their children while in port. Their relationships are warm and real, and we pick up signals of a situation that is never fully discussed. We know the difference between what he thinks and what he says, and why they fight and why they love each other. He's been an uncle to the children and he loves them so much it is almost difficult to cope with as a reader. This author knows every beat of what it's like to have children with you, every bright and dark place. Jeannie, the teenager, and Carol, the middle-schooler, both show up in the following stories, though in this one they are mostly upstaged by the staggering cuteness of their baby sister, who probably has the most adorable kid dialogue I've ever read, ever. (Except maybe Lynda Barry's.)
The third story is the reason I bought the book, "O Yes," about Carol's transition with a friendship bogged down with race, religion, sexuality. I'm pretty sure that every person has a middle-school friend who stopped being their friend in some formative, influential way. This is about that, but about what it looks like to an adult. What happens to Carol is observed by her mother, who finds it just as keening an experience but must simply watch Carol through the reality of maturity. There's several pieces to the story: it begins at a black church service they are attending with their friends, where the powerful spiritual reactions of some of the congregation overwhelm Carol, and she faints. She can't bear to think about what it means, or why. Later, her friendship starts to fall apart, but what she takes note of isn't her feeling so much as what surrounds the circumstance that has changed them both: the way teachers treat her friend differently, the identity crisis other girls like her go through, how her classmates handle each other. Carol is borne on the tide of her immature age as her mother watches, and neither of them can make it easier.
The fourth piece is a long story about Carol's grandparents, married for too many years, the kind of marriage that is always in the clench of battle and resentment. They never call each other anything but mocking names. He is exasperated and lonely, and she has had too many children. Eva cannot hide how this has broken her: she can no longer be around anyone, even be nice to anyone, play with a child, or look at a baby. An unwanted visit to her youngest grandchildren is excruciating. Eva, however, is starting to die, and her husband makes her spend the last few weeks of her life visiting all her descendants. Appropriately, though, Jeannie is eventually there to help, as an adult: the awesome bitchy teenager of the last two stories now an awesome, loving nurse struggling with the amount of care she has for her patients.
It's a grim and difficult story, but a very strong one. Perhaps the strangest thing is the very, very thin thread of back story given to Eva: memories surface that don't make any sense, but are incredibly important. She recalls prison, in Russia, politics, from before she was married. We don't know why, what kind, or when. We don't understand how she began there, just that all that matters now is how she's ending.
Stories like these surprise me with their quietness. They are literary and strong, and so much, so much comes out of them. I'm certain I'll read them again someday.
Blackberry Winter by Robert Penn Warren
4.0
I actually loved this story a lot. It's beautiful and strong and somehow creepy, intimidating and meaningful. There is the sense that this day is a fated day, and any moment could change everything forever. There are signs of it everywhere.
The perspective is a young boy in the rural South, old enough to notice things but young enough to leave all the responsibility for them to the grown-ups, even when he should maybe do something. He just wants to wander around and avoid his mother's rule about wearing shoes.
A tramp shows up at his farm, and the guy is really scary. His attitude makes it clear he's hateful and that his total out-of-place oddity makes him dangerous. Presumably he's there because he wants a day's work, but it's just as possible he simply wants to do something cruel.
But weirdly, Seth leaves this man with his mother (who seems to have him in hand anyway), ignores the danger, and goes exploring. There's been bad weather and a flood, and everyone is viewing its aftermath. He finds his father and surveys the flood damage. He visits the house of their black tenant farmers where he's usually welcome, except today the flood has ruined their house, the mother is sick and hits her son, and the old man has a chilling debate with Seth about the weather. It is about the weather, but is tense and foreshadowing. Seth's mother says it's only a summer cold snap ("blackberry winter"), nothing to worry about, and Jebb simply says, no. It's a sign that all bad things can happen, that change comes suddenly and biblically. That you can call it what you want, but you can't stop a thing from happening. It's a speech full of sadness and dread, and it holds together everything that Seth has seen that day. But Seth still believes he is safe.
The ending is weakly written, and when Seth indicates the impact this day had on him, I didn't understand why. There's suddenly a time shift, and some repetitive lines (like when a tv show has a flashback to something that happened five minutes ago), and an oddly vague conclusion. Then it just ends.
I really wanted to give this 5 stars, and maybe I should, because it was fantastic. But I hated the ending. It's basically the opposite of the Faulkner story, which I didn't love until the ending. I should probably reread it someday, and make up my mind. But I really, really recommend this nonetheless.
(Also RIYL that Mad Men episode with the hobo.)
The perspective is a young boy in the rural South, old enough to notice things but young enough to leave all the responsibility for them to the grown-ups, even when he should maybe do something. He just wants to wander around and avoid his mother's rule about wearing shoes.
A tramp shows up at his farm, and the guy is really scary. His attitude makes it clear he's hateful and that his total out-of-place oddity makes him dangerous. Presumably he's there because he wants a day's work, but it's just as possible he simply wants to do something cruel.
But weirdly, Seth leaves this man with his mother (who seems to have him in hand anyway), ignores the danger, and goes exploring. There's been bad weather and a flood, and everyone is viewing its aftermath. He finds his father
Spoiler
(but doesn't tell him about the tramp, for some reason)Spoiler
And strangely, he's right. The flood has spared their farm. The tramp does not use his terrible knife (breaking Chekhov's law). Almost nothing really occurs.I really wanted to give this 5 stars, and maybe I should, because it was fantastic. But I hated the ending. It's basically the opposite of the Faulkner story, which I didn't love until the ending. I should probably reread it someday, and make up my mind. But I really, really recommend this nonetheless.
(Also RIYL that Mad Men episode with the hobo.)
The Enormous Radio and Other Stories by John Cheever
3.0
I am almost sure that, funnily enough, I have heard this story before on the radio. It was familiar to me once I realized what was happening.
The goings-on are slightly fantastical in a way that's essential for allegory. An odd new radio comes into the home of a perfect family, and the fabric of real life is peered into. Tuning the frequency somehow picks up different apartments in their building, and the wife becomes obsessed with the voyeurism. She's compelled to compare her own life to those she is spying on, and the pointed consequences are somewhat predictable.
I did like this, but as a story it is very light and straightforward. The depth mainly seems to come from its prescience. First of all, I can't tell whether it's wonderful or a shame that its writing predates the ubiquity of television, which as we now know would obviously make an even more apt device for this plot. I bet there's a paper for someone to write about the way the characters cope with this knowledge in the story vs. the way reality television and social media are coped with now. Does sharing the mundanity of a breakfast Tweet bring us closer? Do we know more than we can bear about the terrible things happening to people in the world? There are people almost obscenely tuned in to the feed of available information, and yet there are still people unable to watch the news because it upsets them.
Maybe this story works better as commentary than as a story, but either way it works.
The goings-on are slightly fantastical in a way that's essential for allegory. An odd new radio comes into the home of a perfect family, and the fabric of real life is peered into. Tuning the frequency somehow picks up different apartments in their building, and the wife becomes obsessed with the voyeurism.
Spoiler
She loses the ability to appropriately navigate social boundaries, and breaks down upon realizing the sordid nature of everyone's lives.I did like this, but as a story it is very light and straightforward. The depth mainly seems to come from its prescience. First of all, I can't tell whether it's wonderful or a shame that its writing predates the ubiquity of television, which as we now know would obviously make an even more apt device for this plot. I bet there's a paper for someone to write about the way the characters cope with this knowledge in the story vs. the way reality television and social media are coped with now. Does sharing the mundanity of a breakfast Tweet bring us closer? Do we know more than we can bear about the terrible things happening to people in the world? There are people almost obscenely tuned in to the feed of available information, and yet there are still people unable to watch the news because it upsets them.
Maybe this story works better as commentary than as a story, but either way it works.
A Worn Path by Eudora Welty
2.0
This is a story that relies a lot on symbolism and subtext, but truthfully, these things did not really interest me here. An incredibly old woman named Phoenix is taking a familiar journey on foot, and we walk with her every step of the way.
Some of the mystery lends some depth. At her destination, Phoenix is plunked down into reality for a moment and there are some clues about what the true situation may be. She can't remember enough to answer questions, too lost in her very old mind. So we don't know, in this story, and it's for us to decide.
It's well-executed, but ultimately to me was sort of boring. I could reflect on these questions, but they are really so slight, I'm not very interested to do it.
Spoiler
She encounters someone (which is riveting... but passes without much resulting) and reaches her destination. We find out why she is there, and know that she will have to return, and then the story ends.Some of the mystery lends some depth. At her destination, Phoenix is plunked down into reality for a moment and there are some clues about what the true situation may be. She can't remember enough to answer questions, too lost in her very old mind. So we don't know, in this story, and it's for us to decide.
It's well-executed, but ultimately to me was sort of boring. I could reflect on these questions, but they are really so slight, I'm not very interested to do it.
The Conversion of the Jews by Philip Roth
3.0
I was surprised when I learned that this story is funny. I thought it was sad? I don't know. I'm weird like that. Chekhov is the same for me. I know they're comedies, I just really want them to get to Moscow.
Anyway. I guess the sadness is what interested me in the story, so I'm going to hold on to it. There is a situational joke at the end, foretold by the story's title, but if that is the purpose of the story then I don't think it's very strong.
But the story of Ozzie and his questions was good. The story is about his need to ask questions of his rabbi at Hebrew school, and his consistent denial. The rabbi wants to teach him to stop asking questions, and the confrontations grow heated as they accumulate.
What's so sad, though, is that while this is going on, Ozzie is realizing that nobody knows him. They don't understand what he's thinking -- whether because they're stuck in the obedience of religious belief or because they haven't made the effort -- and he cannot successfully explain. Even his friends start acting like the children they are, taking it all the most un-seriously they possibly can. He's really alone, and it upsets Ozzie so much he starts acting childishly, using the unexpected power of the moment to make silly things happen (like the joke of the title). But this is the kind of childish behavior you root for, that makes up for harm done. This weird situation allows him to get attention for his ideas, and ask his questions, and demand answers.
I like Ozzie and what he's going through, and I liked thinking about how his needs compare to what his community expects him to need. But personally I wanted a little more than that from the story in the end, because to me, it really doesn't seem like a joke. Something about it disappoints me, but maybe I'm taking things too seriously.
Anyway. I guess the sadness is what interested me in the story, so I'm going to hold on to it. There is a situational joke at the end, foretold by the story's title, but if that is the purpose of the story then I don't think it's very strong.
But the story of Ozzie and his questions was good. The story is about his need to ask questions of his rabbi at Hebrew school, and his consistent denial. The rabbi wants to teach him to stop asking questions, and the confrontations grow heated as they accumulate.
Spoiler
His mother is unhappy with his performance, and slaps him one night. Then at school, the rabbi slaps him. The primary action of the story happens after he runs onto the roof to get away, and they think he plans to jump.What's so sad, though, is that while this is going on, Ozzie is realizing that nobody knows him. They don't understand what he's thinking -- whether because they're stuck in the obedience of religious belief or because they haven't made the effort -- and he cannot successfully explain. Even his friends start acting like the children they are, taking it all the most un-seriously they possibly can. He's really alone, and it upsets Ozzie so much he starts acting childishly, using the unexpected power of the moment to make silly things happen (like the joke of the title). But this is the kind of childish behavior you root for, that makes up for harm done. This weird situation allows him to get attention for his ideas, and ask his questions, and demand answers.
I like Ozzie and what he's going through, and I liked thinking about how his needs compare to what his community expects him to need. But personally I wanted a little more than that from the story in the end, because to me, it really doesn't seem like a joke. Something about it disappoints me, but maybe I'm taking things too seriously.
In Love & Trouble: Stories of Black Women by Alice Walker
3.0
(I read "Everyday Use," anthologized separately from this book. I'm going to mark this read for lack of having another way to add the story here.)
"Everyday Use" was interesting though not particularly moving to me. There is a lot to pull apart inside it: the limited narration of the poorly-educated and poorly-equipped mother, and the thematic contrasts between her adult daughters. The narration is good, and I liked it. The contrasts were less exciting.
Her daughter who's stayed home is sheltered and shown to be as unintelligent and unambitious as the mother, but this seems to be a virtue in the author's view. They live plainly and with some limited amount of strength.
The daughter who left produces all kinds of issues. She was given an education to surpass them, and here returns for a prodigal, condescending visit. Aside from disrespect, she's representing the black power movement, having chosen an African name and wanting to collect some "artifacts" from home. There's a debate.
There's also a man she's with. It's kind of odd that he's there. No one knows if she's married him or if he's just running a lot of influence with her. Are we supposed to think that she's becoming like this for him? Is he representing a woman's leaving her family behind for marriage? Is the author saying this is a betrayal?
The thing is I suspect these questions I want to be asking are a lot more interesting than the ones the story is really about. And now I'm tired of talking about it.
"Everyday Use" was interesting though not particularly moving to me. There is a lot to pull apart inside it: the limited narration of the poorly-educated and poorly-equipped mother, and the thematic contrasts between her adult daughters. The narration is good, and I liked it. The contrasts were less exciting.
Her daughter who's stayed home is sheltered and shown to be as unintelligent and unambitious as the mother, but this seems to be a virtue in the author's view. They live plainly and with some limited amount of strength.
The daughter who left produces all kinds of issues. She was given an education to surpass them, and here returns for a prodigal, condescending visit. Aside from disrespect, she's representing the black power movement, having chosen an African name and wanting to collect some "artifacts" from home. There's a debate.
There's also a man she's with. It's kind of odd that he's there. No one knows if she's married him or if he's just running a lot of influence with her. Are we supposed to think that she's becoming like this for him? Is he representing a woman's leaving her family behind for marriage? Is the author saying this is a betrayal?
The thing is I suspect these questions I want to be asking are a lot more interesting than the ones the story is really about. And now I'm tired of talking about it.
Desires by John L'Heureux
4.0
(I read "Brief Lives in California," anthologized separately from this book. I'm going to mark this read for lack of having another way to add the story here. This is also a pretty hard book to find!)
Even though this story is about a totally berserk character whom I shouldn't like, I really liked it. It makes sort of a perfect capsule of crazy, as well as an intentional comment about the strand of American culture obsessed with bestness, specialness, selfishness.
It works so well it's better to read yourself than discuss. Leonora's character-building moments are so on-pitch I kind of wanted to scream even as I laughed at what happened. She's loathsome and pitiable at the same time. Why don't you appreciate her? Why are you so determined to hurt her feelings? Her self-centeredness is both epic and believable. That it has such ultimate consequences is almost stupid, but in a way that's believable too. These things come out stupid, they do.
I'm rounding this one up too because it feels like that sort of day.
Even though this story is about a totally berserk character whom I shouldn't like, I really liked it. It makes sort of a perfect capsule of crazy, as well as an intentional comment about the strand of American culture obsessed with bestness, specialness, selfishness.
It works so well it's better to read yourself than discuss. Leonora's character-building moments are so on-pitch I kind of wanted to scream even as I laughed at what happened. She's loathsome and pitiable at the same time. Why don't you appreciate her? Why are you so determined to hurt her feelings? Her self-centeredness is both epic and believable. That it has such ultimate consequences is almost stupid, but in a way that's believable too. These things come out stupid, they do.
I'm rounding this one up too because it feels like that sort of day.
One Hundred Demons by Lynda Barry
5.0
I seem to be taking a when-in-Rome approach to book-buying lately. I picked this up on a whim this weekend in Quimby's Books in Chicago.
This is the first Barry book I've read that deals directly with her real life. Though it seems obvious in her fictional comic strips that they're laden with memories that are real to her, that's not at all the same thing as really drawing her mother, grandmother, talking about her real neighbors, her real issues and plot turns. That's very, very inspiring writing to me. I should be a person who does What It Is soon.
Sometimes it's hard to rate a book with discrete sections like this. Overall I loved it, and it went so much deeper than I expected it to so up it goes. Not everything did it for me but it will for someone else. Highlights:
"Dancing": particularly "The dread and desire were equal." "The groove is so mysterious."
"The Aswang": all of it. That doesn't sound emphatic enough but believe it.
"Dogs" made me weep for sure. (I plan to adopt one soon.) Reading listings on Petfinder often feels epic to me.
I think Lynda Barry's work is mostly about the way that everything is, in fact, an epic.
This is the first Barry book I've read that deals directly with her real life. Though it seems obvious in her fictional comic strips that they're laden with memories that are real to her, that's not at all the same thing as really drawing her mother, grandmother, talking about her real neighbors, her real issues and plot turns. That's very, very inspiring writing to me. I should be a person who does What It Is soon.
Sometimes it's hard to rate a book with discrete sections like this. Overall I loved it, and it went so much deeper than I expected it to so up it goes. Not everything did it for me but it will for someone else. Highlights:
"Dancing": particularly "The dread and desire were equal." "The groove is so mysterious."
"The Aswang": all of it. That doesn't sound emphatic enough but believe it.
"Dogs" made me weep for sure. (I plan to adopt one soon.) Reading listings on Petfinder often feels epic to me.
I think Lynda Barry's work is mostly about the way that everything is, in fact, an epic.
All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque
Taking another nerdy pass through the somewhat silly 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die list this week. Now with Goodreads-friendly spreadsheet.
I have a hard time rating books I read long ago, so I really haven't added many. That's mainly why I love saving comments on what I read now, so I can remember years later.
I read this in high school, and don't remember liking it a lot then. I think I thought it was dull or heavy-handed, but I wonder what I'd feel now.
I have a hard time rating books I read long ago, so I really haven't added many. That's mainly why I love saving comments on what I read now, so I can remember years later.
I read this in high school, and don't remember liking it a lot then. I think I thought it was dull or heavy-handed, but I wonder what I'd feel now.
Native Son by Richard Wright
Taking another nerdy pass through the somewhat silly 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die list this week. Now with Goodreads-friendly spreadsheet.
I have a hard time rating books I read long ago, so I really haven't added many. That's mainly why I love saving comments on what I read now, so I can remember years later.
I read this for a 10th-grade project where we selected our own book from a list. It definitely surprised me, and I actually remember many things about it. Indeed the whole "Furnace Room Lullaby" scene is coming with me to my grave.
I have a hard time rating books I read long ago, so I really haven't added many. That's mainly why I love saving comments on what I read now, so I can remember years later.
I read this for a 10th-grade project where we selected our own book from a list. It definitely surprised me, and I actually remember many things about it. Indeed the whole "Furnace Room Lullaby" scene is coming with me to my grave.