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I haven’t done one of these in a while!
March 7: Freebie: Since these are posted a bit later than usual, you get a freebie! Was there a previous T5W topic you are bummed you missed? Now would be a good time to do that topic!
I’ve decided to go with a topic that I missed when I was busy in Houston in January: Books You Disliked but Love to Discuss: Some books we disliked or they were just okay, but they still have a lot of discussion points to sink your teeth into.
The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood: I know, I’m practically the only feminist who isn’t crazy about Margaret Atwood, but I really, really do not like this book. I know it’s deliberate, but I don’t like how the narrator is held at an arm’s length from the action, and how none of the reader’s questions about how and why this society formed are ever answered… it made for a very dissatisfying read for me. And then there’s the fact that women of color are sidelined by the narrative while their own historical experiences (i.e., slavery) are appropriated for Offred’s narrative (a white woman)… I don’t know. I think this book was progressive and important in a lot of ways when it was published in the 80s, but I’m not really sure that it holds up as the contemporary feminist bible that a lot of people see it as. But I find it interesting to discuss, because I don’t think it’s a 100% perfect or a 100% worthless book – I think it has a lot to offer and a lot to critique.
To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf. I will gladly talk to any and everyone about this book because I’m still waiting for someone to explain it to me. I had to use Sparknotes when I read this (last year, when I was 24, holding a lit degree) and I still don’t even begin to understand half of what was going on here. Someone please tell me what the lighthouse represents.
Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Truman Capote. I had to read this for a book club, and I thought it was tremendously boring. And if there’s anything worse than reading a boring book, it’s reading a boring book for a book club. But this ended up being one of the more interesting discussions we had, particularly because someone brought up the question of the narrator’s sexuality. I remember reading this quickly and not putting too much brainpower into it, but I just assumed that the narrator was in love with Holly and it was a voyeuristic, male-gazey narrative… but then someone started talking about how they read the narrator as gay, and I started realizing just how much evidence there was to support that, and it added an entirely new dimension to the novel that I hadn’t even realized was there. I still think it’s an interesting subject to ruminate on.
American War by Omar El Akkad. This is a book that tested my resolve to never DNF if ever I read one. This was painfully dull and long-winded. However, it did raise several rather interesting questions about the possibility of a second Civil War in the US, and I think it’s interesting to consider whether or not El Akkad’s vision for how this war would develop is a likely one.
The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro. As you know, I’m a pretty big fan of almost everything Kazuo Ishiguro has written, but this was easily my least favorite of his books. What I didn’t like about it was that it took a simple concept that would have suited a short story, and inexplicably drew it out to fit a full-length novel. Much boredom and repetition ensued. But I do find the central concept fascinating, and I loved the ending a lot, so I’m glad to talk about this book as I do see the merits in it… it just wasn’t my favorite reading experience.
What books did you dislike that you still like to discuss? Comment and let me know!
The Woman in Cabin 10 by Ruth Ware. I got this off the free shelf at the library a few months back, and I meant to read it immediately and return it (I don’t really feel the need to own thrillers, because I only ever read them once) but I haven’t gotten around to it yet. Maybe I’ll bring it to Houston with me. Anyway, my mom just read it and quite liked it, and we have pretty much the exact same taste in books, and it was recommended to me again in the comments on my review of The Woman in the Window… so all things considered, I’m excited!
The Spinning Heart by Donal Ryan. I’ve owned this for a while but felt no immediate urge to read it, and then I read Donal Ryan’s novel All We Shall Know and was blown away by it, so I meant to read The Spinning Heart right after. Sadly I didn’t get around to it, but hopefully soon. It’s supposed to be a candid look at rural Ireland post-financial collapse, which sounds fascinating to me. I loved Ryan’s style of prose so much in All We Shall Know, so I’m especially curious how this will compare.
The Power by Naomi Alderman. This is one of those books that I feel like I should read, more than I actually want to read it. I’d been curious about it since it won the Baileys prize earlier this year, so I ended up choosing it for my October BOTM (I think it was October?), but then I just didn’t get a chance to read it. I always read my BOTM picks straight away, but I think I was busy with War and Peace at the time… anyway, after not getting the chance to read it immediately, I read some negative reviews (including Steph’s, and we agree on just about everything) so my desire to read it kind of plummeted… but I do own it, so I still want to give it a try.
This House is Haunted by John Boyne. After adoring The Heart’s Invisible Furies I made it my mission to read another John Boyne novel, and then after adoring The Absolutist I made it my mission to read all of John Boyne’s novels. I’ve heard mixed things about This House is Haunted, but I have to say, I’m excited – I love a haunted house story. And I’m fascinated by the fact that John Boyne writes across so many genres. His literary and historical fiction has wowed me, so I’m excited to see how he handles horror.
Hanya Yanagihara: A Little Life is the book I want to write. I mean, not literally, because Hanya already did it, but the incisive and thoughtful quality of her prose is exactly what I strive for in my own writing; there’s such an effortless quality to it that I admire so much more than overly flowery prose. Her characters are nuanced and multidimensional; her story is utterly devastating… all of the elements that come together and make A Little Life extraordinary are things I hope to achieve with a book some day.
Donna Tartt: Okay, maybe I lied – if there’s any book I wish I could have authored more than A Little Life, it’s The Secret History. I mean… I live in Vermont and it’s the setting I’m most comfortable writing, and I have a huge interest in the classics, and I love academia-based narratives, and I love literary thrillers… but Tartt got there first, alas. But I’m not mad because I think she is such a tremendous talent. I know that some people think her prose is pretentious, but I find it absolutely mesmerizing. If I can write a paragraph half this good in my lifetime I will be very happy.
John Boyne: The aspect of Boyne’s style that I admire so much is his ability to flit back and forth between gravity and levity – The Heart’s Invisible Furies is the only book I can think of that made me actually laugh out loud, and cry on different occasions. Sometimes I think I should write a book as unapologetically dark as the two I mentioned above, but then sometimes I think I should try my hand at dark humor, and Boyne would be the model I would turn to in that case. I mean, even The Absolutist, as depressing as it was, had some unexpectedly comedic moments. Although I usually think I’d rather make readers cry than laugh, I think doing both would actually be ideal.
Hannah Kent: Kent’s prose is superb. Burial Rites is one of the most atmospheric novels I’ve ever read – I would love to write a book like this where prose and setting and characters all come together to create something so striking and devastating.
John Steinbeck: Okay, so, I used to think I hated Steinbeck. I couldn’t stand The Grapes of Wrath or The Pearl, and I was very surprised when I enjoyed Of Mice and Men but quickly wrote it off as a random blip – so no one was more surprised than I was when I fell so in love with East of Eden earlier this year. So when I say I want to write like Steinbeck, I mean, I want to write like Steinbeck wrote in East of Eden. Everything about that novel’s construction is a masterpiece. (I can’t take Steinbeck haters who haven’t read East of Eden seriously. I mean. Give it a chance.)
Henry Winter (The Secret History by Donna Tartt). I could easily have comprised this list entirely of characters from The Secret History, but if I had to choose just one, I have to go with Henry. Henry Winter is one of the most intriguing characters from anything I’ve ever read. The fact that he’s a murderer barely scrapes the surface of his faults, and yet….. The Secret History would be nothing without his evil genius propelling the story forward. From the second he’s introduced, how utterly frustrating and enigmatic and ruthless and unknowable Henry Winter is becomes one of the most compelling things about this book.
Ryan Cusack (The Glorious Heresies by Lisa McInerney). Ryan Cusack begins this story as a teenage drug dealer, and it only gets worse from there… but still, he breaks my heart. What The Glorious Heresies does so exceptionally well is depict the nuances of inter-generational crime and poverty in Ireland – how it’s such a difficult cycle to break. Ryan finds himself right in the middle of that, striving to be a good person and only failing because his socioeconomic status is preventing him from succeeding. Add that to That Thing that we find out happened to him at the end of the novel, and it’s no wonder he’s so messed up. But never beyond redemption.
Kaz Brekker (Six of Crows/Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo). Kaz is the leader of a ruthless gang, driven singularly by a need for revenge that stems from a tragic childhood. Though he has a reputation for being monstrous, the more Leigh Bardugo reveals about this character, the more we discover how tragic circumstance has made him the way he is. The softer side he shows with Inej also makes it difficult to utterly condemn him as heartless. I have to say, I have such a weakness for characters who lash out or pull up a wall around themselves only because they’re hurting – from the minute Kaz was introduced I knew he was going to be my favorite, and even had the thought ‘I’m probably not supposed to like this character at this point before I reach the tragic backstory, am I.’
Julian Woodbead (The Heart’s Invisible Furies by John Boyne). I was initially going to choose the novel’s protagonist, Cyril Avery, but I’m writing this post rather late and 
Medea (Euripides/classics, Bright Air Black by David Vann). In one of the most harrowing climaxes in literary history, Medea murders her children. So. I don’t think we’re gonna get more problematic than that. But to write off her character as a monster is to entirely miss the point of how tragic this character is – she leaves her home and betrays her family to help Jason, who she falls in love with, only in turn to be betrayed by him. She’s wild and ruthless but not utterly soulless, which is the most haunting thing about this character.
All the Birds, Singing by Evie Wyld. This book is difficult to describe… it’s about an Australian sheep farmer who’s living in isolation on the English coast, running from a mysterious event in her past. It combines elements from several genres: mystery/thriller, magical realism, literary fiction, paranormal fantasy (sort of)… it didn’t quite come together in a completely satisfying way for me, but I’m struck by how ambitious this novel is for being so short. If this sounds like it appeals to you, it’s worth a read, because it has many glowing reviews from people who really connected with it.
Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders. I still can’t work out how I felt about this book, but I’d be remiss not to include it. This year’s Man Booker winner is a bizarre fusion of historical fiction and literary fiction, and then Saunders takes it a step further by experimenting with the format of the book itself. It’s part novel, part poetry, part play… it’s unlike anything I’ve ever read. Lincoln in the Bardo is ostensibly about the death of Abraham Lincoln’s son, but it’s also more than that – it’s kind of an elaborate rumination on life and death and the afterlife.
If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio. A group of Shakespeare students at a classical conservatory fractures when their group dynamic is forcefully changed, and one ends up dead. Rio is hardly the first to write an academic literary thriller (the notable pioneer of this subgenre is Donna Tartt’s The Secret History), but If We Were Villains is still noteworthy as it’s infused with references and direct quotes from the works of Shakespeare, adding another dimension to this novel’s tricky classification. It’s one of those books where thriller fans may expect a bit more thrill, and literary fans may expect a bit more Literature, but if you embrace the balance that Rio strikes, it’s a fun and rewarding novel.
Bright Air Black by David Vann. Another novel that deals in experimental prose, Bright Air Black is a retelling of the story of Medea and Jason. Part historical fiction, part literary fiction, part mythology, I’m not sure how I’d ultimately end up classifying this book… Another interesting element to it is that it frames Medea is ultimately a sympathetic and redemptive light (without minimizing her vengeful nature), so there’s also an undoubtedly feminist spin to this novel – so it’s also worth reading from the perspective of anyone who’s interested in feminist fiction.
The Vegetarian by Han Kang. I guess in a way this book is easily classified as ‘literary fiction,’ but I can’t help but to feel like that label is a gross simplification of this novel’s contents. This is unlike anything I’ve ever read before or since. It’s about a woman who reacts to a violent dream by deciding to become vegetarian… which sounds simple, but this is a book which doesn’t adhere to genre conventions. It’s really a series of three novellas, each of which are from the POV of a different character, and rather than plot and character development, the focus of this novel is much more metaphorical and cerebral, raising questions about mental health and societal expectations and female sexuality. (Which – if you read my recent review of War and Peace – you know I usually prefer character development over anything. But somehow, the way Han Kang pushes boundaries in this novel is so rewarding to explore.)
Pachinko by Min Jin Lee: I haven’t stopped talking about this book since I read it in February, and with good reason. This is an outstanding family saga set against the backdrop of Japan’s annexation of Korea in the early 20th century. It features a handful of Korean characters who face an onslaught of discrimination when forced to relocate to Japan. This is not only an incredibly moving story, but a really educational read. Min Jin Lee integrates historical detail into her narrative with masterful precision – it never overwhelms, but still constantly edifies the reader. I highly recommend this to anyone interested in the complicated history of Japanese-Korean relations, the history of either of those countries, or just anyone looking for an entertaining family saga.
The Vegetarian by Han Kang: Korean writer Han Kang made waves when her first novel to be translated into English, The Vegetarian, won the Man Booker International award last year. This novel is outstanding and thought-provoking. It raises questions about gender and sexuality, a woman’s role in society, social norms, violence – in a lot of ways this novel offers generalized insights into the human experience, but in other ways, context is key. You can’t remove this novel from its contemporary South Korean setting, especially as Han Kang’s own experience growing up in 
Three Souls by Janie Chang: Admittedly, I didn’t like this book as much as I liked the rest on this list. I had a lot of nitpicky problems with it, but I still found it entertaining and incredibly informative. Set in 1935 China, this provocative novel follows the journey of a young woman called Leiyin – except, the twist is that the novel begins moments after Leiyin’s death. We follow Leiyin in the afterlife and get flashbacks to her childhood, and eventually adulthood – and we find out how she died. The reason I’m including this novel on my list even though I didn’t love it was that I think it’s a really phenomenal look at the sociopolitical climate of mid 20th century China, and I recommend it more from a historical rather than a literary perspective.
Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See: Lisa See is one of my favorite historical fiction writers, and I think Snow Flower and the Secret Fan is one of her strongest novels. Set in nineteenth century China, Snow Flower is a devastating story about a friendship between two young women. It features the writing system nu shu, which was developed by Chinese women in the Hunan province to communicate with one another, as they were often denied a formal education. In typical Lisa See fashion, she both educates and entertains with this novel, and I highly recommend it to anyone interested in Chinese history. (Beware of very graphic descriptions of foot binding, though.) My favorite Lisa See novel (though it’s a toss up with Snow Flower) may have to be Shanghai Girls, but as it’s partially set in California, it doesn’t fit the category.
After Dark by Haruki Murakami: And finally, it seemed requisite to include a Murakami on this list. After Dark is actually my favorite of his novels that I’ve read, though it’s a lot shorter than the novels which are often associated with him. So if you haven’t read Murakami but are curious about his writing style without wanting to commit to a 500 page book, After Dark is a great place to start. After Dark takes place in the span of one night, between the hours of midnight and dawn in Tokyo and follows an eclectic group of characters. It’s a very mesmerizing and atmospheric novel which draws the reader into Tokyo nightlife in an almost voyeuristic way.
pace, amore, libri 