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41. The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry

Rating:  ☆☆☆☆

Recommended by:

Author:   Rachel Joyce

Genre:  Fiction, Happiness

320 pages, published July 24, 2012

Reading Format:  Audio Book

 

Summary

Recently retired and at loose ends, Harold Fry receives a letter from Queenie Hennessy, an old friend and former work colleague who he hasn’t heard from in twenty years who has written to say she is dying and to tell Harold goodbye.  Harold writes Queenie a letter in reply and walks to his neighborhood mailbox to post it, but something unexpected happens.  Harold  becomes convinced that he must deliver his message in person to Queenie, who is 600 miles away in a hospice, because as long as he keeps walking, Harold believes that Queenie will not die.   So begins the unexpected pilgrimage of Harold Fry.  Harold meets meets various characters along the way who cause Harold to look back on his life and examine his failed relationships with his wife and son.

 

Quotes

“Upstairs, Maureen shut the door of David’s room quietly and stood a moment breathing him in.  She pulled open his blue curtains that she closed every night and checked that there was no dust where the hem of the net drapes met the windowsill.  She polished the silver frame of his Cambridge portrait and the black and white baby photograph beside it.  She kept the room clean because she was waiting for David to come back and she never knew when that might be.  A part of her was always waiting.  Men had no idea what it was like to be a mother.  The ache of loving a child, even when he had moved on.”

 

“Harold asked himself if years ago he shouldn’t have pressed Maureen to have another baby.  “David is enough,” she had said.  “He is all we need.”  But sometimes he was afraid that having one son was too much to bear.  He wondered if the pain of loving became diluted the more you had.  A child’s growing was a constant pushing away.”

 

“People were buying milk, or filling their cars with petrol, or even posting letters. And what no one else knew was the appalling weight of the thing they were carrying inside. The superhuman effort it took sometimes to be normal, and a part of things that appeared both easy and everyday. The loneliness of that.”

 

“If I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, it stands to reason that I’m going to get there. I’ve begun to think we sit far more than we’re supposed to.” He smiled. “Why else would we have feet?”

 

“you could be ordinary and attempt something extraordinary, without being able to explain it in a logical way.”

 

“He must have driven this way countless times, and yet he had no memory of the scenery. He must have been so caught up in the day’s agenda, and arriving punctually at their destination, that the land beyond the car had been no more than a wash of one green, and a backdrop of one hill. Life was very different when you walked through it.”

 

“There was no escaping what he had realized as he fought for warmth in the night. With or without him,the moon and the wind would go on, rising and falling. The land would keep stretching ahead until it hit the sea. People would keep dying. It made no difference if Harold walked, or trembled, or stayed at home.”

 

“I miss her all the time.  I know in my head that she has gone. The only difference is that I am getting used to the pain.  It’s like discovering a great hole in the ground. To begin with, you forget it’s there and keep falling in.  After a while, it’s still there, but you learn to walk round it.”

 

“… He went under the stars, and the tender light of the moon, when it hung like an eyelash and the tree trunks shone like bones. He walked through wind and weather, and beneath sun-bleached skies. It seemed to Harold that he had been waiting all his life to walk. He no longer knew how far he had come, but only that he was going forward. The pale Cotswold stone became the red brick of Warwickshire, and the land flattened into middle England. Harold reached his hand to his mouth to brush away a fly, and felt a beard growing in thick tufts. Queenie would live. He knew it.”

 

My Take

I really loved listening to The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry.  This is a beautifully written book about the human spirit, the meaning of life, and coming to terms with not only what you did in life, but more importantly what you failed to do.  As a side note, The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, reminded me a lot of A Man Called Ove, another book I read this year and really enjoyed.

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110. End of Watch

Rating:  ☆☆☆1/2

Recommended by:   

Author:   Stephen King

Genre:  Fiction, Thriller, Crime, Suspense

432 pages, published June 7, 2016

Reading Format:  Audio Book

 

Summary

End of Watch is the third and final book in Stephen King’s Bill Hodges trilogy (the first two books were Mr. Mercedes and Finders Keepers).  Hodges is a retired detective who matches wits with several bad guys.  Hodges’ most diabolical foil is Brady Hartzfield who is known as the “Mercedes Killer” and is Hodges’ antagonist in the first book.  Seemingly in a permanent vegetative state, Hartzfield is back In End of Watch with powers that enable him to the drive his enemies to suicide.  Hodges and his compatriots Holly Gibney and Jerome Robinson must figure out a way to stop Hartzfield before they become victims themselves.

 

Quotes

“It’s about how some people carelessly squander what others would sell their souls to have: a healthy, pain-free body. And why? Because they’re too blind, too emotionally scarred, or too self-involved to see past the earth’s dark curve to the next sunrise. Which always comes, if one continues to draw breath.”

 

“bad luck keeps bad company.”

 

“Being needed is a great thing. Maybe the great thing.”

 

“The seeds sown in childhood put down deep roots.”

 

“That’s me, Brady thought happily. When they give your middle name, you know you’re an authentic boogeyman.”

 

“Payback is a bitch, and the bitch is back.”

My Take

I enjoy Stephen King generally and enjoyed both Mr. Mercedes and Finders Keepers, the first two books in the Bill Hodges trilogy, in particular and was therefore looking forward to finishing off this series.  I was not disappointed.  King knows how to both create indelible characters and build suspense.  Both skills are on full display in End of Watch.  Not the best Stephen King book I’ve read, but it is certainly worth the time.

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106. The Magic Strings of Frankie Presto

Rating:  ☆☆☆1/2

Recommended by:   

Author:   Mitch Albom

Genre:  Historical Fiction, Music, Fiction

512 pages, published November 10, 2012

Reading Format:  Audio Book

 

Summary

With a focus on the music scene starting in the 1940’s and a touch of magical realism, Mitch Albom tells the epic story of Frankie Presto, the greatest guitar player who ever lived and the lives he changed with his six magical blue strings.  Frankie is born in a burning church during the Spanish Civil war, abandoned as an infant, and raised by a blind guitar teacher until he is sent to America at nine years old with only an old guitar and six precious strings.  His amazing journey weaves him through the musical landscape of the second half of the Twentieth Century where he encounters D’jango Reinhardt, Duke Ellington, Hank Williams, Elvis Presley, the Everly Brothers, Tony Bennett, Lyle Lovett, and many more.  Along the way, he becomes a pop star, meets, marries, loses and regains the love of his life, battles addiction, depression and hopelessness and changes many lives with the power of his magic strings.  

 

Quotes

“All humans are musical. Why else would the Lord give you a beating heart?”

 

“This is life. Things get taken away. You will learn to start over many times — or you will be useless.”

 

“You cannot write if you do not read,” the blind man said. “You cannot eat if you do not chew. And you cannot play if you do not”—he grabbed for the boy’s hand—“listen.”

 

“Everyone joins a band in this life. And what you play always affects someone. Sometimes, it affects the world.”

 

“EVERYONE JOINS A BAND IN THIS LIFE. You are born into your first one. Your mother plays the lead. She shares the stage with your father and siblings. Or perhaps your father is absent, an empty stool under a spotlight. But he is still a founding member, and if he surfaces one day, you will have to make room for him. As life goes on, you will join other bands, some through friendship, some through romance, some through neighborhoods, school, an army. Maybe you will all dress the same, or laugh at your own private vocabulary. Maybe you will flop on couches backstage, or share a boardroom table, or crowd around a galley inside a ship. But in each band you join, you will play a distinct part, and it will affect you as much as you affect it.”

 

“In every artist’s life, there comes a person who lifts the curtain on creativity. It is the closest you come to seeing me again. The first time, when you emerge from the womb, I am a brilliant color in the rainbow of human talents from which you choose. Later, when a special someone lifts the curtain, you feel that chosen talent stirring inside you, a bursting passion to sing, paint, dance, bang on drums. And you are never the same.”

 

“You humans are always locking each other away. Cells. Dungeons. Some of your earliest jails were sewers, where men sloshed in their own waste. No other creature has this arrogance—to confine its own. Could you imagine a bird imprisoning another bird? A horse jailing a horse? As a free form of expression, I will never understand it. I can only say that some of my saddest sounds have been heard in such places. A song inside a cage is never a song. It is a plea.”

 

“Sometimes I think the greatest talent of all is perseverance.”

 

“I have said that music allows for quick creation. But it is nothing compared with what you humans can destroy in a single conversation.”

 

“Silence enhances music. What you do not play can sweeten what you do. But it is not the same with words. What you do not say can haunt you.”

 

“At a certain point, your life is more about your legacy to your kids than anything else.”

My Take

I’ve read several Mitch Albom books (including The Time Keeper) since starting my thousand book quest and The Magic Strings of Frankie Presto is my favorite one.  Not only does the book offer the reader an interesting retrospective of music since the 1940’s, but it also contains compelling insights on the nature of talent, the choices we make in life and the meaning and importance of love.  With many different voices used to great effect on the Audio Book, I would recommend listening to, rather than reading, this book.

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105. Finders Keepers

Rating:  ☆☆☆1/2

Recommended by:   

Author:   Stephen King

Genre:  Fiction, Crime, Suspense, Thriller

431 pages, published June 2, 2015

Reading Format:  Audio Book

 

Summary

Finders Keepers is the second book in Stephen King’s Bill Hodges Triology (the first is Mr. Mercedes and the third is End of Watch) and the name of Bill Hodges’ Private Detective Agency.  Hodges is a retired detective who, in Mr. Mercedes which was book one of the series, stopped serial killer Brady Hartzfield before he could blow up an auditorium full of concert-going pre-teens.  While Hodges plays a role in Finders Keepers, the action focuses primarily on Morris Bellamy, a killer who murders a J.D. Salinger type figure and steals his writing notebooks which contain the fourth book in the acclaimed Jimmy Gold series with which Bellamy is obsessed, and Pete Saubers, a smart high school kid who thinks he has found an answer to his family’ money problems when he finds the stolen money and notebooks in the back yard of a house that had been occupied by Bellamy decades earlier.  When Bellamy is released from prison after serving more than 35 years on a on a different charge, he goes looking for his long buried treasure.  When he finds it missing, a cat and mouse game ensues with Bill Hodges and crew pulled back into action.  

 

Quotes

“For readers, one of life’s most electrifying discoveries is that they are readers—not just capable of doing it (which Morris already knew), but in love with it. Hopelessly. Head over heels. The first book that does that is never forgotten, and each page seems to bring a fresh revelation, one that burns and exalts: Yes! That’s how it is! Yes! I saw that, too! And, of course, That’s what I think! That’s what I FEEL!”

 

“As the twig is bent the bough is shaped.”

 

“No. I was going to say his work changed my life, but that’s not right. I don’t think a teenager has much of a life to change. I just turned eighteen last month. I guess what I mean is his work changed my heart.”

 

“They say half a loaf is better than none, Jimmy, but in a world of want, even a single slice is better than none.”

 

“A good novelist does not lead his characters, he follows them. A good novelist does not create events, he watches them happen and then writes down what he sees.  A good novelist realizes he is a secretary, not God.”

 

“Books were escape. Books were freedom.”

 

“Mostly because nobody with his kind of talent has a right to hide it from the world.”

 

“Don’t let your good nature cloud your critical eye. The critical eye should always be cold and clear.”

 

“Coldness went marching up his arms like the feet of evil fairies.”

 

“Some of you will say, This is stupid. Will I break my promise not to argue the point, even though I consider Mr. Owen’s poems the greatest to come out of World War I? No! It’s just my opinion, you see, and opinions are like assholes: everybody has one.” They all roared at that, young ladies and gentlemen alike. Mr. Ricker drew himself up. “I may give some of you detentions if you disrupt my class, I have no problem with imposing discipline, but never will I disrespect your opinion. And yet! And yet!” Up went the finger. “Time will pass! Tempus will fugit! Owen’s poem may fall away from your mind, in which case your verdict of is-stupid will have turned out to be correct. For you, at least. But for some of you it will recur. And recur. And recur. Each time it does, the steady march of your maturity will deepen its resonance. Each time that poem steals back into your mind, it will seem a little less stupid and a little more vital. A little more important. Until it shines, young ladies and gentlemen. Until it shines.”

 

“when someone says they’re going to be honest with you, they are in most cases preparing to lie faster than a horse can trot.”

 

“He kept seeing the brains dribbling down the wallpaper. It wasn’t the killing that stayed on his mind, it was the spilled talent. A lifetime of honing and shaping torn apart in less than a second. All those stories, all those images, and what came out looked like so much oatmeal. What was the point?”

My Take

I have always found Stephen King to be a masterful storyteller and he continues to please with Finders Keepers, the second book in the Bill Hodges trilogy.  Like he does in Misery, King has created a novel that is intense, suspenseful and has some interesting thoughts on a reader’s unhealthy obsession with a reclusive writer.  I found Finders Keepers to be an engrossing book (with excellent narration by Will Patton) and highly recommend it.

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102. What She Left Behind

Rating:  ☆☆

Recommended by:  Pam Dupont

Author:   Ellen Marie Wiseman

Genre:  Historical Fiction, Fiction. Mystery

368 pages, published December 31, 2013

Reading Format:  Audio Book

 

Summary

Ten years ago, Izzy Stone’s mother fatally shot her father while he slept. Devastated by her mother’s apparent insanity, Izzy, now seventeen, refuses to visit her in prison. But her new foster parents, employees at a local museum, have enlisted Izzy’s help in cataloging items at a long-shuttered state asylum. There, amid piles of abandoned belongings, Izzy discovers a stack of unopened letters and an old journal written by Clara Cartwright.  When Clara was eighteen years old in 1929 she was caught between her overbearing parents and her love for an Italian immigrant named Bruno.  When she rejects a loveless arranged marriage, Clara is committed to a public asylum.  As Izzy deals with her own challenges, Clara’s story keeps drawing her into the past.  

 

Quotes 

“The world was full of broken people, and all the hospitals and institutions and jails could never mend their fractured hearts, wounded minds, and trampled spirits.”

 

“The earth and everything on it was cast black for those last few minutes of daylight, as if evil ruled the world for that short period of time, before the stars and moon came out to illuminate the night sky and remind everyone and everything that there really was lightness and goodness in the universe, that there really was hope and heaven.”

 

“Either way, the thought of entire lives lost—family celebrations, Christmases and birthdays, love affairs and bedtime stories, weddings and high school graduations—because of a misfire or unexplained chaos inside a person’s brain, made her chest constrict. It wasn’t fair.”

My Take

I haven’t given two stars to many books, but that is the best I can do for What She Left Behind.  Stringing together clichés and worn out tropes does not make for compelling reading.

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100. The Invention of Wings

Rating:  ☆☆☆☆

Recommended by:  Boulder Public Library Librarian

Author:   Sue Monk Kidd

Genre:  Historical Fiction, Fiction, History

384 pages, published January 7, 2014

Reading Format:  Audio Book

 

Summary

The Invention of Wings, which is based on real people, tells the story of two girls in early nineteenth century Charleston.  Hetty “Handful” Grimke is a slave who works in the wealthy Grimke household with dreams of freedom.  Sarah Grimke idolizes her father who is a judge and wants to follow in his footsteps but is subject to the restrictions and expectations of that era placed on women. On her eleventh birthday, Sarah is given ownership of Handful and she tries in vain to free her, but promises Handful’s slave mother that she will someday accomplish this mission.  Over the next 35 years, both Handful and Sarah endure disappointment, loss, sorrow, and betrayal, but continue courageously on and discover their destiny in the process. Sarah, along with her younger sister, Angelina, becomes an abolitionist and feminist.  

 

Quotes

“My body might be a slave, but not my mind. For you, it’s the other way round.”

 

“We ‘re all yearning for a wedge of sky, aren ‘t we? I suspect God plants these yearnings in us so we’ll at least try and change the course of things. We must try, that’s all.”

 

“I saw then what I hadn’t seen before, that I was very good at despising slavery in the abstract, in the removed and anonymous masses, but in the concrete, intimate flesh of the girl beside me, I’d lost the ability to be repulsed by it. I’d grown comfortable with the particulars of evil. There’s a frightful muteness that dwells at the center of all unspeakable things, and I had found my way into it.”

 

“I’d been wandering about in the enchantments of romance, afflicted with the worst female curse on earth, the need to mold myself to expectations.”

 

“The sorry truth is you can walk your feet to blisters, walk till kingdom-com, and you never will outpace your grief.”

 

“It has come as a great revelation to me,” I wrote her, “that abolition is different from the desire for racial equality. Color prejudice is at the bottom of everything. If it’s not fixed, the plight of the Negro will continue long after abolition.”

 

“A slave was supposed to be like the Holy Ghost—don’t see it, don’t hear it, but it’s always hovering round on ready.”

 

“To remain silent in the face of evil is itself a form of evil.”

 

“If you must err, do so on the side of audacity.”

 

“I’d chosen the regret I could live with best, that’s all.”

 

“I longed for it in that excruciating way one has of romanticizing the life she didn’t choose.”

 

“How could I choose someone who would force me to give up my own small reach for meaning? I chose myself, and without consolation.”

 

“I said, “Where’s all that delivering God’s supposed to do?”

He snorted. “You’re right, the only deliverance is the one we get for ourselves. The Lord doesn’t have any hands and feet but ours.”

“That doesn’t say much for the Lord.”

“It doesn’t say much for us, either.”

 

“Her name was Mary, and there ends any resemblance to the mother of our Lord.”

 

“He that finds his life shall lose it, and he that loses his life shall find it.” Do not fear to lose what needs to be lost.”

My Take

I had previously read The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd and enjoyed it, but liked The Invention of Wings even more.  With layers of detail on the place, time and characters, Kidd creates a world that feels immediate and real.  She also tells a compelling story that is interwoven with historical details about the Antebellum South and the movement for Abolition and Women’s rights.  I highly recommend The Invention of Wings, especially the audio version.

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99. Truly, Madly, Greatly

Rating:  ☆☆1/2

Recommended by:  

Author:   Liane Moriarity

Genre:  Fiction

415 pages, published July 26, 2016

Reading Format:  Audio Book

 

Summary

With their two little girls, Sam and Clementine appear to have an idyllic life.  Sam has just started a new dream job and cellist Clementine is preparing for the audition of a lifetime.  Clementine has a complicated relationship with Erika, her oldest friend, who invites Clementine and Sam to a barbecue hosted by Tiffany and Vid. Two months later, it won’t stop raining, and Clementine and Sam can’t stop asking themselves what would have happened if we hadn’t gone?  

 

Quotes

“There is no special protection when you cross that invisible line from your ordinary life to that parallel world where tragedies happen. It happens just like this. You don’t become someone else. You’re still exactly the same. Everything around you still smells and looks and feels exactly the same.”

 

“No one warned you that having children reduced you right down to some smaller, rudimentary, primitive version of yourself, where your talents and your education and your achievements meant nothing.

 

“Nobody felt embarrassed in front of nice geeky people. That’s why they were relaxing to be around.”

 

“Your daughters will leave this school as confident, resilient young women.” Ms. Byrne was off, delivering the private school party line. Resilience. What crap. No kid was going to go to school in a place that looked like freaking Buckingham Palace and come out of it resilient. She should be honest: “Your daughter will leave this school with a grand sense of entitlement that will serve her well in life; she’ll find it especially useful on Sydney roads.”

 

“She accumulates stuff to insulate herself from the world,”

 

“It was interesting how a marriage instantly became public property as soon as it looked shaky.”

 

“…the terrible though occurred to her that perhaps she’d always unconsciously believed that because Sam didn’t cry, he therefore didn’t feel, or he felt less, not as profoundly or deeply as she did. Her focus had always been on how his actions affected her feelings, as if his role was to do things for her, to her, and all that mattered was her emotional response to him, as if a “man” were a product or service, and she’d finally chosen the right brand to get the right response. Was it possible she’d never seen or truly loved him the way he deserved to be loved? As a person? An ordinary, flawed, feeling person?”

 

“You could jump so much higher when you had somewhere safe to fall.”

 

My Take

Truly Madly Guilty is my fourth Liane Moriarty novel (the others are What Alice Forgot, Big Little Lies, and The Husband’s Secret) unfortunately my least favorite (hence, the 2 ½ star rating).  While it follows the typical Moriarity formula, she is unable to create the compelling story that she achieved with her other books.  There is an interesting take on hoarding that I haven’t seen addressed before.  However, its not enough for me to recommend this book.

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98. Rin Tin Tin: The Life and the Legend

Rating:  ☆☆1/2

Recommended by:  

Author:   Susan Orlean

Genre:  Non-Fiction, Biography, History, Animals

336 pages, published September 27, 2011

Reading Format:  Audio Book

 

Summary

This book is a biography of Rin Tin Tin, the iconic star of movies and television, and his owner Lee Duncan and is a quintessentially Twentieth Century American tale.  Duncan allegedly found the first Rinty in the ruins of a bombed-out dog kennel in France during World War I, brought him to Los Angeles, trained him and got him into silent films.  By 1927, Rin Tin Tin had become Hollywood’s number one box-office star.  Susan Orlean’s book covers ninety years and explores the enduring bond between humans and how dogs were transformed from working farmhands to beloved family members as well as their role in the American entertainment industry and their use during war.

 

Quotes

“When Rin Tin Tin first became famous, most dogs in the world would not sit down when asked. Dogs performed duties: they herded sheep, they barked at strangers, they did what dogs do naturally, and people learned to interpret and make use of how they behaved. The idea of a dog’s being obedient for the sake of good manners was unheard of. When dogs lived outside, as they usually did on farms and ranches, the etiquette required of them was minimal. But by the 1930s, Americans were leaving farms and moving into urban and suburban areas, bringing dogs along as pets and sharing living quarters with them. At the time, the principles of behavior were still mostly a mystery — Ivan Pavlov’s explication of conditional reflexes, on which much training is based, wasn’t even published in an English translation until 1927. If dogs needed to be taught how to behave, people had to be trained to train their dogs. The idea that an ordinary person — not a dog professional — could train his own pet was a new idea, which is partly why Rin Tin Tin’s performances in movies and onstage were looked upon as extraordinary.”

 

“If only feelings and ideas and stories and history really could be contained in a block of marble—if only there could be a gathering up of permanence—how reassuring it would be, how comforting to think that something you loved could be held in place, moored and everlasting, rather than bobbing along on the slippery sea of reminiscence, where it could always drift out of reach.”

 

“Television wasn’t getting rid of animals, but they were no longer cast as creatures that were omniscient and heroic. They were talking horses like Mr Ed or an absurdist pig like Arnold Ziffle…Just like the heroic animals in silent films became comedians in talkies, animals on television were becoming jesters, something Rin Tin Tin had never been.”

 

“It’s human nature to set a point in our minds when we feel triumphant and to measure everything that comes after it by how far we fall or rise from that point.”

 

My Take

Having enjoyed The Orchid Thief, a previous non-fiction effort from Susan Orlean, I was curious to see what she would do with the subject of Rin Tin Tin.  The result is an uneven book that suffers from its choice of subject matter.  Neither the dog nor his owner are all that interesting.  Going in, I really didn’t know much about Rin Tin Tin, so I did learn a lot about the movie and TV star and the entertainment era that he occupied.  If you have an interest in Rin Tin Tin, then this is the book for you.

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96. The Dinner

Rating:  ☆☆☆1/2

Recommended by:  Boulder Public Library Librarian

Author:   Herman Koch

Genre:  Fiction, Suspense

292 pages, published February 12, 2013

Reading Format:  Audio Book

 

Summary

Set in an exclusive, high priced Amsterdam restaurant, The Dinner starts off with the polite conversation of two couples.  However, the empty words hide a terrible conflict and, with every forced smile and every new course, the knives are being sharpened. Each couple has a fifteen-year-old son. Together, the boys have committed a horrifying act which has been caught on camera and their grainy images have been broadcast throughout the country.  Despite an ongoing investigation, the boys remain unidentified by everyone except their parents.  At the end of the dinner, the couples finally confront the crisis with their children and each of them must decide what they are prepared to accept and do.  

 

Quotes

“That was how I looked at life sometimes, as a warm meal that was growing cold. I knew I had to eat, or else I would die, but I had lost my appetite.”

 

“This particular restaurant is one where you have to call three months in advance—or six, or eight, don’t ask me. Personally, I’d never want to know three months in advance where I’m going to eat on any given evening, but apparently some people don’t mind. A few centuries from now, when historians want to know what kind of crazies people were at the start of the twenty-first century, all they’ll have to do is look at the computer files of the so-called “top” restaurants.”

 

“Sometimes things come out of your mouth that you regret later on. Or no, not regret. You say something so razor-sharp that the person you say it to carries it around with them for the rest of their life.”

 

“If I had to give a definition of happiness, it would be this: happiness needs nothing but itself; it doesn’t have to be validated.”

 

“When the conversation turns too quickly to films, I see it as a sign of weakness. I mean: films are more something for the end of the evening, when you really don’t have much else to talk about. I don’t know why, but when people start talking about films, I always get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, like when you wake up in the morning and find that it’s already getting dark outside.”

 

“The first thing that struck you about Claire’s plate was its vast emptiness. Of course I’m well aware that, in the better restaurants, quality takes precedence over quantity, but there are voids and then there are voids. The void here, that part of the plate on which no food at all was present, had clearly been raised to a matter of principle.

It was as though the empty plate was challenging you to say something about it, to go to the open kitchen and demand an explanation. ‘You wouldn’t even dare!’ the plate said, and laughed in your face.”

 

“I let them do some simple arithmetic. In a group of one hundred people, how many assholes are there? How many fathers who humiliate their children? How many morons whose breath stinks like rotten meat but who refuse to do anything about it? How many hopeless cases who go on complaining all their lives about the non-existent injustices they’ve had to suffer? Look around you, I said. How many of your classmates would you be pleased not to see return to their desks tomorrow morning? Think about that one family member of your own family, that irritating uncle with his pointless, horseshit stories at birthday parties, that ugly cousin who mistreats his cat. Think about how relieved you would be – and not only you, but virtually the entire family – if that uncle or cousin would step on a landmine or be hit by a five-hundred-pounder dropped from a high altitude. If that member of the family were to be wiped off the face of the earth. And now think about all those millions of victims of all the wars there have been in the past – I never specifically mentioned the Second World War, I used it as an example because it’s the one that most appeals to their imaginations – and think about the thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of victims who we need to have around like we need a hole in the head. Even from a purely statistical standpoint, it’s impossible that all those victims were good people, whatever kind of people that may be. The injustice is found more in the fact that the assholes are also put on the list of innocent victims. That their names are also chiselled into the war memorials.”

My Take

I didn’t know what to expect when I started listening to The Dinner.  At first, it seemed like a clever, satirical commentary on our societal preening and pretensions.  However, as the story unfolds, The Dinner becomes a commentary on the callousness of society at large and it delivers a stinging indictment with rhetorical flare.  An interesting book by a talented writer.

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94. Nutshell

Rating:  ☆☆☆☆

Recommended by:

Author:   Ian McEwan

Genre:  Fiction, Suspense

197 pages, published September 13, 2016

Reading Format:  Audio Book

 

Summary

Trudy and Claude are having an affair and plotting to murder Trudy’s husband who also happens to be Claude’s brother. However, there is a witness to their plot: the inquisitive, nine-month old resident of Trudy’s womb from whose vantage point the story is told.

 

Quotes

“It’s not the theme parks of Paradiso and Inferno that I dread most – the heavenly rides, the hellish crowds – and I could live with the insult of eternal oblivion. I don’t even mind not knowing which it will be. What I fear is missing out. Health desire or mere greed, I want my life first, my due, my infinitesimal slice of endless time and one reliable chance of a consciousness. I’m owed a handful of decades to try my luck on a freewheeling planet. That’s the ride for me – the Wall of Life. I want my go. I want to become. Put another way, there’s a book I want to read, not yet published, not yet written, though a start’s been made. I want to read to the end of My History of the Twenty-First Century. I want to be there, on the last page, in my early eighties, frail but sprightly, dancing a jig on the evening of December 31, 2099.”

 

“It’s already clear to me how much of life is forgotten even as it happens. Most of it. The unregarded present spooling away from us, the soft tumble of unremarkable thoughts, the long-neglected miracle of existence.”

 

“You may never have experienced, or you will have forgotten, a good burgundy (her favourite) or a good Sancerre (also her favourite) decanted through a healthy placenta.”

 

“However close you get to others, you can never get inside them, even when you’re inside them.”

 

“Lovers arrive at their first kisses with scars as well as longings. They’re not always looking for advantage. Some need shelter, others press only for the hyperreality of ecstasy, for which they’ll tell outrageous lies or make irrational sacrifice. But they rarely ask themselves what they need or want.”

 

“Not everyone knows what it is to have your father’s rival’s penis inches from your nose.”

 

“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves, Confucius said. Revenge unstitches civilisation.”

 

“When love dies and marriage lies in ruins, the first casualty is honest memory, decent, impartial recall of the past. Too inconvenient, too damning of the present. It’s the spectre of old happiness at the feast of failure and desolation. So, against that headwind of forgetfulness I want to place my little candle of truth and see how far it throws its light.”

 

“In science too, one dedicates his life to an Albanian snail, another to a virus. Darwin gave eight years to barnacles. And in wise later life, to earthworms. The Higgs boson, a tiny thing, perhaps not even a thing, was the lifetime’s pursuit of thousands. To be bound in a nutshell, see the world in two inches of ivory, in a grain of sand. Why not, when all of literature, all of art, of human endeavor, is just a speck in the universe of possible things. And even this universe may be a speck in a multitude of actual and possible universes.

So why not be an owl poet?”

 

“No child, still less a fetus, has ever mastered the art of small talk, or would ever want to. It’s an adult device, a covenant with boredom and deceit.”

 

“There are not many options for the evening that follows an afternoon of drinking. Only two in fact; remorse, or more drinking and then remorse.”

 

“A strange mood has seized the almost-educated young. They’re on the march, angry at times, but mostly needful, longing for authority’s blessing, its validation of their chosen identities. The decline of the West in new guise perhaps. Or the exaltation and liberation of the self. A social-media site famously proposes seventy-one gender options – neutrois, two spirit, bigender…any colour you like, Mr Ford. Biology is not destiny after all, and there’s cause for celebration. A shrimp is neither limiting nor stable. I declare my undeniable feeling for who I am. If I turn out to be white, I may identify as black. And vice versa. I may announce myself as disabled, or disabled in context. If my identity is that of a believer, I’m easily wounded, my flesh torn to bleeding by any questioning of my faith. Offended, I enter a state of grace. Should inconvenient opinions hover near me like fallen angels or evil djinn (a mile being too near), I’ll be in need of the special campus safe room equipped with Play-Doh and looped footage of gambolling puppies. Ah, the intellectual life! I may need advance warning if upsetting books or ideas threaten my very being by coming too close, breathing on my face, my brain, like unwholesome drugs.”

 

“In the middle of a long, quiet night I might give my mother a sharp kick. She’ll wake, become insomniac, reach for the radio. Cruel sport, I know, but we are both better informed by the morning.”

 

“I’ve heard it argued that long ago pain begat consciousness…Adversity forced awareness on us, and it works, it bites us when we go too near the fire, when we love too hard. Those felt sensations are the beginning of the invention of the self…God said, Let there be pain. And there was poetry. Eventually.”

 

“I don’t know much yet about murder. Still, his scheme is more baker than butcher. Half-baked.”

 

“My immediate neighbourhood will not be palmy Norway – my first choice on account of its gigantic sovereign fund and generous social provision; nor my second, Italy, on grounds of regional cuisine and sun-blessed decay; and not even my third, France, for its Pinot Noir and jaunty self-regard. Instead I’ll inherit a less than united kingdom ruled by an esteemed elderly queen, where a businessman-prince, famed for his good works, his elixirs (cauliflower essence to purify the blood) and unconstitutional meddling, waits restively for his crown. This will be my home, and it will do.”

My Take

Listening to Ian McEwan’s latest book Nutshell was a real treat (including the excellent voicework on the audio version by Rory Kinnear).  McEwan has always been one of my favorite writers (I especially enjoyed Atonement, The Children Act and Saturday), and Nutshell is a worthy addition to his canon. I particularly enjoyed the creative and original use of the fetal perspective to tell the story.  At first, you don’t think this is going to work or its going to get tiresome, but McEwan manages to pull it off and the device makes Nutshell a clever and memorable read.

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