“Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.” (Rebeca by Dauphne du Maurier)
Generally speaking, I don’t root for murderers. I tend to hope that they get imprisoned, or, best of all, valiantly killed by revenging heroes. Yet, I lost track that essential moral north while reading Rebecca. Daphne du Maurier writes her heroine in such a way that you hope only for her happiness, which, in turn, means hoping for a murderer to escape punishment. The narrator’s voice is so immersive that you find yourself glossing over essential details along with her, agreeing with her emotion-based reasoning at every turn. It’s only after the book is done that you can remember that you’re a modern person with modern morals, and that wives don’t deserve murdering, no matter how monstrous, or plentiful, their sexual liaisons may be.
Even though du Maurier might lure you into an early 20th-century morality trap, you’ll only feel mildly embarrassed for your temporary lapse, a feeling far outweighed by your thankfulness that you read the book in the first place. This is one of the best first-person narratives I have ever read. It captures the way an introvert thinks – the imaginativeness, the internal telling of stories, the over-thinking of motivations – so precisely that you feel as though you were the narrator yourself, that you have lived a life of a second-wife, have yourself been haunted by her ghost, have walked the halls of Manderley.
“Humans,’ said the puppeteer, ‘should not be allowed to run loose. You will surely harm yourselves.” (Larry Niven, Ringworld)
Seventies sci-fi. That’s the only descriptor you really need for this book – unless, of course, you’re in a room full of sci-fi lovers who came of age in the seventies. They, perhaps, have finer distinctions within the genre. To me, seventies sci-fi instantly calls to mind semi-fantastical settings, books with little character development, and a naïve, yet appealing, hope for the distant future. Ringworld essentially boils down to a bunch of people (and aliens), sitting around various rooms, talking and problem solving.
The book reads like a mystery, except the readers aren’t asked to solve murders, but rather to solve mind puzzles, the pieces of which are scattered around the world-building chapters. Niven gives us all we need to solve problems relating to the survival, the downfall of civilizations, and species relations, thus inviting the reader to participate in the ringworld adventure. You don’t need any science background, just some logic and imagination (and a good sense of suspended disbelief).
“There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says ‘Morning, boys. How’s the water?’ And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes ‘What the hell is water?” (This is Water by David Foster Wallace)
Listen to this speech while you’re doing the most mundane task imaginable. Any of the building blocks of normal adulthood will do: folding laundry, doing dishes, driving home from work. The more boring and repetitive the better. Best case scenario: you check out the audiobook right now and then forget about it on your digital bookshelf for 13 days. Give it an air of careful nonchalance. Don’t look at reviews or blurbs or summaries – to facilitate this, I won’t even write one myself.
“There are too many loose ends in the world in need of knots.” (An American Marriage by Tayari Jones)
I respect a book that doesn’t feel the need to Tidy Things Up. Jones lets her characters take control of the story, doing what they want and leaving a mess of a plot-line in their wake. The ending doesn’t have a big emotional payoff, it’s a realistic and honest compromise of the characters’ conflicting motivations, but the unsatisfactory conclusion only adds to the poignancy of the subject material (race, class, wrongful incarceration). If there were a way to make each character perfectly happy after such injustice, then it would be much easier to write off.
And yet, I wish that books were required to declare when they use multiple first person narratives, much like the surgeon general’s warnings on packs of cigarettes: IF STRESSED BY MULTIPLE FIRST PERSON NARRATORS, AVOID. And I would avoid them. To the best of my recollection, I’ve never seen one done well. Different people think differently! Each narrator should have their own voice, their own way of thinking and looking at the world. This was one of the more disappointing examples because the first character’s voice was so strong and unique. If it had all been written from his perspective, it would have been a terrific book all around.
“If end-of-life discussions were an experimental drug, the FDA would approve it.” (Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End by Atul Gawande)
If I ever won the lottery, my first order of business would be to purchase hundreds of these books. I’d hand them out at the slightest opportunity. Greet me in the park? Book in your hand. Stop next to me on a red light? Book through your window. I’d mail them to family members – no matter how loose the relation – with cajoling notes scrawled onto the covers. I’d scatter them throughout my neighborhood in the hopes they’d get picked up.
I assure you, this is not a morbid fantasy. Though the book may be about death and dying, it is one that every single person needs to read. We do not think enough about getting old or about being seriously injured or falling ill, about what kind of death we would like to have. We assume that, when it inevitably happens to us, we will know what to do; but Gawande shows that it isn’t that simple. Death in modern times is full of complexity that neither we, nor our doctors, are trained to face.
This is a brave book, and beautifully written. Find some way to procure it as soon as you can, and then talk to your family – to anyone you know – about it.
There is a phenomenon (someone somewhere has probably named it) where kids always want to do what their slightly older peers are doing. Pre-teens want to read YA lit, young kids want to play minecraft, preschoolers want to go to kindergarten. I have a bit of a ‘younger kid’ crush on Lane Moriarty’s books. She writes almost exclusively about 40-something women with kids in kindergarten. Though I’m a thirty-something woman with tiny tots, I’ve read almost all of her books over the past six months (they are wonderful for keeping you awake when you’d rather be sleeping). I suppose this means I’m looking forward to the next stage of my life, which will apparently involve lots of murder and scandalous family drama.
It’s rare that I enjoy multiple books by the same author (let alone the 4 or 5 of Moriarty’s that I’ve somewhat thoughtlessly read), but Moriarty has a light, friendly writing style and a clever eye for unspooling drama. Though her characters tend to run on a theme from book to book – imperfect extroverted women, beautiful socially awkward ones, women who either have children, can’t have children, or suffer from secret post-partum depression – she throws in enough details to keep the women realistic and individual. Plus, you get to do a bit of armchair traveling, since all of her works are set in Australia.
Though mostly meaningless, here’s my Moriarty preference list : 1) Big Little Lies, 2) What Alice Forgot, 3) The Husband’s Secret, 4) The Last Anniversary, 5) Truly Madly guiltily
The Millionaire Next Door avoids both opposing pitfalls for practical nonfiction: it is neither poorly written nor filled with excess author-centric material. The authors escape these common mistakes by sticking to the facts. They’ve done their research and they put it down in dry language, without any cringe-worthy attempts to bribe your interest. They trust that their subject material will be of sufficient interest to their target audience and they center it in your attention throughout.
Though this book may be intended for readers looking to better their financial situation, I also found it fascinating on a wider field: challenging assumptions about how wealthy people look. We’re handed down the image of wealth melded with a high consumption lifestyle so casually that many never question it. The book, while still giving sound practical advice, also stakes a claim that the frugal life is the better life, no matter your financial situation. Like their financial advice, they back up this moral claim with research – people who live below their means are less fearful, happier, and more likely to take risks. Who would have thought?
Buy – Borrow Now – Borrow Sometime – Avoid
Ending: predictions for future stable jobs -eerily accurate
Incidental Learning: How to be frugal
Further Reading: I’ve never read anything similar in terms of subject material.