Vacation Reading

I suppose the tenor of vacation reading is influenced by the tenor of the vacation.  At my mom's I tend to read mysteries or romances; partially because she often has a few lying around.  This time it was because they were what happened to be on my kindle.

(Ruth Asawa at Crystal Bridges)

I'd never read any of Gunnar Staalesen's Varg Veum series, and I'm not quite certain what prompted me to read Where Roses Never Die, but I'll admit I enjoyed it immensely.  Staalesen caught my attention with the opening sentence:

There are days in your life when you are barely present, and today was one of those."

Initially Veum seemed a bit of a cliché, the hard-boiled PI, lost in too much booze, but the character was well developed, thoughtful and engaging in his own gruff way.  I love the way the plot circled back on itself like an ever-expanding web, tying seemingly disconnected and coincidental incidents into an oddly coherent plot, much the same way lies and secrets fold in on themselves and build tangled webs.  The book proved to be more thoughtful, and thought provoking, than I anticipated, with a steady folding and unfolding of motivations, reactions and understandings, mostly on the part of our detective, but also on some of the other characters in the story and I will probably look up other books in the series.  It is also an exploration of the way people can wrap themselves up in guilt, or grief or despair, isolating themselves from the world, but also from an understanding of the consequences of their own actions, that isolating effect being a prison of their own making, that both tortures and protects.  Veum is an interesting narrator and detective in that he does not always successfully compartmentalize his investigation from his life and the unfolding web of his investigation slowly influences his own understanding of his own life and motivations. I  like the way the ending reflected back on the beginning, bookending the tale, a tale that seems to begin in dissolution and ends with a promise of hope.

The choice was mine.  The rest of my life was mine.  All I had to do was choose."

Mom with her furry grandchildren:  Tikka and Holly

Although I also had another, longer novel in progress, I was more inclined to dive into another short novel that made few demands.    I was at my mom's and didn't really want to be drawn into a story from which I would resent extricating myself, so I started The Red Car by Marcy Dermansky, a book that had been on my kindle for a long time. It was a slow go at first, and I wondered what had attracted me to the novel in the first place.  The prose is short and choppy, and often fairly flat of affect, but, as I was drawn more deeply into the story, I realized that the narrator is flat of affect, that she plays a passive role in her own life, letting life happen to her, not necessarily actively engaged in the act of living.  She is hiding from the world, and to a great extent from herself.    Through a series of circumstances, circumstances portrayed with a bit of magical realism, she begins to find herself, but only slowly.  The novel definitely flirts with what is real and what is in the narrator's head, sometimes confusing the two, and often neither possibility is all that engaging. When the novel ends she is on the cusp of discovery, but has not yet walked through the door.  There are moments when the language almost flirts with becoming more, but it hasn't yet transcended that choppiness.  I think this is intentional on the part of the author, but I am not sure of her reasoning, am not sure if it serves a greater purpose, a comment not just on the flatness of Leah, our narrator, but of this entire world in which Leah lives. But then again, perhaps that transition out of short declarative, almost timeless and emotionless sentences is more indicative of my own yearnings than anything related to this story. I must admit that it is the language itself that has left me unsettled, more than the story, or are they intrinsically intertwined?

Chihuly in the forest

About this time I got a notice from the Knox County library that my number had come up on the waiting list for a currently popular crime novel, and so I downloaded it.  That is one of the wonderful features of modern life, being able to carry a stack of books in a small device, being able to borrow a library book from one's local library anywhere in the world.  

This was another book written in short, declarative sentences, but here the language made sense.  The book was Michael Connelly's new novel, The Late Show and the matter-of fact, procedural language, fit the procedural nature of the story.  This is a new series by Connelly, with a new police officer, Renee Ballard, who seems to me like an attempt to create a younger, female version of Harry Bosch.  It was a decent procedural, and I was engaged enough in the story, but i have doubts as to whether Ballard will equal Bosch in maintaining my interest. But the book served its purpose, and as a mindless vacation read when I needed an escape from family, or as respite after a long day of driving through pouring rain, it was completely satisfying. 

The big book that saw me through most of my trip was the second volume in George RR Martin's Song of Ice and Fire series, A Clash of Kings.  I don't particularly have any problems with the genre, but I'm not sure that I ever would have read this if it weren't for the Game of Thrones series on TV.  I've not watched Game of Thrones, not beyond an episode, but I am enjoying the book.  The characters are complex and well drawn for the most part, there are some moments where I felt a few got short shrift in this second volume, and the plot is very politically sophisticated and astute.  I probably like the slower pace of the books more than I would like the series, and I enjoy the ability to delve deeper into the thoughts and motivations of the characters that is offered through the pace of the book.  The violence doesn't really bother me, at least not reading about it, although I do occasionally have to put the book aside, for various reasons.  I'd be incredibly naïve to claim that there is anything in here that humans haven't done to each other in our not particularly pretty past (and probably not our present or future either), but I can't watch it on TV.  I can read about unpleasant things, but I can't watch movies where people physically harm other people anymore.  I'll probably continue reading the novels, but not quickly.  The story is a part of our cultural lexicon, whether one likes it or not,  the characters are strong and interesting,  and Martin is a fairly astute observer of human behaviors and motivations.  Although it is not of the caliber of lets say, Tolkein, and I've found no redeeming or uplifting messages or metaphors here, it is proving to be both an entertaining and often thought-provoking read.

And now comes the question of What Next?  I'm currently reading a few non-fiction books, but am itching for another novel, perhaps one with a little more weight, something that will perhaps stretch me as a reader a little further.  It has been years since I've tackled a Man Booker longlist, and I've already lost a month, so I doubt I will get them all read before the prize is announced, much less the shortlist, but the list seems like a good place to start. 

What about you?  Do you read novels?  Have you tackled the longlist? Or do you prefer something that offers more of an easy escape?  Do Tell.