I've taken a bit of a hiatus from writing political commentary, and during this time I've spent quite a lot of time reading and writing about books. Here are a few of the books I read in the last few months, along with some of my thoughts.
The Secret History by Donna Tartt
Richard Papen, the narrator of The Secret History by Donna Tartt, declares upfront his tragic flaw that manifests itself in the entire plot. He is afflicted by “a morbid longing of the picturesque at all costs.” In this case, the “cost” is the murder of his close friend and fellow student of ancient Greek at Hampden College, Bunny Corcoran. Upon arrival at Hampden College, Richard finds himself enthralled and consumed by the small and reclusive group of students in the school’s Greek program. Each of these five characters is a pretentious conundrum. For example, Henry Winters is an aloof genius who recreationally translates English poetry into Latin. Camilla and Charles MacCauley are a pair of orphaned and oddly close twins with a disturbing secret. The list goes on in a similar fashion. This group of students is under the teaching of an eccentric and charismatic man named Jullian Morrow, who cultivates them to be a secret society of sorts that practices ancient Greek rituals, such as the Dionysian bacchanal. As they devolve into borderline insanity, the group dynamic also declines into duplicity and murder, and the inevitable psychological toll follows suit. Tartt reveals the “climax” of the story in the novel’s first pages: that Bunny is murdered by his classmates. The question that drives the following 500 and some pages is about how the group got to such a point, as well as what happens afterward.
Tartt’s writing is absolutely stunning. Her prose, if sometimes exhausting (as is often the case with dark academia novels), is gorgeous enough for me to credit her as one of the best writers of our time, certainly the most talented one I have ever come across. For example, Tartt describes the characters as such: “They all shared a certain coolness, a cruel, mannered charm which was not modern in the least but had the strange cold breath of the ancient world.” These characters are not written to be likable; in fact, I loathed each and every one of them at one point or another, if not throughout the entire reading experience. They surpass the category of ‘complex and morally gray’ that I typically have an affinity for in literature. Each character is either sociopathic, self-absorbed, elitist, manipulative, or bigoted, often more than one of the above. Although this makes for characters that readers are unlikely to feel much attachment to, the characters are well developed and successfully drew me into their world for the entirety of the novel. And The Secret History is a long book—almost 600 pages. The structure of the novel (Bunny’s murder being disclosed at the outset) creates tension and anticipation that persist through most of these pages. However, these pages are dense, so much so that it was nearly impossible for me to read for extended periods of time. This effect is amplified by the pace, which plods along a bit too unhurriedly. With that being said, for the while that it took me to finish this book, I found myself becoming as obsessed with it as its characters were with Julian. I truly felt as if I were present in the atmosphere that Tartt so brilliantly curated.
This is not a book without its faults. A change of pace would have lent itself well to the novel’s readability, but The Secret History is exemplary of masterful writing. For this, I commend it highly.
Anxious People by Fredrick Backman
Frederick Backman’s Anxious People closes in on a Stockholm apartment viewing gone awry. A bumbling bank robber takes refuge in the apartment after a botched robbery, taking all five prospective buyers and a real estate agent hostage. A media frenzy ensues and grips the city of Stockholm, while readers peer into what may best be described as an anthropological case study inside the apartment. Backman masterfully unfolds the intricacies of each character as readers learn about each hostage’s aches and sorrows, their ambitions and hopes, and the deepest crevices of who they are, while untangling who exactly the enigmatic bank robber is.
The premise of this book may not seem particularly thrilling, and that is because it simply isn’t intended to be. What is so remarkable about this book, the thing that makes it worth reading is that it is so profoundly human. A quote from this book that I think rather well encapsulates its essence is: “This story is about a lot of things, but mostly about idiots. So it needs saying from the outset that it’s always very easy to declare that other people are idiots, but only if you can forget how idiotically difficult being human is.”
The dysfunctional yet charming characters and the utter bizarreness of the situation are what compels readers to continue reading. Anxious People features a half-naked man wearing a giant rabbit’s head and locked in a closet, and a bank robber who requests fireworks as ransom and leaves behind a children’s drawing of a monkey and a frog. This book is so delightfully weird. Backman’s writing feels informal and gives readers the impression, after having read the book, that they have just finished an insightful, humorous, and tear-jerking conversation with a close friend.
This character-driven story demands thought, and it does so on every page and long after the last one. Woven through endearing moments and devastating ones are morsels of profound insight. The sharp, witty dialogue, Backman’s sparkling voice, and the general absurdity of the situation make Anxious People a masterpiece.
The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides
The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides may very well be one of the most stellar mystery novels that I, an avid reader of thrillers, have ever come across. In fact, it is the book that inspired my fascination with the genre. The Silent Patient is classified as a psychological thriller and follows a criminal psychotherapist, Theodore Faber, who finds himself engrossed by the case of Alicia Berenson, a renowned painter who murdered her husband and has remained mute ever since. Employing his expertise in the realm of psychology, Theodore tumbles down the twisted path of Alicia’s motivations, as well as his own.
The Silent Patient is not a cut-and-dry mystery novel; rather, the psychological aspect of the genre of psychological thriller is most prominent in this book. Guided by Theo’s narration, readers decipher the maze and enigma that is Alicia’s psyche, as well as Theo’s. Michaelides is an incredible author with beautiful and magnetic writing that has sculpted Alicia and Theodore to be two of the most intriguing characters in literature. By incorporating intertextuality by way of Euripedes’ Alcestis, Michaelides masterfully adds another layer of complexity to an already nuanced storyline and even more nuanced characters. The parallels between Alcestis and Alicia allow an increased depth of understanding of Alicia’s character. Theodore shatters the fourth wall and reaches through the pages, gripping readers and making his story all the more engrossing up until the completely stupefying end.
As the epitome of a page-turner, The Silent Patient is a book that begs to be devoured, and I encourage any enthusiast of psychology or mystery to read this book.
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid
Anyone who has had a single conversation with me about literature has without a doubt heard me rave about The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid. It is the book that I immediately name when asked for a book recommendation. Not necessarily because I think it is the best book I have read, but more so because I think it is almost universally enjoyable and holds a lot of value. I adore books that star complex, morally gray female leads and Evelyn Hugo is one such woman. Evelyn, a former icon of old Hollywood, is now a recluse and a retiree. She suddenly recruits journalist Monique Grant to write her story — one of glamor, grief, scandal, betrayal, and of course, seven husbands.
Readers soon realize that Evelyn’s decision to have an interview with Monique is an effort to reclaim her narrative, which has long been convoluted and exploited by the media. Although Evelyn frames and structures her story using each of her husbands as a “chapter,” this book is not really about any of them. At its core, Evelyn’s story is socio-political, as it details her intersectional experiences as a bisexual Cuban woman in 1960s Hollywood. It examines the demonization and simultaneous commodification and exploitation of female sexuality. It centers on a woman of color who has effectively reinvented herself to not only assimilate into but also conquer an industry that prizes Eurocentrism. Evelyn’s husbands are simply means by which she progresses through her career. She is manipulative, calculating, and ruthless, but she is also reflective of real people and I think that every reader can resonate with her in some capacity.
Through an incredibly compelling story, Jenkins Reid sheds light on issues of profound importance and establishes herself as a masterful storyteller. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo is the book that reintroduced me to my affinity for reading. After reading it, I rediscovered the joys of consuming stories as riveting as Evelyn’s, and I hope that attests to the excellence of this book. I have now read many, many books since this one, some that have surpassed this one in terms of quality, but The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo has held its place on my bookshelf as one of my most treasured and impactful reads.
Out of Love by Hazel Hayes
Hazel Hayes’ Out of Love starts at the end. An unnamed 30-year old woman is at the end of her relationship, packing up her boxes after having moved from Dublin to London and leaving her entire livelihood behind to be with her boyfriend Theo. Now newly single, she struggles to piece her life back together and recounts the crumbling of her relationship in reverse. Readers witness the tragic devolution of the relationship, from its demise to the moment they met, and all the moments in between. The book’s title, Out of Love, may insinuate focus on romantic love, but the novel weaves together several different forms of love. The central plot point is the breakup of the main character’s relationship with her boyfriend, but in the fallout, she turns to her familial and platonic relationships. She discovers herself through her mother, as the two of them are near reflections of one another. Hayes also beautifully portrays female friendships that are mutually uplifting built on genuine respect and adoration.
The structure of this book is quite unique and clever, though I am not fully convinced that it served the book well. There are many books that take the same approach of starting at the end, but instead, jump to the very beginning in the following chapter and thus maintain a plot. Because there was an inherent lack of plot progression in Out of Love, there was essentially no pull to keep reading, besides sheer enjoyment of the writing and characters, which were done extremely well done. Hayes includes the most mundane moments of the relationship, in addition to the most pivotal ones, all of which feel so intimate that they grant readers an almost fly-on-the-wall view. The prose is gorgeous and witty, so much so that every page is worth rigorous annotation. The main character is a writer and often goes on extensive tangents about using writing as a mode of catharsis, so the entire novel does take on the air of reading her journal. Although I was at first puzzled by Hayes’ choice to omit the main character’s name, I now think this choice lends itself to the relatability of the story and the aforementioned intimacy. It allows readers to truly place themselves in the book and feel its rawness and honesty. Honesty is a word that can so easily be thrown around when describing books, but it may be the most accurate word when it comes to discussing Out of Love because Hayes does not demonize Theo or gloss over each character’s faults that led to the demise of the relationship. She depicts the relationship with glaring transparency and realism. In a way, it reminds me of Normal People by Sally Rooney, another novel about a broken relationship between two equally flawed characters, though I believe Out of Love is a more beautiful book. It is a lovely portrayal of a modern relationship.
If We Were Villains by M. L. Rio
If We Were Villains by M. L. Rio opens with Oliver Marks’s release from prison and his promise to finally reveal what actually happened the night that led to his conviction. Flashing back to 10 years prior, Oliver and six of his friends are students of the drama program at the highly exclusive and prestigious Dellecher Classical Conservatory, at which they saturate themselves in Shakespeare. On and off the stage, each character (with the exception of Oliver) plays one of the six archetypes in Shakespearean drama—hero, villain, tyrant, temptress, ingenue, and extra. The conflicts and tragedies in the plays spill over into real life, the tight-knit group rapidly unravels, and Richard Stirling, the tyrant, is soon found dead.
This book is completely and utterly genius, and although it may not be my all-time favorite, it deserves the obligatory title the most well-executed book I have had the privilege of reading. It is the book to indulge a penchant for Shakespeare. I have even heard it referred to as "a love letter to Shakespeare." While proficiency in Shakespearean dramas is by no means required to enjoy If We Were Villains, being well-versed in his plays certainly enriches the experience. This is because the book brims with allusions to Shakespeare. It is divided into acts, each of which is dedicated to a different one of Shakespeare’s plays, it follows a tragic structure, and the characters very frequently communicate in Shakespearean soliloquies. Rio’s intertextual incorporation of these references is so deliberate and brilliantly executed, adding an incredible level of nuance to the story. The characters and plots of Shakespeare’s plays act as a subplot and windows into the characters and plot of the novel. Although I initially found the idea of boxing each character into a trope to be a bit reductive, I have found that this framing actually contributes to the depth and understanding of the characters, who embody their parts on stage. The lines between acting and actuality become blurred, making the characters increasingly complex. Here, Rio poses questions about the dynamic relationship between acting and true personality. Each character is morally gray and interrogates the concept of justice itself, but I found myself deeply attached to each and every one of them, in spite of their many ethical mishaps. I attribute this to Rio’s masterful characterization and writing, with which she creates such palpable characters and an engrossing atmosphere. While flowery, the writing style never feels overly pretentious or incomprehensible.
I will admit the mystery element of this book fell a bit short for me, as I found the “big reveal” to be predictable. However, I think that this shortcoming is more than compensated for with the many, many other highlights. Above a mystery novel, If We Were Villains is first and foremost a captivating story about Shakespeare and his aftermath (In the words of Oliver, “I blame Shakespeare for all of it”). For any enthusiast of Shakespeare’s work, I cannot recommend this book enough.
The Devil May Dance by Jake Tapper
CNN news anchor Jake Tapper spent much of his early career focusing on political non-fiction but has in recent years ventured into the realm of historical fiction. His newest novel, The Devil May Dance, was released in 2021 and is the sequel to his first novel, The Hellfire, though it functions well as a standalone. The Devil May Dance centers on Charles and Margaret Marder, politicians who are recruited by Attorney General Robert Kennedy to investigate a covert operation by the Rat Pack in Los Angeles. They unfold the daunting intersection of fame, mobs, corruption, and political ambition. When a body is found in the trunk of the Marders’ car and Margaret goes missing, the criminal ring of focus proves to be even more threatening than anticipated.
As a fanatic of historical fiction, I think that The Devil May Dance serves its purpose. It uncovers real political situations that are all too often buried by wealth and fame. Highlighting the political corruption in Hollywood, Jake Tapper creates a solid, realistic premise, and his expertise in politics truly shines. However, the characters are not well-sculpted and act as plot devices, rather than as figures of true interest. They lack nuance and appear caricature-based. Likewise, the brief and shallow references to feminism and racial issues read as lazy attempts to incorporate a dimension of ‘wokeness,’ without being willing to allocate the time and space to pay substantive attention to these issues. Tapper is notably eloquent as a news anchor, but I have found his writing to be rather monotonous and flat, not quite holding my interest. His career is not primarily one of a novelist, and that makes itself clear in his work. The concept, however, is compelling, so I think that a different author would have served the quality of the book well.
This is not to say that The Devil May Dance does not have value. Again, it is useful as a work of historical fiction, especially given Tapper’s very clear understanding of politics. If a bit stale and not as riveting as I would like it to be, the book functions effectively as an informative means of political education.
Alone With You in the Ether by Olivia Blake
Olivia Blake’s novel Alone With You in the Ether is about two profoundly damaged people who find simultaneous destruction and healing in one another. Aldo and Regan meet at the Chicago Art Institute, where Regan is a docent. Aldo is a doctoral student and a theoretical mathematician who is enamored, compulsively so, by hexagons, bees, and time itself. What begins as an agreement to indulge each other’s obsessions over the course of six conversations, quickly evolves (or rather, devolves) into a codependent, corrosive relationship.
The characters are most definitely flawed and self-destructive, but they are gloriously human in their faults. Regan is a bipolar con artist and a compulsive liar. Aldo is afflicted by clinical depression and OCD. Regan and Aldo’s love for one another emerges from this backdrop and is all-consuming, perfectly fit to their respective mental contexts. They understand each other’s intricacies and jagged edges more than anyone else possibly could, but they also wreck one another beyond repair. In this sense, it is a truly unconventional romance novel in which romance is intertwined with psychological turmoil and morsels of profundity. It is deeply existential and philosophical.
This book is a work of art. Blake’s writing is stunning, which I believe to be the unequivocal highlight of the book. While the writing is a bit dense and sometimes seems pretentious, the sheer gorgeousness of it outweighs all else and demands commendation. The language is potent and drags readers deep and intimately into Regan and Aldo’s world. I did regrettably read this book on my iPad, but if I had read the physical copy, it would have been fervently highlighted and annotated because this book brims with wonderful quotes at which I had to frequently pause to savor. Case and point: “If this is what it is to burn, he thought, then I will be worth more as scattered ash than any of my unscathed pieces.” Beyond their beauty, Blake’s stylistic choices are strategic and masterfully mirror the events and characters. For example, as the book progresses and the characters’ mental states deteriorate, the writing takes on a spiraling, almost manic quality.
While it may not be my favorite romance novel, I am confident that it is one that I will continue to think about and revisit because I don’t believe there is anything remotely like it. Raw, magnetic, and magical, Alone With You in the Ether provokes thought like nothing else.
Note: the image I've included is the self-published version, which is the one I read, though it has since been revoked. An officially published version (with a very different cover) will be released in the next few months.
City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert
The essence of Elizabeth Gilbert’s City of Girls can be summed up in one of its many wonderful quotes: “At some point in a woman’s life, she just gets tired of being ashamed all the time. After that, she is free to become whoever she truly is.” 95-year-old Vivian Morris recounts her younger years with a combination of regret, wistfulness, and fondness. In the year 1940, she is expelled from Vassar College and sent by her affluent parents to live in New York City with her Aunt Peg, the owner of a somewhat dilapidated but vibrant theater. New York City, caught in the beginning stages of World War II, is colorful and glamorous. Vivian finds herself enchanted by the city, and her stay is less of an exile than it is a time and place for her to truly discover herself. She sheds the shackles of her parents’ upper-crust world. Working and living at Peg’s theater, she meets a cast of eccentric characters and involves herself in a series of scandals, learning the susceptibility of a woman’s reputation to public ridicule. Through such scandal, however, Vivian also finds her space in the world.
As an enthusiast of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid and the movie The Greatest Showman, I relished this book as a mashup of the two. Vivian and Evelyn share the perspective of scandalized women who reflect upon their experiences with the clarity that can only accompany age and hindsight, and City of Girls and The Greatest Showman have the same sparkling thespian atmosphere.
Gilbert’s prose glows with the mood of 1940s New York City. The writing is captivating and Vivian is a brilliantly-voiced narrator who delivers, with great insightfulness, many points about morality, gendered double standards, female friendship, privilege, and coming of age. The effect is a book that is effervescent and wise. Vivian is a a complex character who makes her fair share of mistakes, but maintains her charisma and isn’t overly unlikeable. She fits the trope of a morally gray female protagonist that conveys and serves the book’s themes well. However, this book is not without its shortcomings. Vivian’s story is told in the framing of a letter to an old friend’s daughter, but City of Girls is quite a long book - around 450 pages - that does not read like a letter, making it seem as though the letter format was an afterthought in the writing process. And I do not think the 450 pages were all used wisely. While consistently entertaining, the narration strays and slackens often. The second half of the book could have been pared down to avoid redundancies and it would have by no means detracted from the message and impact of the story.
Overall, City of Girls is a delightful, strongly feminist piece of historical fiction with much complexity and poignancy. I highly recommend it as a work to better understand a world that does not hesitate to cast its judgments and impose boundaries on femininity.
Pack Up the Moon by Kristan Higgins
Pack Up the Moon by Kristan Higgins follows Joshua Park in the immediate wake of his wife’s death. His wife, Lauren, is diagnosed with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis, a terminal lung disease that grants them only three years of marriage. Lauren and Joshua attempt to make the most of their brief time together, though, inevitably, Lauren passes away at a mere 28 years of age and Joshua is left drowning in grief. However, in anticipation of her own death, Lauren writes a letter for each month of Joshua’s first year without her. The letters contain instructions to aid him in his healing process, initially instructing him to go about tasks as drab as a visit to the grocery store, but eventually directing him forward in his life. Through her letters, Lauren maintains a presence in Joshua’s life and guides him through his grief, anger, fear, and pain in a beautifully poignant story.
While Pack Up the Moon is categorized as a romance, I would argue that the book is far less romantic than it is about Joshua’s journey through grief and relationships of all kinds. As a man with autism, Lauren’s death signifies for him more than the loss of a loved one. Lauren was the sole person who was able to understand him and she helped him navigate social interactions and relationships, and her death consequently erodes Joshua’s sense of self in the world. This book is about Joshua reestablishing and rediscovering himself, and it does so wonderfully.
The story is equal parts devastating and heartwarming. Joshua’s emotions are palpable and visceral, in part due to the realism of the characters. Rather than writing Lauren and Josh as one-dimensional caricatures or tropes, a trap that is easy to fall into when writing about widowhood, Higgins deftly sculpts these characters into compelling people with eccentricities and flaws. Both are endearing people that truly leap off the page and feel like close friends, magnifying the emotional experience that is reading this book.
Further accentuating each of the characters, Higgins’s writing imbues Joshua with sharp wit and occasional humor peppered in amongst the melancholy moments. She manages to convey an incredible amount of emotion in what initially appears to be straightforward language (the writing style reminded me of Sally Rooney’s, but far more substantive). Another thing that struck me while reading this book was Higgins’s dedication to understanding and paying due respect to each character’s condition, be it a fatal lung disease or autism. Each is approached with simultaneous delicacy, detail, and realism.
Pack Up the Moon is a difficult book to read, not in the sense that it is dense or exhausting, but because it is so well executed that it is a painful experience. However, it is somehow also uplifting and beautiful, and for that feat, I cannot recommend it enough.
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