On the current best seller lists, "The Nest" is decent enough trash fiction. (Really, though, who buys all these trash fiction books and makes them Best Sellers? There must be a lot of people out there with tons of discretionary money, that's for sure.) Not a bad book, of course, but not a very good one, it is at least compelling enough to make you read on. The characters, mostly siblings in a very odd family (we could say dysfunctional but, hey, aren't we all in some ways?) are all eager for what they think is their share of the Nest, the money their dead father left them in trust. But what they find out is that one of the kids, the biggest screw-up, has managed to get his hands on most of the dough and thus there isn't much left for the rest of them. Oh gosh, what a pity. Everyone is pissed off most of the time and they aren't very likable and the writing isn't all that great but hey, I did finish it. But books like this make me wonder why they get all these stellar reviews. It isn't terribly well-written and the plot is rather old and over used. But I had a free copy, so I read it.
A much better book is one that will be released in a couple of months, a new one by Ann Patchett, one of my favorite writers. "Commonwealth" is again about families, not very solid ones, and again these characters are often fucked up and bordering on being intolerable. But since this book follows them from childhood to later adulthood, at least these guys have a chance to change and morph into something more than despicable and greedy. Patchett's writing is superb, of course, but in my opinion this wasn't as good as "Bel Canto" (well, not much is that good) or "State of Wonder." But of course there are moments of brilliant prose, like this: All four of the boys were frozen, mesmerized, the weirdest chill washing over their skin while they watched this miraculous growing animal devouring the earth in every direction, every direction where there was grass and not bothering them at all on the pavement. The fire came as high as their waists, their chests, gorgeous beyond anything they'd seen, the rippling orange sheets hanging in the air like a desert mirage, like something that was there and not there. Or these two simple sentences: She could feel her own brittleness as the frozen air did battle with her coat. It was no worse than Chicago and still it was like walking into a wall of broken glass.
I will read anything Patchett writes, anytime, any day, any where. Even if it isn't my favorite of her novels, it makes me so grateful that writers like her exist and that they write things down and give them to us, the readers. What a gift we get by just reading their books.
Another book: "The Association of Small Bombs" by Karan Mahajan. Got a great review in NY Times and other places. It was good but I didn't love it. It almost felt like an apology of sorts, like "hey, I am sorry these terrible tragedies happen in our world, so here's a book about some of the people who were involved, I hope you don't hate them." I know, that's rather cold on my part, but it was like that for me. A bomb goes off in a market in Delhi, some people are killed, and yes, it's a book of our time. Bombs are going off everywhere, it seems, in Paris, in Beirut, all over the Middle East, and we here in the West can distance ourselves from it all. This book tries to make the distance smaller. It works, but it didn't move me as much as I wanted it to.
And some other books.... nothing really good other than some good junk from the library. My next challenge is to listen to Rachel Maddow reading her own book about the US military, "Drift." I wanted to read it but never have and lo and behold, it's on disc and is currently in my car, waiting to be heard.
OK, over and out for now. Time to call and order a pizza, something I do about 4 times a year. This is one of those times. Yummmm........
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