We were on the road for a couple of weeks and since there were lots of moving parts, I packed paperbacks rather than any of the new hardcovers waiting on my nightstand. I tossed three books into my bag thinking I was being way too optimistic about reading time, but as it turned out, I had to purchase a fourth book during our travels. Here’s what I read:
Life of David Hockney by Catherine Cusset
Cusset, a French novelist, wrote this book as both fiction and biography; the facts about the artist David Hockney are all known, but Cusset imagines what Hockney was thinking at various turning points in his life – whether about his art or his romantic relationships. I admire Hockney’s sunny paintings of California and his beautiful landscapes of his native Yorkshire so I was interested in the topic and the blending of storytelling formats. Ultimately, Hockney’s steady optimism about any new adventure was inspiring, and I was happy to understand the roots of the artist’s work more deeply. That being said, the style of the book created too much distance for me. It felt more “article” than novel.
The Plague and I by Betty MacDonald
I pivoted from Hockney’s paintings of swimming pools to a tuberculosis hospital outside of Seattle. In 1937, Betty MacDonald, best known for her Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle series of children’s books, spent nearly a year in a tb sanatorium. “Getting tuberculosis in the middle of your life,” she writes, “is like starting downtown to do a lot of urgent errands and being hit by a bus. When you regain consciousness you remember nothing about the urgent errands. You can’t even remember where you were going.” An odd choice of books to read, perhaps, but Pamela Paul, the editor of the New York Times Book Review, talked enthusiastically about MacDonalds’ shocking and funny memoir, on the Book Review podcast. After listening to Paul read an excerpt from The Plague and I, I ordered a copy.
This book was an excellent traveling companion: reliably entertaining and a dramatic reminder of how lucky many of us are to receive the medical care we have today. MacDonald writes about the other patients and the sanatorium staff with wit and sharp observations. On nearly every page, I was either laughing at one of MacDonald’s stories or squirming at the realities of medical care in the mid-1930s.
The Ten Loves of Nishino by Hiromi Kawakami
Kawakami’s new novel appears on several “books to read this summer” lists so into my bag it went. I’m intrigued by contemporary Japanese novels. I’d like to explain that in a really thoughtful way, but I don’t have the right words. Basically, the tone is just dramatically different from American novels (at least the ones I read). The characters feel alienated from their societies, sometimes their families, and definitely the institutions in their lives. The novels feel a bit sad which is not a ringing endorsement, I know, but it’s interesting. The Ten Loves of Nishino was no exception. It’s told in ten voices, all women who loved the same unknowable man. He’s mysterious, but the women seem to know what they want. Maybe the word I’m looking for is anonymity. I’ve also read Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata. The protagonist in that novel has no identity outside of the convenience store where she works. These books feel opposite of American identity-driven stories and make me think about the way we construct our lives.
What I enjoyed most about The Ten Loves of Nishino is its scaffolding. It’s like a beautiful Faberge egg that keeps opening to new and unexpected angles.
After finishing Kawakami’s novel, I had a mini-crisis. We were in a part of France with very few English books available. Luckily, we found a store with a limited selection, but I could feel myself breathing again! I purchased a historical novel called Wake by Anna Hope. This passage from the New York Times review led me to the purchase desk:
“Hope’s unblinking prose is reminiscent of Vera Brittain’s classic memoir Testament of Youth in its depiction of the social and emotional fallout, particularly on women, of the Great War. . . . Hope reaches beyond the higher echelons of society to women of different social classes, all linked by their reluctance to bid goodbye to the world the conflict has shattered.”
400 pages – and I finished it as our plane landed back in Boston. A powerful and moving story, but really quite sad. Hope doesn’t shy away from the heartbreak of war, not only for the people fighting it, but for all those left behind.
One last thing. We saw this ad on CNN International during our trip. It is so good — I promise it will make your day:
Happy Reading!





































































































