Wally Lamb on Letting go of the Past

I wrote  previously that I had the pleasure of hearing Wally Lamb speak about his jumbo sized new novel, We Are Water, at Book Expo in New York. I couldn't wait to dive into it and really, really wanted to LOVE it so that I could send my review to Harper Collins. If you're familiar with his writing you'll know that he's at his best when delving into families, what makes them tick, how they interact, what they keep from one another and what they share. We Are Water has all of that and more. What it lacks, I'm sorry to say, is a tougher editor!

The novel unfolds as the artist, Annie Oh, famous for her dark, angry collages made from street junk and garbage can rejects, sits on her fiancée's bed pondering the choice of pricey Vera Wang gowns that have been selected for her to choose from, by her agent, friend, lover, and future wife, Viveca. Annie's doubts about the pending nuptials seem deep and foreboding, her mind constantly dredging up old injuries from the past, her failed 30 year marriage, her three very different children, even her embarrassment at Viveca's over-the-top excess as she plans and pays for every extravagance for their wedding day. And then Mr. Lamb hits rewind.

Back in the early '60's in his hometown of Norwich, Connecticut, a damn above the village burst one evening during a storm. The powerful river ripped through town taking all in its path. From the events of that night, Mr. Lamb has created a family saga that spans fifty years, testing our intuition and ability to discern truth from lie, or false memory from reality. In the tragic aftermath of nature's fury, Annie begins her treacherous path toward adulthood, her mother and sister drowned, her father lost to her by guilt and booze.

Meeting and marrying Orion, a gentle, patient psychologist, should have been the answer to all her prayers but the secrets she's kept from him and his unwillingness to prod or push, will, over the life of their marriage, suffuse Annie with a rage that's inexplicable to her children and unseen by her overworked man, it's only safe release to be found in the basement where she creates her art.

Families are complicated I've always said. Ironically, I was reading this book while in Ohio visiting my brother and his wife. I've often bemoaned to them my regret that we hadn't really known each other in a deeper way while we were maturing, becoming grownups. Our lives took such varying turns, theirs wrapped around their large family, mine trying to recreate myself as a single woman with a career, my sister searching for her niche, all of us in far flung states. Now, as we head into our senior years, we are reaching for each other again but memory, ah, that fickle state of reminiscing, plays havoc with us.

So, too, in Lamb's novel, does memory and the suppression thereof, play a huge role in the damaged lives of the family Oh. It seems so simple when one is on the outside, looking in, to see the mistakes as they're being made, but honestly, how do we know what we'd do in similar circumstances?

Wally Lamb's novel is full of every conceivable politically correct situation. Aside from the gay wedding, Lamb delves into religion in all its over the top, born again iterations, balanced by a deeper look at mature faith born of trials, as well as no faith at all, just innate goodness unprovoked by clerics. Child sexual abuse and its devastating aftermath are front and center, along with the physical and emotional trauma of war.

So how is it that a writer of such sensitivity and nuance failed so miserably in his handling of racial issues? I was deeply disappointed in Mr. Lamb's one dimensional portrayal of the black family that worked for Viveca and accompanied Annie to her wedding. In 2010 there are few, if any, middle class black families who speak as if they were characters in The Wind Done Gone. Dis, dat, dese and dose? Really?
This patois was especially surprising and offensive because the other main character in this book, Josephus Jones, was an unschooled artist whose unusual, disturbing work plays a major role in the story, as does his unsolved murder on the night of the flood.

This may seem like a small complaint in the overall scheme of things and, perhaps it is. I liked this book, I really did. I cared about the Oh family, Orion and Annie, Andrew and his veteran patients, Marissa and her Hollywood dreams, Ariane and her soup kitchen. I just have this sneaking suspicion that everything was just too pat, a tad too clichéd. Tell me what you think. I know you're out there readers!

The Good House is Very Good

Hildy Good is a drunk, a functioning alcoholic, until she isn't, functioning that is. Hildy is also  a lifelong denizen of Wendover, Massachusetts, and a highly successful real estate broker who thinks that she's hiding her drinking problem from her friends and family. She's also a ton of fun to spend time with, a witty, insightful woman who can tell you more about people after spending ten minutes in their homes than a shrink could do in a month of sessions. And there's the rub.

Normally, someone like me, who grew up in a family that drank too much and then married an alcoholic, would stay far away from the volatility of such an addictive personality. To Leary's credit as a writer, and now I'll want to go back and read more of her work, she presents Hildy as a fully rounded, complex, interesting character, one whose interior monologue is so revealing of the way that a person can talk himself into and out of the truth in the time that it takes to pour another glass of wine.

Ms. Leary adeptly captures the agony and the ecstasy of small town life, the way your neighbors know everything about you, your parents, your grandparents, and on down the line ad infinitum, until you just want to scream. Privacy is non-existent as Hildy learns when she enters Hazeldon following an intervention by her daughters. Returning to Wendover, she senses that the whole town knows where she's been. Friends can no longer meet her eye when they see her on the street, social invitations fall off, fellow members of AA ask how she's doing and the question is loaded with nuance. Oh, how she hates their assumption that she may not be quite sober.

She actually convinced me that she was coping until she sold the mansion on the hill to Rebecca and Brian McAllister. Outsiders with money are not warmly welcomed to small towns like Wendover. The other young moms resent Rebecca, her family money and her fragile beauty. They couldn't see what Hildy could, the lonely, slightly off kilter woman who became obsessed with her psychiatrist and immersed in an affair that can have only one outcome.

When Hildy becomes Rebecca's sounding board and drinking buddy the plot got more complicated and my stomach began to twist into knots. Whose truth is true? When does perception become reality? Can Frank, the man who's been half in love with Hildy since high school, save her from her own worst self? Does she even want him to?

The Good House is a novel that you can blow through in one sitting, but days after I put it aside I'm still thinking about Hildy, Frank, Rebecca and the lust for life that they represent. The caliber of Ann Leary's writing raises this book way above the level of your normal soap opera about flawed characters, a la Danielle Steel or Nicholas Sparks. It might make you uncomfortable but why not give it a try.

Nora Ephron's Lucky Guy

I've been half in love with Nora Ephron for many years now, even more so after reading I Feel Bad About My Neck. There's nothing like a book that causes you to flat out guffaw! I remember specifically that I was on the balcony of a cruise ship, doubled over with laughter. Later in the evening when we emerged from our room, the woman next door asked me what I was reading. It was one of those moments like the classic restaurant scene in When Harry Met Sally. She wanted what I was having.

I had read quite a bit of the back story related to Ms. Ephron's well received stage play about the journalist Mike McAlary but I really didn't know what to expect. The cost of a Broadway play nowadays is almost prohibitive and yet, sure enough, the matinee last Saturday was sold out, as was every other performance. And so, being the worrywart that I am, I figured the record sales could be attributed to the fact that a big time movie star, Tom Hanks, had the starring role.

What a joy to tell you that this play was formidably powerful beyond all my expectations and not simply because of Tom Hanks. No, it was the entire ensemble cast that worked seamlessly with each other. No egos were seen on stage. In fact, one of the most gripping performances can be credited to a five minute appearance by Stephen Tyrone Williams as Abner Louima, the young man who was beaten and sodomized by New York City's "finest" back in 1997.

Though McAlary had been ill and the victim of his own hubris in an ongoing battle for money, bouncing between The New York Daily News and The New York Post, though his reputation had been damaged by an article he'd written about a rape that didn't happen, he somehow had the courage to return to the fray, to interview Mr. Louima, to believe the victim, and to write the articles that busted the corruption within the New York police force wide open. He garnered a Pulitzer for his efforts. http://www.nydailynews.com/news/crime/mike-mcalary-1997-pulitzer-prize-winning-abner-louima-columns-article-1.238109

Ms. Ephron's paean to the days when journalists were hard drinking, hard hitting idealists (though terribly lacking in a female presence)  is equally long on humor and drama and it moves at a lightning pace. The staging, I'm not sure who gets credit for it, was phenomenal and dramatic. Using several large screens for a backdrop, playgoers were pulled into the reality of every incident with actual video of interviews with the police commissioner and other players and politicians.

And, of course, as we now all know, this play was Ms. Ephron's last piece of work, written as she was facing her own death. I couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking as she wrote the scenes of McAlary's final days and untimely death at the age of 41. Was it cathartic?

I'll tell you, not all the critics agree with me on this, though they're willing to give Hanks his props. I loved this show and the audience agreed. The standing ovation was spontaneous, not forced, and even the actors seemed taken aback by all the love sent their way. I've snoozed through way too many plays. Lucky Guy had me on the edge of my seat. Thank you Nora and crew.

The Dinner from Hell

Big thank you to friends Kathy Babcock and Linda Holland for encouraging me to go ahead and read this absolutely bizarre novel, The Dinner, by Herman Koch, no matter what the New York Times had to say about it. http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/07/books/the-dinner-by-herman-koch.html?_r=0
This book may be controversial but it grabs your attention from the first page and doesn't for a minute let you go. I've read that it's being compared to Gone Girl which I find laughable. The quality of the writing in Gillian Flynn's book was mediocre at best and her characters were simply not believable.

Now, in The Dinner, the characters may be despicable but they are fabulously drawn, realistic in their anger and evil, and even understandable to a degree that brave book groups could explore. How far would you go to protect your child from a prison sentence? Motivation? You betcha. How many parents do you know right now who would deny that their child could deliberately perpetrate an act of unwarranted violence? Why is bullying a national obsession? Are mental health illnesses more prevalent or just more out in the open? Can a person diagnosed with a mental health issue that might make him prone to violent behavior justify going off his meds?

All these questions and more are there for discussion. Koch challenges readers in a way that few authors have the courage to do. He forces one to ruminate on the darkest angels of our natures rather than on the best. Admittedly, it's an uncomfortable place to be, much like going to a NASCAR race and secretly hoping to see a smash up.

The story takes place over the span of a few hours in an upscale restaurant in Holland to which the future prime minister has summoned his brother and sister-in-law and where they are to discuss an incident that took place between their two teen aged sons. As the meal progresses from appetizers to main course to dessert so does the conversation escalate accordingly from whispers to tears to tirades. When the back story reveals itself the reader must contend with having all his presuppositions upended and, as horrifying as it is, we must give credit where it is due.

Perhaps this isn't a novel one can say they "like," but it is a novel that forces you to sit up and take notice of a major literary talent. Herman Koch has accomplished an amazing feat. He forced this reviewer to fear her own reactions. Read it? Let me know what you think.

The Famous and their Public

I often jokingly refer to myself, while writing about books and authors, as an author stalker. Naturally I hope that those who read my posts and "hear" my voice will understand that I'm trying to add a bit of humor here and that I won't ever be found in a police precinct for getting too familiar with a writer. Yet I do wonder just what a well-known public figure owes to his fans and constituents, if you will, when he or she appears at a gathering renowned for its up close and personal contact.

While attending various forums at Book Expo America this week, I joined thousands of book/author groupies at small, intimate gatherings on the show floor where authors agreed to answer questions from a moderator and then open the floor to questions from the audience. My friend Maryellen and I just happened upon one of these events and were thrilled to see that three of the four authors on this particular panel had attended previous Southwest Florida Reading Festivals. David Baldacci, Michael Connelly and George Pelecanos, my favorite literary crime novelist, were being interviewed by attorney and author Marcia Clark. Scott Turow was the other member on the team.

Pelecanos graciously gave Ms. Clark a shout out for her latest legal thriller which I'll be running out to get based on his recommendation. He also introduced her to the audience because she had, in an unexpected bit of humility, failed to introduce herself. Kudos to George!

At the end of the presentation we waited in line for a quick conversation with Michael Connelly about whom we felt a certain je ne sais quoi. Maryellen had invited him to one of our very first festivals almost fifteen years ago when he was still a fledgling novelist and we've taken personal pride in his remarkable success and rise up the ladder. How disappointing to see that fame had definitely jaded Mr. Connelly to the point where he seemed not to remember our festival (which I could  understand) but didn't even know Lee County, less than 100 miles south of his home. That stung. No eye contact, no warmth, just wandering eyes that seemed to say, "get me out of here."

But don't despair. On the other side of that coin was Wally Lamb. A famous writer too but the difference? Comfortable in his own skin. He was in the unenviable position of following to the podium the child soldier Ismael Beah and historian extraordinaire, Doris Kearns Goodwin. Wally Lamb knocked it out of the ball park with his speech, amazingly humorous for a man of such deep, brooding work. His new book We Are Water, based upon a racial incident that actually happened in his hometown of Norwich, Connecticut, was there for every one of us who attended this breakfast meeting and, though it's being billed as his darkest one yet, or maybe because of that, I'll be starting it any day now.

How serendipitous that, later in the day, Maryellen and I were strolling through the convention center  when who should we see walking our way, minus an entourage? You got it, Wally Lamb, cradling a bagel in one hand and balancing his coffee in the other, making eye contact that said, "engage me." We introduced ourselves as librarians. I thanked him for his powerful work, for continuing to write, for making me cry. He was gracious and kind, asking us about ourselves, where we're from, how we're enjoying the event. We spoke for maybe five minutes but never did he give us the impression that he'd rather be anywhere else but with us, in a hallway, at that moment in time.

And what a delight to see Doris Kearns Goodwin stretched out on the floor of the stage reaching for her fans' books to sign, conversing with each as if he or she was the only person in the room. Now that's a class act!

Two Books, One Nook

What happens when two people try to share one nook on a road trip? Well, I can tell you that Don got the better end of the deal! After Chinua Achebe's death, I had purchased his classic Things Fall Apart to read this summer. But...I was falling way behind on the pre-publication novels that I'd downloaded to the nook from Net Galley. So...being the good girl that I am, I went for Gail Godwin's Flora, hoping I'd be able to send the publishers a great review. NOT!

This book has been getting raves but I'll be darned if I can figure out why. I may have to return to the NY Times review and rethink my reading of it. If you remember The Bad Seed, then you'll have an idea of what I was expecting. This Southern gothic tale of a chameleon-like young girl, Helen, on the cusp of womanhood, only kept me reading because I expected her to do something evil. I wanted her to!

The novel takes place in the early '40's. Helen's dad has been called to Oak Ridge, Tennessee, to do some clandestine work for the government, so he brings Flora, a cousin, into his home to care for Helen over the course of the summer vacation. Helen, being the precocious gal that she is, feels fully capable of caring for herself and resents the intrusion of a woman she considers a "country bumpkin."

As the simple, cheerful Flora makes inroads in the community, socializing, cooking, learning to drive, Helen becomes more conflicted with feelings of ridicule and envy and the reader begins to question just how far the nasty little Helen will go to rid herself of the upbeat presence of Flora.

Of course, it's not Ms. Godwin's fault that she didn't pen the book that I wanted (as we discussed at length today with a panel of reviewers at Book Expo). Still, I don't think that I know anyone to whom I could recommend this novel.

 On the other hand, while I was taking my turn at the wheel through the gorgeous Cumberland river gap, Don kept reading pages from the Achebe book and commenting out loud when the characters did things that, while maybe understandable, were not to Don's liking. He had me totally engaged and I can't wait to sit down and read the book at one sitting.

The moral of the story is that life's too short to hang with a book that isn't providing the ultimate reading experience. I'm going back to the rule of 50 and sticking with it this time. Here in New York City there are hundreds of talented writers with books just ripe for the plucking. It's a positively giddy feeling, like that proverbial kid in the candy shop. I'm on sensory overload right now but will catch you all up on everyone I've seen and heard when I get home.

Susan Shreve, Not Anita

I've read so much about Susan Shreve but just hadn't had the opportunity to sit down with one of her books until I downloaded her latest, You are the Love of my Life. Though it didn't disappoint, I sure had to hold my temper through most of my listening. I could NOT believe that Ms. Shreve would create a character who was so independent on the one hand and so mealy mouthed on the other!

Lucy Painter, appropriately named as she's a children's book illustrator/writer, has the chutzpah to be a single mother of two children. This takes particular courage back in the early '70's but in an anonymous city like New York, who knew or cared?

She takes nothing in the way of money or emotional support from "uncle Reuben," who happens to be her considerably older and very married editor, and the father of Maggie and Felix. The only thing they seem to have in common is great sex. OK, I get that, but no matter how much they swoon when together, I just wanted to scream every time this weak, unsavory man ensnared Lucy further into his web with the oldest of lines, "you are the love of my life." I wanted to say to Lucy, "come ON!"

The good news is that Lucy, in a sign of new-found maturity, decides to leave New York and return to her childhood home, one she inherited but never inhabited, in Washington, DC. And here, in the shadow of the Watergate hearings, a very public cover up, we learn that Lucy has been hiding her own very private secrets, managing to construct a wall around herself that not even her children, let alone a man, could penetrate.

The novel's core theme is that of loneliness. Shreve has obviously given much thought to the damage we inflict on ourselves and others when we hold on to past hurts whether through fear or shame. Any sidewalk psychiatrist will tell you that you've got to let it go. It seems so simple when observing from the outside but when one is tangled in the exhausting web of lies, well, not so simple,

Ironically, the more Lucy tended to stay to herself, to avoid the pathologically sociable neighborhood moms, the more they needed to understand what she was hiding. For the uber-social and very lonely 12 year old Maggie, her mother's refusal to entertain, to sit on the front porch with coffee in the morning and wine in the evening, was the perfect catalyst for another woman to step into the void.

Though I was impatient with many of the characters in this novel for their indecisiveness and inability to take control, I found it relatively enjoyable as I finished up my walk this morning along the bay. I would like for some of you to read it so we could discuss. I'm still anxiously waiting for a knock out novel of 2013. Book Expo here I come!