Memorial Days

 

Memorial Days by Geraldine Brooks

Nonfiction - Memoir

2025

Finished on November 14, 2025

Rating: 4.5/5 (Very Good)

Publisher's Blurb:

A heartrending and beautiful memoir of sudden loss and a journey to peace, from the bestselling, Pulitzer Prize-winning author of Horse.

Many cultural and religious traditions expect those who are grieving to step away from the world. In contemporary life, we are more often met with red tape and to-do lists. This is exactly what happened to Geraldine Brooks when her partner of more than three decades, Tony Horwitz – just sixty years old and, to her knowledge, vigorous and healthy – collapsed and died on a Washington, D. C. sidewalk.

After spending their early years together in conflict zones as foreign correspondents, Geraldine and Tony settled down to raise two boys on Martha’s Vineyard. The life they built was one of meaningful work, good humor, and tenderness, as they spent their days writing and their evenings cooking family dinners or watching the sun set with friends at Lambert’s Cove. But all of this came to an abrupt end when, on Memorial Day 2019, Geraldine received the phone call we all dread. The demands were immediate and many. Without space to grieve, the sudden loss became a yawning gulf.

Three years later, she booked a flight to a remote island off the coast of Australia with the intention of finally giving herself the time to mourn. In a shack on a pristine, rugged coast she often went days without seeing another person. There, she pondered the varied ways those of other cultures grieve, such as the people of Australia's First Nations, the Balinese, and the Iranian Shiites, and what rituals of her own might help to rebuild a life around the void of Tony's death.

A spare and profoundly moving memoir that joins the classics of the genre, Memorial Days is a portrait of a larger-than-life man and a timeless love between souls that exquisitely captures the joy, agony, and mystery of life.

I've only read two of Geraldine Brooks' novels (Year of Wonders and People of the Book), but now that I've read her recent memoir, I'm eager to try more of her books, especially Horse, which she completed after the death of her husband, Tony Horwitz. Memorial Days is an especially touching memoir in which Brooks recounts the days and weeks following the sudden death of her husband, while alternating chapters describe her retreat to Flinders Island three years later. 

When I get to Flinders Island, I will begin my own memorial days. I am taking something that our culture has stopped freely giving: the right to grieve. To shut out the world and its demands. To remember my love and to feel the immensity of his loss. "Grief is praise," writes Martin Prechtel in his book The Smell of Rain on Dust, "because it is the natural way love honors what it misses."

and

When I finally fall asleep, I don't wake till late. It's a gray, windy morning, and the sea is high. I have only a loose notion of how I will spend my time here. I will walk and reflect, taking whatever nature cares to offer me. I will write down everything I can recall about Tony's death and its aftermath. I will allow myself time and space to think about our marriage and to experience the emotions I've suppressed.

It's been over twenty years since my husband and I received the shocking news of our eldest daughter's death, and much of Brooks' thoughts on grief resonated deeply with me. I remember reading Joan Didion's book The Year of Magical Thinking shortly after Rachel's untimely death, hoping to find some comfort in Didion's words. While I highlighted several passages, the book didn't speak to me like Memorial Days. (I still have my review for that book languishing in my draft folder, and I'm not sure why I never got around to publishing it. Maybe I'll work on that in the coming weeks.)

Random Thoughts:

Geraldine's husband died on Memorial Day in 2019. Our daughter was killed on Memorial Day weekend (but not the actual day) in 2005.

Geraldine wasn't able to share the awful news of Tony's death in person with her son, having to resort to phoning him at his boarding school.  

That call, the sound of my son's sobs, in a place too far to reach for him and hug him, was a new depth of darkness on a dark, dark day.

We were living in Nebraska, and our younger daughter was in college in Texas. Making that phone call was the worst thing I have ever had to do.

I woke out of it [a dream], and there was a minute or two when everything felt fine. He wasn't dead. How ridiculous to have thought that. Yesterday--that was a dream.

Then I came fully awake. I lost him a second time.

I remember the early days when we would wake from a fitful sleep, those first moments of consciousness when we had yet to remember Rachel was gone. Like Brooks, we felt as if we were losing her a second time, day after day after day.

My sons' stories are their own to tell. I will not do that here. I will only say that on the street corner, with Bizu sagged against me, I did not know how lonely his journey would be and how little I would be able to help him.

So often when parents are dealing with their own grief, children suffer the loss of their sibling (or parent) by themselves. It was all we could do to get through each day. I often wonder if we could have done more for Amy had she lived at home rather than so far away at college.

On Grief:

In her essay "On Grief" Jennifer Senior quotes a therapist who likens the survivors of loss to passengers on a plane that has crashed into a mountaintop and must find their way down. All have broken bones; none can assist the others. Each will have to make it down alone.

On Writing:

I have written this because I needed to do it. Part of the treatment for a "complicated grief" is to relive the trauma of the death, returning to the moments again and again, striving each time to recall more detail. That is what I have tried to do.

My husband and I each created blogs comprised of letters to Rachel in the early months after her death. Those therapeutic blogs helped us deal with our grief, as well as provide our friends and family with a glimpse into how we were coping. As Joan Didion said, “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means.”

Our culture is averse to sad. We want people to be happy. We're chagrined and slightly offended when they're not. There is a desire to cheer them up. And then, later, there will be a glancing at the wristwatch, a tapping of the foot if they cannot be cheered, if their grief is perceived to go on too long. I wish we could resist those things.

Memorial Days is a beautiful, honest, thought-provoking memoir that touched my heart. I wish I could reach out and give Geraldine a hug. 

Highly recommend.

The Poppy Fields

 

The Poppy Fields by Nikki Erlick

Fiction

Narrated by Marin Ireland and several others

2025

Finished on July 16, 2025

Rating: 2/5 (OK)

Publisher's Blurb:

From the New York Times bestselling author of the smash-hit The Measure comes a stunning speculative story of healing, self-discovery, forgiveness, and found friendship.

Welcome to the Poppy Fields, where there’s hope for even the most battered hearts to heal.

Here, in a remote stretch of the California desert, lies an experimental and controversial treatment center that allows those suffering from the heartache of loss to sleep through their pain...and keep on sleeping. After patients awaken from this prolonged state of slumber, they will finally be healed. But only if they’re willing to accept the potential shadowy side effects.

On a journey to this mystical destination are four very different strangers and one little dog: Ava, a book illustrator; Ray, a fireman; Sasha, an occupational therapist; Sky, a free spirit; and a friendly pup named PJ. As they attempt to make their way from the Midwest all the way west to the Poppy Fields—where they hope to find Ellis, its brilliant, enigmatic founder—each of their past secrets and mysterious motivations threaten to derail their voyage.

A high-concept speculative novel about heartache, hope, and human resilience, The Poppy Fields explores the path of grief and healing, a journey at once profoundly universal and unique to every person, posing the questions: How do we heal in the wake of great loss? And how far are we willing to go in order to be healed?

It's no surprise that as we grow older, we begin to lose our loved ones. In the past two decades I've had to say goodbye to my dad, stepdad, an uncle and an aunt, in addition to three cousins. Former neighbors have passed away, as well as a spouse or two of friends and coworkers. I am fortunate that none of my close friends, or siblings, have passed away, and my 92-year-old mother is still going strong! For the most part, these deaths weren't unexpected, although I'd be the first to say I'd love another decade with each and every one. However, the loss of my 24-year-old stepdaughter was the most shocking and heartbreaking death I have ever experienced. That grief was all-consuming, and not just for several weeks or months, but well over a year. (Truthfully, some say the second year is the worst year and "they" would be correct.) The sorrow my husband and I (and our younger daughter) experienced in those first few years is unimaginable. And it's not something one gets over, but rather learns to live with. 

As I listened to The Poppy Fields, I couldn't help but feel annoyed with the premise of the story. The author centers her narrative around the idea that an experimental method has been created in which a person who is grieving the loss of a loved one is able to visit the Poppy Fields in order to sleep (via a medically induced coma of sorts) through their grief. Some people stay for a month, others for up to eight weeks. The belief is that these individuals can return to their lives having moved on from their loss. Bah! This would be no different than drinking yourself into a blackout every day to numb the pain. Or curling up in a ball, sleeping all hours of the day, avoiding well-meaning friends and family. As much as we'd like a quick fix, the only way through a loss is to lean in and accept the hard truth. To do the difficult work. To embrace the sadness and loneliness. It's hard. Very hard. But it's the only way to heal, and learn to live a happy and productive life. 

I read Nikki Erlick's debut novel, The Measure, a couple of years ago and thought it was fine, but having read this recent release, I've come to the conclusion that her books are not for me. Her characters are flat, and the plots are predictable and lacking tension. Had I read the print edition rather than listening to the audio, this may have been a DNF for me.

I received a complimentary copy from Libro.fm. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

After Annie

 

After Annie by Anna Quindlen

Fiction

2024

Finished on July 13, 2024

Rating: 4/5 (Very Good)

Publisher's Blurb:

Quindlen’s trademark wisdom on family, emotions, and the secrets of people in a small town are at the center of this novel about triumph over adversity and the power of love to transcend time, by the best-selling author of Still Life with Breadcrumbs and One True Thing.

When Annie Brown dies suddenly, her husband, her four young children and her closest friend are left to struggle without the woman who centered their lives. Bill Brown finds himself overwhelmed, and Annie’s best friend Annemarie is lost to old bad habits without Annie’s support. It is Annie’s daughter, Ali, forced to try to care for her younger brothers and even her father, who manages to maintain some semblance of their former lives for them all, and who confronts the complicated truths of adulthood.

Yet over the course of the next year, while Annie looms large in their memories, all three are able to grow, to change, even to become stronger and more sure of themselves. The enduring power Annie gave to those who loved her is the power to love, and to go on without her.

Written in Quindlen’s emotionally resonant voice, and with her deep and generous understanding of people, After Annie is a story that ends with hope, a beautiful novel about how adversity can change us in profound ways.

We all have those favorite authors who write stories that reflect our own lives, and Anna Quindlen is high on my list. I've read all but two of her novels, and After Annie is classic Quindlen, full of real-life issues, addressing the tender emotions of grief from the vantage point of a husband, a young daughter, and a best friend. She doesn't shy away from the visceral anguish felt by Annie's family and her closest friend, drawing the reader into the center of the Brown home as they navigate the confusion and helplessness after Annie's sudden death. 

Grief was like spring, maybe. You thought you were getting out from under it and then it came roaring back. And getting out from under it felt like forgetting, and forgetting felt like treason. Sometimes when he reached in the closet for a shirt, a sleeve or two from her side would touch his arm, like it was reaching for him, and there would be a faint smell, lemon and hand cream and something else, maybe her shampoo.

My heart ached for Ali (Annie's thirteen-year-old daughter), but it was eleven-year-old Ant, whose anger turned to despair when he cried, "I want my mom." I have held a grieving child who said those exact words to me, and all I could do was hold her tighter. I didn't believe it at the time, but I can now agree with Ant's father as he held his son, telling him that it does get better. 

Every Last One continues to be my favorite work of Quindlen's, but After Annie comes very close to nudging that novel down a notch. I was captivated from the opening lines, finishing far more quickly than I wanted. 

Highly recommend.

The Collected Regrets of Clover

 

The Collected Regrets of Clover by Mikki Brammer

Fiction

2023

Finished on January 14, 2024

Rating: 3.5/5 (Good)

Publisher's Blurb:

What’s the point of giving someone a beautiful death if you can’t give yourself a beautiful life?

From the day she watched her kindergarten teacher drop dead during a dramatic telling of Peter Rabbit, Clover Brooks has felt a stronger connection with the dying than she has with the living. After the beloved grandfather who raised her dies alone while she is traveling, Clover becomes a death doula in New York City, dedicating her life to ushering people peacefully through their end-of-life process.

Clover spends so much time with the dying that she has no life of her own, until the final wishes of a feisty old woman send Clover on a road trip to uncover a forgotten love story—and perhaps, her own happy ending. As she finds herself struggling to navigate the uncharted roads of romance and friendship, Clover is forced to examine what she really wants, and whether she’ll have the courage to go after it.

Probing, clever, and hopeful, The Collected Regrets of Clover is perfect for readers of The Midnight Library and Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine as it turns the normally taboo subject of death into a reason to celebrate life.

I enjoyed The Collected Regrets of Clover, but it turned out to be lighter than I had anticipated. The concept of a death doula is intriguing, and the manner in which Clover comforts those who are alone in their final hours is not only touching, but thought-provoking.

And yet, the predictability of Clover's personal life, in addition to the pacing of the novel, left me longing for more. In the hands of a seasoned author, this could have been an outstanding story. Given that it's Brammer's debut work, and that I liked it well enough to finish, I'm willing to give her next publication a chance. 

The truth is, grief never really goes away. Someone told me once that it’s like a bag that you always carry— it starts out as a large suitcase, and as the years go by, it might reduce to the size of a purse, but you carry it forever.

Minor Quibbles:

Clover's grandfather taught her to play mahjong when she was a little girl, and they played on a regular basis. Just the two of them. I've been playing mahjong since I was six or seven and while it's a game for four players, it is possible to play with three. But playing with only two is a bit of a stretch.

Several characters repeatedly use the word suck, as in "Losing someone you loved really sucked..." or "I'm sorry. That sucks." I don't usually mind the word, but it became a distraction. Clover is 36 and her friends are of the same generation, so maybe it's acceptable to them. I felt it minimized the speaker's intent to show comfort or a sincere expression of sympathy.

Maame

 

Maame by Jessica George

Fiction

2023 St. Martin's Press

Finished on May 2, 2023

Rating: 4.5/5 (Very Good)

Publisher's Blurb:

Maame (ma-meh) has many meanings in Twi but in my case, it means woman.

It’s fair to say that Maddie’s life in London is far from rewarding. With a mother who spends most of her time in Ghana (yet still somehow manages to be overbearing), Maddie is the primary caretaker for her father, who suffers from advanced stage Parkinson’s. At work, her boss is a nightmare and Maddie is tired of always being the only Black person in every meeting.

When her mum returns from her latest trip to Ghana, Maddie leaps at the chance to get out of the family home and finally start living. A self-acknowledged late bloomer, she’s ready to experience some important “firsts”: She finds a flat share, says yes to after-work drinks, pushes for more recognition in her career, and throws herself into the bewildering world of internet dating. But it's not long before tragedy strikes, forcing Maddie to face the true nature of her unconventional family, and the perils—and rewards—of putting her heart on the line.

Smart, funny, and deeply affecting, Jessica George's Maame deals with the themes of our time with humor and poignancy: from familial duty and racism, to female pleasure, the complexity of love, and the life-saving power of friendship. Most important, it explores what it feels like to be torn between two homes and cultures―and it celebrates finally being able to find where you belong.

I fell in love with Maame and wanted to reach through the pages and give Maddie a big hug and tell her it gets better. While her mother is busy living her own life in Ghana, and her older brother James has no time for family obligations, twenty-five-year-old Maddie is left alone to care for her ailing father who suffers from Parkinson's disease. Struggling with self-esteem issues, first dates as an adult, moving out of her family home and learning how to live with flatmates, as well as trying to establish herself as a valuable employee in the world of publishing, Maddie is overwhelmed with life. Fortunately, she has two friends whom she can lean on and who help her work through the challenges of life as a young adult. And, when all else fails, she relies on Google searches to fill in the gaps: How to prepare for a first date? Jobs with the happiest employees? What do you do when you've been fired? Back pain in mid-twenties? Why can't I sleep? Can you get pregnant if you're on the pill? Stages of grief?

On Love: 

"Many assume love is straightforward," Angelina continues, "when really it is the most complicated of things. There is a right way, a preferred way, for each individual, to love and be loved by someone--but there isn't only one way. I believe the difficulty of life has much to do with understanding and then navigating how the people you love both express and receive love themselves. It cannot be your responsibility, your burden, to reshape people into someone you'd like them to be. Ultimately, you must either accept a person for who they are, how they behave, how they express themselves emotionally, and find a healthy way to live with them, or let them go entirely. Either way, you must release yourself from that responsibility."

Maame is a wise and powerful story about family dynamics and first loves. It's an examination on grief, as well as finding a career that provides more than just a paycheck. Though at times heartbreaking, I enjoyed watching Maddie navigate her way through life's disappointments, as well as the joys, often laughing at her naive inner conversations as she learns how to stand up for herself.

Jessica George has penned a delightful story; I would have never guessed this is a debut novel! Highly recommend.

We All Want Impossible Things

 

We All Want Impossible Things by Catherine Newman

Fiction

2022 Harper

Finished on April 1, 2023

Rating: 5/5 (Outstanding)

Publisher's Blurb:

Edi and Ash have been best friends for over forty-two years. They've shared the mundane and the momentous together: trick-or-treating and binge-drinking; Gilligan's Island reruns and R.E.M. concerts; hickeys and heartbreak; surprise Scottish wakes; marriages, infertility, and children. As Ash says, "Edi's memory is like the backup hard drive for mine."

But now the unthinkable has happened. Edi is dying of ovarian cancer and spending her last days at a hospice near Ash, who stumbles into heartbreak surrounded by her daughters, ex(ish)-husband, dear friends, a poorly chosen lover (or two), and a rotating cast of beautifully, fleeting human hospice characters.

As the Fiddler on the Roof soundtrack blasts all day long from the room next door, Edi and Ash reminisce, hold on, and try to let go. Meanwhile, Ash struggles with being an imperfect friend, wife, and parent--with life, in other words, distilled to its painful, joyful, and comedic essence.

For anyone who's ever lost a friend or had one, get ready to laugh through your tears. 

I adored this book! I first noticed it on Instagram (thank you, Bookstagrammers!) and added it to my list, but wasn't planning to get it right away because hyped books tend to fail me. And yet, when I saw it on the library's new release shelf, I couldn't resist. I'm very happy to report that it's worthy of all the praise.

Death, particularly death from cancer, isn't exactly a cheerful topic, but Catherine Newman's humor provides levity to an obviously heartbreaking story. 

"Hey," I say. "I'm an optimist."

"Ash," she says. "You drive with your hazards on for no reason. You are not an optimist."

I initially thought this would be a story about two friends--one who is dying and one who will soon be grieving--but it's so much more than that. It's about friends and family and the kindness of strangers. It's also about the loving care of hospice workers. I recently read Ann Patchett's essay about the loss of her friend, Sooki, and now reading this novel, I am once again touched by the tenderness and beauty of watching over a loved one during their final moments. The circle of life...

Even more than Ash and Edi's friendship, I enjoyed the interactions and gentle love between Ash and her daughters, Belle and Jules. Belle's lines are the highlight of the novel and I have my fingers crossed that Newman writes another novel filled with characters like Belle.

While I've given the book a five-star rating, I do have a couple of quibbles. The usage of "anyways" (which grates on my nerves) is repeatedly spoken by one character and thus, not an editorial mistake, but a deliberate use of slang. I eventually got used to it, but it was a distraction. The second frustration was the confusion about the relationship between characters; there were too many names beginning with the same letter (Jules, Jude, Jonathan). Which was the spouse? Which daughter? A sibling? A simple change of names would have made for a smoother read.

We All Want Impossible Things is a short novel, clocking in at 209 pages, which makes it very tempting to re-read right away. Catherine Newman has written a middle-grade novel and a couple of children's life-skill books. She has also written two memoirs about parenthood, which I am long past needing, but I enjoy her writing so well, I'm tempted to read them just for the laughs. In her author blurb on the back cover of We All Want Impossible Things, she states,

This is her first adult novel. Not, like, adult adult in the porn way. Just, you know, for grown-ups.

I'm not the only reader who appreciates her sense of humor:

"A novel set in a hospice has no right to be as hilarious, charming, and hopeful as We All Want Impossible Things. With Nora Ephron-style lightness, Catherine Newman has constructed a truly singular tale of love and friendship. I loved it." (Joanna Rakoff, bestselling author of My Salinger Year)

"Catherine Newman sees the heartbreak and comedy of life with wisdom and unflinching compassion. The way she finds the extraordinary in the everyday is nothing short of poetry. She's a writer's writer--and a human's human." (Katherine Center, author of Things You Save in a Fire) 

This is a lovely, heartwarming book. I didn't want it to end, but I couldn't put it down. While I wait for more adult fiction from Catherine Newman, I plan to immerse myself in her numerous online articles (here and here).

Note to audiobook readers: I listened to a sample of the audiobook and didn't care for the reader. This is one to read in the print format.

A Quiet Life

 

A Quiet Life by Ethan Joella

Fiction

2022 Scribner

Finished on March 8, 2023

Rating: 3/5 (Good)

Publisher's Blurb:

Set in a close-knit suburb in the grip of winter, A Quiet Life follows three people grappling with loss and finding a tender wisdom in their grief.

Chuck Ayers used to look forward to nothing so much as his annual trip to Hilton Head with his wife, Cat—that yearly taste of relaxation they’d become accustomed to after a lifetime of working and raising two children. Now, just months after Cat’s death, Chuck finds that he can’t let go of her belongings—her favorite towel, the sketchbooks in her desk drawer—as he struggles to pack for a trip he can’t imagine taking without her.

Ella Burke delivers morning newspapers and works at a bridal shop to fill her days while she anxiously awaits news—any piece of information—about her missing daughter. Ella adjusts to life in a new apartment and answers every call on her phone, hoping her daughter will reach out.

After the sudden death of her father, Kirsten Bonato set aside her veterinary school aspirations, finding comfort in the steady routine of working at an animal shelter. But as time passes, old dreams and new romantic interests begin to surface—and Kirsten finds herself at another crossroads.

A Quiet Life is a quiet read. It was too quiet for my taste, though. The characters are flat and their excessive ruminations border on annoying and repetitive. There isn't much action until the final chapters and I have a feeling this is one of those books that will fade quickly from my memory. It's a shame, as I tend to gravitate toward books dealing with grief. Like Kirsten, I'm familiar with the loss of a parent, and like Ella, I've experienced divorce and custody battles, so those two scenarios should have helped me feel an affinity toward the two women. Instead, it was as if I were hearing about their struggles as told by a friend of a friend of a relative. Chuck's constant guilt for not being a better husband was tiresome, although I appreciated the glimpse into the life of a widower and how he learns to live with his grief while moving forward in his own life. A Quiet Life is a tender story, one which brings to mind Elizabeth Berg's The Story of Arthur Truluv, and one that fans of Hallmark movies might enjoy, predictable with a happy ending. I would have liked a little more substance, myself. The cover art is beautiful, though!

Evenings at Five

 

Evenings at Five by Gail Godwin

Illustrations by Frances Halsband

Fiction

2003 Ballantine Books

Finished on January 18, 2023

Rating: 4/5 (Very Good)

Publisher's Blurb:

Every evening at five o'clock, Christina and Rudy stopped work and began the ritual commonly known as Happy Hour. Rudy mixed Christina's drink with loving precision, the cavalier slosh of Bombay Sapphire over ice shards, before settling across from her in his Stickley chair with his glass of Scotch. They shared a love of language and music (she is an author, he a composer, after all), a delight in intense conversation, a fascination with popes, and nearly thirty years of life together.

What did I think, that we had forever? muses Christina, seven months after Rudy's unexpected death. While coming to terms with her loss, with the space that Rudy once inhabited, Christina reflects on their vibrant bond - with all its quirks, habits, and unguarded moments - as well as her passionate sorrow and her attempts to reposition herself and her new place in the very real world they shared.

In this literary jewel, a bittersweet novella of absence and presence and the mysterious gap between them, Gail Godwin has performed a small miracle. In essence, Evenings at Five is a grief sonata for solo instrument transposed into words. Interwoven with meditations and movements, full of aching truths and a wicked sense of humor, it exquisitely captures the cyclical nature of commitment - and the eternal quality of a romance completed.

A dear friend gifted me this lovely book fifteen years ago, and while I know I read it sometime in early 2008, I didn't have any memory of the story when I picked it up again last week. Having just finished two exceptionally long novels (Coming Home and A Fine Balance), I was ready to read something not quite so long. I began with Foster by Claire Keegan, and was so pleased with that novella, that I searched my shelves for something else that I could read in one evening. Evenings at Five was just the ticket. Like Foster, the book is roughly 5x7, fitting neatly in one hand. With a mere 114 pages (many of which include lovely line drawings, spanning across the spread of two pages), this was a perfect choice for a quick, yet thoughtful, read. 

I'm not sure if it's due to my more mature age (I was 47 rather than 61 when I first read Evenings at Five), but the characters and their lives resonated with me much more this time around. My husband and I are now both retired and have a similar "happy hour" ritual each evening at five. This tender story could easily be overwhelmingly depressing, but I found it lyrical and filled with love, and one which I will return to in the future.

Crying in H Mart

Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner

Nonfiction - Memoir

2021 Random House Audio

Narrated by Michelle Zauner

Finished on June 30, 2022

Rating: 3/5 (Good)

Publisher's Blurb:

An unflinching, powerful memoir about growing up Korean American, losing her mother, and forging her own identity.

In this exquisite story of family, food, grief, and endurance, Michelle Zauner proves herself far more than a dazzling singer, songwriter, and guitarist. With humor and heart, she tells of growing up one of the few Asian American kids at her school in Eugene, Oregon; of struggling with her mother's particular, high expectations of her; of a painful adolescence; of treasured months spent in her grandmother's tiny apartment in Seoul, where she and her mother would bond, late at night, over heaping plates of food.

As she grew up, moving to the East Coast for college, finding work in the restaurant industry, and performing gigs with her fledgling band--and meeting the man who would become her husband--her Koreanness began to feel ever more distant, even as she found the life she wanted to live. It was her mother's diagnosis of terminal cancer, when Michelle was twenty-five, that forced a reckoning with her identity and brought her to reclaim the gifts of taste, language, and history her mother had given her.

Vivacious and plainspoken, lyrical and honest, Zauner's voice is as radiantly alive on the page as it is onstage. Rich with intimate anecdotes that will resonate widely, and complete with family photos, Crying in H Mart is a book to cherish, share, and reread.

I nominated Crying in H Mart to my book group after reading several rave reviews. We don't plan to discuss it until August, but summertime is usually pretty busy with visitors and travel, so I decided to get a jump start. I began reading the print edition of Zauner's memoir, but after a couple of chapters, switched over to audio. I was somewhat bored with the opening chapters but listening to the author narrate her story made for a more compelling experience. I'm not a big fan of authors reading their own works, and Zauner's monotone delivery could have been better, but I enjoyed hearing the pronunciation of specific foods and phrases in Korean. Despite the author's flat audio narration, some of her passages are beautifully written, bringing my attention back to her story. Food (specifically Korean food) is a large part of the narrative and while I enjoy "foodie" memoirs, I was not familiar with most of the items described. I didn't love Crying in H Mart, but anyone who has stood vigil over a loved one can't help but have their heartstrings tugged as they read about the death of Michelle's mother. Overall, this was a decent story, but not one I can recommend. I hope the women in my book group enjoy it better than I did!

Florence Adler Swims Forever

Florence Adler Swims Forever by Rachel Beanland

Fiction

2020 Simon & Schuster

Finished on June 6, 2022

Rating: 4/5 (Very Good)

Publisher's Blurb:
 

Over the course of one summer that begins with a shocking tragedy, three generations of the Adler family grapple with heartbreak, romance, and the weight of family secrets.

Atlantic City, 1934. Every summer, Esther and Joseph Adler rent their house out to vacationers escaping to “America’s Playground” and move into the small apartment above their bakery. This is the apartment where they raised their two daughters, Fannie and Florence. Now Florence has returned from college, determined to spend the summer training to swim the English Channel, and Fannie, pregnant again after recently losing a baby, is on bedrest for the duration of her pregnancy. After Joseph insists they take in a mysterious young woman whom he recently helped emigrate from Nazi Germany, the apartment is bursting at the seams.

When tragedy strikes, Esther makes the shocking decision to hide the truth—at least until Fannie’s baby is born—and pulls the family into an elaborate web of secret-keeping and lies, bringing long-buried tensions to the surface that reveal how quickly the act of protecting those we love can turn into betrayal after tragedy.

I chose to kick off my Summer Reading Challenge with Rachel Beanland's debut novel Florence Adler Swims Forever. I love the nostalgic cover art, and the promise of both a family saga and a historical novel made for an easy decision to do so. Based on the true events of a family story (centered around the author's great-great-aunt, Florence Lowenthal), the plot is slowly revealed in rotating chapters, told by seven of the eight main characters, during the summer of 1934. 

It felt like it took too many chapters to get into the meat of the novel, and I was shocked by the central event that takes place early in the narrative, but as the story progressed, I came to care about the characters (well, most of them) and looked forward to returning to the book each night. Some readers may not care for the ending, but I thought it was appropriate, especially after reading the author's note and extra material for book groups. I don't have any favorite passages from the novel (although I might after I read it a second time), but I especially liked the following from the author's interview:

What I do know is that women are frequently underestimated, and my experiences as a daughter, sister, wife, and mother contradict the narrative that we can't hold great sorrow and great joy in our hands at the same time. In fact, it's often the only thing we can do.

Florence Adler Swims Forever will appeal to fans of Major Pettigrew's Last Stand and The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry. With antisemitic themes and secrets between family members, book groups will have plenty to discuss about this charming, heart-felt book. After reading the final chapters and supplementary content provided for book group discussions, my rating went from three to four stars. Recommend!

Click here to read the author's essay On Family Secrets and How We Deliver Bad News and here for her essay Good Grief.

Wordless Wednesday

 

Uvalde, Texas

May 24, 2022

Monogamy

Monogamy by Sue Miller

Fiction

2020 Harper

Finished on April 1, 2022

Rating: 4.5/5 (Very Good)

Publisher's Blurb:

A brilliantly insightful novel, engrossing and haunting, about marriage, love, family, happiness and sorrow, from New York Times bestselling author Sue Miller.

Graham and Annie have been married for nearly thirty years. A golden couple, their seemingly effortless devotion has long been the envy of their circle of friends and acquaintances. 

Graham is a bookseller, a big, gregarious man with large appetites—curious, eager to please, a lover of life, and the convivial host of frequent, lively parties at his and Annie’s comfortable house in Cambridge. Annie, more reserved and introspective, is a photographer. She is about to have her first gallery show after a six-year lull and is worried that the best years of her career may be behind her. They have two adult children; Lucas, Graham’s son with his first wife, Frieda, works in New York. Annie and Graham’s daughter, Sarah, lives in San Francisco. Though Frieda is an integral part of this far-flung, loving family, Annie feels confident in the knowledge that she is Graham’s last and greatest love.

When Graham suddenly dies—this man whose enormous presence has seemed to dominate their lives together—Annie is lost. What is the point of going on, she wonders, without him? 

Then, while she is still mourning him intensely, she discovers that Graham had been unfaithful to her; and she spirals into darkness, wondering if she ever truly knew the man who loved her.

I was initially concerned about reading another book with a central theme of infidelity, but Sue Miller's exquisite writing pulled me right in to Annie and Graham's lives and I had to force myself to turn off the light and go to sleep. Infidelity does play a significant role in the plot, but I was more interested in the aspects of Annie's grief, particularly in the early days after Graham's death. I found myself thinking about these richly drawn characters as I went about my day, eager to return to the book each night, but not wanting to read too quickly. Images of Graham's bookstore, as well as those of Annie and Graham's home and summer cottage (the lively dinner parties filled with close friends and authors, and solitary moments of a grieving wife, respectively) are vividly depicted with careful attention to detail that pulls the reader in closely with an intimate view of an imperfect, yet loving, marriage.

In the second half of the novel, Graham's adult children and ex-wife give voice to the narrative, offering a glimpse into their relationships with Graham and Annie, but it is Annie's voice (filled with sadness, anger, insecurity and love) that speaks most loudly throughout Monogamy. Her grief is palpable, and I was brought to tears as I read the passage of her phone call to her daughter the morning after Graham's death.

I've only read a few novels by Sue Miller (While I Was Gone, Lost in the Forest, and The Distinguished Guest), but I plan to read more. Much like Anna Quindlen's character-driven works, Miller's nuanced examination of marriage and family elevates what would otherwise be a melodramatic cliche of a spouse's transgression and untimely death. Highly recommend.

Notes On Grief

Notes On Grief by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Nonfiction

2021 Alfred A. Knopf

Finished on December 2, 2021

Rating: 3/5 (Good)

Grief was the celebration of love, those who could feel real grief were lucky to have loved. ~ Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Publisher's Blurb:

During the brutal summer of 2020, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's beloved father, a celebrated professor at the University of Nigeria and an irreplaceable figure in a close-knit family, succumbed unexpectedly to complications of kidney failure. Notes on Grief is Adichie's tribute to him, and a moving meditation on loss. 

Here Adichie offers a candid snapshot of the shock, loneliness, and disillusionment that followed the news of her father's death. Her family, unable to be together except for on video calls, struggles to go through the rites of mourning amid a global crisis of unimaginable scale. As Adichie wrestles with his passing, she recalls with vivid, poignant detail who her father was: a remarkable survivor of the Biafran war, a man of kindness and charm, and a fierce supporter of his youngest daughter. Here is a uniquely personal, profound work of remembrance and hope by one of today's luminaries--a book to bring us together in a time when we need it most. 

Notes On Grief has been on my library list for several months and I finally picked up a copy after being reminded of the book when I read Robin's (A Fondness For Reading) recent blog post. I know that there are people who steer clear of books about death and grief, but I gravitate toward them, hoping to learn and understand from each author's perspective and experience. I've collected dozens of passages about grief from numerous books and find comfort in the shared sentiments on the death of a loved one. The following are two of Adichie's that spoke to me.

Grief is a cruel kind of education. You learn how ungentle mourning can be, how full of anger. You learn how glib condolences can feel. You learn how much grief is about language, the failure of language and the grasping for language. Why are my sides so sore and achy? It's from crying, I'm told. I did not know that we cry with our muscles. The pain is not surprising, but its physicality is: my tongue unbearable bitter, as though I ate a loathed meal and forgot to clean my teeth; on my chest, a heavy, awful weight; and inside my body, a sensation of eternal dissolving. My heart--my actual physical heart, nothing figurative here--is running away from me, has become its own separate thing, beating too fast, its rhythms at odd with mine. This is an affliction not merely of the spirit but of the body, of aches and lagging strength. Flesh, muscles, organs are all compromised. No physical position is comfortable. 

and

I am filled with disbelieving astonishment that the mailman comes as usual and that people are inviting me to speak somewhere and that regular news alerts appear on my phone screen. How is it that the world keeps going, breathing in and out unchanged, while in my soul there is permanent scattering?

Notes on Grief is a slim, compact book that can easily be read in one sitting. Perhaps that is why I wasn't as moved as I've been when reading other books on grief. The reader is given a mere glimpse into Adiche's family life and while it is very obvious that she was extremely close to her father, I felt that I was held at arm's length from her very personal story. The above passages resonated with me (particularly the one about the world going on), but I was not moved to tears as I have been while reading other memoirs on this subject. Overall, I'm glad I read this touching book, but I wish it had been longer. Recommend getting a copy from the library.

Dear Edward

Dear Edward by Ann Napolitano

Fiction

2020 Penguin Random House Audio

Read by Cassandra Campbell

Finished on July 29, 2021

Rating: 4/5 (Very Good)

Publisher's Blurb:

One summer morning, twelve-year-old Edward Adler, his beloved older brother, his parents, and 183 other passengers board a flight in Newark headed for Los Angeles. Among them is a Wall Street wunderkind, a young woman coming to terms with an unexpected pregnancy, an injured vet returning from Afghanistan, a septuagenarian business tycoon, and a free-spirited woman running away from her controlling husband. And then, tragically, the plane crashes. Edward is the sole survivor.

Edward's story captures the attention of the nation, but he struggles to find a place for himself in a world without his family. He continues to feel that a piece of him has been left in the sky, forever tied to the plane and all of his fellow passengers. But then he makes an unexpected discovery--one that will lead him to the answers of some of life's most profound questions: When you've lost everything, how do find yourself? How do you discover your purpose? What does it mean not just to survive, but to truly live?

I used to be afraid of flying, but there were several years that I flew a lot and I ultimately overcame that fear. It's been close to five years since I was last on an airplane and, if I can help it, I have no desire to travel that way again. It's not so much the worry of crashing as much as all the time spent getting to and from the airports, the waiting around for flights (and luggage), and the general inconvenience and rude passengers. My husband feels the same, and now that we own a motorhome, there really isn't a reason to ever fly again. (Of course, there are always family situations that come up that may require us to be somewhere quickly, but given a choice, we'd rather take our time and go in the RV.) So, this story, which is centered around the events leading up to a plane crash, didn't scare me the way it once might have. I was able to listen to the panic in the pilots' voices and not feel anxious, perhaps because those passages take place at the end of the novel, so there were no big surprises.

Napolitano's novel alternates between the experience of the passengers on the flight (including the details leading up to the crash) and that of Edward and the years following the crash when he was taken in by his aunt and uncle. The characters are believable and I loved the developing friendship between Edward and Shay, who is wise beyond her years. 

Cassandra Campbell is one of my favorite audiobook readers and, as always, her performance was outstanding. There was never any doubt as to which character was speaking, each were so perfectly depicted.

Recommend!

I received a complimentary copy from Libro.fm. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

Looking Back - Reservation Road

Looking Back... In an effort to transfer my book journal entries over to this blog, I'm going to attempt to post (in chronological order) an entry every Friday. I may or may not add extra commentary to what I jotted down in these journals. 

Reservation Road by John Burnham Schwartz

Fiction

1999 Vintage (first published in 1998)

Read in January 2000

Rating: 4/5 (Very Good)

Publisher's Blurb:

A tragic accident sets in motion a cycle of violence and retribution in John Burnham Schwartz's riveting novel Reservation Road. Two haunted men and their families are engulfed by the emotions surrounding an unexpected and horrendous death. Ethan, a respected professor of literature at a small New England college, is wracked by an obsession with revenge that threatens to tear his family apart. Dwight, a man at once fleeing his crime and hoping to get caught, wrestles with overwhelming guilt and his sense of obligation to his son. As these two men's lives unravel, Reservation Road moves to its startling conclusion. This is an astonishing tale of love and loss, rage and redemption, that is as suspenseful as it is emotionally compelling.

My Original Thoughts (2000):

Horribly, terribly sad! Riveting. Engrossing. Very quick and readable. How tragic to lose a child to such a senseless death. Somewhat anticlimactic ending.

My Current Thoughts:

I don't really remember this book and I'm pretty sure I never saw the movie. It doesn't sound like anything I'd want to read again, either.

Looking Back - The Tiny One

Looking Back... In an effort to transfer my book journal entries over to this blog, I'm going to attempt to post (in chronological order) an entry every Friday. I may or may not add extra commentary to what I jotted down in these journals.

The Tiny One by Eliza Minot

Fiction

1999 Knopf

Read in January 2000

Rating: 3/5 (Good)

Publisher's Blurb:

With clarity, sensitivity, and striking authenticity, Eliza Minot adeptly captures the voice of a vibrant, intelligent child swept into a sea of sorrow and confusion in The Tiny One.

Via Mahoney Revere is eight years old when her mother is killed in a car accident. Confused by anguish, bewildered by her mother's absence, and mystified by the notion of death itself, Via retells the day of her mother's death in minute detail, trying to discern the crack in the world through which her mother must have slipped. She takes us through the seemingly ordinary moments of her day, from a cold-cereal breakfast to math class, when she is called to the principal's office to hear the news. Every small event of the tragic day calls up earlier memories from Via's young life, resulting in a beautifully patterned portrait of a comfortable childhood guarded by a warm and loving mother. Via attempts to grasp "how something so big could fit into such a little thing as a day."

My Original Thoughts (2000):

Difficult to get interested in at the beginning, but once I got about 30 pages read, I was hooked. Sad story, but fun to read through a child's eyes. Her mother has just died and the book Via's recollection of that the entire day. As she remembers details of that day, she remembers details of other events in her life. This book brought back a lot of my own childhood memories.

My Current Thoughts:

I enjoy books told from a child's perspective (The Bear and Room are two that come to mind), but while I don't remember anything about this book, the synopsis and my notes don't inspire me to read it again. It looks like the author has only one other published novel (The Brambles), but it doesn't sound promising, either.