The Great Believers

Oh, this book.

THIS BOOK.

I think I'll look back at the end of the year and feel even more strongly about The Great Believers than I do right now. And, I feel pretty dang strongly about it now.

It's about hope and death and love and family and war and friendship and the AIDS crisis of the 1980s. It's about Chicago's Boystown and 1920's Paris and the love that stays with you, long after the person is gone.

It's about the burden of memory. And, the gift of memory, too.

Yale is a gay man in Chicago in the mid-1980s. The gay community there was like a battlefield, with the "new" disease AIDS picking off men, one by one. Yale watches slowly as men around him become infected and die, always suspecting the same disease might come for him.

Fiona's brother Nico is one of Yale's closest friends. Nico dies early on and Fiona is the one who takes care of them all and really tries to hold the whole community together. 

Chapters alternate between the 1980s and 2015. In the future timeline, Fiona is in Paris trying to track down her daughter, who once joined a cult and has cut off ties with her parents. What Fiona finds in Paris is far beyond what she was looking for. She's also confronted with the memories of those times in the 80's and all the men she lost.

In the middle of all of this, there's the story of an old woman dedicated to paying tribute to a man she love and lost 70 years before. An artist, who because of war, never got his due. Her story ties so closely together with Fiona and Yale. The burden of how we honor those we've left behind.

This book is long and, at first, felt a little slow. But, about a quarter of the way in, I was enveloped by the characters and the story. By the time I reached the final chapters this morning, I simply could not stop reading it. In fact, I sacrificed a good hair day because I read as a curled my hair. When I reached the last two pages, I stopped what I was doing and went to my bed to finish it. I needed to be wrapped up when I saw how it all ended. 

Yeah, that good.

That quote above comes late in the novel, as a character Fiona hadn't seen in decades finally reunites with her. He relates what they've been through to Horatio in Hamlet - the only character who lives to tell their stories. The burden of memory. I had never heard it that way. It's devastatingly beautiful.

I read in the afterword that the author wanted to write this book because not enough has been written about AIDS in Chicago. It's the third largest city, so many men died. Someone needed to tell their story. I'm so glad it was done in such a beautiful way.

Despite the apparent death sentence, the men in this book are somehow still hopeful. They care for each other as, one by one, they fall away. The parallel to the old woman telling stories of losing men in World War I was subtle and heartbreaking. 

There's so much here. So much that will stay with me. 

As I write this, I've just found out that Amy Poehler has optioned this book for a 

TV project. I can imagine it being told beautifully, richly - and by one of my favorite people! But, I do believe (no pun intended) that it should be read first. 

The Witches Are Coming

I'll start by saying I'm a fan of Lindy West. She's unapologetic in her feminism and her ownership of self, despite the fact she's been a lightning rod for criticism because of those things. I've read her other writing and I'm a fan. But, this book just didn't quite do it for me.

West's writing addresses the sexism that still permeates across America. This book specifically talks about that sexism in Trump's America. The first essay is the best one, in which she describes how the term "witch hunt" is now thrown around casually, including by the president, and (ironically?) ignores the origins of that term and the sexism that drove and defined the actual witch hunt that took place in American history. I love when she says "the witches are coming" as a way to show women are not backing down anymore. I love that message - political or not - of equality and feminism.

I think my problem here was that every essay led to that same conclusion. That's not unexpected, really, but it just ended up feeling repetitive. Because of that, I found myself liking the book a little less with every essay I read. Not that I didn't want her to come to the same conclusion - it's the basic theme of her writing. But, I felt like I wanted something else from it; I wanted some different avenue, maybe, even if the conclusion was ultimately the same.

The bigger issue is probably that I'm not a huge fan of books of essays unless other voices are brought in. The exception, probably, is Trick Mirror, which I read earlier this month and loved.

There's some good stuff here, don't get me wrong. About the depiction of abortion in pop culture, about the mystery of Adam Sandler, etc. But, maybe I'm better off with an essay at a time instead of a book full all at once.

Ghost Wall

Oh man, this book had promise.

How much promise? A blurb on the back said it would grab me by the guts and not let go!

Sometimes, a little gut grabbing is just what you need!

Well, it was a hell of a start, but left my guts wanting more.

It's a compact novella with a hell of a plot. A family takes a two-week "vacation" to far northern England to join an Anthropology class adventure. The dad, who you'll hate instantly, is obsessed with life in the Iron Age. The class is designed to replicate that exact experience, from the tunics to the foraging to the creepy "ghost wall" made out of human heads (back then) or animal heads (in their interpretation) as a way to scare off Roman invaders.

The book is told through Silvie's eyes, the teenage girl forced to live here in her dad's bizarre fantasy land. This is a dad who beats her - both before they come on the trip and during - but, her perspective remains clear and her voice is strong throughout.

Dad, being the real peach that he is, takes the whole thing too far and the next thing you know they're really trying to be authentic by inching towards human sacrifice.

That's where your guts get grabbed.

Yet, as bizarre and fascinating and unique as this story is, the book itself feels somehow formulaic. You can't believe where it's going, yet it's somehow predictable at the same time.

My co-worker read it, too, and she's right: it takes a leap without a middle and leaves you wondering if it would have been better as a 230-page book instead of a 130-page novella.

I didn't hate it. As I said, the characters' voices were interesting and the writing was fantastic. The plot itself is unique. But, it needed more/different/better. I leave with my guts intact.

Trick Mirror

I'm coming in hot to 2020 with a book that I bought myself for Christmas.

Somehow, Jia Tolentino's book of essays slipped on past me through most of 2019, but the cover screamed at me from the shelves at Auntie's Bookstore and I bought it just in time for a plane ride (the best reading setting in the world, if you ask me. Maybe 'above' the world is a better description. Either way. Let's not dwell on the prepositions.)

I've read Tolentino's writing in the past and I love both her voice and her perspective. In a world where everyone has a "take", Tolentino's perspectives are more thoughtful than they are knee-jerk and some of her essays in this collection resonate even more a week after I've read them.

She opens big with thoughts on the internet and the internet culture in which we are all now immersed. It's the reality now that social media has given us all some kind of voice; with that has come the need for all of us (most of us?) to constantly perform. She points out, though, that this is nothing new, pointing to decades-old research about how we're all performing all the time - the internet simply magnifies it.

My favorite thoughts on that topic, though, are about this "fake woke" culture so many of us buy into. It's so easy to express a view on feminism/homelessness/poverty/civil right, etc. without having to do the work to change those social ills. "The internet was dramatically increasing our ability to know about things while our ability to change things stayed the same," she writes. The act of showing solidarity on social media is far more desirable than actually doing anything about the issues.

She writes about the meteoric rise of athleisure, at once complimenting and condemning it. She subtly mocks the "Spiritual Gangster" tank top trends and eloquently explains the draw of often-overpriced leggings. "It feels comforting to wear high-quality spandex," she says. "I imagine it's what a dog feels like in a Thundershirt."

There are thoughts on marriage and how the institution ultimately harms women more than men; she writes about the scams that define her generation, from Frye Festival to student debt to the housing market crash; she compares ecstasy to her megachurch Houston upbringing; and she devotes an entire chapter to the pure heroism of young female characters in literature.

I didn't love every essay, but I loved most and at least liked the rest. She's worth a follow on Twitter, a read of this book and at least a few thoughts next time to log onto Facebook and see your Namaste in Bed-clad friending posting about social issues.

A great start towards my goal of 60 (!) books in 2020. Away we go!