The Expats

I made the mistake of starting The Expats on audiobook. Some people are great fans of the format, but at the best of times my mind tends to wander away from the story. The Expats is a particularly difficult book for the format as it jumps from past to present, so I just couldn't follow—even when I was paying attention. I finally checked out a paper copy to read the last half of the book, so I don’t feel very qualified to write a review.

But I’ll still try.

I’ve never read spy novels before, but I think The Expats tries to fit into the genre. As I read, I could feel its desire to be turned into a summer film in the vein of the Bourne saga. I picked up this book because of the reviews and was definitely disappointed that it was neither a fast, exciting beach read nor an especially well-written piece of literary fiction. I was particularly disappointed with Kate, the main character. She didn’t feel authentic, and I always wonder about writers who try to write from the perspective of the opposite sex because so often it doesn’t ring true.

The book was an adequate read, but certainly not a summer blockbuster to tell all your friends about.

Moonlight in Odessa

Daria is a well-educated Odessan who takes a job as a secretary for an international company and discovers there is more in her job description than she bargained for. In the evenings she works at a “mail-order bride” agency, interpreting for men looking for a “traditional” wife and women wanting to escape poverty through marriage. On top of that, she has to deal with the advances of a local mafia boss.

Moonlight in Odessa paints what I consider to be a fairly accurate picture of post-Soviet Ukraine: an educated population faced with few job prospects; amazing women with a less-than-stellar crop of males to choose from; and the uncomfortable choices some women feel forced to make to escape poverty.

That said, Moonlight is not a dreary drudge of a read. The writing is fast-paced, smart, and often humorous. Daria is a likable main character with a lot of spunk that the reader can’t help but root for.

We Are All Made of Glue

I am a big fan of Marina Lewycka. She has a vibrant writing style and tackles difficult and uncomfortable subjects with both respect and humor.

Georgie Sinclair is experiencing a true midlife crisis. Her husband leaves her, and she feels distant from her teenage children. The emptiness in her life is suddenly filled by an elderly woman, Mrs. Shapiro, who drops into Georgie’s life and starts to consume it. Georgie is left to deal with Mrs. Shapiro’s medical issues, her unsanitary house, unsavory real estate agents, and a crew of Palestinian repairmen.

We Are All Made of Glue seems like an unlikely forum and Georgie an unlikely character to addresses sensitive issues like the British healthcare system and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, but Lewycka pulls it off with aplomb.

Paris, My Sweet: A Year in the City of Light (and Dark Chocolate)

I am truly, madly, and deeply in love with Paris. I spent one magical semester there and can honestly say I was completely happy and content the entire time. The only thing I love more than Paris is chocolate, so I was drawn to Amy Thomas’s memoir Paris, My Sweet: A Year in the City of Light (and Dark Chocolate).

At times, this book can be quite inaccessible. Thomas moved from New York City to Paris. She had a good job in New York. She has a good job in Paris. She spends good chunks of her life eating dessert! Yet she is openly dissatisfied with her life in both cities. Most readers will never have the opportunity to work in an advertising agency and eat chocolate in either city and don’t really want her to complain about her lifestyle.

On the other hand, she is very honest. I wondered how her New York friends felt reading about how distant she felt from them when she visited the city and how desperately she wanted to return to Paris, only to discover Paris was equally dissatisfying. I appreciate her honesty. And the truth is that even people who seem to have a charmed life and get to eat cakes and cookies for a living have the right to emotions and disappointments like the rest of us.

Gone Girl

The first part of Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl is an engrossing mystery. I have watched too many 48 Hours mysteries not to be fascinated by the story of a missing wife, an unhappy husband, and a bizarre crime scene. Flynn does a good job of describing and capturing the emotions of disappointments in marriage, and I think many readers can relate at some level to those feelings. I recommend this book because of the first half only.

The second half of the book goes awry. I was initially drawn to the mystery because I could relate. I understood the struggles of marriage. I could see the main characters as people I might actually know. All those feelings—all that sympathy with the characters—was blown away in the second half of the book and I only finished reading out of horrible curiosity about horrible people and not because I cared a jot about the story or characters.

Paris in Love

I am in love with Paris. I spent one magical fall there as an intern and have visited the city multiple times. Just thinking about Paris makes my heart flutter with excitement. So how could I resist picking up Eloisa James’s memoir Paris in Love?

James describes the Paris I love. Her book lacks the pretension that seems to ooze from other Paris memoirs I have recently read. She shares facebook status updates and ordinary experiences from her daily life. She brings to life the sites, the sounds, the smells, the tastes of Paris but also talks about her children’s struggles to adapt and even the ups and downs of their dog, Milo. James reveals herself as a real person and makes Paris accessible to real people, yet still maintains the city’s charm.

Just writing about this book makes me miss Paris. Now I just have to figure out a way to get back.

The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair that Changed America

One of my sisters suggested we read Erik Larson’s The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair that Changed America so we could discuss the book together.

I dutifully read, and even enjoyed, the book, but I could never shake the feeling that I was not reading one book but at least two. Larson interweaves the story of Chicago’s World's Columbian Exposition with that of H.H. Holmes, a serial killer active during that time. I kept waiting for Larson to make a connection between the stories. What does a history about architecture, building, and the economy have to do with a serial killer?

Turns out, not a whole lot.

Larson is an incredible researcher and the book is full of vivid details (and he takes quite a few liberties imagining those details). I found both stories (architecture and murder) to be quite interesting but an ill-fitting pair. At almost 400 pages, Larson would have better served his readers by writing two separate books.

Yes, I Would Love Another Glass of Tea: An American Woman’s Letters to Turkey

As an American woman who spent several years living in and traveling to Turkey, I was intrigued by the title of Katharine Branning’s memoir: Yes, I Would Love Another Glass of Tea: An American Woman’s Letters to Turkey. Branning, a fellow librarian, has traveled and researched in Turkey since 1978 and has a clear love for and affinity with the country. However, the book does not do a good job of showing that love. She tells about her love, she gives lists and details about different topics relating to the country, culture, and people, but she does not paint a clear picture of her Turkey. I wanted less telling and more stories. I wanted concrete examples to support her claims. I wanted to feel Turkey and enjoy her personality, but she failed to bring color to her essays. In addition, the book is framed around letters to Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, who is known for her letters written from Turkey in the 18th century. However, this device was more distracting and clunky than helpful.

Overall, I was quite disappointed with the book . . . until I read the last essay. In her final chapter, Branning describes her journey from Istanbul to New York City on September 11, 2001. For the first time, she shows her story, she reveals her feelings and emotions, and she finally connects with the reader. Even a dozen years after the event, I found myself overwhelmed by emotions: my own, Branning’s, and the Turks that embraced her at the time. If only she had been willing to expose herself in a similar fashion throughout the book.

Death of a Kingfisher

M.C. Beaton breaks little new ground in her 28th installment of the Hamish Macbeth series, Death of a Kingfisher. Hamish hasn’t progressed personally or professionally. He hasn’t even aged—I started reading the series as a teenager, and I am now officially older than he is!—yet Sergeant Macbeth is as pleasant and comfortable a companion as ever. Kingfisher is a cozy, painless read—if you consider murder cozy and painless—and the book does end on a minor cliffhanger. Now, I just have to wait another year for the next entry in the series.

Why We Broke Up

I really wanted to like Daniel Handler’s Why We Broke Up. I mean, who wouldn’t like such a catchy title from no less than Lemony Snicket himself?

It’s no spoiler to write that Min, a would-be film director, and Ed, co-captain of the high school basketball team, broke up. In fact, the entire book (and it is one thick, heavy book) is Min’s account of their relationship and why they broke up.

I wanted to cheer for Min, but I actually found her pretentious and just plain annoying. She goes on and on, comparing every incident in their relationship to some obscure film. Frankly, I was bored with her narrative. Maybe if I was as artsy, or “different,” as Min, I’d find her charming, but her voice is just plain obnoxious.

As for Ed, I wish he’d been more than the stereotypical athlete. And, to be quite frank, the relationship and the break up simply did not ring authentic. Why would a jock be attracted to such a weirdo? And if he were attracted to someone because she was so different, why would he treat her so badly? It just didn’t make sense.

The book isn’t a complete failure. I felt sad and depressed most of the way through because I, like almost every other person in the universe, could relate to breaking up. The book did bring up memories of first love and sweet love and the tragedy of a dead romance, so I was left with a feeling of nostalgia and a general unease. Maybe some memories are just better left unremembered.

Withering Tights

As a super-fan of Louise Rennison’s now complete Confessions of Georgia Nicolson series, I was thrilled when the author published a new book. The Misadventures of Tallulah Casey series premieres with Withering Tights.

Fourteen-year-old Tallulah just happens to be Georgia’s younger cousin. She has been accepted into a summer workshop at a performing arts academy, with the possibility of full-time acceptance in the fall. Over the summer, Tallulah experiences several “misadventures” as she makes friends, meets boys, and struggles to find her individual talents.

I wanted to rave about this series. I wanted to love it like I love Confessions. I wanted to laugh out loud for hours. Sadly, Withering is, as Georgia says, a mere “facsimile of a sham.” It reads like someone trying to copy, unsuccessfully, the style and charm of Confessions.

Tallulah needs to develop her own voice and her own style, instead of simply piggybacking on her cousin’s. I’m not ready to give up on her yet, and I hope Rennison isn’t, either.

Death Comes to Pemberley

P.D. James’s Death Comes to Pemberley suffers from overhype. Based on rave reviews and all the Top 10 lists the book appeared on, I was expecting nothing less than the reincarnation of Jane Austen herself. Of course, I set myself up for disappointment.

Death takes place several years after Austen’s Pride and Prejudice concludes. Darcy and Elizabeth are happily married, living a life of peace and satisfaction at Pemberley. That is, until Lydia Wickham, Elizabeth’s youngest sister, breaks that peace by appearing unexpectedly at their doorstep, declaring her husband has been murdered.

The book follows the case, and subsequent trial, and its effects on the residents of Pemberley. The mystery is interesting, although somewhat predictable, but James often gets bogged down in the legal procedures of 19th-century England. I often felt like I was reading a law textbook, not exactly my choice of pleasure reading.

I've never been a proponent of fan fiction, and I'm not sure why James, who has no need to piggyback on Austen's reputation, chose to write this sequel, particularly since the story could easily have been told without the aid of Austen's characters.  (That said, I was also surprised James paints Elizabeth's character, at times, in a rather unflattering, mercenary light.) 

Death does attempt to emulate Austen’s style, often dwelling on details and meandering through descriptions. What delights me in Austen’s novels, however, frustrates me in Death. If I want to read an Austen-esque novel, I will read an actual Austen novel. 

If you don’t expect a great read, Death is a satisfactory mystery. If you buy into all the hype, you’ll just be disappointed.

Sunstroke and Other Stories

I can’t remember what I read about Tessa Hadley’s collection of short fiction, Sunstroke and Other Stories, that inspired me to check out a copy. And after reading the collection, I still have no idea.

Hadley is a fine writer and carefully crafts her short stories, which take place in Britain, often in the 1960s and 70s. I enjoyed her writing, but her perspective on life was overall much bleaker than I subscribe to and enjoy.

The stories take an unromanticized look at life, love, relationships, and family. For example, many characters appear to unblinkingly engage in extra-marital affairs as if it is a natural, and not altogether pleasant, part of life. Other characters keep painful secrets from their loved ones. Even the characters who lose themselves in fantasies seem unsatisfied by their imaginations. Reading the stories, it was easy to feel pessimistic about life and the possibility of happiness.

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

After years of listening to his grandfather’s stories of children who can float or make fire, sixteen-year-old Jacob travels to Wales to visit the orphanage his grandfather grew up in.

Who wouldn’t be intrigued by Ransom Riggs’s Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children? Not only is the book a bestseller, but it’s full of the creepiest old pictures I’ve ever seen. I had to read it.

And I did read it, although slog through it might be a better description. The premise is intriguing, but the execution is often excruciating. Riggs’ prose is dense and lacks any character or spark. The story oftentimes feels unnatural, as if Riggs is trying to craft around the pictures he found rather than use photos that fit the story. Not until 200 pages in did I feel invested enough in the story that I actually wanted to finish the book.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered this book is only the first in a series. There was no resolution, no conclusion, no payoff for all my time and hard work. I felt downright cheated, and I definitely will not be tuning in for the sequel.

The Most Beautiful Walk in the World

The few months I lived in Paris were the most ideal of my life. I was completely content—surrounded by beauty, history, and life—and still consider Paris my favorite city in the world. Naturally, I gravitated to John Baxter’s The Most Beautiful Walk in the World: A Pedestrian in Paris.

Walk is a combination of personal narrative and scholarly essay. Baxter relates experiences (sometimes non-walks) from his native Australia to Los Angeles to Paris and interweaves them with historical incidents, particularly from early-20th-century-literary Paris.

At times, Baxter, who lives in a post-Hemingway-post-Fitzgerald society, comes across as elitist. Some of the historical passages also read too much like a university assignment and tend to drag. Only when Baxter backs away from the history and prestige to share his own experiences does the narrative really glow with Paris’s energy.

Anya's Ghost

I enjoy graphic novels, though I’m certainly not a fanatic, and I was pleased to read Vera Brosgol's Anya’s Ghost, an interesting addition to the genre.

Anya is a teenager originally from Russia. She has worked hard to put her immigrant status behind her but still struggles to find her place in a private high school. Everything changes when, after an accident, she meets a ghost who appears to have the answers to all Anya’s problems.

Immigration and identity are nothing new to graphic novels (think American Born Chinese), but Brosgol brings an unexpected twist to the theme. The book is a fast read, with several turns, and quite enjoyable. Anya is only a semi-likable heroine, though I suspect most real teenagers are only semi-likable, but her interaction with the ghost helps her to mature in an intriguing way.

Vaclav & Lena

The only (free) copy of Haley Tanner's Vaclav & Lena I could get my hands on was the audio book. I’ve never been a fan of audio books outside of road trips. I have a hard time staying focused on the story and often find myself irritated with the choice of reader.

Vaclav & Lena was no exception. The reader, Kirby Heyborne, is a local “celebrity,” and I found his voice both distracting and annoying. Yet, I also found myself looking for opportunities to listen to the book. Generally, cooking/cleaning is my NPR time, but I forfeited my news to listen to Vaclav and Lena’s epic love story.

The book encompasses a lot and a little at the same time. It takes place over a brief time when the title characters are children and again when they are teenagers, but what those times represent is significant in both their struggles for identity. Vaclav and Lena are immigrants to the US from Russia and meet in ESL class: Vaclav’s parents brought him to the US for a better life; Lena isn’t even sure who her parents are.

I was attracted to this book because of my experience in Eastern Europe and as an ESL teacher, but anyone who has experienced love, change, and hurt can certainly relate to these characters.

Sisterhood Everlasting

Ann Brashares brings back the four young heroines from her popular Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants series in Sisterhood Everlasting—except this time, it is ten years later, and the girls are no longer teenagers. Instead, they face problems common to young professionals on the brink of 30.

At first, I was put off by the book. I knew many fans might consider the novel a betrayal to their loyalty, and I wondered why Brashares found it necessary to return to these four characters instead of letting them rest peacefully in readers’ imaginations.

As I continued reading, though, I came to terms with this new edition. I haven’t felt so compelled to ignore life and read a book for a long time (i.e., since having my son). As a 30-something myself, I could relate to some of the struggles these women face in terms of relationships, work, and parenthood. I found myself emotional on more than one occasion.

Brashares does of good job of tying up loose ends from previous novels. That said, I wish some of the characters had matured more in ten years than they had. Carmen is still a whiner; Lena is still pathetically inert. I just hope I’ve changed more in the last decade than these women.

The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party

Some series are like old friends. They are comfortable, lack surprises, and just make you feel good. The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency is one of those series. The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party is the newest entry. This time, detective Precious Romotswe helps one of her husband’s apprentices, Charlie, with a personal problem and investigates for a man whose cattle is being killed. Like the other books, Saturday addresses real problems but in such a mild, inoffensive way that it is like coming home to a good friend.

Hunger Games

I am definitely behind the times. I lived internationally for a few years and then had a baby—both things severely curtailing my pleasure reading. But I’ve finally finished Suzanne Collins’s Hunger Games series, months after everyone else.

I can see the initial appeal of the series. Hunger Games swept me in. Although I never really related to Katniss, who is rather abrasive and unlikeable, I was interested in the plot and felt attached to her fellow Hunger Games competitor Peeta. I’m not sure why so many authors insist of creating such unattractive (I don’t mean physically) female protagonists (think Bella Swan) that are inexplicably the center of male attention.

Hunger Games was plot driven, and I accepted that, going along for the ride. Catching Fire wasn’t quite as compelling, since the initial horror of what the Hunger Games are was long since revealed, but the plot was again interesting enough to keep me going.

The final entry, Mockingjay, though, failed to capitalize on the momentum of the first two (I know I’m not alone in these feelings). Moving from the Games to actual war lost much of the excitement and uniqueness of the series. Instead, the reader had to feel committed to Katniss and her success, and I struggled to care. She was often so weak, unlikable, selfish, and unfeeling that I wished someone else was the main character. I was also disappointed that Collins so casually disposed of so many characters. I felt particularly manipulated by the death of one whose life was the catalyst for the whole series. It made the entire series feel, in some ways, quite pointless.

Hunger Games was far from perfect and probably undeserving of much of its adoration and success. However, I am all for books that make young people read, and Collins definitely succeeded in inspiring a large following.