The Good Thief, by Hannah Tinti

Several reviewers refer to this tale as "Dickensian" and I have to agree. It stars a young boy, Ren, an orphan who is adopted by a con man, Benjamin, because Ren is missing one hand. Benjamin makes up any number of stories about the missing hand, and uses the sympathy of others to take their money. He soon learns that Ren has a way with stealing in any case, and is glad he doesn't have to teach him that particular skill.

So we start to think of Oliver Twist and others. This story, though, is set in New England. Not that it matters much, as that part of the country is older and steeped in buried history, much like its namesake.

The tale - and I feel "tale" is the right word - takes on gigantic dimensions in the adventure department, yet while I laughed at the absurdity of some of the characters I was willing to buy them. I also found the dialogue believable, authentic, unlike the mannered dialogue I have encountered in other "period" novels. Normally I walk away from fantastic fairy tales and period stories but this one grabbed me, from the grave-digging to the giant to the yelling landlady.  

An Exact Replica of a Figment of my Imagination, by Elizabeth McCracken

A writer of fiction, Elizabeth McCracken found herself in France in an old house in the country, pregnant. She and her husband like to visit different places when not required to be home. Thus the French country. The two of them arranged for a midwife and had access to a hospital about 40 minutes away. All checkups went well, until the last one, when there appeared to be something amiss.

The baby was stillborn.

This book is the story of that baby, the months before and after, the way Elizabeth and her husband coped with the loss. It is written simply and freely, from the heart. Yet, although she says she did very little editing, she seemed to have a sense of how to tell the story. We know from the start that the baby dies, but we know no more about it until well into the story.

What we learn goes beyond the grief. We learn how a tragedy can be associated with a place to such an extent that the place is forever ruined. We learn that it is important to say something to the grieving parents, not to ignore the grief.

We learned, in this case, that McCracken does not want to forget the happy days, months, before the birth, even though she never wants to see those places again. It's important to remember.

McCracken wrote the book, she says, so that she does not have to keep telling the story, so that she does not have to answer the question, "Is this your first child?" It hurts to keep explaining, "No, the first was stillborn". Better that acquaintances already know.

A simply-written memoir that manages to sidestep the maudlin yet lets us in on the fullness of a mother's pain. 

Rape: A Love Story, by Joyce Carol Oates

At times I like the spare, abrupt prose Oates sometimes uses. At other times I feel it distances me from the subjects. I had difficulty this time, not being able to connect closely to the rape victim, her daughter, or their unusual "benefactor". Nevertheless, I was compelled to keep reading.

This is a story of horrific violence, not only the rape itself but so far beyond. And not just violence that's physical, but perhaps the worst kind, the emotional kind, the type that separates people from a community that we'd hope would support them. The victim is from "the other side of the tracks", familiar ground for Oates, who grew up herself in poverty. She knows the ground well and at times forces us to look at our prejudices, as she does here. For this we can be grateful to this prolific and often deeply moving writer.

Whitewash, by Joseph Keon

In this book-length indictment of the use of cow’s milk for human consumption, Keon leaves no stone unturned. Exhaustively, he offers us information on why cow’s milk is not good for humans, either children or adults; on contamination of milk products; on how the calcium in milk does not do a body good, in fact it weakens bones; on the association of dairy products with a myriad of human diseases; on the environmental effects of dairy farming (and a brief synopsis of the agonies of being a milk cow); and finally, on how to give up dairy products and lead a healthier life.

There is much good here, and I recommend having this book on your reference shelf. However, be careful with how you use the information. Keon is generally careful about making connections between dairy consumption and human health, for example, by saying milk “may” cause this or that disease or have an effect on it, when he is not certain that studies have made the connection conclusive.  At times, though, the sources he cites are not credible. For example, he makes connections between dairy consumption, vaccines, and autism, citing various studies by Andrew Wakefield that have since been discredited. He should have known of this discrediting and either found other, better sources (I am not aware there are any) or mentioned the cloud hanging over Dr. Wakefield. 

He also sometimes uses second- or third-hand information. For example, a reference to a Consumer Reports statement comes from an article in a newspaper rather than directly from Consumer Reports.  

To his credit, most sources are direct. Also to his credit, Keon does an admirable job describing the mechanisms by which our bodies handle different food products or contaminants. To me the descriptions sounded believable. However, Keon is not a doctor or scientist. He is a “wellness expert, nutrition and fitness expert”. Frankly, these are not titles that inspire confidence in me. There are no governmental standards for what a nutritionist or fitness expert must learn, and the various “wellness experts” around town are all self-described. This does not mean that a non-professional cannot write a good book about milk. He’s clearly knowledgable and understands a great deal about the human body, but the few issues raised above suggest to me that he would have done well to coordinate the writing of this book with a medical doctor or appropriate scientist. 

The book contains a wealth of supplementary information, from the cited sources to a separate “recommended reading” section. It therefore rates a place on any health-conscious person’s reference shelf.

The Body Artist, by Don Delillo (audio version)

The body artist is a woman who uses her body to create stories, images, different characters. She is a performance artist and her body is her medium.

In this story Lauren, the woman, the body artist, is facing the sudden death of her husband, a famous man. She is living in a rented house in a lonely location on the coast, trying to sort out her life and to continue working on her body. After she has been there a while she hears an odd noise and discovers a young man living in the house. While she is surprised she realizes quickly that the man is harmless, that he is "different" in a way she does not recognize. He does not respond to her questions normally; in fact he doesn't respond at all. He repeats things he has heard, most especially conversations Lauren had with her husband, word for word. And even in their voices.

Lauren tries to figure out when he heard these things, how long he has been in the house, who he is.

Gradually, over weeks, she becomes more accepting of the man, whom she names "Mr. Tuttle", and questions him less. She fixes food for him, washes him, has one-sided conversations with him. She explores her own mind and body through him, through watching and being super-aware of everything.

In fact, she is forever being aware. Aware of her feelings, her looks, her surroundings, what she says, what she sees. She is constantly observing and observing what she observes. And changing her perception, wondering for a bit if Mr. Tuttle is actually some new version of Ray, her husband. I began to wonder if Mr. Tuttle existed at all.

I honestly found it funny. As I listened to it I spontaneously laughed and said things like "OMG!" I couldn't really believe the near-stream-of-consciousness, the constant buzz of introspection. I found it funny and tiresome at the same time.

The reader, Laurie Anderson, probably did well in interpreting how this story should be told. She reads it softly, as if to herself, as if she is thinking it all. I found it unnerving, almost monotonous.

Through it all I tried to figure out what was really going on, what I should be getting from this. And I never did. I really hope others do.

Absurdistan, by Gary Shteyngart

I have honestly never read anything like this before, and I don't quite know what to make of it.

Clearly it's funny. It's sacrilegious. It's political and timely. Sort of.

Misha Vainberg, son of an enterprising Russian who took advantage of the changing of the guard - from communism to capitalism - to enrich himself, is the star of this strange adventure. Misha travels to the U.S. to obtain a higher education at Accidental College and falls in love with New York City as well as with a voluptuous young woman there. His money helps but there is something else about this very fat young man that attracts women, for he is forever falling in bed with one or another. Still, his heart, for a very long time, stays with Rouenna.

He returns to Russia, his father is murdered, and he learns that his father is responsible for the death of a Texas oil man. Misha and his millions are no longer welcome to the U.S., where his love remains.

But wait! Rouenna has fallen in love, or like, with a professor in NYC by the name of Jerry Shteynfarb, who has a bio strangely similar to the author's. She is ecstatic about all JS is teaching her, while Misha grumbles and tries to find ways to get back to NYC himself.

On his way he lands in Absurdistan, and here is where it all gets especially bizarre, as if it weren't already. He is there when a civil war breaks out between the two warring factions - and he is recruited to be something of an ambassador to Israel, drawing on his Jewish roots. At which point he writes a grant proposal for an unusual museum of the Holocaust.

I am not adequately prepared to review this book. The combination of Eastern bloc absurdities, the mocking of sex and religion, the parallels between Absurdistan and certain countries currently occupied by the Americans, including the efforts of companies like Halliburton and Kellogg Brown & Root, is more than I can comprehend and make sense of.  I think what kept me reading, after a fashion, was that I actually liked the rotund, sex-crazed, oddly caring Misha.

The Road from Coorain, by Jill Ker Conway

This is a remarkable little book. And "little" it really isn't. I started reading it thinking I'd just get it out of the way and maybe learn a little on the way. But it really captivated me and I learned a great deal more than I expected.

Years ago I read The Fatal Shore, about the founding of Australia. For years I carried around the unfair assessment of Australia that a colony founded with prisoners and cruel prison wardens, a country where the native population was wiped out and the British rule prevailed, was not a country I liked. It's funny, considering the parallels to my own country.

Over time, though, I got over it. It's another country with its own identity, secrets, wonders. Perhaps this memoir would give me a different perspective.

Jill begins life in the bush. She is born in 1934 in the back country of Australia to an ambitious and hard-working family, with two older brothers, a determined father, and a hard-working, intensely capable mother. Her mother oversees the running of the house on the sheep ranch, keeping everything shining and running and developing a thriving garden, full of vegetables and beautiful flowers.

Initially the sheep ranch is successful and improvements are gradually made. Jill becomes a hardworking child who likes working on the vast ranch with her father and his workers. Having been born on the ranch she does not realize how the ranch, the open spaces, the incredible quiet were unique in Australia. She accepts the requirement that she not cry, that she be stoic in the face of adversity. At the same time she is well aware that she is loved by both parents and valued fully. At this point I thought, "a functional family!" Yes, difficult times, hard times, but love and caring and support.

But then times change. A drought takes over the land, throwing the family and all other similar families into turmoil, distress, near-ruin. Sheep die and the smell of rotting bodies takes over Jill's memories of the land. In time she is more than ready to leave Coorain, the ranch. A terrible incident leads to the family moving to Sydney to ride it out.

Once settled in a small house in Sydney, Jill is sent to a private school that emphasises academics yet also accepts many children formerly from the bush. Quiet and reserved, she has a hard time initially fitting in but eventually her hard work and determination win her a solid place and a chance for a university education.

Jill enters the University of Sydney. She has always excelled at working hard and in spite of some setbacks continues to do so here. She becomes a true academic, a scholar in the history of Australia.

It is during her time here that Jill starts to make connections in her life. She starts to see a wider world and puts things in place that had not occurred to her before. She recognizes the second-place status women held at the time and for the first time sees the role aborigines have been forced to play for so long. She breaks away from her lifelong worldview - that of a colonial beholden to Britain. She has been raised to speak and behave more as a British citizen than an Australian. As she discovers more about her land, its citizens, and writers both Australian and not, Jill realizes that her beloved land is rarely recognized in its own right, for itself.

In addition to realizing where Australia fits in the world, Jill explores the role of women and other disenfranchised persons. She rises in the academic world, but constantly feels a pull from her mother. Her mother, the capable, strong, personable woman who handled everything in the bush, had become increasingly dependent on her daughter and less capable of caring for herself. Jill, for her part, felt suffocated and incapable of continuing to live with her mother.

The book is in large part an exploration of the relationship between the two. It is so much more, ultimately, yet this relationship is at the heart of it.

I found it a fascinating, deep, emotional account that explores one life but also the life of a country I did not know much about at all.