A while ago I requested a copy of Love and Capital: Karl and Jenny Marx and the Birth of a Revolution from NetGalley I couldn’t resist the glowing reviews and it was starting to appear on lots of “best” lists. Once I began reading it I could see why. Marx was charismatic, contentious, and arrogant; a loving father but also heavy drinker and an adulterer whose children grew up in grinding poverty. He was always scrounging money from friends and relatives, sometimes in the most disgraceful ways.  He committed to writing projects and publishers advanced him funds, but Marx was allergic to deadlines or to finishing projects at all. He was hounded from country to country for his political views but always lived in hope of the masses rising up and taking their due.  I grew up during the Cold War, when Marx was a bogeyman, so it’s been a revelation to have him turn into a real person, a brilliant economist and a very fallible husband and father. His long-suffering wife, Jenny, never wavered in her adoration of her scruffy husband or lost faith in his brilliance; she was the rock of his life.  Unfortunately I couldn’t finish the book before it expired so I put a reserve on it at the library. Now I have it sitting on my nightstand, waiting…

I read a review of Thrumpton Hall: A Memoir of Life in My Father’s House by Miranda Seymour and sensed that it was something I had to read. I downloaded a sample to my nook and was instantly absorbed by the author’s painful tale of her upper class dysfunctional English family. So I bought it, although I won’t be able to read it until I go on vacation later this year.

I also have lots of samples on my nook, impatiently waiting for me to make a decision: The Vertigo Years: Europe 1900-1914 by Philip Blom, War and Peace (!), The Darwin Economy: Liberty, Competition, and the Common Good by Robert H. Frank, Carpe Diem Put a Little Latin in Your Life by Harry Mount, Gilead by Marilynne Robinson, and Can You Forgive Her? by Anthony Trollope (I loved The Way We Live Now, hoping this is as wonderful).

Chand’s story starts in 1926, when 6 people riding on a bus witness a demonstraton by a group of communists in which a British official is wounded.  That incident is a harbinger of things to come, and for those people on the bus, their lives are never the same, indeed, from that point they are hurtling toward catastrophic changes and unimaginable terrors. We follow these families’ interwoven stories from 1926 to 1956, sharing the changes those years brought in their lives and in the political realm.

In 1926, Singapore was a British colony, part of Malaya. Its polyglot population of Chinese, Eurasians, and Indians, with their various loyalties, traditions, and expectations, makes it a rich source for a good storyteller like Chand. Her particular gift, in A Different Sky, is to create characters that live and breathe and that we care about. They all go through searing experiences, losing much of what they value; Chand keeps us at their side with her astute descriptions of their psychological states. What I also loved about the book was  that Chand loves her characters–all of them–even the ones who don’t behave so well.

There’s lots of history in A Different Sky, all of it based on historical records and none of it dry. The brutal Japanese invasion and occupation of Singapore in World War II is central to the story along with the post-War agitation for independence. There are some historical characters, like Lee Kwan Yew, who came to play such a pivotal role in Singapore’s history for so many years.  I’ve always admired writers who can take the historical record and give it life; that’s Chand’s gift in A Different Sky.

A few other historical novels I’ve enjoyed with Asian settings: The Calligrapher’s Daughter by Eugenia Kim  set in Korea; The Glass Palace by Amitav Ghosh, set in Burma;  The Language of Threads by Gail Tsukiyama; and of course The Raj Quartet by Paul Scott;

A researcher is sent to Brazil to find her but something has gone terribly wrong and he is not going to return home. His colleague, Dr. Marina Singh, must go and sort it all out.  And here’s where we enter, dear readers. We accompany Dr. Singh, we see it all through her eyes: the stink and sweat of the jungle, the mesmerizing flora, the impenetrable native customs. It’s overwhelming and bewildering to Marina, but she soldiers on, hoping to unravel it all and we try to stay with her or one step ahead. It’s a great story of clashing personalities with the mystery of the jungle to lend atmosphere.

Patchett’s theme is familiar, but that’s not to belittle it, just to say that she’s in very good company. Novels, plays, memoirs, and films about the (often naive) outsider trying to navigate a strange culture are legion. Along these lines, other novels that I’ve loved: Amitav Ghosh’s The Hungry Tide and Ronan Bennett’s The Catastrophist. For me, Henry James’s novel The Portrait of a Lady, qualifies, even though the setting is not exotic and the culture not ostensibly strange. I’d also add The Tempest, for plays; and Apocalypse Now as one example of a huge genre of films.

Many travel memoirs exploit this theme and we love them. In The Lost City of Z: A Tale of Deadly Obsession in the Amazon,  David Grann tells how he went off to the South American jungle in search of a famous vanished explorer. In Down the Nile : Alone in a Fisherman’s Skiff, Rosemary Mahoney navigates a hostile environment to accomplish her goal. I loved Erika Warmbrunn’s Where the Pavement Ends: One Woman’s Bicycle Trip Through Mongolia, China & Vietnam, where she takes on multiple cultures in her heroic journey. And for great fun, you can’t do better than God’s Middle Finger: Into the Lawless Heart of the Sierra Madre by Richard Grant. A novel that continues to resonate for me as our country continues to get mired in unwinnable, shape-shifting wars, is The Lotus Eaters by Tatiana Soli.

I think many of us are armchair travelers and armchair anthropologists. I still have my old copies of Frazier’s Golden Bough and C.W. Ceram’s Gods, Graves, and Scholars. It’s the endless fascination of the new and unexplored.

Shelf Awareness: Daily Enlightenment for the Book Trade a free Monday to Friday newsletter about books, authors, bookstores, publishing, and media matters.  Sign up for the professional edition. There’s also a readers’ edition which comes out twice a week and would be great to suggest to your patrons who want to keep up with the book world.

Omnivoracious is Amazon’s book blog, so it’s a good source for what’s selling, trending, or otherwise of intense interest to those power readers who must have the latest and best. At the moment there are several posts about “best” books in various categories: crafts, cooking, art/photography, bio and memoir, so it’s a good source for checking your own catalog and finding topics and titles for displays.

Early Word: The Publisher/Librarian Connection is a great blog/website and new book resource. It’s lively, timely and aims to give libraries the earliest information possible on new and forthcoming books.

Blogging for a Good Book is subtitled “A Suggestion a Day from the Williamsburg Regional Library”  and that’s just what it is–a review every day of a new or recent book. The titles are diverse as you’d expect since individual staffers are writing about what they’re reading and enjoying. In the last few days they’ve reviewed mystery, romance, teen fiction, literary fiction and science fiction. Something for everyone. I immediately put a reserve on Ready Player One by Ernest Cline. Here’s a case where you can let the folks at Williamsburg do some work for you. Read their reviews and pass them on to your readers.

Goodreads is a great social networking site for readers to exchange thoughts about the books they read and that makes it a good resource for librarians. I started using it just to record the books I read but there’s now so much more going on. As John pointed out yesterday, the Listopia feature would be very helpful for displays. Goodreads lets me know when there are new books coming out by the authors I’ve already read, allows members to set up discussion groups, publishes author interviews, and generally tries to make connections among readers. It’s worth spending some time getting to know the site.

The Swerve: How the World Became Modern by Stephen Greenblatt. I’ve been reading this slowly; I’m now thinking I’ll go back to the beginning and take notes as I read it. I studied Greek and Roman history, literature, and art in college and I savor any opportunity to revisit those subjects. Often, when I go to the Metropolitan Museum I walk through the beautifully renovated Greek and Roman galleries. I still remember when the Greek vases were in the dusty basement, case after case of treasures. The Swerve is about the re-discovery of De Rerum Natura–On the Nature of Things–the great philosophical and scientific work by the Roman Epicurean poet  Lucretius from the first century BC.  De Rerum Natura was Lucretius’s effort to make sense of the physical world, to prove that all things operate according to natural laws, not dependent on religion.  Manuscript hunters in the fifteenth century visited scriptoria in monasteries to find the classical works that were buried there, lost or swept aside when the Christian Church tried to wipe out all vestiges of ancient religion and philosophy. The copying and translation of De Rerum Natura had a remarkable effect, according to Greenblatt, inspiring artists, writers, philosophers, and scientists and creating the remarkable flowering we know as the  Renaissance. Greenblatt meanders through the story, filling us in on all kinds of history and philosophy; a great read. I also enjoyed his earlier book Will in the World: How Shakespeare Became Shakespeare, about how the complicated political and social changes in Shakespeare’s times affected the man and his plays.

The Grief of Others by Leah Hager Cohen. I was immediately drawn into this story of how grief and past mistakes can derail a happy family.  John and Ricky Ryrie’s third child died shortly after a premature birth and it’s clear to their two children, a year later, that although family  life goes on in the ways they’ve come to expect, their parents have lost their way. I read Cohen’s lovely memoir Train Go Sorry: Inside a Deaf World (it’s in my memoir book) a tender, fascinating account of growing up at the Lexington School for the Deaf, where her father taught. The Grief of Others is in some ways about people hearing what’s unsaid.

Just My Type: A Book About Fonts by Simon Garfield. When we all used typewriters, fonts weren’t something we thought about very much. Even the IBM Selectric, with its removable ball, had a limited selection of fonts and for personal use, e.g., term papers, we just didn’t care. But, of course, we were aware of fonts; we could always identify a New York newspaper just by looking at the typeface and layout without seeing the masthead. And who didn’t practice drawing fat “cookie letter” alphabets or messing around with various typefaces that looked so cool on our notebook covers? Now we casually accessorize our documents with fonts and scorn the overused ones, like Helvetica and Comic Sans. The reviews on Garfield’s book have been terrific; I’m looking forward to reading about the social and cultural history of fonts and how they’ve become part of the message. And for anyone who has an interest in letterpress printing, take a look at the website briarpress.org. Full disclosure here: my son Alex is the technical wizard who keeps it working.

Thinks… by David Lodge. I love David Lodge’s brand of satirical humor and have enjoyed several of his novels: Paradise News, Nice Work, and Small World. My husband just finished Lodge’s latest book, a sort of biography in novel’s clothing, about H.G. Wells, called A Man of Parts. Not sure I’ll read that one, although it does tie in with my interest in British writers of that period. We’ll see…

Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese. I read Verghese’s memoir My Own Country: A Doctor’s Story shortly after it was published in the mid-90s, probably because something in the reviews appealed to me. It is one of only a handful of books that I’ve rated a 5 on my Goodreads account. It was extraordinary: a beautifully written account of how a young immigrant doctor in rural Tennessee discovered his calling caring for the young gay men who were returning from the cities to their rural homes to die of AIDS. My copy of Cutting for Stone is signed; I got it at Book Expo after hearing Verghese speak at an author breakfast. Somehow, I’ve neglected to read it when everyone else already has. Soon, soon.

Ancestral Passions: The Leakey Family and the Quest for Humankind’s Beginnnings by Virginia Morell. We were in Tanzania in August and visited Oldupai Gorge, so I bought this in preparation for that trip, not realizing that Morell’s biography of the family is enormous and hugely detailed. It’s fascinating, more so now that I’ve been to the famous site, but it’s not clear when I’ll get back to it.

I suspect I’m not the only one who is deluded about the number of books I can read or listen to. I cart home armloads from the library and then return some portion unread; so sad. Then, of course, we forget about those titles, until they appear on “best” lists and then we cart them home from the library or download them to our devices once again.

So in several parts, in several days, here’s the list of what’s waiting for me, starting with the audiobooks on my mp3 player:

The Widower’s Tale by Julia Glass. I’m almost finished with this one and while I’m enjoying it, I think the hard copy would have been a better choice. The reader is very good, distinguishing all the voices in a wonderful way, but the story unfolds in a leisurely manner and Mark Bramhall’s careful reading makes it even more leisurely. I haven’t been driving or walking enough, so I’ve been listening for too long. It reminds me, in its themes, of her earlier novel, The Whole World Over; if you enjoyed that one, you’ll probably enjoy this one, too.

River of Smoke by Amitav Ghosh. Ghosh is one of my favorite writers; I listened to The Hungry Tide a several years ago and it still haunts me. River of Smoke is #2 in a trilogy; I read the first part, Sea of Poppies and was hooked into this sweeping tale of Indian history and society. Can’t wait to listen to it, although I’m concerned that I won’t be able to flip back and forth to manage the huge cast.

The Falls by Joyce Carol Oates. I listened to Oates’s Little Bird of Heaven and  downloaded this one hoping it’s as compelling. I have a hard time reading Oates because she’s so unrelentingly grim. We’ll see.

The Leftovers by Tom Perrotta. Sounded too intriguing to pass up. Haven’t read anything by Perrotta yet.

The Ask by Sam Lipsyte. Publishers’ Weekly called this a pitch-black comedy; sounds great for audio and the reviews were stellar.

The Broom of the System by David Foster Wallace. Well, I couldn’t resist this one, especially after just finishing The Marriage Plot; I’m told the manic-depressive Leonard Bankhead is modeled on Wallace. We’ll see.

The Cat’s Table by Michael Ondaatje. Ondaatje’s never one to miss and this book has been getting such great reviews. It will be an interesting contrast with River of Smoke (above) since both are set on ships in the Indian Ocean.

On Canaan’s Side by Sebastian Barry. I’m looking forward to listening to this one for the beautiful language.

The Paris Wife by Paula McClain. I spent many years reading about Gertrude Stein and the artists and expatriates and artists who circled around her, so I’m interested in this “take” on Hemingway in Paris from the point of view of his wife, Hadley.

Great Expectations and Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. These are just in case I run out of books to listen to. Likely, huh? Not to mention that there are also 3 French language audio courses waiting too…

The links on the list include sites for mystery, science fiction, romance, and literary fiction readers; sites like Early Word and Shelf Awareness to help keep up with what’s going on in the book world and publishing industry; and other interesting sites that will surely eat up your time but, hey, you probably won’t be sorry.

The area was roped off, but my name was on a list so we went in and had some of the hors d’oeuvres that were being passed around and I bought a copy of the new High Line book and had it signed for my husband, who couldn’t make it. We walked around for a while, enjoying what’s probably one of the last few days of summer temperatures, and then walked north for a while into the new part of the park that stretches up to 30th St. Even this first year, the trees there have grown so large that it’s like walking through a narrow wooded path . The landscape design continues to develop and enchant.

The narrative part of the book is in the form of a conversation between Hammond and David, tracing the inception of the idea to the reality of thousands of people wandering, eating, sleeping, jogging, and sunning themselves. There are a huge number of photographs, many of which I’ve never seen before, like the one that shows the “cowboys” that were hired to ride in front of the trains when they were at ground level on 11th Ave. to warn away pedestrians. In such a contentious city, where every project is hotly debated and so many never come to fruition, the High Line is literally, a breath of fresh air.

It was a large panel–6 plus the moderator, and Molly O’Neill, who didn’t make it, would have made 7. I was so hoping to see and hear her, mainly because I included her terrific memoir, Mostly True: A Memoir of Family, Food, and Baseball in my book. I do feel a connection with all those memoirists!

Almost everyone on the panel had met Julia and I loved hearing their stories about her: her generosity, her focus and attention to detail, her sincerity, and the way she welcomed people into her life. Her first editor, Judith Jones, spoke about how, after making the rounds of several publishers, all of whom felt that there was no U.S. market for a serious French cookbook, the manuscript came to her, a newbie in the Knopf offices and she realized how wonderful it was. If you’ve seen the movie Julie and Julia, you probably remember the scene of Judith Jones making boeuf bourguignon from Julia’s recipe. Jones’s own memoir of her stellar career in publishing, The Tenth Muse: My Life in Food, was published in 2008.

The other panelists were Dana Polan, Laura Shapiro, Dr. Amy Trubek, Geoffrey Drummond, and Priscilla Ferguson. The moderator was Andrew F. Smith.

I have a list of interesting cooks’ and foodies’ memoirs here.

Someone in the audience asked Trillin for the secret of writing humor. He answered that it was important to put in specific details–if you’re eating a Philly cheesesteak while leaning against a car, it’s funnier if you describe the car as a Pontiac. For me, that’s the secret of Woody Allen’s humor, too, the absurd, telling detail. Like his line, “Not only is there no God, but try getting a plumber on weekends.” It’s the juxtaposition of the sublime and the mundane that gets the laugh.