Leonardo and the Last Supper by Ross King

Were it not our book club selection, I doubt I would have chosen this book and had I not agreed to lead the discussion, I most likely would not have finished it.  Leonardo and the Last Supper is a dense, sometimes laborious read.  Filled with historical, political and cultural information to provide a context for Leonardo's famous painting, this book is not for the reader who reads chiefly for entertainment.  It reads like a series of an art historian's lectures rather than historical narrative (such as the work of Candace Millard, a much easier read).

But if you read to learn, or also read to learn, this book is  worth every one of the 275 small print pages.  King provides a rich tapestry of data about the players - the European monarchs and popes and artists,  and the times - the High Renaissance in Italy - that generated the iconic mural that continues to fascinate after more than 500 years.    He details the reasons the Last Supper took so long to complete and why it is sadly deteriorating.  And he creates a deeper understanding of the charismatic and brilliant genius who would have preferred a career, and fame, as an architect and military engineer. 

 We had a lively book club discussion, as the variety and depth of information allowed for everyone to contribute from a different angle.  Be forewarned that if you prefer to use a reading guide, I couldn't  find one.  Didn't create a problem, however.  All I had to do was ask "What did you learn?" and "What most fascinated you about the book?" and we were off and running.

 At the conclusion of our discussion, I asked, "Would you recommend this book?" and to a person, the response was, "It depends."  I, we'd, recommend this to anyone fascinated by  the period, the artist, the work and/or the controversy around it.  (A caveat - King loves the detail, the names, the dates, the obscure vignettes.  There are pages of footnotes, in themselves an interesting read.) In the final analysis, I can't recall a book I've learned so much from in many years.  If that tweaks your interest, at least check out Leonardo and the Last Supper.

Levels of Life by Julian Barnes

Julian Barnes is one of a handful of authors whose books I order without reading  reviews or even knowing anything about the content of the book..  I have never been disappointed.  Clever writing, a quirky sense of humor, interesting insights into the human condition, challenging questions.  I love the way he writes, but even more, I love the way he thinks - and provokes my thinking.

So when my brother called to suggest Levels of Life, I immediately downloaded it and read it in an afternoon - it's a short read.  This time, I was glad to have a heads up about the structure of the book, divided into three sections that didn't come together until the final section - and the nature of the last section, the powerful, deeply personal and pain-full essay, "The Loss of Depth", in which Barnes shares his five year journey in "the tropic of grief", following the death of his wife from a brain tumor.

This book is not for the faint of heart.  Barnes' pain is palpable, and he is unflinchingly honest - whether he admits to contemplating suicide or describes the reactions of others, some helpful, and others not.  (I winced when I recognized some of my own inadequate, unhelpful responses to loved ones traveling this terrain.) He doesn't seek to reassure or instruct.  No sidebars about research on grief, no details that might evoke sympathy. 

In the Independent from the U.K., the reviewer concluded with this paragraph: " "Every love story is a potential grief story," writes Barnes early on.  Anyone who has loved and lost can't fail to be moved by this devastating book."  I would add that anyone who has been bewildered, uncomfortable or impatient with the grief of another, as I admittedly have, can't fail to be enlightened by this intimate and courageous essay. It may well be that ultimately this latter contribution may be the most significant.


If you want to know more about the book in its entirety,  I found this review to be particularly well done...
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/9951130/Julian-Barnes-Levels-of-Life-review.html  

The End of Your Life Book Club by Will Schwalbe

I'm back - haven't blogged, simply because....I haven't.  Have been reading though.   With the heat in Utah, and the hiatus of many activities I otherwise engage in, I've been on a reading marathon these past three months.  Such luxury!

In fact, have read a couple books a week, several short stories, magazines, blogs.  Fiction and non-fiction. Some memorable and some I gave up on after only a few pages.  The best, the highlight of my summer, the work that most engaged me, that most moved me was The End of Your Life Book Club by Will Schwalbe.

My synopsis will be brief - (this book is more than adequately introduced, outlined and reviewed elsewhere).  It is the recounting of the author's last months with his mother as they coped with her treatment for pancreatic cancer and eventual death.  It is a tribute to an incredible woman, their relationship, the informal book club of two that they created, the books they read and discussed and the insights Schwalbe got in the process.

What I want to share here is why this book has touched me so - why, though I read it on my Kindle, I bought a copy to place on the shelf that holds the dozen or so books that have impacted me most over my lifetime.  In no order of importance -

• "Mom" was a phenomenal woman.  Intelligent, courageous, compassionate, committed - she was the founding director of the Women's Commission for Refugee Women and Children, only one of several accomplishments in her life, including the raising of three children.  The kind of woman I would have loved to spend an afternoon with.  Getting to know her through the eyes of a loving son, through her responses to the various books, to get a glimpse of the woman, not just her accomplishments - I particularly enjoyed this aspect of the book.
• Will - well suffice it to say that had I had a son, I would hope he would write, speak of me, remember me with the obvious love and respect that he conveys throughout this book.  It is, indeed, a tribute.
• Being an avid reader, I was enthralled by the literary discursions.  Some of their choices I had already read - The Elegance of the Hedgehog, Olive Kitteridge, Crossing to Safety among others.  And admittedly, I was more than just a bit pleased that I often shared their reactions. Their opinions regarding other books, sometimes very divergent, intrigued me enough that I have already downloaded a couple.  Others, I'll skip, thank you!
• I found the style and the tone of the book to be very accessible.  Having had cancer myself, and caring for my husband during his bout with cancer, I was grateful for the honest, yet circumspect way in which Schwalbe relates both treatment and death - never maudlin, never gratuitous.  Not that I didn't cry - well, truthfully wept.  But I also laughed, out loud belly laughs. 

A final note - after I wiped away the last tear, I called my brother in Wisconsin, the most well-read individual I know, who constantly is calling me to read something he has just completed.  I asked him to read this and tell me what he thought of it.  Which he did - and called me within a couple days to say he loved it, so much so that he had just bought a copy to bring to a high school buddy who had recently lost his mother.  I plunged in, asking if he would consider creating our own book club (no, neither of us is dying, but we are close, value each other's opinions,  and getting on in years).  And held my breath wondering if he would consider my request an obligation.  Not only did he readily agreed, but so has our sister.

To be drawn to think, to feel, to relate, and to take action - doesn't get much better than that for me!



Cadillac Desert by Marc Reisner

I am embarrassed to say I have just read this amazing book..  My husband read it 25 years ago and has continued over the years to sing its praises and to encourage me to read it.  But daunted by its length and thinking I would need an engineering degree to understand it, I kept deflecting his recommendation.  Strange, then, that I should suggest it as a selection for our book club, and stranger yet that I would offer to lead its discussion.  Admittedly, while reading the first chapter I questioned my sanity for doing so.  Within 50 pages or so, however, I was hooked - by the content and by the quality of writing.

Cadillac Desert is the riveting tale of "the American West and Its Disappearing Water." It is also a tale of greed, fraud, duplicity, arrogance, hypocrisy, cronyism, graft, blind ambition, and plunder...to list some of the words that thundered in my mind as I poured through Reisner's expose. It is the story of "rivers diverted and dammed, of political corruption and intrigue, of billion-dollar battles over water rights and ecologic and economic disaster." A course in history and political science.   It is well-documented, compelling, perceptive and even occasionally witty. 

Halfway through the book I found myself doing additional research and came upon a series of videos on the Internet produced before Reisner's death in 2000, capturing interviews with him and with a villain of this saga,  Floyd Dominey, the Commissioner of the Bureau of Reclamation for 10 years.  I downloaded Beyond the Hundredth Meridian by Wallace Stegner, a book Reisner cited and respected. I found myself learning more than I had from any other book I've read in the past 10 years.  I decided that whether anyone else in the book club applauded this selection, I thought it was one of the best and most important selections chosen in the two years I have participated. 

As it turned out, I need not be concerned.  Everyone in our group of 15 found Cadillac Desert valuable, intriguing, an important contribution, a powerful learning experience.  And agreed that he or she would recommend it to anyone who is concerned about the issue of water or the future of the western states in particular.  I'm only sorry I didn't read it sooner.



 

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

I know that Gone Girl has received its share of kudos, even rave reviews.  I've just plowed through 20+ reviews and it's easy to see I'm in a distinct minority of folks who not only didn't like it, but strongly disliked it. 

After the third woman told me that I HAD to read Gone Girl, I succumbed. Well, almost.  Started it three different times, wondering what I was missing.  Finally just jumped to the ending (after all, each woman had emphasized how stunned she was by the ending) and still didn't get it.  Didn't enjoy the writing - felt too studied, too affected.  Disliked the characters - an apathetic wimp married to a narcissistic sociopath...ugh. Was turned off by the style - alternating chapters that illuminate the inner thoughts of characters I wouldn't want to meet, let alone get to know so intimately!  Thinking that made my skin crawl.  A plot that felt contrived - granted I don't know any sociopaths...don't want to either. For me - nothing redeeming.

So rather than go into the content any further (you can find the same reviews), it might  clarify my reaction best if I share that I don't watch Criminal Minds or Law and Order: SVU.   I prefer Elementary or Castle to Hannibal or The Following; and when I'm blue, I search for a classic musical or a Golden Girls rerun. I enjoy the psychological mysteries of PD James or Ruth Rendell; I stopped reading Patricia Cornwall when her plots became darker and darker and doubt I'll try another Gillian Flynn.

 

The Italians Are Coming!!

Didn't set out to read only Italian crime novels these past few weeks, but one led to another and before I knew it, I'd read four.  Reading the four, by four different authors, taking place in different parts of Italy, and each of the protagonists having a distinctly different personality (shaped by their age and environment), I feel as though I've just had a crash course in Italian geography, history and sociology.

The four:

The Age of Doubt by Andrea Camilleri, takes place in Sicily.  Camilleri's novels have been made into tv movies, occasionally seen here on PBS.  Because I have been to Sicily and all my grandparents were Sicilian, three born there, this series holds a particular fascination for me.  Inspector Salvo Montalvo captures the Sicilian character as I experience it.  With a dark sophistication, a heavy dose of cynicism, softened by a strain of humor, the series continues to fascinate me.

In this installment, Montalbano is increasingly preoccupied with aging, and coupled with his on/off again relationship with Livia, finds himself falling in love with a younger woman, a beautiful harbor official who he comes to know as a result of his investigation into two murders that take place in the harbor. 

I loved this novel, found the emphasis on the love story, the humor, the Sicilian angst to be particularly engaging.  Might be my favorite in the series.

The Golden Egg, by Donna Leon, is the most recent (just released this week) in this series that takes place in Venice.  The protagonist, Commissario Guido Brunetti, is a moral, intellectual man striving to stay afloat in an ocean of amorality and corruption.  What I most appreciate about this series is the consistency of plot development, the social commentary, and thoughtful exploration of the human condition.  Not only is Brunetti a multi-dimensional character, but his wife, Paola, continues to take on more depth and breadth.  The descriptions of Venice are charming and include a background into the city's cultural heritage.

In this episode Brunetti is asked to look into a minor shop-keeping violation committed by the mayor's future daughter-in-law, a case he would prefer not be placed on his plate.  Then, Paola comes to him with a request to look into the sudden death of a handicapped man who worked at their dry cleaner, a man who turns out to have absolutely no legal papers, no record of existence.   

As is common to this series, there are many references to the corruption that runs rampant in Italian business and government, and my biggest concern is that Brunetti will resign and the series will end!

Death in Sardinia  by Marco Vichi, is the third in the crime series set in Florence in the l960's.  Inspector Bordelli is younger than Brunetti or Montalbano.  And much more consumed by his, and Italy's, past in World War II.  Although the crimes are well developed and explored in detail, Bordelli's memories of combat and the factions that existed in Italy during the war are a recurring motif - one that I have found intriguing and informative, so far.  Vichi also injects snatches of 60's history - Bordelli discovers The Rolling Stones in this novel - which lightens the serious atmosphere of the novel.   Because this is a young series in comparison to Leon's or Camilleri's, however, I don't have a good sense of Bordelli yet (and for some reason the second in the series is not available on the Kindle).  Haven't decided how much further I continue with this series.

Note: Vichi's translator is Stephen Sartarelli, who also translates Camilleri, with the same fluency and sensitivity to the English language.

River of Shadows by Valerio Varesi, is set in the Po Valley in 2000,and introduces a new protagonist, Commisario Soneri and his young female partner, Angela. Soneri reminds me a bit of Montalbano, so it will be interesting to see how he develops.  The novel is richly atmospheric, with the valley's inhabitants and history as dark and meandering as the river that runs through it.  The mystery at the heart of the novel, the separate but ultimately related deaths of two elderly brothers leads, Soneri into the shadows still cast by the second World War, 55 years after its conclusion.  This is the only title in the series to be translated so far (and I wish Sartarelli had done it), but the series appears to have a following in Italy, so I suspect more will be coming.  And I will check out them out when they do.

 

The Complete Stories of David Malouf

From the reviews I've read of Australian David Malouf's books, folks either love him or dismiss him out of hand.   I'm one of the former.  In fact, I consider him to be one of the finest writers of our time, perhaps my favorite.

Having read four of his novels, I was delighted when my brother (to whom I had introduced Malouf several years ago) sent me this volume of all the short stories Malouf had published to the date of this publication - 2007.  It is, admittedly, not an easy read.  Malouf's sentence structure can be complicated, his characters multi-dimensional and sometimes quite unappealing, his short stories vignettes that can leave you perplexed and discombobulated filled with what one reviewer described as angst.  But the writing - lyrical, magical.  Suddenly a phrase appears and I ask myself not only how he thinks that he could describe a place or a behavior with such exquisite clarity, but also how he looks at the world to see what I know I would not see.

But I don't intend to review this book here....for that, I recommend http://www.waterbridgereview.org/102007/rvw_complete.php where Abby Pollak has a thorough, well-written review.


However, if you read to learn, not merely to be entertained, if you enjoy exploring another place or culture, if you are comfortable with the discomfort of having your thinking challenged, your perceptions altered, if you can appreciate the craftsmanship of a piece whether or not you like the content, if you are intrigued with intricacies and paradoxes of the human condition, try Malouf.  And if you are already familiar with and appreciate him, The Complete Stories will not disappoint you.