Whistler, by Ann Patchett: Are All Happy Families Happy In the Same Way?

One thing I've learned over the years from reading a lot novels is that if I ever lose touch with someone who I used to be close to and want to reconnect, I'll just go hang out in New York City for a while, ride the subway, go to a museum, maybe catch a ballgame at Yankee Stadium, and eventually I'll just randomly bump into that person again. 😁

This is of course tongue in cheek, but Ann Patchett's sweet new novel Whistler is the second novel I've read this year (The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny is the other...and there are a TON more, Martyr! also comes to mind) in which a random reconnection in a city of 8.5 million people is the plot catalyst. Generally speaking, this bugs me. 

It bugged me a little bit here, but I'm not going to let my own silly hang ups prevent me from enjoying an Ann Patchett novel, for goodness sake. Ann Patchett has earned the right to do whatever she pleases. And the good news here is that even if you're not totally vibing with a Patchett plot, her prose is engaging and endearing enough to keep you reading. Some writers you just connect with. Ann Patchett is one of those writers for me, and I know this is a common refrain among readers. 

Anyway, so here's what happens: Daphne and her husband Jonathan are at the Met, when Jonathan notices a seemingly creepy old guy following them. He confronts the guy and learns he's Daphne's stepfather! Eddie and Daphne's mother were briefly married when Daphne was 9, and Daphne has all but forgotten about him -- it's been 44 years, after all. But the two did share a traumatic event -- a car accident, in which they were trapped overnight -- the accident being the on-the-surface reason Daphne's mother divorced Eddie. She couldn't trust him anymore. But of course there is much more to it. And so the novel chronicles the story of their reconnection while delving into the past.  

Another thing I've learned reading a lot of fiction: Happy characters usually make for boring novels. But dammit if Ann Patchett isn't a rule-breaker. This novel is full of jolly, well-adjusted characters without much friction between them. There is one big family secret, but it's revealed reasonably quickly and the fallout isn't huge. Indeed, throughout this novel, there's hardly any of the conflict or big blowouts you'd normally see in family dramas. 

What is Patchett up to here, then? At its core, this is a novel about the nature of memory and how perspective changes over time. It's about a second chance at family, when a second chance isn't something you even knew you needed. Also, there's a story about a horse named Whistler. It's related, trust me.

If you've read this far, you've probably gotten the sense that this isn't my favorite Patchett novel. I'm in the minority, I think -- so many other readers seem to have loved this book. But what do we say in situations like this? A mid-tier Patchett is still better than a top-tier novel from 90 percent of other writers. And that's a hill I'll die on. 

A Very Special and Extremely Dorky Bookish Anniversary

On June 2, my trusty reading journal turned 25 years old! This single Word document now consists of 1,745 single-spaced pages and (this is truly crazy) 1,221,968 words (basically two War and Peaces). 

Here's the story: Way back in 2001, before Goodreads or any other way to keep track of books on the Web, I started this Word document I titled "list." Every time I'd finish reading a book, I'd sit down and spend 20 minutes (or often longer) writing about it -- why I picked it up in the first place, what I thought of it, key plot points, etc. And even though much easier and more sophisticated ways to track reading became available over the years, I stuck with my tried-and-true (and so GenX) method. 

This single document has been with me through four cities, about a dozen apartments, half a dozen laptops (I used to back this thing up manually on a thumb drive -- now it's backed up in the cloud), and more life events than I could even list.  The first book I wrote about -- on June 2, 2001 -- was John Updike's Rabbit Run. The most recent one, last week, was Rachel Leon's debut How We See The Gray. And there are 1,281 books in between. 

I know that total, because I always include a "finished on" date on my reading journal when I write about the book. In about 2009 when I first joined Goodreads, I backfilled all the books I'd read before that point into my new Goodreads account. So Goodreads also now goes all the way back to June 2, 2001. Peak book nerd achieved! 

Why is this journal so important to me? Beyond the simple idea that I just enjoy doing it, one of the reasons I've kept it up for so long and so meticulously is that I'm terrified of forgetting what I've read -- that in some future, the time spent with past books will be forgotten, and therefore erased. What could be worse than simply forgetting about an old friend?

But also, I can't tell you how valuable the reading journal has been for me as I've moved through a bookish life. Sure, if a sequel comes out, I can easily go back and find out what happened in the first one (and what I thought). But it's also helped me immensely as I've written about books more frequently. Just as one example: If you've ever tried to make a book list, and not sound repetitive, you know it's not easy -- this journal has helped me drudge back up specific details about books I read literally decades ago. 

The day I started this journal, I wrote: "Hopefully I’ll be reading this list (with a few hundred pages) when I’m 60." Welp, younger me, it's a few THOUSAND pages, and the odd are pretty good that if I make it to 60, so will this. 

How We See The Gray, by Rachel León: A Big 'Ole Dose of Empathy

At last week's release party for Rachel León's debut novel, How We See The Gray, León's editor, Megan Stielstra, told the crowd that reading this book had literally made her a better person. What a compliment! And you know what? That's true for me too. 

They say reading novels inspires empathy -- that walking a mile, even a fictional one, in someone else's shoes helps you see the world differently and gives you a better understanding of someone else's struggles. It makes sense, but I don't know how you prove that's true. At the very least, what is unquestionably true is that reading a novel helps you learn about things you didn't know about before. And that's the first step toward empathy -- toward being a better person. 

How We See The Gray interrogates the fraught foster care system through the eyes of social workers, children, parents, and foster parents. Set in Rockford, Illinois over the course of a year (June 2018-June 2019), we follow these characters through pain, success, lies, heartbreak, elation, addiction, hilarity, peace, and just about everything in between.

The gray in the title could be a reference both to the moral murkiness of an overmatched and underfunded foster care system, but also, and more importantly, it's a nod to how we should see every person as nuanced, neither good nor bad. Of course, it's not always easy to square in our minds people who have done bad things but aren't bad people. The currency of our current moment is the hot take -- the loudest and angriest voices drown out more reasoned, measured thought. Nuance is an endangered species. But people deserve more than snap judgment. No one should be defined by their worst moment. 

As I approached the end of this engaging novel, this line just smacked my gobs: "We believe this world would be kinder if people's default response was curiosity, rather than judgment." RIGHT?! I MEAN, RIGHT?!

But this is a novel, and we read novels, yes to learn, but mostly to be entertained. And let me be clear about one thing: This novel is very entertaining. It's not even the least bit preachy. Even if at times it's hard to read because it's emotionally painful, it's still a whole lot of fun.

León is a skillful and deft writer, constructing the stories in multiple points-of-view into a cohesive whole. It never feels fractured or discontinuous, as narratives in this structure sometimes do. 

Finally, the disclaimer: I do know Rachel. She is a friend. Whenever you pick up a friend's piece of writing, there's always that niggling voice in the back of your brain that goes, "What if I don't like this? What'll I do?" But I can tell you with a clear conscience: I liked this quite a bit. I mean, I REALLY liked this. It feels different -- like something fresh and original and (probably because it's from a small press) unlike anything else out there right now. Very highly recommended! 

(One last really stupid note: I've been struggling this whole post not to make a "How We See The Fifty Shades of Gray" joke. But EL James went with the British spelling "grey" [I know, the character's name is Grey], so it wouldn't have worked anyway. 😎 ) 

Top 10 Most Anticipated Fall Books

Friends, we are going to have some work to do this fall. Luckily, it'll be a labor of love. 

The already-announced (and I'm sure there are more coming) autumn slate of books is, in a word, huge -- books with page counts matched in weight only by the stature of the authors who have written them. If you're like me, you're totally here for a season of doorstops! (Not every book on my list is long, but a good percentage of them are!) Here's my list of top 10 books I can't wait to read this fall. 

(Reminder: Preorders are massively important for authors and publishers, AND, when you preorder with the links below, I get a little kickback, which I can use to buy more books, which I can then tell you about. Everyone wins.)

The Disappearers, by Marlon James (Sept. 1, 640 pages) -- I couldn't find my way into James's latest fantasy series, and so I'm really excited for this, his first "non-fantasy" novel since the absolute masterpiece that was 2014's A Brief History of Seven Killings. The Disappearers (be careful, it's NOT The Disappears, and typing The Disappearers just looks like a mistake. But it's not. I've quintuple checked.), about "the murder of a gay man in 1980s Jamaica and its tragic consequences" sounds like it's in a similar vein as Seven Killings. And similar heft. Woohoo!

Under Story, by Chloe Benjamin (Sept. 1, 502 pages) -- This will be my first time reading Chloe Benjamin and I cannot wait! The early reviews for this novel, which sounds like a combination of Richard Powers's environmental fiction, Emily St. John Mandel's universe, and even maybe a little David Mitchell, are absolutely breathless and ecstatic. It's described as "a modern epic of science and soul." All in! 

Taipei Story, by R.F. Kuang (Sept. 8, 288 pages) -- It's a pretty big upset that of all the books on this list, a new R.F. Kuang novel is the SHORTEST one. 😂 The proficient Kuang returns with a novel about a woman searching for clues about her family history. This seems to lean more realism than fantasy, but with Kuang, there are sure to be surprises. 

Exit Party, by Emily St. John Mandel (Sept. 15, 320 pages) -- St. John Mandel for me is always a MUST read. Beginning in Los Angeles in 2031 after the US has collapsed (holy shit, that's only five years from now...but yeah, doesn't seem too far-fetched, does it?) and jumping through time and place (including a domed colony on the moon), this sounds like quintessential St. John Mandel. 

Hollywood Ending, by John Green (Sept. 22, 320 pages) -- Nobody has broken the internet (for good news, at least) for a long time, but John Green almost did when he announced this new novel. The man is beloved. And this new novel, about a pair of young actors maybe falling in love, sounds extremely lovable and charming, as well. 

American Hagwon, by Min Jin Lee (Sept. 29, 656 pages) -- Even the biggest bro reader you know read Pachinko. So a new novel from Lee, and even longer this time, is hugely exciting. A family saga set in near-modern times over three continents, the novel is about how small actions ripple into huge repercussions. 

Ply, by Hernan Diaz (Sept. 29, 464 pages) -- Diaz is a writer/magician. You read his work and go "Wow, how did he do that?" This is a speculative piece set in a distant future where humans are trying to reestablish how to connect with one another and coexist with nature. Promises to be wild. 

The True Confessions of First Lady Freeman, by Deesha Philyaw (Sept. 29, 432 pages) -- Oh man, this sounds so delightfully scandalous and fun. A woman marries a megachurch pastor 15 years her senior, and then on the eve of her greatest success, is rocked by a revelation of secrets from her past. This is Philyaw's debut novel after her award-winning and hugely loved collection of short stories, The Secret Lives of Church Ladies. 

Life Out of Order, by Audrey Niffenegger (Oct. 6, 544 pages) -- Okay, wow, what an absolutely wonderful surprise. Indeed, a gift. This is a sequel to the beloved novel The Time Traveler's Wife, which I still think about frequently (and every time I visit the Newberry Library). The story centers on Henry and Clare's daughter, Alba, who has the same "Chrono-Displacement Disorder" as her father. This novel, also, is the runaway winner for this year's best title. So many layers! 

The Brightness, by Chad Harbach (Oct. 27, 672 pages) -- My MOST anticipated book of this fall is the return, after 15 years, of The Art of Fielding author Harbach. This was an audible gasp situation when the owner of our bookstore texted me a photo of an ARC of this book from Winter Institute. The Brightness sounds like a "friendship-through-the-years" story, which, you know me: I freakin' love. 

The Left and the Lucky, by Willy Vlautin: "Faithful friends are hard to find."

I'm a relative newcomer to Willy Vlautin's novels. My first time reading him was his sixth novel, 2021's The Night Always Comes. But that was one of my favorite books of that year. And his new novel, The Left and the Lucky will undoubtedly wind up on this year's favorites-of-the-year list. 

I LOVED this book. 

Vlautin, like his fellow Pacific Northwest writers Jonathan Evison and Jess Walter, writes stories about plucky everyday people just trying to get by. In The Left and the Lucky, our everyday person is a divorced Portland house-painter named Eddie.

Eddie's next-door neighbor is a family with problems. Their mother, who is a stripper, and not a bad person but seems totally overmatched, has two kids, one an out-of-control teenager named Curtis and a mild-mannered second grader named Russell. Curtis absolutely terrorizes Russell -- he's cruel to him to the point Russell doesn't feel safe and hides out in his grandmother's bedroom or just wanders around rainy, dreary Portland.

When Eddie finds Russell hiding out in a grocery store, he starts to understand the scope of the problem next door. Eddie and Russell become fast, if unlikely, friends. A highlight of this story is how not just Eddie, but also Eddie's sidekick Houston, an alcoholic who Eddie also tries to help by keeping him employed and managing his money for him, relate to Russell. They treat him -- and talk to him -- as their equal. And the conversations are so heartwarming, often really funny, but so real. 

Eddie is almost preternaturally patient with Russell, with Houston, and with another painter named Cordarelle who Vlautin captures with hilarious accuracy. If you've ever worked in the building trades (and I have!), you know a Cordarelle -- a guy always bragging and talking about his glory days. 

Ultimately, The Left and the Lucky is the story of the everyday struggle just to make ends meet, to make life meaningful, to get out of your own way, and to be a good person in a shitty world full of shitty people. It's the story of how friendship can quite literally save you.