Books I Read Mid November
What can I tell you, I don't always feel like writing these. I had a book come out. I went to England for a while, during which I mostly just wanted to read mediocre histories of the 'people hit people with sword' type. Then there was that whole election thing, I was kinda busy last month worrying about the fate or the Republic/world. This has not been a great year reading wise, what with everything, but I'm gonna turn it around, you'll see.
The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolano – There is always some danger in re-reading a book that you loved, the fear that, with the cruel benefit of hindsight, you might need to walk back high praise and answers on online dating profiles. I am pleased to report that no such revisionism is required here. Bolano's masterpiece remains to me as horrifying and beautiful as when I first read it some seven or eight years ago, a cri de couer, a searing demand to lead a life of vibrant sincerity in the face of the world's cowardice and inevitable decay. There's a reason I got Cesária Tinajero's poem tatooed on my chest.
A School for Fools by Sasha Sokolov – The ruminations and warped biography of a mentally infirm man. Also a lot of other things. This is a weird, wild, very odd novel, large portions of which could only loosely be understood as a narrative. But it was witty and interesting and I basically enjoyed it.
The Anarchy by William Dalrymple – An overview of the East India Trading company's rise from its humble trading origins to the state-corporate monstrosity which overwhelmed the weakened Mughal Empire and devastated the Indian subcontinent. Dalrymple is a first rate narrative historian, but I thought this topic perhaps a little too broad to cover even in this substantial volume. Which isn't to say it's not excellent, only that it's not quite as spectacular as some of his other stuff.
In Pursuit of the Essex: Heroism and Hubris on the High Seas in the War of 1812 by Ben Hughes – Deathly dull.
How the Dead Live by Derek Raymond – Our unnamed detective investigates the disappearance of an old woman in a small town, discovers tragedy and corruption. It's a little one-note in its despairing noir nihilism (false nihilism really) but it is effective and well-written.
Free Day by Ines Cagneti – The thoughts of a bitter impoverished French girl during the course of a skipped day of school. Sad, and predictable.
History of Scotland by P. Hume Brown – I always think it's kind of fun to read a history which has become a historical document, and I think this breezy, conversational early 20th century history of Scotland counts. There's no real reason for anyone to read this but I can't say anything too terrible about it either.
The Steel Bonnets by George MacDonald Frazier – The author of the Flashman series overviews the violent history of the Scottish/English borderlands. I enjoyed mulling this bloody history of raids and counter raids from the small English cottage in which I spent most of September and which rested in the heartland of what was once violently disputed territory, entertained by the thought that the stolid English elders who drank cider in village pubs and walked glumly through the endless the rain are the descendants of such brutal bandits as Crack-spear and Hob-the-King.
Soldier Sahibs by Charles Allen – Narrative history discussing the generation of soldier-bureaucrats who conquered the Punjab and put down the Sepoy Rebellion/Indian Mutiny. Engaging enough on its own merits but I found myself somewhat discomfited by the unwillingness of the author to consider the larger moral and political issues endemic to the story, particularly having just finished Dalrymple's above.
Scourge and Fire: Savonarola and Renaissance Italy by Lauro Martinez – A biography of the Rennaisance friar who led Florence into pious anarchy and was burned by the pope for his troubles. Dull and pedantic.
No Room at the Morgue by Jean-Patrick Manchette – A French Phillip Marlowe investigates a woman's murder. This lacks some of the raw nastiness and genre-bending satire of the author's later/better works, but even a second-rate Manchette is worth its weight in clipped copper.
Tarka the Otter by Henry Williamson – Episodes in the life of a south English otter. Reading this it occurred to me I never read nature writing and don't really love it, but that's purely down to predilection and I imagine most people would have enjoyed it.
The Last Werewolf by Glen Duncan – I read this book.
The House with a Clock in it Walls by John Bellairs – This was one of my favorite books when I was about 6, I guess, and I was feeling autumnally nostalgic and went back and re-read it. Still fabulous! It's got a charmingly weird aesthetic, and manages to incorporate magic in a way which is weird and fantastic and horrifying and not a rote recitation of fake Latin. Our chubby, cowardly, kind-hearted protagonist is likewise far more engaging than the pompous earnest perfection of the Boy Who Lived and his million precursors/clones. Edward Gorey and I give this our seal of approval.
The Figure in the Shadows by John Bellairs – Yeah, also good, although the edition I downloaded had this horrifying awful updated pictures. Anyway, read these to your kids or whatever they'll enjoy them.
The Cobra's Heart by Ryszard Kapuściński – Engaging ruminations on Africa by a Polish emigre.
High Crimes by John Westermann – Two fuck up cops get in over their head in this (mostly) engagingly unheroic thriller. Imperfect, but authentic feeling in its depiction of crime in a small city and I didn't feel like I'd read its take on police life a thousand times previous.
In Corner B by Es'Kia Mphahlele – Short fiction by the grandfather of Black African English literature. Excellent. The language is discrete in its bluntness, and the stories that fabulous uncertain quality which is the hallmark of the best works in this genre. Reminded me of Naipaul in its use of a traditionally Western format to comment on and critique a non-occidental culture. The one about the dogs is nuts man.
Shella by Andrew Vachss – A nameless super-killer tracks down his single love, kills a lot of people in the process. Enormously readable but kind of repetitive. I mostly liked the pared down noir narrative but sometimes felt like it was an excuse for lazy world-building. He does have a talent for depicting nastiness, however, and there are some pretty sharp throw away lines.