Escapist Reading

I ran across this quote from Neil Gaiman last evening, and had to share. I often try reading more ‘realistic’ current fiction. But inevitably, I come back to my comfort, escapist reading.

Fiction can show you a different world. It can take you somewhere you’ve never been. Once you’ve visited other worlds, like those who ate fairy fruit, you can never be entirely content with the world that you grew up in. Discontent is a good thing: discontented people can modify and improve their worlds, leave them better, leave them different.

And while we’re on the subject, I’d like to say a few words about escapism. I hear the term bandied about as if it’s a bad thing. As if ‘escapist’ fiction is a cheap opiate used by the muddled and the foolish and the deluded, and the only fiction that is worthy, for adults or for children, is mimetic fiction, mirroring the worst of the world the reader finds herself in. If you were trapped in an impossible situation, in an unpleasant place, with people who meant you ill, and someone offered you a temporary escape, why wouldn’t you take it?

And escapist fiction is just that: fiction that opens a door, shows the sunlight outside, gives you a place to go where you are in control, are with people you want to be with (and books are real places, make no mistake about that); and more importantly, during your escape, books can also give you knowledge about the world and your predicament, give you weapons, give you armor: real things you can take back into your prison. Skills and knowledge and tools you can use to escape for real. As J.R.R. Tolkien reminded us, the only people who inveigh against escape are jailers.

Love and Saffron by Kim Fay

I am a frequent visitor to my branch library only a few blocks away.

Why you may ask? Don’t you have a houseful of books waiting to be read? Yes, and your point would be?

So as I was saying, I stopped by the library on Friday — (I was feeling down, but we won’t discuss that here). A visit to the library always cheers me up, and I was looking for an escapist read, something light and easy.

Love and Saffron seemed like the perfect cure. Especially after I read these:

In the vein of the classic 84, Charing Cross Road, this witty and tender novel follows two women in 1960s America as they discover that food really does connect us all, and that friendship and laughter are the best medicine.

And this: “In an age when we’re barraged with Twitter blow-ups, pandemic deaths, and political discourse of the most uncivil kind, Love & Saffron is as refreshing as watching the sunset over the Pacific Ocean, with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and a bowl of garlicky clams at your elbow. Kim Fay convincingly recreates a charming and civil world, and a touching friendship, in a period piece that will restore you to your kinder, gentler self.” —Richard C. Morais, author of The Hundred Foot Journey

So, of course Love and Saffron came home with me — and I gobbled it up this weekend (pun intended).

In the early 1960’s, Imogen Fortier writes a monthly column called “Letter from the Island” for Northwest Home & Life Magazine. She writes about summers spent in her family’s cabin on Camano Island in Puget Sound, Washington. Meanwhile in Los Angeles, Joan Bergstrom, a budding food columnist, is a fan of Imogen’s column and writes her a fan letter, explaining how much she admires her column and noting that Imogen had mentioned mussels as a nuisance. Joan suggests that Imogen collect some, suggesting a French recipe and even sending a packet of saffron to use in the recipe. Saffron was not easy to come by in 1963 and Imogen, who can dig clams or hunt an elk, has never even tasted fresh garlic — so she was greatly impressed by the gift of such a rare spice.

Thus begins a beautiful friendship told through their letters in the early 1960s.

These letters bring to life the issues of the time period — anxiety over the Cuban missile crisis, grief at President John Kennedy’s assignation, their mutual dislike of Helen Gurley Brown’s ‘Sex and the Single Girl’, despite which they share their hopes for what the future holds for women (!)

(biting my tongue here – I won’t write about women’s futures in 2022 – you don’t want me to get started)…

Imogene or “Immy” encourages Joan in her career path, and their letters discuss pop culture, the Beatles appearance on Ed Sullivan, John Updike’s novels, the racial climate in Los Angeles, and of course, the food culture in both the Pacific Northwest and Los Angeles — especially the ingredients unique to their areas.

There are serious subjects as well, a bi-racial relationship, Immy’s husband’s PTSD, and an unplanned pregnancy. But wait there’s more — there are recipes throughout, told within the letters and described in prose. How to make perfect scrambled eggs (Julia Child does the same) and mouth-watering instructions for Carne Asada*.

Immy and Joan’s personalities are wonderfully developed and their daily lives so full of beauty and detail, that I felt fully immersed in their stories. We have lost the art of letter writing (among many other things this weekend — okay I’ll stop now) and this quote made me sigh in remembrance of long-lost pen pals and romantic missives to (and from) boyfriends.

There is unequaled satisfaction in composing words on a blank page, sealing them in an envelope, writing an address in my own messy hand, adding a stamp, walking it to the mailbox, and raising the flag. It’s like preparing a gift, and I feel like I receive one when a letter arrives…

It’s always appealing to immerse myself in an epistolary novel (written primarily in letters and one of my favorite genres). Ms. Fay gave me a wonderfully delicious way to escape this weekend – which indeed was my plan.

Love & Saffron is a lovely, quiet novel that has much to say below the surface, but the friendship between two women was the main appeal. This book is short, the letters only span the years 1962-1966, but much richness and life is contained in those four years.

What started out as a simple letter about adding saffron to muscles, turns into a lifetime of friendship, love, and companionship. For me, Love & Saffron made me stop to think about my true friendships and how much I cherish them.

*NB: I found this very similar recipe on the internet

I forgot to copy out this recipe from the library book before I returned it this morning.

Carne Asada

• 3 lb. Steak (skirt, flank or beef flap)

Marinade Mixture

• 2 Oranges juiced
• 4 Limes juiced
• ⅓ cup Olive Oil
• ¼ cup Soy Sauce
• 4 cloves Garlic minced
• 1 bunch fresh Cilantro leaves chopped, stems discarded
• 3 Jalapenos (optional) minced
• 2 tbsp. Brown Sugar
• 2 tsp. Ground Cumin
• 1 tsp. Dried Oregano
• Salt & Pepper to taste

Instructions

Combine the marinade ingredients in large mixing bowl.

Whisk until well combined.

Put the steak in a gallon-sized zip lock bag. Pour the marinade over the steak. Close the bag letting out as much air as possible. Let refrigerate for at least 6 hours and up to 24 hours.

Grill the steak to your liking.

Two Books by Ann Patchett

As you know, Ann Patchett is one of my favorite authors, as evidenced HERE and HERE. So of course, I read her most recent essay collection, These Precious Days. I’ve grown to enjoy reading essays, especially when written by an author I admire.

From the very first essay, I was highlighting passages — how Ann feels most vulnerable when carrying her fictional characters around in her head as she is writing her novels.

And, her essays written during the pandemic had me nodding in agreement.

Most of the writers and artists I know were made for sheltering in place. The world asks us to engage, and for the most part we can, but given the choice, we’d rather stay home.

Another essay that will stay with me for a long time was written about her three fathers — her biological father and her two stepfathers. She expounds on their three very different personalities and relationships with her. The way she describes the group photo she orchestrated with the three of them made me smile, and her antidotes about each of them left me sad, but nonetheless, feeling good.

Ms. Patchett writes about writing, her books, and how she’s obsessed with making sure her book covers are exactly the way she envisions them. (More on that in the review below.)

But most poignantly, she writes about two important friendships — with lifelong friend Talia, and her new friend Sooki.  Her friendship with Sooki — the topic of the title essay — was especially moving. Ms. Patchett tells of reading an advance copy of Tom Hanks’ book Uncommon Type, and how she loved it and wrote a review for the publication. Then she was invited to interview Tom Hanks, himself. That’s where she met Sooki Tom’s assistant— and the two became close email friends. And then, Sooki was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. 

Ann sprung into action because she could. Her husband, Karl, a doctor, connected Sooki with a clinical trial, and she moved in with Ann and Karl during her treatments. Near strangers, but not strangers at all. It’s always remarkable to me how two souls find one another and connect. 

For as many times as the horrible thing happens, a thousand times in every day the horrible thing passes us by.

And then this quote I read and re-read shaking my head at Ms. Patchett’s insight…

The trouble with good fortune is that we tend to equate it with personal goodness, so that if things are going well for us and less well for others, it’s assumed they must have done something to have brought that misfortune on themselves while we must have worked harder to avoid it. We speak of ourselves as being blessed, but what can that mean except that others are not blessed […] It is our responsibility to care for one another, to create fairness in the face of unfairness and find equality where none may have existed in the past.

If there is a theme to These Precious Days — it’s all about hope and finding a way through the darkest times — and doing so with ferocity, understanding, openness, and love.

Reading this book made me feel like the world is not actually such a horrible place, because there are dear friends and good people everywhere – they just don’t make the headlines.

The next Ann Patchett I read was The Dutch House. The very kind publishers sent me a digital advance readers copy several months (whoops) several years ago, but I had forgotten about this book. That is, until I read about the author’s long journey to find and eventually create this cover art (in one of her essays reviewed above).

But first I’ll tell you about the plot.

The Dutch House is located just outside of Pennsylvania and is a grand home with lovely large windows, a stately facade, and, beautiful interiors. Maeve and Danny Conroy live there with their father. We learn that the father very much wanted this house and quickly purchased it when the previous (Dutch) owners died. Their mother is no longer around (we learn why later on) and now they have the proverbial stepmother, who has her own two daughters. When their father dies, the house becomes part of a painful tug of war… Maeve and Danny are stripped of all their inheritance and thrown out their Dutch House. At this point, the family secrets start tumbling out.

This sudden life change means the brother and sister need each other even more. The book follows them through five decades. As they became adults, I grew more attached to them; and was invested in the choices they made and cringed (more than once) at their behavior.

This novel is as much a story of the house itself as it is of the people who inhabit it. The story line encompasses several generations of the Conroy family as they deal with issues that many of us face during our lifetimes – difficulty communicating within the family, sickness and health, economic concerns, step parenting, sibling relationships, and what it means to feel at home where you are and within yourself. And the sumptuous Dutch House is a fully developed character in its own right.

The dining room ceiling was painted a shade of blue both deep and intense, and was covered in intricate configurations of carved leaves that had been painted gold, or, more accurately, the leaves had been gilded. The gilt leaves were arranged in flourishes which were surrounded by circles of gilt leaves within squares of gilt leaves. The ceiling was more in keeping with Versailles than Eastern Pennsylvania, and when I was a child I found it mortifying. Maeve and my father and I made a point of keeping our eyes on our plates during dinner.

Ultimately, this is a story about how a brother and sister’s love for each other transcends circumstances that would cause others to break.

We had made a fetish out of our misfortune, fallen in love with it. I was sickened to realize we’d kept it going for so long.

The Dutch House is slow burn and the reader is never totally sure where the story is going. There is no dramatic or climatic ending. The writing is gorgeous, and I enjoyed the sense of place and the brother and sister’s characters were fully realized. But, truth be told, I thought this was not one of Ms. Patchett’s best works – there was too much wallowing — too much dysfunction.

N.B. The cover for The Dutch House was described in one the author’s essays in My Precious Days. The novel describes a portrait of Maeve which hangs in the Dutch House. For months, Ms. Patchett and her publishers searched find the right art work — without success. So Ms. Patchett sent the manuscript to an artist friend which resulted in this cover painting. All agreed instantly it was perfect and now the actual artwork now hangs in the author’s home.

Harper Perennial kindly provided a digital review copy via Edelweiss.

New York, New York

We actually got on a cross country flight and went to New York City for a week. Our favorite young friends were graduating from NYU and they really wanted us there to celebrate. We’ve known these sisters since they were born, have been a part of their lives ever since, and even instilled a love of books and reading…so how could we say no? Did, however, make us feel ancient to see them so grown up.

And, yes, as you may have heard, Taylor Swift gave the commencement address – it was all over the media and internet. She was wonderful, heartfelt, and real. In case you missed it, HERE is the video of the speech.

Other than two days of graduation ceremonies, we did lots of sightseeing and exploring – it’s been years since either Husband or I have been to New York City. I won’t bore you with our exploits other than the book-related sites – because, once again folks, this is, after all, Book Barmy.

New York Public Library

We booked a docent-led tour of the library – free, run by volunteers, and well worth doing if you’re in the city. Here’s some photo evidence of this grand dame of libraries.

The Rose Reading Room took my breath away, if I lived here I would come to stare at the ceiling and perhaps try to do some reading. The last photo is from Google as I had to show you how the lions wore masks during the pandemic.

The Strand

Another day Husband faithfully went with me to the famous Strand Bookstore with its proclaimed “18 miles of books” (however they now house over “23 miles” of books). We didn’t stay long – had other non-bookish things to see (I know!) and I must admit it was overwhelming. Four floors of books but the old wooden floors creaked appropriately and it smelled like a great old bookstore should do – as it’s been there since 1927.

Someone at the Strand likes to color arrange the books…always a struggle for me.

The Mysterious Bookshop

Our final Book Barmy destination was the Mysterious Bookshop owned by the famous Otto Penzler, whose great Christmas book is a prized possession of mine. He is known for his Mysterious Press imprint and is a well-known collector of rare and highly valued mystery books.

Now this smaller bookstore, much more my speed…but – but – just look the books crammed into this tiny Tribeca store front.

I did some purchasing here. First these tiny little ‘biblio-mysteries’ – small enough to fit in a jacket pocket. They are all short mysteries stories themed or set in bookstores, libraries, or just involving books. How could I resist – really?

And then, in a weak moment I spent a fair amount on Mr. Penzler’s own journal of his mystery book collection which he sold. But before he did he recorded the best of his collection.

As you can see, there are color plates throughout and a treasured souvenir of our trip to New York City.

The city is starting to come back to life after the pandemic. Restaurants were open, cafes had customers. Not as crowded as in the past, but those who were on the streets seemed happy to be out and about. As a result, it was a kinder, gentler atmosphere. Masks were still being worn (including us) so we felt safe and comfortable, even on the subway.

Husband’s FitBit recorded that we walked 41 miles throughout the city, but it never felt like it – so much to see – every neighborhood is different and unique.

And the people watching — always the best in NYC.

The Epicure’s Lament by Kate Christensen

So they tell me that blogs are over, a thing of the past and I should be using Instagram or videos on YouTube. Well, I’m old stubborn, so I will steadfastly stick with this blog.

However, in an attempt to breathe some new life into Book Barmy, I plan to have a series of guest bloggers. Today is the first in that series — a book review by my smart, well-read, and very funny friend Peter.

Peter and I worked together during the 90’s in high tech. We became good buddies and, as a result, didn’t dare sit next to each other in meetings–which would often result in sarcastic remarks (muttered under our breath) about the idiots around the table and futile attempts to not breakout in uncontrollable laughter.

Thankfully, we’re both now retired and often trade book recommendations. Recently we both started reading the same book – The Epicure’s Lament – Peter finished before me, I got stuck in the middle – so I asked Peter to write a review and he graciously agreed.

Here you go, without further ado, here is Peter.

There are books that start with great glee. Rollicking good fun. Laugh out loud funny. Then the wit wanes. Pages become heavier to turn.  Chortling dwindles. The Epicure’s Lament was such a book for me. 

Kate Christensen is a beautiful writer of elegant, sophisticated prose, and for that the novel has great merit.  Her description of characters and scenes do not tax the imagination. They are full and complete. You instantly know and understand these people and places. 

The main character, Hugo Whittier, is slowly dying of his own doing. He rambles around his family’s rambling Hudson River mansion in solitude until family members begin to encroach.

Fully aware that he is killing himself smoking, he is only interested in all things carnal on his way out. His disdain for anything human is astounding. The dark humor is entertaining for a hundred pages or so then becomes labored and repetitive. It seems like Christensen ran out of plot and reworks story lines again and again to squeeze out some mileage. She also diverts into historical and philosophical sidebars that, while interesting, don’t directly support the story line.

As the novel progresses, Hugo smokes his way to his diagnosed ruin while continually assaulting the people who want to love him. I kept thinking “Alright already, I get it.”  A miscreant and a rascal of the highest order, Hugo Whittier, charming as he may be, stumbles through the story looking forward to the end of it all. 

Unfortunately so does the reader. 

So, do you want to be a guest Book Barmy reviewer? Have you read a great (or not so great) book? Just let me know. I gladly welcome any and all inquiries.

A big thank you to Peter.