Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus

Sorry to cheat, but this, from the book’s publicity blurb, perfectly captures this entertaining novel:

“Chemist Elizabeth Zott is not your average woman. In fact, Elizabeth Zott would be the first to point out that there is no such thing as an average woman. But it’s the early 1960s and her all-male team at Hastings Research Institute takes a very unscientific view of equality. Except for one: Calvin Evans; the lonely, brilliant, Nobel–prize nominated grudge-holder who falls in love with—of all things—her mind. True chemistry results.

But like science, life is unpredictable. Which is why a few years later Elizabeth Zott finds herself not only a single mother, but the reluctant star of America’s most beloved cooking show Supper at Six. Elizabeth’s unusual approach to cooking (“combine one tablespoon acetic acid with a pinch of sodium chloride”) proves revolutionary. But as her following grows, not everyone is happy. Because as it turns out, Elizabeth Zott isn’t just teaching women to cook. She’s daring them to change the status quo.” (End of quote.)

It’s been a long time, since I enjoyed a character as much as Elizabeth Zott. I cheered and chuckled as she makes her way through the 1950’s and 60’s as a scientist. A woman ahead of her time, she accepts no limitations, she walks right over fragile male egos, and she could care less that she isn’t accepted at the almost entirely male Hastings Institute.

Then she meets another scientist, Calvin Evans, who doesn’t fit in either. They fall in love and move in together, because Zott doesn’t believe in marriage — her religion is science. When she discovers she is pregnant and a single mother (you’ll have to read the book to find out why), Zott is fired and her financial circumstances leads her to become an unlikely, reluctant and uncompromising television star, with her popular TV cooking show, ‘Supper at Six’,

She refuses to wear the ultra-feminine (and tight) dresses chosen for her, and instead, dresses in a lab coat with a pencil stuck in her hair. Rather than a typical cooking show, she focuses on the chemistry of cooking, using chemical names for the ingredients, and developing recipes that are a fresh and healthy change from 1960’s cooking. The show becomes wildly popular with home makers everywhere, and no one is more surprised than Zott herself.

Zott’s daughter was one of my favorite characters – a precociously bright four-year old, Mad, an early reader, voraciously consuming the likes of Norman Mailer and Charles Dickens.

Because while musical prodigies are always celebrated, early readers aren’t. And that’s because early readers are only good at something others will eventually be good at, too. So being first isn’t special – it’s just annoying.

Not only did I love the immediate family of Elizabeth, Madeline and the rescued dog Six Thirty, I also was enamored with the other characters — Mrs. Sloane, Dr. Mason, Rev. Wakefield, Walter – her found family who loves her and provides the support she needs as a single working mom.

Lessons in Chemistry is a intelligent, witty and wonderful. The writing here is smart and engaging. I found myself chortling over phrase after phrase – and the veracity of them – here’s a few of my favorites quotes:

“When it came to equality, 1952 was a real disappointment.”

“Elizabeth Zott held grudges too. Except her grudges were mainly reserved for a patriarchal society founded on the idea that women were less. Less capable. Less intelligent. Less inventive. A society that believed men went to work and did important things—discovered planets, developed products, created laws—and women stayed at home and raised children.”

“No surprise. Idiots make it into every company. They tend to interview well.”

“(On religion) “I think it lets us off the hook. I think it teaches us that nothing is really our fault; that something or someone else is pulling the strings; the ultimately, we’re not to blame for the way things are; that to improve things, we should pray. But the truth is, we are very much responsible for the badness in the world. And we have the power to fix it.”

“It’s just that we tend to treat pregnancy as the most common condition in the world—as ordinary as stubbing a toe—when the truth is, it’s like getting hit by a truck. Although obviously a truck causes less damage.”

“Every day she found parenthood like taking a test for which she had not studied. The questions were daunting and there wasn’t nearly enough multiple choice.”

This was a great read and I enjoyed every page. Some of the situations are a bit far-fetched and strain believably but again, this is fiction and fun fiction.

Elizabeth Zott brought to mind some of my other favorite, unconventional, independent women characters – (click on each to read more about them).

Lillian Boxfish Euridice Gusmao Eleanor Oliphant Flavia de Luce

Once again, excuse me if I use another reviewer’s quote – it matches my feelings exactly.

“The most delightful novel I read this year—fresh and surprising—was Lessons in Chemistry: a fish-out-of-water story about a feminist hero who never stops pushing for what’s right. (I laughed out loud!)”
—Philip Galanes, The New York Times

This is Ms. Garmus’s debut novel – and it is a winner. I eagerly await her next.

A digital review copy was provided by Doubleday Books via Netgalley.

Yes, they’ve made a TV series based on the book. It airs on Apple TV which I don’t get. It received some pretty good reviews ~~ but as always I recommend reading the book first.

The Paris Novel by Ruth Reichl

I have read and enjoyed almost all of Ms. Reichl’s work – she’s a wonderful writer with a special talent for describing and writing about food. For years, she was the restaurant critic for the New York Times and then editor of Gourmet, one of my favorite magazine subscriptions. Here’s the collection of what I think are her best books. I suggest you find any of these books to get a taste (sorry) of her best work.

A few months ago, I was quite pleased to receive an advance copy of her latest novel from the publisher and saved it for our trip knowing it would be a delight.

When I started The Paris Novel, I immediately I had to remind myself that, yes, yes, this is one of my favorite authors. After reading the second chapter I had to close the book, as she included a very graphic child sexual abuse scene. I found it quite upsetting…so I chose another book to read for a while. But soon I had to try again, reminding myself it’s Ruth Reichl you always enjoy her books.

The book begins with Stella living a dull life in New York city. Her self-absorbed single mother (who chose to ignore the abuse described from a man she was seeing) has died and left her money and one request for Stella to go to Paris.

Once there, she discovers a vintage store, tries on a stunning Dior dress, and meets an older gentleman who introduces her to the real Paris. Stella becomes immersed in French cuisine, spends time working and living at the famous Shakespeare and Company bookstore, and unravels mysteries about her (possible) biological father — Ms. Reichl included the famous Richard Oldney as one of the father figures.

With the help of a precocious young French girl, she researches into the life of a female artist from the Impressionistic period whose work has been overlooked due to societal attitudes towards women in the arts.

Everything seems charmed for Stella, she meets generous people, given free apartments, treated to fine meals to dine on, even couture clothing and, without giving too much away — finding romance.

Whew! It’s as if my dear Ms. Reichl tried to include every possible Parisian cliche into the this novel. I kept reading The Paris Novel, despite its predictable characters and tropes.

Why did I keep reading ~~ the beautifully written descriptions of the incredible food and drink to be found everywhere in France. Reading these sections made me long to book a ticket and visit just to eat. Here’s just a sample.

What would we say? The wine spoke for itself. We were drinking time, drinking history, tasting the past. You can’t talk about that, and only idiots would try.

The oysters arrived on a deep bed of ice. She had never eaten an oyster, and she stared down at the platter. A ruffle of black encircled each opalescent heart; she thought of orchids. Triangles of lemon sat on the ice, and she picked one up and squeezed it, inhaling the prickly aroma. Then she reached for an oyster, tipped her head, and tossed it back. The oyster was cool and slippery, the flavor so briny it was like diving into the ocean. She closed her eyes to savor the experience, make it last.

The chef made the most beautiful salad I’d ever seen. He threw everything into it— pieces of lemon, bits of cheese, and then he took the violets out of the vase and tossed in the petals. It was beautiful.

I finished The Paris Novel, but I admit it was a struggle, and in my opinion, it was not at all up to par with her other books.

Her author’s note at the end was quite interesting, as it seems some of the novel may have been somewhat autobiographical ~~ namely the exquisite dress found in a vintage shop.

But please, please don’t discount Ms. Reichl based on this review of her latest. Read any of her other books (see above), you’ll find them delightful and bound to make you hungry for good food.

CLICK HERE — to read about two of my favorites.

A digital review copy was provided by Random House via Netgalley.

The Seasonal Quartet by Ali Smith

My wonderful sister sent me these books, one by one over the span of a couple of years. They are lovely to look at and my OCD side loved seeing them lined up on my shelf as the spines are as pretty as the covers.

And so they sat, and sat. I often dipped into Ms. Smith’s first one in the quartet – Autumn- but I never got too far. So this past month I decided to delve deep and get going on this very well-received, Booker-prize winning series.

I guess I’ll start with the story line — Daniel Gluck is 103 years old sleeping deeply in a hospital bed. At his side is Elisabeth Demand, a 32-year-old art lecturer. They became friends when Elisabeth was a girl, with Daniel acting as a father figure and a teacher. As she reads to him in his hospital room, she remembers the conversations they had back then, how he cultivated her interest in art and taught her so many other things. And as Daniel slumbers, we observe his dreams: surreal recollections of his career and unrequited love.

We also follow Elizabeth’s life outside of the hospital visits and this gives Ms. Smith the chance to commentate on the state of the post-Brexit Britain. From the idiotic bureaucracy at the post office, to the ominous electric fence erected in the middle of town, it is an unhappy portrait. Not unlike what we continue to go through here in the U.S.

I’m tired of the news. I’m tired of the way it makes things spectacular that aren’t, and deals so simplistically with what’s truly appalling. I’m tired of the vitriol. I’m tired of anger. I’m tired of the meanness. I’m tired of selfishness. I’m tired of how we’re doing nothing to stop it. I’m tired of how we’re encouraging it. I’m tired of the violence that’s on it’s way, that’s coming, that hasn’t happened yet. I’m tired of liars. I’m tired of sanctified liars. I’m tired of how those liars have let this happen. I’m tired of having to wonder whether they did it out of stupidity or did it on purpose. I’m tired of lying governments. I’m tired of people not caring whether they’re being lied to anymore. I’m tired of being made to feel this fearful. I’m tired of pusillanimosity.

I don’t think that’s actually a word, Elisabeth says.

I’m tired of not knowing the right words, her mother says.

At this point I have to tell you that, although Autumn is a short novel, I still skipped around a lot — but at times the writing was beautiful and heart-wrenching – I especially like this passage about reading.

The words had acted like a charm. They’d released it all, in seconds. They’d made everything happening stand just far enough away.
It was nothing less than magic. Who needs a passport?
Who am I? Where am I? What am I?

I’m reading.

But then there were pages and passages that frustrated this reader with their stream of consciousness:

Where do I start? I’m the butterfly antenna. I’m the chemicals that paint’s made of. I’m the person dead at the water’s edge. I’m the water. I’m the edge. I’m the skin cells. I’m the smell of disinfectant. I’m that thing they rub against your mouth to moisten it, can you feel it? I’m soft. I’m hard. I’m glass. I’m sand. I’m a yellow plastic bottle. I’m all the plastics in the seas and in the guts of all the fishes. I’m the fishes. I’m the seas. I’m molluscs in the seas. I’m the flattened-out old beer can. I’m the shopping trolley in the canal. I’m the note on the stave, the bird on the line. I’m the stave. I’m the line. I’m spiders. I’m seeds. I’m water. I’m heart. I’m the cotton of the sheet. ….. I’m pollution. I’m a fall of horseshit on a country road a hundred years ago. … I’m the fly …..I haven’t even started telling you what I am. I’m everything that makes everything. I’m everything that unmakes everything. …. I’m the voice that tells no story.

And at times it is cringe-worthily over written

(sort of like that sentence, sorry):

He’s nothing but a torn leaf scrap on the surface of a running brook, green veins and leaf-stuff, water and current, Daniel Gluck taking leaf of his senses at last, his tongue a broad green leaf, leaves growing through the sockets of his eyes, leaves thrustling (very good word for it) out of his ears, leaves tenderizing down through the caves of his nostrils and out and round til he’s swathed in foliage, leafskin, relief

I flipped pages back and forth trying to get a bead on where this novel was going, all the while remembering this review from the Atlantic ~~

“Autumn is a gorgeously constructed puzzle that challenges the reader to solve it, with a narrative that darts back and forth in time and space. . . . As the novel proceeds, she layers together fragments of books and paintings and song lyrics in an act of literary decoupage, as if to mimic the fragile patchwork of national identity”.

I guess I’m not up to the challenge, because while I did finish Autumn, I’m not sure what I read — yes there was a story of a dying man as he looks back on his life, but just as I was getting into the rhythm of that — sudden rants about Brexit, disconnected thoughts that continue page after page, and then there are endless lists that only someone made sense.

The relationship between Daniel and Elisabeth kept me reading the story. I did chuckle and enjoy the efforts behind getting a passport renewed, but I didn’t understand the tree thing (if you’ve read Autumn, and do understand the tree analogies please explain.)

In summary, Ms. Smith has given us interesting characters, with some compelling vignettes, but all leading to nowhere clear. Autumn is greatly admired and won the Booker Prize — but this reader is obtuse and unable to figure it out.

The series will stay on my shelves as they are so nice — and maybe to impress– but mostly to perhaps later try the next one — Winter.

If you want to try this series, fair warning — it is very much suited to a British audience with expressions, subtleties and personalities that are singularly British.

What’s next? I’ll be taking a short break, more on why later.

Suffice it to say — it involves some packing…

The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets by Eva Rice

The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets is not a book I’d ever heard of and even though it was published back in 2005, it got very little publicity over here. But when it was featured on Miranda’s book tube channel and compared to “I Capture the Castle” (which I read and enjoyed many years ago), I decided to seek it out. I was currently struggling and stuck in the middle of another book, so decided I needed something fresh – and this was just the ticket.

This effervescent historical novel is set in post WWII England during a time of change – the 1950’s. The focus is on young people who are coming into their own and are ready to toss away the memories of the war They’ve had enough of rationing, death and serious war news — they want to enjoy being young.

Penelope and Inigo Wallace live with their young, beautiful and widowed mother in a glorious, crumbling medieval English mansion. It is one of the last of the great houses and it is falling down around them as they have no money to keep it up.

The year is 1954 and, one day as Penelope is waiting for a bus in London, she is swept away by Charlotte, an high-spirited, confident young woman, wearing stylish clothes, and who needs someone to share a taxi. Charlotte brings Penelope home to meet her aunt Clare and cousin Harry, and Penelope is pulled into a more exiting and elegant world — one that she had only dreamed of from the bleakness of the manor.

Penelope is slightly awkward, very English but the two girls soon form a fast friendship…especially when they discover they both adore and are desperately in love with Johnnie Ray, an early rock and singer from America. Soon Penelope is a regular at Aunt Clare’s and relishes the atmosphere, cousin Harry, an amateur magician, but especially the tea —

Ah tea — there was something about the taste of hot buttered toast with gooseberry jam in Aunt Clare’s study that could never be replicated anywhere else.

Charlotte takes Penelope shopping for new clothes, and as a budding dressmaker crafts a wonderful dress for her as well. They go to dinners, parties and dances — they stay up all night, drink too much, fall in and out of love. But it’s often all too marvelous for Penelope to handle…

I thought of Mama, shattered and torn by the war and Papa’s death, and I wished with all my heart that she could understand how it felt to be us that night — how it felt to feel eighteen and unbeaten, eighteen and alive.

She is, at times, both uncomfortable but also delightfully attracted to this new way of life…

I realized that it was possible for the world to spin just for you, even if only for the length of time that it took to have dinner.

Ms. Rice, has a power with words. From the first page of the novel I felt the time and setting perfectly. She’s created vivid characters and some of the best snappy dialogue which made me giggle out loud.

I was completely taken away with this 1950s time-capsule feel, everything from the language used to emotions evoked took me right there. There are the gorgeous descriptions of the clothes, old crumbling houses, and the cluttered Georgian flat of Aunt Clare. But I especially loved the friendship of the two girls; it was sincere and supportive and it was fun and joy to read as the girls deal with their youth, romantic ideas and the very funny idolization of Johnnie Ray.

And don’t worry, The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets is wonderfully lacking in any sort of teenage melodrama or angst. And, yes there are secrets throughout — secrets kept and revealed but you’ll have to read the book to find out. The author wraps up the ending all very tidy, and somewhat expected, but I had such fun along the way that I didn’t mind that in the slightest.

Earlier I used the word effervescent and I will repeat it again as that’s exactly what this book is — it’s effervescent, charming and quirky, but is also a sweet, fun book and it made me laugh, but it also choked me up at times.

So this novel gets a huge thumbs up, but I can’t believe the book is ten years old, how come no one ever told me about this one before? Book Barmy readers, if you know of more books like this, please let me know, I need them in my life.

I think I’ll go re-read this in the meantime – it’s been much too long…

Bibliomysteries

When we were in New York City a few years ago, I was able to talk Husband into venturing into Tribeca, home of the famous (at least to me) Mysterious Bookshop. It’s a wonderful shop run by the infamous Otto Penzler and devoted entirely to mysteries.

Most tempting was this section of Bibliomysteries.

Found only at this bookshop, these small volumes are short mysteries stories themed or set in bookstores, libraries, or just involving books. I purchased up a few, I mean, how could I resist – really? They are perfect to put in pocket, stash in the glove compartment or tucked into a carry-on – just in case you get caught without something to read (gasp!).

During our last trip I experienced such an occasion and lucky for me, had this in my purse:

Seven Years by Peter Robinson

Retired professor, Donald Aitcheson, spends his time driving through the English countryside, exploring small villages and dipping into whatever used bookstores he can find. (A man after my own heart.)

It is one of the greatest pleasures of my retirement to set out early on a fine morning for some ancient town or city renowned for the quantity and quality of its second-hand bookshops.

On one such outing, he finds a collection of Robert Browning’s poetry with an inscription that uses lines from “Porphyria’s Lover” to threaten the book’s original recipient. Perhaps this note was only a joke made in poor taste; still, something about its tone captivates Aitcheson’s otherwise unoccupied mind, and leads him to a remote boarding school to investigate. But when what starts as a harmless game of detective comes too close to a deadly truth, Aitcheson finds himself face-to-face with a killer, and learns that some pages are best left unturned…

A short read, but extremely well-plotted and with an unexpected ending –there’s substance in this novella.

Peter Robinson is best known for his Inspector Banks series (of which I’ve read a few) and remember admiring his writing style, his characters come alive, and the settings in Yorkshire were wonderfully rendered.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this short novel during my hour wait.

And, there’s so many more to choose from…

The Kind Worth Killing by Peter Swanson

Thrillers are not my go-to reading genre, but I do like them when traveling. The tedious airplane trips especially call for a good page-turner. My only thriller requirement is that it has to be well written with good reviews.

I chose the The Kind Worth Killing because the Washington Post said “it should be a contender for crime fiction’s best first novel of 2014.” It has also been compared to Gone Girl, a thriller which I really admired (the film, not so much). This is a modern re-imagining of Patricia Highsmith’s 1950 classic thriller, Strangers on a Train, but trust me, with many different and unique twists.

The flight from London to Boston is delayed and Lily, a young beautiful woman sits down next to Ted and as alcohol loosens his tongue, he tells her about his cheating wife. It turns out they are on the same flight and arrange to sit next to each other. By the end of the flight and more discussion, Lily says:

Truthfully, I don’t think murder is necessarily as bad as people make it out to be. Everyone dies. What difference does it make if a few bad apples get pushed along a little sooner than God intended? And your wife, for example, seems like the kind worth killing.

At first, it is very, very similar to “Strangers on a Train” but about a third of the way through The Kind Worth Killing takes some jaw-dropping twists and turns, and things get more and more complicated. (turns out murder is really hard, you guys.)

The novel uses alternating narratives of the main characters, and it switches between past and current timelines. Mr. Swanson does this masterfully, using the past narratives to provide details, previous connections and clues. At the same time, he manages to hold back enough specifics to keep you guessing on how everything is going to end.

The writing never feels gimmicky or contrived. Every time I thought I knew where it was going, more twists would happen but the writing kept it natural and soberly real. What I found most enjoyable, was when the layers were peeled back to reveal more information about each character, and new ones were introduced.

It’s a game of cat and mouse…but just who is the cat and who is the mouse? My head was spinning – who is the killer? Who is the victim? Is there anyone you can trust?

I was shocked at the ending, and read it twice. I did not see it coming and the story ends a far cry from what I expected…hmmmm.

And I think I will stop here, and not reveal anything further so I don’t spoil it for you. Because if you like thrillers, or need a good vacation read – you must read A Kind Worth Killing.

And because I will never learn…

There is a second in this series, which I hope picks up where this left off.

And another to add to my list — Mr. Swanson also wrote The Girl with a Clock for a Heart—which the Washington Post raves, “should be a contender for crime fiction’s best first novel of 2014.”

Yes, two more books to add to my pile – it’s a sickness I tell you, but I don’t need or want help…Okay?