Bookshelf: April – June 2020

These are the strangest of times, with no end in sight. Covid-19 quarantine. Explosive racial unrest and social justice marches (over-riding quarantines). Political division and discord in a presidential election year. In some ways, my reading reflects the times. You might think I would be plowing through more books while in quarantine but reading and attention levels have been sporadic.

April:

I started April with The Intern, by Sandeep Jauhar. Having worked in a hospital for many years, I’m intrigued by this kind of insider look. It was interesting, and frightening, to see how teaching hospitals and physician education really work.

Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid was next. The novel deals with racism centered around a black nanny for a white family. Beyond the triggering incident, the plot twists its way into some long-held and damaging secrets. Not a bad read, but I didn’t find myself rooting for anyone in particular. Color me disappointed in a good premise that could have been rendered more powerfully.

I have read all of Anne Tyler’s books, so I ordered Redhead by the Side of the Road as soon as it was released. It’s another winner, a sweet, quirky tale of not-so-random strangers and the ties that come to bind them. You can’t help but cheer Micah toward a happy finish line.

Beyond the Point appealed to me because of my fondness for relationship-oriented novels. Three women who meet at West Point remain friends over the years post-graduation, despite different deployments and with varying levels of closeness. Interesting fictional look at women in the military.

May:

In May, as I started using my son’s desk for Zoom meetings, I also found myself scanning his bookshelves. I came upon Yann Martel’s Beatrice and Virgil. The book is an unusual allegory about the Holocaust, told by a frustrated writer trying to piece together a play by a mysterious taxidermist. The taxidermist’s stuffed donkey and monkey, Beatrice and Virgil, escape the play’s pages and haunt our writer. While some of the writing is lyrical and innocent, the book is difficult to follow and not one I recommend.

A friend introduced me to the Facebook posts and prayers of The Sarcastic Lutheran, aka Nadia Bolz-Weber. I was immediately drawn to her very real, loving presence, so I ordered her book Accidental Saints, which is a series of essays and stories about her congregation. Nadia’s earthy story telling isn’t for everyone, but she preaches a religion that speaks to me.

Tattooist of Auschwitz, by Heather Morris, came next. Ideally, I would have read this before Cilka’s Journey (previous blog), but both stand alone quite well. I’ve read a fair number of Holocaust-centered novels, but these two truly stand out, as Morris makes readers see, hear, and feel what her characters do. Tattooist is unflinching in its portrayal of the bargains and sacrifices prisoners made to survive and their dreams of freedom, love, and happily ever after.

This Day… is a collection of journal entries by many different women, all on a single day. I first read it about 15 years ago but picked it up again in April with a new appreciation for the premise. Mostly, it’s reflections on everyday life for the women diarists. And in an amazing kind of small world magic, I noticed a couple of the journal entries were written by a woman whose name I frequently see on the Facebook comments of a friend in another state.

I finished May with the incredible A Woman is No Man by Etaf Rum. It’s a raw peek into the reality of many Pakistani women, essentially sold into arranged marriages laced with beatings and expectations for producing male children. Parts of the novel are difficult to read, but it sheds light on a culture with which I was not familiar. The author discussion at the end was definitely worth reading.

June:

By June, our country was deep into civil unrest, following several violent and unjust deaths of black people. While protesting was out of the question for me because of pandemic risks, I decided my most meaningful solidarity could come from truly listening to black voices in books, podcasts, and other media. Others had the same idea, as several of my choices were quickly back-ordered and raced to the top of bestseller lists.

I started with How to Be an Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi (thanks to Amy). Honestly, I found the book to be extremely academic in presenting tons of black racist history, when I was looking for dealing with the here and now. The history is important to understanding how deep-seated the problem is, and Kendi did a great job in differentiating racist ideas and policies from *being a racist.* The sections of the book delving into the author’s personal experiences and growth made a significant impact.

So You Want to Talk about Race by Ijeoma Oluo provided the “here and now” I was seeking and offered a hard-hitting but accessible account of complex racial issues. Weaving her personal experiences through each chapter, Oluo discusses white privilege, police brutality, intersectionality, racial anger, and more. I found myself feeling defensive more than once, so I know it was on point. It’s a passionate book about systemic racism and social injustice, which deserves an audience.

Austin Channing Brown’s memoir, I’m Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness arrived next. It adds the twist of the author’s faith background, growing up in a primarily white neighborhood and Christian school, then entering the professional domain of a Christian organization. She discusses the structural racism that stands as a barrier to full inclusion and representation. This book also made me uncomfortable by showing me the complex ways a country built on white supremacy affects her.

I ended June with another find from the son’s bookshelf, I Am the Messenger by Marcus Zusak. Sold as a young adult read, with a teen protagonist, the underlying message of discovering your self-worth and your place in the world is relevant to adults.