A Tale for the Time Being

Ruth Ozeki's A Tale for the Time Being was Multnomah County Library's selection for their Everybody Reads program of 2023. Sometime in January, my cousin invited me and gave me a copy. I attended Ruth's author talk mid-March in Portland and have only now finished reading the book. I can't adequately explain my slowness. It is long, but more than that, it is steeped in complex issues of memory and philosophy and quantum physics and parallel worlds. It hits all the major social issues as well, from environment and climate to bullying and suicide. The book follows a writer (Ruth's own self!) and her discovery of a packet of interesting items on the Pacific coast, likely having floated over from Japan, perhaps as a result of the earthquake and tsunami in 2011. The book alternates between the diary of a teen girl and Ruth's life, which somehow becomes a dialogue over space and time. The interaction between Ruth and her husband as they read the diary is beautiful and probing. There are some pretty heady conversations around being, observing, knowing, and conjuring. It's a wonderful book. Writing is Ruth Ozeki's superpower, and from reading this story, it's clearly not her only one. 

Some interesting quotes: 

Page12:  Print is predictable and impersonal, conveying information in a mechanical transaction with the reader's eye. Handwriting, by contrast, resists the eye, reveals its meaning slowly, and is as intimate as skin. 

Page 31:  Ruth snapped the book shut and closed her eyes for good measure to keep herself from cheating and reading the final sentence, but the question lingered, floating like a retinal burn in the darkness of her mind: What happens in the end? 

Page 84:  An unfinished book, left unattended, turns feral, and she would need all her focus, will, and ruthless determination to tame it again. 

Page 159:  Dad kept climbing. One step. Another. Higher and higher. We were an army of two, him and me, marching up a mountain, but not to conquer it. We were in retreat, a defeated army on the run. 

Page 188:  He held out an oyster. His fingers were wet and raw. 

Page 246:  "Life is full of stories. Or maybe life is only stories." 

Page 317:  I unscrew the cap on my fountain pen, worried that the ink might run dry and be insufficient for my thoughts. My last thoughts, measured out in drops of ink. 

Page 345-6:  "Think about it. Where do words come from? They come from the dead. We inherit them. Borrow them. Use them for a time to bring the dead to life." 

Page 389:  He's stopped reading The Great Minds of Western Philosophy completely, and spends all his time programming, which really is his superpower. I mean there are lots of superheroes with different superpowers, and some of them are big and flashy, like superstrength, and superspeed, and molecular restructuring, and force fields. But these abilities are really not so different from the superpower stuff that old Jiko could do, like moving superslow, or reading people's minds, or appearing in doorways, or making people feel okay about themselves just by being there. 

Pachinko

Such an absorbing saga! Pachinko follows an extended family from occupied Korea in 1910 to Japan in 1989, where even those born there were not considered citizens and had South Korean passports - essentially leaving them a foreigner in every land. Author Min Jin Lee deftly navigates the human condition and all its complexity. I know that's quite a statement, but I stand by it. It's haunting me even now, recalling her poignant dealing of such universal issues as limited opportunities based on deep cultural bias, how our choices can be what ruins our lives but in some ways also results in our greatest joy, the way guilt and blame can devastate, how resilient people can be, in spite of it all. I loved the conversations between characters hashing out different perspectives, without being preachy or absolute. I could go on and on, because she tucked so much nuance into every corner.

Personally, I felt connected in that I lived in Japan for a year in 1989/90, teaching English after I graduated high school. I remember being aware that Koreans were second-class citizens but not having any real grasp of the issue. I also never went to a pachinko parlor there. I chose this book because the author will be speaking at a writer convention I'm attending next week. Good book. Hai. Soo desu, nee? Dozo.

Page 54:  "You're too healthy to be in bed," the pharmacist said. "But don't get up just yet."

Page 117:  Sins couldn't be laundered by good results. 

Page 178:  For every patriot fighting for a free Korea, or for any unlucky Korean bastard fighting on behalf of Japan, there were ten thousand compatriots on the ground and elsewhere who were just trying to eat. In the end, your belly was your emperor. 

Page 248:  At lunchtime, Haruki sat at the end of the long table with two seat gaps around him like an invisible parenthesis while the other boys in their dark woolen uniforms stuck together like a tight row of black corn kernels. 

The chapter on pages 279-284, showing those young adult time of discovery and how a person can be challenged to a richer, fuller understanding by being confronted by different perspectives. 

Page 296-7:  His Presbyterian minister father had believed in a divine design and Mozasu believed that life was like this game where the player could adjust the dials yet also expect the uncertainty of factors he couldn't control. He understood why his customers wanted to play something that looked fixed but which also left room for randomness and hope. 

Page 399: Etsuko held the watch case in her hands and wondered how they'd stayed together with him not giving up and her not giving in. 

The chapter on pages 416-422, showing the fraught and complicated relationship of mother and child,. How we hurt those we love the most. 

Page 478:  Phoebe's shoes were black or brown leather; a pair of pink espadrilles, which had once given her terrible blisters, stood out from the others like a girlish mistake. 

The Music of Bees

How fun to read a book set in my little corner of the world! Eileen Garvin's The Music of Bees is a lovely, well-woven story of a convergence of three lonely lives. 

Two quotes jumped out: 

Page 22:  The sunburned tourists who plodded through downtown clutching iced coffees had no idea that the heart of this place was far from Oak Street, up the valley, and out in the orchards. Those long rows of trees were far more than a postcard backdrop for their scenic drives. 

Page 63:  The wind banged around the house all night like it was looking for something it had lost. 

This Side of Paradise

It's fun and easy to pull quotes from F. Scott Fitzgerald's This Side of Paradise. The main character, Amory, is a youthful idealist and romantic, searching for purpose and meaning. He explores the difference between personality and personage, love and disappointment, personal demons, even hitting political themes, ultimately coming to terms with disillusionment. 

I picked up this book because I had Fitzgerald's quote, "They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered," up on the wall and my daughter one day asked which book of his it was from. I had assumed that quote was about lovers, but it turns out it was about a mentoring friendship between a boy and a worldly old priest. 

The quotes I chose range from lovely turns of phrase to clever or soulful observations (as is always why I keep a quote). 

Page 15:  She had once been a Catholic, but discovering that priests were infinitely more attentive when she was in process of losing or regaining faith in Mother Church, she maintained an enchantingly wavering attitude. 

Page 18:  The invitation to Miss Myra St Claire's bobbing party spent the morning in his coat pocket, where it had an intense physical affair with a dusty piece of peanut brittle. 

Page 36:  They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered. 

Page 75:  Scurrying back to Minneapolis to see a girl he had known as a child seemed the interesting and romantic thing to do, so without compunction he wired his mother not to expect him... sat in the train and thought about himself for thirty-six hours. 

Page 88:  Silences were becoming more frequent and more delicious. 

Page 106:  'I'm a cynic idealist.' He paused and wondered if that meant anything. 

Page 117:  He lay awake in the darkness and wondered how much he cared - how much of his sudden unhappiness was hurt vanity - whether he was, after all, temperamentally unfitted for romance. 

Page 221:  'It may be an insane love affair,' she told her mother, 'but it's not inane.'  

Page 249:  There seemed suddenly to be much left in life, if only this revival of old interests did not mean that he was backing away from it again - backing away from life itself. 

Page 250:  Existence had settled into an ambitionless normality. 

 

Page 274:  Often they swam and as Amory floated lazily in the water he shut his mind to all thoughts except those of happy soap-bubble lands where the sun splattered through wind-drunk trees. 

Page 308:  Suddenly he felt an overwhelming desire to let himself go to the devil - not to go violently as a gentleman should, but to sink safely and sensuously out of sight. 

In other news, my novel, The Runestone's Promise, was listed as a bestseller for 2022 of those published by Unsolicited Press. Thanks to everyone who bought my book! (And if you haven't, you still can! Here's a link: The Runestone’s Promise by Mari Matthias) 

The Candy House

Oh my, this book. This author. Part of me is put off because there is so much going on, that it takes work to track all the characters. Oh, but Jennifer Egan is such an excellent writer! The Candy House is a brilliant and absorbing tale. Again, much like A Visit from the Good Squad, it is akin to a collection of short stories in which a minor character in one assumes the primary voice in another. These people are so real and relatable in their search for authenticity, for connection and meaning, for identity. The pull to conform versus the wish to be unique. What we give up in exchange. 

Choosing quotes was difficult, as every other sentence was worth keeping. I decided to not think too hard about it: 

Page 22:  Had there been a clue Bix had missed, when he said goodbye, of what would happen next? He felt the mystery of his own unconscious like a whale looming invisibly beneath a tiny swimmer. If he couldn't search or retrieve or view his own past, then it wasn't really his. It was lost. 

Page 50:  Holding my phone, looking out at twinkling Lake Michigan, I understood with sudden clarity that doing the right thing--being right--gets you nothing in this world. It's the sinners everyone loves: the flailers, the scramblers, the bumblers. There was nothing sexy about getting it right the first time. 

Page 54:  My family and work--so long the crux of everything I did--became thin topsoil over a deep, bitter root system where my real life took place. Once I'd entered that system, it was all I cared about. 

Page 86:  Consciousness is like the cosmos multiplied by the number of people alive in the world (assuming that consciousness dies when we do, and it may not) because each of our minds is a cosmos of its own: unknowable, even to ourselves. 

Page 97:  Not that it matters; it's all just retroactive math. The random walk of a drunk is of geometric interest, but it can't predict where he'll stagger next. 

Page 125:  Never trust a candy house! It was only a matter of time before someone made them pay for what they thought they were getting for free. Why could nobody see this? 

Page 152:  But friendship risks the end of friendship, and Roxy has moved through too many friends in her life. 

Page 298-9:  The only route to relevance at our age is through tongue-in-cheek nostalgia, but that is not--let me be very clear--our ultimate ambition. Tongue-in-cheek nostalgia is merely the portal, the candy house, if you will, through which we hope to lure in a new generation and bewitch them. 

Page 322:  Snow swarmed like honeybees in the golden glow of the old-fashioned streetlamps; it slathered tree trunks and sparkled like crushed diamonds at his feet. 

Page 326:  One horror of motherhood lies in the moments when she can see both the exquisiteness of her child and his utter inconsequence to others. 

Page 333:  But knowing everything is too much like knowing nothing; without a story, it's all just information.  

Fairy Tale

I visited the library just after Thanksgiving and found Fairy Tale by Stephen King. It was a Lucky Day book (which means a new release that can't be renewed) so I had three weeks to read the 600 page tome. Oh my! I was initially up to the challenge, but then got sick with covid and was up for nothing. In the end I read most of it in the last two days. But I finished! And returned it on time - ha! 

What a fun mashup of everything fairy tale, from Jack and the Beanstock to Rumpelstiltskin and any other fairy tale story or character you can think of. Current and timeless. Smart and truly entertaining. The references were intentional and made this other world seem the source of them all, discovered by wayward travelers who happened upon a portal. 

I also enjoyed the illustrators, Gabriel Rodriguez and Nicolas Delort, alternating a drawing for each chapter. Very cool. 

Page 17:  You have to keep in mind that high school kids - no matter how big the boys, no matter how beautiful the girls - are still mostly children inside.  

Page 33:  The windows were dusty, all the shades pulled. Those windows looked like blind eyes that were somehow still seeing me and not liking my intrusion. 

Page 414:  You get used to the amazing, that's all. Mermaids and IMAX, giants and cell phones. If it's in your world, you go with it. It's wonderful, right? Only look at it another way, and it's sort of awful. Think Gogmagog is scary? Our world is sitting on a potentially world-ending supply of nuclear weapons, and if that's not black magic, I don't know what is. 

And finally, page 595:  You may say I have no reason to feel shame, that I did what I had to do to save my life and the shed's secret, but shame is like laughter. And inspiration. It doesn't knock. 

Carrie Soto Is Back

I enjoyed reading Taylor Jenkins Reid's latest novel, Carrie Soto Is Back. I attended her author talk at the Portland Book Festival earlier this month. I haven't read her previous books but have friends who enjoyed some. The book didn't immediately suck me in, and I'm not much for tennis. But Reid's work is very readable and smart. In the end I found it well-crafted and emotionally satisfying, exploring identity and belonging. I kept three quotes: 

page 40:  I hit the ball the same as I always did, but inside, I felt flushed and in possession of my first real secret. It was like opening the front door and letting fresh air into the house. 

page 177:  But of course there are no absolute morals or lessons. Only perspectives. One man's bitch is another woman's hero. 

page 303:  Gwen stands up and puts her hand on my shoulder. "Falling in love is really quite simple," she says. "You want to know the secret? It's the same thing we are all doing about life every single day." I look at her. "Forget there's an ending."