From the Top 100, Part Two

In this second installment about books from the New York Times list of the best books published since the year 2000, I offer condensed versions of reviews that I’ve posted on this blog over the past seven years. These titles have won numerous national and international literary prizes.

The Goldfinch     Donna Tartt     (2013)  A young man named Theodore Decker loses his mother in a terrible explosion. What follows is at once a bildungsroman, a mystery, a thriller, and a wild drug-fueled ride through a speculative alternate history of New York City. But you can read its nearly 800 pages solely for Tartt’s extraordinarily lush vocabulary and sympathetically drawn characters.

Pachinko     Min Jin Lee     (2017)  In this novel about Korean immigrant families in Japan during the twentieth century, Lee lays out the Japanese discrimination against Koreans clearly. But she also includes both Koreans and Japanese who are deceitful and honest, talented and mediocre, wise and foolish, lazy and hardworking, compassionate and heartless, selfish and generous, prejudiced and open-minded. Subplots touch on issues such as the status of minority Christians and the evolving attitude toward the place of women in Japan. Above all, though, this is a universal story about the immigrant experience. Immigrants enter a game of chance, stacked against them, much like people who play pachinko, the popular Japanese slot-machine game.

Exit West     Mohsin Hamid     (2017)  Hamid is known for his experimental prose, but Exit West can appear to be a more conventional novel—that is, until you hit the magical doors. These doors whisk Hamid’s characters to another country, with some similarities to the door through which CS Lewis takes his characters to Narnia. But Hamid’s characters definitely do not end up in Narnia. They’re refugees, fleeing their unnamed native land, where “militants” cause increasing upheaval and danger. This prescient novel personalizes the plight of refugees—ordinary people who through no fault of their own are caught up in war and terrorism, who flee with great reluctance, leaving behind virtually all their possessions, clinging to the few family members who have not perished.

The Overstory     Richard Powers     (2018)  The Overstory is massive in scope, sophisticated in descriptive power, and disturbing in message.  Instead of framing his book as a nonfiction exposé of the sins of the logging industry, Powers has chosen to show the diverse motivations of fictional “tree huggers” from all walks of life. This approach is much more effective in getting across his message that the human destruction of forests will eventually, and pretty soon, make our planet unlivable.

Small Things Like These     Claire Keegan     (2021)  With haunting prose that’s reminiscent of the early work of James Joyce, this novella fictionalizes a piece of the well-documented history of the Irish “laundries,” where unwed pregnant women were basically imprisoned by the Catholic Church until as recently as 1996. Author Keegan takes us to rural Ireland at Christmastime in 1985, when a middle-aged family man stumbles upon evidence of such human rights abuses at a local convent. I read everything that Claire Keegan publishes, and I’ve never been disappointed.

Trust     Hernan Diaz     (2022)  Diaz explores the trustworthiness of narrative through four different takes on the same story, about a fictional early-twentieth-century Wall Street financier. First, a novella captures the style of Edith Wharton, and next, an unfinished autobiography reveals its author’s vanity and arrogance. A memoir by the autobiography’s ghost writer gives another perspective, and finally the diary of the financier’s wife provides a new twist to the tale. Diaz navigates these disparate genres with stylistic ease, as he asks, Whom do you trust to tell you the truth? 

 

Two Fiction + Two Nonfiction

First, two works of fiction, both about financiers:

Trust     Hernan Diaz     (2022)  Diaz explores the trustworthiness of narrative through four different takes on the same story, about a fictional early-twentieth-century Wall Street financier. First, a novella captures the style of Edith Wharton, then an unfinished autobiography reveals its author’s vanity and arrogance. A memoir by the autobiography’s ghost writer gives another perspective, and finally the diary of the financier’s wife provides a new twist to the tale. Diaz navigates these disparate genres with stylistic ease, as he asks, Whom do you trust to tell you the truth?

The Magnolia Palace     Fiona Davis     (2022)  I reviewed Davis’s 2016 novel, The Dollhouse, on this blog in 2017, and The Magnolia Palace is the fifth novel that Davis has churned out since then. Her signature formula includes an actual iconic building in New York City as the setting and two fictional young women, living decades apart, who are involved in a complicated mystery. The Magnolia Palace is a lightweight, entertaining romp, set in the Frick Collection, a fine art museum that was formerly the home of Henry Clay Frick’s family. The two women are models, one in 1919 and one in 1966. Brush up on your art history!


Next, two collections of essays:

These Precious Days     Ann Patchett     (2022) Patchett provides plenty of  insights into her family background and her fiction-writing process in these essays. (See my reviews of her novels Commonwealth and The Dutch House.) The title piece, and the longest, starts with Patchett reading Tom Hanks’s short story collection, Uncommon Type. She admires the book (as did I; see my review) and, through a series of coincidences, gets to know the actor and his assistant, Sooki Raphael. Sooki ends up as a long-term houseguest of Patchett and her husband at the beginning of the pandemic. Patchett writes a moving account of their unexpected and rewarding friendship.

Happy-Go-Lucky     David Sedaris     (2022)  For fans of David Sedaris (count me in), every new collection of his essays means a couple of evenings of sure-fire good reading, unveiling the vagaries of family relationships. (See my previous commentary on his body of work.) Happy-Go-Lucky focuses quite a bit on the last years of David’s nonagenarian father, Lou, and on the impact of the COVID pandemic. The stories are honest, touching, sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes disturbing. There is simply no other essayist who is as irreverent and candid and downright funny as David Sedaris.