Hello readers,
The walls in my apartment are thin enough that I know a lot of details about my neighbors. “Am I creepy or just conscious?” is a question that returns when certain personal sounds penetrate the drywall. As long as I don’t aggressively chase eavesdropping opportunities—by, say, standing against the wall with a drinking glass to my ear—I think I can claim innocence. And anyway, it’s a two-way street; the neighbors have certainly also collected uninvited data about my habits. To paraphrase a proverb: What do I not know about? she know can’t hurt me!
Below are two novels that took me from my vile town house to 1) a chalet and 2) a country house.
Happy travels,
—Molly
Chris lives on the edge of a moor in an old cottage with crumbling plaster and ceilings so low that he runs the risk of automatic decapitation every time he climbs the stairs. He is 45 years old and has been “fired” from his job. But he’s content with a humble country life and an empty calendar, and we soon learn why: Chris’ childhood was filled with enough drama to fuel a season of reality TV.
One day, an unexpected visitor asks about Chris’s past – a past involving adultery, divorce, sibling wars, artistic triumph, professional despair, and more. A real can of worms. Actually too many worms; there may be a surplus of plot here, but it’s backed up by a plethora of acute perceptions. The cover of my edition, pictured above, is painfully unrepresentative of the text.
Read if you want: Jane Gardam, who burst through doors in a frenzy of excitement, Helene Hanff’s “84, Charing Cross Road”
Available from: Arrowor check your library or used bookstore
mr. Crowe is a man of excessive fortune. His estate features formal gardens, a hedge maze, a croquet lawn and a perfectly square pond. (How? Why?) For dinner, he eats lobster garnished with bits of gold leaf. (How? Why?) Other residents of the house include Eustace, a butler and consigliere, and Clara, a child with an unspecified disability that prevents her from speaking. During a routine evening of debauchery, Mr. Crowe pulls out a gun and appears to kill a man on his property – but when the corpse is examined, there are no gunshot wounds. And that’s not the only mystery!
This novel – which hovers between gothic and fantasy – begins at a leisurely trot and works its way up to a gallop. That’s not a polite way of saying the book is boring; only that the first act is meticulous in its preparation for the next twists and turns.
Read if you want: David Mitchell, Susanna Clarke, cryptic (or “British style”) crossword puzzles
Available from: Tin House
Why do not you go…
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slip into “Old Masters” like you LOVE art/tirades and HATE sentimentality/paragraph breaks?
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Tell people you’ve had “INCAREFUL SOLARIZATION” next time you get sunburn? (And steal other phrases from Nabokov while you’re at it.)
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Sigh and resign at FULL INFATUATION of another word puzzle? As far as I know, the site doesn’t contain any instructions for how to play, but you will be able to find out.
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