I wish people talked like this a lot more: The Unspeakable

The Unspeakable: and Other Subjects of Discussion, Meghan Daum

Fast Facts

• 10 absorbing essays on a range of subjects
• Brutally and bravely honest, Daum's essays lay bare some of her most personal experiences, and her real reactions to them, in her effort to avoid platitudes and preassigned emotional responses
• Topics include "death, dogs, romance, children, lack of children, Joni Mitchell, and cream-of-mushroom-soup casserole, to name a few"
• Daum also edited a collection of essays by other writers, titled "Shallow, Selfish and Self-Absorbed: Sixteen Writers on the Decision Not to Have Kids"
• The author has been called the Joan Didion of her generation - hard to get higher praise than that
• Worth a read, and then a second read (well - maybe not the Joni Mitchell essay, unless you're a fan)
• 256 pages

The Biggest Cry Comes First

The essay in Daum's courageous collection The Unspeakable that affected me the most was the very first one, "Matricide", in which she recounts her mother's death from cancer.  I read and watched Cheryl Strayed's autobiographical book and movie Wild in the past couple months, and this was another book that begins with a young woman experiencing her mother's cancer death.  

While I sob-cried my way through both essays, Daum's was the real sucker punch.  Strayed's mother is portrayed in glowing Laura Dern-perfection, bathed in light, singing songs, whispering to horses, escaping and elevating herself above hardships with a smile.  Meghan Daum's relationship with her mother, and her mother's relationship with Daum's grandmother, and Daum's reaction to her mother's illness and death, certainly did not get the same rose-colored treatment.  

Instead, Daum tells you right away that when her mother slipped from unconsciousness to death, Daum was reading a Vanity Fair article while her brother checked Facebook at their mother's bedside.  And, as her mother lay unconscious for days and weeks in what would be her deathbed, Daum describes unpacking her Manhattan apartment around her, unplugging and bubble-wrapping the lamps, so as to avoid a high and unnecessary month's rent after the end.

It's shocking to read such an account, including an examination of all the things about her mother's pre-illness behavior that drove her crazy, and I give Daum a lot of credit here.  This must be the experience of so many people, both with fraught mother-daughter relationships, and dealing with end-of-life care for loved ones.  It makes it even worse, I'm sure, that the societal expectation is that you'll cry at all the right times, and that you'll talk about death as transcendent and full of meaning.  

Having a different, less palatable experience in the face of that expectation must be very difficult.  It takes real courage to put those feelings on paper, and Daum may be offering more comfort than she knows.

Living a Full Life: Kids or No Kids?

When no one at your book club wants to talk about dying mothers (understandably!), this is the essay that will probably garner the most discussion.  Though for the record, I'll admit to feeling a bit overwhelmed by the topic, given that babies seem to be everywhere, and some people have upcoming birthdays, and there is an inundation of articles on careers and parenthood decisions on Facebook and elsewhere.  (Yes, I know, I'm not helping by telling the algorithm that I'm interested!)

For anyone who is unsure about whether to become a parent, here too Daum provides a real comfort and service.  She met her husband in her mid-thirties, and loves her relationship and her career and her life.  She volunteers with children in the foster care system, for crying out loud (another topic that she writes about in the book, with the same refreshing lack of sugar-coating).  So why does she call her decision, or nature's decision, not to become a parent "The Central Sadness"?

Daum has also edited an essay collection called "Shallow, Selfish and Self-Absorbed: Sixteen Writers on the Decision Not to Have Kids", and I may seek it out for some additional perspective.  Though, as a non-parent adult, I've always found some parents' "My Kid Comes Before Anything/Anyone Else" attitude to be pretty selfish, so I feel somewhat prickly that the new collection is titled so defensively.

The Other, Lighter Stuff

I haven't yet given Daum kudos for how funny she is, and how much of this collection - the majority of it, in fact! - is devoted to funny stuff.  Maybe that's because the deeply unfunny stuff (see above) stuck with me more potently - but in any event, this book can be hilarious.

One essay is devoted to how Daum tried to become a lesbian in grad school - she calls herself "Honorary Dyke", and has a hilarious bit about scented candles and wanting to belong to a community that feels more interesting than her own.  Another essay is about not being a foodie, and hating to cook, and only appreciating processed foods in a world that glares at you every time you consume something that hasn't been labeled "organic".  One chapter focuses on her devotion to dogs and the Rainbow Bridge.  One chapter tells the story of her near-death experience shortly after her mother's death, when a completely random, flea-borne illness causes organ failure and puts her in a coma.

And of course, one (obnoxious) chapter is devoted to Daum's status as one of Nora Ephron's chosen proteges (cue deep jealousy here), which involved being invited to Ephron's house for a complicated game of charades with Nicole Kidman, Steve Martin, Meg Ryan, Larry David, and other celebs.

Final Thoughts

The richness of the first essay about her mother, stemming from Daum's raw honesty and fluidity with language, kept me engaged through the remainder of the book, even the chapters that felt less powerful or were more difficult for me to relate to.  Daum's talent, honesty and humor make the whole collection a great read.

Daum writes that anything she will do in the future, other than dying, will be something she does "middle-aged." (Meghan Daum, you are only 15 years older than I am!  Therefore, you are forever young!)  Middle-aged or not, all of the experience she's packed into so few years is incredible, and the ability with which she retells those experiences and really makes you feel them is even more impressive.

Junk Food Binge: Big Little Lies, The Rosie Project, and The Girl on the Train

Big Little Lies, The Rosie Project, and The Girl on the Train

(For those days when you don't want your brain to work too hard)

Sometimes we read books that are bad for us - sugary sweet, designed for addiction, filled with additives devoid of nutritional content, and leaving a chemically aftertaste.  I'm coming off just such a binge, and while none of these books really deserves its own post, I did spend some time reading them and ignoring my husband (sorry!)  So, without further ado, a quick blurb on why you should/should not read each.

Good/decent junk food binge - Big Little Lies, Liane Moriarty 

Has a book ever been so geared toward a book club of thirty-and-forty-somethings with small children at home and a hankering for a bottle of wine and some drama?  Although I'm not in that particular category of readers, I couldn't help but find Moriarty's story of drama mamas at kindergarten in an Australian beach town entertaining.  

Part of the hook is the structure - the story is told chronologically from the point of view of several characters in the beach-side community, but the narrative is interspersed with what might be police interviews revolving around a school fundraiser that ended in murder.  There are three mysteries at play here: who is the victim? Who is the murderer?  How did parenting five-year-olds in such a picturesque town turn deadly?

I'll admit that this intro (and the awful title!) might induce some eye rolls, and so will this book - but like I said, this is the Junk Food Binge edition.  And, of the three books in the binge, Big Little Lies might actually be the best.  It's well-paced, it's entertaining even when it's being ridiculous, its characters are more well-rounded than you might expect at first glance, and with a light touch, it tackles some more serious issues: bullying, marriage and parenting challenges, domestic violence, sexual abuse, child slavery... I suppose that makes it sound like a deeper and more depressing book than it really is.  It's not as heavy as all that.  It's just a good page-turner and often, surprisingly funny.  And I only half-guessed the ending.  Call it, Cheetos, made with Real Cheese!

Cotton candy junk food binge - The Rosie Project, Graeme Simsion

This book is really just delightful.  Read it in 24 hours, giggle to yourself (or out loud), sigh or groan a little, and then go give someone a kiss.  I read it by a fireplace in Vermont and then on the long drive home, and that might be why I just glow when I write about it.  It's nothing special, but it definitely delivers that cotton candy sparkle on your tongue - highly enjoyable for just a moment, and ultimately forgettable.

The protagonist and narrator is an Australian professor who must be on the autism spectrum, who embarks on a hunt for a wife the way you would construct an anthropology experiment.  (Is it just me, or - including The Slap, both the worthwhile book and now a TV series, The Rosie Project, and Big Little Lies - aren't we getting much more Australian literature on this side of the world than we used to?)

Don the hapless professor is a great combination of hilarious, (cotton candy) sweet, and infuriating.  He's an unlikely hero that you just want to root for, as he shifts his focus from trying to find the perfect mate or companion, to helping his new friend Rosie in her quest to find her biological father.

The whole story is a bit ridiculous, especially some of the travel anecdotes and the completely unrealistic ending.  But goodness, did I smile the entire time I was reading - this is as romantic comedy as it gets.  (Just wait, because I'm fairly sure a movie and a sequel are in the works.)

"Can I get a time refund" junk food binge - Girl on the Train, Paula Hawkins

Pretty please, can I find whichever publishing/marketing maven called this "The New Gone Girl!" and give them a well-deserved smack?  I may be in the minority here, given how many people I see reading this (yes, on the train) and its spot on bestseller lists.  But I HATED almost every minute of this book.

One of the narrators is a drunk, overweight woman named Rachel, whose marriage has collapsed, who has lost her job, and who rides the train to and from London on a daily basis, pretending that she's a commuter, and stalking her ex in the house where she used to live.  To say that she is an unlikable narrator, however pitiable, is an understatement.  Who wants to spend precious junk food calories on this person?

Another narrator is a beautiful blond woman with secrets, who - you guessed it! - has disappeared.  Is she dead?  Did her husband do it?  If you're Gillian Flynn, you're feeling pretty happy because Paula Hawkins tried to cheaply rip off some of your gimmicks, and made you look fantastic by comparison.  (If you're Gillian Flynn, you're also pretty happy because you're talented, beautiful, and swimming in money.)

One more detestable narrator here - the woman who slept with, and then married, Rachel's husband.  Ugh.

I would be afraid of giving away too much of the ending by going on, but suffice it to say that I NEVER guess the twist, but this one became pretty obvious to me as I went on.  I will admit that the book does become addictive.  But - an obvious public service announcement here - just because something is addictive does not mean that it has any redeeming qualities.  SKIP!

P.S. - I just bought 3 very educational-sounding, non-fiction books.  Maybe this will make up for my junk food diet!

Growing Up Chimp: We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves

We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves, Karen Joy Fowler

Fast Facts

• Shockingly, inspired by the story of a 1930's scientist couple who tried to raise a baby chimpanzee side-by-side with their human daughter
• Winner of the PEN/Faulkner Award for fiction
• Short-listed for the 2014 Man Booker Prize
• Note: I tried to read The Narrow Road to the Deep North, which beat Fowler's book for the Man Booker last year.  Couldn't get past page 25.
• Kindle users like me (who also haven't read this post) can delight in not catching the cover art, and not reading the back of the book for the "spoiler" about the identity of protagonist Rosemary's sister, Fern
• 320 pages
• A definite recommend, though not an absolute favorite

The Big Reveal

You'll start off thinking that you're reading about a college student's rebellion phase and normal resentment towards her parents.  Relatable perhaps, well-written and often funny to be sure, and somewhat interesting - but wait for the twist.

Fowler drops in little hints of family dysfunction and mystery into the beginning of the book - which starts in the middle chronologically (a bit heavy-handed, but still a good structural device to keep the intrigue alive.)   Examples of Fowler's little hints, signaling that something is "off": siblings that keep disappearing, and family homes that keep growing smaller to accommodate the disappearances.  Rosemary being sent away to stay with her grandparents after some unnamed trauma.  Constant references to how chatty Rosemary was as a child, and her struggle to fit in with her brother and with social groups.  Growing up at a farmhouse that people assume has an electrified lawn.

I'll admit, the beginning of this book didn't exactly have me hooked - but keeping the delicious secret about Rosemary's family for the first 75 pages or so made the big reveal one of the best parts of the reading experience.  That is, if you didn't pay attention to the cover art or book summary before starting the novel (which I'd seriously recommend!)

Making Your Parents Look Like Pros

Rosemary's resentment at her parents is far more well-founded than that of most young(ish) adults.  It turns out that, in an effort to (as her mother puts it) make Rosemary's life "extraordinary", Rosemary's parents decide to raise Rosemary side-by-side with Fern, a chimpanzee, from when Rosemary is a few months old until she is five years old.

The goal, aside from giving Rosemary this "extraordinary" life, is to have graduate students at the university where Rosemary's father is a professor study Rosemary and Fern, like one big science project, to publish about the effect they're having on one another's development.  And of course, Rosemary's father hopes to propel his academic career to a level of achievement that will merit the New York Times writing a respectful obituary about him.

It's no wonder Rosemary thinks her parents are The Worst.  Even more appalling, though, are the real-life examples that Fowler provides during the novel, of other chimps raised as "human", and the difficult, depressing consequences.

At Last, the Beginning and the End

As previously mentioned, the story starts in the narrative middle with Rosemary's disorderly conduct arrest in college, related to her soon-to-be friend Harlow's animal-like behavior in a cafeteria.  College Rosemary's antics are, in my opinion, the least interesting part of the book.

The beginning section, which comes next, explains Rosemary's strange childhood, and the circumstances leading to Fern's disappearance.  This is the part of the novel that makes it worth the time and effort - and it is told skillfully and beautifully in vignettes and flashes of questionable memory, given that we are relying on the recollections of a traumatized adult, reflecting on her first five years of life.

Finally, as Rosemary confronts the effects of her early upbringing and tries to find her family and herself in the process, Fowler weaves in bigger moral questions about animal rights, animal treatment, and the ways that these topics relate to human rights and the people we lock away in cages.  

The result is a fascinating story that tackles important issues, and lingers long after the last page has been read.