This Is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper

Story: Judd is a sad sack. He’s been dumped, humiliated, and stripped of employment. Needless to say, he’s at an all-time low—and his father has the gall to make it even worse by dying…and then requesting that his wife and four children all sit shiva. So back to his parents’ house Judd goes, hanging out with his dysfunctional family for a week as he mourns the loss of his father, his wife, and the life he thought he had in the bag.

Writing: This is where Tropper really shines. Despite the depressing subject matter, the book is a quick and witty read, with great comic phrasing and characterization. This is ugly real life in all its hilarious glory, and I’m all over that shizzle.

Yeah, I said shizzle.

Themes: No one gets the life s/he expected. Terrible things happen, people get old and lumpy, and you make the best of what you’ve got. The book really explores the meaning of family relationships—what it is to be a child, a sibling, a spouse, a parent—and all the fine twisted love and torture that lie therein.

Yeah, I said therein.

Best thing about it: Writing!

Worst thing about it: I can’t really say without revealing too much about the plot, but there’s something that happens near the end that I find all too convenient.

Final thoughts: One of the most enjoyable books I’ve read in a while.

Little Bee by Chris Cleave

Setting: Modern-day London and Nigeria.

Story: Okay, I’m going to go along with the book’s marketing team on this one—I can’t really tell you. But the fulcrum of the story involves a British couple, two Nigerian teenagers, and a horrific event on a Nigerian beach that—you know—changes their lives forever.

Writing: The narrative switches between the first-person perspectives of Sarah (the British woman) and Little Bee (one of the Nigerian teenagers). Little Bee’s language is especially entertaining and rhythmic, though at first I thought it was a little patronizing.

Themes: Some pretty heavy stuff underpins this novel: immigration and the treatment of refugees; globalization and its human cost; the meaning and impact of self-sacrifice; what makes a life worth living (or not). It’s meaty, man.

Best thing about it: Interesting plot and Little Bee’s perspective.

Worst thing about it: I found Sarah a bit tedious and her son a lot tedious.

Final thoughts: A good choice for book clubs. You can all ask each other what you would do during the big secret event that I can’t tell you about.

Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad

Okay, so you know how sometimes you just never read a classic book for years and years—because even as an English major you can’t possibly read all of them in college—and then you finally get around to it and you realize that it is some missing piece of your soul that has finally come home to rest?

Well, this wasn’t one of those times. It’s true that I managed not to read Heart of Darkness till now, but I kinda wish it had stayed that way. It’s one of those books that skates by on its historical significance and once-revolutionary themes, so no one bothers to mention the totally crappy storytelling.

John and I read this for our own personal book club, and basically spent the entire discussion complaining about it and tallying up all the things we wished Conrad would have done instead.

But let’s break it down.

Setting: Late 19th century, England and the Congo

Story: Naive English dude becomes a ferry-boat captain headed to the Congo. He is charged with 1) transporting ivory, and 2) picking up a guy named Kurtz, who is some fiendishly successful ivory trader who needs to be returned to civilization. Kurtz is a genius, they say, but seems to be dabbling in some shady practices.

Themes: As good little 19th century Brits, we all know that the “heart of darkness” refers to the jungle itself, the black-skinned heathens who live there. Or does it? Could it be that raping the African land in the name of Christianizing the savages is not such a pure motive after all, that true darkness perhaps germinates in the human soul?

Writing: I have no complaints with Conrad’s style. It’s the freaking plot and structure.

First, the whole thing is a frame story, which as far as I can tell has no function except to jolt the reader out of the story periodically for no good reason. But the main problem is that the book fails to deliver the goods. Conrad piques our interest for pages and pages about this Kurtz fellow. All the characters go on at length about his persuasive methods, his amazing speeches, his heroic proportions. And Conrad never shows us, never tells us, never gives us any satisfying details about who Kurtz actually is or what Kurtz actually does. I walked away from this book with literary blue balls, and I’m still angry about it.

Best thing about it: It’s short.

Worst thing about it: See “writing” above.

Final thoughts: Watch Apocalypse Now instead. It’s actually supposed to be an adaptation of Heart of Darkness, though from what I understand (I’ve only seen the big famous scene with the Wagner) it actually has a good plot.

A Single Man by Christopher Isherwood
Narrated by Simon Prebble

Setting: Los Angeles in the 1960s

Story: Gay English professor George has just lost his longtime partner. We follow him through the aftermath of the event and his silent, secret grief.

Themes: The feeling of isolation even when surrounded by others. As a gay man, a Brit, a professor, a man of a certain age, George moves through a heavily populated world in which he constantly stands apart.

Writing: Literary. This is a character study of the truest sort, an intimate step-into-my-brain kind of adventure.

Best thing about it: Hollywood has glutted our hearts and minds with jolly, fabulous gay men. It’s refreshing to see an old gay grump.

Worst thing about it: I can’t exactly put my finger on the reason, but this book just never totally seized me as I wished it would.

Audiobook insights: Narrator Simon Prebble captures George’s bitter outlook with the perfect sardonic tone.

Final thoughts: If you like character studies, A Single Man is totally solid. Those looking for a zippier plot should look elsewhere.

The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón
Narrated by Jonathan Davis

Setting: 1950s Barcelona

Story: When protagonist Daniel is just a child, his father takes him to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books—a vast and secret library where books in danger of extinction live for all time. (Book nerds, start salivating!) Daniel’s mission there is to choose one special book whose existence he will protect for life.

Daniel sets out to investigate his chosen tome and stumbles upon a mystery—what happened to the book’s disturbed, talented, and wildly unsuccessful author? And why is someone seeking out and burning all his books? Along with Fermín, a hilarious friend and self-described ladies’ man, Daniel sets out to uncover the author’s secrets and stop his work from being destroyed.

Writing: Quite readable with some literary flair. (It’s a translation, however, so I can’t comment on the original.)

Best thing about it: Fermín is just a great character who lends some wonderful levity to the book. His relationship with Daniel is touching and three-dimensional—not the usual fare. I also love that the mysterious author is amazingly gifted, yet can’t sell a novel to save his life!

Worst thing about it: Shockingly, I can’t think of anything to complain about.

Audiobook insights: Highly recommended. Davis is a genius at distinguishing the characters from one another, especially in bringing Fermín to life.

Final thoughts: This literary mystery and coming-of-age story is a great read.

Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts
Narrated by Humphrey Bower

Well, it turns out that India is not merely a land of funtime singalongs. If you’re dying to delve into the underbelly of Bombay in the 80s, slums and black markets and more, Shantaram is the book for you. It’s a world I knew nothing about, described by a tour guide who’s really been there: Gregory David Roberts, the Australian robber and prison escapee who based much of this novel on his own life.

Story: A man on the run has to start from scratch. And so we meet our protagonist, Lin, during his first hours on Indian soil. He must make friends, learn the languages, and forge a new life for himself in a teeming, complex city he soon comes to love. Rural villages, Bombay slums, brothels, lice-infested prisons, Bollywood movie sets, and Afghan mountainsides all serve as backdrops for Lin’s many adventures, both criminal and philanthropic. And a love story captivates throughout.

Writing: Mostly straightforward, but at times quite literary.

Best thing about it: Fascinating details about the culture and way of life, especially on the criminal side. News to me!

Worst thing about it: There is an enormous cast of characters and it can be hard to keep track.

Audiobook insights: On the positive side, the narrator is great, especially when shifting between Kiwi, Indian, and French accents. On the negative side, unless you are familiar with Indian and Arabic names, it can be tough to keep track of all the characters; I think it would be easier to see the names in print. Also, the audiobook is (gasp) abridged, which I did not know when I bought it, and may have contributed to my name confusion.

Final thoughts: A solid read, but a big investment (the printed book, I understand, has some 900 pages). Unless you’re into epics, don’t even try.

Dreams of Trespass: Tales of a Harem Girlhood by Fatima Mernissi

If you’re like me, the word “harem” is inherently fascinating. But if you’re like me, you’re thinking about some kind of sex palace with hundreds of hot chicks dressed like Princess Jasmine. In Dreams of Trespass, Mernissi is quick to distinguish between “imperial harems” (the sex palace with the Jasmines) and “domestic harems,” which are basically Islamic homes in which women are more or less permanently cloistered. Domestic harems haven’t captured the Western mind in quite the same way as their imperial counterparts, but as Mernissi reveals, they are plenty fascinating in their own right. I read Dreams of Trespass in college and it’s always stayed with me—so much that I wanted to re-read it for my first A Book From Every Country selection.

In this memoir, feminist writer and sociologist Fatima Mernissi describes what it is like to grow up in a home where, simply put, women cannot go outside. But this particular frontier is only the most obvious of the many that Mernissi must confront as she struggles to understand the social and religious forces that govern her young life. Don’t be thrown by the word “feminist”—while Mernissi’s critique is a given, this is no whiny sob story. Dreams of Trespass is a masterfully written exploration of both the merits and injustices of a complex world.

Story: Fascinating. Paints a vivid picture of a way of life that is almost unimaginable to a Western reader.

Writing: Just lovely.

Best thing about it: Knowing Mernissi eventually got out.

Worst thing about it: Knowing some of the others probably didn’t.

Well, I don’t think I really have to explain this one. Dun dun dun…I’m going to read a book from every country. Preferably from and about the country.

It’s going to be rad. If you have a suggestion for a great book, let me know.

I’m already thinking about Kazakhzan. Is there a book version of Borat?

Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller

In the first sentences, Miller writes:

“This is not a book in the ordinary sense of the word. No, this is a prolonged insult, a gob of spit in the face of art, a kick in the pants to God, man, destiny, time, love, beauty, what you will.”

Story: Henry Miller and his ridiculous friends caper about Paris like frat boys with brains, dodging responsibility and screwing everything in sight (not necessarily in that order). That said, plot is minimal. Miller wasn’t lying: This is more an assortment of semi-autobiographical diary entries than a novel in any typical sense.

Writing: The writing is rather marvelous. If there were a stronger thread of plot, this book would probably be amazing.

Obscenity index: Tropic of Cancer was banned in the US in the 1960s, but its obscenity probably won’t set you swooning. It’s certainly dirty, somewhat creepy, full of foul language (in particular, see below), but not really offensive by today’s standards.

Best thing about it: Gives you implicit permission to call your friends “cunts.”

Worst thing about it: I’d have to go with no plot, but Miller’s weird brands of misogyny and anti-Semitism also get tiresome.

Audiobook insights: Recommended. The narrator, Campbell Scott, has this seedy sotto voce that really captures the intimacy and broodiness of the narrative. Some of the scenes—the bit with Carl comes to mind—are actually quite hilarious when read out loud. And, since you won’t have to keep track of any plot, the audiobook makes it easy to listen to five minutes at a time with no worries about getting interrupted and losing the point.

Final thoughts: I am so done with expatriate literature. Did anyone actually do anything in Paris in the 30s? Seriously. I am over it.

In Why We Read What We Read, we talked briefly about Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections, using it to illustrate Oprah’s peculiar ways of reading literature. But we never really got to say what a wonderful book it is.

This was unfair. Franzen’s National Book Award winner is one of the best books we read on our bestselling journey, certainly my personal Fiction Top Five. It chronicles the lives of the five members of the Lambert family: stubborn, recalcitrant father Alfred, on a steady Parkinson’s-induced decline; nagging mother Enid, perpetually midwestern and disappointed with her children’s unconventional choices; prosperous son Gary, obsessed with proving how great his life is even as he loses the war against depression and his wife and children’s alliance against him; writer/academic son Chip, whose imprudent dalliances with an undergraduate cost him his career and his dignity; and daughter Denise, a star chef successful in all but the personal arena where she manages to get involved with both her boss and his wife.

Never has a book about so many wretched people been so hilarious. It’s not slapstick, just the perfect turns of phrase, the perfect big hunks of chapters that expose the neuroses and obsessions of these people in all their all-too-realistic glory.