Unaccustomed Earth

My first job out of college I worked with a woman named Alo. Originally from India, she and her family had lived in Newton for nearly 20 years. She worked so that her children would have access to her employee discount of education. Once her youngest was through school, she would retire. Despite her years in the US, she always wore a sari and beautiful jewelry to work. Even in winter she would wear colorful, sheer and silky saris, covered with a thick cardigan. Alo had a vast network of fellow Indians and when she learned that I had loved Jhumpa Lahiri's book Interpreter of Maladies, she divulged that she was friendly with her family and thereafter took every opportunity to share with me stories about Ms. Lahiri. "Baby", she would say, "Jhumpa wore the most gorgeous sari to a wedding shower." She would tell details of her clothes and how she styled her hair, telling me how beautiful she was. But I couldn't imagine her clothes being half as beautiful as her stories.

Unaccustomed Earth takes advantage of Ms. Lahiri's distinguished writing style. In a sense, it picks up where Interpreter of Maladies leaves off; a book of longer short stories which can be read individually, but when combined tell a larger story. Her stories explore the relationships between generations of immigrant familes, and their relationships with people outside their immediate circle of friends and family. But far from playing the race card, Ms. Lahiri's stories commentt on the universal feeling of otherness. How losing a parent or spouse can be the most lonely feeling in the world. Or the feeling when you are untethered with no permanent home. And by the regret that comes with age, over decisions and actions made when younger. She writes capably of love and loss, but also resentment and fear.

Ms. Lahiri's stories are beautiful, but less like a brightly colored chiffon sari, and more like Alo's sweater-- old and dependable, meant to comfort and warm, holding the knowlege of its owner's years.

Netflix stars: 5/5

Later, At the Bar



When I'm not reading books off my shelf, I sometimes refer to the New York Times list of notable books. It's nice to have a short list of well reviewed books that may deviate from what I would normally choose to read. A "novel in stories" called Later, At the Bar, by Rebecca Barry, however, appealed to me immediately for it contained two of my favorite things: short stories, and a bar.
Based in a small town in upstate New York, each story chronicles the lives of a small group of down and out townies, with blue collar jobs, who usually end up at the bar, Lucy's. They sometimes aspire to something more (a longer marriage, a successful job), but know no matter what they live in a community where they are accepted without regard to their shortfalls. The cast includes Harlin and Cyrus Wilder, hard partying twins for fall hard for cheating women. There's Grace, one of the cheating women who marries Harlin. Linda writes an advice column for some small papers, and usually drinks vodkas while composing her answers. My favorite is Elizabeth Teeter, a woman whose husband recently left her for another man. She admits to being annoyed by people who talk to their pets, but once her husband leaves, she finds herself having conversations with her cat, Roger.
Ms. Barry does a wonderful job of giving human qualities to otherwise unsympathetic characters. The stories can be read separately, but taken as a whole, they really provide a snapshot of some sort of Everytown, USA. The stories read kind of slow at times, but otherwise I enjoyed them, and will give Later, At the Bar 4/5 netflix stars.

Netherland

How much does public tragedy drive our private lives? Can we redirect our personal trajectories after public events steer us off course? How will our lives be perceived in the space of our generation; or in the space of two, three or four generations? What does it mean to be an American (Ich bin ein American?)? How do we chose our friendships? These are some of the questions Joseph O'Neill asks in his beautifully and thoughtfully written Netherland.

Hans, a Dutch native, his English wife and their young son relocate to New York for work prior to 9/11. They live downtown and are moved to the Chelsea Hotel after their building is contaminated. Rachel becomes more and more agitated and anxious after the attacks, and decides to move with their son back to London. Faced with the unexpected, Hans flounders. He lives in a bohemian hotel with transient to non-existent friends, a job in which he's successful and makes a good living, but without friends and family doesn't translate into happiness. But as friendships often happen, he randomly meets Chuck Ramkissoon and soon strikes up a friendship of convenience with him, and others who meet to play cricket throughout the outer boroughs.

For Hans, cricket is a transport back in time to his childhood in the Hague. Throughout the book Hans enjoys the anonymity his ragtag group of immigrant friends provide. He doesn't question their motives and they don't question his. Maybe for all of them it is a way to connect in vast America, and they do. To connect with his son, Hans frequently logs into Google Earth and swoops from lower Manhattan to London, getting down close enough to see his wife's car and son's bike in the lawn. We are, and as Hans intimately knows, in a very small world, but also one that is still so immense.

O'Neill deftly navigates the reader through real events in the years following 9/11 (ie, the blackout of '93) and challenges us to wonder whether public events really do affect our current and future relationships. He writes about the mundane and the profound in the same tone, giving us a guide, Hans, who is equally confused and assured about his own decisions.

Netherland isn't a page turner, but it is captivating. I give it 5/5 netflix stars.