The Ghost Road - Pat Barker

It's evening now, and everybody's scribbling away, telling people the news, or as much of the news as we're allowed to tell them. I look up and down the dormitory and there's hardly a sound except for pages being turned, and here and there a pen scratching. It's like this every evening. And not just letters either. Diaries. Poems. At least two would-be poets in this hut alone.
Why? you have to ask yourself. I think it's a way of claiming immunity. First-person narrators can't die, so as long as we keep telling the story of our own lives we're safe. Ha bloody fucking Ha.

This final book in the Regeneration Trilogy is the most powerful. It is no wonder it was a Booker winner. An intense story about humans and war-all told in a most unusual way. Barker writes in a very clear, easily understandable style, yet she conveys intense feelings and thoughtful observations. Most of the characters are based on historical figures which she has brought to life in a convincing manner.

We may think we know the horrors of war, but after reading Barker it becomes personal on a very human scale. Her book is less about the war than about the myriad of effects, all negative, it has on everyone involved, both directly and indirectly. There many levels of experience in these books- soldiers, girlfriends, wives, patients, nurses, doctors, lovers, friends, etc. The bondscreated and enhanced by the war and displayed in their intensity.

Night Train to Lisbon - Pascal Mercier

When we talk about ourselves, about others, or simply about things, we want--it could be said--to reveal ourselves in our words: We want to show what we think and feel. We let others have a glimpse into our soul. In this understanding of the case, we're the sovereign director, the self-appointed dramaturge as far as opening ourselves is concerned. But maybe this is absolutely false? A self-deception? For not only do we reveal ourselves with our words, we also betray ourselves. We give away a lot more than what we wanted to reveal, and sometimes it's the exact opposite. And the others can interpret our words as symptoms for something we ourselves may not even know. As symptoms of being us.

The quote above displays what I didn't like about this book. It is from a book within the novel written by a hero of the author. If you are like me, it is either a poor translation, or it actually says very little. Mercier is a philosophy professor and this novel spends way too much time on circular mental gymnastics with little meaning to life. Maybe if you are looking for a way to experience more melancholy, which the author admires, this book would work for you.

This is another case of me being drawn to read a book by its jacket (As Dylan sang "When will they ever learn?"). The rave reviews said things like "the best book of the last ten years" (does that reviewer really read books?) "incomparable talent" (To what, philosophy professors?)

The story in this novel has an interesting premise and the author has some unusual characters. I was not, however, enraptured by the deep philosophical ramblings that are the main focus of the book. That is in spite of my typical enjoyment of ideas.

Flaubert's Parrot - Julian Barnes

I don't care much for coincidences. There's something spooky about them: you sense momentarily what it must be like to live in an ordered, God-run universe, with Himself looking over your shoulder ad helpfully dropping coarse hints about a cosmic plan. I prefer to feel that things are chaotic, free-wheeling, permanently as well as temporarily crazy--to feel the certainty of human ignorance, brutality and folly. 'Whatever else happens,' Flaubert wrote when the Franco-Prussian war broke out, 'we shall remain stupid.' Mere boastful pessimism" Or a necessary razing of expectation before anything can be properly thought, or done, or written?

A collage of writing styles and ideas related to Flaubert make this a most interesting and enjoyable novel. Barnes is an excellant writer who shows off his abilities in this book. Centered loosely around a mystery with a parrot, it is mostly wild thoughts and ideas presented by an amateur Flaubert scholar. The book is filled with sharp wit and sarcasm. It is both funny and thought-provoking. Each chapter takes the reader on an entirely new adventure that may seem to have little relationship with the surrounding chapters. But that is not a negative and keeps this book moving along whenever it starts to dive too deeply into details.

I will read more of Barnes because of his intelligence, writing ability, and largely for his fresh and fun ideas. He is a writer who really lets you feel you are with him as you read his words. Now I must go read some Flaubert.

Pontoon - Garrison Keillor

Evelyn was an insomniac so when they say she died in her sleep, you have to question that. Probably she was sitting propped up in bed reading and heard the brush of wings and smelled the cold clean air and the angel appeared like a deer in the bedroom and Evelyn said, "Not yet. I have to finish this book."

Once again Keillor takes us to Lake Wobegon and once again leaves the reader smiling with a more cheerful mood. I always hesitate to read a new Keillor book thinking I may have tired of his not dissimilar stories. But then it seems I never tire of good humor told with a good style. Just like you can watch a funny comedian do the same bit over and over, Keillor's ongoing tales of Lake Wobegon never fail to make me smile and even laugh out loud at times. Great summer reading.

Photocopies - John Berger

A crowd. So large that one can't imagine it, even when one is part of it. A crowd in which all that the past has left is bursting out, searching, cheating, acheiving, hoping, waiting, despairing, for a future.

The crowd is there because of the market. Getting richer. Getting poorer with the hope of getting a fraction richer later. The market has nothing to do with the wealthy. Here a voice and a glance of the eyes can still make a difference. Everything glistens because it may be a bargain. Everything sold is a little gain because it has been sold.

Berger has used the term photocopies to describe his written impressions of people, places and moments in life. Most of the short chapters, photocopies, are 3-6 pages long. The book is short, but thoughtful. If you like John Berger, as I do, you will find this book an enjoyable read on a relaxing afternoon. While I prefer his novels (see my review of Here is Where We Meet), I always find Berger worth my time- like sinking into an old leather chair.

V - Thomas Pynchon

As spread thighs are to the libertine, flights of migratory birds to the ornithologist, the working part of his tool bit to the production machinist, so was the letter V to young Stencil. He would dream perhaps once a week that it had all been a dream, and that now he'd awakened to discover the pursuit of V. was merely a scholarly quest after all, an adventure of the mind, in the tradition of "The Golden Bough" or "The White Goddess".

The first of Pynchon's novels launched him into the literary spotlight. Many call this a precursor to his most-acclaimed novel- Gravity's Rainbow. This is my first reading of Pynchon and the book is quite dazzling. The writing reminds me of a blend of Kerouac with its fast pace and irreverance and Joyce with his mastery of language and style. The novel is vast and dense. The reader is challenged by characters too numerous to count, wild scenes, and exotic locations. Still, Pynchon is able to pull together this menagerie into a compelling and smart novel.

Great writers are always a pleasure, albeit a challenging one at times, to read. Pynchon belongs on the list of great writers. Nearly every page of this book had phrases, sentences, or entire paragraphs that caused me to pause and read again to savor.