The Shadow Over Innsmouth

Perhaps strange to be approaching 60 without ever having read any H.P. Lovecraft, but at least I can thank Michel Houellebecq's interest in the writer for directing me to this volume of short stories. There is a stylistic uniqueness to Lovecraft that is appealing: His sentences are chunky and sometimes clunky, but they match his subject matter to a tee in their weirdness. His only pure science fiction story, The Walls of Eryx, is effective in conveying a creeping sense of doom, and the title story concludes with a truly horrifying twist. All in all, this is a collection that will likely prod a new reader to seek out more from this strange writer.

What Unites Us

Dan Rather's optimistic account, subtitled "Reflections on Patriotism," is at its best when he draws on the experiences of his youth in Texas or his long career at CBS News. His interview with Medgar Evers and the tales of how neighbors pulled together during the Depression are highlights. At other times, however, he descends into platitudes.

Spring Snow

Yukio Mishima's Spring Snow, the first installment in a tetralogy called The Sea of Fertility, is filled with all the elements that make a novel both worthwhile and challenging. The writing is simply gorgeous, full of rich metaphors and descriptions of nature; the side trips into history and ideas such as Buddhism are fruitful; and the narrative itself is a classic form rendered with powerful effect. Every page has its moment of beauty, a staggering achievement. Here is just one, about the main character, Kiyoaki Matsugae: "He had never looked forward to the wisdom and other vaunted benefits of old age. Would he be able to die young – and if possible free of all pain? A graceful death – as a richly patterned kimono, thrown carelessly across a polished table, slides unobtrusively down into the darkness of the floor beneath. A death marked by elegance." 

The Book of Daniel

E.L. Doctorow found his voice in this, his third novel, published in 1971. The Book of Daniel places a family's destruction on a giant canvas – postwar Left politics – and achieves its ambitions with kaleidoscopic effects. The shifting narrative styles and digressions into subjects like Disneyland and the origins of the Cold War remind me of John Dos Passos's techniques in U.S.A., but they are done here not in imitation but in service of delineating the narrator's character. The novel casts a spell that is not easily resisted.

To Live and Die in L.A.

The source material for William Friedkin's 1985 neo-noir film, this novel by Gerald Petievich crackles along with period dialogue and a propulsive plot. Much of the investigative work is presented in an appealing no-nonsense style that reflects the author's time in the Secret Service. 

How to Write a Sentence

Stanley Fish provides some helpful insights into sentence-writing by focusing on form and exercises: Once you master a form with repeated exercises, you can make your own sentences with whatever content you wish. This is the nuts and bolts of good writing, and Fish's emphasis provides a useful antidote to more artsy-fartsy approaches.

Mourning Becomes Electra

Eugene O'Neill's 1931 play reminds me of the difficulties of producing an abstracted work in these times. At a performance I attended a few years ago of Verdi's Don Carlo, the conductor appeared on stage between acts to announce to the audience that they should not be laughing: The opera is a tragedy, and the laughter was disturbing the performers. I think the audience's problem in that case was part of the execrable critical approach that seeks to "identify with" a character. If you attempt to put yourself in the place of a king who is making grandiloquent statements, you may well laugh. But as Fran Lebowitz pointed out in a recent documentary, a novel (or play or opera, I would add) is not supposed to be a mirror but a door. I can only cringe at the thought of today's audiences chuckling at the overheated dialogue of O'Neill's masterful retelling of Greek myth.

The Looking Glass War

This novel, the follow-up to John Le Carré's wildly popular The Spy Who Came In from the Cold, was apparently a commercial dud, but it is in fact superior to its predecessor. The Looking Glass War reveals the spy business in all its sordidness. The base human traits of selfishness, ambition, and snobbery are on display in a mission that begins unraveling from the opening pages. Despite a series of failures, a froth of happy talk buoys the participants as they head toward a conclusion that is as sickening as it is inevitable.  

Welcome to Hard Times

E.L. Doctorow's first novel, published in 1960, might be called an anti-Western. It is unblinking in its depiction of the hardships of the frontier, in this case the Dakota Territory, including a chilling account (pun intended) of a brutal winter. Narrated by a character named "Blue," informally the mayor of Hard Times, the story has the usual Western cast of characters – prostitutes, storekeepers, drunkards – and a madman, the Man from Bodie, who literally destroys the town single-handedly in the first few pages. The town's effort to reconstitute itself forms the bulk of the novel, a project that Sisyphus would surely recognize.

The Spy Who Came In from the Cold

I had the advantage, or perhaps it was a disadvantage, of having seen the excellent Martin Ritt film of this novel several times before reading the book, so the trick of the story was not a surprise and I could see how the author dropped hints here and there leading up to the climax. Yet the book itself was still largely satisfying, with a good mixture of spycraft, philosophy, action, and romance.