Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman (33)

Neil Gaiman is a thorough but interesting descriptor of setting and characters' thoughts. I watched the miniseries of Neverwhere that Gaiman wrote for the BBC in '96. Even ignoring the ambivalent acting, the Neverwhere TV series was flat without the constant inner monologues and strange, sometimes disgusting details.

In the novel, Gaiman created a world of life and death existing beneath our relatively safe one. He has a talent for writing repulsive gore, sympathetic and awkward heroes, and twisty adventures. I love tales of salvific journeys and renaissance revenge. There is something primal about the modern reader's yearning for medieval stories of violence and mystical experiences.

Neverwhere is not just empty enjoyment. It prompts some pondering over our cities' real underworlds. The London Below in this novel comprises the forgotten, the invisible, the outcasts, who normal people from London Above can't see. Gaiman's protagonist responds personally to an injured girl from London Below while his fiancee walks past in a hurry to dinner. Thought he fights and sojourns, and often whines and seems pathetic, Richard becomes the hero of the novel after this one small decision.

The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman (22)

The Imperfectionists is arranged in short stories, which is getting pretty common in novels this year, about people who read or work at an international newspaper headquartered in Rome. I know very little about newspapers and reporting since I get my news from Infomania and Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, so I read the more general theme - the intersection of work and personal life. The various characters offer perspectives on office politics, a job's effect on marriage, hating a job but never leaving, and becoming useless in your career.

It's smooth and readable but not mindless and certainly not light or fun. As the book continues, there is a steady decline in the ratio of humor to depressing misfortune. Short chapters allow for a workday or nap in the sun to interrupt the story. Rachman writes well and honestly about people. Even if the reader has never traveled internationally or had any experience with journalism, there are characters from life in the story. Just don't pick up this book if you're in the mood for optimism. Even the epilogue is disheartening.

Under The Tuscan Sun: At Home In Italy by Frances Mayes (20)

Frances Mayes's epic poem to Tuscany. Under The Tuscan Sun is slow and leisurely. If you're reading it in a recliner or in the sun, it's quite likely you'll just ease into a nap after a few pages. You won't be napping from boredom, but from a desire to siesta like the village in which Mayes makes her summer home.

The book arouses the jealousy of the amateur chef. Tales of bountiful home gardens blooming like Eden without any care, fresh ingredients from town markets, and quality olive oil and wine for cheap make the Key Foods down the street even more dismal. My fire escape herb garden fights to survive, but in Italy, wild sage and rosemary spread like dandelions. What a pleasure it must be to cook so simply and so well.

And that is the point, if there is any, of the book. The pleasure and beauty of life, even if you have to go to the Mediterranean to find it.

Let The Great World Spin by Colum McCann (17)

Let The Great World Spin, a mosaic of stories in the tunnels of New Yorkers lives, is the best Manhattan-based novel I've read. The characters are caricatures, cliches, and exaggerations of New Yorkers. The story I liked best was the one with the most regular characters - a group of mothers meeting to commiserate over the loss of their sons in Vietnam. It was full of the tension, uncertainly, awkwardness and regret of real life.

It is a quick read because it is precisely written, with paragraphs of concrete examples pulled from characters' thoughts. It is also a good, fulfilling read, and pretty much worth all the hype.

Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami (16)

Reading Murakami is like listening to someone describe a vivid dream. He writes in contradictions, broken metaphors, mystic poetry. Sometimes you're not even sure he knows what he talking about.

Kafka on the Shore was sometimes indecipherable, occasionally shocking, mostly lovely - full of art and music and natural beauty. There are a two characters I absolutely adored - Oshima, a wise, transgendered librarian assistant with a charming smile and Hoshino, a Hawaiian shirt-wearing truck driver who feels protective of grandfatherly types and learns to like Bach. It was a mystery, coming of age, epic journey fantasy. It felt like a race to the answers at the end of the book, but one through Wonderland. Most of the questions are left mysteries, and though that is a little confusing (like the whole novel), it's better. It wouldn't be as beautiful with all the secrets revealed.

Peace Like A River by Leif Enger (13)

Once when I was reading Peace Like A River on the subway, I bumped into a friend as I got off at my stop. She was right next to me the whole ride, but said that I looked so happy reading my book that she didn't want to interrupt me.

This is a story of a small family in rural Minnesota in the '60s. The protagonist is Reuben, an eleven-year-old with severe asthma. He adores his family and so does the reader. His father is the school janitor (what horror for a kid!), but is wise and kind and a man of such great faith that he performs miracles. Reuben's younger sister is Swede: fiesty, smart, and obsessed with westerns. His older brother, Davy, is convicted with murder early in the book. He is a cowboy type of hunk: he escapes prison, rides horses through the prairie, expertly wields a shotgun, and drifts in an out of his brother's life as he pleases, evading the law.

It is a great story, one that's been told and retold, but is always worth hearing. The familial relationships are precious and deep. The characters are well-crafted, and the landscape is unfamiliar and wild. Peace Like A River is also full of religious experiences, Biblical references, and talk of faith, but it never feels preachy. Perhaps because the reader sees it all from Reuben's perspective, with childhood bewilderment and awe at the separate world of adults.

Graphic Novel - Y: The Last Man (10)

Y: The Last Man - Deluxe Edition Books 1 & 2 by Brian K. Vaughan and Pia Guerra


It has been interesting reading this series after McCarthy's The Road. In Y: The Last Man, a plague kills every last male organism on the Earth, except a listless, street performing college graduate named Yorick and his pet monkey, Ampersand. It's not exactly post-apocalyptic, but it's close. This isn't just a world without men, this is a world of survivors who witnessed the gruesome and inexplicable death of their children, coworkers, lovers, neighbors. And the women not only have to rebuild their society and industries, they have to figure out how to continue the human race.

Despite the grim circumstances, Y is a fun action-flick book. The accidental hero Yorick is an occasionally moody, lovable joker. Reading it is like picking up a conglomeration of Tank Girl, Bourne, Andromeda Strain, and Playboy (there is a remarkable amount of breasts shown in an all-female society, according to Vaughn and Guerra). I like the meditations on how women interpret the plague and where they place hope for their species's salvation. The characters are real and compelling and are really the only unique aspect of the series. Power vortexes, methods of survival, the breakdown of society, a female-only culture have all been pondered in literature before. I'd love to hear an explanation of the plague and see how the women figure out the future of humanity. I suspect I won't have that satisfaction, so I'm more invested in the characters and action scenes. I will definitely pick up the next book.