Vintage Books, 2000
448pgs
A huge undertaking of a debut novel, this paperback edition has moved with
my library many times. I don't even remember how the story ended when I
picked it up again last month, thought I did remember the hilarious
beginning, and could see in my minds eye, the Halal butcher wielding his knife
at the mess of pigeons.
The unearthed bookmark in it, is a boarding pass from JFK to Heathrow
Airport, sometime in March, of what year I am also not certain. But I
deduce that at the time of this first reading, I was dating an American
sculptor who had grown-up in England (Ealing to be exact) and I must have been
going to visit his family for spring break and though I visited the Romer
family often, I’m sure we probably broke up not too long after I read this
book. Because of these visits, I realize, Ealing has always been a ramshackle,
immigrant filled neighborhood, even though Zadie Smith's narrative takes place
in Willesden Green, six miles from Ealing.
I’d forgotten all the “big” issues, that were contained in this book. Colonialism, Cross racial marriages and
friendships, war buddies hashing over their youth in a Irish-named Arab owned
bar, history of the Pakistani uprising against the British, conflicts of
religion (mainly Hindus, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Muslim fundamentalists called
KEVIN with an unfortunate acronym problem), genetic engineering, animal rights
activists, issues of children of immigrant parents, separation of twins, and so
much more. The whole time as I read, I
was amazed at how such a young author (age 25 at the time of publishing) could
tackle so much and write from so many different viewpoints.
Though the writing was a pleasure to ingest, it was hard for me to keep up,
and I could sense many chapters as being submitted to the New Yorker as stand
alone chapters for the young fiction issues.
I reserved a few more Zadie Smith books from the library; Swing Time the
most recently published book now sits on my nightstand. Then I remember that I had vowed not to read
any books by one author in a row. Last
year I spent most of my reading time going through all the books written by a
single author in one go, and found it to be too confusing: Richard Russo- The Bridge of Sighs, Empire
Falls, Nobody’s Fool, That Old Cape Magic….and after the third book, I found
myself getting thoroughly confused at which characters belonged in which
book. The tone of writing was so
familiar that timelines and characters easily became jumbled in my mind; Lucy
from The Bridge of Sighs could easily have been cavorting with Miles Roby. Even the most disparate settings and reading
audiences from one author such as JK Rowling could get mixed up; Casual Vacancy
and Harry Potter, one being a grown up version of the other…though reading
Rowling through the eyes of her pseudonym Robert Galbraith was a bit different
in tone.
I’ve just realized that unconsciously, and unpurposefully, I’ve been reading
books that take place in England. (With
Hiro, I’ve been reading Neil Gaiman; Coroline and now The Graveyard Book)
Random House, 2017
306 pgs
Another British import, this novel was plowed through in a
single day. Just as the title suggests,
it was a lovely weaving of music throughout the narrative, classical, jazz,
blues, classic rock, pop, everything.
The author writes as she speaks, starting thoughts and sentences, but
leaving them unfinished for you to guess at and later understand. The location is an old dodgy street, and has
the small town feel of the little shop around the corner. It is a book that will probably mention Nick Hornby’s
High Fidelity in every review, though instead of mixed tapes, we have a lover of vinyl. The
soundtrack is great, though after reading this book, you can’t listen to it as
background music, it must be paid attentioned to while lying on the floor with your eyes closed.
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