Because the Criterion Channel’s streaming of this film adaptation ended at the end of July, I recently read the novel. (Interestingly, the film was made in Argentina, mainly because Hollywood wanted to take the race element out. Wright understandably refused.) To be honest, I almost stopped reading due to some lurid, pulpy elements and the ordeal the protagonist would face
The book follows Bigger Thomas, a young, poor black man who gets a job as a chauffeur for a wealthy, white family. In a lot of ways the novel is more of psychological examination of a certain type of individual and this relates to larger social issues. Like some of Spike Lee’s films, the story and, to some degree, characters seem like means to an end.
Here are a few random comments:
The examination of the Bigger’s inner thoughts and feelings is probably the most interesting and best parts of the novel for me. This made me skeptical of any film adaptation, although in other respects the material seemed well-suited for film noir. Actually, a graphic novel, with an artist like Frank Miller, might be a really good medium for the novel.
I also like the speeches near the end, which was my second favorite part of the novel. Ultimately, I don’t think I agree or completely understand all of Wright’s ideas and positions, but they were worth encountering.
The prose was just OK, and it was another thing that almost turned me away from the novel. My sense is that Wright’s prose improves when he delves into Bigger’s inner world, although at times it feels a little bombastic.
The Atlantic listed this as one of the great American novels. Is that it a worthy pick? I’m not sure, but I think it’s worth reading. Also, even if it’s not worthy of the American canon, it’s a good book for Americans to discuss, maybe especially in the present moment.
Apparently there is a Indigenous Canadian tribe that has a tradition of picking blueberries in Maine during the summer. This book follows a family that does that. Over the course of time, two of the family members become separated from the family, and the book follows these two characters and their family.
I don’t have a lot to say, except I enjoyed the storytelling, and I really liked some of the more poignant moments.
Serenade by James M. Cain
Cain is famous for The Postman Always Rings Twice and Double Indemnity and Mildred Pierce–all three made into movies. I read Pierce and really liked the writing and the story overall. I had never heard of Serenade, knew nothing about it, but decided to give it chance.
Cain’s wiki page credits him as the first author to utilize that first person narration style in hard-boiled detective fiction. If you’re like me, you’re most familiar with the parodies of this style, but in this book, it’s authentic and doesn’t have that effect. Right away, I loved it, and I was hooked.
The story begins in a Mexican bar, with an American man watching a beautiful woman walk into a bar. He’s smitten, but she sidles over to a bullfighter. Boldly, he goes over them, and eventually finds wins her over. When they talk, they begin a strange discussion–namely a plan to start a brothel in Acalpulco. He throws in some ideas and they both decide to be partners
A lot of things happen from there, which I won’t get into. I will say that I found three quarters of the book enjoyable, but then the novel takes a really sharp left turn and ends in a disappointing, and odd (based on where the book started) way. I mentioned some of Cain’s novels that became movies. I believe this one did, too, although I have never seen it. In any event, this would have been a really good vehicle for Pedro Almodovar.
I was almost going to recommend this to Larri, but there’s no way I can do that now.
After reading Cain’s Mildred Pierce, which featured good dialogue–or more specifically a few monologues, I felt sure that the dialogue (and a few monologues), which was some of the best ever, in Billy Wilder’s adaptation of Double Indemnity came straight from the novel. After reading the novel, that’s not the case. (And I later learned that Raymond Chandler wrote the script, or much of it.) That was disappointing.
What’s worse is that the novel, with more convoluted plot, with more lurid, unrealistic characters, wasn’t very good. Wilder and Chandler really improved upon the novel dramatically. (I haven’t seen the film in a while, though, so maybe the stories are more similar than I remember.)
One other thing: the film versions of Keyes (Edward G. Robinson) and Phyllis (Stanwyk) are way, way better than the novel versions, due to the actors and dialogue.
In spite of all this, I really like Cain’s first person narration, which really sweeps me in and carries me a long like few other authors. I will seek out more of his novels because of this.
In 2024 Reading, I mentioned an Atlantic article arguing that everyone should read Irish writer, Sebastian Barry. At the time, I had started Annie Dunne, the second book in a series featuring members of the Dunne family. I finished this book early this year, and while I enjoyed it, by the end I would say that it isn’t more than a good book, although I was still enthusiastic about the prose.
I later went on to read the third book, A Long Long Way, centering on Willie Dunne, Annie’s brother, and his travails as a WWI soldier. I read this one in spurts, partly because I had little interest in a WWI novel, especially ones that where the war and its horrors are a central part of the novel. I considered not finishing it because of this, but I eventually did. Overall, it was OK, but I definitely liked it less than the novel about Annie.
Recently, I finished the fourth book, On Canaan’s Side, which focuses on the youngest sibling, Lilly, and her journey to America. This was my favorite of the three, and probably one of my favorite novels of the year.
I’ll mentioned two reason I enjoyed this book. First, the prose is terrific. Mitchell and I had a discussion about the importance of avoiding cliches, and I think this book makes a good case for that, assuming the language replacing the cliches are vivid and effective. I think Barry qualifies–so much so that I think that his prose stands out from other good, contemporary writers. He may not be an innovative stylist, but his language has a vivacity that sets him a part in my view. This alone will cause me to seek out his other books. (If I have time and the motivation, I’ll try to copy some excerpts later on.*)
The second reason I enjoyed this book involves the structure and anecdotes in the story–specifically, Lilly tells stories about her time in America, and these stories definitely held my attention. I would add that the story utilizes first person retelling of the past, which makes the anecdotes tighter and more focused (not to say the narrative in the other novels were sprawling).
Here are some passages I liked:
Here, Lilly is describing her son, Ed, on a hot day at the beach:
As Ed got older I sat further away from him on the dunes, so he could revel in a new aloneness, the fake aloneness of childhood, rich and intoxicating. His joys could be tiny. Nothing more wondrous to him, more desirable, than to hop, skip and jump over the burning sand to the ice-box man, a nice Shinnecock called Charlie Heat, and bring back the treasure of a Coca-Cola, so cold it was a form of heat, that he could hardly hold in his paw, and sitting on the merciless sand, and defeating the half-death of the summer by downing the ice liquid. Then in his mind he was a desperate traveller across Death Valley, who had found a sudden oasis in the realm of doom.
Here, Lilly looks at her teenaged grandson, Bill, and ruminates on the changes from childhood:
If he began in wordlessness, he ended in it too, but only the general wordless condition of a teenager. Age ten, he was full of a beautiful intimacy. Age fourteen, he began a long retreating walk into silence. As a child, he was like the library of Alexandria, full of stories and rare items. Then life seemed to burn most of that away, page by page. I never knew, and still don’t, if there was anything I could have done about it. Maybe it was just growing up. Travelling light as a man. But I felt something being traded, word by word, till there were no words, only a handful anyhow.
He tensed up. His muscles hardened and pulled on his bones. He live in his private mind, but I didn’t know what he kept there, because the door was bolted. I didn’t get noisy, I didn’t bang on it, clamouring to be let in. I thought, I knew it was what they call a phase. He was going to grow through it, and eventually reopen that door, and step out into the light, bathe in it. I was absolutely sure of that. The reason was, he was a person so deserving of love. His beauty even as a child had turned into another sort of beauty.
I had never heard of Winter in the Blood by James Welsh, but the Atlantic magazine listed as one of the best American novels of the 20th century. I think it’s a good novel (novella), and I enjoyed it, but I’m uncertain if it would make my list, although I can be stingy about such things, and it’s possible I’m being too stingy with this book.
A 30 something Native American tracks goes looking for his significant other who has left him, taking his rifle and electric razor. In a way, the book reminds me of Charles Portis’s Norwood, where the titular character drives from Texas to New York City to get money he’s owed from an army buddy. Along the way, he meets interesting people and situations, some comical. Welsh’s story has a similar, although his protagonists does have some pains and mysteries of his past that the novel addresses.
All in all, I found the writing and the overall story very satisfying.
I have about 100 pages more of Haruki Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore. Previously, I read his short story that Ryusuke Hamaguchi turned into the movie, Drive My Carand as well as another story that I enjoyed–so much so that I wanted to read more of Murakami’s stuff.
Before I get to some quick comments, here’s a brief description of the book: A teenager in Japan decides to run away from home, and we follow him as he makes his way in a new place. Another older character becomes important, but I don’t want to say much about him. In short, I would describe the novel as a wildly imaginative, existential, coming-of-age story, told by an excellent storyteller.
This book started off strong. In terms of entertaining and engaging storytelling and dialogue, I felt like I was reading one of the current masters. One critic compared him to Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and that seems apt on more than one level. In terms of dialogue, it occurred to me at some point that not only don’t Japanese people really talk like, but people in general don’t really talk like this. Really, the characters sound like they’re in a sit-com, although not as witty. Basically, they’re speaking words written by a writer who is skilled at composing amusing and interesting dialogue.
I must say at that the book has some odd, fantastical elements, and at some point I started becoming impatient and a bit exasperated, worrying that it would go too far. I started thinking about a film like Everything, Everywhere All at Once. On the surface those directors would seem like a good fit for Murakami’s material. Charlie Kaufmann is another filmmaker that came to mind.
I say more when I finish the book.
12/24/2025
More thoughts on the book:
For some reason, during the forest section at the end, I imagined I was watching a Miyazaki film. I guess the fantastical elements, the natural setting, and also bits of sentimentality regarding life.
The book might be good for a sensitive high school or college student, especially a male. Maybe good for those who grew up enjoying anime, sci-fi/fantasy, but wanting to branch out from that.
Because of this, the book didn’t really resonate with me, not emotionally. The aspects that were supposed to be poignant seemed a little empty for me.
I enjoyed Nakata and Hoshino (the latter the typical side character that provides comic relief) and their exploits more than Tamura’s, and maybe that has to do with my age.
Overall, it was a fun read, even if the ending was a little bit of a let down (but again, I feel like I wasn’t the target audience).
Hollywood adapted this novel twice–Point Black (1967) and Payback (1999). For me, what stands about all three is the viciousness of the lead character, played by Lee Marvin and Mel Gibson, respectively in the films–a savage viciousness that is exclusively reserved for villains. It’s hard to think of a “good guy” like this. Clint Eastwood’s Man with No Name might be a candidate, but that character was more cold-blooded, in a bad-ass way, than vicious and brutal. The novel features the most brutal version of Parker, the lead character, and it’s interesting that this quality didn’t completely alienate me. My sense is that the character’s driven, single-mindedness, without attempts to make him likeable in other ways–almost like a honey badger who doesn’t give a you-know-what– made him compelling to me. (In Payback they add a romantic partner in the story, which made the character less interesting in my view.)
The simple, spare prose is the other aspect that I like about the novel. I wouldn’t say the prose was great, but it was effective and appropriate, without offending my sensibility. It reminded me a little of Elmore Leonard’s, sans the wit.
The NYT listed as one of the best 21st century thrillers, which is a questionable decision as only a third could be described as a thriller. A Dickensian coming-of-age tale might be more apt. The book follows Theo Decker, starting at age 13 and going into his 20s, and his travails with his family, a love interest, with the aid of a kindly, avuncular craftsman, and his wild, Devil-may-care buddy.
Starting in NYC, the novel had a promising start, but when the setting changes, my optimism about the book began to wane and continued to decline as I neared the end. (There was a development at the end that almost saved the book for me.)
I will say the Tarrt is a very good writer, and her prose kept me going.
I do feel like the book is a bit of a mess, though, with her ideas not fully cohering. Indeed, I feel like there is a rushed quality at the ending of the book.
Stephen King raved about this novel, which also made the NYT 50 best thrillers of the 21st century list. The novel involves three unresolved police matters with Jackson Brodie, a British military cop and police officer turned private investigator, right in the middle of it.
While I think this was well-written and entertaining, the book seems relatively light in the thrills department. Indeed, the novel is more of “character-driven comedy,” as if Richard Russo wrote detective fiction. than a thriller per se.
***
General comments (some spoilers)
the first three chapters involve a past unresolved case, one chapter per case. For me, this required a little patience, and generated a little exasperation.
I didn’t expect the comedic elements, which were well-done. It’s good material for a Hollywood film adaptation. (I later learned that BBC did make as series. This novel is the first in a series of books with the Jackson Brodie character.)
The tying up of loose ends for the cases and characters weren’t entirely satisfying for me. Amelia’s happy ending, seemed, a little abrupt and a bit cheap, although it was consistent,and therefore somewhat acceptable, with the light Hollywood comedy tone of the novel. Also, getting the details of Laura’s fate seemed unrealistic; it’s not clear how Jackson got these details. One other quibble: I would think the smell from Olivia’s decaying body would have been impossible to ignore.
Native Son by Richard Wright
Because the Criterion Channel’s streaming of this film adaptation ended at the end of July, I recently read the novel. (Interestingly, the film was made in Argentina, mainly because Hollywood wanted to take the race element out. Wright understandably refused.) To be honest, I almost stopped reading due to some lurid, pulpy elements and the ordeal the protagonist would face
The book follows Bigger Thomas, a young, poor black man who gets a job as a chauffeur for a wealthy, white family. In a lot of ways the novel is more of psychological examination of a certain type of individual and this relates to larger social issues. Like some of Spike Lee’s films, the story and, to some degree, characters seem like means to an end.
Here are a few random comments:
The Atlantic listed this as one of the great American novels. Is that it a worthy pick? I’m not sure, but I think it’s worth reading. Also, even if it’s not worthy of the American canon, it’s a good book for Americans to discuss, maybe especially in the present moment.
The Berry Pickers by Amanda Peters
Apparently there is a Indigenous Canadian tribe that has a tradition of picking blueberries in Maine during the summer. This book follows a family that does that. Over the course of time, two of the family members become separated from the family, and the book follows these two characters and their family.
I don’t have a lot to say, except I enjoyed the storytelling, and I really liked some of the more poignant moments.
Serenade by James M. Cain
Cain is famous for The Postman Always Rings Twice and Double Indemnity and Mildred Pierce–all three made into movies. I read Pierce and really liked the writing and the story overall. I had never heard of Serenade, knew nothing about it, but decided to give it chance.
Cain’s wiki page credits him as the first author to utilize that first person narration style in hard-boiled detective fiction. If you’re like me, you’re most familiar with the parodies of this style, but in this book, it’s authentic and doesn’t have that effect. Right away, I loved it, and I was hooked.
The story begins in a Mexican bar, with an American man watching a beautiful woman walk into a bar. He’s smitten, but she sidles over to a bullfighter. Boldly, he goes over them, and eventually finds wins her over. When they talk, they begin a strange discussion–namely a plan to start a brothel in Acalpulco. He throws in some ideas and they both decide to be partners
A lot of things happen from there, which I won’t get into. I will say that I found three quarters of the book enjoyable, but then the novel takes a really sharp left turn and ends in a disappointing, and odd (based on where the book started) way. I mentioned some of Cain’s novels that became movies. I believe this one did, too, although I have never seen it. In any event, this would have been a really good vehicle for Pedro Almodovar.
I was almost going to recommend this to Larri, but there’s no way I can do that now.
Double Indemnity by James M. Cain
After reading Cain’s Mildred Pierce, which featured good dialogue–or more specifically a few monologues, I felt sure that the dialogue (and a few monologues), which was some of the best ever, in Billy Wilder’s adaptation of Double Indemnity came straight from the novel. After reading the novel, that’s not the case. (And I later learned that Raymond Chandler wrote the script, or much of it.) That was disappointing.
What’s worse is that the novel, with more convoluted plot, with more lurid, unrealistic characters, wasn’t very good. Wilder and Chandler really improved upon the novel dramatically. (I haven’t seen the film in a while, though, so maybe the stories are more similar than I remember.)
One other thing: the film versions of Keyes (Edward G. Robinson) and Phyllis (Stanwyk) are way, way better than the novel versions, due to the actors and dialogue.
In spite of all this, I really like Cain’s first person narration, which really sweeps me in and carries me a long like few other authors. I will seek out more of his novels because of this.
In 2024 Reading, I mentioned an Atlantic article arguing that everyone should read Irish writer, Sebastian Barry. At the time, I had started Annie Dunne, the second book in a series featuring members of the Dunne family. I finished this book early this year, and while I enjoyed it, by the end I would say that it isn’t more than a good book, although I was still enthusiastic about the prose.
I later went on to read the third book, A Long Long Way, centering on Willie Dunne, Annie’s brother, and his travails as a WWI soldier. I read this one in spurts, partly because I had little interest in a WWI novel, especially ones that where the war and its horrors are a central part of the novel. I considered not finishing it because of this, but I eventually did. Overall, it was OK, but I definitely liked it less than the novel about Annie.
Recently, I finished the fourth book, On Canaan’s Side, which focuses on the youngest sibling, Lilly, and her journey to America. This was my favorite of the three, and probably one of my favorite novels of the year.
I’ll mentioned two reason I enjoyed this book. First, the prose is terrific. Mitchell and I had a discussion about the importance of avoiding cliches, and I think this book makes a good case for that, assuming the language replacing the cliches are vivid and effective. I think Barry qualifies–so much so that I think that his prose stands out from other good, contemporary writers. He may not be an innovative stylist, but his language has a vivacity that sets him a part in my view. This alone will cause me to seek out his other books. (If I have time and the motivation, I’ll try to copy some excerpts later on.*)
The second reason I enjoyed this book involves the structure and anecdotes in the story–specifically, Lilly tells stories about her time in America, and these stories definitely held my attention. I would add that the story utilizes first person retelling of the past, which makes the anecdotes tighter and more focused (not to say the narrative in the other novels were sprawling).
Here are some passages I liked:
Here, Lilly is describing her son, Ed, on a hot day at the beach:
Here, Lilly looks at her teenaged grandson, Bill, and ruminates on the changes from childhood:
I had never heard of Winter in the Blood by James Welsh, but the Atlantic magazine listed as one of the best American novels of the 20th century. I think it’s a good novel (novella), and I enjoyed it, but I’m uncertain if it would make my list, although I can be stingy about such things, and it’s possible I’m being too stingy with this book.
A 30 something Native American tracks goes looking for his significant other who has left him, taking his rifle and electric razor. In a way, the book reminds me of Charles Portis’s Norwood, where the titular character drives from Texas to New York City to get money he’s owed from an army buddy. Along the way, he meets interesting people and situations, some comical. Welsh’s story has a similar, although his protagonists does have some pains and mysteries of his past that the novel addresses.
All in all, I found the writing and the overall story very satisfying.
I have about 100 pages more of Haruki Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore. Previously, I read his short story that Ryusuke Hamaguchi turned into the movie, Drive My Carand as well as another story that I enjoyed–so much so that I wanted to read more of Murakami’s stuff.
Before I get to some quick comments, here’s a brief description of the book: A teenager in Japan decides to run away from home, and we follow him as he makes his way in a new place. Another older character becomes important, but I don’t want to say much about him. In short, I would describe the novel as a wildly imaginative, existential, coming-of-age story, told by an excellent storyteller.
This book started off strong. In terms of entertaining and engaging storytelling and dialogue, I felt like I was reading one of the current masters. One critic compared him to Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and that seems apt on more than one level. In terms of dialogue, it occurred to me at some point that not only don’t Japanese people really talk like, but people in general don’t really talk like this. Really, the characters sound like they’re in a sit-com, although not as witty. Basically, they’re speaking words written by a writer who is skilled at composing amusing and interesting dialogue.
I must say at that the book has some odd, fantastical elements, and at some point I started becoming impatient and a bit exasperated, worrying that it would go too far. I started thinking about a film like Everything, Everywhere All at Once. On the surface those directors would seem like a good fit for Murakami’s material. Charlie Kaufmann is another filmmaker that came to mind.
I say more when I finish the book.
12/24/2025
More thoughts on the book:
Overall, it was a fun read, even if the ending was a little bit of a let down (but again, I feel like I wasn’t the target audience).
The Hunter by Richard Stark (Donald Westlake)
Hollywood adapted this novel twice–Point Black (1967) and Payback (1999). For me, what stands about all three is the viciousness of the lead character, played by Lee Marvin and Mel Gibson, respectively in the films–a savage viciousness that is exclusively reserved for villains. It’s hard to think of a “good guy” like this. Clint Eastwood’s Man with No Name might be a candidate, but that character was more cold-blooded, in a bad-ass way, than vicious and brutal. The novel features the most brutal version of Parker, the lead character, and it’s interesting that this quality didn’t completely alienate me. My sense is that the character’s driven, single-mindedness, without attempts to make him likeable in other ways–almost like a honey badger who doesn’t give a you-know-what– made him compelling to me. (In Payback they add a romantic partner in the story, which made the character less interesting in my view.)
The simple, spare prose is the other aspect that I like about the novel. I wouldn’t say the prose was great, but it was effective and appropriate, without offending my sensibility. It reminded me a little of Elmore Leonard’s, sans the wit.
The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt
The NYT listed as one of the best 21st century thrillers, which is a questionable decision as only a third could be described as a thriller. A Dickensian coming-of-age tale might be more apt. The book follows Theo Decker, starting at age 13 and going into his 20s, and his travails with his family, a love interest, with the aid of a kindly, avuncular craftsman, and his wild, Devil-may-care buddy.
Starting in NYC, the novel had a promising start, but when the setting changes, my optimism about the book began to wane and continued to decline as I neared the end. (There was a development at the end that almost saved the book for me.)
I will say the Tarrt is a very good writer, and her prose kept me going.
I do feel like the book is a bit of a mess, though, with her ideas not fully cohering. Indeed, I feel like there is a rushed quality at the ending of the book.
Case Histories by Kate Atkinson
Stephen King raved about this novel, which also made the NYT 50 best thrillers of the 21st century list. The novel involves three unresolved police matters with Jackson Brodie, a British military cop and police officer turned private investigator, right in the middle of it.
While I think this was well-written and entertaining, the book seems relatively light in the thrills department. Indeed, the novel is more of “character-driven comedy,” as if Richard Russo wrote detective fiction. than a thriller per se.
***
General comments (some spoilers)