In case you have the impression that I only watch episodic TV, herewith are my impressions of two books I’ve read recently. One is History of Love by Nicole Krauss (wife of post modern wunderkind Jonathan Safran Foer), which was much celebrated when it came out and which I recently read in paperback. The other is House of Meetings, by Martin Amis, which came out in January.
I liked Krauss’ book when I was reading it, propelled by her protagonists Leo, an aging New York Jew who escaped the Nazi occupation of Poland, and Alma, a lonely adolescent girl whose life intersects with Leo’s at the novel’s end. This book has been widely praised by the critics and exalted as a book club selection, but I have to say that after praising and defending it myself in my book circle, I’ve now come to the conclusion that I was hoodwinked. Have you ever read a book, or seen a movie, or married somebody and later realized that you’d ignored some fundamental, perhaps even unforgivable flaw because you were blinded by a veneer or greatness? This is what I think happened for me with this book. There are beguiling, quirky characters, both funny and heartbreaking scenes, and numerous instances of really, really good writing. But this is a book about a book that the reader is to believe changed lives, and the book within the book is just not very good. It’s almost like an afterthought. Or maybe like the author took a bunch of short pieces she’d workshopped in a writing class but didn’t know what to do with, and glued together the plot line of her novel with them. Speaking of plot lines, there are many of them that crop up and then evaporate, and at one point I created a chart to try to sort them out, just knowing that things would be resolved in the end. Which they are, but only for a couple of the characters, and the climax of the novel, the moment when you just know everything will be revealed, is ultimately precious, instead of profound.
Then I read House of Meetings, Martin Amis’s novel about a Russian expatriate and survivor of Stalin’s “social experiment” which is itself a sort of book within a book, and a love story with its own links to Nazi Germany (and some rich observations of why Germany has survived the legacy of WW2, while Russia is dying). While reading it, I realized how scarce really great contemporary novels are anymore. Maybe it is unfair to compare Krauss who has two novels under her belt while Amis has an entire oeuvre, and yes, this is probably the greatest book even he has written. But I can’t help but compare the two because I read them back to back, and because they do share some similarities, such as exploring facets of history, love, and the differences between the Eastern European and American psyche. 
The experience of reading House of Meetings is unlike anything I’ve had in a long, long time -not a word out of place, not a single wasted emotion, no game playing with technique or plot. Such a long time in fact, that I’d completely forgotten what it is like to reread paragraphs several times and then stare off into space contemplating them only to move onto the next paragraph and do the same. So different from the usual practice of reading voraciously to get to the next crescendo or moment of clarity, or bit of insight.
Now I want to find something else to read, but I will probably start rereading House of Meetings again, not only because its the kind of book that rewards you with a second reading, but because I’m not aware of anything else out there at the moment that will measure up.
Vox Pop Sudari 