Seventeen years ago, I read The Historian, a literary horror novel by Elizabeth Kostova. It made a good impression on me back then, so I pulled it out again.
Notably, I did my re-read in print. I listened an hour before abandoning the audiobook, because I do not like ensemble casts. The only exception to this rule is the audio of Lincoln in the Bardo, by George Saunders, probably the best audiobook I’ve ever listened to. And one of the best books I’ve ever read. And I’ve been trying to bring print reading back to my life. I’m happier when I dedicate part of my day to sitting in my recliner with a book. The Historian is about scholars pursuing Vlad Tepes, aka Vlad the Impaler, aka Dracula. It is a page-turner, which is important when your book is 600+ pages long, though I am mystified at how this is possible, considering that most of the action is set in libraries and archives. And by action I mean “academics reading letters and historical documents.” Infrequently, a vampire will pop out of the library stacks to fang someone, but mostly the characters admire architecture and read solemnly by lamplight. It shouldn’t work but it does. More than most writers, Kostova excels at atmosphere. She brings to life various settings in Europe in the 1950s and 1970s, including the communist chill of Romania, famous for a region called Transylvania. There’s not much graphic violence in the story, but Kostova lays on the atmospheric dread almost from page one.
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For my annual Russian novel, I chose a Tolstoy novella, The Death of Ivan Ilyich. Of all the world’s literature, nineteenth century Russian is my favorite. Depressed people with patronyms and convoluted sentences. This is my happy place.
The title gives it away, but Ivan Ilyich dies in this book. He does so at the beginning of the story, leaving his family with not enough money to get by on. This sort of thing happens a lot in Russian literature. Right after Tolstoy kills him off, we go back in time to see the course of his life as a living man. If this were twenty-five years ago and I were still an English undergraduate, I might care about this unconventional structure, but I’m middle aged and can’t be bothered. Sometimes Tolstoy writes likeable characters, like dear sweet Pierre in War and Peace. This is your occasional reminder that I read War and Peace last year. I don’t want anyone forgetting. Other times Tolstoy writes assholes. You will not be terribly sad when Ivan Ilyich dies. Ivan Ilyich cares more about wealth and power than he cares about, for instance, his wife. There’s one home decorating scene, where he’s deciding which furnishing and decorations will best show off his status, that calls to mind the vapid people on HGTV. It’s while he’s hanging his wealth curtains that Ivan Ilyich stumbles and injures himself. It seems mild, but the injury turns into a chronic condition. Probably. Or perhaps something else causes the illness that slowly weakens Ivan Ilyich. The doctors aren’t sure, though they’re happy to take his money. George Guidall is one of my favorite audiobook narrators, and he does a magnificent job here, as usual. If you’re curious about Russian literature, this is a fine starting point, especially since the book is fairly short, unlike War and Peace, which I read last year. My other recommendation would be the George Saunders book A Swim in a Pond in the Rain, which combines Russian shorts stories with literary criticism. I know that sounds like homework but it isn’t. It’s delightful, especially as an audiobook. Tana French remains my favorite crime novelist. The Hunter gives me what I’ve come to expect: Vibrant characters, strong Irish setting, prose that shines, and a plot that takes you unexpected places, but without rushing to get there.
Moving away from the police procedurals where she got her start, French takes us back to Ardnakelty, the small town where retired American detective Cal Hooper moved to a few years ago, in The Searcher. You don’t need to read that one to appreciate this sequel, though the first book introduces characters we see again in The Searcher. Cal is resolutely not doing police work these days. He’s dating Lena, the young widow, and he’s teaching carpentry to Trey, the urchin from up the mountain. There’s a quiet sameness to the days, which is just how Cal likes it. And then Trey’s absent father reappears, singing a song about gold buried in land, and carrying a posh Englishman in tow. I especially liked this book because I correctly guessed who the murderer was, for a damn change. If you enjoy audiobooks, I implore you to listen to the narration of Roger Clark, who nails the American and Irish accents. It’s a pleasure to listen to him shape the cadences of French’s characters. |
Book talks
When Covid first hit, I started doing book talks on social media as a way to keep in touch with people. I never got out of the habit. I don't discuss books by my clients, and if I don't like a book, I won't discuss it at all. While I will sometimes focus on craft or offer gentle critical perspectives, as a matter of professional courtesy, I don't trash writers. Unless they're dead. Then the gloves come off. Archives
February 2025
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