Uncanny Valley, by Anna Wiener: There’s a particular choice the author makes that I suspect is very love-it-or-hate-it: only alluding to, rather than naming, any tech company or piece of software or hardware she describes in her memoir. Facebook is “the social network everyone hated but couldn’t stop logging into,” eg. It’s slightly Greek with longer epithets but it’s also really, really annoying–both when it’s obvious who she’s referring to (like Amazon) and when it’s unclear (like her description of Pixar). I can understand what led her to this choice – she writes about three different companies she worked for, where she likely had non-disclosure agreements and couldn’t state their names, and probably decided to just elide every proper noun in the same way. For me, it felt forced and it distracted.
Follow Me to Ground, by Sue Rainsford: Book reviews will describe this as “superlative-ly adjective and spare” – I read it in a day. Eerie and contained.
The Searcher, by Tana French: New Tana French! New Tana French! This is the second of hers that isn’t Dublin murder squad (AKA not narrated by a detective who has some connection to one or more previous narrators who were also detectives in Dublin), and I have to assume that’s partially in response to the perception of police, particularly in America (this isn’t fully assumption; it’s alluded to in the novel, as the narrator this time is a retired American cop). Though – I don’t think her prior novels glorified the police, and I suppose I think of detectives and police officers as a Venn diagram, not a circle. Her previous novel wasn’t narrated by a detective either, though, so maybe it was a more organic decision than I’m making it out to be. I will say – I do miss Dublin as a setting. The Searcher felt slightly anti-climactic, compared to the complex narrative and shifting backstories of Witch Elm, though of course still masterfully done…and some of the protagonist’s musings about the police and social justice were a little on the nose.
This Life: Secular Faith and Spiritual Freedom, by Martin Hagglund: Books about religion, atheism, spirituality, and existentialism are generally a hard sell for me, because I burned out thinking about them constantly as a kid, and I’m aware that the balance I’ve found of being okay might be robust with regard to most life issues but harbors a particular weakness for this specific concern. That said, there’s a brilliant conceit at the heart of this book – one I’ve never heard articulated before: that democratic socialism is the best form of government because our right to our time (which is, by secular definition, finite – the argument Hagglund makes that life’s finitude is what gives it meaning has never really pierced me right, nor is it the original element of his thesis, but fortunately that isn’t his entire thesis) is crucial to allowing us to live meaningful lives. I will say that I don’t disagree with this premise – rather, it’s perfectly sound and logical – but that it doesn’t fully resonate with me. I “believe” it, but I don’t “feel” it. I’ll also say – and I doubt I would have read This Life if this weren’t the case – that I’m extremely glad Hagglund makes clear at the outset that his book is not going to be depressing and that he considers all of the ideas he’s putting forth to be uplifting ones. (I have gone out of my way, as much as I can, to avoid things like Kierkegaard or anti-natalist David Benatar (Hit me with your best…nought?) The book is split into the two subtitular parts, and I’m not finished with it yet; I’ll probably have more to say.
Long Bright River, by Liz Moore: Another mystery that deals with police corruption and an ambivalent officer; I had just spent two weeks in Philadelphia before reading this, so I had my Google maps out to look up the places from the book. Liz Moore could be the heir to Laura Lippman; she has the same plotting + writing combination.
