Category Archives: Fiction

Myra Breckinridge by Gore Vidal

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Gore Vidal’s novel was quite scandalous when it was published in 1968. It’s the story of a man (Myron) who became a woman (Myra). She’s working in Hollywood now and has dedicated herself to something like reformulating the American concept of masculinity. She thinks she’ll accomplish this by having her way with an attractive young man who wants to be a movie star. Along the way, she falls in love with the young man’s girlfriend and schemes to take control of movie cowboy Buck Loner’s Acting Academy for Aspiring Young Actors and Actresses. As one would expect, her mission isn’t a complete success. 

It’s a satirical novel, so there are some larger-than-life characters, including Myra. She has an extraordinarily high opinion of herself, but eventually concludes that she “certainly went through a pretentious phase”. It’s worth reading, partly because Vidal was a talented writer with a gift for wry commentary. But it’s not terribly funny and nowhere near as shocking as it was in 1968.  

A Study in Scarlet by Arthur Conan Doyle

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Perhaps Sherlock Holmes could explain why this is the first of Dr. Watson’s writings I’ve ever read. This is the novel that introduces Holmes and Watson. The doctor wants to share a flat. The detective solves two murders. But I sure didn’t expect several chapters about Mormons in America’s Wild West. Next up: The Sign of (the) Four.

The Black Echo by Michael Connelly

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Michael Connelly has written twenty novels featuring Los Angeles homicide detective Harry Bosch, almost one per year since 1992. This was the first. It’s an entertaining story, but there is a lot that’s familiar about it. He’s a loner. He’s got issues. The brass don’t like his methods, but he gets the job done. The surprises at the end are the usual kind. In fact, the biggest surprise I got was when my Kindle revealed that the book is 500 pages long. It could have been shorter, as his later novels are. But I enjoyed it enough to read the next one in the series, partly because the setting made me nostalgic for Southern California.

The Stranger by Albert Camus, translated by Matthew Ward

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This is the third or fourth time I started reading The Stranger and the first time I finished it. I’m glad I made it through Part 1 because Part 2 is actually interesting.

In his introduction, the translator says Camus adopted an “American” style in Part 1: “the short, precise sentences; the depiction of a character ostensibly without consciousness; and, in places, the ‘tough guy’ tone”. In Part 2, however, “Camus gives freer rein to a lyricism which is his alone”. 

I found most of Part 1 to be oppressive. Meursault, the “stranger”, narrates the story as if he’s an alien or a robot. He hardly reacts to anything except the heat and the sunshine. In Part 2, he expresses some emotions in addition to annoyance and becomes almost sympathetic, even though I was never convinced by his repeated claims that life is absurd and nothing matters.

There are absurdities in life, but death doesn’t make life absurd. It only makes it finite. And some things do matter if only because they matter to us.

Under the Skin by Michel Faber

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This excellent novel was the source for a movie of the same name that starred Scarlett Johansson as an alien who kidnaps hitchhikers who won’t be missed. The movie was artistic but obscure, so it was nice to read the book and finally understand what was going on. 

Both the book and the movie were well-received by the critics, although the book is way, way more disturbing.Â