Book 6: Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry

I believe the words 'epic' and 'sweeping' were invented for a book like Lonesome Dove. Written in 1985, Lonesome Dove was the first of a series of books by Larry McMurtry that tells the stories of several retired Texas Rangers as they drive a cattle herd from Texas to Montana.

The book opens in 1876 at the Hat Creek Cattle Company and Livery Emporium in the Texas border town of Lonesome Dove. Captain Augustus McCrae (Gus) and Captain Woodrow Call are retired Texas Rangers who now spend their days drinking, stealing horses and gambling. When Jake Spoon, a charming but lazy acquaintance returns to Lonesome Dove, he raves about the land and riches awaiting in Montana. Gus and Call are persuaded to round up a crew and a herd and head 'Up North.'

What happens in the next 900 pages could be a stereotypical story of wizened cowboys, naive cowhands and lovelorn women, but McMurtry's characters are developed so fully and richly. There is love and drama and tragedy but nothing is overwrought. Bad things happen, good things happen, and much like the massive cattle herd, the novel moves on.

I wouldn't say Lonesome Dove is an easy read. It is long, and there are a lot of characters. Some have a large role in the novel, some you only learn their fates through the stories of the primary characters. But it is a rewarding read, especially if you savor the way the novel perfectly captures the harshness of the era and the fortitude of the people who survived it. 

Book 5: Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn

I was one of the few people who read Gillian Flynn's novel Gone Girl and didn't love it. Well, that's not quite true. I loved the novel until page 412 and then .... seriously?

But I liked it enough to want to read more Gillian Flynn. So I'm starting with her first novel, Sharp Objects. 

The main character of Sharp Objects is Camille Preaker, a fledgling reporter at a Chicago newspaper. When two children are murdered in her hometown of Wind Gap, Missouri, Camille is asked to report the story. Seeing a chance to prove her mettle and visit her mother, step father and half-sister, Camille reluctantly agrees.

Once home she soon remembers the things she disliked most about her hometown - the cliques, the bars, the drunks, the sexuality and the violence often went with it. While her hometown is dysfunctional, her home is even more so. Her mother Adora is detached with Camille and infantilizes her daughter Amma, a 13-year-old bully who terrorizes the town and manipulates their mother.

Bit by bit, the crimes are investigated and Camille's back story is revealed. She is an alcoholic and a cutter, and when she starts to see similarities between the dead girls, her bully half sister and herself, she is tempted to relapse. 

It's hard to like Camille. She is flawed, both troubled and troubling. She doesn't seem capable of making any good decisions. Just about the only redeeming thing about her is that she's trying to redeem herself. 

Although the novel is suspenseful, the denouement isn't much of a surprise, partly because at some point in the novel every character seems capable of the crimes. But what elevates the story over an episode of "Law and Order" or "CSI" is Flynn's writing. It reminds me a little of Stephen King - macabre, suspenseful and disquieting. While she imbues some graphic passages with an eerie beauty, she doesn't shy away from overt sexuality and violence. Much of the novel takes place in Missouri (where Flynn grew up) and as a Midwesterner I can attest that her depiction of the Midwestern small town is spot on. Embarrassingly so. Because of that, I found some humor in the book. But mostly it is dark and chilling. 

Personally I find books like Sharp Objects, (I'm thinking Carrie or The Lovely Bones or The Road) terrifying because the monsters aren't supernatural. We are the monsters.

Book 4: The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides

Years ago, when I saw the movie The Virgin Suicides, I didn't know it was based on a book. It was only when I read Jeffrey Eugenides' second novel, Middlesex, that I realized his first book was the basis for the movie. I didn't like Middlesex, but I have to say, The Virgin Suicides is nearly perfect. It's strange, sad, funny, engrossing, and even though it was written in 1993, timely.

If you were a fan of the movie, you'll enjoy the book. It's one of those rare instances when the movie and book are complementary and enhancive. Entire passages of dialogue and narration are used to great effect in the movie, and fleeting details like hand gestures, physical descriptions and songs are made significant, translated from page to screen perfectly.

The book opens with a spoiler, of sorts. The narrator, a young neighbor and one of the many boys who is obsessed with the Lisbon family, is recounting the suicide of Cecilia, the youngest daughter. Over the next 13 months, as the parents increasingly isolate the remaining four daughters, the mystique surrounding the family grows, as does the boys' obsession. They catalog their comings and goings, speculate on their lives based on the contents of their garbage, and spy on the girls from a bedroom window across the street. There is virtually no interaction between the boys and the Lisbon daughters until the boys are permitted to take the girls to prom, an eventful night that ultimately sets the direction for the end of the novel.

The Virgin Suicides could be called a horror story. There are certainly plenty of chilling passages and shocking events. At the same time it is a coming of age story that perfectly captures the insecurities and imaginations of young girls and the urges of young men. It is also a cautionary tale of sex and lust, and a study of the somewhat hypocritical community that initially rallies around the family but ultimately gossips and whispers and moves on to the next tragedy.

Book 3: Just Kids by Patti Smith

When Patti Smith was very young, her parents took her to the Museum of Art in Philadelphia. She left the museum transformed, “moved by the revelation that human beings create art, that to be an artist was to see what others could not.” Although she had no clear plan and few resources, she felt a calling and “dreamed of meeting an artist to love and support and work with side by side.”

Years later, when Smith was 21, she headed for New York, hoping to meet up with friends studying there. Almost immediately she met Robert Mapplethorpe, a fellow artist looking for work and inspiration. Their chance meeting turned into a lifelong relationship in which they would be friends, lovers and friends again. In meeting Mapplethorpe, Smith’s wish was granted; she would be both “muse and maker,” Frida Kahlo to Mapplethorpe’s Diego Rivera.

Although Patti Smith’s own story is illustrious – she is an artist, poet, writer, activist, the Godmother of punk – it is her unique relationship with Mapplethorpe that is the subject of her 2010 memoir, Just Kids. The book details their courtship, bohemian lifestyle and burgeoning careers at a time when art, music, politics, activism and AIDS converged in New York City.

Part journal, part scrapbook, part poem, Just Kids is sometimes romantic and tender, sometimes crude, and sometimes tedious. It is punctuated with colorful meetings with Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and William Burroughs, and references to Jim Morrison, Andy Warhol and the “eccentric and damned” Chelsea Hotel. The book is nearly over before Smith mentions her advancing music career, but as she says at the end, she did not intend to document her own success. Instead she reveals a very human, nearly tortured side to Mapplethorpe and his lifelong drive to become an artist, not just someone who creates art.

The book is a moving tribute to Mapplethorpe, a “sweet and mischievous, shy and protective” man who was often maligned as an artist. Just Kids is Smith’s way to eulogize him, say goodbye, and continue a collaboration that lasted a lifetime.