Julian Barnes' novel The Sense of an Ending is an intriguing,well written reflection by a man exploring his past relationship with a school chum and an ex girlfriend. "I’m not very interested in my schooldays, and don’t feel any nostalgia for them. But school is where is all began, so I need to return briefly to a few incidents that have grown into anecdotes, to some approximate memories which time has deformed into certainty. If I can’t be sure of the actual events any more, I can at least be true to the impressions those facts left. That's the best I can manage." Tony Webster and his two best mates meet up one day with a new student, Adrian Finn. Adrian is immediately recognized as brighter, more philosophical than most, and no one is surprised when he wins acceptance to Cambridge. Tony, capable enough, goes to Bristol and eventually graduates to a humdrum life of art administration, a failed marriage and a fleeting relationship with his daughter, Susie.
But his peaceful retirement is interrupted when he receives a letter from an old girlfriend's mother. In her will she left him money and Adrian's, diary; the problem is that the old girlfriend, Veronica, who ditched Tony long ago in favor of Adrian, will not give it to him. Thus starts the emails and meetings between the two which provide for the building tension in the novel. I will welcome reading more from this Booker Prize winning author.

Good passages:

"Does character develop over time? In novels, of course it does; otherwise there wouldn’t be much of a story. But in life? I sometimes wonder. Our attitudes and opinions change, we develop new habits and eccentricities; but that’s something different, more like decoration. Perhaps character resembles intelligence, except that character peaks a little later: between twenty and thirty, say. And after that, we’re just stuck with what we’ve got. We’re on our own. If so, that would explain a lot of lives, wouldn’t it? And also-- if this isn’t too grand a word--our tragedy."

"How often do we tell our own life story? How often do we adjust, embellish, make sly cuts? And the longer life goes on, the fewer are those around to challenge our account, to remind us that our life is not our life, merely the story we have told about our life. Told to others, but--mainly--to ourselves."

"We could start perhaps with the seemingly simple question. What is History? Any thoughts, Webster?
'History is the lies of the victors,' I replied a little too quickly.'
Yes, I was rather afraid you'd say that. Well as long as you remember that it is also the self-delusions of the defeated...'

Emma Cline's debut novel explores the coming of age of a 14 year old girl, growing up in the late 60's and being attracted to a Manson like commune. Cline shows the main character, Evie, as an adult but then flashes back to reflect on her infatuation with the girls that were a part of the leader's magnetism. In the opening pages, the young Evie sees a group of three girls in a park and is immediately fascinated by them. "the familiarity of the day was disturbed by the path the girls cut across the regular world. Sleek and thoughtless as sharks breaching the water." She is especially drawn to Suzanne, the prettiest one, "I couldn’t explain it to myself, the wrench I got from looking at her. She seemed as strange and raw as those flowers that bloom in lurid explosion once every five years, the gaudy, prickling tease that was almost the same thing as beauty."
Cline is not so much trying to fictionalize a Manson retelling, as she is trying to hone in on the factors of insecurity,and the dependence on male attention that opens the door to this kind of blind adoration.
The novel is very well written, equally depicting the California landscape of the late 60's , and the mindset of an impressionable young girl.
Pretty impressive for this 27 year old whose talent was recognized by the National Book Critics and Random House, where her advance was rumored to be $2 million.

I can always tell when I enjoy a book because I choose to finish it in the early morning. It's my best reading time, before anyone else gets up, before any responsibilities may kick in, usually before sunrise. So it was with The Nest by Cynthia D'Aprix Sweeney. The novel starts out catching your immediate interest when a unhappily married man, Leo Plumb, escapes his cousin's wedding reception to lure one of the waitresses to his car. "She moved through the crowd with a lambent glow—partly because the setting sun was bathing the eastern end of Long Island an indecent pink, partly because of the truly excellent cocaine wreaking havoc with Leo’s synapses. The bubbles rising and falling on Matilda’s tray felt like an ecstatic summons, an invitation meant just for him." His indiscretion has tragic consequences that affects the releasing of the family Nest, money bequeathed from their father to be doled out when the youngest of the four siblings turns 40. And so begins the unraveling of the plot as we are provided alternating chapters of the Plumb family and how each one had expected to use that money, how each one's plan is now ruined by Leo.

I enjoyed the structure of the novel and the character development. Besides the smart, usually high, but always charming oldest child, Leo, there is Jack, his gay brother who deals in antiques and is trying to hide from his loving partner, Walker, that he has taken out a loan on the house against the hope of the Nest. Beatrice, Leo's sister, works for an online literary magazine and has stalled as a writer of promise. Her initial well received stories were all thinly described portraits of Leo. The youngest, Melody, who turns 40 soon, is struggling to keep her twin daughters in good schools, and SAT tutors as college looms with the next year. Again the Nest was her solution for college tuition. There are several side characters as well, including Stephanie, Leo's possible love interest and savior, and her Brooklyn neighbor whose 9/11 secret becomes a subplot.

I enjoyed seeing the development of the characters as they struggle through their anger. The build up to the final 40th birthday diner was well developed and the resolution satisfying. I would recommend this as an enjoyable portrait and a timely warning for the children of the baby boomers.

This is an episodic novel that weaves the events in Lucy Barton's life into a diary-like first person account. These events included glimpses of how poor Lucy grew up, five in the family, living in a garage until a relative's death lands them better shelter. "Lonely was the first flavor I had tasted in my life, and it was always there, hidden inside the crevices of my mouth, reminding me." At the center of this recollection is a visit that Lucy's mother makes to the hospital when Lucy has complications from an appendix surgery. For five days her mother sits at the foot of her bed and they tell each other stories about people they know from their hometown of Amgash, Illinois, mostly these are stories about failed marriages. (A daughter and her mom gossiping about people they knew is the premise of Strout's Burgess Boys as well.) On the fringes of all these episodic stories is a terrible past that is not talked about, her father suffered from war trauma is the brief excuse given but certainly Lucy is scarred. Her mother is unable to tell her she loves her , but does seem to admire that Lucy moved on and did something with her life. She got away , unlike her two siblings. These brief scenes also reveal glimpses of her marriage and her experiences as a mother with two daughters of her own, and of her career as a successful writer. Lucy records these thoughts; she writes about her life as an observation, little emotion is detailed. It's a thoughtful portrait.

As Lucy grows as a novelist, taking a class in Arizona, her teacher/mentor summarizes "This is a story about a mother who loves her daughter. Imperfectly. Because we all love imperfectly. But if you find yourself protecting anyone as you write this piece, remember this: You’re not doing it right.”

She did it right.

"The eldest six of Francis and Viola Turner’s thirteen children claimed that the big room of the house on Yarrow Street was haunted for at least one night. A ghost—a haint, if you will—tried to pull Cha-Cha out of the big room’s second-story window." So begins The Turner House. Angela Flournoy's novel gives us a glimpse into one family's experience during the Great Migration, 6 million African Americans who left the rural south to try and find work in the cities of the north. When Francis Turner leaves Arkansas to find work in Detroit, he leaves behind a young wife and newborn baby. This begins a journey that the reader gets to share from 1945 to 2008. His family, thirteen children in all, finally settle in their house on Yarrow street where the oldest child,nicknamed Cha Cha, first viewed his haint, or ghost, as a boy. His father quickly dismisses his experience, telling him "there ain't no ghosts in Detroit." Years later at 62 and with a bad hip, Cha Cha finds himself the paternal head of the family, and is unsure of what to do with the now abandoned house whose neighborhood is overrun with drugs and crime. Flournoy provides various storylines. Lelah, the youngest Turner child, now at 41, struggles with a gambling addiction as she tries to maintain a relationship with her daughter. The family matriarch, Viola is at the end of her life, but we are given the flashbacks to '45 when she was left behind with a new baby, trying to deal with the 18 month absence of her new husband. Mostly though, we sympathize with Cha Cha who is seeing a therapist to help flesh out whether his ghost visions are real or in his head. What is in his head though is his attraction to the therapist. Throughout all the troubles, the novel celebrates the family and builds to a big reunion at the end. The characters are well drawn and the writing both clever and observant.
Flournoy received a National Book Award nomination for this work.

This Italian award winning novel begins in 1917 as the Austrian army takes over the Villa Spada in Refrontolo, Italy, home to an aristocratic family—two grandparents; aunt Maria; 17-year-old orphaned grandson Paolo—and their servants. The story is told through the eyes of Paolo, whose journey to manhood, including his involvement in the resistance movement and his initiation into love , carry the narrative. The atrocities of war are juxtaposed with the humor of the characters, especially that of the grandpa Gugliemo, who shares his insights and sleeping quarters with our narrator. As the enemy troops search for valuables, it is grandpa who explains, ‘War and loot are the only faithful married couple. "

Andrea Molsini creates a handful of memorable characters here that influence Paolo and help to provide insights about this time period just before the end to World War I, including Renaldo, who though a servant for the family, works for the Italian secret forces, and Aunt Maria, the strong caretaker of the family estate. "Aunt Maria –Donna Maria to outsiders –was fine-looking, the victim of a haughty manner which both fascinated men and kept them at a distance. She was courted with circumspection by even the boldest and most passionate spirits: not a light cross to bear."

As mentioned in back notes, Molesini used the actual diaries of Maria Spada as a resource for novel. The Villa Spada acted as a microcosm of the the war, giving insights to the lives of those occupied countries.
Some memorable passages are quoted below to provide a sense of the writing:

"Giulia was chaos personified, an irresistible force. Grandpa had described her as the crupper of a horse, the shudder it gives, the lash of its tail on a horsefly. But she was far, far more than that: she was beautiful, she was ablaze. She regarded me with the hauteur of one who, knowing herself desired, strives not to reproach the unrequited lover."

"The soldiers took no notice of us, and still less did the officers, who whiled away their time smoking, playing cards and drinking an insipid brandy that according to Grandpa tasted of dry dung, iron and rotting leather, ‘the same taste as war’."

"Inside the house, the odour of poverty was notable for its absence. And that was an odour that I knew all too well. In Venice, I’d smelt it in homes I’d entered, on occasion, with a servant visiting her family. It had something to do with the odour of ashes, chickpea soup, and inadequately dried clothing."