The Abyss, by Jeyamohan: I had a hard time with this one, which features a corrupt owner of “items” – his term for the disabled beggars he exploits for profit – in India, and I found myself comparing it (unfavorably) to other books that deal with similar characters and situations. Sad without relent, sharp without humor; I may just not be the right reader for it.
Crux, by Gabriel Tallent: Loved this – the setting, the voices of the characters, the unpredictability. I got into watching bouldering during the 2021 Olympics and that plus the appeal of the desert southwest only enhanced this book further.
Pink Slime, by Fernanda Trias: Deeply unsettling in how plausible it feels, with ecological catastrophe that stops just short of complete apocalypse, and sad in pressing, highly specific details (but I mean both of those comments as compliments).
The Bright Years, by Sarah Damoff: I’ve seen so many raves about this; it was good, and solid, but didn’t push past that for me. Some of the prose shaded purple and felt like it was made to produce pull quotes of quasi-profundity.
London Falling, by Patrick Radden Keefe: Fascinating. The story of one young man who dies or is killed, but also the story of London itself and its role as a refuge for international scam artists and pretenders.
And…after that I started Flashlight by Susan Choi at the end of July, had a baby at the beginning of August, and didn’t finish Flashlight until last week!
