July 11, 2024

The 4th of July holiday week was quiet at our house, and you can guess what I did! I enjoyed the spaciousness of the days with a book on my lap. I moved from the snug to the patio to the comfortable chair with an ottoman in the entryway to the side garden we call “Paris,” and I read. My kind of holiday.

Sandwich by Catherine Newman (2024, 226 pages)

I LOVED this book, and so did Ann Patchett. I will read almost anything she recommends.

Sandwich is joy in book form. I laughed continuously, except for the parts that made me cry. Catherine Newman does a miraculous job reminding us of all the wonder there is to be found in life.

Every year for the past two decades Rocky and her family spend a week at a modest beach rental in Cape Cod. This year is no exception, but this year Rocky’s husband Nick and their two adult children, Willa and Jamie are joined by Jamie’s girlfriend Maya and also for a couple days by her aging parents. (Why is it parents of middle aged children are always referred to as “aging parents.” Aren’t we all aging? Sigh.)

At one point when both my husband and I were reading on the patio, he actually had to go inside the house because I was laughing out loud so frequently while reading this funny, yet poignant book of family life, past and present.

p. 24. Forty minutes later, we are walking back to the cottage with two lattes, four chocolate croissants, one scone, three baguettes, and a receipt for sixty-five dollars.

p. 45. ("Dad and I defrosted the chest freezer" is an actual text I once sent in response to a question about our weekend and how it was going.)

p. 97. Menopause feels like a slow leak: thoughts leaking out of your head; flesh leaking out of your skin; fluid leaking out of your joints. You need a lube job, is how you feel. Body work. Whatever you need, it sounds like a mechanic might be required, since something is seriously amiss with your head gasket.
                   You finally understand the word crepey as it applies to skin--although you could actually apply this word to to your ass as well, less in the crepe-paper sense than the flat-pancake one. Activities that might injure you include ping-pong, napping, and opening a tub of yogurt...

So many novels I read about family life, domestic fiction, focus on the dysfunction, but I loved this one for it focuses on the love. This family is not perfect, nor are any of these characters perfect, but they love one another, and they love that they are a family. And yes, there are secrets held from one another–some of which are revealed during this week at the Cape, but once again you sense as a reader that the bond with one another is soul-deep.

p. 121.         Rocky's father says, "It is a privilege to grow old. We are lucky to be here."
                    "We really are," my mother says. I cry a little then, because of the conversation and the wine and this absolute devastation and blessedness, rolled up into a lump in my own throat that I have been trying to swallow for my whole life.
                      Life is a seesaw, and I am standing dead center, still and balanced: living kids on one side, living parents on the other. Nicky here with me at the fulcrum. Don't move a muscle, I think. But I will, of course. You have to. 

I repeat: I loved this book and so did Ann Patchett.

One more thing: I think Catherine Newman and I share the same taste in clothes. I am quite sure in her photo on the back flap that she is wearing the same blouse I am wearing right now.

Sorry–one more thing: I also really liked her earlier novel, We All Want Impossible Things. She has written memoirs, too, Waiting for Birdy, and Catastrophic Happiness and you can bet they are now on my TBR.

Real Americans by Rachel Khong (2024, 395 pages)

So often the blurb on the inside cover of a book is overblown, but this time the book lives up to the description.

In immersive, moving prose, Rachel Chong weaves a profound tale of class and striving, race and visibility, and family and inheritance, a story of trust, forgiveness, and finally coming home. Exuberant and explosive grand and entertaining, Real Americans is an inquiry into the forces that roil our new century: Are we destined or made? And, if the latter, who gets to do the making?"

This novel is divided into three parts. In part one Lily Chen is an unpaid intern for a large media company and she meets wealthy Matthew, heir to a pharmaceutical company. Lily’s parents are scientists who fled Mao’s China. Matthew and Lily fall in love and marry. Their son Nick is the focus of part two. Lily and Matthew have divorced and teenager Nick knows nothing about his father–until he takes a DNA test. In part three we learn about Lily’s mother May, beginning with her life in China, eventually fleeing to Hong Kong and then the US. Lily and May are estranged from one another.

The story certainly kept me engaged, although at times, especially in part two when I got tired of the college angst and behavior, I hoped for more answers to unanswered questions. I felt there were gaps along the way, such as why is it that Lily and Matthew got divorced anyway? However, that being said, this book would be an excellent book group selection–lots to talk about.

A favorite quote:

p. 363. Once she had believed that connection meant sameness, consensus, harmony. having everything in common. And now she understood that the opposite was true: that connection was more valuable--more remarkable--for the fact of differences. Friendship didn't require blunting the richness of yourself to find common ground. Sometimes it was that, but it was also appreciating another person, in all their particularity.

My daughter has read this book (actually, she read Sandwich, too, and loved it, as did Ann Patchett), and enjoyed it, too, and also highly recommends the author’s earlier novel, Goodbye, Vitamin.

An Invitation

Did your 4th of July week include any reading time? I would love to know.