By virtue of a long weekend in Melbourne, combined with some solid rain, I was able to devote the first few days of November to reading. And I’ve smashed through a bunch of novellas.

Audition by Katie Kitamura

Maybe I’m not clever enough for this book… or maybe I don’t have the energy for meta-fiction. Either way, although Audition started brilliantly (there are multiple intrigues from the outset – a mysterious meeting with a young man, a glimpse of the protagonist’s husband in an an unexpected place, a piece of her history dragged into the present), the ‘what just happened’ moment halfway through and then the fizzle of energy toward the end left me disappointed.

I have enjoyed Kitamura’s previous work, and at the beginning of this book, I was all in – especially when the protagonist, an actress, realises that the playwright of the play she is rehearsing has made a serious misstep in terms of the plot. It’s left to the protaganist to save the play, which she does with a clever interpretation of one particular scene. This structure is mirrored in the book – while we trust that the scene in the play worked, as the reader of the book, I lost footing. I was left disorientated (not in a ‘surprise me’ way, more a WTF happened way).

That said, Kitamura writes well and I will read more from her in the future.

2.5/5

Notes to John by Joan Didion

Didion’s reflections on what she discusses with her therapist? Sign me up.

I don’t even know where to begin (because I marked dozens of passages). Essentially, the memoir focuses on Didion’s several months seeing a therapist, where she dissected her complicated relationship with her daughter, Quintana.

“You make the mistake of thinking this is about Quintana. It’s not. It’s about you. Nothing anyone does or doesn’t do can keep someone from hurting herself if she gets it fixed in her mind to do so. All you can do is save yourself from undue guilt. Satisfy yourself that you did all you could.”

Quintana was battling alcoholism, and in her attempts to understand the condition, Didion also examined her experience of being a mother, Quintana’s adoption, feelings of guilt, and her relationship with her own parents. There was so, so much in this book to relish.

I said I didn’t understand where the impulse to protect ended and the impulse to control began. They seemed, for a parent, the same thing.

I said that it occurred to us that she was too close to us, but it had never occurred to me that I was too close to her.

Didion is known for laying herself bare on the page, although I always find there’s an element of caution there – it’s even somewhat performative. In this book, because she quotes the therapist directly, there’s a vulnerability and it’s engrossing.

I felt guilty about not engaging, not being there emotionally. Working was what I did instead of engaging. Working, as you once pointed out, was the way I had found to not be there emotionally.
You had this very successful other place to go, he said. You created this place where you didn’t have to engage. You created another world. And were rewarded for it.

4/5

Side note: it was interesting to read Didion’s take on Dominique Dunne’s death after reading about it from Griffin Dunne’s perspective – he was unforgiving of the distance that Didion and her husband put between themselves and Griffin’s family at the time (Didion states that the distance, particularly during the trial of Dominique’s killer, was to protect Quintana).

Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata, Ginny Tapley Takemori (Translator)

You’re plunged into the world of thirty-six-year-old Tokyo resident, Keiko, from page one. Her world is the Smile Mart convenience store, where she has worked for eighteen years. She doesn’t fit in anywhere else and fails to understand others’ expectations of her, and the rules of social interaction. But at the convenience store, everything is scripted in the staff manual, and everyone knows their role. However, Keiko comes under increasing pressure to be ‘normal’ which entails finding a husband and starting a ‘proper’ career .

The store acts as a microcosm of the larger world – the safety in routine; the pressure to conform; and the measure of success. I assume it also says something about the expectations that Japanese society places on women (although I don’t really know enough about Japanese culture to be sure).

The highlight were the scenes in the store – evocative and sharply written. You could feel Keiko’s contentment in the fluorescent, synthetic environment, with the ring of the till and the hum of the refrigerators, and hear her singing out to the customers, “10% off rice balls all day today! Thank you for your custom!”

I hear the faint rattle of a new plastic bottle rolling into place as a customer takes one out of the refrigerator, and look up instantly. A cold drink is often the last item customers take before coming to the checkout till, and my body responds automatically to the sound.

3/5

The Children’s Bach by Helen Garner

I don’t read Garner for plot. I read for her astute observations on everyday life, and this story did not disappoint.

…the arrival of Athena’s friend to visit with her two children: the slow ritual of getting out of the car, the back door held open against the hip, the unstrapping of small bodies, the unloading of the blue plastic nappy bag, the toys, the pencils, the Viking helmet, the Maya temple colouring book; the endless patience with the whining, twining children; the slow talking about nothing in particular…

The dry wind fluffed out her hair like koala’s ears.

Garner’s style is so particular and enduring. This story was set in 1980s Melbourne but it could just as easily be today because with Garner telling, the focus on the intimate details of suburban life and ordinary people would be the same.

Vicki went to the boys’ room and fortified herself, as women do, with the sight of sleeping children, the abandonment of limbs, the oblivious breathing, the throats offered to the blade.

3.5/5