Considered one of the definitive novels of Japanese literary history, Haruki Murkami's Norwegian Wood catapulted him to celebrity status in his home country and drove him to leave Japan in an attempt to evade the glare of widespread fame. Interestingly, though Murakami is revered as a writer of magical realism, Norwegian Wood presents a slightly more basic story to the naked eye. The novel follows Toru, a young man entering his first year of college in 1960s Tokyo, and his relationship with the beautiful Naoko, whose spirit has been broken by the death of their mutual best friend, her boyfriend Kizuki. As Toru finds himself drawn closer to Naoko, Naoko withdraws further into herself, and soon Toru connects with another student - the independent, freethinking Midori - whose liberated attitude introduces him to a new kind of feeling.

Although on the surface it seems to be a relatively simpler novel with its more commonplace story, Norwegian Wood has a way of transcending the very imagery it presents to the reader. Murakami’s inquisitive look at how we react to loss is staggering in its depth as he pursues the two paths one might take: the choice to live in love and the choice to retreat from life. He explores the emotional and psychological scope of these choices through his host of characters: in Toru he shows the reader the hopeful perseverance of youth turned to maturity; in Naoko we recognize the abyss of loss and sadness; and in Midori we find freedom in the fight against discontent. Together the characters and their stories weave a collection of threads that seem relatively straightforward, but the most intriguing thing about the nature of Norwegian Wood is how, by the final page, it will almost certainly have its readers questioning everything they thought they knew. In this way Murakami took a rather traditional device, a love triangle, and worked his unique magic on it in a way that manages to completely alter the reader’s experience. Here, the tragedies of life give way to an endless stream of potential realities, and the result is a beautiful, heartbreaking homage to youth and love, touched by the nuances of the 1960s.

Murakami's language is fluid and evocative throughout the novel. Perhaps some of the most spellbinding scenes take place when Toru visits the sanatorium to which Naoko retreats when the struggle of living with Kizuki's death is too much for her. Here, with Reiko, her troubled older roommate, strumming her guitar to a selection of Beatles tunes, Murakami's prose finds some of its most beautiful and introspective moments. As an intriguing contrast, the scenes which find Toru with Midori offer a more anxious energy while still maintaining a sense of deep contemplation. Midori’s fearless pursuit of sexual liberation and her eager determination to lose herself in the bizarre, even the grotesque, showcase the loudness of rebellion and freedom against Naoko’s quiet, simple life away from society. The combination of the two women in Toru’s life brings the vividness of the story to its utmost clarity and allows Murakami, in his remarkable way, to bend, break, and otherwise manipulate the most honest – and yet the most otherworldly – human emotions. Set to a soundtrack of an unforgettable era, Norwegian Wood is a touching exploration of the impact love has in our lives, the many shapes it takes, and ultimately the choices it drives us to make.

Norwegian Wood was my May pick for the 2014 TBR Pile Challenge. I've only read Murakami's work briefly in the past, but I continue to find that his stories resonate with me. Norwegian Wood was a particularly dark novel compared to what I've read of his work before, but I think that was due in a large part to the reality of much of his subject matter here. His work, I think, manages an emotional impact whether it's rooted in elements of contemporary fiction or magical realism (and sometimes, maybe, so deeply entwined in both that we as readers can't tell one from the other).

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For Major Ernest Pettigrew, life in the small village of Edgecombe St. Mary is a daily testament to the splendidly traditional English nature. In his long-time home, Rose Lodge, the Major spends his years of retirement partaking in the intricate social functions of his circle: rounds of golf, shooting parties, and proper afternoon teas. A widower, he has learned to find a sense of familiarity in being alone, and the superficial airs of his society friends feel quite natural. For the Major, though, life changes in an instant after the death of his brother, when he develops a surprising friendship with Jasmina Ali, the village's widowed shopkeeper. As the Major and Mrs. Ali begin to fall in love, their newfound connection will face all manner of threats: whether from the Major's friends, who see Mrs. Ali's Pakastani heritage as an affront to convention, or from Mrs. Ali's family, who see her widowhood as a sentence to withdraw from living, or even from the Major's family, who will quickly put their greed over the Major’s wishes. Throughout love and struggle, the eccentricities and unrealistic standards of two very different worlds are slyly turned on their heads as Helen Simonson weaves her witty, delightful debut novel. Perhaps the greatest strength found in Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand, and the quality that carries the novel’s many other merits, is Simonson’s rare ability to work a particularly unforgettable sort of wit. The nature of her humor is consistent and heartwarming, dry without being condescending, which allows her to reach a familiar and welcome place in her readers’ hearts. Combined with her creativity of prose, the narrative world of her novel touches on a memorable whimsy that contributes greatly to the story of Major Pettigrew and Mrs. Ali. Simonson’s ideas are refreshing and the way she brings them across through the interactions of her characters, under the confident guidance of her appreciation for words, takes the novel to a heightened level of polish.

The full cast of characters in Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand spark to life with grace and humor, particularly the two at the center of the novel’s love story. The romance between Major Pettigrew (at sixty-eight) and Mrs. Ali (a decade younger) proves that youth is futile where chemistry is concerned. Their relationship jumps off the page and envelopes the reader from their first scene together. The attachment between them only continues to grow as the characters meet different social and cultural challenges. Particularly admirable is the way Simonson leads the Major to grow through his relationship with Mrs. Ali, and how the evolution of his character is made evident through the changes in his display of wit. Alternatively, the Major’s son Roger often draws an array of compelling reactions from the reader; the combination of both his childish naïveté and boorish modernity make for a wonderful contrast within himself. Even the way Sandy, Roger’s American girlfriend, is portrayed creates yet another layer of terrific observations from the author. The way Sandy initially appears as a bit of a stereotype in the narrative before the Major warms to her becomes a great dialogue on how people can surprise us: Simonson expertly shows that the Major warms to Sandy and finds her best qualities not by changes made to her American sensibilities, but by his own staunch prejudices becoming relaxed.

Within the community of Edgecombe St. Mary are perhaps some of the most colorful characters, and the way Simonson uses their flamboyance to poke fun at the upper class is at times reminiscent of Elizabeth Gaskell’s Cranford stories. Gaskell’s imaginings set a standard for the idea of a traditionally-rooted English countryside dominated by the pretentious expectations of a generation firm in its ideas, though perhaps entirely at the mercy of a great writer’s determined wit. With Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand Simonson’s combination of warm-hearted love story, sharp wit, and cross-cultural – as well as cross-generational – observations make for a lovely, engaging novel on every level.

Major Pettigrew's Last Stand was my April pick for the 2014 TBR Pile Challenge; I've been meaning to read it since it was published four years ago, and it certainly met my expectations. It's easy to see some of Simonson's influences in her writing - particularly Jane Austen and Edith Wharton - and I think she does them great justice.

Title:Major Pettigrew's Last StandAuthor: Helen Simonson Genre: contemporary, romance Publisher: Random House Release date: November 30, 2011 (paperback) Source: Personal collection Buy the book:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | IndieBound | BetterWorldBooksConnect with the author:Website | Facebook | Goodreads

First published in 1994, Anne Lamott's Bird By Bird is considered one of the quintessential books for writers. As the subtitle Some Instructions on Writing and Life suggests, Lamott’s narrative breaks down the writing life, guiding students of the craft on the journey to understand what drives our passion by sifting the intricacies of writing through the varying emotions and circumstances we’re apt to come across in our day-to-day lives. In chapters like School Lunches and Index Cards Lamott draws on her habits and experiences to better explain her own unique process, while in the chapter titled Writing a Present she explores the various ways in which her inspiration has taken root somewhere outside of herself. Her characteristic wit is at work throughout her narrative, often turning a darkly comic glance on the harrows we come across in writing and life that can sometimes help to fuel our journey.

While Bird by Bird covers a lot of ground, Lamott’s voice handles the material with a quick and comfortable pace. She has a unique ability to shift from seemingly superfluous stories to some hard-hitting and beautifully honest words of advice; occasionally the asides she takes will require the reader to pay a bit more attention in order to fully appreciate her meaning, while at other times she delivers blatant and profound bits of wisdom without preamble. Her ability to balance the two is one of the significant defining factors of the book, but at the core of its impact is the most basic, most important writing advice Lamott can offer, to her readers as well as to the students in her writing workshops.

Bird by Bird reads quickly and easily, and the reader can be in danger of sometimes zipping through its pages with a little too much casual enjoyment, at the risk of missing some of the book’s most powerful – yet delightfully simple – messages. Although she has a clear understanding for the intellectual science of the art of writing, Lamott’s focus weaves between the deliberate and the philosophical; her chapters on creating honest, in-depth characters and natural dialogue will have the reader fervently scribbling notes ("One line of dialogue that rings true reveals character in a way that pages of description can't.") while in other chapters she encourages the reader's introspection and subjectivity ("Write towards vulnerability."). When she gets to the most philosophical topics of her instruction, the vital question of why we write, she departs from her humor to offer some of her most heartwarming and thought-provoking words of encouragement. Although these are arguably the little gems – such as, “You are lucky to be one of those people who wishes to build sand castles with words” – that we as aspiring writers are the most quickly inspired by, throughout Bird by Bird Lamott delves into topics deeply important for writers, exploring them with a sense of wit, charm, and wisdom that will have a lasting resonance within her reader.

Title:Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and LifeAuthor: Anne Lamott Genre: nonfiction, writing Publisher: Pantheon Books (first edition) Release date: January 1, 1994 Source: Local Library Buy the book:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | IndieBound | BetterWorldBooksConnect with the author:Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

When one reads a classic there are a million extra ways to be surprised, because for so long preconceived notions have been quietly stewing in our minds about what sort of story the book is going to tell. Gabriel García Márquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera is just such a classic, first published in English in 1988 and an irrevocably iconic work ever since, second only to his Nobel Prize-winning 100 Years of Solitude. Yet in twenty-six years its story – the tale of Florentino Ariza’s devastating love and half-century of waiting for the beautiful Fermina Daza – will not be as instantly recognizable to readers, or as culturally ingrained, as the love stories between Rhett and Scarlett or Cathy and Heathcliff, for example. It’s a young novel yet, but there seems to be an enduring singularity to it that will allow it to slip through the grasp of convention for a long time; and it’s also an impressively subjective novel, with every page giving rise to new reactions in its reader, opening the door for uncountable opinions. These two factors alone make the prospect of writing about it rather staggering, to say the least, but it’s a novel that surely evokes a prolonged, unshakable reaction. To refer to the story of Florentino Ariza and Fermina Daza as a love story, as it is most popularly categorized, seems to be an extreme oversimplification of everything García Márquez puts forward in the novel; likewise, to say that it’s a tale of unrequited love also doesn't quite hit the mark. Instead, Love in the Time of Cholera embodies the entirety of love in all its scope and forms: through Florentino's devotion to Fermina we see all-consuming love, while Fermina's flighty responses range from adolescent love to the falling out of love (“the abyss of disenchantment”) and eventually a love born of time and understanding. When Fermina, driven away from Florentino by her father’s determination, marries the amiable Dr. Juvenal Urbino, her restless independent nature seems to find a home in married love, and here we find the perpetually unsteady but ultimately well-achieved journey of the novel’s only long-term relationship. Beyond this, as Florentino whiles away fifty years in wait for Fermina, his six hundred affairs explore the many other faces of love; sexual love, of course, being the most obvious. It’s in this way that Love in the Time of Cholera seems to be a character study of love itself, and García Márquez’s profound dedication to his subject uncovers the untidiness of love, its ability to both enrapture and disturb. What results is a novel of astonishing complexity and jolting honesty.

Neither Florentino nor Fermina (nor, for that matter, Juvenal Urbino) are presented to the reader as unflinchingly pure characters. Fermina is at times headstrong against romantic notions, sometimes childishly obstinate in the face of things that displease her for reasons we as readers are not always able to understand; but her agitated spirit has a way of reaching in and finding its kindred within the reader. Florentino, alternatively, forces romance on the novel’s unseen narrator in his furious, inherently selfish pursuit of satisfaction. His relationships with women are at turns perverse, depraved, and tragic, but somehow a character whose ideas and actions demand the reader’s objections manages to draw out compassion instead, perhaps through the perpetual naïveté that renders him childlike and starry-eyed even at old age. He contradicts his platitudes of undying devotion many times (six hundred and twenty-two times, to be exact) under the belief that the love he makes with other women is not real love, and the reader is left to wonder whether his mentality is an excuse for blatant obsession or a revelation of delusion. This is another example of the complexities García Márquez expertly leads his readers through, inviting us to question and probe and unearth the grittiness of love, or non-love, as it may be.

Perhaps the most riveting element of Love in the Time of Cholera is García Márquez's prose, which will captivate the attention of readers new to his craft. The story unfolds through a narrative that is at once dense and fluid, a solid thing with a liquid quality that seeps into the reader’s bones. With very little dialogue, García Márquez relies almost entirely on his narrative power, which in itself is a remarkable departure from the typical structure of a novel; but also mystifying is his ability to weave through time without the convention of continuity. Deaths of prominent characters are merely mentioned and future events are revealed before their time with utmost nonchalance, a collective tactic that lets him playfully taunt the reader with the flimsiness of mortality, time, and other real-world structures. By this effect García Márquez aligns the most poetic reaches of his prose with his reader's vulnerability; he opens the full heart of his Florentino and the uninhibited spirit of his Fermina to the reader, with an aim to leave us questioning everything we knew before beginning the story; he hits his mark with legendary ease and charisma, and with no small amount of mischief.

Love in the Time of Cholera was my March selection for the 2014 TBR Challenge (and I made it by the skin of my teeth, didn't I?). It was my first time reading Gabriel García Márquez, whose work I've been meaning to read for many years, and I loved the experience. I think I had a much different idea of what sort of novel Love in the Time of Cholera would be, but it went an entirely different direction than I anticipated; I expected a complex and deeply thought-provoking book, which I got, but I never expected the complexities and depth to take the shapes they do. Such a very interesting work!

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Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni's Oleander Girl tells the story of Korobi Roy, a strong-willed and spirited young woman who, despite the deaths of her parents when she was an infant, has known privilege with her grandparents amid their sprawling house in Kolkata. Much to the delight of her grandparents, Korobi has found love with the doting but elusive Rajat Bose and will soon marry into a family among the upper echelons of society. Still, in the face of all her life's joy Korobi is listless; she longs for the blessing of parents she never knew, dreams of the mother whose death was entwined with Korobi's birth. No sooner have Rajat and Korobi announced their engagement than unforeseen events unleash a wave of trouble on Korobi, led by a secret her grandfather has kept from her all her life. Propelled by her commitment to truth, Korobi leaves her fiancé and her seemingly perfect life behind as she ventures across an America still reeling from the recent events of 9/11. Against this foreign backdrop she'll call on the depth of her strength as she searches for new truths: truths about her parents and about her own identity as well. Oleander Girl is an expansive novel that weaves together many different emotions with vibrancy; there is at once a touch of romance and suspense, of family drama and the divide of social classes. While we are in America with Korobi, meeting the devious Mitra and his sweet wife, as well as the charismatic Vic and his uncle, we are simultaneously back in Kolkata where Korobi’s fiancé Rajat struggles against the machinations of an old flame, and where his family’s business – and maybe even their lives – face threats from within. Asif Ali, the Bose family’s Muslim chauffeur, maintains his own quiet life devoted to the family he serves, delighting in the antics of young Pia Bose who so reminds him of his sister; but when his devotion to the Bose family threatens both their well-being and his pride, he’ll do whatever is necessary to set things straight.

With such a plethora of different stories – each so wonderfully engaging that they all deserve mention here – the reader is kept continually on their feet, even with changes in narrative style throughout the novel; but Divakaruni’s studious attention to detail makes Oleander Girl a well-paced and sure-footed reading experience. Truly adept in her storytelling prowess, her elegant prose renders Korobi’s quest and the Bose’s familial drama into a colorful, dreamlike atmosphere that has a way of intensifying what is already a rich story. Kolkata comes to brilliant life, teeming with intricate details of sight and sound, while post-9/11 New York City recalls the unease and fragility of the time; seen through the eyes of Korobi, the vast differences between the Indian and American cultures are fascinating in their depiction. Divakaruni has a unique way of playing on the senses with words, bringing her readers most thoroughly into whichever world her narrative is drawing forth.

Not to be overlooked are the deeply empowering female characters with whom Divakaruni explores the height and depth of feminine strength across the generational divide; young Korobi lives on her own terms and owns her mistakes, while her grandmother finds the strength to face her husband’s secrets and the new trajectory of her life; little Pia Bose is a charming and fearless girl of privilege who will look convention and prejudice in the eye in order to call a servant her friend; and the Bose family matriarch, Rajat and Pia’s mother, is a brave example of a woman’s struggles and strengths as she endeavors the balance of being a mother, a wife, and a businesswoman. The results of Divakaruni’s efforts are four vastly different women, a collective homage to the infinite scope of human nature and an emotional study of what it truly means to be family. Profound and enlightening, Oleander Girl reaches into the heart of the human spirit and weaves a resplendent story of love, loss, discovery, and the ultimate search for self.

Title:Oleander GirlAuthor: Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni Genre: literary fiction Publisher: Free Press (hardcover; March 19, 2013) Release date: March 4, 2014 (trade paperback; Simon & Schuster) Source: Simon & Schuster (c/o) Buy the book:Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BetterWorldBooksConnect with the author:Website/Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Mary Oliver’s poetry dependably lingers on the topics that quicken her heart, which is to say the blessings of the natural world: flowers and field mice, the magic of a bird flying over breaking waves, morning light (and sunsets as well). But the subject she seems to come most alive writing about is certainly dogs. In Dog Songs she compiles thirty-six writings of various styles – poems of differing natures, and one essay – which extol the many beloved virtues of the dogs she’s known and loved. Her writings cross between poignant and joyful, paying homage in full to the history of dogs and to the unique way they have of changing our lives. Alongside her poems are illustrations by John Burgoyne depicting the subjects of her Songs; a collection of pictures rendered in a style that elegantly echoes Oliver's writing in its surface simplicity and deeper vastness. From the first poem to the last, Dog Songs rings of Oliver’s very singular magic with poetry and capturing the nature of dogs. One of my favorites was the sad yet hopeful poem Luke’s Junkyard Song which includes the lines, “Listen, a junkyard puppy / Learns quickly how to dream. / Listen, whatever you see and love- / That’s where you are.” Of loss, she handles the sadness of the subject with a lot of truth, something particularly evident in poems like Her Grave. Here Oliver alternates her musings on the past – and on the goodness of dogs in general – with her present, a visit to a beloved dog’s grave. Between showing us the scene of the grave she offers such delightful asides as: “A dog can never tell you what she knows from the / smells of the world, but you know, watching her, / that you know / almost nothing.”

In a way that’s entirely characteristic of her poetic approach to everything in life Oliver goes beyond the now, calling on the prehistoric history of how and who we are. Her application of that insight on the subject of dogs brings her to touch on their ultimate wildness, their connection to wolves and the rough-hewn freedom that has been handed down to them throughout their evolution. It makes for a particularly wonderful bit of imagery, perfectly captured in Dog Talk when “Wolf faces appear in dreams”. I think it’s here that Oliver reaches some of her most passionate writing, when she’s paying tribute, in her way, to the most basic nature of dogs and connecting the past wildness to the present compassion, ultimately achieving the illustration of perfect love as she sees it (on four legs, giving kisses, and probably indulging in some grand mischief).

Dog Songs had been on my reading list – and very highly anticipated – since it was published last year, and despite my high expectations it still didn’t disappoint. I don’t think Mary Oliver knows how to disappoint, and she certainly isn’t going to try when she gets onto this particular subject. With all of her trademark natural beauty, the poems in Dog Songs are a must-have collection for dog lovers with a poetic inclination.

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