Books

Book 74: Babycakes – Armistead Maupin

Babycakes takes place two years after Further Tales of the City and of the four books I’ve read in the series this is my least favorite. I understand characters have to grow and evolve, but sometimes you just don’t want them to.

In comparison to the other novels in this series, the novel seems angst ridden and is darker than the previous novels. I’m not sure if this is a direct response to Maupin’s mindset at the time or the general feeling of gloom and doom of San Francisco and the LGBT community at the time.  Originally published in 1984, Maupin wrote the tales in Babycakes while Reagan was President of the US and Margaret Thatcher was Prime Minister of the UK and the AIDS crisis was on the horizon (although the Reagan administration didn’t acknowledge it until 1987).

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Book 72: More Tales of the City – Armistead Maupin

More Tales of the City picks up where Tales of the City ends and is just as entertaining and difficult to put down!

As the story opens, we find that Mary Ann has inherited money form her former boss Edgar Halcyon (Dede’s father) and she decides to take herself and Michael on a cruise to Mexico. While on the cruise, Mary Ann meets a lovely young man (Burke) and they hit it off.  Michael meanwhile meets a former lover and they fall madly back in love.

While Mary Ann and Michael are out cruising, yes that is a double entendre, Brian becomes obsessed with a phantom of love, Mrs. Madrigal and Mona both find family in each other after Mona runs away and discovers her past, and Dede and Beauchamp continue to struggle in their marriage with their impeding children and their marriage.

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Book cover of Jhumpa Lahiri's "The Namesake"

Book 69: The Namesake – Jhumpa Lahiri

A friend in undergrad recommended I read this novel and I’m sad it took me this long to read it. The Namesake is one of the most beautifully and eloquently written novels I have read this year, if not ever.

There is something so simple and yet strikingly intricate in Lahiri’s prose. I can only compare her to the lyrical like prose I’ve read from many Irish authors. I found myself repeating sentences in my head because of their artful construction. The foreign names, foods, and customs interwoven with the familiar places and customs created a story I couldn’t put down. I’ve compared Jhumpa Lahiri to Jane Austen, in the ordinariness of what she writes and her style, and I stand by this, but it is the lives and deaths—the full picture, rather than the snapshot—at which Lahiri excels.

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