I just finished Franzen’s memoir, due out in September, and I must say that I was disappointed. This is not a traditional memoir, rather it’s collected essays, several of which have been in the New Yorker previously. Remember the article he wrote on Charles Schulz several years ago when Fantagraphics began reprinting all of the Peanuts? That’s in there as is the article on birding. Already I’ve read two of the six chapters in a slim, 197 page book.

Don’t get me wrong. I personally think Franzen is a great writer and that’s why I am disappointed—I wanted more. I loved the first essay ‘House for Sale’, which moves back and forth from today to his teenage years, where Franzen’s remembrance of his years in the Christian Fellowship made me squirm. The same with the following two essays. After that, the book loses steam, the essays lose their impact. I don’t know if Franzen just threw all of these together or what, but the lack of focus gives you an incomplete look at the author. Perhaps that’s what he wants, after the Oprah fiasco. I just hope his next book is stronger.

Martin Booth certainly was a lucky boy. He and his parents moved to Hong Kong during the Korean War and Martin’s mother, rather than holding him back like the other boys, let him roam freely around the area. We’re lucky because of his ability to recall that time in his lovely book Golden Boy: Memories of a Hong Kong Childhood. Living at the Fourseas Hotel in Kowloon, Marin explores his vast neighborhood. His distant and cruel father, away for work most of the time, usually spends his time at home sleeping or drinking. His fun and adventurous mother however turns a blind eye towards Martin’s wanderings and even takes part in some of it. His biggest asset might be his hunger to know and see everything. He has no fear about talking to people he doesn’t understand or who can’t understand him. In fact, he realizes quickly that he must learn Chinese if he wants to explore. What I loved best were the descriptions of what he saw—you could smell the streets, taste the food, and hear the sounds of the people going about their daily lives.

Sticking to the Biography genre, I turned to Da Chen’s Colors of the Mountain, his story of growing up during the Cultural Revolution in China. His memoir helped me see the Revolution in a new light. I’ve certainly read about its broad political and sociological ramifications but Chen’s memoir brought it all down to a much more personal level. Growing up as a member of the landlord class (though now certainly very poor), his family is subject to all sorts of torments and allowed to do nothing to defend themselves. His descriptions of school will make your blood boil. Made to suffer for being smart, he endures humiliation from the teachers on a regular basis. It’s not until he befriends a gang of tough kids that he feels like he fits in anywhere. I found the book engaging and its strength lies in its simplicity. Its weakness lies in Chen’s occasional self back patting. The memoir ends as Chen leaves his village to attend college in Beijing and I was not surprised to learn that there is a second memoir that picks up right where he left off. Also the Chen has a novel called Brothers appearing in the Fall—I’ll let you know how it is.

I meant to keep better track of all the books I’ve read this year, but I managed to lose track already. I thought I’d give a quick report of the last two books I’ve finished.

Beyond Black by Hilary Mantel is every bit as good as the reviews made it out to be. One of my favorite writers, Mantel’s darkly comic novel tells the story of Alison, a professional medium, and her assistant Colette. A psychic you say? And a real one at that complete with a spirit guide, who causes no end of grief. Alison comes to terms with her dark past and Mantel slowly reveals the emergence of Alison’s “gift” while growing up in a really awful home. Colette meanwhile has broken with her husband of several years in a sort of attempt to wrest control of her life. She manages Alison’s career but at the same time hold her in contempt for many reasons one of which is her plus size. The dead demand Alison’s ear, not matter when or where she is and Mantel captures the dark, grittiness of the spirit world (which eerily doesn’t seem all that different from the world of the living). Not many authors do ugliness and unhappiness like Mantel and this book kept me turning pages both backwards and forwards as I read and reread.

On a lighter note, I picked up A Year in Japan by Kate Williamson because of its delightful cover. Princeton Architectural Press produced a high quality book complete with French flaps and gorgeous reproductions of Williamson’s illustrations of Japanese life. Like the title mentions, she spent a year in Japan observing the daily life and she did these wonderful illustrations of the small details she experienced. The book doesn’t take long to read—there’s not much text—but you can continually pick up the book, open it to a random page, and feast on a small bite, say about riding the shinkansen (the bullet train) or the wonderful socks she discovers there (who knew the Japanese loved socks so much). It’s a lovely book.