Steve Martin's "An Object of Beauty"

Read: February 3, 2012

One of the many book clubs I belong to recently split along common lines: some wanted to read fun, fluffy books, while others wanted more aspirational titles. I initially tried to straddle both groups and doubled up on my reading. I found it amusingly ironic when the first book club, looking for a less artsy choice, picked Steve Martin's An Object of Beauty. Ironic because the book is, after all, about art. It was, however, much fluffier than the second book club's pick, Anna Karenina. Ultimately, I was unimpressed with the book, though it did have some redeeming moments.

An Object of Beauty is a recollection of the narrator's early twenties and the enigmatic, fireball woman he knew (and obsessed over), Lacey. I think the narrator's name was Daniel (it's always so easy to forget narrator's names). The novel follows their path from studying art in school and attempting to break into the art world, Lacey in art auction houses and Daniel in art journalism. The novel is more atmospheric than plot-driven, focusing on the art world during its boom and bust of the late 90s and early aughts and Daniel's obsession with Lacey.

The first part was the most fascinating (and redeeming) part of the novel. Martin clearly is very knowledgeable about the often inscrutable art world. The inclusion of full color images of the pieces of art which the book mentions truly made this a unique experience for me. I have a passing familiarity with some art history, but these pieces really made the book's discussions of modern art, the motivations of art collectors, and the question of how we define value in art come to life.

Despite that, I found Martin's characters very flat. As with Shopgirl, the novel had the feel of an older man remembering his young self and, through that young perspective, an obsession with a youthful beautiful woman. Lacey seemed to be blind ambition incarnate, wrapped in a total disregard for anybody she stepped on along the way. I think it's difficult to write such a one-dimensional character without that person coming off as flat. There's always the question of the unreliable narrator (are Daniel's recollections skewed because he was screwed over by this woman?), but there's no hint towards what Lacey's other motivations may have been. She's something of a femme fatale who uses sex as a weapon to climb her way to the top and thus seems to embody all that is shallow about the art world.

I don't think I would recommend anybody against reading this book. It has the niche quality that suggests that if you think you'd find this interesting (if you love art, for example, or have liked Martin's previous works), than you might love this book. I just don't fit into that niche very well.

PS I'm currently SIX MONTHS behind on blogging what I've read. Oops. Currently in attempts to catch up.

Tea Obreht's "The Tiger's Wife"

Read: February 8, 2012

I absolutely loved this atmospheric book. It's a difficult one to summarize, however, so let's just say it's about: storytelling, history, family, memory, mythology, and more.

Natalia is a doctor from a fictitious Balkan country who, on hearing of her grandfather's death, crosses the border to discover more. As she goes, she ponders all of the stories she grew up hearing from her grandfather, many of them tinted with mystery and magic, and none of them decidedly fiction. Scattered throughout the novel are references to the wartorn country, which sounds similar to Obreht's home country Croatia, meditations on what prolonged warfare can do to the psyche, and small potential for a bit of relief in stories and myths.

There is the story of the deaf-mute girl, married to an abusive blacksmith, who befriends a tiger that has escaped from the zoo. This unusual relationship upsets the locals and their superstitions. Natalia's grandfather, then a young boy, attempts to help the girl partly out of a sense of rightness and partly out of a fascination with the tiger.

Perhaps more integral to the overarching plotline is the story of the deathless man, a peripatetic and ageless man whom Natalia's grandfather meets several times throughout his life. As Natalia recounts her grandfather's tales about the deathless man, she begins to question whether her grandfather actually believed the stories she had always thought of as pure myth. In her grief, Natalia begins to wonder if she too could believe in the deathless man, and if so, if he has the answers she wants about how her grandfather died.

Obreht seamlessly weaves past and present, narrative and dialogue, so that you're never quite sure if she's telling you a fact or a myth, and, in the end, the either/or fades into insignificance as you're swept away by the language and imagery.