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DIARY OF A FILM by Niven Govinden
more uncertain I became, transforming myself accordingly. I adopted so much of what he loved and hated and rejected and valued, became some version of myself that existed in relation to him.” Now liberated from this self-subordination, she is free to wander the streets indulgently, thinking about herself, her family, her memories, her time with Michael, and her impressions of Rome (heavy on the booze, fountains, churches, olives, espressos, and pizza). Planning a picnic in a park, she bumps into attractive American architect John and quickly finds distraction from her romantic past with a new romantic present. But John has a larger function than mere lover. He asks questions about Emilia’s father—a famous singer/songwriter who of course has influenced his daughter’s attitude toward men. This burrowing will lead Emilia to acknowledgements—“You never took me seriously, I never even had a chance” (addressed both to Michael and to her father)—and new possibilities. Giacco’s slender, elegant, yet detached story assumes engagements with privileged Emilia and her point of view, yet those connections may be less than certain in a tale that seems more glossy than groundbreaking.
Upscale escapism as beautiful people in a sensuous city bare and share.
DIARY OF A FILM
Govinden, Niven Deep Vellum (228 pp.) $25.95 | May 24, 2022 978-1-646051-80-9
Jangly nerves, obsessive ruminations, and a chance encounter lead a renowned film director toward unsettling developments and an unexpected epiphany. This taut, allusive, and illuminating novel explores creativity and receptivity—the processes through which we make art and experience it. The unnamed narrator is a throwback auteur, one of the last who still shoots on film and protects the integrity of his vision against marketplace pressures and outside influence. With affection and respect, he is called “maestro” by all, including his cast and his longtime production collaborators. The novel concerns his return to an Italian film festival with his highly anticipated adaptation of William Maxwell’s novel The Folded Leaf. Among those joining him are actors Lorien and Tom, whom he generally calls “the boys” and whose careers will likely receive huge boosts from the reception the film is expected to receive. Yet the director is all jitters, unsure of that reception and of what he will do next. He takes refuge in an espresso bar, where he encounters a woman who recognizes him and who proceeds to tell (and show) him a story that will pervade the novel and, he eventually comes to hope, become his next film. With psychological acuity, the novel shows the subtle changes in their relationship, in his relationship with his two main actors (who have fallen in love after their roles in his movie brought them together), and in his love for and dependence on his husband and their young son, who remain at home while he is at the festival but are very much present in his mind. The result is a novel about a film, about a filmmaker who has adapted a novel, and about a piece of visual art and the tragic story behind it that the filmmaker fixates upon as his next project.
A slow fuse leads to a climactic flashpoint, putting all sorts of notions about life and art into fresh perspective.
SIERRA SIX
Greaney, Mark Berkley (528 pp.) $17.79 | Feb. 15, 2022 978-0-593-09899-8
In the 11th entry in the Gray Man series, Gentry unexpectedly faces an old foe.
Courtland Gentry joins Golf Sierra, the counterterror team led by Zack Hightower. Gentry is the new Six, or point man. The last two Sixes were KIA—“It
fruiting bodies
sucked to be the Six.” So the team expects the same fate for the new guy. Chapters alternate between 12 years ago and the present, with harrowing violence and high stakes in both. One bad man connects the two threads: The Golf Sierra team’s current antagonist is Murad Khan, aka Pasha the Kashmiri. The new Six must learn how to work with a team because he’s used to killing on his own. Gentry’s CIA code name is Violator, but he’s also known as the Gray Man. In the present, Khan is thought to be dead until he and Gentry spot each other while the Pakistani plans mass murder of non-Muslims. Gentry has insanely good fighting skills combined with luck and a powerful desire to off “assholes who so richly deserved to die.” He tells Hightower that “I don’t have a death wish. I have a kill wish.” And oh, does the lad get his wish. Both threads have a strong, brave, and appealing woman, and our hero is attracted to both. Alas, Six is too busy for sex. So many bad guys, so little time. Greaney has created a great series character who channels his murderous urges into where they’re most needed (overseas) and leaves the rest of us alone. Gentry brims with self-confidence, such as when he pilots his team over a rugged mountain range in a helicopter he’s not qualified to fly. Those are some of the hairiest, scariest scenes, along with a deadly high-rise battle in the middle of Mumbai monsoon winds.
Over-the-top thrills. Greaney never disappoints.
FRUITING BODIES
Harlan, Kathryn Norton (256 pp.) $25.00 | June 7, 2022 978-1-324-02122-3
A debut collection that mingles the magical and uncanny with signs of global warning. These coming-of-age stories about young women are sometimes set against a backdrop of climate change, sometimes in altered magical worlds. Because we live in an age in which rising temperatures and raging wildfires, significant loss
of biodiversity, and monster storms worry the line between what used to seem impossible and our new reality, this mix of genres is potent. In “Endangered Animals,” the disappearing glaciers in Glacier National Park are both a destination for a young woman and her ex-girlfriend on a road trip together and the perfect metaphor for the painful thaw of their dying affection. In “Algal Bloom,” a lake poisoned by algae during an uncharacteristically hot summer is a temptation for the slightly rebellious almost 13-year-old narrator and her best friend while also capturing the murkiness of the narrator’s desires—the peril of feelings she’s not quite old enough to name. Elsewhere, in “Fruiting Bodies,” a woman sprouts mushrooms from her body, which her lover gently harvests and cooks into elaborate meals, an act both nurturing and parasitic—and almost possible in some dystopic future. Harlan crafts gorgeous prose; in her hands, even the dirty work of maggots, using “their hooked mouths to spoon up the body’s liquids,” becomes something beautiful. Her stories twist away from expected endings—as in “Hunting the Viper-King,” in which the narrator’s father’s hunt for a mythical snake both is and isn’t as crazy as it seems—and offer nuanced emotional insights. A few stories miss the mark when the magic fails to become emotionally resonant (“Is This You?”) or the characters feel thin, like ideas in service to inventive plots (“Fiddler, Fool Pair”).
Original, deftly told stories that chart coming-of-age in perilous times for our planet.
THE LOCAL
Hartstone, Joey Doubleday (320 pp.) $28.00 | June 14, 2022 978-0-385-54781-9
A Texas patent lawyer gets embroiled in a murder trial in this debut novel. The small city of Marshall, in eastern Texas, has for years been a favored venue for intellectual-property trials, the kind of cases in which the narrator, lawyer James Euchre, has thrived. In the book’s well-paced opening, Euchre is retained for a new patent lawsuit, his client has a violent in-court episode after an adverse ruling by a judge who’s been Euchre’s mentor, and police arrest the client after the judge is murdered. Euchre is the genre’s typically troubled, brooding quasi-underdog, a heavy drinker overshadowed by a famous lawyer father and struggling with his first murder trial. In this area he gets help and a little romance from one of the book’s rare women, a former prosecuting attorney. For welcome glints of humor, there’s Euchre’s investigator, a wisecracking gay woman known as The Leg for her place-kicking prowess. For trademark humor, intellectual-property lawyers lunch at a place called Central Perks, recalling the Friends coffee shop. Hartstone, who has written screenplays for film (Shock and Awe) and TV (The Good Fight), displays a sure hand with the pointed adversarial dialogue that fuels legal thrillers. He builds a nice level of tension in Euchre’s efforts to cope with an abrasive, evasive client and in the lawyer’s legal missteps and local feuds, even combining the two when Euchre goes after a man who once dated his wife. The courtroom scenes have some standout moments, but much of the action is elsewhere, in the Euchre team’s detective work. Through all this, Hartstone weaves two themes, of which one, about small towns and their secrets, was well worn in Harper Lee’s time and doesn’t add much heft here. The other concerns fathers and sons, which Hartstone sustains well through several relevant variations.
