All the Ms: Mansfield to Marai

Katherine Mansfield: I read a few of Mansfield’s short stories. They were about couples. Rather lightweight now,  at the time (1910s-1920s), they were cutting edge. Mansfield’s production goes along with a prior post–the early to mid-1900s saw a growing interest in what makes romance/marriage work. 

The interest is still there, of course, but at the time, it was considered Modern with the full-weight of the capitalized word.   

Many Bloody Returns includes various tales about vampires. I read the short piece “Grave-Robbed” by P.N. Elrod. I’ve read several books by P.N. Elrod with the protagonist Jack Fleming, a vampire P.I. in 1920s gangster Chicago. I've enjoyed the books and I enjoyed the short story! 

Alessandro Manzoni: The Betrothed is apparently a very famous classic novel from Italy. I love coming across these books! This one seems to fall into the Hugo/Dickens/Dumas tradition–very long book about all kinds of stuff set in the further past. The translation appears to be excellent. 

Jo-Ann Mapson: Finding Casey begins with reflections on a house, which is a surprisingly trope-like way to begin a novel! It also involves a ghost, which is fairly interesting.

Sandor Márai: I often feel like all books on a particular shelf fall into the same category. Marai's Esther’s Inheritance is one of many books on a shelf that begin the same way: a narrator reminisces for several pages before the action begins. I can handle description as a way to begin a novel. And I love dialog (and use that approach myself). But memoir-type reflections don’t strike me as particularly…anything. Where’s the story? 

All the Ms: Mankel to Mantel

Henning Mankel: Turns out Wallandar is based on books! Faceless Killers is the first Kurt Wallander book. And I had to wonder, outside of England, are the Northern climes incapable of producing non-angsty cozies? 

Thomas Mann: I associate Mann so much with Joseph and His Brothers, I needed a reminder that he was actually part of the intellectual literary community of the early 1900s. I read the opening of Magic Mountain.

Kate Manning: The Gilded Mountain is historical fiction set in the early 1900s in a mining town in Colorado. The opening reminded me of Lost Horizon, only the perspective is totally different. The guide remarks blithely that of course it is possible to bring in pianos and stoves and mahogany wood for the rich man who runs the mine. In Lost Horizon, the risks are deemed acceptable because the monks can pay. In The Gilded Mountain, the risks are deemed the product of greed–the writer intends to tackle the rising labor movements of the era. 

Olivia Manning: Friends and Heroes–husband and wife bond or don’t bond during World War II. A lot of people were writing a lot of books like this in the mid-1900s. That is, marriage as a topic wasn’t relegated to the romance section. Marriage itself was being tackled as a twentieth century “problem” alongside ramifications of the Industrial Revolution.

Hilary Mantel: Wolf Hall. Even before I read reviews (which I rarely do), I was uncomfortable with the book. A red flag for me is when a character is excused from the get-go because that character was abused in the past (there was a time when I was growing up when recovered memories of abuse were treated as the ultimate excuse/explanation). 

I had the same reaction to a fiction book about Deborah Sampson. Her desire to go to war dressed as a man is explained in the novel by her being raped. The idea that she might have dressed as a man and gone to war because she wanted to is bypassed for a “psychological” explanation. And I found it far less interesting. 

A non-excused Cromwell to me would have been far more inviting. 

All the Ms: Depressing Literature in the Ms

I play a half-joking/half-serious game with myself when I am driving. After two events of the same kind, I declare that it is a Pedestrians Running Out Into Traffic Day 

or 

Large Trunks Blocking the Way Day 

or 

Cars Coming Up Suddenly on Side Streets Day. 

With this list, I feel like I have encountered reading trends, including Modern Depressing Life With Naval Gazing Novels. I honestly don’t see the point of this stuff but hey, if people want to read it…

Maybe, they read it for the same reason Stephen King says people watch horror movies: to emphasize their own normality. 

Or not. 

Haven’t a clue. 

The list below is a sample. However, in fairness, though all the books are contemporary and all the books are about life being a pain, blah blah blah, some of them look...not so bad. 

Nicholas Mancusi: A Philosophy of Ruin is about a guy whose Mom dies and he somehow gets into drugs. It’s such a boring premise, it makes my brain hurt.

Emily St. John Mandel: The Glass Hotel starts with random sentences on a page, then skips to a character who is depressed and self-conscious and whose narrative is interrupted by discussions with a therapist…and I forced myself to read 10 pages. 

Becky Mandelbaum: The Bright Side Sanctuary for Animals starts with a dozen cliches about redneck hicks in Kansas—but that’s kind of the point. That is, there is a difference between the author inserting cliches to force a conclusion and an author speaking out of the head of a character. The difference is the difference between sermonizing and art. Mandelbaum is writing art. 

Lee Mandelo: Feed Them Silence is about a woman who gets a grant to link herself to wolves while her marriage is falling apart. To be honest, I found the animal concept gripping. But failed marriages bore me, including lesbian marriages. And I thought the protagonist’s wife’s lectures were so nauseating, I couldn’t figure out why the protagonist (however flawed) married her in the first place.  

Marina Mander: The First True Lie is about a boy who is now a “half-orphan” since his father died. The boy’s voice comes across as quite authentic (not a term I enjoy using, but this list calls for the term).  

All the Ms: Malvaldi to Manchester

Malvaldi, Marco: Despite starting with an unnamed “he” in the prologue and a “you” in the first chapter, The Measure of a Man is fairly fascinating. It’s about the Italian Renaissance–Leonardo Da Vinci, in particular. The text reads more like commentary than fiction. At one point, the narrator states, “If opinion polls had existed then…” But hey, it’s the Italian Renaissance, so anything goes (Star Trek had an episode about the Italian Renaissance!). 

Mamet, David: Chicago is about a newspaper reporter and, ah, Chicago in the 1920s. Which means, I wouldn’t have started it if not for this project (there’s a man with a gun on the cover). The opening is actually quite interesting–a group of friends talking in a duck blind–and emphasizes that cities have always been more cosmopolitan than labels suggest. The dialog is snappy and feels quite real. I still lost interest. 

Manansala, Mia P. I am always gratified to discover a new mystery author! Homicide and Halo-Halo is a Tita Rosie’s Kitchen mystery. I honestly had no idea it was a mystery–I realize the title should have been a give-away though a lot of the titles in this list are often ironic–but I quickly figured out the genre when the Filipino narrator referred to “ah, yes, that mess we cleared up last year” in the opening chapter. That opening moves quickly. The narrator has a definite personality and culture. And a police detective shows up by the end of the first chapter! 

Manchester, William: Shadow of the Monsoon felt rather like E.M. Forester meets Sinclair Lewis with M.M.Kaye thrown in for fun. 

All the Ms: Lack of Trigger Warnings, Thank Goodness

I was about fifteen. I was standing in my parents' kitchen talking about something--school or drama club or something--to an adult who had asked me a question. She suddenly broke in and said, "My, you have such a large vocabulary!" 

I was completely stymied. I didn't think of my vocabulary as large--it was simply the way I talked. 

Granted, several older siblings, discussions at the dinner table, being read to for part of my life, being well-versed in the scriptures, and being a dedicated reader meant that I had a high vocabulary for my age. But I had never deliberately acquired words (I didn't have a Word of the Day calendar). It was entirely natural. 

The conversation didn't resume. 

In retrospect, I surmise that the adult woman was uncomfortable or thought she was being nice or was trying to shut me up--but the event underscored two outcomes in my life. For a long time, I would stammer even while teaching because I would get self-conscious about my "vocabulary." (I now have the habit of defining words while I talk, and I care far less what people think.) 

And second, I hated social media before social media existed. 

Exegesis or hermeneutics is the study of the study of texts. That is, rather than reading Shakespeare and trying to figure out what he meant or reading Shakespeare and discussing how he wrote, exegesis or hermeneutics would examine what people have said about Shakespeare. (Hermeneutics is mostly focused on the scriptures--but not automatically.) 

It's not a completely horrible line of study. But it seems like it has taken over...everything. The entire world has turned into the adult who rather than responding to the thing I said is commenting on my character or behavior. 

Rather than read a text, students have AI tell them what it said. Rather than respond to a point, social media imbibers label the point or argument and the point-maker. Rather than read a book, readers are warned of the book's content. 

I'm aware that people who write or like trigger warnings believe they demonstrate sensitivity for others' experiences. Unfortunately, my experience is not taken into account. 

I perceive trigger warnings as one more bullying "explanation" (lecture, chastisement, headache, hectoring) between me and the text, another way to push away direct experiences or ideas, another way to corral the unknown or uncomfortable, another way to shut down the conversation, another way to assume what I need to be told.  

I'm not one for avant-garde, edgy, "challenging" literature. But I'm entirely capable of forming my own opinions about whether I will keep reading something or not. And I can handle discomfort with language. 

One of the pleasant aspects of my current reading challenge (All the Ms) is how few trigger warnings I've encountered. Granted, I don't spend much time on the pages before the prologue or first chapter (as mentioned earlier, I'm not even reading the jacket blurbs). So I may miss such warnings. But they are often hard to miss. And I've come across very few so far. 

It's a relief. As I try out different books by M authors, I can have a real conversation with the author, not a conversation where someone holds up a hand and says, "Oh, my, I know what you need to be told. I know what you're supposed to think about others or yourself or these characters. In any case, it's best that there are no surprises. On top of which, watch out that you don't actually get immersed or enjoy yourself...not until I've told you have you will likely react to everything. After all, I've got a label all-prepared!"  

In sum, there's no sign at the beginning of the book stating, "You shouldn't continue unless you are THIS TALL."  

 

All the Ms: Maloy to Maltman

Maloy, Kate: Every Last Cuckoo is about a not-uncommon topic: the death of a spouse. It is somewhat unique because the main character, Sarah, is seventy-five; her husband, eighty when he dies. She mourns him. She also deals with different issues than do books with younger bereaved protagonists, such as older children and grandchildren. A nice variation on the form!

Malte, Marcus: The Boy.  Lots of vague pronouns. I realize “on” translated from French is often “we” in English, but the two words don’t have the same meaning. Faulkner can get away with “we” because he has a purpose. I don’t think anyone else should use it. 

Maltman, Thomas: The Night Birds tackles a fairly fascinating reality that I think often gets lost in discussions of history: The German pioneers on the American frontier had a fraught relationship with the Indians, whom they feared. The book presents the darker side of the pioneering experience. 

However, my biggest issue with the book is actually the voice. The boy, Asa, is–as far as I can tell–about ten or so at the book’s beginning. But he sounds much older, not just when he is remembering but when he states things he thought at the time. In comparison, one of the truly remarkable aspects of To Kill a Mockingbird is that Harper Lee retains Scout’s perspective and understanding from whatever age she is throughout the book (she matures to near teens over the course of the book). 

The issue here is difficult. I resolved it in His in Herland by having the second narrator question his own memories from his early teen years: Did I really think that? Or is that what I understand about myself now?  
 

All the Ms: Malouf to Malone

Malouf, David: David Malouf is one of the great authors that I thought I’d heard of but didn’t put into context until I started this project. An Imaginary Life starts with an italicized prologue and then the use of the singular and plural first-person with no clear name, so, frankly, I was prepared to dismiss the book. But it actually caught my interest, being a story about Ovid and a child raised in the wild. From this list, it is one of 1/4 or so that I actually went on to complete! 

Malmquist, Tom: In Every Moment We Are Still Alive sounds, uh, rather pompous and that was honestly my initial opinion since the book uses a kind of stream-of-consciousness format (no quotation marks for quotes). However, the topic is quite practical and day-to-day, if sad since it begins in a hospital. 

Malone, Jen: 12-year-old girls get up to craziness in The Sleepover. Clever beginning with a decent narrator! And it reminded me how much I disliked sleepovers as a teen. I wasn’t scared. I simply preferred then and now to sleep in my own bed. There is something, even now, utterly satisfying about returning home. Sometimes, I think that is the primary reason I go to work...so I can go home. 

Malone, Michael: First Lady is police procedural meets James Faulkner: police case with reflections on the South.

All the Ms: Mallette to Mallone

Gloria Mallette: Distant Lover starts with a clearly characterized protagonist. Lots of family problems, so I didn’t keep going, but I did, I confess, skip to the end, and the end pleasantly surprised me! 

G.M. Malliet has written a number of mystery books. Death and the Alma Mater begins with a humorous account of college in-fighting in Cambridge over an alumni fundraising weekend. The tone reminded me of the Home Improvement episode where Tim Taylor–like Tim Allen–is awarded a degree by his alma mater. The woman who greets him at the ceremony makes it clear that he was selected for his potential construction-building contacts. Others at the college wanted to give the degree to "an award-winning poet--like he could help us raise a dime!" 

Allan Mallinson: A Regimental Affair takes place in the early 1800s and seems to be in the Hornblower tradition. It begins at the House Guards, which reminded me of one of my favorite books A Minor Inconvenience by Sarah Granger, which tackles romance and spying during the wars against Napoleon. 

Thomas Mallone: Fictionalized recountings of historical events are quite common. I’m not a huge fan–though I did read The Agony and the Ecstasy–since I would rather just read the history. That is, I enjoy stories set in history but stories about actual people and events seem to be better handled by documented non-fiction. 

Thomas Mallone wrote Watergate. I read the beginning and could see the attraction, the idea of being in on the action, a fly on the wall of a seminal event. I still didn’t continue…

All the Ms: Malerman to Mallery

Josh Malerman: A House at the Bottom of a Lake I picked up because I loved the title. I’m fascinated by water and places under water. The book is about the relationship between Amelia and James, starting with the first date. 

Aanchal Malhotra: The Book of Everlasting Things is a saga of a young man and a forbidden love. I know that from reading the dust jacket. The first chapter is about the young man’s ability to smell perfume. The chapter is very well-written. 

Tania Malik: Three Bargains is a saga tale set in contemporary India. Overall, like the book by Malhotra, it seems to embrace life, even if sadness is part of the equation.  

Ally Malinenko: Sometimes during this project, I feel like every writer in a group of books I got out of the library is writing on the same subject. It likely says more about the human tendency to find patterns than about every author in the Mal range being interested in the same thing. With this post, there are several books about houses!

Malinkenko's Appearing House starts with Jae, who is recovering from cancer. The first chapter sets an interesting premise

“She’d read the books. The stories were always the same. Kid got sick; everyone felt bad; kid taught everyone to love in a deeper, more meaningful way; kid died; everyone remembered the kid as a hero…She’d never read about a kid who’d Gone Through What She Had and lived. They didn’t write stories about those kids.” 

Susan Mallery: Susan Mallery has her own shelf at the Portland Public Library. The books are what I call “world” romances—that is, in Three Sisters–which also begins with a house!--the story is as much about the neighborhood and the job and the friends of the main character, who meets two other women who have romances of their own, as about the romances. Not my cup of tea but the first chapter was more engaging than other romances I’ve read in the Ms.

All the Ms: Makkai to Malamud

Rebecca Makkai: The Borrower has a captivating premise. A young librarian decides to “rescue” a prepubescent boy who his parents fear is gay. She runs away with him. The parents are not evil (depending on one’s perspective). Their treatment of their son is based on belief, and they don't cross the line, such as withholding food or beating him. Overall, the book reminds me of The Goats by Brock Cole and an episode of Law & Order in which a not entirely stable woman kidnaps a child in foster care to replace the one she lost. On the one hand, the viewer wishes she had succeeded. On the other, people really shouldn’t do that.

Makkai’s book is more about the narrator, the woman, than the boy, or, rather, about how one cannot heroically transform another person’s life through radical action. Consequently, one of the most chilling aspects of the book–which I assume is unintended but perhaps not–is how much the Pastor, who is trying to “fix” the potentially gay kids, sounds like a trans-activist. 

Alexander Maksik: A Marker to Measure Drift tells the story of a woman in flight. She is running from trauma (I know this from the dusk jacket). I was reminded, in a way, of My Side of the Mountain–only the event in the book is more unsettled. The book is well-written. It is also written by a writer who attended an academic writers’ workshop, and I’ve begun to recognize the style of writing. That isn’t (necessarily) a criticism, only…it’s a particular style of writing. Every school, every discipline has its own style. 

Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi: Kintu is a story about Uganda over time. It follows a single family or clan. The writing is naturally darker than McCall Smith’s–but it has the same elegant sparseness. 

Malamud: I had heard of Malamud but had no idea who Malamud was in terms of time period. Malamud (1914-1986) was contemporary with Flannery O’Connor. I read “Notes from a Lady at a Dinner Party,” and it’s a real short story: crisp language, narrative arc, non-first-person. Not a diary entry. I guess masters are masters for a reason!

Alls the Ms: Maitland to Makiya

Barry Maitland: Dark Mirror is a Brock and Kolla Mystery, a police procedural/mystery novel set in London. The Brits are rather good at this type of thing–think Catherine Aird but a little more somber. 

Karen Maitland: Company of Liars is a medieval tale or series of tales told as the plague arrives in England (this is the Black Plague of the mid-1300s). The tone and details feel “right” (despite the thankful lack of “forsoothiness” language), like a darker Cadfael. 

R.L. Maizes: Other People’s Pets introduces another dysfunctional family. It’s a genre! This book includes a thief who wants to be a vet because she feels empathy with animals, which struck me as unique. 

Sara Majka: Cities I’ve Never Lived is a collection of short stories, almost entirely in first-person. And it occurred to me that such stories are a type of poetry: first-person stream of consciousness poetry. Which is possibly unfair to poets. But I honestly don’t see the point of something without a narrative arc. I don’t want to read other people’s diaries.

Amit Majmudar:The Abundance strikes me as entirely unique: the story of an Indian wife and mother in the American Midwest dealing with her grown children as she faces a debilitating illness. It sounds depressing but the opening chapter comes across as more real life than angst-filled naval-gazing.

Nathan Makaryk: Nottingham, a Robin Hood tale, struck me as too modern. The issue is not language, especially since I prefer that authors not try to use medieval vocab and syntax. Rather, the mindset seems too modern. I didn’t get past the prologue though the set-up was interesting. 

Andrei Makine: Brief Loves that Live Forever begins in Soviet Russia. It comes across as very Russian–monologues about politics; sparse crisp language; reflections on fleeting beauty; the cold. Without reading more of the author’s work, that assessment may or may not be fair. I remind myself that writers and speakers and everyone else use the “language” (tropes) of their social understanding. 

Kanan Makiya: The Rock is a fictional view of the geographic structure in Jerusalem. It tackles different stories about it. I would find the book more interesting as non-fiction.

All the Ms: Mahy to Mairal

Mahy, Margaret: Mahy, who mostly writes children’s books, wrote the teen book The Changeover. I’m a fan! 

Maia, Ward: The short story "Summer Santa" falls into the category of travelogue + romance. Travelogue romance is mostly about two people enjoying time together in a country--in this case, Brazil--often on vacation. There isn't much plot but I don't suppose these types of stories need to have plot.

Mailer, Norman: I didn’t especially want to read anything by Mailer. Mailer is one of those writers that I always felt I was supposed to read in order to be “well-read” or edified or edgy. I hate reading for that reason. But I read the opening of The Naked and the Dead, which introduces soldiers heading to a campaign. None of them are likable. War is awful. So...Mailer is a good writer. Can I move on now? (For all I know, Mailer is now on the “outs” with the kind of people who monitor what others read for their own good. It doesn’t matter. "This is what one ought to read" is usually a big red flag in the arts.) 

Maine, Sarah: Women of the Dunes is a tale that transitions from the late medieval era to the modern era to the late nineteenth century. Rather than exploring documents, the main character Libby is an archaeologist. And the area is Scotland. Somewhat unique. 

Mairal, Pedro: The Woman From Uruguay is about the dissolution of a marriage. The “you” in the text is appropriate (I’m generally opposed to “you” in texts) since the narrator is addressing his to-be-estranged wife. But the “oh, my goodness, how could this happen to us; it must be different from what has ever happened to others” stuff is tedious. Out of all the genres, the genre of the messed-up marriage is the most cliched despite the fact that it is treated with such intellectual gravity. 

All the Ms: Mah to Mahoney

Ann Mah: Ann Mah, author of kitchen chinese and other books, showcases the difference between first-generation immigrants and second-generation immigrants. Although Mah, like Amy Tan, explores her connection to China, the experience and attitude is quite different. For one, Mah's stories seem less fraught with significance–though still more significant than, say, me exploring my “English” roots. In fact, the book refers to Amy Tan, claiming that the main character’s experience is NOT an Amy Tan novel. 

Karan Mahajan: Family Planning presents the relationship between a teenage boy and his father in a very large family in India. The writing is quite good! 

Kerri Maher: The Girl in White Gloves is a fictional retelling of Grace Kelly’s life with the focus on her marriage to Prince Rainier with flashbacks. Since the first chapter convinced me of what I’d heard–that her marriage was somewhat confining–and of what I believe about royal marriages to begin with (they are a fate worse than death), I didn’t read further. 

Naguib Mahfouz: I encountered an entire shelf of novels by Naguib Mahfouz. I then discovered that the author is a Nobel Prize winner. I chose Arabian Nights & Days, which is a “what happens after the fairy tale” story, of which I greatly approve! What happens AFTER Shahrzad tells her stories? And what is happening elsewhere? 

Shanna Mahin: What is it with California novels and short stories? They are full of angsty people on the edge of…something…doing...something. And they think the entire world is about that something. So they write books about discovering what everyone outside of California already knows: the whole world isn't about that. The first chapter of Oh! You Pretty Things nearly hooked me since it introduces a character–not the narrator–who might have a fascinating backstory. And then I realized that the book was about the narrator, who can't figure out how to get a new life without going to work for a celebrity. And I lost interest. 

Dennis Mahoney: Bell Weather, which takes place in an alternative history, starts with a fantastic rescue! It is one of those books I may come back to. 

Kristin Mahoney: Elfie Unperfect is an interesting case of a cover not matching up to the book’s initial tone. The initial tone is of a young Daria (fourth grade) who is more clueless than dry. Not entirely humorous. The humor seems more aimed at her own literal-minded cluelessness except the narrator comes across as too aware to be entirely clueless. I felt mostly nonplussed rather than amused. (For something maybe similar I do recommend, try the hilarious and dry-witted Anastasia Krupnik books by Lois Lowry instead.) 

All the Ms: Magnan to Magras

Pierre Magnan: The beginning of The Messengers of Death reminded me why I tell my students not to use the “generic” you. It’s one thing to directly address the reader. It’s another to throw the “you” into the text as if the “you” will immediately place the reader in the moment. It annoys me. The "you" for Magnan's book is unfortunate because the rest of the first chapter is quite well-written and engaging. (The book is translated from French, which means that the original opening may have used “on” which is often translated as “we.” I don’t know if “you” is better. I do think the translation choice here, if it was a choice, doesn't match the rest of the chapter.)

Joyce Magnin: The Prayers of Agnes Sparrow tackles small-town living. These types of novels can range from Precious Moments’ dolls cutesiness to dystopian where-are-the-Zombies nuttiness. The Prayers appears to be a decent product from the middle range.

Kekla Magoon:  Camo Girl is about kids dealing with adolescence. It has a strong opening.
 
Diane Magras: The Mad Wolf’s Daughter has an action-packed opening chapter! The heroine appears to be a tough, fair-minded, and practical character.

Lessons from All the Ms: What to Do with So Many Characters

I have discovered in reading the first few pages of books by M authors that despite a wide range of writing styles and topics and tones (there truly is something out there for everyone!), specific writing choices consistently cause problems. 

One of those problems is too many characters. 

I recently read (in March 2025) an "M" author book in which so many characters were thrown at my head at once, I immediately lost interest. 

So...how does one produce a book with a "cast of thousands" without overwhelming the reader? Fiction, after all, to a large extent, is about investment in the individual. If I want to read about large groups of people doing stuff, I'll read the encyclopedia. 

I suggest two methods characterize the writers who manage to successfully present a complex story with multiple characters: 

1. Stick to a single POV. 

The single POV explains the great success of Cherryh's Foreigner Series. It is an exceedingly complex series with multiple political "sides" occupied by strong personalities. Yet Cherryh has managed to keep all personalities distinct. To a huge extent, the non-confusing nature of the story (despite overlapping political/social/scientific worlds) is due to the third-person limited voice of Bren Cameron (main character) and Cajeiri (heir apparent to the main political body). Because we, the audience, see everything through their eyes, the things they see make a great deal of sense.

2. Avoid the "in-joke."

In my "M" reading, the book I encountered that turned me off was a mystery in which the author wanted to mention every single character in a previously established English village. It reminded me of romances in which the authors wants to bring back every single couple from previous books, sometimes in a single chapter. 

I understand the impulse: writers fall in love with characters and want to give them cameos. And this approach can be quite successful with established readers, who enjoy the cameos.

But a cameo is a cameo, not a plot.  

Hollywood's Murder on the Orient Express (1974) versus Death on the Nile (1978) is a good example. Murder on the Orient Express is, quite frankly, a series of cameos. But they have a purpose. The actors play their classic roles with such skill, several were nominated for their performances. The mystery, not the cameos, runs the movie.

Death on the Nile (1978), however, is about the cameos BEING cameos. Ha ha ha. Isn't it sooo clever to see THAT star acting so over-the-top? (Granted, Ustinov is rather like that anyway; he does far better in the TV movies.)

In one romance series, the need to bring back so many characters resulted in the main characters utterly changing personalities. I have mentioned elsewhere that one of the few reasons I'll give up on an author isn't politics or bad writing but, rather, the betrayal of a character. In this particular case, I thoroughly adored the Jon-Donovan novels up to the last book in which suddenly the mature intelligent main characters who exhibited nuanced reactions to the world started throwing around clever put-downs about all the people they didn't like. The book wasn't a story; it was a series of Tweets. 

Pulling in characters for the sake of showing them off often, unfortunately, results in characters being a series of Tweets.

Fiction truly ultimately is about investing in individual people. (Which is why fiction simply for itself is such a threat to totalitarian states and mindsets.)  

All the Ms: Magaziner to Magorian

Magaziner, Lauren: The Only Thing Worse Than Witches is  witches and kids in the Roald Dahl tradition. I was never a huge Roald Dahl fan but I suspect he is still so popular (nearly ¼ of my students last semester chose him as the author they wanted to research) because he not only taps into topics that interest people but into an approach to life that is fundamentally atavistic: isn't life strange and random? His heirs will never fade.

Audrey Magee: The Undertaking has a fantastic opening! It’s a war novel, and I limit the number of war novels I force myself to read. (I read plenty of historical and violent non-fiction.)

The Magic Bus series is presented under “M” in the Portland Public Library. I read The Search for the Missing Bones. I learned stuff!

I generally argue that fiction should not try to improve people. However, I must say The Magic Bus series is brilliantly written, so much so I thought, as I was reading, “Boy, I wonder if some of my nursing students who have to take that horrible anatomy class, which is pure memorization, would remember things better if they read this book?”

Kekla Magoon: I tend to be warier with young adult novels these days than adult ones. However, The Minus-One Club, though it is tackles a fairly dark topic–high school kids who have lost a loved one bond with each other–is quite engaging. Like Breakfast Club, only better written and less obnoxious. It reminded me of Ryan Conall’s House of Cards. I didn’t continue and I’m not sure that one member of a couple can save another member of a couple. I nevertheless recommend it for what it is.

Michelle Magorian: I’d heard of Good Night, Mr. Tom but never read it. The story of a young boy evacuated from London during World War II who ends up with a gruff yet caring old man it is quite good. (The movie version is far too short.)  

All the Ms: How Deep Does Culture Go?

In a previous post on the Ms (the A-Z List where I try out all the fiction books in the "M" section of the library--try out as in, I read the first chapter or first 10 pages), I comment that "[s]o-called great authors are as much slaves to trends as anyone else."

The issue here is a fascinating one. It is also one that I change my mind about every time I reflect on the issue:

How much are artists a product of their time periods and how much do they transcend those time periods due to their imaginations? 

On the one hand, Shakespeare definitely reflects not only the tropes and plot ideas of contemporary (to himself) artists, Shakespeare also reflects his own culture. He reflects political and historical matters that interested his audiences and would have been common conversational gambits in the streets and taverns. And he uses the language of his world. His mindset or perspective reflects the beliefs of that time. 

On the other hand, audiences still enjoy Shakespeare today--despite changes (some changes) in customs and language and interests. His plays are remarkably translatable--not only into other languages but between mediums. Idioms and characters from Shakespeare are common fodder in many cultures. One possible reason is that people adapt easily to a variety of art forms. Another possible reason is that Shakespeare captures eternal aspects of the human condition, experiences that transcend Elizabethan and Jacobean England. 

This past semester, I distributed an article about Dickens and Poe to my Literature students. Was Dickens influenced in the writing of David Copperfield by meeting Poe? Did he use aspects of Poe's life in the creation of the character of David Copperfield? 

I chose this article for three reason:

1. To underscore that true understanding/knowledge of an author can not be AI-derived since AI does little more than perpetuate stereotypes. The author of the article, Harry Lee Poe, points out that many scholars connect Dickens to David Copperfield. However--

Jane Smiley has observed that Dickens loved David Copperfield 'as if it were his autobiography', then added insightfully in contrast or defiance of the prevailing view, 'but in fact the incidents of the novel and the incidents of Dickens' early life were quite different.' Smiley goes on to argue that David Copperfield evokes Dickens' life without relating it. (my emphasis)

2. To underscore that the author of the article is only able to argue that David Copperfield closely resembles Edgar Allan Poe by KNOWING specific information about both Dickens and Poe. Dickens and Poe did meet; in addition, Poe reviewed Dickens' work (positively!); and Dickens and Poe corresponded. Dickens later visited Poe's mother-in-law. The end of the article presents 16 points of biographical information about Poe's life. 

3. To underscore that the biography-argument approach to literature (authors are the product of their times and upbringing) is not a given. As the author states, 

Though David Copperfield has flashes of autobiographical moments, as all of Dickens's novels do, it succeeds as a novel because it is not about Dickens. He has the necessary distance from the character of David Copperfield to create a work of art - of imagination. The imagination collects up a great storehouse of experiences from which the artist creates a work of fiction. Source criticism provides a fascinating insight into the world from which a writer fashions fiction. (my emphasis)

The passage reminds me of a quote I use to begin Chapter 4 in my thesis. In Ngaio Marsh's When in Rome, Alleyn reflects:

The Van der Veghels broke into excited comment. Grant, they warmly informed him, had based the whole complex of imagery in his book upon [the well]. "As the deeper reaches of Simon's personality were explored--" on and on they went, explaining the work to its author. Alleyn, who admired the book, thought they were probably right but laid far too much insistence on an essentially delicate process of thought.

I would substitute "delicate" with "ambiguous" or "multifaceted." LOTS of conscious and unconscious elements go into forming a brain that produces a piece of art or writing, from genetics to culture to upbringing to other artists to personality to choices and, yes, imagination. 

The article about Dickens and Poe:

 Poe, Harry Lee. "Poe, Dickens, and David Copperfield: Biography – but Whose?" The Dickensian 115.509 (2019): 272. ProQuest. 

All the Ms: Madeline to Magariel

Laura Madeline: The Confectioner’s Tale: A Novel of Paris is one of many, many novels that involve a first-person narrator performing historical research. The history is presented in other chapters. Willig’s The Secret History of the Pink Carnation–which is quite fun–is of this type. So is Byatt’s Possession, which I couldn’t get into. Quite frankly, the trope needs a comedic tone for me to engage (I can read the history myself). 

Mike Maden: Blue Warrior uses the style of writing I associate with Patterson and Cussler. Straightforward, serviceable, with information packed into sentences: “A pair of dark aviators hid his world-wary blue eyes.” Not my style. But I have nothing against writers who produce this stuff and readers who truly enjoy it!

Sarah Madison: I reread Truth or Consequences quite often. It tackles the "lover can read the other lover's mind" trope with surprisingly and welcome astuteness.

Susan Madison: The Color of Hope is about yet another dysfunctional family. It isn’t fair, I believe, to not read each book for its own sake: its own narrative arc, its own underlying theme or belief system. And The Color of Hope does take place in Maine! But I don’t really understand the point of writing and reading the families-falling-apart-in-slow-motion stuff, unless it is a kind of exorcism for the reader. 

Tahereh Mafi: Furthermore is quite enchanting. I didn’t continue it since I felt, at the time, rather overwhelmed with teen books about children going off to rescue people while being misunderstood. The book is unique, however, since it presents a fantastical setting and a shrewd main character without apology. 

Daniel Magariel: One of the Boys tackles violent dysfunctional family life. Not a topic that interests me, but I was impressed that the book started with action and dialog–show, no tell–rather than someone ruminating in a bedroom about someone else in the living room and how life is ever so dreary. 

All the Ms: MacMillan to Mad Scientists

Gilly MacMillan: There’s a suspense/mystery genre in which women–mothers, daughters, sister, lovers—either end up in dangerous circumstances or go out of their way to save loved ones from dangerous circumstances. I don’t really get it, but then I don’t really get survivor memoirs either. What She Knew, about a son’s abduction told mostly from a mother’s point of view, is quite well-written. Not my cup of tea. (I would be more interested in the boy looking back on the event years later.)  

Robert MacNeil: And then there are all those famous people who turn around and write books because, I guess, that’s what famous people do. Robert MacNeil wrote Breaking News amongst others. News reporters getting excited about themselves interests me almost as much as actors getting excited about themselves. (Not at all.) On the other hand, the book begins by comparing reporters to Gadarene swine, who rush off the cliff to pursue unsubstantiated stories. I have to say: fantastic analogy! And to MacNeil's credit, he seems to have been open to a range of popular culture.

Elizabeth Macneal: Circus of Wonders is told by several characters about the circus life–including the internal competition–in the 1860s. 

Debbie Macomber: Debbie Macomber’s books fill over a shelf in the library. I chose a Christmas book, Christmas Letters. And I was reminded why I don’t read Debbie Macomber. I like romances. I like romances between everyday ordinary people. But I don’t care for her stuff. It’s not dissimilar to how I like fantasy and sci-fi yet can’t get into Andre Norton. I’m not sure what the reason is but I suspect, with Macomber, that the issue is tone. The book is supposed to be, I think, cute and warm-hearted and whimsical. I found the characters rather tiresome. Like I was supposed to be admiring how cute and warm-hearted and whimsical they were on every page.

Molly MacRae: Plaid and Plagiarism is the first book in a mystery series set in Scotland. So many mysteries! I have to get more and more selective.

The Mad Scientist’s Guide of World Domination gave me a chance to read a short story by Harry Turtledove, a sci-fi writer I know about but have never read. I don’t know if all his stories are written in the same style as “Father of the Groom”--a mad scientists turns his daughter-in-law-to-be into a literal bridezilla–but it’s an engaging style for a short piece: conversational and funny, rather like reading a comedian’s take on contemporary America.

All the Ms: Picking Up on Historical Themes

One of the fascinating aspects of reading all the Ms (perusing the first chapter or 10 pages of all adult fiction books by authors whose last names begin with M) is that I am getting a snapshot of fiction over time. 

That is, I begin to encounter certain tropes or themes within time periods. 

For instance, in the mid-twentieth-century, spy novels, including spy novels with couples, became very popular. 

I can also, somewhat unexpectedly, pinpoint a time in the early twentieth century when writing romances--fiction about couples falling in and out of love--was tackled by male as well as female writers in general fiction. That is, what constitutes marriage was on the table. 

Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte tackled the subject more than adequately in the nineteenth century. However, the twentieth century sees books such as Dodsworth by Sinclair Lewis. Even if one blathers on about realism, it is essentially a romance novel. When Katherine Mansfield wrote story after story about marriages in the 1910s, she wasn't shunted off into the "romance" genre. She was seen as edgy and modern.

I suspect the reason the subject suddenly became "modern" fodder was that divorce was more easily obtained (and people obtained it). A number of screwball comedies at the time also tackled marriages with third-party hangers-on; marriages with divorces; marriages with chatty, bantering couples (see The Thin Man series). 

Consequently, I can fairly confidently affirm that in the early 1900s, the definition and purpose of marriage was perceived as a modern topic--before it got handed back to romance novelists. It has thrived with romance novelists! But the temporary claims of modern authors prove...

So-called great authors are as much slaves to trends as anyone else.