May Reading Wrap-up
A Month of Learning
My May Bookshelf:
The Correspondent, Virginia Evans. Borrowed Hardback
Some Tame Gazelle, Barbara Pym. Hoopla Audiobook
In Other Words, Jhumpa Lahiri, translated from Italian by Ann Goldstein. Libby Audiobook
Rhyme’s Rooms: The Architecture of Poetry, Brad Leithauser. Paperback
The Belly of Paris (Le Ventre de Paris), Emile Zola, translated from French by Ernest Alfred Vizetelly. Audiobook
Paris in Ruins: Love, War and the Birth of Impressionism, Sebastian Smee. Hoopla Audiobook
I’m sure you’ve heard loads about The Correspondent; perhaps you’ve even read it yourself. I’m happy it won the 2026 Women’s Prize for Fiction, a distinction that is apt and well-deserved.
It’s apt because of its portrayal of the diverse facets of a woman’s life, explored through letters its main character, Sybil van Antwerp, wrote to those willing to correspond.
Things I loved: Emphasis on letter writing. Her neighbor, Theodore. The distinct voices of each and every character in this pile of letters—meaning the novel’s rich character development. The flawed protagonist. The complexity of her life. The authorial delight in intelligence! I loved all these things—A LOT.
I’ve written an epistolary story (12,000 words.) It’s challenging to deliver the interiority and action a reader expects simply by looking over the shoulders of two pen pals. Eavesdropping distances the reader from the action. By its nature, it is “telling.” But because Evans tells the story episodically, with loads of challenges and complications, she manages to deftly TELL Sybil’s story and keep it engaging.
However, it’s not a perfect novel and here are my writerly critiques.
Even after a character becomes Sybil’s close friend, the two continue to communicate only by letter despite near physical proximity. I did not find that a realistic portrayal of how real humans would conduct themselves. Without it, the epistolary structure would collapse, so I just went with it. I noticed the authorial hand on occasion, meaning the author included details in the letters it is likely both correspondents already knew and would not need to explain to the other. One important story line, (which I don’t want to spoil for you) just didn’t ring true. What I will say about it is that the cartoonish voice and the actions of that antagonist were not developed to the sophisticated level of her other characters. Of course, other readers may feel differently.
Sybil’s tale reminded me of a line from “All About Eve.” After Eve makes up sob story to ingratiate herself to a bunch of theatre folks, the star’s working-class assistant, Bertie, says knowingly, “Everything but the bloodhounds snappin’ at her rear end.” Poor Sybil van Antwerp is pitted against every possible calamity! They seemed plausible enough while reading it, but when I verbally summarized the “plot” for someone else, I realized just how much was lobbed her way. She would just dodge one and another would come at her. I tried to evaluate the stakes. If she doesn’t succeed, what does she risk? Despite all the adversity, I came up empty on that question.
As a reader, I care little about high stakes in stories. But every craft book lectures we-writers about how vital stakes are to good storytelling. Agents and publishers are keenly attuned to them during the query and submission process. If you like thrillers or suspense, the lack of stakes might mean that The Correspondent won’t hold your attention. But readers like myself, who enjoy a good yarn full of heart, won’t miss them.
I relished the brainy qualities of Sybil and her circle of correspondents. She and her best friend tell each other about the books they are reading. She corresponds with big-name authors. She fights to be able to audit college classes. She lunches with the Dean as a result of her crusade. Her associates are brainy too: a computer tech, a socially awkward but inventive young man who shows promise as a writer, a neighbor with whom she shares an obsession on gardening and The Arts. Her kids and her brother have smart careers and are worldly. She, herself, is a retired lawyer. The book depicts intellectual curiosity as a virtue, not as a nerdy isolating blemish, nor as a highfalutin barrier. Throughout her life, Sybil considered her actions and made her choices accordingly. She continues to reflect, process, and decide future actions. This is a refreshing change from characters who are reactive or worse yet, steam-rolled by life’s relentless bowling balls.
Despite its imperfections, The Correspondent a very good read. It shows the human condition—the way we self sabotage and punish, cut ourselves off from joy. It shows how tiny repeated actions can break down walls. It’s a story about family, love, friendship, words, and what matters most. It would be a shame if you didn’t get to know Sybil van Antwerp and her many correspondents. 4 stars and 2026 Women’s Prize for Fiction Winner!
Some Tame Gazelle is a slice of life novel about two spinster sisters in a small English town. One, Belinda Bede, harbors a secret passion for the local Archdeacon, a married man. The writing is a delight. The sisterly sniping, the worries, chores and fashions are well drawn. A slow, barely discernible plot exists, but is utterly secondary to the character development and scenes. A quick Google search informed me that the title reflects the novel’s core theme: the human need for affection and the sometimes absurd objects of our devotion. It references “Something to Love,” a poem by Thomas Haynes Bayly, “Some tame gazelle, or some gentle dove: Something to love, oh, something to love!” This is the predominant theme in the book. I enjoyed the reading experience and the way the theme was explored.
In the end, this classic (published in 1950) feels sweetly forgettable. Still, it’s a great choice for a low-stakes classic with lovely sentences, that will sometimes make you chuckle. I enjoyed my time with it. And, at about 250 pages, it’s an easy length. 3 stars.
In Other Words is the first book American-born writer Jhumpa Lahiri wrote entirely in Italian. It also happens to be her first foray in autobiographical content. It is about her transformation into becoming an Italian writer, but it also touches on themes of identity and isolation. My Kindle edition included both the text in Italian and the text translated into English (which is the version I read.)
You can see Lahiri’s brilliant mind working, although she doesn’t always express her thoughts as swiftly or as adeptly as she does in her magnificent short stories. Still, it’s a poetic attempt at memoir. I’ve learned a European language and it’s no small feat. I have written multiple haikus in French and one longer essay but aside from those and a few academic texts and letters to my friends, I’m not a French writer. I have never tried to express subtleties the way Lahiri does. But like her, I have found a half dozen words for the same object and carefully chosen the one I thought was the best, only to find my French friends laughing at my choice, because it was too outdated or the context was off.
In Other Words is a deep dive into learning a language. If you haven’t experienced that particular type of agony, it might not interest you at all. Lahiri is careful to create a story arc and a major change occurs in our protagonist. Still, it is not a page turner. For as much as she did share, I wanted to see more through Lahiri’s eyes. I wanted to understand why she put herself through it. Because I enjoyed it and it was compact, 4 stars; but this 4-star won’t be everybody’s cup of tea.
I devoured the first 200 pages of Rhyme’s Rooms: The Architecture of Poetry—absolutely loved it. Highlighted favorite passages, took notes, looked up new vocabulary words. I occasionally dabble in poetry, try to express some ephemeral idea, often miss the mark. The first half felt like I was reading the MFA notes of all the poets whom I admire with awe. On those pages were the insider-poet-stuff, hacks of a kind, that create meter, rhythm, and rhyme.
However, the book stalled for me and never quite grabbed hold of me again. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy the second half. I did. But here’s what shifted.
Like all of us, Leithauser has his favorite poets and, especially in the second half, he trots them out, in a few lines or perhaps a stanza. We rarely have the treat of an entire poem, although if you are so inclined you can find them online. He clearly appreciates both e e cummings and Elizabeth Bishop. Me too, and his snippets left me wanting complete verses. He dedicates an entire chapter to Gerard Manley Hopkins (which made me miss my man, Walt Whitman!) Another chapter covered the pop lyrics of the music of Leithauser’s generation. Obviously, all authors must make tough choices about what to omit and include. But I thought there were massive oversights: Seamus Heaney, Maya Angelou, Billy Collins, Ruth Stone, Allan Ginsberg to name but five.
Leithauser poses that the architecture of poetry relies on rhyme, rhythm and meter. He mentions free verse but spends very little time on it. I would like to know more about the architecture of free verse. Why does Mary Oliver stagger her stanzas like a staircase? What does that do for the reader? What about poems which can be read both vertically and horizontally? I was hoping the second half of the book would include some tips, prompts, or inspiring launches to help would-be writers try some of the things presented in the first half. Sadly, that was not Leithauser’s intent.
The book is surprisingly entertaining. Leithauser has a witty sense of humor and writes beautifully. Often, he plays with his sentences the way he says poets do, and those moments were charming Easter eggs to find. Much of the book feels academic but really-FUN!-academic. Still, I’m afraid I may not have retained much of those scholarly gems. But I hope this book will inspire in my own attempts, more near rhyme and off rhyme in its various forms.
Overall, mashing together how much I enjoyed it, the glaring omissions, the meandering second half, the lack of DIY exercises, the incredible bounty of poetic terms and poetry research, the skill of the writing, I’m going to give Rhyme’s Rooms 3.75 stars, and add that I hope he writes a sequel.
Warning: the Vizetelly translation I read of The Belly of Paris was a slog. One must tolerate chapter after chapter of sensual purple prose, mostly about food, but also about bosoms, lips, or interior decorating. Normally, I enjoy 19th century description and sensual detail—but this was too much.
The story opens with our protagonist, Florent, dragging himself along a country road toward Paris. He is rescued by Mme Francois, a vegetable merchant headed to Les Halles, who secrets him in her wagon. He has escaped from Devil’s Island, off the coast of French Guiana (South America,) so Florent’s escape and unseen seven-year journey to Paris (between 1851-1858) is extraordinary. He is nearly starved, and for several chapters, surrounded by the tempting food stalls of the market. He re-connects and bunks in with his brother and his sister-in-law who run a butcher shop. They help him land a temporary position as a Fish Inspector, overseeing catty fishwives and the fair exchange of their goods. The fishwives eye his every move, spread rumors, see nefarious doings where none exist. This is the plot, and it is entertaining, but mostly you are waist-deep in descriptions reeling as though you’ll be sucked under at any moment. Several times I wanted to DnF it.
I’m so glad I did not. Florent makes a friend, an artist named Claude. Keep in mind, Emile Zola was in the social circle with Edouard Manet, leading up to and through the Siege of Paris. About two-thirds of the way through the novel, Claude pontificates and articulates the main ideas Zola is trying to show through his storytelling. Claude classifies all people into two camps: “the fat or the thin.” He then explains the differences between the two and assigns his classifications to Florent and their acquaintances. From that point until the end, the book takes on a deeper meaning. It no longer is just a story of petty gossips maligning a man. It’s a deeper story about the differences in humanity, a commentary that is resonant today. It isn’t quite a 4-star read because reading it was such a labor. But there is much to love about this book: its memorable characters, the mid-19th century portrayal of Paris, the rising political tension, not to mention Zola’s place as commentator on political and artistic history. It was published in 1873, just two years after the collapse of The Paris Commune and it is the third in a series of 20 novels. 3.5 stars.
Sebastian Smee is an art critique who won The Pulitzer for Criticism for his writings on art for the Boston Globe in 2011. I’ve wanted to read Paris in Ruins: Love, War and the Birth of Impressionism for a couple of years. After Zola’s Belly of Paris, reading about the influence on the French art world of the Siege of Paris and the Paris Commune (1870-1871) seemed fitting. Last year I read The Judgment of Paris: The Revolutionary Decade that Gave The World Impressionism (R King, also non-fiction. Link takes you to my July 2025 review.)
The three books were absolutely in dialog with one another. However, the reading experiences were entirely different. I tore through Paris in Ruins! Smee writes a narrative that centers on an impossible love story. We meet various characters, understand their choices. If the narrative has a protagonist, I’d say it is Berthe Marisot, a lady painter at a time when women artists were not taken seriously. Marisot’s best supporting actor was Edouard Manet. Their city, and their way of life, rapidly disintegrates around them. Deprivation and fear change the attitudes and positions of those in their circle. They survive but are traumatized. And their artwork, and like all artists’ artwork, reflects their experiences.
While it is true that this type of contextual art history book is catnip for me, I think anyone with even a minor interest in either impressionism or French history would find this book riveting. It is not a book that requires the examination of old paintings, although it is a pleasure to do so. I loved my time with this book. 5 stars.
I am participating in both the 2026 Read Good Challenge and the 2026 Savidge Prompts. Both of these challenges are available on The StoryGraph.
Read Good Challenge for May (“Mayd to last”)—a book published before 2000.
My Choice: Le Ventre de Paris, E Zola (but truth is, I usually read books that are 25 years or older.)
Savidge Prompts for May—”Age”
My Choice: Some Tame Gazelle, B Pym.
Reading In Other Words by Jhumpa Lahiri satisfies reading for AAPI month. I hoped to read Raising Hare by Chloe Dalton in honor of Pets and Animals Month but I’ve been unsuccessful in borrowing a copy from my library.
I DnF’d Helm, by Sarah Hall, after just three or four chapters. I don’t know about you, but I find it terribly disappointing when I DnF. I’d been looking forward to Hall’s personification of England’s only named wind, the fierce wind from Cumbrian named, “Helm.” Unfortunately, Hall attempts this by creating an ancient neolithic world. My understanding from the blurb is that she later connects this vignette with a few others, each set during different epochs. But the first one was so hard to follow and accept, that I gave up on it. Such a cool idea. Bummer.
I began my Big Books of Summer reading shortly after Memorial Day. I’ve started with the most intimidating—Don Quixote. I’ve chosen the John Rutherford translation although I also sampled and liked the Edith Grossman version, too. Wish me luck. It may take me all summer to get through it. Have you thought about what big book (400+ pages) you are going to tackle this summer? Lonesome Dove (L McMurtry), Les Miserables (V Hugo), Great Big Beautiful Life (E Henry), Flashlight (S Choi), Pachinko (M J Lee), The Last Samurai (H DeWitt)? Or pick up, the 2026 Women’s prize for NON-Fiction winner, The Finest Hotel in Kabul: A People’s History of Afghanistan (L Doucet). It, too qualifies—and you have all summer to read it!
Happy Reading!