![]() ![]() My line is that it is - and my meta-line is that the novel celebrates utopianism in both love and politics. The question we try to address on the podcast is whether the central relationship in “Mating,” which follows a pair of anthropologists in an egalitarian and matriarchal commune in the Kalahari Desert (a conceit every bit as incredible as it sounds), is even briefly perfect. This time around, I was preparing for a podcast on it that will come out next month. I recently read Norman Rush’s gloriously extravagant novel “ Mating” for the fifth or sixth time (I’ve lost count). Its superficial pleasures - expertly paced scenes, biting dialogue, a Hall of Fame last line - are first-rate the articulateness of its prescience about American involvement in Vietnam and the rest of the world is astonishing. “Backlisted” inspired me to read “ The Quiet American,” as well-known as any of Greene’s books, and for good reason. I’d read a couple of Greene’s novels many moons ago, but I own several others that I’ve been meaning to get to for a while, and I’m reaching an age when “meaning to get to” starts to sound a little spooky. The show recently returned from a well-deserved hiatus - “Welcome to the first in what we are calling our third season,” the team wrote on its website, “(the first one lasted for 109 episodes, the second a mere 68).” The first show back was about Graham Greene and, uncharacteristically, divided its focus among multiple books. It combines enthusiasm, discernment and even erudition in a completely convivial way. There are few things I love more than the podcast “Backlisted,” in which co-hosts Andy Miller and John Mitchinson have extended conversations with guests about books, frequently obscure ones. This reads like a darker, often tougher version of Lisa McGee’s TV series “Derry Girls,” but with the same heart of gold. Although grief hangs over her family and the threat of violence keeps the whole town on edge, Maeve and her pals are determined to have a life. In addition to the drudgery of the work and the sexual aggression of her English supervisor, there’s the abiding shock of working right alongside Protestants, with all their alien ways. As Maeve waits for her high school exam results and fantasizes about the life she’ll lead in college, she takes a miserable ironing job in a local shirt factory. This time around, Gallen tells the hilariously frank story of Maeve Murray, a teenager in Northern Ireland during the Troubles. Fortunately, my wife and my younger daughter read it, and their praise made me realize what a mistake I’d made. I enjoyed Michelle Gallen’s debut novel, “Big Girl, Small Town,” immensely, but last fall when her second book, “ Factory Girls,” came to America, I foolishly skipped it. ![]()
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