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I downloaded Siri Hustvedt’s The Summer Without Men as part of a Kindle promotion ages ago and then forgot about it. The other day, I noticed it sitting there unread and opened it up. And I actually really loved it.

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I say it that way, with a bit of surprise, because if I got super analytical about it, there are certain aspects of the book that I shouldn’t have liked. For one, the narrator occasionally directly addresses the reader–“Dear Reader”-style–which was, on the surface, sort of annoying. But the narrator, Mia, is a poet and a reader, and references books like Middlemarch, Jane Austin’s entire oeuvre (nearly), and The Golden Bowl, so the antiquated literary convention made thematic sense. There’s also an entire mystery in the book that, I think, goes unsolved. Did I miss something? No, I don’t think so. It was maybe not supposed to matter, in the end, who Mia’s strange email stalker, Mr. Nobody, was–or maybe he was just that, a nobody email stalker. But, man, I wanted to know! Was that part of the point? Maybe.  Read the rest of this entry »

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