BooksOn My Bookshelf
As a busy -- bordering on workaholic -- professional, I have scant time to read fiction for pleasure. Minor surgery in mid-August 2006 brought me some free time. I noted that my wife, Ellen, had accumulated, but not read, three books by a then-obscure young American author, Claire Messud. I picked up The Last Life and read this complex bildungsroman with mounting excitement. I immediately read the rest of Messud's published writings and announced to Ellen, "I've discovered a great new author." Not a moment too soon. A few day's later, Messud's newest book, The Emperor's Children, received a rave front-page review in the New York Times Book Review, and within a few weeks, Messud was on the fiction bestseller list -- an impressive achievement for what the media termed a "serious 39-year-old author." Messud is an original. She has an uncanny ability to write knowingly about places where she has never lived -- New York City, Bali, Russia, a remote Scottish isle -- and about characters whom she could only have invented -- a French-Algerian American family caught among several cultures. Like the great novelists of the nineteenth century, she is able to move, with seeming effortlessness, amongst the finest details of daily life, the consciousness of young persons and aged adults, and the perennial philosophical issues of life and love. Her future as a writer seems wide open, almost limitless. And to top it off, she lives with her family in Somerville, and so it would be easy to start a local fan club. The Last Life: A Novel
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