Tag Archives: Tom Carles

Book Serendipity, August to September

By Rebecca Foster on October 9, 2026 | 9 Comments

From Jennifer Croft’s superb Notes on Postcards (forthcoming in November):

I’d heard that story of Horace Walpole and the etymology of “serendipity” before. Tying together dangling threads is a good description of what I try to do with these posts, which arise from my reading.

I call it “Book Serendipity” when two or more books that I have read at the same time or in quick succession have something in common – the more bizarre, the better. This is a regular feature of mine every couple of months. Because I usually have 20–30 books on the go at once, I suppose I’m more prone to such incidents. People frequently ask how I remember all of these coincidences. The answer is: I jot them down on scraps of paper or input them immediately into a file on my PC desktop; otherwise, they would flit away!

The more accurate keyword would probably be “synchronicity,” which according to Carl Jung, who “believed in a universe of mysterious connections,” is “a meaningful coincidence in which an internal mental state somehow attracts a real-world parallel” (quotes from The Spirituality Gap by Ali Millar). An intriguing idea, that: somehow, by thinking about these ideas or details, I might be … luring repeat incidents to me?!

The following are in roughly chronological order.

What’s in a name?

Girlfriends named Maddie (in Year of the Drought by Roland Buti) and Mattie (Tom’s in Pardon Our French by Alex Durand and Tom Carles); plus a granddaughter (in The Typing Lady and Other Fictions by Ruth Ozeki) and niece (in The Land and Its People by David Sedaris) named Maddy.
A character named Hattie in Leaving the Yellow House by Saul Bellow and The Correspondent by Virginia Evans.
A character named India in Leaving the Yellow House by Saul Bellow and Family Family by Laurie Frankel (our second The Marriage Plot/Literary Wives club read this year in which the protagonist was named India, after Mrs. Bridge by Evan S. Connell).
A daughter named Rebecca in Switzy by Emma Cline and Family Family by Laurie Frankel (where she’s known as Bex); and sisters named Rebecca (known as Becks) in one story of The Rental Heart and Other Fairytales by Kirsty Logan and The Long Road to Holy Island by Austin Suggs. Those are both nicknames I’ve had, by the way. The one nickname I detest is Becky.
A mother named Monica in The Summerhouse Trilogy by Alice Thomas Ellis and Apt Pupil by Stephen King.
A Hilda in The Given World by Melissa Harrison and one story of Self-Help by Lorrie Moore.
A Clare in Under Story by Chloe Benjamin, The Leveret by Anna Goldreich and The Given World by Melissa Harrison.
A Sergio in Old Romantics by Maggie Armstrong and a Serge in So Good to See You by Francesca Hornak.
A son named Silas in Under Story by Chloe Benjamin and So Good to See You by Francesca Hornak.

Compensation for run-over chickens in Year of the Drought by Roland Buti and Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight by Alexandra Fuller.

“Enough is enough” is a slogan in The Land and Its People by David Sedaris (where it’s also an essay title) and Yellow Pine by Claire Vaye Watkins.

Telluride, Colorado features as a setting in Almost Animal by Amy Irvine and in one essay of The Land and Its People by David Sedaris.

A trip from Paris to see Chartres Cathedral in The Magician by W. Somerset Maugham and Shadow of a Man by May Sarton.

Fleeting references to the Donner Party in Yellow Pine by Claire Vaye Watkins and The Nightingales by Emil Wilson.

An essay about an Icelandic sheep ram, and the idea that one should ride geldings because they’re calmer and more reliable than mares, in Animals Taught Me Everything by Pam Houston and The Land and Its People by David Sedaris.

The protagonist’s work performance declining due to dementia, and a tweed jacket, in Switzy by Emma Cline and Luna, Phoenix, Queen by Julie Orringer. (There’s also a tweed jacket mentioned in Strange Weather in Tokyo by Hiromi Kawakami.)

German artist Käthe Kollwitz is mentioned in Seed Corn Must Not Be Ground (the title is from one of her works) by Pat Browne and The Book of Mating by Laksmi Pamuntjak.

Child brides and incestuous rape are mentioned/feature in Almost Animal by Amy Irvine and The Book of Mating by Laksmi Pamuntjak, both of which I was reading early for Foreword Reviews.

The keeping of goats in Almost Animal by Amy Irvine and American Daughter by Era Bell Thompson, both of which I was reading early for Foreword Reviews.

In August I unwittingly started rereading two books that I’d first read in April 2013 (is 13+ years the ideal interval?!): I Feel Bad about My Neck by Nora Ephron and Flush by Virginia Woolf.

Men by the name of Christmas: the narrator’s parents wanted to name him Noel (but the German state didn’t allow it?!) in Botany of Madness by Leon Engler; and a main character is named Joe Christmas in Light in August by William Faulkner.

To the narrator’s question of whether something awful has happened / they’ve done something wrong, a reply of “it very likely had but she hadn’t heard about it yet” in Our Spoons Came from Woolworths by Barbara Comyns and “Most likely. You know that better than I do” in Botany of Madness by Leon Engler.

The idea that human–animal communication/connection is deeper than that between humans because it is beyond language plays a major role in three books I read around the same time: Animals Taught Me Everything by Pam Houston, Mitz by Sigrid Nunez, and Luna, Phoenix, Queen by Julie Orringer. (The Houston and Orringer both publish on 13 October and I was reviewing them early for Shelf Awareness.)

The fact that children of alcoholics feel they have to make everything perfect to avoid conflict appears in Botany of Madness by Leon Engler and Animals Taught Me Everything by Pam Houston.

I encountered lines from the song “Closing Time” by Semisonic in Here We Are at the End by Sara Barnard (a specific reference to the pop song accompanied “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end” – which I was amused to learn is actually a quote from Seneca!) and Family Family by Laurie Frankel (“You don’t have to go home. But you can’t stay here.” – not attributed, but I can’t but think she had the song in mind.)

The stereotype of overachieving Asian Americans is mentioned or discussed in Family Family by Laurie Frankel, Miracle Creek by Angie Kim, and To Grieve Is to Carry Another Time by Matthew Salesses. There are Korean Americans in all three, and Korean children adopted into a white family in the Frankel and Salesses.

A young woman is aghast at her mother getting rid of loved pet(s) in Nightjar by Emily Ruskovich and The Nightingales by Emil Wilson (both titled after birds!)

A mention of the practice of buying single cigarettes from a city corner shop for 50 cents in Between Two Kingdoms by Suleika Jaouad and Miracle Creek by Angie Kim.

Saving turtles from the road in Yellow Pine by Claire Vaye Watkins and then a mention of someone else doing so in To Grieve Is to Carry Another Time by Matthew Salesses.

The lines “Leave as soon as you think to yourself, ‘This is a great party. I’m having a wonderful time’” from Nora Ephron’s I Feel Bad About My Neck are echoed in Emma Cline’s Switzy.

A holy well is mentioned in The Given World by Melissa Harrison and Shiver by Brigid Lowe.

A sexy pastor’s wife features in one story of Hail Mary by Funmi Fetto and The True Confessions of First Lady Freeman by Deesha Philyaw.

A flawed pearl is mentioned in Apt Pupil by Stephen King and A Desert between Two Seas by A. Muia.

A mention of hara-kiri (literal) in Death in Midsummer by Yukio Mishima and A Better Death by Jonathan Romain; and as a metaphor in What I Don’t Know about Animals by Jenny Diski.

Camel cigarettes appear in Miracle Creek by Angie Kim and Apt Pupil by Stephen King.

A woman remembers being nicknamed an “ice queen” in one story of Everest by Ashani Lewis and Plum by Hollie McNish.

A woman has to have a bowel movement in the labour ward in Old Romantics by Maggie Armstrong and Natural Disaster by Lisa Owens.

The challenge of being a mother in the film industry is discussed in Family Family by Laurie Frankel and So Good to See You by Francesca Hornak.

A three-year-old gets their own cereal breakfast in Old Romantics by Maggie Armstrong and So Good to See You by Francesca Hornak.

A woman feels guilty of neglect due to her eight-year-old son’s death in a lake in Under Story by Cloe Benjamin and The Correspondent by Virginia Evans.

A viral scandal where photographs/video footage are misconstrued to make a woman look bad in Hum by Helen Phillips and The True Confessions of First Lady Freeman by Deesha Philyaw.

A misunderstanding causes a mother to be investigated for child neglect in one story of Old Romantics by Maggie Armstrong and Hum by Helen Phillips.

Shirley Temples (the non-alcoholic cocktail) are mentioned in Idle Grounds by Krystelle Bamford and The True Confessions of First Lady Freeman by Deesha Philyaw.

A woman impulsively takes a dishwashing job in Under Story by Cloe Benjamin and Exit Party by Emily St. John Mandel.

A scene of putting out sandbags in Rattlebone by Maxine Clair and The Long Road to Holy Island by Austin Suggs.

An unwanted mince pie in Idle Grounds by Krystelle Bamford and I Remember Nothing by Nora Ephron.

A child in hospital with acute appendicitis in one story of Don’t Go to Sleep in the Dark by Celia Fremlin and Natural Disaster by Lisa Owens (and with suspected appendicitis in Shiver by Brigid Lowe).

The Tennyson poem “The Charge of the Light Brigade” is mentioned in Idle Grounds by Krystelle Bamford and Peck & Peck by Bonnie Garmus.

Having to get off an elevator at the previous floor because it doesn’t go up to the destination in Exit Party by Emily St. John Mandel and Blood Is Dripping onto the Courtyard by Elvira Navarro.

Realizing one’s bed is unmade in one story of Everest by Ashani Lewis and A Very British Midlife Crisis by Rob Temple.

Confusion over the name of a possibly abused dog (with special powers!) adopted from a shelter in Peck & Peck by Bonnie Garmus and Luna, Phoenix, Queen by Julie Orringer.

I encountered the phrase “She’s not worth it” in both Peck & Peck by Bonnie Garmus and The True Confessions of First Lady Freeman by Deesha Philyaw within 10 minutes!

Someone being pulled back into the womb in Under Story by Chloe Benjamin and Nightmares and Daydreams: A.C. 2020 by Mirko Ilić.

An apple orchard as a setting in Under Story by Chloe Benjamin and one story of Apple and Palm by Patricia Henley.

“Little Nemo in Slumberland” as an image and metaphor in Switzy by Emma Cline and Nightmares and Daydreams: A.C. 2020 by Mirko Ilić.

A lost twin sibling – lost at birth in Peck & Peck by Bonnie Garmus and H Is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald; lost later on in one story of The Rental Heart and Other Fairytales by Kirsty Logan.

A portal to another timeline, and characters who are doubles of each other, in Under Story by Chloe Benjamin and Exit Party by Emily St. John Mandel.

A lesbian couple moves to a new house and the one woman feels isolated and sad because she’s recently had a miscarriage in the debut novels The New People by Andrea Uptmor (reviewed for BookBrowse) and then The Leveret by Anna Goldreich.

Nagging a woman to use lotion on her hands as they’re the first place to show signs of ageing in Hum by Helen Phillips and one story of Moderate to Poor, Occasionally Good by Eley Williams.

A couple of visual ones:

I was reading The Land and Its People by David Sedaris at the same time as Country People by Daniel Mason, one of whose blurbs happens to borrow Sedaris’s title phrase.

I was reading Botany of Madness by Leon Engler and encountered this passage on the day of the solar eclipse in Europe (12 August):

What’s the weirdest reading coincidence you’ve had lately?

Posted in: book serendipity | Tagged: A. Muia, Abi Millar, alcoholism, Alex Durand, Alexandra Fuller, Alfred Tennyson, Alice Thomas Ellis, Amy Irvine, Andrea Uptmor, Angie Kim, Anna Goldreich, Ashani Lewis, Austin Suggs, Barbara Comyns, Bonnie Garmus, book serendipity, Brigid Lowe, Celia Fremlin, Chartres Cathedral, chickens, Chloe Benjamin, Claire Vaye Watkins, Colorado, Daniel Mason, David Sedaris, Deesha Philyaw, dementia, dogs, eclipse, Eley Williams, Elvira Navarro, Emil Wilson, Emily Ruskovich, Emily St. John Mandel, Emma Cline, Era Bell Thompson, Evan S. Connell, Foreword Reviews, Francesca Hornak, Funmi Fetto, goats, Helen Macdonald, Helen Phillips, Hiromi Kawakami, Hollie McNish, Horace Walpole, horses, Icelandic sheep, Jennifer Croft, Jenny Diski, Jonathan Romain, Julie Orringer, Käthe Kollwitz, Kirsty Logan, Korean, Krystelle Bamford, Laksmi Pamuntjak, Laurie Frankel, Leon Engler, Lisa Owens, Lorrie Moore, Maggie Armstrong, Matthew Salesses, Maxine Clair, May Sarton, Melissa Harrison, Mirko Ilić, miscarriage, Nora Ephron, Pam Houston, Pat Browne, rereading, Rob Temple, Roland Buti, Ruth Ozeki, Sara Barnard, Saul Bellow, Semisonic, Seneca, Sigrid Nunez, Stephen King, Suleika Jaouad, The Marriage Plot, Tom Carles, twins, Virginia Evans, Virginia Woolf, W. Somerset Maugham, William Faulkner, Yukio Mishima

Paris in July, III: Dundy, Maugham, Sarton Novels; Nonfiction by Durand & Carles, Gopnik

By Rebecca Foster on July 31, 2026 | 20 Comments

All in all, I’ve reviewed 13 books (a mix of fiction and nonfiction) for #ParisInJuly2026; see also Part I and Part II. It’s been such a fun escapist project for the summer – thanks to Emma of Words and Peace for hosting! I’m squeaking in at the last minute with a final set of five made up of a few obscure classics and two sets of essays that veer between autobiographical reflection and social observation, with a bit of self-help thrown in. A shared theme this time is differences between the USA (or England) and France. Here’s a quick paragraph on each.

Fiction

The Dud Avocado by Elaine Dundy (1958)

“The world is wide, wide, wide and I am young, young, young, and we’re all going to live forever!”

Sally Jay Gorce is determined to live it up in Paris. After all, now that she’s lost her passport, it doesn’t look like she’ll be going back to the States any time soon. With her dyed-pink hair, self-deprecating sense of humour, and heavily notched bedpost, she’s an endearing and impulsive protagonist. She’s always falling in and out of love and embarking on new projects, from acting on stage or as a film extra to posing as a painter’s model. I found her turns of phrase amusing – “To my chagrin, I found all my clothes … splitting themselves resolutely up into three categories: Tyrolean Peasant, Bar Girl, and Dreaded Librarian”; “It was dessert now, and I was deserting” – but did weary a bit of the meandering plot. This work of autofiction seems ahead of its time what with the protagonist’s promiscuity. I’ve always been intrigued about the title and learned that it arises from a love interest’s likening of American girls to avocados (“A hard centre with the tender meat all wrapped up in a shiny casing … so eternally green”) plus his mishearing of Sally Jay’s “dead” for “dud.” Somewhere on a continuum between I Capture the Castle and Nina Stibbe, this comic novel was a pleasant distraction. (Secondhand – Community Furniture Project, Newbury)

A linking passage: “Boy, we met a real nut on the beach today. A skinny young American with a fierce black moustache called Hugo McCarthy. He’d just left the South of France a couple of days ago, where he’d been kicked out of Somerset Maugham’s villa in Cap Ferrat for the third time.”

The Magician by W. Somerset Maugham (1908)

“There’s no place like Paris for meeting queer folk.”

Who knew Maugham tried his hand at supernatural horror? The nearest thing I’d read from him before was Up at the Villa, a suspense novella. An autobiographical fragment preceding the text explains that Oliver Haddo, the villain of the piece, was inspired by a poet Maugham met in Paris, Aleister Crowley, who dabbled in Satanism and the occult. Arthur Burdon, an English surgeon in Paris, is engaged to marry Margaret Dauncey. Margaret’s roommate, Susie Boyd, is fascinated by Haddo, who looms large in personality and body. Margaret, on the other hand, says, “I’ve never met a man who filled me with such loathing.” Arthur and others of their acquaintance don’t know whether to take him seriously or not. This means that they underestimate the threat he poses to their happiness – and perhaps their lives. It’s rare to encounter a story of demon possession these days, and hard to know quite what to make of it. I found this reasonably compelling but melodramatic, plus it felt distasteful how Haddo’s weight increases to match his evil. Do read Maugham if you haven’t yet – he is reliably readable and a number of his works are short – but maybe not this one first. (Secondhand – 2nd & Charles)

Shadow of a Man by May Sarton (1950)

I’d not heard of Sarton’s third novel before I picked it up at random in a used bookstore. For those of us who discovered Sarton through her journals or poetry, I suspect her fiction will always fall short. The psychology of her characters’ relationships tends to lack subtlety, and plotting isn’t always her forté. I enjoyed this one well enough, probably because I could relate to the main character’s feeling of being adrift after his mother’s sudden death. After the funeral is over and done with, twenty-six-year-old Francis Chabrier decides to spend the summer in Paris. He’s half-French and thinks some time away from Boston might do him good. Except when he gets there he promptly falls in love with a family friend, Solange, and that’s complicated because she’s a 45-year-old widow whose late husband was shattered by his time in a concentration camp. It’s clear their romance will be short-lived. Francis’s stepfather, Alan, describes the young man as “a comet on the loose,” and the purpose of the months in Paris seems to be to set him on a more stable course. It grated that Solange is portrayed as almost an old lady (I’m only just over two years off her age now!), and that their affair only serves as a prelude to a more sensible relationship back home. However, the Paris setting (and coastal Maine later on) is delicious, and I marked out plenty of lines about Francis and his mother’s family dynamic. (Secondhand – Wonder Book & Video, Hagerstown)

Nonfiction

Pardon Our French: Parisian Lessons for a Happier Life by Alex Durand and Tom Carles with Allie Kingsley Baker (2026)

Durand and Carles moved to the USA to play college soccer and went viral on social media for their “AT Frenchies” videos about French language and culture. (I’ve not actually seen any.) Although they’ve come to admire aspects of the American lifestyle, such as ambition and individualism, they still prize traditionally French values of curiosity, privacy and a more relaxed approach to time management. Chapters on romance, food, style, friendships, green living, the arts and rituals bring out the best of what France has to offer. “L’histoire d’Alex” and “L’histoire de Tom” memoir sections alternate with more generic self-help advice. I expect Baker had a lot to do with the vernacular prose, which can be slick and clichéd. Still, it’s a good-natured, chatty book and it’s always worthwhile to be reminded to live in the moment, savour small pleasures, and insist on quality.

To be published by Penguin Life on September 8. (Read via Edelweiss)

Paris to the Moon by Adam Gopnik (2000)

Longtime New Yorker writer Gopnik lived in Paris in 1995–2000 with his wife and young son; their daughter was born just before they left to return to New York City. Like other New Yorker regulars such as Elizabeth Kolbert and Susan Orlean, he is an excellent essayist. His book on French cuisine is a favourite of mine, and on this reread I most appreciated the pieces on food, and the general observations on being an expat:

Fish and plugs are the two great differences, the two things that are never quite alike from country to country. … This can shake you up, this business of things almost but not quite being the same. A pharmacy is not quite a drugstore; a brasserie is not quite a coffee shop

We have a beautiful existence in Paris, but not a full life, and in New York we have a full life and an unbeautiful existence. (= his wife’s conclusion)

everything about moving to France has been wonderful, and everything about emigrating to France difficult.

That summary of French bureaucracy, so at odds with the cultural experience of living in Paris, reminds me of what David Lebovitz has to say on the subject. There is too much about politics and sports in this book for me, but I loved his close attention to his son’s development and the customs they create around Christmas but also in the everyday, such as an ongoing bedtime story about a baseball player (“The Rookie”) and cake and hot chocolate after swimming. (Secondhand – 2nd & Charles)

My original rating (2016):

My rating now:

Some apt quotes about Paris I encountered this month:

Adam Gopnik: “Paris in July is pretty much left to the tourists and the people who look after them” & “Perhaps in the end this is why Paris is ‘romantic.’ It marries both the voluptuous and restricted.”

David Lebovitz: “Like New Yorkers, Parisians have a complicated relationship to their city. They appreciate the beauty and excitement, but as Romain told me, Paris is dur (hard). That things aren’t easy—l’administration, the neighbors, the brusqueness, the fact that it’s not a perfect place—is what he likes about Paris.”

May Sarton: “I think Paris makes everyone wise … All Americans fall in love with Paris. It’s the coup de foudre.”

Overall favourites: the whole of my first batch!

Almost Life by Kiran Millwood Hargrave
My Year in Paris with Gertrude Stein & Real Estate by Deborah Levy
Moveable Feasts by Chris Newens

Posted in: Fiction Reviews, Nonfiction Reviews | Tagged: Adam Gopnik, Aleister Crowley, Alex Durand, Allie Kingsley Baker, Boston, Elaine Dundy, essays, France, French, grief, May Sarton, memoirs, New Yorker, Paris, Paris in July, rereading, self-help, soccer, Tom Carles, W. Somerset Maugham

Book Serendipity, June to July

By Rebecca Foster on July 25, 2026 | 27 Comments

Life can have odd confluences. Esme will not say serendipity: she loathes the word. But sometimes she thinks there must be something at work, some impulse, some collision of forces, some kinks in chronology.

~The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox by Maggie O’Farrell

Unlike Esme Lennox, I love the word serendipity! You probably know by now that I call it “Book Serendipity” when two or more books that I read at the same time or in quick succession have something in common – the more bizarre, the better. This is a regular feature of mine every couple of months. Because I usually have 20–30 books on the go at once, I suppose I’m more prone to such incidents. People frequently ask how I remember all of these coincidences. The answer is: I jot them down on scraps of paper or input them immediately into a file on my PC desktop; otherwise, they would flit away!

Thanks to Kay for posting about her own book serendipity moments here!