Oh Lisbeth. As my grandmother would say, you poor, poor thing. I know you really can't make better-- or even different-- choices, but I keep holding out some hope.
I'm glad that Lisbeth Salander is more human in "The Girl Who Played with Fire", the second of the Millennium Trilogy. She feels empathy and guilt, as opposed to operating solely on animal instinct and base survival skills. We discover that her behavior can't be simply labeled as Asperger's, it's deeper, more evil, more sinister. While I admired her independence and spirit in the face of adversity in the first book, now I just want to heal her and make her better. Be dull, but be well.
Blomkvist, on the other hand... I was cheering him on in the first book, but he's an annoying know-it-all in the second. I missed Berger and wished she had a greater role instead of checking out. And I can't keep track of all the detectives and officers and consultants. Character list, please?
I don't own the third book (in a moment of thriftiness, I only bought the first two books thinking that, if I didn't like the series, I'd put off buying the pricier hardcovered third). Whichever bookstore opens the earliest today might have me as a customer.
August 31, 2010
August 30, 2010
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Stieg Larsson
I had resisted reading "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" because of the subject matter (rape, incest, brutality, murder, etc.). I'm well aware of the horrors of those subjects and just don't find any entertainment in watching or reading those kinds of fictionalized tales. However, I also hate preaching from a soap box without being more fully informed. (Well, to be perfectly honest, I'm ok with it, but there are simply too many smart people in my life who like to question such opinions.) Enough people have praised Stieg Larsson's writing and complex plots, so I decided it was time to give him a shot.
They are all correct. After about 20 pages, I was gripped by the plot. I would write more about "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo", but that would take me away from reading the second book in the Millennium Trilogy. I'm pretty fixated on finding out what happens (and have somehow managed to avoid all discussions and reviews of the final outcome). But, now halfway through the whole trilogy, I have to agree with Tom Matlack and others who question whether Larsson's books get people talking about violence against women or are simply entertainment. But I still have another 800 pages or so to go...
They are all correct. After about 20 pages, I was gripped by the plot. I would write more about "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo", but that would take me away from reading the second book in the Millennium Trilogy. I'm pretty fixated on finding out what happens (and have somehow managed to avoid all discussions and reviews of the final outcome). But, now halfway through the whole trilogy, I have to agree with Tom Matlack and others who question whether Larsson's books get people talking about violence against women or are simply entertainment. But I still have another 800 pages or so to go...
August 26, 2010
The French Lieutenant's Woman, John Fowles
Reading Challenge #1: Accepted, endured, enjoyed and completed.
My first 100 pages of "The French Lieutenant's Woman" was filled with memories of my high school English classes, particularly freshman and senior year. These were the years I (re)read Thomas Hardy, Charlotte Bronte, Jane Austen, DH Lawrence, George Eliot. Fowles' book (published in 1969) mimics the overdose of imagery, landscape and detail so commonly found in 19th and early 20th century literature and, of course, is set in the English countryside in the 1860s. He duplicates the cadence so well that it brought to mind a writing exercise I did in ninth grade, writing a letter in the style of Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre. Of course, mine was two handwritten pages, and Fowles pulls it off in nearly 500 typewritten (but mine was pretty darn good, I have to say, for a 13 year old). It was hard to focus on the text while my mind was drifting off remembering CP listing Victorian slang on the blackboard or JB making us sit by the marsh while he read us passages on meadows and landscapes.
But, as always happens, the story took hold of me (this time at around page 250) and I followed the narrator along the dirt paths, steep inclines, carriage roads and hayfields to learn more about Charles, Sarah and Ernestina. I appreciated the twist of the narrator becoming an active character in the plot, shaking up a predictable ending. Brendan was right: TFLW combines many of my literary favorites, the English countryside, a smart alec servant, a beaten but strong woman. But there was also a hint of the summer fun of a Choose Your Own Adventure gamebook. "Do you think the Sam delivered the brooch to Sarah? If so, turn to page 417. Do you think Sam kept the brooch to finance his dream job? If so, turn to page 423." (Brendan: note the obscure but pivotal reference to the plot. See, I did read it all.) Wisely, Fowles refrained from treading too far down that path. (Incidentally, I read an adult book written in the CYOA style about a year ago. I can't for the life of me remember the title or author, but it was published recently. The goal was to see how far into the book you could get before you, the character, reached the end of your life. Help, anyone?)
Well chosen, Brendan. And the movie has now been added to my Netflix queue. Dan's gonna love it, right?
My first 100 pages of "The French Lieutenant's Woman" was filled with memories of my high school English classes, particularly freshman and senior year. These were the years I (re)read Thomas Hardy, Charlotte Bronte, Jane Austen, DH Lawrence, George Eliot. Fowles' book (published in 1969) mimics the overdose of imagery, landscape and detail so commonly found in 19th and early 20th century literature and, of course, is set in the English countryside in the 1860s. He duplicates the cadence so well that it brought to mind a writing exercise I did in ninth grade, writing a letter in the style of Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre. Of course, mine was two handwritten pages, and Fowles pulls it off in nearly 500 typewritten (but mine was pretty darn good, I have to say, for a 13 year old). It was hard to focus on the text while my mind was drifting off remembering CP listing Victorian slang on the blackboard or JB making us sit by the marsh while he read us passages on meadows and landscapes.
But, as always happens, the story took hold of me (this time at around page 250) and I followed the narrator along the dirt paths, steep inclines, carriage roads and hayfields to learn more about Charles, Sarah and Ernestina. I appreciated the twist of the narrator becoming an active character in the plot, shaking up a predictable ending. Brendan was right: TFLW combines many of my literary favorites, the English countryside, a smart alec servant, a beaten but strong woman. But there was also a hint of the summer fun of a Choose Your Own Adventure gamebook. "Do you think the Sam delivered the brooch to Sarah? If so, turn to page 417. Do you think Sam kept the brooch to finance his dream job? If so, turn to page 423." (Brendan: note the obscure but pivotal reference to the plot. See, I did read it all.) Wisely, Fowles refrained from treading too far down that path. (Incidentally, I read an adult book written in the CYOA style about a year ago. I can't for the life of me remember the title or author, but it was published recently. The goal was to see how far into the book you could get before you, the character, reached the end of your life. Help, anyone?)
Well chosen, Brendan. And the movie has now been added to my Netflix queue. Dan's gonna love it, right?
August 22, 2010
My Lifelong Link with Sylvia Plath
Of all the places where I keep my books (shelves, tables, baskets, bags, piles; my husband would say mostly piles), I only have one small set of bookshelves that are untouched by small hands. (My sons love to play a game called bookstore, where they stack as many books as possible onto the treadmill/conveyer belt, "scan" them, then stack them in teetering piles on a nearby bench. They have yet to learn how to return books to the proper place in the proper alignment. I'm sure they will learn this skill in preschool.) The books in my smallest bookcase are still organized by category, from short stories, collections, and plays to biographies and autobiographies.
Today, taking a cue from Brendan, I searched the depths of this bookcase in an attempt to find something to read (other than TFLW). For some reason, it's taken me 20 years to see the humor of what I rediscovered this morning:
This is the high school English Literature award I received in my senior year. Instead of trophies, our school awarded books related to the field of study, selected by the teachers with the recipient in mind. My book, chosen with care by the Head of the English Department was...
Judging from the dog earred pages, I've read it more than once. Good luck at college, Kerry!
August 20, 2010
Do You Think You're a Terrible Mother? Feel Better with Anne Tyler!
"Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant" with other books I hope to read. Note the sultriness!Alas, no. Tyler subtly switches perspective and we realize that the mother, besides being the resourceful and loving woman we met in the first chapter, has reservoirs of fear and cruelty she regularly unleashes on her children. This is a book that shows Motherhood is Hard, and not Motherhood is Hard in a Tom Perotta "I-forgot-the-juicebox" kind of way, but in a I'm-So-Overwhelmed-By-Responsibility-I-Whacked-My-Three-Year-Old's-Face-Into-Her-Beatrix-Potter-Plate" kind of way. Needless to say, reading about such an unhappy family was kind of a slog.
Tyler pulls no punches and presents a bunch of people who have never really recovered from their past and probably never will. The kids hurt themselves and each other, periodically achieving periods of grace. I was aware that so many other writers and filmmakers have covered this territory since ("August: Osage County," "Interiors," "Six Feet Under") that I wasn't as entranced with the book as I would have if I had read it when it first came out. But Tyler's writing is beautifully precise and she crafts a humdinger of a closing paragraph. But the promise of the cover (who was that lady supposed to be anyway, 1982 Graphic Designer? Pearl? Her daughter? And if so, who was the dude behind her? Her brother? You're disgusting and terrible at your job) was never achieved and I shall have to hunt elsewhere for my summer escapist fare.
Me reading backstage. I was probably listening to speed-reading tapes.
August 19, 2010
Invoking the ISBN rule: Duxbury...Past and Present
I know, I know: our reading republic is rallying behind Brendan, hoping that he spends his time in Edinburgh reading instead of performing. Hoping that he's been stockpiling posts, that maybe tomorrow (or at least the day after tomorrow), he'll add 20 titles to his log. A more compassionate sister might focus more on epic tomes, or simply stop posting entirely.
Alas, we never determined skunk rules in our reading program, and I love my brother too much to deny him fierce competition to the end. Since Brendan has already shared my childhood love for invoking lesser known rules in our games, it's fitting to apply this to our reading challenge. Hello, ISBN rule!
I have now read ISBN 978-0-941859-11-0 (an adult, non-fiction book) at least 12 times this summer, mostly out loud (and in slightly condensed form) to my three year old sons, who are obsessed with-- what else?-- town history.
Yup. If they're very, very good this year, maybe Santa will bring them their very own autographed copies of "Duxbury...Past and Present".
Here's how it started: The town's historical society did a letterboxing project this summer (if you are local, you should check it out; it's very well done). 10 clues, 10 separate boxes, 10 different sites particular to Duxbury's history. While easy enough to do in a day, we chose to spread this out over the course of the summer, which helped turn this into the Summer of Duxbury History. Having grown up here, I remember most of the big facts (Pilgrims! Clipper ships! Cranberries!), but my kids are into the minutiae: like that the Cranberry Factory Mill had nothing to do with cranberry production (textiles); Myles Standish has been exhumed three times; and the Powder Point School for Boys was destroyed by fire. They now know that practically every abandoned stone foundation that they see near water was once the site of a saw mill. They have nearly suffered whiplash while quickly turning to catch the sight of a stone marker by the side of the road (there are loads). They are hooked. So, they ask questions, I respond or we look the answer up in the book, then we pass away a little more time reading about some other local history and lore.
Earlier this week, they found their last remaining letterbox and made their way to collect their prize: a pretty swanky t-shirt announcing that they "put their stamp on history". They are excited that another round of letterboxes is in the works for this fall. And the three of them are talking about making their own clues and creating letterboxes. Best yet*, I was able to take pictures of the three of them together (a rare thing, indeed).
(Lest you think this was all idyllic, I'll share that there was quite a bit of arguing over who got to find the clues, some bossiness, a few mosquito bites, and one moment when the kids decided to explore a conservation trail and I basically whined to get them back on the letterbox track. We were on a mission, folks!).
*Well, no. The best is that I added a book to the log in the process.
August 16, 2010
Winter Garden, Kristin Hannah
"Winter Garden" is an odd choice for a summer read, but I grabbed it out of my mother's library bag on the strength of previous books by Kristin Hannah. As it turned out, I read much of the book at night during a rain storm, while my children had nightmares and wandered from bed to bed. That setting was a good match for the story.
Hannah is from that large genre of women who write of the complex relationships between women, especially within families. The men serve to move the story forward, but it's the many roles of women-- wife, mother, sister, daughter, female, girlfriend, friend, colleague, professional-- that Hannah explores in each novel. Usually, the story is pretty linear, but in "Winter Garden" she covers 60 years of relationships, jumping back and forth from time and place to tell the story of Anya, a Russian immigrant and distant mother to adult daughters Meredith and Nina. Hannah uses the first half of the book to tediously lay the groundwork for the real story in the second half: Anya's unspoken life in Leningrad during the era of Stalin. Hannah doesn't sugarcoat Anya's experiences, forcing the reader to slowly move through the horrors and sadness of wartime to present day. As a somewhat prize to her readers who stuck with the nearly 400 page novel, Hannah leaves us with a story on the upswing, an unexpectedly happyish (and unrealistic) ending to a sad, sad (too true) tale.
(It wouldn't surprise me if this book gets optioned and we see it in theatres in 2013. I predict that the music of Celine Dion will play a major role in the film. It's Titanic, set in snowy Russia. Our father will buy the soundtrack and Brendan will poke fun, then secretly upload the files.)
Hannah is from that large genre of women who write of the complex relationships between women, especially within families. The men serve to move the story forward, but it's the many roles of women-- wife, mother, sister, daughter, female, girlfriend, friend, colleague, professional-- that Hannah explores in each novel. Usually, the story is pretty linear, but in "Winter Garden" she covers 60 years of relationships, jumping back and forth from time and place to tell the story of Anya, a Russian immigrant and distant mother to adult daughters Meredith and Nina. Hannah uses the first half of the book to tediously lay the groundwork for the real story in the second half: Anya's unspoken life in Leningrad during the era of Stalin. Hannah doesn't sugarcoat Anya's experiences, forcing the reader to slowly move through the horrors and sadness of wartime to present day. As a somewhat prize to her readers who stuck with the nearly 400 page novel, Hannah leaves us with a story on the upswing, an unexpectedly happyish (and unrealistic) ending to a sad, sad (too true) tale.
(It wouldn't surprise me if this book gets optioned and we see it in theatres in 2013. I predict that the music of Celine Dion will play a major role in the film. It's Titanic, set in snowy Russia. Our father will buy the soundtrack and Brendan will poke fun, then secretly upload the files.)
August 15, 2010
The Lonely Polygamist, Brady Udall
After a lengthy (okay, two minute) discussion, Brendan and I decided that our second reading challenge (required by the official rules) would be a book that neither of us had read. Brady Udall's "The Lonely Polygamist" has appeared on many different (1) must read (2) lists (3) this year and, despite it being 600 pages, we both were up for the challenge.
First, the disclaimer: Brendan, this post may contain spoilers. You still need to read the book.
Brendan and I grew up one generation removed from a big family: our father is the second oldest of nine children. Because our father has never once said anything negative about his family (seriously, nada), we always believed that being part of a large family was, hands down, the best thing ever. (But it's just me and Brendan in our family; perhaps it's better to be the child in a large family than the parent?). Holidays with our dad's immediate family always meant a party of at least 50. Living within a 15 mile radius of most relatives, we spent every Sunday morning with our grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. We all got along, visits never felt like a chore, it was all quite idyllic. Big families rock. (And yet I happily stopped at three).
Even without our family history, I'd probably still be intrigued by large families, what with my love for TLC and Discovery Channel. My time with Jon+Kate and the Duggar family goes all the way back to their first one-hour specials. I'm fascinated by how they handle the logistics of all those kids (bickering and fundamentalism aside). My favorite family by far is the Hayes family, who are mostly overlooked by the media since they're actually normal (other than having two sets of twins and sextuplets). I'll admit to watching all of these shows when I was pregnant with my twins, taking note of what to do and what to avoid.
Polygamy, however...polygamist families just don't hold any interest for me. Sure, their families are super big, but I can't see past the usual subordination of women, lack of education, ultra conservativeness, child brides, forced marriages and insular world that they call their community. These families are not entertainment (I've never watched Big Love), they're news headlines.
But Brady Udall's interviews on this book got me hooked. He said his focus was on contemporary polygamy. He highlighted families that functioned with respect for women and education (including one family that boasted a PhD and attorney as two of the wives). He said there are plyg families who live their lives more integrated with the typical world. In fact, he even confessed to being the product of polygamy (a great grandparent was the child of a man and second wife). Udall never claims that polygamy is right or recommended, but suggests that today's polygamists are less fundamentalist extremists and more like the average American family than we may think. Udall's interviews even got me thinking about the acceptance of "legal polygamy", that it's generally okay for a man to have a family with one wife, divorce her, remarry and reproduce, divorce, repeat. Hugh Hefner is practically exalted by the media, and he's got a harem. Udall got me thinking that it's time for me to walk my liberal talk and take a closer look at this notion of contemporary polygamy.
I don't know what book Udall was referencing in these interviews, but "The Lonely Polygamist" is not contemporary at all, unless you take into account the family's running water, electricity and public school education (for some). Golden, the patriarch, is an uneducated, self-involved, barely-scraping-by general contractor with a disfiguring overbite. Beverly is the Bible thumping first wife who arranges the subsequent marriages to his other wives: Nola (laughing nitwit); Rose-of-Sharon (mentally unstable); and Trish (formerly abused). There is little family cohesion, but plenty of bickering, borderline abusive teasing, bullying, and neglect. Several children die as a result of lack of supervision and intervention. Throw in infidelity, prostitution, and poverty, and that's the book. Newsflash to Udall: this is exactly what I thought polygamy was like.
Don't get me wrong: "The Lonely Polygamist" is extremely well-written with quite a few characters that grab the reader from the start. Several characters grapple with wrenching decisions and certain moments bring out inner heroes. I understand why the book is so popular on the must-read lists. But contemporary it is not. Take away the utilities, medical progress, hard core construction equipment, and public schools, and you've got yourself a basic polygamy story that could be from any post Joseph Smith, Jr era.
Hmm...so maybe that's Udall's point after all?
First, the disclaimer: Brendan, this post may contain spoilers. You still need to read the book.
Brendan and I grew up one generation removed from a big family: our father is the second oldest of nine children. Because our father has never once said anything negative about his family (seriously, nada), we always believed that being part of a large family was, hands down, the best thing ever. (But it's just me and Brendan in our family; perhaps it's better to be the child in a large family than the parent?). Holidays with our dad's immediate family always meant a party of at least 50. Living within a 15 mile radius of most relatives, we spent every Sunday morning with our grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. We all got along, visits never felt like a chore, it was all quite idyllic. Big families rock. (And yet I happily stopped at three).
Even without our family history, I'd probably still be intrigued by large families, what with my love for TLC and Discovery Channel. My time with Jon+Kate and the Duggar family goes all the way back to their first one-hour specials. I'm fascinated by how they handle the logistics of all those kids (bickering and fundamentalism aside). My favorite family by far is the Hayes family, who are mostly overlooked by the media since they're actually normal (other than having two sets of twins and sextuplets). I'll admit to watching all of these shows when I was pregnant with my twins, taking note of what to do and what to avoid.
Polygamy, however...polygamist families just don't hold any interest for me. Sure, their families are super big, but I can't see past the usual subordination of women, lack of education, ultra conservativeness, child brides, forced marriages and insular world that they call their community. These families are not entertainment (I've never watched Big Love), they're news headlines.
But Brady Udall's interviews on this book got me hooked. He said his focus was on contemporary polygamy. He highlighted families that functioned with respect for women and education (including one family that boasted a PhD and attorney as two of the wives). He said there are plyg families who live their lives more integrated with the typical world. In fact, he even confessed to being the product of polygamy (a great grandparent was the child of a man and second wife). Udall never claims that polygamy is right or recommended, but suggests that today's polygamists are less fundamentalist extremists and more like the average American family than we may think. Udall's interviews even got me thinking about the acceptance of "legal polygamy", that it's generally okay for a man to have a family with one wife, divorce her, remarry and reproduce, divorce, repeat. Hugh Hefner is practically exalted by the media, and he's got a harem. Udall got me thinking that it's time for me to walk my liberal talk and take a closer look at this notion of contemporary polygamy.
I don't know what book Udall was referencing in these interviews, but "The Lonely Polygamist" is not contemporary at all, unless you take into account the family's running water, electricity and public school education (for some). Golden, the patriarch, is an uneducated, self-involved, barely-scraping-by general contractor with a disfiguring overbite. Beverly is the Bible thumping first wife who arranges the subsequent marriages to his other wives: Nola (laughing nitwit); Rose-of-Sharon (mentally unstable); and Trish (formerly abused). There is little family cohesion, but plenty of bickering, borderline abusive teasing, bullying, and neglect. Several children die as a result of lack of supervision and intervention. Throw in infidelity, prostitution, and poverty, and that's the book. Newsflash to Udall: this is exactly what I thought polygamy was like.
Don't get me wrong: "The Lonely Polygamist" is extremely well-written with quite a few characters that grab the reader from the start. Several characters grapple with wrenching decisions and certain moments bring out inner heroes. I understand why the book is so popular on the must-read lists. But contemporary it is not. Take away the utilities, medical progress, hard core construction equipment, and public schools, and you've got yourself a basic polygamy story that could be from any post Joseph Smith, Jr era.
Hmm...so maybe that's Udall's point after all?
August 10, 2010
The Curse of Trying to Eradicate a Twelve Book Deficit
After the heavy lifting of “Lonesome Dove” and “Dark Places,” I was looking for something lighter/less depressing to read. I had a week left before my month in Scotland, and two library books from which to choose. Of course, in all my brash ambition, I thought I could polish them both off in a week while simultaneously packing up my life for a month. But then I realized I was the world’s slowest reader, already ten to eleven books behind my sister. So when the time for the actual Sophie’s Choice between the two rolled around, I had to go with the easier read. So even though I really wanted to read “Faithful Place,” I had to put her back in the returned books bin, unread, and side with “The Curse of the Gilded Fly.”
Kerry has already mentioned my childhood weakness for Agatha Christie and Martha Grimes*, and so I thought Edmund Crispin’s book might be a welcome return to my youth. Plus, it had been touted by Nancy Pearl, and fell into one of my favorite subgenres, Mysteries that Take Place in a Boarding School/University Setting (see “The Secret History,” “The Likeness,” and “The Disreputable Reputation of Frankie Landau-Banks”). The book jacket touted it as a return to The Golden Age of Mystery, and while I certainly enjoyed the cast of eccentric characters, but I forgot how boring books from TGAOM can be. Most of the book is static scenes of interviews, set in a parlor, and the action doesn’t kick in until the final chapter. But the World War II setting lent a menacing air (blackouts play a key role), and the book is weirdly funny. Characters frequently call out the fact that they’re characters in a book, and Crispin writes with an acidic dryness. The book also serves as a reminder as to how much smarter everyone was fifty years ago. Even the dumb characters knowledgeably reference “Cymbeline” and “Pericles” (huh?) and the vocab words sent me racing to a dictionary, or at least dictionary.com. So while I didn’t love the book, I appreciate the fact that it taught me such words as prolegomena, objurgatory, and – my personal favorite – aposiopesis, which -
Martha Grimes probably served as my Meg Cabot, teaching me all about “kissing, dating, birth control, homosexuality, eating disorders, unplanned pregnancies, unwed mothers, or cliques.”
Kerry has already mentioned my childhood weakness for Agatha Christie and Martha Grimes*, and so I thought Edmund Crispin’s book might be a welcome return to my youth. Plus, it had been touted by Nancy Pearl, and fell into one of my favorite subgenres, Mysteries that Take Place in a Boarding School/University Setting (see “The Secret History,” “The Likeness,” and “The Disreputable Reputation of Frankie Landau-Banks”). The book jacket touted it as a return to The Golden Age of Mystery, and while I certainly enjoyed the cast of eccentric characters, but I forgot how boring books from TGAOM can be. Most of the book is static scenes of interviews, set in a parlor, and the action doesn’t kick in until the final chapter. But the World War II setting lent a menacing air (blackouts play a key role), and the book is weirdly funny. Characters frequently call out the fact that they’re characters in a book, and Crispin writes with an acidic dryness. The book also serves as a reminder as to how much smarter everyone was fifty years ago. Even the dumb characters knowledgeably reference “Cymbeline” and “Pericles” (huh?) and the vocab words sent me racing to a dictionary, or at least dictionary.com. So while I didn’t love the book, I appreciate the fact that it taught me such words as prolegomena, objurgatory, and – my personal favorite – aposiopesis, which -
Martha Grimes probably served as my Meg Cabot, teaching me all about “kissing, dating, birth control, homosexuality, eating disorders, unplanned pregnancies, unwed mothers, or cliques.”
August 9, 2010
The Other Family, Joanna Trollope
I always wanted an older sibling, preferably a brother. He would help me out when I needed, but not in a bossy way. He would often play the games I wanted, unless he came up with a better idea that I liked. He'd take the blame for things I did, and let me claim the praise for things he did. He'd be fraternal perfection.
Instead, I was the eldest and, I'm sorry to say, a wee bit bossy and exacting (note the use of the past tense).
While scavenging in the new fiction section last week, I pulled out Joanna Trollope's "The Other Family". Two families are strangely pulled together following the sudden death of their shared father, leaving all members to struggle with how to continue their lives in the face of such loss. While I felt many of the characters were forgettable or unlikable, I was intrigued by the growing friendship between the son (now 37) and his youngest half-sister, an 18-year-old girl whom he meets for the first time at their father's funeral. At a time when their nuclear families and friends fail them, they find the support they so desperately need in each other. Trollope stops herself from creating the perfect blended family in the end (no NutraSweet ending here), but gives the reader some hope that they all get through this sad and awkward experience for the better.
Instead, I was the eldest and, I'm sorry to say, a wee bit bossy and exacting (note the use of the past tense).
While scavenging in the new fiction section last week, I pulled out Joanna Trollope's "The Other Family". Two families are strangely pulled together following the sudden death of their shared father, leaving all members to struggle with how to continue their lives in the face of such loss. While I felt many of the characters were forgettable or unlikable, I was intrigued by the growing friendship between the son (now 37) and his youngest half-sister, an 18-year-old girl whom he meets for the first time at their father's funeral. At a time when their nuclear families and friends fail them, they find the support they so desperately need in each other. Trollope stops herself from creating the perfect blended family in the end (no NutraSweet ending here), but gives the reader some hope that they all get through this sad and awkward experience for the better.
August 7, 2010
The Postmistress, Sarah Blake
I've got a bit of a fascination with the postal system, or so I've been told. I think it's perfectly normal to anticipate the mail carrier, race to see what has been delivered, and think about all the steps that have taken place to ensure its safe arrival. I'm probably the only person not involved in the production of The Postman who has seen it more than once (Three hours? Not long enough!). I spent an afternoon at the National Postal Museum soon after its grand opening at the newest location, and still only saw a fragment of the collections (whereas everyone else sped through in one hour). I don't care about stamps or collecting, it's the idea that someone somewhere writes something down, can just add some basic information on an envelope, then trust that the process will work and deliver it to the intended. What happens when the system slows or breaks down? When human nature intervenes? Is it okay to sneak a peek at a postcard? Throw away what looks like junk mail? Deliver a letter tomorrow instead?
Nancy Pearl, librarian extraordinaire (I can't believe Brendan hasn't already bragged about knowing her), recently blogged that she always starts a book discussion by asking what the title has to do with the book. At first glance, The Postmistress seems pretty straightforward. World War II has begun in Europe, but the US has yet to become involved. Information is wanted, whether broadley (as in radio newscasts) or individually (personal letters). It stands to reason that Iris James, the postmaster of her small Cape Cod town, must be the central character, given the title. Instead, Sarah Blake tells the story through the eyes and hearts of three women, Emma (the doctor's wife), Iris, and Frankie (a radio reporter broadcasting from Europe), all of whom play a role in delivering and receiving messages and information within their own worlds. It's a fascinating reminder of how slowly the world reacted to information just 70 years ago and how news was more closely protected by those with power. It recalls a time when secrets could truly be kept...or lost forever.
While the backdrop is World War II, the underlying message of the book to attune oneself to breaches of truth, justice, and equality is as timely in our present day lives as it was in the 1940s. It is easy to identify with Frankie's zest and zeal, Emma's earnestness, and Iris' commitment to order and preservation; yet in truth, many of us readers most likely resemble Maggie, Mrs. Cripps, or the Jakes brothers--any of those characters just living their lives (rightfully or wrongfully) in their own bubble. How easy it is to forget the suffering and horror going on throughout our world and just busy ourselves with what is in front of our own homes. Sarah Blake leaves the reader with haunting images of the pain and suffering of war: whether here at home or in lands far away; whether of relatives or strangers; whether then or now.
Nancy Pearl, librarian extraordinaire (I can't believe Brendan hasn't already bragged about knowing her), recently blogged that she always starts a book discussion by asking what the title has to do with the book. At first glance, The Postmistress seems pretty straightforward. World War II has begun in Europe, but the US has yet to become involved. Information is wanted, whether broadley (as in radio newscasts) or individually (personal letters). It stands to reason that Iris James, the postmaster of her small Cape Cod town, must be the central character, given the title. Instead, Sarah Blake tells the story through the eyes and hearts of three women, Emma (the doctor's wife), Iris, and Frankie (a radio reporter broadcasting from Europe), all of whom play a role in delivering and receiving messages and information within their own worlds. It's a fascinating reminder of how slowly the world reacted to information just 70 years ago and how news was more closely protected by those with power. It recalls a time when secrets could truly be kept...or lost forever.
While the backdrop is World War II, the underlying message of the book to attune oneself to breaches of truth, justice, and equality is as timely in our present day lives as it was in the 1940s. It is easy to identify with Frankie's zest and zeal, Emma's earnestness, and Iris' commitment to order and preservation; yet in truth, many of us readers most likely resemble Maggie, Mrs. Cripps, or the Jakes brothers--any of those characters just living their lives (rightfully or wrongfully) in their own bubble. How easy it is to forget the suffering and horror going on throughout our world and just busy ourselves with what is in front of our own homes. Sarah Blake leaves the reader with haunting images of the pain and suffering of war: whether here at home or in lands far away; whether of relatives or strangers; whether then or now.
I Was Told There'd Be Cake, Sloane Crosley
In an attempt to be more, shall we say, selective in my summer reading, I took a look at NPR's Summer 2010 reading suggestions. I tagged a bunch of them to read, including one by Sloane Crosley. Upon further investigation, I realized that "How Did You Get This Number" was actually her second memoir, so of course I had to go ahead and get the first, "I Was Told There'd Be Cake". Always respect the order, fellow readers, always.
Sloane Crosley didn't ring any bells for me, as my time for online news reading is pretty limited and I, at best, just make it through the big headlines. Judging from her bio and list of publications, I was really impressed and eager to read someone who others had praised so highly.
Acknowledging that a memoir is, by its very nature, self-involved, I still found Crosley's themes to center around her reaction to the faulty acts of others, but never her own. David Sedaris is a contemporary master of pointing out the failings of others, but also his own, which include some of his funniest stories. Hardly 30, Crosley writes predominantly of her early twenties, without the objectivity that another decade or two might give. Crosley is pretty much EveryGirl: decent childhood, college educated, gainfully employed, independent. Other than a knack for snarkiness, I'm not sure what insight she gives that most women haven't lived through own their own (and would prefer to forget).
Despite my love of memoirs and catching any glimpse into someone else's inner, usually private thoughts, I don't feel any surge of interest in uncovering more details about Crosley's life...unless she has more to say in 2025 or so.
Sloane Crosley didn't ring any bells for me, as my time for online news reading is pretty limited and I, at best, just make it through the big headlines. Judging from her bio and list of publications, I was really impressed and eager to read someone who others had praised so highly.
Acknowledging that a memoir is, by its very nature, self-involved, I still found Crosley's themes to center around her reaction to the faulty acts of others, but never her own. David Sedaris is a contemporary master of pointing out the failings of others, but also his own, which include some of his funniest stories. Hardly 30, Crosley writes predominantly of her early twenties, without the objectivity that another decade or two might give. Crosley is pretty much EveryGirl: decent childhood, college educated, gainfully employed, independent. Other than a knack for snarkiness, I'm not sure what insight she gives that most women haven't lived through own their own (and would prefer to forget).
Despite my love of memoirs and catching any glimpse into someone else's inner, usually private thoughts, I don't feel any surge of interest in uncovering more details about Crosley's life...unless she has more to say in 2025 or so.
August 6, 2010
Brendan's Underhanded Strategies
I've been getting some flack for reading my brother into such a deep, dark hole. Choosing fluff instead of his weightier tomes. Brendan claims I've done stuff like send him mocking texts (untrue; they were encouraging) and vicious voicemails (false; I rarely call him). I may have emailed him something like, "Post something!", although that was more a response to my friends making complete fun of me for being the only person blogging here.
Brendan plays the part of the innocent very well. It's time to expose him.
Brendan plays the part of the innocent very well. It's time to expose him.
Yesterday, this postcard appeared in the mail, addressed to my husband:
Are you all still rooting for Team Brendan?
"Dark Places" and the Real Winner is Named
After being put through the wringer with "Lonesome Dove," I just wanted an easy book where the characters go through a minor conflict, tell each other exactly how they feel, and then resolve their problems with a wedding on a Long Island estate. But I left for a trip on Sunday and was beholden to the books I put on hold at the Chicago Public Library. I'm not sure if Dewey made a classification assignment for "Terrifying Literature Where Psychologically Damaged People Unearth the Horrors of the Past," but I am certain that the books I have selected would sit on that shelf.
I had wanted to read "Dark Places" by Gillian Flynn because I had really enjoyed/been creeped out by her "Sharp Objects" a few years ago. I had thought "Sharp Objects" was great but the tiniest bit sloppy- the ending teetered into camp and I thought the villain was a caricature (that being said, there are images from the final chapters that still pop unbidden into my brain three years later like a forgotten nightmare). But "Dark Places" is so fully realized and Flynn's writing is so impressive that I think she establishes herself as one of the best writers around.
The book centers around a farming family, most of whom get butchered by the 15 year-old son presumably as part of a Satanic ritual in 1985. Twenty-four years later, the surviving daughter, emotionally stunted and unable to fit into society, finds herself out of the money that was raised for her in the aftermath of the tragedy. She agrees to interview the key players of that terrible evening on behalf of a fringe group that believes her brother was unjustly imprisoned. The novel is then narrated in three parts in alternating chapters, from the perspective of Libby in the present day and then by her mother and her brother on the day of the murders. These flashbacks make you begin each new chapter with mounting dread – as Libby gets closer to the truth her mother and brother creep closer to the time of the murder and you know there’s not going to be any wedding on a Long Island estate that will make everything all better.
Flynn's virtuosity is on full display here as she creates full-blooded characters who (I hope! Oh, how I hope) are far removed from her own real-life experience. Libby is sympathetic even as she remains (realistically) self-centered and destructive. Ben, the brother, rings true as an angry adolescent struggling to find his place in the world. His mother breaks your heart as she tries to keep her family afloat after years of bad decisions and worse luck. Even the peripheral characters, from low-life drug dealers to the wide-eyed members of the various serial killer fan clubs, come alive in a few paragraphs. She tackles big themes - poverty, sexuality, abuse – but weaves them into the story so gracefully they never seem heavy-handed.
I am desperate to recommend this book to somebody else, but it’s a big risk to tell someone how great a book is where two little girls end up gruesomely murdered.* But I think the emotional depth of the characters elevates this book from run-of-the-mill thriller material into something greater. So if you love mysteries and don’t have children, I hope you consider this book the next time you’re looking for something to read.
*This book would break my sister, so the fact that I am not forcing her to read it as my second challenge shows that I have won. Do you hear me? I won! I have won!!!
I had wanted to read "Dark Places" by Gillian Flynn because I had really enjoyed/been creeped out by her "Sharp Objects" a few years ago. I had thought "Sharp Objects" was great but the tiniest bit sloppy- the ending teetered into camp and I thought the villain was a caricature (that being said, there are images from the final chapters that still pop unbidden into my brain three years later like a forgotten nightmare). But "Dark Places" is so fully realized and Flynn's writing is so impressive that I think she establishes herself as one of the best writers around.
The book centers around a farming family, most of whom get butchered by the 15 year-old son presumably as part of a Satanic ritual in 1985. Twenty-four years later, the surviving daughter, emotionally stunted and unable to fit into society, finds herself out of the money that was raised for her in the aftermath of the tragedy. She agrees to interview the key players of that terrible evening on behalf of a fringe group that believes her brother was unjustly imprisoned. The novel is then narrated in three parts in alternating chapters, from the perspective of Libby in the present day and then by her mother and her brother on the day of the murders. These flashbacks make you begin each new chapter with mounting dread – as Libby gets closer to the truth her mother and brother creep closer to the time of the murder and you know there’s not going to be any wedding on a Long Island estate that will make everything all better.
Flynn's virtuosity is on full display here as she creates full-blooded characters who (I hope! Oh, how I hope) are far removed from her own real-life experience. Libby is sympathetic even as she remains (realistically) self-centered and destructive. Ben, the brother, rings true as an angry adolescent struggling to find his place in the world. His mother breaks your heart as she tries to keep her family afloat after years of bad decisions and worse luck. Even the peripheral characters, from low-life drug dealers to the wide-eyed members of the various serial killer fan clubs, come alive in a few paragraphs. She tackles big themes - poverty, sexuality, abuse – but weaves them into the story so gracefully they never seem heavy-handed.
I am desperate to recommend this book to somebody else, but it’s a big risk to tell someone how great a book is where two little girls end up gruesomely murdered.* But I think the emotional depth of the characters elevates this book from run-of-the-mill thriller material into something greater. So if you love mysteries and don’t have children, I hope you consider this book the next time you’re looking for something to read.
*This book would break my sister, so the fact that I am not forcing her to read it as my second challenge shows that I have won. Do you hear me? I won! I have won!!!
August 2, 2010
A Dubious Interpretation of Rule #4 (The Princess Diaries Vol I-III, Meg Cabot)
I never quite stopped reading young adult books (looking back, I simply paused during college and those early adult years). In 1996, while browsing in the children's section for a 2-year-old's birthday gift, I came across a book I had loved more than a decade earlier: Dicey's Song. Several other Tillerman books had been published since I had last read the book and, being a sucker for a sequel, I bought the next title. The following week, I went back for the next one. I'll admit, when the guy in the children's section asked if he could help me, I claimed I was looking for "my niece" and dashed away lest my secret be out.
J.K. Rowling legitimized adults reading kids' fiction, and Stephenie Meyer brought it into the mainstream. I'm now in that awkward, in between spot: I have a daughter who loves to read. She's a tween (how weird is that word?). She's about a voracious reader as I am, although with less stringent rules (for instance, she will read a series out of order. I stopped reading Trixie Belden around 1983 because I couldn't find Book #6. #7, #12, #21, #30: all present. Not #6. How psyched was I when they began reprinting the books in 2006? But only up to #13. Will I ever learn what happened in the final 20 books?).
In any case, I'm always previewing books that my daughter might read. She's almost 9, so loves anything about kids around that age, but turns her nose at romance, fashion and mean girls. (My daughter rocks). While at Borders the other night, I found a collection of the first three Princess Diaries books on sale. Now, my daughter has seen the movie and, thanks to Brendan meeting Meg Cabot at a conference, owns several of the Allie Finkle books. While I was fairly certain that Princess Mia was still in Hadley's future, I decided for $1.98, I could buy the starter set and see for myself.
OK, so Hadley won't be reading the Princess Diaries anytime soon. Not that she isn't aware (in no particular order) of kissing, dating, birth control, homosexuality, eating disorders, unplanned pregnancies, unwed mothers, or cliques... but I'm fairly certain that there is a rule somewhere that says kids must read Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, Watership Down, and the complete Wrinkle in Time series before tackling these subjects. I, however, am more than a little enamored of Mia and her friends. They're smart. They struggle with typical teen angst, but manage to stay true to themselves. The adults are pretty realistic (aside from the sudden announcement about being royalty) and also flawed (I've never found the perfect parents to be believable or interesting). The writing is tight, the topics are relevant, the characters are recognizable...I get why Disney was so eager to jump on the Meg Cabot bandwagon.
Will my interest be maintained over ten volumes? Probably not, but that's why I'm not the target audience. I am curious how Mia handles her first trip to Genovia, so I'm sensing a trip to get book four in my future.
P.S. to Brendan: The three books combined equaled over 700 pages, so I passed the 300 page requirement of rule 4. I know I told you that I wasn't even going to post this one, but you want me to remain true to the reading program, right? Right? Anyway, think of it as a public service announcement for screening books for children.
J.K. Rowling legitimized adults reading kids' fiction, and Stephenie Meyer brought it into the mainstream. I'm now in that awkward, in between spot: I have a daughter who loves to read. She's a tween (how weird is that word?). She's about a voracious reader as I am, although with less stringent rules (for instance, she will read a series out of order. I stopped reading Trixie Belden around 1983 because I couldn't find Book #6. #7, #12, #21, #30: all present. Not #6. How psyched was I when they began reprinting the books in 2006? But only up to #13. Will I ever learn what happened in the final 20 books?).
In any case, I'm always previewing books that my daughter might read. She's almost 9, so loves anything about kids around that age, but turns her nose at romance, fashion and mean girls. (My daughter rocks). While at Borders the other night, I found a collection of the first three Princess Diaries books on sale. Now, my daughter has seen the movie and, thanks to Brendan meeting Meg Cabot at a conference, owns several of the Allie Finkle books. While I was fairly certain that Princess Mia was still in Hadley's future, I decided for $1.98, I could buy the starter set and see for myself.
OK, so Hadley won't be reading the Princess Diaries anytime soon. Not that she isn't aware (in no particular order) of kissing, dating, birth control, homosexuality, eating disorders, unplanned pregnancies, unwed mothers, or cliques... but I'm fairly certain that there is a rule somewhere that says kids must read Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, Watership Down, and the complete Wrinkle in Time series before tackling these subjects. I, however, am more than a little enamored of Mia and her friends. They're smart. They struggle with typical teen angst, but manage to stay true to themselves. The adults are pretty realistic (aside from the sudden announcement about being royalty) and also flawed (I've never found the perfect parents to be believable or interesting). The writing is tight, the topics are relevant, the characters are recognizable...I get why Disney was so eager to jump on the Meg Cabot bandwagon.
Will my interest be maintained over ten volumes? Probably not, but that's why I'm not the target audience. I am curious how Mia handles her first trip to Genovia, so I'm sensing a trip to get book four in my future.
P.S. to Brendan: The three books combined equaled over 700 pages, so I passed the 300 page requirement of rule 4. I know I told you that I wasn't even going to post this one, but you want me to remain true to the reading program, right? Right? Anyway, think of it as a public service announcement for screening books for children.
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