Blondie Reads

Pretty Little Dirty

2008-09-23T22:30:00.010-04:00

Fiction: Pretty Little Dirty (Amanda Boyden): Girls are so scary...I know best because I am one.

But self-destructive girls are the scariest. Especially when they have one of those inseparable also-self-destructive best friends--the case with Celeste and Lisa.

Uh...but enough with being coy. This thing doesn't end well. Couldn't help whispering aloud "no-no don't ....[go there] [lie to your dad like that] [be needy][give it up so easy]." Shudder.

What else do I say? The writing is sexy and so subtly and normally...disturbing. And some terrifying aspects to maybe think about a little later when I'm ready (and/or older): Lisa has a mother with severe depression; Lisa is a nymphomaniac who doesn't value herself; Celeste and her sisters are so valued by their family that it almost backfires. Really--if you want to read about two girls and their sexual and narcotic adventures, this is the book for you.

Another interesting thing is food. I couldn't figure out exactly what it meant that Celeste and Lisa taught themselves how to make amazing meals for Celeste's family (who might as well adopt her, she's there so often) and that before and also in each pivotal moment, you know exactly what the meal was or will be. It is so effective for imprinting the scene that I was reminded of Hemingway's quote about writing, which is something to the effect of: make sure you get the goddamn weather in your book. Weather and food, I think it should be now.

That's all for now. Rating: a high 7 overall, with several moments of 9+

Am on the Amanda Boyden train

2008-09-10T16:14:00.003-04:00

Blondie is still reading, don't you worry. It's just the writing part that has escaped me lately.

Am going to switch up the format a little and tell you next about the book I JUST finished (as opposed to the book I finished a while back and must struggle to remember). After taking care of immediate reads, I'll jump back to some of my favorites of the months passed.

Just finished: Dirty Little Pretty (Amanda Boyden).

Am now reading: Babylon Rolling (also Amanda Boyden). It's about New Orleans (awesome fascinating place), so I picked it up, thought: "do I really want to buy a hardcover?" picked up her first book, a paperback, decided to get both.

How have I not heard of her before? I should have.

The Tenderness of Wolves

2008-06-30T14:26:00.008-04:00

Excuse the stock picture folks--I can't seem to find the camera's battery charger. Tenderness of Wolves (Stef Penney), Literary, historical murder and wilderness story.

Dove River Canada in 1867, Hudson’s Bay era. A fur trapper has been murdered, and there's a rumor that he had in his possession something very valuable. A 17-year-old boy disappears the night of the murder. You'd think that's enough action to start us off, but add to that the interconnections of the townspeople and the town's dark history, which includes the disappearance of two little girls many years ago.

Mrs. Ross. discovered the fur trapper's body. She is a bit of an outsider, serious, married to a man who doesn't get along with their now missing son. Not only are people talking about a possible connection but it's a difficult winter; Mrs. Ross decides to go after her son, taking the other murder suspect as her guide, a native by the name of Parker.

Hudson's Bay man Donald Moody then comes into the picture. Charged with finding the fur trapper's killer, Moody soon falls in love, he thinks, with one of town sisters so that his own coming of age (poor guy) is intertwined with his assignment to solve a murder. He and a party set out into the snow, and young, inexperienced Moody has no idea what he's in for.

When I started reading, I did not know what to expect. I picked it up because I liked the writing. Well suited to the harsh and intricate winter world described. But then the story wove itself deeper and deeper through the characters and all their individual [internal and external] goings-on. Pretty soon my mind was bound by about a million plot or personality threads and shortly after that, I ran out of pages to read.

So I liked it. I liked the history, the perspective of being on the move, trying to survive a Canadian winter, the idea of an officer of the Hudson's Bay Company being responsible for justice. (I kept imagining going into the local department store, now named simply 'The Bay,' for this kind of service).

We do indeed find answers, and a remote Hudson's Bay outpost in a degraded state (very Heart of Darkness). In the midst of that we get a real look into an older and more dangerous world.

What the heck, let's start a rating system from 1 to 10, 10 being the best.

I give this one: 8

Blood lies...apparently more than you think

2008-06-30T13:16:00.004-04:00

Really the cleverest thing about Blood Lies (Daniel Kalla) is the title, which works as an adjectival phrase –lies about blood—and as a sentence: blood does not always tell the truth. See how cool? And then it goes downhill from there to...

1) Frustrating 2) soap opera-like 3) draws morally simplistic lines. I read it on a plane and that’s what it’s good for. Sure it`s a mass market thriller. But let`s remember people: that`s a genre--not a license for mediocrity.

It's not that Daniel Kalla is a bad writer necessarily. It's that he seems to be a black and white thinker: his umpteen complicated plot threads end up in the very same place: someone falls on hard times, becomes a drug user...then gets AIDS. And I just have to hold up my hand here and say "What exactly are you getting at here buddy?" That no one else but our physician-protagonist (on the run--he`s been wrongly framed of course) can handle a bad day without turning to drugs? And that this ALWAYS links directly to AIDS? This is plain irresponsible .

Oh wait--I can`t leave it at that... I said I was suspending judgment about Kalla's writing abilities. But I have to say that if Eliska`s gorgeous green eyes are made such a big deal of on page 172, shouldn't those same eyes still be described as green on page 210--not brown?

Yes, yes they should. I mean, this is baby stuff. Where`s your editor, Kalla? Did he turn to drugs?

Shortcomings

2008-06-06T18:40:00.004-04:00

Ben and Miko are fighting. She claims he has "white fever" and he can't really deny it. He's been sidling up to some blue-eyed blondes while he ignores underwear-clad Miko most weeknights at home.

They live in San Francisco--or they do until she decides to go to New York for a job. Her decision surprises him, and he's sure it says something ominous about the relationship (he might be right). So he seeks the help of his friend Alice, power-lesbian and fellow Asian. Turns out Alice has a friend in New York they can stay with. She and Ben decide to fly there and see what they find.

At this point I'm going to tell you: this is a graphic novel. It's called Shortcomings (Adrian Tomine). S said it would make me well rounded to read one. (Is that all it takes?)

I will say this about the graphic novel. It's very now. And I think--perhaps as a result--I've never read snappier dialogue, the properly cynical, jaded kind that reminds me of conversations Gen X-ers have with a certain kind of best friend in a certain time of life. During many of these bits of dialogue, I did indeed laugh out loud. So the Ben and Alice scenes were entertaining, and they read as amazingly authentic. I don't think this could be done with books that are meant to have a longer shelf life. Or no. I guess I mean books that shy away from talking about the right-here and now because it might compromise their hopes of becoming "classic." But I liked this approach--it felt...comforting and relevant.

But then...but then I got really annoyed at the Ben and Miko scenes--maybe because Ben told all his crap to Alice and yet to Miko his girlfriend he seemed silent and so painfully casual. Like nothing mattered.

Well, Ben, that's not cool anymore.

And I guess Miko got fed up too. I'm not giving all that much away when I say that she and Ben have a confrontation--and it seems at first like it's going to be some kind of crazy Hollywood-style excitement but instead...how can I forget...Gen X-ers don't do that (I know because I am one). Instead, they tend to give in to a general feeling of melancholy and purposelessness. Which really seemed unnecessary, quite frankly. I saw lots of cool ways that Ben could have had an awesome epiphany and--and--

Well I guess it's not my graphic novel to write. And I can admit now that it was quite effective to see a portrait of Ben at his bitter worst and think...well maybe it's time to get beyond that now.

Maybe.

Maybe tomorrow. Until then I'm just going to look pensively out this airplane window--

The Brothers Torres

2008-04-26T12:40:00.005-04:00

Oye. Someone wrote a young adult novel that a boy might read. This is significant. You have Robert Cormier for this, you have Gordon Korman, and now, you have Coert Voorhees.

The Brothers Torres (Coert Voorhees) is --yes-- a story about a boy who likes a girl, but probably it's even more about a boy who worries about his older brother. Aha, a slight twist on the old sibling story.

Francisco Torres or, if you want to anglicize it, Frankie Towers, lives in two worlds. You can tell by his name. Part Hispanic, part Anglo and living in New Mexico, he is a waiter in his family's restaurant (think sopaipillas) and trying to make it through high school in an environment full of Varsity-type white boys and gangster-type cholos. (I can see you, my friend A____, rolling your eyes at the earnestness of other-language italics. You'll have to get over it for this book.)

So Frankie is worried about Steve, who is his older brother and one of the school's soccer stars. Steve, of course, is also living in two worlds, but it seems that the Hispanic one he's chosen is getting dark and sinister. In the past, little Frankie has usually ended up doing just what his big brother did before him, without much thought otherwise. So Frankie doesn't have much experience going his own way, but it's beginning to look like he might have to try it. And, really it's an awkward time, because there's this girl he likes and he really can't waste time looking stupid, especially since white-boy bully John Dalton is closing in on Rebecca too...

You get the picture. Really the best thing about this book is Frankie's inner voice. Yes, the dialogue is pretty great too, and often incredibly funny, but it's when Frankie is thinking to himself that you really feel you're getting an authentic glimpse into a certain kind of [astute] teenage mind:

My dad motions for me to sit down in one of the booths. "Why don't we have
a little chat , son." I love my dad, right? But it's like he's learned how to be a father by reading self-help books. He tries hard, so you can't fault him for that. But any time he has to talk about something other than the restaurant menu or Steve's soccer games, he turns into a caricature of a concerned parent. Everything is so meaningful and special that nothing is meaningful or special anymore.

This is a perfect reminder of how you should never underestimate a child just because he or she is smaller and has seen fewer winters. Younger, more mentally elastic: always thinking, thinking, thinking. The problem happens with all the zinging and firing in the average teenage mind. Too much input is hard to sort.

But Frankie does all right. He also shares a few interesting thoughts about small business, classicism, racism, stereotypes. But not so much that you aren't also allowed to enjoy passages like this one:

You know those movies where the hot chick has a couple friends who are almost as hot but not quite? They always walk in slow motion with the hottest one in the lead, like a squadron of attack planes in V-formation? Rebecca could make that happen if she wanted to. But she doesn't need that kind of attention, and Katie seems to want it, so Katie's the one in front. The other chick is Andromeda Escalante, but she's not even in Katie's league, no matter how many upperclassmen she's yanked off already.

Fun stuff.

I mean, I'm a self confessed Voorhees fan already, but now I know it's justified. Nice work, ese.

A Spot of Bother

2008-04-12T18:46:00.006-04:00

Book 8: A spot of bother (Mark Haddon).

Fiction, and hilarious. Now, I had to borrow this book, because I was too timid to buy it. My reasoning was this: Haddon's first book, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime was so good, and its unique quality (autistic boy tries to solve a dog's murder) made me think that anything else would be a complete departure and therefore a disappointment. Not so.

Haddon seems to be good at getting into the minds of all sorts of people. Here he does so with George Hall, who is having a crisis. In fact, George thinks he's going crazy but is properly English enough to know that this is a terribly bad time for it, what with his daughter's [second] wedding on the horizon and his wife apparently having an affair with a friend of his. Not good at all.

The book continues in this vein, but somehow (I know you were thinking it) avoids becoming a farce. No, really, I assure you. Funny in a genuine and loving way. Pretty much everyone in this family is given a turn to do something incredibly stupid and then realize that things can still turn out all right. Now, this very evenhandedness could almost be a mark against--it made me realize that this was a carefully constructed work. Then I hit the part where George begins experimenting with Valium and I didn't care about literary criticism.

Comforting and entertaining at the same time, this story. Carrying around this book for subway reading is like carrying around a really witty and wild [albeit English] friend. I still like Curious Incident better, but this book was welcoming and homelike in a way that Curious Incident was not.

I want to quote one part before I sign off, because it shows the combination of insight and humor that Haddon does very well. This part's about Kate's soon-to-be husband as told by her brother:

How did Ray do it? One moment he was dominating a room the way a lorry
would. Next minute he was down a hole and asking you for help. Why couldn't he
suffer in a way they could all enjoy from a safe distance?

nd this is a key thing about family in trying times. You really wish you could avoid being involved...but often, with a sigh, you can't help but jump in.

Three Cups of Tea

2008-04-06T13:19:00.006-04:00

Book 7: Three Cups of Tea (Greg Mortenson & David Oliver Relin).

Everyone must read this book. You can't make up a story this good.

Shall I go on? This non-fiction gem is set in Northern Pakistan --border of Pakistan and Afghanistan, where the famed K2 tests mountain climbers year after year. Greg Mortenson was one such climber, who had to abandon his attempt just 600 meters from the summit. Trying to make his way back to camp he stumbles instead on a tiny Balti village where he is taken care of until he is able to meet up again with his party. In the interim he makes friends. Amazed by these people who live in such an extreme, mountainous place, he is also dismayed to find that the little girls of the village are attending "school" without so much as a roof over their heads. Every time they try to scratch letters in the sand with sticks, a wind blows them away.

Mortenson decides that educating girls is a direct solution to a problem. Where women are the primary caretakers of their children and in many other ways the centre of the community, useful daily skills, such as high altitude medicine and the ability to study, will ensure the survival and then growth of that community. Upon his return to the states, Mortenson writes hundreds of letters (to Tom Brokaw, for one) in an effort to build schools for these girls.

But it's Jean Hoerni who makes the difference: a crotchety Swiss physicist with a heart of gold. Mortenson figures that if the villagers supply the labor, he needs only $12,000 to buy the supplies "in town" (in this case, I think it's Peshawar) and truck them up the mountain passes.

And he is right. The Balti go to work lugging timbers to their building site and soon a school is built, initiating concrete changes in the life of the villagers. With Hoerni’s help, Mortenson starts the Central Asia Institute, and continues to build schools and give talks, slowly gaining a name for himself both in the States and with Pakistan's government.

Mortenson has some character quirks which make the social undercurrent and behind-the scenes nature of this book very interesting. In fact, David Oliver Relin, the author helping Mortenson to share his story, gets that across very well. He also does justice to a good story with quality writing, something that does not always happen with jointly written books. In the end, Relin cannot help but be won over the "Dr. Greg's" dedication, and this happens to the reader too. Whatever the man's faults, it becomes clear that not a single dollar goes to anything but furthering the cause.

I’ll cut now to the chase and share the best point that this book gets across-- it happens when Mortenson visits the Pentagon in 2002 to brief assorted military personnel. This is what he says to them:

I'm no military expert, and these figures may not be exactly right. But as best I can tell, we've launched 114 Tomahawk cruise missiles into Afghanistan so far. Now take the cost of one of those missiles tipped with a Raytheon Guidance system, which I think is about $840,000. For that much money, you could build dozens of schools that provide tens of thousands of students with a balanced nonextremist education over the course of a generation. Which do you think will make us more secure?"

I think the man has a point. Central Asia Institute is at: www.ikat.org

My swordhand is out of practice

2008-04-06T12:42:00.004-04:00

You know what? You can blame puzzles for the blondiereads.com hiatus. Those things...they insinuate themselves into your lives and there's really nothing you can do. It's addictive. Puzzles are SO annoying, and yet here I am puzzling over a giant 1,000 piece photograph of a waterfall. a WATERFALL.

Ugh.

Book 6: My Swordhand Is Singing (Marcus Sedgwick). This Young Adult novel has two main things going for it--the title and the spooky atmospheric setting in a Polish forest many, many years ago. No, I don't know exactly how long ago, but to give you a bit of an idea, Peter and his father are woodcutters. (Though Peter ends up doing most of the work, as his father devotes plenty of time to a side job as an alcoholic.)

So we're in the forest deep in winter and the local village seems to be a pretty smallminded place dominated by fear. It reminds me a bit of the M. Night Shamylan movie The Village, cloaks and lanterns and whispered meetings of the elders.

They are afraid of something and guess what it is. Things that come out at night and feast on the blood of the living. Can you guess now? The local gypsies refer to them as "hostages," and we come to find that Peter's father used to be very good at fighting them. The gypsies want his help again ..and that's the central tension of the story: getting Peter's father to help.

Which seems pretty sad to me: the father's dormant heroism can only be applied to fighting vampires, apparently. Why not give up drinking for the sake of your kid? We don't even have to weave a story of magic for that kind of heroism. But alas, no, this is one of those magic stories of the Old World, so we get some complicated "magical ideas" such as this choice item from page 162:

If a virgin rides a horse over a grave where a hostage lies, the horse will
know and refuse to cross.

Wha? Is it the virgin who gives the horse this extrasensory power or...how does this work? Magic is supposed to be magic. When I need a diagram to figure it out, my suspension of disbelief is sorely tested. Luckily this magical procedure has the added benefit of informing Peter that Sofia, the gypsy girl scout he's been hanging out with, is pure.

So, Peter learns to wield a sword. And we are treated to the AWESOME title phrase: My swordhand is singing. This is the phrase you use when you're really kicking some vampire ass. But I think it could be applied to all kinds of daily situations. Just the other day, I'm cranking away on a report, and I couldn't help but think, my swordhand is singing.

The Other Side of the Bridge

2008-03-07T16:05:00.008-05:00

Arthur Dunn is his name. But don't let that fool you. To the people who really know him, he's not as boring as that name sounds. He was why I read The Other Side of the Bridge (Mary Lawson).

Lawson is all about tricking her readers in the beginning of her books. Only to reveal in the end that long-accepted "facts" are actually not true at all. The dull guy who hardly speaks is the good man with a very romantic heart. The rakish light-of-his-mother's-eye is actually a lazy and manipulative creature of ego. And people do get their due. Lawson seems to approach her stories (generally set in farmland Ontario, Canada) with a real need to bring about justice. She did so in Crow Lake and she does it again here.

I liked this one better, though.

It still portrays the sometimes harsh reality behind sibling dynamics (Arthur and his brother Jake), standoffish neighbors, and unplanned pregnancy as a catalyst for change (and a few other shocking events, as seen in the harsh winter light of northern Ontario). But I can hang on through all that without losing hope, as long as I'm pulling for someone like Arthur. The quintissential unsung hero, who doesn't bother to point out the injustices against him because he seems to understand why people do these things and also, he seems to be content enough despite it all.

I thought about why I liked this book better, and I think it's two main things.

1) Ian the farmhand's perspective lends a lot of weight to Arthur's character, and provides a believable perspective--not just on Arthur but on Laura (Arthur's wife) and Jake too. In addition, Ian's own story is a good angle on the town--he's trying to find his career and his way in this place where he knows everybody and everybody knows him.

2) A little bit more distance between the author and the main character than in Crow Lake. My guess is that Crow Lake's protagonist was far too close to the author herself and therefore Lawson's portrayal of that character is pretty unforgiving. When Lawson allows more affection for Arthur, we can be more comfortable about sympathizing with him.

There are plenty of great side stories in this book too. Ian's friend Pete, a native Canadian, who feels there is no reason to leave such a beautiful lake or to do anything but fish whenever he can. The German prisoners of war (this is set during World War II) who become part of Arthur's extended family of farm help. The Canadian soldier who returns home without his legs and whom Arthur visits every day despite not knowing what to say.

If you've read between the lines here, you may have guessed that I have a hard time either understanding or sympathizing with Lawson's female characters. To me, they are two-dimensional. Even the lovely Laura, whom Ian has a crush on, and who plays a pivotal role with the men around her, is not quite present in this story. She seems to be merely a plot device.

No matter--the book is well worth it. Dark and somewhat moody in tone, but gives much to think about.

AND we're back.

2008-02-25T13:43:00.013-05:00

Forgive me dear readers for the long silence. But don't worry--I am still reading in 2008!!!!

Here's what I've read so far...I'll tell you right now that three of these four are pretty weighty books. (And, for a little game, you can probably guess from the photo.)

1: Suite Francaise (Irene Nemirovsky).

(Fiction based on non-fiction) France World War II--and occupation by Germans. Was to be five novellas, but Nemirovsky herself was taken to a camp and did not survive. Great writer. Amazing character studies (especially of selfish, childish people who never change, even when war would demand it of them). It's sad (for many reasons) that this book is unfinished.

2: Half of a Yellow Sun (Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie).

(Fiction based on non-fiction) This one is about Nigeria and the declared "independence" of Biafra from Nigeria (the Biafran flag features half of a yellow sun). The story centers around the linked stories of a pair of sisters and their men and/or family. But mostly you tend to identify with the endearing houseboy, Ugwu, who is eventually forced to be a "soldier" for the cause, which involves treating fellow Nigerians horribly. And there is a lot of that, of course--this being a civil war. This book has memorable people in it; it's alternately very touching and incredibly shocking. There were parts of the book where you are seeing such terrible things through the characters' eyes that you pretty much shut down. And in later pages, you find yourself not reacting at all to the deaths and starvation and rape going on.

But let me move on to something lighter for a moment, and take note writers: This book employs a very effective way of simultaneously setting both scene and culture. Through food. When guests come to talk, Ugwu makes his hot pepper soup--that's how you know what kind of night it's going to be. A neighboring houseboy (who tends to compete with Ugwu) takes another approach, by whipping up lemon meringue pies in a [misguided] attempt to serve the British visitors/colonial masters the food to which they're [supposedly] accustomed. Food, and later the absence of food, since Nigeria uses the technique of starving out the Biafrans, serve as effective indicators of what's really going on-- things that are unthinkably horrible. This book is so fascinating and shocking both that it almost requires a second read. But steel yourself: I came out of this a little numb.

3: Die Trying (Lee Child).

(Fiction) Here's what the pitch might be in Hollywood: MacGyver-like team battle deep-woods Montana religious cult. Jack Reacher (recurring hero of many Lee Child novels) runs into Holly on the street, offers to carry her dry cleaning at the same moment that a van pulls up to kidnap her in broad daylight (I couldn't resist saying "broad daylight").

We come to find out that he's former Army and she's FBI (because that happens all the time, right?). And when I say these two are like MacGyver, I mean the real-life stuff, the orderly "use-all-available-resources" way of thinking. Now that kind of competence is very hot--so I found it odd that this book is low on what my aunt likes to call "Points of Contact" (POC for short or when speaking in mixed company). Guns are described in far more sensual detail than is kissing. The loving descriptions of hardware made me think of Tom Clancy, actually, but Child keeps it relevant enough so that I wasn't too bothered.

But still, for Jack to go to all that trouble fighting off the backwoods zealots and not get any action? Poor guy. But hey, the unsung hero needs no rewards. He just Does the Right Thing. Anyway, I'll read another, Mr. Child, but I really hope you're not leading me on.

4: Railway Man (Eric Lomax).

(Non-fiction) A former prisoner of war in Japanese-occupied Thailand. Eric Lomax happens to be one of those real-life MacGyver types. A true engineering mind. His topic is the building of the Siam to Burma railway during which time he survived torture for being one of a group of prisoners who built a contraband radio. He is then discovered to have a hand-drawn, highly detailed map of the railway and surrounding area. Of course he made this map as his own sort of informational weapon. He denies all charges, of course, and is duly tortured in a long, surreal set of scenes --scenes that made me realize that books don't let you look away.

Much later and with many mental scars to deal with, Lomax confronts the Japanese officer who played a role in the torture. Now...I can see why it might be hard not to hate everything Japanese after going through what Lomax did. Yet he doesn't delve too far into his own emotional baggage, except to simply say it's there, having already described why. And while the book did not let me look away, Lomax tells the story much like an engineer would. Usually I would consider this a negative, but I was immensely grateful. His writing creates a necessary protective barrier between happenings and emotions. Lomax's doggedness was also on display, though I commend him for making something positive out of it in the end.

I just finished another Mary Lawson book. I'll think about it a little. (Never lighthearted, is she?)

2007 top five reads: non-fiction + fiction

2008-02-03T13:13:00.000-05:00

It's been 2008 for a whole month now, sure. I admit that. But Superbowl Sunday seems like a good place to start the blondiereads new year.

And one can't start a new year without passing judgement on the year just ending, am I right?

So here it is. The main criterion for this selection is roughly "books I thought about the most after reading." Click on the links to see the original entries:

Top 5 Non-Fiction
Heat (food, perfecting a craft, character study)
The Looming Tower (far different ways of life, modern politics)
Einstein: His life and universe (science, personal potential)
Eat, Pray, Love (comfort, personal potential, character study)
Rumspringa (far different ways of life, life choices)

Top 5 Fiction
The Stone Angel (best character to know)
We Were the Mulvaneys (human dynamics)
Lost in the Garden (golf, life choices)
The Zero (9/11 book w/o being cliched)
Double Fault (tennis, life choices, [dark] character study)

Big Sky

2008-01-22T18:41:00.000-05:00

6o of 60!!! Big Sky (A.B. Guthrie, Jr.)

So, this is the last one of 2007 and, as I like to say, it better be good.

Well it is pretty good. If you are into the west and the adventuring spirit, specifically from 1830 to 1843...those days when a man could just take his horse and his rifle, set off into the world, and make some money trapping fur while living out in the open.

Our protagonist is a kid/man by the name of Boone Caudill. He takes off from his home in Kentucky and his abusive father one day (1830) in the hopes of finding his mountain-man uncle in St. Louis. Years later, he's a bit west of St. Louis. He's also a mountain man in his own right, with a tight group of mountain man friends (Jim Deakins, Dick Summers) and a Blackfoot wife.

So many things about this book are awesome--the way it talks about the land, the way you get a sense of how one actually could go out with just a rifle and his horse and live. These men know some very cool things--they know the land so well that they can actually take advice from the direction of the wind or the way the clouds are rolling across a valley. This is the west as we'd like to picture it forever. The other west is the one where smallpox is killing off entire bands of Indians and the land isn't so open and free or even full of game anymore. That comes into it, too.

And there's there's Boone. I finished this book over a month ago and still I am angry at Boone for acting like such a dumb kid and not truly cherishing what he had. But perhaps that's the message for all of us regarding the use of land: don't screw it up.

I like the way Jim talks to Boone about heavy and important things without sounding heavy at all. Jim has studied Boone just as well as he studies the weather, and has accepted that Boone will always be a hotheaded kid with difficulty expressing himself. Good thing Jim can read him. You really get the sense these two are working together to make sure Boone is a whole person. And of course, Boone saves Jim's life in many ways, too, so it's a real symbiosis. As for the Blackfeet, that part's incredibly interesting too, and sad.

So much of this book is sad. Sad and bittersweet and often very beautiful. If you are attracted to open spaces and the idea of self-sufficiency and, yes, big sky, then you can expect to get completely immersed in this book. The truth you find, though, is that no one can be completely self-sufficient and expect to live long. I can only hope that Boone figured that out too.

Damn kid.

Good book.

Hold on there, Wild Fire

2008-01-22T16:09:00.000-05:00

59 of 60: Wild Fire (Nelson Demille).

I've mentioned Nelson Demille and his main character John Corey. In this book, Corey's charm wore on me. He stretches his "amusing" rebelliousness to the absolute breaking point, nearly getting himself and his wife killed. Luckily, his wife Kate (also FBI, but not a former cop like John--a big distinction in mindset) is incredidibly smart.

Still, what a mess. One of John's colleagues is killed while surveilling a "person of interest" --this person happens to be a very rich founder of a hunting club and lives on heavily secured land. John decides he's going to find out a) why the FBI gave Harry the assignment (it's against protocol in a few ways) and b) what IS the deal with this hunting club?

Turns out this is an "aftermath of 9/11" book. John lost a lost of friends and coworkers in 9/11. So did Kate. The guy who owns the hunting club seems to be into vigilante justice on a global scale. So the book starts with sentiments like "what happened was awful" but then tends to vacillate between a vague "do we do the same to the mideast that they did to us?" and "that's crazy--that won't help anything." Corey seems not to be decided. And his actions are pretty erratic to match. Also self-destructive. Also not very amusing.

In previous books, the Corey way had to been to sidestep procedures in order to get something done. And he was thinking intelligently where his government bosses weren't. In this one, there's not enough rhyme or reason to John. And certainly not enough intelligence. He's out for vengeance for 9/11 and/or Harry's death; he's angry at his boss/bosses; he's cavalier with his own life and his wife's; he's making weird, blurted jokes along the way...basically he's trying too hard.

This is not the John Corey I know and love. Read Plum Island instead.

The Way of a Boy

2008-01-12T16:35:00.000-05:00

58 of 60: The Way of a Boy (Ernest Hillen). Before you even think of smirking about the cover of this book, I should warn you: don't. You'll hate yourself for it later.

The title's not so snappy either, so you'd never know by looking at it what a fascinating book this is.

Ernest Hillen, of Dutch descent and now grown, tells the story of being interned by the Japanese army in World War II: living --starting at 10 years old--in camps in Indonesia with his mother and older brother. When the book opens, the father has already been taken to a camp. Ernest, Jerry, and their mother have been living on their own...until the Japanese come for them too. Eventually Jerry is taken to a separate camp for "men" (at age 13), leaving Ernest and his mother, and whomever other captives they manage to befriend.

This is a survival story, and it quickly becomes apparent that Hillen, even as a young boy, is able to develop little projects for himself (a hallmark of survivors) and thus distract himself from his own captivity:

I sat down in the dark in front of our door and exercised my calf muscles.
I did this in quiet moments ....strength mattered.; calves had become
important.

It's an endearing quality. He's a worthy companion, not only to his friends in the camp and his mother (a formidable and scrupulously good person, no surprise) but to readers as well. I often wonder what wartime means on a daily [food, shelter] basis. Hillen gives us a good idea:

An adult's bed space was just under 24 inches, a child's under 20 inches.
So on about 44 inches, my mother and I slept, ate, and kept our clothes, spoons,
mugs and bowls. She and I also had a fork, and our small lidded tin with four
tablespoons of brown sugar we'd saved up. We would have had more but she had
bartered three spoons and half a spool of thread for a brassiere sewn from a tea
towel.

These glimpses are, of course, interspersed with unavoidable accounts of captor cruelty and deaths (by violence, starvation, inadvertent poisoning). Somehow, this is not as depressing as it should be. I think that's because little Ernest is so good at focusing on other, more human and positive details. Through it all, his essential spirit perseveres, which is quite an accomplishment.

Luck played its part too: The Hillen family was reunited in 1946 in Canada. Well worth reading.

Who wrote pages 1-75?

2008-01-06T19:11:00.001-05:00

Four books to go until 2008 reading begins!

So here begin my own "Goodbye to 2007" final summaries:

Book 57 of 60: Family Trade (Charles Stross). This is Book 1 of an apparently very popular series called The Merchant Princes. Now, I'm told Charles Stross is revered in some circles for his fantasy know-how, but it seems to me that no one like that could have written the first 75 pages of this book. In short, they are terrible. Anyone else (not stuck on a bus/carrying an extra book to read) would have quit. These pages could be used as a workbook exercise in how to edit. Here are two examples from the worst page--and I'm paraphrasing now, bc I might have intentionally lost the book:

1] ...She was not surprised to find the forest had an edge...

2]... That there was no edge to the forest came as a surprise.

Let me reiterate: this is from the same page. Absolutely embarassing. And then, against all odds, it seems, page 76 begins a gradual turnaround, in which I learn about a medieval-seeming parallel world, in which our protagonist, Miriam, is quite important (and wealthy!!). The wealth is based on a complicated import/export system...and magic.

I am told that hardcore sci-fi readers generally prefer the kind of plot where real-world things could possibly lead to the fictional world of the book. But in the case of fantasy (and this book) it's a magic locket that takes you there.

I agree that this is disappointing. It would have been more clever to take the environmental/earth/fuel concerns going on right now and concoct a story whereby we run out of oil (we are near peak production right now), we stop traveling by plane and car so often because we really can't--we work by candelight and ride horses or bikes everywhere. We store the energy we generate by using the exercise bike and this powers our tv...THIS is the kind of story that I think is more useful.

But it's clear there's going to be a hook-up soon between Miriam and sexy Roland. Good enough to draw me to book 2? Not sure. I need to let the memory of pages 1-75 fade.

Crow Lake

2008-01-06T12:17:00.000-05:00

A slow burn, but --as a result-- all the more able to affect readers.

Crow Lake (Mary Lawson) to me had a similar feel to The Girls. At least in terms of kids taking car of each other in a somber yet communal Canadian envronment. It concerns four kids whose parents are killed in a car accident. The two older boys, Matt and Luke, end up providing for and taking care of the family, which is rounded out by the narrator, Kate, and, Bo, the littlest girl.

Wrapped up in this story is the idea of self-sacrifice versus selfish giving. Selfish giving. what? Well, hang on with me and I'll explain. Just before the accident, Luke has won a scholarship to teaching college, something that everyone (the wider family, the neighbors) agrees he should take advantage of. But in the hierarchy (or should I even say) stereotyping of this particular family, Matt is considered the one with the real intellect. Luke, well aware of this and also the oldest, decides he will sacrifice his scholarship and get working so he can support the family and keep the house and make room for Matt to get a scholarship and attend university. Selfish giving. With this sacrifice Luke does not have to endure the pressure of being the family's Hope for Higher Learning. That's a lot of pressure.

Matt, of course, being equally giving, can't stand this but he accepts it only to have to give up his university place for another reason (which you will find out). When he does this, the side effect is that the girls are even more likely to enjoy a formal education, particularly our intrepid narrator, who used to go to the ponds with Matt and learn homegrown marine biology lessons.

And yet Kate cannot forgive Matt, though he is clearly the sibling to which she is closest. Often happens that way I guess. Strong emotions are strong emotions, and the strength of them does not change even as they flip from good to corrosive.

But what is masterful on the part of the author, I think, is that for so many pages I read along with Kate, and agreed with her and agreed with her until...very subtly, I began to think that maybe she was unfair and narrow-minded and too strict, and perhaps not even half the person that her brother is, intellect aside. And perhaps the kind of person you are does not have only to do with your intelligence...

And my heart grew two sizes that day.

I'm only half kidding. It's a wonderful narrative shift when you start to get an idea that maybe a little sister's view of things is narrow, and certainly doesn't take into account other good things in life besides formal education. Things like, families staying together and surviving. She was right about Matt: he's pretty smart, and I would add: he is certainly not dead yet. For all that his education has been self-directed, it's not a bad one. And it can continue throughout his life.

Thank you, Mary Lawson. This was a worthy book. And it reminded me of the Boxcar Children, one of the best children's book series ever. Have you guys read this series? Find it. That and now Crow Lake (though devised for distinct audiences) are valuable reminders that children are not just children. They are young and often intelligent people, with amazing powers not only to adapt but to take on incredible responsibility.

Shoulda turned in early

2008-01-02T16:18:00.000-05:00

Late nights on air (Elizabeth Hay) did not grab me. It had all the elements I usually fall for: the far north (Yellowknife), small-town radio, a cast made up of refugees from other places. But no.

And before I go on, I must advise you that Elizabeth Hay won the Giller Prize for this book. It was all anyone in Canadian Publishing could talk about. So I am likely wrong when I say I felt like I was reading Northern Exposure re-runs. That is, I was having to rely for imagination on a televised fake protrayal of northern living. Why wasn't I getting a clearer image from the book itself?

Ugh, no mind. I bear Hay no ill-will, but these people are like so many I've seen before. The troubled, cruel beauty; the curmudgeonly has-been; the bad boy nobody trusts; the good girl who seeks constant validation. And they really don't seem to emerge too much from those molds though you expect that, if anything would do it, it's the canoe trip that four of them have been planning for months and months.

That doesn't do it, even though something big happens.

So...I don't know. I don't know what I felt about it. Perhaps it didn't give strong enough medicine to induce a reaction.

Far From the Madding Crowd

2008-01-02T15:16:00.000-05:00

Thomas Hardy is not a guy I'd call full of hope. After reading Jude the Obscure--a work I admired for its pure manipulation of all my depressive tendencies--I thought a lot about Thomas Hardy. I mean, really, what is eating him?

Well for one thing, in Far From the Madding Crowd, he doesn't have a lot of faith in women. (Funny how I just read another author, Olivia Goldsmith, who didn't have much faith in men. Too bad these two couldn't have a cross-the-centuries debate). But perhaps Hardy is not that chauvinistic, because he also doesn't seem to have a lot of faith in humankind in general. He seems to subscribe to the idea that most humans, if pressed, will do the despicable and cowardly thing first and most often.

But at the same time Hardy is depressive, he is also a romantic. He really wants the good guy (in this case, Gabriel Oak, a man as strong in his word as in his name) to get his comeuppance. In short, he wants him to get the girl. This "girl" or woman I should say runs a farm and has (through a series of events) become Oak's employer. Her name is Bathsheba and she is portrayed as fickle, emotionally unstable, and sort of whimsically cruel. Though he doesn't tend to show them, Oak's emotions are in an uproar.

So are ours, because Hardy achieves amazing and disorienting prose by writing tragically and lightheartedly in turn, back and forth, back and forth until your feelings are in such an uproar you can relate quite well to Oak and also to the "emotional instability" of Bathsheba herself (who has been Gabriel's object of affection since even before she became a powerful woman farmer in a land full of men).

But Bathsheba does commit a number of cruelly thoughtless acts, many of which are explained so bizarrely that Hardy might as well be saying "Oh the beautiful--they know not what they do." Strange for an author to demand so much less from beauty, as personified by Bathsheba, than from loyalty and hard work as personified by Gabriel Oak.

But then while Hardy takes care to highlight Bathsheba's negative qualities, he also manages to make it clear that she is intelligent-- intelligent enough to distance herself from her ne'er do well husband Troy, a former soldier turned lout and thief, and whose interference is threatening her farm and livelihood.

These kind of issues keep up a sort of old-fashioned societal tension in even the most modern readers. What a predicament for a woman in the late 1800s (the book was published in the early 1870s but I believe was set 30 or so years earlier): to be forced into obedience to her lawful husband, when her character and intelligence is much more suited to business than his.

But there are incredibly funny parts to this story too. Bathsheba says to her near-spinster housegirl Maryann:

B: You ought to be married by this time and not here troubling me:
M: Ay Mistress. So I did. But what between the the poor men I won't have, and the rich men who won't have me, I stand as a pelican in the wilderness.

Pelican in the wilderness. I think that would make a great T-shirt. Hardy has some astute observations on character too:

He wished she knew his impressions; but he would as soon have thought
of carrying an odour in a net as of attempting to convey the intangibilities of his feelings in the coarse meshes of language. So he remained silent.

So yes, what a portrait of a harsh, hemmed in world. And yet there is such family and community in this story. So many people in and out of a house all day, commenting on each other's behavior.

When next you show up at your parents' place and they ask you how you are, consider answering like this: Neither sick nor sorry, but no younger.

Hardy is a master of this kind of logical certainty.

Broken Angels

2008-01-01T20:25:00.000-05:00

Oh, yes, and Happy, Happy New Year, fans of blondiereads.com!

I am a titch behind, but catching up--and feeling glad to be working after the holidays.

Bring out your inner scientist for this little number, the second in the Takeshi Kovacs series by Richard M. Morgan. (Read about the third book, Woken Furies, here.)

Broken Angels is techy, and about such trifling everyday things as survival, rebirth, and struggling for identity in a world where souls are bought and sold. Holy shit--I should be an announcer for Alliance, Atlantis, don't you think? I can hear me now, "And the one thing she couldn't remember was the one thing she would never forget..."

Fantastic, but let's not shy away from the subject of...wait for it..Mars. Yep, that old chestnut. As Morgan fans will inform you, the Martians have left behind a number of types of technology. Problem is, the remaining dwellers haven't figured out how to work everything properly. Archaeologues study it, and excavate clues, and are part of a Guild with a Capital G.

(I'm sorry--did I just step into a World of Warcraft session? My goodness, Mistress Wardani, I was just taking in the night air. No need to offend. )

Anyway, Once I focused my furrowed brow on this incredibly complex story set in Future Wartime, I found the action to be very hot. The plot is this: A crack crew AWOL from their military posts--you could say they've become mercenaries--tries to investigate a Mars ship that seems to be some kind of bridge to another world, war rages and threatens to destroy their land. Crap, look at me--I'm doing it again. Voiceovers here I come!

But here's something you should always remember: Knock out the physical baffles. That is my tip for the day--it goes right alongside such other life-saving advice as "Never follow a blood trail" and "never buy sushi on sale."

A fun, fun book. It comes complete with an evil deathvendor going by the name of Semetaire (look for him again come Mardi Gras) and an afterworld. So... never boring. Also, not bad writing, I must say. It's got to be hard to describe future landscapes and make us see as clearly as this:

Dangrek.
The coast huddled inward from a chilly grey sea, weathered granite hills
thinly clothed with low-growing vegetation and a few patches of forest. It was
clothing that the landscape started shrugging off in favour of lichen and bare
rock as soon as height permitted.

These are all good things but they still do not allow me to overlook the disappointing use of two of my least favorite words: hegemony (page 44, x 2) and diaspora (page 30, x 2). I shall overlook it this once, but please do not disappoint me again (says Mistress Blondie of the Guild).

A good winter read for deep thinkers.

The Zero

2008-01-01T19:51:00.000-05:00

The Zero (Jess Walter).

You can't be sure whether Brian Remy blacks out every once in a while because he tried to shoot himself in the head or because he is an incurable alcoholic survivor of 9/11. In the end, does it really matter?

For this Manhattan cop, both scenarios grew out of that day, whose partner (also a survivor) babbles on endlessly about complete awe and the new world. Remy's partner refers to Ground Zero as 'the Zero.' The gap in the earth has become his own imaginary companion.

Perhaps an overactive mouth is a better affliction than extreme gaps in memory. One minute Remy is staking out an apartment; the next he is fresh from sex with his...girlfriend? Who also happens to be the surviving sister of a "person of interest" whom he is investigating. Every once in a while he visits the Office of Record Retrieval (or something equally government-sounding, the true name escapes me this moment) to look at tiny shreds of office paper in the hope of finding a clue.

The effect is so disjointed and isolating, that you really get a sense of his feeling of being at perpetual loose ends.

Now a ghost in his own city, he has also become a ghost in his family. His son has taken up a sort of act of protest, continuing to act as if his father died when the towers fell. It's how he shares his feelings about 9/11, say his ex-wife and others. I just say it's the son being unspeakably cruel.

So all of these thing happen in separate vignettes, and the gaps in between are filled in by us. It really puts us in a state of shock. Not the happiest book, since we come to understand that above all, Remy is irredeemably...sad. A fascinating book in terms of structure, and especially in terms of using a medium that is the message. Such a well communicated silence and dismay. The Zero.

One of the best 9/11 books I've seen yet. And please do watch for the wonderfully surprising tidbits of humor--the using of recipes as identifiers, for example that make this book a real experience.

Bestseller

2007-12-28T12:12:00.000-05:00

This book is a delicious treat. But if you read a little deeper, it's got a lot of anger in it too.

Bestseller (Olivia Goldsmith) is quite a send-up of the publishing industry, and it hits most of the genres as it goes.

We have an aging so-so writer of emotional women's fiction (think Danielle Steele); we have a mother whose child committed suicide and left behind a great work (think Confederacy of Dunces); we've got a husband-and-wife team writing true crime from the criminal's perspective, only it turns out his definition of team is to have her do all the work while he takes all the credit; We have a lovely little E.M. Forster type book written by a lovely unassuming English expat living in Italy.

And starting for the other team...

The main archetypes of the publishing world: The vain and snooty publisher of a Simon and Schuster-type house, who has become accustomed to a certain number of sales to fit his lifestyle; the bitchy editor who's gotten used to picking winners and has forgotten what to do if she doesn't; the quietly brilliant assistant editor who represents emerging talent. The too-cool agent who takes his star writer for granted and doesn't have the time of day for an unknown; the emerging-talent agent who has nothing but time for the unknowns.

Here's something else that becomes fairly obvious: men don't do very well in this book. With only a few exceptions, men have the dubious honor of being the lying, desperate, cowardly, tyrannical cheats of this book. And with the exception of Pam the bitchy editor, the women slog along, talented and ridiculed, only to throw off the chains of the oppressor through published vindication. Perhaps that's how Goldsmith came up in the world. She certainly can write a nicely, paced and lively story, full of amusing vignettes. And she certainly is no dummy.

Goldsmith took some care with this book: each chapter has a quote about publishing or editing or writing--some real, some made up according to the characters. and it also says a whole lot of really truthful, hardhitting things about what's wrong with publishing. Here is my favorite:

Publishers were always looking for the next new success, while virtually
none of them accepted or read new writers' work. Publishers depended on agents'
submissions, but agents only received 10 or 15% of a writer's income, so they
tried to limit their stables to writers who would earn huge advances. And most
of the agents didn't take on new clients. So how was a new writer to get
published, and how were publishers going to find the next new thing?

Oh how right she is. And with all this going for it, it's unfortunate that Goldsmith's copy editor didn't come through for her --the book has many obvious typos, which I found ironic. It also veers toward slapstick, one of those books where the villains are so villainous, they might as well wear an eyepatch and carry a parrot on their shoulders. But if this is what it takes...I have to admit that Goldsmith gets her point across. (Now if only she had tackled the concept of remainders, which has got to be the most backward practice in business today.)

Goldsmith wrote 14 books, the first of which, First Wives Club, made her famous. But it seems she had a little too much in common with at least one of her protagonists. I recently came across an article about Goldsmith's death from complications during cosmetic surgery.

Death of Olivia Goldsmith

Well. But don't let that take away from the very smart things she did and thought. Here's another:

'We don't accept unsolicited--'
The old woman was nodding her head. 'I know that dear. Believe me, I know.
You can't get an agent unless you've already been published. You can't be
published unless you've already been published. And you can't be considered for
publication if you don't have an agent.'

But Olivia Goldsmith isn't too hard on us. She makes everything work out [almost too peachily, perhaps] in the end. And she leaves us with this thought about reading:

It wasn't an alternative to an experience or an escape from
it....Reading was the only way we could transcend our own experience and
deeply engage in that of another.

Yes, that I can agree with. For anyone who's ever played an assistant or low-on-the-totem-pole role in publishing, devour this book. You won't be able to help yourself.

And good night. But tell me this, readers. Is the restaurant she decribes, Flor de Mayo, the same restaurant in Double Fault, on Upper Broadway where they eat cuban style rice and beans and barbecued pork for a reasonable price? I'm going to check this out when next I am in Manhattan.

Spin

2007-12-27T15:43:00.000-05:00

Here comes Mars again.

This year has been a year of Sci-Fi testing for me. Which basically means I've gotten into some heated arguments about Mars, and why so many Sci-Fi lovers are obsessed with it. I have heard it's because Mars is so close to Earth, and because it has similar features to those on Earth. Apparently there are many reasons why Mars is the most likely of the planets (we know about) to harbor life (as we know it).

So hey, that's cool. I like a book that gets me interested in doing my own research. Spin is one of those books. And it's also a book that your run-of-the-mill fiction reader might still find interesting, even without a predilection for Sci-Fi.

In Spin (Robert Charles Wilson), the inhabitants of Earth have basically ruined it (not so fictional after all, see) and a more knowledgeable and powerful form of life has intervened by enclosing the planet in a new and simulated protective atmosphere. I began to refer to this as "bagging" the Earth to protect it from the sun. The Earth's original atmosphere is too deteriorated to accomplish this by itself.

The funny/scary thing was to read this on an unseasonably warm and sticky October weekend. I would stumble out of the house squinting against hazy orange sunlight and think "am I in the book? Boy I hope someone comes and puts us in a bag so we don't scorch." (This was much like seeing the movie The Matrix when I was living in New York City. You leave the fiction only to enter a similar reality.)

Spin's action centers around Tyler Dupree, the childhood friend of rich kids Jason and Diane Lawton. Tyler's actions, in turn, center around Jason and Diane. Jason has become a prominent scientist and has come to run his dad's NASA-type company (called Perihelion) and its top-secret survival plan to prepare Mars for human habitation by "terraforming" the planet. That is, developing the atmosphere enough (Mars' own is very thin) that things will grow--eventually growing enough to support colonists sent from Earth.

The thing about the protective membrane around the Earth, though, is that it alters the frequency of the Earth's orbit and thefore alters the way time passes. This means that in one human lifetime on Earth (or within "the Spin"), colonists sent to Mars will have already created ancestors, many generations on. So this curiosity and how it affects the logistics of colonizing Mars, drives the scientific thread of the book. Although, I found this to be the largest mental stretch. Why can't we just have a protective membrane? Why does it have to slow us down? And who is this unknown benefactor? But read on, friends, read on.

Eventually, we do meet a man from Mars called Wun (a many-generations-removed descendant of the original colonists from Earth). In one charming scene, he asks Tyler to bring him something to read, and then works through our classic speculative literature about Mars, including Robert A. Heinlein's Stranger in a Strange Land. As Tyler says, after delivering the bundle of books:

I heard nothing more from him for a couple of weeks.

The other thread of the book has to do with religion. When Earth received its protective covering and was put into the Spin, many people thought the world was ending. The stars were no longer visible anywhere, and before the simulated sun (ie less intense energy source) could be put into place, there was darkness and chaos. Many people killed themselves. Other people joined cultlike religions. This included Diane, who is also (big surprise) Tyler's love-interest. He has been obsessed with her since they were kids. He's still obsessed with her now, despite the fact that she has a [religious-freak] boyfriend and an unfortunate tendency to wear high collars and long shapeless skirts. Personally, I failed to see the attraction. Diane didn't seem to have all that many redeeming qualities. To put it more specifically, she failed to convince me that she believed in anything or was curious about much, even her own religion. She seemed to want something to follow. Just like shapeless clothing, I find lack of strength (especially mental) a huge turn-off.

Perhaps to distract himself from unrequited love, Tyler, a doctor, tries to find his way in the world. To Tyler, who is pretty unimaginative, this means finding Jason. He does this, and becomes the physician serving the participants of Perihelion's colonization program. He finds out Jason is not the healthy specimen Tyler thought he was. This is also when he gets to know and respect Wun , who was part of the intellectual elite back home on Mars and, of course, a vital source of information and of fascinating new technology. I won't spill that secret.

But there will always be ignorance, fear, and the resultant misunderstandings in the world, and this book explores that. Too bad it doesn't explore the characters well enough for them to seem fully developed. Tyler becomes little more than an unthinking adorer of Jason and Diane Lawton, and Jason and Diane are little more than symbols of diverging paths (science, religion) in the face of great change.

Nonetheless, there are some very big and multilayered ideas here, and you really feel like your mind is bending. Time and relativity, human reactions to great events...this is an epic book that takes in a lot of territory. I'd ask Wilson for two things, though:

To beef up his character development (boy do I sound like a broken record these days). These people were pretty cardboard to me. Perhaps this was to show the isolation they felt in a world that seemed not to make sense, but the effect for me was frustration--they seemed less than human when they should have been more intensely so.

Take more care with the ending. Similar to the way time sped up outside the Spin, it sped up at the end of the book. All of a sudden, Wilson seemed to have a thousand more things to tell me. Take it easy, sir. No need to get frantic.

All told, the concepts alone make this very much worth reading. Go slowly in parts, discuss with other people, let your curiosity inspire you to conduct Google [or old-school book] research.

What's also interesting is to imagine what your reaction might be if the stars go out.

Midwives

2007-12-23T21:20:00.000-05:00

Childbirth. For the uninitiated, the idea is vaguely terrifying. I say vaguely because I have trouble imagining this process, particularly, how it all happens without serious injury. On the other hand, childbirth is completely natural and normal. Reading Midwives (Chris Bohjalian) furthered both of these impressions.

Sibyl Danforth is a midwife in small-town Vermont. She's also two other things: 1) the mother of Connie, who's narrating the story, and 2) the defendant in a manslaughter case.

Sibyl's client, Charlotte Bedford, might have survived if the winter roads had not been impossible to drive with their thick coating of ice. (If you live in a climate where this kind of thing is possible, please time conception accordingly. I really don't want to worry about you.)

Sibyl, who we come to understand is a very conscientious midwife, would have driven Charlotte to the hospital where her complications might have been more easily managed. At home, Sibyl only managed to save the child, with a kitchen knife.

Most likely you drew a sharp inward breath at this point. I did too.

Certainly the scene made an impression on Sibyl's new assistant, who later tells authorities that she thinks (though she can't possibly be sure) that Charlotte Bedford was still alive when Sibyl performed the emergency C-section.

And now the second tragedy begins. The first was Charlotte's death; the second, I would say, is the slow death of Sibyl's spirit though a prolonged trial. This book points out that the law is reductive. The law in this book also seems to sap the life out of its participants, though perhaps that's a function of the writing itself.

Connie, as she later recounts her mother's ordeal, her father's, and the relationship the family had with their lawyer, seems to be sleepwalking. Since she is now a physician herself, most of this is explainable as clinical detachment. But it certainly doesn't move me as much as it should. Connie was a teenager when this happened; even an even-keeled, logical teenager would have felt slightly more than she thought in this scenario. To readers, however, she recounts her thoughts. She then describes the scenes she witnessed, taking care to inform us the minute she veers into any speculation. It is all quite professional.

That said, Bohjalian strikes me as a good author. This is the first book of his I have read, so I am not yet sure, but he hits upon very interesting ideas: The midwife's struggle against the more traditionally accepted medical practice; small towns and narrowmindedness; a woman's struggle to do good in the world, even when she is not positively recognized for it. But I think the people of this book lose a little for all that.

I read this always with the sense that I was looking for it to get on track--to things like Connie and her mom and what they talked about; Connie's decision to be a physician rather than midwife; Sibyl's very close relationship with her dashing lawyer and whether Connie really just accepted that as a teenager. These were the pockets that made me curious. And the pockets that went relatively unexplored. Instead we get a play-by-play of that crucial night and then of the trial.

It is hard for me to embrace a trial-heavy plot. Certainly I'm a fan of Vincent Bugliosi (non-fiction), and I have enjoyed Jodi Picoult (fiction) ...and yet I think what makes law the most interesting is how it causes people to act once they are outside of the courtroom. Midwives comes very close to showing us. To me, it only falls a tiny bit short.

In the end, Connie does eventually take action, an action which shows more feeling than thinking. It is an action that caused me to both think and feel: about daughters, about midwives, and about Sibyl. So yes, it came very close to what I wanted. But for goodness sake, do not read this book while pregnant.

The Island Walkers

2007-12-08T21:58:00.000-05:00

The Island Walkers (John Bemrose) are not to be confused with the Walkers who live in town.

No, these Walkers are different. I felt it too; as soon as you meet this family, you know that bad things are going to happen to them. A sort of watchfulness comes over you, and you are slower to pick up the book and find out what dark, creepy thing will happen to one of them today.

One of the dark, creepy things (whatever your politics, it turns out) is the re-arrival of the union and its fight against the new owners of the local mill (think sweaters), where most everyone in town makes their living. It's uneasy, what's going on. Especially since it's not the first time. We come to find out that Alf Walker had quite a leading role in the last stand-off, and now he's a little reluctant to fall into the trap again.

Along for the ride is his family: Alf's wife Maragaret is an English war bride, wishing for a bit of status in Canada like she had in England. Alf's older son Joe is in high school and struggling to be somebody; he just doesn't know who. One of his main distractions is his interest in Anna, the new girl in town, whose dad is one of the new mill owners (against unions, of course).

TANGENT ALERT: Anna is hands-down my least favorite character in the book. She's so full of her own deepness and so proud of her own troubled backstory. Many prime-time shows on TV write this character in. She never appeals to women, and it's not because she's delicately attractive either (they all are, but then so are some of us). It's really because she's a misanthrope; the only person she'll ever love is herself, so boys have to fall all over themselves in everlasting hope. But I have to let it go. END TANGENT.

Then there's Jamie, the young son, and Penny, who has blue eyes like her dad. Every one of these Island Walkers seemed abnormally tender and vulnerable to me.

Things happen, money gets tight, worse things happen. The funny thing is that the terrible things I was imagining would happen weren't the same as the terrible things that did happen. Not sure what to make of this observation, except that perhaps this is a significant trick on the part of John Bemrose, because I was pretty sure I had been paranoid enough to imagine all of it. And yet I was surprised.

Also, clearly I cared about the people, because I was tense for a very long time, but I want to share with you Bemrose's main technique. He is one of those authors who ends each section significantly. Where each word used or picture painted could double as something else. Sometimes it's a little much. For example, after Alf and Joe stop their roof mending:

His son was there, a slim tanned figure standing on the peak. The boy seemed impossibly distant, like youth itself. A panel of shingles hung from his hand like a broken wing.

A-ha. Impossibly distant. Broken wing. And my 12th-grade-English-class self is saying "broken wing. Flight equals freedom. The son doesn't have it. Cannot leave the nest." The distant part is a lot easier to figure, and this distance grows. I really wanted this father-son relationship to work out. I won't say what does happen in the end, but the bulk of the book is spent showing us how many little things both tear familes apart (misunderstandings, unconfessed details) and keep them together (necessity, a deep thread of caring).

Now, you want to know, is it worth reading? Yes I would say it is. But oh my goodness SOOOO Canadian. It has that deliberate (some would say slow) pacing and feeling of resigned melancholy common to many Canadian novels. And while Bemrose's love affair with weighted ending passages can be excessive, I will say that he manages to put us inside the mind of each member of this family just at the right moment and in the right dosage to make you understand there is no simple solution. This is not a happy book: it has ugly truths; it is full of longing. You'll want to solve this family's problems and you'll come to realize that you can't. You'll know this because you have seen what each of them thinks -- at the same time that none of them will say any of it out loud. (ARGGHHH! the frustration!)

Talk to the people you love, my goodness. Tell them what you are thinking. Let us all learn at least that, so the Island Walkers will not have suffered in vain. Also, if you're going through a tough time, do not pick up this book--the sadness in it is not companionable; it seeps into you. Dangerous without appropriate supervision.

Eat, Pray, Love

2007-12-08T16:11:00.000-05:00

Here is the gist of Eat, Pray, Love (Elizabeth Gilbert):

Gilbert, in a bad spot in her life (failed marriage followed by a failed love affair), embarks on a one-year trip to Italy, India, and then Indonesia in search of some kind of peace with herself and her life.

She starts with the dopamine-releasing process of eating pasta every day in Italy, learning Italian and tutoring a young man in English. In India, she travels to an ashram and learns (the hard way, it seems) to meditate. She then travels to Indonesia to re-visit an old medicine man and learn what she can from him.

This is ambitious. It is no less ambitious than finding God. Gilbert is a bit cagey about this topic, but it seems that finding God is exactly what she's doing. Or at least finding some connection to herself and to the world, and to a feeling of connectedness with those around her. (Uh...more on that particular conversation later.)

The story starts out rough, since we first meet Gilbert hiding out in her own bathroom early in the morning, sobbing. Her soon-to-be ex-husband sleeps upstairs. In that scene, she becomes convinced that there's a bigger answer for her, and that she is not alone.

I agree with one crucial thing: she certainly is not alone in this world. But I have to admit, I thought "uh-oh. I don't know if this is the book I want to be in right now. I don't know that I want to have this conversation -- especially with someone who is clearly hysterical, and slightly man-obsessed." Religion? Equals danger zone.

But Gilbert has many, many talents, among them an ear for collectible snippets of dialogue and story. This is a woman who is gifted at showing exactly how funny her friends are. Not a small matter. I was entertained, for sure, but I also began to realize what this means. It means Gilbert, perhaps not always intentionally, can't help but show us how funny she is herself. To recognize everyday hilarity and then transmit it successfully, you have to have an intimate understanding of humor. She does.

She is also an extreme person. She throws herself passionately into pasta and Italian. She throws herself repeatedly against the [closed door, at first] of meditation. She throws herself into the community life of an Indonesian village, eventually taking up a collection to buy her neighbor a house.

At any rate, let me go back to the beginning. Once Gilbert began to relax, so did I. I began to think, too. And Gilbert provides a lot of food for thought. Here's one:

Even in my own life, I can see exactly where my episodes of unhappiness have brought suffering or distress or (at the very least) inconvenience to those around me. The search for contentment is, therefore, not merely a self-preserving and self-benefiting act, but also a generous gift to the world. Clearing out all your misery gets you out of the way. You cease being an obstacle, not only to yourself but to anyone else.

That is a good point; there's truth to it.

Now...about the religion. I soon came to belive that Gilbert isn't trying to force anyone into anything. She's merely trying to be a friend to herself and others. So that also helped me to relax. She certainly makes some breakthroughs through meditation, and all power to her...Her meditation struggles are really quite interesting, especially to a runner. They inspired a lot of thoughts about how the mind works, and how remarkable it is. Not only remarkable -- crucial to one's overall well-being. But I tend to agree with her friend Ketut, Balinese medicine man, whom she was smart to quote:

I think about religion, most of it is same-same. I have good idea for if you meet some person from different religion and he want to make argument about God. My idea is, you listen to everything this man say about God. Never argue about God with him. Best thing to say is "I agree with you." Then you go home, pray what you want. This is my idea for people to have peace about religion.

Here, here, Ketut. Let's have a resurgence of tolerance, shall we?

Bottom line is: Gilbert, you'd be good at a party. if you're in town ever, let's have a drink and maybe some pasta too.

The Girls

2007-12-08T14:14:00.000-05:00

Fascinating, fascinating novel. The Girls (Lori Lansens).

Rose and Rudy Darlen are coinjoined twins (attached at the side of the skull, they have never talked face to face) living on an Ontario farm town called "Leacock" with adoptive parents they call "Aunt Lovey" and "Uncle Stash." Aunt Lovey was the nurse on duty in Toronto when a just-delivered mother ran off, abandoning her craniopagus twins.

Aunt Lovey, Uncle Stash, Rose, and Ruby then moved to Aunt Lovey's family's farm, where most of the narrative focuses. Ruby discovers and collects Native artifacts on walks (Rosie carries Ruby's weight on her hip, since Ruby's legs don't work -- but Rosie says they feel like they're both walking).

I could go on and on telling you about these two (...and their neighbors, co-workers and acquaintances), but Lori Lansens does a better job of it herself. When you start reading Rose's account of their lives, you're bursting with crude questions, like "how do they go to the bathroom/have sex? And you do get those answers, but you also get the answers to more interesting, more human questions, such as how they are able to see each other's faces (the farm has mirrors everywhere) and... how does Ruby stand it when Rose wants to go to a hockey game and Ruby couldn't care less? (Ruby knows how much Rose loves hockey.)

Really incredible stuff, matter-of-factly told, first by Rosie typing quietly on her laptop while Ruby sleeps and then more and more by Ruby, cajoled by her sister into writing her part in a notebook. They have an agreement not to look at what the other is writing, yet one picks up the thread pretty much where the other left off. (We learn within that if one sister takes medicine the other is affected by it, so this kind of fluid narrative shouldn't be a surprise.)

Ultimately it's a story about the family you make for yourself and the contentment of that.

But immediate, fascinating stuff is to imagine never being separated from your sister. Oh my goodness, this sent me on a research binge on conjoined twins. Here are a few of the stories I found:

Chang and Eng Bunker (the original twins from Siam, 1811)
Daisy and Violet Hilton (attached at the hips/buttocks--pyopagus; they were vaudeville performers)
Ronnie and Donnie Galyon (attached sternum to groin, sharing a single set of male organs)
Lori and Reba Schappell (Craniopagus; Reba is a touring country western singer)
Abby and "Britty" Hensel (share a torso, and were on Oprah)
Lea and Tabea block (underwent craniopagus separation surgery at Johns Hopkins; Tabea did not make it)
Kendra and Maliyah Herrin (sharing liver, kidney, pelvis, one set of legs, and part of their intestines, they were separated successfully; organ reconstruction was necessary and each girl has one leg. They look like the happiest kids ever)

Really amazing, the things that happen in this world.

Marked man

2007-11-28T17:49:00.000-05:00

Oh that Victor Carl, he does get into trouble. In this book, he is quite literally a Marked Man (William Lashner).

But then he's a professional smart-ass and criminal lawyer, so it's not often he can avoid shall-we-call-them-shady situations. I'll put it out there before you hang in suspense: this is not the greatest of books, but it is a great leading character -- and luckily Lashner has written quite a few books featuring Victor. In fact, Victor reminds me of another of my favorite recurring characters, Nelson Demille's John Corey. (Read Demille's Plum Island for a rip-roaring example of smart and irreverent.)

Still, I have to hand it to Lashner for giving us a beginning worthy of his refreshing leading man. In the first scene, Victor comes to after a rough night and soon discovers he has some woman's name tattooed on his chest. It's not a woman he knows. It's not a woman anybody seems to know, in fact. So that's one thing on his to-do list.

Another is to help out an old lady who wants to see her son one more time before she dies. Sounds simple, sure, but the son's in BIG trouble with the law, and he's on the lam. Victor has to find a way to bring him in, but maybe he should also tell the mother that a bunch of stolen gold jewelry is not an acceptable retainer...

Here's another great thing about Victor. He has his own law firm (struggling) and a true and lovely friendship with his law partner, Beth. She is a great anchor for him and a welcome presence, especially in a genre that can tend toward misogyny. Beth is trying to buy a house (or change her life, she can't figure out which) and this is actually a charming subplot of the book.

In the meantime, Victor wonders (perhaps too many times) whether he is a good guy or a bad guy. Whatever he is, it's never boring.

This one is light, funny entertainment. I'll warn you that the law part of it can often get disturbing (those pesky ethics kept rearing their head with me, and I am no lawyer).

Bottom line: You won't grow as a person, but you might enjoy reading about a life that's more confusing and scary than your own.

Rumspringa

2007-11-22T23:17:00.000-05:00

It's fairly certain I won't see a better cover than this in 2007. Rumspringa (Tom Schachtman).

What on earth is going here, you may ask. The Amish have something called Rumspringa, which is a time-out from the Plain Way. Teenagers are allowed to experiment before choosing to be baptized or not. (Once baptized in the faith, they must abide by its rules or be shunned.) As Schachtman puts it:

The Amish count on the Rumspringa process to inoculate youth against the
strong pull of the forbidden by dosing them with the vaccine of a little worldly
experience. Their gamble is also based on the notion that there is no firmer
adhesive bond to a faith and a way of life than a bond freely chosen.

Certainly there is something strikingly practical about the Rumspringa concept. It's one of the ways in which the Amish impress me with their reasoning. But why is education past the 8th grade on the same forbidden list as smoking and drinking? (Other things on that list include driving a car and wearing jeans.) So I really did feel for these kids as they faced the pressure of making this choice. They, like me, could see the reason behind not drinking, even as they enjoyed doing it. But driving is so freeing-- and, oh my, so is knowledge.

Schachtman presents a great variety of situations, as he explores these same questions in a series of interviews with Amish teens. Kids who eventually chose to be baptized Amish and those who didn't. Or those who were baptized and then strayed so they were shunned. (As I see it, this is the worst scenario.) These kids are also featured in the Sundance Festival documentary Devil's Playground.

The Amish face a lot of change. A farming community, they are up against certain technological innovations that they have to embrace if they want to compete and make a living. But these same innovations in many cases go against their simple, land-focused mindset. So they have had to adapt.

You read about their communities growing smaller and smaller, even as you come to realize the many positives of the Plain Way. These are good kids, who care deeply about their families and neighbors, who are drawn to being a part of a solid community. I don't blame them for wanting that: it's hard to come by these days. I kept thinking, also, of the fictional character in Jodi Picoult's Plain Truth, the older brother who gave up his family and community for his love of learning. What a sacrifice in exchange for a degree. If he had chosen to stay, however, I would have thought "what a sacrifice in order to be part of a community." A tough row to hoe, as it were.

Schachtman did a great job. I was completely engaged with these kids and their situations. There's good reason that this is a Publisher's Weekly starred review. (That and the Kirkus starred review are pretty much sure bets when you're looking for books.)

Thanks Tom, and thank you mom and dad for the gift of higher education (with no strings attached).

Devil in the White City

2007-11-21T22:22:00.000-05:00

People like their drinks in certain mixtures. Ratio is very important. As it is with books that have two main ingredients. So when you encounter a book that is a weak, weak Tom Collins, it's a tiny bit shy of satisfying.

That said, Tom Collins are still good, and Devil in the White City (Erik Larson) has a lot of interesting, sometimes even fascinating information in it. It's about building the 1893 World's Fair in Chicago particularly from the point of view of architect Daniel Hudson Burnham (let's call him the fizz). It's also about a serial killer named Herman Webster Mudgett (he's the gin).

--Let me take a moment to say: if that last moniker doesn't label you a psychopath, I don't know what does--

At any rate, the story of an architect and the story of a murderer run parallel to each other, making a decent-enough drink of a book. History is pretty good when it's like this: a somewhat salacious account of a time period. And now, I shall leave you with my notes.

And two words: Creepy/Enthralling.
-- Right. My notes:

A lot of things proved their worth [through the 1893 World's Fair]:
Chicago

Ferris Wheel

electricity

architecture
--Lot of cameo appearances--Frank Lloyd Wright, Titanic, Stock Market Crash (The Panic).
Atmosphere: pig slaughter, horseshit, corpse-nabbing
Author mentions in the beginning that all quotes are true. Unwillingness to speculate made serial killer part pretty thin.
Seemed like multiple ends for the last 50? to 100 pages.

Although, that Mudgett was SOOOOOO creepy that even those slim sections of the book haunt me still. To imagine being one of those women trying to make a life in a big city while actually creating nothing more for herself than danger, in the form of a handsome "doctor" whose basement houses a special "fire-proof" vault. Oh I didn't finish that sentence. But tell me -- could you?

Next to that, the many pages of architecture were far more educational but not quite as memorable as the sinking feeling HWM gave me. I'll leave it at that.

The Pact

2007-11-21T20:38:00.000-05:00

I said a few things about Jodi Picoult's plotlines in a previous post (Plain Truth).

The Pact's plot does not stand out from this formula. Where The Pact does stand out is in its emotional strength. This is not just a book about a pair of kids (Emily and Chris) who love each other; it's also about their parents, who have been best friends and neighbors since before the kids were even born.

Take that in for a second.

Not only does this strong connection raise the stakes for everyone, it also rips them apart. Suddenly Emily is dead and Chris is a suspect, though he says Emily wanted to die. How is a mother to act when she thinks her best friend's son killed Emily? This was deeply affecting to me. In addition, I am not giving anything away with what I just told you now. There is a whole lot more to come out of the woodwork.

The pages flew by but the feeling stayed with me.

Last time I'll fall for that one

2007-11-21T19:38:00.000-05:00

Did Craig Holden lose a bet? This is the most audaciously implausible pasted-together thriller I've read in quite a while. Did he write it in one day?

I picked up Last Sanctuary a) because the title made me giggle and b) because Holden hails from the Northwest US of A and has set this novel against the backdrop of Seattle, Washington and somewhere, Alaska (with all the ferries and evergreens that entails).

But, dear readers, that's where the interest ends. A cult, various explosions, emotionally needy people on the run, inconsistent main character...did I mention the cult? I should have given up right then. This is 101 level stuff. and even there it would barely get a passing grade. And I might be misrembering but I could swear someone faked his own death. You know what? I'm not even going to look it up, because that might as well have happened. In fact, the book invites exactly that, a longing for an apbrupt end.

You may ask me why I finished it. Well (true story) I read most of it on a ferry. In one day.

I have heard, however, that Holden's first novel, The River Sorrow, is pretty good. I also read Four Corners of Night years ago and thought it was fine, though not especially memorable.

The Dive from Clausen's Pier

2007-11-18T15:04:00.000-05:00

Never fear: there's always a plan in place at blondiereads.com.

2007 is coming to a close, and you have my word that:

all 2007 books read will be 2007-blogged; and

"best of" lists will arrive in January (allows me time to reflect).

Now that I have provided this vital reassurance -- no doubt you were worried -- we can get back to the task at hand. That book is (40) of 55, The Dive from Clausen's Pier (Ann Packer).

Let me call your attention, if I may, to the cover illustration. It is inspired thinking that put a big old suitcase on the front, because we are dealing with baggage. Baggage that our protagonist Carrie started packing the moment her longtime boyfriend, sort-of fiance Mike dived off a pier into too-shallow water and got very hurt. Yes, read that again. It's a shocking moment. really horrifying.

And Carrie runs away. As Mike is recovering; as his parents and their friends urge her to visit him, she runs terrified.

To New York of course, which is where all intrepid and troubled people go at some point or another. Luckily for Carrie, she can sew. So she begins to turn that into her career during the day; at night she goes home and marinates in her own guilt.

Of course guilt is entirely unproductive. And entirely about the person who feels guilty. But Carrie hasn't learned that yet.

Seeing Mike paralyzed, someone so close to her, is to see herself similarly trapped. Not in wheelchair, but in Wisconsin, in a marriage, in a sense of duty --in a groundhog day of the day he dived.

And of course, there's another man in the picture now. He's a closed-off New-York-City guy, the opposite of Mike. Which complicates her own self-image. She wanted to believe she was a kind and good person, a midwesterner, but she has trouble squaring this with her own actions: she left Mike in a hospital bed; she's dating someone else.

Which is why it's troubling to identify with her.

All while she takes apart and re-creates clothes. I mean, the symbolism here almost slaps you in the face. Here Carrie is, busy making and remaking ...herself? How she presents herself?...while her life has lost its landmarks. Much like a lone child playing with a dollhouse in a nuclear aftermath. And oh is the writing good. Here is an example from the very first page, Before the accident. Take your time.

Every Memorial Day we spent the afternoon at Clausen's
Reservoir, about 60 miles north of Madison....
Once we'd loaded my stuff into his car and gotten onto the interstate, he accelerated to 72, his opinion of the perfect speed if you factored in gas mileage, highway patrol risk, and safety. My mind was on the long untangling I felt was coming our way, and I stared out the window at dairy farm after dairy farm, their big well-kept barns angled toward the highway. "Think it'll be hot?" he said after a while, and I didn't look at him, I just shrugged. A little later he said, "I wonder who'll get there first," and this time, I just reached onto the floor for my purse and got out some Chap Stick. We were in a cold, dark place, we both knew it, but once I'd done my lips I handed him the tube, and he did his and with one hand twisted the balm back down before he handed it back. We'd been together eight and a half years, we had all the little familiarities down. It was almost as if we were married, although we weren't, just engaged.

There is so much in that, I don't even know how to begin. How do you weave all of that into basically one paragraph? The generous economy at work in this author is pretty amazing. Packer (good name for her) gives you more than enough information, with such efficiency, that you absorb it without realizing. And it struck me too, how these are the best ways to communicate the closeness of a couple so entrenched: Carrie knows his "ideal speed limit" and why; Mike knows what to do when she hands him the Chap Stick. Carrie stresses they aren't married "just engaged." Holy. Is there anything more loaded than that last sentence? She's either reassuring herself that there's still time left, or she's puzzled as to why all those eight and a half years amounts to "just" this and no more. Then you come to understand it's the first of those two.

And with that knowledge everything becomes slightly more poignant. But there was a part in the middle where I just got really annoyed. At her prolonged wallowing and her self-absorption, -- about 65 pages prolonged. But I also understood what she was doing. I wasn't proud of her, but I understood. So yes, folks, I do recommend this book. If nothing else, for the writing.

And also for making this point: facing the terrors of everyday life can be a[n] heroic undertaking.

Alternate title: The power of grandmas

2007-11-13T22:44:00.000-05:00

By now you've realized that I can rarely not finish a book. I have often envied the people who can just say "ehh. I'm putting this one down." It's pretty admirable actually.

And thank goodness I was traveling with one such person during The Night Journal (Elizabeth Crook), Take 1.

One night, as I tried to get everyone to play bocce ball instead of reading (me? what?), he said, "You've been struggling with that one for a few days. Why don't you give yourself a break and put it down for a while. You're on vacation." And because that didn't sound too final, I did put it down. Of course, later I finished it, but a book or two later.

It wasn't just my OCD at work, either. It was Grandma Power. I am pretty much unable to say no to my grandmother. She is adorable. and smart (see previous post). AND, she reads like a fiend and told me this book was "fun." Add to this the fact that it is about a formidable grandmother and her granddaughter. I pretty much HAD to finish it.

Here's why it didn't grab me: the granddaughter was pretty colorless, and before she garnered enough interest, I was thrown into the past in the form of her great grandmother's journals. New Mexico in the 1890s. This stuff is interesting, and it would have been nice to stick with it. After all, Hannah is a lot more spicy than her great granddaughter Meg.

But Meg has her own issues. A semi-troubled (but very close) relationship with her grandmother "Bassie," Hannah's daughter. A lackluster or nonexistent social life, a general glumness. She accompanies Bassie to New Mexico to oversee some "findings" near the visitors center. And let me just say, a WHOLE LOTTA STUFF is found out (whoah Hannah). By Meg. But Meg never quite reaches a personality.

I'm still pulling for her. But in the meantime, bocce ball is really great.

Plain Truth

2007-11-10T15:23:00.000-05:00

I stumbled straight from forensic anthropology into anthropology of a different kind: law.

Plain Truth (Jodi Picoult) is a beach (fireplace?) read. That sounds strange to say since it's not your obvious page turner; the suspense in it is almost purely psychological.

And since I hadn't read Jodi Picoult before, I did not yet know this book would follow a prescribed set of plot points:

1) Something happens. Someone 1 is harmed, someone 2 is an obvious suspect
2) Cut to investigation
3) Cut to character sketch of Unwilling Lawyer
4) Unwilling Lawyer is persuaded to help
5) Discovery begins
6) Someone 2 is hiding something and confesses, but not in the way that you think
7) Lawyer supremely angry: a scene follows while someone 2 is on the stand
8) Verdict

But I don't say this because I hold much against it. In fact, I was pretty absorbed. The Amish in the setting of Lancaster, Pennsylvania had a lot to do with it. This book is about the Plain Folk, specifically a young girl, Katie, whose family has a dairy farm and who has been expected to marry her long-time "boyfriend" until all this trouble happens.

Alongside her is the Unwilling Lawyer, Ellie, who's a sharply modern-woman contrast to her young defendant. Ellie has problems of her own, of an entirely different kind. Actually, I will say that Ellie's character (and her modern-day histrionics) seem almost cartoonish in contrast with the Steady and Plain Way of the community around her. Things are made even more strange when, in an oddly cinematic turn of events, she is forced to live with Katie's family while preparing Katie's defense. (But where will she plug in her computer?)

Ellie and Katie become friends, of course. As is expected in books where people are thrown together in order to come to understand the other's way of life. Mind, I'm not mocking. I'm actually more surprised that these things did not put me off, and I'm pointing them out now from a sense of duty.

The point is, this would make a good movie.

Yet the time did come when I got a little tired of the speeches about how being a defense lawyer is not about discovering the truth; rather it is about putting out the version of the story that most benefits the defendant. okay, okay, okay. Please. I get it.

Picoult is a highly enjoyable writer, except when she's delivering an iteration of that monologue. If I were to guess, I'd say the speech(es) bother me because they intrude on my naivete. And in a story where I'm supposed to suspend my disbelief in every other regard, why should I be forced to face The Cold Hard Truth of the World in this isolated case? Is she trying to undermine the enthusiasm of her own target audience?

Perhaps the shorter, colder days are having their effect on me, and I have become even more unforgiving than usual. YET...and yet..I read the whole thing, in a matter of hours, and in fact was to read another one a few months later.

What can I say? This would make a good movie.

*******************
P.S. I just found out that Plain Truth was a 2005 Lifetime Original Series. Starring Mariska Hargitay as Unwilling Lawyer. That's not the kind of movie I meant. (I meant like Witness, people. Come on.)

You can keep your secrets.

2007-11-08T21:35:00.000-05:00

Sometimes bad books happen to otherwise decent authors. This is the case with Grave Secrets (Kathy Reichs).

But let me talk about this in two parts: 1) Kathy Reichs as a welcome alternative to Patricia Cornwell. 2) Grave Secrets as I (dimly and unfavorably) remember it.

1) For those of you out there who like forensic crime novels and really got tired, like I did, of Patricia Cornwell, Kathy Reichs is a good option. Reichs' main character, Temperance Brennan, is a forensic anthropologist who splits her time between Montreal, Quebec and Charlotte, South Carolina. She's not bitchy and cold like Patricia Cornwell's Kay Scarpetta, nor is she always boring us with a formal pasta meal (which is all Kay seems to cook). And while Tempe's just as confused about her love interest as Kay is, Tempe seems more honest about this. And more accessible, especially to the man himself.

Tempe flirts, is the main thing. And I applaud her for this.

I also appreciate that she's a smart woman, who takes her job seriously, but then will go home after a long day, eat a bag of popcorn and call it dinner. So that's Tempe. She's likable.

2) The book. Oh my, I don't even know what to tell you. Two investigations going on in Guatemala. One from 20 years before in a civil war (mass grave, it seems) and one current, where bodies have been discovered, one in a septic tank (did this scene really need to be so detailed?)

It is a problem, methinks, when I can no longer easily separate one plot thread from the other. Part of this is by design, I guess, since a major question is whether these investigations are connected. But really, I ceased to care. There is WAY too much going on. There are car chases, bad cops, Tempe of course in mortal danger (it was not always clear why, though we are to assume corrupt government is to blame) and at the end of her day I'm still thinking, "now which goes with the what now?"

This plot is SO unbelievably convoluted, and yet it did not instill enough interest in me to unravel it or even continue to think hard. Basically I just waited for Andrew Ryan (whom she calls "Ryan" of course) and Tempe to do their little flirty dance. That is all that kept me going. And I didn't even get much from that, because there's a rival love interest in this story, which mostly just served to make her chaste in both cases. So what's in it for me? Nada.

Dear Julia Glass

2007-11-08T21:23:00.000-05:00

Julia Glass, if you're out there, I admit to making a bit of an example of you in my previous post. That was not quite fair. I stand by what I said but I have to add four important things:

When you write about Fenno, that works.
When you write about Walter, that works too.
When you write about food in combination with one or more of the above characters, that is very good. (You really do write well about food.)
People should definitely read Three Junes.

And now I'm done. Promise.

The whole world? Not really

2007-11-04T09:17:00.000-05:00

Why is this book called The Whole World Over? Not even sure what that means. I picked it up because I remember liking Three Junes, Julia Glass's previous book (Three Junes because the story line takes place over three summers).

And in some senses I was not disappointed. The writing is enjoyable (just how I remembered it in Three Junes), sort of cozy and full of the little markers of everyday life. Greenie Duquette runs her own bakery in Manhattan and things are pretty good, if not exciting. But then somebody gets a notion that her life (which includes a husband and small son) is stifling and that she must do something new. Which coincides with a job offer to cook for the governor of New Mexico. So she goes, with their son, George. And her husband stays in Manhattan.

And here is where I talk about the ways in which I was disappointed. Not only does the story now have to toggle back and forth between two locations, but, just like Greenie, this plot becomes distracted. We have various "adorably quirky" bit parts that make up an ensemble cast. One of whom, Fenno McLeod, is from Three Junes, and quite frankly, I liked things better when the plot points were up to him.

Instead we're in the hands of angsty and, I'm going to say this, selfish Greenie, with her dorky attraction (once she's moved to New Mexico) to her equally dorky old flame. That's right I said dorky. I said it twice. It's the only word that applies. And almost too conveniently this old boyfriend is a water conservation advisor to Greenie's boss, the governor. The story is full of little closed circles like this. The whole world over, my a$$.

And call me Victorian, but Greenie, aren't you married? If you really want out of your marriage then GET OUT first and then take up with your silly water-conservation advisor. Instead, she's dragging her son George around. Selfish. Inappropriate.

So George gets to see his mother on these pseudo dates with Waterboy. At this point, I had had enough with the childish crap. What do you want, Greenie? Why does everyone need to be pulled around on this ride?

I also abhorred nearly every scene that focused on a girl called "Saga." Yeah, I don't know what's up with these people's names but I can't even focus on that right now. Instead, here comes Saga like a bad understudy from the musical RENT. She has some kind of amnesia, and her uncle (think Einstein for characterization) is the only one who is nice to her. Blah blah, poor Saga, she's so kind hearted and absolutely infuriatingly vague. She wanders around New York and sleeps under a bush. I don't know why she's in the book. I really don't. Except that she ends up walking the dog that Greenie's husband bought to keep himself company. There's that contrived closed circle again.

Sure, you're just walking around the West Village and "oh look, there you are! Remember me? I know the guy who owns the bookstore who's friends with Greenie's friend Walter whose nephew's girlfriend gave me this dog to walk" that Greenie's husband bought..." who lives in the house that Jack built.

Then 9/11 happens. And it's the same treatment used in Claire Messud's Emperor's Children and Lionel Shriver's Post-Birthday World, namely that everyone is SO CONSUMED with their own little dramas before 9/11 that they are appropriately chastened when the world comes tumbling down. But are they? I don't think they are for more than a moment. And to be honest, I had the same reaction at that moment in all three books: I felt tricked. I honestly thought "Oh, another 9/11 book--why didn't you just tell me straight out?"

(For a 9/11 novel that works, see The Zero. I just read it, will blog on it ASAP)

Because, to me, this is not about 9/11. This is about adults grasping for an excuse not to be. Greenie needed a true friend to say to her, "Stop being a selfish idiot. You have a child, you have talent, you have a husband that you chose to marry. And you're a little bit bored, so go to New Mexico, but don't upend your tiny son's life or separate him from his father. Go on, have your adventure, do your thinking. But don't sleep with anyone but your husband, you dimwit." Is that such a terrible idea? Or have too many seasons of Grey's Anatomy made us think this kind of behavior is not only okay but expected and exploratory. Such crap. Boy do we let ourselves off easy.

Honestly.

It's funny, when I first finished this book, I didn't think too much about these things. It was only later that I felt manipulated into a tolerance of decisions that I don't actually think are good.

Mostly I was thrilled that the book mentioned another book that's close to my heart, The Jokelopedia. Seriously, have a look at it. It's for kids who want to annoy their parents with horrible jokes -- which little George does to his mom Greenie. So welcome to your world, Greenie. Your kid is cute, but his jokes are not. Everything has its price.

That's life. Find a way to deal with it.

We Were the Mulvaneys

2007-10-27T11:00:00.000-04:00

I devoured this book. Now how can I describe it. There's always a temptation with stories like this one -- involving multiple family members, pets, and a big old house -- to use words like sprawling, tumbling, ramshackle, close-knit.

So that a potential reader envisions a happy, laughing, disheveled bunch of kids crowding in to the house after a game of touch football -- dogs, cats and birds nipping at heels.

But that's not the whole picture. Consider the title: We Were the Mulvaneys (Joyce Carol Oates). You soon realize that the only reason this story exists is because of the power of contrasts--what happened Before, and what happens After. And how the Mulvaneys try to get over the fact that those things are not the same.

"Close-knit" turns to "intextricably tangled" and "ramshackle" quickly becomes "run-down." And your readerly delight in the tiny details of family life, the snippets of conversation, becomes a dread. A dread at knowing exactly the sort of horror that can also be found in such an attention to detail.

For every good thing, every good characteristic, there is a flipside. A father who loves his daughter so much that he's willing to die for her becomes a father who takes on his daughter's trauma so completely that he drifts away in spirit. He might as well have died, but before he truly exits stage left, he must exclude Marianne from enough family gatherings that she feels her own status as "victim" as accutely as if she's had a scarlet "V" emblazoned on her forehead.

Because the bad thing happened to Marianne. Not to her dad. Or to her brothers and her mother. But they feel as if it did, which is why they begin to let their own interests outweigh hers.

This is awful to witness. But it's with great respect for Joyce Carol Oates that I use the word "witness." I swear I was there. First I greedily, voyeuristically loved it and then I dreaded picking it up again, but I couldn't help myself. After all, they were like siblings to me. And in the end of this story, there is more good than harm to be found in family closeness.

Judge this book by its cover

2007-10-24T22:33:00.000-04:00

....because the cover is a pretty good representation of what's going on here: provocation.

Slightly disturbing, but compelling, nonetheless.

The one thing the cover left out, though, is the funny. And the "embarassing to be seen with on the subway" but that's not important. That's something I learned to cope with long ago (Thank you, Diana Gabaldon. I love you.)

So...where was I? Oh...yes. Hot new author. Neil Smith. Bang Crunch. Nine stories, nine bizarre tales that are (mostly) pretty easy to get into, despite some nonconformist elements, including but not limited to:

Department store glove with a life of its own
Curling rock: resting place for a husband's ashes (Oh, Canada)
Hoyle's syndrome: expand-and-contract aging (I admit, I Wikipedia'd this...I fell RIGHT into that trap. But I did learn a few things about a scientist named Hoyle)

Oh yes. Here's where I tell you how I feel about short stories. It was welling up in me and I will not hold it back any longer. I like writing short stories but usually avoid reading them, opting instead for something without breaks, without changes in character...something I can sink my teeth into. But I did not have a problem in this case...the stories are connected enough that I feel they are all part of one community. I liked the writing, and it was a smorgasbord of techniques. It was almost like a demo tape. A good one.

Smart writer. Maybe a little twisted, but who's to say that's a bad thing.

Amongst deep thoughts

2007-10-12T22:54:00.000-04:00

I would just like to point out that the above shot is not staged. It's my bedside table. Sexy, no?

So we're back to my own personal Irish Writers Series, featuring John McGahern. Way back when, I told you how much I didn't like John McGahern's The Pornographer. But I like John McGahern. I like his simple, clear style.

Harder to fathom is the protagonist of Amongst Women, a peevish IRA veteran (now disillusioned) and closed-off father of five grown children, at least four of whom cannot help but orbit him endlessly, even as they try to build lives of their own.

This guy wouldn't last one date with most of the women I know. Actually, scratch that. He wouldn't be dragged on a date. He's passive aggressive, entirely self-absorbed, controlling, and shockingly selfish.

...you're waiting for me to say something like "but he has a kind heart..."

He doesn't really. That's it. He's kind of an aging jerk, and who knows how he managed to attract his much younger second wife Rose. She's some kind of "turn the other cheek" angel. Or perhaps she just needed to get away from her prunish mother. We all have our reasons for things.

If I had to stretch, I'd say he loves his family, but love in him has an opposite effect: it makes him want to control the every move of his children and force them to pay endless homage to him and to their love for him. In effect, they must constantly prove it. Very King Lear.

It's a melancholy family story, not just told in...but I would say made from a lovely, bucolic place: the Irish countryside. With its backdrop of war and politics. And because every story of McGahern seems to come straight from the land, it achieves this amazing blend of light and dark, beautiful and horrifying, like you're laughing at a funeral.

Even the way in which Moran says his awful passive-aggressive things, you can't help but admire his gift for relationship sabotage. So you're laughing to yourself even as your heart sinks at how he's made, for example, his son feel. And when he is decent, you're so relieved, as is his family:

Moran could not have been more charming during the whole weekend. He did not need to be very charming. They had learned to accept him in all his humours; they were grateful for anything short of his worst moods, inordinately grateful for the slightest goodwill, what they barely would have accepted from an equal.

I believe Moran comes to represent any oppressive regime. I don't know any more than that. I also puzzle over the title. To be sure, Moran has three daughters and a wife...if he were not amongst these women, would he survive? Should he?

Man, I gotta go drink a beer.

Say it with me: Lumiere

2007-10-11T17:35:00.000-04:00

Doesn't that just trip lightly off the tongue?

And another question for you: Did you know the Voorhees are famous? Because they are to me. (Consider my bias noted for the record.)

Which is why it was superfun to walk into a Brooklyn bookstore this summer and find out that all copies of this had been sold out--because that's exciting news for an author...as long as the store restocks STAT so the selling can continue.

And what did I find when I finally got my hands on a copy of The Lumiere Affair? A book about movies and a movie in a book.

Sara Voorhees is a film critic based in New Mexico. She knows a lot about movies--she also knows a lot about going to Cannes. And if I believe this book and Mark Kermode of the BBC, Cannes can be a real drag when you're working. There's a very Devil Wears Prada feel to this storyline, and you can almost picture the heroine, beautiful but unaware and untidy, too smart to be as romantic as she is...working because she doesn't want to lose her house in L.A. I know this girl. She's a good girl to know.

There's a mystery that she has to solve, and a past to go along with it. Now...I'm not gonna lie to you. I was a little uncomfortable with some of the fallout of this, and it wasn't the age gap. You'll see what I'm saying...

I'm not going to give anything else away. But it's hard not to get caught up in the whirlwind. We're talking a fast-paced read. Light, fun and -- to me -- a little surprising actually. I think I expected more about movies, but it seems that last thing a movie critic in Cannes wants to spend more time on is the movies. Instead we are on the hunt for a reclusive director, and that's where interviewing and research skills come in handy. She's a bit of a girl Friday, this Natalie (Nattie) Conway.

This is a pretty clear if-you-liked sort of situation. If you liked Devil Wears Prada or The Nanny Diaries, but don't necessarily need the side helping of bitterness those books offered, you'll enjoy this entertainment.

And keep an eye out for the Voorhees. They have that lethal combination of industry and smarts.

Red red book, stay close to me

2007-10-10T21:56:00.000-04:00

Does this look red on the screen? I know that jpeg lifters can't be choosers, but I want to convey to you the lush redness of this book.

You know that library book feeling too, the slight crinkle of the plastic around the hard cover, the soft, thick pages with that dusty-sweet book smell...yeah, you know.

These reveries must be catching. I think for about a week after you read Sacred Games (Vikram Chandra) you go around focusing on the merest details. Such a big story, and the biggest stories are comprised of millions of small details, backstories, motivations.

Luckily Chandra picked the most interesting people to navigate us through the bulk of it. We have a good guy with bad edges (Sartaj Singh, police inspector) and a bad guy with good edges (Ganesh Gaitonde, gangster). We're in Mumbai.

Ostensibly Sartaj is trying to figure out why Ganesh would have locked himself into a bunker and then killed himself. And also why a woman would have been found dead with him. Who is this woman? What is this bunker? But I am too impatient. I do not understand that to understand Ganesh is to go back to to that day when Ganesh realized the truth of life and took it and made it his own...and so it begins.

Luckily the epic and poetic ganster tale (which can get a little saggy and indulgent, let's face it) is interspersed with the mundane relief of Sartaj's daily life and detective duties. I love his calls to his mom. I love how he drinks a glass of water down. (I have underappreciated water until Mumbai.)

But mostly, I love the language. It's a mixture of all kinds of English, Indian slang, and Indian dialects. And truly no translation is needed. I can practically taste the place.

If pressed, I might say this book is too long. Too long and sometimes too dreamy. But do I like it? Yes I do. Sometimes a meal is too large and buttery, but I eat it anyway.

Awakened interest

2007-10-05T16:10:00.001-04:00

We brought in a hand model for this one, guys.

But of course, the more embarassing truth is ... this is what happens when you decide you want to try holding your digital camera up to your binoculars to take photos. It can get crazy. It also takes a steady hand. Like a surgeon's.

Moving quickly on...

...to Woken Furies (Richard K. Morgan). Richard "don't-forget-the-K" Morgan is a good crossover author. If you think you absolutely can't abide Sci Fi but can sometimes get into its more interesting concepts (as demonstrated in stories like Philip K. Dick's Minority Report, for example), you might want to give Richard K a spin. And if you wholeheartedly like Sci Fi, and often feel misunderstood, give this to people who taunt you. (But give them the first book in the series.)

Woken Furies is the third of his Takeshi Kovacs novels. If you try this at home, start with the first: Altered Carbon. It's great. But let's talk about Woken Furies--why? Because that's the one I read in 2007.

gritty, noirish--sometimes even a little gruesome, but this you'll have to live with, because it's part of the ambience (of life and death action!!!!)

right into the thick of things--and don't expect Kovacs to translate for you: 1) he's too busy--you're lucky you're hearing anything about this and 2) if you want to work with an Envoy, you'd better learn to absorb as much as you can and shut your mouth until you get it.

sleeve, stack, Harlan's World, this is your vocabulary now. See, these are the days when, for the right price, you can make sure your cortical stack is downloaded into a new sleeve--or perhaps one that duplicates your own so that your family will recognize you. That is, if they're still using their original sleeves too.

See what I mean now? This is probably as cool as Sci Fi gets. For once, it's mercifully free of that capital-R Romantic fate of the world BS. Kovacs is a trained soldier. He does exactly what he gets paid for, and it's never as lofty as starting "the new race." Also, I appreciate the fact that the word "hegemony" never appears (one of my top-ten most annoying words).

Added to the pure unsentimentality of it is some well-matched pacing:

Memory roared briefly down on me...
I locked it down.
Minor glitch. Blip on the scope.

Good thing Kovacs is so spare, because he's got a lot going on around him. We've got a perhaps rediscovered revolutionary leader, some renegade gansters and oh-yes, Kovacs double is trying to kill him. (And it's illegal to be double sleeved, though that's the least of everybody's worries.) But that's life when you retained by the ultra-rich (and therefore practically immortal) Harlan family. Kovacs is on a manhunt, but for me the fun is in the details. the "biotech" the "synth sleeves" the "automold" furniture...a WILD RIDE. Also, plenty of sex. With a superior officer. Ah yes.

Kovacs might be a trained soldier but he's not completely without feelings. Or hang-ups, thank goodness.

Phew! So that's that. Now I have to go find out what I missed in Book 2 (Broken Angels). How did I miss that? Oh--and word to the wise: stick with the Kovacs series for now. I also read Morgan's Market Forces and it's got a lot of brutality with fewer interesting concepts to back it up.

Rays of light, rays of hair

2007-09-29T12:56:00.000-04:00

..and then I read a biography of Einstein:
Einstein: His Life and Universe (Walter Isaacson).

Here's how that went down: a friend of mine had the library book (library book not pictured here) and thought I might enjoy it. I had a long airport wait/plane ride coming up and thought, yes, this is the perfect time to read a 500-some-page book about the life of a physicist.

So, as with most redeeming pursuits, this was hardly any of my doing. Though I did read it. And I find Einstein completely charming.

Mostly because it seems that Einstein doesn't think he's any more special than the rest of us. Or, better put, that we are all equally capable of great things. I do like the spirit of that, and you have to think there's some truth to it, given that we only use a small percentage of our brainpower during our lifetimes....HOWEVER.

Einstein did a few things that I don't think the average Joe is capable of trying at home. AND he did it mostly through thought experiments, which means he imagined what might happen, for example, if you rode a beam of light. And what is the speed of light, and does it affect what is around it. The thing is, this guy imagines riding a beam of light and eventually realizes that all things are relative to each other, complete with an equation that turns out to work. The rest of us imagine riding on a beam of light and wake up with a wicked hangover.

I don't generally go for biographies, but this was a biography for a non-bio reader, complete with affairs, friend-fights, war, job dissatisfaction, and frequent travel. Also, Einstein is a pretty funny guy. I say is, because to me it's like he's still out there, telling me to reach my potential.

Walter Isaacson deserves credit for a few important things: he got me to understand the kinds of things Einstein grappled with. The things that occupied his mind, and how those led to other, bigger topics. This is no small feat when we're talking about relativity and the arc and pull of the universe's energy. His sections about the train station in Switzerland and the clocktower are some of the best thought-reading I have done. Picture me now, leaning forward in my seat in the airport lounge, mumbling.

Now, here's another thing Einstein can teach us: surround yourself with smart people. For example, Einstein had a group of friends who would meet for dinner and talk about this stuff. And he was careful to cultivate mathematicians, as he felt that's where his skills were weak (I chuckle to myself here...). In any case, he would probably argue that none of his breakthroughs were achieved by him alone. BUT those people who studied Einstein's brain point out that it was physically different: bigger in the inferior parietal lobe (where math and spacial thinking are housed) and with a shallower groove separating this part from other parts of the brain. Whether that's cause or effect is unknown.

Einstein is also decribed as a rebel, and certainly he operated outside of traditional academia for many of his productive years. Isaacson argues that this might have helped him, and I think I agree. It was in Switzerland, working at the patent office, for example that he started thinking about trains and clocks and the nature of time. And he was able to explore these thoughts in his own way, outside of academic protocol and perhaps more creatively for it.

At any rate, this was good. I feel better for having read it. I had a lot of time to think about what "intelligent" means. But Einstein says it best:

"I have no special talents, I am only passionately curious."

The fat man and the intellectual

2007-09-25T12:13:00.000-04:00

This is Reginald Hill. (And this gorgeous photo is by Nigel Hillier). (I've linked both sites here, and both are worth looking at.) As you can see, R. Hill is not a fat man, though I might say he's an intellectual. He writes about one of each in his (Andy) Dalziel and (Peter) Pascoe crime novels.

What more do you need? Well you might need a little more.

I had never read a Dalziel (fat) and Pascoe (intellectual) crime/mystery book before, and its author Reginald Hill is very funny. Some of the lines in this are fantastic. But this particular book, On Beulah Height (apparently the 15th D&P book) left me feeling a tad unsatisfied.

Starts out great, middle's pretty great too, ending starts to get a little Scooby Doo. And by that I mean the long explaining/rehashing of previous points, someone is unmasked, someone gets angry (remember how every Scooby Doo episode ended with "If it weren't for those darn kids"?). So, yes, Scooby Doo. But in and around that is some neat detective work (D&P are cops in Yorkshire, England) and some bang-up character development, even in supporting roles.

Luckily I quite like the interplay between D&P, though how many times do we have to be reminded of how Dalziel is "portly," "rotund," etc. It began to remind me of Nancy Drew's "titian" hair all over the place. (Titian, for the uninitiated, means "bright golden auburn." I assume you know already what rotund and portly mean. Not that I think you are...you're lovely. OH. I'm sorry.)

Do you see what trouble this constant labeling can cause?

At any rate, it was a mostly fun read. And never have I seen an author website that's more endearing.

You're right, I don't

2007-09-20T14:31:00.000-04:00

Jonathan Lethem: In general, you are totally worth reading (Freakin' Motherless Brooklyn? Awesome). However, I don't love You Don't Love Me Yet. Mostly because the characters embody that particular brand of self-conscious-yet-flaky-artist who seems to float around letting things happen to him/her. I think this must be the ugly flipside of leaving your creative sensors wide open. Sometimes, you forget to make sure you're wearing a clean shirt. Or pay your bills. Or give your band a name. Sometimes you take an unnatural interest in conceptual art. Sometimes reading this book, I was quite certain the whole joke was on me.

For instance, this package is presented as a kooky fun-loving, aw-man-don't-be-so-uptight look at the L.A. scene. But in reality it is talking about very BIG topics such as creative license, intellectual copyright, and getting CREDIT in a world of ideas. Big stuff, right? So why should I follow these losers (oh I'm sorry I sound angry at them don't I) around on their non-jobs, non-gigs and silly band meetings? I don't even like them.

The one guy, frequent caller to the [conceptual art piece] complaint line that Lucinda works for, spouts out mysterious yet lovely phrases, which Lucinda (definition of passive) then takes to her band as lyrics. It creates some great stuff. But then dude (I can't even remember his name but whatever) wants to meet Lucinda. Lucinda, in a typically maddening way, decides that must mean something cosmic rather than the more likely scenario that she might be turned on by the idea of an interesting guy she's never met in person. So fine. She goes. And of course, you get what you expect, don't you? Somehow this shaggy weirdo IS so AMAZING to her. Instead of just a good source of lyrics. Let me tell you, I might have had one coffee with him, taken some notes as he talked, but never would I have touched this creature with a ten-foot pole, nor allowed him to insinuate himself into my band practices. And I'm not an enemy of the arts by any stretch.

But somehow I felt guilty for thinking these people were just odd, uninteresting, and flailing around with unlikely (and possibly self-destructive) notions. They seemed vehicles for absurdity more than they seemed like real people.

Is Lethem making a point? am I helping to make it by REALLY not liking his book-people? I don't even know. But I am pretty sure that's a young Jonathan Lethem on the cover there. On "breaks" from tedious, ill-dressed Lucinda, I painstakingly compared the author photo to the cover photo. Hm, is this book really a novel? You tell me. Or perhaps don't worry about it. Perhaps read other of Lethem's books instead. Because he is a good writer, with a luxuriously thick head of hair.

Cubicle wishes and copier dreams

2007-09-15T10:52:00.000-04:00

The corporate office. Fascinating, mildly repulsive, and a source of great inspiration. How else can I explain why I have watched Office Space approximately 99 times. Or why David Brent of BBC's The Office is such a disappointingly real character.

OR why I was drawn to a book covered in oh-so-familiar Sticky Notes. Because while offices create mixed feelings in me, office supplies do not. I love them. In fact, I would have read a book about office supplies, and was half hoping Joshua Ferris had written it in Then We Came to the End.

Still, I was rewarded. His [fictional] subject is a group of ad-makers on the brink of layoff. As their work ebbs (previously so vital and pressing!), the skeleton structure of their bizarre social/business life is revealed. In amiable paragraphs like this:

We thanked each other. It was customary after every exchange. Our thanks were never disingenuous or ironic. We said thanks for getting this done so quickly, thanks for putting in so much effort. We had a meeting and when a meeting was over, we said thank you to the meeting makers for having made the meeting....in fact one meeting out of every three or four was nearly perfectly without gain or purpose but many meetings revealed the one thing that was necessary and so we attended them and afterward we thanked each other.

Oh, he gets it.

And things continue in this way, always good-natured, but with a sometime-sense of killing time by talking about people. Much like a typical workday for many of us. Onomotopeia in a book.

While we're on the topic of covers featuring Sticky Notes, I'd like to draw your attention to Pulpy and Midge (Jessica Westhead).

I had the opportunity to read an early draft of this and, I must say, it's tailor-made for people who find it entertaining to wallow in the uncomfortableness of everyday worklife. Others might go so far as to call this "social commentary" or a "scathing critique." I just think it's funny 'cause it's true.

Lost? Other people are too

2007-09-05T16:11:00.000-04:00

Let me be clear: I am no golfer. Nor am I even a golf enthusiast. But I try very hard to listen when someone explains why they love a "sport" that my cousin takes his naps to. So far none of it made sense until Philip Beard talked to me about it in Lost in the Garden.

Sometimes the best things happen when you're out of books and someone puts a book in your hands. A book about golf, with a bibilically allusive title, no less. And you think, "well this isn't going to end well." But you're wrong. Because your Today Self has no idea what your Tomorrow Self will be into. (I learned that from Daniel Gilbert in Stumbling on Happiness.)

A lot of books are good for when you're sad or when you're lonely, but this one is good for when you have been mulling your life over, yet can't bring yourself to talk about it with anyone. Our golfer is in the same predicament. Instead of talking about it, he goes out and plays 18 holes, with his old friend and father figure, Syd, as caddy. Everyone needs a Syd. He listens to what you're saying (or not saying) only to ignore all that in favor of what you actually mean. Think Richard Farnsworth in The Straight Story (you know the scene...cooking hotdogs with that teenage runaway?)

And Syd's non-judgment is admirable, given that everyone around thinks Michael is an absolute ass. And he really is. Because his story spills out, while he's thinking, playing golf, explaining to his readers his self-absorbed point of view. You hate him, you laugh at him, but most of all, you think he's only just as self-absorbed as you are in moments of crisis.

A lot of people couldn't get over this guy, but I found the overall effect of the book much like a breath of fresh air. Here's how it progressed:

At the first couple of holes, I was so tense. I thought "Mike--what are you DOING out here playing golf when there are things to be FIXED?" Then I almost lost my cool in the middle ("Seriously Mike, you said that to her?"), then in the back stretch started to breathe deeply and notice the perfect green around me. And Syd, and people like Syd. And people who love you, and watch you act like an ass and watch you calm down (perhaps through golf) and come back to yourself and your priorities and...oooh pretty blue sky. Brain has relaxed, and solved problem on its own while I looked away.

Maybe that's why people play golf.

P.S. Do the rabbit ears remind you of Updike? They should.

When panicked, employ bulleted lists

2007-08-29T15:08:00.000-04:00

behold

Book 17: Case Histories (Kate Atkinson). Just figures. I happened to pick up the book she wrote as a "departure" from her usual style. This one's supposed to be a mystery, and the plot would make that technically accurate, but it reads as successive character studies. Most of those characters did stick with me, of course, but the relentless focus on women as the disappeared or as murder victims was...deeply unsettling, as told in cheerful prose. In truth, when I try to recall this book, all I can think of is Theo Wyre, whose favorite daughter was shot by an unidentified stranger in Theo's own office. Oh Theo, I am so sorry. But that Kate Atkinson, I'll have to come back at 'er.

18: Unbowed (Wangari Maathai). This marks the beginning of my recent "social and self awareness" phase. Maathai is no writer. What she does is plant trees in Kenya. And though I had to pull up my socks to get through her earnest accounts of her schooling in the U.S. and what it took to get there from Kenya, I found some great little nuggets of thought. 1) Trees give us roots, which helps our earth to stay where it should. 2) Rivers, as in politics, can be formed by tiny streams, which then become tributaries, which then carve out change. Maathai has an admirable approach to changing the world. Start with what you know, and plant that tree.

19: The Looming Tower: Al Qaeda and the Road to 9/11 (Lawrence Wright). My mother read this book like it was on fire and then said, “wow—it all makes sense now.” And indeed it does. But I had to keep focusing on the details and which ones led to other details until the last detail resulted in 9/11. Because looked at as a whole, it’s completely counterintuitive to the Northamerican mindset. I mean, I’m not going to play naive. There are a lot of reasons for people to be angry at the US, but what shocked me more than anything else was the “butterfly flaps its wings” nature of how 9/11 came together.

One idea here, one action there, and the whole thing escalates until the outcome was something you never thought would have to happen, because it was so terrible. And yet it started normally enough. Fundamentalists meet angry rich guy who wants to make his mark, various piss-them-off things happen at the WRONG time, someone comes up with the charming idea of suicide bombing (NOT part of the traditional Muslim faith) and

...then we have the other side, which is the FBI battle with the CIA and how that REALLY helped the extremist cause. You know what—I’m sure there are lots of offices who need to cooperate with each other, I just thank god that mine (for example) is not dealing with matters of national security when someone decides to hold a grudge.

Oh but the book.

20: Running Within (Jerry Lynch and Warren Scott). Okay, you got me. I run sometimes. I can't speak too much about it now, but maybe later I will.

21: The Man of My Dreams (Curtis Sittenfeld). Ah Curtis Sittenfeld, can you DIAL UP the humanity please? My exasperation comes from love, because I find most of your writing incredibly insightful. My issue is more with the tone and arc of your stories. I read Prep, and Man of My Dreams has quite a few similarities. If you could perhaps answer my questions in regard to those, I would be most honored: 1) Why do your leading women only describe what they feel in terms of what they think? To me, this will never work, and since your heroines are smart enough to know this, why wouldn't a reader catch it? 2) Why, if impressing boys and being WITH a boy is the ultimate and cliched girlie obsession, do your intelligent, stern, otherwise non-comformist girls pursue ONLY these goals? Which brand of girl are we making fun of here? 3) Which brand of girl are you? 4) When will your next book be out? Thank you.

22: Stumbling on Happiness (Daniel Gilbert). As per my aforementioned self-awareness phase.

I think happiness would be having a drink with Daniel Gilbert. He tells us that we are bad at predicting what will make us happy in the future for the same reason we can't imagine feeling hungry when we have just eaten an 8 oz. steak. Or we can't exactly predict what it's like to kiss someone unless we're doing just that. There's a lot in there about how the brain works (and how it doesn't) but done in such a way that you just feel like you're having a good conversation with an interesting person. That part alone boosted my happiness level. So there's hope for us all.

23: Intuition (Allegra Goodman). Man oh man. This was a tough one for me. Medical research lab. One guy comes up with what looks like a significant result, his fellow labworker (and girlfriend) is not convinced that the data is correct or that the research was done according to protocol. Now before you think it, she's not a jerk. She feels she has some valid questions about the results – at the same time that people around them get swept up in the hoping that cancer can be cured and that it all started here. But instead of focusing on what I was, at this point, very curious about (what happened? how did the mice's tumors shrink? What explains that?) the book went in the darker direction of an inquiry and a taking of sides and a big sad fallout between all types of people. This left me deflated and feeling hopeless, though I don't doubt at all that it's a truthful scenario.

24: A Traitor to Memory (Elizabeth George). Oh my. I think I like Elizabeth George's writing well enough. It carries me along in an escapist sort of way. It comes at things from all different points of view. It's lively. But ...come ON now. What a disappointing ending. And how many people's outfits consisted of a soft grey trouser and a [insert color] sweater? I haven't given up, but...oh I am taking a break from that.

If you haven't got anything nice to say...

2007-08-29T14:01:00.000-04:00

come sit next to me.

I can't claim this quote, but it's a family favorite. Alice Roosevelt Longworth (Teddy Roosevelt's daughter) said it, and she was a spicy one, apparently. Her Wikipedia entry contains the following intriguing sentence: "She once considered accepting the offer to be "an honorary homosexual" in the late 1960s.

Note that it says THE offer. Oh that offer...I get that one all the time. But I digress.

Here's one angry reader's Manifesto published (way back when) in Atlantic Monthly (thanks Mimi Smartypants for reintroducing this!), probably meant to embarass 99.9% of us. But that's fine. I can take it. It's REALLY lengthy, but I thought worth it. Take your time. It's an old article, so if it's still valid now, it will remain so for a while. :)

I especially enjoyed the section on Cormac McCarthy, since I have long thought his writing to be overblown, cringeworthy, and vague all at the same instant. (But he loves horses! people whine at me. To which I say, "--which means he's probably a very nice person.")

Writers targeted: Annie Proulx, Cormac McCarthy, Rick Moody, David Guterson, Don Delillo, Paul Auster.

With the exception of Rick Moody (he seemed too trendy at the time, so I didn't want to give him the satisfaction), I have read all of these authors and admit to still being surprised – though in sheepish agreement – at many of the things that B.R. Myers points out.

I will also admit to an urge to force Myers to be my friend and perhaps start a podcast series entitled "Writing that really chaps my hide."

In any case, come sit next to me, will you?

We need to talk about Lionel

2007-08-23T23:22:00.000-04:00

...because she became one of my favorite authors when I read We Need to Talk About Kevin, which is a scary (and good) book. Scary premise (narrator's son a mass murderer at the age of 16), scary prose.

The end of the first scene has the protagonesse (shall I say) discovering that someone has thrown, deliberately, red paint on her front door:

Our house had not been spattered with the Day-Glo spray of spontaneous outrage
but slathered with a hatred that had reduced until it was thick and savorous,
like a fine French sauce.

Lionel Shriver: shocking, brimming with truth, and always [brutally?] evenhanded. So I was especially anxious to read The Post-Birthday World, her most recent book, about a woman who makes the choice between two men, choosing one in the first scenario, the other in the second. And the stories play out in a loose parallel with each other.

Not to take away from the gravity of this life choice, but wouldn't that be the best kind of crystal ball ever? And isn't it a delicious thing for this semi-guilty reader of tabloid celebrity magazines to be presented with a this guy/that guy scenario that's completely seen through to each end? Oh yes my friend, oh yes. But here's the thing I don't understand: why, when this author is so frank about a murderously intelligent teen, would she shy away from writing sex scenes? She does.

She tries to hide that fact from you, because she really is making a name for herself as Lionel the Brave of England, (see New York Times, March 19, 2007 "After Lean Times, Prizes and Not One Apology") but the truth is that there is something in her that holds the camera studiously on the windowframe as Irina, a children's book author, has sex. Perhaps we should understand that this is Irina's influence, but in a book (A Lionel Shriver book no less) where difficult things ARE the topic, and sex is a key aspect of the character's choices and stories...I regretted that lack.

As always, there are many things that Shriver does amazingly well. While the storyline branches, containing two different lives with two distinct men, it pivots around certain fixed plot points and even identical lines of dialogue, though not always by the same speakers. It is a neat trick, because for all the sameness there is a lot of difference too. S and I once played a little writing game where we decided on some plot points, a few characters and each went off to write a story containing those...and you can guess what I'm going to say. Those two stories were completely different from each other. Motive and mood may not be everything but they carry more substance than the average reader may realize.

And in the end? I took away the idea that while life can go this way or that, one never escapes herself. There will always be key plot points and key lines of dialogue spoken no matter whether you take that New York job or buy the house in New Zealand instead. That idea can be reassuring...as long as you are okay with the person you have become.

And here's an interesting tidbit: Lionel Shriver did make the choice between two men. It seemed to have less to do with the two men than with the person she became when with each one.

And then there's Double Fault, also by Shriver. (I was on a little bit of a binge, I admit it). It's about tennis, ostensibly. But more directly, it's about the ways in which talented athletes can rip themselves apart in the effort to control that talent.

Think of talent as a beautiful butterfly that you don't understand. You don't know how to consistently make it visit you and when it's around, you can never predict for how long or to what degree you will enjoy it. A lot of people get this idea. At least in theory. But it doesn't stop us from trying to engineer that butterfly into a vending machine of brilliance.

I was enthralled by this book. Also horrified. Because at the heart of this tennis match that Wilhemina (Willy) plays with herself is also a tennis marriage. Eric never played tennis all that competitively until he met Willy, and then he works his way to being a pro, just as she is. But does his talent take away from hers? Can they exist separately from each other? I am writing bad jacket copy at this point, but these questions did occur to me.

I also felt a little relief for not being a prodigy, because the singular and dominant nature of Willy's talent amounts to a loaded gun. It's tough though...if you're REALLY obviously good at one thing, shouldn't you focus on that? Sure you should, but then if someone else comes along and does better than you do, does that make you less talented than you were before? No. But in your mind, yes. It shows you to be less talented than you thought you were.

The trick is not to be discouraged by this realization, but flattered by the quality of those you're competing with. Shriver's writing gets all these ideas across, even in those moments where you'd rather just give up on Willy. And once you know Willy, you know that's saying a lot.

My order of preference for these particular Shriver offerings is 1) Kevin 2) Double Fault and 3) Post-Birthday.

Wha happened?

2007-07-24T15:19:00.000-04:00

Is it July already? Whoah. There I go again, with my nose in a book, or (to be honest) an unforgiving computer screen. Let's get this show on the road.

Okay, so high school. A lot of its social policies are truly terrible, and we never get past them--like EVER!--but there's one shorthand I really need to employ: the yearbook-speak.

Barney's Version (Mordechai Richler): Voted best use of footnotes. And let me tell you--I hate footnotes. But these are funny, especially when they are those of an uptight self-important son "correcting" the narrative of his jack-ass, screw-up father, Barney. And especially when the text has indeed pointed out what an uptight self-important person his son is. Oh family. Don't you love it? And Montreal? Yes, yes you do.

The Pornographer (John McGahern): Voted most likely to make you join the suffragette cause. Oh--that's over now? Hmmm. You wouldn't know it from this... piece of misogyny. I read this whole thing, out of loyalty to John M (more about him later) and also out of a [perhaps misguided?] sense that maybe John M (I don't know why I've started this nickname but I'm gonna roll with it) was portraying a certain type of guy just to show how vile that guy is. Because I really feel the need to like Irish men who write. And this author has a special place in our household. So how did it all go wrong. Honestly, in tone, it reminded me of Dreiser's An American Tragedy. Look that one up. I dare you. I am depressed now.

Confessions of an Economic Hit Man (John Perkins): Voted least likely to cheer me up after the above. Stay with me though. First: It has that earnest-yet-self-aggrandizing tone common to this type of book, and by "this type" I mean the "this is me then...but I've reformed--oh but I was really hot shit at the time but now..." Anyway, I was relieved once the requisite confessional was out of the way, because don't those always come off as self serving? Then we were down to actual information, which was: deals cut by brokers to "develop" third world countries by 1) putting them in massive debt to first-world countries (guess which land of the free and home of the brave) so that 2) those brave and free countries can perpetually leverage the debt in their own political favor while 3) also making money in perpetuity from countries that really don't have it. NOW, I will say this for John Perkins. I was following along and thinking the typical "say it aint so" stuff that I think on any given day since I was kicked out of Never Never Land. And it wasn't that much of a different feeling from most days. UNTIL...Until I hit the last page. When he begins to quote from the Declaration of Independence...and it kicks my ass. And all of a sudden I think, that's it. You're right. YOU. ARE RIGHT. Let me just type it here because I want so badly for it to be true forever amen. In bold are the parts that this book served to highlight for me:

We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are
created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.

You hear that Government? We built you. The people. And as Cliff Huxtable used to say to Theo Huxtable "I brought you into this world..."

Elderly, with gumption

2007-06-19T17:21:00.000-04:00

I have a rocking 85 year-old grandma (85 this summer). Ten years ago, she hiked down into the Grand Canyon and back out the next day. Even now, if you don't see her around for a couple of minutes, she's probably flipping your mattress for you. And the more I talk with her (and grow older myself), the more I realize that there is no switch in the brain where you start to think "I'm old." You just think of yourself as you. So no wonder you're annoyed when other people see the "old" before they see the "you." Such is the case with the leading people of two very amusing books.

Water for Elephants (Sara Gruen) is about circus life, as told by a former circus vet, Jacob, now confined to the old folks' home and his memories. He has taken to fighting with one of his less informed fellow "inmates" (a word he might use) because that guy has NO IDEA how much water an elephant can drink and he's only pretending to so he can pick up chicks at dinner. Can I call them chicks? I just did. Anyway, the circus is in town, so it's all anybody can talk about, and all Jacob can think about...

Cue memory stream, interspersed with "real" (read: disappointing) "home" life. Now, my friend P and I had a very long discussion on what exactly IS like water for elephants. Are memories (being so abundant at these late stages) as copious as the water elephants need to drink? I don't know, but we talked about it at length, and we were not even drunk. So post, if you have an opinion on this. The bulk of the story is told by the younger self, who's not the greatest guy ever but that's easy to forget, since he's a lot better than some of the people around him. And, I'm going to give this away, our Jacob's central story is about [yes the circus life, but...] how he stole someone else's wife. Whom he loves dearly and blah blah so that's all great (right? RIGHT?), but...things get ugly my friend. And in those times, you just gotta hope that Rosie the elephant is not pissed at you. I leave you with that, an enigma wrapped in a riddle.

According to a new and totally improvised rating system, this book is....good for some fun, light reading. A bit of dashing, adventurous nostalgia for airplanes or trains.

Which brings me to my favorite of the two: The Stone Angel (Margaret Laurence). This book was a slow burn for me. I started out sort of like "oh ho hum, let's see what this thing is..." and the more I read, the more I had present-time nostalgia (like you're already sad for the time when the book will be over). Our heroine is trying mightily to escape the nursing home predicament, especially since it means being kicked out of her own home by her live-in son and his mopey, bloated wife. And you really are cheering for her, because her inner life (and acerbic thought) so closely resembles your own. Though maybe she's funnier than you are. So in one last clutch at freedom, she takes a bus and a pension check on a little adventure. And even if right away she doesn't come to think she's too old, you as a reader might have to face the fact. Though you hope, hope, hope the "problem" can somehow be reversed. Oh if only!! I'm not going to ruin the rest, but Laurence writes the most entertaining inner monologue I've ever read. And one of the best characters too. A character you'll really miss when the book is over.

This book is good for...when you're lonely.

It's Tuesday, I like red

2007-06-12T13:32:00.000-04:00

I think the zany and slightly blurry way I've taken this photo fits quite well with the book. Anyway, the duck is used to it.

And etcetera...

2007-06-11T13:16:00.000-04:00

Uh...yes. These other books I have read...I could talk about some of them for ages. (Willa Cather? I love her.) But i don't have that kind of time. And I keep reading more than I can write about.

I will resort to a list. Because A) I love lists and B) I feel the pressing need to show you the directions these books caused my mind to wander. Whether you like it or not. It's thin context, but context nonetheless. After that, I will feel okay about fast forwarding you to Book 30, so we can really (finally!) get to talk.

The Virgin's Lover (Phillippa Gregory). Fun with a hint of learning. A novelized account of Queen Elizabeth and her consort...ahem..Master of Horse. Boy was he a jerk. She had some issues too. But it's likely that I will read Gregory again since, post-read, she sent me off on a wild Wikipedia research ride for days. That was kind of fun. A good way to get an (admittedly) simplistic view of history.

Bloodletting and Miraculous Cures (Vincent Lam). Ehh. Nobody likes a teacher's pet (even former teacher's pets), which is why I really couldn't deal with...was Ming her name? Zero percent bedside manner, 100% rote memorization and ambition. The robotically brutal side of ambition. In this collection of stories (read: personalities) her character functioned for me as a sort of control in the study of people who study medicine. By that I mean take out all the specific, likeable, memorable, human characteristics of someone you'd want to be your doctor and you have Ming. Which made Fitz and Chen and Sri look like people you'd much rather have a beer (and an x-ray) with. I admire Vincent Lam (who is himself a doctor) for giving us this glimpse, but I felt in the end he was too cautious. And I wanted to hear much more about medical cases, and how those can weave themselves into a doctor's personality. The book started a craving of sorts, but it didn't satisfy that craving. Perhaps with his second book? I know I'm wrong, because this book has won several awards. At any rate, I'm watching the author now, not the book.

Oh Pioneers! (Willa Cather). Oh Willa! How do I love thee, let me count the ways. First, you made me care about Nebraska, when I read My Antonia. Lovely. You also tap into that deep nostalgia I have for Things That Remind me of Little House on the Prairie. And thirdly, you write about tough women who ride around roping and generally running things. And just when I get a feeling like "oh this is a lot of work, I am feeling tired from these farm chores and all the sadness," you end your book with the most suggestive talk about a land and its mountains and valleys and penetrating rivers that I am left breathless. You know how to write, Willa. Old school. Reading you is like taking a deep breath of fresh air.

The Beginning of Spring (Penelope Fitzgerald). Cheerfully bizarre. The things I don't know about being Russian could fill many many volumes. A fellow reader-friend of mine gave me this one, and it was perfect timing, really, because I was feeling (like the 1913 Moscow family portrayed here) shut in my stuffy heated house hiding from the cold weather. And I took this book up at just about the time my own windows needed to be flung open in celebration of spring. Best thing about this book are the matter-of-factly presented strange/real characters. The tantrum-prone, nonsensical business associate, the sternly traditional typesetter who spurns linotype (and tolerates monotype), the serenely calm oldest child (of three) who rightly chooses not to worry that her mother has deserted them all (for how can worrying change the outcome?)...the Catch-22 style run-ins with the law...the bumbling revolutionary. All of these things had such potential to annoy me and somehow were only diverting. I don't know why this is. And, as Frank Reid's eldest might advise me, why speculate?

Play It as It Lays (Joan Didion). Stark. There is a certain coldness to Joan Didion that I find compelling. Perhaps it is [what I imagine to be] her logical, calculating brain. I would describe her style of writing as constantly ripping off a Band-Aid. You're afraid to see things laid quite this bare, but delaying the act isn't going to give that wound the breather it needs. So our protagonist, Maria, Hollywood actress/perpetual damsel in distress, finds herself in a lot of bad situations. I say finds herself, because she mostly lets things happen to her. And surrounds herself with pretty poor-quality people. But, so the story goes, there doesn't seem to be much else available for a not-so-starlet with a great face and a willing, suggestible personality...who is currently dealing with a failing marriage, a child in an institution...and she seems to have really lost herself.

Or so you think, because without getting too far into "the plot" (a series of detached events that felt like they were faxed to me, smudged), Maria every once in a while just stands up from the ashes around her, steals some jerk's Ferrari and drives through the desert, away from it all. A middle finger to all those who thought they could mess with her. But it doesn't feel like that even in that moment of [small, short-lived] triumph, perhaps because Maria represents for me the girl you can't get to know. (In one telling exhange, she says "I didn't mean to be that way" and the response is "You never mean to be any way, Maria" And that's a point: you have to love the dialogue. It's perfect.) Anyway, with Maria, you feel like you try and try but she seems to have so little to give back that either you give up or you decide there's nothing there to get to know. Which amounts to the same thing. So I can't even say "Great job, Maria for stealing that actor's Ferrari in the middle of the night" because she would probably look at me without expression. It's a harsh, harsh world and you could lose your soul, is how I took it.

In other notes, for goodness sake, read The Year of Magical Thinking. It's one of the best things I have ever read. Joan Didion puts Joan Didion (in the context of an incredibly symbiotic marriage) under the microscope, and that is a showdown her late husband might have liked to see...

A Complicated Kindness (Miriam Toews). A friend of mine was reading this years before I finally decided to – and I remember making fun of the title. (I can be a pretty harsh kid, but that's for another day. ) I think I was right, though, because the book has the same quality to it. Which means, it takes some explaining.

And even then, you say to yourself "Okaaaaay, I can see what our main girl thinks she means, but I don't know that I'm convinced....the same thing I thought when I discovered that when Nomi (who is currently living only with her dad, her mom and sister having left their Mennonite community) talks about a complicated kindness, she means when people do something that at first doesn't seem nice (like ignore you) but then you realize that it was nicer than talking to you (and denouncing you). Okay, fine. In that context, okay, NOW I get it. But what does it all mean? How do I apply this story, of a regular girl in a unique community, to the overall idea of the book?

Because if I get to know Nomi through the 200-some odd pages, I come up with this: I like her. You'll notice that most reviews of this book refer to our intrepid main character as a "rebel." Well I don't think that's true. By most standards she wouldn't be. But of course, she's not being judged by most standards. She has some cool ideas, and some astute ways of looking at the world. She's smart. She realizes that some parts of this small-town, narrow view community represent nothing but dead ends. She likes a guy. She likes to be liked by guys. Which causes her to make some poor decisions. Now, for most girls this age (16), this is a crucial learning phase. One that you get through and use for anecdotal conversation filler later (when you're going through another crucial learning phase called your late 20s and early 3os). But for her, in that Mennonite community, the consequences will be harsh, and you know it while you're reading, and you think, this is not right...and wait! Am I coming upon the point of the book? I might be.

Maybe that's what I can take home. That overly strict expectations tend to have a way of shrinking a person, rather than expanding her horizons. And can I say this? I'm going to miss Nomi's dad. The strict Mennonite who nevertheless has a deep love for his "rebel" daughter. It was a touching relationship, and it's really what kept me reading when Nomi's self-destructive behavior and rote dictation of her days wore me down. And if you have parents who love you more than anything and yet admit sometimes that they don't get you at all, you might cry a little. This was a moody book, whose ending I rewrote in my head for days and days after. But then I had to be kind to myself and let Nomi go.

Straight Man

2007-05-03T15:37:00.000-04:00

I like a good cynical book with a lovable yet totally self-destructive character. It reminds me of a friend of mine.

Straight Man (Richard Russo) picked up babysitting me where the previous book left off. I guess you could say I went from girl-mind to boy-mind. This guy is a professor at a podunk university who cheerfully despises most of his colleagues. And yet he knows them so well, that when he points out how stupid or self-deluded they are, you can't help but think he has a certain affection just because he's put in so much time with them.

The book is funny. (See also: scene with duck). Also, it is drunken and shameless.

The book is smart and somewhat sad too. Some surprising and lovely insights, mostly related to his daughter. S read it too, and we both liked the part where he talks about a scar his daughter has, and how he looks at it and remembers exactly how it happened and how he felt he should have prevented it. Funny, my dad says the same thing about a chicken pox scar on my temple. (Though I can tell you, he could not have prevented that one, given that his tactic was going to be oven mitts and facial bandages. I was 8 and a third grader. Remember what third graders are like? Not happening.)

Russo gets the balance right with this one. I say that because I read Nobody's Fool too, but that character was not a lighthearted self-destructive. He was the driven and pedantic kind. The kind that hits his head against a wall and then does it again and again and again until you just can't bear to watch (read).

This book was good company. Nobody builds characters quite like Russo.

Don't even say a word!!

2007-05-03T15:26:00.000-04:00

Okay, I read this book. It's called...
Love Walked in (Maria de los Santos). You'll see it at your local drugstore, which I don't necessarily think is a bad thing. (Hey, I love me some spy novels and police procedurals when the time is right). But the thing is, it looked so girly. A friend gave it to me. A friend I like (and yes, before you ask, there are a few other kinds). AND, since I was confined to my bed with an infection, I really felt that Maria was de los Santos (from the saints). So thanks, Maria. This was fun. A few of the plot points were pretty facile (and I think you know what I'm talking about lady), but the conversations between girlfriends were hilarious and made me feel happy and not sick.

Ta-Dah! A tally of tangents

2007-05-03T14:40:00.000-04:00

Yes I wrote ta-dah. But it doesn't matter – you can't see me.

The list of Books I've Read So Far in 2007 was going to give me a key (of sorts) to my reading habits. Alas, not the case.

However, it did turn into a map of ideas – or moods – from January till Today. Jump into my psyche: the water's choppy.

Heat (Bill Buford)
Some of my favorite things come together when I talk about this book:

food – namely Italian, as conceived by none other than Molto Mario...that
zany, hard-partying, up-all-night chef that i've seen once or twice on the Food Network (he has red hair and wears tennis shoes! This is why I watched)
The New Yorker – where Bill Buford's article made me aware of what a fun and exciting life it is to eat raw fat (I tried it in Portland, OR in March. It really was good) and drink (and drink!) and make reductions from Skittles candy. Talent, the very definition.

It was winter...and I needed to immerse myself in the world of STEAMING kitchens and delicious HOT food. The book did the trick. Bill's a good guide. Playing the newbie chef role so I wouldn't have to, he works in Mario's kitchen(s) and gets to know Mario's influences and anti-influences. I'm talking about people here, very opinionated, incredibly good-at-what-they-do people. Made me think a little about art and timing (oh--I can sauté the vegetables and then take them off the heat for later? Don't laugh; this was great news to me) and cooking as an actual enjoyable activity. No, really.

And the next time I got out that frozen chicken breast (from a box) to make dinner in Panicked Hungry Mode, in the shoebox/treehouse that S and I call an apartment, it was just that little bit of fun. No, really.