Literally Booked

Review: Big Girl Small, by Rachel DeWoskin

2011-10-01T11:44:00.001-04:00

Think you have issues surrounding your body type? Meet Judy, teenage girl, amazing vocalist, new student at the local exclusive high school for the arts, and three-foot-something Little Person, whose journey into mortification is chronicled by writer Rachel DeWorskin in the quick read, Big Girl Small.

Despite her parents' best efforts to give her as 'normal' a life as possible, it is obvious from the beginning that Judy's life has taken a very atypical turn, as the story is told by Judy from the confines of her seedy motel hideout, where she is cloistered not from a crime, but from some humiliation so great that she has run away from her life to hide from it. The novel is told as a reflection on the recent events, with several short jaunts to her present situation. In the past year, Judy has walked away from her friends and comfortable public school into a program for those exceptionally talented in the arts; this is her first time truly striking out on her own into new territory, and she is determined to re-create her life, making new friends, coming into her own musically, and, of course, falling for the most handsome boy in the school. She confronts her fears head-on, proving that she belongs where she is, and eventually winning the attention of Handsome Boy, Kyle.

Needless to say, things begin to go downhill from this point for Judy, and the knowledge that there's been a Horrific Event, combined with the unexplained attentions of the cinematography-obsessed Kyle, quickly lead the reader to conclude what has happened well before Judy herself reveals the truth. The reader then spends the rest of the novel waiting for the inevitable. Granted, this is technically a YA novel, so younger adults may not have quite the sense of what's coming that a more seasoned reader would have, but it's pretty plain that this story is following a well-travelled path of female victimization that I find distasteful and tired. How many books about girl-has-sex-and-is-humiliated-publicly do we need? Judy's LP status serves only to add another layer of 'of course', insofar as characters with physical disabilities are typically targets of victimization in film and literature. What would have been more interesting and original would have been presenting Judy's character instead as Jude, a male travelling the same path. DeWoskin's telling comes off as the older, sexier sister of the Afterschool Special so many of us grew up watching.

Lest I sound completely down on the novel, I need to make a few critical points. DeWoskin does a supurb job of raising the level of diction typically found in YA novels. Judy is smart, and DeWoskin expects the readers to be smart as well; this is a blessed relief from the vast majority of YA offerings, and is what kept me glued to the book. It is also refreshing to read Judy's perspective as a LP, which is decidedly not self-pitying; while her character's eventual humiliation does as first blush seem to be dependant on her status as 'Different', by the end of the novel, this is shown as less the case, thus in a roundabout way making Judy less 'Different', at least in the physical sense. Judy's parents are very well-created, as well; they are loving without being the overprotective, shrill dunderheads typically seen in YA novels in particular. The resolution of the plot is simultaneously realistic and somewhat unsatisfying, because reality, and real people, are often supremely unsatisfying. In the end, Judy is still the mistress of her own future, and the reader has gained insight into how an intelligent young woman can make the same mistakes in judgement, succumbing to the same twin pitfalls of inexperience and insecurity, as any other young person.

This novel is rated YA, but the writing and topic are definitely skewed to older YA readers. Several and various sexual acts, along with drug and alcohol use, are described in the same analytic and intelligent voice as the rest of the novel, meaning they are not pornographic, but are very concisely described. These events do not take place until near the middle, but things go downhill quickly to the Main Event. For that first half, I was solidly planning on handing this one over to my younger-YA daughter, but the explicit nature of the book, no matter how strong of a warning-tale this might be, had me changing my mind midstream. Read this one first before passing it on to your own kids, and make the decision that is right for your family.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars. An eloquent tale of warning, and strength of spirit, voiced by a realistically created character.

Review: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, by Ransom Riggs

2011-09-26T09:49:00.001-04:00

The first novel by travel writer Ransom Riggs, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children lures readers in with an amazing collection of actual photos, which have been re-purposed to illustrate the novel. Largely unchanged, their collectively spooky and sometimes disturbing nature sets the scene for what promises to be a haunting ride through Riggs' twisted imaginings.

The novel takes off running, with sixteen year-old Jacob detailing the fantastic stories his grandfather told him as a child, while they looked at photos he claimed were of people he knew during the time he spent at an orphanage during WWI; Jacob bitterly decided as a boy that all he had believed of levitating children and terrifying monsters from the old man were actually tricks and deceptions. Flash forward a few years to a frantic phone call, and a tragic discovery in the woods behind the grandfather's home leads to Jacob once again question reality; this time, events push him to realize that he must find the truth himself. Within weeks, Jacob and his doddering father set off for a tiny island off the coast of the UK, the boy on a path to a place he could barely have dreamed. It's no great revelation for readers that the home for peculiar children is real, due to the title of the story, but how and when he arrives there, and what dangers confront him, are truly fantastic.

Peregrine starts out strongly, and readers can make an almost instant connection to the emotionally raw Jacob. The photos are utterly fascinating, and Riggs cleverly incorporates them into the tale immediately, virtually ensuring that the reader will be hooked into the mystery of who and what those portrayed really are. Riggs has a gift for detail, and Jacob's eventual discovery of the remains of the home brings the smells and aura of the ruins to life. Key relationships are another strong point of the novel, both between characters and reader-to-character; I genuinely was interested in each of the children, and more than that, was heartbroken for several characters.

However, once the entire truth begins to unfold, Riggs falters a bit in his storytelling. It is almost as if, without the support of these wonderous photographic guides, he was unsure of where to go or how to keep the reader in the same trance. Granted, it would be difficult to maintain the same level of grotesque fascination throughout, but the action doesn't quite stand up as well on its own, perhaps because the bar is set so high. The climax of the story could have been taken from several children's action books, and is a little too easily resolved. Additionally, readers expecting this to be horror fiction, as I initially was, should be aware that this is a fantasy. Although the photos are somewhat disturbing (particularly the one of the twins on the back cover, which for some reason completely freaks me out), and may evoke thoughts of Pet Cemetary or any number of demonic toy films, they are not indicative of frightening characters, but rather of mere peculiarities posessed by largely good-natured children.

This is not to say that the bulk of the novel is without surprise or enticement, because that is not the case. The peculiar children's predicament, and how each one chooses to deal with it (including Jacob's grandfather) is expertly and sensitively told, allowing for variation and uniqueness among the characters. The eventual revelation of Jacob's grandfather's story, as well as Jacob's own legacy, is stirring and demands the reader to evaluate what, really, would he or she have done in the same situation? What is bravery, and how do you deal with the monsters when they come for you? While many of the basic parts of this story have been told before (secret path leads to time / dimension travel, fantastical creatures seeking dominion that must be faced by children, etc), it is the assembly and fleshing out of these conventions that is important, and Riggs does an excellent job of inking them into a new life.

The ending of the novel makes it clear that this is intended to become a series, and I have already tried to find out the anticipated publication date for the next installment, but haven't had any luck as yet. When it does come out, I will definitely be waiting to see whether Riggs can continue to keep the characters as strong as they have been, and whether he will continute to incorporate the photos he relied on so heavily to create the characters, or if he will branch out and rely solely on his own imagination in the next go-round. This novel is appropriate for readers approximately age ten and up; if they're not scared by Harry Potter, and are no longer nervous about creatures under the bed, they will most likely love this story.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars. Excellent fantasy debut novel that transcends its YA label.

Review: Dreams of Joy, by Lisa See

2011-09-25T17:07:00.001-04:00

Dreams of Joy is the long-awaited sequel to Lisa See's gorgeous Shanghai Girls, the story of two sisters' harrowing escape from 1930s China and subsequent struggle for normalcy as American immigrants. If you have not read SG, you need to stop here and do so NOW. It's a tremendous work, beautiful and memorable, and well worth the few days you will spend clinging to its pages before you pick back up here.

DoJ picks up where SG leaves off, with the 17 year-old Joy overhearing a terrible argument between the two sisters that reveals the true status of her parentage. It is now the 1950s, and the height of the cultural revolution in China, a time when some American Chinese, feeling persecuted by the American anti-communist movement, were returning to China; the traumatized Joy makes the misguided decision to flee to her family's homeland to find her father and participate in the 'rebirth' of China. Once the Paris of Asia, Shanghai is no longer the cultural heaven it once was, and Chairman Mao's Cultural Revolution propaganda are posters atop a pit of despair. Joy's discovery of her father leads her down a dark and horrible path to near-destruction, while May undertakes a harrowing, emotionally-fraught journey of her own to find her daughter and make peace with her painful past.

If you know nothing about the Cultural Revolution, I highly suggest you read up on it; it is a fascinating and terrifying historical example of humanity and government at its worst. However, readers need not study up in advance of picking up See's novels, which in fact do an excellent job of portraying China's nightmarish period. The events described in this novel follow closely what I have read in various non-fiction publications (I had a double-major in history in college, with a focus on China), and See allows the reader to discover and experience the perfumed stench via colorful descriptions and fully-realized characters who portray the growing terror of the underclasses at that time. Joy's gradual awakening is delayed by the power of Mao's propaganda; the constant repetition and overwhelming enforcement of his increasingly insane decrees burrow a kernel into her mind, and the reader travels with her as she slowly realizes the horror she has inflicted upon herself and her family in her misguided guilt and grief. For her part, May, once a Shanghai Beautiful Girl, is reduced to being a paper collector, literally clearing the city of shreds of her own past to make way for the 'New China', as she searches for her daughter and a way for them all to escape the mire.

Almost everything about this novel is wonderful. Particularly engrossing and horrifying are the public 'confessions' that are forced from those who have been perceived to have wronged society in some way; See's descriptions of the way the masses figuratively clamber onto the backs of those poor sinners in order to find the momentum and political capital to survive are eviscerating. Among the few quibbles I have with this novel is the ease with which May was able to communicate with the outside world, which was at the time nearly impossible. That she was never betrayed by anyone along the lengthy line of stops her letters had to make in order to get out of the country is difficult to believe, as is the ease both women had in finding Z.G., Joy's birth father. Really, though, these are small issues compared with the sweeping achievement that this novel represents.

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars. A worthy sequel to a fantastic book; historical fiction at its finest.

Review: The Year We Left Home, by Jean Thompson

2011-09-25T16:11:00.000-04:00

Jean Thompson's The Year We Left Home is the multi-voiced tale of an Iowa family, told over three decades by a rotating cast of six characters. Both parents and their young-adult children are given turns at the narration, which evolves as characters move forward to being grandparents and parents themselves, respectively.

This novel takes quite awhile to get into. The initial characters that the reader is introduced to aren't really likable, and the tone is grey and bleak. In fact, very often the character offering his or her perspective behaves in a manner that isn't terribly appealing, and the reader is left to find the overriding interest in the story not by focusing on one person in particular, but rather in how these flawed, damanged humans manage to relate to one another. Once all the characters are introduced, and the family web is completed, it's a little easier to become attached to one person or another; as the characters age and become less selfish, they likewise become more appealing. Still, however, because the family members don't deal with each other very often, it's frequently easy to forget that this is a family drama at its core.

SPOILER ALERT - SKIP TO BELOW IF YOU PLAN ON READING THIS BOOK

One serious flaw with this novel is the loss of the voice of the voice of Torrie, the bright young daughter with the eating disorder, after a terrible car accident on her way home from a funeral. Because this novel is offbeat, and Thompson takes risks in her portrayal of characters by allowing them the freedom to be more than slightly crazy (for example, the returning Vietnam Vet with the serious inter-personal, and mental, disabilities), it would have been germaine to allow Torrie to maintain a role in the telling of the story on her own, rather than through the occasional observations of others. People with traumatic brain injuries are not devoid of experience, and even if her voice was garbled, or childlike, this would be preferable to essentially removing her voice altogether, especially as she took dramatic steps towards independence at the end of the novel. Prior to the accident, she was my favorite character, and her shift to inactive voice creates a large hole as far as I am concerned. I would have been extremely interested to read her perspective on the world around her.

SPOILER OVER

Where Thompson is strong as a writer is in her constant movement forward. She doesn't waste time coddling the reader, making sure you have kept up with the leaps forward in time. The story is not continuous, and if the reader isn't paying attention, the book will continue on regardless, leaving her confused and needing to flip back in order to place people and events. Like all families, some members fit better than others, and all have strong and weak points. Thompson is unapologetic for her character's failings, until the end, where she seems to succumb to a need to tie things up neatly with a bow. This is unfortunate, because the rest of the novel is so untidy, and a sunny ending is a bit jarring.

Overall, The Year We Left Home isn't a waste of a read, by any means, and is more male-friendly than most in the family-story genre. The characters face real-life choices that we see friends and neighbors making daily (re-entry after war, adultry, drugs, tragedy, parenting), with varying results, and Thompson doesn't waste time with overdone, non-action-related descriptions. This is a no-nonsense book, and the trade-off for this is that the reader doesn't spend as much time building a relationship with each character. That, combined with the challenge that some of the characters aren't overly likable to begin with, makes it less likely that the reader will experience that can't-put-it-down feeling.

Rating: 2.5 out of 5 stars. No-nonsense, multi-voiced slow-starter describing real issues faced by a wide-spread family over a generation.

Review: The Widower's Tale, by Julia Glass

2011-09-02T17:24:00.000-04:00

When I checked out The Widower's Tale, I was expecting a slightly melancholy novel about an elderly man who had recently lost his wife of many years, and who was left with nothing more to fill up his time than meddling in the affairs of his adult children. This seemed like a familiar topic to me, as it has been thoroughly covered on the widow side, and I was interested in how the reverse might be different. This was not, however, the story I actually got. What I did get was a look into the life of a very vibrant, not-elderly-at-all man who is more than content to allow his children, and grandchildren, to live their own interesting lives.

Percy (aka the non-elderly man), 70, has been a widower for some thirty years, and still lives on the same beautiful property where a tragic accident resulted in the death of his wife. His two daughters, Clover, an absentee parent who can't seem to keep a job and Trudy, who is the overachieving mother to the equally overachieving Robert, have remained close to their father, if not each other. The story begins with the relocation of a displaced preschool into the newly remodeled barn on Percy's land, one that used to house his wife's ballet studio, and which is now a hub for the who's-who of the well-off community. The school becomes almost a puzzle frame for the story, encircling each character who appears in an embrace that is at first warm, but becomes increasingly stifling as time passes. Additional central characters, such as Arturo, Robert's roommate, Sarah, a preschool parent who is much more to Percy, Ira, an in-the-closet prek teacher, and gardener Celestino, who is equally in the closet, albeint in a different way, complete the cast of this family drama, forging relationships that complete the web of the tale.

A large part of what keeps this story intensely interesting is the quality of writing demonstrated in the creation of many of these characters. The book focuses largely on the males' point of view, which is refreshing and surprisingly touching. It would have been easy for Glass to have written The Old Man, The Gay, The Illegal, and The Disenfranchised Scholar, but Glass does not rely on stereotypes to create these characters, and as a result they are varied and textured in a way that I have rarely seen in novels written by women. I particularly appreciated Percy, as the older parent who is involved in his children's lives, but not overbearingly so, and who has an intelligent, caring, adult relationship with the much younger Sarah without becoming The Dirty Old Man. Clover, also, evolves as a character, moving from an annoying, flightly, absentee mother to a much more likable, introspective, involved woman. Each character grows and evolves throughout the tale, changing in ways both attractive and not, much as the very real people in our own lives.

Glass introduces several sub-plots that focus on one or two characters, but the repercussions of which have bearing on everyone involved. The drama of the local eco-terrorists, Clover's quest for her children, Sarah's medical challenges, and the preschool as a community entity swirl around Percy, who as the anchor character plays a small part in each vein. While the climax of the story takes place largely without his participation, it is his reaction, and decisions for the future, that cement the final quality of Glass's work. The ending is lovely, well-wrapped without being stifling, and leaves the reader with a solid foothold for imaginings as to what the future might bring for this cast of characters.

While no novel is perfect, and I found certain characters more interesting and engaging than others, part of the beauty of the story is that there are enough angles for readers to latch onto that almost anyone could pick up Widower's Tale and find a niche. I thoroughly enjoyed this alternative, man's view telling of family and community drama.

Rating: four stars. Interesting perspectives, via a well-developed, evolving cast of characters, on family and community dynamics.

Review: Faith, by Jennifer Haigh

2011-08-24T10:47:00.001-04:00

Jennifer Haigh's new novel, Faith, focuses on a Boston family during the height of the infamous Catholic church scandal surrounding pedophiles' taking advantage of young acolytes and parishoners. When Father Art McCann, brother to the narrator of the story, is accused of doing just that by a mother of a boy who had grown close to the priest, the family and community are torn apart, and narrator Sheila is determined to find the truth. Art is definitely hiding something, and her search for answers is the backbone of the novel.

I grew up near Boston, and have a real affinity for the hard-core accent and customs of the community, which are often as in this case, represented by Irish Catholic characters. While I haven't lived in the area for decades now, something about a Boston accent makes me feel immediately at home. Unfortunately, I simply couldn't bond with these characters. The book opens with Art's mother, still a teenager herself, being abandoned by her young husband; this chapter was well-written, and I was invested in the woman. However, this is the last we really see of that part of the story, as the novel immediately jumps forward to a brief discussion of Art's joining the priest preparatory school at age 14, leaving his mother, step-father and new siblings behind. From this point, the story begins to be told more by Sheila, but the problem with this is that she is telling Art's story, making it difficult to bond with him as he is still the 'other', but we are not really involved with Sheila as a character, either. At the time of the events she describes, she is a young girl, and we have no relationship with her, and even her adult character is not developed to a point where we are really part of her life, either. This situation left the book feeling more like a documentary than a novel to me. Also, since the reader knows from the beginning that the focus of the story is accused of a heinous act, it is difficult to know how to react to him - do I root for him, or not? While you're pretty sure he probably didn't do it, there is the kernel of doubt that the family, and thus the reader, is left to deal with, and this again makes connecting with the characters difficult. I don't want to root for someone who ultimately is revealed to be a pedophile.

The pacing of the story is another issue I wasn't happy with during the first half of the book. The story dragged on for at least the first hundred pages, leaving me thinking, I get it, there's an issue, let's move on. The final quarter of the story definitely picks up, and when the entire truth becomes clear, it is of course tragic, and I can say this without feeling that I'm giving anything away, because regardless of the truth, whether he actually did anything wrong or not, lives have been ruined. I think the 'big reveal' of information did draw me into the story more, but by then the book was almost over. Perhaps re-reading the story, knowing how it ended, I would feel more invested in the work and less like an observer, but then again, I'm so disgusted with some of the characters' seediness, maybe not.

Haigh definitely has a knack for description, and she does not shy away from having her characters make unpopular life choices. By taking on this novel, she investigates morality, faith, poverty, and the issue of priesthood as a lifestyle and religious choice. These are sticky issues that stir firmly held opinions in the minds of many, particularly when mixed together. Haigh does an admirable job of creating realistic drama and reactions to these situations.

Overall, I probably wouldn't recommend this book, but it depends on what you're looking for. If you don't mind not being terribly engaged with the characters, then this might be a good book for you, particularly if you are familiar with the Boston Archdiocese nightmare. How committed are you to your family members? Would you stick with them even if you thought they had committed a heinous act? How would you cope with family members who walked away, or stayed? These are interesting questions; Haigh simply didn't make me care about the choices this particular family made.

Rating: one and a half stars. Gripping topics conveyed via cold characters.

Review: Robopocalypse, by Daniel H. Wilson

2011-08-23T13:40:00.000-04:00

While I don't typically pick up science fiction (I think you could probably count the numbers of sci-fi reviews I've done on one hand), for some reason this book kept popping up in my way. It seemed to be everywhere! Finally I gave in and ordered it from Overdrive, and I'm glad I did.

If you've seen or read 'I, Robot', you have the general concept of the story; smartypants scientist messes with artificial intelligence (A.I.) in ways he shouldn't have been, and his biggest success leads to his almost immediate demise. From that point on, the mainframe mastermind links up with the technology of the world - by this point, everything is 'smart', including cars - and instigates the annhilation and enslavement of humanity. It's a pretty straightforward plot that would frankly have been a tired rehash of other quality novels had it not been for Wilson's combination of time-lapse storytelling with a variety of personal narratives. Like many other current, popular novels, Robopocalypse employs a cast of storytelling characters to keep the reader from becoming complacent, but the format is twisted by using those voices not in conjunction, but in succession. The premise is that the main character / narrator, after having already succeeded in leading the group who ultimately defeats Archos, the AI mainframe, comes upon a box containing video clips collected by various surveillance objects of human actions during the war. It is the archived story of the human resistance, told in linear miniclips of the novel's characters.

What makes this work is that all of the characters are sincerely, completely absorbing. They are all very different, and include an elderly Japanese AI genius who is touchingly in love with his companion robot, an American Congresswoman's young daughter whose toys go frighteningly haywire, a self-absorbed London hacker, a small-town sherrif, an American military officer stationed in Afghanistan, an unlikely NYC couple who lead a resistance, and a man who against all reason winds up being the leader of the American resistance. Each member of the international cast is integral, and though the individual appearances of each one amounts to only a few short chapters apiece, Wilson somehow makes these people into living, morphing, dynamic characters that I was enthralled with. Many of the characters never even meet, and yet their presence is carried over into each other's stories in tendrils that connect the entire piece into one cohesive account. The focus is always on the characters; this is not a book that delves deeply into technobabble, or references concepts that only hard-core sci-fi readers would understand, but rather it is a very reality-based story that any of us could imagine experiencing. While self-professed geeks will probably enjoy Robopocalypse (such as my husband, who also couldn't put it down, and who spends a great deal of his time reading hard-core scif fi that frankly makes me want to take a nap), this is a very accessible story to the general reader who enjoys seeing how pieces, and people, fit together in this shrinking world.

This is not to say that the book didn't have flaws, such as the resolution, which seemed to be pretty simple. I feel that I can discuss this, because the book is clear from the start that humanity has already won, and that the tale is more about how we got there rather than where we ended up. I mean, really? It was irrationally easy, which if anything you would expect a computer overlord to uber-rational. Quality endings are hard to come up with, and here I think Wilson falls a bit short. The robots who are 'awakened', i.e. freed, by Takeo's work should have been further developed; I understand that some were crucial in the war's resolution, but really, a lot more could have been done with them, particularly Mikiko, his beloved companion. I believe that the Congresswoman's daughter was vastly underutilized as a character and could have been developed further. I have also seen many comparisons to a book called World War Z, by Max Brooks, which I have not read; those who have claim that the two are very similar, and if you like one, you will like the other, and vice versa. I cannot speak to this, but plan to check out WWZ, both because I really liked Wilson's take and because I heard WWZ is about zombies. I think I've made it pretty clear how I feel about zombies, people.

I read this one almost straight through. It was a nice change of pace for me, but more than that, the characters are gorgeous. I loved how they all were so disparate, but yet fit together in key ways from thousands of miles away. Even if you're not a science fiction person, I would try it out for size. The first chapter is a bit dull, but once the other characters begin to come into play, it's defintiely a worthwhile, fun read.

Discussion questions for Robopocalypse:
1. What did you think of the ending? How could it have been made more compelling?
2. Why do you think the humans were so taken aback by the uprising of the machines? Do you think that real society would be as vulnerable to being duped?
3. Which characters do you feel were most like what you think your own personal reaction might be to the uprising? Would you survive?
4. If you have read WWZ, compare and contrast the stories. Which one relates the apocalypse tale better? How do you feel about authors releasing similar tales, even if they were 'inspired by' other previous works?

Rating: four stars. Very engrossing, character-driven reboot of the apocalypse theme.

Review: The Arrivals, by Meg Mitchell Moore

2011-08-22T16:50:00.000-04:00

I have to admit, what made me pick up this novel first was the cover photo. I mean, really, look at it! It's lovely. When I realized that the story takes place in Burlington, VT, where I went to college many moons ago, I plopped it into my bookbag and off I went. Those of you who live in NYC, or LA, have the luxury of reading about the cities you recognize all the time; for me, being able to place myself in the scenery with the characters was an unexpected, and welcome, pleasure.

Aside from my own personal geographic longings, 'The Arrivals' offers a great deal to woo readers. Moore's novel follows several members of a large family, each of whom has chosen a very different life from the others, as they return for one reason or another to their parents' home in Burlington over the course of several weeks, descending en masse on aging parents who are alternately thrilled with their adult children's return and despondent that they will never leave. One nice facet of the story is the generational spread that the characters represent; the youngest 'child' who returns home after a difficult breakup in NYC is in her early twenties, while her older sister, who also has fled relationship issues with her two children in tow, and older brother, who ends up planted for the duration of the summer with a wife suddenly put on bedrest during what was supposed to be a short visit, are respectively in their early- to mid-thirties. This range in age, combined with the parents' perspectives, casts a wide net for readers, providing a niche for everyone.

Moore presents the novel in perspective-driven chapters, rotating tales and characters with each change. Because we are shown so many different lives, at first it is slightly difficult to keep people straight, but that quickly clears up, and from that point on there is little time for even the most ADD reader to get bored. While there was one particular plot line that I didn't care for, surrounding one of the character's semi-subconscious decision to become entangled with a priest - the character herself had other aspects that I found interesting and endearing. This is another perk to Moore's storytelling; the characters are multi-faceted, making even their least desirable traits less irksome because there are other areas to focus on. Also interesting are backhanded references to real-world events, such as the Wall St. crisis and various military situations. These events aren't belabored in a way that would reduce the applicability of the novel in future years, and are more mentioned in relation to certain characters rather than specifically discussed in their own right.

I would actually be interested in reading a sequel to The Arrivals, to see how things eventually turn out for the characters in the decisions they make at the end of the novel. I have purposefully not given much of a summary here, because it's too delicious to unravel on your own. I had a good time with this one, and I think many of you would, too. It's a casual, positive adult family relationship book, in a time where as a culture we seem to celebrate the darker, seedier side of family interaction.

Some discussion questions for The Arrivals could be:

1. Which of the novel's many characters did you relate to the most / least? Why?
2. Jane and Stephen share their decision for Stephen to be the full-time caregiver early in the story, and are adamant that it's what they want. How do Jane's actions reflect a potential rethinking of this strategy after the baby is born? On what circumstances could her reaction to the ringing phone be based, and what do you think this may indicate about the author's perspective on parenting?
3. Jane, Lillian and Rachel have vastly different experiences with and expectations of motherhood. What are their commonalities, and how do their situations influence their relationships?
4. Ginny and William both start and end the book alone in their home. How do the experiences of the summer influence their perspectives on their children, their partnership and their own identities?

Rating: four stars. Deeply interesting character-driven novel that embraces the family as a source of strength and growth.

Review: Fragile, by Lisa Unger

2011-07-24T13:28:00.000-04:00

Lisa Unger has once again written an engrossing, twisty-turning novel that grabs your brain and forces you to sit up and pay attention. Although the cover may look like it belongs on a Jodi Piccoult novel, it actually masks much more intriguing and multi-plot story that unwinds deliciously over the course of its 327 pages.

Fragile contains many characters, and several smaller plots, but the main focus of the book involves the disappearance of a troubled high school girl from her insulated town outside New York City. Did she really run away, as her Facebook page claims, or was she kidnapped? Local child psychiatrist Maggie and her husband, Detective Jones, become submerged in the events while simultaneously coping with their own ghosts that still haunt this town they both grew up in. While small town living may mean that everyone knows everyone else, reality is not always what it seems to be, and as the truth of the crime begins to come to light, so do the facts surrounding another event from the past that threatens to overcome them all. What you think is the main plot is actually a venue to uncover something else entirely.

Fragile has many positive aspects, not the least of which is the multi-layered character writing done by Unger. The story is told by multiple characters, who play various roles throughout. Typically I have a favorite character, or at the very least stifle a groan when a chapter is told from the perspective of a particular character in a multi-cast novel, but this time I didn't; each one was lifelike and important beyond his or her part in the mystery at hand. Even the characters in the story that you knew, just KNEW, had a part in the girl's disappearance, were dimensional and had a draw.

This brings up an important point; due to the multi-voice storytelling, the reader knows more about what is really going on than any one of the characters for most of the novel. However, this is not to say that I knew exactly what had occured in either the disappearance at hand *or* the mystery from the past, and this was delightful. I knew just enough to *think* I knew what happened, which kept me from feeling like I should probably just skim the rest (ahem, again with the Piccoult reference), but there were indeed surprises ahead, unvelied throughout the last third of the novel, that changed my perceptions and made me respect Unger more as a writer. I read a lot, as you have probably noticed, and it's not typical that I don't have just about everything figured out by the middle of the book. I love that I didn't here. More importantly, perhaps, is the fact that even though I thought I had figured everything out, I didn't care. I was enjoying the book, and the unfolding events, too much to stop reading. I read every word on every page.

If you read this book, alone or with others, consider the following book club questions:
1. How did your perception of Tommy Delano change throughout the novel? Were you surprised at his letter?
2. What do you think would have happened if Sarah hadn't gotten into the car that day? What would have the more immediate repercussions been for Sarah, and for Maggie? What long-term implications might have there been for all the characters?
3. Social media plays a significant role in the mystery surrounding Charlene's disappearance. Considering the pervasiveness of internet culture, what safeguards do you think are appropriate for a teenage online consumer?
4. Maggie and Jones experience significant conflict over their son, Rick. Whose side did you find yourself taking? Why?

Rating: four out of five stars. Engaging, character-driven novel that takes the reader on a trail-of-crumbs through the history and mystery of a small town.

Review: The Red Garden, by Alice Hoffman

2011-07-24T12:30:00.000-04:00

I will start off by saying that this novel was not what I expected it to be. The book jacket does it no justice whatsoever; the picture makes it look like a story about an asian experience (like something Lisa See would write), and the description makes it sound like a typical generational novel that follows a family in a linear fashion over time. It is neither of those things.

The Red Garden is both a generational epic and a collection of short stories; each story takes place in the same small town of Blackwell, MA, and focuses on a different descendant of one of the few founding families of the town, spanning several hundred years to end at present day. However, again, because the book jacket doesn't explain terribly well (read: at all) that this is what is going to happen, and the stories don't lay out specifically at the outset how the characters portrayed are related to the founding family, I was fairly confused during the second story and had to go back later to re-read it once I realized what was going on.

Once I was acclimated to the Hoffman's format, I was hooked. The intitial tale, about a small band of colonial settlers swindled by a local man into leaving their safe town to 'go west', ending up barely on the other side of the Berkshires before winter snows and starvation fell upon them, was immediately gripping. The staunch wife of said swindler, Hallie Brady, overcomes the weakness of her fellow travellers and saves them all by becoming the provider for the group, hunting and gathering on her own until the spring. Her strange connection with a local bear family not only saves the town, but also becomes a thread throughout the remainder of the collection. The novel's dark humor, expressed by Hallie's naming every part of the town 'Dead Husband (Field, River, Wood)', has its start in this section as well, as does the explanation for the novel's title, although you don't realize it until later on.

This ability to keep the reader thinking throughout the book by leaving clues in the story of one generation that are never fully explained, but which require small leaps that result in several 'Ohhhh!' moments during the tales of future characters, is one of the Hoffman's talents that made me keep returning. After realizing that the indominable Hallie would be making no further appearances, I almost put the book after the second story, not wishing to become attached to characters who I would never learn the fate of, but perseverance led me to realize that I would indeed learn the fate of the each of the previous characters via smal kernels of information provided in subsequent tales, as well as the repercussions of past events on the future generations. This is like voyeurism at its best, really, knowing reasons and details about parts of others' lives that they themselves may not even fully understand. The stories definitely have a slightly magical feel to them, as if spirits from the past are following along for the ride, and events such as why the soil in the garden is red, and the details about little girl on the riverbank, are like a candy trail through the forest.

This would be a great selection for a book club, because of the various motifs and relationships involved throughout the book. Discussion questions could include:
1. What is the significance of bears in the story? What is their ultimate meaning to the families of Blackwell?
2. The story of Susan and the eels includes the most magical thinking in the collection, depending upon what you decide is the truth. What do you think really happened with Susan? What is the importance of the eels to Blackwell, and why is this story, which is so different from the others, included in the collection?
3. In these stories, things are not always what they seem. Who do you think was really in the river with Carla's brother Johnny: Tessa or her mother? Why? What do you think of Carla's reaction?
4. Hoffman includes a few famous names in the tale. Who are they, and what do you think of the parts they play? Do you think they added to the story?
5. Which ancestor is your favorite, and why did his / her story speak to you above the others?

Overall, I would highly recommend this novel for its elegant blending of reality and magic, and Hoffman's talent at portraying characters from various periods in a manner that is faithful to the social norms of their time. I found almost all the characters to be intriguing, and the writing overall inviting. I am actually planning on going back through the story to plot out who was related to who, and that would be one of the only recommendations I would have to the author; somewhere in an afterward, to include a family / story tree with names and chapter titles in parentheses that readers can refer to in times of confusion.

Rating: four out of five stars. Elegant storytelling that hides surprises and treats for readers throughout the novel's generations.

Note on Comments

2011-07-18T10:52:00.000-04:00

Hi Everyone - I just realized that I haven't been getting emails from comments that have been left on this blog! There aren't a lot of coments left here, and I usually see recent ones, but if you've left a comment and I haven't responded, I apologize!!!! I was signed up to get them, but for some reason they weren't coming through. I believe the problem has been resolved now.

Astarte

Review: The Penderwicks at Point Mouette, by Jeanne Birdsall

2011-07-13T17:30:00.004-04:00

As you can probably tell, The Penderwicks at Point Mouette is a children's book, aimed largely at girls. It's the third book in a series, with the first two being The Penderwicks on Gardam Street and The Penderwicks: A Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and a Very Interesting Boy. I adore these books, and actually requested this latest installment for myself from the library; as my 12yo daughter loves them too, we read it on our Nooks at the same time (note: once you download a book from Overdrive, or whatever your local library uses for e-materials, you can upload it to multiple readers at the same time, so we didn't have to take turns, which I liked).

If you haven't read the previous two novels, you have missed out on a delightful series. The stories focus almost entirely on the children, four sisters named (from oldest to youngest) Rosalind, Skye, Jane and Batty (short for Elizabeth). Unlike in most fiction aimed at just about anyone these days, there is essentially no family conflict; these sisters adore each other, and operate as a functional team. As the OAP (Oldest Available Penderwick), Rosalind is largely in charge of the other sisters, due to the death of their mother some years earlier. Jane is a writer, Skye is engrossed in sports, and Batty, the baby, spends most of her time romping with the dog and cat. The children have adventures such as finding out who the little boy next door is, and end up inadvertently setting their father up to marry his mother, or going to a small vacation cottage and meeting a boy their age who is essentially held captive by a controlling mother and her new husband in the main house. This time, the three younger girls are the focus of the story, probably because Rosalind is getting older and the author is aiming at younger children; however, because the girls are so close, much of the plot focuses on Jane's anxiety over being OAP when the younger girls go on vacation with their aunt (Rosalind goes away with a friend instead), and on the entire group's experience of their first separation. The other story lines involve a first (very innocent) crush, and a new friendship developed with an oddly-familiar-looking man next door to their summer vacation home.

To understand why this all works, you have to realize that the voice Birdsall writes in is almost entirely unique in this day and age. To find its equivalent, you have to look back to books we might have read as children, such as the Bobbsey Twins series. The entire demeanor of the book is one of Literature, not just a typical book that appeals to kids via fart jokes and one-word responses. Additionally, Birdsall invests no faux angst, and instead trusts the readers to be intelligent enough to be interested in the characters and their story instead; she allows the characters and story to carry their own weight. It is entirely refreshing. The main focus is on the sisters' relationships, solving small mysteries and dealing with situations in a mature, thoughtful way that frankly, we don't see very often anymore. The reader experiences situations through each girl's eyes, as the girls rotate chapters and have their own small adventures that complement the main plot. There is always a positive, satisfying ending that, yes, is tied up with a bow, but one that feels natural, not like the author took a cheap way out and suddenly used a drawstring bag to stuff the remainder of the story into.

All in all, I cannot recommend this entire series highly enough. The characters are lovely, the stories are fun, and the resolutions are always satisfying and reasonable. If you have a daughter old enough to at least listen to chapter books while you read at night, you should be trotting out to get them, or at least reserve them at the library, pronto.

Rating: five stars. Another wonderful addition to the high-quality, family-friendly series.

Review: The Girl Who Chased the Moon, by Sarah Addison Allen

2011-07-12T11:06:00.004-04:00

In a continuation of my summer lightweight novels series, I borrowed The Girl Who Chased the Moon, by Sarah Addison Allen, from my public library e-books site. Easy to read, and mildly mystical, it took me about a day and a half to get through the roughly three hundred pages on my Nook.

The basic plot follows Emily, a high school senior who moves to live with her maternal grandfather, whom she has never met, after her mother's death. Emily's mother had left the small town under a cloud of hatred twenty years earlier, but while no one has forgotten what the woman did, neither will anyone tell Emily what it was. While Emily deals with the fallout of a past she doesn't understand, she also finds herself oddly pulled to a boy from a strangely secretive, anachronistic family that seems to be somehow at the center of the mystery.

On the flip side of Emily's story is that of Julia, the woman who has returned to town to work in the small restaurant her father left her. Julia has a painful past of her own in the town, and the fate of this mother who lost a daughter becomes intertwined with that of Emily, girl who lost her mother. Her plot line is almost as well-developed as Emily's; focusing on re-imagining her future and moving on from the past, Julia must come to terms with betrayal by those she loved most, and a loss so profound it influences her every move.

This all sounds pretty straightforward, but when you add in little tidbits like mysterious lights in the forest, morphing wallpaper, and a magical scent of sugar, things get a little strange, in a playful way. This is not a novel that purports to be Mystical Literature, nor does it take itself too seriously. If you've seen the Movie Simply Irresistable (and if you haven't, you should), it has the same feel: light, airy, and welcoming. There is no feeling of 'Twilight' angst, either, thankfully. Really, it was just the right amount of magic to play into what you wished had been real when you were young - enough to excite the imagination without being frightened.

The mysteries in the story unravel at a good speed, and don't leave the reader bored or confused. In the negative column, however, is the answer to the Big Mystery - what is the boy and his family hiding? It's a lot more mellow than you would think, and the climax reveal is a little bit of a letdown, however by the time you find out what It is, the draw of the story is the interpersonal relationships of the various characters, who are all very real. In addition, the final chapter, which is more of an afterward, is too convenient for my taste, and it did color my impression of the story. I don't think that stories always need to be wrapped up in a bow, especially those made for adults, but since the whole story borders on YA lit it's a little less of an affront. In fact, if it wasn't for the one pretty explicit sexual encounter in the story, I would probably recommend it to my 12yo, because the themes of redemption, family, and personal integrity are strongly supported and well-written; throughout the novel Emily must simultaneously face the sins of her mother while still loving the woman she knew, and stand up as her own person in the midst of small-town prejudice and dislike, while Julia must face the monster within. Forgiveness, of self and others, is a strong thread woven into the plot, as is the need to move on and grow from adversity.

Overall, this is a lovely story that kept me interested until the end, and made me inclined to look for additional novels by Allen. If you're looking for something easy to keep up with for summer trips, it would make an excellent choice.

Rating: four out of five stars: Sweetly magical dual story of forgiveness, redemption, and love.

Review: The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin.

2011-07-10T16:54:00.004-04:00

Are you happy? How could an ordinary, no-major-life-problems person increase happiness and become more present in their daily lives? I have to admit, these questions seemed to be self-centered and weary when I first noticed this book on the shelves. The only thing that really drew me in was the sub-title: 'Why I Spent A Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun'. Well, that, and the cover, which to my shallow self, looked at least a little interesting.

Imagine my surprise when The Happiness Project actually had an impact on my own daily life. Rubin, without specifically meaning to, has written a self-help book for the non-self-help crowd. I was not necessarily in the market for help, although I do admit to having been in a bit of a funk lately, so perhaps I was a little more open to suggestion than usual. Regardless, the genius behind the 'help' is that it's actually the documentation of Rubin's own journey to a more positive life, rather than someone's pompous instructions on how You could make your life like Theirs. She makes no suggestion to readers as to following in her footsteps, and in fact wrote this as a stand-alone project rather than as one that others might undertake on their own.

The book begins with Rubin, a former Supreme Court staffer turned writer, looking at her life and wondering about happiness; would making small changes to identified areas of her existence, both internal and external, improve the experience of both her and, by extension, those around her? To find out, Rubin first had to define happiness, which led to an extensive reading list of material from philosophers, politicians, and religous figures. From that, Rubin identified her own condensed thoughts on the subject, and made a list of areas in her life that she felt could stand improvement. The project built upon itself, with new goals being added at the beginning of each month, the assumption being that after 30 days, the previous goals had become habits that needed less individual focus. With the introduction of each new month's goals, Rubin gave background research information and reasoning as to why she had selected the goals for the month, and what philosophical basis they had. Each month gets its own chapter, and Rubin includes an extensive reference section at the end documenting her research and motivational texts.

Part of what makes this all so readable is Rubin's awareness that really, to 90% of the world, her life is already pretty magnifiant - good health, strong marriage, financially stable, etc. She also includes the doubts of others who approach her to discuss her work, and their (sometimes rude) arguments as to why her year's work is, essentially, worthless. However, her basic conclusion is that if we are to live, we should strive for improvement, for our own sake as well as that of those around us. Rubin sets goals that impact her family, friends, and community, but involve only small changes on her own part and no financial investment at all. Her goal of being true to herself resulted in her exploring her passion for children's literature and starting a small literature circle; it eventually expanded so much from people bringing friends that other offshoot groups were created. All of those people expanded their horizons, met new people, and got to participate in a monthly intellectually stimulating social experience because of her small decision to focus on what she was really interested in. The book is full of tiny gestures that make substantial returns.

In essence, Rubin's tactic is very appropriate for the current economy; figure out what you truly want, what honestly makes you and others in your life happy, and cut out all the rest of the garbage. Focus on what you can change, and do it. There are many people who, for one reason or another, feel that they have lost a lot of power over their own lives, and this project is a reminder that we all can refocus ourselves, and take charge of what is truly personal.

Rating: five stars. Intelligent, honest, engaging journal of taking back the self ad focusing on what's truly important

Review: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dreadfully Ever After, by Steve Hockensmith

2011-06-19T10:46:00.004-04:00

I know, I know, you're thinking, enough with the zombies already.

It's never enough; or, at least, not when it comes to the Pride and Prejudice series reboot, it isn't. It's a sickness, I know; I just can't seem to help myself. You have no idea the glee I felt when I realized that there was yet another piece to the Dreadful puzzle.

In case you have no idea what all the fuss is about, there is a whole genre out there of literature comprised of authors taking literature from the public domain and adding horror elements to them; the best of these is by far the butchery of the Pride and Prejudice series, which began with Seth Grahame-Smith's 'Pride & Prejudice and Zombies'. Hockensmith then picked up the mantle, writing the prequel 'Dawn of the Dreadfuls' and now the now-trilogy's finale, Dreadfully Ever After. The biggest difference between the two authors' work is that SGS inserted the 'horror' portions into Austen's work, whereas SH has written two entirely new novels extending the original story.

In DEA, the Dreadfuls (in high-society England, 'zombie' is considered poor language - the creatures are referred to as 'Poor Unfortunates', Dreadfuls, or in a pinch, 'Zeds') are once again making themselves a nuisance. The novel begins with Darcy being bitten by one such unfortunate, making it necessary for Elizabeth to call upon his aunt, the shrewish Catherine de Bourgh, for assistance in keeping her beloved from turning into a flesh-eating fop. Elizabeth, whose fighting skills have been forced onto a back burner due to the impropriety of a married woman carrying a weapon, is further horrified to find that Lady Catherine's plan involves her taking Darcy back to her home, while sending Lizzy, along with her father and one of her sisters, to woo the manufacturer of the only known cure for Zed-ism. Of course, the Lady has her own motives for getting the cure, not the least of which being revenge upon the lower-class Elizabeth for stealing Darcy from his intended, Catherine's daughter, who is looking surprisingly... peaked... these days. Meanwhile, London is in the process of falling to the zombies, who have found a way around the multi-walled defense system of the city. This final novel sees Elizabeth struggling emotionally with her prescribed place in society, and the dark presence of de Bourgh playing the hand of the social norm forcing her into a coquettish role opposite of her true nature; interestingly, this is a battle Austen herself faced as the society or her time tried to quelch her true intellect and character into one more 'appropriate'. In the end, only the extreme fighting skills of the Bennett-Darcy family, along with the help of several ninjas and a mysterious man in a box, can stop the country's - and Darcy's - descent into flesh-eating mania, and Elizabeth's capitulation into depression.

The reason all of this insanity works is the deliciously ridiculous dichotomy between the period-appropriate expectations for and speech of the characters and the china-star fighting style of the Bennett sisters. Cleverness, intelligence, and sly wit save the novel from being mere b-movie spoof material and turn it into something more intellectual, almost droll. I have said it before, these are 'horror' lit novels for the NPR crowd. As usual, pen-and-ink illustrations are included, which heighten the feeling that this could *almost* be an extension of the original, had Austen had an interest in the grotesque. Also present once again are language and phrasing that are close to something I could have imagined Austen using. While it is an easy thing to copy someone else's work, it is not an easy thing to create something new in the imagined voice of someone else successfully, and continually.

I was mildly concerned before reading this latest installment that it would unravel towards the end, and use too-easy techniques to get to the pre-decided plot resolution, but it really didn't. Hockensmith kept the characters on-track throughout the climax, and the eventual resolution was very satisfying. While I am disapointed that, from the look of it, this will probably remain a trilogy, I appreciate the author's respect for the characters, both their classic and made-over traits. Is Austen rolling in her grave, or perhaps climbing out of it entirely? Maybe, but but if she is, it's only to eat the delicious brain of one Steve Hockensmith.

Rating: five out of five. Another fun romp in the imagined past with Elizabeth Bennett, zombie-killer.

Review: A Cup of Friendship, by Deborah Rodriguez

2011-06-17T11:55:00.002-04:00

The latest book by Deborah Rodriguez, A Cup of Friendship, is a sort of Steel Magnolias that takes place in Afghanistan. In fact, if you liked that movie, and are also interested in the experiences of women in the middle east, I can almost guarantee that you would enjoy this novel, and should in fact trot out and get it forthwith. If not, still consider reading it, because there are enough differences that might still make it worthwhile for your at least borrowing from the library (actually, I always recommend visiting your local library, because you never know what you might find there).

To be honest, I was slightly put of from picking up this book simply because of its title; it was a little too close to the cup of tea thing. (Unlike almost everyone else in the universe, it seems, I did *not* like the Greg Mortenson book, and as a result I admit to feeling a little smug when it came out a few months ago that he's a big, fat, liar-liar-pants-on-fire. So there.) However, after skimming a few pages, I decided to give it a try, and I'm glad I did. There are several characters in the story, many of which had a story compelling enough to have her own complete novel, such as Yazmina, a pregnant young widow taken from her home to settle a debt who escapes her captors in Kabul, or Halajan, an older woman who is having a culturally-forbidden romance via letter with a man from her childhood, but the main character of 'Friendship' is Sunny, an American transplant who owns the small coffeshop in downtown Kabul that is the gravitational force for all the novel's characters. Sunny's main dilemma, unfortunately, is between two men, both of whom do mysterious 'danger pay' work for different governments with political interests in the country; I say unfortunately because in comparison to what the other characters are going through, Sunny's man-challenge is pretty basic. However, thankfully, this is not her sole purpose as a character, as the existence of the coffee shop itself is threatened daily by sectarian violence and the financial concerns that result, and she must work with her friends and the Afghani family she has cobbled together to raise money to keep the cafe open.

This probably all sounds like a pretty basic plot, and perhaps it is, but what is really compelling about the story is the characters themselves. Rodriguez, the author of the bestselling Kabul Beauty School, has lived in Kabul and thus knows the intricacies of the culture and those who must navigate the seemingly endless social requirements; her experience has helped her to create realistic, living characters that the reader can establish a relationship with. Especially interesting to me was her portrayal of the foreign presence, which was kind yet didn't flinch away from pointing out the patriarchical nature of the many parties with their hand in the Afghan pot. Also, Rodriguez includes the male perspective in this collaborative-narrator story, which is novel both in that men's thoughts aren't frequently included in women's literature, especially in any sort of believable fashion, and in that the men are Afghani, who typically do not share their thoughts with women. The author also delves into the dangerous dichotomy that is being a woman in Afghanistan; women are expected to bear sons for their husbands, yet if the husband dies while she is pregnant, she can be killed as a whore, and when the son grows up, he like any man can kill her for any perceived infraction of the social code.

Some of the characters in the story are more believable than others, and at times Rodriguez does slip into the easy-solution arena, exchanging some credibility for ease in making a point, setting a scene, or resolving a plot twist. It seems that she had scenarios in mind for each character arch, and perhaps didn't spend as much time thinking up ways to make these events happen in a totally believable fashion - there is one character in particular who has Money and Connections, and who greases the wheels of the plot with increasing frequency as the novel reaches its apex. Also, one of the male characters at the crux of the story makes his mental transformation in a little too perfect of a manner to be realistic, but it does tie up the plot nicely. To be utterly real, one of the characters would have had to kill at least one of the others; this would have changed the whole tone of the book and perhaps not worked out, either.

I do wonder, though, if the novel turned into something that Rodriguez hadn't intended in the beginning, because as the plot progresses, new characters are introduced that become increasingly integral to the story, while those present from the beginning aren't paid quite as much attention. It was increasingly clear that what Rodriguez really wanted to do was write a social commentary on Afghanistan culture, focused on its treatment of women, with a side plot on foreign involvement, and this novel is split between the relationship stories and the girlfriend-power let's-fix-it side. Interestingly, while the author is obviously critical of foreign involvement in the country, the main characters who are the driving force for positive change in the story are all foreign white women. Rodriguez herself was a foreigner in Kabul, providing women with training to better their lives, so perhaps it is only the geo-political military 'aid' she is truly critical of, but regardless the characters' claims that Afghan people should be left alone to run their own country seems contrary to the actual events in the story.

All in all, this was an excellent book that I enjoyed reading. The characters are likable and varied, the atmosphere interesting and realistic. There are a few plot-conveniences, but the resolution wasn't totally inconceivable. The glimpse into the culture of Afghanisan, particularly for those who haven't read much about the social norms there, makes the book worth the read.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars. Interesting characters in a realistic environment, with a few questionable plot conveniences and a mixed political message.

Review: Graveminder, by Melissa Marr

2011-06-16T16:01:00.002-04:00

Prior to writing Graveminder, Melissa Marr focused on YA romantic fantasy / sci fi writing; in this story, her first foray into adult fiction, Marr carries over those themes in a slightly darker vein. If you are familiar with this blog at all, you know that I'm all over the new higher-brow zombie-inclusion trend, and the insinuation on the book jacket that something would be crawling out of a grave was all the encouragement I needed to zap this title right into my Nook.

I wasn't sure what to expect, since while I like the zombie action, I'm not really a fan of romance, because too many writers take the easy road and make ultra-predictable novels based on sappy soft-core porn. Although Graveminder is billed as somewhat of a romance, I was pleasantly surprised, because the relationship between the novel's two main characters is really a back-burner issue, tangental to the main plot.

The novel opens with a strange interaction in a graveyard between an elderly woman and an oddly dirty, skinny girl that leaves the reader with a strong sense of Wrong; that feeling is substantiated a few pages later in a discovery that necessitates main character Rebekkah Barrow, a wanderer who has been resisting a strong urge to return to her hometown for many years, to attend to the final affairs of the woman who had become her adopted grandmother. Only a select few in the town are able to discuss events surrounding the dead woman, as well as other town eccentricities, without developing debilitating migraines. The juicy secret that binds the town is centuries old, and leads Rebekkah and her on-again, off-again childhood love literally to purgatory and back while a conspiracy involving the undead threatens to munch the brains of everyone in town.

Really, there is so much going on in this story that it's difficult to outline the plot without giving anything away. The chapters are told from a few different points of view, including some guest spots from zombie thoughts, so the reader has more pieces of the puzzle than the individual main characters do quite often, but these pieces don't fit together in any meaningful way until the main characters have caught up. There are times when Marr strays dangerously close to the hokey, during the periods when the characters transition between worlds, and these are the weakest parts of the novel, but overall she does an excellent job of allowing the characters, and readers, experience the events in an organic way; she never forces characters to do something ridiculous to belabor a point, and readers are trusted to keep up with the events and remember details on their own rather than having the literary neon signs that many authors provide throughout a plot. The character's relationships seem realistic, and the explanation given as to why there's not an uproar in the town over the events is simple and reasonable. Additionally, whether intended or not, there is some dark humor in the tale... or maybe I just find zombie attacks funny. Either way, I had a good time reading this story, and a hard time putting it down.

Rating: four and a half stars out of five. Entertaining, darkly funny, suspenseful tale of a town where Here and Now meets Hereafter.

Review: The Memory Palace, by Mira Bartok

2011-06-14T15:25:00.002-04:00

I am a sucker for a good rough-life memoir. Give me three hundred pages of overcoming childhood adversity, throw in some life-threatening events, sprinkle liberally with mental illness and financial hardship, and I'm all in. It's my version of reality TV, classed up a bit.

Unfortunately, for a few different reasons, Mira Bartok's The Memory Palace just didn't do it for me. Certainly, her childhood was pretty horrific, with a schizophrenic mother, frighteningly violent grandfather, and abused grandmother; the ordeals she suffered at the hands of these people were at once heartbreaking and riveting. As adults, Bartok and her sister would both eventually change their names and hide their locations from their mother due to the danger she posed to their personal, professional, and physical lives, reuniting with their by-then homeless mother only on her deathbed. For her part, Bartok describes reliving the caretaker role in other relationships, including one ill-fated marriage, until she herself was in a car accident that necessitated having someone care for her due to brain injury.

As interesting as these events are, however, Bartok is unable to make them gel into one coherent, compelling story. Each detail and event is told as if happening in a void; this is not a story of her life, which contained unique challenges, but rather the story of those challenges in and of themselves. Thus, the reader ends up with less of a connection to Bartok herself, which is a problem in a memoir. I don't know a lot about what went on with her in school, if she had friends, what kinds of conversations she had with people, what her day-to-day adult life was like, and so I went through the book not really feeling like Bartok had allowed me in. Bartok is not an adult fiction writer, and she had a lifetime's practice hiding her experiences from everyone around her, and I wonder if perhaps that perfected secretiveness made it difficult for her to allow the emotional openness that would have been required to make The Memory Palace the story it could have been.

Bartok also seemed to be trying to tell both her story *and* that of her mother, but not filling in enough detail of either story, particularly during her adulthood, to make a connection with either person. For instance, late in the book, she makes us aware via a conversation with her sister that she is dating a poet whom her sister doesn't like because he's unemployed; in the next chapter, a good deal of time has passed, they have been married for awhile, and it suddenly comes out that he's been increasingly showing signs of potential schizophrenia himself - how did it get to that point? Why did she marry this person? We don't know. These details are important in a memoir. If this were fiction, maybe I could give it more of a pass, but this is a real life, and there are real details and answers out there; don't just dangle a carrot like that in front of me and pretend details aren't important, because they are.

This memoir could have been so much better. As it was, I wasn't drawn in enough to even really want to finish it, although I did because I can't stand leaving unfinished books around. Maybe after reading The Glass Castle, Jeannette Walls' amazing memoir or living with mentally ill and drug addicted parents, I am completely spoiled. I just know that I wanted more from this story, because I know it's there, but perhaps Bartok simply isn't in a place emotionally, or mentally, to want or be able to fully reveal it.

Rating: one star. Disappointingly unengaging, disjointed memoir of a schizophrenic's daughter.

Review: Joy School, by Elizabeth Berg

2011-06-12T11:44:00.002-04:00

Elizabeth Berg's newest novel, Joy School, is actually a continuation of a previous novel, Durable Goods, that I read long enough ago that I didn't actually make the connection between the two until I was midway through the story. The characters felt familiar, but there are enough changes in the circumstances that it wasn't immediately obvious to me what was going on.

Joy School is the (continued) story of Katie, who serves as the teenaged narrator of the book, which seems to take place in the sixties or so (the actual year isn't mentioned). She and her father have recently moved to Missouri after what is hinted as being a long line of relocations, and Katie is once again the New Girl, with all the challenges that go along with that status. The neighbor kids delight in being nasty to her, and her best friend's letters, which are few and far between, reflect a widening gap in maturity and experiences that make no connection with Katie's current situation. Her family situation is also a challenge, due to the death of her mother prior to the start of the book; her older sister has run away with a boyfriend to Mexico, and her father leans towards violence as a result of depression over the entire situation. Katies horizons begin to widen when she falls in (unrequited) love with an older, married young man and befriends another transplant, a beautiful student model with a penchant for shoplifting and parking.

Berg takes what could be a seedy and stereotypical plot and creates what is actually a sweet and fairly innocent story more related to a modern version of Beverly Cleary's teenage series than (gag) Twilight; throughout, I kept thinking of Fifteen, and Jean and Johnny (probably because the young man Katie falls in love with is named Jimmy, but the tone is the similar). Katie is a normal girl that many of us could relate to, and frankly who I hope my daughter would relate to; she has a moral compass, and is looking for more from life than cheap thrills. Berg does a good job reflecting the character of the general time period, rather than imposing current cultural standards on the characters. The sixties and early seventies were a time of huge social shifting, and Katie's experiences teeter on the edge of the precipice - on the one hand, she dreams about bringing Jimmy baked goods, and on the other she gets dragged along on what she discovers are very physical 'parking' dates and shoplifting lessons with her questionable new friend.

Katie's age-appropriate voice as narrator makes for a simple, yet not quite simplistic, read. The book goes fast, and took me literally two sittings to get through. Having only one perspective means that the other characters are not as developed as they could have been; I would be very interested in reading a book that focuses on her sister's separate journey. Berg gives tantalizing tidibts of information regarding her experience via Katie's interpretation, and I would like to see that fleshed out more; it's a bit of a shame that the story didn't have two parts, with the sister's telling their own stories separately at the beginning, converging into one when the family is reunited, and splitting up again afterward. That having been said, Berg does an excellent job of allowing Katie to tell her story in full, in a realistic and truthful manner.

If you enjoy YA literature in particular, or have nostalgic feelings about the YA stories of your youth, this is a good selection for you. If you prefer Twilight-esque sexual tension and melodrama, this may not be what you're looking for.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5: a sweetly charming coming-of-age tale about a level-headed heroinne.

Review: The Known World, by Edward P. Jones

2011-06-06T14:34:00.002-04:00

I read a lot of material, both new and old, and it's not often that I come across a recently-published book that I would call 'literature'. Edward P. Jones' work, The Known World, crosses the line between novel and Work effortlessly. I am not the only one who thinks so - Jones won the 2004 Pulitizer prize for literature, and the 2003 National Book Critics Circle Award for fiction. It spreads across the mind like spilled water on an old wood floor, silently sliding, soaking in, and bringing texture into sharp relief.

Placed in the antebellum south, TKW is a broadly sweeping story that centers around the life and death of Henry, the favored slave of a wealthy plantation owner who, in a gross twisting of values, comes to own a large number of his own slaves as a freed adult. Strange as it seems, this is an actual historical detail; some freed slaves did indeed go on to own plantations with slaves. This in itself makes for a fascinating basis, because it seems completely counter-intuitive for such a thing to occur. Henry's life is at the center of a maelstrom of humanity created by Jones; there are so many characters in this story I honestly had a difficult time keeping everyone straight for quite awhile, and briefly considered creating a small chart to help me organize everyone. Via webbed plot lines, the reader learns the life and eventual fate of at least twenty inter-related characters, both slave and master, white and black, male and female, told in their own voices; these characters are so thoroughly and realistically created that I found myself having to look back at the binding to make sure I was reading fiction and not a recording of actual events. The prose is reminicent of a much older work, including the chapter titles, which are in the format of short descriptive phrases, like those you would see in a piece from a hundred years ago or more, such as Frederick Douglass' personal narrative. The entire package together successfully transports the reader into the 1800s, making the events that much more engrossing.

The story is long, at approximately 305pp for the Nook version (the paperback is listed as having 432pp, I'm not sure where the discrepancy comes from there), and yet there is not a word wasted. Unlike many authors I have read recently, Jones is not afraid to carry his tale to its natural completion, rather than getting three-quarters of the way through and rushing to the finish. This was refreshing, to say the least. I haven't read anything created with this kind of care and respect in a long time.

TKW is not a light read, and if you take it to the beach expecting to be able to also keep an eye on the kids and listen to gabbing neighbors, you will be lost. This story changes character hats frequently, and you need to keep up or risk being entirely lost, because each character's experience is closely tied in with others' and will be referenced in both blatent and obscure ways later on. I actually forced myself to put it down when I got tired rather than powering through *just a few more chapters*, because of this, and also because if the author put this much care into creating this tapestry, the least I could do is to be fully present to witness it all as intended.

It is the honest perspectives, and well-crafted relationships between the characters, that kept me reading this wonderfully-written book. No character is treated as lesser, or villified; it is left to the reader to judge these complicated, nuanced creations based on his or her own values, which I appreciated. Jones thought enough of his characters, and readers, to know that all he had to do was lay out the facts, and let them speak for themselves.

Rating: five stars. An excellent, multi-dimensional work of modern literature that feeds the mind.

Review: Night Road, by Kristin Hannah

2011-06-02T11:20:00.003-04:00

I chose to read Kristin Hannah's newest book, Night Road, based on the fact that I was still in light-reading mode and had enjoyed Firefly Lane well enough. Plus, it happened to be sitting on the shelf at the library when I got there.

NR is the story of a foster child, Lexi, her shy best friend, Mia, Mia's popular twin brother, Zach and their overzealous helicopter mother, Jude, with the novel's plot spilled out alternately by Lexi and Jude. I'm not going to go too much further into the plot, because I'm guessing that you can already see at least partly where this is going. While there is one event that is slightly surprising, the rest of it is so predictable that I wanted to scream. In fact, there are whole sections of this book that I'm sure I've read somewhere else, SKIP THIS NEXT PART IF YOU PLAN TO READ THE BOOK

particularly the part where Lexi pleads guilty and goes to prison out of guilt for a car accident - I've read that same thing somewhere before - Jodi Piccoult, maybe? it's going to drive me crazy trying to figure that out

SAFE TO COME BACK NOW

My point is, the story is utterly predictable, and that was part of its downfall. Young love, disaster, self-loathing, martyrdom, personal awakenings, redemption, the end. The characters were also just tired stereotypes, Jude in particular. Really, though, the biggest downfall of the book was in the last quarter, where things just perfectly fall into place after becoming ridiculously screwed up. Hannah skips whole years of the characters' lives, and then doesn't do a great job at reeling the reader back into caring about who they've become. I believe that the story would have benefitted greatly from chapters told by Zach, particularly, since he plays a major role in the story and yet we know very little about his inner thoughts. In addition, had it been condensed into something more concise, and then had more depth added to the characters in the last quarter of the story, plus a less tied-with-a-bow ending, it might have been pretty good.

So, it doesn't take a genius to see that I'm not a big fan of this book. It started out well, and I found Lexi's character in particular interesting, but then the whole thing devolved into formulaic writing, and I crawled through the last (and utterly unbelievable) part of the story, almost just to see how bad it would get. It got pretty bad, people. That having been said, Kristin Hannah is an immensely popular writer, and I think whether you like this story or not will depend on what you look for in a story; if you *like* this formula, or you don't read a large number of books (and thus aren't tired of it), then you'll probably enjoy the story. If you do read a lot though, or like variety in your materials, this is one to skip unless you're on the beach and probably will be mostly skimming.

Rating: 1 out of 5 stars. An initially interesting novel that turns into a rehash of tired character and plot ideas.

Review: I Remember Nothing: And Other Reflections, by Nora Ephron

2011-06-02T09:57:00.002-04:00

Nora Ephron's latest semi-memoir, I Remember Nothing..., is another collection of rememberances and commentaries based on her experiences. I enjoyed reading her last collection, I Feel Bad About My Neck, so this was one of the first things I downloaded onto my Nook.

The shorts in this collection are more serious than I remember 'Neck' being. My two favorites are also the longest in the collection. The first, 'Journalism, A Love Story', details Ephron's experiences in getting into writing in a time when women were, at most, copy editors. Her words brought to life images of dimly lit, smoky meeting rooms, clandestine affairs between all-powerful bosses and female underlings, and the determination of a young woman to shove past it all and become Something. In the second, 'The Legend', she discusses her mother's alcoholism and her need to discover if the greatest story her mother ever told her, about how she threw a famous actress out of a dinner party for insinuating that one couldn't be a mother and a professional. You hope fervently that the story will be true, that Ephron will have this one pure memory of her mother's fierceness and veracity that will shine through the murkiness of addiction and professional loss.

Other stories detail the painfulness of aging and losing relstionships that you know will never be replaced. This, for me, was the hardest story to read, as I'm currently seeing several older people in my life struggling with this same issue, and recently lost a woman who was like a second grandmother to me growing up. Ephron's ability to intertwine her wry wit into a difficult topic, making it readable without being overwhelmingly depressing, is a credit to her storytelling ability.

However, this book was not as enjoyable to me as its predecessor. It felt a little like a do-over, since this was the exact same format she used before, and the stories were admittedly less humorous and engaging. It felt at times that Ephron was reaching for material, which may have been the case, as this collection is fairly short at about 150 pages. It very much has the feel of an NPR interview; if you think you would enjoy listening to Diane Rehm interview Nora Ephron, this would be a good choice for you. I might re-read my favorite portions again, since it's inside my Nook and will be with me all the time, but if it wasn't, I probably wouldn't go to the effort.

Rating: 3 out of 5 stars. A decent collection of personal stories, some witty and engaging, some not as much.

Review: Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me, by Chelsea Handler

2011-05-22T15:33:00.004-04:00

Anyone who has read Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang or Are You There, Vodka... may be wondering what else there could possibly be to learn about this author/tv personality / potential alcoholic. Personally, I myself have felt on more than one occasion that I may know more about her vagina than I do about my own. Regardless, there is yet more to learn about the gregarious Ms. Handler: it seems that she is a compulsive liar who enjoys nothing more than mercilessly playing practical jokes on everyone she meets.

Chelsea's friends and family are more than happy to spill the beans on her craziness, in much the same way that all the characters from Seinfeld gathered on the last episode of the series to testify about the atrocities they dealt with at the hands of that show's main characters, in the new Lies that Chelsea Handler Told Me. The difference here is, all of the acts detailed in these pages, though just as outrageous, are true! Each chapter in the story is written by a different person, and details an event even more horrifying than the last. Ever had someone hijack your email and send notices to your entire family (as if they were you) confessing to them that you're only getting married because you're actually pregnant, or tell your boss that you're gay and looking for love? Do your friends convince your spouse to trick you into thinking he/she has become a compulsive gambler and owes a bookie $10k, and then get the bookie to go along with it? If you're a friend of Chelsea Handler, you may have experienced something like this, or worse. The more I read, the more appalled, and yet the more fascinated, I became. I was enthralled by the creativity involved in all of these stunts, and even more by Handler's ability to pull them off, time and time again, on people who are already on the lookout for this kind of behavior from her! She has to be some kind of evil genius.

One thing that becomes clear as you read the book is that, despite all of this insanity, every person who wrote a chapter adores Chelsea. While at first I wasn't clear *why*, since if one of my friends did these things to me, I might lose my mind, but after a few chapters, a trend began to emerge. Even as Handler is mucking around with the lives of everyone around her, she is also constantly inviting them into her home to stay for any amount of time, taking them with her on whirlwind adventures around the world, encouraging their own personal and professional success, and having a fabulous time doing it. At the end of each chapter, she adds her own brief comments about the authors' stories, and it is obvious that she cares about them as much as they do about her. The book is peppered with photos of a smiling Handler with her arms around whomever wrote the current chapter, on boats, tropical beaches, and poolsides, usually with drinks in hand.

The collection of personal testimonies from Handler's various victims rings true to those of us who have seen 'After Lately', Handler's new show about being behind the scenes of her infamous talk show. Working for the childlike Handler must be a challenge, because with a friend like her, you definitely wouldn't need any enemies! However, if you had any, she would probably ruin their immediate futures with a few well-places lies, and film the whole ensuing mess to watch with a bag of popcorn. That's kind of a nice, if messed-up, trait to have in a friend. I think.

Rating: four stars out of five. A fun, refreshing read about craziness you're glad is happening to someone else!

Review: Sh*t My Dad Says, by Justin Halpern

2011-05-18T17:31:00.005-04:00

OK, so bear with me. I know this came out quite awhile ago, and I'm behind the curve. If you are familiar with this blog at all, you know I just finished grad school, meaning I have been stressed out of my mind lately. I was looking for something to help me relax and ease back into real life, saw Halpern's book, and thought I'd give it a try. I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting much. I didn't see the TV show based on this book, and I had thought it sounded a little stupid at the time. All I really knew was that it's based on the author's Twitter feed of the same name. While I still don't know how anyone thought this would translate into a weekly sitcom, I have to tell you, Sh*t My Dad Says - the book version - is actually really, really funny.

The book itself is more grouped by general topic rather than set into regular chapters, although it is organized into loose chapters as well. Each chapter begins with a longer story, such as the one that opens the book that details a family car trip to a wedding 1800 miles away, and then follows the story with several shorter anecdotes that have their own headings. These shorter bits don't seem to me to have any particular rhyme or reason as to why they are placed where they are, but it doesn't really matter because they are all stand-alone items anyway.

In truth, most of what Halpern's dad says is funny because he's extremely blunt, outspoken, and obscene. If his sentences were sandwiches, curses would be the bread, meat, and cheese. Somehow, though, it's not offensive. I'm not against swearing, heaven knows, but neither do I like it just for the sake of itself, and I don't find movies or songs that use that as a strategy appealing (for instance, the uncut version of Hollaback Girl - seriously, Gwen Stefani?). This doesn't venture into that realm. It kind of makes me think of what the dad from The Wonder Years, crossed with the dad from A Christmas Story, would have said if the censors allowed it. Halpern is careful to mitigate his dad's roughness with an obvious love and respect, and makes sure the reader understands the bond the two have; without this the stories might be a bit hard to swallow at times. The key here is that we are always aware that we are laughing *with* Halpern and his father, and not *at* them. I actually laughed out loud several times.

I do have some questions about the truthfulness of the book, such as how the author recreated all of these stories word for word, especially those from his childhood. Even if he asked other people in his life to help him, it seems unlikely to me that at least some of this stuff isn't embellished. That being said, I'm not sure it really matters all that much. Would I be disappointed to find out that this was yet another made-up life story? Sure, but it's not like this book will be up for some kind of major award, or selected for a book club based on the merits of some major cultural contribution. SMDS is just a short, lighthearted read for adults who want to take a break from the mean-spiritedness that often passes as comedy and enjoy a laugh with the author and his father. In fact, as long as your dad doesn't mind near-constant swearing, it would make a good Father's Day gift.

Rating: four stars out of five. A short, very funny read with none of the mean-spiritedness so common in today's tell-all culture.

I'm Done!

2011-05-18T16:58:00.002-04:00

Hey! Me and my newly-minted master's degree are here! I got a Nook Color (from Barnes and Noble) for graduation from my husband, and I've been busy loading it up. The best thing about it is that it's compatible with library loan systems, whereas the Kindle is not. Also, hello, it's in color, so I can get all my magazines sent to it and not miss a thing. I cannot overestimate how much I love it! Three of us in the family have one now (I bought one for my husband for Xmas, and my daughter, who had been collecting gift cards from holidays and birthdays for a long time, finally got enough to buy herself one last weekend as well). Nook also allows you to share books via 'Loan' with other Nook owners, but I believe that this is restricted to non-new titles.

Anyway, my first review in about a year will be up shortly. The first few on my list are light reads, because frankly, after the year I've had, I need to unwind a little! If any of you have any recommendations for me, post here and let me know; I'm always open to suggestions.

Almost there!

2011-04-24T20:46:00.002-04:00

I'll be back in three weeks! In the meantime, if any of you have read anything wonderful and would like to write a guest review, post here to contact me and we can work out the details. :)

Alternatively, if there's something you think I should put on my 'to read' list, post it here as well, and I'll add it to my pile - as long as it's not romance. (Seriously, I would just about read a phone book at this point, but there has to be a line somewhere.)

Still Here

2011-01-28T20:50:00.003-05:00

Hi all - I am still here, but still mired down in grad school. I only have about three months left until I'm done, and probably won't have a lot of time to be reading in the meantime, but will try to post a few things now and then. Until then, if you read something wonderful that you think I should put on my list, please post it here so I have a wonderful list of things to read when I finish!

Review: Maybe This Time, by Jennifer Crusie

2010-08-30T18:21:00.002-04:00

Jennifer Crusie, formerly a romance novelist, has branched out into the supernatural with her new novel, Maybe This Time, the story of a woman whose ex-husband, North, reaches out for help when he becomes the guardian of two children after the sudden death of their aunt. The catch: the children are wild, and several nannies have already quit the job, claiming that the house is haunted. North is at his wit's end, and offers Andie a large sum of money to take on the job; Andie accepts under the premise that she has debts she wants to pay off before she becomes engaged to another man. Of course, it's no surprise that the two still have strong feelings for one another, and their suppressed emotions come to the forefront as the truth about the old house comes to light.

I will be honest: I did not pick this novel to read on my own; a representative from the publisher (St. Martin's Press) contacted me and asked if I would review an advance copy, and I agreed. Ordinarily, I would probably not have given 'Time' a second glance, and assumed it was *serious* chick-lit based on the cover which, to me, screams romance. However, I'm glad I read it; the storytelling was solid, and while there were relationship threads to the plot, they were not the main focus of the book, which stayed true to its ghostly theme, yet was not grisly or gratuitous. Crusie has written a good, old-fashioned haunting, complete with possessions and banishments, that is enough to keep the reader turning the pages into the night without causing nightmares.

Andie and the children are well-written and believable. The little girl, Alice, is particularly appealing, and as the plot unfolds Andie - and thus the reader - uncover the real roots of her near-psychosis and develop an attachment to her. Carter, her brother, is less developed as a character, but is still interesting. The only person in the story who comes across as a little flat, a little too scripted, is North, but his part of the story is minimal until the last quarter or so, which makes it not as damaging as it could have been otherwise.

All in all, Maybe This Time is an enjoyable, light read that won't leave you with that greasy, mildly guilty feeling that a lot of so-called women's literature does, because it doesn't resort to sex, violence and ridiculous stereotypes to reel readers in; the story is good, and the ending satisfies. I will be passing it on to friends.

Rating: four stars out of five. Fun, well-written, spooky entertainment.

Thanks to St. Martin's Press for providing an advance copy for my reading pleasure!

Review: Little Bee, by Chris Cleave

2010-08-21T11:44:00.002-04:00

Cleave's second novel, Little Bee, tells the story of a sixteen year-old girl from Nigeria who has been orphaned by civil brutality.

If you focus on that first sentence closely, you will find the underlying premise of the novel. Little Bee delivers an extraordinary blow to the reader by delving into the painful truth of what happens when two regular, white, European tourists become involved in conflicts they don't understand when they blithely assume that their aura of Privilege will protect them from all that is ugly in the world during a holiday on the African continent. This misconception explodes when they meet Little Bee and her sister, fleeing from oil company soldiers, on a beach. The couple is faced with a choice; one acts, one does not, and the repercussions shower love, disaster, salvation and destruction on all present as the story moves from the Nigerian coast to the quiet suburbs of London.

One of the main themes of the novel is globalization, and the reader is left to ponder exactly what that means. What is globalization, really? Is it the action of incorporating all of humanity into one vast network, a web where we all are linked together in the striving for a better life? Or is it a disguise for colonization and commerce, the process of a powerful few taking what they want from the globe while simultaneously ridding themselves of the politically powerless who stand inconveniently in the way? Can average people have any effect at all? Cleve's focus on these silent questions, and what happens when average people try to intervene, make for a horrifying, beautiful tale that forces the reader to question his or her stance on what it means to be a human in a globally focused world.

Some of the scenes in Little Bee are quite graphic, particularly during the girl's tale of what happened on that beach after the couple, Sarah and her husband, Andrew, escape back to the resort. While awareness that these events are indicative of real horror around the world is important, readers should be ready to skim through that short chapter if necessary; those forging ahead should be prepared to be confronted with true nightmare.

Cleve tells the story through two alternating voices, those of Sarah and Little Bee, each revealing their particular perspective on events as tempered by their own cultural interpretation. Sarah is overwhelmed by guilt, regret, loss, and concern over her young son, whose own childish guilt and fear make him insist on dressing as Batman every day so he can fight off the 'baddies'. Little Bee looks at events through the lens of an outsider, one who tragically views every situation by first considering how she could kill herself should soldiers show up in the area. While Sarah is older in years, Little Bee is by far the older soul, and as the novel funnels downward, it is she who learns acceptance and ultimately acquiesces to fate, while Sarah struggles ever increasingly, like a fish caught in a net of naivete, tighter and tighter. Their ultimate return to the beach is the inevitable flowering of a poisonous plant.

Rating: SIX STARS out of five. Read this book.

Review: Jane Slayer, by Charlotte Bronte and Sherry Browning Erwin

2010-08-21T11:09:00.002-04:00

Yet another in the genre of classic-horror stories, Jane Slayre (a clever play on words for Jane Eyre) comes to us bearing not only vampires, but zombies and werewolves as well, woven cleverly - and nearly seamlessly - into the original plot.

For those of you unfamiliar with Bronte's solo version, Jane is an orphan, adopted by a nasty aunt who already has three unpleasant children. She is sent to a private school for orphans, and eventually leaves there as an adult to work as a governess for the wealthy Mr. Rochester, with whom she falls in love and, in true romantic fashion, marries after the usual trials and tribulations. The fun differences here are that the aunt's family are vampires, there are zombies at the school, and Mr. Rochester has a very hairy secret hanging out in his attic. Jane, true to her name, is a slayer, and deals quite handily with all that come her way.

Erwin does an excellent job in maintaining Bronte's tone and affection for the characters while still giving them their edgier personas. The entire original story is still present, just with alternative explanations for events and far funnier additional subject matter. As is usual in these literary remodels, the more gory portions of the story are told in subdued ways that remain true to the language of the period, and are not for those looking for current-day horrors. They are brief, drolly amusing, and if anything, remind me slightly of (stay with me, here) the scene in the original Shrek movie, where Fiona dispenses with all of the bandits in the forest, smooths back her hair, and walks gracefully off. The characters are very laissez-faire about events, which adds to the humor while simultaneously sparing the reader the tiresome period where the characters discover that there is an infestation of some particularly unappetizing beast in their midst; they all readily accept that these creatures are among them, and act accordingly. What makes these novels so funny is that the characters will be going along, acting in their Victorian way, then suddenly bust out with swords (and heads) flying, and afterward simply tidy up the mess and continue on with their uptight lives. Normal dinner conversation entails bonnets, the neighbor's new carriage, and how best to remove stains made by the green zombie slime. No big whoop.

The one drawback to the novel is that, of course, Erwin is held to the original main plot - that of Young Girl Mooning Over Moody Older Man. However, the up side is that the addition of various unmentionables has vastly improved this sometimes tiresome theme by adding spice to what was originally a rather drawn-out dance. Also, even the original Jane had quite a bit of spunk, much more so than other women in similar novels, and these new additions supply her with different areas in which to branch out. Erwin has done her a service.

Rating: five stars. Witty, well-woven adaptation of a classic.

Review: Mr. Darcy, Vampyre, by Amanda Grange

2010-08-21T10:28:00.003-04:00

Those of you who stop by here frequently know that I love the new genre of classic-horror hybrid novels. They're witty, wry, and a fun way to catch up on the classics without losing the real story-as-intended by the original author when used as a basis for the new story, or, when written as an entirely stand-alone entity, as Seth Grahame-Smith's Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter, an entertaining way of turning history on its head.

Not this time.

Mr. Darcy, Vampyre, is indeed a tragedy, and not in the usual literary fashion. It starts out with some promise, but quickly turns into a sort of harlequin romance, with Elizabeth Bennett Darcy playing the part of the idiot heroine, a complete departure from her 'actual' generally intelligent character. Mr. Darcy is shown to be a man-with-a-secret, brooding and semi-tortured. Grange manages to reduce the entire story of their romance to the Twilight series status; indeed, the book might have been more enjoyable had I gone through the entire thing and whited-out everyone's names and replaced them with those from that lesser series! At least then I wouldn't have had my hopes up.

To spare you from reading the thing yourself, here is a quick synopsis: right from the wedding day, Elizabeth notices that Darcy is acting strangely unhappy, and begins to feel that she herself is somehow to blame. When Darcy leaves her alone on their wedding night, and every night thereafter, she miserably writes letters to her sister, Jane, lamenting her predicament. Because the two have just married, they are on their honeymoon tour, traveling in Europe, and Darcy introduces Elizabeth to hundreds of people, all of whom have a strange, sinuous, overtly sexual presence, and who make many exclamations over their marriage, declaring that it will never work, so on and so forth, while never saying completely out loud that the problem is not Elizabeth's lack of personal fortune, as she assumes, but rather that he is a vampire. The troubles culminate when Darcy drags Elizabeth to a remote castle, on a road that is surrounded by red-eyed wolves and strange noises, to see a 'relative' who will help him with a 'personal matter'. Upon entering the castle, the staff all start screaming and carrying on in a 'strange language' because an axe falls off the wall just as the couple walk under it, almost killing them. This castle, which has no mirrors, does, however, have a painting of two men who look suspiciously like Darcy and this relative, from long ago. Within days, there is an angry mob storming the castle with torches, and the hapless Bennett, still cluelessly lamenting her virginity, is dragged through an underground tunnel, and over mountains, on a mule to escape. She STILL has no idea what's going on. Seriously. Her main role, all this time, has been to internally freak out, a la Twilight's Bella, about how to get Darcy to come into her bedchamber at night and 'make her his wife'.

I'm not going to tell you any more, because it's too depressing and, frankly, boring. The only reason I finished the book at all was so I could come here and say with honesty that it gets no better. The eventual resolution is no better than the rest. The only use for this novel would be as the basis for one of those Scary Movie series films; that would actually be pretty good. This author has written several other classic literature sequels, which I have not read, that focus on the male character's diary and seem to have been better received according to their reviews on Amazon; my thought is that she threw this particular tale out there in an attempt to cash in on the classic-horror genre as well without first thinking whether she should, or more importantly, *could*.

Rating: Bleh.

Review: Secret Daughter, by Shilpi Somaya Gowda

2010-08-08T19:27:00.002-04:00

Shilpi Gowda's first novel, Secret Daughter, is the beautiful, interwoven tale of two sides of international adoption.

Kavita, a poor Indian woman from a small rural village, gives birth in a hut at dawn with the knowledge that if this child is again a girl, it will suffer the same horrible fate at the hands of her husband, who looks only for a son, as her last child. Hours later, Kavita, her sari bloodied from her fresh birthing wounds, travels on the back of a trader's cart to distant Bombay to leave her daughter, with only a name and a small silver anklet, in the arms of an orphanage director. Thousands of miles away, Somer, an American doctor, has just suffered her third miscarriage. A year later, their lives are inextricably linked when Somer and her husband, an Indian-born doctor, adopt Kavita's baby.

Over the next twenty years, Secret Daughter is told from several points of view. At first, Kavita and Somer are the primary focus, but as daughter Asha grows into a young girl, her voice is included as well. Others, such as Somer's husband and her mother-in-law, make only a few appearances, as does Kavita's husband, but this makes them no less important; one chapter told by Jasu was, for me, the most emotionally devastating in the novel. The entire tale is at once heartbreaking and stirring, with the current of loss flowing throughout; Kavita never recovers from the loss of her two girls, while Somer struggles with feelings of inadequacy brought on by her infertility and a sense of being the outsider in her own small family, her husband's family, and the entire culture they represent. Asha struggles with the loss of her birth parents and country, and Sarla, Somer's mother-in-law, deals with the loss of her son to a foreign wife and country. All the characters suffer in silence, much to the detriment of everyone involved, and it is only when all the hurt is allowed to reach the surface that each character can let go of the past and embrace a joint future.

Gowda delves deeply into the issues of love and cross-culturalism, revealing raw truths about the difficulty of attempting to mesh different ideals and expectations. For the most part, this is done exceptionally well. The characters are believable and easy to attach to, Kavita in particular. Her agony is palpable, and over the years as her thoughts return again and again to the child she left behind the reader can feel her pain radiating out of the novel. Somer's insecurities, and Asha's yearning for the nearly unknowable about her past also reach out beyond the pages, but in a slightly flatter way. The resolution between Somer and Sarla is a bit too easy and predictable, but this is made up for by a final chapter with Jasu that simply bores its way into the soul. The novel ends with where it begins, in a beautiful revolution that binds all the characters into eternity.

Rating: Five stars. A lovely, deeply emotional work that stirs the imagination and soul.

Uncle Tom's Cabin, by Harriet Beecher Stowe

2010-07-18T20:55:00.003-04:00

Obviously, I cannot review Uncle Tom's Cabin; it's a literary classic that almost everyone had heard of. The best I can do is offer a few comments.

I decided to read UTC because I'd never done so before, and it seemed like something an educator should have read. In case you haven't had the chance, the basics of the plot are this; readers follow the paths of two slaves from a single plantation who are to be sold to make up the owner's debts; Eliza, who runs away with her son after hearing that he is to be sold, and Uncle Tom, who is in fact sold to a trader.

Because it was written approximately 120 years ago, the language and writing style are what we would consider now to be extremely flowery and overdone, but the story itself transcends the language. At the time Stowe was hailed as being extremely anti-slavery, and her work was used to narrate the horrors of the practice long after its writing. Of course, with the benefit of over a century of time passing, her writing makes it obvious that her concepts of black people were still incredibly racist (although obviously still far ahead of her time), but when read in context this does not overcome the importance of the work as a landmark statement against a trade that had been in place for two hundred years. Her work as an abolitionist stirred millions in the north to stand up and cry out, and infuriated the southern plantation owners. She is widely credited for bringing an understanding of the horrors of slavery to millions of people, and with providing crucial ammunition to the anti-slavery feelings of the country.

I'll be honest; at times, it was a slow read, and at almost 500 pages it took me quite awhile to get through it. Skimming some of the more flowery descriptions made the going easier. Regardless of the work it took to get through it - this is obviously not vacation reading - I would still recommend that anyone take the time to at least peruse the work and get the general feel for the story. It's an important part of American history in and of itself.

Review: The Family Man, by Elinor Lipman

2010-07-18T20:23:00.001-04:00

Before you ask, no, this novel has *nothing* to do with the movie starring Nicolas Cage that came out several years ago.

Lipman's newest novel, The Family Man, is utterly delightful. I could not have enjoyed this book more. You don't even need to read the rest of the review, unless you really enjoy listening to me prattle on. Seriously, just go and get it.

OK, since you insist on reading more, I'll fill you in. Henry Archer is a long-divorced, recently-retired gay lawyer who lives alone in a lovely NYC townhouse. Due to his questionable decision to contact his ex-wife to express sympathy on the recent death of her husband, he becomes re-entangled in her life. When Denise drags him to her apartment, he sees a recent photo of the long-lost step-daughter that was stolen from him in the divorce and whose memory he spent years in therapy guiltily bemoaning; he recognizes her as the coat-check girl at the salon where he has his hair cut, but due to his long-held anger, he says nothing when Denise confides in him that she has no idea where the girl is, that she hasn't spoken to her since the funeral. Henry re-connects with the girl, who is (of course) a starving actress, and instantly the two bond over lunch. Within days he is caught up in her newest job - pretending to be the girlfriend of a strange young actor who needs to be 'seen'. Between somewhat reluctantly helping Denise with the odd legal entanglements of her late husband's will (her stepsons are trying to enforce a defunct pre-nup that cuts her out of her home and fortune entirely), trying to look after his newly-reacquainted step-daughter, and fielding phone calls from men who have gotten his number from Denise, Henry suddenly finds himself up to his ears in craziness. Predictable, yet delightful, hilarity ensues.

Anyone who reads my reviews regularly knows that I hate vapid, uselessly convoluted stories, so rest assured that Lipmans' novel is neither. She manages to write a lighthearted story while still giving the characters depth, and the plot moves along effortlessly. There are no contrived arguments, no ridiculous 'no one would EVER do that' moments. The choices the characters make are realistic, even if the circumstances are slightly inflated for fiction. Most importantly, all of them are very likable; even the over-the-top Denise is ultimately someone you wouldn't mind knowing. Also - and this is always a winner with me - the ending is lovely, AND there's a bit of an afterward so you know what happens to everyone and can imagine them going forward in your mind.

I enjoyed this story so much that I would be happy to read a sequel, if one were appropriate. It is the rarest of books - a work that's amusing, light, and yet simultaneously emotionally present. As it is, I will content myself with putting Lipman's other novels on my to-read list.

Rating: five stars. Witty, charming fiction that possesses style and lighthearted substance.

Review: Brain Rules, by John Medina

2010-07-01T14:36:00.003-04:00

I picked up Brain Rules after a session in one of my education classes about new research into how people learn. I was interested in the topic, but didn't want to get a subscription to some neurological magazine, so I got on Amazon and looked through their selection before heading off to B&N with a short-list of what to look for.

Brain Rules won *by far* in the selection process. It's not at all "sciency" in the way that makes people like me either a) run screaming for the hills or b) start snoring. It's conversational, and split into mid-length sections which are again further split into topics. Examples of section topics include Wiring, Attention, Short- and Long-Term Memory, Sleep, Stress, Sensory Integration, and Gender. There are no illustrations, charts or graphs, except for the summary sections at the end of each chapter that helpfully remind you of the key points for each topic. It's got a Discovery Channel approach to science - fun, informative, and easily digestible. Each new section starts with a personal story (either Medina's or someone else's), and anecdotes are liberally sprinkled throughout, providing both examples and comic relief for complex ideas.

This style is right out of Rule #4: Attention - We Don't Pay Attention To Boring Things. Medina discusses the fact that audiences (classes, meeting attendees, etc) check out after ten minutes, and after that point you have to recapture them with another 'hook' or major point, using something that they can relate to personally, such as an amusing story or example. He applies this technique exceptionally well in the book; just as I started to drift away, get a little tired of brain information, he drew me back in with another tale, which was then followed with details about why the brain utilizes information more efficiently when it's encased in stories that the listener can become emotionally involved in, then he explained how the pathways and information storage work, and then suddenly I was back at the story again, seeing it all get tied together.

The other most interesting and applicable sections, for me, were sensory integration (if we learn something while smelling, say, roses, we will recall that same information at a much higher rate if roses are again present), vision (the brain will see what it thinks it should see, rather than what is actually there, and we will remember what we think we saw based on that subconscious judgment), and gender. I found this great nugget - women are much more genetically diverse than men, because the X chromosome has 1500 genes, whereas the Y has less than 100; therefore, women have 3000 chromosomes, and men have 1800. Since the X chromosome has the overwhelming majority of cognitive-development chromosomes, and women have two... you can take it from there. Medina isn't inferring that the female brain is better, just that the processing is completely different, and that's important from an instructional standpoint, but I got a lot of enjoyment out of it myself, anyway.

I have to recommend this book for parents, educators, and anyone who has a part in relaying any kind of information in a formalized way. Even if you are casually interested in how you might help your brain to age better, this would be a good read for you. It might make a good Xmas gift for a boss or teacher, too, since they're notoriously hard to buy for, because it's something applicable and different (ie not a mug or potpourri). I am not a huge scientific reader, but I enjoyed this book quite a bit. It was completely painless, and most of the time actually quite enjoyable.

Rating: five stars. Educational, jovial, mainstream presentation of otherwise potentially complex material

Review: Labor Day, by Joyce Maynard

2010-06-26T20:14:00.002-04:00

When you were a kid, did you ever feel like *nothing* ever happened to you? Like anything, anything at all, would be a huge improvement over the nothingness you are currently experiencing?

Thirteen year-old Henry, the main character of Joyce Maynard's new novel, Labor Day, has felt that way for years. After his parents' divorce, Henry's mother, Adele, transformed into quite nearly a hermit, ordering even basic necessities from catalogues, and Henry's life slowed to an isolated crawl during the summers. Just before school starts, at the beginning of a steamy Labor Day weekend in his small NH town, Henry's life changes when a bleeding man in the local big-box store asks him for help; he needs Henry and Adele to take him to their house. Hours later, sitting in their kitchen, Frank admits to being an escaped prisoner from the local penitentiary, but rather than turn him in, Adele lets him stay, and the two begin a strange and seemingly-fated relationship. Henry also takes strongly to Frank, and the house at the end of the cul-de-sac becomes a strange shangri-la for all three lost souls until Henry runs across a strange new girl in town whose paranoid outlook puts fearful ideas of abandonment in his head. It is then that Henry has to choose - does he save Frank, and his mother's newfound happiness, or does he save his own familiar life?

While the acceptance of a single woman taking a bleeding mad to her home is a bit of a stretch, I was willing to buy into it for two reasons: one, the novel takes place in the mid-80's in a small town, where people would be less paranoid about helping a stranger, and two, the town is in NH, where I grew up, so I can tell you that people tend to keep to themselves and out of other people's business. That Adele wouldn't have asked first what was wrong with Frank isn't all that surprising, particularly 20 years ago.

As long as you can accept Adele's decision, the rest of the book is an easy swallow. Right from the start, the reader roots for the scenario to somehow end well. Aside from a very few moments at the beginning when you wonder what Frank's real personality might be, it is evident that his arrival is a huge turning point for all involved. For his part, Frank almost immediately becomes the man of the house, fixing what's broken in more ways than one. Adele blooms in the newfound attention Frank showers upon her, and Henry comes into his own, out of his shell even when the inevitable occurs.

The characters are quite likable, and easy to identify with. When the stories finally begin to emerge - Adele's tale of guilt and despair that explains her hermit-like ways, and Frank's revelation of the horrifying coincidence that led to his imprisonment - it becomes apparent that the two are, in fact, fated for each other, and it's easy to see why each would be willing to bet everything on each other. Henry's unique situation - young enough to be jealous of his mother's attentions, old enough to be jealous of sexuality in his home, damaged enough to accept even this tragic figure as a father-substitute - is played very well. The young girl he meets, and her strange issues, are a little too conveniently introduced, but her exploitation is necessary to bring about the inevitably approaching storm. The epilogue ties the tale together in a very satisfying way; I was extremely happy with how things turned out, even with the initial heartbreak for all involved.

Rating: four stars: interesting premise, likable characters, heartfelt denouement

Review: Ophelia's Mom, by Nina Shandler

2010-06-22T10:46:00.004-04:00

Nina Shandler is the mother of Sara Shandler, the nineteen year-old author of 'Ophelia Speaks', in which teenagers speak out about their lives and relationships with parents, friends, and others; Sara's book was itself a response to the widely popular Reviving Ophelia, a study of teenage girls. Nina Shandler (referred to going forward as simply Shandler) is herself a psychologist, and saw that a piece was missing from the Ophelia puzzle, that of the mothers' perspective on adolescence. Her work, Ophelia's Mom, is subtitled, 'women speak out about loving and letting go of their adolescent daughters', and that is exactly what it is.

Shandler sent out 23,000 fliers both online and on paper for mothers of teenage girls to submit thoughts and be interviewed for her book; she received only 350 responses, far less than her daughter had two years prior from the teenage contingent. Her explanation of this difference is partly that women are more secretive about family strife because they still generally bear the responsibility for running the family, and are humiliated by any perceived failure. Shandler used roughly half the responses she received in the book, but gave no information on how these particular responses were selected for use, or reasons why others would have been rejected. The responses she does use seem very homogeneous, and while I can't be certain whether this indicative of the larger response or a bias in selection of the responses for use, the copy of the invitation she used that is included in the forward could be a clue as to why; it is strongly geared towards a certain type of respondent. The wording of the invite uses fairly elevated diction, assumes that the person reading the flier has read Hamlet or at least has a working knowledge of who Ophelia is, and has either read at least one of the other two 'Ophelia' research works or knows enough about them to understand why this new work is pertinent. Although it attempts to be folksy, it's a fairly formal invitation, and not one that would appeal to very educationally or economically diverse audience.

Still, Shandler doesn't claim to have done a scientific study, merely to have gathered a series of anecdotal tales provided by women who have had experiences in typical, general teenage parenting categories - body image, parent-teen relationships, adult relationships surrounding teen issues, and letting their daughters go to graduation and life. The stories themselves are very absorbing, and swerve between heartwarming and heartbreaking. Walking through adolescence the first time was for many women difficult at best, and going through it a second time, this time as a bystander watching a beloved child struggle, is sometimes torturous. The women's experiences are told with humor and affection, and flow well into one another. Shandler limits herself to writing short personal stories at the beginning of new sections or where appropriate to bridge gaps between others' stories, which is a major bonus to the book; she understands that her role is not to judge failings or extol virtues, but rather to report experiences in the hopes that other women will relate and find comfort in not being alone. She does this very well, and seemingly without holding back her own embarrassment.

I'm not sure about Shandler's claim about women not writing in because they were shy or embarrassed. People not having problems wouldn't have written just to say, 'hey, everything's great over here, thanks for asking', so it's still hard to support her claim. However, as she also says, there is almost nothing out there like this book, stories from mothers about parenting their daughters in adolescence, and the book's true value stems from that. It's a well-written, extremely engaging book that provides insight and, importantly, hindsight into parenting ideas and struggles, particularly for those of us who are teetering on the edge of the adolescent phase for our second time around.

Rating: four stars; Well-written, chatty, touching look into parenting girls through the most difficult part of childhood

Note

2010-06-22T10:38:00.002-04:00

Hi There:

For those of you who don't know, I started a 12mo graduate program at the end of May that will give me my master's in education next year. We do two courses a month, so an entire semester in eight four-hour sessions per class. It's pretty intense, and I haven't had much time for anything else, reading-wise. But, I do have a little time off here and there, and there will be other books that I'll be reading for the class that I will be able to post about (such Porcupine, which I just posted, and Ophelia's Mom, which will be up in a few minutes). So, it may get a little sparse around here from time to time, but I haven't abandoned it! :)

Astarte

Review: How To Hug a Porcupine: Negotiating the Prickly Points of the Tween Years, by Julie A. Ross, M.A.

2010-06-22T10:36:00.004-04:00

In Porcupine, Ross discusses several ways to approach common problems of adolescent behavior and its effects on the family. Her primary assertion is that parents should take a ‘relationship’ approach, because at this stage they will no longer be able to physically control him or her, and must now rely on the quality of the relationship they have with the child to provide the basis for all interaction. Parents must understand that hormones and social changes make the tween years especially sensitive, and to control their reflexive responses of anger, worry and overprotection and work towards interactions that are less reflexive and more constructive. In order to foster open communication, parents should have family meetings, avoid blocking children’s expressions via unhelpful emotional reactions or overhelping (problem solving) that displays a lack of trust or enables childish behavior. It is vital for a parent to be engaged in the child’s interests in order to have a basis for a solid relationship. Finally, a child’s self-esteem should be fostered with encouragement of the effort used rather than generic praise of an outcome, such as praising hard work rather than an easily-won good grade.

Although they were obviously fictitious, the ‘personal stories’ are helpful because they break up the advice sections and give examples of behavior in a non-clinical manner. The writing is very accessible to the average person, and doesn’t require any particular knowledge of psychology. Particularly for the less well-read parent, many of the ideas and concepts may be fairly new or different from what they have experienced or tried in the past.

While the author includes many examples of different ‘brands’ of bad behavior – defiance, moral ambiguity, slacking off at home and school – many of the examples seem much the same, just with a slightly different twist. In the ‘coffee group’ the author has created, only mothers participate, which I found to be disappointing, because that implies that only women are expected to be involved in parenting. In fact, in several examples, the father is another drag in the mother’s life, by either being non-supportive or downright blaming the mother for the child’s behavior. That seemed strangely behind the times for a book that dictates such new-age parenting. My main complaint, though, is that the author exemplifies tolerance for all but the most extreme mouthing off, which I find completely untenable; she preaches respect for the child, but yet doesn’t demand it for the parent.

Ross makes several useful points that seem obvious, but in the heat of the moment may get thrown by the wayside: self-esteem has to come from the inside; children need to be allowed to learn on their own and deal with the consequences of their actions; parents should act interested in their children’s activities even if they’re not so they can be aware and involved in their child’s life. Core nuggets of advice like these are highlighted by separate placement and font from the rest of the writing, making a skim-through easy for those looking for particular sections or a simple refresher.

Rating: 3.5 stars: a decent starting place for basic challenges of tweenage parenting problems

Review: The Last Child, by John Hart

2010-05-10T09:30:00.003-04:00

John Hart's latest novel, The Last Child, centers around a child named Johnny Merrimon, whose sister disappeared a year earlier, and whose father vanished not long after. Far from the idyllic life he once had, Johnny and his mother now live in a rundown house owned by the violent town bigwig who now controls their lives. His mother rarely gets out of bed, and Johnny spends his days on his bike, combing neighborhoods and tracking known pedophiles in a dogged attempt to find his sister rather than attending school. When Johnny witnesses a murder, and is himself briefly grabbed by a stranger in the woods, the story of what really has happened in the town begins to unravel.

There's a lot about this story that's a rerun of other novels: the despairing mother who falls apart and turns to the violent man who abuses her child but turns a blind eye, the rebel child who rises to adult level and takes on the role of caretaker, the cop who is obsessed with the case and also, of course, is in love with the distraught mother, the lurking uber-religious mentally handicapped well-meaning felon. However, the plot itself moves along fairly quickly once it gets going, and the questions are interesting. What really did happen? Will Johnny's father return? Who killed the motorcyclist, and what does the man in the forest have to do with anything?

Hunt does a good job of concealing the answers to most of these questions until the end of the story. I was honestly surprised at some of the revelations. While this is one of those stories where you know that things are going to work out in the end for everyone, it was nice to not know exactly how it was all going to wind up until the proper time.

The use of mysticism and historical tie-ins with Johnny's ancestors was somewhat interesting, if a little heavy-handed towards the end of the story. The story's flow stutters a bit entering into the climax events because of it; while there was some foreshadowing as to its importance, it wasn't integrated into the story enough previously for there to be a seamless transition to a more mystical resolution.

Rating: three stars: Tired character stereotypes, sometimes difficult to buy into, but interesting plot

Review: Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter, by Seth Grahame-Smith

2010-05-07T13:54:00.003-04:00

Do you hate history? Does nonfiction leave you sleepy? Are you bored to tears with hearing the same tired stories about our sixteenth president? Author Seth Grahame-Smith, author of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, has a cure for you, as he once again visits the world of historical horror fiction with his newest work, Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter.

Smith takes a different tack with his newest work, creating something entirely original rather than choosing a previously published work to embellish. He addresses Lincoln's entire life, dividing the work into three sections - boyhood, manhood, and president - and lays the basis of Lincoln's interactions with the hungry undead early on. It turns out that Lincoln's grandfather, beloved mother, and other relatives died not from common malaise but from exposure to the blood of vampires, who attacked their family in retribution for an outstanding debt Lincoln's father owed to a bloodthirsty banker. This, it becomes clear, is the source of the animosity between Lincoln and his father, and is the beginning of Lincoln's career as a vampire hunter. Once begun, his journey brings him into the company of a vampire turncoat who advises him which of his kind need to die. Their relationship, and the alliances formed because of it, bring Abe to the highest office in the land. There, he battles slavery not only as a human evil, but for its underlying truth; southern vampires use the slave trade for food, and mean to take over all of humanity.

ALVH is does not have the dry wit of Prejudice, but does possess its own dark character that grows increasingly absorbing with each chapter. Smith strays from the action of the main story occasionally, and some sections are a bit dry, but on the whole the tale is well worth reading. At times, the tale seems a bit Ann Rice-y, but the addition of the vampires to Lincoln's life, especially in the political realm, seems fairly organic. The characters themselves are well-written, and the idea of slavery being in reality a massive food supply chain for the undead is genius. Abe's personal tragedies have always seemed almost unrealistic in their scale even in their actual fact, so the weaving in of vampires as a common thread of explanation for the long trail of sorrow almost makes more sense than the real stories behind them. The forward, which slyly mirrors one that would be seen in an actual work, sets the tone of a serious work of nonfiction, which Smith maintains throughout the story. The ending, though, has really captured my imagination. I finished this book about two weeks ago, and am still thinking about it, imagining what would come next.

It did take me a few chapters to actually get into the story, and occasionally the tale was a bit slower than I would have liked, but overall, ALVH is another success for Smith. I was impressed previously with his talent for seamlessly weaving zombies into a classic, and am glad to see that he possesses the dexterity to create his own original works as well. I look forward to reading whatever he comes out with next.

Rating: four out of five stars. Very imaginative, with intriguing characterizations.

Review: Flood, by Stephen Baxter

2010-05-07T13:23:00.002-04:00

In Stephen Baxter's Flood, a group of four scientists and military members from around the world emerges from a years-long hostage situation to find the world around them rapidly changing. Waters around the world are rising, not because of anything humankind has done but rather because of natural circumstances; the earth's plates have been hiding subterranean oceans that are finally bursting free, flooding London even as the hostages are being freed. Billionaire entrepreneur Nathan Lammockson, who had a hand in the hostage's discovery and release, entreats the former hostages to help him in his quest to conquer the new challenges humanity faces. Fraught with socio-political strife and greed, Flood tells the tale of humanity's last stand on Earth, of our final forty years on dry land.

Unfortunately, while the premise, and potential, of this concept is fascinating, Baxter's execution is not up to the task. The characters are flat, predictable caricatures of what they could be. The story alternates between dragging and flashing forward, skipping years and important character developments. The entire undertaking begins to feel like a made-for-TV movie, where there are snippets of interesting events, but really nothing to keep you from heading for the kitchen for a snack or answering the phone.

I wanted to like this book. I really did. The concept was so interesting! I stuck with it to the end, hoping for more, but the whole thing just unraveled more as time passed. I know there's a sequel, which I have to admit piques my interest just enough that I might check it out, because again, the idea had so much potential, that even if the end result wasn't what I hoped for, I at least had fodder for my own imaginings of what the world would be like and how I could have done it differently than the author, and that's worth something. Besides, even with the worst of the Lifetime movies, the action scenes can still be worth tuning in to gawk at.

Rating: two stars. Cool idea, interesting action scenes, but little more than TV-movie quality.

Review: How to Buy a Love of Reading, by Tanya Egan Gibson

2010-03-25T20:36:00.002-04:00

Gibson's first novel, How to Buy a Love of Reading, is one that I had heard about several months ago on a radio show, before it came out. Despite wanting to read it, I promptly forgot about it after I realized that it wasn't yet available, so I was pleasantly surprised when I saw it on the library shelf this week.

Reading takes place in a Peyton-Place town on Long Island, where the insecure, overweight, fifteen year-old Carley Wells lives in a mansion with her nouveau riche parents, attending grandiose Sweet Sixteen bashes where artists cast molds of the guests heads as party favors. She escapes the reality of her mother's constant nagging about her weight and the other kids' nastiness towards her through her TV, her Aftermemory, where she re-creates the day's events to her own satisfaction in her mind, and, most importantly, her symbiotic friendship with the town Adonis, Hunter Cay, who is increasingly falling down the rabbit holes of Vicodin and alcohol addictions.

As the title suggests, Carley also hates books, and it is at one of the sweet sixteen parties that her father gets the idea to hire a writer to write Carley's perfect novel, both as a gift and gimmick for her sixteenth birthday. Thus arrives Bree, surly starving-artist-in-residence, and behind her follows the famous local author, Justin, who finally emerges from hiding after a crazed fan's attack years earlier. While we gradually learn the two author's backstories, their connection to each other, and also their parallel to Carley and Hunter's relationship, become painfully apparent.

The main drawback of the story, for me, was the stereotypical portrayal of the characters. It's a wealty town, thus of course everyone is sleeping with everyone else, all the kids - who are more like adults, especially Hunter, who is treated like a thirty year-old by almost everyone in the story - are constantly drinking and taking drugs, and all the women are complete and total harpies. It was a bit like a Jackie Collins novel in that regard, and Gibson conveys their practiced boredom with life so well that I myself started to buy into the idea that everything was tiresome, and was very nearly bored myself at the beginning, just by osmosis.

However, Gibson does an interesting job of portraying teenage thought in various ways, such as the difference between the worldly and somewhat inaccessible Hunter and the much less so voice of Carley. Carley's longing for acceptance, and for Hunter, is palpable; these qualities, as well as her more honest voice, make her unique and sympathetic in a way the others aren't. As Hunter descends into his addictions, becoming withdrawn and erratic, her increasingly desperate attentions to his well-being, and to their future, are dead-on to the dreams a teenage girl that age would have. The novel-in-a-novel that the damaged Bree tries to write to Carley's specifications traces the arc of the Carley and Hunter's relationship in an ironic way that is first almost invisible and then, by the end, all too real. Both of Carley's stories have two endings: the first is written by another character, but the final say is Carley's alone. It is tempting to skim over the included chapters of the commissioned novel, but to do so is to skip the ties that bind the three stories - those in the created novel, Bree and Justin, and Carley and Hunter - together, and remove a level of Gibson's story that raises it above the straightforward.

In all, it is the writing and wording that brings Reading out of the realm of the completely typical. The storyline is fairly predictable, the characters not so unusual, but still there is a tone about it that is different from the usual off-kilter Romeo and Juliet story. Gibson uses the peripheral characters for comedic relief; Carley's father, in particular, is very funny in his growing obsession with flowers, and their resulting staining of certain body parts. Overall, while some sections are somewhat belabored, and the story borrows heavily from stereotypical archetypes, the author's ironic tone and drawstring ending make it a worthwhile read.

Rating: four out of five stars.

Review: While I'm Falling, by Laura Moriarty

2010-03-18T20:24:00.002-04:00

When I grabbed Falling off of the shelf, I expected more of a light, YA-type read; after all, it's about a college student whose parents are getting divorced. I imagined something that would clear my brain like sherbet after asian takeout, leaving it fairly clean for the next, more meaty read.

What I got was a surprisingly in-depth, mature narrative about a young woman's decent into the messiness of life. Veronica is a pre-med student at a Kansas college, when she finds out that her parents are divorcing because her father came home early from a business trip and found a man sleeping in his bed, with a note to the 'beautiful dreamer' from his wife instructing him to be gone before her husband returns. In later chapters, we find that of course, it's not that simple, but the fact remains that while Veronica is going through the messiest years of her own life - first relationships, first big mistakes, failing her first class - her parents are as well, with her father attempting to use his lawyer's training to rake her mother through the coals in court and her mother sliding into poverty and, eventually, homelessness. Veronica finds herself needing to care for her mother when she can't even fulfill her RA commitment in her dorm to assist the younger students. At the same time, her mother has to leave her own misery behind and help Veronica cope with the repercussions of her own childish mistakes.

'Falling' is a painful read at times. All of us have screwed up in ways that effect not only ourselves, but others as well, and as in real life, the truly interesting meat of the story is in how the characters move on from their mistakes and re-create their lives. Before that happens, however, the reader has to slog through every miserable moment with Veronica, and it's truly not pleasant because I, at least, could see myself in her; her actions, some of which were largely originated by circumstances out of her control, could very well have been my own at her age. Because I have already been through her phase of life, I could see where she was heading, and it was like a train wreck. Moriarty doesn't dumb-down her characters to fit into stereotypical molds, nor does she insult the reader by overkilling the details; we find out the backstories of the events, but are not forced to re-live them through each character's perception. We do eventually find out why there was a man in the bed, and how it came to that point, but it's almost as though the information is whispered to us; there is a clear feeling that Veronica and her older sister do not know all the details that we are learning, and that that is how it should be. We need them to understand how we got where things are at, and to humanize the parents.

This is important, for while Falling is largely focused on Veronica, it is also the larger story of family and relationships, and how real people can fall off of their pedestals and create new lives for themselves. The painful mistakes are worth the read, because the ways the characters accept their blame and move forward are honest. While the final chapter is slightly too tied-up-with-a-bow, I have to admit to occasionally liking that kind of thing, so I was good with it.

Rating: four stars. Real, adult look at life mistakes, consequences, and redemptions.

Review: Ladies and Gentlemen, The Bible!, by Jonathan Goldstein

2010-03-16T20:06:00.002-04:00

I decided to read this humorous collection of short stories, which is based (very) loosely on those of biblical characters, after hearing the Goldstein read the first story, Adam and Eve, on NPR's This American Life. The combination of the snide humor and his dry voice was irresistible, and I went out of my way to order it from inter-library loan.

When I say that the shorts on this book are loosely based on the tales surrounding each character's situation in the Bible (and, actually, the Torah, since it only deals with the Old Testament), I mean to say that these stories are to the original work what Dennis Rodman was to basketball: a much flashier, more intensely-imagined figment that gives depth where you weren't even originally aware that you needed any. For instance, the story that drew me in, Adam and Eve, is cleverly told by the beguiling snake's point of view; in between learning what an undeserving schlemiel Adam was, and how leggy and earthily sexy Eve was, the reader also gets a glimpse into what could very well have been the snake's motives for enticing the pair towards the apples - jealousy, frustration, an inflated sense of self-worth.

My other favorite story was that of Jacob and Esau, the brothers whose mother favors the younger brother so much that she has him disguise himself as his brother to fool his ailing father into giving him his all-important dying blessing. The original Bible is not a work that discusses the inner feelings of its characters, and Goldstein fleshes out the brothers and their mother, poking into the rotten recesses of Rebekah's brain to expose her almost (reverse) Oedipal complex, and allows Jacob the voice to express his own guilty anguish at having to endure the forced agenda his mother has in place for him.

The other stories - particularly that of David - weren't as compelling to me, and in fact the book gets a bit stale as the chapters go on. Goldstein uses the same formula to humanize each tale; this works fine in several of the stories where there are two main characters to carry the plot, because the two together provide enough material for there to be a decent amount of play between them. However, in the stories where only on character is the main focus, such as The Golden Calf (which focuses on Moses), or, again, David (which is also waaay too long for what it is), Goldstein increasingly uses lowbrow humor - repeated foul language, bodily functions, and sexual acts - to try and create material. While I have no problem with any of these things on their own, the problem with their predictable repetition is that the entire work begins to come off as having been done by a middle school boy bored in Sunday school.

I attempted to download the book from audible.com, thinking that perhaps it needed his vocal interpretation to really make the final stories palatable, but alas, it is not offered there (which surprises me). Hearing him read it aloud in his wry voice may in fact downplay some of the childishness of the later chapters. As the book stands alone, however, I would recommend either getting it from the library, or checking out the This American Life podcasts where Goldstein reads selections from the book aloud. You can stream Cain and Abel here, and Adam and Eve here. I really recommend listening to Adam and Eve; it's really quite witty and interesting, and is only about ten minutes long.

Rating: three stars; Several witty interpretations scattered among lesser-quality boyish humor

Review: Committed: a Skeptic Makes Peace With Marriage, by Elizabeth Gilbert

2010-03-12T20:00:00.004-05:00

After reading Eat, Pray, Love, I had very high hopes for Elizabeth Gilbert's next novel. While EPL had slow moments, on the most part I felt that it was an amazing book. When I heard that Committed was about to be released, I reserved my copy at the library waaaay in advance.

I hate to say this, but I might as well admit it: I can't get through it.

That's not exactly true; of course, I could get through it, if I wanted to. It's not written in Klingon. I just have lost steam to the point where I'm finding myself avoiding reading it, which means that all the great stuff have in line behind it to devour is collecting dust while I resist admitting defeat. Now, after resorting to skipping pages today, I am ready to throw in the proverbial towel. I will not be reading this one cover-to-cover, word-for-word.

Both the title and the book jacket lead the reader to believe that this will be a novel about Gilbert's inner struggles regarding marriage, which is being literally thrust upon her and her non-American sig other when he is turned away by customs after 9/11 for overusing his visa. It is a marriage, a breakup, or deportation. While the two wait for the visa papers to be straightened out so they can marry in the US (oddly, if they marry in another country, the American govt will be even more suspicious that theirs is a marriage of convenience and deny entry), they travel the globe, and Gilbert decides to investigate the customs of marriage, turning it inside-out, looking at it from all angles, in an attempt to find a more comfortable perspective than that she has internalized from American culture. The title and summary are very misleading, for this is not the story of discovery within their interpersonal relationship, but rather Gilbert's reaction to the relationship solely, which for her leads to investigative reporting.

It's not that the book is hugely boring, per se, but rather that Gilbert takes every. single. point and beats it to a pulp; what starts out as an interesting point after five pages of deliberation and examination becomes very tiresome. She interviews individuals from several Asian countries she visits, she reads great volumes of written work on the topic, including statistical studies done by large universities, she argues for and against various religious-based perspectives, and regurgitates all of the information she collects in what begins to feel like a giant college term paper. There is little of the inner Gilbert that we were privy to in EPL, which is what made that particular work, also non-fiction and full of research, speak to so many women around the world. Even though this work was supposed to be about her working through her feelings about marriage vis-a-vis her relationship with Felipe, there is precious little in this book about their actual relationship. While she includes a scant few conversations here and there as a jump-off point for discussing more research, Committed is a far less endearing novel, quite an irony for a book about love.

One thing that might have helped would have been to have Felipe's voice more present; as it is, he has no part at all other than in the third person. Since the relationship crisis involves them both, having him participate more, perhaps by writing small asides or even footnotes might have been a bonus. Had she been more concise, or used (several pages' worth) fewer examples, her points, which generally had interesting and/or thought-provoking kernels, would be more readable. Finally, Gilbert seems to go around in circles, examining the same points several times over, and it becomes exhausting.

I started skipping pages when I was about halfway through, and by the final third of the book, I was skimming, looking for something that had anything to do with why I was reading the book - namely, a connection with Gilbert. It really wasn't to be found. I found even their eventual wedding, which isn't discussed in great detail, left me apathetic. If you are looking for a dissertation on marriage customs and theories from around the world, this is the book for you. If you're looking for the human connection that made EPL so readable and informative on a more emotional level, you'll be sorely disappointed.

Rating: two stars. well-informed research paper on marriage, lacking in personal connection

Review: June Bug, by Chris Fabry

2010-03-06T19:36:00.003-05:00

In this character-titled story, June Bug and her father live a bohemian life, travelling the country in an RV. Though they have no set address, and no friends or family, JB has always felt secure in her life with her father - until she sees her own photo on the wall of Missing Children at the Walmart where their RV is parked, awaiting repair parts. While surprisingly composed about her discovery, it does spur her desire to learn about her own mother, or at least to find a suitable substitute, and when a lonely Walmart employee offers to let JB and her father stay with her while their RV is repaired, she jumps what she feels is her chance to somehow cobble together a family for herself. Her father, a lonely, haunted man, realizes what she is trying to do, and is forced to make a decision about what their future will be. Meanwhile, across the country, June Bug / Natalie's grandmother has never given up hope of finding her, and clues to the eight year-old crime are literally surfacing in the town she's from.

June Bug has been fairly extensively compared to Les Miserables, the massively popular classic-turned-musical story of a young girl saved and then raised by a pseudo criminal on the run. This is a fair comparison, although whether Fabry intended the parallel or not I'm not sure. I was actually more intrigued with the novel because of this; the entire time I was reading, I was not only interested in the story, but also in matching up the two plots and characters. For their part, the characters were very well crafted, and I was almost equally drawn to all of them as they told their own stories in alternating chapters: the hurt and hopeful grandmother; the town sheriff; June Bug's father; Sheila, the woman who takes them to her home; and of course June Bug herself. The only character who remains silent is June Bug's mother - her story, which is the lynchpin of the entire plot, the reader has to piece together in tantalizing tidbits until the very end of the novel.

Like many works, JB slows somewhat in the third quarter of the story, but Fabry does an excellent job in keeping the reader guessing on the many questions he poses - what happened the night June Bug disappeared? Is her mother telling the truth? Was June Bug's father - if he even is her father - somehow criminally involved? If he wasn't, how did he wind up with the little girl? Why have they been on the run for so long? The suspense builds in many ways; on the one hand, June Bug's father is very likable and seems honorable, so you want them to be able to stay together, but on the other, her grandmother has been pining for her for years, and it's pretty obvious that this is a one-or-the-other situation. Which will it be? I will be honest: I cried when all the questions were finally answered. I am not a big crier, and worse, I was in public when I finished the novel. The ending is both beautiful and heartbreaking.

The small parts of the plot that are far-fetched are far outweighed by the endearing realism of the characters. The plot's similarities to Les Miserable were in the end, I think, somewhat minor, but it was definitely interesting and fun to compare as I read along. It should be noted that the author is fairly well-known for YA religous fiction, and while this is not a religous novel, several of the characters are. It wasn't too obtrusive or preachy, more just an aspect of their lives, particularly due to the part of the country the characters are from, and it could easily be skimmed or even skipped if the reader is really horrified by that kind of thing because it's not a part of the plot. (In addition, this book is perfectly appropriate for YA as well, and my daughter read it before I did, thinking because of the girl on the cover that I had gotten it for her.) I wouldn't be at all surprised to see this novel pop up on TV at some point as a movie, probably unfortunately on Lifetime since they're the ones who seem to do that kind of thing. If that happens, hopefully whatever network produces the film would manage to convey the heartfelt depth that Fabry has given each of the characters and respect the story for itself, and not attempt to shoehorn the LM connection too much.

Rating: four out of five stars - lovely characters, suspenseful mystery, satisfying ending

Review: The Book of Lost Things, by John Connolly

2010-02-22T15:31:00.003-05:00

Unlike Connolly's The Gates, which I recently reviewed, The Book of Lost Things is not meant to share with children. I had fully intended upon reading it with my daughter, as I had Gates, but after a few chapters was glad I had decided to go through it myself first.

At first, Things, which takes place in 1940s England, seems innocuous. Following the death of his mother, with whom he shared a love of fairy tales, twelve year-old David begins hearing voices from the books in his room. In fact, he begins to hear voices from every book he comes in contact with. Very shortly, David's father begins to date, Rose, an administrator from the respite care facility where his mother spent her last days, and it is then that David has his first 'attack' - an almost seizure-like episode where he can see a distant land with his mind's eye. By the time David's father reveals to him that Rose is pregnant, and they will be getting married, David has learned to control his attacks, but now there is something new; a Crooked Man has crossed over from the land of fantasy into David's world, and David has begun to hear his mother's voice calling to him from the woods behind the house, pleading with him to follow her voice and help her. One inevitable night, David finally follows the voice, and winds up in the Crooked Man's world, where animals want to be men, and nightmarish monsters roam free. The spoiled and unhappy David must journey to find the King, travelling at times with others, but always relying on himself to solve the puzzle of this place.

The Book of Lost Things once again brings to mind a Stephen King novel, this time The Dark Tower series. In fact, one of the characters David travels with is named Roland, and he is a gunslinger of sorts on a quest to a dark tower. Many other works of fiction are mentioned / appear in Book, as well, including several grotesque retellings of popular fairy tales that relate to the world in which David finds himself. The tales are told by various characters David runs into as either explanations of creatures or allegories for the events and transformations that David himself is experiencing. These references are at turns interesting and disgusting, and are integral parts of the story. It is these stories, along with the deeper social commentary, that make the novel inappropriate for younger readers.

While the novel seemed to briefly lose forward motion in the middle, the beginning and endings make it still well worth the read. The characters and events, which are at first deceptively straightforward, are by the end an obvious tapestry of foreshadowing and deeper workings. It was not the typical read, and that in itself makes it a good choice, since much of what is out there at the moment seems to be firmly in one groove or another. The social and morality tales of the story are definitely there for the ingestion, but aren't presented in a hit-you-over-the-head kind of way. There were plans to turn the novel into a film, and rights were purchased by John Moore, who did the new Omen film, but that seems to have tanked. I think this is just as well, since books like this, to me, are better left to the imagination where gore can't overtake the actual meat of the story.

Rating: four stars. Interesting blend of ideas, loses steam briefly before a stellar ending.

Review: The Hour I First Believed, by Wally Lamb

2010-02-18T16:28:00.005-05:00

I picked up The Hour I First Believed for two reasons: one, I liked Lamb's first novel, She's Come Undone, very much when it came out years ago (he has written other novels since, but that was the last one I read) and was looking for more of the same, and two, it discusses the events at Columbine High School from an inside vantage point, which I found interesting. What I got wasn't quite what I expected.

Lamb's emotionally closed-off main character, Caelum, is a middle-aged high school teacher who is working on his third marriage, to Maureen, the school nurse. Although from the east coast originally, the two move to Columbine, CO to escape the memories of Maureen's infidelity and Caelum's resulting violence on both her and her lover. Their attempt to start anew puts them directly in the path of the runaway nightmare train that two students brought down upon the school; while Caelum is away at his aunt's funeral, Maureen is trapped in the Columbine school library, hiding in a cabinet, listening to the shooting and waiting to die. The overwhelming PTSD Maureen suffers as a result of the events leads them back to the east coast, to live in Caelum's aunt's home and try, again, to restart their lives. Unfortunately, like an unwinding top, events spin ever further out of control, and their lives go into freefall. No one will hire Caelum for a teaching position at a high school because of his previous actions, and when Maureen is finally able to work once again, her choices bring their own unhappy consequences.

Within this story, there is another, far less interesting, mostly unrelated one regarding Caelum's family history. Much is made of the local women's prison that his grandmother used to run, and in the last third of the book many many pages are used detailing the information the woman who is renting the upstairs of Caelum's house finds in the many boxes of papers left by his aunt. These papers, in their convoluted way, lead Caelum around the mulberry bush as to who his mother, who had died years before, really was.

This plot line, if it can be called that, is one of the major things I didn't like about this novel. Ironically, even Caelum himself comments that he couldn't get through the research papers his renter writes based on her findings; if Lamb didn't think that his own character would be interested in his own history, then for heaven's sake, why would he think the readers would be?! It was some pretty seriously boring stuff, and had nothing to do with the real plot of the book. In addition, there were several other, smaller side plots that were half-developed, and really only served to distract the reader.

The other major hurdle of the story is the fact that the characters were entirely unlikeable. I mean, entirely. Caelum is a dissociated, detached wife-abuser / violent offender who couldn't even summon enough emotion over the death of the woman who raised him to shed a tear. Maureen is an adulterous, argumentative woman whose behavior after the shootings, while understandable with PTSD, certainly didn't make her any more likeable. I'm not sure why they stayed married, frankly, especially since Caelum referred to her as his 'three-strikes-and-you're-out wife'.

Lamb obviously did a great deal of research on the events at Columbine, and the descriptions of the scene in the library, as well as the publication of the writings of the killers, were chilling. Maureen's PTSD was very aptly described, and again, it was plain that Lamb had done his work well. However, in his attempt to make the characters human, Lamb forgot that some people are so awful that really, no one would want to spend time with them; his characters are this way, and the fact that I spent several hours reading about them, and letting them into my mind, isn't something I feel great about. Yes, there are people this messed up and unpleasant out there, and that's reality; most people, somewhere, also have redeeming qualities, and certainly all great literary heroes do. These characters really didn't.

Rating: one star - massively disappointing, scattered with stray underdeveloped subplots

Review: Half Broke Horses, by Jeannette Walls

2010-02-07T07:35:00.003-05:00

After Glass Castles, one of the most absorbing and well-written books I have ever read, I couldn't wait to hear more from Jeannette Walls. I was thrilled to see that she had published a prequel to Castle, and immediately requested it from the library. Once again, I was completely captivated. Not only was the novel, a work of historical fiction because Walls' grandmother passed away when Walls was eight, interesting in its own right, but knowing what the future would bring had me even more engaged, looking for clues to what was to bring on the craziness and misery that was to follow in the next generation.

In Half Broke Horses, Walls tells the story of her maternal grandmother, Lily Casey Smith, an incredibly ingenius woman from birth. The story begins with Lily saving herself and her siblings from a flash flood by pulling them into a tree at the last minute; she kept the three of them alive by making sure everyone stayed awake all night, until the waters receded and they could slog their way home. She managed the family ranch and the employees from age eleven on, because her father had a speech impediment that prevented him from communicating with the ranch hands and buyers. At a time when women were still supposed to be subservient, throughout her life she worked constantly and proudly, beating men in horseracing and poker, selling beer out of her kitchen during prohibition, and learning first to drive and then to fly. Her talent of breaking wild horses is a theme that runs through the book.

As impressive as Lily was, I could also see where some of the family's later misfortune came from. Lily was changed dramatically by her discovery that her first husband was actually a con artist with another family, and later by the suicide of her pregnant sister. She became intolerant of any sentimentality, and hardened towards others, never fully trusting another person again. Her second marriage was a partnership rather than a love affair and, because she blamed her sister's death on a combination of a lack of inner strength and emotional weakness brought on by all the favor she received because of her beauty, her children were raised with an eye towards teaching them to withstand hardship. Her daughter, who went on to become Walls' mother, was a replica of her aunt, and was particularly affected by her mother's lack of emotional attention and understanding. This made an obvious, and sad, correlation to her later behavior - as that of wild horse half broken, just as Lily herself had been half-broken by the emotional tragedy of her early life.

While Walls states at the end of the novel that she cannot call it a biography, she was able to verify many of the events and stories that had been passed down through the generations through local media and oral histories. Thus, though the work is technically a type of historical fiction due to conversations and emotional insights that could not be verified, its flavor is definitely that of a well-crafted biography. The story of her tough-as-nails grandmother is just as interesting as that of her parents, in its own right as well as in an anticipating-a-trainwreck kind fo way.

Rating: five of five stars. A must for Glass Castle readers, and anyone interested in biographical fiction.

Review: The Generosity of Women, by Courtney Eldridge

2010-02-06T12:57:00.004-05:00

Reading The Generosity of Women was like trying to keep track of a whirlwind. The novel's main concept is to follow a chain of events through the prospect of six different women, who are all connected by one main strand that the reader doesn't get clued in on until the last quarter of the book.

What is at first problematic - following the six women through rapid-fire chapter / voice changes - becomes surprisingly monotonous towards the end of the story. I actually started wondering if I had accidentally opened the book in the wrong section, because several of the perspectives were very similar, and with such similar voices it became difficult to tell them apart. To make things even more difficult, a few of the characters had similar names, and several of them knew each other. I quite nearly had to make a chart to keep track of everyone and their relationships to the other characters. Because there were so many characters, it was difficult to connect to any of them, because there wasn't time to get deeply into any of them. The one I enjoyed the most was also the youngest, Jordan, but her perspective was a little thin.

While it took me a few chapters to get into the story, after awhile I found that I was enjoying most parts of it. However, by the final quarter, I was skimming some sections, because hearing the same story over and over and over was getting a little old, and the final chapters were entirely predictable. I was fairly disgusted with several of the characters by the time I was done, as they became more and more caricatures of themselves.

The book isn't poorly written, per se, in that I could see what Eldridge was trying to do, and it might have worked if she hadn't taken it to the nth degree. I haven't read anything else by her, so I have nothing to compare it to, but if she had chosen only three or four characters, and developed them more, it might have been a higher-quality read. As it is, it was a mostly-enjoyable piece of chick lit, nothing more.

Rating: two out of five stars. Confusing beginning, interesting middle, boring ending.

Review: The Gates, A Novel, by John Connolly

2010-02-03T20:43:00.005-05:00

If any of you have ever read Stephen King's only foray into children's literature, The Eyes of the Dragon (and if you haven't, Do So Right Away, it's wonderful), and Norton Juster's The Phantom Tollbooth (again, go to the store NOW and get it if you haven't), imagine taking them both and putting them into a literary blender. Sprinkle them with a smidge of 'Men in Black'. The lumpy goodness that you would pour out would be John Connolly's The Gates (of Hell Are About to Open).

This wry and witty novel centers around Samuel Johnson, a brainy eleven year-old British boy who accidentally witnesses the opening of a portal to Hell while peeking through a neighbor's window. The unfortunate neighbors, who were merely bored suburbanites looking for a little thrill, are having a seance in their basement when an interesting malfunction occurs many miles away during a routine operation of the Hadron collider (a machine that attempts to create tiny black holes for scientific study); the two simultaneous events lead to their being possessed by four demons, much like the farmer in Men in Black is worn like a cheap suit by the cockroach alien. The leader, whose job it is to prepare the way for Satan to escape from Hell, senses little Samuel Johnson (and his little dog too!) and sets about trying to capture him.

Her pursuit of Samuel leads to what is undoubtedly the funniest aspect of the book; the intrduction of several entirely inept demons, such as The Thing Under The Bed, who is new to the job and can't begin to imagine how to frighten anyone, and Nurd, The Scourge of Five Deities, who initially is transported accidentally to earth, only to have his illusions of grandeur (and his body) abruptly squashed by a vacuum. His later appearances grow increasingly hilarious as he becomes entangled in the plot to send the evil demons back to hell, saving the earth. It is in the final scenes of the novel, however, that Connolly pulls out all the stops, with zombie-fighting vicars, accidentally-drunken demons, and the shovel-bearing man who singlehandedly beats several demons into the ground for messing with his rosebushes.

It is impossible to convey the wittiness and snarky glee with which these events occur. The oddity in itself would be interesting, but Connolly's genius lies both in his crafty turns of phrase and in his ability to weave the deadpan British humor into the fantastical goings-on that Samuel is dealing with. By having a child as the main character, the author disposes with the potential problems of disbelief and fear of insanity that an adult character would have in the same situation, thus making him able to pull the reader right into the meat of the story.

In addition, the book is enjoyable on many levels, and its lack of gore or foul language (again, a benefit of having a child as a main character) combined with widely-appealing material makes it appropriate for anyone above the age of ten. As soon as I finished it, I immediately read it with my daughter, who is almost eleven, and while she didn't get all of the more adult references Connolly sneaks in, the silliness of a confused and embarrassed Underbed Monster and a demon named Nurd who ends up in increasingly ridiculous situations (teleported into a sewer! smooshed like the road runner in front of a truck! arrested by clueless police for massive speeding in his new love, the Porsche!) were more than enough to bring her along for the ride. Some of the more adult references I explained to her, such as puns on popular culture, and others I let sail over her head, laughing to myself.

I cannot reccomend this book strongly enough. It's funny without being condescending, innocent and yet wickedly witty. The brave Samuel and his friends, including Nurd, are endearing and entirely realistic (yes, even the insecure Nurd) in their upside-down world. There are the occasional slower chapters, particularaly those describing the Hadron collider in detail, but even those have snarky footnotes to liven them up. The ending leaves an obvious opening for a sequel, and I have all ten fingers crossed that there will indeed be another chapter in the book of Samuel.

Rating: five out of five stars. Smart, witty, kooky and fun romp through the ridiculous.

Review: Everything Matters! by Ron Currie

2010-01-27T13:28:00.003-05:00

Imagine if you were born knowing the exact date and time that the world is going to end. Right from the beginning, it was an unquestioned fact that no matter what you do, there is nothing you can do to stop it. How would you live your life? Would it still matter?

Ron Currie argues that it would, in his novel 'Everything Matters!', which circles around main character Junior Thibodeau. The story cleverly opens with a Voice, which the reader can take to be whichever overarching deity he or she would prefer, communicating with him from the moment of conception. This voice stays with him throughout his life, initially describing his family circumstances to him before he's even aware as a singular entity, and occasionally showing up as a commentator. The conversation is never two-sided, and through this convention the author allows the reader to take a step back from the craziness that Junior's path becomes and evaluate the circumstances more calmly.

Junior is, understandably, a darkly serious child from early childhood. He lives with his secret in silence until his adolescence, when he decides to tell his longtime girlfriend the truth. This one step begins a long downward spiral that Junior can never seem to pull himself out of.

WARNING! PLOT REVELATIONS!

Frankly, this is where the book began to unravel for me. After awhile, the events that Junior experience become first a bit tiresome, and then increasingly ridiculous. He randomly meets a severely handicapped man who convinces him to go along in blowing up a major city building. He gets kidnapped and put in a foreign prison for seven years by the US govt in order to coerce him into helping scientists find a way to thwart the comet that is hurtling towards the earth. His father is diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, and (this was really the deal-breaking section for me) the government enables him to basically take over a lab so he can come up with a secret formula that will be shipped anonymously and cure the uncurable-by-world-renound-doctors cancer (yet he doesn't share this secret formula with anyone, so anyone else with the cancer will still die - nice). His former girlfriend finally believes him, only to be killed in a robbery. THEN, as if all that weren't enough, The Voices take pity on him and allow him to start his life over again, picking any version of his life he would like, so the final few chapters are a redo of a much better version of his life, but the world still ends as scheduled anyway.

END PLOT SECRET SECTION!

The reason that all the aforementioned plot points bother me, since I'm willing to accept the fact the the world is ending and that this person hears the voices in his head, etc, etc, but not the other fantastical portions of the book. The answer is simple - they felt incongruous. I could have accepted some of them, but they kept coming, and coming, and the quality of the connection between me as reader and Junior, which had been pretty great at first, was severely eroded. Not only were the twists odd, but they happened joltingly, and involved jumps of years into the future, with chapters on other people woven in that still maintained a connection with *those* characters, so I was left actually liking and feeling more bonded to the minor characters than the main one. It was very disappointing.

The final section of the book with Junior's newly chosen reality were very nice, almost like a short story, but it's obvious that the end is still coming, because they are still numbered in a countdown fashion rather than in the usual way. Plus, after going through the entire first three quarters of the book, it seemed a little choose-your-own-adventure-ish and not very organic, almost like the author couldn't decide what to do, so he did both ways. The last few chapters are very poignant and uplifting, yet still very sad because I couldn't help but imagine my own family in the same position.

I understand that what Currie was really trying to do is to show that, even though Junior's choices didn't seem to matter, because the ending was going to be the same regardless, it was what happened in the middle that was important, like that old cliche about playing the game. The idea was great, and I really liked the alternative numbering of the chapters. If the novel hadn't started veering wildly from event to event, I would have been very pleased. As it was, it was interesting enough to keep my attention, but mainly because I wanted to know how it all ended, not because I was enjoying the characters anymore.

Rating: three stars. Great beginning, OK ending, everything else could have been tighter and more realistic.

Review: The Weight of Heaven, by Thrity Umrigar

2010-01-02T10:09:00.002-05:00

Umrigar, who lived in India for the first twenty years of her life, brings the culture to amazing relief in her new novel, The Weight of Heaven.

Frank and Ellie are deep in grief over the sudden loss of their young son when Frank's boss offers what, to Ellie, seems to be a dream escape - a chance to live and work in India for a year. Frank would be the head of his company's operations, which involve the harvesting of plants that have been found to treat diabetes, and they both would be away from their empty home, the neighborhood children who had been their son's friends, the pity and silence of their friends, and their also-despondent families.

Idealistic Ellie immediately falls in love with India, and becomes deeply involved with social services in the town, making friends and settling into what she increasingly thinks of as her real home. Frank, on the other hand, begins to lose his ideals as he fights with the townspeople over the plants, which were officially sold to the company by the Indian government but have belonged to the villages as their sole sources of income for generations. The angry villagers, who had once been self-employed, are now impoverished employees of a multinational company, become increasingly angry and violent as they struggle against the company and the village upper-class, who work as nightmarish 'security' officers in the plant; to them, Frank is the symbol of their poverty, unfair government action, and white American occupational colonialism. Thus, while Ellie is uplifted by her experiences, Frank is continually beaten even further down.

The one bright spot for Frank is Ramesh, the son of the couple's on-site servants, an alcoholic man and his guilt-ridden wife. Ramesh becomes Frank's surrogate son, and increasingly the fanatical focus of his life. While Ellie talks of remaining in India forever, Frank feverishly dreams of stealing Ramesh away to America, and resuming his family life, whatever the cost.

This book is *fantastic*. The novel jumps in soon after the child's death, without detailing what happened, and immediately the swarm of sorrow and guilt and anger surrounds the reader and carries her into the story. The tale jumps around in time, always leaving hints to questions about things past and future but never quite answering either until the last quarter of the book. At that point, all the answers come in a flood, like a tidal wave rushing the characters to the final, horrible climax.

The narritive includes chapters told by Ramesh's parents, detailing his mother's hopes for her son's future and his father's burning anger and guilt that continally drive him to the bottle. Their love for their son is real, and simple, in stark contrast to Frank's increasingly insane designs to possess him. The contrasts in this novel, in fact, provide much of the drama: Frank vs. Ellie, rich vs. poor, Indian vs. American, worker vs. corporation, cultural imperialism vs. traditional villages, delusion vs. reality, and finally, ultimately, right vs. wrong.

The final chapters of the book took me almost completely by surprise. It's no secret from the way the story progresses that something untoward is going to happen, but the actual event is completely different from what I had thought was coming. The horror brings reality too late into sharp focus, and the brief final chapter is like a knife to the soul.

Rating: five out of five stars. Simply, horrendously, brilliant.

Review: Firefly Lane, by Kristin Hannah

2010-01-02T09:42:00.002-05:00

Firefly Lane begins as the story of two girls, one, Kate, an unpopular child from an idyllic family, the other, Tully, the daughter of drug addicted hippie. The two meet in their early teens when Tully's mother moves the two of them into the house across the street from Kate, and a horrific night brings the two girls together into a friendship that lasts through their adult years.

This story reminded me of a mishmosh of several others, Beaches and The Best of Friends (by Sara James and Ginger Mauney, very good nonfiction, you should check it out) most strongly. Fortunately, it has taken the best of those stories, making it an enjoyable read regardless.

The characters go through their ups and downs, with Tully always looking for the love and attention that she lacked as a child, and Kate finally snagging the man she loves, but even with their entirely different lives, a very strong competition for essentially the same things prevails. While each has what she has always dreamed of, reality is of course a messier picture than that they had carried in their heads, and each also years for some of what the other has. Jealousy sparks terrible fights and actions, but when SPOLIER ALERT SPOILER ALERT SPOILER ALERT Kate is shockingly diagnosed with cancer and life is boiled down to essentials, their true connection is, as always, right there. END SPOILER ALERT
There were several things to like about this book. First, the characters were likable, even at their worst, so I had no problem rooting for either of them, and they were well-constructed enough that even at their worst, they were forgiveable. Second, when Kate and Tully had problems, either together or separately, they seemed like real issues rather than things constructed to create drama where none exists. Third, because the characters are so different, there's enough material there so that any reader could find something to relate to.

I found few drawbacks, but the most notable one was the abovementioned spoiler matter. It was so sudden, and so fast, and honestly seemed a little below the ending these characters could have had. I don't think the author had to resort to such dire, tearjerking emotional blackmail, but there it was, and even though it seemed a little out of step with the rest of the novel, it worked enough not to be a story-trasher.

All in all, it was a good light read. If you're looking for something meaty or deep, this isn't the book for you, but it's still an easy, fun, mildly-guilty-pleasure read.

Rating: four stars. Fun, moderately light, relaxing, enjoyable chick lit.

Review: Dismantled, by Jennifer McMahon

2009-11-23T12:37:00.003-05:00

I'm going to be quick about this: I didn't like Dismantled. If you look on Amazon, it has several great reviews by other readers, but frankly, I don't understand why they were so enthralled.

The main plot of the novel surrounds Tess and Henry, a separated couple with a creepy daughter, Emma, who hears voices and sees an invisible person she calls Danner, who does naughty things. Tess and Henry, who used to be part of a group of self-righteous college students intent on dismantling pieces of society they thought were wrong, are hiding a non-secret; one of the other members of the group, Suz, was accidentally killed during the group's final summer together, and the other members covered it up. McMahon spends 422 pages covering the unraveling of the secret, and a side plot of further deception by another former group member.

My complaints are as follows:

1. All the characters are entirely unlikable. From Tess and Henry to their daughter and her horrid friend, not one of the characters remotely resembles a protagonist to me. I had no one to root for. Even the girl wasn't endearing or intelligent.

2. The plot was obvious. Since we already know the basic story, with 400 pages to go there are only so many things that can happen, right from the start. Surprise, it involved a love triangle. Again, not terribly creative. The side deception was slightly interesting, but really, it wasn't very convincing.

3. You could cut this book in *half* and it would be a lot better. I'm not one to be critical of a novel's length unless it's unnecessary, which in this case, it is. Events are re-hashed and beaten with a stick.

4. It's just not very creative. A love triangle, a dead girl, a cover up, and trickery/blackmail. I'm not saying that a book involving those plot points can't be good, but it needs something different to spice it up. Emma's voices and visions weren't enough. Part of the problem could perhaps be traced to the author's overuse of troubled young female leads.

As I said, many people seem to have liked this novel, according to Amazon reviews. The author has had reasonable success. I, however, did not.

Rating: one star. Uninspiring, lackluster characters in an overdrawn, tired plot.

Review: The Age of Orphans, by Laleh Khadivi

2009-11-22T19:03:00.003-05:00

Laleh Khadivi won the Whiting Writer's award for this, her first work, in 2008. That, combined with the published description of the work, placed The Age of Orphans at the top of my library request list. As it turns out, 'Orphans' is nothing at all like what that summary leads the reader to believe. What I thought was going to be a straightforward coming-of-age tale of a Kurdish boy orphaned in a war turned out instead to be the beginning of an epic story the likes of which I haven't read or seen since The Last Emperor.

As the novel begins, Reza is a ten year-old child in the Zagros Mountains, an area swathed in war between newly-founded Iran and the Kurds who have always called the land their own. Following the circumscision ceremony that bridges Reza's allotted time in childhood to that of adult life, village men hear of Iranian soliders approaching, and leave the village en masse, bringing the boy-man Reza with them. After their inevitable horrific defeat, Reza is captured and brainwashed by the Iranian soldiers, confused to the point that he betrays his own countrymen and quickly rises to leadership in the Iranian army, aquiring fame, power, and a horridly beautiful wife who mocks his heritage until Reza reaches, and then passes, his breaking point, surrounded by both sides of his countrymen.

The crux of this novel, what makes it so beautifully crafted, is that Reza is not orphaned only once, but many times, in ways that an average person might not have consider in her daily life. Khadivi reveals this to us slowly, through descriptions of Reza's emotions and experiences, rather than using a lesser novelist's path of simply spelling it out to the reader. When Reza is literally ripped from his mother's breasts, he is orphaned of his mother, for upon entering the men's sphere, he has to leave her behind forever, although he is certainly not ready. The death of his father orphans him a second, more literal time, while the loss of his identity as a Kurd, a third. This may be the most crushing blow of all, for while he is no longer allowed to think as a Kurd, he is also never fully accepted as Iranian; this is the event that truly sets Reza on his path to destruction. He is doomed to forever be a child-man who has grown only into a man-child, always searching for love, comfort, and a country he can belong to, fighting his self-loathing and yearning for something he cannot understand or admit.

While the sadness of Reza's story is unfolding, Khadivi surrounds it with prose that brings the Kurdish mountains to the forefront of the mind's eye. Passages like

'a dead body floats down the street, wrapped in a white gauze, the faces of the pallbearers as somber as moneylenders who deal in daemons'

fill the imagination with visions of the culture and expansive suppression of Tehran. Her words bring the streets as well as Reza's inner turmoil to life in a way that stings like sand blowing in a wind storm. The swirling thoughts and feelings leave the reader not knowing whether to root for, or against, Reza's final acceptance of one culture over the other, and which of his selves he should abandon.

Because the novel wasn't what I expected at first, it took me a short time to become engaged, particularly because of the brutality of the Kurdish village life. However, once the fighting was over, and Reza's fate became clearer, I couldn't put it down. Reza's final decision of where his life will go, and his destruction of the one person who has come to embody all that has been wrong with his life, brings a surprising calmness and sudden clarity to the internal chaos he had increasingly experienced.

'Orphans' is supposed to be the first in a trilogy; I assume the next installment will follow Reza's children, who have scattered to the winds by the end of the novel. Whenever they appear, I will be in line to read them.

Rating: five stars. Brutally honest and deeply saddening story of a man lost to family, country and self.

Review: The Household Guide to Dying, by Debra Adelaide

2009-11-14T15:36:00.004-05:00

Before I start this review, I have to tell you that I'm writing it with a face still damp from crying through the last quarter of it. I can't remember the last time I was so connected to a novel. I have read many, many excellent books, but this got very, very much under my skin.

In The Household Guide to Dying, Adelaide explores death on many levels, the first and most obvious of which being that of the main character, Delia, who is a thirty-something mother of two girls with terminal cancer. An author of many previous household guides, Delia is not one to take anything lying down, last of all her own death. As a way of coping, and controlling the situation, she begins writing her last book, an honest how-to manual on how to die in an orderly, dignified manner. What at first seems a strange choice becomes the venue for Delia to work through her own tragic relationship with death, which the reader finds out was established long before Delia's cancer did.

After the first few chapters, the novel splits into two interwoven parts, that of Delia's current situation, and the one from her past that she drives off to face alone one morning after getting her children off to school. We soon learn of Delia's other life, where she was a pregnant teenaged runaway who, in an attempt to find the father of her baby, ended up settling in a small town populated by circus performers, where her lover's family lived. While she didn't find the father of her child, she settled there and made a home for herself and her son, and met Archie, who we know ends up being her husband. The mystery of the book lies in the fact that this boy, Sonny, is not in the present-tense.

As Adelaide brings the reader closer and closer to finding the answer to what happened to Sonny, we also are rapidly approaching the end of Delia's life. She stops writing incessant lists on everything from how to organize her funeral to what arrangements should be made for her eight year-old daughter's wedding, and becomes immersed in the present, her beloved chickens (who are named after the Bennet sisters from Pride and Prejudice), and the preparation of a final, loving prank on her curmudgeonly neighbor. The slower Delia becomes, the more intensely she experiences the world around her, and the more we as readers are allowed to experience her.

When the reader relives Sonny's fate with Delia, it is not so much the actual event that draws one in; Delia herself is too stunned, too numb to allow herself or us to comprehend the minute details. It is the aftermath, the decisions that must be made and carried out, that are the wrenching, heartbreakingly intimate moments that settle themselves inside one's soul. These scenes are the crux of the novel, for in these few opposing chapters, Delia flips from being the immature, flighty mother of a dying child to the mature, very much in control parent who is herself the dying child of another mother. The contrast is striking, to say the least.

Despite all of the book's sorrows, Guide is not a depressing novel. Adelaide has injected her writing with enough joy and humor, and Delia with the strength, to have an extremely uplifting tone without being at the same time overly sentimental. I was in tears at Delia's ending, but because I felt as though someone I cared about was allowing me to experience her final moments, not because Adelaide was wringing them out of me with schmaltzy prose. While the novel is fully resolved, it stops, as Delia's guide does, at the final moment, and leaves the aftermath to the living.

Rating: five stars. It is reminicent what Terms of Endearment would have been had Shirly MacLaine been twenty years younger, yet more profoundly personal, because the reader is left to create the mental images and emotions herself.

Review: Her Fearful Symmetry, by Audrey Niffenegger

2009-10-11T20:15:00.002-04:00

As a huge fan of The Time Traveller's Wife, I have been waiting with bated breath for Audrey Niffenegger's second novel, Her Fearful Symmetry. I particularly was looking forward to another carefully crafted literary maze; TTW was a beautiful catacomb of human relationships. I put my name on the waiting list at the local library as soon as I knew the release date, and was the first to receive a copy.

I'm not going to drag this out: I am disappointed. I think part of the problem is that Niffenegger set the bar very high with her first book, and having such an achievement as a first novel is difficult to match with the second.

In Symmetry, Niffenegger again creates a reality where the division of various realms is more of a porous membrane rather than a wall. The novel opens with the sad, early death of Elspeth, a forty-something year old woman, from leukemia. She leaves her husband, Robert, who works at a historic cemetary near their home, all of her personal effects, but wills the twenty year-old twin daughters of her own estranged twin sister the deed to the flat downstairs, given that they live in it for a year before selling it. The twins arrive a year later, carrying a great deal of baggage both inside and out, to a seemingly empty apartment, but of course, it is not empty; Elspeth is still there, unable to leave, but growing stronger by the day. As her ability to communicate with the living increases, so intensifies the strange relationship brewing between the girls, Robert, and Elspeth until a horrific turn of events forces each to reconcile their own desires with what it means to be human.

I can boil my disappointment down to a few points. First, I knew exactly what the Big Secret was within a few chapters. Second, the relationship between the girls as well as that between the two of them and Robert had an almost V.C. Andrews feel to it which I found mildly disgusting. Third, it was just typical and predictable. By the time The Secret comes out, the ending is inevitable. If I hadn't known she was capable of more, I might have been satisfied despite these things, but I do, and she is, and I'm not. I especially felt that the ending could have been better.

WARNING ** PLOT GIVEAWAY ** SKIP TO BELOW IF YOU HAVEN'T READ IT YET!
After everything that had happened, Robert left Elspeth/Edie with the baby?! After she'd already abandoned her own babies, allowed one to kill herself, and then not helped her come back to life, she used her reanimated daughter's body to have a baby with her husband, and he left it with her when he took off? Yuck.

OK, YOU CAN COME BACK NOW************

Hopefully, Niffenegger's third novel will return to a more positive, expansive plot rather than a rehashing of family-ghost-with-a-secret tales. Her writing style is still lovely, but the material was lacking in this one.

Rating: two out of five stars: Creepy, and not in a good way.

Review: All the Living, by C.E. Morgan

2009-10-07T19:59:00.004-04:00

All The Living, novelist C. E. Morgan's first offering, presents a familiar story - that of coming of age - in an unfamiliar way. Aloma, who was orphaned as a child, is working at the Kentucky school she attended when she meets Orren, whose family has recently been killed in an auto accident. The two are instantly drawn to each other on a very primal level, both mentally and physically, as their shared pain and loneliness are assuaged by youthful lust. When Orren asks Aloma to move with him to the small-town farm he has inherited, she accepts, imagining a settled, routine life she has experienced only in her mind.

Once Aloma arrives at the farm, however, it is to live in a run-down shack on the property with no running water, because Orren cannot bear to live in the larger, modern home a few acres away where his family had lived. As lust diffuses into daily life, the two must face their reality: Orren with his deep-seated grief and insecurity, Aloma with the emptiness she had expected Orren to fill. When Orren does not, as her domestic fantasy had led her to expect, ask her to marry him, her fantasy evolves into seething petulance. Disenchanted, she applies to play the organ at a local church as a way to escape the farm, and meets a young pastor, who is himself searching for something. From there, Aloma must decide what her life will be, and where she will decide to go.

Although it may sound like one, this is not a romance novel. Rather, it is an investigation of how the human soul copes with difficulty, and the unanticipated repercussions of choices we make, especially the naiive choices of the young. One of the best qualities of this book is its tone, which is very true to its Kentucky farm roots, with the spare speech and practicality of the midwest giving an honest portrayal of two humans grasping at their surroundings to forge together some kind of concrete basis for existance.

All the Living is not exciting, or mysterious. It is quiet, sneaking up on the reader, who all of a sudden realizes that she is actually interested in these two people, and is not just tagging along. Its very quietness is what enables it to slip into the brain unnoticed, nestling down and nagging at you to follow Aloma as she decides which parts of herself to hold onto, and which to wash away. Some sections are more engrossing than others, and none of the characters are perfectly endearing, but that's what makes the book real. The ending is very well-written, and I didn't realize that it was what I had been hoping for all along until it actually happened.

Review: 3 1/2 out of 5 stars: Well-crafted, slightly subdued, honest

Review: Mudbound, by Hillary Jordan

2009-09-26T12:11:00.007-04:00

Hillary Jordan won the Bellwether Prize for fiction from author Barbara Kingsolver (Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and Prodigal Summer, among many others), in recognition of literary merit and the novel's attention to social issues. TO be honest, this is the reason I decided to read it, because Kingsolver is one of my favorite authors of all time.

In Mudbound, Jordan explores the sharecropping south of the 1940's, a time of incredible paradox in the american south. One the one hand, regiments of african americans were fighting in WWII, fighting and dying alongside white soldiers to save the oppressed and hunted jewish (white) people. On the other, they themselves were oppressed, hunted people who returned to America to find their own status as unchanged. Even those who returned as decorated military veterans who had gained the respect and trust of their white european counterparts as human beings were still considered as animals in their own country.

Jordan highlights this paradox through a full-bodied cast of characters. Henry McAllen, a white military veteran, decides to act on a life-long desire to aquire a farm, to the shock of his wife Laura, who has never lived anywhere but the city. The shack and seemingly endless acres of mud, come with several families of sharecroppers, including the african-american Jackson family, whose son, Ronsel, is serving as a fighter pilot in the war. The arrival of Henry's charming brother, Jamie, at first appears to brighten the farm and counter the presence of the men's father, Pappy, whose heavy-handed attitude towards women and blatent racist hatred cast a blight on the entire family. When Ronsel returns from the war, however, Jamie's egalitarian attitude, coupled with his lure towards the furiously lonely Laura, ignite the powderkeg the farm has become, revealing an ugly truth and resulting in inevitable horror.

Jordan builds her story slowly, taking the time to flesh out each character's strengths as well as their less attactive hidden selves. Nothing is hidden, and in fact the different perspectives give the reader the ability to understand, if not accept, each person's motives and underlying insecurities. No one is blameless, and each bears the weight of the ultimate conclusion which, though not unexpected, is not for the faint of heart. As the characters are not spared from truth, neither is the reader.

This is an amazing debut novel, and it will be worth waiting to see what else Jordan is capable of.

Rating: five out of five stars; a vividly honest portrayal of an ugly part of American history

Review: Case Histories, by Kate Atkinson

2009-09-26T11:45:00.004-04:00

In Atkinson's fourth novel, main character and police officer-turned private detective Jackson Brodie investigates three London crimes while simultaneously trying to cope with the mystery his own life has become. His first case, involving the decades-old question of a missing preschooler, brings him into contact with the missing girl's three sisters, each one seemingly crazier and more emotionally warped than the next. The second, the unsolved murder of a local college student working her first day in her father's office, brought to him by a lonely and morbidly obese father obsessed with his youngest daughter's fate. His third job is more peripheral, involving a woman looking for her neice, whose mother is her convicted-murderer sister, and seems at first minor, but in the end provides a link tying the entire group together into one ugly package.

I don't usually read mystery fiction, partly because I'm impatient, and partly because it's rare that a novel can keep its cards close at hand enough for me to not know what's happening halfway through the book. Both instances leave me frustrated and annoyed. Case Histories, however, does manage to keep many of its secrets hidden until the last few chapters, and one in particular is a doozy. The reader knows from the beginning that, of course, these cases will be linked in some manner, so the discovery of the common thread isn't a surprise, and is in fact fairly obvious about 2/3 of the way through; it's the revelation of what happened to little Olivia, and the final take on the missing-neice situation, which has nothing to do with the neice at all, that are really the main attactions of the book.

Aside from the secrecy, another reason to enjoy the book is its partially-unsolved ending. There are a few strings left dangling, one in particular that could potentially come back to bite Bodie at a time when we are not there to learn of it. This left me thinking, considering what may come.

Luckily, there is another novel - One Good Turn - that will perhaps resolve the dangling pieces from Histories, in addition to introducing more.

Rating: four out of five stars - Increasingly interesting and likable characters, compelling secrets

Update

2009-09-26T11:32:00.002-04:00

For those of you who do not read my other blog, I haven't been posting here as regularly because I have a) started working again, as a substitute teacher, and b) gone back to school, so I'm drowning in both trig and bio this semester. In the midst of all this, I'm working on my application and portfolio for admission to a master's in teaching program at a local university (hence the extra math and science credits, required by the university here). So, unfortunately, I'm going to cancel the book club, which truthfully wasn't going well anyway, but will continue to post reviews here when I can. I have managed to read a few books, but haven't had time to post, and most of them I wasn't impressed with, anyway. I did find wo more notable selections, however, and will discuss them soon. Thanks for being patient!

Review: The Story of Forgetting, by Stefan Merrill Block

2009-08-27T10:31:00.003-04:00

In his first novel, Merrill-Block tells the same painful story from opposite ends of the family spectrum. The author, who has done a significant amount of research into Alzheimer's disease, creates a fictional DNA-related strain of the very real early-onset condition to trace the disease from early England through the centuries to a Texas family separated by deceit and sorrow.

Fifteen year-old Seth Waller, a studious victim of victims in high school hierarchy, son of Jamie, who has recently been institutionalized because of the severity of her early-onset disease. For some reason, Jamie has always hidden her past from her husband and son, to the point that neither has any idea who her parents were or where she was originally from. Seth, who is used to finding answers to all problems he is presented with, breaks into the online research files of a scientist studying this strain of EOA, and obtains the names of those the sceintist has identified with the disease. Realizing he is somehow related to all the people on the list, he begins searching out those within reach of his Texas town.

Seventy year-old Abel lives alone in his decrepit home, reliving his memories of the past. Due to his disability - he is a hunchback - he never married, but lived with his brother and sister-in-law, with whom he had been desperately in love. Now, as his once expansive farm is surrounded by McMansions, he waits for his past to catch up with him.

The Story of Forgetting is told in alternating chapters by both main characters: Seth's from just before his mother is diagnosed; Abel's from his youth onward. As Abel's story stretches towards the current time, Seth's reaches both backward and forward as he attempts to connect himself with both his past and his future.

The story is enjoyable, and an amazingly sensitive and complicated first offering from an author not yet old enough to have had a family of his own. Abel's story was touching and bittersweet, while Seth was believable as a fictional child detective, although some of his interviews seemed mildly pointless in regards to the overall plot. The sections regarding the familial origin of the EOA DNA strain were a bit belabored, but the premis was entertaining and somewhat humerous.

Rating: four out of five stars: well-written interwoven tale of family, loss and regret

Review: Schulyer's Monster: A Father's Journey with his Wordless Daughter, by Robert Rummel-Hudson

2009-08-27T08:51:00.003-04:00

In his novel, Robert Rummel-Hudson, a popular online writer, has channeled his blog of parenting a special-needs child into a very personal memoir that doesn't flinch away from the difficult, exhausting or, frankly, unflattering. His brutally honest descriptions of his own successes and failings as a husband and father, both factual and perceptual, couch his detailed discussion of his daughter, Schuyler (pronounced Skylar), and their family's struggle to understand and overcome her challenges.

Schuyler's monster, eventually diagnosed as polymicrogyria, affects the brain differently depending upon the severity of the malformation; in Schulyer's case, her ability to speak is nonexistant. This lack of speech made determining the extent of her disability extremely difficult, and most doctors and educators extrapolated that she would always be profoundly mentally disabled. However, while her MRI results showed an extreme affect on her brain, Schuyler's joyful, outgoing personage defied those assumptions and confounded her doctors. Her eventual emergence into the realm of significant communication, via speech-enabled technology, is the direct result of her parents' conviction that their little girl was not only able, but entitled, to rise above and beyond her diagnosis and prove that she was capable of much, much more.

As Rummel-Hudson details his own struggles with first denial, then despair, and finally determination, he also shares difficult details regarding a failed previous marriage, floundering career choices, and infidelity on both his and his wife's parts. These side stories reveal a deep-seated feeling of inadequacy as a person, husband and parent, but also serve to force the reader to regard the author as just another human, rather than a flawless superhero. Many writers would prefer to focus instead on their role as champion, portraying themselves as holier-than-thou. As many parents, he tends to be much more hard on himself than anyone else would be, particularly in his circumstances; his family's efforts to help Schuyler lead them across the country, through several school districts, and quite nearly to court. His gaining inner strength and confidence are evident as the story progresses. Still, through it all, Rummel-Hudson goes straight for the underbelly, and the result is a much more balanced, human side of a very human challenge.

Rating: four out of five stars: interesting, inspiring, and human

Review: Shanghai Girls, by Lisa See

2009-08-11T13:48:00.004-04:00

Shanghai Girls is a vibrantly written novel that opens with sisters May and Pearl working as Beautiful Girls (as models were called) in 1930s Shanghai. Their status opens doors to clubs, bars, and society, while their father's riches have made their lives comfortable to an extent that many Chinese of the time could only imagine. Very quickly, however, their father reveals that he has lost all of his money through gambling, and he has sold his daughters to the man that holds all of his debts, as brides for the man's two sons, one an articulate man of about twenty, the other a fourteen year-old mentally handicapped child. They refuse to go, and as they begin to calculate a way out, Japanese bombs begin to fall on Shanghai. Penniless and homeless, the girls and their mother flee, meeting almost unmentionable horrors as they eventually make their way to America, the unwelcoming home of the husbands they must now accept to survive. As for most Asians in the US at that time, nothing is as it seems, and the girls, with their new families, must struggle each day to keep themselves alive and safe from those who would deport them. Sometimes, the sources of these dangers are from the communities, while others, the threats are from within their own walls. Regardless, the women do what they feel they must to protect the lives they have cobbled together, bringing about their own simultaneous salvation and destruction.

See is working on a sequel, which is wonderful both because her work is so tightly woven and because the ending leaves the reader hanging. May and Pearl, middle aged by the end of the book, come to a terrible, unexpected crossroads because of decisions each has made over the years, and must begin a new journey, separately, but also together. The new novel, which will hopefully be out by next year sometime, will follow them this time as parents chasing their own child's destiny.

It's difficult to come up with negatives about this story, but if I had to, I would say that it's a little over-descriptive, and for non-history buffs the detailed information on Chinese political history may be a bit much.

I will definitely be reading more of See's work. In a comparison of Asian-fiction writers, her level of storytelling is par with one of my favorite writers, Gail Tsukiyama, and overall I am looking forward very much to seeing what the rest of her library entails.

Rating: five stars - engrossing, gorgeous, and heartbreaking

Review: Nothing Is Quite Forgotten in Brooklyn, by Alice Mattison

2009-08-07T16:14:00.003-04:00

Mattison's novel begins with a snippet of a young Constance's worshipful conversation on the phone with her mother's friend, Marlene. Con's overwhelming, blind dedication to Marlene echoes her own mother's emotional dependance on her friend, and foreshadows a lifetime of looking to the throaty, worldly elder woman for advice, attention and validation.

The novel then skips forward a generation. It is 1989, and Con, a lawyer, is housesitting for her mother, Gert, while Gert is visiting Marlene. Con is upset because her 16 year-old daughter, whom she had allowed to remain at home despite the fact that Con's flighty husband was away on a trip, is not answering the phone at their home. She goes to sleep, and awakes to find that the apartment has been burgled, but only her purse and a small keepsake box of her mothers were stolen, from the bedroom while she slept. Her daughter still missing, Con then receives a call from Marlene saying that after a day of visiting Marlene's personal doctor to discuss Gert's apparent early dimensia, Gert has died in her sleep. Marlene, who had been pushing Con to be given for power of attourney over the confused Gert, now insists that she is the executor of the will. Con finally finds out her daughter is with her husband on his trip, and decides that she will get a divorce.

While going through her mother's things, Con discovers many letters from Marlene to Gert saved in a drawer. She learns that Marlene has been involved with gangsters and black market dealings, and extorted money from Gert at every turn.

Flash forward to 2001. Con and Marlene are still close. Con did divorce her husband, but the two are still close. Their twentysomething daughter, Joanna, has been in and out of rehab, and is without direction. They are not close. All three are on their way to stay with Con at her apartment.

Here's the kicker: the entire premise of the story is based on the fact that Con inexplicably FORGETS everything that happened the week her mother died. She doesn't remember that her purse was stolen until it, for some reason, is sent back to her husband's address just in time for him to stay with her. She doesn't remember anything she read in the letters, either - not the extortion, not Marlene's connection with gangsters, none of it.

Puh-leeze.

The author tries to make sense of this by interjecting her own voice as Storyteller, and saying that no one remembers details for more than a few moments, but this in no way explains her huge leap into having the main character forget several jarring events, such as a break-in, robbery, and finding out that your mother's friend, whom you have worshipped all these years, is actually an extortionist. Even when presented with small reminders, such as the name of Marlene's husband (an infamous gangster), she can't remember.

This brings me to the basic problem of the novel (other than the freak amnesia thing): Constance is pathetic. She's a terrible lawyer who urges her clients to give up because the situation is hopeless, and allows her assistant to conduct what she knows are horribly inferior interviews of key clients. She doesn't have the courage to look into her daughter's recent arrest and open a case of harrassment by the arresting officers, even though Joanna begs her to. She needs constant reassurance and petting from others. She doesn't want her ex to stay with her, then sleeps with him, and decides maybe she's still in love with him. Even when presented with a sure-case summary by Joanna's daughter of what actually happened when Gert stayed with Marlene, she lacks the gumption to do anything at all. She never. does. anything.

The worst of it is, this could have been a good book. All the bones were there, but the main character was so terrible, I really couldn't do anything but despise her.

Rating: one star. Good potential, poor execution.

Review: Right of Thirst, by Frank Huyler

2009-08-05T20:09:00.002-04:00

Charles Anderson, a cardiologist, recently helped his wife to die after a long battle with cancer. Seeking redemption, purpose, and escape, he accepts the offer of a self-proclaimed humanitarian fundraiser to become the doctor at a refugee camp in an Islamic country (whose name is never mentioned). Soon after, he finds himself in the mountains of a foreign country, waiting for refugees who never arrive, and occasionally attempting to practice medicine on locals in the valley. Who does show up, however, is the military, both local and aggressive, and all hostile towards the doctor and handful of others who have been in the camps. The result of all the turmoil and empty time is that the doctor has plenty of time on his hands to think about his own motives, and the real nature of foreign aid.

Huyler, himself a cardiologist, writes Thirst with a sincere and sober tone. He draws from experiences of his own as well as stories from others to create a unique novel. It is written very much from a man's perspective, and doesn't pull punches to make the reader more comfortable with either his perspective or with whatever the reader may be feeling. It would have benefitted from more actual interaction with people outside the camp, because all the self-reflection made, at times, for extended dry spells. Because the refugees never arrive, the main interaction in the book is between Charles, a young German woman who becomes the focus of his attentions, and the native military man assigned to, essentially, babysit them. Also, the extensive introspection grows monotonous, but in its own way points out the answers that Charles is looking for; too often, our main concern is ourselves, rather than those around us.

Rating: three stars. interesting topic, uneven application

Review: Testimony, by Anita Shreve

2009-08-05T16:28:00.002-04:00

In her recent novel, Testimony, Anita Shreve presents a situation that is one of every parents' worst nightmares: a videotape of high school boys having group sex in their dorm with an obviously younger girl makes its way to the principal of an expensive private school, and rather than being delt with discreetly, the matter blows up in everyone's faces and makes its way to national media. Rather than delve into the act itself, Shreve takes readers through the back stories of the characters involved, utilizing a silent grad student interviewer from a local university to draw much of the story surrounding the actual incident from the students involved.

On the positive side, the characters were generally interesting and the topics involved - excessive teenage drinking, the confusion of youth sexuality and power, the role of the media in making any situation far worse than it would have otherwise been. It was easy to read, and since the chapters were short, also easy to put down for periods and pick up again without feeling lost.

However, Shreve's novels are falling into the trap of being predictable. She often uses the 'fourth-quarter shocker', springing a surprise at the last minute to bring a few plot lines together. That's getting old, and even in itself presents new questions that there isn't enough time to answer. Also, there were way too many voices in this novel, all crowding around, talking practically simultaneously. Some weren't even in the book more than once, dropping pieces of information out of an abyss, and making it difficult to keep track of who is saying what about whom. This multiplicity of characters also makes it difficult for Shreve to really delve into any one in particular, or make any real statement about any of the topics. The character I would really like to have known more about, the girl, had little in-depth analysis at all. If Shreve didn't want her to seem deeper than she really was, that could have been resolved by allowing the interviewer to either have a small voice, or close the novel with an article written by the grad student with her opinion. Because the Act had occurred before the novel really began, this was more of a character study than anything, and unfortunately, the study part wasn't there to back it up enough to make up for the lack of forward-moving plot.

I wouldn't call this novel bad; it's a relatively easy read, with a basically interesting story. Shreve has lived up to her reputation of producing perfectly acceptable middle-of-the-road fiction that is neither taxing nor enlightening. If you're going on a trip where you expect to be interrupted often, and don't want to be overly engaged or lost on reentry, this would be a good novel for you.

Rating: two out of five stars. Not boring, not overly engaging. Eeh.

Review: This Lovely Life, by Vicki Forman

2009-07-20T19:33:00.003-04:00

What constitutes a life fully lived?

To what length should that life be required to adapt, and will one's personal strength fall short, or grow far beyond expectation?

How much is too much, and who gets the responsibility and blame for the choices made?

In her novel, This Lovely Life: A Memoir of Premature Motherhood, these questions create the perameter of Vicki Forman's existence. On July 30, 2000, Forman delivered twins at twenty-three weeks, a full seventeen weeks before their due date. The children, Evan and Ellie, each weighed less than a pound. With lungs were the size of dimes, their extreme prematurity meant that they were completely unequipped for life outside the womb. Forman and her husband were convinced that they would not live, and requested that they be allowed a peaceful passing. The hospital refused. Ultimately, Ellie did not survive, but Evan held on, tethered to this world by a web of tubing and wires.

Thus began Forman's struggle, both within herself and with representatives of seemingly every medical profession, to understand and care for Evan. Babies Evan's size are referred to as 'superpreemies', an almost absurd term considering the lengthy list of difficulties and medical disorders these children, and their families are often faced with. Evan is blind, requires oxygen and feeding tubes, and has multiple seizures a day, to name a short list. Yet, the facts of Evan's diagnoses do not even begin to encompass the dire implications for the entire family. Forman's overwhelming struggle with intense guilt, a fearful lack of control, raging fury, and hopelessness are the meat of this story. Evan is Jupiter, and his mother, father and sister are moons, circling the all-encompassing enormity of his existence.

The pull of this novel lies in Forman's frank intimacy with the reader. She pulls nothing, hides no emotion, no matter how ugly or frightening. She makes no apologies for her ambivalence about Evan's survival, for her inability to remember an entire year of her first daughter's life. Her convictions about her son's care never waver - she is interested only in what will give him the best quality of life. At first, that means allowing a dignified death, but as the situation changes, and Forman herself grows mentally and emotionally, we see her rise and morph into a strong advocate for her son on many fronts, going to any distance to seek what is best for him. She talks several times about Evan's role as a teacher, showing her what love, patience, and compassion truly are. Her growth as a mother, and a person, is astounding.

Woven into all of this is the family's coping with the death of tiny Ellie. As Forman begins to accept the cosmic lack of control, and corresponding required lack of expectations, she moves forward into acceptance of both the loss of Ellie and the reality of Evan's personhood. In the final chapter, as the discovery of the twins' birth record allows her to re-envision their birth, we see her moving forward, toward the 'well', and away from the 'but'.

This was a beautifully written account. The knowledge of Evan's death, which occured soon after it was written, made it even more poignant to read, because I knew how and when it would end, even though the author herself didn't at the time. In the epilogue, Forman writes that she wonders if Evan's death means that he was finished with her, because she was not finished with him. I think that the truth is, Evan had taught her everything he could, and so he moved on to wait for her to once again catch up.

Rating: five stars. A heartrending story from the depths of parenting.

Review: Interpreter of Maladies, by Jhumpa Lahiri

2009-07-12T09:09:00.002-04:00

I am a big of Lahiri, but had never read her first collection, Interpreter of Maladies. Published ten years ago, this initial offering offers much the same fluid embrace that her following publications do. Lahiri is skilled at welcoming readers and treating them like they belong to this culture of Indian immigrants, much the same as the characters themselves seek each other out for community in their new land.

Some of the stories beckoned to me more than others in this collection, simply because in a short story format, I find it more difficult to bond with characters who experience what seems to me to be an almost fantastically unreal experience than I would in a longer format, where I would have time to settle in and really get to know and understand them. For instance, in 'The Treatment of Bibi Haldar', the main character is a strange woman who is afflicted with some sort on undiagnosable seizure disorder; as a result, although she is accepted by the community at large, the family members that live with her shun her increasingly until they move away and abandon her entirely to live in their shed. Abruptly, she somehow becomes pregnant, gives birth, and is miraculously recovered. While I found the tale interesting, it didn't draw me in on a personal level.

My favorite story, 'A Temporary Matter', did. A couple with deep-seated marital problems is drawn closer together by regularly scheduled power outages, sharing secrets in the dark. The path of the tale was like a funnel, seeming to draw together in a small, safe zone and then dropping me out the bottom. It was shocking, telling, and very, very real. I also enjoyed 'Sexy', the story of a young woman caught up briefly as the mistress of a shallow aldulterer, and 'This Blessed House', told from the perspective of a recently arrangement-married man who moves into a house with his bride only to discover a trove of hidden Christian idols hidden everywhere; his wife is inexplicably obsessed, and his irritation grows until it pops like a bubble. As the only story told from a child's perspective (although it is actually an adult relaying the story of her experience as a child), 'When Mr. Pirzada Came to Dine' offers an innocent's glimpse into the geographic politics of war and separation, as viewed on an American television with Mr. Pirzada, a Pakistani man in American on a research grant, who has lost contact with his family in the war zone. The undertones of American distance from all that is difficult to fathom, and related ideas that it is unnecessary to understand issues that don't concern us, is an endictment that is very much relevant today.

Rating: four out of five stars: not quite as compelling as her later works, but still well worth reading for the beauty and insight it provides.

New Book Announcement!

2009-07-10T19:27:00.003-04:00

The next book we will be reading is Olive Kitteridge, by Elizabeth Strout. With 139 reviews, this collection of interwoven stories has a 4.5-star average rating on Amazon. I thought short stories might be nice, since they're smaller bites, and more compatible with a summer schedule.

For the next discussion, I would like to try to have a more discussion-friendly format, maybe using a chat room somewhere, start with a list of questions, and go from there. What would anyone think about that? Suggestions? I would like to do this around September 1.

Post if you plan to read: one randomly chosen person will get the book! Let's say, posts have to be made by the 17th.

Here's a review:

From Publishers Weekly
Starred Review. Thirteen linked tales from Strout (Abide with Me, etc.) present a heart-wrenching, penetrating portrait of ordinary coastal Mainers living lives of quiet grief intermingled with flashes of human connection. The opening Pharmacy focuses on terse, dry junior high-school teacher Olive Kitteridge and her gregarious pharmacist husband, Henry, both of whom have survived the loss of a psychologically damaged parent, and both of whom suffer painful attractions to co-workers. Their son, Christopher, takes center stage in A Little Burst, which describes his wedding in humorous, somewhat disturbing detail, and in Security, where Olive, in her 70s, visits Christopher and his family in New York. Strout's fiction showcases her ability to reveal through familiar details—the mother-of-the-groom's wedding dress, a grandmother's disapproving observations of how her grandchildren are raised—the seeds of tragedy. Themes of suicide, depression, bad communication, aging and love, run through these stories, none more vivid or touching than Incoming Tide, where Olive chats with former student Kevin Coulson as they watch waitress Patty Howe by the seashore, all three struggling with their own misgivings about life. Like this story, the collection is easy to read and impossible to forget. Its literary craft and emotional power will surprise readers unfamiliar with Strout. (Apr.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

Review: The End of Overeating, by David Kessler, MD

2009-07-10T18:15:00.005-04:00

I originally became interested in this book because of an interview with Kessler I heard on NPR. Typically, books on diet and nutrition generally aren't of specific interest to me, because I find them either trite, boring, or so over-sensationalized that they immediately turn me off. However, while listening to the interview, I decided that this particular book sounded like none of those things, and put it on my list to read.

What really reeled me in was Kessler's discussion regarding the book cover, which has a gorgeous piece of carrot cake on top, and a pile of carrots on the bottom. He talked with Diane Rehm about why the cake looked so much better, and why she thought that she wanted it. She replied with something about how it feels in her mouth, the sensations it would deliver and the expectations she had of pleasure. In a nutshell, that is what the first 2/3 of The End of Overeating is about: why we want what we want, and how companies' greed makes us want more. The second half, which is less compelling than the first, discusses ways to take control (thus the subtitle of the book, 'Taking Control of the Insatiable American Appetite) of what we want and move forward.

Really, I found final 1/3 of the book to be almost unnecessary after reading Part Two, The Food Industry. I was so disgusted by most of what I read, I may never eat out again just from that! Kessler goes beyond the usual, companies-are-plotting-against-you material and includes interviews with industry executives who really spell it out in a very basic, horrible way. My favorite quote, which sums up the entire issue, is this:

"If you can find that optimal point in a set of ingredients, you may well be on your way to converting that array of chemicals and physical substrates into a successful product." - Howard Moskowitz, consumer behavior expert, on companies' useage of what are basically non-foods to form a chemically-modified irresistible food product.

Doesn't that make you want to go out and grab a bag of Doritos (one of the products discussed in detail)? All I could think about at that point was the old movie 'Soylent Green', where companies used what turned out to be a boiled-down human base in foods, which people in turn found irresistible.

Other little tidbits:

- Even if you think you're getting healthy food when you eat out, you probably aren't - most 'lean meats' that have any flavoring in them are injected with the flavorings at a manufacturing plant, often including huge numbers of needle pricks with concoctions of flavoring that a) deliver fatty marinades directly into the meat and b) tenderize the meat so much that it is basically "pre-chewed", which is why it seems to melt in your mouth. Oh, did you, like me, think those meats were prepared fresh at Applebees, Friday's, etc.? Sorry. That would be a big NO.

- Want to know why you can supersize drinks so cheaply? It's because sugars and fats, particularly engineered chemical sweeteners, are so inexpensive for companies that that extra $.99 of soda only costs them $.03 to deliver. Soda companies did specific studies on how they could make you want water less, and soda more. Sip on *that* next time you get a vat of soda at the theater.

- Sugars and fats stimulate the brain so much that lab rats pushed a button 77 times to recieve chocolate Ensure a mere 14 times. They work approximately the same amount to receive CRACK. They also repeatedly walked over flooring that zapped each step, their desire was so great.

I could go on. Really, these sections on the food industry are what make the book worthwhile. The later sections, on stopping overeating by creating 'rules' for yourself, which are supposedly easier for the brain to obey than generic willpower, don't make much sense to me because you have to use willpower to get to the point where those rules will actually mean something to you. So, it really is the same, obvious message: it's hard, make a plan, stick to it, get help. The corporate studies, though, and the interviews, are extremely engrossing. It's like watching a hidden-camera show because of that 'gotcha!' quality, although it's hard to be sure who's been gotten, when you really think about it.

Rating: 3.5 stars. Great industry and nutritional breakdowns, educational and engrossing, which are way more of a deterrant than the 'food rehab' portion. Mildly repetitive in sections, occasionally a bit science-y for non-science people, but still worth a food-consumer's time.

2009-07-10T11:57:00.001-04:00

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Review: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, by Jane Austin and Seth Grahame-Smith

2009-07-04T14:21:00.004-04:00

Oh.

Oh, Oh, OH!

I have never read the classic version of P&P, but I can tell you, now that I've read this clever version, I probably never will. Grahame-Smith has proved himself a master at weaving in the 'zombie mayhem' into the original in such an seamless manner that I feel the story to be much improved. Far from being trashy or gratuitous, PPZ is not uber-gorey; in fact, the zombies aren't even the main plot, but rather a ongoing concern that the characters accept as a fact of life, like an unfortunate rodent infestation. The characters' nonchalance is a great part of what makes the new twist work so beautifully, and their adaptations - the entire Bennet family has been trained in China by a master warrior, and are the premier (and yet unerringly proper) fighting force in the region. Mr. Darcy, also, is an excellent fighter, and his aunt is now the master fighter of England, renound for her abilities.

PPZ is very entertaining, and extremely funny, in a droll, NPR kind of way. Because Grahame-Smith has been careful to preserve the integrity and bones of the original story, the reader does have to be willing to read the novel in it's old english format, but he has also added several double-entendres and poked quiet fun at the conventions of the era while inserting bothersome events such as the entire waitstaff being attacked by zombies in the kitchen during a dinner party. All characters benefit from this new, added dimension of extreme physicality and concern for personal honor via the warrior's code, rather than dress code.

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars. Brilliant, funny, and expertly done.

Review: The Girl Who Stopped Swimming, by Joshilyn Jackson

2009-07-04T13:43:00.005-04:00

She sees dead people.

Laurel Hawthorne, whose mother managed to escape from defunct mining town DeLop, AL (think X-Files scary) via marriage, is an improbably well-off young mother living in a beautiful gated community, where everyone has perfect lawns and pools. The only chinks in her life are her hot-and-cold relationship with her sister, Thalia, and the ghost of her dead uncle, which she hasn't seen in many years. Her husband is an extremely well-paid game developer, and she designs artistically unique quilts with hidden pockets and, we later learn, hidden meanings. Even her teenaged daughter, Shelby, is lovely. Laurel assuages her mild guilt over being so fortunate while many relatives reside in the emotional and financial squalor of DeLop by bringing Bet Clemens, her daughter's vaguely-related pen pal from De Lop, to stay with them for a few weeks each summer, and then returns to her tidy life.

Things are seemingly perfect until Molly, Shelby's best friend, wakes Laurel in the middle of the night. Molly has drowned in the Hawthorne's pool, and her ghost seeks Laurel's help in uncovering the truth of her tragic end. This event, horrible as it is, is the beginning of the end of Laurel's painstakingly created facade of perfection. With her conviction that Molly's death wasn't an accident, Laurel reaches out to her currently-estranged theater-actress sister, and the story of what actually happened, as well as what really happened with their uncle's death, come to light amongst Thalia's accusations and worming insinuations reagarding Laurel's marriage and family. As chapters pass, we learn, via Laurel's awakening, the hidden truth about the quilts, her uncle, her mother, Bet, Molly's death, and the realization that the title refers not only to Molly.

The beginning of The Girl... is slow, so much so that I actually considered walking away from it altogether. I didn't find Laurel to be incredibly engrossing, and the whole situation began to seem like a typical dysfunctional-relationship piece of chick-lit. For some reason, I picked it up again the next day, and skimmed through a few chapters, only to find myself drawn pretty deeply in once Thalia's character becomes involved, and the story began to unravel. One of the plot points I liked the most is that the reader only follows Laurel's piont of view, so as her ideas of what is actually happening twist and turn, we are brought along with her, rather than the reader's knowing what has happened and waiting for her to figure it out. The final few chapters in particular are real page-turners, starting from about the point where questions begin to arise about the solidity of Laurel's marriage, and I couldn't put it down after that. The ending was very exciting, although again improbably resolved, and although the afterward was a tiny bit trite, it didn't take away from the rest of the novel.

Rating: three out of five stars - not as good as I'd hoped, but still a decent, quick summer read

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Question 5

2009-07-01T11:50:00.002-04:00

Who do you think was the more ridiculous character - Lydia or Mrs. Bennett?

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Question 4

2009-07-01T11:45:00.002-04:00

Why do you think that no one noticed Charlotte's decent into Zombiedom (other than Elizabeth and, perhaps, Lady Catherine, if she was telling the truth)? Would you have chosen as she did, or simply asked Elizabeth to off you at once?

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Question 3

2009-07-01T11:42:00.002-04:00

Elizabeth Bennet, lover, or Elizabeth Bennett, zombie killer - which do you think is the most dominant part of her personality? Which would you prefer to be?

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Question 2

2009-07-01T11:39:00.002-04:00

Have any of you read (or seen) the original PaP? How does this compare in terms of truthfulness to the original text?

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Question 1

2009-07-01T11:38:00.003-04:00

What did you think? Did zombies improve the romance of Miss Bennett and Mr. Darcy?

Review: The Forgotten Garden, by Kate Morton

2009-06-21T20:41:00.003-04:00

If Beatrix Potter wrote mysteries, or family drama, the result would probably be much like Kate Morton's second novel, 'The Forgotten Garden'.

The expansive story opens in 1913 London, where a small girl is crouched alone, hiding on an ocean liner per the instructions of someone she knows only as 'The Authoress'. When the woman does not return as promised, the four year-old is forced to make the sea voyage alone, winding up in Australia without a clue as to who she is or why she's alone. She is adopted by a childless couple and named Nell, and forgets the issue entirely until the night of her twenty-first birthday, when her adoptive father makes the fateful decision, against the will of his deceased wife, to divulge the secret that her past is really a mystery to them all. Nell, feeling completely abandoned by both her perception of reality and her trust and faith in the concept of family, withdraws from her adoptive family and begins an entirely new life. Years later, when the man she had thought was her father dies, she receives a suitcase from his estate; it is the suitcase she had arrived with so long ago, and in it a path to her past. Nell then begins in earnest the search for her real past, a search which is eventually handed down to her granddaughter, Cassandra. The mystery takes them each back to London, to an estate and a family cursed with illness, paranoia, and murderous darkness.

The Forgotten Garden is a rich, enticing story told by several different people, in a multitude of times and places. Initially, this made it difficult for me to follow, but once new characters stopped being intruduced, and when the story took up a set cadence, it was easier for me to manage the ever-changing perspective, although keeping events and people straight in my head was still a slight challenge. Also peppered throughout the novel are short fairy tales, written by The Authoress, in which are woven the sad and sometimes frightening realities of her life, and which serve as clues for Nell, Cassandra, and the reader as we all try to close the circle of curiosities.

I liked ...Garden quite a bit. Not only is it a very satisfying mystery, but it moves along at a good pace and involves a good balance of good and evil; Morton does an excellent job of making the characters multi-dimensional, and trusts the reader to incorporate new character developments without either hitting you over the head with heavy-handed black-and-white descriptions of their personalities or rushing to solve things for you. I think that one of the signs of a good writer is the novelist's ability to restrain his- or herself and allow the readers time to figure out what's going on on their own before dealing the final blow, and Morton does this very well. She also does an excellent job of creating a mystery that reveals itself in layers, so even if you figure out the answer to one thing fairly early on, there are still so many other questions that you don't lose interest.

My only complaints are as follows: I would have liked more on both Nell's and Cassandra's relationship with Nell's daughter/Cassandra's mother. We hear from everyone's persepective but hers, and I think something more from or about her would have been interesting. Some of the descriptions were a little long, but skimmable, as were the fairy tales. Also, the introduction of Christian, the gardener, to Cassandra was a little convenient and seemed beneath the rest of the book.

Rating: 4.5 out of five stars - very good plot and characters, emotionally absorbing, a little over-descriptive

Review: Still Alice, by Lisa Genova

2009-06-16T09:07:00.005-04:00

If anyone you know has alzheimer's disease, is currently suffering from it, or may at some point be afflicted either personally or tangentally, you should read this book.

That would be everyone.

Beautiful, touching and very, very sad, Still Alice is told from the perspective of Alice Howland, a fifty year-old psychology professor at Harvard who is diagnosed with early-onset alzheimers at the height of her career. Soon, rather than travelling the country making symposium speeches and conducting world-renowned research, she is struggling to remember her children's names and getting lost on her way home. Eventually, she has to leave her job, and must learn to define her worth as a person, without her life's work as a guide.

As the novel, and the disease, progress, the reader also is faced with questions, such as what it means to be 'of sound mind'. Alice, while still in possession of most of her faculties, writes herself a letter on her computer with instructions on how to find and take an overdose of sleeping pills when she can no longer remember the answers to five important questions, because she doesn't feel that she wants to live to be a burdensome shadow of herself. Her husband feels that he should continue to pursue his career, because she would have wanted him to when she was mentally clearer. As Alice becomes more confused, both of those things become untrue in her present-tense, so which opinions and feelings should have more weight - her 'sane' past self, or her present 'demented' self? Which should take prescedence, rational thought or emotional need? Where does our humanity lie?

Genova, a neuroscientist herself, takes the more painful route by writing the novel in Alice's own rapidly changing perspective to the end. As a result, the reader feels her confusion, and not only observes but experiences her increasing dementia. It would have been emotionally easier to read the second half of the story from the family's point of view, but this is infinitely more worthwhile. We do, however, see the couple's children's struggle with acceptance and coping, and even more intimiately that of her husband, John, who cannot cope with this ultimate upheaval in his life's plans. On the one hand, it would be easy to write John off as an uncaring, emotionally detached, scientist-first kind of person, but on the other, who among us would be able to deal easily with the destruction of our current lives, hopes and future by a disease that doesn't typically occur until life has been almost fully lived? Alice's heartbreak over the thievery of their marriage, and the loss of the many things the future should have held for her, is one of the most compelling plot lines in the book. My one complaint, that I'm not exactly sure what happened at the ending, is bittersweet; the reason *I* am fuzzy on the events is because Alice herself is.

'Alice' is a quick read, even at 320 pages. The chapters are short, and really, you won't notice them going by. I'm so glad I read this book.

Rating: five out of five stars. Beautiful, important, and, ironically, memorable.

Review: The Music Teacher, by Barbara Hall

2009-06-11T20:07:00.002-04:00

I'm not going to sugar coat this - The Music Teacher was not for me. But, since it might be for *you*, here's a go at a discussion.

Main character Pearl Swain has achieved nothing of note in her life. Her musical career is non-existent, her marriage has failed, she lives in a trailer, and works as a music teacher / sales clerk in a pretentious music store in LA. As the only woman in the store, several of the other employees are either interested in her or hiding that they are, but in typical geek fashion, this is played out in a strange dance of insecurity and pretended indifference.

The plot of the story circles around the arrival of Hallie Bolaris, a gifted violin student who has been orphaned and now lives with her seemingly dysfunctional aunt and uncle's family. Hallie's talent and family life slowly alter Pearl's perspective on life and emotional attachment, and she begins to take interest in more than the pain and self-pity that she has wallowed in since the demise of her marriage.

I believe what makes this first-person narrative unattractive to me may make it more so to others; this is very much the kind of behavior that goes on in the small, insular cliques of art or literary geeks, and I find it unappealing. However, if you are someone who takes part in that culture, you may find Pearl's story more appealing. Personally, I found the characters to be unlikable in any real way. The story was choppy, and Hallie was too contrived. Pearl's turnaround was too abrupt. Nothing about any of the characters really grabbed me, and even at the end, not too much had changed. I was looking for more novel and less mundane real life, and I didn't find it here. I think Hall could have written a more engaging novel, or at least one that would have engaged *me* more, but didn't.

In short, this is a very tightly-focused character study on an everyday woman whose life is a realistically small part of the universe. If that's your cup of tea, this is your book. It was not mine.

Rating: one out of five stars - flat, mildly depressing, and too narrow

Review: Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet, by Jamie Ford

2009-06-09T12:21:00.002-04:00

I have rarely come by a novel that took on the topic of Japanese concentration camps in the US. It's a topic that our country is rightly ashamed of, and I think it gets swept under the rug too often. Ford pulls the reader into the topic like an olympic diver into a pool - swiftly, seamlessly, and beautifully - in his first novel, Hotel on the corner of Bitter and Sweet.

The story moves back and forth between present day, with main character Henry Lee as a middle-aged widower, and the 1940s, when Henry was a chinese-american 'scholarshipping' student at an all-white private school in Seattle. As an outcast in his chinese community for being at a the exculsive white school, and at the school for being chinese, Henry is even alone at his home, with parents who insist he speak only 'american', even while they themselves can only speak cantonese. Henry's solitary existence is broken only by interactions with Sheldon, a black streetcorner saxaphone player until Keiko, a Japanese-american student, enrolls at his school. Her arrival is a definite turning point in his life, and we see through his eyes and heart the changing American politial scene as the Japanese are first discriminated against and then, finally, rounded up and sent away to camps as WWII reaches its highest pitch.

I loved both the stories of Henry as a child and the shorter, interwoven tale of how his adult life has unfolded, with his own son and his fiancee. I loved the journey from silence to redemption, which is precipitated by the discovery of some hidden japanese articles that were hidden in an old hotel when the community was cast away. I loved this book.

Make time for this one, definitely. I genuinely loved the characters, and the story of childhood love and loss.

Rating: five out of five stars - touching, smooth and engrossing

Review: The Help, by Kathryn Stockett

2009-06-02T20:10:00.002-04:00

Here's another run-out-and-read-it for you.

Kathryn Stockett's The Help is a beautifully and honestly written tale of african-american servitude in the 1960s south, and one journalist-hopeful's documentation of it.

One of the things I loved about this novel was its varying viewpoint, which rotated between 22 year-old Skeeter, a well-off white girl who had just returned home from college with a mind full of plans but a reality full of nothing much, and several of the domestic servants she comes to know and who slowly share their lives with her as she writes down their stories into an extremely subversive narrative of what it is like to be a black domestic in the deep south. Through Skeeter's voice we hear of her struggles to cope with her increasingly strained friendships with the other young elite of Jackson, most of whom have stepped in to hold the reins of oppression where their parents left off, and their eventual ostrasization of her from society. Through Abiline, Minny, and others, we hear what they dealt with both as 'free' help, raising white children while their own children were cared for by relatives or given away, navigating segregation and the dangerous waters of unwritten social rules that could change at any moment. The danger that they and Skeeter are in as they undertake this project, and the slow, painful road to trust, are tense and lovely.

I could see these people in my mind as I read the book. Stockett's care with detail is such that it was very like having a movie playing in my mind, and the picture was complete. I wanted the book to continue past its ending, which was satisfying and appropriate in itself, so I could continue to follow these women as they went through desegregation and the strife of the future.

Rating: five stars. Excellent reading.

Review: My Stroke of Insight, by Jill Bolte Taylor. PhD

2009-06-02T19:41:00.002-04:00

At 37, Taylor was in what most consider to be the prime of her life. She had a very successful career as a brain scientist and professor at Harvard Medical School, and had many friends and close colleagues. Yet in her memoir, My Stroke of Insight, Tayler herself argues that her life really began one early morning in 1996, when she had a massive stroke due to a blood clot in her brain, and observed herself lose her speech, mobility, and various other capacities one by one, understanding as only one in her profession could exactly what was happening to her.

'Insight' is written in three sections: first, there is a background discussion of the brain and how it functions. While somewhat interesting to the neophyte, it isn't necessary to understand the rest of the novel, and I myself skimmed it, as what I was really interested in began in section two. (The author herself discusses the various sections in the prologue, and recommends starting points in the book depending on what you're looking for, which I thought was reflective of her post-stroke zen outlook. It's not often that an author gives a reader permission to skip entire sections of a book.) This next part is where Taylor details the events of the morning of her stroke, and it's fascinating. The story of how she saved herself once she understood what was happening, by using her training and determination, is compelling. She discusses her experiences in the hospital, and her perceptions and feelings regarding not only her family and friends but the hospital's staff as they worked either with her or on her, depending upon the mood in which the staffer entered the room, and how they affected her recovery process.

Also in segment two, Taylor talks about how, as her stroke was in her left brain, all sense of her own ego and personal space had vanished, along with her abilities to feel negativity, such as anger or jealousy. She realized that since she had to work to regain her abilities in her right brain, she would also do her best *not* to work on regaining her ability to feel these things, and to maintain some sense of the 'nirvana', as she calls it, that she achieved during her stroke. Section three is a discussion of how we non-stroke-victims can work to achieve the same effects.

While I was interested in Taylor's personal story, including her miraculous eight-year road to full recovery, I did find myself skimming through section three as well. It grew repetitive, and was a little too new-agey for me. I do believe that it's important to focus on the positive, but section three was very much like a self help book, and I was only so interested in that. Taylor speaks of wanting to retain her child-like joy and views, and I believe that the success she achieved in that is what made the final section what it was. Interestingly enough, her diction remains quite high, so even as her child-like qualities come across, they do so in a very adultified way. It's a little strange, actually, but not in a bad way.

Overall, I'm glad I read it. I did take away both an interesting story and some reminders on how to seek my own inner peace, and that was enough.

Rating: three out of five stars. Interesting, but somewhat repetitive and new-agey.

Review: A Reliable Wife, by Robert Goolrick

2009-05-26T09:03:00.003-04:00

What motivates people to find each other, to join hands and try to travel the road together? While even the constant connection of technology can sometimes hide the truth of partners' true motivations, a century ago it was not uncommon for people to order spouses from catalogues, or to simply place an ad in newspapers around the country, and wait to see who showed up. Could you imagine agreeing to spend your life with someone that you only knew through a few letters, giving up your possessions, friends and locale, and moving across the country to find... who knew what, really? Would you be ready to deal with whatever you found?

Catherine Land and Ralph Truitt do just that in Goolrick's A Reliable Wife. Truitt, a wealthy, heartbroken, emotionally stunted widower, places an ad in a paper looking for a steady, sturdy partner, and he believes he has found one in Catherine, who professes to be the simple daughter of a missionary. Both have ulterior motives, and more baggage than any train could carry.

This is a great, great book, one that is difficult to put down. Just when I thought I had an idea of what was coming, the entire story would change tracks and go in a completely different direction! It was wonderful to read a novel that could surprise me, and be so beautifully written that I found the characters, ugly or pathetic as they were at times, redeeming and human and lush. Even the ending is immensely satisfying. Goolrick's uses of imagery and quiet, almost silent foreshadowing make the story extremely realistic and multi-dimensional while allowing the reader to discover the truths of these people in his or her own time, and to then realize that the path had of course been leading there all along.

Rating: five stars. Excellent, absorbing, mysterious read.

Review: The Good Book, by David Plotz

2009-05-21T21:49:00.005-04:00

The Good Book, which is completely titled, The Good Book: The Bizarre, Hilarious, Disturbing, Marvelous and Inspiring Things I Learned When I Read Every Single Word of the Bible (but which was too long to fit in the title section), was quite amusing. As with The Year of Living Biblically, where the semi-secular author decides to try and live every rule in the bible, while objectively critiquing it, so Plotz, a non-practicing Jew, provides Cliff notes, if you will, to the Old Testament / Torah / Jewish Bible.

Plotz' summaries are simple, well-worded, and work well due to several important factors. One, he skips over the boring parts, aka the 'begats', reiterations, and plain boring stuff. Two, he includes rational questions when confronted with obvious contradictions in text or events that he feels make no sense based on other sections or books. Three, he does this in a breezy, snarky manner that makes the whole thing fairly easy to read, or at least a heck of a lot easier than the actual book itself.

Why would someone read this, rather than the Bible itself? Let's face it, the Bible is looooong. Even the Torah, which I had to read in college, is looooong, and difficult to get through, especially considering the time, cultural, and linguistic differences. Plotz gives the casual reader, say, someone who recognizes the continual biblical allusions in everything from Shakespeare to The Matrix as such, but doesn't know the significance of the linkage, the opportunity to make the connection without having to plod through a thousand pages and potentially difficult-to-parse wording to find out. Also, because the bible as a piece of literature is culturally significant, it's not a bad idea to have a working knowledge of its basic contents. Finally, for anyone actually willing to read the bible itself, beginning here with a plainly written outline isn't a bad idea.

Even so, getting through even Plotz' humorous translation was work, and took me almost a week, whereas I would usually finish a book of this length in about two days. It was worthwhile, and when I finished I had the sense of actually Completing Something, but it was still work.

And besides, the next time I watch The Matrix, I'm going to know where all the seemingly-random names come from.

Rating: five stars out of five. Cleverly worded and well-paced, this is a good basic education in common references and stories, as well as an interesting discussion of questions posed.

New Book Announcement! for July 1!

2009-05-12T19:47:00.002-04:00

I can't believe that we'll be into July already! I want to give people plenty of time to finish up The Book Thief and get started on this next book, which is...

(drumroll, please)

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: The Classic Regency Romance - Now With Ultraviolent Zombie Mayhem!

I know, this is a big departure from what we've been reading, but after a few months' worth of Heaviness, I thought it might be fun to read something totally different. If we all hate it, we'll still have learned something... right????

Let me know what you think. If there's a general outcry, we can always find something else. :)

Book Thief Discussion Question #5 - Opinion

2009-05-04T19:44:00.003-04:00

What did you think of The Book Thief? How did you feel while you read it? Who was your favorite character, and why? Are there any passages that have stayed with you?

Book Thief Discussion Question #4- Narration

2009-05-04T19:42:00.002-04:00

How did having Death as the narrator of the novel change the tone of the story for you? Was it a welcome departure from the normal, or an unsettling intrusion?

Book Thief Discussion Question #3- Thievery

2009-05-04T19:34:00.003-04:00

Leisel's thievery of books throughout the novel can be seen as a euphanism for stealing for one's life; Leisel's books enable her survival, both mentally and, during the bombing, when her love of the written word saves her life. Think of other ways that the characters steal pieces of life from the death around them in order to make lives for themselves.

Book Thief Discussion Question #2- Beauty and Brutality

2009-05-04T19:31:00.003-04:00

Near the end of the novel, as Leisel's life is at an end, Death says that he wants to share with her the beauty and brutality of humanity, but she has already lived it. How do you think this story shows the beautiful side of brutality? Can one exist without the other?

Book Thief Discussion Question #1- Bravery

2009-05-04T19:27:00.002-04:00

All of the characters in this novel display tremendous bravery in the face of terrible situations. Pick one that was particularly meaningful to you and discuss.

Review: Crazy Love, by Leslie Morgan Steiner

2009-05-02T09:08:00.002-04:00

Sometimes, people who seem to have it all on the outside really have almost nothing to hold onto on the inside. In fact, their very affluence and intelligence act as a shield hiding their actual situations from the world. This can lead to deadly consequences, as it almost did in Steiner's case.

Crazy Love is the memoir of a woman who grew up with every financial benefit. Her family lived in affluence, in a high-class part of the country, with a summer home and trips to foreign countries to perfect accents. Unfortunately, underneath it all was a mother who had succumbed to the family trait of alcoholism and a father who rarely was away from his high-profile job. Steiner herself was an exceptionally odd combination of drinker and A-student, a girl who had sex for drugs, whose mother would call her The Washington Whore. Even more exceptionally, Steiner graduated, got into Harvard, overcame her addictions, and graduated to move to NYC as a writer and editor for Seventeen magazine.

Steiner protected her new life carefully, never forgetting for a moment her past and her ideas of people's opinions of her, which swirled in her mind as she carefully crafted her conversations with her friends and family. Even at this level of success, she still internalized her mother's words, and her fears of what others thought of her. She stayed away from men, celibate for four years, and kept her nose down. It was this combination of destructive internal monologue and successful-girl-from-good-family that made her a perfect target for Conor, who was in much the same situation. The difference between them was, his anger and fear of his past destroyed his ability to be safely close to women, a secret that Steiner learned painfully at his hands increasingly over the years.

In her memoir, Steiner explains how Conor separated her from her friends and family, extracted her from her beloved city and career, and literally beat her into submission. As many abusers do, he carefully played on her insecurities, and her desperate desire to have make a family where she could be loved and safe. He lured her in, and once she had nowhere to go, the beatings and threats began, continuing for years, until one night when the intervention of a neighbor during one of Conor's rages was the only thing that saved her life. Steiner picked herself up and left, not without looking back multiple times, and not without losing even members of her own family in the process.

Her strength is obvious, even during the worst of the situation, and that's what makes her tale so incredible. She very successfully debunks the idea of the beaten woman as uneducated or unintelligent, and shows how even the smartest, most determined women can be pulled in. Her story is extremely absorbing.

While I think it's inappropriate to comment too far on a memoir like this, where the author is working through what happened to her, I can say that I wish there had been more of some things and less of others. Steiner goes into a lot of detail, which sometimes was skimmable, but leaves out parts of the end of the story that would have been interesting to know, such as whether she has been able to restore any relationship with the family that betrayed her during her divorce, or how the settlement itself ended up - there was a potential for her having to support him rather significantly, and of his getting part of her family's property; did that happen?

While I can't say I enjoyed the book, because you can't enjoy reading a tale like this, I can say that it was very, very well-told, and I read it in one day. Every time I put it down, I was thinking about what was coming, and hurrying to get back. The back story on her family, and her subsequent realizations about her actual relationships with them, were extremely interesting. Steiner herself has since remarried and had a family, and her remarkable story will stay with me for a long, long time.

Review: four out of five stars - incredible story of the fight to survive, both mentally and physically

Review: The Little Giant of Aberdeen County, by Tiffany Baker

2009-04-19T17:48:00.003-04:00

Fabulous.

Just fabulous.

The Little Giant of Aberdeen County is Truly, a girl born with a pituitary gland disorder so severe that she reaches physical proportions, even in utero, greater than anyone in small-town Aberdeen has ever seen. When her mother dies in childbirth, and her father, whose anger and helplessness propels him into alcoholism, dies an early death as well, Truly and her perfect porcelain doll sister, Serena Jane, are split up, Serena Jane going with one of the well-to-do families of the town to continue her charmed life, while Truly goes to live with the town outcasts.

Of course, not everything is as hopeless as it seems. The Dyerson farm, downtrodden though it may be, is the first real home Truly has ever known, and the family becomes her own. Their daughter, Amelia, finally opens up in Truly's presence and begins speaking, and the two of them, along with another 'unpopular', Marcus, who happens to be the smallest boy in school, form an insular group that lasts them into adulthood. Life holds surprises for the perfect Serena Jane, who follows the expected path and winds up somewhere she never expected to be. On their journey, their lives cross and continue in opposite directions, bringing the opposite of everything they had been branded with from birth.

In the midst of the social and emotional workings of the novel lies a mystery that dates back generations: where is the shadow book of Tabitha Dyerson, homeopath and great-great-grandmother of the town's current doctor (who also happens to be Serena Jane's husband)? The answer, and secrets within it, are Truly's salvation, if she can only decipher the clues.

This was a miraculously good book. Baker has created an entirely captivating town full of characters that are reminscent of LM Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables, and Truly herself is an adventure. I finished it yesterday, and when I reached into the book basket to select another,
I turned every one aside, until I finally realized that what I was looking for was another Aberdeen. I may give in and read it again.

Rating: five out of five stars. Fabulous. Put it at the top of your to-read list.
As depressing as all of this sounds, it's really not. Truly's

Review: Thirteen Reasons Why, by Jay Asher

2009-04-13T15:59:00.002-04:00

Another YA book (I must be on a kick lately), Jay Asher's Thirteen Reasons Why is a story-within-a-story. A high school boy, Clay, receives a box in the mail from his crush, Hannah, who had killed herself days before. The box contains a cluster of cassette tapes, which tell the story of why Hannah lost hope and faith in life, along with instructions to listen to them and then pass them on to the next person on the list, and a threat that failure to do so will result in the public release of a second set of tapes that are being held by a secret someone who is in turn watching recipients to make sure the instructions are followed.

I found this book simultaneously interesting and unsatisfying. We learn about Hannah's first kiss, her family, the people she has met since moving to town at the beginning of the year, and how the thirteen people on her list have been involved in her decision to end her life. It's very voyeuristic and fascinating, finding out what this poor girl went through, and in some ways put herself through. I think what bothered me occasionally was the delivery of the story - while the events themselves seem realistic enough, the existence of the tapes, and Hannah's way of telling the story, aren't as much so. I don't think this is something that would bother YA readers, so it's not a big deal unless you're an adult. I did like how Hannah was both mature and immature, and the way that the characters interacted with each other, because they were dead-on high school behavior.

I wish that the story hadn't stopped where it did; the reader has no idea what happens once Clay is done listening to the tapes. Does he act on any of the information inside? What happens once everyone has listened? Does the truth get out? I mean, this is high school, and information gets out. I would have liked an epilogue, and I think it would have fit nicely into the story.

Like most YA fiction, TRW goes quickly, and I finished it in an afternoon. The further I got into the story, the more absorbed I was, and I didn't want to put it down until I knew the entire story, in the same way you can't look away from the scene of an accident. It was sort of like an I Know What You Did Last Summer meets an afterschool special.

Rating: four out of five stars: well-written YA fuction about an interesting topic

Review: I Am The Messenger, by Markus Zusak

2009-04-13T15:37:00.003-04:00

Having just finished The Book Thief, which is also by Markus Zusak and one of the finest books I have ever read, I was anxious to read another of his novels. I Am The Messenger, while a completely different novel from TBT, was not a disappointment.

The beginning of the story finds Ed Kennedy, a 19 year-old cabbie, caught at a bank during a robbery. After an act of daring that makes him a hero, Kennedy, whose life until this point has been a listless blank note, becomes the target of a do-good blackmail scheme involving increasingly cryptic directions written on playing cards -aces - that arrive at his house. Kennedy doesn't know where the cards are coming from, but two roughnecks that show up at his house let him know in no uncertain terms that it is in his best interest to solve the riddles, follow the directions, and do the good deeds he finds required of him. On his journey, Kennedy helps many people in ways ranging from keeping an elderly woman - who is convinced that he is her husband that died in WWII - company, helping the family of an abusive man, and filling the church of a lonely priest.

I liked this book very much. It did take a little while to get going, but once the deeds started rolling in, it was fun solving the riddles and witnessing the varied acts of kindness, as well as their intended and unintended effects on the lives of those with whom Ed becomes involved. The ending is a little too clever for its own good, or else was just rushed; it feels like Zusak wanted to make a statement, and had a great idea for how to do it, but was too excited to restrain himself to the point where he could work it into the story properly. It doesn't ruin the book, and isn't terribly annoying, just disappointing where the rest of the novel is so well put together. It wouldn't have surprised me in a lesser novel. In fact, I got the sense that, since this novel was written before The Book Thief, this was almost a training ground for him, because IATM has the same cleverness about it that TBT does, just not quite as skilled of an interworking.

While this novel is deemed as YA fiction, I had no idea that that's what it was. I requested it from the library online, so never saw which part of the library it came from. I would never have known except for the author's bio on the back that described it as such. It would definitely be for older YA readers, however, since some of the content involves beatings, a rape, and sexual content.

Rating: four out of five stars; interesting, fun to follow, and for once a focus on the good people can do for each other

Review: Live Through This: A Mother's Memoir of Runaway Daughters and Reclaimed Love, by Debra Gwartney

2009-04-01T20:36:00.002-04:00

I have never personally known anyone whose children have run away, and have only been able to imagine the heartache that must both preceed and follow such a tragedy. I have to admit that I imagined what these families must look like, who they must be, and the images I had weren't always kind. I imagined abuse, or drugs, or parents kicking their children out of the house. I imagined huge cadres of police searching for these children, agencies helping the parents find their babies and bring them home.

Gwartney, who has written for Newsweek and other publications, gives a painfully honest look at what one such family is like in her novel, Live Through This. With her daughters' permission, she has recorded in an incredibly raw way the demise of her marriage, her move and ex-husband's subsequent remarriage, and how as a result of these her two eldest daughters completely fell apart. It was shocking how quickly things moved beyond a normal parent's grasp of control. Gwartney is a well-educated, intelligent woman who loves her children, and yet still she was not able to stop the runaway train, literally and metaphorically. Her telling is so plain, it is easy to see her guilt and devastation at her own failings as a parent, of which she freely admits. The best way I can explain it is that it seemed as though her skin had been scraped with glass in the same way one would skin an animal, leaving only nerves and raw meat. That is what she has shared.

Her girls began somewhat innocently enough to rebel, staying out too late, and doing the usual teenage things. However, their anger and pain regarding the divorce, resulting poverty, and uprooting fueled their teenage angst, and they became involved with The Wrong Crowd, doing drugs and staying out all night, eventually coming home only after several days. The two younger girls were frightened, both of the sisters themselves and over not knowing where they were, and my heart broke for them as their mother tried to simultaneously make life seem normal for them, making cookies and going to ballet, while at the same time sneaking out of the house after they were asleep to scour the streets for her oldest two.

What really shocked me was the complete disregard authorities had for the situation. Police would not get involved. State agencies were no help. The schools only blamed her for not making sure the children were in school and threatened legal action against her for the girls' truancy, of all things. Gwartney had to turn to what were essentially bountyhunters, bootcamps, and eventually foster care, none of which worked. Still the girls disappeared, this time for months, on a drug-fueled tour of the west coast. Eventually, CA authorities informed her that there is a whole movement of runaways in the state, basically forming their own societies outside any regulation, and there is nothing they can do about it. I find this apalling and terrifying.

I applaud Gwartney for her bravery in coming forward, and her daughters for eventually straightening themselves out. This book exposes a minefield of social, familial and governmental failings, and is worth a read. After reading her story, I honestly feel that this could happen to any one of us, after making a few wrong turns or missing a few signs. I feel that maybe I'm more aware now of what to look for in my own children as they get older, and that's always a valuable thing.

Rating: five out of five stars. Raw, powerful and haunting, both frightening and socially valuable, with the added bonus of a post-reconcilliation chapter to soften the landing