Shopaholic & Baby

I started reading Sophie Kinsella’s Shopaholic & Baby several months ago and gave up in disgust. I had simply overdosed on Becky Bloomwood. I could not handle her shopping, flippancy, and lies anymore.

However, after basically drowning myself in depressing books for the last several weeks, I needed something light and humorous—I needed a dose of Becky Bloomwood.

This time around, I found Becky’s foibles entertaining and endearing—rather than irritating and annoying. She does deal with serious issues—problems with work and worries about her husband’s fidelity when he reunites with an ex-girlfriend.

However, readers can rest easy, knowing that all Becky’s problems will magically resolve themselves due to her cleverness and good luck. As such, not even the threat of an affair gave me anxiety or produced a single tear.

I have been a bit hard on Becky Bloomwood in the past. I am now discovering there is a time and a season for all reading. It simply is not healthy to consume too many frivolous books at one time, nor is it wise to bombard myself with depressing tomes. From now on, I commit to alternating fluff with substance.

Sports Books

I spent my day watching tennis matches. Naturally, my thoughts turned to sports-themed books. Despite working for a sports website, despite enjoying tennis, despite considering myself a wide (not a commentary on my physical appearance) reader, I cannot think of a single sports-themed book I’ve actually read from cover-to-cover.

• It’s Not About the Bike: I started this book while waiting for someone at the library. The story was interesting, and at the time I was a huge Lance Armstrong fan. However, one problem with autobiographies—especially those written early in a subject’s life—is the subject has plenty of time to disappoint and disillusion his readers. The moment I heard Armstrong was chasing Paris Hilton (and I believe every bit of gossip), I lost all respect for anything he may have accomplished at any point in his life.
• The Moves Make the Man: As a child, I had a rabid crush on a basketball player. I started this book to prove my devotion (to whom, I am unsure). However, although I remember starting it, I can’t remember finishing it. I suppose I didn’t adore him enough to finish a basketball-themed book. (Yet, in high school, I read a horrible Edgar Rice Burrows’s book to impress a boy. Don’t I have any self respect? And it did not work.) The Moves Make the Man is a Newbery Honor book, though, which should be recommendation enough.
• The Legend of Bagger Vance: I lied. I read this book from cover-to-cover. Not only did I read this book about golf, but I actually enjoyed it. (The movie version is not nearly as good.) The story takes place in the early 1930s and has the feel of other books actually written during the era (think The Great Gatsby).
  

My sports reading is clearly anorexic. However, I’m not so sure I need to remedy the situation.

The Lost

My cousin, who I have never been close to, lent me The Lost: A Search for Six of Six Million on her recent visit to France. At the time, she had no idea how interested in this book I would be.

The memoir recounts Daniel Mendelsohn’s search for information about the lives and deaths of his great uncle and his family. His journey starts with only one sure fact: his Uncle Shmiel and family were killed during the Nazi occupation of eastern Poland (now Ukraine).

As a Ukraine-phile, I was particularly interested that from his childhood, Mendelsohn’s grandfather (Uncle Shmiel’s brother) teaches him that Ukrainians are the worst people alive—much worse than the Nazis themselves. Yet, when he returns to his family’s ancestral village, Mendelsohn discovers the Ukrainians there are kind and gracious.

These sections resonate with me as I, too, struggle with similar feelings (though, of course, not on such a personal level as Mendelsohn). How can I love Ukraine so much knowing many Ukrainians collaborated with the Nazis?

I had an epiphany as I read Mendelsohn’s hypothesis that both Ukrainians and Jews, at this time, are at the bottom of the food chain. As such, the two groups struggle to gain ground on each other. For example, when the Russians are in power, the Jewish community is relieved because they alleviate some of its suffering. Yet, the Ukrainians are tortured at the Russian’s hands. Conversely, when the Germans take over, the Ukrainians are happy, while the Jews suffer unimaginably.

I read this section, had my epiphany, on a flight from Slovakia to France and wept furtively on the plane.

Yet, the book also includes graphic accounts of Ukrainian abuse that is simply irreconcilable. I found myself constantly shaking my head as I read descriptions of torture—of children smashed against rocks and men’s eyes cut out. I instinctively tried to shake these images from my mind.

Although the book is long, over 500 pages, and often meanders and is repetitive, I was completely invested in knowing for myself what happens to Uncle Shmiel, his wife, and four daughters.

Yet, I also sense that Mendelsohn is disingenuous in some of his writing. For example, he shares a family narrative about his great aunt being sold into marriage. In an earlier book, Mendelsohn writes about discovering this family story is not true. Yet, he never shares this fact with the readers of The Lost. I finished the book wondering if what Mendelsohn leaves out of the book is just as important as what he includes.

Guest Blog--Caldecott Again

Our latest Caldecott read was So You Want to Be President by Judith St. George and David Small.

This is a fascinating, non-fiction winner from 2000 (pre-George W.) that looks at those who have served as U.S. president. The great thing about the book is that it does so in a very non-boring way. For example, the authors cover several characterisitics shared by past presidents. For example, many past Commanders in Chief share common first names (William, John), common professions (lawyers, military men), common birth places, namely being born in a log cabin (obviously a claim of early presidents rather than later), etc.

My sister could not believe I was reading such a dry book to my girls, but it really wasn't bad. We read the book in two sittings as it is rather hearty; but I think my girls paid enough attention to learn a few things about past U.S. presidents. I know I did.

Eats, Shoots & Leaves

Somehow—I’m still trying to figure out how—I became the “editor-in-chief” of a website. I enjoy editing, it fits my extra-anal personality, but the ironic (I hope I’m using this word correctly) part of my “job” is that I work for a sports website. Let’s just say, I am not an expert on the topic. However, I am trying to become an expert on editing.

Unfortunately, reading about things like grammar and punctuation is almost as boring as reading about Heisman trophy candidates. The one book, as most everyone knows, that broke the snore factor is Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation.

I was excited to read this book when it first came out. I’d read great reviews in the New York Times, saw it was on the bestseller list, and wanted to know how Lynne Truss could make grammar sexy.

And she does a fine job. The book is entertaining—at least as entertaining as grammar can be. But Truss has a huge flaw: she’s British.

Okay, that is a bold and prejudiced statement. I don’t dislike Truss for her Britishness, but because of her nationality, her book is potentially dangerous. Another bold statement.

An American audience should only read Eat, Shoots & Leaves for entertainment—and not for educational—purposes. I read it for enjoyment and for punctuation insights, which drove me absolutely crazy. British English and American English simply are not the same. And neither are British punctuation rules and American. I almost lost my mind as Truss kept reinforcing rules like placing punctuation outside quotation marks. I cringe to think of it.

I am not blaming Truss for being British. But I do wonder how many American readers learned “improper” punctuation rules from her book. That being said, if you see any errors on the website I edit, or this one, blame it on Eats, Shoots & Leaves.

Third Reich Literature

I am currently reading Daniel Mendelsohn’s The Lost, but that will be a later review. However, reading this book, combined with my recent trip to Central Europe, has me thinking about other “Third Reich Literature.”

I recently came across this description. I have more commonly heard these books referred to as “Holocaust Literature,” but I feel hesitant to use the phrase (and felt disturbed using “Genocide Literature” in my recent research) because it seems to almost diminish the importance of the term. Yet, using Third Reich feels equally inappropriate.

That being said, Holocaust or Third Reich Literature is prolific. Because of my interest in Ukraine, which was occupied by the Nazis, I have read a lot of it. You cannot be interested in one topic without the other.

Here are a few books I would highly recommend on the topic:

• The Book Thief: I reviewed this masterpiece (yes, masterpiece) a few weeks ago. You can read more about it here.
• Behind the Secret Window: This memoir is a shorter and perhaps less upsetting read. Behind the Secret Window is Nelly Toll’s memoir of being a child in hiding during the German invasion.
• Everything is Illuminated: I have referred to this novel by Jonathan Safran Foer several times. It is one of those books, though, that is so good it has stayed with me since I first read it in 2002. The book is told in two alternating parts. In one part, Jonathan Safran Foer (the fictionalized author) returns to Ukraine to visit his family’s shtetl. In the other section, Foer recounts the history of his grandfather. To be perfectly honest, I am not nearly as interested in the sections about the grandfather. The writing is very stylistic and the grandfather's exploits as a great lover do not interest me. But the parts about Jonathan, as narrated by his tour guide Alex, are so “premium” I could read them over and over again.
• A Strange and Unexpected Love: A Teenage Girl’s Holocaust Memoirs: One of the difficulties of learning about genocides is trying to comprehend how people could and can act so viciously. Fanya Gottsfeld Heller’s memoir is a moving account of these atrocities. However, Heller also pays tribute to those few people who risk their lives to save hers. She reveals small glimpses of humanity in the most inhumane of circumstances.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

This weekend, I visited Prague where Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel, the creator of the golem, is buried in the Jewish Cemetery.

My first introduction to the golem came when I read Michael Chabon’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.

My initial reaction is that this is a “guy” book. The two main characters, cousins Samuel Klayman and Joseph Kavalier, get involved in magic and comic books—two pastimes I associate with males. Despite not feeling a strong connection to the characters or their interests, the book is a valuable read for its historical context.

Joe escapes from Prague during the Nazi occupation. Unfortunately, the rest of his family was not so lucky. It wasn’t until reading this book that I was motivated to do further research on Jewish refugees in the United States. I was shocked and ashamed to discover the United States had refused entry to a ship carrying Jewish refugees, sending them all to their deaths back in Europe.

I was also fascinated by Joe’s involvement in magic, and Chabon gives away several magicians’ “secrets.” For example, Joe hollows out his cheek so he can hide keys there.

Although I found much of the subtext interesting, the book is overly long (656 pages) and, as I’ve mentioned, so male-oriented I often felt alienated as a female reader.

If you are interested in literature about WWII and the Third Reich, rather than read Kavalier & Clay, check my recommendations in tomorrow’s review.

Guidebooks

I have been frantically preparing the last few days for a little trip/adventure I’m about to embark on in the morning.

Since moving to France, I’ve discovered that tourists live and die by their guidebooks. A friend visited a few weeks ago, and every night she would pour over multiple guidebooks—Frommer’s, Lonely Planet, and Michelin—to prepare for her next day’s activities.

Not surprisingly, Rick Steves is the god of tourists. I’ve heard dozens of people drop his name, as if he is a close and personal friend: “Rick Steves says to eat at this restaurant”; “I just went on the Rick Steves walking tour”; “What does Rick have to say about this museum?”

It’s terrifying to actually consider how much power Rick Steves has over the tourism industry in Europe. Guess what? Rick Steves says to pass on Giverny and Monet’s gardens, and Rick Steves is wrong.

I, of course, have read a travel book or two in my day. However, I am more attracted to the culture guides. Instead of recommending tourist attractions, hotels, or restaurants, these guides give the outsider a glimpse at what makes natives tick.

At one point, I considered moving to Hungary to work for a year, so I read Culture Shock! Hungary: A Guide to Customs and Etiquette before making my decision. I was struck by how harsh Zsuzsanna Ardo, the author, is on her fellow Hungarians. She criticizes how fatty the foods are and how disgusting some of the men can be. Though both criticisms may be accurate, she, herself, has clearly been acculturated by living in Western Europe.

I also recently read Culture Smart! Ukraine: A Quick Guide to Customs and Etiquette. Anna Shevchenko gives tips on socializing with Ukrainians, doing business with them, and warns about cultural taboos. The only problem with reading these guides after visiting a country is discovering how offensive I may acted. I just hope the natives chalk it up to crazy Americanism.

So, naturally, I turned to the library where I work to find books for my latest trip. Unfortunately, the library’s most recent book on Prague is from 2004, Budapest from 2002, and it doesn’t even carry a guidebook to Bratislava. When it comes to tourism, currency is everything.

Libraries complain that users now rely too much on the internet and not enough on the library. Guidebooks are the perfect example why. Libraries can’t afford to buy every guidebook every year, and tourists simply can’t afford to rely on anything but the latest.

Guest Blog--Australian Mysteries

My mother introduced me to Arthur Upfield's Australian mystery novels. She left The New Shoe at my house, and I found it while searching for something to read.

Upfield's mysteries take place after WWII and feature a part-Aboriginal detective, Napoleon Bonaparte, or "Bony." I thoroughly enjoyed The New Shoe, a novel giving me the feel of an Agatha Christie. (Agatha Christie is my favorite mystery author, and I love "cozy" mysteries.)

With warm memories of The New Shoe in mind, I searched for other Upfield novels. Most of them are now out of print, so I did some Ebay shopping to come up with others. The results have most definitely been mixed. Some delve too far into mystical aspects of Aboriginal life, and one even featured prisoners held captive in a cavern--not exactly my idea of a cozy mystery.

My latest read was The Widows of Broome. Widows fell somewhere in the middle of the Upfield genre, giving me enough traditional mystery to be satsifying while not overly annoying me with Bonaparte's sleuthing tactics.

Widows begins with two murdered widows in a small town in northwestern Australia. Bony is forced to use his tracking and deduction skills to find the murderer before he takes another victim. The read isn't stellar, but it's a good novel when you need some relaxation (assuming you aren't a widow living alone).

Ethan Frome

I watched a movie adaptation of Edith Wharton’s Ethan Frome a few years ago that I found thoroughly depressing. As such, I had no desire to ever actually read the book. However, I just found a Dover edition at my apartment and discovered the text is less than 80 pages. I figured I could cope with depressing for that long.

Maybe it’s because I knew the basic plot, because I was prepared to be overwhelmingly depressed, that I actually enjoyed the story.

The reader knows from the outset that Ethan Frome has a miserable life, that his body is horribly mangled from an accident years before. The rest of the story reveals why. If you don’t want any hints, stop reading now.

Ethan falls in love with his wife’s cousin, Mattie. I was intrigued by their relationship. Neither character shows any hesitation about or remorse for falling in love. The question of morals, the idea that they would be committing adultery, never really seems to cross their minds.

I have a tendency to suspend my own beliefs when I read. How often have I wished for two characters to become romantically involved, regardless of their marital status? As such, I wasn’t disturbed by Ethan’s desire to commit adultery. After all, his wife is a harridan. Doesn’t that make it okay?

The book is tragic but does not wallow in misfortune. Instead, Wharton presents the story in a straightforward manner. This is what happens, this is what motivated the characters, and these are the results of their decisions. She shows great respect for her reader by not trying to manipulate his emotions.

Nature Reads

Since finishing Into the Wild and after spending the weekend at Monet’s gardens, I’ve been thinking about naturalistic writing. I am not a huge fan of the genre. I’d rather read about relationships between humans than with landscapes. This being said, here are three books I would recommend to nature enthusiasts:

• The Second John McPhee Reader: I would include the John McPhee Reader on this list, but I haven’t read it. The second reader, though, includes several creative nonfiction essays documenting McPhee’s fascinating (and sometimes not-so-fascinating) experiences with nature. For example, in one essay he travels through Alaska and in another follows the Swiss Army. At times, his essays can be too dry and full of facts—particularly the one on plate tectonics—but I can relate to McPhee’s wanderlust.
• Refuge: Terry Tempest Williams is not to everyone’s taste because her nature writing is clearly motivated by politics and activism. However, in Refuge, she elegantly weaves changes in wildlife at the Great Salt Lake with her family history of breast cancer.
• Teaching a Stone to Talk: Annie Dillard, of course, is the quintessential nature writer—and just a good writer, in general. When I taught English, I always used Dillard to exemplify figurative language. She has an amazing eye for detail and ability to bring that detail to life. Her description of a weasel in “Living like Weasels” as “thin as a curve, a muscled ribbon” is almost unbearably good.

The Green Library

Janice Kulyk Keefer is the Ukrainian-Canadian writer. This distinction may not mean much to most readers, but I feel obligated to read her. As such, I started her memoirs Honey and Ashes several months ago but found the writing sluggish and inaccessible. I tried Kulyk Keefer again this weekend with her novel The Green Library.

At first, I found The Green Library equally difficult to read. I am not an expert on contemporary Canadian writers. However, my experience is that many of them favor stylistic writing. Kulyk Keefer is no exception. At first, her writing felt dense and self-conscious. I was more aware of the words on the page—of trying to decipher her meaning—than actually comprehending or enjoying the story itself.

Eventually, though, I grew more accustomed to Kulyk Keefer’s writing and found myself more absorbed in the story and less distracted by the writing.

Eva is a middle-aged woman who unexpectedly discovers she has Ukrainian heritage. She visits Ukraine and becomes reacquainted with a boy (now a man) she knew as a child.

Although I’m not as young as I’d like to be, I still have difficulty enjoying and relating to stories about middle-aged women who experience relationship crises. Kulyk Keefer continually describes Eva as an extraordinarily caring and sympathetic woman. Yet, she alienates her longtime lover, seems complacent about cutting off ties with her lover’s child whom she raised, and rarely appears concerned about her own biological son. As a person, I found her unattractive and unappealing.

But I am in love with Ukraine, and I enjoyed Kulyk Keefer’s descriptions of a 1993 Kiev. The book has too much Ukrainian history, something that could be incredibly boring to the average reader, but I was fascinated by it.

Ultimately, the book held my interest, but The Green Library may not be to everyone’s taste.

Guest Blog--Steeped in Murder by Linda French

I recently read Linda French's murder mystery Steeped in Murder. An acquaintance suggested the book since I lived in the Northwest for four years.

The result was disappointing. This is definitely one of the more mediocre mysteries I have read. The main character, and "detective," is a history professor in Bellingham, Washington, specializing in Northwest History. Professor Morelli's chair dies suspiciously and she gets tied up in trying to find out why.

The problem with this novel is that it is full of unnecessary information relating to the professor's career: investigating Native American burial ruins, delving into the past of a Civil War general--you get the idea. These things are not totally boring, but they are far too detailed and detract from the story.

It's no surprise--Linda French is a history professor living in Washington. I think this is a case of someone's personal life getting too involved in her murder mystery.

Tortured Noble

At work on Tuesday, I walked past Tortured Noble: The Story of Leo Tolstoy by Neil Heims. Normally, I wouldn’t have paid too much attention to this biography. Although I'm addicted to all things Eastern European, I haven’t really gotten into Tolstoy. I’ve never read War and Peace. And although I enjoyed a Masterpiece Theatre adaptation of Anna Karenina, I’ve started the book several times without finishing.

However, on Tuesday I also finished Into the Wild (see my previous post), and Chris McCandless was obsessed with Tolstoy. Tolstoy, in theory, had inspired McCandless to abandon his family, his possessions, and to burn all his money before embarking into the wilderness.

I was intrigued, then, by what kind of man could inspire such a loyal follower. I know I would be better served to actually read War and Peace, but Heims’ short biography was more accessible.

And the book is short—less than 150 pages with generous-sized print. As such, I suspect the text is actually meant for young people. Tolstoys’s life, though, was definitely juicy. Although he preached chastity, self-sacrifice, and poverty, Tolstoy had a difficult time actually following his own precepts.

Tolstoy went through periods of intense gambling and had a voracious sexual appetite (did I really just write that?). Even in his 60s, while preaching abstinence, he impregnated his wife for the thirteenth time.

Tolstoy did not inspire me, and I have no plans to abandon money and comforts. Yet, I do understand the feelings of guilt he experienced over his bad behavior. Fortunately, my guilt has nothing to do with gambling away my inheritance or visiting prostitutes.

Of course, what I think of Tolstoy himself has little to do with the book. It was a fast and informative, though I’m sure extremely edited, read—and that’s all I really required.

Into the Wild

My sister-in-law recently recommended Jon Krakauer’s Into the Wild, and since the movie just came out, I decided I better read it.

The book recounts the events that led to Chris McCandless’s death in the Alaska wilderness. Krakauer is a journalist (and outdoors enthusiast) and thoroughly researched his subject, tracing McCandless’s steps and interviewing those who knew him and met him on his journey.

Krakauer is not an elegant writer. However, his straightforward, journalistic style is appropriate for the content. He does not place words in McCandless’s mouth, assign motivations for his conduct, nor overly speculate on what happened or why.

I appreciate Krakauer’s willingness to let the reader come to his/her own conclusions about McCandless and his decisions. Not everyone is so willing to trust his audience.

(For example, although the movie got good reviews, I strongly disliked Open Water because it is full of speculation. The movie claims to be based on a true story. Yet, no one actually knows what happened to the two stranded divers because no one else was there as a witness. How, then, can the movie be true?)

Krakauer also includes several histories of other “adventurers” and part of his own story. I felt a bit impatient during these scenes. They are supposedly meant to parallel, and perhaps shed light on, McCandless’s journey, but they feel more like unnecessary filler.

I’ve heard some critics suggest that McCandless was mentally ill. I was surprised, then, with how much I could relate to him. No, I have never wanted to hitchhike across the United States or forage for berries in the Alaskan wilderness. But I have had such strong desires to travel, to see things, to have adventures that I ache inside. Perhaps, this simply means I am also mentally disturbed.

Guest Blog--More Caldecott

Smoky Night, by Eve Bunting and David Diaz, was the second Caldecott winner I read to my daughters. The book and the subsequent questions were eye-opening.

Smoky Night recounts the events of a riot from the perspective of a young boy. The boy tells about his fears, his family's removal to a shelter when their apartment building is set on fire, and finally how the events helped the neighborhood overcome some racial prejudices.

The topic was far heavier than I expected from a children's book. The looting and burning in the book provoked many questions from my six-year-old: "Why are they stealing things?" "Could that happen to us?" The fact that they did an earthquake drill in her class that day didn't help matters. "What if there was an earthquake?" "What would we do?"

I admit that I found myself a bit unprepared for such deep questions. I still need to do more research so that I can explain the issues better to my daughter.

However, despite the awkwardness of our reading Smoky Night, I feel the book provoked good questions and taught good lessons.

Oh, and the artwork is fascinating. The text is backed by real-life objects relating to each part of the story. It's worthwhile to pick up the book just to see it.

Guest Blog--Suffer the Children by Donna Leon

I don't always read two books by the same author back to back. However, this novel was published this year and I have been on a waiting list at the library hoping for it to become available. And of course, when it did, I had to read it right away.

Suffer the Children is a little different from past books. Commissario Brunetti becomes interested in a case where a child who was illegally "adopted" is taken away from his parents at the age of 18 months. Since he was sold by his birth mother who does not want him, the baby is destined for an orphanage under the state's care instead of living in the warmth of his adopted parents' love. The story has lots of emotional conflict.

However, more than anything I enjoyed the glimpses into life in Venice; a city without streets or automobiles. At one point in the story Brunetti and another policeman, Vianello, find themselves in a taxi in another city. The description of their terror at being seat belted into an automobile that is zigzagging through traffic is delightful. They can hardly wait to return to their own city where they walk everywhere or travel by boat. Leon tells also of the cobblestones being lifted in Venice while construction work is done to raise the streets as a defense against the annual flooding. When the stones are laid again they are precut stones that are exactly alike. What happened to the cobblestones that had lain in the streets of Venice for centuries? Has someone in a minor public office sold them to someone for some extra money under the table? I think that these small pictures of life in a very different world from my own intrigue me as much as the mysteries themselves. Like most of Leon's stories this one has no clear black or white judgements, only questions about how we see the world and what we value in our own lives.

The Thirteenth Tale

Occasionally, I peruse the New York Times and Amazon.com bestsellers lists to see what the kids are reading. Diane Setterfield’s novel The Thirteenth Tale popped out from the rest. Words like “ghost story” and “haunted” intrigued me. It is now October—the perfect time to read a haunted ghost story.

I kept waiting for the book to be spooky, scary, frightening—anything Halloween-like. I was disappointed. In fact, I almost abandoned the book after the first 100 pages. The story is about masochism, extreme cruelty, and incest—not exactly my favorite topics.

I persisted, but I’m not sure it was worth it. I found Setterfield’s writing irritatingly, unnecessarily, and unnaturally verbose. She refers continually to Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, and The Woman in White (I wonder if she’s ever read any other books), so her wordiness might be a tribute to an earlier style. However, she is no Brontë or Wilkie Collins, does not live in the nineteenth century, and can not pull it off. Indeed, four different characters narrate the book, and they all drag on endlessly.

The main character, Margaret Lea, also lacks appeal. She should be my ideal character—she works in an antique books store and is obsessed with nineteenth-century literature—but I actually feel repulsed by her. Setterfield tries so hard to make Margaret into the perfect reader that the character lacks authenticity and appeal.

And don’t get me started on the anachronisms. The book appears to take place in modern times, yet Margaret, a researcher, never uses a cell phone, makes no mention of a computer (she writes her book by hand and uses archives for all her research), and communicates using snail mail. Excuse me?

Before starting this review, I thought I had luke-warm feelings about the book. Apparently not.

Persepolis

After finishing The Book Thief, I decided to read something light and inconsequential. Instead, I chose Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis.

Persepolis is another one of those books I had heard about for a long time but was slow to read.

The graphic novel recounts Satrapi's experiences as a child during the Islamic Revolution in Iran. Fundamentalists oust the Shah's repressive regime and replace it with an equally oppressive religious one.

Satrapi's artwork is engaging, and she tells the story with both humor and blunt honesty. Marji is a precocious and endearing child, but her childhood is far from representative of the Iranian experience.

Marji's grandfather was a prince, ousted by the Shah. Her parents, relatives, and acquaintances are politically active. Some are imprisoned and some killed for their stances. Marji is adored and coddled by her family and allowed freedoms few other girls enjoy.

Satrapi is a fine storyteller and her history is worth telling. Yet, perhaps because my emotions were tightly wound after finishing The Book Thief only a few hours earlier, Persepolis seems to lack the depths of emotional honesty and the resonating truths of a Deogratias.

Guest Blog--The Anonymous Venetian by Donna Leon

An acquaintance recommended Donna Leon several years ago. After reading one of her novels about Commissario Brunetti, I began looking for them in all of the local libraries. The Anonymous Venetian is actually Donna Leon's third novel; copyrighted in 1994. How I missed reading it earlier, I have no idea. Once again I was so impressed with her writing style. And I am secretly much in love with the Commissario. Fortunately he is very devoted to his beautiful wife Paolo, a professor of English literature in Venice. Of course, this only makes him a more attractive, fictitious character.

In this novel a body dressed in a red dress and red high-heeled shoes is found dead near an industrial area. The body turns out to be that of a man and it doesn't take long for Brunetti to realize that the legs must have been shaved after his death since none of the nicks on his legs bled. Of course, the victim is not at all what he seems to be.

Too often Leon's novels end on an unsatisfactory note because of corruption in Italian society and government. I won't give away the ending on this one. Most of her novels follow the investigator's thought processes and his gathering of information and move rather slowly. This one has enough violence and action that I can actually understand why apparently the novels have been adapted for German television. Leon has never disappointed me and this one certainly did not. Her mysteries are always worth reading.

The Book Thief

I have written a lot lately about less-than-stellar books. Sometimes, though, I come across a book that makes me thank God I can read.

I am late jumping on The Book Thief bandwagon. The book has been receiving praise for months and recently came out in paperback, but I was slow to pick it up.

Now that I've finished, I find it difficult to describe what the book is about. Perhaps it is enough to say the story takes place in Nazi Germany and is narrated by Death. As Death explains, humans can be both beautiful and devastating to each other. I sobbed, heart-aching sobs, for the last 200 pages.

The book is long, 550 pages, and the writing dense. It is not a quick or easy read because of both content and style, yet I would not delete or alter a word of the text.

I haven't read such innovative writing since Jonathan Safran Foer's Everything is Illuminated.

Having death as a narrator is a bold gimmick that could have easily backfired. But Zusak's Death is eloquent and appealing. I feel a similar attachment and attraction to all the book's characters, a difficult feat to accomplish.

This review feels short, unfinished, and inadequate. But all I can really write is read this book.

Guest Blog--Caldecott Efforts

I recently made the goal of reading all of the Caldecott books to my girls. My goal is to check out one or two Caldecott winners each time we go to the library.

Our first book was Rapunzel by Paul O. Zelinsky. Zelinsky is an incredible artist, and his renaissance-style illustrations are incredible and detailed. I gloried in the illustrations as we began the tale of Rapunzel. And then I was a bit shocked. This is not the tame Rapunzel I was expecting.

Apparently this Rapunzel is true to its origins, being traced through various countries until it reached the Brothers Grimm. I shouldn't be surprised that the Grimm version is a bit shocking. In this tale, Rapunzel meets a male (the prince) for the very first time when he climbs her hair to her tower prison. The prince convinces her to marry him then and there in a ceremony concocted by the two of them. The prince returns each night, and suddenly Rapunzel is confused by her swelling belly.

Oh my! Fortunately, my six-year-old did not ask for any detailed explanation. However, this isn't a fairy tale I want sitting on the bookshelf of my small children.

Banned Books Week

2007 Banned Books Week: Ahoy!
Treasure Your Freedom to Read and Get Hooked on a Banned Book
This is a gentle reminder to both of my loyal readers that Banned Books Week (BBW) starts tomorrow (Sept. 29 – Oct. 6).

Although it is small and insignificant, I did spend a good chunk of time this week creating a spotlight about BBW for the Internet Public Library. Fortunately, my youngest sister took a computer class a few years ago, so I learned basic html skills. You can admire my handiwork here. (As a disclaimer, I did not select the links.)

Now that I’ve patted myself on the back, we can move on. I’ve already written a post on reading banned/challenged books, so I won’t bore you again. In reality, the point of BBW is to promote the freedom to read.

It’s not one of those freedoms we usually think about, but what a privilege. I mean, if we want to, we can read brilliant books or absolute junk.

Speaking of which, here are a few overrated books I freely read. You’ll notice they are fairly old because I have recently exercised my right not to read overrated tripe:

• The Lovely Bones: It had such a promising start, but what happened at the end? I won’t give the story away (entirely), but did Alice Sebold watch Ghost a few too many times?
• Cold Mountain: This book is nothing more than a glorified romance novel, and I do not understand the hype for a moment. Charles Frasier conveniently rescues characters dozens of times from the clutches of death just to let them die for melodramatic effect. Give me a break.
• Girl with a Pearl Earring: The entire time I read this book, I was sure something was going to happen. It never did. Talk about a snore.
• The Secret Life of Bees: Overall, I enjoyed this book, but sometimes I felt Sue Monk Kidd hitting me over the head with her message of acceptance, tolerance, and diversity. Yes, I get it.

Talk about freedom.

Desert Island

I’ve been asked this classic question in more than one job interview: If you were trapped on a desert island with only one book to read, what book would it be?

That is quite the question. What book would I take?

Worried about my soul’s salvation, I would consider taking a religious text. I mean, imagine what levels of spirituality—what nirvana—I might achieve after years on my desert island.

Or I could take an old favorite to be my companion. I wouldn’t mind sharing my island with Anne Shirley, Elizabeth Bennett, or Hercule Poirot. (Though I’d much prefer Gilbert Blythe, Fitzwilliam Darcy, or . . . Captain Hastings?)

But what answer do I usually give? Clarissa by Samuel Richardson. Not only is the BBC miniseries to die for (Sean Bean is such a dreamy villain), but the book has over a million words. It could take me weeks just to get through it. And since I’d have weeks to spare . . .

Of course, this raises the question (and I expect oodles of answers in the comments section): What book would you take?

Good Housekeeping

I’ve been working on a thrilling project that involves spending time in a basement and riffling through old magazines and journals.

Fortunately, I have plenty of time for my mind to wander, and I’ve been thinking a lot about Good Housekeeping.

Now, stay with me.

I haven’t picked up a Good Housekeeping for several years, but there was a time when the magazine included condensed novels. As a preteen, I would sneak the magazine into my bedroom and devour these stories.

I am positive there was nothing salacious or naughty about any of these excerpts, but reading grown up books from a grown up magazine made me feel—well, grown up.

In fact, there was a large gap in my young adult reading. I read children’s and young adult novels until I was about 12 and again in my 20s. But as a teen, I almost exclusively read adult books.

My mother had a large collection of paperbacks in our basement. I would smuggle these books up to my bedroom to read—as if I was doing something illicit and shameful.

And perhaps I was. During this time, I was first exposed to romance novels. I remember reading several by Janet Louise Roberts (The Dancing Doll, La Casa Dorada, and Ravenswood).

Looking back, I know they contained some seriously adult content (meaning s-e-x) and terribly domineering and unhealthy male-female relationships. At the time, though, I skipped over the naughty bits and enjoyed the “romance.”

I’m sure I was so mature—or at least thought I was—that I could not bear to read anything age appropriate. Fortunately, I don’t think anything I read permanently scared me—or maybe I was and that’s why I’m still single. Curse Good Housekeeping.

The Killing's at Badger's Drift

First, I did (finally) find my copy of Caroline Graham’s The Killings at Badger’s Drift on a sorting cart at the library. But I learned my lesson and will never hide a book again.

It is a rather odd moving from a favorite television program to the book that inspired it. For example, I am a great fan of the show’s Sergeant Troy. But Sergeant Troy in the book has red hair (!), is married (!!), and seems to have no qualms about cheating on his wife (!!!).

Other than his character, the television show does a good job of capturing the book’s tone and the essence of Chief Inspector Barnaby.

Despite the faithful interpretation, I was still surprised by how graphic the book is. The content and tone of the book is consistent with many other “cottage mysteries” I’ve read, and the core mystery definitely contains “adult content,” but that’s not what surprised me.

I was more disturbed by how sexually descriptive the book is. I am not entirely a prude, but it’s always a bit odd to run across descriptions of womanly and manly parts in what is, in essence, an Agatha Christie mystery.

I did like the book. It was a fast and enjoyable read, but now I have to decide whether or not to keep reading the series—or just be satisfied with watching it instead.

North and South

I love this book.

The writing is nineteenth century and may not be accessible for all readers, but I find this style soothing and rhythmic. More than anything, though, the book touches the romantic inside me.

A vast majority of the story has little to do with romance. Gaskell focuses much of the text on industrialization, unionization, and the human condition. These topics are not too terribly interesting to me, and I would normally feel impatient with these passages. But I was more than willing to read them in order to learn more about Margaret Hale and John Thornton’s relationship.

Despite writing the book in 1855, Gaskell has a good sense of humor and an almost modern-day sensibility. For example, Edith, Margaret’s cousin, writes a snarky letter about her baby son:

"I think I love him a great deal better than my husband, who is getting stout and grumpy . . . I retract all I said just now . . . Cosmo is quite as great a darling as baby, and not a bit stout, and as ungrumpy as ever husband was" (278).

And John Thornton is the ideal 21^st-century male. He is a strong and successful businessman. He has power and authority and raises himself from poverty to start his own manufacturing business.

But Thornton is also incredibly sensitive. He is the consummate gentleman and loves Margaret deeply and passionately; he is considerate to her parents, hand delivering and handpicking fruit for her ailing mother and spending hours with her father. He is stern and serious but also “in touch” with his emotions: at more than one moment, Margaret’s actions bring him to tears.

Can you tell that I am in love with John Thornton? I’ll just have to add him to my list of heroes who put real males to shame.

Tears

Although I’ve seen the miniseries twice and knew exactly what was going to happen, I found myself weeping as I read North and South today. How can Margaret be so cold hearted to Mr. Thornton?

Please forgive me for digressing a bit from my usual topic (books) to mention a few other scenes that turn on my waterworks. I find that reading books and watching movies produces my best and most cathartic cries. What can make me cry? Just about anything. Here are my greatest cries ever:

• Jane Eyre: In both the book and Timothy Dalton movie version, it breaks my heart, and burns my eyes, when Jane leaves Mr. Rochester. I am particularly moved by Mr. Rochester’s pleading. He loves Jane and wants so much for her to stay, and so do I. Mr. Rochester weeps, and I find male tears absolutely contagious (even on paper). If I see a man crying, I immediately join him in sympathy.
• Sense and Sensibility: The moment Elinor Dashwood (Emma Thompson) discovers Edward Ferrars (Hugh Grant) isn’t married after all, she bursts into tears. Sitting in the movie theater, I cried along with her.
• The Fulfillment of Mary Gray: I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but I watched this made-for TV movie and just sobbed. The story is absolutely scandalous. Mary lives on a farm with her husband. They want to have a child, but a childhood disease left Jonathan sterile. Instead, he suggests his brother impregnate his wife. Oh my! Why this clearly trashy movie made me weep is a mystery.
• The Professional: First, I have only seen this movie on television, so I was saved from some of the violence and language that may have detracted from a very sweet story about a young girl and a hitman. After finishing the film, I cried uncontrollably. Once again, I have to wonder about my emotional stability.
• Pocahontas: Almost everyone I know dislikes this Disney movie, but I am somehow heartbroken by the thwarted (and fictionalized) love of Pocahontas and John Smith.

This is perhaps my most embarrassing post ever. But I can now acknowledge a deep need for therapy—and some real-life romance.

Guest Blog--Traveling Sisterhood Again

I just finished Forever in Blue, the fourth in the Traveling Pants series. I enjoyed the book and finished it rapidly, as with the previous three books. Of course, I can't leave it at that. I must make a few critical comments.

• Why is it suddenly okay to have sex when you're 18? Granted, some of the characters had sex in the previous novels. The difference? The sexual encounters in books one to three exhibited the negative effects of sex--feelings of depression, unwanted pregnancy. This fourth book has some of that too, but overall the book says, "It's okay to have sex, even if it's somewhat casual." What's with that?
• I was happy to FINALLY read a book where Carmen wasn't an annoying whiner. However, she was still the least interesting character to me, just as she has been in the previous three books. I'd almost prefer to have no Carmen at all as I can't wait to get past her parts of the story.
• I was disappointed to find a rehash of "The Tibby Story" from the previous novels. Why is it that Tibby goes through the same dilemma every novel? She gets scared, gets depressed, and cuts off everyone she loves. Haven't I read that story before?
  

So now that I've criticized the novel, I must say that I really did enjoy the read. I guess these teen novels give me a way to live my buried teenage dreams.

Book Manners

I am not exactly a fan of my brother’s ex-wife. But she did teach my nieces to have good “book manners.”

I learned today that I have terrible book manners.

On my lunch break yesterday, I picked up Caroline Graham’s The Killings at Badgers Drift. I am a huge fan of the BBC’s Midsomer Murders series, and I’ve been meaning to read the books for a long time.

When lunch was over, I had several options:

(1) I could return the book to the shelf. But that meant climbing a flight of stairs, and I was feeling lazy.

(2) I could check the book out. But that meant lugging it home and back to work again, and I was feeling really lazy.

(3) I could hide the book. Brilliant.

I honestly thought it was a great idea to mis-shelve the book. That way, it would be ready for me the next day.

Talk about bad book manners.

I started regretting the decision last night. I had a hankering to read the book—but it was all the way back at the library.

I really regretted the decision today. First, I couldn’t exactly remember which shelve I’d put the book on. I looked at all the shelves it could have been. No book.

Then I went upstairs, but the book had not been re-shelved into its proper spot.

So, I went back downstairs and looked again on the shelves I could have placed it. Nothing.

I was not able to read during lunch; and now, since I only crave forbidden fruit, all I want to do is read that very book. This is sore punishment for my bad book manners.

The Grand Tour

Naturally, I had to follow up Sorcery and Cecilia with The Grand Tour. This sequel, though, loses much of the sparkle (limited though it was) of the original.

Kate and Cecilia are now on a grand tour of Europe together. Together is the problem. The first book is epistolary, but the two can’t write letters to each other when they are traveling companions.

Wrede and Stevermer try to solve the problem by having Kate write journal entries and Cecilia write a police statement. Yet, because the characters no longer interact in their writing, their relationship loses much of its chemistry.

I am also hyper-aware of Wrede and Stevermer’s writing style in this book. Although each author maintains the voice of one character, I can sense them encroaching on each other’s stories.

There are honestly times when I feel Kate is in love with Cecily’s husband and vice versa. Kate, for example, goes into great detail describing James in her journal. And Cecily and Thomas go off together to save the day—really? during the regency period? They may be cousins and the best of friends, but there are some (unintentionally) creepy undertones in their relationships.

Clearly, I am not delighted by this second book. And even though I put the third installment, The Mislaid Magician or Ten Years After, on hold, I never bothered to pick it up from the library.

Sorcery and Cecilia

I started Elizabeth Gaskell’s North and South this weekend. I have been dying to read this book for months. However, the book is 600 pages and has the tiniest print . . . ever. Although I am enjoying the story, it is going to take me forever to finish the book.

Since I will not be able to write about anything new (unless a miracle happens and I become a speed reader), I will spotlight a few books I read before starting the blog.

Sorcery and Cecilia or The Enchanted Chocolate Pot

I can’t remember why I picked up this book by Patricia Wrede and Caroline Stevermer. I must have seen it at the library and been intrigued by its regency-style cover (I have been a closeted regency romance reader in the past).

I found the premise of this book fascinating. It is a regency romance/fantasy. The format is epistolary as two cousins communicate via post. One, Kate, has gone to London for the season. The other, Cecilia, is stuck at home.

Kate meets famous regency characters like Lady Jersey and Prinny. Yet, witches, wizards, and magic also inhabit this world. Magic is completely normal and accepted in society. I find it jarring to juxtapose these fantasy elements with actual historical figures.

Kate and Cecilia are likable characters. I care about them and am particularly interested in their love lives. The plot, though, has several problems. The climatic moments are weak and, well, anticlimactic.

Part of this deficiency is explained, though, by the note at the end of the book (which I wish I had read at the beginning). Wrede and Stevermer alternated writing the book. One would write a letter from Kate and the other would respond in a letter from Cecilia. Neither knew where the other was going. It is not surprising, then, that the plotting seems jerky and unmethodical.

To be honest, I like the book more after finding out this bit of information. Ultimately, I am more interested in and attracted to how they wrote the book than to the book itself.

Kobzar's Children

Kobzar’s Children: A Century of Untold Ukrainian Stories is a collection of stories and memoirs written about and by Ukrainian immigrants to Canada.

Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch writes in the book’s preface that she was inspired to compile these stories because of her own experiences in an immigrant family. Growing up, she never had any books to read (in English) written by or about Ukrainians.

Skrypuch has a noble reason for creating her collection. Unfortunately, though, many of the stories and poems have very little literary value (including those written by Skrypuch herself).

For example, Danylo in Skrypuch’s “The Rings” lives through the Stalinist famine in Ukraine. In only twenty pages, his entire family dies, he journeys around the country, and he’s buried alive. Clearly, the pages are plot thick, but there is little room for character development.

However, I did learn something very interesting from this collection. During WWI, Canada placed Ukrainians in internment camps (reminiscent of the United State’s treatment of those with Japanese heritage during WWII). Although I’ve never claimed to be a scholar of Canadian history, this information surprised me.

So much for Canada’s reputation as the nice guys to the north.

Strawberry Fields

I met a Ukrainian girl at work yesterday. Our interaction was absolutely classic.

My boss introduced us and suggested I could practice my language skills with her. She showed no interest in me or the fact I’ve lived in Ukraine or speak Ukrainian.

Instead, she simply said to my boss: “I don’t speak Ukrainian.” The boss was surprised: “What do you mean? How can you not speak Ukrainian?”

“Because I am from a Russian-speaking family and lived in a Russian-speaking part of the country.”

Discussion closed.

Marina is the classic petulant Ukrainian girl. Ahh, how I love Ukraine. But it is because of people like Marina that I just couldn’t love Marina Lewycka’s latest book Strawberry Fields.

I expedited this book before leaving for Paris. I thoroughly enjoyed Lewycka’s A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian and had high expectations for her follow up.

Not surprisingly, the sequel is never as good as the original. (Okay, technically, Strawberry Fields isn’t a sequel but, oddly enough, the father in Short History makes a cameo appearance).

Strawberry Fields follows several migrant workers who pick strawberries on a British farm. Two of the workers are from Ukraine: Irina from Kyiv and Andriy from Donestk.

Lewycka comes from a Ukrainian background, so I am surprised she has these two characters speak to each other in Ukrainian. As Marina reminded me so well yesterday, neither of the characters live in Ukrainian-speaking areas of the country nor would likely have been raised by Ukrainian-speaking families.

But I’m getting nitpicky. The story is interesting and eye opening as the migrant workers move from job to job and consort with shady characters who constantly seek to take advantage of them.

However, Lewycka tries to get too cutesy in her writing. She jumps between the characters, sometimes writing in first person, sometimes in limited third. The point of view is inconsistent, distracting, and unnecessary. And although the reader gets a glimpse into the minds and hearts of some characters—particularly two Chinese girls—they completely disappear from the narrative midway through the book.

Strawberry Fields is a better book than I’m giving it credit for. However, when an author has the potential for better, it’s always a disappointment.

Guest Blog--Thursday Next: First Among Sequels

I was very content to get my hands on the next in the Thursday Next series (thanks to my blogger sister). I enjoyed the read, but I was a bit suprised by a few things. Fforde has been quite consistent to his format since The Eyre Affair, the first in the series. However, I noticed some slight changes in Thursday Next that made me miss the old ways. For one, the book is set in 2002 rather that in the 1980s like the other four books. While Fforde's world was already futuristic in 1984, I felt a bit sad to have jumped ahead almost twenty years. Fforde also changed the chapter headings. The change is very slight, but again I longed for the fimiliar format.

Otherwise, Thursday Next continues with the usual fare that we've come to know in the previous books--journeys into the Bookworld, a little Special Ops work, and warped time.

I found the book overall enjoyable but not necessarily groundbreaking. I long for the brilliance of The Eyre Affair where Spec Ops Agent Thursday Next changes a novel into the beloved story it is today. That element, so dear to book lovers, is missing from Fforde's latest work.

Due to illness, Book Rater will not be posting today. Weep among yourselves.

Travel Reads

Traveling is a great time to read, and I spent the weekend moving to France (oh la la). Unfortunately, I suffer from motion sickness (I know, could I be any nerdier?) so only made my way halfway through a new book.

Since I don’t have a new review to post, here are a few favorite books I’ve read while traveling in the past:

• Shirley: I devoured all the Brontë novels as a teen but somehow never got around to Shirley. I bought a copy of Charlotte’s third novel at a bookstore in Ukraine and realized immediately I should have read it sooner. Although the book explores the industrialization of Britain, which might not be my favorite topic, Caroline Helstone and Robert Moore also experience a sweet romance. And I’m a sucker for romance.
• A Town Like Alice: I also read this book, one of my mother’s favorites, in Ukraine. I enjoy this Nevil Shute classic, but I almost feel as if it is two books. The first story takes place during a forced march through Malaya and the second in Australia. I much prefer the first story and almost wish Shute had ended Jean Paget and Joe Harman’s story in the Japanese-run camps of Malaya.
• The Thief Lord: Cornelia Funke’s young adult book has won numerous awards and even been made into a movie, but I do not love it. I read the book while visiting my sister in Oregon, and even the pleasure of vacationing did not temper its blandness. Although the book’s premise is interesting, several orphaned children living together in Italy, the final scenes are so fantastical they ruin the entire book for me.
• The Witch’s Buttons: Ruth Chew was one of my favorite authors as an elementary school child. I was enchanted with her books about witches living in the everyday, mortal world, so I eagerly reread this book on a trip to Washington. I was sorely disappointed. As an adult reader, I found Ruth Chew far from the marvelous writer I remembered her to be.
• Persuasion: I read this Jane Austen classic on my first trip to Europe. I was so involved in Anne Elliot and Frederick Wentworth’s story that I bit the bullet and read on a train from Scandinavia to Germany. The book is worth nausea and a headache. The enduring love the characters share is almost enough to make me believe in—and wish for—romance.

Once Upon a Marigold

Not long ago, I wrote about gifting the book Once Upon a Marigold by Jean Ferris. I finally read it—I really had to, didn’t I?—and it was . . . okay.

Marigold is a fairytale. Princess Marigold, who has the ability to read people’s feelings by touch, is in love with Christian, a commoner. Her mother, however, wants nothing more than to marry Marigold off to a prince—any prince.

This book reminds me of other fairytale adaptations like Ella Enchanted and Just Ella. Although the books take place “long ago and far away,” they contain many modern elements.

Marigold and Christian communicate via “p-mail” (pigeon mail), and they exchange jokes like:

• How did King Arthur read at night?
  With a knight light? (65)
• Did you know that if Minnehaha married Santa Claus,
  she would be known as Minnehaha Hoho? (66)

I like the fact that Marigold is an independent thinker. She likes to read and refuses to be married off. She is a fine example for young, female readers.

However, I do find other modern elements jarring. References to nightlights are too anachronistic for my comfort. They pull me away from my fantasy land and into reality.

Overall, though, the book is harmless. The story is nice and sweet. Marigold is an excellent role model, and I wish young men like Christian actually existed. Unfortunately, only in fairytales. . .

Janet Cox

I’ve been a little harsh lately in my reviews. I sound like a book-snob-know-it-all who doesn’t know how to pleasure read.

This assertion is partially true. I’ve discovered the older (and more educated) I get, the less tolerance I have for poor writing. On the other hand, I’ve read—and enjoyed—more popular fiction than I’m comfortable admitting.

In fact, as I was creating by Goodreads account, I remembered two books with very little literary value that I absolutely love: Summergreen and Valley of Fire by Janet Cox.

I read these two books as a teenager, and they were just what my romantic heart needed.

Summergreen takes place in an early Utah pioneer settlement. (Janet Cox’s books are similar to Janette Oke’s series with Christian, Western pioneers). In the book, Anna—despite opposition—falls desperately in love with her choir director, Mark.

As a confession, I am not exactly the ideal romance reader. Instead of wishing for the heroine to fall in love with the dreamy hero, I always want her to fall in love with the underdog—with the boy who has been pining for her forever. I want that love, that persistence, that loyalty to be rewarded. (This might also be a commentary on my own love life—or lack thereof.)

As such, I have no desire for Anna to fall in love with Mark. She needs to fall in love with Peter who has loved her forever. I will never get over her betrayal.

I am much more satisfied with Valley of Fire. In fact, I only like Summergreen, but I love Valley of Fire. Delores, a spoiled rich girl, moves to southern Utah and meets her match with Jonas. Jonas is tall, dark, and handsome. My total dreamboat.

Like I said, these books are far from classics. But they satisfy the romantic inside me. In fact, I’ve got to rummage through my books to find a copy of Valley of Fire so I can read it one more time.

The Last Summer (of You and Me)

I finally read a grown-up book. And boy was I disappointed.

I had high hopes for Ann Brashares' The Last Summer (of You and Me). As I’ve mentioned before, I enjoy her Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants series. The books aren’t the greatest I’ve ever read, but they are entertaining. I am interested in the characters, and I care about what happens to them (at least, most of the time).

Brashares should stick to writing young adult novels.

Last Summer is a dud. The story feels terribly clichéd—I swear I’ve read the same thing dozens of times before: love, dishonesty, misunderstandings, death. She apparently went to a writing seminar hosted by Nicholas Sparks.

I knew what was going to happen before I read it, so I felt little interest in the characters. I did not care if they fell in love, and I really did not care if they died (harsh, I know).

Not only is the story a rehash, but it is also a snore. Brashares provides flashbacks and back story that is just plain boring. Perhaps she thinks her attention to detail will add authenticity to the story, will make it more adult, but it is only tedious.

I could forgive the clichés and even the boredom if there were some spark in Brashares’ writing. There is no voice, no character, no life in the narrative. And that’s a crime I cannot forgive.

Perhaps I’m better off reading my juvenile literature after all.

Catalogues

I hate my sister.

Okay, those are strong words.

But my sister introduced me to Goodreads this weekend. A cataloging website is the last thing I need in my life. I mean, I should be preparing to move to the City of Lights—not spending hours playing online.

I started cataloging the books I’ve read several years ago. Actually, I stole the idea from my older sister. She literally created her own card catalog. On 3 x 5 cards, she wrote biographical information and a review for each book she read.

I was impressed by this endeavor and wanted to be just like her. I started my own card catalogue. But unlike my sister, I am lazy. Soon, I just couldn’t make the effort to fill out the cards.

Instead, I started a spreadsheet of the books I read. On the spreadsheet, I listed the title, author, and date (month/year) read.

I love keeping track of books. I feel a certain sense of accomplishment watching my list grow. I can also look back and see trends in my life—the phases when I read many books and few.

For example, I spent a summer scanning slides for work (snore). I read lots of books that year. The semester I took a contemporary literature class in grad school, I read exclusively national award winners. The month I moved to the armpit of America, I read hardly anything—I must have been too depressed by my surroundings.

Imagine my delight, then, when I discovered LibraryThing. I spent hours importing my spreadsheet.

And I did exactly the same thing this weekend on Goodreads.

I am still a LibraryThing advocate, but Goodreads has some nice features. For example, you can list the date you read a book. I wish LibraryThing would add that element (I’ve been including this information in my “tags,” which is completely useless to other readers).

You can also add reviews to Goodreads. I added a few last night and was delighted today when someone I’m not related to actually commented on one of them.

The point is to keep track of what you read, regardless of the method. If only I’d started decades ago, I could remember all the glorious books (and the smut and junk) I’ve read.

Here's a glimpse of my Goodreads page: