I'm back from the dead -- or vacation, anyway. Here's a brief encapsulation of what I read over break (and after break, since it's been so long).
Blind Faith by Ellen Wittlinger. Love her work; this one was just okay.
Can't Wait to Get to Heaven by Fannie Flagg. Beachy Hallmark-y goodness.
Sand in my Bra and Other Misadventures edited by Jennifer Leo. Some funny, some not as funny, all pretty much enjoyable.
Gatsby's Girl by Caroline Preston. Oooh, good stuff.
The Love Curse of the Rumbaughs by Jack Gantos. Seriously creepy, and I don't think I mean that as a compliment.
Why Moms Are Weird by Pamela Ribon. Still in the middle of this, actually, but it's a good read.
So these are all pretty useless, as far as reviews go, and the further away I got from this blog, the less interested I became in it. Is it because I realize I'll never be one of the cool bloggy kids? Is it because it's just another thing on my list of things to do? Who knows. Part of it is surely time: I know if I don't post within a day of finishing a book, I'll forget whatever I was going to say (hence, the useless scribbles above).
So posting may be sporadic, or nonexistent, for a while, until I figure out if this is worth continuing.
7.18.2006
Abandoned
Tried to read Daniel Handler's Adverbs; realized I am not hip enough to find it compelling and/or amusing. Will stick with my Unfortunate Events, thanks.
I'm off for a week-plus-long vacation, so no posting for a while. Not that anyone reads this anyway.
I'm off for a week-plus-long vacation, so no posting for a while. Not that anyone reads this anyway.
Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith
I have a new hero and her name is Barbara Brown Taylor.
After waiting in vain for a new book by Nora Gallagher, my jones for Episcopal women's memoirs has been filled with this, Barbara Brown Taylor's latest. Taylor was part of the early wave of ordained women in the Episcopal Church, and this book chronicles her years as the rector at a small (then suddenly rapidly-growing) parish in northeast Georgia. She begins her job with great faith and enthusiasm; by the end of the book, her enthusiasm has been crushed under the weight of a million little duties, and she takes her faith and uses it in another vocation, teaching religion to undergraduates.
I love Taylor's style; I identify with her theology; and I sure as hell couldn't do what she does. Every once in a while I wonder if I should have pursued ministry: it's in my blood, and I do like standing in front of people and talking. But the everything-else that's a part of serving God full-time -- that's what Taylor lays out, and that's what keeps me on my side of the altar.
I'll be checking out Taylor's other writings.
Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith by Barbara Brown Taylor. Harper San Francisco, 2006, 224 pages.
After waiting in vain for a new book by Nora Gallagher, my jones for Episcopal women's memoirs has been filled with this, Barbara Brown Taylor's latest. Taylor was part of the early wave of ordained women in the Episcopal Church, and this book chronicles her years as the rector at a small (then suddenly rapidly-growing) parish in northeast Georgia. She begins her job with great faith and enthusiasm; by the end of the book, her enthusiasm has been crushed under the weight of a million little duties, and she takes her faith and uses it in another vocation, teaching religion to undergraduates.
I love Taylor's style; I identify with her theology; and I sure as hell couldn't do what she does. Every once in a while I wonder if I should have pursued ministry: it's in my blood, and I do like standing in front of people and talking. But the everything-else that's a part of serving God full-time -- that's what Taylor lays out, and that's what keeps me on my side of the altar.
I'll be checking out Taylor's other writings.
Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith by Barbara Brown Taylor. Harper San Francisco, 2006, 224 pages.
Money, a Memoir
This book alternately shamed and appalled me. I was embarrassed to identify with the many educated, professional women who nonetheless are happy to relinquish any claim or interest in managing their own investments. At the same time, I was horrified by the many women (some of whom fall in the first category as well) who blithely go out and fritter money away on things they don't need at prices they can't afford. People, shoes shouldn't cost more than $20 ($25, maybe, but only if it's for your own wedding). Retail therapy can be useful in a pinch but is not an acceptable lifestyle choice. And for God's sake, don't be so proud of your kept-woman status.
I didn't feel that I'd learned much by the end of the book, save that my intermittent twinges of guilt over not making my own trades in my 401(k) should be addressed, not ignored. Perle lays out the situation as she sees it, then basically steps back and expects the reader to figure it out.
Money, a Memoir: Women, Emotions, and Cash by Liz Perle. Holt, 2006, 288 pages.
I didn't feel that I'd learned much by the end of the book, save that my intermittent twinges of guilt over not making my own trades in my 401(k) should be addressed, not ignored. Perle lays out the situation as she sees it, then basically steps back and expects the reader to figure it out.
Money, a Memoir: Women, Emotions, and Cash by Liz Perle. Holt, 2006, 288 pages.
7.14.2006
When It Happens
[Note to self: There's another YA novel I read between Weedflower and this one, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was. Clearly it was, uh, memorable.]
When It Happens is a love story between two idealistic high school seniors, told in alternating chapters from the protagonists' points of view. Sara is a good student, not part of the popular crowd but pretty enough to attract the attention of uber-cool Dave. Tobey is an underachiever, a smart guy with a band who doesn't see the need to do his homework, apply to college, or do anything that would keep him from moving to New York after graduation to make it big with his band.
At the start of the story, Sara is still hopped up on Dave. She's spent the summer thinking and doodling in her sketchbook about her idea of the perfect man, and she's hopeful that Dave is it. When he finally asks her out, she's over the moon -- but gradually, as time goes on and Dave's real, ugly personality comes out, she begins to realize that she's more in love with the idea of Dave than with Dave himself.
Tobey, meanwhile, spends his senior year plotting ways to get Sara to notice him. His plots are pretty tame, though: the most radical is a decision to buckle down and work, so he has a chance to get into Manhattan School of Music despite his lousy grades. Eventually Sara and Tobey give into their attraction, and the rest of the book chronicles their relationship through its inevitable ups and downs.
Good stuff: It's nice to read a book about smart kids who aren't necessarily defined by their smartness; sensitive kids who aren't emotional basket cases; and kids with healthy sex drives who make good, reasoned decisions about physical relationships. I liked Sara and Tobey; I liked their friends; I liked their teachers; I wanted to see things come out right.
Bad stuff: Is there any reason this book needed to be 320 pages long? I don't think so. And the villainous popular people were perhaps too cartoony (e.g., Caitlin can't just be a rich bitch; she also has to pop pills in the bathroom).
A good choice for moony girls.
When It Happens by Susane Colasanti. Viking, 2006, 320 pages.
When It Happens is a love story between two idealistic high school seniors, told in alternating chapters from the protagonists' points of view. Sara is a good student, not part of the popular crowd but pretty enough to attract the attention of uber-cool Dave. Tobey is an underachiever, a smart guy with a band who doesn't see the need to do his homework, apply to college, or do anything that would keep him from moving to New York after graduation to make it big with his band.
At the start of the story, Sara is still hopped up on Dave. She's spent the summer thinking and doodling in her sketchbook about her idea of the perfect man, and she's hopeful that Dave is it. When he finally asks her out, she's over the moon -- but gradually, as time goes on and Dave's real, ugly personality comes out, she begins to realize that she's more in love with the idea of Dave than with Dave himself.
Tobey, meanwhile, spends his senior year plotting ways to get Sara to notice him. His plots are pretty tame, though: the most radical is a decision to buckle down and work, so he has a chance to get into Manhattan School of Music despite his lousy grades. Eventually Sara and Tobey give into their attraction, and the rest of the book chronicles their relationship through its inevitable ups and downs.
Good stuff: It's nice to read a book about smart kids who aren't necessarily defined by their smartness; sensitive kids who aren't emotional basket cases; and kids with healthy sex drives who make good, reasoned decisions about physical relationships. I liked Sara and Tobey; I liked their friends; I liked their teachers; I wanted to see things come out right.
Bad stuff: Is there any reason this book needed to be 320 pages long? I don't think so. And the villainous popular people were perhaps too cartoony (e.g., Caitlin can't just be a rich bitch; she also has to pop pills in the bathroom).
A good choice for moony girls.
When It Happens by Susane Colasanti. Viking, 2006, 320 pages.
7.10.2006
Weedflower
I admit, I'm not a big fan of Kira-Kira, a book that was okay in the reading but was clearly, to me, a good-for-you book: the kind of book your teachers wished you would read while you were busy scarfing down the latest Sweet Valley High. (Or maybe that was just me.)
So I didn't have high hopes for Weedflower, and in that I wasn't disappointed (if that convoluted logic makes sense). Weedflower comes with a huge good-for-you subject, namely the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II. What kid wouldn't snatch that off the shelf? . . . (Oh, right. EVERY kid.)
And yet, Kadohata surprised me several times with the quality of the novel. Sumiko is a likable heroine, the story moves along at a pretty good clip, and the author addresses several issues that I either hadn't known about -- the relationship among Japanese Americans and Native Americans at Poston, for example -- or hadn't considered, such as the relative comfort of life in the camps for internees, at least after a while. Kadohata's father was held at Poston during the war, so presumably she knows of what she speaks.
I still think this is a book that needs a good booktalk or handsell to get a kid to read it; they're unlikely to pick it up on their own. Do I think it's award-caliber? Not really, but then again, I didn't think that of Kira-Kira, either.
Weedflower by Cynthia Kadohata. S&S, 2006, 260 pages.
So I didn't have high hopes for Weedflower, and in that I wasn't disappointed (if that convoluted logic makes sense). Weedflower comes with a huge good-for-you subject, namely the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II. What kid wouldn't snatch that off the shelf? . . . (Oh, right. EVERY kid.)
And yet, Kadohata surprised me several times with the quality of the novel. Sumiko is a likable heroine, the story moves along at a pretty good clip, and the author addresses several issues that I either hadn't known about -- the relationship among Japanese Americans and Native Americans at Poston, for example -- or hadn't considered, such as the relative comfort of life in the camps for internees, at least after a while. Kadohata's father was held at Poston during the war, so presumably she knows of what she speaks.
I still think this is a book that needs a good booktalk or handsell to get a kid to read it; they're unlikely to pick it up on their own. Do I think it's award-caliber? Not really, but then again, I didn't think that of Kira-Kira, either.
Weedflower by Cynthia Kadohata. S&S, 2006, 260 pages.
7.07.2006
What Teen Angst Novel Are You?
What Teen Angst Novel are You? - funny, lots of results, with pix, from the author of The Boyfriend List
LOOKING FOR ALASKA, by John Green. Sad, Funny, boozy, thought-provoking. Go read it. It's you.
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Lost and Found
I refuse to participate in the whole "curse of the second novel" debate, mostly because they're cruel (and if I ever entertain ideas of writing myself, it's crap like this that sends my insecure little heart scurrying into hiding). But in this case, it's a moot point anyway. Lost and Found is miles away from Parkhurst's acclaimed debut, The Dogs of Babel, in both mood and subject matter. But it shares with that earlier novel a fine sense of craft and heart.
Lost and Found is the story of a group of reality show contestants, traveling the world for a chance at a million bucks. Their stories are typical for the genre: a mother and daughter united by a shameful secret; a pair of brothers still living out their childhood roles; an ex-gay couple brought together by a "Christian recovery" group; two rich guys whose motives are unclear; a couple of high school sweethearts reunited for a second chance at love; and a pair of former child stars trying to reclaim past glory.
The great thing about Parkhurst is her ability to transcend these tropes and show us the humanity behind the caricatures. Within the unreality of the reality show, personalities clash and secrets are kept or revealed, mostly to the misery of the secret-keeper. As with any multiple-narrator novel, some characters (and therefore some chapters) are stronger than others, but by the end, the story feels whole. Laura, the guilty mother, is the obvious protagonist, but I found myself drawn more to Abby, the "ex-lesbian" stuck in a pretty loveless marriage with a zealous, hypocritical fellow recovering homosexual, Justin. Justin's surprising outburst near the end of the novel gives needed momentum to the story (since we aren't really invested in the outcome of the show itself).
A great read.
Lost and Found by Carolyn Parkhurst. Little Brown, 2006, 304 pages.
Lost and Found is the story of a group of reality show contestants, traveling the world for a chance at a million bucks. Their stories are typical for the genre: a mother and daughter united by a shameful secret; a pair of brothers still living out their childhood roles; an ex-gay couple brought together by a "Christian recovery" group; two rich guys whose motives are unclear; a couple of high school sweethearts reunited for a second chance at love; and a pair of former child stars trying to reclaim past glory.
The great thing about Parkhurst is her ability to transcend these tropes and show us the humanity behind the caricatures. Within the unreality of the reality show, personalities clash and secrets are kept or revealed, mostly to the misery of the secret-keeper. As with any multiple-narrator novel, some characters (and therefore some chapters) are stronger than others, but by the end, the story feels whole. Laura, the guilty mother, is the obvious protagonist, but I found myself drawn more to Abby, the "ex-lesbian" stuck in a pretty loveless marriage with a zealous, hypocritical fellow recovering homosexual, Justin. Justin's surprising outburst near the end of the novel gives needed momentum to the story (since we aren't really invested in the outcome of the show itself).
A great read.
Lost and Found by Carolyn Parkhurst. Little Brown, 2006, 304 pages.
7.06.2006
Penny from Heaven
I love Jenni Holm -- have met her a couple times, enjoy all of her books, love the new Babymouse series. And though I admit to a certain trepidation about this new one (mostly because it's gotten so many accolades, and see where that's gotten me in the past), it didn't disappoint.
Eleven-year-old Penny hardly remembers her father, who died when she was a baby under circumstances never quite explained to her. Her mother doesn't associate with her father's giant, loud, wonderful Italian American family anymore, but she lets Penny keep in touch, and it's here -- among her numerous uncles, her terrifying Nonna, and her bad-seed cousin Frankie -- that Penny learns what it means to be brave and to be loved.
Holm wrote the book to call attention to a shameful part of American history, namely the interrogation and, at times, imprisonment of Italian Americans, German Americans, and other "enemies" of the state during World War II. There are loads of books now about the Japanese American experience in WWII, but precious little about these other victims of patriotism run amuck. It's a careful story, set in 1953, with little politicism, surprisingly; affecting and touching, it's got Award Contender scrawled all over it.
Penny from Heaven by Jennifer L. Holm. Random House, 2006, 200-something pages.
Eleven-year-old Penny hardly remembers her father, who died when she was a baby under circumstances never quite explained to her. Her mother doesn't associate with her father's giant, loud, wonderful Italian American family anymore, but she lets Penny keep in touch, and it's here -- among her numerous uncles, her terrifying Nonna, and her bad-seed cousin Frankie -- that Penny learns what it means to be brave and to be loved.
Holm wrote the book to call attention to a shameful part of American history, namely the interrogation and, at times, imprisonment of Italian Americans, German Americans, and other "enemies" of the state during World War II. There are loads of books now about the Japanese American experience in WWII, but precious little about these other victims of patriotism run amuck. It's a careful story, set in 1953, with little politicism, surprisingly; affecting and touching, it's got Award Contender scrawled all over it.
Penny from Heaven by Jennifer L. Holm. Random House, 2006, 200-something pages.
Queen of Babble
Oh, Meg Cabot. How I love your girlish charm, your refreshingly blunt take on writing and so-called literature, your gap-toothed grin, and your stubborn refusal to accept the fact that you gotta be pushing 40. (And I do mean this in the nicest way: Meg seems like the kind of gal with whom I'd want to share pitcher upon pitcher of margaritas.)
But every time I read another of Meg's adult books, I'm struck by two things:
1) Wow, the narrator's voice sounds just like the one from [insert previous Cabot title here].
2) And hey, if it weren't for a couple adult situations (sex and travel, usually), this could be just like one of her YA titles.
Good beach read, fun and forgettable. (See? I barely even remember enough of the plot to summarize it here.)
Queen of Babble by Meg Cabot. Morrow, 2006, 288 pages.
But every time I read another of Meg's adult books, I'm struck by two things:
1) Wow, the narrator's voice sounds just like the one from [insert previous Cabot title here].
2) And hey, if it weren't for a couple adult situations (sex and travel, usually), this could be just like one of her YA titles.
Good beach read, fun and forgettable. (See? I barely even remember enough of the plot to summarize it here.)
Queen of Babble by Meg Cabot. Morrow, 2006, 288 pages.
Bass Ackwards and Belly Up
I don't quite know where to start with this novel. Did I enjoy it while I was reading it? Yes. Was it basically well-written? Sure. Did I care about what happened to the characters? Usually, yeah.
So why did it leave a kind of bad taste in my mouth?
Maybe it's my own fuddy-duddy nature. A novel that glorifies the pretty stupid idea of giving up one's college plans to follow a heretofore-unnamed (and unknown) dream is not, to my ever-practical heart, the best reading material for me. But mostly I just found the premise unbelievable. Harper's rejection from NYU, and subsequent failure to admit it to anyone? Sad, but kinda pathetic, too. (Who doesn't apply to at least one safety school? Who thinks her parents wouldn't figure it out -- which, thank God, her mother does?) Sophie's starlet dreams are just sad, and her lack of real struggles (oh, no! what ever will I do in this fabulous Beverly Hills house with the hot young movie star *and* the sexy pool boy fighting over me?) made her the least sympathetic character for me. Becca I liked; Kate I liked (though perhaps I identified too closely with her regimented, hyper-planned life). But I just couldn't shake a sense of "um . . . riiiiiiight" throughout the whole thing.
Moments of fun, and a quick read for such a high page count. But overall, just meh.
Bass Ackwards and Belly Up by Elizabeth Craft and Sarah Fain. Little Brown, 2006, 386 pages.
So why did it leave a kind of bad taste in my mouth?
Maybe it's my own fuddy-duddy nature. A novel that glorifies the pretty stupid idea of giving up one's college plans to follow a heretofore-unnamed (and unknown) dream is not, to my ever-practical heart, the best reading material for me. But mostly I just found the premise unbelievable. Harper's rejection from NYU, and subsequent failure to admit it to anyone? Sad, but kinda pathetic, too. (Who doesn't apply to at least one safety school? Who thinks her parents wouldn't figure it out -- which, thank God, her mother does?) Sophie's starlet dreams are just sad, and her lack of real struggles (oh, no! what ever will I do in this fabulous Beverly Hills house with the hot young movie star *and* the sexy pool boy fighting over me?) made her the least sympathetic character for me. Becca I liked; Kate I liked (though perhaps I identified too closely with her regimented, hyper-planned life). But I just couldn't shake a sense of "um . . . riiiiiiight" throughout the whole thing.
Moments of fun, and a quick read for such a high page count. But overall, just meh.
Bass Ackwards and Belly Up by Elizabeth Craft and Sarah Fain. Little Brown, 2006, 386 pages.
Sex Kittens and Horn Dawgs Fall in Love
I picked this up on the recommendation of other bloggers, who heard about it because of some boneheaded challenges to the book by ill-advised parents who hadn't even read the darn thing but who were horribly scandalized by the title. (Stepping off soapbox . . . now.)
The buzz on the book is that it's a lighthearted, positive look at romance and dating among the early-high-school/late-tween set, and it is that. There's no sex here, just the boy-crazed musings of a freshman girl at a decidedly unusual Manhattan high school. Lovestruck by the science-obsessed Matthew, Felicia embarks on a possibly-brave, possible-foolhardy project: convince Matthew to work together on a science fair project unlocking the secrets of X, the mysterious "It" that makes people fall in love.
It's a cute book, with amusing characters who sometimes strain the limits of credulity (the school itself, with its lackadaisical rules and follow-your-bliss faculty, being first among those characters). Is it more than that? Not really. Will it rot your brain? Not a chance. Give it to a 12-year-old who'll delight in hiding the title from her parents.
Sex Kittens and Horn Dawgs Fall in Love by Maryrose Wood. Delacorte, 2006, 256 pages.
The buzz on the book is that it's a lighthearted, positive look at romance and dating among the early-high-school/late-tween set, and it is that. There's no sex here, just the boy-crazed musings of a freshman girl at a decidedly unusual Manhattan high school. Lovestruck by the science-obsessed Matthew, Felicia embarks on a possibly-brave, possible-foolhardy project: convince Matthew to work together on a science fair project unlocking the secrets of X, the mysterious "It" that makes people fall in love.
It's a cute book, with amusing characters who sometimes strain the limits of credulity (the school itself, with its lackadaisical rules and follow-your-bliss faculty, being first among those characters). Is it more than that? Not really. Will it rot your brain? Not a chance. Give it to a 12-year-old who'll delight in hiding the title from her parents.
Sex Kittens and Horn Dawgs Fall in Love by Maryrose Wood. Delacorte, 2006, 256 pages.
6.27.2006
Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist
Sex! Drugs! Rock and roll!
A quick read for the punk-loving bookworm, this dual-authored book tells the story of one night in the lives of two bridge-and-tunnel punk fans, who meet cute (in a hardcore way) and go on to kiss, talk, fight, question, talk, kiss, and talk some more.
Nick is the musician: he was dumped by the gorgeous but evil Tris "three weeks, two days, and twenty-three hours ago" and is still, of course, fixated on her. He plays very loud bass in a queercore band, though he's straight himself.
Norah is the (mostly) responsible daughter of a pop record executive, who knows all the clubs, the whole scene, and Tris, and is trying to get over her mind-f**king boyfriend Tal, for whom she unnecessarily threw over her chance to go to Brown.
I probably would have connected more to the novel if I were a music snob, or at least someone who listens to bootleg CDs more than NPR. But the emotions and voice capture a kind of teenage angst (cliche! cliche!) that's both brutally honest and just a smidge adorable. (In the same way that I always want to give Holden Caulfield a big fat noogie.)
Quibble? Despite the copious swearing and frequent sexual/quasi-sexual encounters, these two are really just good, clean kids. Everyone around them is tripped out on something - but our heroes don't drink or do drugs, thanks. They kiss and grope and touch and play - but just when something "real" is about to happen, they're interrupted by an old couple looking for the ice machine. Layered realism, or convenient passes in case of challenges from the Uptight Citizens Brigade?
Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan. Knopf, 2006, 183 pages. Cybils 2006 YA Fiction Winner.
A quick read for the punk-loving bookworm, this dual-authored book tells the story of one night in the lives of two bridge-and-tunnel punk fans, who meet cute (in a hardcore way) and go on to kiss, talk, fight, question, talk, kiss, and talk some more.
Nick is the musician: he was dumped by the gorgeous but evil Tris "three weeks, two days, and twenty-three hours ago" and is still, of course, fixated on her. He plays very loud bass in a queercore band, though he's straight himself.
Norah is the (mostly) responsible daughter of a pop record executive, who knows all the clubs, the whole scene, and Tris, and is trying to get over her mind-f**king boyfriend Tal, for whom she unnecessarily threw over her chance to go to Brown.
I probably would have connected more to the novel if I were a music snob, or at least someone who listens to bootleg CDs more than NPR. But the emotions and voice capture a kind of teenage angst (cliche! cliche!) that's both brutally honest and just a smidge adorable. (In the same way that I always want to give Holden Caulfield a big fat noogie.)
Quibble? Despite the copious swearing and frequent sexual/quasi-sexual encounters, these two are really just good, clean kids. Everyone around them is tripped out on something - but our heroes don't drink or do drugs, thanks. They kiss and grope and touch and play - but just when something "real" is about to happen, they're interrupted by an old couple looking for the ice machine. Layered realism, or convenient passes in case of challenges from the Uptight Citizens Brigade?
Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan. Knopf, 2006, 183 pages. Cybils 2006 YA Fiction Winner.
To Hell with All That
I like Caitlin Flanagan. I don't agree with her on everything, but she's one of the most visible writers I can think of who writes about hot-button cultural issues without wielding an inescapable Ax to Grind.
This book surprised me, though. I had seen Flanagan plug it on The Colbert Report - which, admittedly, lends its own spin to the topic - and thought I was in for more of a right-leaning discussion than she presents.
Honestly, it's a pretty toothless book. Flanagan lays out the various slings and arrows facing modern mothers and wives: to work or not to work, what counts as a clean house, who's raising the children, and don't we all really want wives? But she doesn't commit strongly to either side of any question; she just presents her understanding of reality, and leaves it at that.
At times she creates her own contradictions: Proudly stating that she stayed home with her twin boys for the first several years of their lives, she conveniently ignores the fact that she had a full-time nanny at the time - a nanny whom she spends an entire chapter discussing and praising, not 100 pages prior. I don't begrudge Flanagan any of her choices, but to me (and here's my own bias: part-time SAHM, part-time WOHM, couldn't do either full-time without going nuts), if you've got more than an occasional babysitter for the odd movie night or evening meeting, you're not a full-time SAHM.
The end of the book is a suckerpunch - as it must've felt for Flanagan, too - when the author has a cancer scare. Suddenly the choices and questions and worries of the previous 200 pages seem pretty stupid, and the only question worth asking is, "How do I stick around for my kids?" It's a poignant ending to a breezier read than I expected.
To Hell with All That: Loving and Loathing Our Inner Housewife by Caitlin Flanagan. Little, Brown, 2006, 239 pages.
This book surprised me, though. I had seen Flanagan plug it on The Colbert Report - which, admittedly, lends its own spin to the topic - and thought I was in for more of a right-leaning discussion than she presents.
Honestly, it's a pretty toothless book. Flanagan lays out the various slings and arrows facing modern mothers and wives: to work or not to work, what counts as a clean house, who's raising the children, and don't we all really want wives? But she doesn't commit strongly to either side of any question; she just presents her understanding of reality, and leaves it at that.
At times she creates her own contradictions: Proudly stating that she stayed home with her twin boys for the first several years of their lives, she conveniently ignores the fact that she had a full-time nanny at the time - a nanny whom she spends an entire chapter discussing and praising, not 100 pages prior. I don't begrudge Flanagan any of her choices, but to me (and here's my own bias: part-time SAHM, part-time WOHM, couldn't do either full-time without going nuts), if you've got more than an occasional babysitter for the odd movie night or evening meeting, you're not a full-time SAHM.
The end of the book is a suckerpunch - as it must've felt for Flanagan, too - when the author has a cancer scare. Suddenly the choices and questions and worries of the previous 200 pages seem pretty stupid, and the only question worth asking is, "How do I stick around for my kids?" It's a poignant ending to a breezier read than I expected.
To Hell with All That: Loving and Loathing Our Inner Housewife by Caitlin Flanagan. Little, Brown, 2006, 239 pages.
Fun Home
Book Two in my accidental grouping of Stories of Rageaholic Fathers. Though Dad here isn't really angry: just depressed, hyperintellectual, and occasionally criminally sexual toward adolescent boys.
The intellectual musings and references left me feeling a trifle stupid: no, I've never read Proust, and though I did read my share of high-falutin' high thinkers in my day, I've never had the experience of a H.F.H.T. influencing the way I live my life in any profound way.
What surprised me about this book (beyond my priggish shock at cartoon renderings of lesbian cunnilingus - hello, Google searchers!) was its generally positive tone. The subject matter is largely bleak: depression, suicide, lost opportunities, sexual struggle. And yet Bechdel keeps despair mostly at bay. Is it simply the format that made me feel this way? Perhaps. But the subtitle promises "A Family Tragicomic," and both sides of that oxymoron came through.
Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel. HMCo, 2006, 232 pages.
The intellectual musings and references left me feeling a trifle stupid: no, I've never read Proust, and though I did read my share of high-falutin' high thinkers in my day, I've never had the experience of a H.F.H.T. influencing the way I live my life in any profound way.
What surprised me about this book (beyond my priggish shock at cartoon renderings of lesbian cunnilingus - hello, Google searchers!) was its generally positive tone. The subject matter is largely bleak: depression, suicide, lost opportunities, sexual struggle. And yet Bechdel keeps despair mostly at bay. Is it simply the format that made me feel this way? Perhaps. But the subtitle promises "A Family Tragicomic," and both sides of that oxymoron came through.
Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel. HMCo, 2006, 232 pages.
The Man of My Dreams
Dear Curtis Sittenfeld,
Why oh why do you persist in creating pathologically unlikable characters? Whiny, self-absorbed, wrapped in their own little balls of woe-is-me negativity . . . bleah. And then, to tack on Princess Sighs-a-Lot's great epiphany at the very end, in a lame-o letter to her former therapist? Two hundred forty-four pages of annoying claptrap, and the only - oh, I don't know, let's call it Character Growth - comes second-hand in the last 20 pages? Gaak. That's what that whole "narrative arc" thing is supposed to be for.
Sincerely,
A Concerned Reader
The Man of My Dreams by Curtis Sittenfeld. Random House, 2006, 272 pages.
Why oh why do you persist in creating pathologically unlikable characters? Whiny, self-absorbed, wrapped in their own little balls of woe-is-me negativity . . . bleah. And then, to tack on Princess Sighs-a-Lot's great epiphany at the very end, in a lame-o letter to her former therapist? Two hundred forty-four pages of annoying claptrap, and the only - oh, I don't know, let's call it Character Growth - comes second-hand in the last 20 pages? Gaak. That's what that whole "narrative arc" thing is supposed to be for.
Sincerely,
A Concerned Reader
The Man of My Dreams by Curtis Sittenfeld. Random House, 2006, 272 pages.
6.22.2006
Twelve Sharp
Typo on page 16! Gaak.
Stephanie Plum is back, in all her brassy, blowsy glory. You won't read this for the plot, so I won't bother rehashing it. The sex is sparse, in comparison to other Plum tales, but the loonies (Grandma Mazur, Lula, Joyce Barnhardt) are still loony and Steph's still got a heart.
Take it for an afternoon at the beach.
Twelve Sharp by Janet Evanovich (St. Martin's, 2006, 310 pages).
Stephanie Plum is back, in all her brassy, blowsy glory. You won't read this for the plot, so I won't bother rehashing it. The sex is sparse, in comparison to other Plum tales, but the loonies (Grandma Mazur, Lula, Joyce Barnhardt) are still loony and Steph's still got a heart.
Take it for an afternoon at the beach.
Twelve Sharp by Janet Evanovich (St. Martin's, 2006, 310 pages).
6.18.2006
Dairy Queen
At last! A book everybody else likes that I like, too (unlike, say, King Dork).
I will spare the plot summary and focus simply on what I liked: namely, DJ herself. Forthright, smart (in her own way), and funny (in her own way), she could write her grocery list for 200 pages and I'd still want to read it. I'm shocked that the author doesn't seem to have any firsthand experience in the upper Midwest, because the setting rang very true to me. (Granted, I did not grow up in farm country per se, but the whole concept of long-standing/suffocating families and ambitions of limited scope, for good or ill, were familiar and nicely presented.)
Murdock touches on heavy topics -- anger, repression, sexuality -- without losing sight of DJ or ever taking us out of her purview. On the last topic, I was impressed with the way Amber's sexuality was handled: perhaps not as full-on positively as some might like, but quite realistically, I thought, and with no malice on DJ's part.
A great girl, great story, great book. Would like to see this on the Printz list.
Dairy Queen by Catherine Gilbert Murdock (HMCo, 2006, 275 pages).
I will spare the plot summary and focus simply on what I liked: namely, DJ herself. Forthright, smart (in her own way), and funny (in her own way), she could write her grocery list for 200 pages and I'd still want to read it. I'm shocked that the author doesn't seem to have any firsthand experience in the upper Midwest, because the setting rang very true to me. (Granted, I did not grow up in farm country per se, but the whole concept of long-standing/suffocating families and ambitions of limited scope, for good or ill, were familiar and nicely presented.)
Murdock touches on heavy topics -- anger, repression, sexuality -- without losing sight of DJ or ever taking us out of her purview. On the last topic, I was impressed with the way Amber's sexuality was handled: perhaps not as full-on positively as some might like, but quite realistically, I thought, and with no malice on DJ's part.
A great girl, great story, great book. Would like to see this on the Printz list.
Dairy Queen by Catherine Gilbert Murdock (HMCo, 2006, 275 pages).
6.13.2006
Quickies part deux
I have discovered that if I don't post right after I finish a book, I don't remember what I wanted to say. Bad puppy! Whack whack puppy!
Nothing But the Truth (and a Few White Lies) by Justina Chen Headley (Little Brown, 2006, 224 pages).
Patty Ho -- half-Chinese, half-white, all-confused -- is an insecure underachiever. Her mother is a force of nature, her father is nowhere to be found, and her brother, having secured admission to Harvard, can seemingly do no wrong. Against her own wishes and better judgment, Patty enrolls in math camp at Stanford for the summer (SUMaC, for the uninitiated), and there starts to figure out who she is and what's important to her.
Nothing But the Truth is your basic bildungsroman, but Patty's status as a hapa (a word she's never heard until her wild-child SUMaC roommate explains it to her) gives the novel a little extra resonance. That said, I found some of the racism Patty encounters in her small-town Pacific Northwest high school a little hard to swallow. Perhaps I am simply naive, but do people really walk around randomly calling out "chink" anymore? The blissful ignorance Patty's hometown friends display ("is that some weird Chinese-y thing?") rang truer for me.
Patty is worth rooting for, and though her internal monologue sometimes goes in circles, her journey is a fun one to take. Give this to the smart girls.
Physical by James McManus (FSG, 2006, 272 pages).
An adult nonfiction title about the state of American healthcare and the state of one middle-aged man's personal health.
Jim McManus is given a plum assignment: go to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, get one of their $8000 "executive physicals" (paid for by his employer), and write about it. And that's what he does -- for about the first third of the book. He gives the reader background on the Mayo, on each test he is given, on his own health (or lack thereof), and on the state of the US healthcare system in general.
But once the physical is done, McManus veers off into political territory, pontificating on the future of stem-cell research and the short-sighted idiocy of the current administration with regard to SCNT (somatic cell nuclear transfer, or embryonic cloning). Whether I agree with McManus's views or not (and I happen to agree with him), the sudden shift from straightforward, sometimes breezy tales from the exam room to a heavy-handed dissertation on bioethics was jarring, to say the least. Later on McManus intimates that the stem cell chapters were originally separate pieces for a magazine (Esquire, I think), so it seems he just decided to throw them into this book to fill a few more pages.
Overall, a decent read, but not something I'd recommend too heartily.
Fly on the Wall by E. Lockhart (Delacorte, 2006, 192 pages).
Gretchen Yee is a loner, an outcast at a school for outcasts. She has one close friend and one ex-boyfriend, but aside from that, she spends her days at her Manhattan high school for artsy types sitting alone, sketching Spiderman comics. After wishing one afternoon that she could be a fly on the wall in the boys' locker room, just to figure out what the heck is up with the boys, Gretchen wakes up just that: a fly on the wall in the boys' locker room.
As a fly, Gretchen is privy to the boys' conversations, conflicts, primping, and of course, naked bodies. Her sudden awakening to lustful thoughts was handled well -- nothing shameful, and nothing too far, but simply a normal response (that, since Gretchen was a "lower" form of life at the time, seemed less controversial than it might've been were she still a girl). She comes to understand the fears and motivations of her fellow Art Rats, especially those of Titus, with whom she is deeply in like.
The body-part slang (gherkins and biscuits, etc.) was a little tiresome, but I probably wouldn't have enjoyed reading "penis penis penis" over and over again, either. Though the story's logic strained a bit at times (it just took a wish? then why didn't Gretchen wish herself back right away?) and some moments felt a bit message-heavy (Titus's "it's okay to be gay" speech, for example), overall it was a fun, if forgettable read.
Nothing But the Truth (and a Few White Lies) by Justina Chen Headley (Little Brown, 2006, 224 pages).
Patty Ho -- half-Chinese, half-white, all-confused -- is an insecure underachiever. Her mother is a force of nature, her father is nowhere to be found, and her brother, having secured admission to Harvard, can seemingly do no wrong. Against her own wishes and better judgment, Patty enrolls in math camp at Stanford for the summer (SUMaC, for the uninitiated), and there starts to figure out who she is and what's important to her.
Nothing But the Truth is your basic bildungsroman, but Patty's status as a hapa (a word she's never heard until her wild-child SUMaC roommate explains it to her) gives the novel a little extra resonance. That said, I found some of the racism Patty encounters in her small-town Pacific Northwest high school a little hard to swallow. Perhaps I am simply naive, but do people really walk around randomly calling out "chink" anymore? The blissful ignorance Patty's hometown friends display ("is that some weird Chinese-y thing?") rang truer for me.
Patty is worth rooting for, and though her internal monologue sometimes goes in circles, her journey is a fun one to take. Give this to the smart girls.
Physical by James McManus (FSG, 2006, 272 pages).
An adult nonfiction title about the state of American healthcare and the state of one middle-aged man's personal health.
Jim McManus is given a plum assignment: go to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, get one of their $8000 "executive physicals" (paid for by his employer), and write about it. And that's what he does -- for about the first third of the book. He gives the reader background on the Mayo, on each test he is given, on his own health (or lack thereof), and on the state of the US healthcare system in general.
But once the physical is done, McManus veers off into political territory, pontificating on the future of stem-cell research and the short-sighted idiocy of the current administration with regard to SCNT (somatic cell nuclear transfer, or embryonic cloning). Whether I agree with McManus's views or not (and I happen to agree with him), the sudden shift from straightforward, sometimes breezy tales from the exam room to a heavy-handed dissertation on bioethics was jarring, to say the least. Later on McManus intimates that the stem cell chapters were originally separate pieces for a magazine (Esquire, I think), so it seems he just decided to throw them into this book to fill a few more pages.
Overall, a decent read, but not something I'd recommend too heartily.
Fly on the Wall by E. Lockhart (Delacorte, 2006, 192 pages).
Gretchen Yee is a loner, an outcast at a school for outcasts. She has one close friend and one ex-boyfriend, but aside from that, she spends her days at her Manhattan high school for artsy types sitting alone, sketching Spiderman comics. After wishing one afternoon that she could be a fly on the wall in the boys' locker room, just to figure out what the heck is up with the boys, Gretchen wakes up just that: a fly on the wall in the boys' locker room.
As a fly, Gretchen is privy to the boys' conversations, conflicts, primping, and of course, naked bodies. Her sudden awakening to lustful thoughts was handled well -- nothing shameful, and nothing too far, but simply a normal response (that, since Gretchen was a "lower" form of life at the time, seemed less controversial than it might've been were she still a girl). She comes to understand the fears and motivations of her fellow Art Rats, especially those of Titus, with whom she is deeply in like.
The body-part slang (gherkins and biscuits, etc.) was a little tiresome, but I probably wouldn't have enjoyed reading "penis penis penis" over and over again, either. Though the story's logic strained a bit at times (it just took a wish? then why didn't Gretchen wish herself back right away?) and some moments felt a bit message-heavy (Titus's "it's okay to be gay" speech, for example), overall it was a fun, if forgettable read.
6.06.2006
Quickies
In the interest of time and space (read: because I am wicked lazy), here are four short reviews of recently-read books.
Stay With Me by Garrett Freymann-Weyr (HMCo, 2006, 300+ pages).
I like Freymann-Weyr's other stuff, and had high hopes for this one. It didn't grab me, though, and I found myself preparing to abandon it several times along the way. I did finish it, ultimately, and the book has some wise and thought-provoking things to say about suicide, family, and love. Still, my issues:
1) There's a meta-structural thing going on regarding dyslexia: Leila, the main character, is dyslexic, which manifests itself not only in the usual way, but also in her constant quest to find and/or establish order in every corner of her life. On the large scale, she seeks answers -- a pattern, a reason -- for her sister Rebecca's suicide; on the small scale, the first-person narrative goes round and round in circles, with no clear forward push or urgency. This structural free-for-all drove me nuts and kept me from connecting with Leila.
2) Hey, Leila's boyfriend? You're a nice guy and all, and you seem to have pretty honorable intentions. And yet? YOU'RE 31 AND YOU'RE SHTUPPING A 17-YEAR-OLD. *I'm* 31. Color me thoroughly creeped out.
The Dead Beat by Marilyn Johnson (Harper, 2006, 256 pages)
A readable, usually funny but sometimes poignant look at the wacky world of obituaries and obituary writers. Johnson is herself a journalist and sometime obit scribe, and her exploration of the world of dead people is overall a great read. There's an extended section on the New York Times's coverage of the 9/11 dead, "Portraits," and profiles of several of the great obituary writers of the past half-century. My interest did start to flag about two-thirds of the way through, but that may be my fault and not the book's. Pair this with Mary Roach's Stiff for a comparison of the afterlife in body and soul?
A True and Faithful Narrative by Katherine Sturtevant (FSG, 2006, 256 pages).
A sequel to Sturtevant's 2000 At the Sign of the Star, this book continues the story of Meg Moore, daughter and onetime heir to a bookseller in Restoration London. Meg is now 16, and no longer her father's only child: his new wife, Susannah, has born him three more children, which cuts into Meg's position and dowry. Meg has no interest in marrying, not yet, and still hopes to take her place as a bookseller and writer of her own account, despite social prohibitions of the time that would stop her. But she's nonetheless torn between two suitors: her best friend's brother, Edward, whose affections she scorns before he sets sail abroad and is taken captive by pirates; and her father's apprentice, Will, who enjoys matching wits with Meg but whose views on women and wives give her pause.
This is a pretty good read, and girls who like historical fiction would probably enjoy it. Meg is forward-thinking without too much anachronism: she lies and deceives many of the men in her life to get her way, but all the while she knows that her future depends on making a good marriage match. Alas, though: I just didn't like her all that much. She's smart and well-read (hooray), but her interior emotional life left me all confused and annoyed. Meg makes some bad decisions -- thoughtless comments to one suitor, outright lies to another -- and though I can certainly think of examples of great books with unlikable heroines (the Emma archetype), I couldn't muster a lot of sympathy for Meg and her man troubles.
Here Lies the Librarian by Richard Peck (Dial, 2006, 208 pages).
Peck once again plumbs the world of turn-of-the-century Midwestern country folk, in his bid to out-Twain Twain. Peewee McGrath, amateur auto mechanic and good-hearted tomboy, knows she's at the age where people will start to talk if she doesn't wear a dress now and then. She and her brother Jake, orphans living on the edge of town and running a makeshift garage, are as flabbergasted as anyone when four learned ladies from the Library School of Butler University come to town with plans to reopen the town's library. Jake is smitten with Grace, daughter of one of the early auto magnates, and Peewee (real name: Eleanor) is taken with Irene, the ringleader. The story culminates in one of the first Indiana auto races, with a twist that may not surprise, but will certainly entertain.
My only quibble? The title doesn't really have much to do with the story: it just makes for a nice little joke and will surely catch the eyes and hearts of librarians across the country.
Stay With Me by Garrett Freymann-Weyr (HMCo, 2006, 300+ pages).
I like Freymann-Weyr's other stuff, and had high hopes for this one. It didn't grab me, though, and I found myself preparing to abandon it several times along the way. I did finish it, ultimately, and the book has some wise and thought-provoking things to say about suicide, family, and love. Still, my issues:
1) There's a meta-structural thing going on regarding dyslexia: Leila, the main character, is dyslexic, which manifests itself not only in the usual way, but also in her constant quest to find and/or establish order in every corner of her life. On the large scale, she seeks answers -- a pattern, a reason -- for her sister Rebecca's suicide; on the small scale, the first-person narrative goes round and round in circles, with no clear forward push or urgency. This structural free-for-all drove me nuts and kept me from connecting with Leila.
2) Hey, Leila's boyfriend? You're a nice guy and all, and you seem to have pretty honorable intentions. And yet? YOU'RE 31 AND YOU'RE SHTUPPING A 17-YEAR-OLD. *I'm* 31. Color me thoroughly creeped out.
The Dead Beat by Marilyn Johnson (Harper, 2006, 256 pages)
A readable, usually funny but sometimes poignant look at the wacky world of obituaries and obituary writers. Johnson is herself a journalist and sometime obit scribe, and her exploration of the world of dead people is overall a great read. There's an extended section on the New York Times's coverage of the 9/11 dead, "Portraits," and profiles of several of the great obituary writers of the past half-century. My interest did start to flag about two-thirds of the way through, but that may be my fault and not the book's. Pair this with Mary Roach's Stiff for a comparison of the afterlife in body and soul?
A True and Faithful Narrative by Katherine Sturtevant (FSG, 2006, 256 pages).
A sequel to Sturtevant's 2000 At the Sign of the Star, this book continues the story of Meg Moore, daughter and onetime heir to a bookseller in Restoration London. Meg is now 16, and no longer her father's only child: his new wife, Susannah, has born him three more children, which cuts into Meg's position and dowry. Meg has no interest in marrying, not yet, and still hopes to take her place as a bookseller and writer of her own account, despite social prohibitions of the time that would stop her. But she's nonetheless torn between two suitors: her best friend's brother, Edward, whose affections she scorns before he sets sail abroad and is taken captive by pirates; and her father's apprentice, Will, who enjoys matching wits with Meg but whose views on women and wives give her pause.
This is a pretty good read, and girls who like historical fiction would probably enjoy it. Meg is forward-thinking without too much anachronism: she lies and deceives many of the men in her life to get her way, but all the while she knows that her future depends on making a good marriage match. Alas, though: I just didn't like her all that much. She's smart and well-read (hooray), but her interior emotional life left me all confused and annoyed. Meg makes some bad decisions -- thoughtless comments to one suitor, outright lies to another -- and though I can certainly think of examples of great books with unlikable heroines (the Emma archetype), I couldn't muster a lot of sympathy for Meg and her man troubles.
Here Lies the Librarian by Richard Peck (Dial, 2006, 208 pages).
Peck once again plumbs the world of turn-of-the-century Midwestern country folk, in his bid to out-Twain Twain. Peewee McGrath, amateur auto mechanic and good-hearted tomboy, knows she's at the age where people will start to talk if she doesn't wear a dress now and then. She and her brother Jake, orphans living on the edge of town and running a makeshift garage, are as flabbergasted as anyone when four learned ladies from the Library School of Butler University come to town with plans to reopen the town's library. Jake is smitten with Grace, daughter of one of the early auto magnates, and Peewee (real name: Eleanor) is taken with Irene, the ringleader. The story culminates in one of the first Indiana auto races, with a twist that may not surprise, but will certainly entertain.
My only quibble? The title doesn't really have much to do with the story: it just makes for a nice little joke and will surely catch the eyes and hearts of librarians across the country.
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