Surrender

Well, it's been the literary equivalent of a cloudy, drizzly, cold and damp week or so. Not a dry spell--that's different. This has just been the kind of stretch that makes you think God has a head cold and is taking it out on you. Metaphorically.

First, I have to admit that I gave in to an inexplicable urge to read a book by a woman named Lurlene. Perhaps I shouldn't judge, but that doesn't seem to be stopping me. In a search for fiction about Amish people, I wound up with a young adult romance novel called Angels Watching Over Me, by Lurlene McDaniel. I did not realize how awful it would be; I would have stopped reading it but the whole thing took about two hours, so by the time I realized how bad it was, it was too late to stop. Embarassingly, I realized when I read the blurbs in the back of the book, she also wrote a number of books I recall fondly from my youth, including Too Young to Die, I Want to Live, and Six Months to Live. Do we see a common theme?

For my future Amish literature needs, instead of reading the rest of this trilogy (Lifted Up by Angels and Until Angels Close My Eyes, and aren't you glad I read these books so you don't have to?), I'm going to go with Jodi Picoult's Plain Truth. I think that'll fill my Amish needs.

In other sadly abortive attempts at bettering myself, I had to surrender The Diary of a Country Priest, as well. With this one, I can't be fully sure it wasn't that I just wasn't in the mood to work that hard. It's a sad book, first of all, about a priest who finds his small country parish to be uninspiring, and who doesn't manage money well and seems a little less than admirable himself. But the problem with the book, really, was the long, uninterrupted paragraphs of description and characters with long monologues about the nature of the priesthood, etc.

It's hard for me, but I think I might as well just let it go. I have to remember that if I die not having read every book that ever crossed my path, it will not be the end of the world. It's all about mortality, you know?

And finally, I also gave up on The Last Report of the Miracles at Little No-Horse. This book might have been good, actually, but it was really very much not up my alley. I'm always suspicious of a book with a geneology chart in the front. And long paragraphs rhapsodizing about music don't usually win me either. It doesn't actually have any magical realism in it (not in the first 36 pages, which was the 10% test I gave it), but it came very close--they removed the wall of the house to get the piano in, and the woman plays the piano nude in the middle of the night, with the whole world flowing around her. Then there's a flood and she dresses as a man and becomes a priest.

I don't know. I feel like maybe I should try--the story had promising things in it. It was very much my kind of book in many ways. But I just wasn't enjoying it.

Well, what're you gonna do? I'm reading other books now, and enjoying them. I went to the library and have 12 items checked out now (according to my account). There will be others.

In Absentia

Where have I been? What have I been doing? Don't I know how you worry? Don't I care that you've been pacing the floor wondering if I'm okay, or if I'm dead in a ditch? You don't think I care at all about your feelings.

Well, I'm very sorry. I was away for a weekend, and then I was pushing a major course live, which I'm proud to say was pulled off by various magical tricks and diverting slight of hand techniques.

So there's what I've been reading, and my (for me) exciting upcoming experience. Regarding the first, I'll just say that I've been testing a number of books only to discover that I don't actually want to take them on. More on this later, and possibly a little cosmetic update to the klog (as Mike calls it--for booklog).

But the upcoming event--never let it be said that you haven't seen karma in action--I'm going to the Public Library Association National Conference at the Hynes this week! Though I have rather given up on my little dream of being a librarian (seriously, I've not even organized enough to be a project manager--if I'm going to jump careers, I'll really need to do something LESS rigorous, not more), I'm so thrilled to get to wander their exhibition halls and see what happens. I understand there are a lot of publishers there with books--and maybe swag! I'm all tingly.

And this wonderful thing came into my life because I volunteered to do a favor for an internet stranger. I almost didn't, either, because it seemed presumptuous to answer a request for help that was tossed out into the blogosphere intended for actual librarians. But I live in Boston and have a car, so I'm delivering boxes for Bill Barnes of Overdue Media, creators of the excellent webcomic Unshelved. I understand I'm going to walk away with a T-shirt, and I hope, a really great glimpse inside the world that brings me all the things I treasure--BPL, Minuteman Library Network, my beloved Malden Public Library, etc.

On, to glory!

Done and Done

So what have I finished? I reread Ender's Game last week--excellent stuff. Orson Scott Card may be a bigot and a crackpot fundamentalist and may have a really hard time figuring out how to end a book, but darn if he isn't a gifted storyteller. Like his super-genius characters, the secret to his gift is great empathy. You know the character as he knows himself, and therefore can love and despise him all at once.

Our Man in Panama, by Graham Greene (or was it The Tailor of Havana? No, I remember--Our Man in Havana, an Entertainment. But I've said too much already). Seriously, John Le Carre totally stole from Green, but Greene is better. Well, I've never read Le Carre....but Greene is so funny! I like the subtitle, too: An Entertainment. A comedy of errors, really.

My Sister's Keeper, Jodi Picoult. The romatic subplot was thin (you really need a better reason than that to keep people apart for 15 years), and the reader of Julia's character being horrible didn't help. (You know how on SNL you can tell they're reading off cue cards? Like that, only in audiobook form. LONG pauses at weird moments.) The core conflict and story, the family's story, were good. There were parts where I wanted more meat, but I will say formally that I enjoyed this book a lot and would recommend it.

Am I going to get into trouble if I admit that I just finished Too Good to Leave, Too Bad to Stay, which is designed to help you decide whether to break up with your significant other? I'm not considering anything like that, as I warned Mike. But how does the book tell you what to do? Turns out, with a series of "diagnostic questions." And it was an interesting view into the mind of someone who's staying in a miserable relationship, or who thinks of leaving every time a problem comes up. I think I would recommend it to someone who was looking for advice on this subject. But again (DISCLAIMER), this is not me.

So now I'm reading Crossin Over: One Woman's Exodus from Amish Life. First of all, it's accurate in that it's really just the one woman's story--it's barely about the Amish, it's barely about anything except this twenty year old girl falling in love with a fifty year old, thrice divorced man with gout. Also, I'll tell you--she hates the Amish. Loves her family, hates Amishness. Sounds like her dad was verbally abusive. I don't know if you can blame all the Amish for that, but you can barely tell from this amateurish book.

I'll finish it though. It's shorter than this blog entry.

WTF!!!???!!!

What. The. Heck??? I can't go into this without spoilers, but I will try by not telling you what book. But WHY did you end the book like that? Why? Why did I read about all those things, all these people, why did they go through all these specific trials and torments to end up like that? Unlikely! Even perverse fate is not so perverse.

Did you ever see City of Angels? At least when they used that ending, it made a certain thematic sense. That movie was requesting that I think about certain things, and that ending made me think about those things in a different way, more complex. The issues this book was asking me to consider were THROWN OUT THE WINDOW with this ending.

If you know what I'm talking about and have read this book (hint: I've mentioned it here before), and you get why it ended like this, please let me know.

I've actually finished a bunch of books in the past few days, but that will come later, so I don't give away what book makes me want shake the author.

Edited to add: You know what it's like? It's like on TV whenever someone gets pregnant and they're thinking about getting an abortion, and then before they can go to the clinic they have a miscarriage. So you don't have to deal with the fallout of a real, difficult choice with no easy right answer. It's a cop out, I tell you. Grr.

Them Wacky Amish

I'm not worried about insulting the Amish in my post, because they don't use the internet or read blogs.

I'm on about page 2 (literally it's page 10, but the text started one page ago) of Crossing Over: One Woman's Exodus from Amish Life, and I can tell that this is not a book about someone who loves the Amish. I don't know what else I would expect from these leaving religion books that I'm getting into now, but I was a little surprised.

But what I've learned already! Apparently the Amish were founded in 1693 by someone who left the Mennonite church because he felt they "did not carry shunning far enough." Hear that Amish? Be more shunny!

But the best part is that this guy who founded the Amish later excommunicated himself from the Amish.

This is already fun.

ps. Can one woman have an exodus? In a related grammatical nitpick, can you really have a "mass exodus," or is that redundant, like (nod to Becky) "very unique?"

Drunken Librarying

At the work party on Wednesday, I did a little too much open barring, if you know what I mean. I always assume wine isn't going to do anything, but it hits me much harder than I expect. Anyway, after the party, I went to the library to return some stuff. Then...I went a little nutty. I was clutching the bannister to keep from spinning down the stairs. But the wonderful thing about being drunk at the BPL--you're never the only one. There's always a hobo.

So when I go to the library but am not in complete control of my faculties, it turns out (surprise, surprise) that I check out a buttload of books. Like ALL the books. And the really horrible part is that, counting them in the sober light of day, even after ready all 8 of the book I checked out, I won't bring my list below 50. I used to have a goal of staying below 30. I am really not being good with goals this year.

I went nutty on the "religious subculture" books--several on the Amish and the Hisidic Jews. Also, a relationship book that has nothing to do with my life but that I was really curious about (it's called Too Good to Leave, Too Bad to Stay). Not because I have that question, but because I see people online recommending it all the time, and I'm curious--how does a pop psych writer answer that question? So far, she's said that you should leave if you've been physically assualted more than once or if you can't ever remember a time when your relationship was good. And the funny thing is, I can imagine people who need that advice, and I'm glad this lady is there to give it.

Also: rereading Ender's Game. Closing in on the end of My Sister's Keeper (I find the lawyer/guardian ad litem (sp?) romance subplot to be a) poorly read and b) totally useless; otherwise, a very lovely and emotionally thoughtful book). Setting aside The Subtle Knife for a couple of days anyway, because you want to spread those things out. And Our Man in Havana is desperate and hilarious.

I keep myself busy. And tipsy. Good combo!

Error in Judgement

Yeah, so I finished Morality for Beautiful Girls (Alexander McCall Smith, another Mma Ramotswe novel, excellent) and started Our Man in Havana, by Graham Greene. First of all, he's very sly and brilliant and jaded, this Graham Greene person. "Isn't it lovely how you always get what you pray for?" I had to read that sentence twice before I spotted the "r," and then I laughed out loud on the train.

But I did make a mistake that screwed up my initial understanding of the book. When Wormold tells his friend that they're going out to buy a bottle to celebrate Milly's 17th birthday, I was a little grossed out that his wife was so young. It didn't really surprise me that much, though. But then he starts talking about her at the age of 13, and I'm so skeeved out! Yes, skeeved! And then he tells the guy she's his daughter so he doesn't look like the gross old letch he is...

No wait. I flip back through the first 23 pages of the book. Nowhere does it say he's married to Milly. She is his daughter. That's why he's known her since she was 4 (and, presumably, before). So when he refers to her mother, it's not about him buying her off some poor woman when she was 12, it's that he was married to her mother, and fathered a child with her.

I am DISGUSTING.

Giving Up My Indie Cred

I just don't like David Sedaris.

Admittedly, this is more based on his readings on the radio, and he does have the most annoying voice in the world, so there's that. But I think it's less his voice than his tone--irony drips from every word, there's just no sincerity whatsoever in there, no emotion that he isn't mocking even as he claims it. And as we all know, I'm a huge proponent of the New Sincerity.

This brings me to the book I finished this weekend, The Age of Innocence. That is sincerity taken to the most poignant, rending conclusions possible. To give up your life, your chances of joy in life, for the sake of "what people would think." It's so hard for me to imagine how it would feel to be constrained by everyone around you from something that might seem innocuous.

And the insanity is that, after being denied the ability to make the reasonable change--breaking off an engagment--he's almost driven to something that even today would be tragic--running away and leaving all his life behind for his true love.

An excellent, sad, poignant book.

Ode to Book Club

You know, despite my mezze mezze feelings about book club, I have to admit, I've been introduced to some good writers through it. Richard Yates and Graham Greene come to mind as two people I would never have read (in the case of Richard Yates, possibly never even heard of) if they hadn't been book club picks. And now I've got one of each on my Borrowed shelf.

So thank you, book club. You done good.

Mixed Blessings

Well, it's always very sad when this happens, but it also makes my life a little easier. I just started to read Bookends, by Jane Green, which I selected because a friend likes the author. I have to say, I just can't get into it. There's a weakness to the storytelling--I keep losing track of how much time has passed--that I just can't get past. I'm sorry, Tracy. I do love trash, you know that. I guess this just isn't for me.

Let me give an example, though, because, well, because I critiquing fiction last night and I'm in the zone. So, the main character is at work and on the phone with her best friend, Simon. She says she has an appointment and needs to go, so they hang up. Then the book segues into her thinking about her friends and introducing them to me. So far so good--I don't need to go with her to her business meeting. But when it segues back into the "now," to what's going on around her, it's because the phone rings and it's her friend Simon who wants to tell her about something. So there's no indication at all of whether her appointment already happened or if he's calling her back five minutes later. They have a leisurely conversation. I read the passage twice trying to figure it out. If it was Joyce, or Toni Morrison, even, it would be compelling to be drawn back to reread and figure out what's going on. Not what I was looking for though. (Again, Tracy, I'm so sorry!)

But, I do get to cross it off my list, bringing that down to 54 again. And I think I might have discovered a useful new standard. When I realized I wasn't getting into it right away, I checked how many pages in the book (350) and decided to read 35 pages before giving up. Ten percent; that seems fair, right?

So: one down, 54 to go.

Brokenest of Hearts

Sorry for the long delay in posting--Blogger's been a pain this week, and work has been (gasp!) busy. But let me tell you of yesterday's tragedy.

A few weeks ago, I bought a boxed set of His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman. I've been so excited to start it, but busy. Finally, for the past week, I've made it my before bed book. Such fun! And Saturday morning, just at the part where Lyra has been caught in Bolvangar and is going to be severed from Pantalaimon, I discover...missing pages!

Yes, the signature containing chapters 15 and 16 appears twice, while the sig containing chapters 17 and 18 is entirely missing.

Do you UNDERSTAND my AGONY???

Tomorrow I'm going to head back to Barnes and Nobel to see if I can get a replacement that doesn't have the problem. I hope! Thank heaven we live in our own filth, and I hadn't thrown away the bag with the receipt in it.

In other news, I finished listening to Drowning Ruth by Christina Schwarz. It wasn't bad, but I don't think I'd recommend it. The shape of the story was just kind of strange. I wouldn't say I'd have liked it better if I'd been reading it (Blair Brown's reading was excellent), but I think that not knowing how far along in the story I was really affected my understanding of what was going to happen. There was a chunk in the middle where I thought I was approaching the end, but was actually approaching the halfway point. I guess the middle lags, is the problem. The crisis/semi-mystery is set up at the beginning, and then the middle is spent establishing a life for these people. The events of that life come to a head fifteen years later, but going from Ruth's five-year-old life to her eighteen-year-old life is a little choppy. At the point where her father ceases to be useful, he conveniently becomes a merchant marine. Well handled, but, again, convenient.

I think it was a middle-of-the road, reasonably good book.

The Age of Innocence is quite good. I'm curious about a lot of the euphemisms and generalizations that Newland uses--what "life experiences" is he missing, what "dangerous knowledge" is kept from his naive fiancee? I'm not even sure he knows. But I think that if I were to actually see the society he lives in, I would be startled by the restraint and boredom. I think Wharton does an excellent job, in his character, of examining his world as both an insider and an outsider. He loves it, but can see its flaws, and feels constrained by it and supported by it at the same time.

I need a copy of The Golden Compass right now!

Moving On

Why do they close at 5 today? Why? I was going to go at lunch but I got distracted and then was working and then it's too late and when I get out of work the library will be closed and I can't go to the library. It makes me so sad.

I finished The Tiger in the Well, which I really enjoyed by the end, but I have to say, Philip Pullman has ruined it for himself with His Dark Materials. He can't top that. What's he going to do? His only choice is to go on hiatus for ten years and then have his next novel come out in fifteen. By then everyone will be salivating and no one will care if it's good.

I'm reading The Age of Innocense now, which I might have to set aside for more pressing tasks and unpublished works, but which will carry me through the commute nicely. I'm really enjoying it--Wharton is very funny, and she does a good job of critiquing the upper class and their propriety subtly while writing from the point of view of someone who completely buys the whole worldview completely, and yet without being derisive. I think it might run into trouble with a modern reader, though, because her aloof criticism, mild as it is, might not seem scathing enough for a modern reader.

I remember reading Emma with Book Club Incarnation 1. It was one of the first ones we read. A lot of people didn't like it--not because of the old fashioned writing, but because of the ideas about class. The idea that there is someone who is beneath someone else--that Emma's friend (I can't remember the names in the real book, so we'll use Clueless)--that Ty acutally isn't good enough for Josh. It's funny, and I should have brought this up at book club, darn it!--because when you translate it into modern times, you see that Ty isn't clever enough or deep enough for Josh--even though she's a lovely person. They don't have common interests. That's exactly how it was back then, only they had this shorthand called class. And yes, that would have been used to keep a clever Ty down, but face it, that girl (Harriet, I think was her name) was not clever.

I think it's interesting how hard it can be to read a novel from another era through the lens of that era, and combine that with your own views, and still enjoy it on all levels. That's what makes classics "classic" I guess.

NOT GOING TO THE LIBRARY

But it's so hard.

Martha Beck, who wrote Expecting Adam and Leaving the Saints, two books that I enjoyed very much and which really affected me, wrote another book called Finding Your Own North Star. She's what she calls a Life Coach, and I'd really like to look at what she has to say about finding your calling and your place in life. From her column in O, I suspect that she's kind of touchy-feely and much more about giving you permission to feel things you're resistant to than she is constructive in suggesting a life-goal to a mediocre project manager, but I want to hear what she has to say.

But. When have I ever checked out one book? Mhm. You see? So if I did that, I'd end up getting the Hasidic exiles book, and the next Mma Ramotswe book, and that Groucho Marx autobiography, and, and, and.

I resist. I'm reading The Tiger in the Well, which, I'm terribly sorry Katie, is no His Dark Materials. (If he knows all those details about Sally's life, of COURSE he'll recognize her assistant when she comes to spy on him.) I'm rereading The Lark and the Wren, which I might quit in a chapter or two because the last third has little to do with the very enjoyable first third. It's good, but a different book. I'm going to read The Age of Innocense before anything next. Plus Erin's novel for writer's group, and soon Katie's novel...and...and....

If someone would pay me for all this, I could live a long, happy, wealthy life.

Who's Afraid of Blair Brown?

Drowning Ruth, my current book on tape (well, mp3, we are in the 21st century here, people) is read excellently by Blair Brown. I chose it based on her sample reading of a book I really wasn't interested in--she's very good. It's kind of a harsh book, about crazy people. It's interesting that I thought I must be coming close to the end and am only halfway through. There's no way for me to tell how far along I am unless I plug my mp3 player into my computer.

My misjudgment was not based on boredom but on the arc of the story. The child is growing up, years are passing. I'm starting to realize in a way I hadn't before that the story is full of crazy people.

Change of topic: Kathy was telling me about a book called, I believe, The Last Record of the Miracles at Little No-Horse. This reminded me of the story of Pope Joan, which I read about in a novel by Donna Cross (I believe), but which may or may not be a true story. Apparently Pope John VIII reigned for two years and then surprised everyone by giving birth on the side of the road (in the novel, she actually just starts to hemorrhage, if I recall correctly). Anyway, if it's a true story, all documentation of it was destroyed/suppressed for about three centuries, and she was only mentioned in the 1500s, 350 years after she supposedly reigned. So who knows?

But it's an interesting story--there's a lot of fiction (esp. YA, I think) about girls who disguise themselves as boys and beat the system; I'm about to reread The Lark and the Wren by Mercedes Lackey, one of my favorite such stories. But such a true-life scandal! It's very exciting to think that the world can be so unpredictable, the system so beaten.

Sorry; this is a little stream-of-consciousness. I'm a little edgy today. Monday's going to be a rough day at work; wish me luck.

She's Back!

Vacation is so wonderful, but it drifts away so fast when you settle back into your day-to-day. Which day-to-day has been seeming particularly overloaded lately, but who's surprised by that? No one.

Anyway, there's of course book club drama--I'm very sensitive to the unpopular feeling of people not being able to come to MY meeting. I do understand that I didn't remind anyone till yesterday, and I'm aware that I'm being unreasonable. Still. Anyway, rescheduled (Monday, everyone!) and I'll have more time to gather resources for the meeting. Mmmm....resources.

But I'm reading On Beauty by Zadie Smith, at Mike's suggestion. I appreciated White Teeth and saw how good it was, but I'm really happy to say that I'm both appreciating and enjoying this book. It might be that the setting is American (Boston, in fact), or that I'm familiar with the nature of the elite liberal arts institution, or that I've been waiting for ten years for an educated insider to tell me how silly deconstructionism can be. (I also love that she never calls it that.)

But she does so many interesting things. Though race is clearly present in the story (and it's by Zadie Smith), it's a little while before I realized that it would be a major theme. Though the title is On Beauty, it was a while before I realized how it would shape the story. She lifts chunks of the plot directly from Howard's End, characterization and all (even sneaking in a walk-on character named Wilcox). She cuts away at the beginning of a major climax, to resume the story months later when all the characters have gotten used to the aftermath of the incident. It's really excellent.

Highly recommended. I'm resisting the library, though perhaps not for long, having just bought Collapse by Jared Diamond and the His Dark Materials trilogy. I have so many books I must read at home, but I've been seized, after seeing a bit on CNN at the airport, with a need to read books about people who are leaving isolated religious communities. For this, I need the library.

I could really stand to be under house arrest for a few months. Or bedridden (God forbid).

Slacker

Working ten hour days not only cut into reading time, I don't post as often, either. It's been just over a week of working till 6:30 or 7:30 or 9 every night. I know some of you do that every day, but a) I don't know how, and b) you're lawyers; you knew what you were getting into.

This bonanza of productivity included Sunday (8 to 5, baby!), which means I've been reading the same two books for about two weeks; I don't know if I've finished a single book this year! The Doomsday Book, by Connie Willis, a classic of sci-fi that mostly takes place in the middle ages (time travel, don't you know) and Four Ways to Forgiveness, by Ursula LeGuin, who I like but don't have a real handle on yet, I think. I haven't read any of her classics (Earthsea), but I read Gifts, which was a small, sweet book.

Forgiveness is actually a series of interlinked novellas. It's pretty good, though I don't think I'm much of a fan of novellas. I think Katie had the best definition; a novel is about something that happens, a novella is usually about the time leading up to something happening. The real meat begins as the story ends. I don't know if this is a universal definition, but it definitely relates to how I feel about them.

Anyway, I'm stealing time and have to get back to work. Maybe one more entry before vacation next week; if I have something new to mention!

Personal Library Renaissance

We've been here before. I certainly know I've been here before, and I think I've dragged you with me. I have shelves groaning with books I haven't ready yet, a gift card burning a hole in my pocket (my half of the card, anyway), and I need to STOP CHECKING THINGS OUT.

So when I finish what I have now, no more libraries till at least after vacation. I have a short list of books from the shelves at home that I want to read before I check out again. It's time to rediscover my collection. Also, to finish reading all those books I've borrowed! So: The Age of Innocence, Edith Wharton. The Tiger in the Well, Phillip Pullman (at Katie's suggestion). Crispin, by Avi (Christmas present). Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman: Volume 1 (Christmas gift). And a collection of Richard Yates' short stories that Brenda lent me. All these and much much more (I hope) before I lunge into my next library collection.

I just finished rereading Never Let Me Go (Kazuo Ishiguro) for book club, and I really hope everyone's willing to get on board with the discussion. A lot of people might not be able to come to the meeting, to the point where I'm thinking of rescheduling. But I think this book is deceptively simple, and I really hope there's a lot of good discussion.

And now I'm reading The Doomsday Book by Connie Willis, a classic sci-fi novel, to be followed by My Last Library Book for a While, Four Ways to Forgiveness, by Ursula LeGuin.

I fell down the stairs this morning and my back hurts. Wish me luck.

I Clearly Don't Know Myself

Well, I don't know what I was thinking, but I finished it.

Overall, I'm not too sorry. It was a bit of a slog there, but I don't think it was a real misdirection of the author's intention. In fact, I think that 100 pages shorter, the book would have been very good. I could have used a lot less of Nan's point of view--it was the weakest-written portion of the book (everything she thinks is spelled out and repeated and simplified), and adds the least to the story. Sara's viewpoint doesn't add very much, either, but she gives a dash of perspective on the family, since she's the most unlike the Setons. There's only a dash of Sara--there's WAY too much Nan.

Anyway, I did it. And then today we went to the Middletown library used book store. I got Inventing the Abbots, short stories by Sue Miller (I've never seen the movie), The Rapture of Canaan, which was the first Oprah book I ever read, and pretty good, and another Kazuo Ishiguro book (though I don't have The Remains of the Day yet).

But before I start those, I'm going to reread Never Let Me Go for book club. Next goal--go!

To Be or Not To Be

Yeah, this book (Before You Know Kindness) is just way too heavy-handed. Nan, the grandmother, likes having a therapist for a daughter-in-law because she's good with people, "even if sometimes it made them all more comfortable discussing their feelings than she'd like." Big flashing neon sign around how private and cool this character is? What about this one; she asks her son if he regrets leaving private practice to become a public defender. He says no, people need him in his new job and he likes that. "She found herself smiling because her son was happy...but also because he hadn't allowed their conversation to grow intimate with the sort of disclosure that just might have made both of them uncomfortable."

I don't need any more info about this woman, thanks. But in every passage about her--there are about seven characters the story follows--I get this poing HAMMERED home. Enough, already.

So I'm in a position that I find pretty rarely--I can't decide whether or not to finish the book. I'm on vacation, so my supply's a little limited--a couple of YA novels, a short Thurber book, C.S. Lewis's Mere Christianity. Actually, I could and ought to get to rereading the book club book. But this isn't quite bad enough to give up without a qualm.

I think I'll switch over. If I find myself coming back to Kindness, I will, but otherwise, I'm going to leave it up to my gut. It's good for so little else.

Happy holidays, everyone!

Hello Kathy

Just to bug Kathy, this entry is all about her.

First, Jodi Picoult. Kathy recommended her, and for someone I've never read, a whole bunch of her books are suddenly on my "To Read" list. This is partly because, looking at the Amazon descriptions, half of them look interesting, and half of them sort of don't; I think that the family dramas sound less interesting than the more complex stories. They sound like they all center a bit around court battles and family issues. I've picked My Sister's Keeper, about a girl who was conceived as a bone marrow donor for her sister and sues her parents for medical emancipation, The Pact, about two teenagers who appear to have had a suicide pact, though only one of them is dead, and Plain Truth, as it is about Amish. I have a thing for Amish in the same way I have a thing for nuns.

Which, by the way, Kathy, I would like to specifically recommend The Nun's Story to you. I don't know if nuns are up your alley, but this book has the rich description and mediation coupled with a pretty engaging plot that I think would make it a recommendation. Also, just about my favorite book. It's by Kathryn Hulme--check it out.

Kathy is also the one who pointed out something that I was just beginning to notice about the book I’m reading, which she just finished. Before You Know Kindness, by Chris Bohjalian. I’ve decided he’s hit or miss. The Midwives was wonderful, and The Law of Similars was worth reading. But this book just drags and drags. I can only handle so many pages of closely observed family life and character studies, touched with some very heavy-handed characterization (he’s vegan, no one understands why. I get it.) before I start to wonder when the plot described on the flap is going to start. And it sounds like the answer is: it doesn’t exactly start--it happens, suddenly, about a third of the way through the book, and then the rest of the book is closely observed family life and character study in the aftermath of this information. I’m not convinced I’m going to finish this book; life’s too short.

That is all for now, I suppose. In conclusion, hi Kathy!

Let It Snow

Why is the weather always miserable when I have to go to work and not when I'm just planning to stay home? Tomorrow will be gross, Saturday will be lovely. I really should feel the opposite way--let it snow while I'm stuck in the office, let me go for a walk on Saturday. Somehow, no. I'd love to have an excuse to stay in, be lazy, wrap, and most important write Christmas cards. I've already pared the list down to those I don't see often. If I've wished you a happy holiday verbally, chances are you're not getting a card.

Cages of Glass, Flowers of Time. A touching story of a girl who's been abandoned and abused. I read it a few times as a child, but we'll have to see how it goes as an adult. I think it may be a bit melodramatic. Still, your childhood loves can get away with a lot.

I've just finished How to Be Alone by Jonathan Franzen. People who think that acknowledging their flaws makes them into virtues kind of irritate me. People who think the things they love and care about are the only indicators of the state of humanity irritate me. I was irritated many times in this book. His articles that were researched and about specific topics--the Chicago Postal Service, the history of the tobacco industry--were very interesting and enjoyable; he's smart and he can write. At one point I got so angry at him, I was just about to give him up as a hopeless coot; he was wailing about how the demise of rotary phones signaled the end of worthwhile civilization and literature as we know it. But then he cuts away and explains how he'd written that essay in a very dark period, and goes on to explain how obsolecense really guarantees the future of Americal literature.

Mostly, I just think he's hopelessly pretentious. I'm pretty full of bitterness and judgement, but this guy is too darned much.

What a Wonderful World

It's miserable and snowy. I'm frantically scrabbling to get my work done, and I'll be here late even though they're closing the building at 3. I don't know how I'm going to get to this party tonight, or if driving is even safe. I have shopping, Christmas cards, and wedding stuff to worry about. Plus, I'm working offsite for part of next week, and things are piling up. Tearing out my hair, weeping bitterly.

BUT...the Boston Public Library has ten copies of a very rare Young Adult novel called Cages of Glass, Flowers of Time that I loved when I was in middle school. You can't buy it for less than $30 used these days, and most copies are over $100. But I have the BPL, so I'm all set.

What a lovely world we live in. Happy weekend, everyone.

Buklub

So we had book club last week--Alias Grace, Margaret Atwood, excellent choice. It was a lot of fun, but not as book-clubby as it might have been. We've drifted a little from talking about the book with the same depth we used to, but I'm not sure exactly how to fix that.

[SPOILERS AHEAD!]

Also, no one else appears to have agreed with me in taking the revealed "solution" to the problem of Grace's identity at face value. The book presents a picture of some kind of multiple personality disorder (Dissociative Identity Disorder, to those of use who still have a psych geek living in our souls). Thinking about my psychology education, her behavior and life story don't exactly jibe with how science records this, but as fiction, I bought it hook line and sinker. In reality, DID pretty much only ever arises from prolonged, severe sexual abuse at a very young age. And the "blackouts," periods where the main personality doesn't remember what happened because one of the others was busy using the body, (if I remember correctly) usually result in the person being missing time. But these technical details are not the kind of thing to cause a hiccup in my suspension of disbelief.

Thinking about it in the meeting, I could see that this explanation was much more pat than I would expect from her--much too tidy a solution that allowed you to feel much too certain of the moral conclusion of the story. But when I was reading, I was there with it. Jeremiah was the character through whose eyes I saw things, and I think he was surprised to find the demon in his friend.

Also and chiefly, Grace had nothing to gain by faking this. Most people thought it was an ambiguous question--was she faking, revealing the truth, was Mary Whitney lying? But why would anyone fake this? Why would she be one person outside of hypnosis and then, just at the moment when she might be freed, become another person?

Well, end of spoilers. I got the next book club pick (yay!) and I chose Never Let Me Go. I'm sure I've already mentioned this lovely book by Kazuo Ishiguro, and I generally lean away from picking something I've read, but I thought he would be better than Chris Bohjalian (so many to read: Trans-Sister Radio, Buffalo Soldiers, Before You Know Kindness) as a book club choice. I also liked that this was a book with a sci-fi premise, but not a sci fi plot or theme or feel. I've developed an interest in the intersection between traditional people and "genre" work--Liala and comics, for example, Katie and Young Adult fiction. And now, literati and a story that just might blow their minds.

Ahem.

Yeah, Some Unicorn

I'll tell you, if Sara hadn't made an "eh" face when I asked how The Lady and the Unicorn was, I would probably still be reading it. I would have said to myself, "but I like Tracy Chevalier!" And I'd have stuck it out, if not to the bitter end, then way past the guy who refers to sex as "plowing," the first person female narrator who is supposed to sound like a teenager who's gushing in her diary but really sounds like she's been hired as the narrator, and the very fact that all these French characters for some reason interject French into their conversation, making it look like they're speaking English as they go about their daily lives and resorting to French only when they can't remember, how you say? our language.

Ugh. Thank you, Sara, for liberating me from this awful book.

Now, I'm reading A Long Fatal Love Chase by Louisa May Alcott of all people. I picked it up out of curiosity (too racy to be published in her lifetime), expecting it to read like an old, overwritten melodrama. Omigod, it's so good! I'm enjoying every minute of it, even though, as Mike points out, the title gives away the ending. Its raciness is based on the fact of a false marriage, and, I personally would guess, on the fact that the heroine continues to love the bad guy even after she finds out how evil he is. And he's evil! But charming! It's like watching an old Errol Flynn movie--actually, it's got the whole Gone with the Wind idea of people who might or might not be Good, and the fact that there's a difference between being not particularly virtuous and being bad.

I'm so excited that this book is so great. But I'm almost done, and I'm not sure where to go next.

Turkey-Based Ailments

I don't suppose you can blame Thanksgiving for my cough, but I'm casting an accusing eye at the dry air and cigarette smoke I ran into at the homestead.

For some reason, unlike a normal trip home, this one resulted in almost no reading at all. It might have been that Mike was there and retreating into a novel seemed like abandoning him. Or we could point to Marsha's being on her miserable way back to her new home 500 miles away. Mostly I think I was just lazy and the TV was on all the time and I'm not really in the middle of anything good.

Usually when I'm home for a holiday I read about fifty Babysitter's Club books from the collection still under my bed. Or reread some other old favorites. But I've just finished a Good Parts tour of the Clan of the Cave Bear series, and that seemed like more than enough for now. I might have to reread Butterfly sometime soon, though--now THAT'S trashy but good.

Anyway, I did just finish The Final Solution by Michael Chabon (slight and mostly about how much it sucks to be old, but not bad) and My Life and Hard Times by James Thurber (funny, funny). I'm going to pound away at A Long Fatal Love Chase, which is not bad but kind of archaic, if you know what I mean. Sometimes old books (Austen) are as fresh or better than fresh. Sometimes they're good in spite of being antique. This Louisa May Alcott book is very much a melodrama in the old-fashioned sense.

And The Lady and the Unicorn. I'd like to know what people think of Tracy Chevalier, because I loved The Girl with the Pearl Earring and I liked The Virgin Blue okay, but I still, somehow, don't think I like her. And this book....it doesn't help that I dislike the main character and mistrust the somewhat contrived seeming plot that's opening up. And I'm on page 30.

Humph. Okay, now you're up to date.

Original Neurosis

When I'm having an awful and frantic day at work, I often find the Boston Public Library website to be soothing and calming. Just going there, logging in, and looking at the list of books I'm planning to read gives me the tiny "Calgon, take me away!" moment that I need at 2:30 when the ftp server isn't cooperating and I realize that I haven't updated my revised budgets or schedules in any of our numerous databases and spreadsheets in, oh, six months or so.

But it just wasn't working today. I think I've figured out why; for the first time in a long time, I don't have anything on reserve. There's nothing that needs checking up on, no queue counter to watch tick down.

I'll admit, I'm actually considering putting a bestseller on reserve just so I have something soothing to watch. An Oprah book is always good, and Linden recommended A Million Little Pieces (though I listened to a sample of the audiobook, which was not very appealing). I'd probably be at least 150 on a waiting list for that book, and I could watch anxiously as it ticked down for the next three months.

And this, believe it or not, would be designed to make me feel better.

I Wish You Much Joy of the Worm

Kathy points out that I read a lot of books that I don't seem to like. I wouldn't have said that, but when I think about what I say about the books I read, I guess that's kind of true. I think it's a factor of a few things, though: one that I'm pretty critical. Even when I'm enjoying a book on one level, I'm often pretty aware of its flaws on other levels, and I hesitate to say something that might sound like a recommendation for a book that I would only recommend to someone with very specific tastes.

Another factor is definitely that I dabble. I pick up things that I don't necessarily expect to like--things I'm curious about without very high expectations, or books about things that I want to know more about, without a lot of hope or expectation for them as enjoyable literature. I checked out a book called Mothers Talking, which was a collection of short first person stories from moms. I had read that it was a little more honest about the hard parts than other books, but I stopped reading after about four chapters, because it was very Chicken Soup for the Soul. I read The Art of War by Sun Tzu, which was very interesting, and actually a pretty good read, but which I don't think I'd run out and recommend as hobby reading to anyone.

I guess I'm following my curiosity more than anything. This is one reason it's important to me to read a lot; if I didn't devote so much time to it, I wouldn't want to waste the time trying things that might fail, and I'd go for the easy pleasures--maybe challenging as literature, but not different or educational in the way I want them to be. If you gave me a choice between another 1500 year old Chinese treatise on war or the new Jonathan Safron Foer book, I can't honestly tell you which I'd choose. Probably the war book, actually.

I'm just looking for a different kind of challenge than most people, I think. And maybe it's not a literary one. I think that's okay with me.

Oh, and I gave up on Sex and the City. It was too gruesome.

So Incredibly Not a Novelization

If you like the TV show Sex and the City, you'll HATE the book! I've seen two episodes of the show, and it looks sweet and funny and character-centered. And yeah, it's blunt and graphic (I assume; I've only seen it in syndication on basic cable), but not as heartless, unromatic, and hopeless as this stuff.

Carrie Bradshaw, who is one of many "friends" who supplies the author with info for this nonfiction compilation of anecdotes, for example. In her second appearance in the book, she is in a fancy restaurant having lunch with friends. "She lit up her twentieth cigarette of day, and when the maitre d'hotel ran over and told her to put it out, she said, 'Why, I wouldn't dream of offending anyone.' Then she put the cigarette out on the carpet."

Is this the Carrie Bradshaw you know and love? No.

This book reinforces for me the fact that I would never wish to be a New Yorker. Or at least, a Manhattanite.

What Jen Should Read

List compiled for Jen K D, but you can use it too, if you want. I'm going for a good fun-quality ratio in each book--so none of these books are just "good for you"--they're all enjoyable.

Shining Through, Susan Isaacs. This book is the most fun ever. The narrator, Linda, is funny and smart, but susceptible to bad choices--the kind you can understand. You get all the drama and gravity of World War II, along with a great office-gossip storyline.

Note, however, that this is Susan Isaacs' best book. So if you want to give her a try, I recommend starting with Lily White. It is, in my opinion, her second best, and that way you get to read both, but the second one is even better than the first, which is always a good way to do it.

His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman. The three books are actually called The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, and The Amber Spyglass. You have to be willing to read YA fantasy novels, but these are so much more than that. It's about religion and its role in society, and science and the meaning of life, and it's very sophisticated. I cried and cried and cried. I can't wait to read them again.

Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro. He wrote The Remains of the Day, which I haven't read yet, and When We Were Orphans, which I'm reading now. (And by the way, what's with everyone's delusion that he's going to actually FIND his parents after 15 years?) Never Let Me Go was the first of his books that I read, and it was just lovely. He's so clear and uncomplicated, yet so very complex and personal. This is a book with a science fiction plot, but it is in no way a science fiction book. It's not the near future or an alternate reality. It's England, here and now, and it's about what makes us human.

The Midwives, Chris Bohjalian. I've been meaning to reread this, so I base this recommendation on my memory of how good this book is. Again, it's the best of his work. There isn't a lot to say about it; it's a coming of age story about a girl whose mother is a midwife who might or might not be in legal trouble. This author deals often with people whose lifestyles fall just between fringe and mainstream--homeopaths, dowsers, midwives--and his stories are often about people trying to find a place for these things in an "ordinary" worldview.

Which Lie Did I Tell?, William Goldman. Bill Goldman has written some of my favorite books (The Color of Light, The Princess Bride), but you're more likely to have seen his movies. He's a screenwriter, with credits like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, All The President's Men, The Stepford Wives, and The Princess Bride. This book is part how-to for aspiring screenwriters, part memoir, part gossip-fest. He's got some very good insights (my favorite: In Hollywood, nobody knows anything. They like to pretend they can tell what will be a hit and what won't, but nobody understands how craft becomes magic), but his ability to tell a good anecdote and very conversational writing style really carry this book.

The Nun's Story, Kathryn Hulme. I will always recommend this, though it's not up everyone's alley. It's a very internal, quiet look at the life of a nun from the time she enters a convent, through her travels to various nursing posts, and to Africa, in the Belgian Congo. It was a movie with Audrey Hepburn, which I also love. Both book and movie are somewhat slow and very straightforward--there is no poetry here, except that the experience is poetry. Even the sparest writing style lets that shine through. I find this book lovely, and though I can't say I have reason to believe it'd be your exact cup of tea, Jen, I have to recommend it anyway.

That's all for now. More later, I'm sure.

Impassioned Blogging

I'm not someone who can write with passion, I guess. I was going to write about this article, which caused me to seethe when I read it. But then I read this other article that made a lot of my points for me, and my impetus was gone.

Though I'd still like to point out that I think she's on the wrong track when she considers the trends she sees to be anti-feminist. As a fairly well-educated woman of the modern age, I feel comfortable saying that it's not my desire to be owned by a man that made me decide to change my name when I get married. It's recognizing that the solutions to the problem of name change that we have (hyphenation, one parent not sharing a name with the kids) are all imperfect. And women deciding that they want to be in the home is not watching them flush their intelligence away--the fact is, there are also lots more stay-at-home dads than there used to be. I think that everyone is beginning to recognize that getting ahead in business is not always very satisfying, and that it's okay to feel like the people in your life, family and friends, are a bigger priorty.

Not everyone will agree with me, and that's just fine, but if I make that decision, I'm not a throwback. I'm gifted to live in a time when I get to choose my own priorities. And I'm grateful to everyone who came before me who made it so that when the time comes, I'll be choosing what to do about my career and my family. I think I'll enjoy being a mom, but I think I would have enjoyed it a lot less if no one had ever asked me whether it was what I wanted.

Coming soon: a suggested reading list for Jen K-D.

Spoke Too Soon

Okay, so Spider has begun to purposefully mess up Fat Charlie's life. Sorry, Neil, you've tread into territory that innately troubles me.

I checked out the book Sex and the City by Candace Bushnell. I'm not a fan of the show, but the two episodes I caught have seemed somewhat charming, in a slick, shallow, too-rich, too-promiscuous way that I would feel bad calling "New York" if that wasn't the whole point. Aside from the morbid outlook (on page 3, a "happily married" friend of the author says that it's easier to be single than be in a couple, because instead of "fun"--described as drinking, drugs, and parties--your only choice is to sit home in your tiny apartment and stare at each other. ), the thing that bothered me was a huge glaring factual error.

She mentions Breakfast at Tiffany's as an example of romance. Okay, fine, either way. Then she says that Truman Capote understood romance, because these two independent people end up giving love a try. This woman clearly saw the movie, and then tried to use that to make a literary reference. I love this movie, but you don't get to talk about Audrey Hepburn and Truman Capote as though they participated in the same project. In the book (sorry for the spoiler), she doesn't end up with him--she runs off to Africa.

On this subject, I am incensed.

Also, it was in nonfiction. Hmm....

Kudos to Gaiman

I have to say, Neil Gaiman's doing something in Anansi Boys that I didn't think could be done.

One of my pet peeves is the story about someone who's living a normal, happy, regular life, trying to be a good person and find a reasonable amount of happiness, whose life is then shaken up and turned upside down by someone wild and outrageous, with the moral lesson being that keeping your head down is an unacceptable way to live life.

Anansi Boys looked like one of those stories. Fat Charlie is clearly meek and not carpeing the diem. Spider shows up, and makes things "happen." Fat Charlie's a little miserable. And yet, Spider hasn't done anything to ruin Fat Charlie's life. Sure he's blackmailing his boss a little, but that's working out very well for him. Everything that's going wrong in Fat Charlie's life is his own fault or no one's--even indirectly, Spider is only making his life better, not worse.

So far, of course. But it's nice to be so pleasantly surprised.

With Apologies to George Takei

Well, color me chagrined. Just when I gave up on him, George Takei makes bold to come out of the closet. I congratulate him and his longtime partner, and I hope this step brings him happiness.

I don't think I'll read the book, though. I was so excited to read about the Nisei camps that making them boring was quite a feat. I blame the writing. Sorry, George--I love your acting career!

Okay, in other news, I'm reading The Art of War by Sun Tzu. This is very interesting, and makes me realize that a) I'm not smart enough to wage a good war, and b) neither is anyone currently waging war today. On one hand, the bad guys have it righter than we, in that it's all psychological. But they've got it all wrong, because a good war has very few casualties. A good war is won or lost before the battle begins. I don't know if I can explain it very well, but it's about a strategy that involves as much psychology as warfare, and about understanding your assets and liabilities, and also those of the enemy.

Good book--recommended.

Surrender

Sheer madness. I've been out of the office and crazed with busyness so far this week. There's a storm, there was a Richard Thompson concert, and I'm exhausted. I've given up on George Takei, and the BPL says that the Bridal Bargains book I reserved is in. That's it. I give up. I'm going to the library.

And I'm going to go nuts. I'm so excited. A bunch of random stuff I just sort of want to look at--a book of candid anecdotes about motherhood (what "they" don't tell you), a book I heard about on This American Life, in which a pop psychologist offers you scripts for common relationship discussions that are difficult to have. Plus maybe The Lady and the Unicorn, which I kind of figure is going to be mediocre (Tracy Chevalier is either a bulls-eye or just sort of okay, and Sara tells me this one is the latter). Maybe Unveiled, the nun book I've been saving back for a rainy day.

Hurricanes and nor'easters--it's raining.

Not So Far From Home

Okay, there's no way I'm going to be able to read George Takei's autobiography. I thought I could, and it sounds so interesting--childhood in Nisei camps, becoming an Asian-American actor in 1950s Hollywood, Star Trek. But no, and I'm afraid I blame the fact that he wrote it himself. I do not detect a ghostwriter here. It's just boring, as boring as anyone talking about their life, trying to communicate how important to them the mundane moments are, but, sadly, failing.

Pledged is better, in that it's trashy and light. It's like college all over, but with the 90210 kids instead of your real friends. But the life these girls are looking for sounds like true hell to me. I would sleep on park benches rather than in this sorority house, or any of the ones in the book.

I'm getting closer to having permission to go to the library. Midwives and We Were Orphans. Also I've had an urge to reread the fourth Clan of the Cave Bear book, The Plains of Passage. It's as awful as the title sounds, but if you skip through to the high points, it's racy and exciting.

I have to work Sunday this week, so I'm pretty bummed. I hope it doesn't ruin my Saturday, though I'm worried it will. Ugh.

Psst! I Think Kevin's a Sociopath

So I finished We Need to Talk About Kevin, which was quite wrenching and challenging. I think it's particularly difficult to wrestle with because there are a lot of things about parenthood that kind of hush-hush, or inappropriate to say. I know people say that it's hard work, but I think they tend to shy away from seeing parents as people when they're in their parenting role. (Okay, I tried not to say it this way, but I will: people shy away from human frailty when discussing parents qua parents.)

Anyway, I'm a little torn about the ending. I don't want to give it away, because I'd recommend this book to anyone looking for a good, challenging read, but I'll ask just Ceci, who lent it to me: Did you buy the ending? Did it seem a little too tidy?

One thing I was very impressed with was the unreliable narrator. She was pretty darned reliable, actually, except...maybe not? The whole book is an exploration of guilt and blame taken on by someone whose life is subsumed in guilt but who sees a lot of the milestones in the book as inevitable.

I wish this had been a book club book. I'd really like to wrestle with it.

Falling All Over Myself

In looking for a new audiobook to listen to, I've unwittingly lengthened the list of books to read.

First of all, there are definitely some bad readers out there. The unabridged version of Before You Know Kindness (Chris Bohjalian) at Audible is read poorly. The abridged version is read well, by Blair Brown (of The Days and Nights of Molly Dodd! Remember that? Urban ladies' sex lives!). Blair Brown also read Drowning Ruth. I never felt the need to read it till I heard the sample on Audible. Now I'm eager to.

Ugh. I need a week's vacation full of rainy days. One rainy day just makes me realize how much reading I'm up against. Before I'm allowed to go to the library again:

Drowned Ammet
Pledged: The Secret Lives of Sororities
We Need to Talk About Kevin
To the Stars: The Autobiography of George Takei
We Were Orphans
Midwives

I've read Midwives, so that's just a reread, but I've wanted to for a while.

Oh, what a glut of pleasure!

Venting

Okay, I don't want to ruin this for anyone, but every time I pick up this book, I feel prickles on the back of my neck. Besides reading in short bursts, I think venting is the best answer. So:

You, Franklin, are BLIND!!! Listen to your wife! Help your son!

Eva, run away! I know it would be abandonment, but Franklin is determined to play this horrible lie out to the end. If you run now, you can avert....

...well, avert how we know the story ends, because the entire story is told in flashback. It seems so obvious, but is that only because it's hindsight? I think that's a major theme of this story, too. It's a very thematic tale, really.

Anyway, I've vented, and now I'm ready to take it on again.

Stevie K.

Finished up with Bag of Bones. I have to give him this; even the long-winded stuff ended up connected to the story. He spends too much time invoking his themes--repeating seemingly innocuous bits of conversation from earlier in the book for ominous effect, for example--but by the end, everything I thought was a digression had been incorporated. I still think it could have been done faster, but in the end I'd call it a good book.

Now I need another audiobook, and I think I've realized it needs to be pretty action-packed, because you don't get as much out of language from listening. I've got Anansi Boys, the new Neil Gaiman, but I'm not sure I want to read it. Mike's liking it, though, so I'll give it a shot.

I'm also moving along in We Need to Talk about Kevin. For those who know me, this will come as a surprise, but I'm enjoying this book and finding it fascinating, in spite of the fact that I hate every single character and find the whole outlook of the book to be revolting. I think it's because the author does a good job of making me realize that I'm NOT supposed to get behind the worldview of the narrator. Often other people tell me an author is doing that, but I can't feel it. Fight Club. The Epicure's Lament. But this book has so many layers of self-consciousness--even just within the letters the character is writing, before you get to the author. She's a person with a kind of poisonous attitude toward almost everything, whose son turned out to be a genuine, gun-em-down sociopath. So she's exploring what a creepy changeling of a child he was, while also exploring her own emotional failings as a mother.

The nature of blame and guilt--what it's worth, how it's assigned, whether it means anything--is a big theme. The challenging part of the book is that this woman is blaming herself on some level, but also trying to exonerate herself by making it clear that everything was inevitable.

It's complex. I'm enjoying sorting her mind out, because she's someone I feel like I see a lot in the world--media, message boards, maybe even real life. Someone who's mostly cynical, but wants to find that core of sincerity in life, but also doesn't want to believe in it because cynical = superior.

It's got me thinking. Thanks for the loan Ceci.

So Tired

Business trip. Eating Steak & Shake. Went to the movies by myself (Flightplan, not bad). Time zone off, so sleepy.

But anyway, I haven't read as much as usual when travelling. Staying alone in a hotel room is not leading to as much free time as I expected. I've been--get this--leaving the hotel roomin the evening, SO unlike me. Good stuff, though.

I did read Cart and Cwidder by Diana Wynne Jones, which was a short but not slight YA fantasy Melissa lent me. I was surprised by how rich it was, and how sad and serious. I always think it's a great accomplishment when a storyteller can put the fate of the world in the hands of a band of ragtag kids without jumping through hoops to make it believable. Harry Potter, for example (and if I'm ever going to get flack, it'll be for this), has to perform what I feel are contortions to make the adults careless enough for Harry to have to keep saving the day.

Anyway, I'm also reading We Need to Talk about Kevin, a loaner from Ceci, which I'm getting the groove of. It's a little tough because it's an epistolary novel (Mike, tell me if I have that wrong), but the voice is not that of a normal person writing letters to her estranged husband. Partly because normal people don't talk like that, which I'm learning is because this character isn't normal (it hit me like The Epicure's Lament in that respect--this person is pretentious every minute of the day). But partly because, as a novel, it has to tell me things that could be written in shorthand to an estranged husband. She wouldn't have to recount all these memories in such detail--she'd put "Remember when..." and move on. But once I got used to that, I've really gotten into her voice, and it's interesting how she can be both so sympathetic and so unsympathetic as the same time.

I can't decide if I should hope to sleep all the way home, or hope not to. I think I want the sleep more, but it's so late right now!

Home Friday.

Been a Slacker

I've meant to write more; I like to keep this up a few times a week. But it's been a pretty stressful week at work, and I've also felt kind of slow and dumb, and not up to analyzing things.

This is particularly sad, since I had some interesting thoughts I wanted to put down earlier this week about a talk I went to. Ed Burger, a math professor at Williams, just published a book called Coincidences, Chaos, and All That Math Jazz, and I went to see him speak about it at the Harvard Bookstore. It was really interesting, and I asked a question, which made me very proud. (My question, for the interested, was this: in his book he discusses how cryptography depends on the fact that it's very, very hard to factor number. So if a HUGE number has only two HUGE prime factors, it can be used in cryptography. My question is, if you can't factor huge numbers, how do you know if a number is prime?)

Anyway, I had just finished his book, which is in large part about how our intuition is often wrong about things, and how math points us to the right answers. And I had just started a book called The Scientist in the Crib (I have to stop reading nonfiction, it's not nearly escapist enough), which is about how babies explore the world around them and come by all the knowledge that seems given the rest of us.

And I had in my head this big long discussion of the idea of being surprised by the nature of reality, and how these two books fit togther. Only now I'm feeling mentally logey, and it turns out the Scientist is really more about how amazing it is that babies are born able to understand seeing and hearing, etc. which doesn't seem THAT amazing to me since animals are born like that, too (I like the parts of the book about social skills and language much better). So we're going to abandon that lofty plan.

Yeah, I really need to read some fiction.

Personal Library Renaissance, Redux

I had made a resolution to read some fiction, finally, after glutting on nonfiction. I enjoy nonfiction, but it's not as engrossing, and it doesn't give me the same rush that fiction does.

So after I finish The Scientist in the Crib, which I'm hoping has lots of cute little kid anecdotes, I think I'm not only going to move on to fiction, but to reinstate the Personal Library Renaissance that I've been talking about forever. No more library books for me! No deadline, though--I just won't go through the usual cycle of returning some and getting new ones on the same trip. I'm learning not to ask too much of myself.

I do still have the library book n.p. by Banana Yoshimoto. I don't think it's a great translation, since a lot of the more casual language looks very stilted. The dialog, especially, looks like it's been translated word-for-word and without much style. But the plot sounds intriguing--a young woman tries to solve the mystery of her boyfriend's suicide. It turns out everyone who has tried to translate a certain story by a certain author has committed suicide, as indeed the author himself did. I worry it'll be a letdown, but I'll take what I can get.

Then I think When We Were Orphans by Kazuo Ishiguro, which Becky was kind enough to lend/give to me. I've been so excited about that book that I've held off on it, because once I read it, I won't be able to look forward to it anymore. Or maybe I'm worried that it won't live up to my hopes. Whichever.

And The Final Solution by Michael Chabon. And then Ceci's going to lend me Pledged (non-fiction, but trashy nonfiction!) and We Need to Talk about Kevin. I think I'll reread Midwives.

I think that's it. That's enough to promise myself; who knows what will need to be read between now and then?

Cocky Fellows

I imagine my post title might get some interesting google hits. Bring 'em on!

I read Freakonomics. I have to say I was disappointed. It was slight, smug, and cocky, and this from both of the authors.

The economist clearly thought he was imparting something very, very special. But anyone who's ever read Slate's occasional column "The Dismal Science" knows that this is what economics is about--applying the theories of incentives to explain data. And, sadly but often, applying monetary figures to non-monetary transactions. The economist, in analyzing the effects of parenting on children, chose school test scores to measure success. The conclusion he reached is that who your parents are has an effect, but not what they do (so your parents' socioeconomic status and level of education will affect you, but not whether they read to you, talk to you or spank you). Now, at the beginning of this whole argument, he admits that he picked test scores as an indicator just because they're quantifiable and available in large numbers. But by the end of the chapter, he had drawn sweeping conclusions that I suspect would have been shattered if you were able to measure an effect like how happy and well adjusted the children turned out.

Really, it's just that he acted like he was giving me this magical gift of his insight, when really all I felt like he was doing was the tedious work of crunching some interesting numbers for me.

The writer, in the meantime, was using excerpts from an article he wrote about this guy for the NY Times Magazine for epigraphs for each chapter. Not only do I consider that kind of lazy, but the point of each excerpt was not about economics, but about how cool and punk rock this guy is.

My favorite bit of bad writing is in a place where the writer (the guy's name is Stephen J. Dubner) tries to build suspense in a sentence. Check this out. "...are we to assume that mankind is innately and universally corrupt? And if so, how corrupt? The answer may lie in . . . bagels."

Now, check out the use of ellipses there. That's in the original book. He wants to build tension before startling us with his revelation that bagels may hold the key to mankind's corruption. What a cheap way to do it.

The next book I picked up is How to be Alone by Jonathan Franzen. I borrowed this from Lynne a while ago and just picked it up. After reading the preface, I almost put it down. The preface was about how he had been defensive about what a jerk everyone thought he was till he went back and looked at his essays of a few years ago and realized what a jerk he was. The way he addressed this subject made him look like a real jerk. But I've been sucked into his essay about the crappy Chicago postal system, and while I still have no desire to read about his theories on the demise of the American novel, the postal system stuff is really interesting.

In sum, cocky, but we'll give him a shot.

I Can't Believe I Didn't Tell You This One Yet

Okay, it's time for everyone to understand what a BAD library companion Melissa is.

She reads, we share books--so I thought I'd bring her to the BPL. I have a list of about four books I need to pick up. It'll be fun, right?

Now, when I go shopping with friends who have self-control problems, I consider myself very good at hurling myself between them and temptation. Not that I'd forcibly prevent anyone from making a good purchase, but when Kerry would approach the bath products, I knew it was time to divert her. And you can only let Sara spend so much time in the handbags section before things get a little hairy. Isn't it your duty, as a friend, to make sure the person doesn't hurt themselves when temptation is near?

Melissa, you let me down. She kept pointing things out. She stopped me in the bridal section. She stood on silently as I debated picking up that random Young Adult book that caught my eye, and then said "why not?" when I asked her directly if I should take it.

Why not? I'll tell you why not--do you know how heavy twelve books can be? When you don't have a bag to carry them in? THAT'S why not. What happened to support? What happened to picking up the slack when someone's weakness comes into play.

Melissa, I adore you, but next time we go to the library together, you're getting a cue card with the word "NO" written on it. It looks like I'm going to need self-control for both of us.

Odyssey

I'm not quite done reading Cures: A Gay Man's Odyssey, but I think I'm ready to pick it apart.

First, I like the word "odyssey," but probably couldn't have spelled it if the book cover wasn't right here. I don't know for sure that I would call this story an odyssey, though I suppose it was subjectively. It's not really a story of someone having adventures, though I have no doubt there were many adventures to be had in the New York gay scene in the '60s. In fact, it's implied that he had some of them. But they're not central to this book.

Central to the book, as you can tell by the title, is therapy. Psychoanalysis to a lesser extent, but psychological explanations in general--Erikson's developmental stages Freud's ideas of repression and displacement, etc. The author, Martin Duberman, debunks a lot of the conclusions psychology came to over the years about homosexuality, but he totally buys psychology. It's his primary lens for everything. I find that interesting in a refreshing way, in that he was able to reject the conclusions of a field whose methodology he considers valid. It's almost like he thinks psychologists aren't using their toolbox properly. I also found it a little tiresome, because he spends a lot of time quoting his diary, in which he delves a lot.

I don't think I would recommend this book as a casual read, though I think I would strongly recommend it to someone who had a specific interest in the topic. It's just not compelling enough to stand on its own--he repeats the same patterns in his life, and fills much of his time with his work as an historian and civil rights and anti-war activist. All of those things are not merely related, but reflected in the prose. Still, it's almost unfathomable to me how the world thought--and often still thinks--about people, and he relates many of these circumstances very well.

Also I disagree with him about promiscuity (meaning, I think but am not certain, also infidelity) being fine and dandy just because it's natural. We restrict a lot of natural urges for the good of society, and I think it's important not to say that just because we once thought homosexuality was sick, but we were wrong, does not mean that it's wrong to demand any restriction on sexual behavior by society.

But I'm not arguing well, possibly because my wrist hurts. This is all for now.

Can't Figure out How to Stop It

I'd like to hear from any Virginia Woolf fans. I was supposed to read To the Lighthouse for a class once, but after the first ten pages and the first class discussion in which I began to see what I was up against, I didn't even really make an effort. (I certainly hope Professor Case never finds this site.) The one thing I remember is that you would start out a passage knowing who was thinking, and about what, and by the end of the paragraph two pages later, you would have no idea who or what was under discussion.

I loved A Room of One's Own, though, because I thought it was well argued, with the right amount of incidental and anecdotal information, along with the more sweeping points. I also thought she was very clear, when she wanted to be, in that essay.

Orlando, my first even completed Virginia Woolf novel, was...well, I couldn't figure out how to make the book stop except by finishing it. The wonderful things about it were the very, very funny moments, and some of the very well-parodied characters (the first and last man ever to toast cheese in the Italian marble fireplace large enough for a tall man to stand in). The hard parts--well, the magical realism wasn't that hard. I might even put that in the "assets" column. The bizarre interludes where Modesty, Chastity, and Purity come and dance around the young man Orlando, who then wakes up a woman...well, that was pretty weird. But the unlikeable parts were the soliloquizing that I just couldn't figure out. I found myself, in long passages, forgetting what the point of the description was. I definitely lost track of a number of points the author must have been trying to make.

Clearly, the whole thing was a parable. What was I supposed to learn? There was something important about writing, about finding the role of writing in the writer's life, and the writer in society. Okay, I think I mostly got that. There were quite a few lessons about being a woman, though not as many as I expected at first. By turning from a man to a woman, Orlando really ends up being a woman who had a boyhood, and also someone who has both and neither sex. It's a very modern viewpoint, actually--I feel that, often enough in my life, it doesn't matter that I'm a woman. Based on other things I've read, I hadn't expected Woolf to come across this way. Cool.

But there was a whole thing about "The Spirit of the Age," and then another thing about Orlando's philandering, and I don't know what-all else. Let's just say, I feel like I missed a lot of the book, enjoyed a great deal of what was there, and will see the movie. I think that's all I have to bring to this; I wish there was more.

Totally Off Topic

Okay, this has nothing to do with books, except to the extent that poor Ray Bradbury's name was attached. But I feel I need to warn the world. I need to put the the word "abysmal" and the name of the movie The Sound of Thunder in the same post so that someone might find them and realize what a an awful, horrible, bad movie this was.

How long has it been since you've seen actors fake walking in front of a projection of a city street. Remember the skiing scene with Ingred Bergman and Gregory Peck in Spellbound? Like that. And the background moves by at a perfectly steady pace that's just a hair faster than they're actually walking? And they sort of sway back and forth because it's the only way to move your body out of the way of your own feet? Yeah, that.

Terrible CGI, no fewer than three contradictory theories of how time travel works, a mysteriously unpopulated city, and a whole slew of things I can't tell you about without giving something away. Oh, spare yourself! Doom, doom!

Things You Probably Already Knew

Stephen King needs an editor. Bag of Bones is a pretty good book, but really just way too long in some places. He can't resist a thought full of clever word play that might cross the narrator's mind, relevant or not, credible or not. This man is thinking of clever puns while being scared out of his mind. Really, it's any appearance of cleverness at all that he can't bear to cut. It reminds me of William Goldman's truism, for screenwriting but probably for all writing--you must kill your darlings. Sometimes your best work is the part you have to cut. C'mon, Stephen. Be merciless.

Okay, so maybe you didn't know that. Maybe you're like that smug librarian in my hometown library who used to remark on every book you were checking out, often unfavorably. She wrinkled her nose whenever I checked out Stephen King, which I never did till after high school. But then again, I got to feel smug when she said she couldn't understand Like Water for Chocolate, which I actually enjoyed a lot.

You also probably knew that the 50s was a lousy decade to be gay in America. I knew that, too. This fellow, Martin Duberman, has seriously internalized a great deal of psychoanalytic theory, to the point where even when he's refuting things, he speaks their language. This has led me to do some thinking about the word "pretentious." It occurs to me that genuine highfalutinness is not actually pretention--if you're a world-renowned academic, you're not pretending to anything when you talk like a world-renowned academic. It's only when you're a freshman, or just plain ignorant, that you can call it pretentious.

I grant him that--he's not pretentious--though I still don't much like it.

I guess this entry wasn't mostly about things you probably already knew. Except the Stephen King thing. So, Thing You Probably Already Knew.

Eaten by a Bear, and Other Comforts

Despite a fairly significant amount of downtime over the weekend, I don't feel like I've made forward progress in my goals. Sadly, when I think about why I feel that way, I realize that my goal is to get all these books read. You know, the ones I'm planning to read. Now, somehow that doesn't seem very life-affirming; get it done, cross them off the list, and everything will be fine.

I spent most of the weekend rereading. A little of Expecting Adam, which really had an impact on me the first time I read it, but which a more skeptical second reading is revealing as more of a good read than maybe the gospel I took it for. I feel a little gullible for buying wholesale into th whole thing; not that I disbelieve it, but a healthy skepticism makes you evaluate how well everything ties together, and whether you REALLY had those thoughts before those other things happened. Anyway, it's still well written, and I'm sorry to lose my excited first reaction, but I have.

Mostly, though, I was reading The Clan of the Cave Bear. Linden and I used to sit around and talk about what we thought would happen in the next sequel to come out. What basic element of civilization would she discover next? She's tamed animals--will she domesticate crops? She invented the sewing needle. Next? Discover the wheel, perhaps? Anyway, it was really soothing to read. I'm kind of skimming--there are a lot of descriptive passages that I've enjoyed in the past, but this time I'm just skimming through the story. It's so soothing and reassuring. A childhood favorite, despite, you know, the sex.

Now that I'm back to the commute, though, I'm reading my Commute Book, which is currently Cures. This is a memoir of a gay man who spent the fifties alternately cruising bars and bath houses and in therapy trying to get "cured" of his homosexuality. It's told in a very matter-of-fact manner, very like sitting down and having someone outline his life for you, going into detail when necessary to make the point. It also does a good job of evoking the social environment of the time--not just the facts, but the sense that not only is heterosexuality the norm, so is monogomy, and that this is a big part of the problem.

But I sort of feel like he does his story a disservice when he discusses some of these topics. He presents very clearly the objective and subjective facts of his life at the time, but he doesn't do much tempering of the subjective part through a modern lens.

I might be misreading my own reasons for being thrown off, but I think it's because he doesn't sort out some of the jumbled mixed-messages there were in the fifties. He equates the perceived wrongness of homosexuality and the perceived wrongness of promiscuity together. And of course, at the time, for him, they were all mixed up. But I think, whether or not both of them had equal validity, in modern times it's worth trying to work out how they were separate things.

I'm working through about seven library books right now. Wish me luck.

Who's a Wannabe?

Queen Bees and Wannabes, which folks may have noticed was cited as the "based on" book for the movie Mean Girls, is a lot better described by its subtitle, Helping Your Daughter Survive Cliques, Gossip, Boyfriends & Other Realities of Adolescence. (Note that the lack of the last serial comma is not house style here where I work, but to each publishing house its own.)

This book is really a self-help book. It's very much about how to talk to your daughter, prevent her from rolling her eyes at you, and help her make good decisions, instead of locking her up for five years. I'm not fully convinced it's possible to prevent the eye-rolling, but the message of respect and letting go was good.

There were way fewer personal flashback moments than I would have expected. I think I managed to dodge much of the later-adolescence stuff in my own life. The boys, drugs, sex, partying parts were very interesting, but in a much more anthropological way. Also in a "crap, I'm going to have to rear children one day and deal with this mess" kind of way. But the middle school, cliques, best friend swapping, girl cruelty parts at the beginning of the book were really fascinating. It's an incredibly complex society these kids have, mostly because they're smart enough to think and plan and machinate, but not mature enough intellectually to analyze what they're doing and control themselves.

Upcoming: books I'm planning to read.

Do You Think I'm Crazy?

So the library's updated website indicates that you can "log in before clicking Add To My List to retain titles in the list for 90 days."

The 90 day limit was pretty upsetting, since I keep all my books to read in that list, and sometimes I don't read them for months. So I clicked the "Give us your feedback" link and gave it: while I understand that there are space constraints, that limit makes me sad.

Within the hour, I received a reply stating that the entire list is retained, and only deleted after 90 days of inactivity. I have no worries there--I'm in there all the time. Hooray!

Now, when I told this to Mike, he seemed to think the salient point of the story is that I'm someone who calls the library to ask how long it keeps my list. Now, I think that since they had a big BUTTON asking for my advice, there was nothing presumptuous about me offering it. But I'd like to know if I'm alone in thinking that there's nothing obsessive about this.

Long Weekend

So we went to Mike's cousin Matt's wedding this weekend, in upstate Michigan. It was chilly, rainy Saturday morning, but ended up gorgeous for the wedding itself. But travelling to upstate Michigan takes a long time. Especially when you misread your itinerary and get to the airport three hours early.

From 10:30 am until 9:30 pm (or so) we were travelling on Friday. Sunday, it was 9:30 am till 7:30 pm. Saturday was pretty much spent at the hotel, due to being exhausted. And then in the evening, the wedding. There was a live Motown band, called the KGB, which was really cool. I'm a little weddinged out, sadly; I get tired much earlier than I used to.

But the long plane trips made for a ton of reading. I finished The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, which is the third Narnia book and is getting a little boring in its blatant moralism. It's a series of lessons, and just as the characters are about to go irrevocably awry, Aslan appears and shows them how to be right. And then he explains that in our world he's called Jesus and you should really listen to him. It's pretty much that blatant, though he doesn't use the name "Jesus" directly.

Anyway, I don't know if I'll go any further in that series. I also finished Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson. This was excellent, even better than Gilead, I think. It definitely worked more tightly as a novel, though it was still full of very well-expressed thoughts on belonging, and sorrow, and inevitable sadness. There is no lasting happiness, certainly not in the cold northern town of Fingerbone, and not in the whole world she inhabits. Not just the character, I mean, but the author. There's little even of the transient joy she allows for--sparkly shoes, huckleberries. It's a very sad story.

And now I'm reading Queen Bees and Wannabes, which is inflicting fewer painful middle school flashbacks than I might have expected. It's interesting, though dense. I'm curious how well these methods would really work for communicating with a teenager. First, self-reporting is a notoriously unreliable way of getting information from anyone, especially kids (not the most self-aware creatures to begin with). Secondly, it's hard to reconcile her reliance on affirmation as a method of staying close with the real need to stop certain behaviors. Anyway, I think it's a great book for someone who actually has a teen, but it only reads as moderately interesting for the rest of us.

I have 11 library books out now. We'll see how the rest of them wind up.

Technically...

...I didn't finish. But the epilogue looked boring, and I can read it later when book club swings around. So I think I'll take credit for The Devil in the White City.

All Signs Point to Yes

It looks like I'll make it! It seems like I can read 15 pages between now and when I go return it at the end of the day.

The question is, when I go to return it, will I be able to restrain myself? I still have 5 books from the library, and I'm picking up one for Mike. His book is upstairs, quite close to a couple of books I want--Queen Bees & Wannabes, which was the basis of the movie Mean Girls, for example.

So will I be taking more than five library books to Michigan this weekend?

See entry title.

Race Against Time!

The library book is due tomorrow, and I can't renew it because there's a wait list! I'm 90 pages from the end, and I have to get ready for the next wedding trip tonight! Can I do it???

Time Crunch

I went on a five day vacation and read hardly a word.

I finished rereading In This House of Brede, which was a beautiful book and which I'm so glad I got for Christmas. I won't go on about nuns again except to say that good nun books are very pleasing to me. I got through maybe ten more pages of The Devil in the White City, and started The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, which is short, being a kids' book, so I'll probably get through it soon. Still, I'm disappointed in myself, especially since White City has to go back to the library on Thursday and I would really like to finish it. But I guess a good vacation is more rare and valuable than getting some reading done. I'll let it go.

White City does seem to have put Colombian Exposition Fever in my blood, though. The book is a little limiting, in that it's about the architects--which is fascinating--but doesn't get into the nitty gritty as much as I'd like. It gives examples of logistic problems, but doesn't detail how they're solved. Not that I want a pedantic list of these things, but it'd be nice to learn a little more about architecture. I got Fair Weather, a Richard Peck children's book about a girl who goes to the fair, when I went to the library, just because I feel like I want to know a little more about the sensational parts of the fair, which are breezed by in favor of the truly astounding engineering feats--the first Ferris Wheel!

This weekend will involve a plane trip--there will be much reading.

Nuns Revisited

Well, I think I've given up on Our Lady of the Forest. I was always a little doubtful, but I tried it anyway, and I don't hate it, but I really really just don't like it. It has a few of my pet peeves, including lots of dialog without quotation marks, as well as characters who cross the line on some of my own personal hygene pet peeves. Let's preserve the family-friendly nature of this blog and leave it at that; it's sufficient to say I just am not enjoying it at all.

Surprisingly, the same is not the case for Orlando: A Biography, by Virginia Woolf. I'm not sure how she's going to pull off the things that the back cover says she'll do, but I'm enjoying the trip so far. It looks like it's going to be a magical realism--emphasis on "magical"--type of story. So far, it's just about a romantically flaky courtier. But I'm caught up, which I've never been able to say about a Virginia Woolf novel before.

The Devil in the White City is pretty enjoyable, too. I don't necessarily feel that the two stories--the mass murderer and the architect--really fit together, and I have my suspicions that they might never really come together. But the juxtaposition isn't hurting either of them. My one hope is that all the architectural problems they've been teasing me with get wrapped up. I suspect that they present these specific issues more as background color, and that they're not going to resolve them to my satisfaction. For example, the level of Lake Michigan changes by as much as 4 feet over the course of the year. How can the landscape architect manage the flora so that there is neither a bare 4 feet of ground, nor a bunch of drowned plants?

And finally, I've started re-reading In This House of Brede, by Rumer Godden. I asked for and got this for Christmas, after reading it at the library last year. It's just such a good book. I think one of the reasons I like behind the scenes nun stories is that I just like behind the scenes stories. Just the day-to-day that you would never have guessed. Kitchen Confidential was good like that, though I prefer nuns to trash-talking ex-cons. But rarely do you get books in which not much happens that don't come out boring. In This House of Brede is right up there with The Nun's Story, and I rather wish there were more.

I'm on vacation for the second half of this week, so it will be next week before I'm back. In case, you know, anyone's reading this.

My Childhood Crush on Michael J. Fox

It was only a little crush, and I suppose it was really on Alex P. Keaton, though I've always enjoyed Fox's work. His book was pretty good, too. His childhood was only minorly interesting, mostly because it was so typical, but the entire story of his acting career was quite interesting, and his account of living with Parkinson's Disease is quite fascinating. I had sort of wondered why he let himself be typecast for so long; it was because felt he needed to work on as many moneymaking products as fast as he could, to ensure his family had enough money when he couldn't work any more. He speaks so well of his wife, you know she must have SOME flaws. He loves his kids. Etc.

That's the one thing about the book, actually; he's telling the story of the parts of his life he really kind of screwed up, and he's trying to be pretty sincere, but he's also trying to be balanced, and you can see the balance tipping in his favor in some places. In telling the story of a fight with his brother right after the death of his father, he acknowledges that his renown caused stress to his family in that time (of course not his fault) and that he made a remark that was funny in his head but not out loud (happens to all of us), but he sidesteps the part where, you know, probably part of it was that fame actually HAD kind of gone to your head. He admits his own flaws, but in a very carefully screened and structured way.

I listened to it on tape, too. Fox (it's weird to call him that; that's how you talk about authors, not actors) read chapter 1 himself, and an actor read the rest. Fox's reading was quite good, though you could tell it wasn't terribly easy for him. Knowing he was sick, you could hear how words were sometimes swallowed and cut short. But his reading was much better than that of the actor--who overacted in some places, and hit a lot of words too hard.

Anyway, that's a lot to devote to that one book. In other news: I'm reading The Devil in the White City, which is really pushing the line between colorful nonfiction and fictionalized scenes, and doing it well. Also, I kind of wish I wasn't saving money for a wedding and a house and had the option of really pursuing this librarian thing. I don't know if I actually would, but right now quitting my job is not remotely an option (how do people who DON'T make large salaries buy houses anywhere NEAR this city?), so I just have to keep dreaming.