I received a rejection slip! Of course I’m disappointed, but here’s the catch: all creative ventures involve risk. I took a risk. It didn’t pan out the way I’d hoped, but I took it nonetheless. I am creating, and putting my work out there, and it’s a step in the right direction. This post just didn’t meet their needs at this time, which also means I get to post it here instead. Create, and recreate, and all good. What are you creating, and how’s it going?
Reading has always been one of my favorite recreational activities. I read to lose and find myself in stories of people like me in situations unlike any I’ve ever–or will ever–encounter. I read to explore the world, different cultures far and near. I read to find our common humanity, our shared emotion in vastly different experiences. I read to learn new intricacies and ways of being in the world. Here’s what I’ve been reading lately:
A highly original man-and-dog love story. This book is funny and crazy and adventurous and oh so sad while also hopeful. I look forward to another book from this author.
Searingly honest, in parts painfully so. And therein lies the point: alcoholism is painful, a pain-inducing response to a painful set of inclinations based in biology, experience, and one’s personal psychological and physical response to it. This could have been fiction, and the tragedy is that it was not. And yet, thankfully, there is hope. There has to be hope. Always.
I ❤ this book! I am not Lutheran nor high-church liturgical. I do not swear like a sailor and I do not have tattoos. Nor am I brave or vulnerable enough to write as she does in this gorgeous book about God’s grace showing up in very ordinary people (though I aspire to vulnerably write of grace in the ordinary).
Nadia is simultaneously irreverent and reverent. She is refreshingly honest, mostly about her own faults and mistakes and sins and how those are the very cracks through which God shows up with His soldering iron to repair and redeem and make something new and better. Again and again and again, she points to grace.
We don’t agree on every point. Her theology may be more progressive than mine. But she loves Jesus and she loves His church. And, without force, with grace, she continually directs people–and herself–to Jesus, who loves without bounds and forgives without reservation.
I heard about this book when I heard Oprah was involved in a movie version for HBO. The movie is out this week so I rushed to finish it (sadly, while I love Oprah, I didn’t love the movie). Although I am not a scientist (or even a scientist at heart), this book contains threads from so many genres: epic multi-generational family drama, sci fi, ethics, philosophy, biology, tragedy, quest, even coming-of-age. Skloot first heard about HeLa cells–and that they came from a black woman–when she was a 16yo non-traditional high school student taking a community college biology class. She devoted much of the next ten years to seeking out the whole story: of the cells and the woman from whom they came, their significance to scientific progress, and of her family over generations. The story kept me turning pages and the science, explained in a very readable way, didn’t sink me. For so many reasons, this is an important story. Read this book, and then read more about the Lacks family.
This might be putting it on a little strong, but here it is: if Shakespeare had been a contemporary young black woman from SoCal, he might have written this book. The Mothers, the old church women who gossip and pray in turn, function as Macbeth’s witches. They narrate the interweaving story of three young people, and see into their future and past with little to say about the present. Bennett portrays with aching accuracy love’s power to create, destroy, and significantly alter the course of life.
It’s been a long time since I read Shanghai Girls and this book didn’t adequately reacquaint me with the story fast enough. I spent too many early chapters guessing at Joy’s motivation for drastic actions. It picked up after awhile and then offered a storied picture of China under Mao Tse Tung that frankly terrified me for the world in which we currently live. It holds together as a mother-daughter story, the end satisfies, but I still didn’t love the book.
A radical departure from the Rosie books, this one is a long, melancholy song to lost love, chances, and youth. “Lost love belongs in a three-minute song [or, in this case, a book], pulling back feelings from a time when they came unbidden, recalling the infatuation, the walking on sunshine that cannot last and the pain of its loss, whether through parting or the passage of time, remind us that we are emotional beings” (287).
I didn’t love it. Too much IT-talk, and too many references to songs I don’t know. Yes, I could have looked them up but then I’d be reading this book for another month. And the week in France seemed to me like a big, crazy stretch though it did lead to some–at that point in the story–surprising psychological revelations.
Maybe my favorite detail came in learning that Adam’s dad referred to him as A sharp, the less-common musical name for B flat. And perhaps that uncommonness led to Adam’s willingness to take a leap that made me uncomfortable from its first suggestion.
Four adults and a 10-year-old girl vacation together in Italy. Bound by marriage and parenthood and the past, they don’t share much love for one another. Told by each adult in turn, the story reveals deep rifts, dysfunction, pain, evil.
Ephron gives full-bodied life to her characters and uses their different voices to subtly nuance each conversation, each situation. I think I know these people, but I don’t like any of them. I can imagine them in my social circles, even imagine shared vacations, and I never want to see them again. Siracusa itself–foreign, beautiful, run-down, winding-lose-your-way streets–works as a metaphor for the twisted and twisting relationships. The story feels like the careful steps of a woman in heels walking on ancient cobblestone: slow, unbalanced, tense, lovely, painful.
“Marriage. With whom do you want to take the journey?…Do you want to take it with someone who knows you, even intuits your secrets, or from whom you can remain hidden By that last standard, which choice did I make? I’m still unsure. And why do most of us want marriage? Crave it for status or for stability that is an illusion. Marriage can’t protect you from heartbreak or the random cruelties and unfairnesses life deals out. It’s as if we’re chicks pecking our way out of our shells, growing into big birds splendid with feathers, and then piece by piece, we put the shells back together, reencasing ourselves, leaving perhaps an eyehold, minimal exposure. Having pecked our way out to live, we work our way back to survive. Deluded, of course. Shells crack easily.” (81)
“…suppose you see the corner of a building at sunset and one side is beige and the other flamingo pink when both are in fact the same drab red brick? And a second later the vision is gone because the earth has moved infinitesimally. Was what you saw reality? Is there always more than one?” (189)
What I’ve read so far in 2017: an odd smattering of Christian non-fiction, memoir, historical novel, Newbery Award winner, and fiction. The winner out of this bunch: hands-down it’s A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman. I didn’t think I would like it. In the end, I didn’t. I loved it!
[Note: This review is longer than my usual b/c I wrote it for our church women’s group newsletter]
Shauna Niequist thought she had built her perfect life. Until she admitted the exhausted ache in her body and soul, and that she would consider handing it all over to the first person who thought they could handle it.
She wanted more, more, more out of life, and she wanted to be recognized as terrifically capable, worshipping for a time at the altars of productivity, capability, busyness, distraction. Sound familiar? We want the best life has to offer, and we want to make a contribution to the world. And yet, we also know that quite often, less is more. It’s one thing to want to make your mark and another to believe that mark proves your right to take up space on the planet.
Tired of being tired, burned out on busy and hearing others express the same complaints—longing for connection, meaning, depth, but settling for busy—Niequist began making changes. She reminds us of the simple truth, easily forgotten, that our choices determine what will fill our minutes, hours, days and years. “…you can’t have yes without no. Another way to say it: if you’re not careful with your yeses, you start to say no to some very important things without even realizing it.”
She practiced saying no in order to make her yeses count. She stopped should-ing on herself: “Of course I can. If I can, then I have to. They need me. They need me to be responsible, and tough. I should. Warning, warning, warning. The words tough, responsible, and should have never led me to life and wholeness” (117). She cleaned out her closet and her calendar. She spent more time playing basketball with her kids. She learned to be okay with uncomfortable silence and to rest in God’s unconditional love.
Present Over Perfect is not a how-to manual, but one woman’s story of reprioritizing her body and soul and finding love: “…the love I was looking for all along is never found in the hustle. You can’t prove it or earn it or compete for it. You can just make space for it, listen for it, travel all the way down to the depth of your soul, into the rhythmic beating of your very own heart, where the very spirit of God has made his home, and that’s where you’ll find it.”
Before this book I had read nothing by Coelho and knew nothing about Mata Hari. Well, I knew her name, and knew she was “notorious.” This is a fast read but I expected more from an author so well-respected. Maybe I need to brush up on WWI history (um, yes). The sad–and in these days, scary–thing is how this woman, for nothing more than being an independent and captivating woman at a time when that could be seen as scandalous, was betrayed to death by those who had been her friends and lovers. She was sacrificed as entertainment, a distraction from the hell the world had become. Which frankly terrifies me in this country at this moment in history. What are we needlessly sacrificing to distract ourselves from what is truly happening around us?
A quote: “Liars, what little I know of them, are people who seek popularity and recognition. Even when faced with truth, they always find a way to escape, coldly repeating what had just been said or blaming the accuser of speaking untruths.”
Jennifer Weiner’s books tend to be light, funny, emotional, sharp and satisfying like a spiked cup of dark hot chocolate. This memoir in essays has some of that but not enough. She’s a good storyteller, so each story kept me reading. It was interesting to see how much of her personal life and experiences she has mined for her fiction, and to see how a “regular girl” became a novelist. But sometimes it felt like TMI; I’m not sure her half-brother will appreciate the sordid details of his birth being published before he’s even old enough to read. Overall I wish she and her editor had done another few sweeps over the content.
I’d hear the fuss about A Man Called Ove, but a curmudgeonly old man didn’t sound like my cuppa tea. A fussy old woman doesn’t, either, but I grabbed this book nonetheless. Backman’s a master at creating character and reveals Britt-Marie’s backstory by way of explaining her eccentricities while also moving her forward, out of her comfort zone and into our hearts. This could have had several endings but the ending he landed on is perfectly satisfying. Now to go pick up Ove…!
“Sometimes it’s easier to go on living, not even knowing who you are, when at least you know precisely where you are while you go on not knowing” (p125).
“All passion is childish. It’s banal and naive. It’s nothing we learn; it’s instinctive, and so it overwhelms us. Overturns us. It bears us away in a flood. All other emotions belong to the earth, but passion inhabits the universe.
“That is the reason why passion is worth something, not for what it gives us but for what it demands that we risk. Our dignity. The puzzlement of others and their condescending, shaking heads.
“Britt-Marie yells out loud when Ben scores that goal. The soles of her feet are catapulted off the floor of the sports hall. Most people are not blessed with that sort of thing in the month of January. The universe.
“You have to love soccer for that” (p262).
Ove looks and acts like “the archetypal grumpy old sod,” which generally means I’d steer clear. But this book demonstrates once again that grumpy people may be grumpy for a reason, and likely if you can get behind that grumpy exterior, they are so much more.
“Love is a strange thing. It takes you by surprise” (p 326). As does the beauty of this book, about death, life, and love. Without Sonja, Ove has lost his focus. “Every human being needs to know what she’s fighting for. That was what they said. And she fought for what was good. For the children she never had. And Ove fought for her. Because that was the only thing in this world he really knew” (p 205). Parvaneh moves her family in next door and, despite his efforts to remain aloof, she also moves them into Ove’s life and eventually his overly-large heart. Parvaneh throws open Ove’s door and restores to him a good life worth fighting for.
I read Britt-Marie first and thought I liked it better. Until I discovered my face wet with tears at an ending I knew was coming and was, of course, perfectly on target and still so loving and sad.
Smart and engaging, Bessey takes us on a journey through her evolving theology. Because–truth–we all have ideas and beliefs that change over time, with experience and study and lots of prayer.
One of my favorite quotes: “I wasn’t created to be used. We were not saved, set free, rescued, and redeemed to be used. We aren’t here to work and earn our way; we aren’t pew fodder or a cog. We aren’t here to prove how worthy we are for the saving. There isn’t anything left to earn. God won’t use us up….
“God does not want to use you: God wants to be with you because He loves you.” (p219)
Although from p1 the writing was fine, it took a while to connect with this book. The more I read the answer presented itself: it hit a little too close to home.
Love young and old(er), and three too-entwined relationships: Andrew and Elizabeth, Zoe and Jane, and their kids, Ruby (Zoe/Jane’s daughter) and Harry (Andrew/Elizabeth’s son), all falling in and out and back in love and friendship in all life’s relational complexities. The older set are firmly mid-life, 47-55yo, while the kids are 17-18.
I, myself, am in the “pushing 50” demographic while my son is ready to take on his future at 18. Too close…
Like I said, the book is fine. Entertaining, I guess, but nothing over the moon special.
This book engaged me enough to read it quickly. But in the end, I don’t know how to feel about it. I have sisters and the complicated sisterly dynamic rang true. The marriage dynamic, too, really the whole messy-and-hard-but-mostly-good family thing was right on. And the ESP twist on things made this story just interesting enough. But I absolutely hated the ‘earthquake’–unlike real earthquakes it seemed completely avoidable–and I felt like Sittenfeld threw in the race issue just to make an obvious move. I loved loved loved Eligible, but this one leaves me saying, “meh…”
This book glimmers with similarities to other greats that came before:
Where the Mountain Meets the Moon by Grace Lin
The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo
The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle
Considering those all won the Newbery Medal, really, it’s no surprise that this one has, too. It sucked me in with beauty and truth. But in the end, I felt like I’d missed the key moment, the surprise, The Thing that makes good books fantastic. I truly enjoyed it and have passed it on to my family and will buy it for everyone for Christmas, but it doesn’t quite measure up to my all-time favorites.
Nearing her death, Lucy writes the story of her family during the summer of 1935 when she, the middle of three daughters, turned twelve; the summer ended in tragedy when six-year-old Emily went missing, never to be found. Lucy leaves the journal for her grand-niece Justine, along with her family’s Minnesota lake house, the escape hatch Justine needs for herself and her daughters.
The chapters alternate between Lucy’s first person narration and third person narration of Justine’s experience, traveling back to the lake house she visited with her mother only once, when Justine was nine.
These two women transported me to a lake house summer. They carried me along in their respective dramas and didn’t give away the end until it was time. But by then the end was just too twisted, too sad. I felt sick at how characters made choices with long-reaching consequences throughout generations. I kept waking in the night with the sadness of the story weighing on my mind. I guess for some that could be a sign of a good book but, in the end, this book was not my cuppa tea.
Dealt a crappy hand in childhood, Libby seemed to recover well. She is all for kittens and rainbows and looking to the bright side. People like her. She then gets, in one day, a painful one-two punch, the worst news followed by news just as devastating in different ways. What to do next? Take off for the tropics, of course.
This is not a great book but it is a highly readable and–given the serious subject matter–a surprisingly light and fun book. I truly enjoyed the story. I’d like to be friends with Libby, or at least to think I might respond with just an ounce or two of her optimism. I definitely look forward to more from Pagan.
Teen has a numbers quirk: they have to be even. The stereo and TV can’t be set to 9 or 11, but to 8 or 10. He’s thrilled that his birth date contains all even numbers, and irked by his rugby bag: #733.
So I won’t bother to tell him that, as of this moment, I’ve read 49 books in 2016. I might still squeeze in one more, but not in time to also blog about it. So as far we are concerned, 49 it is.
49 tops the even 30 I read in 2015, and blows away the 9-13 read by the “average” American (Pew Research Center, January 2014). I guess I could wow Teen with my page count: those 49 books contained 15,662 pages, with an average length of 326. My shortest book was also even: Gratitude by Oliver Sacks, 64 pages; my longest book, odd: Life After Life by Kate Atkinson, at 531. Among Goodreads readers, the most popular book I read this year is the new Harry Potter play, The Cursed Child, while the least popular was I Dare Me by Lu Ann Cahn; and the highest rated book (for good reason!) is Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson.
My go-to genre: literature/fiction at 25 (favs this year: Everyone Brave is Forgiven by Chris Cleave, Euphoria by Lily King, and Eligible by Curtis Sittenfeld). Young adult comes close at 13 (favs: All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven and The Sky is Everywhere by Jandy Nelson). I read more than my usual of non-fiction (two completely different, life-changing favs: Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson and Small Move, Big Change by Caroline L. Arnold). Surprisingly, I only read one book on faith/religion but it’s a practical book on prayer (Fervent by Priscilla Shirer), and not surprisingly, only one book of short stories which I gave up on (What is Not Yours is Not Yours by Helen Oyeyemi – smart, just not for me).
A year ago my teenage son read Just Mercy as extra credit for his high school Social Studies class. This year he read Kafka and Camus for an English class unit on existentialism. As I took up Just Mercy this month, I thought they might be of the same genre: how can it be that we live in a country founded on freedom and still incarcerate–on death row, no less–a hard-working, well-respected man with no evidence beyond skin color and fear? He might as well have woken up a bug. That might have been a better life.
Stevenson’s passion for justice and mercy for those who have been treated with less dignity than the very least of these, combined with his gift of storytelling, has opened my eyes to an aspect of America I wish didn’t exist. In this election year, I feel a new weight of responsibility to research the candidates and measures on the ballot. The headlines and bullet points cannot reveal the whole picture. Those without a voice rely on those of us who do to sing a better, more accurate song of freedom.
As a companion piece to Life After Life, this book was not what I’d hoped. I was initially glad we weren’t flipping through lives and time again as we did in Ursula’s story, but to the contrary, Teddy’s story plods along in a rather unexciting way. Even the war scenes felt mostly, surprisingly, slow. Had I not already invested hours reading the first book, I would have given up on the several hundred pages of this one.
Until the last gut-wrenching chapter.
If you haven’t read or didn’t like Life After Life, I won’t recommend this to you. If you read/like LAL, hang in there with this one.
LOVE! After many years, I reread one of Jane Austen’s books while on vacation. Still great, of course, but I have changed and I couldn’t love it the way I had. It felt (I know, writing these words might be sacrilege to some…) trite, superficial.
This book, though…? This book made Austen’s characters and stories real in such a great way. I honestly couldn’t put it down and finished it in less than 24 hours, including time off to sleep. I loaned it to a friend who did the same thing. We both grinned goofy-ridiculous grins because the book is goofy-ridiculous grin worthy. So. Much. Fun!
I didn’t particularly want to read another WW2 book, but Cleave’s Little Bee remains one of the most compelling books I’ve read. I’m so glad I gave this one a chance, as it has cemented Cleave among my favorite authors. His writing is so fresh–personal, vivid, funny, poignant. His characters become real people you’d like to know (or not). The story is so specifically focused that you almost don’t notice the war, but then, you also get new and horrifying details about the war. I’d recommend this book to just about any reader.
One weird day, and 50 years of Eleanor’s life.
She begins the day with a set of resolutions to become a better, more productive, healthier human being. (Don’t we all do that some days, even beyond our January determination?) She doesn’t achieve most of what she sets out to do/be. It’s too pie-in-the-sky to think sheer will power can override years of dysfunctional habit. But through flashbacks, we learn some of the Big Why’s that led to Eleanor’s current state of peculiarity. And through odd events that pile up one after another, she comes to new insights and revelations.
“Today” may have been as strange as any previous day in her life, but I believe in hope that Eleanor’s tomorrow will be different.
I worked as a restaurant hostess for one short college-years summer, and that was more than enough restaurant work for me.
It was also enough to conjure specific memories–sights, smells, personalities, stress–while reading Sweetbitter. I didn’t like restaurant work, and I didn’t like this book.
The writing was fine–specific, clever. But I am not a “bright lights, big city” kinda gal, while Tess claims the day she moved to New York was the day of her real birth. She longs for Big City adventure, and yet it seemed that her world got smaller and then smaller still. She repeatedly made stupid choices she could have avoided – ones she knew she should have avoided. That’s not very interesting.
And the Big Betrayal she experiences just didn’t seem that big to me. She chose awful “friends” who hurt her. But everyone, including Tess, is so clearly awful that it didn’t seem surprising or even all that bad.
Honestly, this book was enough to make me want to avoid going to restaurants–the facade, the pretension, the dirt. I think I’ll cook at home.
Confession: I have never read Austen’s original Northanger Abbey. But this book was entirely uneven… Sometimes it felt Austen-formal, others it revealed its updating. Maybe the fault is mine, that I’m not familiar with how Brits currently view social strata, influencing their behavior/attitudes. That aside, vampires? I wasn’t sure if the author was joking or serious. Curtis Sittenfeld’s Eligible, an update of Pride & Prejudice was fantastic; McDermid’s attempt at Northanger Abbey wasn’t.
I read this book for two reasons: someone gave me a gift certificate and a recommendation, and I’ve been reading about racial injustice. Some of it was difficult to read, the violence of white supremacy, for example, but also the implication that I might be more racist than I admit. Indeed, Picoult says as much in her afterword: “I was writing to my own community–white people–who can’t recognize racism in themselves.” In the end, I’m glad I stuck with it. Not because it’s a fantastic book (it’s okay, kept me guessing) but because it offered me different views on race in the US. And for the many who are more inclined to popular fiction than nonfiction sociology, this book will serve a good purpose.
Jandy Nelson has written two great books; I’ve devoured both and eagerly anticipate whatever she’ll release next. Her writing is amazing! Both books deal with themes of family, death, love, and art. In other words, life.
JudeandNoah are twins; both serve as narrators, Noah at age 14 and Jude at age 16, with chapters jumping between voices/ages. They’ve suffered a tragedy which they deal with in their own ways, eventually discovering the courage to tell the truth and live more truthfully.
Sculptor/mentor Guillermo: “You will see with your hands, I promise you. Now I contradict myself. Picasso he do too. He say pull out your brain, yes, he also say, ‘Painting is a blind man’s profession’ and ‘To draw you must close your eyes and sing.’ And Michelangelo, he say he sculpts with his brains, not his eyes. Yes. Everything is true at once. Life is contradiction. We take in every lesson. We find what works. Okay, now, pick up the charcoal and draw” (p. 197).
Noah: “…most of the time, I feel like I’m undercover.”
Jude: “Me too. Or maybe a person is just made up of a lot of people. Maybe we’re accumulating these new selves all the time.” Hauling them in as we make choices, good and bad, as we screw up, step up, lose our minds, find our minds, fall apart, fall in love, as we grieve, grow, retreat from the world, dive into the world, as we make things, as we break things.”
Noah: He grins. “Each new self standing on the last one’s shoulders until we’re these wobbly people poles?”
Jude: I die of delight. “Yes, exactly! We’re all just wobbly people poles!” (p. 354)
Sometimes a fluff book is just what I need, although this was fluff on serious subjects: what grief does to individuals within and family as a whole. It reminded me of Jennifer Weiner’s In Her Shoes, with two very different sisters-one flying by the seat of her pants, the other a frustrated lawyer-taking turns to narrate how they each try to move forward from family crisis. The story got progressively better and didn’t have the exact ending I expected, but I don’t expect to be mulling this one over for long.
Golden Child weds Model Girl (alternately, Devil Girl, though he never knows). His fate/her fury a perfect match of the gods.
Groff writes these characters so larger than life they are god-like and yet so completely flawed that they are simultaneously truly human. Extraordinary, and so ordinary. We admire them, we know them, we are them. We don’t ever want to be them.
This novel could have been shorter, one-sided, and it still would have been remarkable. But in its fullness it tells the story of a marriage, nay, the stories of a marriage, the two lives become one, in such fullness that it’s breathtaking.
I really liked Big Little Lies. Three Wishes was okay. I hear What Alice Forgot is terrific. I didn’t like Truly Madly Guilty.
One of the least guilty characters in this book describes herself as “deplorable,” and I thought, “That’s ALL of them!” The characters read like unlikable caricatures. The writing is overblown, especially at the beginning, where the ploy of moving chapter by chapter from “The Night of the Barbecue” to current day is meant to build suspense and succeeds only in being super annoying.
Well, except, I kept reading to find out what unimaginable thing happened at the barbecue…
And it’s kind of predictable, as are the character’s responses to it. I hoped for some honest soul-searching and healthy relational confrontation but didn’t find it.
This isn’t a deep, discover yourself book. It’s a light and innocent YA version of a chick flick.
Sleeping Beauty, aka Alice (aptly named because she prefers Wonderland), has dreamed nightly of her prince, Max, since she was a child. When she starts a new school, she is shocked to find Max for real, the guy of her dreams in the flesh.
How is this possible? Of course it’s not, but that’s part of the fun.
Denial wouldn’t work if I tried. It’s no use. Technically, summer may last through September 21st, but fall has arrived. This was our first year ever that 1st Day of School pictures have a distinctly gray–not blue–background. The alarm sounds too early and too cold each morning and, once again, too much homework has crowded out leisurely days of reading.
One bright spot of fall? I have a thing: I work while others work, which to me means I can read (or write or–shudder–clean), but I can’t watch TV. Which means I am reading, perhaps even more day-by-day than I did during the summer.
So here’s what I did consume June through August 2016…
Drawing loosely from and applying generous creativity to the biblical narratives of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, Toibin gives us Mary’s perspective on what happened to her son. While the writing is beautifully done, this is not a book for those easily offended by creative liberty. I, however, appreciated an extremely human portrayal of this oft-deified woman – wife, mother, friend. Luke 2 lightly comments that “Mary pondered all these things in her heart” – but as a woman in a patriarchal society, we don’t hear from Mary directly in Scripture.
Toibin doesn’t give us Scripture, but he gives us a literary look into the mind and heart of one of its central figures. What would that pivotal time in history have been like for those associated with Jesus? What would the crowd shouting “Crucify him!” have looked like, have smelled like, to Mary? What experience would Mary have had of crucifixion prior to Jesus’ own death? And once he died, then what?
Great book! Three American women living as expats in Hong Kong find their lives intersecting in terrible, beautiful, and meaningful ways. Lee writes eloquently about how where we’re from and where we live help to shape our identities, and rains hope on those who move forward through tragedy.
Nothing like a deadline to incite a reading binge, I found out a few chapters in that the book would be due at the library, with no possibility for renewal, in three days. So I finished it fast.
If you have significant issue with tarot cards or the supernatural, this book isn’t for you. It is for those who like an unusual mystery involving always-unusual circus performers. Similar to Water for Elephants or The Night Circus, minus the same significant love story.
Not my typical reading fare, I almost gave up on this early. Ani, the narrator, is not anyone with whom I would ever spend time – she wouldn’t give me a second glance anyway. But then I wondered: how does one end up this jaded and this driven? Ani obviously had a story to tell, so I kept reading what became an all-too-true to today’s headlines story (I’ll omit which headlines to maintain the mystery).
It’s not a perfect book and could have used another editorial pass. I thought the ending was satisfying, but confusing–did she find justice and peace? Or is she an unreliable narrator (reference the first day of school Honors English class conversation regarding whether Holden Caulfield is a reliable narrator in The Catcher in the Rye) and we’ve been fed a messy stank of lies…?
BTW, this book doesn’t hold a candle to Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl, to which it is compared on its cover.
Did not finish. I read more than half the stories, which is the only reason I feel I can comment.
The first story, “Books & Roses,” was so so so great. I read it three times. I woke up in the night puzzling over the mystery; I fell asleep at night retelling it to myself as my own personal twisted bedtime story.
This compilation of stories, fairy tales and retellings, all turn at the twist of a key. True to fairy tale genre, they are dark, more Grimm’s than Disney for sure.
Oyeyemi is a talented writer, smart and deft. Her style reminded me of Kazuo Ishiguro’s in Never Let Me Go, another fantastic book that left me despairingly sick. When I realized that I was avoiding my nightly reading ritual because I was truly avoiding Oyeyemi’s stories, I decided to let her go. For now.
Lennie’s beloved sister, Bailey, has died unexpectedly of heart issues while rehearsing to perform as Juliet in a college production. High school can be hard enough without having to deal with grief. And love, although thankfully love is more comfortably prevalent among teenagers than grief.
I love this book. Nelson is a poet and makes Lennie one as well, although Nelson’s poetry also runs through her prose in beautiful imagery and turns of phrase. The characters and story are true to life, the reality of messy family, messy grief, messy love, messy friendship.
Mess, beautiful mess, is the point. Lennie says, “As I make my way back to the table, something becomes clear: Life’s a freaking mess. In fact, I’m going to tell Sarah we need to start a new philosophical movement: messessentialism instead of existentialism: For those who revel in the essential mess that is life. Because Gram’s right, there’s not one truth ever, just a whole bunch of stories, all going on at once, in our heads, in our hearts, all getting in the way of each other. It’s all a beautiful calamitous mess. It’s like the day Mr. James took us into the woods and cried triumphantly, ‘That’s it! That’s it!’ to the dizzying cacophony of soloing instruments trying to make music together. That is it.” (p245)
How fun to be back in Potterland! Harry & Ginny’s kids and Ron & Hermione’s kids are all off to Hogwarts while Harry and Hermione work for the Ministry of Magic. Life has never been easy for Harry et al, and Harry’s son Albus seems set on making sure it remains difficult.
As a play script, this book leaves more than usual to the imagination. However, those who have traveled with Harry from the cupboard under stairs at Privet Drive to Hogwarts to the final battle already have their imaginations fired up. It’s fast and fun and satisfying in all the right ways.
Ironic that I had a conversation with a reader-friend and said, “So many books have been released recently about WWII. I understand the beauty-in-horror bit, but I find myself gravitating towards books that don’t involve the atrocities of war.” Meanwhile, I was already reading Life After Life and it immediately took a hard turn into WWII.
And yet… This book is again and again about life more than death. One choice leads to another, which leads to a completely different version of life. I decided to let the confusion of which decision and which version, the jumping forward and back through time, wash over me and it worked – I experienced life and more life in all its beauty and brokenness. The author claims that this book is about what it means to be British but, speaking as one who is not British, I’d say it’s more about what it means to be human.
Second time through this short, stunning book, both times as a read-aloud with Tween. The first time through, my boy was in 2nd grade, and this was the first book that touched him so deeply he wept until he couldn’t read the words on the page. This book taught him the power of literature to move us through its perspective on truth and beauty. At the time he wailed, “Why? Why are we reading this sad, sad book?” But it didn’t diminish his desire to read – even the sad books. If anything, it taught him to lovingly anticipate the heart-and-mind adventures that await him in Storyland.
Which tells you little about the book itself. Broken boy discovers broken tiger in a cage in the Florida woods. Broken boy meets broken girl and introduces her to Tiger. Together they find the courage to face their individual hurts and find healing which flows to others. A beautiful coming-of-age story by one of our favorite authors.
Lotsa reading happening over here, and it’s been a fun mix of a couple of novels, even more young adult novels, a goofy volume of poetry, and several non-fiction books.
A quick-and-easy read-aloud for a poetry reading requirement, but not my favorite Shel Silverstein. Still, a couple of poems stood out: “WRITESINGTELLDRAW” and “THE RAINBOW THROWER.”
This was my second time through this book – I read it myself years ago and this time read it aloud with Tween – and I liked it even better this time. And even more so when I read Gaiman’s acknowledgements, which begin with Rudyard Kipling and The Jungle Book. Gaiman read and reread The Jungle Book from childhood through adulthood, and that information sheds such light on what he has created. I thought parts might scare my sensitive Tween, but that was my too-rational adult brain overthinking; he took even the “scariest” bits in stride, as children perceive the world differently than adults – a perspective that helped me appreciate that life’s “scary” bits don’t have to be overwhelming, even to a sensitive mama.
This was the right book at the right time for me. Gilbert blends the right amount of play and seriousness, discipline and joy, storytelling and truth-telling. Highly recommend to anyone who desires to live beyond fear, whatever form creativity takes in your life.
One of my new favorites! Having allowed myself to stop reading another book, acclaimed and lovely, but not for this moment in my life, I picked up this book. Sentences in I knew I’d found a treasure. Harriet Wolf is an author and matriarch of three generations of women, all broken in their own beautiful ways. Baggott weaves together scenes from Harriet’s books with narratives told in each woman’s voice. Fantastic, moving, healing, wonder-full.
Although I went in looking for a lighthearted laugh, some essays left me feeling I wasn’t rich, smart or hip enough to get her humor. And yet I stuck with it to the end, so that’s something. Fans of her TV work might like this more than I did. Still, I do appreciate her vision for her life, her hard work and diligence, and that she’s willing to laugh at even the crappy stuff in life.
I entered this book with some trepidation. I adored Me Before You–unlikely a story as it tells and as painful in the end–and I didn’t want this one to muck it up. It didn’t. It didn’t exceed Part 1, but it did faithfully continue Louisa’s story. It depicts the roller coaster experience of grief, specifically Louisa’s plod through the loss of Will, while intersecting her story with others who are also grieving and dealing with losses of many sorts. In the end we feel proud of Louisa for having the courage to move on in more ways than one, and we hope that we will have the same courage when it required.
Kate DiCamillo is one of my very favorite authors. This isn’t her typical book. I liked it, but it took me a while to warm up to the story. It’s sad, mostly. But in that bleak landscape, there are whispers of DiCamillo’s usual magic, hope in the darkness or, in this case, Raymie’s soul growing larger as she learns to let go of what she expected and embrace the new people and path before her.
LOVE this book! It reminded me of a mash-up of two other books I’ve read recently: I Dare Me (Lu Ann Cahn) and Why Not Me? (Mindy Kaling). But way better.
Why was I surprised that the woman who has written some of my favorite TV dialogue can write so thoughtfully, so eloquently, with the perfect balance of depth and humor? And while she does write at length about how she wrote Cristina Yang’s “Grey’s Anatomy” character because she (read: we!) need a Cristina Yang in our lives, her own voice sounds a whole heckuva lot like Bailey. And I love it.
She says YES to the things you’d expect: YES to scary invitations, YES to asking for help, YES to play and getting healthy and true friends. But also YES to hard conversations, and to NO, and even to Wonder Woman. To being a badass. Badassery is a word, people: Shonda Rhimes added it to the dictionary.
Teen read this in middle school and so now Tween and I have read it aloud together. None of us have read the other two books that precede it, although that didn’t affect our enjoyment. This book intertwines art, artists, history, three uniquely gifted kids (one in math, one in language, the other as a “finder”), and a mystery that stretches from Chicago to Blenheim Palace, England. The description of the Calder retrospective in the first few chapters was so beautiful, so alluring, I could easily imagine myself there and also longed to be there.
These four short essays written in the last few years before Sacks’ death tell the life story of an extraordinary man who has made an indelible mark on the world. That we should all live so fully, think so deeply, and convey such gratitude and grace as we approach the end.
“It is up to me now to choose how to live out the months that remain to me. I have to live in the richest, deepest, most productive way I can” (16). It is up to all of us to choose to live richly, for none of us truly knows how much longer we have.
“I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written” (20).