I've been a reading manic lately. Both books are exceptional reads. One was quick (for me), the other not so quick but well worth sticking with.
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
This was an epic at 529 pages. It was the story of young man's roots going back to Greece and growing up in America. Boring, right? Not so much. Turns out the boy was born a hermaphrodite (both male and female genitalia). He was raised as a girl but later decides to become a boy after much trial and tribulation lead him to realize his true inclinations.
It's an epic because the book takes you from thenbeginning of his family tree, where his grandparents, who are brother and sister, flee Smyra for the United States. Theirs is a true love story and you are able to go along with the incest because of the time frame (early 1920's) and the lack of external socializing available in their small village.
Once they come to America and have children, you're introduced to the main character's parents. Tessie and Milt are second cousins but again, because of their traditional Greek upbringing and the story of their love affair, the reader is able to overlook the implausibility of another somewhat incestuous relationsip.
Callie, the main character, is born and, finally, her story takes over. She is tall and ungainly but grows her hair extremely long to hide behind . Who doesn't know a young woman who has done such a thing?
She is sent to a private girls school where she makes a friend who will shape her life. It turns out the perfect redheaded suburbanite is willing to experiment with Callie as long as Callie does all the work. This affair of sorts ends in Callie's first real sexual experience with her friend's brother.
Fast forward, Callie is in an accident and her sexual anomoly is discovered by doctors who had thus far ignored her genital issues. She runs away and becomes Cal. Cal hitchhikes across the country to find himself in San Fransisco which turns out to be good and not so good for him. Having no money, he is dragged into an exotic dance club and presented as something of a freak with other similar performers, whom he, of course, befriends.
Throughout the story the writer is able to deftly switch between the past and present without making your head spin. His writing is also comfortable and humorous. He gives wonderful nicknames to many of the supporting characters making me laugh out loud more than once.
If you have the time - this one took me about 3 week - it's worth a read.
For the sheer size of the book you may want to buy so you don't feel rushed (and incur a dreaded $.55 charge from the library).
Sarah's Key by Tatiana DeRosnay
This book absolutely blew me away. I almost cried at many spots throughout it. The writing is fantastic. I have no idea how this woman wrote it without having a nervous breakdown. If you think the Shack (see previous review) was tough to get through get a load of this book!
The story is about a journalist who is assigned to write about the Vel' d' Hiv' roundup of 1942. What the heck is that you may ask. Well, that's basically the point of the book. No one knows what it is and it actually did happen. The author includes a disclaimer at the beginning of the book that the story is fictional but the round up is fact.
The Vel' d' Hiv' round up was on July 16, 1942 in occupied France. The French police went around and rounded up 13,000 French Jews, most of whom were women and children. The story is told from the point of view of one of these children, Sarah, and Julia Jarmond, the journalist assigned to write about the round up 60 years later.
The two stories intersect when Julia realizes the apartment she is about to live in was once rented by one of the families that was rounded up and sentenced to death at Aushwitz. It becomes her mission to find the little girl who, documentation identifies, escaped.
Torture, that's all I can say about reading the Sarah chapters. They are descriptive and painful at a base level. Your eyes want to look away from the page while reading. I think it's important that we all read about these historical atrocities in order to be reminded of what human beings are capable of then and now.
So - if you can take it, read it. I highly suggest it.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
The Shack - by William Young
There are two things that scare the sh*t out of me. Dying and something happening to my children. If you are llike me the premise of this book is going to put you off immediately. The Shack is about a father whose daughter is kidnapped while he attempts to save his other child from drowing . He leaves his daughter unattended for five minutes and then *poof* she's gone. So right there I hate the book. It's my biggest fear realized but I hung in there because my aunt-in-law recommended it and I figured I owed it to her.
As expected, the father immerses himself in the search for his daugher for years until finally the police locate evidence indicating that the girl was murdered at a remote shack. The father must go there to identify her clothes because the body can not be found. The first third of the book is about the disappearance of the girl and the murder. I won't give away too much but it's an easy read and a page turner.
The father, who has a troubled upbringing, which is also detailed earlier in the book, searches for answers. He is summoned to the shack by an annonymous note. Questions abound. Who sent the note? Is it the killer? Could it be God himself (which makes sense in the context of the story)?
He makes a trip to the shack and finds out more about himself and his daughter than he would have had he stayed home and wallowed in his grief.
The rest of the story is heavy into theology and the divinity but it's wrapped in comical and likable characters. My only complaint is that it goes on and on where it could have been much more concise. In some areas it starts to sound like preaching but for what religion?
I read the book in about six hours (during a few days) which indicates it was easy to read and interesting. If you question what happens after you die and can pull yourself through the daughter tragedy, it's a good read, one worth renting at the library.
As expected, the father immerses himself in the search for his daugher for years until finally the police locate evidence indicating that the girl was murdered at a remote shack. The father must go there to identify her clothes because the body can not be found. The first third of the book is about the disappearance of the girl and the murder. I won't give away too much but it's an easy read and a page turner.
The father, who has a troubled upbringing, which is also detailed earlier in the book, searches for answers. He is summoned to the shack by an annonymous note. Questions abound. Who sent the note? Is it the killer? Could it be God himself (which makes sense in the context of the story)?
He makes a trip to the shack and finds out more about himself and his daughter than he would have had he stayed home and wallowed in his grief.
The rest of the story is heavy into theology and the divinity but it's wrapped in comical and likable characters. My only complaint is that it goes on and on where it could have been much more concise. In some areas it starts to sound like preaching but for what religion?
I read the book in about six hours (during a few days) which indicates it was easy to read and interesting. If you question what happens after you die and can pull yourself through the daughter tragedy, it's a good read, one worth renting at the library.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
The Reader - by Bernhard Schlink
This tale about a young man's coming of age is surprisingly woven into a jarring Holocaust trial. Michael Berg meets Hannah by accident. He is 15, she is older. She is an unlikeable sexual teacher to a young boy grasping for attention he doesn't receive at home. The first half of the book follows their love affair and perfectly details a young boy's emotional hurricane as his mistress toys with his heart.
As Michael matures and begins law school he is seated in the audience of a Holocaust trail. The accussed? Hannah. Michael follows the trial to it's conclusion and his life is forever changed by the experience.
This was an Oprah pick which I didn't realize until I just googled it. It isn't one of her more sappy choices. The story is about remaining strong yet allowing forgiveness where none may be deserved.
This one could be a keeper so I'd suggest you buy it.
As Michael matures and begins law school he is seated in the audience of a Holocaust trail. The accussed? Hannah. Michael follows the trial to it's conclusion and his life is forever changed by the experience.
This was an Oprah pick which I didn't realize until I just googled it. It isn't one of her more sappy choices. The story is about remaining strong yet allowing forgiveness where none may be deserved.
This one could be a keeper so I'd suggest you buy it.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
On we go...
In an effort to not worry about whether the most forward thinking and clearly most brillant agent in the world will take me on as I client I have begun (or gone back to working on) a new novel. I am posting the epilogue (though epilogues are generally looked down upon) before editing it to give my multitude of readers (hi MJ, hi Susie) an idea of what a novel starts with in the hopes that I will finish and you'll see how completely it is changed.
Feedback is always welcome as are FANS!! (see become a fan button, please!)
And Because....
Epilogue
I was sitting around a campfire with friends enjoying a heated but friendly political exchange when my friend John said, “Hey wait! Did you guys just hear that?”
Being a mature group of 30ish adults we immediately assumed a Jason like being was lurking in the woods waiting to chop us to bits so we quickly fell silent and listened; hard.
“I didn’t hear anything, “ I finally said feeling it my duty to rescue John who was now looking a little sheepish at having staunched the flow of conversation for what amounted to nothing.
“I’m telling you I heard something BIG in the woods over there,” John said hoping the addition of a size descriptor might help in the group’s auditory effort.
“Yeah, I think I heard it too,” said Brian, my neighbor who had been working all day and was just glad to be relaxing with a cold beer.
“Anyway,” I said as I raised my eyebrows and looked to Brian’s left at his Rebecca. “You were saying?” Rebecca had been proselytizing about how the nation had made a huge mistake by voting for Obama.
“Right,” she said as she jumped back into her monologue. “Obama just let those prisoners out of Guantanamo without having any kind of plan. Where did he think they would go? Where…”
John sprang from his chair interrupting Rebecca, “See? Did you see that?”
“I did! It’s big alright,” said Brian. Whether this was to agree with John for the sake of it or whether he actually heard a BIG noise I’ll never know.
Both men got up and slowly started to tiptoe while trying to look manly (which is all but impossible). They pranced over to the tenuously constructed wooden lean to that was the home of my haphazardly stacked firewood. They got about five feet from the lean to and paused; heads tiled toward the wood listening.
Rebecca and I gave each other a quick eye roll and took the opportunity to refill our plastic wineglasses. This act apparently was too “loud” for the men who immediately started wagging their hands and ssshhhing at us.
A faint rustling could actually be heard. Rebecca and I looked at each other in surprise. The noise was distinct but clearly not coming from the woodpile. It seemed to originate from a plastic bin I used to store kindling wood. Based on the noise we were all now hearing it was clear that the creature making the noise was not so much BIG as very small. John and Brian, relieved that they weren’t going to have to battle the famed New England Lion approached the plastic bin with renewed swagger.
“Oh look,” said John as he flung pieces of wood from the bin toward the wood pile.
“It’s a baby mouse,” said Brian leaning over the bin.
“Oh!” said Rebecca as she got up to look. Rebecca was a lover of all animals both small and disgusting. It was only democrats she couldn’t stand.
“Well, get rid of it!” I said. I may have followed that with a religious epithet directed at John but it doesn’t add to the story so better left unsaid.
Once all of the kindling had been flung from the bin John tipped the bin slowly in my direction, most likely in retaliation for the previously mentioned epithet. The mouse started skittering out of the bin and I lifted my legs making a clear path under the bench into the woods behind me.
To my right the fire blazed and flickered in it’s cobblestone cave. The mouse, as mice do, darted to the left and to the right as it approached my bench and then, against all logical reason, ran directly into the fire.
“Aahhhh!!” I screamed before I could help it.
A huge intake of breath could be heard from the group at large. We all stared into the fire aghast.
“Why would he do that? I asked expecting some logical explanation.
“Maybe he was cold?” joked Brian.
“But that was just so stupid,” I said.
“It was a mouse, they aren’t that smart,” said John sitting back down and taking a sip of his beer.
“I know but…” I said stopping when I realized everyone else had lost interest in the suicidal mouse.
While the others picked up the political discourse I continued to ponder the fate of the mouse. I wasn’t sure why it was bothering me so much, I’m not a lover of animals and certainly have no use for mice but it was so clearly the wrong decision.
Then it came to me. We all make decisions we wish we hadn’t. The smallest things we do can change our lives. Take a right instead of a left, buy a coffee instead of a tea, go the grocery store instead of the post office. The most mundane activities can change the course of our lives and we can’t do a damn thing about it.
Feedback is always welcome as are FANS!! (see become a fan button, please!)
And Because....
Epilogue
I was sitting around a campfire with friends enjoying a heated but friendly political exchange when my friend John said, “Hey wait! Did you guys just hear that?”
Being a mature group of 30ish adults we immediately assumed a Jason like being was lurking in the woods waiting to chop us to bits so we quickly fell silent and listened; hard.
“I didn’t hear anything, “ I finally said feeling it my duty to rescue John who was now looking a little sheepish at having staunched the flow of conversation for what amounted to nothing.
“I’m telling you I heard something BIG in the woods over there,” John said hoping the addition of a size descriptor might help in the group’s auditory effort.
“Yeah, I think I heard it too,” said Brian, my neighbor who had been working all day and was just glad to be relaxing with a cold beer.
“Anyway,” I said as I raised my eyebrows and looked to Brian’s left at his Rebecca. “You were saying?” Rebecca had been proselytizing about how the nation had made a huge mistake by voting for Obama.
“Right,” she said as she jumped back into her monologue. “Obama just let those prisoners out of Guantanamo without having any kind of plan. Where did he think they would go? Where…”
John sprang from his chair interrupting Rebecca, “See? Did you see that?”
“I did! It’s big alright,” said Brian. Whether this was to agree with John for the sake of it or whether he actually heard a BIG noise I’ll never know.
Both men got up and slowly started to tiptoe while trying to look manly (which is all but impossible). They pranced over to the tenuously constructed wooden lean to that was the home of my haphazardly stacked firewood. They got about five feet from the lean to and paused; heads tiled toward the wood listening.
Rebecca and I gave each other a quick eye roll and took the opportunity to refill our plastic wineglasses. This act apparently was too “loud” for the men who immediately started wagging their hands and ssshhhing at us.
A faint rustling could actually be heard. Rebecca and I looked at each other in surprise. The noise was distinct but clearly not coming from the woodpile. It seemed to originate from a plastic bin I used to store kindling wood. Based on the noise we were all now hearing it was clear that the creature making the noise was not so much BIG as very small. John and Brian, relieved that they weren’t going to have to battle the famed New England Lion approached the plastic bin with renewed swagger.
“Oh look,” said John as he flung pieces of wood from the bin toward the wood pile.
“It’s a baby mouse,” said Brian leaning over the bin.
“Oh!” said Rebecca as she got up to look. Rebecca was a lover of all animals both small and disgusting. It was only democrats she couldn’t stand.
“Well, get rid of it!” I said. I may have followed that with a religious epithet directed at John but it doesn’t add to the story so better left unsaid.
Once all of the kindling had been flung from the bin John tipped the bin slowly in my direction, most likely in retaliation for the previously mentioned epithet. The mouse started skittering out of the bin and I lifted my legs making a clear path under the bench into the woods behind me.
To my right the fire blazed and flickered in it’s cobblestone cave. The mouse, as mice do, darted to the left and to the right as it approached my bench and then, against all logical reason, ran directly into the fire.
“Aahhhh!!” I screamed before I could help it.
A huge intake of breath could be heard from the group at large. We all stared into the fire aghast.
“Why would he do that? I asked expecting some logical explanation.
“Maybe he was cold?” joked Brian.
“But that was just so stupid,” I said.
“It was a mouse, they aren’t that smart,” said John sitting back down and taking a sip of his beer.
“I know but…” I said stopping when I realized everyone else had lost interest in the suicidal mouse.
While the others picked up the political discourse I continued to ponder the fate of the mouse. I wasn’t sure why it was bothering me so much, I’m not a lover of animals and certainly have no use for mice but it was so clearly the wrong decision.
Then it came to me. We all make decisions we wish we hadn’t. The smallest things we do can change our lives. Take a right instead of a left, buy a coffee instead of a tea, go the grocery store instead of the post office. The most mundane activities can change the course of our lives and we can’t do a damn thing about it.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Making a literary life
I just finished reading Making A Literary Life by Carolyn See (pub. 2002, Random House) based on a tiny mention in a Maine Literary newspaper I picked up at the seven minute speed dating style pitch session. This book reminded me of the reason I started writing in the first place - pleasure, not fame or money.
As I strove to finish it (among throwing up children and, eventually, a vomiting husband) I decided to take whatever response came from the hold out second agent in stride. I would not burst into tears as I did when the first - the one I truly believed I belonged with - said no. I would see the message, open it and deal with it. Again.
So there I was wtih three hours sleep at the library with Alexis reading through the Webster's unabridged dictionary (she loves that thing though it weighs about 15 pounds). I checked the crackberry and there it was. I debated not opening it knowing that as much as I told myself I didn't care I really did. I clicked. She wanted the rest of the manuscript!
I swear to God I made that weird noise I have only made one other time in my life - the time a live elk almost jumped on my head! Lexi was freaked until she saw the smile swallow my whole face.
"What Mom did someone buy the book?" she asked. (This is how annoying I've been about working on the book lately).
No, honey they haven't bought the book but we're one step closer - one tiny step for Mom one giant leap for Mom-kind.
Making a Literary Life - Carolyn See
I can not tell you how great this book is if you are a writer. The subtitle is 'Advice for writers and other dreamers' but I think you must write to enjoy this book. Some of her wisdom will truly help me in the future - including the chapter on "Magazines, Grants, and Fun with the Tax Man". Who knew you could write off dinner parties because it may be fodder for your future writing, or travel - don't believe me? - apparently Arthur Miller went to court over this.
Her style is easy, her advice wise but not over-bearing. I've been trying to follow her 1,000 word a day advice but it's tough, it really is but she lets us off saying we don't need to catch up if we miss a day - thank you Carolyn! I've written a charming note to an agent from whom I got a rejection and, indeed, I do feel better, if not virtuous. But I've never been acussed of virtuousness so I'll live.
As I strove to finish it (among throwing up children and, eventually, a vomiting husband) I decided to take whatever response came from the hold out second agent in stride. I would not burst into tears as I did when the first - the one I truly believed I belonged with - said no. I would see the message, open it and deal with it. Again.
So there I was wtih three hours sleep at the library with Alexis reading through the Webster's unabridged dictionary (she loves that thing though it weighs about 15 pounds). I checked the crackberry and there it was. I debated not opening it knowing that as much as I told myself I didn't care I really did. I clicked. She wanted the rest of the manuscript!
I swear to God I made that weird noise I have only made one other time in my life - the time a live elk almost jumped on my head! Lexi was freaked until she saw the smile swallow my whole face.
"What Mom did someone buy the book?" she asked. (This is how annoying I've been about working on the book lately).
No, honey they haven't bought the book but we're one step closer - one tiny step for Mom one giant leap for Mom-kind.
Making a Literary Life - Carolyn See
I can not tell you how great this book is if you are a writer. The subtitle is 'Advice for writers and other dreamers' but I think you must write to enjoy this book. Some of her wisdom will truly help me in the future - including the chapter on "Magazines, Grants, and Fun with the Tax Man". Who knew you could write off dinner parties because it may be fodder for your future writing, or travel - don't believe me? - apparently Arthur Miller went to court over this.
Her style is easy, her advice wise but not over-bearing. I've been trying to follow her 1,000 word a day advice but it's tough, it really is but she lets us off saying we don't need to catch up if we miss a day - thank you Carolyn! I've written a charming note to an agent from whom I got a rejection and, indeed, I do feel better, if not virtuous. But I've never been acussed of virtuousness so I'll live.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
The Wrong Mother - Sophie Hannah
Sally was drowning in car pools, snack times and play dough when her boss scheduled her for a business trip. At first she assumed she couldn't do it but after her laid back husband suggests she "could" do it she starts to embrace the trip. So much that when it's canceled she decides to go and not tell anyone. She gets caught up in her naughty behavior and has an affair with a man staying at the hotel. When she returns home she is rested and relaxed until a month later when she hears her lover's name on the television. She turns around to see what's happened only to realize the man on the tv isn't the man she met. Then the fun begins. A wife is dead, a detective is puzzled and various characters lead us through the winding story which ends in a complex twist. Throughout the book the diary entries drop clues about the psychosis of one mother as she sinks deeper and deeper into a childrearing depression.
This book has it all, drama, great characters, humor and suspense. Really a good, quick read. I'd recommend it and will be reading more of her books.
See an interview with the author here: Sophie Hannah video interview
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Great quote in a new book
The book is The Wrong Mother by Sophie Hannah. I just started it so I'm not ready to review but so far very good. Very tired Mommy-ish but some of us can relate to that.
Setting: Her husband is watching the news surrounded by the remnants of a dinner that hit the floor when the children had a tantrum.
"Sweet. Aren't you going to....?" I point at the mess.
"In a sec," he says. "I'm just watching this."
"You could do both at the same time," I say. "Watch the news and clear up the mess." Pointless; it's the sort of comment some one like Nick doesn't understand.
He looks at me as if I'm crazy.
"I'm just saying, it'd be more efficient."
When he sees I'm serious, he laughs. "Why don't I just go straight to the last day of my life?" he says. "That'd be really efficient."
Don't you love that? I'm always telling the kids and John to try to do things more logically, more efficiently. It doesn't work and what's the rush really?
On another note, I need to start writing down where I get my book recommendations from because I just finished a book by Gillian Roberts and it was awful. I finished it because I thought I might be overly critical now that I'm up on my grammer rules (though I don't always employ them on my blog). The book Whatever Doesn't Kill You is a boring tale of two female detectives who almost (but don't) have love lives and almost (but don't) understand each other. The characters are underdeveloped and the plot is weak. There are two intertwining stories neither of which you care about plus the author is a recluse with commas.
Hopefully next week I'll have a positivei review of The Wrong Mother. It's looking good!
Setting: Her husband is watching the news surrounded by the remnants of a dinner that hit the floor when the children had a tantrum.
"Sweet. Aren't you going to....?" I point at the mess.
"In a sec," he says. "I'm just watching this."
"You could do both at the same time," I say. "Watch the news and clear up the mess." Pointless; it's the sort of comment some one like Nick doesn't understand.
He looks at me as if I'm crazy.
"I'm just saying, it'd be more efficient."
When he sees I'm serious, he laughs. "Why don't I just go straight to the last day of my life?" he says. "That'd be really efficient."
Don't you love that? I'm always telling the kids and John to try to do things more logically, more efficiently. It doesn't work and what's the rush really?
On another note, I need to start writing down where I get my book recommendations from because I just finished a book by Gillian Roberts and it was awful. I finished it because I thought I might be overly critical now that I'm up on my grammer rules (though I don't always employ them on my blog). The book Whatever Doesn't Kill You is a boring tale of two female detectives who almost (but don't) have love lives and almost (but don't) understand each other. The characters are underdeveloped and the plot is weak. There are two intertwining stories neither of which you care about plus the author is a recluse with commas.
Hopefully next week I'll have a positivei review of The Wrong Mother. It's looking good!
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