The Reading Promise: My Father and the Books We Shared is Alice Ozma's account of her and her father's years of reading aloud to each other for 3,218 consecutive days. The commitment the two made to each other when Alice was a child in 1998 ended only when moved away to begin college.
The book is also Ozma's way of paying homage to her father, a retired elementary school librarian who raised her and her sister alone after their mother left. It evolves -- or devolves, depending on your point of view -- into one assailing the school administrators who forbade her from from reading aloud to small children. These officials become such incompetent villains that the book cries for their side of the story. Why did they get rid of so many books in the library, as Ozma says they did? Why did they want her father to focus only on computers rather than books in a library? Perhaps, the officials are the mindless demons Ozma describes, but I wonder.
Ozma, whose name comes from Lewis Carroll's Alice and from Frank Baum's Oz books, clearly grew up in a home that cherished reading. Each chapter begins with a quote from a book she and her father shared -- from Charles Dickens' Great Expectations to Lois Lowry's The Giver and A.A. Milne's The House at Pooh Corner.
At one point, I stopped reading the book because, except for those quotations, the book was dealing little with what Alice and her father read and how it changed their lives. I decided to give it a second try, though, and grew to like it the farther I got into it. Still, there was something or some things about the book I never came to like.
First, Ozma's story gets tedious, even childish, at times. Perhaps that's in part because she's young and too vividly remembering her childhood. But reading about her temper tantrums and such when they contribute nothing to the overall story is really boring, especially when I for one deal with more than enough of such behavior in my own home.
And frankly, Ozma's father seems a bit too odd. I kept thinking, in fact -- there's another reason he had trouble with school administrators. His daughter may not know it. And the reader can only suspect it.
Ozma left me wanting to know more about the reading experiences. Did she ever read to her father? That's what I thought was going to happen, but it became less clear as the book progressed. Why did they choose the books they choose? Which ones did they like, hate? Which ones helped her deal with her parents' divorce? Which ones helped her father? How did they go from Winnie the Pooh to Great Expectations -- and when? How, in other words, did their reading progress as Alice grew up?
Still, the book has some merit. It made me wish my daughter and I would read aloud more to each other. But the book could have had much more merit in the hands of a better writer.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
The Magician's Assistant by Ann Patchett
Tell me to read a book, a novel per se, about a woman who is a magician's assistant -- yes, the always-pretty woman who appears to get sawed in half but comes out of the box intact with no legs or arms missing. Tell me the magician is gay, the woman is straight but in love with him, that she even marries him and lives a chaste life with him and his gay lover until they both die and leave her alone to inherit everything. Tell me she finds out -- to her dismay -- that this most cosmopolitan of men has a family in rural Nebraska -- a mom with permed hair and lots of secrets, a sister with an abusive husband, and more. And of course, they're mostly likable folks, ableit a tad strange.
Tell me I'll enjoy this book. Tell me I'll find it plausible. I'd think you were joshing or just plain clueless. But I did enjoy it. I did find it believable -- even a bit too predictable near the end. And, yes, I'd recommend it to you -- well, maybe not to my mother but to you, the people who read my blog and who find it not so incredible that a straight woman might knowingly marry a gay man -- and be happy.
Why should that premise even sound so bizarre? How many marriages between two straight people are based on convenience or need? How many start out based on love or on what the two thought was love but change in a few months or a few years? Maybe those couples are miserable. But I'd argue that not all of them are. Some of those people likely married for other reasons -- money, gratitude, need, companionship, expectations. And perhaps some married for love, but not the kind that's always consummated in the bedroom. Or maybe the reasons for the marriage changed over time with one or both spouses. I'm not saying these arrangements are ideal. But they exist and are probably more prevalent than traditionalists realize.
Patchett, also the author of the critically acclaimed Bel Canto, wrote this less well-known novel in the late 1990s. Her writing is clear, concise, lyrical. "Parsifal is dead. That is the end of the story." Well, maybe not: Those are the book's first two sentences.
This novel is about Sabine, a 40-something magician's assistant who lives in and loves Los Angeles. As the assistant, she's always been the one at the side, the one who stays out of the spotlight. But in Patchett's novel, Sabine takes the spotlight and proceeds to shine it on the other characters she comes to know through Parsifal, the man we never get to meet except through all of the other characters' shared memories.
And the fact that I loved this book, to my own surprise, perhaps speaks to the magic that literature can work in all of us.
Tell me I'll enjoy this book. Tell me I'll find it plausible. I'd think you were joshing or just plain clueless. But I did enjoy it. I did find it believable -- even a bit too predictable near the end. And, yes, I'd recommend it to you -- well, maybe not to my mother but to you, the people who read my blog and who find it not so incredible that a straight woman might knowingly marry a gay man -- and be happy.
Why should that premise even sound so bizarre? How many marriages between two straight people are based on convenience or need? How many start out based on love or on what the two thought was love but change in a few months or a few years? Maybe those couples are miserable. But I'd argue that not all of them are. Some of those people likely married for other reasons -- money, gratitude, need, companionship, expectations. And perhaps some married for love, but not the kind that's always consummated in the bedroom. Or maybe the reasons for the marriage changed over time with one or both spouses. I'm not saying these arrangements are ideal. But they exist and are probably more prevalent than traditionalists realize.
Patchett, also the author of the critically acclaimed Bel Canto, wrote this less well-known novel in the late 1990s. Her writing is clear, concise, lyrical. "Parsifal is dead. That is the end of the story." Well, maybe not: Those are the book's first two sentences.
This novel is about Sabine, a 40-something magician's assistant who lives in and loves Los Angeles. As the assistant, she's always been the one at the side, the one who stays out of the spotlight. But in Patchett's novel, Sabine takes the spotlight and proceeds to shine it on the other characters she comes to know through Parsifal, the man we never get to meet except through all of the other characters' shared memories.
And the fact that I loved this book, to my own surprise, perhaps speaks to the magic that literature can work in all of us.
Books About Books
Lately, I've been reading books about books. I started with Pat Conroy's excellent My Reading Life and Nina Sankovitch's Tolstoy and the Purple Chair, both reviewed earlier on this blog. Later, I read Alan Jacobs' less lively The Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction. Jacobs works really hard, too hard, to tell us it's OK to read frivolous books and it's also OK to ignore all those must-read lists. The problem is, I ended up forcing myself to finish reading Jacobs' own sometimes tedious book.
Now, I'm reading Susan Hill's Howards End Is on the Landing: A Year of Reading From Home. It is absolutely delightful. It's the kind of book I grab when I wake up in the middle of the night and read another page or two. I take the light-weight paperback -- just 236 pages -- to the restroom with me. I carry it to work in the hope of a few free moments. I knew I could identify with Hill when she dared to admit she dislikes reading Jane Austen. Gasp!... At last, I realized: I am not alone among so-called educated people who struggle to enjoy Pride and Prejudice.
Somewhere in between Howards End Is on the Landing and Jacobs' book, I read and largely enjoyed Richard Horan's book, Seeds: One Man's Serendipitous Journey to Find the Trees That Inspired Famous American Writers From Faulkner to Kerouac, Welty to Wharton. Horan's book is an offbeat combination of travel writing, botany and literature. It's full of interesting facts about the writers whose homes and trees he visits while collecting seeds to start legacy trees.
We learn, for instance, that the Tree of Heaven in Betty Smith's A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is now considered invasive. We also learn that George Washington's legendary false teeth weren't wooden but were ivory. Outside the home of Rachel Carson, author of Silent Spring, Horan gathered cherry seeds from her Pennsylvania yard, where nature thankfully is not yet silenced. At Carson McCullers' home, he collected bright-red magnolia seeds. He tells us how to transplant those seeds -- something I now hope to do with my own small magnolia tree and its seeds.
Books about books may sound like a waste of time. But I find I sometimes get other reading ideas in them, and it's also interesting to learn what others think about literary works I've sometimes loved, sometimes hated or just never got around to reading.
Now, I'm reading Susan Hill's Howards End Is on the Landing: A Year of Reading From Home. It is absolutely delightful. It's the kind of book I grab when I wake up in the middle of the night and read another page or two. I take the light-weight paperback -- just 236 pages -- to the restroom with me. I carry it to work in the hope of a few free moments. I knew I could identify with Hill when she dared to admit she dislikes reading Jane Austen. Gasp!... At last, I realized: I am not alone among so-called educated people who struggle to enjoy Pride and Prejudice.
Somewhere in between Howards End Is on the Landing and Jacobs' book, I read and largely enjoyed Richard Horan's book, Seeds: One Man's Serendipitous Journey to Find the Trees That Inspired Famous American Writers From Faulkner to Kerouac, Welty to Wharton. Horan's book is an offbeat combination of travel writing, botany and literature. It's full of interesting facts about the writers whose homes and trees he visits while collecting seeds to start legacy trees.
We learn, for instance, that the Tree of Heaven in Betty Smith's A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is now considered invasive. We also learn that George Washington's legendary false teeth weren't wooden but were ivory. Outside the home of Rachel Carson, author of Silent Spring, Horan gathered cherry seeds from her Pennsylvania yard, where nature thankfully is not yet silenced. At Carson McCullers' home, he collected bright-red magnolia seeds. He tells us how to transplant those seeds -- something I now hope to do with my own small magnolia tree and its seeds.
Books about books may sound like a waste of time. But I find I sometimes get other reading ideas in them, and it's also interesting to learn what others think about literary works I've sometimes loved, sometimes hated or just never got around to reading.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Dreaming in Chinese by Deborah Fallows
Deborah Fallows' book Dreaming in Chinese offers a readable look at Mandarin and the ways language and culture interact. Even neophyte students of Mandarin such as myself will recognize and appreciate some of the words and phrases in Fallows' book -- Wo ai ni (I love you) and and Ni hao (Hello), for instance. Other Chinese statements such as Ni de Zhongwen hen hao (Your Chinese is very good!) are a tad more foreign to native English speakers. (Forgive my inability to include tonal marks.)
Throughout her book, Fallows adeptly explains some of the incredible differences between Mandarin and some other languages, particularly English. Mandarin, for example, has no verb tense. So, Americans should not be surprised when Chinese speakers have trouble with English tense. Likewise, the Chinese should not be appalled when native English speakers of Mandarin might vainly grasp for a male pronoun vs. a female pronoun and never find it -- not, that is, until he or she (ta) learns to read and write in Mandarin rather than only speak it. There are different Chinese characters for he and she but only in writing.
Fallows brings a doctoral degree in linguistics and three years in China to the book. She has lived in Shanghai and Beijing, cities that we learn have been big rivals over the years, in language and culture. Her book is interesting and informative. It's humorous at times, such as when she talks about the intense yet inexplicable dislike some Beijing and Shanghai residents have for each other. It's touching when she talks about the "tender" side that emerged among the Chinese after the deadly earthquake (dizhen) in May 2008.
I heartily recommend the book, most especially to readers with a special interest in China, Mandarin and linguistics.
Throughout her book, Fallows adeptly explains some of the incredible differences between Mandarin and some other languages, particularly English. Mandarin, for example, has no verb tense. So, Americans should not be surprised when Chinese speakers have trouble with English tense. Likewise, the Chinese should not be appalled when native English speakers of Mandarin might vainly grasp for a male pronoun vs. a female pronoun and never find it -- not, that is, until he or she (ta) learns to read and write in Mandarin rather than only speak it. There are different Chinese characters for he and she but only in writing.
Fallows brings a doctoral degree in linguistics and three years in China to the book. She has lived in Shanghai and Beijing, cities that we learn have been big rivals over the years, in language and culture. Her book is interesting and informative. It's humorous at times, such as when she talks about the intense yet inexplicable dislike some Beijing and Shanghai residents have for each other. It's touching when she talks about the "tender" side that emerged among the Chinese after the deadly earthquake (dizhen) in May 2008.
I heartily recommend the book, most especially to readers with a special interest in China, Mandarin and linguistics.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
My Reading Life by Pat Conroy
Readers need not be a fan of Pat Conroy's bestselling novels to enjoy his newest work of nonfiction, My Reading Life.
Conroy has written other nonfiction, but he is best known for his novels, The Prince of Tides, Beach Music and South of Broad. In reading this latest book, divided into chapters that resemble essays yet are not independent of each other, Conroy gives us insight into the reader who became the famous novelist and the people who helped played key roles in his life: a loving mother; an abusive father; an English teacher who was first Conroy's mentor and later his friend. The book gives us a glimpse not only into Conroy's reading -- and writing -- habits but also into his life, a sometimes troubled one with severe depression.
Conroy -- who writes self-effacingly about his love of adjectives, lots of adjectives -- tells the reader how books have shaped his life and how his life has shaped his books. His mother passed her own reading obsession, especially of Gone With the Wind, down to him as a young boy.
Literature, whether by Leo Tolstoy or James Dickey, Tom Wolfe or Jane Austen, became Conroy's ticket to the world, to places, times and people unseen. They also became his solace and his inspiration. To this day, he keeps a copy of Dickey's book, Poems 1957-1967, on his desk and calls it "the finest book of poetry ever published in America." Conroy begins each day with a poem, whether by Dickey, Rumi, Dylan Thomas or another.
"The poets force me back toward the writing life, where the trek takes you into the interior where the right word hides like an ivory-billed woodpecker in the branches of the highest pines," Conroy writes.
Conroy owns thousands of books and apparently has read thousands.
Of War and Peace, he writes, "Tolstoy performs that rarest and most valuable of tasks, one that has all but disappeared from modern fiction. He wrestles with the philosophical issues of how people like you and me can manage to live praiseworthy and contributive lives."
Conroy shares a touch of literary gossip in his book, too. A solemn Alice Walker gave him her autograph but was rude, Arkansan Miller Williams dedicated a poetry reading to him during a writers' conference, and Conroy delivered the eulogy at Dickey's funeral.
Conroy also takes us into the world of those who love and collect books, chiefly himself. We peek into the now-defunct Old New York Book Shop on Juniper Street, where he bought between four- and five-thousand books, including 500 books of poetry. There, he encountered a haunted but sweet young man wearing "a terrific hat and expensive sunglasses." The man, accompanied by three large, muscular men, came in one day looking for books on freaks and bought several hundred dollars worth of merchandise. Conroy later learned the shy young man was Michael Jackson.
Reading Conroy's book is as much about his life and writing as it is about his reading. His book is one I would like to keep in my own humble library. It is an inspiring story. Upon reading it, I picked up a book of Maya Angelou's poetry that had sat untouched in the same place near my bedside for weeks. I also decided to tackle the great book I've never tackled -- War and Peace. I soon began reading Alan Jacobs' new book, The Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction. And perhaps, most importantly, I resolved to take a lesson from Conroy and not let my own troubles and insecurities keep me from pursuing my own reading, and writing, life.
Conroy has written other nonfiction, but he is best known for his novels, The Prince of Tides, Beach Music and South of Broad. In reading this latest book, divided into chapters that resemble essays yet are not independent of each other, Conroy gives us insight into the reader who became the famous novelist and the people who helped played key roles in his life: a loving mother; an abusive father; an English teacher who was first Conroy's mentor and later his friend. The book gives us a glimpse not only into Conroy's reading -- and writing -- habits but also into his life, a sometimes troubled one with severe depression.
Conroy -- who writes self-effacingly about his love of adjectives, lots of adjectives -- tells the reader how books have shaped his life and how his life has shaped his books. His mother passed her own reading obsession, especially of Gone With the Wind, down to him as a young boy.
Literature, whether by Leo Tolstoy or James Dickey, Tom Wolfe or Jane Austen, became Conroy's ticket to the world, to places, times and people unseen. They also became his solace and his inspiration. To this day, he keeps a copy of Dickey's book, Poems 1957-1967, on his desk and calls it "the finest book of poetry ever published in America." Conroy begins each day with a poem, whether by Dickey, Rumi, Dylan Thomas or another.
"The poets force me back toward the writing life, where the trek takes you into the interior where the right word hides like an ivory-billed woodpecker in the branches of the highest pines," Conroy writes.
Conroy owns thousands of books and apparently has read thousands.
Of War and Peace, he writes, "Tolstoy performs that rarest and most valuable of tasks, one that has all but disappeared from modern fiction. He wrestles with the philosophical issues of how people like you and me can manage to live praiseworthy and contributive lives."
Conroy shares a touch of literary gossip in his book, too. A solemn Alice Walker gave him her autograph but was rude, Arkansan Miller Williams dedicated a poetry reading to him during a writers' conference, and Conroy delivered the eulogy at Dickey's funeral.
Conroy also takes us into the world of those who love and collect books, chiefly himself. We peek into the now-defunct Old New York Book Shop on Juniper Street, where he bought between four- and five-thousand books, including 500 books of poetry. There, he encountered a haunted but sweet young man wearing "a terrific hat and expensive sunglasses." The man, accompanied by three large, muscular men, came in one day looking for books on freaks and bought several hundred dollars worth of merchandise. Conroy later learned the shy young man was Michael Jackson.
Reading Conroy's book is as much about his life and writing as it is about his reading. His book is one I would like to keep in my own humble library. It is an inspiring story. Upon reading it, I picked up a book of Maya Angelou's poetry that had sat untouched in the same place near my bedside for weeks. I also decided to tackle the great book I've never tackled -- War and Peace. I soon began reading Alan Jacobs' new book, The Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction. And perhaps, most importantly, I resolved to take a lesson from Conroy and not let my own troubles and insecurities keep me from pursuing my own reading, and writing, life.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot
Henrietta Lacks, a mother of five in Clover, Virginia, was the wife of a poor tobacco farmer and a black woman in the South at a time when blacks were treated in hospitals' "colored" wards and forced to use separate restrooms. She had something else also working against her -- incredibly aggressive cervical cancer cells.
Treated at Johns Hopkins hospital in Baltimore, Lacks died at age 31 in 1951. But first, her doctor took a biopsy and, more significantly, cultured the cells without Lacks' permission, without her knowledge and, without even his own realization of the way they would alter history.
Unlike other cells that medical researchers had been unable to study as successfully, Lacks' were incredibly aggressive and resilient, reproducing to the extent that ultimately they contaminated other research. Along the way, though, Lacks' cells, called HeLa by researchers, traveled to laboratories around the country, the world and outer space. They have played a role in an immense range of medical history -- from the development of the polio vaccine; treatments for Parkinson's disease, leukemia and AIDS; and advancements in in-vitro fertilization and gene mapping.
Yet Henrietta Lacks' own family, including a daughter named Deborah who was only a baby when Henrietta died, did not know until 1973 that her cells had even been saved, much less that they had been the subject of so much research. Nor did they know that people had sometimes made money off the cells, though Lacks' relatives -- too poor to afford health insurance -- were never paid a dime.
To author Rebecca Skloot's credit, she has established the Henrietta Lacks Foundation -- www.henriettalacksfoundation.org -- to help needy people who, the website says, "have made important contributions to scientific research without personally benefitting from those contributions ... particularly those used in research without their knowledge or consent."
At times, Skloot's writing gets a bit scientific and tedious for the lay reader. Mostly, though, it is an easy yet important and moving read. It is hard to read this book without getting angry at the racism that permeated scientific research far into the 20th century.
Skloot addresses the ethical issues involved in medical research without a person's knowledge -- a subject far less clear-cut than one might think. Skloot does not advocate either side of the issue, and even Deborah is grateful that her mother's cells have helped save lives. Skloot does, however, advocate for the memory of Lacks and for Lacks' family, especially Deborah who did not live to see the book published.
Treated at Johns Hopkins hospital in Baltimore, Lacks died at age 31 in 1951. But first, her doctor took a biopsy and, more significantly, cultured the cells without Lacks' permission, without her knowledge and, without even his own realization of the way they would alter history.
Unlike other cells that medical researchers had been unable to study as successfully, Lacks' were incredibly aggressive and resilient, reproducing to the extent that ultimately they contaminated other research. Along the way, though, Lacks' cells, called HeLa by researchers, traveled to laboratories around the country, the world and outer space. They have played a role in an immense range of medical history -- from the development of the polio vaccine; treatments for Parkinson's disease, leukemia and AIDS; and advancements in in-vitro fertilization and gene mapping.
Yet Henrietta Lacks' own family, including a daughter named Deborah who was only a baby when Henrietta died, did not know until 1973 that her cells had even been saved, much less that they had been the subject of so much research. Nor did they know that people had sometimes made money off the cells, though Lacks' relatives -- too poor to afford health insurance -- were never paid a dime.
To author Rebecca Skloot's credit, she has established the Henrietta Lacks Foundation -- www.henriettalacksfoundation.org -- to help needy people who, the website says, "have made important contributions to scientific research without personally benefitting from those contributions ... particularly those used in research without their knowledge or consent."
At times, Skloot's writing gets a bit scientific and tedious for the lay reader. Mostly, though, it is an easy yet important and moving read. It is hard to read this book without getting angry at the racism that permeated scientific research far into the 20th century.
Skloot addresses the ethical issues involved in medical research without a person's knowledge -- a subject far less clear-cut than one might think. Skloot does not advocate either side of the issue, and even Deborah is grateful that her mother's cells have helped save lives. Skloot does, however, advocate for the memory of Lacks and for Lacks' family, especially Deborah who did not live to see the book published.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Year of the Hare by Arto Paasilinna
Arto Paasilinna's short, entertaining novel, Year of the Hare, was written in 1975. But what better year to read it than 2011, the Year of the Hare in much of the Asian world? It need not matter that this charming novel was translated from the Finnish, not Chinese, Japanese or Korean, and that it all takes place in Finland, except for the main character's accidental trek across the border into Soviet-controlled Siberia.
The story opens with the main character, a journalist named Vatanen, riding in a car with a photographer through the Finnish countryside. I don't recall what story the two were pursuing. It's irrelevant to the story line anyway and, as it turns out, also irrelevant to Vatanen's life. Suddenly -- yes, suddenly -- the car strikes a hare (not those little rabbits hopping about many of our back yards, but a hare, mind you).
The not fully grown, injured creature flees, hopping into the forest. Vatanen, being the gentle soul that he is, gets out of the vehicle to check on the animal, eventually finds it and proceeds to nurse it -- leaving the impatient photographer wondering why his colleague is spending so much time with a hare.
Alas, the photographer gives up and leaves. He calls Vatanen's wife to tell her that her spouse -- indeed, her "better" half -- has apparently become lost in the woods with an injured hare. It's the middle of the night when she takes that call, and she's a bit perturbed, understandably wondering if the photographer is drunk. She hangs up on him and gives the reader an early glimpse into her and Vatanen's marital relationship (not the most romantic on the block).
Meantime, back in the forest, Vatanen realizes his photographer has left and he has no way to town other than walking or hitchhiking. So, with the little hare in his pocket, Vatanen begins a journey that ultimately takes him across Finland and into the lives of one quirky character after another. Suffice it to say, a hare in your pocket is usually a good conversation starter.
Ultimately, Vatanen decides he's fed up with his job, his wife and his general life and flees all -- with hare gently tucked in pocket, of course. The adventures of Vatanen and the hare yield a funny yet symbolic storyline, with the twosome's adventures ranging from a jail stint to near-death experiences with an animal sacrificer not to mention a mighty ferocious bear.
If you've ever thought, I'm sick of my life and I want to start over -- whether with a hare, your dog, a secret lover or just yourself -- (And who hasn't?), this novel will find a place in your heart. It's the kind of book you read and recommend to others. And now, I want to read more books by Arto Paasilinna.
The story opens with the main character, a journalist named Vatanen, riding in a car with a photographer through the Finnish countryside. I don't recall what story the two were pursuing. It's irrelevant to the story line anyway and, as it turns out, also irrelevant to Vatanen's life. Suddenly -- yes, suddenly -- the car strikes a hare (not those little rabbits hopping about many of our back yards, but a hare, mind you).
The not fully grown, injured creature flees, hopping into the forest. Vatanen, being the gentle soul that he is, gets out of the vehicle to check on the animal, eventually finds it and proceeds to nurse it -- leaving the impatient photographer wondering why his colleague is spending so much time with a hare.
Alas, the photographer gives up and leaves. He calls Vatanen's wife to tell her that her spouse -- indeed, her "better" half -- has apparently become lost in the woods with an injured hare. It's the middle of the night when she takes that call, and she's a bit perturbed, understandably wondering if the photographer is drunk. She hangs up on him and gives the reader an early glimpse into her and Vatanen's marital relationship (not the most romantic on the block).
Meantime, back in the forest, Vatanen realizes his photographer has left and he has no way to town other than walking or hitchhiking. So, with the little hare in his pocket, Vatanen begins a journey that ultimately takes him across Finland and into the lives of one quirky character after another. Suffice it to say, a hare in your pocket is usually a good conversation starter.
Ultimately, Vatanen decides he's fed up with his job, his wife and his general life and flees all -- with hare gently tucked in pocket, of course. The adventures of Vatanen and the hare yield a funny yet symbolic storyline, with the twosome's adventures ranging from a jail stint to near-death experiences with an animal sacrificer not to mention a mighty ferocious bear.
If you've ever thought, I'm sick of my life and I want to start over -- whether with a hare, your dog, a secret lover or just yourself -- (And who hasn't?), this novel will find a place in your heart. It's the kind of book you read and recommend to others. And now, I want to read more books by Arto Paasilinna.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Tolstoy and the Purple Chair by Nina Sankovitch
I first heard of Nina Sankovitch more than a year ago when I read a feature in the New York Times about her blog, readallday.org. Sankovitch an Evanston, Ill., native and now a Connecticut resident, was reading and reviewing online a book a day for one year. I began checking her blog occasionally, found good reading tips and decided to start my own blog.
With a full-time job and a preteen daughter, I couldn't read a book a day, but I could read more and share my thoughts with others. Writing about literature forces us to think about what we have read. Does it relate to our lives? Does it teach us about others? Does it take us to places we have never been and may never go? Does it take us to places we may never want to go? Does it help us deal with the trials that we all face at one time or another? Yes to all.
In Sankovitch's case, someone else also obviously read that New York Times article. HarperCollins recently published her book, Tolstoy and the Purple Chair: My Year of Magical Reading.
I didn't realize until shortly before I read Sankovitch's book that she had begun her year-long adventure to help cope with one of her own life's trials -- death, specifically the premature death of a sister who, like Nina, also loved good books.
Sankovitch's book is not a mere series of reviews. She still puts those on her blog and on Huffington Post. Rather, her book successfully tells us how reading affected and effected her life both now and when she was a child listening to her immigrant father read to her and her sisters. She tells how reading helped her dying sister -- and herself -- in those final months. It gave them something other than death to talk about; it gave them something other than death to think about. But reading was more than a distraction. It became an adventure for both sisters to anticipate when they were both alone and together.
Sankovitch's resume includes a Harvard law degree. A former corporate lawyer, she was not working outside the home at the time of her year-long reading project. But with a husband and four children, she wasn't swimming in free time. She shares with readers the difficulties in finding the time to read and review a book a day, especially when it's a long one such as the one her son suggested, Watership Down. Sankovitch reads good books, literature. But she is anything but a reading snob. She can enjoy a bestselling mystery while also feasting on a centuries-old classic. Her reading is diverse, from Tolstoy to Laurie Colwin to graphic novels.
One leaves Sankovitch's book, realizing she won't continue to read a book a day, but she will always be a reader and a writer. Along the way, she has no doubt already helped plant a love of reading in the minds of many other people around the country and the world. In my own case, I was already a reader but now make time to read more good books. I hope to work with my 10-year-old daughter to start a book club for her and a few of her friends if she wants, and I've started talking with her about reviewing children's books for my blog. After all, only a child can fully appreciate whether children will love a book written for children.
If you've not heard of Sankovitch, please check out her unusually well-organized blog. After you're over being stunned at how she did so much so well in so little time, read her book. It is not, as some might suspect, a mere diary boasting of her reading exploits. It is a book sharing the joy of reading with others, including every single person who reads even a single chapter of her book. It's a good, informative read. It's also the kind of book that can be read a second time and enjoyed over and over.
Thank you, Nina Sankovitch, for sharing your experiences -- the joys and the heartaches -- with us and passing on this inspiring journal of your reading year. I look forward to reading about your future adventures with the written word.
With a full-time job and a preteen daughter, I couldn't read a book a day, but I could read more and share my thoughts with others. Writing about literature forces us to think about what we have read. Does it relate to our lives? Does it teach us about others? Does it take us to places we have never been and may never go? Does it take us to places we may never want to go? Does it help us deal with the trials that we all face at one time or another? Yes to all.
In Sankovitch's case, someone else also obviously read that New York Times article. HarperCollins recently published her book, Tolstoy and the Purple Chair: My Year of Magical Reading.
I didn't realize until shortly before I read Sankovitch's book that she had begun her year-long adventure to help cope with one of her own life's trials -- death, specifically the premature death of a sister who, like Nina, also loved good books.
Sankovitch's book is not a mere series of reviews. She still puts those on her blog and on Huffington Post. Rather, her book successfully tells us how reading affected and effected her life both now and when she was a child listening to her immigrant father read to her and her sisters. She tells how reading helped her dying sister -- and herself -- in those final months. It gave them something other than death to talk about; it gave them something other than death to think about. But reading was more than a distraction. It became an adventure for both sisters to anticipate when they were both alone and together.
Sankovitch's resume includes a Harvard law degree. A former corporate lawyer, she was not working outside the home at the time of her year-long reading project. But with a husband and four children, she wasn't swimming in free time. She shares with readers the difficulties in finding the time to read and review a book a day, especially when it's a long one such as the one her son suggested, Watership Down. Sankovitch reads good books, literature. But she is anything but a reading snob. She can enjoy a bestselling mystery while also feasting on a centuries-old classic. Her reading is diverse, from Tolstoy to Laurie Colwin to graphic novels.
One leaves Sankovitch's book, realizing she won't continue to read a book a day, but she will always be a reader and a writer. Along the way, she has no doubt already helped plant a love of reading in the minds of many other people around the country and the world. In my own case, I was already a reader but now make time to read more good books. I hope to work with my 10-year-old daughter to start a book club for her and a few of her friends if she wants, and I've started talking with her about reviewing children's books for my blog. After all, only a child can fully appreciate whether children will love a book written for children.
If you've not heard of Sankovitch, please check out her unusually well-organized blog. After you're over being stunned at how she did so much so well in so little time, read her book. It is not, as some might suspect, a mere diary boasting of her reading exploits. It is a book sharing the joy of reading with others, including every single person who reads even a single chapter of her book. It's a good, informative read. It's also the kind of book that can be read a second time and enjoyed over and over.
Thank you, Nina Sankovitch, for sharing your experiences -- the joys and the heartaches -- with us and passing on this inspiring journal of your reading year. I look forward to reading about your future adventures with the written word.
Friday, May 27, 2011
The Cookbook Collector by Allegra Goodman
Allegra Goodman's novel, The Cookbook Collector, has been on bookshelves since 2010. Some of you many have already read it. Others may look at the title, think it's about cookbooks and skip it. Please don't. The novel, which takes place between the fall of 1999 and October 2001, is about people, life and loves -- whether tangible or not.
The cookbook aspect is one small portion of the novel, and it comes late. I would have liked to have seen it explored more thoroughly and earlier. But when Goodman does deal with it, she does so expertly and, to some degree, symbolically.
Rather than cookbooks, the novel is about people with imbalanced lives, about two very different sisters. Both are smart. The younger one, Jessamine Bach, is a doctoral student studying philosophy. She is content to work as an assistant in a used bookstore, doesn't worry about money or fashion, and for a time is controlled by a man with his own political agenda. Emily Bach is older, practical, a financially successful businesswoman in a fledgling Internet business. She, too, is in love with a colleague, Jonathan. Like her, work, decor and the stock market are paramount for him.
As different as the sisters are, I see parts of myself in both, as well as in other characters Goodman has created.
Like Tom McClintock, I collect cookbooks but don't cook much. When I do, I most enjoy stirring in the unexpected -- the herb, the spice, the Peruvian sea salt or the Syrian pepper flakes nowhere to be found on the recipe. I like to make it my own recipe.
Like the philosophical and tree-hugging Jessamine Bach, I hunger for books, old and new, even when I am surrounded by them. I have little money but find enough to plant trees and shrubs for the birds, gangly milkweed for the monarchs and bee balm for the honey bees and hummingbirds.
Like Jess, I'm not always practical. I write and sometimes reveal major financial problems at a public institution and wonder how could the bankers and the accountants not have recognized them before I did. After all, I've not balanced my checkbook since hippies were in style.
Like Jess' older sister, Emily Bach, I focused the first 25 years of my adult life on my career. Relationships came second, third, often not at all. I was single in the big city, Chicago. I lived a couple blocks from the Magnificent Mile and cabbed it to The Art Institute. So many opportunities, so many people. Yet, I could look out my high-rise apartment window and see my real home -- a tall, gorgeous black-and-gold building that housed The Associated Press offices where I worked.
Goodman's book has other subplots that will interest different readers. The sisters' mother, who died when they were young, was Jewish, a religion and culture they begin to explore during the book. The growth of Internet businesses and the speculation that went with them form another subplot as do the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks and their impact on people's lives and the economy.
Finally, readers may want to visit Allegra Goodman's website -- allegragoodman.com -- and look at the first question she poses for reading groups: "Who is the cookbook collector in this novel?" Maybe I'll talk about that another time.
The cookbook aspect is one small portion of the novel, and it comes late. I would have liked to have seen it explored more thoroughly and earlier. But when Goodman does deal with it, she does so expertly and, to some degree, symbolically.
Rather than cookbooks, the novel is about people with imbalanced lives, about two very different sisters. Both are smart. The younger one, Jessamine Bach, is a doctoral student studying philosophy. She is content to work as an assistant in a used bookstore, doesn't worry about money or fashion, and for a time is controlled by a man with his own political agenda. Emily Bach is older, practical, a financially successful businesswoman in a fledgling Internet business. She, too, is in love with a colleague, Jonathan. Like her, work, decor and the stock market are paramount for him.
As different as the sisters are, I see parts of myself in both, as well as in other characters Goodman has created.
Like Tom McClintock, I collect cookbooks but don't cook much. When I do, I most enjoy stirring in the unexpected -- the herb, the spice, the Peruvian sea salt or the Syrian pepper flakes nowhere to be found on the recipe. I like to make it my own recipe.
Like the philosophical and tree-hugging Jessamine Bach, I hunger for books, old and new, even when I am surrounded by them. I have little money but find enough to plant trees and shrubs for the birds, gangly milkweed for the monarchs and bee balm for the honey bees and hummingbirds.
Like Jess, I'm not always practical. I write and sometimes reveal major financial problems at a public institution and wonder how could the bankers and the accountants not have recognized them before I did. After all, I've not balanced my checkbook since hippies were in style.
Like Jess' older sister, Emily Bach, I focused the first 25 years of my adult life on my career. Relationships came second, third, often not at all. I was single in the big city, Chicago. I lived a couple blocks from the Magnificent Mile and cabbed it to The Art Institute. So many opportunities, so many people. Yet, I could look out my high-rise apartment window and see my real home -- a tall, gorgeous black-and-gold building that housed The Associated Press offices where I worked.
Goodman's book has other subplots that will interest different readers. The sisters' mother, who died when they were young, was Jewish, a religion and culture they begin to explore during the book. The growth of Internet businesses and the speculation that went with them form another subplot as do the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks and their impact on people's lives and the economy.
Finally, readers may want to visit Allegra Goodman's website -- allegragoodman.com -- and look at the first question she poses for reading groups: "Who is the cookbook collector in this novel?" Maybe I'll talk about that another time.
The School of Essential Ingredients by Erica Bauermeister
Erica Bauermeister's debut novel, The School of Essential Ingredients, is the kind of book you read to relax, enjoy and feel better.
The book isn't what I had expected. It's not really food writing. Rather, it is a series of linked stories about the lives of Lillian, who teaches a cooking class, and her eight students. They range from a couple who survived a long-ago affair and a woman with early-stage Alzheimer's to a lonely widower and a young mother needing time for herself once again. Food is merely the force that unites the group and that symbolizes the diverse, unexpected ingredients that make up our lives.
Beauermeister's prose is simple and effective. She is particularly good at dialogue. The book's only flaw is that things seem to work out too conveniently for everyone. But maybe that's not a flaw in this kind of book. Maybe the hope that things, problems, will eventually work out is one of the "essential ingredients" we need in our own lives and occasionally in our reading as well.
The book isn't what I had expected. It's not really food writing. Rather, it is a series of linked stories about the lives of Lillian, who teaches a cooking class, and her eight students. They range from a couple who survived a long-ago affair and a woman with early-stage Alzheimer's to a lonely widower and a young mother needing time for herself once again. Food is merely the force that unites the group and that symbolizes the diverse, unexpected ingredients that make up our lives.
Beauermeister's prose is simple and effective. She is particularly good at dialogue. The book's only flaw is that things seem to work out too conveniently for everyone. But maybe that's not a flaw in this kind of book. Maybe the hope that things, problems, will eventually work out is one of the "essential ingredients" we need in our own lives and occasionally in our reading as well.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
I don't know why I waited so many years to read William Faulkner's stream-of-consciousness novel, As I Lay Daying. But it spoke to me in ways it likely would not have when I was in my 20s or 30s.
In my 30s, I had not been married, had no children and lived in Chicago even though I grew up in rural Arkansas. I worked in a job where I generally was surrounded by intelligent people. None of us seemed old -- not even those of us who were. We lived.
Now, though, I am married. Like many marriages, it's had good and bad times. I now have a 10-year-old daughter, adopted late in life during a trip to China. I now live in the South, in a town less rural and more educated than Faulkner's Yoknapatawpha County. I work alone, but just yesterday a man who might have easily been Anse Bundren walked into my office. He smelled, he hated, he was clearly the boss in his family -- one where a little girl's head was shaved rather than spend money on a good haircut and lice shampoo. For a time, he was Anse Bundren. I suspect he always will be.
I've seen Addie Bundren, too. She's in Chicago, Conway, everywhere. But I do think she's more common in the South, where women and children are quickly put down if they stand up too much to male authority, even when the man is of Anse Bundren's quality. She suffers; she endures; she seeks happiness but never finds it. She is married but neither loves nor is loved by her spouse. Never has been. She knows "that the reason for living is getting ready to stay dead."
If you're young, read this book. But read it again in 20 or 40 years. It's as timely now as it was when Faulkner wrote it in 1930.
In my 30s, I had not been married, had no children and lived in Chicago even though I grew up in rural Arkansas. I worked in a job where I generally was surrounded by intelligent people. None of us seemed old -- not even those of us who were. We lived.
Now, though, I am married. Like many marriages, it's had good and bad times. I now have a 10-year-old daughter, adopted late in life during a trip to China. I now live in the South, in a town less rural and more educated than Faulkner's Yoknapatawpha County. I work alone, but just yesterday a man who might have easily been Anse Bundren walked into my office. He smelled, he hated, he was clearly the boss in his family -- one where a little girl's head was shaved rather than spend money on a good haircut and lice shampoo. For a time, he was Anse Bundren. I suspect he always will be.
I've seen Addie Bundren, too. She's in Chicago, Conway, everywhere. But I do think she's more common in the South, where women and children are quickly put down if they stand up too much to male authority, even when the man is of Anse Bundren's quality. She suffers; she endures; she seeks happiness but never finds it. She is married but neither loves nor is loved by her spouse. Never has been. She knows "that the reason for living is getting ready to stay dead."
If you're young, read this book. But read it again in 20 or 40 years. It's as timely now as it was when Faulkner wrote it in 1930.
Monday, April 11, 2011
YOUR TURN
Now, it's your turn. Please make a comment and share the title of a book you've recently read and enjoyed. Just click on COMMENTS immediately below this post and type your thoughts in the space provided, then click on Post Comment. Thank you! dhs
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Just Kids by Patti Smith
Patti Smith's memoir of her time with the late artist Robert Mapplethorpe is a love story. The book tells of the young couple's love and passion for each other and for art.
While the pair's love at first is a romantic, sexual one, the relationship changes as Maplethorpe becomes interested in other men and as Smith slowly accepts his homosexuality. Her acceptance is somewhat of a reluctant one, allowing for the pair's love to transcend sex and become a platonic one.
Smith's memoir also reflects the changes in Maplethorpe's art and photography, from religious works to what many would view as sacreligeous works. My own view is that Maplethorpe likely saw his art neither as religious nor sacreligeous; to him, the works, no matter how offensive to others, were just art, albeit often with a shock value and eventually a hefty price tag.
The book has plenty of name-dropping, from Janis Joplin to Jimi Hendrix to Sam Shepard. In each case, Smith is remembering her time with the famous, whether for only a few moments or for much longer as with Shepard, already a successful playwright in the 70s. At the time, Smith was young and in awe of these talented, already-successful artists, so her memories of their encounters are vivid.
The edition I read includes some photographs of Smith and Maplethorpe as well as photographs by Maplethorpe. It also includes an addendum of sorts with a picture of Maplethorpe's desk and a summary of what happened to it after his death in 1989 from AIDS.
Smith is not only a talented musician and artist but also an excellent writer. Her words seem to flow freely, naturally -- at times seriously and at other times with a slight laugh at her and Robert's youth.
The book reminded me of my own college years during the Vietnam era. I didn't have the controversy in my life that Mapplethorpe and Smith did. But I did have the idealism and the view that, with others, I could effect political and social change. And we did.
If you like this book as much as I did, you may want to check out Smith's website.
While the pair's love at first is a romantic, sexual one, the relationship changes as Maplethorpe becomes interested in other men and as Smith slowly accepts his homosexuality. Her acceptance is somewhat of a reluctant one, allowing for the pair's love to transcend sex and become a platonic one.
Smith's memoir also reflects the changes in Maplethorpe's art and photography, from religious works to what many would view as sacreligeous works. My own view is that Maplethorpe likely saw his art neither as religious nor sacreligeous; to him, the works, no matter how offensive to others, were just art, albeit often with a shock value and eventually a hefty price tag.
The book has plenty of name-dropping, from Janis Joplin to Jimi Hendrix to Sam Shepard. In each case, Smith is remembering her time with the famous, whether for only a few moments or for much longer as with Shepard, already a successful playwright in the 70s. At the time, Smith was young and in awe of these talented, already-successful artists, so her memories of their encounters are vivid.
The edition I read includes some photographs of Smith and Maplethorpe as well as photographs by Maplethorpe. It also includes an addendum of sorts with a picture of Maplethorpe's desk and a summary of what happened to it after his death in 1989 from AIDS.
Smith is not only a talented musician and artist but also an excellent writer. Her words seem to flow freely, naturally -- at times seriously and at other times with a slight laugh at her and Robert's youth.
The book reminded me of my own college years during the Vietnam era. I didn't have the controversy in my life that Mapplethorpe and Smith did. But I did have the idealism and the view that, with others, I could effect political and social change. And we did.
If you like this book as much as I did, you may want to check out Smith's website.
Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress by Dai Sijie
This little book says more in its 197 pages than most of the 300- and 400-page books I have read. Set during Mao's Cultural Revolution, which was at its height in the 1960s and 70s, Dai Sijie's simply yet wonderfully written novel tells the story of two young men -- a violinist and a prominent dentist's son -- who are ordered to leave their comfortable and cultural lives in the city for a remote mountain community where they will be "re-educated." Their job there is to haul human and animal manure.
But while there, the two find a suitcase packed with books by Western authors from Balzac to Flaubert to Dickens. Because knowledge is power and a sign of rebellion against Mao, the boys must handle the books carefully, for the novels are not only treasures but also the equivalent of contraband in China.
While on Phoenix Mountain the boys also get to know a pretty young woman known simply as the little seamstress. They tell her and her aging father stories from the books they have read and re-read, The Count of Monte Crisco, Madame Bovary and more.
As a result, the little seamstress learns of Western ways and, hence, gains knowledge and power, too.
The author, a filmmaker, was born in China in 1954. He was "re-educated" between 1971 and 1974 and left China for France in 1984. He wrote this first novel in French. Ina Rilke translated it.
As I read this book, I realized two things. First, I shall save it for my daughter, who was born in China in 2001. I hope she will read this book when she is older to learn more about her homeland's history. I also realized more than ever how many Westerners, including myself, do not realize the treasure, the freedom we hold in our hands each time we read a novel, a poem or other works of literature.
But while there, the two find a suitcase packed with books by Western authors from Balzac to Flaubert to Dickens. Because knowledge is power and a sign of rebellion against Mao, the boys must handle the books carefully, for the novels are not only treasures but also the equivalent of contraband in China.
While on Phoenix Mountain the boys also get to know a pretty young woman known simply as the little seamstress. They tell her and her aging father stories from the books they have read and re-read, The Count of Monte Crisco, Madame Bovary and more.
As a result, the little seamstress learns of Western ways and, hence, gains knowledge and power, too.
The author, a filmmaker, was born in China in 1954. He was "re-educated" between 1971 and 1974 and left China for France in 1984. He wrote this first novel in French. Ina Rilke translated it.
As I read this book, I realized two things. First, I shall save it for my daughter, who was born in China in 2001. I hope she will read this book when she is older to learn more about her homeland's history. I also realized more than ever how many Westerners, including myself, do not realize the treasure, the freedom we hold in our hands each time we read a novel, a poem or other works of literature.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Pardonable Lies by Jacqueline Winspear
Like the previous Maisie Dobbs mysteries, this one -- the third of the investigator/psychologist adventures -- again draws readers into World War I and its aftermath.
This book, set in about 1930 as Adolph Hitler was coming to power in Germany and as England and France were still recovering from The Great War, focuses on Dobbs' efforts to confirm that two of her clients' relatives were, in fact, killed during the war as the British government said they were. An unrelated subplot deals with the case of a 14-year-old girl accused of murder, unjustly so in Maisie Dobbs' view.
Author Jacqueline Winspear further develops Maisie's relationship with Dr. Andrew Dene in this novel and has Maisie amd readers wondering whether her trust in her longtime mentor, Maurice Blanche, has been misplaced. The book also delves into the world of those who claim to have a sixth sense and know what others do not. Winspear, through her characters, also explores the question of whether some lies are pardonable and suggests they, indeed, are.
This book, set in about 1930 as Adolph Hitler was coming to power in Germany and as England and France were still recovering from The Great War, focuses on Dobbs' efforts to confirm that two of her clients' relatives were, in fact, killed during the war as the British government said they were. An unrelated subplot deals with the case of a 14-year-old girl accused of murder, unjustly so in Maisie Dobbs' view.
Author Jacqueline Winspear further develops Maisie's relationship with Dr. Andrew Dene in this novel and has Maisie amd readers wondering whether her trust in her longtime mentor, Maurice Blanche, has been misplaced. The book also delves into the world of those who claim to have a sixth sense and know what others do not. Winspear, through her characters, also explores the question of whether some lies are pardonable and suggests they, indeed, are.
Monday, February 7, 2011
The Handbook for Lightning Strike Survivors by Michele Young-Stone
If lightning strikes you, your first and correct impulse probably would be to call 911 -- or have someone call for you. And if you're a character in Michele Young-Stone's debut novel, The Handbook for Lightning Strike Survivors, your next impulse might be 1.) learning how to avoid another strike and 2.) how to live with life after lightning.
In Young-Stone's novel, two children of the South -- Becca Burke, who is stricken twice and who also witnesses a beloved dog's death by lightning, and Buckley Pitank, a boy who loses the only person who really loves him, his mother, to a bolt of lightning -- are forever changed emotionally by their experiences. Becca becomes an artist, leaves North Carolina for New York where her artworks reflect her encounters with lightning. Buckley, who grows up in a small, rural community of northwest Arkansas, ultimately flees his selfish grandmother and money-grubbing, preaching step-dad.
Like Becca, Buckley becomes obsessed with lightning, so much so that he tries to set himself up for a non-fatal strike. He writes a book, a manual to help lightning-strike survivors and, through it, has his first contact with Becca. It's not giving away much to say the two characters, who lead separate but similar and lonely lives, will eventually meet. What makes the book so interesting is the paths that lead them together and the paths they take afterward.
The novel is more about loneliness and dysfunctional families than lightning, which ultimately is just the medium that brings their despair to the forefront and that unites the book's main protagonists.
The book is fast-paced and an easy read. It's occasionally sad and full of good, bad and even clueless characters. Check it out; it's a different and enjoyable read.
In Young-Stone's novel, two children of the South -- Becca Burke, who is stricken twice and who also witnesses a beloved dog's death by lightning, and Buckley Pitank, a boy who loses the only person who really loves him, his mother, to a bolt of lightning -- are forever changed emotionally by their experiences. Becca becomes an artist, leaves North Carolina for New York where her artworks reflect her encounters with lightning. Buckley, who grows up in a small, rural community of northwest Arkansas, ultimately flees his selfish grandmother and money-grubbing, preaching step-dad.
Like Becca, Buckley becomes obsessed with lightning, so much so that he tries to set himself up for a non-fatal strike. He writes a book, a manual to help lightning-strike survivors and, through it, has his first contact with Becca. It's not giving away much to say the two characters, who lead separate but similar and lonely lives, will eventually meet. What makes the book so interesting is the paths that lead them together and the paths they take afterward.
The novel is more about loneliness and dysfunctional families than lightning, which ultimately is just the medium that brings their despair to the forefront and that unites the book's main protagonists.
The book is fast-paced and an easy read. It's occasionally sad and full of good, bad and even clueless characters. Check it out; it's a different and enjoyable read.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
The History of Love by Nicole Krauss
Nicole Krauss' novel The History of Love is a wonderful and mysterious story spanning 60 years, two continents (Europe and North America) and more than a few lonely, confused, even disturbed people. It's also a book in a book. Not surprisingly, the book within the book isn't that good, though only excerpts appear.
Krauss' novel, however, is truly a good read. It leaves the reader wanting more, wondering what lies ahead for certain characters even after the last page. The novel is rather confusing, perhaps intentionally so. After all, the various narrators who tell the story are confused about their own lives, their own history. One seeks proof of his own existence. Another is translating a book for a man who does not really exist. One is unaware that he is a published author. A young boy is building an ark for the next great flood. A young girl, Alma, works to solve the mystery of who everyone is -- including the other Alma for whom she is named.
Leopold Gursky, a Polish immigrant and the novel's main character, is a Holocaust survivor, one who hid in the woods, foraging for food, even eating bugs and rats. Alma, the young woman he loved, pregnant with his child, left Europe amid the Nazi threat. That child grew up to be the acclaimed author Gursky had yearned to be.
The Holocaust is long over, and yet Gurksy is still alone in the woods, a lonely man in a New York apartment with a similar solitary friend, very likely an imaginary friend. Gursky drops things in stores and asks odd questions so that people, at least one person, will notice him each day -- so that he will not die having gone unremembered that day, almost to verify his own existence.
I enjoyed the novel but believe it needs read twice. No doubt a second read would highlight details, names that might go unnoticed in the first read. The novel also is replete with literary allusions, which could be better appreciated on a second read.
The novel is, not a study, but a detailed, mysterious look at human loneliness, human desires, human frailties, human hopes, human memories, humanity's connection. A World War II soldier's oversight, a man's plagiarism, a first name repeated, an old man's curiosity and a young girl's persistence interact in ways no single character ever foresaw and together form The History of Love.
Krauss' novel, however, is truly a good read. It leaves the reader wanting more, wondering what lies ahead for certain characters even after the last page. The novel is rather confusing, perhaps intentionally so. After all, the various narrators who tell the story are confused about their own lives, their own history. One seeks proof of his own existence. Another is translating a book for a man who does not really exist. One is unaware that he is a published author. A young boy is building an ark for the next great flood. A young girl, Alma, works to solve the mystery of who everyone is -- including the other Alma for whom she is named.
Leopold Gursky, a Polish immigrant and the novel's main character, is a Holocaust survivor, one who hid in the woods, foraging for food, even eating bugs and rats. Alma, the young woman he loved, pregnant with his child, left Europe amid the Nazi threat. That child grew up to be the acclaimed author Gursky had yearned to be.
The Holocaust is long over, and yet Gurksy is still alone in the woods, a lonely man in a New York apartment with a similar solitary friend, very likely an imaginary friend. Gursky drops things in stores and asks odd questions so that people, at least one person, will notice him each day -- so that he will not die having gone unremembered that day, almost to verify his own existence.
I enjoyed the novel but believe it needs read twice. No doubt a second read would highlight details, names that might go unnoticed in the first read. The novel also is replete with literary allusions, which could be better appreciated on a second read.
The novel is, not a study, but a detailed, mysterious look at human loneliness, human desires, human frailties, human hopes, human memories, humanity's connection. A World War II soldier's oversight, a man's plagiarism, a first name repeated, an old man's curiosity and a young girl's persistence interact in ways no single character ever foresaw and together form The History of Love.
Memorable Lines
From William Faulkner's As I Lay Dying in a chapter narrated by the dying Addie Bundren: "My father said that the reason for living is getting ready to stay dead. I knew at last what he meant and that he could not have known what he meant himself, because a man cannot know anything about cleaning up the house afterward. And so I have cleaned my house."
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From the preface to Jacqueline Winspear's Pardonable Lies appears this quotation from Sophocles' Creusa:
"Truly, to tell lies is not honorable;/
but when the truth entails tremendous ruin,
to speak dishonorably is pardonable."
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From Nicole Krauss' The History of Love, a novel: "Really, there isn't much to say./He was a great writer./He fell in love. It was his life."
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From Audrey Niffenegger's "After Words" in The Night Bookmobile, a graphic novel: "In the same way that perfume captures the essence of a flower, these shelves of books were a distillation of my life."
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From A.L. Kennedy's short-story collection, What Becomes, these lines appear in "Edinburgh" -- "She gave him books. The same words that were in her mind, now in yours, still warm."
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From "Alex & Me" by Irene Pepperberg, a memoir in which the African Grey parrot's last words to owner and scientist Pepperberg include: "You be good. I love you."
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From French writer Muriel Barbery's novel Gourmet Rhapsody about an ailing food critic, his food memories and the last food he craves: "He dies."
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From the preface to Jacqueline Winspear's Pardonable Lies appears this quotation from Sophocles' Creusa:
"Truly, to tell lies is not honorable;/
but when the truth entails tremendous ruin,
to speak dishonorably is pardonable."
-0-0-
From Nicole Krauss' The History of Love, a novel: "Really, there isn't much to say./He was a great writer./He fell in love. It was his life."
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From Audrey Niffenegger's "After Words" in The Night Bookmobile, a graphic novel: "In the same way that perfume captures the essence of a flower, these shelves of books were a distillation of my life."
-0-0-
From A.L. Kennedy's short-story collection, What Becomes, these lines appear in "Edinburgh" -- "She gave him books. The same words that were in her mind, now in yours, still warm."
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From "Alex & Me" by Irene Pepperberg, a memoir in which the African Grey parrot's last words to owner and scientist Pepperberg include: "You be good. I love you."
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From French writer Muriel Barbery's novel Gourmet Rhapsody about an ailing food critic, his food memories and the last food he craves: "He dies."
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Quickie Reviews And What's Ahead
Books I've read lately:
--Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto. I pulled this one off my bookshelf after probably 20 years and regret I waited that long for such a good read. I highly recommend this interesting book that deals with grief and love and how we express -- or don't express -- those emotions.
--Gourmet Rhapsody by Muriel Barbery. The novel about a dying food critic should appeal to all lovers of literature, not just food writing. The book's two-word last sentence shows how much a good writer can say in few words.
Upcoming:
I'm reading an oldie, Pride and Prejudice, and a contemporary novel, The Handbook for Lightning Survivors. I'm looking forward to my third Maisie Dobbs mystery, to the novel The Spice Necklace and more. I'm also thinking about reading Annie Proulx's memoir, Bird Cloud. I'd like to read one of the two books on Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis' career as a book editor.
--Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto. I pulled this one off my bookshelf after probably 20 years and regret I waited that long for such a good read. I highly recommend this interesting book that deals with grief and love and how we express -- or don't express -- those emotions.
--Gourmet Rhapsody by Muriel Barbery. The novel about a dying food critic should appeal to all lovers of literature, not just food writing. The book's two-word last sentence shows how much a good writer can say in few words.
Upcoming:
I'm reading an oldie, Pride and Prejudice, and a contemporary novel, The Handbook for Lightning Survivors. I'm looking forward to my third Maisie Dobbs mystery, to the novel The Spice Necklace and more. I'm also thinking about reading Annie Proulx's memoir, Bird Cloud. I'd like to read one of the two books on Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis' career as a book editor.
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