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.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
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.
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