'No Time to Spare' by Ursula K. Le Guin

The subtitle to this collection of essays (originally published as blogs, between 2010 and 2016) is 'Thinking About What Matters'. Ursula K. Le Guin is primarily known as a science-fiction and fantasy writer, with a huge body of work, and she died last year. I had never gotten around to reading anything she'd done before (mainly, I think, because I was put off by the old-fashioned formality of some of her titles - The Tombs of Atuan, The Lathe of Heaven - and by my impression, possibly false, that she was on the worthy, serious end of the SF spectrum, rather than the weird, dark, ironic end where my personal fave Philip K. Dick resided), but when I saw this book in a really cool store in Santa Fe, I was immediately drawn to it.

Partly it was that subtitle, partly the fact that she had just died and that these essays were among her last publications: I've always felt that what a writer produces in their final years, assuming they haven't lost any of their mental verve, is likely to be their most honest work, because by then it's too late for ambitions, pretentions, masks. But mostly it was this paragraph, printed on the back of the book, that hooked me: "I am free, but my time is not. My time is fully and vitally occupied with sleep, with daydreaming, with doing business and writing friends and family on email, with reading, with writing poetry, with writing prose, with thinking, with forgetting, with embroidering, with cooking and eating a meal and cleaning up the kitchen, with construing Virgil, with meeting friends, with talking with my husband... None of this is spare time. I can't spare it... I am going to be eighty-one next week. I have no time to spare.'

I loved the ordinariness of that list, but also the urgency and vitality behind it. I am forty-eight, which feels simultaneously old and much younger than eighty-one, but I could really relate to the feeling in that paragraph, and I bought and read the book as if - in the image employed by Karen Joy Fowler, in her enjoyable introduction to this book - I was a seeker, and Le Guin a sage in a mountain cave.

So did I find out the meaning of life? Yes and no. I loved her writing about the concrete pleasures of life - a cat purring in your lap, a soft-boiled egg eaten from the shell - and her advice to embrace the age you are, rather than constantly wishing yourself younger. I also liked all the writing about writing. But as the book went on, it seemed to become more of a soapbox or a collection of journalistic odds and ends: Ursula raving about some opera she'd been to, Ursula making fun of vegetarians, Ursula on insincerity in modern politics. Some of it I agreed with, some of it less so, but either way it just seemed less important and real than the more personal, supposedly trivial stuff.

Overall, though, I enjoyed this book and am glad I read it. And I am going to overcome my squeamishness about her titles and try reading some of her fiction now...

"The Interpretation of Dreams" by Sigmund Freud

I've always found dreams fascinating. Their strangeness, their mystery, their odd combination of the bizarre and the mundane; and how quickly they can slip through the fingers of your consciousness and disappear forever if you're not quick to grasp them after waking (and sometimes even then). So it's not surprising that a book about dream interpretation would interest me.

However, I think I picked the wrong book. What I really wanted was a kitsch, pop-culture dream dictionary--yeah, the kind Freud would despise. You know, something with alphabetized entries like "Cat, ill: dreaming about a sick cat means you need to listen to your intuition more," spoon-feeding interpretations to the reader. This book was certainly not that. Instead, Freud gives the skeletal framework for a method of finding meaning in dreams, but leaves it up to the interpreter to fill in the blanks.

Freud wrote a lot about the dream as wish fulfilment, a way for the unconscious to deal with repressed desires. Often dreams include influences from the prior day, but these obvious influences are symbolic of the more deep-seated, latent psychological issues that they disguise. An interesting concept is that if two people or objects with an insignificant link appear together in a dream, look for a hidden, more important link between the two. (OR . . . you may just wish there were another link between the two.)

I couldn't help but laugh when Freud gave examples of dreams that could in no way be attributed to wish fulfilment. He explained them away with the claim that the wish his patients' dreams purported to fulfil was the wish to prove his theory wrong! But surely there are people whose dreams fulfil no wishes and who have no interpreter to prove wrong. What then? It seemed to me that Freud stretched dreams to fit his theories. In short, dreams meant whatever the heck Freud said they meant.

I also found it funny that Freud wrote, "It may be said that there is no class of ideas which cannot be enlisted in the representation of sexual facts and wishes." In other words, everything symbolizes sex. I'd always thought maybe Freud's body of work had been over-simplified for greater ease of use as a punchline, and--well, it probably has, but it wasn't without his help.

The Collected Works of Dr Kevin Leman

Ok, so I didn't read all of Dr Leman's books. But I think three is as far as I will go.

I started with Living in a Stepfamily Without Getting Stepped On. My mom gave this book to me five years ago (when I was first forming a stepfamily of my own), but I never saw fit to pick it up until recently. I'm not even sure why I chose to read it now--I think it was out of a sense of duty, and/or trying to rid my shelves of some of the non-fiction my mom has plied me with over the years.

Upon reading it, I found it doesn't really apply to my family; it's mainly for Brady-Bunch-style families where both parents bring their own kids into the mix. It focuses on birth order (firstborns are responsible Type A kids, middle children are easy-going mediators, last-borns are flaky entertainers, and only children are uber-firstborns) and what happens when birth orders from two families are combined. (In a nutshell, kids under the age of 7 end up taking on their new birth order; older kids retain the birth order that was set before their parents remarried, which can cause conflict--for instance, when two firstborns butt heads, or when two babies-of-the-family vie for the limelight).

I was both fascinated and repelled by the way Leman pigeon-holes people with one-sentence descriptions. I'm kind of torn between wishing I was an astute enough observer to have the ability to label people that way, and thinking surely no one can be boiled down to one sentence. (And, just as surely, no one wants to be!)

Next up: Have a New Kid by Friday. Another gift from my mother, which she coincidentally sent me (along with the third book in this post) while I was reading the stepfamily book (even though she didn't know I was reading it). I figured I might as well be on a Leman roll and get these all knocked out ASAP so I could move onto something more interesting.

This book is for parents whose kids are mouthy and disobedient or sullen and disrespectful (read: me). Its major concept: If you expect your kids to do something, say it once, then turn your back and walk away. If the something doesn't get done, either deduct from their allowance, or refuse to give them the next thing they ask for (or maybe both).

I can get on board with a lot of Leman's common-sense suggestions (use consistent action, not words: no harassing, threatening, warning, reminding, or coaxing; encourage rather than praising; use "tell me more about that" to buy time to formulate a response instead of a reaction) but as for the refuse-the-next-thing-they-ask idea, I can't help but see that as a passive-aggressive, sneakily vengeful way of lying in wait for a time when you can pounce on your kids and say GOTCHA! You can't have this because you were bad three days ago! Anyway, this book makes a certain phrase come to mind: If something sounds too good to be true, then it probably is. The title of this book is obviously meant to sell copies, not something that is literally possible. Raising a child takes a bit more than a week.

Last (and least), Have a New Teenager by Friday: a rehashing of New Kid with a couple of updates. It covers a few issues that the kid book doesn't cover, but otherwise relates the exact same concepts.

"Faces of Evil" by Lois Gibson and Deanie Mills

I was not looking forward to reading this book AT ALL. Not only do I have a (possibly unfair) bias against books with more than one author's name on the cover (it just seems to me that co-writing is never a good sign), but I really hate to hear about people doing horrible things to other people. Unfortunately, there seems to be a lot of that going on in stories of true crime. But this was our March book club selection, so of course I was obliged to read it, negative bias or no.

Faces of Evil is a glimpse into the career of a forensic sketch artist: a woman named Lois Gibson who has spent years drawing the faces of criminals as described by their victims or witnesses. The book starts off just as horribly as I'd worried, as Gibson is called on to draw a reconstruction of a very young girl who was found in a ditch . . . on September 11, 2001. But as I continued reading, either the stories got less horrifying or I became desensitized to them, because I was able to find the book more interesting than awful.

Unfortunately, my unfavorable opinion of co-authors was reinforced by the less-than-impressive writing, but this is not the sort of book you read for the beauty of its prose. In fact, it's not the sort of book one would want to savor in any way. It held my attention solely by the information it conveys.

As far as my assessment of compositry (that is, composing a picture of a criminal's face based on a witness's description), my thoughts drift towards the series of images in the middle of the book. When I compare the artist's drawings with the photographs of the criminals in question, I must admit I am less than impressed by the resemblance between the drawings and the photos. I find myself expecting a much closer likeness. But then, every time I thought about the fact that Gibson drew each portrait based solely upon the description gleaned from a traumatized victim, my mind was blown all over again. Lois Gibson has some sort of gift that goes far beyond artistic talent. I have a bit of drawing ability myself, but I couldn't even depend upon my own memory to sketch a passable likeness of a stranger I've seen with my own eyes, let alone draw a face based on someone else's description.

It didn't take me long to realize this book has given me an annoying habit. I have found myself surreptitiously studying the faces of strangers while, say, eating a chocolate-dipped waffle bowl sundae with brownie bits in Dairy Queen (or, what is left of one after the ice cream vultures known as my children have descended upon it). I try to figure out if I could remember each face I see, and how I would describe it to someone. I can only hope that I get over this new-found fixation quickly, because it stresses me out. I am certain, just as most of Gibson's clients insist, that I could never remember enough detail to be of any help to a forensic sketch artist. (Though I would be remiss if I didn't mention that this attitude perpetrates Myth #7 about compositry, and Gibson insists that any "reasonably talented, fairly well-trained forensic sketch artist will be able, in most cases, to elicit witness descriptions and to produce composite sketches that have at least a one-in-three chance of being effective.")

Interesting book, if not what I would have chosen, but I'm very happy to be moving on. Especially considering the two super-awesome books I have lined up to read next!

"Angela's Ashes" by Frank McCourt

"There's nothing like a wake for having a good time." 

That one sentence, for me, sums up the tone of Frank McCourt's entire memoir: optimism, maybe even a bit of wry humor, in the face of depressing needs and desperate situations. Or perhaps it's merely the fact that I've never attended an Irish wake? Maybe they're a whole lot more fun than I can imagine. Whichever it is, this book made me think of a 1940s version of Jeannette Walls' book The Glass Castle, only a whole lot more Irish.

Angela's Ashes is the cure for anyone who thinks their life sucks. If you are reading this, you've got electricity. I'm willing to bet your clothes are relatively clean and decent, and (especially if you're an American like me) you're probably not very hungry. (Yeah, I'm talking to you! Put down the Cheetos!) In fact, Angela would say that we "don't have a notion of not having." But even in their constant state of want, there were still times the McCourt family managed to help those less fortunate, because "there are always people worse off and we can surely spare a little from what we have." It was mind-boggling enough that there were people less fortunate, but even more amazing to see the generosity of those who had so little to begin with.

I appreciated the fact that, even though his childhood was filled with hard times occasionally interrupted by harder times, McCourt doesn't seek to put his readers to shame. (I put myself to shame while reading his book, but that's not the author's fault.) He doesn't beg for sympathy or try to make his readers feel guilty for having too much or not giving enough. He's just telling it like . . . 'tis.

It's also intriguing to watch as McCourt develops his writing skills throughout his childhood. It's evident that he had an innate talent that was strong enough to survive abject poverty, and an imagination untouched by his harsh surroundings: "It's lovely to know the world can't interfere with the inside of your head." I'm not sure I agree with that, as the world seems to be messing with my head on a regular basis, but somehow McCourt made it through a much more difficult life than mine with minimal apparent damage.

Maybe I'm just a dummy, but I couldn't figure out why this book was entitled Angela's Ashes. The entire time I was reading, I was expecting Angela (the author's mother) to die, but she managed to hang on the whole way through. Oh, um, spoiler. So I've looked it up in order to enlighten you. Apparently the follow-up book, 'Tis, which was originally tacked on to the end of this book, concludes with the scattering of Angela's ashes. (Yep, that's another spoiler.) And Angela's Ashes concludes with the word 'tis. So there's a sort of symmetry there . . . although it still doesn't quite make sense to me. Shouldn't it have been the other way around?

"Lucrezia Borgia: Life, Love and Death in Renaissance Italy" by Sarah Bradford

For years I have been both fascinated and repelled by what I thought I knew of Lucrezia Borgia. I saw her as a powerful and selfish murderess, on the slightest whim poisoning anyone who stood in her way, not concerning herself in the least with trifles such as morality. Topped off by the suggestion that she had an incestuous relationship with both her father and her brother, Lucrezia just about made my eyes pop out of my head.

As it turns out, my impression was completely wrong. It's understandable that I had such an unfavorable opinion of the poor girl, as the intervening years have been unkind to her; even some of her contemporaries painted her as a villainess and a whore. Though some of the malicious gossip was a result of jealousy, most can probably be attributed to guilt by association. Her father, Rodrigo Borgia--though he became the Pope--was not especially pious, to say the least; her brother, Cesare Borgia, apparently deserved every bit of his notoriety.

But Lucrezia herself really wasn't such a bad person. Those who knew her by more than reputation found her modest, astute and wise. Many who had at first believed the reports of poor character thought of her much more favorably after meeting her.

This book does not give a clear and vivid picture of Lucrezia Borgia, but rather a negative image created by the world that surrounded her. You can see her outline, but there's a Lucrezia-shaped hole in the story, especially in the years preceding her third and longest marriage.

I suppose that fault was unavoidable in a work of non-fiction. There's nothing in this book that was not derived from research. No filler, no fabrication, no embellishment. In my opinion, this is both good and bad. Good in the sense that the book relates pure history; bad in the sense that it doesn't bring Lucrezia's personality and motivations to life like I'd hoped.

Slight disappointment aside, I was impressed by the scope of the research that went into this book. And I was amazed by the amount of personal correspondence still in existence! Didn't these people have mothers to teach them that they should only put in writing what they wanted the whole world to read?

This book has dispelled the mystique surrounding Lucrezia Borgia in my mind. She was not vile, evil, or scandalously naughty. She had her share of extramarital affairs, but no more than any other person of nobility during the Italian Renaissance, and she handled them discreetly. While I'm left feeling like I don't have a complete picture of the woman, I'm also convinced I have as complete a picture as is possible after the passage of five centuries. Sarah Bradford has done a remarkably thorough job with the resources available.

Too bad my former conception of Lucrezia Borgia, though much more salacious than the reality, was also much more fun.

Reading in Retrospect: "The Life and Times of Grigorii Rasputin" by Alex de Jonge

Rasputin (1869-1916) is someone who has always drawn my curiosity, just like the Borgia family, the Nephilim, and the Bermuda Triangle. Since I've been reading Anna Karenina (yes, I'm STILL reading it) and realizing my knowledge of Russian history is sadly lacking, my mind has drifted back to this biography of Rasputin which I read several years ago.

For my taste, this book was too much about The Times and not enough about The Life. Back when I read it, I was more compelled to find out about the myths surrounding Rasputin than about the truths or underlying reasons for the existence of those myths. (In retrospect, however, the myth-busting aspect of it seems more interesting). I must admit I found it rather dull and dry reading, though it nearly became a page-turner in the last 40 pages as the plot to murder Rasputin got underway. (That's not really a spoiler, is it? I mean, you knew he died, right?)

Anastasia Nicolaievna

I was also disappointed that the execution of the Tsar and his family received barely any mention, but as those killings occurred approximately 18 months after Rasputin’s death, it makes sense that this book would not encompass that event. But now I want to read about “the rest of the story,” including the royal family’s execution, and I want to read about the stories of their daughter Anastasia possibly surviving with amnesia (another topic I've always wondered about). The author of this book briefly made it clear that he believed the real Anastasia died with the rest of her family.

To quickly sum up the author’s take on Rasputin: He was a Siberian peasant who set out on the path to infamy by taking to the road as a pilgrim in search of salvation. It seems he found a “religion” which was one-of-a-kind, cobbled together from an assortment of practices (both accepted and unacceptable) found in Russia at the time. Various disciples followed him, beginning with those in the clergy and progressing up to Tsar Nicholas and his wife, the Tsarina Alexandra. Rasputin’s control over the royal family was not absolute (although it came closer to complete domination in regard to the tsarina), but his influence was quite potent, especially in contrast with his humble beginnings.

It seems people generally had one of three reactions to Rasputin. Some (few, mostly men) could see through Rasputin from the moment they met him, and had no respect for him. Others (especially women) were instantly and completely enthralled by him as a holy man, but later their eyes were opened by all the damning evidence proving his righteousness a sham. Very few had the third reaction, which was to be captivated by him from beginning to end, ignoring all evidence of immorality, no matter how clear-cut it was. There were only two people (possibly three) who had this latter sort of reaction: the tsarina, her friend and confidante Anna Vyroubova, and (the possible third) the tsar.

Would you want to have sex with this man?

When people saw Rasputin for what he was, what did they see? He was a drunk and a lecher. He used sexuality in his “religion,” either challenging himself to resist temptation by standing in its path, or with the laughable notion that God wants us to sin so that he has something for which to forgive us. It seems Rasputin was very badly behaved, becoming increasingly depraved throughout his life, and usually not doing much to hide that fact.

This book somewhat dispelled the myth that Rasputin was a puppeteer controlling the tsar and tsarina. He was able to get many government appointments passed, usually by directing the tsarina to suggest appointments to the tsar, but he did not always succeed at this. What was clear to me through this book was that Rasputin really didn’t seem to have a Big Plan. He was not following an agenda. Though he did frequently stress the desire to avoid needless shedding of blood (in war), he seemed to have no more cohesive goal than to enjoy his power as a generous benefactor (meaning it didn’t seem that he pushed any government appointment for political reasons; he did it just because he could--almost as if he was merely doing it to impress people), and to live the good life, doing whatever pleased him.

The author writes that Rasputin was capable of mild foresight, giving some successful predictions that were vague enough to merely be guesses guided by common sense. The author also mentions that his foresight must not have been anything great if he could not foresee his own murder. However, in the way the author describes the night of the murder, there was an inkling of the possibility that Rasputin did know but was resigned to his fate.

It appears indisputable, although the book left the mechanism unexplained, that Rasputin was capable of healing, namely with the tsarevich Alexander Nicolaevich who suffered from hemophilia. Rasputin was always able to stop Aleksey’s episodes of bleeding, even (at least once) from afar. The author says perhaps Rasputin would put off his arrival until after the crisis was over, making the supposed "healing" merely a matter of timing; or perhaps he knew of some sort of peasant remedy. If not one of these two explanations, then perhaps his ability might have been truly supernatural.

I have not yet decided if my curiosity about Rasputin was sated by this book. I do think that de Jonge covered all available information. His book was very well-researched and had so many sources that I find it impossible to believe that he left out any information that might be found elsewhere. In other words, although there may have been more to the life of Rasputin, any other information has been irretrievably buried in the sands of time. I find myself coming to the conclusion that there would be no point in reading a different book about him in hopes of finding new information. However, I bet I would enjoy reading fiction about him.

Have you read any good books about Rasputin, or about the execution of the Russian royals in 1918?

The Romanovs       

"Running with Scissors: A Memoir" by Augusten Burroughs

I have a miniscule memory of reading a review of this book several years ago, which extends only to the idea that this memoir involves the boyhood abandonment of the author (evoking a horrifying youth like that in The Glass Castle--although Jeannette Walls was never abandoned, she may as well have been) with a dark humor in the style of David Sedaris. This was confirmed when I read the "additional praise" quotes just inside the front cover and several compared Burroughs to Sedaris.

Before reading, I was slightly ambivalent about the book, and the aforementioned quotes didn't really help. One of them made the book sound great: "It's gross, it's shocking and its humor is blacker than a thousand midnights . . . " but the very next quote negated the previous one for me: "Brutal, disturbing . . . unfathomable heartache and dysfunction." (That's not the whole quote, but those are the parts that stood out to me). But I was resigned to discovering whether Burroughs was able to put the "fun" in dysfunction.

Well. My goodness. This memoir is a train wreck if I ever saw one. You know how I label some books as "not suitable for my mom"? I think this book was not suitable for me. It should have had a subtitle of "Adults Who Should Have Known Better But Didn't." (If you are a tender sweet young thing and you can't handle reading words like "penis," please close your eyes, skip to the next paragraph, and then open your eyes to continue reading again.) It was bad enough when I read about the six year old boy giggling as his dog licked his erect penis (not that I blame the boy, but there were adults in his life who should have taught him that this is Not Right), but it was awfully icky to read about 33-year-old Bookman, erm, forcibly receiving oral sex from thirteen-year-old Augusten. All weird sexual fetishes aside, pedophilia is never cool. The whole thing is made all the more horrible by the knowledge that this is not a work of fiction.

Yeah, about this being a true story. Even some of the not-so-horrible-but-just-gross parts rather defied belief. I mean, turd fortune-telling? I guess whoever said truth is stranger than fiction was right. And how funny that the turd fortune-telling chapter ended with Natalie telling Augusten he should write all this stuff down, and then Augusten saying, "Even if I did, nobody would believe it." How did he know? Honestly, though, I'm not questioning the veracity of the memoir, because this book was first published in 2002; if Burroughs had made this stuff up, there would have been a James-Frey-style uproar by now. (Interestingly enough, there was an uproar of another kind when the real "Finch" family brought a lawsuit against Burroughs for defamation of character). True, exaggerated, or false, I just can't help but wonder, how did so much crazy crap happen to one poor kid? I had to laugh (albeit in a slightly bewildered way) when, during one of his mother's periods of psychosis, Augusten wonders "how anything would ever be normal again." My bewilderment stemmed from his use of the word "again," of course.

I must admit that the book was engrossing (emphasis on "gross", but still). On Monday I didn't think I'd been absorbed in the book for too long, but during "not too long," my three-year-old managed to unspool two full rolls of toilet paper, soak the bathroom floor with water, and smear a glue stick on her belly. I'm so glad she's going to be four soon. It will make a difference, right?? I guess I should look on the bright side: at least she didn't poop under the piano.

If you like David Sedaris and can imagine still liking him multiplied by ten, you might want to read this book. Otherwise, just take my word for it that Augusten Burroughs had a horrible childhood and is very lucky that he can make light of it now. In fact, it amazes me that Burroughs never asks for the reader's pity, and the book ends on such a note of hope.

Have I told you before how glad I am that I am NORMAL?? After reading this book I feel exceedingly lucky that, as a child, all my adults Knew Better.

"Always Looking Up: The Adventures of an Incurable Optimist" by Michael J. Fox

Yeeees, another library book. When will I learn? Probably about the time I finish up my TBR list. Which means probably about never.

I read about this book in Reader's Digest. Like any good little American girl who grew up mostly in the 80s, I had a great big ol' crush on Alex Keaton. (That is, until I found out that Michael J. Fox was, like, old. Not that my "chances" for getting a date with him would have improved much had we been closer in age.) My former crush on still-boyishly-handsome Fox, in combination with my own incurable (or, to some, unendurable) optimism, made me snatch up this book as soon as I saw it on the shelf at my local library.

This book is basically a memoir that spans the past 10 years of Fox's life. It is divided into four sections: work, politics, faith and family. Fox later describes these as his four pillars. This got me to thinking. (And, by the way, I absolutely love it when a book manages to do that). What are the pillars of my life? I would definitely describe two of mine as faith and family, but so far I haven't really been able to decide what else in my life might be described as a pillar. (All I know is "politics" and "work" would not be it for me). I am a little bit uncomfortable with the idea of a two-pillar life, because that doesn't seem stable enough; but at the moment, nothing else comes to mind that has the robust aspect of a pillar. I will have to ruminate further on that point. So, back to my thoughts on the book.

During the first of four sections ("Work"), as I read about the Fox family's vacation in Provence and Paris, I found myself alternating between annoyance at the offhand way he was tossing out references to his amazingly posh life, and nearly salivating at this opportunity to sneak a glimpse into the Real Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. Hanging out with Lance Armstrong and Robin Williams? Check. Living for several weeks in a French villa actually owned by literal royalty? Check. Flying from Paris to New York in three hours the day before the deadly crash that ended the era of the Concorde? Oh my gosh! But, check.

Most of the "work" section centered around Fox's transition from actor to Parkinson's activist. I was a little bit disapointed that, though he writes about the vast sums of money that the Michael J. Fox Foundation has poured into research, he mentions nothing about any sort of success or headway towards finding a cure. I would have been interested in reading at least a few scientific details, even if they only led towards dead ends or an uncertain future.

The "work" section segued neatly into the "politics" section, as stem cell research has been a ray of hope (for Parkinson's patients as well as many others) while also quite politically charged. I was impressed by how respectful Fox was of those whose political ideology differs from his. I am not interested in using this forum to express my political leanings, but Fox's desire to have restrictions lifted from stem cell research is such a common theme throughout the book that it caused me to attempt to solidify and define my previously amorphous stance on the topic. Here is what I find I have to say: First, I believe the (however unlikely) possibility of growing actual entire humans for use as replacement parts is unethical, but I don't think those who advocate stem cell research are suggesting that this be done. I am all for legislature to keep this from happening in the future, and though Fox doesn't actually come out and say so, I feel certain he would think the same way. Second, if in vitro fertilization is not wrong, how can using the byproducts (excess embryos which would be discarded anyway) be wrong? Yeah, I know that my stance is still pretty amorphous, but at least it's not nonexistant.

Where I find I do disagree with Fox somewhat is in his support of political candidates who are pro-stem-cell-research based solely on that issue. Sure, it's not like we have Hitler running for office here, but it's kind of like my discomfort with having only two "life pillars." Supporting a candidate based on only one "pillar" is not to my liking. On the other hand, I bet I would feel differently if stem cell research struck closer to home for me.

All in all, from what I gathered in reading this book, Michael J. Fox seems like a geuninely good guy with his feet on the ground and his head in the right place. It's encouraging to see someone with so much passion and drive in his position. Even if I am jealous about the castle in Provence.

"What French Women Know: About Love, Sex, and Other Matters of the Heart and Mind" by Debra Ollivier

This book caught my eye in the author endorsements at the beginning of Sarah's Key. It made me wonder: What do French women know? Do they know something that I don't know? And so, here is a breakdown of each chapeter.

Chapter 1: Men. French women love men. A lot. And they don't really like women very much. There is no struggle between the sexes in France, just a mutual love (and, apparently, lots of it). As they are simultaneously feminists and feminine, French women live in le juste milieu.

Chapter 2: Mystery. French women are secretive. They value privacy and discretion. They don't tell everything they know. They have no problem with ambiguity and maybe even prefer it. They play their cards close to their vest, and sometimes it seems the more interested you are in getting a peek at their hand, the harder they try to hide it. The book didn't say this, but it sure sounded like what it boiled down to was a little bit of game playing, which definitely isn't for me. In general, however, French women abide by the idea that Less is More. Which I suppose would be moins est plus, although I have no idea whether this is a commonly used French idiom--I'm thinking it's not, since the author didn't apply it.

Chapter 3: Rules. The French don't like rules. French women are "aware of the brevity of time and the immediacy of pleasure." They value the individual rights of people to behave as they like, and they figure they "might as well make the most of the moment instead of anxiously preparing for (or bracing against) the future." They don't challenge rules merely for the sake of rebellion, but they will scorn any rules that "get in the way of their sense of pleasure and personal freedom." On the other hand, the French are big fans of protocol or tradition involving etiquette. This is how they manage to have perfect, and rather rigid, manners in a social setting. But their indifference towards rule-following is where they get their joie de vivre.

Chapter 4: Perfection. The French woman knows perfection is not all it is cracked up to be. Perfection equals conforming to everyone else equals boring. Agreeing to disagree is much more agreeable than always being right (and thus perfect). Their idea of perfection differs from ours; being part of a perfect American couple might mean always being kind and in agreement with one another, whereas in a perfect French marriage, differing opinions are celebrated; disputes are not feared, and are even looked at as natural, helpful ways to relieve pressure in a relationship. Not only that, but their "more tolerant and elastic view of marriage" gives rise to a preference for cohabitation over marriage. French women realistically accept imperfections as natural, and even derive pleasure from them. They don't give a crap what others think about them; they know who they are and are happy with that, and they are not worried whether anyone else agrees with them. Vive la difference!

Chapter 5: Nature. The French are more accepting of what is natural--like aging, armpit hair, the fact that we humans are basically just animals, and stinky cheese. Freud was right in saying that any human emotion leads back to the sphere of sex. Rather than claiming "the devil made me do it," French women have no problem admitting they just couldn't resist, or, in other words, ça m'a pris.

Chapter 6: Art de Vivre. Neatly summed up in a quote from Jeanne Moreau saying, "I don't feel guilt. Whatever I wish to do, I do." The French set aside self-improvement and ambition in favor of enjoying life, which is better done when keeping it simple (though not in the sense of organization or efficiency). Feeling anxiety over concepts like "getting ahead" or "staying ahead" are foreign to the French.

Chapter 7: Body. A French woman know how to feel bien dans sa peau. French children "grow up with the realities of the body" and thus "are primed to be less childlike and more matter-of-fact about sexuality as adults." The French do not "conform to a single standard of beauty," and "personal iconoclasm" is celebrated; however, if there is one thing they do conform to, it is the pressure to Not Get Fat. Their secret is rigid self-control. They certainly do not forego all indulgence, but neither do they indulge themselves constantly. It also "helps that French culture is not a snack culture."

Why was there no chapter on sex? I probably shouldn't be surprised, as apparently the French don't do "tips" or "how-tos," but I was hoping I would pick up some fun and nasty ideas I could use in my happy marriage. I guess the reason there wasn't a chapter on sex is because their attitudes towards it were sprinkled throughout the book (and perhaps partly because of that innate discretion mentioned in Chapter 2). In a nutshell, French women enjoy sex (just like every other aspect of their lives), especially when it is frequent and passionate.

I found it interesting to note that the author took a lot of examples from literature and film. I never assumed movies were that realistic, but perhaps she used good examples of art imitating life. I don't know, as I'd never even heard of many of the movies she mentioned. There were two, though, that I've even watched before!

So to wrap up the entire book in one sentence, I would have to say that the French enjoy life with the abandon of hedonists and moral relativists, steeped in existentialism with the attitude that Que sera, sera. It was definitely a fun and interesting glimpse at the women of an alluring and intriguing culture, though I don't think I gleaned much from it that I can use in my own life. I'm too American, and too happy about that fact, although I could do better about living in the moment. I enjoy the heck out of my life, but I am not always as fully present in the present as it appears the French are. And, now that I think about it, I know a few people who could use a good dose of that mysterious French reticence and close their mouths every now and then.

I did have to wonder what the majority of French women would think of this book. I mean, does it hit the nail on the head for most of them? Does it describe only a minority? Or is it way off the mark? I know one thing about the type of French woman who is portrayed in this book, though; they wouldn't give a crap about what I thought of it.

"Swallow This" by Mark Phillips

It was just a week or two ago that I first noticed this book in one of those quirky catalogs I seem to get in the mail every day. The catalog's description of the book included the questions, "What can you say to a wine store clerk to get good wine every time? Why is buying pricey wine a waste of money? When can you add ice cubes to wine--or microwave it?" This sounded like a book that was right up my alley, and finding a cheap copy of it was a bonus.

It just arrived yesterday and I have already devoured it. The book is a fun read as well as being informative, albeit in an off-beat and irreverent way. I think that someone who already knows a lot about wine may not really appreciate it, but for people (like me!) whose extent of wine knowledge is "I like it," I definitely recommend this book. Most books I get from paperbackswap I repost when I'm finished reading, but I plan to keep this one as a reference guide.

"War in Val d'Orcia: An Italian War Diary, 1943-1944" by Iris Origo

This book was highly recommended by the tour guide at La Foce (who happens to be Welsh. Which is neither here nor there; I just thought that was an interesting tidbit of information). For the most part, I don't like books about war, but this title stuck in my mind. I put it on my wish list (I was requestor #2 of 2) and waited for weeks for someone to post a copy, and then got impatient and ordered a used one through amazon. I assume that, since I've finished reading this, the requestor who is now #1 of 1 will be very happy to get it.

The cover you see here is not the same as that of the copy I read. I couldn't find cover art to match my super-awesome library-binding large-print edition, so I chose one that I think looks much nicer (and shows an actual photo of La Foce, rather than a drawing that could be of anywhere in the Italian countryside).

This book (for me) started off slowly, and for a while I only stuck with it as if it were an assignment I had to complete. Most of the "1943" part of the book was a lot of flitting around and discussing rumors of war. Once 1944 hit, however, the intensity ramped up as the fighting drew nearer. For the Origos and those living nearby, life was distilled to its simplest and most basic elements. Many of the things once thought important were left by the wayside, and the most valuable quality (along with quite a bit of patience, steadfastness and courage) was the tenacity needed to persevere until they could reach the other side of the dreadful war that had been thrust upon them. At their lowest point, Iris writes, "We have left behind everything that we possess, but never in my life have I felt so rich and thankful as looking down on all the children as they lay asleep. Whatever may happen tomorrow, tonight they are safe and sound!"

It was amazing to see how quickly one's worldview can change in such a situation. At one point, Origo and a companion make a risky pony-cart drive to Montepulciano for medicine, and were happy in their success, as they "only had to jump down into a ditch twice, as the fighter planes swooped down over our heads." Of course this could have been written in irony, but judging by the straightforward manner in which the rest of the book was written, I don't believe Iris Origo was given to sarcasm. At another point, Origo mentions that the electricity and telephone wires were both cut, "so we get no news, which matters the less, in that the news is now happening here . . . I ask [a German medical officer]: 'Are you going to the front?' [To which he] laughs and replies: 'And where do you think you are?' " And then, during the frightening walk to Montepulciano on June 22, 1944, the Origos and those under their care hid in a cornfield as planes flew overhead. Iris lay thinking, "This can't be real--this isn't really happening."

I think that, not only was this sort of mental disconnect necessary for her to be able to handle the situation and go on, but that that would probably have been my own method of coping (assuming I were capable). I am just glad that I have not had to prove this. It has never been more clear to me that Americans are very lucky to have not, in many generations, experienced war on our own turf. The worst that any of us still living have experienced at home is 9/11, which of course was bad enough, but thankfully was not sustained over the long period of time that wars tend to cover.

There were many poignant moments in the book, among which was the first birthday party of Origo's daughter Donata, on June 9, 1944. "While planes drone overhead and swoop down on the valley roads, we have a children's party in the garden. (The children have, by now, completely lost their original nervousness . . . )" It is just so odd to think of growing accustomed to the sight and sound of war planes flying overhead.

Equally odd is how small a mention D-Day receives in this book. On the one hand this shouldn't surprise me, as this woman's diary mostly just covers her own little universe, and Normandy was not a part of it; but on the other hand, that Allied invasion is (in my mind, anyway) one of the most widely-known events of WWII among Americans (along with the Pearl Harbor attack and the atomic bombs in Japan; those three things probably mark the beginning, turning point, and ending of the war, as far as the U.S. was concerned). But perhaps I should be impressed that the Origos heard the news that very same day. Iris writes, "Hear at eleven-thirty that the Allied troops have landed this morning on the coast of France. Proclamation of Eisenhower to the people of France."

Another thing that surprised me was Origo's observation that the German Field Hospital Units were curiously inefficient and apathetic. She says, "They hang about interminably with nothing to do, and never seem to be where they are really wanted, nor do any of the German troops show the slightest interest in, or helpfulness towards, members of other units than their own." This mainly surprises me because I have always thought of the German people as very efficient and disciplined, and I had always assumed their military fought WWII with great order, structure, and effectiveness. I wonder if this inefficiency that Origo noticed was common throughout the German military of the time, or if it came on along with low morale when the troops began to see that they might lose the war.

I think perhaps the opinion of Americans regarding the German soldiers of WWII is that they were all either monsters or mindless grunts. Although the Origos were certainly not on the side of the Germans, at least Iris portrays them in a very fair and even-handed manner. The Origos came in contact with any number of very polite and understanding Germans (most of whom Iris described as "correct"), like the officer charged with conserving the priceless artwork in Florence.

This is most evident in the footnote regarding a German soldier the Origos probably never even met. When the Origos were finally forced out of their home at La Foce, they were unable to bury the body of Giorgio, the consumptive partisan they had been nursing. When they returned to their home, they found that someone had buried the body and marked the grave with a cross labeled Unknown Italian (in German). For a German to have had the decency and respect, not only to bury the body of his likely enemy but even to mark the grave, clearly shows they were not all heartless.

I think the entire book, and my view of WWII (and wars in general), is summed up at the end of Origo's entry from June 22, 1944. She writes, "This glimpse of a tiny segment of the front increases my conviction of the wastefulness of this kind of warfare, the disproportion between the human suffering involved and the military results achieved . . . the events of the last week have had little enough effect upon either side: it is the civilians who have suffered."

I can't wrap up my post about this book without admitting that, during the several mentions in Origo's writing of Allied planes mistakenly machine-gunning innocent Italian peasants, it popped into my head that it must have been Yossarian . . .

Now I want to read Iris Origo's memoirs, entitled Images and Shadows. I would love to read more about La Foce and hear about life in the Val d'Orcia in happier times.

"The Monster of Florence: A True Story" by Douglas Preston with Mario Spezi

I first noticed this book while browsing at my beloved home away from home, Target. References to Florence always get my attention, and I recognized the scuplture on the cover as Giambologna's Rape of the Sabine Women. In reading the blurb on the back of the book, I at first assumed this would be a novel about a centuries-old crime, but this idea was dispelled when I came to the end of the synopsis and saw that the authors "themselves became targets of a bizarre police investigation," which to me (correctly) suggested that the crimes involved must have been much more recent.

I found it surprising that other countries have serial killers. I kind of assumed (though regrettably, and with embarrassment) that that sort of evil is limited to Americans. It was funny (in an odd, not humorous, way) that this idea is echoed in the book. In fact, many Italians were surprised at having a serial killer in their midst. This, to them, seemed like a British or German thing, or especially American.

The details of the murders were certainly gruesome. Whenever I've read fiction that contains such lurid information, I wonder to myself, Now, was it really necessary to include that? But here it is just the truth. Not that being true makes it any less horrifying, but it at least seems much more excusable to include the horrifying truth in a book as opposed to horrifying fiction.

On a lighter note, I loved how the novel was interspersed with depictions of the beautiful countryside, or rare brief descriptions of delicious Italian meals. It made this novel seem, at times, to be kind of like Under the Tuscan Sun, but interesting. And it was always nice to actually recognize a location as I place I've had the good fortune to see for myself.

It was somewhat frustrating to come to the end and find, although I am as convinced of Antonio Vinci's guilt as Preston and Spezi are, it seems this will never be proven. On the other hand, I do kind of wonder if the Monster might not have been the drowned doctor, Narducci. No Monster killings occurred after his death. I just don't believe such a Monster would have ever quit killing except at his own death or incarceration. It seems pretty likely that Narducci may have committed suicide at the threat of being exposed. I can't explain how he could have gotten ahold of the Sardinians' gun, but neither can I explain how Antonio Vinci could suddenly stop killing more than two decades ago.

Apparently quite a few books have been written on the subject of the Monster of Florence. It would be interesting to see how logical and straightforward the others seem (this book has convinced me--would the others, in turn, also convince me?) but I'm not quite interested enough to actually search out these other books. I do wonder if Mignini is really as misguided as he is portrayed in this book. He seemed to be painted black with such broad strokes that I wondered if he is really such an idiot or if Preston exaggerated as a means of revenge.

Part two was all about the justified outrage concerning the restriction of journalistic freedom and abuses of Italy's justice system, and the very interesting Afterword extended this idea, dealing with the trial for the murder of Meredith Kercher in Perugia, Italy. I actually remember reading about that case in some magazine (probably People) in my husband's chiropractor's waiting room. From the magazine article, I was convinced of Amanda Knox's guilt, but in reading what Preston has to say about it, it's pretty clear that she had nothing to do with the murder. Apparently she couldn't prove this, however, because I looked it up on the Internet just now, and I see she was just recently sentenced to 26 years in prison.

A final note on the sculputure shown on the book's cover: you can see the loggia where it is housed here, (about halfway down the page). Although you won't see a photo of this specific sculpture on that blog, I did take my own picture of it:

Pretty cool, huh? I mean, not the photography so much, but that I had the opportunity to be right there. Of course, I don't mean to brag or anything. I'm just sayin'.

"Eats, Shoots and Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation" by Lynne Truss

In reading this book, I expected to be able to get a few good laughs, occasionally smile and nod in agreement with Truss when she finds herself aghast at general punctuation stupidity, and reinforce my already stellar skills. Instead I think I have come away even more confused.

So frequently Truss seems to say that, though each punctuation mark can be correctly used in many different ways, often some of those ways are acceptable to one group of people but rejected by another; some uses were common centuries ago, but no longer apply; and other questionable uses that were once frowned upon are now well-received (or will be soon). It seemed that Truss was promoting the idea that, as long as you are consistent and not an idiot, you can use punctuation however you see fit. Of course, since there is no Punctuation Police Force, I guess in theory this is true; but it doesn't seem like the stance of a true "stickler". After reading Truss's book, the conclusion I have reached is that the only remedy for the punctuation situation is to buy a book that is a good style guide (not this one!) and follow it.

As for giggles, this book was quite humorous, though certainly not a laugh riot. In fact, it made me think of those comedies where, after watching the entire movie, you realize that you'd already seen all the funny parts the first time you watched the preview. The title of this book (with the accompanying explanation on the back) was the funniest part.

I must also add that I can't understand why using the word "enormity" is a problem when referring to the 9/11 tragedy. Truss insists that "magnitude" is the correct descriptive. I even looked both words up in the dictionary and "enormity" seems to fit just right. "Enormity" refers to a grave offense against order, right or decency; a state of being monstrous, especially great wickedness; or huge. "Enormity," to me, has more negative connotations than "magnitude," (which, while conveying size and importance, does not encompass the outrage of 9/11 like the word "enormity" does). I think either word could be used to describe the situation of 9/11, but I disagree with Truss's claim that "enormity" is incorrect.

"Talk to the Hand: The Utter Bloody Rudeness of the World Today, or Six Good Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door" by Lynne Truss

I came across this book while searching for Truss's Eats, Shoots & Leaves on the awesome book-trading website paperbackswap.com. It sounded interesting enough (and, as a bonus, funny as well) so I decided to give it a try.

It turned out to be different from the fast and hilarious read I had expected. Although I did get through it quite quickly, it was not especially light; and though it did have its funny parts, it was much more of a rant than I was looking for. Maybe if I were British (as is Truss) I would have laughed more. As it was, I found myself unfortunately reminded of Neil Postman's Amusing Ourselves to Death, a book I came away from with the idea that amusing myself to death is not so bad when compared with the alternative--boring myself to death--which is what what would have happened if Postman's book had been much longer.

There were a few key points of Truss's that I disagreed with. One of her major ideas was that "everyone" thinks their own manners are impeccable, while simultaneously finding that everyone else in the world is a complete boor. I can't speak for "everyone," but for me, at least, this is not true. Yes, I've run across some rude people in my time--even the occasional boor--but I know my own manners are not impeccable. Half of the time I don't even realize until after the fact that what I was doing or saying might be construed as rude. The other half of the time I am uncertain as to what I should do or say to be polite. Throw in the times where I am grumpy and feeling selfish, and I have the makings of a boor right here. Where manners are concerned, so often I feel I fall short in others' eyes (especially my mother-in-law's).

Truss also seemed to say that people need to speak up when they see rudeness occurring. Tell the litterbugs they've dropped their trash and that sort of thing. I disagree with Truss in this area. I have always thought that pointing out someone's lack of manners is just as rude as the original lapse in courtesy.

Something interesting I noticed, which is not something that Truss voiced in her book, is that everyone is going to have their own, slightly different ideas of what constitutes "good manners." For example, Truss rails against saying "no problem" in place of "you're welcome." I say "no problem" all the time!! This whole social interaction thing is like a minefield!

I do agree with a major theme of the book. Truss doesn't actually come out and say this, but the only solution that makes sense is this: Start with yourself, and be the polite, considerate, and respectful one. At the risk of sounding trite, you could apply the oft-heard "Be the change you wish to see in the world" here. I certainly applaud Truss's main suggestions: Use courtesy words! (Please, thank you, you're welcome, sorry). Take responsibility for cleaning up your own mess. Understand that you're not alone in the world, and your words and actions have an impact on those around you--you should care about this even if you are surrounded by strangers. Have respect for those who deserve it (which would be the majority of people you come into contact with). Be more thoughtful and less selfish.

I didn't enjoy this book as much as I wanted to. It makes me look forward to "Eats, Shoots & Leaves" much less... but that one is already on its way here. Oh well. Maybe I'll like it.

"An Incomplete Education: 3,684 Things You Should Have Learned But Probably Didn't" by Judy Jones & William Wilson

I saw this book in a catalog called "Acorn". It is kind of like the Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, from which I remember Doc Williams reading excerpts to us in English my senior year of high school (or was that my junior year? it all kind of runs together now), except that it is in a much more readable format rather than being organized alphabetically like an encyclopedia (or, dare I say, a dictionary). It covers a good number of topics (from government to literature to economics with lots in between) and kind of hits the high spots of what anyone *should* retain from a good liberal arts education. I read the "Art History" section first and am poised to delve into "Philosophy" next. So far, one of the things I love about this book is how it is rather cross-referential, bringing in examples from other disciplines in order to explain the subject at hand.

My only problem: although the book is loaded with great information, I'm afraid I'm not retaining much of it this time around, either... maybe it will take several readings. It's funny; this "incomplete education" concept makes me think of a quote I read in the most recent Reader's Digest: "Education is what survives when what has been learnt has been forgotten." (B.F. Skinner). Throughout my life I have been given ample opportunities to learn, but sadly (and with much embarrassment) I must admit that my resultant education seems rather skimpy. That's nothing but my own fault. I really want to actually remember a lot of the information I read in this book, and if reading it through more than once is what it takes, I'll do it. But at 678 fact-packed pages, just one reading is probably going to take me a year and a day.

Note that when I purchased the book, to me the title meant that my education was incomplete and this book would bring me closer to completing it. However, in the foreword I see that the authors intended the title to refer to the fact that the book holds the information which will give you but an incomplete education. As they say (and I paraphrase somewhat): first of all, what exactly would a "complete" education consist of? And if such a thing were possible, would you really want it? To know it all? And to quote: "No gaps to fill, no new territory to explore, nothing left to learn, education over?" Even when they put it that way... I don't know, knowing it all sounds pretty cool.

"Thura's Diary: My Life In Wartime Iraq" by Thura al-Windawi

I must admit that I chose this book because, like medicine that is no fun to swallow, I figured it would be "good for me" (plus it was on the bargain book shelf, only $3.97 for a hardcover) but I ended up appreciating it much more than I expected to.

I wish I knew how common Thura's experiences and opinions are to those of the rest of the Iraquis. This is just the voice of one girl. Do most of her countrymen agree? I have no reason to expect that the rest of her people think very differently, but I also have no way of knowing.

I found it interesting, but not surprising, that Thura felt stuck in the middle, between Saddam's regime and the Americans. She neither sided with her own government nor with President Bush. She could see that the Baath party was cruel and should not be in power, but even so she was not happy that they were deposed due to American intervention, and she even thought that Iraq was going to become an American colony. This was a new notion to me. I wonder if she still thinks Iraq is no more than an American colony now? I wonder if other Iraquis think this? I hope not... but I fear so.

I found as I read that I was curious as to the original state of her diary. It was obviously edited (one clear example being that she would have mentioned praying to Allah, not God) but I wonder how deeply the editing struck. Was her diary toned down to keep from offending Americans? I was surprised that I didn't find more negative comments about my country, which makes me wonder if the stronger of such opinions were edited out. There were a few, and they were comparatively mild. One example is Thura's father's statement that "the Americans have created this chaos," followed by Thura's conclusion that "this is part of the plan to destroy our country". That rubbed me the wrong way at first, but if I put myself in her shoes, I see that I probably would have felt exactly the same way. By the same token, but less importantly, I wonder about the translation; how similar are the English phrases to her original wording in Arabic? I found a lot of the writing to be trite, or old-fashioned, or otherwise strange for a teenager's voice; somehow awkward, not ringing true.

I was initially surprised by Thura's perspective on American women as soldiers. She was in disbelief that we would send our women to fight. When viewed from the perspective of a Muslim I suppose this shouldn't be so surprising, but it is just so odd to me when juxtaposed with the fact that this "freedom" is something that American women have struggled to attain. Thura seemed to think the American women were forced to fight, and she couldn't believe they weren't kept home and protected. The idea that this is what those women wanted is foreign to her.

I was also at first surprised that the removal of the Baath party resulted in less freedom for women. The power vacuum allowed for more extremist Muslims to exert power, forcing women to wear headscarves and be more homebound. On further reflection, I should not have been so surprised, because a lot of things got worse, not just in diminished freedom for women. Most of what got worse was due to lawlessness. Anarchy brings out the worst in people.

When Thura made friends with the foreign journalists, she mentions that "they asked me all sorts of... political questions like what the Iraqui people feel about Saddam," and she says she answered their questions, but she does not write down her answers. I wish she had written more about that. She does later mention that her people had a sort of pride and love for Saddam, which was actually born of fear, and in the postscript her dad reminded her "that even though the regime had only ended recently, Saddam had died in the hearts of many Iraquis long ago," but this seems to only scratch the surface and I want to know more.

I like that Thura defines a martyr correctly: "a peaceful person who died while trying to help others." The only thing I would add is that a martyr dies unjustly. This is at odds with the way I would previously have assumed most Arabs define "martyr" (namely, a suicide bomber). I also like the way she sees my country after she emigrates: "America is a place where there are all kinds of possibilities and a real understanding of the concept of freedom." I hope she really feels that way and didn't write it out of a feeling of obligation.

"In Cold Blood" by Truman Capote

I became interested in reading this book because I watched the movie Capote. This movie was not an adaptation of the book in question, but it took place during the time that Capote was writing it, and the movie piqued my interest in the story of the murdered Clutter family. I had written this book down on my "list of books I should read" but was never interested enough to seek out a copy to read until I was looking for books to bring with me on my trip.

I must be honest and say that this book was rather dry and dull. It satisfied my morbid curiosity about the murders, but I had to force myself to read it; I did not look forward to picking it up, and I never had trouble putting it down. In fact, if I had not had a limited number of books available to me on my trip, I may not have read it at all. Not only that, but I read synopses for five other Capote books listed at the end of this one, and none of those sounded any good to me either.

One interesting difference between the book and the movie: unless I am remembering incorrectly, the movie left one with the idea that the guilt of the two men convicted of the Clutter murders was in question, whereas the book made it clear that the two men were undoubtedly the guilty parties.

"The Glass Castle: A Memoir" by Jeannette Walls

The Glass Castle drew me in from almost the first page. It had a tendency, of course, to be horrifying, as so many novels written for adults seem to be, but somehow through all of the terrible situations the author was forced to live through as a child, she was able to infuse the novel with humor. I actually found myself laughing out loud a few times.

At the beginning of The Glass Castle I found a quote from a Dylan Thomas poem entitled "Poem on His Birthday," and one line caught my eye: "Dark is a way and light is a place." To me, that speaks of darkness being a journey, something to pass through, something to be endured, something temporary; and light, the destination, the goal, a place of security and quiet joy. After having read the novel, I find that this line (and my take on it) definitely applies here.