The Book Club Report, Part III

Only 30 books to go until I'm all caught up on blogging (I think)! As I was looking at this list and trying to figure out how I can knock out several posts in one go, I realized I'd missed blogging about three Old Book Club selections in my previous two Book Club Reports. So, Book Club Report Part III it is! And because posting about three books isn't enough to make a satisfying dent in my backlog, I will add a special surprise at the end. Just you wait!

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon. My first book by this author, and it won't be my last. Anyone who can get me interested in the birth of the comic book superhero has got to be good. Lucky for me, though comic books were definitely the main theme of the book, there's so much more to it. The writing is excellent, the characters are vivid, the plot flows swiftly, and it's a memorable and believable portrayal of 1940s New York City. I'm looking forward to reading Chabon's The Wonder Boys one of these days. 

A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess. This is the story of a small gang of young thugs who wreak havoc to their hearts' content until the authorities decide to do something about it. I'd seen the movie years ago, but only vaguely remembered the general idea (as well as a few indelible moments that I wouldn't have minded forgetting). What stands out most in my memory from reading the book is Nadsat, the slang vocabulary spoken by the main characters. I'd been forewarned about it, and (maybe largely because I was prepared?) I found it relatively painless to grow accustomed to. The version I read had a weirdly didactic final chapter. I think the book would be better without it.

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. Surely it's not a spoiler to tell you that this book is about two teenagers who fall in love . . . after they meet at their cancer survivor's support group. (After all, the huge movie adaptation just came out two weeks ago, and even I've seen ads for it everywhere I've looked. If you don't already know the premise, it's your own problem.) I never, ever would have chosen to read this book if not under duress from Book Club. Love? And cancer?? I smell horrifying tearjerker. Not My Thing. But, you know, John Green can do things I never would put up with from the likes of Nicholas Sparks (I'm looking at YOU, A Walk to Remember). And--not that I'm calling him Shakespeare or anything--I have a bit more respect for teenage lovers dealing with cancer than those who end up killing themselves over a big, stupid misunderstanding. 

So, as far as I can remember, that's it for books read with my sad old defunct book club. Your special surprise? Two books that were rejected by said book club--but I read them anyway.

A Place of Greater Safety by Hilary Mantel. This is an incredibly detailed account of the French Revolution and its three major leaders (Danton, Robespierre and Desmoulins). It's an extraordinary work, more history than fiction, about a fascinating time and place. I wish I could have retained more of what I learned from it. 

Despite the fact that this one is definitely worth reading, I think Old Book Club was right to turn it down. I imagine they would have hated it. 

Fingersmith by Sarah Waters. It's Victorian, it's gothic, it's naughty, it's full of mysteries and secrets, and deception is heaped upon deception. It's the story of a pickpocket (hence the title) who agrees to trick an heiress out of her inheritance. If Book Club could have overlooked the naughty bits, I think they would have had just as much fun with this one as anything by Kate Morton. 

Five down, 25 to go!

"Paper Towns" by John Green

I have no idea when I bought this book (although I do know it was before Tuesday, September 21, 2010). I do know why I bought this book: first, the author is John Green, and second, it was on sale for $2.97.

The spine of Paper Towns caught my eye on my bookshelf (not my Future Reads shelf, which is where I'm supposed to be finding my next selections, if only to make the choice less agonizing, but that's my own rule so I am welcome to break it) as I was putting my youngest to bed on Sunday night. I knew absolutely nothing about the story, but I felt sure it would be a good read and I was fairly certain I wouldn't get stuck on it for weeks.

I was right on both counts: I enjoyed the book and finished it last night. And because I would really, really like to pick up another book now (though I haven't even given a thought to which one will be next), and because the rule I made in my last post is too new to break even if it is my own, I am proud to be posting about this book within 24 hours of completing it!

John Green is so good at capturing the anguish of teenage love. And the voice of a teenager. Or . . . I don't know, it sure has been a long time since I was a teenager, so I could be wrong about that. There were times where the "witty repartee" seemed a bit too slick to be believable. But it can't be denied that he tells a good story!

I find it difficult to describe the book's plot without giving too much away, so I'll err on the side of saying too little: a slightly nerdy teenage boy is starry-eyed about the beautiful girl who lives next door to him. For the first half of this book I was thinking Paper Towns was merely a variation on Green's Looking for Alaska, right down to the dynamics between the main characters. But, happily, I was wrong, and this turned out to be its own unique story, full of its own secrets.

And what do you know? On the very first page I found out the story begins in Orlando. Can you believe it? (Did I mention I'm going there next week?) But I only had to turn one page to discover it's not about the Orlando I'm going to. (At least that's my hope.) This is definitely not a Disney story. But I liked it (probably more than I would have liked a Disney story) and was absorbed by Quentin's hunt for clues. Paper Towns won't join the ranks of my Most Favorite Books Ever, but it was fun without being fluffy.

"Looking for Alaska" by John Green

Nothing like a little Young Adult fare to cleanse the palate. It's certainly the sorbet of the literary world, which is exactly what I needed to get over Anna Karenina.

Too bad I chose one that made me cry. Yes. I, of the iron will and the stone stomach, I who am devoid of sympathy, I who roll my eyes in the face of Nicholas Sparks and his tear-jerking ways. I shed a tear over this book. Or two.

In my defense, I did not boo-hoo. It was just a very quiet leaky-eye thing. I could have blamed it all on a wayward eyelash or a misplaced elbow (not my own, of course, because that's not possible. Try it. You'll see). Instead, a much more logical explanation is the fact that I cried for the time in my life that was awfully similar (though not so that anyone else would recognize it) to the cause of sadness in the book.

But I don't want to talk about my secret sorrow. I want to talk about banned books. It seems that next week is "Banned Books Week," which has come accompanied by a timely stink. Looking for Alaska is one of those books that has been frequently challenged, so far as to be called pornography. (Um, whaaa?) Hard-core, even! I am not a seasoned reader of "hard-core porn," but I hardly think a few scenes of teenagers making out constitutes any kind of porn at all.

However, I do have an opinion on book banning and I'm about to share it with you, like it or not. I must admit I am slightly ambivalent on the matter. On one hand, I am fundamentally opposed to the idea of banning books. The whole thing just seems wrong, up there with imprisoning journalists for speaking out against the government. On the other hand, there are many cases where age appropriateness should be taken into consideration when choosing reading material.

Looking for Alaska deals with a lot of topics that I don't want my kids reading about yet. Of course, my oldest is ten. He is completely unconcerned with this sort of book and I hope he stays that way for at least five more minutes. Once he hits high school, however, I'm pretty sure my resistance will fade. After all, it's kind of naive to think that high school students would be surprised by anything found in this book. I would not prevent my children from reading Looking for Alaska when the time was right, though I would want a chance to reiterate my opinions on smoking, drugs, drinking, and teen sex. Opinions which, if I've done my job right, my kids will already be plenty familiar with.

Because that's what it all comes down to: personal responsibility. It is each parent's job to be aware and informed, to decide whether they feel a book is appropriate for their own child, and when. It is not any other person's job to conclude that my child shouldn't read a particular book. Yes, I do ascribe to the somewhat old-fashioned notion that it is my job to give my children some guidance, rather than allowing them to open Pandora's box and flood themselves with all the evil in the world while they're still practically babies. But once they are ready for more adult themes, I'm not going to shelter them from books like these while I still have the chance to help them form their worldview.

Oops. I don't usually do this. I mean, I have opinions, but I prefer not to bring up touchy subjects on my blog. I like this to be my happy fun place. But these were the thoughts brought on by this book, and beyond expressing them, all I would have to say is that this book is edgy, well-written and a page turner. I can imagine that high school students must love it, just like the kids at the children's library loved Phoebe's singing because she told the truth.

And a sort of post script on the author: over the past few months I've gotten the idea that John Green can do no wrong. In the style of a true literary amnesiac, I can not remember which bloggers gave me that idea, although a quick google blogsearch shows me that two blogs I read (Raych and Nymeth) have discussed the author in general and this book in particular, so maybe it's their fault. One of these days I will also be reading Paper Towns, since I've already bought a copy based on the Can Do No Wrong theory.