"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?

"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.

"Naked" by David Sedaris

I had no idea what I was getting myself into with this book. I had been curious about books by Sedaris for a while (and I had planned to read several others of his if I liked this one), and it didn't hurt that the New York Times Book Review promised me this one was "sidesplitting." The blurb on the back cover made it sound quirky and irreverent. Well, that description certainly didn't miss the mark. A prime example: In college, Sedaris is "assigned to a dormitory largely reserved for handicapped students" and thus "came to think of Kent State as something of an I.V. League university." If that's not quirky and irreverent, I don't know what is.

This entire book was like a train wreck! I just can't help but think what a marked contrast it is to the syrupy innocence of The Magic Faraway Tree. I am still not sure if I will read any other books by Sedaris. From what I have gathered, all of his books are memoirs or are about himself in some way. I just can't imagine the craziness it must have taken to fill up a half-dozen or so more books. Perhaps I won't take his others off my list, but I might move them to the bottom of it.

I liked the format of the book. It was really more of a collection of essays or vignettes from the author's life, which made it easy to pick up and read one chapter and then put it down and get something done. I assume everything he wrote about was true (as it's described as a memoir), although I was amazed by the number of odd ducks Sedaris has come into contact with. Of course, with matters like his OCD and his lisp combined with the somewhat unconventional parenting during his upbringing, Sedaris himself is far from normal. I just found it hard to believe that so many weird people convened in his life. On the other hand, I'm sure he is prone to exaggeration in his writing (for instance, there's no way he didn't have a bowel movement over his entire 4 weeks at summer camp in Greece).

The book is interesting, to say the least. It's definitely funny, and although I may have never laughed out loud while reading, I'm sure I giggled quietly to myself more than once. Step right up and enjoy the freak show.

"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.

"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.

"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.