"Three Weeks" by Elinor Glyn

I can't remember where I first heard about this book, but I do recall that it was introduced to me as erotica. I've long been curious about Victorian erotic novels. The phrase sounded like an oxymoron to me. I didn't know if I should expect something like the movie Nine 1/2 Weeks (which is something I would consider erotica), or if the era kept even scandalous literature much more tame than that. I was pretty confident that, given the publication date of 1907, it wouldn't be completely pornographic.

Of course I don't have any way of knowing whether this book is typical of Victorian erotic fiction, but this one left everything up to the imagination. Not that this is a bad thing. Reading explicit love scenes kind of embarrasses me, as if someone is going to sneak up behind me, read over my shoulder, and be shocked.

More than once while reading, I thought how this book reminded me of the Twilight Saga (without the vampires, of course). The two stories had much in common: obsession, "fade to black" love scenes, gut-wrenching heartbreak, an all-consuming reunion (or so I thought), and even a kid. I couldn't help but wonder if Stephenie Meyer has ever read Three Weeks.

I didn't sink into this book like I did with Twilight, though. I found myself doubting the "consuming emotion" between Paul and his queen. They convinced themselves that theirs was a love like none other, but I didn't see much evidence to prove it wasn't merely lust.

At least the writing wasn't completely gag-inducing. It wasn't so bad that I would call it a precursor to the modern romance novel. Take the following excerpt, for example. The first bit might have started my eyes rolling, but the cuckoo counteracted that.

"Good-bye, darling," he whispered with a suspicion of tremble in his charming voice. "I shall never love any woman but you--never, never in my life."

Cuckoo! screamed the bird in the tree.

Then there's the cover. I probably examined it much more closely than the publisher intended, but other than the fact that there is snow in the photograph and the two lovers met in the Swiss Alps (where I assume there was some snow, even in May), the cover art, while striking, doesn't seem to apply to the story. That cathedral in the fog has no meaning for the book (unless we see it as a castle and decide that's where the queen probably lived), but even more inexplicable is the man who has discarded his crutches and is propped against the snow-covered rock at the foot of a statue of Christ on the cross which is nestled among the trees. I probably wasn't supposed to notice all of that.

**UPDATE**
The cover art is Caspar David Friedrich's painting entitled Winter Landscape, possibly from 1811, which can be found in the National Gallery in London. Today I noticed that Art.com was recommending that I buy a print of this painting! Funny coincidence or scary example of how invasive the internet is when trying to convince people to spend money??

I'm including a portrait of the author here, which I found while reading about her online. Isn't this a beautiful photo?

"The Golden Compass" by Philip Pullman

I just had to see what the fuss was all about. Was this book really such a horrible anti-God diatribe that would subtly (or even overtly) brainwash my children, or was it as harmless as Harry Potter? As I first started reading, I was uncomfortable about the idea of every human in this alternate universe having their own personal "daemon," which sure sounded a whole lot like a "demon" to me, but it quickly became clear that a "daemon" is like an external soul with nothing evil about it, so I could accept "daemons" as no big deal.

Surprisingly, for most of the book it was slow going. In the first two sections I didn't find myself caring about any of the characters or even compelled to pick the book up beyond trying to get it over with so I could move on to something else. I didn't really become interested until page 337 (painfully close to the book's conclusion on page 399) when Lyra cleverly tricked Iofur in a way that hadn't even crossed my mind. From there until the end there was plenty of suspense to sustain my interest.

Because of the way most of the story dragged for me, I can't imagine a child sticking with this book (although I am sure there are many that must have). Not only that, but even I didn't see that anyone was trying to "kill God" like I'd heard. (Or will that come in one of the other two books of the trilogy?) One of the main characters was trying to destroy death, but no one said anything about killing God. Even if the author intended this story to be about killing God and somehow masked that idea with some sort of symbolism, I didn't pick up on it, and surely a child wouldn't either. For those two reasons, I have no fear of allowing my own children to read the story, although I won't push it on them any more than I would suggest any other book I didn't especially enjoy. My opinion is that this book is indeed as harmless as Harry Potter. (And, in case you were wondering, my opinion is that reading Harry Potter books won't make your child interested in practicing witchcraft any more than playing cops and robbers will make him grow up to be a burglar).

I haven't seen the movie (although I plan to), but I can totally picture Nicole Kidman in the role of the kidnapping lady, Mrs. Coulter. (Is this her role? It must be, as there is really no other significant adult female role.) Yet again, I can imagine the movie might be better than this book, but I guess I will have to watch it and see.

"Year of Wonders: A Novel of the Plague" by Geraldine Brooks

This book was loaned to me by Joyce, who said it was even better than People of the Book. (She's right, by the way). Kate wants to know what I think of it, too, since it's on her TBR list and she has enjoyed other books by Brooks.

Although this book was very well written from cover to cover, it starts in quite a depressing manner. It begins at what seems like the ending, after the plague has ravaged the town and the narrator has lost just about everyone she cared about; then it takes us back to the previous year so we can live through all of the grief with Anna Frith.

It has been a long time since I last cried over a book--so long that I can't even remember which book I might have cried over most recently. (Surely I have been brought to tears by something more recent than Where the Red Fern Grows when I was in grade school.) I don't believe I've shed a tear over any of the books I've blogged about here. But it was heartbreaking to read about the last hours of Baby Tom. Even though I expected his death (and dreaded it every moment, figuratively dragging my feet as I read) I was unprepared for the powerful grief of it. Then little Jamie quickly followed. Do yourself a favor and don't read the chapters "Rat-fall" or "Sign of a Witch" until you have some time alone. You don't want to be, say, in your doctor's waiting room and sobbing into your book.

Somehow in the midst of all the sorrow the author still manages to craft a beautiful story. I have come to the solid opinion that Geraldine Brooks is an incredibly gifted writer. I love how she makes the story all the more authentic by using period vocabulary, but that is merely one small example of what makes her writing excellent. For more evidence, just listen to the beauty of this passage:

"It was one of those rare days in early April when Nature lets us taste the sweet spring that is coming. It was so unexpectedly mild that I lingered in the garth, breathing the soft scents of the slowly warming earth. The sky was beautiful that morning. A tumble of fluffy, tufted clouds covered the whole from horizon to dome, as if a shearer had flung a new-shorn fleece high into the air. As I watched, the rays of the rising sun lit the edge of each cloud, turning it silver, until suddenly the fleece became instead a mesh of shining metal. Then, the light changed again, and the silvery gray turned deep rose-red."

When I read this, not only could I see clearly how lovely it must look, but I felt I had been there at that precise moment; even that I am there right now.

As the book reached its conclusion, there were several moments in which I felt like I turned a corner and received a whole new perspective. Kudos to Brooks for not taking the easy way out. I was sure I could not be happy with an ending that differed in any way from the one I had planned out in my head, but time and again Brooks opened my eyes to a wider world with just as much peace and joy (if not more) than I would have had in a book with my chosen ending and my narrow view. I know in my blog I claim that spoilers abound, but I absolutely refuse to ruin the story for you. I want you to come upon these discoveries in the same way that I did, with no prior knowledge of them to taint your perspective.

If you can get past the depressing and seemingly hopeless first chapter, and if you can accept an ending that is probably not what you would wish or expect, I think you will love this book as much as I did.

"The Lightning Thief" (Percy Jackson & the Olympians Book One) by Rick Riordan

I had heard of these books before but really didn't pay any attention until I saw a preview for the upcoming movie, which looked to be every bit as good as the Harry Potter movies. This is a wonderful thing, since I know there are only two Harry Potter movies remaining, and I wondered what would take their place.

I had heard that the Percy Jackson books are not as good as the Harry Potter books but that they are still enjoyable. Well, I would say that I concur. The story itself is imaginative and entertaining. I'm interested enough in the characters and their situations that I would like to read Book Two: The Sea of Monsters. However, the writing is choppy, with lots of one-sentence paragraphs.

Kind of like this.

Pretty annoying, huh?

I thought so, anyway.

The name Rick Riordan sounded familiar to me, but it wasn't until I was about halfway through the book and I flipped to the back to read about the author that I figured it out. As soon as I saw that Riordan lives in San Antonio, I thought, Big Red Tequila. Sure enough, that's how I recognized his name. We read BRT years ago in Book Club, and it was not one of my favorites. My biggest complaint was about the main character. He seemed amorphous and vague rather than solid and believable, almost as if the author couldn't decide how to write the character and ended up with a mess of contradictions that were not cohesive. I digress, of course, especially since I didn't see a similar problem in this Percy Jackson book.

I will say that this might possibly be one of the only books where the movie version is better. (Oh, wait, I forgot about Under the Tuscan Sun, where the movie had a plot and the book didn't). I can't say for sure until I've actually seen the movie (which I do plan to do, though I'm not sure if I'll go to the theater or wait for the DVD), but action outweighs thought in this book and, judging by the preview, they've done a decent job making a good movie out of the story.

"A Dirty Job" by Christopher Moore

I have come to the conclusion that Christopher Moore is an acquired taste. I have gone from not especially caring about Moore's books after reading my first of his (Bloodsucking Fiends) to being grudgingly sucked in (no pun intended) and driven to continue reading just to see what happens. And maybe to catch a few laughs on the way.

This book is not a sequel to Moore's vampire books, but is instead a sort of spin-off of a minor character, Charlie Asher, introduced in Moore's second vampire book, You Suck. (Actually A Dirty Job was published before You Suck, but I read Suck first, so Dirty seems like a spin-off to me.)

The first thing I noticed when I got this book is that the cover is glow-in-the-dark! I love stuff like that. (But wouldn't it have been something if they could have managed to infuse it with a pulsating red glow!) Although really, I suppose that the "don't judge a book by its cover" adage applies to covers you like as well as covers you don't. So it was nice to find out that I enjoyed the book's content as much as I enjoyed the cover. In fact, of the 3 Moore books I have read so far, I'm pretty sure this one is my favorite. Whether this is because it's the best of the three, or if it's because I have come to appreciate Moore's writing, I can't say. I do think this book has a little more depth of feeling than the other two, while somehow still maintaining that air of general hilarity, along with more than a few eye-rolls (one example being the name of Charlie's co-"Death Merchant": Minty Fresh).

None of the one-liners stuck in my mind like the neon fart one from Bloodsucking Fiends, but this book certainly had its fair share of giggles. One of my favorite lines was when Charlie's sister Jane, after first meeting Sophie's hellhounds, said, "I'm going to go call in freaked out to work." I'll have to try that sometime. Although maybe that only works if you live in San Francisco.

To me, the biggest flaw in the book is Charlie's second-hand-store employee, Lily. I mean, I liked her a lot, but she constantly reminded me of Abby from the related vampire books. At first I thought Lily was pretty much just Abby remade (and not quite making the grade) and I wished somehow the real Abby could have fit into that slot instead, but then I found out that Abby and Lily were friends. (Was Lily mentioned in the other books? I can't remember.) Anyway, I thought Lily either needed to be Abby, or be someone entirely different.

If nothing else, I'm thankful for the reminder to experience all the glorious cheese of life.

"March" by Geraldine Brooks

I finally settled on reading this one next, partly because I had been so looking forward to it ever since hearing about it, and partly because I thought my friend Joyce (who has loaned me 2 other Brooks books) might enjoy reading it after me.

For those of you who have not had the good fortune to hear about this book before, it is about the father of Louisa May Alcott's Little Women (who, if you recall, had the surname March). The story follows Mr. March during his time away from his little women during the Civil War.

The first chapter kind of threw me off a bit. As I've said before, I generally prefer not to read books (or watch movies) about war. I don't like to read about the horrors of combat, and hearing about strategy tends to bore me. I had sort of expected this book to have a tone more similar to "Little Women," with its naive hopefulness, but "March" starts off with a vivid description of Mr. March's regiment (of which he is chaplain) retreating before the enemy, and I was beginning to dread reading the rest.

Until I came to the last two sentences of Chapter One. They may not hold the same magic for you as they did for me, but when I read, "Whatever the case, I was halfway up the wide stone steps before I recognized the house. I had been there before," I perked up and thought, Aha! Perhaps I'll enjoy this book after all.

If you read this book you must also read the afterword. I had initially struggled with the idea of labeling this post as "historical fiction," since this is a book about a fictional character from another work of fiction, but after reading the book and realizing its treatment of subjects such as the Civil War, slavery, and the Underground Railroad, I felt pretty comfortable calling it historical fiction. And after reading the afterword, all remaining doubts were dispelled. I was amazed to find the amount of research used in the writing of this book far more extensive than I had theorized. In fact, the character of Mr. March in this novel was heavily modeled after Louisa May Alcott's own father, Bronson Alcott, just as Little Women was modeled after Alcott's own family. Some of the aspects of March's character that I found most questionable came directly from Bronson Alcott's life: the extremity of his vegan commitment, to the extent that he considered a cow's milk to rightfully belong to its calf; his friendship with both Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, which I found a little far-fetched until I read the afterword; and his staunch abolitionist stance and involvement with the Underground Railroad, which (according to my memory) was not even touched upon in Little Women.

I was so glad that this book did not cover the death of Beth March, although it does refer to her frighteningly serious illness with scarlet fever. There was too much awful sadness in this book already. I don't know if I could have handled watching Mr. March deal with the loss of his beloved Mouse during the slow regeneration of his body and spirit.

One minor consideration that I disagree with: I don't think that Mrs. March would have gone by the name of Marmee since her childhood. I always thought that "Marmee" was a variation on "Mommy" and was devised by her daughters. (Of course, it has been many years since I have read Little Women, so it's entirely possible that was written into the story by Louisa May Alcott and I have simply forgotten that fact).

All in all, this book contains more war, cruelty, and horror than I prefer, but (as I have come to expect of Brooks) it is extremely well written and probably an even better read than People of the Book. I must say I have even higher expectations for Year of Wonders now, and I hope I'm not disappointed.

"Peter and the Starcatchers" by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson

This Peter Pan story would have been better if I'd read it to myself straight through. As it was, I read it to the kids bit by bit at bedtime, and it took us months to finish. This definitely interrupted the flow. It didn't help that in the second half there was too much back-and-forth with the trunk. Peter has the trunk. No, Slank has the trunk. Now Peter has it again. Now Black Stache. No, it's Slank. It was like watching a ping-pong match, and that's never fun for very long, even if the players are the really good Chinese guys who jump up on the table every now and then. Oh, I don't know, maybe ping-pong is too entertaining to be a fair comparison. Maybe it was more like listening to a baseball game on the radio. The book could have been much shorter than its too-long 451 pages if they had cut some of that out.

I did enjoy the prequel aspect of the book. It was fun to hear the back story about things like how Black Stache (who evidently turns out to be Captain Hook) lost his hand. I mean, I already knew Peter fed it to the crocodile (whose name, by the way, is Mister Grin, in case you didn't know), but here I got to read all the gory details. Speaking of gory, even my 9-year-old son commented that the book was a little bloody. My 6-year-old daughter really wasn't very interested in the story and would usually play by herself in her room when it came time for me to read it, which is really odd because she's the one who loves books and usually can't get enough of them. My 3-year-old daughter almost always joined us for Peter storytime, but I think that was mostly just so she could snuggle in my lap as I read.

This book tells us how Tinkerbell came to be (although it doesn't mesh with the story in Disney's Tinkerbell movie, which is surprising as this book is labeled as a "Disney Edition"). It also explains how Peter and his Lost Boys ended up on the island, although I really thought you had to fly--and not in an airplane!--to get there (past the first star to the right and straight on 'til morning), but Peter got there by boat. That aspect made "Neverland" seem a bit too common, even with the mermaids (which also were explained).

I feel like all I have done is complain about this book, which is misleading because it's really not all that bad a read. I did like Greg Call's illustrations, although it kind of annoyed me that Tinkerbell's wings had feathers. They're supposed to look like dragonfly wings. (There I go complaining again). And, ugh, there are already 3 other books in this series, and my son is expecting me to read them all to him. It's going to be a year before we're finished with all of them. I guess I just need to sit back and enjoy the ride. My 3-year-old is not going to want to sit in my lap forever.

"The Thirteenth Tale" by Diane Setterfield

I considered this book on my last big trip to Books-A-Million and almost bought it. Later a friend recommended it to me. (That's you, Linda!) Then I was introduced to paperbackswap.com. (Thank you, Lydia!) Now here I am.

When I first started reading I kept thinking the author was Geraldine Brooks. This is partly because March arrived just after I had started reading this one, and I couldn't help but read the first few pages of it; but also because the main character of this book is written as a bibliophile with the same reverence for and love of books as Hanna from People of the Book.

One thing I loved about this book was the insightfulness of its writing. Take, for example, this quote about death, immortality and books:

"People disappear when they die. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continue to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humor, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic."

Or this brief mention, also on books: "For someone now dead once thought these words significant enough to write them down."

And who among us readers has not known the following feeling?

"All morning I struggled with the sensation of stray wisps of one world seeping through the cracks of another. Do you know the feeling when you start reading a new book before the membrane of the last one has had time to close behind you? You leave the previous book with ideas and themes--characters even--caught in the fibers of your clothes, and when you open the new book, they are still with you."

Thoughts like these, that seem at once profound and an expression of my own ideas, were interwoven with a very intriguing and mysterious story. These are ingredients that go a long way towards making a great book.

Of course, the book wasn't perfect. As I read, I was afraid the actual thirteenth tale that everyone was so curious about would not be revealed any more than what was in Marcellus Wallace's case. I also considered the possibility that the thirteenth tale was merely the history Miss Winter was relating to Margaret, which really would not have fit in the original book, either in style or in length. Of course, the thirteenth tale did turn out to be Miss Winter's story, though it was stylized and shortened. It would have fit perfectly in the original book, though I can see why it was left out.

I didn't like the chapter where Margaret met Aurelius. It seemed somehow vague and unrealistic, and the man himself didn't seem to fit in the story. But as I read on, it became clear that Aurelius belonged right where he was. It was a relief to find that the chapter in question was not as purposeless as it seemed at first. Similarly, I had trouble believing Adeline could have changed so much. How could such a wild, wicked, and soulless child, obviously not right in the head, suddenly become a level-headed and intelligent young woman? It made me feel much better when I found out she hadn't, as that revelation closed up what I had perceived to be an annoying plot hole.

I have debated with myself over whether to label this book as a "must read," as it doesn't quite measure up to The Amnesiac or The Time Traveler's Wife in my mind, but it is still excellent and I can't imagine any avid reader not enjoying it. I am also having trouble deciding whether to re-post it on paperbackswap. My usual criteria is whether I would want to read the book again someday, and I probably would want to, except that right now I have so many other books I want to read that I feel like I just don't have time to re-read one. On the other hand, this is a nice hardcover copy . . . I think I'll hang onto it.

"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.

"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.

"The Magic Faraway Tree" by Enid Blyton

I got this title from some sort of unofficial "100 greatest books" list, or perhaps it was a "100 most-read books" list. I don't think I'd ever read anything by Blyton. This is actually a sequel to The Enchanted Wood, and the next in the series is The Folk of the Faraway Tree. I kind of wish I'd read the first of the three books instead, but I guess it doesn't much matter.

To start with, I was not impressed with the cover art. But having been told many a time to not judge a book by its cover, I forged ahead. I chose this one to read for two reasons: first, as a nice light break from the previous book; second, because I knew I could get rid of it quickly and replace it with yet another book.

I'm sure I will anger Blyton fans who have known and loved her work since childhood, but I must say I couldn't get rid of this book fast enough. Reading it was like torture. The story itself was like one of those candy necklaces: a single thread with just one chalky and overly sweet candy after another. The strangeness of the different "lands" at the top of the tree reminded me very much of some of the lands surrounding Oz in Baum's various stories, which wouldn't necessarily have been such a bad thing except for the fact that it sounded like it was written by and for Care Bears. I'd say it would be best read aloud to a five-year-old. I bet if I had read this book as a child I would have enjoyed it then, and could enjoy the nostalgia as an adult; but coming to it for the first time as an adult didn't work out too well.

The best thing about this book is its illustrations. Not the cover art, which is mediocre and uninviting, but the sweet, old-fashioned, dozen or so black-and-white drawings found inside the book. I searched high and low to figure out who drew them, because my copy of the book doesn't seem to say (which is odd, since credit is given to the distinctly less-talented cover illustrator). I couldn't find any examples on the Internet to compare these to, but from a list I found, it looks like the illustrations from the 2nd edition (1971) by Rene Cloke were used in this 1991 edition. Here is a sampling from my copy:

Even though this book is not a big favorite of mine, whenever I hear the wind in the trees from now on they'll probably be saying, "Wisha, wisha, wisha." And I really am a little bit sad that I'll never get to try a Pop Biscuit or a Google Bun.

"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.