"The Phantom Tollbooth" by Norton Juster

How did I ever make it out of American Childhood of the 70s without reading The Phantom Tollbooth? Somehow I'd never even heard of it until my friend BR mentioned it just a few years ago. (It was a favorite book from her schooldays! I missed out.) And then my parents gave a copy to Bookworm Child for her 8th birthday (trying to make up for not giving it to me for my 8th birthday?), so I decided it was time to read it.

Milo leads a ho-hum life. He is never content, and always wants to be somewhere he isn't. Nothing interests him, and he doesn't see the point of learning anything new. But he certainly perks up when he comes home one afternoon to find a strange, enormous package in his room. He opens the package to find ONE GENUINE TURNPIKE TOLLBOOTH: EASILY ASSEMBLED AT HOME, AND FOR USE BY THOSE WHO HAVE NEVER TRAVELED IN LANDS BEYOND.

So Milo sets off in his small electric automobile to explore everything there is to see between the Mountains of Ignorance and the Sea of Knowledge. Along the way, accompanied by a watchdog and a Humbug, he learns all kinds of interesting things and is subjected to loads of great puns and--gasp!--he actually enjoys it. The message of this book can be boiled down to this: See? Learning Can Be Fun! (And Funny!)

Unfortunately, I found it wasn't the right time for me to read this book. You would think that, for someone with a love of language and fun homonyms, any time would be a good time; but apparently I was distracted by the vicissitudes of life and I didn't give Milo the attention he deserved. I feel if I'd taken the time to savor this book (and it's short and swift, so that wouldn't have meant too much time) I might have enjoyed it much more.

Here's something odd: as I read I was thinking this book certainly couldn't be made into a movie (how would it work when Faintly Macabre tells Milo, "I'm not a witch, I'm a which"? and there are so many similar situations), but apparently I was wrong. Surprisingly, there has already been a movie made from this book (though it was a cartoon), AND a remake is in the works for 2013!

"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!

"The Pilot's Wife" by Anita Shreve

"Sometimes, she thought, courage was simply a matter of putting one foot in front of another and not stopping."

I first heard of The Pilot's Wife years ago when I bought multiple copies of one of Shreve's other books, The Last Time They Met, for my old book club (a book I selected because it was cheap, and because the bookstore had enough copies for everyone. Plus it had a nicely-colored cover, and the synopsis sounded decent). The dust jacket said "by the author of The Pilot's Wife" across the top. I'd never heard of The Pilot's Wife, but I felt like I should have. So, years later when I found a used copy for 75¢, I figured I would give it a try.

It's the story of (would you have ever guessed?) the wife of a pilot. Kathryn's husband has flown passenger planes on transatlantic routes for years, and she has grown accustomed to the infrequency and irregularity of his time at home with her and their fifteen-year-old daughter, Mattie. But even though she is used to Jack being away often, nothing could have prepared her for the news she receives in the middle of the night: the plane Jack was piloting has gone down.

This book was hard to read. Not in the way that Ulysses is hard to read without a tour guide, or in the way that reading the Ramayana in the original Sanskrit would be hard for me to read (impossible-style, as I can't read Sanskrit). What I really mean is that this book was hard to read without crying. It was uncomfortable, unpleasant, even painful. Reading about grief is difficult. It's too private. Or maybe it's just me? I don't know, but it really brought me down.

Once I got to the second half of the book, however, I found it almost had a dual personality. It was a relief when Kathryn's mourning released its hold on me. It's not as if the book became happy and funny then; far from it. But as Kathryn gradually found she was no longer quite as mired in despair, perhaps even able to take some tiny steps forward, I myself was able to escape from the Slough of Despond. As secrets unfolded and Kathryn learned more about her husband than she'd ever known before, the tension began to stem from suspense rather than sadness. The story became less grief-stricken and more plot-driven.

So, taking both grief and suspense into account, would I recommend this book? I don't know. I don't think I could ever stand to read it again. But it was well-written, and it definitely held my attention all the way through. Make of that what you will, but be forewarned, and maybe (if you're just dying to try Shreve) read The Last Time They Met instead. I really liked that one.

"Charlotte Sometimes" by Penelope Farmer

The day I read this book was the lovely sort of day I thought only existed in my dreams--or in my childhood. I was sick (well, I could have lived without THAT part of it) and I did absolutely nothing even remotely related to adult responsibilities. Instead, I spent the entire day in bed, drifting between a doze and a book.

That book (which I both began and finished that day) was a sweet little children's story from more than forty years ago that had somehow managed to slip my notice until just recently. (Other people have noticed it, though: The Cure recorded a single based on this book, and Charlotte Sometimes is the stage name of an American singer-songwriter!) Anyway, this was truly the perfect book for a day like mine.

Charlotte Sometimes tells the story of Charlotte Makepeace, who has just arrived in the unfamiliar surroundings of a new boarding school. As strange as its newness feels, it's nothing compared to the peculiar sense she gets the next morning when she awakes to find that, though she is still in the same bed and the same room, she is in a different time. "Somehow, Charlotte has slipped back forty years."

The book touches lightly on questions of identity that could easily be missed by a child but which encourage interesting thinking in an adult. Who are we at our core? What is it that makes each one of us a unique individual, apart from those around us? How much do our surroundings affect our inner selves?

I'm going to encourage Bookworm Child to read Charlotte, although I'm afraid its quiet calm can't match the splash and dazzle of more current children's books like the Harry Potter series.

"Lady Audley's Secret" by Mary Elizabeth Braddon

I first heard about Lady Audley's Secret (and its author) when Margaret Lea picked it up to re-read it in The Thirteenth Tale. I don't recall exactly what Margaret had to say about the book (and I'm too lazy to go leaf through TTT and find out), but two things stuck in my mind: she enjoyed reading it, and she enjoyed reading it enough that it was worth a re-read. That, to me, seemed high enough praise to add it to my wish list.

And Margaret Lea was right: this is a good read. It's a Victorian sensational novel, and it is full of suspenseful plot twists and unexpected shocks. It's like a nineteenth century soap opera! (But without the guilt, as reading exercises brain cells rather than killing them.)

If you (like me) figure out what you think is The Secret after reading the first two chapters, don't despair. Lady Audley may have more surprises in store for you. I myself did not guess two major plot points, and the revelation of the second of these--a deathbed confession at the end of the novel--was easily the most exciting part of the book for me. The entire story was fun to read, but at this specific point I literally could not put the book down (which was unfortunate timing, as I happened to be at the end of my lunch break at work).

I enjoyed this even more than the two Wilkie Collins books I've read, although I would probably have to say Collins' writing itself is superior to Braddon's. But I have no plans to read further novels by M. E. Braddon. She wrote an overwhelming number of books (more than eighty!), of which Lady Audley's Secret is the best known and most celebrated. I'm guessing her second most famous book is Aurora Floyd, but unless someone tells me I JUST HAVE TO read that one, I'm not putting it on my already-too-long wish list.

Psst! If you have a Kindle you can get this book for free! (Several of her other books are also available.)

Catching Up

First post of the new year! Never mind the fact that we're already midway through February. I've got to start somewhere.

Contrary to popular belief (or evidence garnered from this blog), I really have been reading over the past eight months. I just haven't gotten around to blogging very frequently. Instead, I've gotten farther and farther behind, leaving me more and more overwhelmed. (And blogging is supposed to be fun. If it's overwhelming, what's the point?)

Because of this, a wise man once told me, "You ought to publish a post of mini-reviews or you'll never blog about all of these books you've been reading," and I am finally taking his advice. So, here you will find a host of worthless mini-reviews of books I've read during the past year but have never blogged about. Yeah, unfortunately this post is more for me than for you. I just like to have a complete record of what I've read, so this won't happen again.

And so it goes:

Astrid & Veronika by Linda Olsson (a Book Club selection: I think it was Christy's)

Here's the story of two lonely Swedish women, one young and one old, who strike up an unexpected but fulfilling and healing friendship by virtue of living in houses next door to each other.

Why is my most vivid memory of this book that of Astrid and Veronika spooning with each other? I'm sure it has nothing to do with Book Club member Claire's odd experience with her college roommate. I do think, though, that it's because it seemed so unlikely and so far from something I would have done and . . . and just plain awkward.

If you read this book and have any questions about it, though, email the author! She is very friendly and will probably actually write back to you and explain whatever it is you're wondering about. She praised me for being such an attentive reader, although once I saw the answer to my question I knew that a truly attentive reader could have answered this question for herself. Oh well.

A favorite quote:

"I think that perhaps there are no such defining moments at all. Beginnings and ends are fluid, long chains of events where some links seem so insignificant and others so very momentous, while in fact all  have the same weight. What may appear as a single dramatic moment is just a link between what was before and what comes after."

The Baron in the Trees by Italo Calvino

This book was given to me by the love of my life, and for this reason alone I'm sure I would have found it fascinating--perhaps even if it had been written by Paulo Coelho. But, lucky me, it was written by Italo Calvino instead. I'm sure I need to read more of his books (If On a Winter's Night a Traveler, for instance), but this one is a great start. It's the story of an 18th century Italian family of noble descent whose older son Cosimo, at age twelve, climbs up into the trees and decides he will never come back down. Contrary to every other such decision by twelve-year-old boys the world over, he sticks with it, never again setting foot on the ground.

Dream Story by Arthur Schnitzler

The inspiration for Stanley Kubrick's film Eyes Wide Shut. The book and the film differ somewhat (of course), but I found the book intriguing and thought-provoking. Unfortunately, as I read it months and months ago, I can't remember what intrigued me about it, or what thoughts it provoked. I will venture to say it was good enough to re-read, and I would like to do that sometime in hopes that it will better stick in my mind. This shouldn't be too difficult, as it is very short.

In the Woods by Tana French (a Book Club selection: Charity's!)

This was an excellent mystery: finally, another that ranks highly on my Agatha Christie scale! The premise alone ought to grab you: Years ago, three young Irish friends went into the woods to play. Only one returned. He had no memory of what had happened that afternoon, and no one ever figured out the fate of his two friends. (That right there would be enough to snag my interest!)  But there's more: the one surviving boy grew up to be Detective Ryan, who is investigating the murder of a twelve-year-old girl whose body was found in those same woods. Is there a link between the two mysteries?

This is a suspenseful thriller with the favorable distinction of also being well-written. It is also the first in the Dublin Murder Squad series, but (although #2 sounded very interesting!) I try to avoid getting mired in a series of books. There are too many individual books waiting for me to read them!

Legends of the Fall by Jim Harrison

This book actually contained a trio of novellas ("Revenge," "The Man Who Gave Up His Name," and "Legends of the Fall"), but I picked it up because I've seen the movie made from the third novella, and I was curious to discover its original manifestation. I found it quite surprising that Legends of the Fall began as only a novella. The movie seems like such an epic! You would think it had been adapted from a thousand-pager.

Harrison has such an odd style of writing. It is rambling, resigned, almost emotionless. His stories are told in an off-hand manner, as if with a sigh. That's not necessarily a criticism, though--merely an observation. I have also read his book Returning to Earth, and I plan to read its prequel, True North.

My Fair Lazy by Jen Lancaster

"Thanks a lot, Miles Davis. You've totally ruined waffles for me."

When I read this book I was in need of something light, and this certainly fit the bill. It's not my kind of book, especially as it was written from the POV of a woman obsessed with reality TV, but I can definitely admit that it was light-hearted and funny.

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro (a Book Club selection: mine!)

I really, really liked this book and am very disappointed in myself for not writing about it last July when I read it. However (not to mention extenuating circumstances that distracted me) I'm sure I was daunted by the feeling that I had to top my last post about a book of Ishiguro's, a link to which was posted on his official facebook page! (That was an exciting day for me.)

NLMG is a strange sci-fi/coming-of-age novel which thrilled me with its slow reveal of the truth behind the lives of Tommy, Kathy and Ruth. I can't even begin to tell you how much I love books that dole out their secrets so slowly and tantalizingly.

I haven't seen the movie yet, but I plan to.

The Other by Thomas Tryon

This was a good twin/evil twin story that was somehow both banal and engrossing. I found the twins' secret easy to guess, but even so it was an entertaining read. The writing was nothing special, and I don't find it surprising that this book has been largely forgotten, but I don't regret reading it.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

Here's a book that covers nearly every teen-angst-causing issue that you can imagine (except for vampires). Drugs, drinking, homosexuality, suicide, teen sex--Wallflower has it all. But I can overlook this tiny book's attempt at being all-encompassing, because its narrator is so endearing in an awkward and quirky kind of way.

I made a note of some of his statements that were favorites of mine, Napoleon Dynamite style:

“I think it would be great if sledding were always enough, but it isn’t.”

"We accept the love we think we deserve."

"Some people use thoughts to not participate in life." (This is reflected in a review quoted at the beginning of the book: "Passivity, and thinking too much, lead to confusion and anxiety.")

"[To Kill a Mockingbird] is now my favorite book of all time, but then again, I always think that until I read another book." (What reader hasn't felt the same way before?)

"I really think that everyone should have watercolors, magnetic poetry, and a harmonica." Wouldn't it be great if life were that simple? Wait, though. I don't have magnetic poetry OR a harmonica. Maybe that is all I need?

Everyone’s heard the phrase “deer in headlights”, right? And it’s such a cliché. But here we get “My brother looked at my dad like a deer caught by my cousins.” It’s so refreshing. And yet, as immediately understood as its more hackneyed antecedent.

So, yeah, I liked this book.

The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon (a Book Club selection: mine!)

This book deserves a complete blog post, as I deemed it a Must Read, but alas. I waited too long to write about it.

I could complain about some things (the sometimes stilted dialogue, I would assume due to the translation; that I guessed on page 66 who the burned man was, although the truth wasn't actually revealed until much closer to the end of the book; and that the ending explained a little too much and wrapped everything up neatly with a bow) but the reading of it was so much fun that I didn't care. Sometimes while I'm reading books like these I start to wonder in the back of my mind . . . do I really like to read? And then a book like Shadow of the Wind comes along and I fall in love with reading all over again. YOU NEED TO READ THIS BOOK. You will love it too.

My favorite quote:

"The pleasure of reading: exploring the recesses of the soul, letting myself be carried away by imagination, beauty, and the mystery of fiction and language . . . by reading, I can live more intensely."

HOW TRUE! I pity anyone who has never realized the accuracy of the preceding statement.

Wait Till Helen Comes by Mary Downing Hahn

A just-barely-surpassing-mediocre YA ghost story that I remember next to nothing about. I saw it at one of my kids' Scholastic book fairs, and you know I can't pass up a tale of a good haunting. Apparently I can completely forget them, though.

What the Birds See by Sonya Hartnett

Here's an appealing story that begins with the tragic disappearance of three siblings, tangentially viewed through the eyes of an unwanted nine-year-old boy. My memory of this book is vague at best, but I found it well-written and arresting. I would read it again.

When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead

I really enjoyed this unique and subtle YA enigma. I was just sure Bookworm Child would, too, but I don't think she gave it a fair shake. Disappointing. I thought it was great, and another one worthy of a re-read.

The best I can do is to quote the back of the book: "This remarkable novel takes place in the real world but holds a fantastic puzzle at its heart. When You Reach Me is an original, and a brilliant and profound delight."

"The Secret Garden" by Frances Hodgson Burnett

The Secret Garden is a fondly-remembered childhood favorite of mine. At my seventh birthday party, I was given two copies as gifts! I know we returned one of the duplicates, although I don't recall what we exchanged it for, but I would have done well to keep both books, tucking one away for the future; the one I kept is now falling to pieces. But my bookworm child has read that tattered copy. I love it when she not only reads my old favorites, but especially when she reads the very same book I read when I was little.

What's not to love about the story of a young girl, raised in India and recently orphaned, who is shuttled off to her distant uncle's mysterious house at the edge of the English moors? Throw in a sad account about the untimely death of her beautiful aunt, some strange noises blamed on the wind, and a friendly, bright-eyed robin, and my seven-year-old attention was captured.

Sadly, this is another one of those stories that may not hold the same fascination for a reader first coming to it as an adult. If you missed out on reading this when you were young, leaving you unable to nostalgically unearth childhood memories during a re-read, maybe you need to put yourself into the mind of a child as you read it? Otherwise you may find it boring, as Renae (from book club) did. (Oh, yes, I just named you, girl.) But as for me, there are a few passages that can even now elicit a thrill when I read them: one of those would be, of course, when Mary first discovers the forgotten garden.

I'm not sure how many times I've read this book, but it's odd (even for a literary amnesiac) that I didn't remember all the prattle about Magic. How could I so vividly remember the first half of the book while what I recalled of the second half was so vague and shadowy? Maybe because the first half is delectable and the second half is kind of crap. Not that I have a problem with magic. Where would Harry Potter or the Pevensies be without it? Maybe it's just Magic-with-a-capital-M that gives me trouble.

Despite a bit of crap, I love to watch Mary's transformation throughout this story. As the book opens, she is a sour, lonely, and quite contrary little girl; bit by bit, she becomes a kind and thoughtful friend, while still retaining her spunky pride and stubbornness. It's no fun--and not especially believable--when a character begins with nothing but rough edges and ends as a perfect angel, but you won't find that annoying mistake here. Mary's polishing leaves her improved but still undeniably human.

I call this another book to give to all the little girls in your life, so they can love it now and in the years to come!

"World War Z" by Max Brooks

Well, I told you I was going to hate this book. And, what do you know? I was right.

Not only is World War Z (obviously) about war (ugh!) but it is about a zombie war. I don't care for zombies. They're not pretty, they're not witty, they're not fun or clever or admirable. They're not even all that scary when you know how to handle them. So just what good are they, exactly?

Poor Max Brooks was already at a disadvantage with me due to his choice of subject matter, but this was only compounded by the grade-school errors that kept cropping up. Not like I've never made a mistake in my life, but I got annoyed right away by comma abuse (too many in some cases, not enough in others) and a jarring singular/plural mashup in one sentence ("It must have been a heartbreaking irony for those poor peasants, to see their town saved but then only being able to visit it as a tourist." Come on! Either learn to write or get an editor). Stuff like that keeps me from losing myself in the story. By the time I read "that time of the day when it's photovoltaic windows capture the setting sun" I was about ready to put this book out of its misery with one good shot to its brains. If I hadn't already read two thirds of it by that point, I think I would have. (Not to mention the fact that the library probably wouldn't be especially thrilled if I returned this book after an attempted pithing.)

This book is written from the perspective of a journalist conducting interviews with people from all over the world who were involved in fighting off the zombie hordes. In trying to describe every eventuality and cover every facet of the war, Brooks sacrifices the possibility of riveting story arcs that could have made me care about the individual humans involved. There were a few stories that stood out (the blind old Japanese man in the wilderness, the female American pilot lost in Louisiana) but most of the rest of the reports blended together in a nameless, faceless swirl. Even when I knew a character was being revisited, it wasn't often that I remembered where their story left off. And, paradoxically, it was annoying when stories stopped at a cliffhanger and were never picked up again.

In a nutshell: Boy, am I glad that's over. I have quite a feeling of glee as I peruse my TBR shelves, because I have every intention of LOVING the next book I read! Not least because I can assure you it won't have a single zombie in it.

"Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons" by Lorna Landvik

"A few years back, when I finally got smart enough to go to a therapist, she asked me how I had held things together all these years. It didn't take long to come up with an answer. 'That's easy. I belong to a book club.'"

This book was loaned to me more than a year ago and has had the misfortune to languish on my shelf ever since, merely due to its cover. The only way it could have looked any less like my kind of book is if they had actually printed "This Book Is Not For Kathy" on the cover. Well, its title wasn't any better. Either the title or the cover alone would say chick lit, but together they screech it like nails on a chalkboard.

But what do you know? I didn't hate this book. It didn't even make me feel like my brains were melting and running out of my ears.

The five housewives in this book weren't really angry (well, not all of the time, anyway) and I don't believe they ever actually ate any bon bons during the story. The name of the book is the same as the tongue-in-cheek name they chose for their book club, which impressively (or perhaps implausibly?) spans three decades. (What do you say, book club girls? Will you all stop talking about moving away so we can still be meeting in 2041?)

I found it disappointing that very little was actually said about the books the Angry Housewives read. The references to each title were unsatisfyingly brief, amounting to little more than name-dropping. But then a lot of the books they read didn't sound that great anyway. And the story was more about the Housewives, their relationships with each other, and the circumstances their families dealt with over the years. The books they read were there as more of a framework instead of the main focus of the story.

Anyway, I guess I've got to (grudgingly) admit that this book wasn't as bad as I expected it to be. I probably wouldn't ever re-read it, but I think I actually enjoyed reading it once. Don't worry about me, though: I'm planning to absolutely hate the next book I read. Because there's only one topic I'm less interested in than chick lit. Can you guess what it is?

"This is Where I Leave You" by Jonathan Tropper

I'd heard about this book from several bloggers, though I can't quite recall what it was that convinced me I needed to read it (which is even more true now that I've finished reading). But, though I can't say what first piqued my interest, I found it a good read with (for once) a cast of  characters who aren't quirky just for the sake of being quirky.

Judd Foxman and his siblings are roped into sitting shiva after their father's funeral. ("All seven days? That's hard-core.") Complex family dynamics are rendered comically bizarre by a lack of those emotional filters that aid in smoothing out normal human relationships. It's difficult for the Foxman family members to get along under the best of circumstances, and these aren't the best of circumstances. In their raw emotional state of grief, thrust into close quarters for an extended period of time (which, for this family, is anything longer than five minutes) a variety of eccentric issues bubble to the surface, causing an ever-changing stink worse than Uncle Stan's farts. Oh, and it doesn't help that Judd's wife has just left him. For his boss. And she's pregnant. With Judd's child.

"The past is prelude and the future is a black hole . . . " That's not the most encouraging notion, but if you've ever hurled yourself into the unknown, you know that's exactly what it feels like when all you can do is hope that you won't be stretched out like a mile-long piece of spaghetti, or be compressed into something one-millionth the size of a bedbug's eyeball, or vanish into a singularity. It's much better to think that, though I may not have fourteen grand in a shopping bag, anything can happen.

"All the Sad Young Literary Men" by Keith Gessen

Maybe the title should have clued me in, but this book is kind of depressing. It chronicles vignettes from the lives of Mark, Sam and Keith, three college-educated young men with writerly ambitions. In the first section, the three characters are young and idealistic, their lives ahead of them and the world at their feet, but the reader can somehow sense they are spinning their wheels. The second section finds them feeling like failures, wretched and alone. In the third section, they've all achieved their own blandly homogeneous and hollow happiness because they have . . . settled. I don't think they realized they had settled, but I realized it.

At least each section is depressing for a new reason.

It was too bothersome for me to distinguish between the three main characters. I kept getting their backgrounds and family histories mixed up, and the men themselves seemed to be interchangeable. This made it more difficult for me to invest myself in the story. For example, in Mark's second section, I couldn't for the life of me remember who Leslie was, but I didn't care enough to flip back and find out. (Although, had I been reading this on my Kindle, I think I could have found it in me to expend the effort needed to Search This Book and find where her character was introduced.) Maybe I just didn't pay enough attention, but I began to think this would have been a better book if it had been called "The Sad Young Literary Man" (though maybe that's not quite as catchy a title) and the three main characters had been combined into one.


At the risk of boring you to tears, I will share with you the notes I finally forced myself to take in order to keep the Sad Young Men separate in my mind: Mark Grossman used to be married to Sasha, tried online dating and internet porn, and wants to date Celeste but sleeps with Leslie instead. Sam Mitnick is Jewish, loves Israel, was dating Talia and Arielle at the same time, lost them both, slept with Miss Perfect (Katie) and wrote his name in her book, and is supposed to be writing a great Zionist novel but never does. Keith (Gessen?) idolized a critic named Morris Binkel, spent a summer moving furniture, knows Russian, and roomed with Ferdinand, who dated one of Al Gore's (fictionalized) daughters. Hmmm, they sound fairly different from each other when I list their little bios one after another that way. So maybe it was just me?


Anyway, it's not as if this was a horrible read. I didn't gag on the writing, and it wasn't one of those books I dreaded picking up. It went by quickly enough, and I enjoyed reading it. But I won't be shouting it from the rooftops or pushing my friends to read it. I'm also very glad it only cost $3.97.

Books-A-Million is my Kryptonite . . .

. . . and my kids are fully aware of that fact. One could even say they exploit my weakness. I should know better than to even go in there anymore, especially with my kids.

During my last trip to B-A-M (a post-book-club sortie), I managed to leave without spending any money (a minor miracle!) even though I carried a pair of books around with me for a good long while, fully intending to buy them. I bet the poor things were so disappointed when I put them back on the shelf and left without them.

Tonight, I was not so lucky. Tonight I was not able to resist the inexorable pull of the printed word. Tonight, books were leaping off the shelves left and right, directly into my waiting hands.

First to make the jump: The Railway Children by E. Nesbit. Yes, yes, I know I could have downloaded this onto my Kindle for free. In fact, I probably already have, though I haven't read it yet. But what a cute little Puffin Classic edition, and only $5 (without even being on sale)!

If I'm going to mention E. Nesbit, though, I might as well go on and confess: I don't believe I've ever yet read any of her books. I've been meaning to read something of hers for years, ever since The Magician's Nephew name-dropped the Bastables (though don't ask me how I figured out who the Bastables were. This was long before Google came on the scene). Anyway, I'm planning to LOVE this book, and I might even share it with my children.

The City of Ember by Jeanne DuPrau quickly followed. I've somehow become convinced that I need to read this entire series, though I can't recall who to credit that notion to. This seems to be an intriguing combination of The Matrix and The Giver. I'd definitely like to engage in a bit of read-the-book/see-the-movie with this one.

THEN I managed to find two books labeled "Buy 1, Get 1 FREE!" and they were both only $2.97! I must admit I selected them with my children in mind (even more so than the previous two), but I have a feeling I will enjoy them as well. First is A Taste for Red by Lewis Harris, a very tongue-in-cheek-sounding story about new sixth-grader Svetlana Grimm, who is afraid she might be a vampire. Yeah, I know, vampires are overdone these days. But an eleven-year-old vampire? That lends a slightly new twist to the trope (if you haven't read Let the Right One In). And I love the cover!

The second book in my BOGO offer was Bad, Bad Darlings: Small but Deadly by Sam Llewellyn. What caught my eye was (yet again!) the cover, not to mention the price tag. But what sold me on the book was the idea of a family of thieves attempting to abandon their old lifestyle. Why on earth shouldn't their first step be to set sail on the good ship Kleptomaniac? Throw in a little bit of a Gilligan's Island situation, and it sounds like something my kids and I can all love.

With four books already in hand, I figured I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. So I purposefully tracked down one of the two books I'd narrowly avoided buying a few weeks ago: This is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper. I'm not sure exactly what draws me to this book, but Greg's glowing review didn't hurt. And I'm quite fond of the little tree on the cover.

Too bad I can't remember which other book I'd been planning to buy during my previous B-A-M trip. Actually, it's probably a good thing I couldn't remember, or I would have ended up buying yet another book tonight.

This last book wasn't my selection, but it could have been, based on cover and title alone. Bookworm Child picked out The Last Invisible Boy by Evan Kuhlman. I'm pretty sure I'll be borrowing it when she's through, especially if she gives me her irresistible "You have GOT to read this" line.

I'll spare you the details on the other three books I bought (a HALO book for Oldest Boy and a Scooby Doo zombie book, of all things, for Littlest Girl). I also added a cute little Halloween picture book called The Copycat Costume to the stack.

I did manage to refuse renewal of my B-A-M discount card. I really didn't want to spend $20 to save $5 (though this perspective doesn't take future savings into account). Besides, I probably need to wait long enough for my card to expire again before I go on another book shopping spree!