A Goodbye

A fond adieu to Lyn and Barry Blackmon, founding members of the First Saturday Book Club. The world has lost two wonderful people. You are remembered and you will be missed.

I wish I had a picture of Lyn and Barry together. All I could find was this one of Lyn (in the white shirt), but at least she's in her "natural environment," surrounded by books.

I'll never know what Lyn was actually saying when this photo was snapped, but judging by the book she's holding, I might have to guess that she was saying something about how handsome JFK Jr was, and what a shame it was that he had to die so young. (That's what I would have been saying, anyway).

"The Goose Girl" by Shannon Hale

Finally the long-awaited book was returned to the library, and this time I was lucky enough to be the one to check it out. I interrupted my reading about war in the Val d'Orcia for a breath of fresh air, and did not regret it for a moment. This book was every bit as magical as I expected it to be.

Once again throughout this book Hale exhibits her prowess with words. In one example of many, when the Crown Princess was sitting at her father's deathbed, a lesser writer would have said her chest felt hollow, or perhaps empty. Hale, however, describes Ani's chest as "an abandoned snail shell," making a clear point about her empty feeling while at once adding depth to the idea by letting the reader know Ani also felt wrenched and contorted inside, worthless and discarded.

I knew well the original fairy tale of The Goose Girl. This was good and bad. Good, because it is often quite enjoyable to read a familiar old story that has been fleshed out and given beautiful color and texture; bad, because the book held few surprises for me. It was obvious that Selia would be the maid to usurp the identity of the princess, and I knew the general direction the plot was headed at each turn. Also, a disappointing result of having read the sequel first was that I knew Geric was the prince to whom Ani was betrothed, so there was no surprise for me there, although I do wonder if I might have suspected his identity even without that foreknowledge.

As much as I have enjoyed Hale's writing, I am not sure that I will seek out any of her other novels. The third in the Books of Bayern series, River Secrets, follows a minor character named Razzo who was never especially compelling for me, although he does play a larger part in the second book than in this one. The fourth book, Forest Born, follows a character not even introduced (that I recall) in the first two books, Razzo's sister Rin. And Bayern is not like Narnia, constantly calling me back even after all these years. I am even more resistant to reading either of Hale's two books written for adults, as they both seem to be of the "chick lit" variety and I don't want them to ruin my opinion of her as an author. However, I will make my official excuse by pointing to my overlarge stack of books I already have waiting to be read.

"The Graveyard Book" By Neil Gaiman

I picked this book up at the library because I enjoyed the movie Coraline (adapted from a book by Gaiman) and have been wanting to read that one, so this is kind of a substitute.

Fortunately for me, this book more than made up for my most recent foray into so-called ghost stories (The Ghost of Windy Hill, which would more accurately have been called "Sorry, Kathy, There's No Ghost on Windy Hill, So I Hope You're Not Too Disappointed"). This book was packed full of more ghosts than I could count, and it had a much more complex combination of story arcs.

Still, this book was a little different from your usual ghost story book. It didn't have the same creep factor. This was mainly because all of the ghosts were friendly and obliging. The tension and trouble came from the world of the living rather than the spirit world. It did have wonderful and nearly tangible atmosphere, however, especially at the beginning, as well as during the Danse Macabre (although I wasn't sure quite why that was a part of the book otherwise).

I loved that Mr. Frost turned out to be the man Jack. I didn't see that coming until the last minute. It's funny that I was thinking more along the lines of him being related to Robert Frost, and it never crossed my mind that he could be Jack Frost until he "put his hand down into the empty space where the floorboard had been," which is mere sentences before he pulls a knife and tries to kill Bod.

I was also pleased that, although Silas was pretty plainly a vampire, we are never specifically told this. I appreciate the author's assumption that I was smart enough to figure it out for myself.

I enjoyed this book like Nobody's business! (Get it?) I agree with one of the reviews on the back that says, "I want to see more of the adventures of Nobody Owens." I think in the next book some of the other Jacks may return as ghouls . . . and surely Scarlett will show up again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The Ghost of Windy Hill" by Clyde Robert Bulla

This book caught my eye at the library. I just can't pass up a ghost story! But now that I've read it, I question even labeling this post as such, since there was no ghost in it. (How disappointing!) The story is transparent, simple, straightforward and brief. There are no surprises and only a thimbleful of very slightly scary parts. If only the lady in white, Miss Miggie, had turned out to be a ghost--especially if Lorna and Jamie hadn't realized that fact until later--that might have salvaged the story for me. But, sadly, this was not to be. The story wouldn't even make a good campfire tale. It didn't help that the reading level was well below that of the usual young adult fare (I would guess this was written at about a third grade level). At least it went by quickly, and it's not as if it was as bad as Rhino Ranch!

"Lolita" by Vladimir Nabokov

I have wanted to read this book ever since I first heard about it, which happened to be in 1992 when Joey Buttafuoco's Amy Fisher was dubbed the "Long Island Lolita." And it goes downhill from there.

I am disgusted by Humbert Humbert. Am I supposed to sympathize with him? Because I never could see him as anything more than a creepy perv. I guess maybe I managed to pity him a time or two during "Part Two," but his excuses and rationalizations did not work for me.

At least this book doesn't exist solely on the basis of Humbert's disgusting perversion. In fact, it's not especially explicit. There is actually a story arc which includes some suspense and tension, accompanied by an increasingly obvious paranoia on the part of the narrator. It was sometimes difficult for me to distinguish between reality and his delusions.

The Author's Note at the end of the book was enlightening. Nabokov dreads the thought of readers of Lolita trying to determine "what was the author's purpose?" It sounds as if Nabokov is the type of artist who writes because he has a book inside him and he wants to get it out so it will leave him alone. He makes it clear that he is not "a writer of didactic fiction, and . . . Lolita has no moral in tow. For me a work of fiction exists only insofar as it affords me what I shall bluntly call aesthetic bliss . . ." It was also interesting to see that Nabokov "detests symbols and allegories (which is due partly to my old feud with Freudian voodooism...)," especially because I thought I detected a theme of moths throughout the book, but I now suppose that was just a spurious pattern.

Lolita is Nabokov's only novel I recall hearing of before. Althought it is beautifully written, I don't feel compelled to read any of his other books at this point. I do hope that I manage to come across someone who has read his other titles so they can tell me if I should look into them.

At least I have now satisfied 18 years worth of curiosity.

Books Read in 2009 (after I started blogging, that is)

Here's a list of the 50 books I blogged about in 2009, alphabetically by title:

The Aeneid by Virgil
All He Ever Wanted by Anita Shreve
The Amnesiac by Sam Taylor
Amsterdam by Ian McEwan
Atonement by Ian McEwan
Being Dead by Vivian Vande Velde
The Birth of Venus by Sarah Dunant
Bloodsucking Fiends by Christopher Moore
The Book of Nonsense by David Michael Slater
The Bourne Deception by Eric van Lustbader
Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon
Darkwood by M.E. Breen
Dead on Town Line by Leslie Connor
Distant Waves by Suzanne Weyn
Eats, Shoots & Leaves by Lynne Truss
Enna Burning by Shannon Hale
Flowers in the Attic by V.C. Andrews
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
The Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson
Given by Wendell Berry
The Girl Who Could Fly by Victoria Forester
The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
Handle With Care by Jodi Picoult
Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger
In Cold Blood by Truman Capote
An Incomplete Education by Judy Jones and William Wilson
James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
The Janissary Tree by Jason Goodwin
The Lacemaker and the Princess by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley
The Magician's Elephant by Kate DiCamillo
The Monsters of Templeton by Lauren Groff
Nightmare at the Book Fair by Dan Gutman
People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks
The Princess Academy by Shannon Hale
The Red Tent by Anita Diamant
Returning to Earth by Jim Harrison
Rhino Ranch by Larry McMurtry
The Shape Shifter by Tony Hillerman
The Snake Stone by Jason Goodwin
The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
The Starter Wife by Gigi Levangie Grazer
Talk to the Hand by Lynne Truss
Thura's Diary by Thura al-Windawi
The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
Tomcat in Love by Tim O'Brien
The Twin in the Tavern by Barbara Brooks Wallace
The White Queen by Philippa Gregory
You Suck by Christopher Moore

"James and the Giant Peach" by Roald Dahl

I should have read this book thirty years ago but somehow never got around to it. In fact, the only Dahl book I recall reading in my childhood is The Fantastic Mr. Fox, which I enjoyed even though the three farmers were so disgusting. (I have since remedied this situation by reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, so you can stop feeling sorry for me.)

The kids and I watched the "James" movie sometime in the past few years, and I thought it would be fun to read the book to them as a bedtime story, but my local library didn't have a copy of it. Every library should have a copy of James and the Giant Peach! I had to take care of that.

However, even though we now have a copy of the book available to us, I think I'm not going to bother reading this to the kids. My reader snatched it up as soon as it arrived and has already finished with it, my son only wants to hear Peter and the Starcatchers at bedtime, and my youngest is only interested in books about Barbie, princesses, or Angelina Ballerina. So I read it to myself.

It was a romp! I suppose as with most children's books there's not a whole lot of deep thinking or hidden meaning involved, but the story was fantastic (and I'm going with all three of Webster's definitions here). I think Dahl himself put it better than I ever could in the interview included at the end of the book:

"My lucky thing is I laugh at exactly the same jokes that children laugh at . . . you have wonderful inside jokes all the time and it's got to be exciting, it's got to be fast, it's got to have a good plot, but it's got to be funny . . . the line between roaring with laughter and crying because it's a disaster is a very, very fine one . . . you just have to try to find it."

He found it!

"The Red Tent" by Anita Diamant

I was simultaneously eager to read this book and dreading it. It came very highly recommended to me, but the person who pushed it on me the most won't heat her food in a microwave because of the "bad waves," talks to her viruses so they understand it's nothing personal when she fights them off and kills them, and grew up as a Catholic but is now more of a Buddhist. So I wasn't quite certain what to expect of a Biblically-based historical fiction account of Jacob's wives and children that was enjoyed by someone who is quite possibly the weirdest person I know.

As it turns out, I had nothing to be scared of. Diamant presents a finely crafted story that left nothing to be desired. Yes, there were many points in which the novel differs from the Biblical account (I won't bore you with every single instance, but here are a few examples: the Bible says Jacob worked a total of 14 years for Laban before being able to marry both Leah and Rachel, not just 7 months for each; Dinah's first husband, named Shalem in the book, is Shechem in the Bible; and the Bible describes Leah's eyes as weak, whereas Diamant explains that there was nothing wrong with her eyesight, but Leah had the disconcerting trait of one blue eye and one green, combined with a piercing gaze that many found difficult to meet).

The differences bothered me a bit at first, but with a little thought I could see that each change had a very good reason. Fourteen years was changed to 14 months to keep the story going at a good pace; Dina's husband was renamed Shalem to avoid confusion, since the town his father ruled over was also named Shechem; and the description of Leah's eyes made her a stronger woman and more interesting character, instead of the pitiful, nearsighted and unwanted wife the Bible shows us. Diamant herself gives a good account of the changes she made in the "reading group guide" found at the end of my copy of the book:

"The Red Tent is not a translation but a work of fiction. Its perspective and focus--by and about the female characters--distinguishes it from the biblical account in which women are usually peripheral and often totally silent. By giving Dinah a voice and by providing texture and content to the sketchy biblical descriptions, my book is a radical departure from the historical text."

I probably wouldn't have used the word "radical" to describe the differences between the Bible and this novel. After all, it's not as if Diamant includes an alien invasion, or Nikola Tesla attempting time travel. She follows the general framework of the story given in the Bible, and fleshes it out in a marvelous way by "providing texture and content" out the wazoo. Every addition she made to the Bible story falls somewhere on the spectrum of "likely" to "probable." The end result is an abundantly engaging novel.

I love Diamant's idea that people who are loved never die, instead living on in our memories, just as Dinah lives on because we remember her name and her story. I also admired Dinah's "great joy in keeping [her] own house" that she found after her second marriage, and her "reverence for ordinary pleasures" that she gained after her short journey away from Benia to deliver Joseph's first child. It was refreshing to see the joy Dinah could gather just from her daily chores or watching her husband sleep. Not that I feel a shortage of joy in my life, but I don't think I've ever even bothered to try to derive any of it from my housework. But, as Dinah says,

"There was such sweetness in deciding where to place a chair, and in choosing what to plant in the garden. I relished creating my own order and hummed whenever I swept the floor or folded blankets."

I have those same opportunities for joy and I don't recognize them as such. I need to.

"Distant Waves: A Novel of the Titanic" by Suzanne Weyn

Ever since Bob Ballard found the final resting place of the Titanic and I breathlessly read the details in the December 1985 issue of National Geographic, I have been fascinated by the story of this ill-fated ship. Of course the 1997 movie with Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio just whetted my appetite for more. So how could I pass up this book I found at my son's Scholastic Book Fair?

Unfortunately after reading this book I find I'm kind of annoyed that it was subtitled "a novel of the Titanic." This was false advertising. Other than a few brief mentions and some foreshadowing, the entire first half of the book has nothing to do with the Titanic. In fact, the entire book is more of an exploration of spiritualism.

Not only that, but though I had expected this to be historical fiction, far too many liberties were taken for me to apply this label. My definition of historical fiction is a novel in which true historical events are seamlessly interwoven with conversations and situations that very likely could have happened. It was hard enough to swallow that the narrator came into contact with so many famous historical figures (and not just on the Titanic itself, which may have been more believable); but when Nikola Tesla sneaks onto the ship, inadvertently causes initial damage to it with his "earthquake machine" before the iceberg finished it off, then tries to save everyone through time travel . . . well, let's just say my disbelief was too heavy to be suspended by such a thin thread.

The book did have a very sweet love story (between Thad and Jane) which I found myself rooting for, and a very satisfyingly happy ending (though, in a book filled with unbelievable coincidence, this was probaby the most improbable of all), and I give props to the author for the "Author's Note: What's Real in Distant Waves" addendum. If my expectations hadn't varied widely from the reality I might have enjoyed this book more. I think the back of the book should have given more of a warning that this book is more of an alternate history than historical fiction. Now that I know the story, I understand the last sentence of the blurb which ends by saying, "at least one of [the sisters] will find herself out of time." I thought that meant she would die, but I guess this actually refers to Tesla's time machine. Ack.

"Being Dead" by Vivian Vande Velde

I must preface this post by saying that the Mesa Public Library Friends' Bookstore in Los Alamos ROCKS. I have found buried treasure and I didn't even have to dig. I brought home eighteen, count 'em, eighteen books today, half of which were on my list of books I want to read, the other half just looking too intriguing to pass up, and most of which were only 50 cents each (and only slightly used)! An even better deal than paperbackswap.com! Now my stack of books to read is so tall that it threatens to topple over on me in my sleep, but that's a good problem to have. (Not falling books waking me in the night, but having a plethora of good and as-yet-unread books on hand).

The first of the eighteen books I chose to read is a collection of 7 ghost stories. I love a good scare! These stories were deliciously and satisfyingly creepy. The book was written for "ages 12 and up," and through most of the first story I thought about passing this on to my book-loving daughter next (as long as she could get past the cover art), but the story turned out to be just a little too creeptastic. And if I wasn't yet convinced, when the protagonist of the sixth story called her boss an anal sphincter (in the vernacular), that sealed the deal. My daughter can wait a few years before reading this book.

I do wish I could find someone who has read this book so I could discuss the story entitled "Shadow Brother" with them. Ambiguity is stalking me again. Kevin was haunting his father, and the narrator (Kevin's sister Sarah) hints at why this might be, but it's not spelled out for me. I want to know the truth! I've been told it's out there.

All in all, this collection of stories is a bunch of shivery fun. I was quite pleased that the book contained no stories with a silly punch line like "Vicks will stop that coffin!" or "inside the ancient box they found the source of the mysterious rapping noise, and it was . . . wrapping paper!" On the other hand, I'm not afraid of the dark or expecting a corpse to creep up behind me after reading it (which is probably a good thing). To me, this means the stories were just spooky enough.

"You Suck: A Love Story" by Christopher Moore

Here's the sequel to Bloodsucking Fiends. Before starting to read, I figured I was better prepared for what to expect, so I thought maybe I'd appreciate this book moore than the first. (Just checking to see if you're paying attention).

Either I was right, or this book was better than the first one. It seemed less cartoonish, but still funny; less silly, but still lighthearted and tongue-in-cheek; still completely unrealistic, but acceptably so. Once again, almost every sentence was a joke, but this time around I was down with it. (In case you were wondering, I put that in italics because that sort of hip-hop phrase is pretty much a foreign language to me).

The star of this book (in my opinion) was definitely Abby Normal. Without her, I'm sure I would not have enjoyed the read. Just imagining the book with her Chronicles excised makes me sad. I loved her naive wisdom, her observations that are at once clueless and astute, and her complete irreverance (disguising, of course, an indelible perkiness). She totally reminds me of Abby from the TV show NCIS who, in the words of my mother-in-law, is "just cute as a button." Keep in mind that my mother-in-law is danged near blind.

After finishing this book, I made the mistake of reading the excerpt from Moore's A Dirty Job, a book which explains the odd scene where Jody meets Charlie Asher. I'm embarrassed to admit that I did not even remember that loose thread until I read the excerpt. But now that I've been reminded, I've just gotta know what the deal is with Charlie. Guess I have to read "Dirty" now. And, of course, having been sucked in (no pun intended), I'll have to read Bite Me, too, which is Moore's upcoming third volume in the Jody the Vampire series. And if YOU are interested in reading the first two chapters of Bite Me, you may do so here, with the warnings that #1, chapter 1 is basically just a rehashing of the entire You Suck book (but you get it all from Abby's point of view, so you know that's OK with me!), and #2, there are a fair number of typos in the text, which is not OK with me, but I managed to grit my teeth and bear it with the assumption that corrections will be made before publication.