Book after book, genre after genre, century after century, tales of animals seemingly "turning against" man is considered unfathomable; at once scary, un-Godly, un-natural, and - to us - completely unprovoked. Take the year 2012 in which James Patterson's Zoo was published. A relentlessly stupid, over-dramatic story so obviously written to appease the warped minds of TV producers and directors that the point of the story was completely lost: humans are not just mere spectators in this melting pot of ecosystems.
Almost 200 years earlier, the disaster of the whaling ship The Essex follows a similar pattern and familiar theme; both books - one fiction, one non - leaves us with the ever-burning question of if and when animals will finally turn against man for real.
While Nathaniel Philbrick doesn't outwardly explore this particular theme in In the Heart of the Sea, choosing instead to focus ,,more on the intricacies of nineteenth century sailing and whaling more than anything else, it can't be ignored by the avid reader, especially since most of the whaling industry was fueled by ego, machismo, and the supposed ultimate dominion over the world. Philbrick expertly articulates this idea in his book, but perhaps a little too well.
In shockingly few pages, Philbrick relays a sea of information that is at times helpful but mostly confusing, speaking as if the reader already has a working knowledge of Northeastern shipping, whaling, and societal culture. He, however, does an admiral job of linking information he previously mentioned to what is currently happening in the story, and any conflicting accounts and fictional tales; Moby Dick makes several appearances as a point of reference and almost as proof to his tale.
Aside from what those of us who have never been whaling find confusing, In the Heart of the Sea is a captivating story of the lengths people go to to line their pockets.
While the book does make central the animalistic instinct of survival, it's hard to miss the underlying point that man wouldn't find themselves seeking revenge on giant whales (both metaphorical and literal) had they not put themselves in those very positions in the first place; and for little else than a chance at a paycheck. And although seeking wealth is taboo among many major religions, Philbrick subtly points out through his story that our interest in defeating nature as a means to wealth perhaps stems from our need for spiritual guidance, with many sects preaching man's superiority and rule over Earth as a right and truth. Such is the case here in regards to the Quakerism practiced among many a whaler. And oftentimes as a result of oppression in the name of this religion, ego and suppressed rage took over in an almost sub-human form. Given that, it's hard to come away from the book viewing these whalers as anything resembling heroes, especially as Philbrick dissected the always-taboo subject of cannibalism.
Although not the first documented case of the practice, and certainly not the last, Philbrick carefully, if not a tad gruesomely, attacks the issue of cannibalism by highlighting that eating one's fellow human does little to alleviate death or even hunger, especially in terms of the mind. Philbrick points out that fear of cannibals is what kept the survivors from uncharted islands, contributing to their almost pointless and futile drift around the Pacific Ocean, but doesn't go so far as to point out the hypocrisy of their decision to eat human flesh, skirting the issue by focusing instead on their struggle with the mere idea then ultimate execution.
But all of that aside, In the Heart of the Sea serves little as a warning and more just adds to the depths of whaling lore. Known as the "Titanic of it's day," the very idea that a Titanic II is well under way proves we have learned nothing. Philbrick's story of a time centuries before - and Patterson's tale of a time centuries later - proves we never will.
Showing posts with label Worth hauling in your tote. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Worth hauling in your tote. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 6, 2018
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Certain Girls
Once again, I will gush about the wonder that is Weiner. Jennifer Weiner, to be exact, but I guess the other kind has its positives too.
After you've read a couple of Weiner's books, there are certain characteristics and a certain tone that you eventually come to crave, actually being drawn to reading one of her books, knowing nothing other than that she wrote it so it has to be good. Weiner's Good In Bed is what initially sparked my love of her so you can imagine my excitement when I happened to find a sequel: Certain Girls.
Reading Good In Bed first is a must if understanding auxiliary characters is something that is important to you. Otherwise, I think the overall theme and general plot of the book is something a lot of women can relate to, especially mothers and daughters.
Cannie Shapiro I Won't Even Attempt Her Married Last Time, is the very understatement of "helicopter parent," long before that was even a thing. Her now-teenager, Joy, is your typical, American teenager, embarrassed by her mother and critical to everything she says, does, and wears, but is otherwise beautiful, intelligent, and empathetic. When curiosity gets the better of her and she picks up the fiction-based-on-non-fiction novel her mother published shortly after she was born, Joy's life feels turned upside down. While both blaming her mother and dying to know about a part of her mother's past, she sets out in search of it, be damned she's only 13!
What she finds is both heartbreaking and heartwarming. Through personal experience and by traveling through her mother's past, Joy learns what makes us all human, not perfect and worth understanding and at least sympathy. She learns things aren't always what they seem and that maybe most dark clouds do have silver linings. And that loving your mother really isn't so terrible after all.
With a certain amount of humor you come across in her other books noticeably absent, the laugh-out-loud moments were few and far between, something that also surprised me with her The Guy Not Taken: Stories. But she touches on some difficult subject with charm, wit, and a healthy dose of sarcasm. It's a good curl-up-with-an-Irish-Coffee kind of book while still making you think - especially as a mother to a daughter - how will I handle her questions to me about my past? It also proved to be a beacon of how my writing might one day affect her. It also made me think about my mother and how she handles my questions about her past. What we all want, when we're Joy at age 13, is to not know our mothers are human. When we're an adult with daughters of our own, what we want to know is that they are human.
After you've read a couple of Weiner's books, there are certain characteristics and a certain tone that you eventually come to crave, actually being drawn to reading one of her books, knowing nothing other than that she wrote it so it has to be good. Weiner's Good In Bed is what initially sparked my love of her so you can imagine my excitement when I happened to find a sequel: Certain Girls.
Reading Good In Bed first is a must if understanding auxiliary characters is something that is important to you. Otherwise, I think the overall theme and general plot of the book is something a lot of women can relate to, especially mothers and daughters.
Cannie Shapiro I Won't Even Attempt Her Married Last Time, is the very understatement of "helicopter parent," long before that was even a thing. Her now-teenager, Joy, is your typical, American teenager, embarrassed by her mother and critical to everything she says, does, and wears, but is otherwise beautiful, intelligent, and empathetic. When curiosity gets the better of her and she picks up the fiction-based-on-non-fiction novel her mother published shortly after she was born, Joy's life feels turned upside down. While both blaming her mother and dying to know about a part of her mother's past, she sets out in search of it, be damned she's only 13!
What she finds is both heartbreaking and heartwarming. Through personal experience and by traveling through her mother's past, Joy learns what makes us all human, not perfect and worth understanding and at least sympathy. She learns things aren't always what they seem and that maybe most dark clouds do have silver linings. And that loving your mother really isn't so terrible after all.
With a certain amount of humor you come across in her other books noticeably absent, the laugh-out-loud moments were few and far between, something that also surprised me with her The Guy Not Taken: Stories. But she touches on some difficult subject with charm, wit, and a healthy dose of sarcasm. It's a good curl-up-with-an-Irish-Coffee kind of book while still making you think - especially as a mother to a daughter - how will I handle her questions to me about my past? It also proved to be a beacon of how my writing might one day affect her. It also made me think about my mother and how she handles my questions about her past. What we all want, when we're Joy at age 13, is to not know our mothers are human. When we're an adult with daughters of our own, what we want to know is that they are human.
Monday, February 3, 2014
A Captain's Duty
This particular story flew onto my radar by way of the thing that controls all of our televisions: The Today Show, which is regrettable for a few reasons: 1) The story of Captain Phillips and his kidnapping by Somali pirates, as documented in his memoir, A Captain's Duty, happened not that long ago in April of 2009 but I was just made aware of it in December 2013; and B) The show was interviewing Tom Hanks about his role in the newly released film as Captain Phillips himself. *shudder* After spending most of The DaVinci Code and Angels and Demons wishing someone else had played Robert Langdon, I find it hard to watch a Tom Hanks movie that's not A League of Their Own. So when I heard them discuss the movie, I jumped up to my computer to search for the book. No way there wasn't a book to precede this new Hollywood spectacle. Of course there was a book, and fortunately written by the Captain himself (and Stephan Talty).
I read this in December, long after I had called it quits on the Summer of the Memoir. But after reading several non-fiction, I now consider it one of my favorite genres, and one that I'm inexplicably drawn to. A Captain's Duty did not disappoint.
Phillips is an experienced Merchant Marine with a love and passion for the trade that not everyone shares or understands. He's dealt with his share of ups and downs, crews that wouldn't cooperate or that he had to replace altogether, near-death accidents, and the surprisingly common pirate warnings and seizes. He's learned that remaining calm is the best route to take especially, and which he exemplifies, as he's taken by pirates to use as ransom on the mainland, only heightening his danger as the chance for locating him once on land would be slim to none.
Written with the blunt honesty of a man who spends most of his life at sea, but with an easy-to-understand flow even when it came time to insert all of those blasted Merchant Marine facts and figures, Phillips expertly conveys the waves of emotions during those perilous days at sea. Gripping yet solemn, once Phillips is taken hostage by pirates, the reader can almost imagine him huddled in the life-raft with a pen and paper, documenting every move and breath rather than suffering as he did. Or maybe that is just more comforting for us readers to picture.
The story takes a bit to get going because, as with any book, a certain amount of set-up information is involved. And if you watched any of the news coverage back in 2009, as I didn't because I haven't had cable in a few years, you already know what went down. Was it important is that he lived to tell the tale. And oh what a tale it is, the least we can do is carry it around in our tote and read what actually happened instead of the overblown Hollywood version.
I read this in December, long after I had called it quits on the Summer of the Memoir. But after reading several non-fiction, I now consider it one of my favorite genres, and one that I'm inexplicably drawn to. A Captain's Duty did not disappoint.
Phillips is an experienced Merchant Marine with a love and passion for the trade that not everyone shares or understands. He's dealt with his share of ups and downs, crews that wouldn't cooperate or that he had to replace altogether, near-death accidents, and the surprisingly common pirate warnings and seizes. He's learned that remaining calm is the best route to take especially, and which he exemplifies, as he's taken by pirates to use as ransom on the mainland, only heightening his danger as the chance for locating him once on land would be slim to none.
Written with the blunt honesty of a man who spends most of his life at sea, but with an easy-to-understand flow even when it came time to insert all of those blasted Merchant Marine facts and figures, Phillips expertly conveys the waves of emotions during those perilous days at sea. Gripping yet solemn, once Phillips is taken hostage by pirates, the reader can almost imagine him huddled in the life-raft with a pen and paper, documenting every move and breath rather than suffering as he did. Or maybe that is just more comforting for us readers to picture.
The story takes a bit to get going because, as with any book, a certain amount of set-up information is involved. And if you watched any of the news coverage back in 2009, as I didn't because I haven't had cable in a few years, you already know what went down. Was it important is that he lived to tell the tale. And oh what a tale it is, the least we can do is carry it around in our tote and read what actually happened instead of the overblown Hollywood version.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Dark Places
Gillian Flynn does not mess around. When she says she's going to take you to some dark places, boy does she mean it. After finishing Gone Girl, I wasn't sure I'd ever be mentally prepared to step back into the disturbing worlds she seems so hell-bent on creating in such vivid, morbid detail. But I found myself in a bad mood for about a week and was inexplicably drawn to Dark Places, knowing I was only guaranteed an ending, not whether it would be a good one.
Set in both 1985 and present day, Flynn takes us on a mysterious journey of murder, Satan worship, and family drama. Libby is the sole survivor of "The Satan Sacrifice of Kinnakee, Kansas," and to say her emotional scars run deep is a vast understatement. To say her pockets run just as deep is a misconception that leads to her using her story and involvement in the murder as a way to keep afloat a lifestyle she's not all that interested in. But what she inevitably discovers is that what she thought she knew isn't what she knew at all, and that while she was the one person to help convict the killer 25 years ago, she's probably the only one who knows the least about what happened.
Just reading the back book cover and it's no big surprise who the killer is. Or is it? Like Sharp Objects and Gone Girl, the reader goes through the range of emotions of it being obvious who did it but maybe they didn't do it, not having any idea who did it, thinking every character did it, then figuring out who did it and thinking, D'oh! Why didn't I think of that before? But what I most appreciate about Flynn - besides her penchant for going where we're all thinking without holding back - is that, as the reader, we unravel the mystery right along with the main character. Too many mysteries I've read have the protagonist figuring everything out long before the reader is supposed to, and patronizes the reader by making them wait to find out what they know. With Libby, we had the pleasure of the cogs in our brain turning right along with her's, and thankfully only she was subjected to the immediate result.
An incredibly dark story written with zero glints of sunlight, Flynn enlightens the dark places hidden in all of us and what sets them free and what keeps them in check by our morals. She subtly breaks it down to reveal that none of us are very different and that all of us are just a few misunderstandings away from turning into the darkness ourselves. A must-read you won't mind carrying in your tote - or not even have to since it's completely plausible to finish in a weekend - Flynn expertly weaves together what is great about Gone Girl and what is great about Sharp Objects: mystery with just enough creep to keep it intriguing, and horrifying while still maintaining a bit of fantasy. Or at least that's what I tell myself in order to get to sleep at night...
Set in both 1985 and present day, Flynn takes us on a mysterious journey of murder, Satan worship, and family drama. Libby is the sole survivor of "The Satan Sacrifice of Kinnakee, Kansas," and to say her emotional scars run deep is a vast understatement. To say her pockets run just as deep is a misconception that leads to her using her story and involvement in the murder as a way to keep afloat a lifestyle she's not all that interested in. But what she inevitably discovers is that what she thought she knew isn't what she knew at all, and that while she was the one person to help convict the killer 25 years ago, she's probably the only one who knows the least about what happened.
Just reading the back book cover and it's no big surprise who the killer is. Or is it? Like Sharp Objects and Gone Girl, the reader goes through the range of emotions of it being obvious who did it but maybe they didn't do it, not having any idea who did it, thinking every character did it, then figuring out who did it and thinking, D'oh! Why didn't I think of that before? But what I most appreciate about Flynn - besides her penchant for going where we're all thinking without holding back - is that, as the reader, we unravel the mystery right along with the main character. Too many mysteries I've read have the protagonist figuring everything out long before the reader is supposed to, and patronizes the reader by making them wait to find out what they know. With Libby, we had the pleasure of the cogs in our brain turning right along with her's, and thankfully only she was subjected to the immediate result.
An incredibly dark story written with zero glints of sunlight, Flynn enlightens the dark places hidden in all of us and what sets them free and what keeps them in check by our morals. She subtly breaks it down to reveal that none of us are very different and that all of us are just a few misunderstandings away from turning into the darkness ourselves. A must-read you won't mind carrying in your tote - or not even have to since it's completely plausible to finish in a weekend - Flynn expertly weaves together what is great about Gone Girl and what is great about Sharp Objects: mystery with just enough creep to keep it intriguing, and horrifying while still maintaining a bit of fantasy. Or at least that's what I tell myself in order to get to sleep at night...
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Frozen In Time
I know I routinely tout that there isn't anything I won't read (except that time I refused to read The Girl Who Played with Fire). I'm still disappointed I misplaced The Book of Mormon an Arizona Senator gave me when I was in my early 20's, and I've tried reading the Bible a few times but have never gotten further than the apple. When they find one that reads like a novel, let me know. But it's not like I refuse to read historical non-fiction, it's just that I've never considered it before. Like the Fantasy genre, it has never entered my book-verse. But I read and enjoyed Game of Thrones so I can read Frozen In Time: An Epic Story of Survival and a Modern Quest for Lost Heroes of WWII and enjoy that, too. And I did.
If I were to pick up a historical non-fiction of my own volition, a story about any war would not be it. While incredibly interesting, when it starts to get down to details like airplane types, bomb types, rankings, etc. my brain goes numb. So this book was introduced to me by my friend who agreed to read The Gringo with me if I read this with her, and I have to say, she made a much better choice.
A professor at Boston University, Mitchell Zuckoff embarks on a highly improbable mission to recover downed airplanes in the expanse of Greenland, lead by a man whose sole purpose in life is to recover people and items from the war and return them to US soil. Missions of this exact nature were tried and failed in the past, making government intervention highly unlikely and unstable at best. Without losing hope and with time rapidly closing in before nasty-ER weather smothered Greenland, the crew and Zuckoff, documenting the expedition, reached Greenland with no other option than to find the Duck, a WWII amphibious airplane that disappeared while trying to rescue another crash.
Zuckoff expertly weaves together two enthralling tales: one of the courageous, heroic, and amazing men struggling to survive in half an airplane during a rough Arctic winter (like there's any other kind); the other a modern-day adventure of mystery, intrigue, danger, drama, and suspense as they try to solve the mystery of exactly what happened all those years ago. Although the beginning takes a bit of effort to trudge through thanks to those darn things called "facts" and "information," and given this wouldn't have been my first book choice....ever.... I was surprised to find myself unable to put it down in under 100 pages (if it takes over 100 pages I start to wonder why I'm wasting my time with your book). I even hauled it in my tote across the country to - how ironic is this? - Boston (if I had read the book jacket more closely, I probably would have stalked him while I was in the area).
Written clearly, concisely, and with only a hint of personal feelings about what was happening at any given moment, Zuckoff takes something that could have ended up extremely dry and turned it into something so thrilling that the moment I finished the book, I tweeted him begging to tell me a follow-up was in the works (as far as I know, no; but he did send me the link to his blog).
Finishing this in a weekend would be a little ambitious, there is a lot of information and a lot of things that promote putting it down every few minutes and staring off into space to contemplate. Thanks to this pick, I've added his previous best-seller, Lost in Shangri-La: Escape from a Hidden World - A True Story, which received high-praise from people I take book advice from: my friend and my Uncle.
I'm sure most war-based, historical non-fiction books are interesting but since this is my one and only experience, I'm going to go ahead and recommend you read this one. It's one of the few I've "taken for the team," and read on hard-cover, and I'm glad I did.
If I were to pick up a historical non-fiction of my own volition, a story about any war would not be it. While incredibly interesting, when it starts to get down to details like airplane types, bomb types, rankings, etc. my brain goes numb. So this book was introduced to me by my friend who agreed to read The Gringo with me if I read this with her, and I have to say, she made a much better choice.
A professor at Boston University, Mitchell Zuckoff embarks on a highly improbable mission to recover downed airplanes in the expanse of Greenland, lead by a man whose sole purpose in life is to recover people and items from the war and return them to US soil. Missions of this exact nature were tried and failed in the past, making government intervention highly unlikely and unstable at best. Without losing hope and with time rapidly closing in before nasty-ER weather smothered Greenland, the crew and Zuckoff, documenting the expedition, reached Greenland with no other option than to find the Duck, a WWII amphibious airplane that disappeared while trying to rescue another crash.
Zuckoff expertly weaves together two enthralling tales: one of the courageous, heroic, and amazing men struggling to survive in half an airplane during a rough Arctic winter (like there's any other kind); the other a modern-day adventure of mystery, intrigue, danger, drama, and suspense as they try to solve the mystery of exactly what happened all those years ago. Although the beginning takes a bit of effort to trudge through thanks to those darn things called "facts" and "information," and given this wouldn't have been my first book choice....ever.... I was surprised to find myself unable to put it down in under 100 pages (if it takes over 100 pages I start to wonder why I'm wasting my time with your book). I even hauled it in my tote across the country to - how ironic is this? - Boston (if I had read the book jacket more closely, I probably would have stalked him while I was in the area).
Written clearly, concisely, and with only a hint of personal feelings about what was happening at any given moment, Zuckoff takes something that could have ended up extremely dry and turned it into something so thrilling that the moment I finished the book, I tweeted him begging to tell me a follow-up was in the works (as far as I know, no; but he did send me the link to his blog).
Finishing this in a weekend would be a little ambitious, there is a lot of information and a lot of things that promote putting it down every few minutes and staring off into space to contemplate. Thanks to this pick, I've added his previous best-seller, Lost in Shangri-La: Escape from a Hidden World - A True Story, which received high-praise from people I take book advice from: my friend and my Uncle.
I'm sure most war-based, historical non-fiction books are interesting but since this is my one and only experience, I'm going to go ahead and recommend you read this one. It's one of the few I've "taken for the team," and read on hard-cover, and I'm glad I did.
Sunday, January 26, 2014
The Gringo
I came across this title by way of a virtual goodreads.com friend. I read the description and instantly added it to my list for Summer of the Memoir. Having momentarily fancied the idea of joining the Peace Corps after college then realizing I'd have to leave all of my high heels at home, the subject matter instantly piqued my interest.
Like anyone entering government work, J. Grigsby Crawford jumped head-first into his Peace Corps assignment with grandiose dreams of changing the world, one poverty-stricken village at a time. Initially put-off by the recruitment and training regimen, which used to be difficult but now more closely resembles grade school Field Day, Crawford ultimately follows through and asks for the most popular and widely-known (and most likely to lead to a high-level government job) assignment: remote South America. But upon his arrival, things are off to a very weird, very unpredictable start.
Although the population of the area he was supposed to be helping quickly rebutted him and put his life in danger on numerous occasions, Crawford never lost his desire for the dream. Working tirelessly to do something, he wound up making the most difference (mostly to himself) in only a short amount of time, and spent the rest worrying if he would live from one day to the next. His account isn't exactly what I would call a glowing recommendation for the Peace Corps, or any government-run agency.
As most of us do, I looked up to the Peace Corps as something I'd only ever aspire to be like. I put the organization and the people in it on a pedestal of greatness; stronger, more capable, and fearless than I ever could hope to be. I feel powerless without my high heels. While Crawford lived up to that embodiment, his account of the organization and its members is rather disappointing and frustrating.
An interesting story with twists and turns you don't see coming, The Gringo is more than just a memoir but a tale of survival, idiocy, hopes of changing the world, and just how difficult people can make that be. Written more like a working blog than a memoir, Crawford takes you along for the ride, random observations of human nature and the occasional swear word just in case his mother isn't reading included. He learned a lot during his travels abroad and we learned something from him thanks to his candor and unwillingness to sugar coat his experience. His ultimate feelings about what he was trying to accomplish were quite disappointing, but had it been us, we would have felt a lot worse.
A short, relatively uncomplicated read that flows more like a blog, finishing this in a weekend and/or hauling around in your tote isn't any more difficult than dealing with intense genital pain in the middle of South America.
Like anyone entering government work, J. Grigsby Crawford jumped head-first into his Peace Corps assignment with grandiose dreams of changing the world, one poverty-stricken village at a time. Initially put-off by the recruitment and training regimen, which used to be difficult but now more closely resembles grade school Field Day, Crawford ultimately follows through and asks for the most popular and widely-known (and most likely to lead to a high-level government job) assignment: remote South America. But upon his arrival, things are off to a very weird, very unpredictable start.
Although the population of the area he was supposed to be helping quickly rebutted him and put his life in danger on numerous occasions, Crawford never lost his desire for the dream. Working tirelessly to do something, he wound up making the most difference (mostly to himself) in only a short amount of time, and spent the rest worrying if he would live from one day to the next. His account isn't exactly what I would call a glowing recommendation for the Peace Corps, or any government-run agency.
As most of us do, I looked up to the Peace Corps as something I'd only ever aspire to be like. I put the organization and the people in it on a pedestal of greatness; stronger, more capable, and fearless than I ever could hope to be. I feel powerless without my high heels. While Crawford lived up to that embodiment, his account of the organization and its members is rather disappointing and frustrating.
An interesting story with twists and turns you don't see coming, The Gringo is more than just a memoir but a tale of survival, idiocy, hopes of changing the world, and just how difficult people can make that be. Written more like a working blog than a memoir, Crawford takes you along for the ride, random observations of human nature and the occasional swear word just in case his mother isn't reading included. He learned a lot during his travels abroad and we learned something from him thanks to his candor and unwillingness to sugar coat his experience. His ultimate feelings about what he was trying to accomplish were quite disappointing, but had it been us, we would have felt a lot worse.
A short, relatively uncomplicated read that flows more like a blog, finishing this in a weekend and/or hauling around in your tote isn't any more difficult than dealing with intense genital pain in the middle of South America.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Twenties Girl
I make no secret of how much I love Sophie Kinsella. Freshly on board the chick-lit train thanks to another one of my faves, Jennifer Weiner, I happened across Confessions of a Shopaholic back when I didn't have a husband or baby and could afford to be a shopaholic myself. Knowing me, really, how could I *not* have picked it up? I had found my literary soul-sister! And to my jubilation, other books with the same character and basic subplot soon followed (find my review of Mini Shopaholic HERE).
When I found other novels of her's - The Undomestic Goddess, Can You Keep A Secret?, Remember Me? - I was hesitant to be introduced to characters that weren't the lovable, relatable, irresistible Becky Bloomwood. Had I indulged my hesitation, I would have missed out on some very remarkable novels.
As much of a book-lover as I am, I don't keep up with the up-to-the-minute literary news. I'm often surprised to learn my favorite authors have many more books than I realized, Kinsella chief among them (and that's not counting the other names she writes under). First published in 2009, I snagged Twenties Girl a few years later as a paperback (can't stand reading hardcover but I'll take one for the team now and again), and included it in my must-read vacation-reads.
Coming off A Dog's Journey, I wanted something fun, frothy, ridiculous, but still incredibly endearing, and I found that all amongst the 400-ish pages of Kinsella's Twenties Girl. A young woman in her twenties, Lara, is befriended by an odd guest at her great-Aunt's funeral with a very interestingdemand request. Sucked into a world that is the past amongst the present, Lara and her friend become on odd match against the world but embody the promise that it is not what is outside that matters most, but what is on the inside. And that first impressions can be misleading.
Written with patented Kinsella charm, humor, empathy, and a real investment in the characters, Twenties Girl is a laugh-out-read that makes you wish the ridiculous story she weaves be even partly true. I was almost sad when it was over, wishing the misadventures of Lara and her world would never end. But Kinsella will no doubt create more fantastically interesting characters for me to get wrapped up in and I can't wait. (Remember Me? is calling to me from my bookshelf.)
When I found other novels of her's - The Undomestic Goddess, Can You Keep A Secret?, Remember Me? - I was hesitant to be introduced to characters that weren't the lovable, relatable, irresistible Becky Bloomwood. Had I indulged my hesitation, I would have missed out on some very remarkable novels.
As much of a book-lover as I am, I don't keep up with the up-to-the-minute literary news. I'm often surprised to learn my favorite authors have many more books than I realized, Kinsella chief among them (and that's not counting the other names she writes under). First published in 2009, I snagged Twenties Girl a few years later as a paperback (can't stand reading hardcover but I'll take one for the team now and again), and included it in my must-read vacation-reads.
Coming off A Dog's Journey, I wanted something fun, frothy, ridiculous, but still incredibly endearing, and I found that all amongst the 400-ish pages of Kinsella's Twenties Girl. A young woman in her twenties, Lara, is befriended by an odd guest at her great-Aunt's funeral with a very interesting
Written with patented Kinsella charm, humor, empathy, and a real investment in the characters, Twenties Girl is a laugh-out-read that makes you wish the ridiculous story she weaves be even partly true. I was almost sad when it was over, wishing the misadventures of Lara and her world would never end. But Kinsella will no doubt create more fantastically interesting characters for me to get wrapped up in and I can't wait. (Remember Me? is calling to me from my bookshelf.)
Monday, January 13, 2014
A Dog's Journey
I love animals but refuse to watch movies where they are the star (Milo & Otis, Homeward Bound, Marley and Me, Babe, etc.). Books are only slightly more tolerable and even then I approach them with extreme trepidation. But after finishing A Dog's Purpose, the pull to finish "Buddy's" story proved too much and I borrowed the sequel, A Dog's Journey from a friend. I still had to build up some emotional stamina, though, and it sat on my end-table for a good month before I even considered picking it up.
Having just come off my Summer of the Memoir, and not in a bury-your-nose-in-a-book kind of mood, I jumped back into fiction with the doozy of them all: Fifty Shades Darker. As my vacation approached, I only wanted to keep things light but still wanted to get A Dog's Journey back to my friend before the end of time. And I DID NOT want to be reading a dog book when I was thousands of miles from my own fur-beasts. I didn't have their comfort when I sobbing through the end of Marley and Me and I wasn't going to let that happen again.
It's a general rule that sequels are never as good as the original and, while enjoyable, A Dog's Journey, easily fell right into that category. True to its name, A Dog's Purpose tells the story of dog trying to find the meaning of his life and answer the question he's sick of asking: when will my purpose have been fulfilled? So, A Dog's Journey is just that: the journey of a dog who discovers his purpose.
In that same vein, A Dog's Journey is more of a story about the people in the dog's life rather than the dog itself, leaving me with the most important lesson of all: don't trust anyone who doesn't like dogs.
While not entirely heartbreaking as animal stories tend to be, a great deal of fun was missing from this book that was present in Purpose, and even Marley and Me, and replaced with a certain amount of anxiety, making this more of an emoti-read than it already is by nature. I did, however, manage to hold myself together until the very end.
While the characters, author, and reader got exactly what they wanted by the end, it came with some lingering questions for me. Having read the entirety of all his lives, the things he learned, the people he saved, the work he did, the love and companionship he provided, I still wasn't exactly clear on his purpose, or the reason his journey finally ended. Not to be a spoiler, perhaps it was just as a result of my own dimwittedness.
If you're me and only going to read one dog/animal book this year (although I doubt I'll even do that), I would suggest something other than A Dog's Journey. Its prequel is better, more heartwarming, light, and funny. But if I'm going to be honest and recommend a dog book, it's going to be Marley and Me. And, once again, don't waste your time with the movie.
Having just come off my Summer of the Memoir, and not in a bury-your-nose-in-a-book kind of mood, I jumped back into fiction with the doozy of them all: Fifty Shades Darker. As my vacation approached, I only wanted to keep things light but still wanted to get A Dog's Journey back to my friend before the end of time. And I DID NOT want to be reading a dog book when I was thousands of miles from my own fur-beasts. I didn't have their comfort when I sobbing through the end of Marley and Me and I wasn't going to let that happen again.
It's a general rule that sequels are never as good as the original and, while enjoyable, A Dog's Journey, easily fell right into that category. True to its name, A Dog's Purpose tells the story of dog trying to find the meaning of his life and answer the question he's sick of asking: when will my purpose have been fulfilled? So, A Dog's Journey is just that: the journey of a dog who discovers his purpose.
In that same vein, A Dog's Journey is more of a story about the people in the dog's life rather than the dog itself, leaving me with the most important lesson of all: don't trust anyone who doesn't like dogs.
While not entirely heartbreaking as animal stories tend to be, a great deal of fun was missing from this book that was present in Purpose, and even Marley and Me, and replaced with a certain amount of anxiety, making this more of an emoti-read than it already is by nature. I did, however, manage to hold myself together until the very end.
While the characters, author, and reader got exactly what they wanted by the end, it came with some lingering questions for me. Having read the entirety of all his lives, the things he learned, the people he saved, the work he did, the love and companionship he provided, I still wasn't exactly clear on his purpose, or the reason his journey finally ended. Not to be a spoiler, perhaps it was just as a result of my own dimwittedness.
If you're me and only going to read one dog/animal book this year (although I doubt I'll even do that), I would suggest something other than A Dog's Journey. Its prequel is better, more heartwarming, light, and funny. But if I'm going to be honest and recommend a dog book, it's going to be Marley and Me. And, once again, don't waste your time with the movie.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Wild
After finishing Amanda Knox's Waiting to be Heard, I was in the mood for more female empowerment and picked up Cheryl Strayed's Wild as my second in the Summer of the Memoir. Or, at least, what I thought would be female empowerment.
Don't get me wrong; there is no way I could have done what Strayed did. After the way her hike initially started, I would have bailed before I lost sight of the highway. Her's is a story of a lost woman thrown into yet more upheaval at the death of her mother. Desperate and destined to be alone, Strayed makes every effort to push the people who care about her as far away as possible. Then epitomizes the very definition of being alone by hiking through the wilderness - the Pacific Crest Trail, specifically - refusing any indication of togetherness, camaraderie, or, well, the opportunity to not be alone. But her trip has a purpose: the ever-cliched, "find herself," and rid herself of the demons that possess her to crave her solitary existence. Her's is a story built on the theme of being completely alone, highlighting both the benefits and terrible pitfalls, sometimes literally.
As readers, it's natural for us to place ourselves in the character's position and imagine what we would do, what decisions we'd make, if we were them. Especially if what we're reading is non-fiction. Had I been Strayed, the first thing I would have thought when considering this wilderness endeavor was, "What about all the freaks I'm going to meet along the way?" And then I probably would have scrapped the whole trip altogether. My friend read the book with me and we both wondered why she didn't think to bring a gun among her condoms and other relatively unnecessary items crammed in her pack. But what I ultimately really enjoyed about the story was that she didn't encounter any real freaks. There was the odd-ball here and there, but most everyone restored the human spirit that we'll help someone just because it's the right thing to do.
Strayed's adventure also proved that no matter how meticulous you plan your life or anything in it, it can be shot to shit in a matter of seconds (but anyone who's been pregnant and wanted a pickle only to see it come back 30 minutes later could tell you that). And that, ultimately, in this big, bad, world, no matter how much us humans try to convince each other it's the other way around, Mother Nature is what really rules this beast.
Of course, the story wouldn't have been interesting if everything had gone exactly as it should have. There were ups and downs, literally and figuratively, re-routes, no water where there should have been (I was genuinely scared at that point), misplaced trails (pretty scared during that, too), wild animals, and the ultimate fear and set-back of unpredictability.
I suggested this book as a summer-read to my book club the year before, touting it as a better, not-as-ridiculous option to Eat, Pray, Love, a memoir-turned-movie that was treated as the Bible for women. I thought it was good, but nothing as life-changing as my friends insisted. And I definitely didn't waste time seeing the movie. With that said, I definitely appreciated and enjoyed Wild more than Eat, Pray, Love and found it a lot more relatable even though both stories center around incredibly selfish people with self-destructive tendencies. But who can't relate to that? Perhaps Eat, Pray, Love is geared more towards the older generation, already settled but not wanting to be, while Wild is for those still young, unsure of what roads to take in life but it's either hike alone through the woods or eventually wind up in jail on drug charges.
Well written and succinctly told, Cheryl Strayed's Wild is definitely worth hauling in your tote, and something you'll polish off in a weekend. She takes you on her emotional and physical journey, leaving the reader feel as if they were walking beside her, feet-achingly exhausted but perhaps learning something about themselves along the way.
If you're going to read Strayed's adventure, and I highly recommend that you do, you better get on it as Hollywood has turned it into a movie, out sometime this year. I'm always a proponent of reading the book before seeing the movie (or, more often than not, *instead* of seeing the movie), but in this case I'm particularly worried about the story being made into some thriller-bordering-on-horror flick given the premise of the single, blond, white female in the woods alone. I shudder at the mere thought of what those "creative" types could come up with after the liberties Stanley Kubrick took with The Shining (nope, I'll never get over it). With Reese Witherspoon starring as Strayed, my hope is somewhat restored.
I don't remember if Strayed had decided to write the book of her hike before she embarked on it, or if it was something that came together later, but its existence highlights one major, underlying theme: you are never really alone.
Don't get me wrong; there is no way I could have done what Strayed did. After the way her hike initially started, I would have bailed before I lost sight of the highway. Her's is a story of a lost woman thrown into yet more upheaval at the death of her mother. Desperate and destined to be alone, Strayed makes every effort to push the people who care about her as far away as possible. Then epitomizes the very definition of being alone by hiking through the wilderness - the Pacific Crest Trail, specifically - refusing any indication of togetherness, camaraderie, or, well, the opportunity to not be alone. But her trip has a purpose: the ever-cliched, "find herself," and rid herself of the demons that possess her to crave her solitary existence. Her's is a story built on the theme of being completely alone, highlighting both the benefits and terrible pitfalls, sometimes literally.
As readers, it's natural for us to place ourselves in the character's position and imagine what we would do, what decisions we'd make, if we were them. Especially if what we're reading is non-fiction. Had I been Strayed, the first thing I would have thought when considering this wilderness endeavor was, "What about all the freaks I'm going to meet along the way?" And then I probably would have scrapped the whole trip altogether. My friend read the book with me and we both wondered why she didn't think to bring a gun among her condoms and other relatively unnecessary items crammed in her pack. But what I ultimately really enjoyed about the story was that she didn't encounter any real freaks. There was the odd-ball here and there, but most everyone restored the human spirit that we'll help someone just because it's the right thing to do.
Strayed's adventure also proved that no matter how meticulous you plan your life or anything in it, it can be shot to shit in a matter of seconds (but anyone who's been pregnant and wanted a pickle only to see it come back 30 minutes later could tell you that). And that, ultimately, in this big, bad, world, no matter how much us humans try to convince each other it's the other way around, Mother Nature is what really rules this beast.
Of course, the story wouldn't have been interesting if everything had gone exactly as it should have. There were ups and downs, literally and figuratively, re-routes, no water where there should have been (I was genuinely scared at that point), misplaced trails (pretty scared during that, too), wild animals, and the ultimate fear and set-back of unpredictability.
I suggested this book as a summer-read to my book club the year before, touting it as a better, not-as-ridiculous option to Eat, Pray, Love, a memoir-turned-movie that was treated as the Bible for women. I thought it was good, but nothing as life-changing as my friends insisted. And I definitely didn't waste time seeing the movie. With that said, I definitely appreciated and enjoyed Wild more than Eat, Pray, Love and found it a lot more relatable even though both stories center around incredibly selfish people with self-destructive tendencies. But who can't relate to that? Perhaps Eat, Pray, Love is geared more towards the older generation, already settled but not wanting to be, while Wild is for those still young, unsure of what roads to take in life but it's either hike alone through the woods or eventually wind up in jail on drug charges.
Well written and succinctly told, Cheryl Strayed's Wild is definitely worth hauling in your tote, and something you'll polish off in a weekend. She takes you on her emotional and physical journey, leaving the reader feel as if they were walking beside her, feet-achingly exhausted but perhaps learning something about themselves along the way.
If you're going to read Strayed's adventure, and I highly recommend that you do, you better get on it as Hollywood has turned it into a movie, out sometime this year. I'm always a proponent of reading the book before seeing the movie (or, more often than not, *instead* of seeing the movie), but in this case I'm particularly worried about the story being made into some thriller-bordering-on-horror flick given the premise of the single, blond, white female in the woods alone. I shudder at the mere thought of what those "creative" types could come up with after the liberties Stanley Kubrick took with The Shining (nope, I'll never get over it). With Reese Witherspoon starring as Strayed, my hope is somewhat restored.
I don't remember if Strayed had decided to write the book of her hike before she embarked on it, or if it was something that came together later, but its existence highlights one major, underlying theme: you are never really alone.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Waiting to be Heard
As the summer of 2013 approached, I came across an article on NPR Books that said this was to be the summer of reading memoirs. I was intrigued with the idea so I did just that, starting with Waiting to be Heard by Amanda Knox. Coincidentally, I picked it up right around the time it was announced they were going to re-try her in Italy for the murder of her British roommate several years ago.
I didn't follow much of the story as it was happening back in 2009, just aware of the minor points. My friend, Meredith (just a horrible coincidence that the victim was also named Meredith), followed the news a little more closely and told me the Italian police were saying it was some sort of sex-game-gone-wrong. My mind couldn't make the connection so I decided the best thing to do was read the story in her own words, what happened moment by moment from the person who was actually there living it. While an amazing story, and amazingly well-written, none of my questions were really answered. As it happened, though, that is the ultimate fault of the story, not the storyteller.
In all honesty, since we know the outcome to present day (closing arguments in the re-trial were completed before the holidays for a verdict early this year), reading this book can be quite difficult. So much so that Meredith (my friend, not the murdered girl) couldn't read it, knowing what she already does about the case. Personally, I couldn't put it down, waiting for that obvious link between mousy-girl-studying-abroad and sex-vixen-who-kills-for-pot.
Written remarkably well and shockingly honest, which became the deciding factor in voting for either this or Jenna Miscavige Hill's Beyond Belief in the goodreads.com awards, my mind boggled at how someone so smart and seemingly capable could be so naive and incredibly stupid. Several times you find yourself exclaiming out loud, "How could you be so stupid?!" And wanting to shake her by the shoulders. Entirely too trusting in foreign government built on hearsay and exaggerations, even as she is being locked up in prison, Knox is sure someone somewhere will realize this has all been a terrible mistake. Not old and experienced enough to understand the political puppet-show behind the scenes and the desperate need for a conviction, she waits....and waits....and waits....for someone to see, hear, and believe her side of the story to the extent that I don't think you could call what she did during her first trial "defending herself."
Convicted and processed in prison in a haze, Knox slowly begins to understand the forces around her and how she is the only one who can really help her. While being in an Italian prison isn't exactly the Four Seasons, Knox continues her education and builds her self-esteem to the extent that surely was a factor in powering her second trial acquittal.
Although the main purpose of this book was for Knox to tell the story in her own words, it also highlighted the incredible failings of a foreign government, particularly those towards their foreigners. This entire story has put a spotlight on the Italian judicial system and raises serious questions about their investigative practices. Particularly, why exactly is it so important Knox be convicted of having some role in the murder, even when scientific evidence proves otherwise? Is it just about saving face and not wanting to admit they were wrong?
Living back in Washington, and going to school to study creative writing, Knox now awaits the fate she's waited for twice already. As many failings as our own government and judicial system might have (*cough* Republicans), Amanda's story makes you thankful you live in the great U S of A. Just don't go to Perugia anytime soon.
I didn't follow much of the story as it was happening back in 2009, just aware of the minor points. My friend, Meredith (just a horrible coincidence that the victim was also named Meredith), followed the news a little more closely and told me the Italian police were saying it was some sort of sex-game-gone-wrong. My mind couldn't make the connection so I decided the best thing to do was read the story in her own words, what happened moment by moment from the person who was actually there living it. While an amazing story, and amazingly well-written, none of my questions were really answered. As it happened, though, that is the ultimate fault of the story, not the storyteller.
In all honesty, since we know the outcome to present day (closing arguments in the re-trial were completed before the holidays for a verdict early this year), reading this book can be quite difficult. So much so that Meredith (my friend, not the murdered girl) couldn't read it, knowing what she already does about the case. Personally, I couldn't put it down, waiting for that obvious link between mousy-girl-studying-abroad and sex-vixen-who-kills-for-pot.
Written remarkably well and shockingly honest, which became the deciding factor in voting for either this or Jenna Miscavige Hill's Beyond Belief in the goodreads.com awards, my mind boggled at how someone so smart and seemingly capable could be so naive and incredibly stupid. Several times you find yourself exclaiming out loud, "How could you be so stupid?!" And wanting to shake her by the shoulders. Entirely too trusting in foreign government built on hearsay and exaggerations, even as she is being locked up in prison, Knox is sure someone somewhere will realize this has all been a terrible mistake. Not old and experienced enough to understand the political puppet-show behind the scenes and the desperate need for a conviction, she waits....and waits....and waits....for someone to see, hear, and believe her side of the story to the extent that I don't think you could call what she did during her first trial "defending herself."
Convicted and processed in prison in a haze, Knox slowly begins to understand the forces around her and how she is the only one who can really help her. While being in an Italian prison isn't exactly the Four Seasons, Knox continues her education and builds her self-esteem to the extent that surely was a factor in powering her second trial acquittal.
Although the main purpose of this book was for Knox to tell the story in her own words, it also highlighted the incredible failings of a foreign government, particularly those towards their foreigners. This entire story has put a spotlight on the Italian judicial system and raises serious questions about their investigative practices. Particularly, why exactly is it so important Knox be convicted of having some role in the murder, even when scientific evidence proves otherwise? Is it just about saving face and not wanting to admit they were wrong?
Living back in Washington, and going to school to study creative writing, Knox now awaits the fate she's waited for twice already. As many failings as our own government and judicial system might have (*cough* Republicans), Amanda's story makes you thankful you live in the great U S of A. Just don't go to Perugia anytime soon.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Doctor Sleep
Everything of pop culture that I enjoy has inevitably come directly from from pop-culture and Stephen King's The Shining was no different. I started watching Melrose Place on DVD in my mid-twenties after the iconic Seinfeld episode, and I decided to read The Shining after it was the only book Friends' Joey Tribiani would actually read (I tried to read Little Women too, but that didn't work out so well).
Almost ten years later and thoughts of The Shining still give me the creeps. I can't remember anything other than the general plot-line, and the movie forever tarnished the book for me as a "good one," but I still think it is a must-read. I didn't know King was releasing a sequel until about a week before, and while I've never been excited about a book release (Harry Potter doesn't count, of course), the news of this made me excited in the way you are to go on roller coasters. I didn't remember most of The Shining and that was written over 30 years ago; only God and Mr. King knew what could possibly be in...Doctor Sleep.
Danny, being too smart and too experienced for his young age with a mother who was too naive and too inexperienced for her age, didn't have the best childhood. His horrific history in Colorado combined with a family history of alcoholism didn't line him up for the best of opportunities, either. Running from town-to-town, bottle-to-bottle, the now-middle-aged Dan searches for a place he can call home. Far-removed from the horrors of Colorado, in a small, Norman-Rockwell, New-England town, Dan begins to make a life for himself that just happens to include being able to do the same....uh....tricks he was able to do when he was younger. Only now he's not alone.
A young girl with talents similar to Danny is wanted by sub-human, literal soul-suckers (there are a lot of those in Colorado) and the only person who can really help her is Dan. This, of course, means facing evils he's spent his entire life running from and drowning in liquor. But the question isn't if he'll save her but how.
Given that King isn't the first author on my reading list, his books are always a bit of a surprise. I don't remember what I was expecting from The Shining, but there are parts of it that I still don't understand. Ten years and a lot of read-books later and what I expected from Doctor Sleep was not to understand everything. Probably the biggest thing I don't understand with authors like King, Martin, and Tolkien is the extent of their imagination and the expert way they are able to weave together stories to make one fantastic tapestry of story-telling. So many times I had to put Doctor Sleep down so my heart could quit racing and let my brain digest everything. Reading like part diary, part novel, part AA pamphlet, King's latest scare-fest is something you can't put down and could conceivably finish in a weekend if you're ambitious.
I'm not a fan of being scared. I've hated Halloween most of my life, and horror movies have grown largely distasteful after they turned into the exploitation of the worst of the human race instead of creating monsters that could never actually exist. King expertly delivers both. Doctor Sleep creates the monsters from under your bed but has them prey on the fears and evils of the human condition. And I'm not sure about King's other books, but in this read, one bad-ass literary hero emerges and that is always a bonus.
Abra Stone is the only other person in the world who knows what it's like to be Daniel Torrance. Plagued by the same...shining...we go along for the ride as she is born, lives, "meets" Dan, and battles to keep her life from ending before hitting her teens. And all the while I'm reading her journey, my friend's question of If You Could Be Any Female Character from a Book, Who Would You Be? kept running through my mind. While I don't think I'd change my answer from Hermione to Abra, I think they are one in the same: problem-solvers, smart, brave, kind, true, and strong. But of course Hermione still wins because she ends up married to Ron Weasely in the end.
Other Doctor Sleep reviews prohibit reading The Shining first, obviously mistaking it for the Robert Langdon trilogy of Dan Brown, a case in which I adamantly suggest reading The DaVinci Code before Angels and Demons as the latter will literally give you nightmares. But I think reading The Shining first is imperative to really understanding Dan, how Abra and him are so inexplicably linked, how they're able to fight the ultimate fight, and in being able to comprehend the importance of certain characters who only make small appearances but huge impacts to the story.
Doctor Sleep truly is a remarkable story and King is nothing short of a miraculous storyteller. Weaving factual information with personal experience and the ultimate imagination results in a book you sort of float through; you're not consciously aware of picking up the book and reading but all of a sudden you're on page 400. If there is one thing that plagues me, it is that there is one main question left, if not unanswered, largely assumed. Given it took 30 years for the sequel, I highly doubt a third book to accompany The Shining, so that can't be the reason, in which case I will assume what I can only assume the author wanted me to assume.
That point aside, Doctor Sleep is definitely worth a haul in your tote and highly recommended. Score another one for pop culture!
Almost ten years later and thoughts of The Shining still give me the creeps. I can't remember anything other than the general plot-line, and the movie forever tarnished the book for me as a "good one," but I still think it is a must-read. I didn't know King was releasing a sequel until about a week before, and while I've never been excited about a book release (Harry Potter doesn't count, of course), the news of this made me excited in the way you are to go on roller coasters. I didn't remember most of The Shining and that was written over 30 years ago; only God and Mr. King knew what could possibly be in...Doctor Sleep.
Danny, being too smart and too experienced for his young age with a mother who was too naive and too inexperienced for her age, didn't have the best childhood. His horrific history in Colorado combined with a family history of alcoholism didn't line him up for the best of opportunities, either. Running from town-to-town, bottle-to-bottle, the now-middle-aged Dan searches for a place he can call home. Far-removed from the horrors of Colorado, in a small, Norman-Rockwell, New-England town, Dan begins to make a life for himself that just happens to include being able to do the same....uh....tricks he was able to do when he was younger. Only now he's not alone.
A young girl with talents similar to Danny is wanted by sub-human, literal soul-suckers (there are a lot of those in Colorado) and the only person who can really help her is Dan. This, of course, means facing evils he's spent his entire life running from and drowning in liquor. But the question isn't if he'll save her but how.
Given that King isn't the first author on my reading list, his books are always a bit of a surprise. I don't remember what I was expecting from The Shining, but there are parts of it that I still don't understand. Ten years and a lot of read-books later and what I expected from Doctor Sleep was not to understand everything. Probably the biggest thing I don't understand with authors like King, Martin, and Tolkien is the extent of their imagination and the expert way they are able to weave together stories to make one fantastic tapestry of story-telling. So many times I had to put Doctor Sleep down so my heart could quit racing and let my brain digest everything. Reading like part diary, part novel, part AA pamphlet, King's latest scare-fest is something you can't put down and could conceivably finish in a weekend if you're ambitious.
I'm not a fan of being scared. I've hated Halloween most of my life, and horror movies have grown largely distasteful after they turned into the exploitation of the worst of the human race instead of creating monsters that could never actually exist. King expertly delivers both. Doctor Sleep creates the monsters from under your bed but has them prey on the fears and evils of the human condition. And I'm not sure about King's other books, but in this read, one bad-ass literary hero emerges and that is always a bonus.
Abra Stone is the only other person in the world who knows what it's like to be Daniel Torrance. Plagued by the same...shining...we go along for the ride as she is born, lives, "meets" Dan, and battles to keep her life from ending before hitting her teens. And all the while I'm reading her journey, my friend's question of If You Could Be Any Female Character from a Book, Who Would You Be? kept running through my mind. While I don't think I'd change my answer from Hermione to Abra, I think they are one in the same: problem-solvers, smart, brave, kind, true, and strong. But of course Hermione still wins because she ends up married to Ron Weasely in the end.
Other Doctor Sleep reviews prohibit reading The Shining first, obviously mistaking it for the Robert Langdon trilogy of Dan Brown, a case in which I adamantly suggest reading The DaVinci Code before Angels and Demons as the latter will literally give you nightmares. But I think reading The Shining first is imperative to really understanding Dan, how Abra and him are so inexplicably linked, how they're able to fight the ultimate fight, and in being able to comprehend the importance of certain characters who only make small appearances but huge impacts to the story.
Doctor Sleep truly is a remarkable story and King is nothing short of a miraculous storyteller. Weaving factual information with personal experience and the ultimate imagination results in a book you sort of float through; you're not consciously aware of picking up the book and reading but all of a sudden you're on page 400. If there is one thing that plagues me, it is that there is one main question left, if not unanswered, largely assumed. Given it took 30 years for the sequel, I highly doubt a third book to accompany The Shining, so that can't be the reason, in which case I will assume what I can only assume the author wanted me to assume.
That point aside, Doctor Sleep is definitely worth a haul in your tote and highly recommended. Score another one for pop culture!
(The creepy starts about page 4 but the cover gets things going well enough.)
Sunday, October 13, 2013
The Prince of Mist
Our book club is back from summer-break and starting things off with a bang with Carlos Ruiz Zafron's The Prince of Mist. He is apparently well-known in the Young Adult genre - which is what this is classified as - as well as the adult market. His hopes, as he states in a letter to the reader, is that there will be a cross-over for fans, that young and old alike will appreciate all of his writing.
This month's book-picker has read Zafron before and loved it. While I didn't particularly "love" this, it kept me entertained while I read, spooked me to an appropriate degree (I usually hate being scared), and was well-written. It was also a short read so I was surprised I didn't finish it in a weekend; it actually took me quite awhile to complete this book.
The writing was a tad juvenile but I can hardly fault a Young Adult novel for that. Max Carver, the son of a watchmaker in the 40's, is suddenly moved with his family from the city to a remote beach that holds a lot of dark secrets. In a spooky tale that combines sunken ships, haunting spirits, crazy, unexplainable occurrences, creepy clowns and circus freaks, strange symbols, and the appropriate degree of drama and tragedy, The Prince of Mist is perfect for stormy, beach summer nights, or now - as Halloween stalks eerily closer.
While I found the story entertaining, it wasn't something that hooked me or even really sunk into my brain. Some books you read and feel like you're living them. I've even been so involved in books that I've dreamt them. The Prince of Mist wasn't like that. After picking up the book from the previous day, I'd have completely forgotten what happened and have to read the previous page to get my brain caught up. So when I'd look at the book, I wouldn't think, oh I have to find out what happens to this character. I'd think, I have no idea what is going on in this book right now.
I don't know if that speaks more to the book or my roller-coaster book-reading; sometimes I can't read enough books; sometimes I'm just not into it and would rather devour magazines and online articles instead.
The Prince of Mist doesn't take much effort, but it is ultimately worth it (there are few things I read that I think *aren't* worth it), and if you have the time, it is something that could conceivably be finished in a weekend. And - most important - it will definitely fit in your tote. It's a great book to ask to borrow from your kids when they're done.
This month's book-picker has read Zafron before and loved it. While I didn't particularly "love" this, it kept me entertained while I read, spooked me to an appropriate degree (I usually hate being scared), and was well-written. It was also a short read so I was surprised I didn't finish it in a weekend; it actually took me quite awhile to complete this book.
The writing was a tad juvenile but I can hardly fault a Young Adult novel for that. Max Carver, the son of a watchmaker in the 40's, is suddenly moved with his family from the city to a remote beach that holds a lot of dark secrets. In a spooky tale that combines sunken ships, haunting spirits, crazy, unexplainable occurrences, creepy clowns and circus freaks, strange symbols, and the appropriate degree of drama and tragedy, The Prince of Mist is perfect for stormy, beach summer nights, or now - as Halloween stalks eerily closer.
While I found the story entertaining, it wasn't something that hooked me or even really sunk into my brain. Some books you read and feel like you're living them. I've even been so involved in books that I've dreamt them. The Prince of Mist wasn't like that. After picking up the book from the previous day, I'd have completely forgotten what happened and have to read the previous page to get my brain caught up. So when I'd look at the book, I wouldn't think, oh I have to find out what happens to this character. I'd think, I have no idea what is going on in this book right now.
I don't know if that speaks more to the book or my roller-coaster book-reading; sometimes I can't read enough books; sometimes I'm just not into it and would rather devour magazines and online articles instead.
The Prince of Mist doesn't take much effort, but it is ultimately worth it (there are few things I read that I think *aren't* worth it), and if you have the time, it is something that could conceivably be finished in a weekend. And - most important - it will definitely fit in your tote. It's a great book to ask to borrow from your kids when they're done.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Mini Shopaholic
I know you're not supposed to judge a book by it's cover (then why do they try so hard to make them pretty, I ask you?!), but since shopping is in my blood, I instantly gravitated towards Sophie Kinsella's Confessions of a Shopaholic. Then leaped for joy when I learned it was a series. And even more when I learned the series would continue (this discovery was many years back so *sigh* Mini Shopaholic is the final book in the series. I did tweet Kinsella begging for a Shopaholic Takes Hollywood but have yet to hear back. Fingers crossed!)
So then I guess I don't need to tell you, I love these books. But more so, I love Sophie Kinsella. A British charmer with a quick wit and the vital talent of putting said wit to paper and have it properly translate. One of my goodreads friends gave her a bad review and I was offended! Her books are laugh-out-loud funny, endearing, intelligent, dramatic, fun, and completely worth the effort (unlike Outlander but don't even get me started on that hot mess).
We pick up shortly where Shopaholic and Sister leaves off, with Luke and Becky Brandon living with her parents while they try to find a suitable home for them and Minnie, their precocious two-year old. I'd say spoiled, but Becky's parenting skills aren't what's being reviewed, here...
In the midst of deal after deal falling through, for one unimaginable reason or another, a national financial crisis leaves Becky feeling like the fate of the economy is on her shoulders when she's probably the only one supporting it. While laughing at the ridiculousness that is her and her life, you can't help but like her, feel like she was the best friend you never had, understand the euphoric ecstasy that comes with shopping, and might even be compelled to do a little shopping yourself. She is assertive and stands up for herself, while also reminding us readers why it pays to be nice to everyone all the time no matter what.
No, the subject matter doesn't make you squirm for the sake of art; the climax of the story was Becky spending an obscene amount of money when the entire series was based on one question: will Becky finally get her financial life under control? The answer: no! And that's ok because we love Becky and everything about her. And no one can say she didn't help the economy.
Any of Kinsella's Shopaholic series - or The Undomestic Goddess, Can You Keep A Secret?, Twenties Girl, Remember Me?, or any of the litany of books she has published - is worth a haul in your tote, but it probably won't be there for long. I blew through these books because they're fun, funny, and surprisingly down to earth. Kinsella - as usual - gives us a sparkly, designer life-raft to survive the dark, deep ocean that is made up of the critically-acclaimed uber-dramas. I hope Kinsella never stops writing.
So then I guess I don't need to tell you, I love these books. But more so, I love Sophie Kinsella. A British charmer with a quick wit and the vital talent of putting said wit to paper and have it properly translate. One of my goodreads friends gave her a bad review and I was offended! Her books are laugh-out-loud funny, endearing, intelligent, dramatic, fun, and completely worth the effort (unlike Outlander but don't even get me started on that hot mess).
We pick up shortly where Shopaholic and Sister leaves off, with Luke and Becky Brandon living with her parents while they try to find a suitable home for them and Minnie, their precocious two-year old. I'd say spoiled, but Becky's parenting skills aren't what's being reviewed, here...
In the midst of deal after deal falling through, for one unimaginable reason or another, a national financial crisis leaves Becky feeling like the fate of the economy is on her shoulders when she's probably the only one supporting it. While laughing at the ridiculousness that is her and her life, you can't help but like her, feel like she was the best friend you never had, understand the euphoric ecstasy that comes with shopping, and might even be compelled to do a little shopping yourself. She is assertive and stands up for herself, while also reminding us readers why it pays to be nice to everyone all the time no matter what.
No, the subject matter doesn't make you squirm for the sake of art; the climax of the story was Becky spending an obscene amount of money when the entire series was based on one question: will Becky finally get her financial life under control? The answer: no! And that's ok because we love Becky and everything about her. And no one can say she didn't help the economy.
Any of Kinsella's Shopaholic series - or The Undomestic Goddess, Can You Keep A Secret?, Twenties Girl, Remember Me?, or any of the litany of books she has published - is worth a haul in your tote, but it probably won't be there for long. I blew through these books because they're fun, funny, and surprisingly down to earth. Kinsella - as usual - gives us a sparkly, designer life-raft to survive the dark, deep ocean that is made up of the critically-acclaimed uber-dramas. I hope Kinsella never stops writing.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
A Dog's Purpose
What is a dog's purpose? Not *the* dog's purpose, but this specific dog's purpose? Like, your dog? What is his purpose in his life, a considerably shorter one than we'll hopefully enjoy? Is it just to be a human companion? To save people in every definition of the word? What about a dog who doesn't enjoy the comforts of domesticity? What purpose do the stray dogs have? In W. Bruce Cameron's A Dog's Purpose, one such dog - yes, dog - grapples with all of these questions and more as he moves through, experiences, and loves and hates various different lives.
As a puppy - and as he continues to grow, die, and be reborn a new puppy - his instincts are sharp, the most pointed towards humans; responding to them, reacting to them, obeying them, and feeding off the emotions of them. He knows right off that man trumps all other Top Dogs in his makeshift packs, that his life is completely dependent upon how his owner wants it to be; and he's ok with that, relishes it and even craves it.
"He" has various names as he navigates the very different aspects of each of his lives. He is given names and accepts them wholeheartedly but, interestingly enough, is very particular about who he chooses to attach himself too. Some extra scrutiny pointed towards my own dogs and I notice this is very much the same - other people just don't matter.
But once he leaves his most favorite person of all, he's frustrated and confused to learn that taking care of him hadn't been his ultimate purpose. What was it?! And if his life is supposed to have purpose, why did he come back only to have lives that seemingly had no purpose?
Over the span of several lifetimes - some short, some long - he experiences a wide range of the dog-life spectrum, from puppy-hood, to the family dog, to the working dog, stray dog, forgotten dog, neglected dog, abandoned dog, traveling dog, but always a good dog. He always remembered his previous lives, and the lives before that, often drawing on experiences from each to roll him into one extraordinary dog (clearly my own fur-babies are on their first life).
Research was done, and while the book isn't anything scientific, it does offer some enlightenment and heartfelt appreciation for those pooches we do make as family. And it's interesting to see some of Cameron's simply-described, yet incredibly vivid scenes play out in my own dogs, being aware of them taking their cues from our emotions, observing when they know they need to stay close as opposed to wandering more freely, and noticing when each sticks to the respective person they've deemed "theirs" (I type this as the dog I had before getting married lays at my feet).
Written simply, as though written by a dog, I often found myself needing to be reminded that it was actually written by a human. And then there were other instances where it was clearly written by a human who didn't think very highly of cats (or horses). As appropriately stated on the front cover by the author of The Color Purple, "I laughed and smiled and cried," sometimes all at the same time.
So while The Art of Racing in the Rain focused on the Mongolian belief that dogs are reborn as humans, A Dog's Purpose operates on the idea of reincarnation until their purpose is satisfied, reminiscent of what little I know of Hindu theology that a person will continue to come back and live until they have lived a "good" life. This book makes me wonder if my childhood Golden Retriever, Sam, might someday make it back to me.
As Buddy, he finally, heartbreakingly understands his purpose and is ready for peace. But his work might not be over yet....
I wasn't aware of the sequel until writing that last sentence so the sudden, rough ending of A Dog's Purpose is now understandable. Written as if Cameron wasn't sure a sequel would follow, the end is an abrupt, ragged, everything-wrapped-up-in-a-tear-stained-bow ending without really explaining why.
I emotionally rated this book on goodreads.com five stars out of five after it was the only book I actually cried after finishing as opposed to while I was finishing. After calming down and considering the blunt - dare I say, forced - ending, I'd change it to four out of five. While this read is completely worth the time and effort, and worth hauling around in your tote, animal stories - particularly dog stories - always come with a certain trepidation. Being written from the dog's perspective can ease that as well as make it worse, depending on the circumstance. Do I really want to know how he feels being dropped off at the shelter? While at the same time, appreciating his lack of understanding when he just *has* to be in the bedroom during "adult wrestling," Cameron expertly dancing between the two.
All in all, A Dog's Purpose is a great book, worth the time, and one of those rare specimens that leaves you a little altered afterward. And it's like my dogs knew I was reading about them or something, as they seem to appreciate me just a little more, too. But maybe that is just their purpose.
As a puppy - and as he continues to grow, die, and be reborn a new puppy - his instincts are sharp, the most pointed towards humans; responding to them, reacting to them, obeying them, and feeding off the emotions of them. He knows right off that man trumps all other Top Dogs in his makeshift packs, that his life is completely dependent upon how his owner wants it to be; and he's ok with that, relishes it and even craves it.
"He" has various names as he navigates the very different aspects of each of his lives. He is given names and accepts them wholeheartedly but, interestingly enough, is very particular about who he chooses to attach himself too. Some extra scrutiny pointed towards my own dogs and I notice this is very much the same - other people just don't matter.
But once he leaves his most favorite person of all, he's frustrated and confused to learn that taking care of him hadn't been his ultimate purpose. What was it?! And if his life is supposed to have purpose, why did he come back only to have lives that seemingly had no purpose?
Over the span of several lifetimes - some short, some long - he experiences a wide range of the dog-life spectrum, from puppy-hood, to the family dog, to the working dog, stray dog, forgotten dog, neglected dog, abandoned dog, traveling dog, but always a good dog. He always remembered his previous lives, and the lives before that, often drawing on experiences from each to roll him into one extraordinary dog (clearly my own fur-babies are on their first life).
Research was done, and while the book isn't anything scientific, it does offer some enlightenment and heartfelt appreciation for those pooches we do make as family. And it's interesting to see some of Cameron's simply-described, yet incredibly vivid scenes play out in my own dogs, being aware of them taking their cues from our emotions, observing when they know they need to stay close as opposed to wandering more freely, and noticing when each sticks to the respective person they've deemed "theirs" (I type this as the dog I had before getting married lays at my feet).
Written simply, as though written by a dog, I often found myself needing to be reminded that it was actually written by a human. And then there were other instances where it was clearly written by a human who didn't think very highly of cats (or horses). As appropriately stated on the front cover by the author of The Color Purple, "I laughed and smiled and cried," sometimes all at the same time.
So while The Art of Racing in the Rain focused on the Mongolian belief that dogs are reborn as humans, A Dog's Purpose operates on the idea of reincarnation until their purpose is satisfied, reminiscent of what little I know of Hindu theology that a person will continue to come back and live until they have lived a "good" life. This book makes me wonder if my childhood Golden Retriever, Sam, might someday make it back to me.
As Buddy, he finally, heartbreakingly understands his purpose and is ready for peace. But his work might not be over yet....
I wasn't aware of the sequel until writing that last sentence so the sudden, rough ending of A Dog's Purpose is now understandable. Written as if Cameron wasn't sure a sequel would follow, the end is an abrupt, ragged, everything-wrapped-up-in-a-tear-stained-bow ending without really explaining why.
I emotionally rated this book on goodreads.com five stars out of five after it was the only book I actually cried after finishing as opposed to while I was finishing. After calming down and considering the blunt - dare I say, forced - ending, I'd change it to four out of five. While this read is completely worth the time and effort, and worth hauling around in your tote, animal stories - particularly dog stories - always come with a certain trepidation. Being written from the dog's perspective can ease that as well as make it worse, depending on the circumstance. Do I really want to know how he feels being dropped off at the shelter? While at the same time, appreciating his lack of understanding when he just *has* to be in the bedroom during "adult wrestling," Cameron expertly dancing between the two.
All in all, A Dog's Purpose is a great book, worth the time, and one of those rare specimens that leaves you a little altered afterward. And it's like my dogs knew I was reading about them or something, as they seem to appreciate me just a little more, too. But maybe that is just their purpose.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Goodnight Nobody
After perusing Goodreads.com, I briefly considered making this summer the Summer of Weiner (as in, Jennifer). There is quite the long list of hers I've not read or even heard of so I'm sure they'll wind up on a summer reading list at some point.
I brought few books with me on vacation to Arizona and Mexico because I'm literally the last person on earth not to have an e-reading device (when I made an effort to pay close attention, I noticed I was the only one around me in airplanes holding a physical book). Being in the middle of Gone Girl, I knew I would want my next read to be something that would suck me in and make me laugh. Weiner did not disappoint. Just as I suspected with The Guy Not Taken: Stories, Weiner really shines in the 350+-page novel category.
As a full-time working mom, Goodnight Nobody is a story of what I want to be, but is also a frightening portrayal of what some fear of becoming. And, of course, working or stay-at-home, discovering a murdered neighbor isn't high on my priority list.
Kate Klein is what she refers to herself as an "accidental mother of three." With her husband gone a lot, she spends a lot of her time with arts n' crafts, frozen, microwavable food, board games, and at least one trip to the playground a day that usually ends up leaving Kate frustrated with her apparent ineptitude at parenting according to the suburban, Stepford, super-moms. But one of those super-mom ends up dead, Kate being the one and only to stumble upon her body, and the only one with the resources to solve the crime. What ultimately ends up happening is that the world is just too damn small, something everyone everywhere can relate to.
Once again, Weiner delivers a witty, intelligent, funny, dramatic, and intriguing novel with great mystery and the obligatory twist. It was a great beach n' travel book, totally worth hauling in your beach tote (no doubt you've downsized to a clutch for summer). The cast of characters keeps you involved, constantly wanting more, and liking them even though you probably shouldn't; just like Miss Klein, herself.
Glad to check off another one of hers as read.
I brought few books with me on vacation to Arizona and Mexico because I'm literally the last person on earth not to have an e-reading device (when I made an effort to pay close attention, I noticed I was the only one around me in airplanes holding a physical book). Being in the middle of Gone Girl, I knew I would want my next read to be something that would suck me in and make me laugh. Weiner did not disappoint. Just as I suspected with The Guy Not Taken: Stories, Weiner really shines in the 350+-page novel category.
As a full-time working mom, Goodnight Nobody is a story of what I want to be, but is also a frightening portrayal of what some fear of becoming. And, of course, working or stay-at-home, discovering a murdered neighbor isn't high on my priority list.
Kate Klein is what she refers to herself as an "accidental mother of three." With her husband gone a lot, she spends a lot of her time with arts n' crafts, frozen, microwavable food, board games, and at least one trip to the playground a day that usually ends up leaving Kate frustrated with her apparent ineptitude at parenting according to the suburban, Stepford, super-moms. But one of those super-mom ends up dead, Kate being the one and only to stumble upon her body, and the only one with the resources to solve the crime. What ultimately ends up happening is that the world is just too damn small, something everyone everywhere can relate to.
Once again, Weiner delivers a witty, intelligent, funny, dramatic, and intriguing novel with great mystery and the obligatory twist. It was a great beach n' travel book, totally worth hauling in your beach tote (no doubt you've downsized to a clutch for summer). The cast of characters keeps you involved, constantly wanting more, and liking them even though you probably shouldn't; just like Miss Klein, herself.
Glad to check off another one of hers as read.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Gone Girl
So I took a bit of a detour from Jennifer Weiner's The Guy Not Taken: Stories and Goodnight Nobody with a returning author, Gillian Flynn and her incredibly disturbing Gone Girl. I read her Sharp Objects for book club and was thoroughly creeped; most of the scenes left me feeling like Flynn could use a nice long stay in a pysch ward. And I have to admit, had I read Gone Girl first, I think I would have "accidentally forgotten" to read Sharp Objects. For the losers who didn't read the book that month, we filled them in and it was enough to detour them from ever reading it.
Flynn writes the story we've seen a million times splattered over the news - wife disappears, husband is the prime suspect, and his strange behavior isn't helping matters. But the vivid, creative, every-detail-thought-of way she tells the story can only lead me to assume she's thought about unfolding this scenario before.
Flynn leads you on a wild chase of you knowing who did it, not being entirely sure who did it, wondering who actually did do it, and all the while in the back of your mind thinking what you do when it's a news story: was anything actually done or is it like that story of the bride who staged her own kidnapping? You never actually know until you do, and then you're even more disturbed than before.
This book is a definite beach-read and something you'll get sucked into and feel slightly dirty by. I lent it to my coworker and it was the first and only book we actually discussed (besides the quality of the bodice-ripper I gave her as a joke for Christmas).
I said before that Sharp Objects was fuuuuuucccckkkeeedd up and I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Gone Girl is fuuuuuucccckkkkkeedddd up to the second power. She has another book floating around the book-o-sphere and I might be compelled to read it in the future. But I say that more so because I would never close myself off to reading something. At least now I know that when I feel that draw, I will be reading some seriously disturbing shit. I mean, I knew Gone Girl was going to be similar in disturbing nature as Sharp Objects but now I'm like that puppy who's been bopped one too many times.
Flynn writes the story we've seen a million times splattered over the news - wife disappears, husband is the prime suspect, and his strange behavior isn't helping matters. But the vivid, creative, every-detail-thought-of way she tells the story can only lead me to assume she's thought about unfolding this scenario before.
Flynn leads you on a wild chase of you knowing who did it, not being entirely sure who did it, wondering who actually did do it, and all the while in the back of your mind thinking what you do when it's a news story: was anything actually done or is it like that story of the bride who staged her own kidnapping? You never actually know until you do, and then you're even more disturbed than before.
This book is a definite beach-read and something you'll get sucked into and feel slightly dirty by. I lent it to my coworker and it was the first and only book we actually discussed (besides the quality of the bodice-ripper I gave her as a joke for Christmas).
I said before that Sharp Objects was fuuuuuucccckkkeeedd up and I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Gone Girl is fuuuuuucccckkkkkeedddd up to the second power. She has another book floating around the book-o-sphere and I might be compelled to read it in the future. But I say that more so because I would never close myself off to reading something. At least now I know that when I feel that draw, I will be reading some seriously disturbing shit. I mean, I knew Gone Girl was going to be similar in disturbing nature as Sharp Objects but now I'm like that puppy who's been bopped one too many times.
Friday, July 5, 2013
The Guy Not Taken: Stories
I decided it had been far too long since I'd read a Jennifer Weiner book and when I found some time in between book club reads, but not enough to start and finish an entire book, I picked up The Guy Not Taken: Stories, a book of short - you guessed it - stories packed with the wit, charm, empathy, and great sense of humor that I've come to expect from Weiner, and why she is one of my favorite authors with Sophie Kinsella (Shopaholic and Baby got me through some very rough bouts of morning sickness. And she had a girl, too!! And, no, I've never seen the movie,. I've seen parts and know the plot and I think their depiction is a complete travesty.).
Weiner expertly walks the line - if one even exists between the two - between chick-lit and what book-snobs would consider respectable literature. Her stories, long or short, deliver laughs, sympathy, drama, romance, and a certain serious nature that results in you pondering long after you've read the acknowledgment (because you know you read every last page). The first few stories, for instance, center around a family that has suddenly split apart and the consequences - good and bad - are revealed. And even if we aren't going through something similar ourselves, we still find ourselves being able to relate in some fashion.
While I don't envision ever being detoured from reading one of Weiner's books, I do have to admit that I enjoyed the book less as I neared the end. I'm not exactly sure what the last story - about an elderly woman taken hostage and forced to vacation by two young teenagers - is trying to convey, it just sort of left me feeling depressed. I found myself surprised at this, but it made me want to get back to reading one of her novels, where I really thinks she really shines (she does write incredibly funny Tweets about The Bachelor and Bachelorette, but because I can't watch live with her and I don't want to spoil it for myself, I avoid her Tweets like the plague).
So I picked up Goodnight Nobody.
Weiner expertly walks the line - if one even exists between the two - between chick-lit and what book-snobs would consider respectable literature. Her stories, long or short, deliver laughs, sympathy, drama, romance, and a certain serious nature that results in you pondering long after you've read the acknowledgment (because you know you read every last page). The first few stories, for instance, center around a family that has suddenly split apart and the consequences - good and bad - are revealed. And even if we aren't going through something similar ourselves, we still find ourselves being able to relate in some fashion.
While I don't envision ever being detoured from reading one of Weiner's books, I do have to admit that I enjoyed the book less as I neared the end. I'm not exactly sure what the last story - about an elderly woman taken hostage and forced to vacation by two young teenagers - is trying to convey, it just sort of left me feeling depressed. I found myself surprised at this, but it made me want to get back to reading one of her novels, where I really thinks she really shines (she does write incredibly funny Tweets about The Bachelor and Bachelorette, but because I can't watch live with her and I don't want to spoil it for myself, I avoid her Tweets like the plague).
So I picked up Goodnight Nobody.
Mockingjay
Suzanne Collins' Mockingjay was one of the first books I read this year, and I think I waited so long to review it because I have absolutely no idea where to begin.
To say this series blew me a way is an understatement. And don't even get me started on how it's classified as a YOUNG ADULT series. I mean, seriously?!
I'm ashamed to admit that I actually forgot I hadn't finished the Hunger Games series until something unmemorable triggered my mom-brain memory (as in, I have none), and Mer gasped and said, "You still haven't read that?! I'm bringing my book over right now so you can finish it. The third is absolutely my favorite." And she wasn't wrong; in my book of books, the final installment of the Hunger Games was absolutely the best, most worth the effort, and second easiest to plow through behind the first. Finally, everything I had hoped for in the first and expected in the second, was finally happening in the third.
Completely unaware of the goings-on behind the scenes, Katniss miraculously escapes her second Hunger Games on the side of the "good guys." Or did she...? Peeta has been captured by the Capitol to be used as a pawn in these larger-than-the-Hunger-Games games, and Gale is weird and distant, a far cry from the one person she could count on and trust. Expecting and motivated to hit the front lines of the now-emerged civil war, Katniss' role in the unrest is largely trophy-ish, a symbol used by the rebels to remember what they're fighting for. As the reader, I had hoped for more scenes from the fighting but that doesn't mean everything Katniss was up to wasn't heart-palpitating and breath-taking and, well, game-changing.
Reading this reminded me a lot of what Mer said about Game of Thrones; the good guys are the bad guys, the bad guys are the good guys, and you never know which is which, even as the story nears a dramatic and horrifying end. If nothing else, this story shines a bright light on the inter workings of war, the evil that is at the heart, and the coming together of people who believe they deserve better for themselves. And, if nothing else, provides a clear warning message for our future.
In general, stories of the post-apocalyptic nature provide us with a waning self-assurance of, that will never happen to us/our country/our world. But I firmly believe the Hunger Games provides more of a foreshadowing then we care to admit, taking into account the large consumption of reality TV we can't steer clear of, and the large degree of human suffering we find it easy to turn our heads away from. The way our current media sensationalizes every gruesome crime is the major foundation to our own Hunger Games, I just hope we never start to fear our power-hungry government more than we hate them.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Beyond Belief: My Secret Life Inside Scientology and My Harrowing Escape
From the very first paragraph, nothing more aptly describes
Jenna Miscavige Hill’s Beyond Belief:My Secret Life Inside Scientology and My Harrowing Escape than “beyond belief.”
Growing up in the throes of Scientology, first as an outsider then as a full-fledged participant as her parents got more immersed in the “religion,” Hill’s experience was confusing, contemplative, mysterious, and anxiety-ridden all rolled in to one, which, excuse me if I’m wrong, isn’t supposed to be the epitome of religious epicenters as it so claims. As a disclaimer, I warn you my review is biased and largely tainted by my new-found Scientology education and I could very possibly come across hostile and I completely mean to.
Jenna’s life started as most of ours do – school, friends, chores, relatively stable home-life with most of the activities and minutia we civilians – or Wogs as we’re referred to by Scientologists – take for granted. Her grandfather played a prominent role in the founding of Scientology, thereby forcing his son, Jenna’s father, into the organization. Generally against it, Jenna and her siblings began their childhood, like I said, as most do. At some point, however, her father decided Scientology was the way to go and packed up the family to live in what I can only describe as a very underdeveloped compound.
Separated from her family for extended periods of time, only getting to see her parents at most an hour each week, Jenna’s “schooling” consisted of learning via memorization of L. Ron Hubbard’s “teachings,” emotion control, and manual labor to restore “The Ranch,” a California desert expanse of dilapidated buildings that was to one day be a major hub of Scientology.
Predominantly reminding me of a very brief reality show in which kids lived in a replicated old Western town and we got to watch what would happen if the world was left up to children, adults were often absent from The Ranch, but neither adults or fellow children could be trusted. As part of the higher class of the "church," Jenna was constantly scrutinized, monitored, questioned, and even punished for indiscretions she was often completely unaware of.
Hill explained early on the the founders of Scientology learned they could be an organization without religious affiliation and avoid some such tax law, but what the public is actually funding is nothing more than a cult. With no god(s), idols, deities, prayers, ceremonies, or anything involving anything spiritual, how exactly does it fall under the religious umbrella?
Operating on a belief of sort-of reincarnation, Scientology is based largely on the amount of control we have over ourselves and emotions; thus more supernatural than spiritual, as supposed previous lives are thrown into the mix. Scientology is of a fundamentalist nature based largely on the treatment of their members and the lengths they'll go to avoid scandal.
It's a benefit to the book that the baseline story is interesting as the writing would have caused me to put it down barely a third of the way into it. Written accompanied by another author, it is definitely obvious who wrote what.
The content alone is enough to keep you reading. But it's frustrating at times, hard to witness Jenna's treatment then subsequent devotion to to a group who didn't want to keep her but couldn't get rid of her and ultimately didn't know what to do with her. More than one thing will boggle your mind as you have this front-row seat to the largest (at least one of?) government subsidized cult.
Growing up in the throes of Scientology, first as an outsider then as a full-fledged participant as her parents got more immersed in the “religion,” Hill’s experience was confusing, contemplative, mysterious, and anxiety-ridden all rolled in to one, which, excuse me if I’m wrong, isn’t supposed to be the epitome of religious epicenters as it so claims. As a disclaimer, I warn you my review is biased and largely tainted by my new-found Scientology education and I could very possibly come across hostile and I completely mean to.
Jenna’s life started as most of ours do – school, friends, chores, relatively stable home-life with most of the activities and minutia we civilians – or Wogs as we’re referred to by Scientologists – take for granted. Her grandfather played a prominent role in the founding of Scientology, thereby forcing his son, Jenna’s father, into the organization. Generally against it, Jenna and her siblings began their childhood, like I said, as most do. At some point, however, her father decided Scientology was the way to go and packed up the family to live in what I can only describe as a very underdeveloped compound.
Separated from her family for extended periods of time, only getting to see her parents at most an hour each week, Jenna’s “schooling” consisted of learning via memorization of L. Ron Hubbard’s “teachings,” emotion control, and manual labor to restore “The Ranch,” a California desert expanse of dilapidated buildings that was to one day be a major hub of Scientology.
Predominantly reminding me of a very brief reality show in which kids lived in a replicated old Western town and we got to watch what would happen if the world was left up to children, adults were often absent from The Ranch, but neither adults or fellow children could be trusted. As part of the higher class of the "church," Jenna was constantly scrutinized, monitored, questioned, and even punished for indiscretions she was often completely unaware of.
Hill explained early on the the founders of Scientology learned they could be an organization without religious affiliation and avoid some such tax law, but what the public is actually funding is nothing more than a cult. With no god(s), idols, deities, prayers, ceremonies, or anything involving anything spiritual, how exactly does it fall under the religious umbrella?
Operating on a belief of sort-of reincarnation, Scientology is based largely on the amount of control we have over ourselves and emotions; thus more supernatural than spiritual, as supposed previous lives are thrown into the mix. Scientology is of a fundamentalist nature based largely on the treatment of their members and the lengths they'll go to avoid scandal.
It's a benefit to the book that the baseline story is interesting as the writing would have caused me to put it down barely a third of the way into it. Written accompanied by another author, it is definitely obvious who wrote what.
The content alone is enough to keep you reading. But it's frustrating at times, hard to witness Jenna's treatment then subsequent devotion to to a group who didn't want to keep her but couldn't get rid of her and ultimately didn't know what to do with her. More than one thing will boggle your mind as you have this front-row seat to the largest (at least one of?) government subsidized cult.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Sharp Objects
There was a lot of chatter about Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl within the book club and - as I later realized - all over the non-literary world (not book-snobs, just people who can appreciate a good book). My friend - you all know and love her - Mer, read it and after reading a few chapters of Sharp Objects, decided Flynn needed serious psychological help. As most of the group had read Gone Girl, we opted to read Sharp Objects, which was equally dark and disturbing, but lacked Gone Girl's humor so the reader just ended up feeling...violated...by the end.
Don't get me wrong, Sharp Objects is such an amazing story that Flynn should be praised for her creativity by the best of mental health professionals as she's strapped so a bed in a padded room (ok, I'm slightly biased since I have also read Gone Girl). We follow a woman, Camille, who is fresh out from just some situation because she was addicted to cutting herself; although not in the traditional way. Her obsession was of a different nature that also happened to correspond with her career as a reporter.
As her first assignment, she is to return to her hometown and cover the murders of two pre-teen girls. That means, of course, confronting the demons of her own past. One such demon in human form is her half-sister, who is the very definition of creepy.
Like most whodunits you've read, the killer seems obvious, but - as you also know - things aren't always that simple. The beauty of Flynn's storytelling, though, is that she's able to plot the most basic of stories - by that I mean a lack of overly dramatic emotion - with incredible intricacies, complexities, and - naturally - the creepy twist you never saw coming.
It is definitely a book you can read in a weekend, but you may need to put it down every once in awhile just to reassure yourself you don't live in this perpetually-grey world Flynn has made so vivid. I'll be honest - I felt taxed.
Don't get me wrong, Sharp Objects is such an amazing story that Flynn should be praised for her creativity by the best of mental health professionals as she's strapped so a bed in a padded room (ok, I'm slightly biased since I have also read Gone Girl). We follow a woman, Camille, who is fresh out from just some situation because she was addicted to cutting herself; although not in the traditional way. Her obsession was of a different nature that also happened to correspond with her career as a reporter.
As her first assignment, she is to return to her hometown and cover the murders of two pre-teen girls. That means, of course, confronting the demons of her own past. One such demon in human form is her half-sister, who is the very definition of creepy.
Like most whodunits you've read, the killer seems obvious, but - as you also know - things aren't always that simple. The beauty of Flynn's storytelling, though, is that she's able to plot the most basic of stories - by that I mean a lack of overly dramatic emotion - with incredible intricacies, complexities, and - naturally - the creepy twist you never saw coming.
It is definitely a book you can read in a weekend, but you may need to put it down every once in awhile just to reassure yourself you don't live in this perpetually-grey world Flynn has made so vivid. I'll be honest - I felt taxed.
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