On another note...

We had guests over the other night.  After lots of delicious food at Christmas, I wanted to lighten things up.  I made a Peasant Vegetable Soup (and when I defined "peasant" for my daughter, she said..we aren't poor, are we?  Those pesky nuances!)  and some No-Knead Bread with a tossed salad.  Hit the spot perfectly.  

And this wouldn't be a blog about books if I didn't mention the two cookBOOKS I rescued those recipes from.  The first one, The Silver Palate, by Sheila Lukins and Barbara Russo (I have the old edition) is full of the best kind of recipes.  And, numerous reviewers claim it is the only cookbook you need.  Beware:  lots of ingredients, lots of chopping but...that equals homecooked food better than pretty much any run of the mill restaurant around.   

The other cookbook was one I received for my birthday from my sis.  My Bread:  The Revolutionary, No Work, No Knead Method by Jim Lahey and Rick Flaste.  All I need say is, remarkable.  

You don't need, of course, to buy the cookbook, there are lots of good recipes online.

Eat up.

To loose the chains of injustice... The Help by Kate Stockett

"Is this not the kind of fasting I have chosen:  to loose the 

chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, 

to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?"  

Isaiah 58:6

Last year, my oldest daughter read a book about the sit-ins that occured during the Civil Rights Movement in the 1960's.  She was telling me about the book she read (can't remember the name) and I thought immediately that while her interest was still peaked, she should try to contact an old friend of mine whose father participated in some sit-ins in North Carolina.  I wanted her to talk to a real, live person who participated in the history changing events of that time.  To make a long story short, George, my friend's father, contacted her and here is an excerpt of the note that he wrote:

Dear _____ ,

I was 20 years old, from Georgia, and, like everyone I knew, believed black people and white people should be separate in every way.  No one had ever told me any differently.  In those days, black people were not allowed to eat, or play, or go to movies, or, really, do anything with white people.  Then, one day, I saw something on TV that made me think.  It was something that happened in Greensboro, NC, just a short way from where I (and, many years later, your mommy) went to college.  Some black college students had gone into a store that had a lunch counter, had sat at the counter, ordered food, been refused and told to leave, and had refused to leave--just sat there!  I saw it on the news.  They interviewed one of the black students, who said something that changed my mind--and, really, my life.  He said, "I can shop at any counter in Greensboro, by the lunch counter.  When I get hungry, I have to go back to the black neighborhood to eat.  That isn't fair."  Listening to him, I had to admit that it wasn't fair, and began to think about it.  

Next day in my philosophy class at Wake Forest, we talked about that, and I thought about it some more.  A few days later I saw one of the people from that class, and he was all dressed up.  I asked why, and he said, "We're going to meet some black students, and do what they did in Greensboro.  Want to go?"  It sounded exciting to me, so I said yes, got dressed up too, and went.  After I got downtown, where we were to meet the black students, I realized I'd never really known a black person who was like me before.  So this was a big deal for me.  We met the black students, and paired up.  My partner was named, Skeet Diggs.  It was scary, but exciting, to meet somebody so different, but, really very much like me.  So we went to the store with the lunch counter.  As soon as we entered, the manager came out and closed the store (because there were black people there).  So we went to another store.  There, they'd called the police, who were waiting for us.  

The policeman said we had to leave, or be arrested.  We didn't leave, and got arrested.  Over the next few months, people all over the South did the same thing we'd done, got arrested, and got people thinking.  Within a year, all the lunch counters in the South were desegregated--which means, black people could eat there.

It was very scary to be involved in that.  I never thought I'd be arrested by the police for anything.  I'm not sure I understood what I was doing at the time, but people who did understand, and who got arrested for reasons like that, did so because they believed that the law itself was unjust, and that it should not be obeyed--in this case, the law that allowed  lunch counters to decide that only white people could eat there.

_____, I'm very proud of you for being interested in this.  You will probably be in situations where you will be told, by older people, by friends, or, even, by the law, to do something you know is wrong--or not do something you know is right.  I'll bet you will be brave, and do what you know is right, whatever the risk or the cost.

Needless to say, this note to my daughter was more inspirational and real than any story could ever be.  

Reading The Help by Kathryn Stockett inspired me even more.  The story is written in the voices of two black maids to Jackson, Mississippi families and one white young woman who endeavors to write their stories during the 1960's.  I don't think I am giving anything at all away when I say that the book is filled with the kind of tension and intrigue akin to stories of Jewish resistence in Nazi Germany.  The story is fiction, but for all intents and purposes, it is real.  

Stockett manages skillfully and respectfully to tell the stories of personal injustice that many of us would rather not think about really happened in the not too distant past...in our own country.  The book so captures the wide reaching effects of prejudice on a community, on a nation and on individual men and women, both white and black.  It also highlights the bravery of a few individuals who risk everything for simple freedoms and relationships.  

As my friend, George, so skillfully wrote in his letter to my daughter, one person can make a difference, one person's bravery does move mountains...as a matter of fact, it is only one person that each of us can account for...ourselves.  

This story made me ponder what injustice I am willing to overlook, what wrong do I turn away from without thinking, and how can I open my eyes and begin to see what just me, one person, can do to loose the chains of injustice.

I cannot recommend this book enough.  I am incredulous to the fact that I know many many people who were young adults during the events of the Civil rights movement, and yet, I had heard so little about it growing up.  What we now take for granted (a societal disdain for prejudice) was once completely accepted and expected.  Prejudice is insidious, it exists in the minds and hearts of unknowing people.  The reality is we ought to know, we ought to consider how everyday actions reinforce situations in which people needlessly are diminished.  

"Let us not become weary of doing good, for at the proper

time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up."  The Apostle Paul

Half Broke Horses, by Jeannette Walls

"Sometimes, after I finished a particularly good book, I had the urge to get the library card, find out who else had read the book, and track them down to talk about it."

-Half Broke Horses, by Jeannette Walls, page 90

Pumpkin's in the oven making the smells that remind me of the busy week ahead.  So, to start it off, I think I must write about my latest book.  I just finished it a few days ago, so it is hot off the press, so to speak.

The quote above pretty much sums up my feelings when it comes to reading a good book.  I just have this urge to sit down and chew the fat with some other person who read what I just read and needs to process like I do all the thoughts, emotions and reactions I had to said book.  I am, when I am being honest, slightly disappointed in how many people in my life just aren't readers.  Different strokes for different folks, I know, but for goodness sake, talking about a good book is such a bonding experience.  It is like a window into another's soul. 

On that note, Jeannette Walls' second book is a lot like her first (The Glass Castle).  It is another story of passionate human spirit and in a way, a deep look at her own DNA.  And it is fascinating.  While The Glass Castle is the memoir of her own childhood, she names Half Broke Horses "a true life novel" about the life of her tough, hardworking, no nonsense grandmother, Lily Casey.  And here's the thing I loved:  it is Lily under the microscope, warts and all...yet, and for me the thing I love most about Wall's writing, there is a deep admiration for this woman which is balanced with a healthy look at her faults.  For instance, she pulls herself up by her bootstraps, makes her way up from almost no formal education to becoming a passionate teacher during the depression (performing almost a miracle in schedule juggling to get her degree at one point) yet, she can be mean...really mean, exacting corporal punishment on her daughter which really goes too far.  

This is a reminder to look at the whole person.  The sum of the parts is what elicits admiration, not the isolated incidents of human failings.  Wouldn't we all wish to have that gracious gift given to us?  To excuse the disappointing moments in favor of the beautiful composite.  

I recently went to the Guggenheim to see the most recent exhibit (on Kandinsky).  I noticed that the visitors there stood back as far as they could in order to study the works, only a very few got up close.  Actually, those who got too close, were shooed away by the museum guards.   You were SUPPOSED to stand away from the painting to take it all in, the purpose was the whole thing, not one part over another.  It was the whole painting that was the masterpiece. 

   

Kandinsky, Improvisation 28, 1912

After I read The Glass Castle, I was amazed at Walls' ability to take pretty much a story of an awful life, with looney parents and seemingly hopeless circumstances and imbue it with a sense of pride and loyalty in those parents and circumstances.  Don't get me wrong, when she writes in Half Broke Horses about her grandmother, she doesn't gloss over those bad decisions, but calls it like it is:  the good with the bad, and if I may extend the analogy even further, paints the whole picture.  

Well written, interesting and inspiring...what more could you want from a good story?  Now, I just have to hunt down someone else who's read it!

A Couple More Books about Food/Cooking

I must be hungry.

The Man Who Ate Everything and It Must Have Been Something I Ate by Jeffrey Steingarten are both intriguing reads that have the added bonus of making you a whiz at food trivia.  What a deal!  I learned about how to make my own dog food, which bottled water tastes best (you'll just have to read the book to find out), why raw milk cheese is banned in the United States (and why he thinks that is ridiculous) and probably one of the biggest standouts:  Mr. Steingarten's pursuit of blood sausage.  I'll bet you just can't wait to read that!!

Also, I really have liked reading Ruth Reichl's books.  Ms. Reichl was the editor at Gourmet magazine for a while, and needless to say, a pretty influential force in the food world.  I have read Tender at the Bone which I liked best (the story of her childhood and entry into the food world) and also Garlic and Sapphires during which she writes about her time as a food critic for the New York Times.  

Scientific study has shown that reading about food is significantly less filling than eating food.  Although the dog ate my daughter's school book last week and he might beg to differ.

Joan of Arc by Mark Twain

"Consider this unique and imposing distinction.  Since the writing of human history began, Joan of Arc is the only person, of either sex, who has ever held supreme command of the military forces of a nation at the age of seventeen."  -Louis Kossuth 

The book that I have been reading since I started writing this blog (maybe even before I started) is Joan of Arc.  It took me, I am sheepishly admitting, TWO months to read this book.  I know, I know, that might not be a long time for a busy mom who barely can get her act together each day, so I should seriously cut myself a break.  However, there are some books that feel as though you strap on wings and fly through,  and then there are books that when reading feel like you have strapped on leaden boots and you slowly plod your way through page by page.  Now, that may not sound like a ringing endorsement of a book, but let me just clarify by saying that sometimes books are meant to be savored and Joan of Arc is absolutely one of them.  

First of all, I think many people are not familiar with Joan of Arc's story.  I know I wasn't.  I mean I knew something about her burning at the stake and being a war hero and all, but that is about it.  My husband read this book a few years ago and was completely shocked that I wouldn't have snatched it from his still gripped hands and read it myself.  He couldn't stop reading it, which is about the best recommendation I could ever give a book. I don't know why I didn't want to read it right away...maybe I don't like receiving advice (I HAVE been told that before... those dang advice givers), or maybe I just was reading quicker reads all along and this one felt daunting.  I mean I know next to nothing about French history, French geography or French warfare.  And that was probably the biggest hinderance while reading the book.  It needed a map somewhere in it, and maybe a timeline of the 100 years war also would have been helpful.  But, who am I to criticize the great writer, Mark Twain.

Did you just read that??  Mark Twain, THE Mark Twain wrote this book (there are many other books written about Joan, but this is the one I read) and he considered it his greatest work.  He researched this book for 12 years and wrote it for two.  Sadly, I don't think it got a lot of critical acclaim.  But, for those familiar with Huck Finn, Twain's style is evident in the writing and story telling and it makes it an extremely human story rather than a high brow examination of this great war hero.  The narrator in the story is a fictional page and secretary of Joan's, and his voice is warm and comfortable, like a good friend.  He mixes his admiration for Joan with Huck Finnesque stories of her simple background, her simple life, and her loving friends and family.

If even 10% of the story were accurate about Joan, it still would be absolutely amazing and only explained by Divine intervention.  She was born into poverty, unschooled and unassuming.  She rises from obscurity after hearing "voices" that command her to rise up and lead the army of France to victory over the British and the coronation of its King.  And she is darn good at it, too.  "The veteran captains of the armies of France said she was great in war in all ways, but greatest of all in her genius for posting and handling artillery." (p. 233)  Utterly amazing was her unquestioning confidence in her task and even more amazing was her ability to complete it. The narrator then goes on to ask, 

"Who taught the shepherd girl to do these marvels---she who

could not read, and had had no opportunity to study the com-

plex arts of war?  I do not know any way to solve such a baffling 

riddle as that, there being no precedent for it, nothing in history

to compare it with and examine it by."  (p. 233)

Of  course, no one but Joan believed she could lead an army and more than that, curiously, her detractors thought she was possessed by demons.  She endured time after time examinations in front of the most prestigious church leaders of France who questioned this country bumpkin and initially finding nothing wrong with her, figured they had nothing to lose, let her try to rescue the forlorn France.  And, guess what, she did it.  

"Now came the ignorant country maid out of her remote 

village and confronted this hoary war, this all-consuming

conflagration that had swept the land for three generations.  

Then began the briefest and most amazing campaign that is 

recorded in history.  In seven weeks she hopelessly crippled 

that gigantic war that was ninety-one years old." (p. 252)

And then, (I don't think I am giving anything away here) the King she brought to power and the military she led to victory turned their backs on her.  "And for all reward, the French King, whom she had crowned, stood supine and indifferent, while French priests took the noble child, the most innocent, the most lovely, the most adorable the ages have produced, and burned her alive at the stake." (p. 21)  She was left accused of heresy and sentenced to die.  Joan of Arc never once questioned herself or her objective, she only viewed herself as a willing servant of God, and obedience to his call was all she ever desired.  She says at her trial, "'I was commanded of God, and it was right to go [to the wars]!'" (p. 366)  She remained committed to this call, to the end.

This is a remarkable story of a remarkable person.  We live in a world of self-gratification, and to read of a person who is wholly committed to "other" is refreshing and inspiring.  I found myself thinking about my own motives based solely at times on my own comfort, my own interest, my own desires and here in vivid contrast is a historical figure who defies explanation. To quote again the narrator, who speaks so clearly in Twain's characteristic voice, "I came to comprehend and recognize [Joan of Arc] at last for what she was--the most noble life that was ever born into this world save only One." (p. 28) Enough said.  

I woke up late this morning thinking about a poem I fell in love with as a young girl (probably about 13 years old).  It was a simple poem by A.A. Milne of Winnie the Pooh fame and I remember distinctly reading it at a children's museum here in Minneapolis that was doing a exhibit on children's authors.  The poem is from his collection, Now We are Six, and its title is "Buttercup Days."  (you can find the poem online).  Some people can smell an aroma and have it transport them to some happy time or place, for me, that poem has a metaphorical aroma.  It reminds me of simple childhood pleasures. Take away the accoutrement of the culture around us and the child's life is one of beauty, love and hope.  That is that poem for me. 

 I feel so lucky to have grown up loving books and writing.

I want my children to grow up loving reading as much as I do.  Not because there is something innately better about being a reader, but really I do believe that life can be better when your moments are couched in thoughts garnered from a good well-written story or poetry. A good story can do that to a young mind, never mind those pitiful bratty stories of children who yet again hate their parents (who are dumb, anyway) and who only find happiness in escaping to a boyfriend/girlfriend, popularity in school, or getting into trouble because they are troubled. You know the story line.   Good lists of kids books by age are easy to find at bookstores or online.  Here are some of my children's favorites (ages 4, 6, 8, and 10):

All:  

The Borrowers by Mary Norton

Mary Poppins by P.L. Travers

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl

Treasures in the Snow by Patricia St. John

10 year old 

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh by Robert C. O'Brien

The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster and Jules Feiffer

A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle

Once Upon a Marigold by Jean Ferris

The Penderwicks by Jeanne Birdsall

8 year old 

The Little House on the Prairie Series by Laura Ingalls Wilder

The Secret Schoolhouse by Avi

Sarah, Plain and Tall by Patricia MacLachlan

Caddie Woodlawn by Carol Ryrie Brink

The Secret Garden by Francis Hodgson Burnett

The Trumpet of the Swan by E.B. White

6 year old

The House at Pooh Corner by A.A. Milne (read to she and her sister)

Nate the Great series by Marjorie Weinman Sharmat and Marc Simont

Start by picking a book to read aloud to your kids, you won't regret it.  

To train the Dog

Since there are currently only about 5 (and that may be overestimating) people reading this little thing, I don't think I run the risk of offending too many by mentioning the brain candy I ingested this summer during our family fishing trip to Northern Minnesota.  

I only call the Cesar Milan's Be the Pack Leader:  Use Cesar's Way to Transform Your Dog...and Your Life brain candy because it was 1.  a quick read (I read it in a day and a half of fishing...the walleye thank me because that meant I wasn't catching them) and 2. it was pop psychology that was fun to read, if not apply.  I would never knock a book by the great Dog Transformer; that guy knows his stuff!  Our fishing guide, Chris, has trained dogs for many years, and wanted me to read it so we could talk about it.  (He has given me many books over the years, we share a love of reading, he in his backwoods home and me in the chaos of four kids and a dog).  We just got a new little puppy ourselves after our yellow lab was put to sleep about a year ago.  The puppy is so much more work than I thought he would be!  I don't know why we got another one, maybe because I was begging for an

other dog...oh yeah, that's right.  What was I thinking?  Anyway, so far, I haven't been able to apply Cesar's leadership advice to our puppy because 1.  He is a puppy and 2.  He is a puppy.   At this point, I am just trying to wait out the days until he calms down and listens to me.  Whoa, that is the same thing I am waiting for with the children.   I'll let you know how it goes.

The takeaway for me in this book is about being assertive both with your dog and with your life.  Not the bulldozing, steamrolling assertiveness, but rather what Cesar calls calm-assertiveness.  It is, of course, good advice.  Remaining calm and standing firm are pretty much what anyone would aspire to; that it works in leading your dogs is the spin that Cesar puts on it.  

Training dogs (and humans) essentially boils down to discipline and commitment.  Probably the two words that get the most bad press in the world.  That is why there is a market for a book like this.  Happy training.

Hey, Sis.

If you are reading this, sister of mine.  I've got two recommendations for you.

First, Alias Grace, by Margaret Atwood.  A friend of mine sent this book to me as a gift a few years ago and I was hesitant to read it because I had read The Handmaid's Tale when I was in high school and had disliked it very much (why I would ever rely on some impression I had of something in high school is beyond me).  In short, Alias Grace is the story of a servant woman who was implicated in a murder of her employer in Canada in 1843, based on a true story.  It was like one of those 20/20 shows, in a way, really it is left up to the reader as to whether she did it or not.  While I don't remember which way I ended up leaning, I do remember that I felt like I really got to know personally this accused woman and sort of understood why she would have done it.  I was captured up in the story and still even now I will have flashbacks to events in the story, it was so very well done.  I think it either won or was nominated for the Booker Prize.  Right after I read this book, I went immediately on a Atwood bender and picked up The Blind Assassin, which was almost as good.  I think I may need to revisit Atwood and read Oryx and Crake or probably The Robber Bride would be better since Oryx and Crake has been compared to that darn Handmaid's Tale.

Secondly, have you read The Good Earth yet?  Can I recommend this book enough?  I know I have already talked about it in this blog (not that anyone has read enough of it to notice the double rec.).  But, seriously, I just used an example from this book when talking to my husband last night!  And...I read it four years ago.  The book's got staying power.   Also, Pearl S. Buck wrote quite a few novels, none as lauded, as far as I know as Good Earth.  One of my dinner club pals gave me Pavilion of Women and I read that shortly after.  Which was pretty good and very very interesting.  According to Wikipedia, Pearl S. Buck was the first American woman to be awarded the Nobel Prize in literature (for The Good Earth) yet because she was raised in China (as a daughter of missionaries, as I recall), she is claimed as a Chinese author in China.  Hey, I'd claim her too, if I could.  Both books are illuminating stories of life in China.  Need I say more?  I read The Good Earth in the hospital pretty much right after giving birth to my third child.  I couldn't put it down.  It is the story of a hard scrabble life, met with the stoicism and pride of a Chinese family, their eventual rise to position and the thundering drum beat approaching of the coming revolution.  I learned so much about the beauty and honor that imbue Chinese culture, and yet was struck at how relationships transcend culture and I ached when they suffered and was ecstatic when they faced hard-won success.  Read it please at least some day so we can talk about it.  

That's all for now, I can't wait to hear what you think.

Who doesn't love food?

Okay, someone may say that food is only fuel, but really, eating is pretty enjoyable, no one can deny it.

The United States of Arugula by David Kamp is subtitled The Sun-dried, Cold-Pressed, Dark-Roasted, Extra Virgin Story of the American Food Revolution, and metaphorically speaking, I ate it up.  It was delicious.  If you care or not about cooking, even if you don't care about what you eat, the characters and stories of cooking in America were full of intrigue and surprise.  From the introduction it reads, "There are so many plots and subplots to the American-food saga, such a wealth of characters, that this book could potentially be several books, a multivolume epic of Proustian length." (p. xvii)  Who knew?

For those who thought that the recently lauded "Julie and Julia" movie whetted their appetite for cooking, buckle in, this book will take you on a delightfully filling ride.  

Bon Appetit!

Book that haunts me

Every once in a while a book haunts me.  Images and scenes come floating back into my everyday life.  While I am walking the dog, or driving the kids to school or just falling asleep at night, I will think again about a story line of a book I read long ago.  That is part of the reason I love wandering the library or bookstore, I find myself reminiscing over books like old friends.  There is a book that has been haunting me lately.  

I hate to say it, but I sort of cry a lot when I watch TV.  If someone wins a race/prize, if someone has a proud moment and of course the sad moments, they all just tear me up.  Is it because I am a mom and am trying all day long to keep it together?  Probably.  Who knows. When all the kiddos are in bed, I sometimes turn on some program and more often than not, I have tears running down my cheeks.  Okay, the other night, I flipped on The Biggest Loser and I still can't think about it because I might just cry right now and the kids are home from school and need me to not lose it just at the moment.  A woman on the show had lost her husband and two small children in a car accident and it was all I could do to hear her talk about not fearing death anymore through my sobs.  I'll probably never forget what she said.  

Well, there was a book I read that had the same effect on me:  Same Kind of Different as Me by Ron Hall and Denver Moore (with someone else, can't remember).  I guess it isn't a good recommendation to imply that if one reads a book they will be emotionally drained and out of kleenex all at the same time, but there you go.  Sometimes, just sometimes, it is cathartic to climb that emotional mountain and ruminate over sadness in life.  I once had a professor in college who wisely reminded me that if it wasn't for the darkness in life, we wouldn't know where the light was, nor would we appreciate it.  This book is about a homeless man and a successful art dealer whose paths cross, and whose lives radically change because of the selfless wife of this art dealer.  It is a true story, it is an amazing story.  Even if you don't have the faith this woman possess, you would be a cold person to not fall in love with her compassion.  This is a book that made me ponder what I say I believe vs. what I do about it.  

Life can be magnificent and grand and lovely and painful and lonely and terrible all at once.  Can we reasonably manage all this?  Can we find hope in the midst of the pain?  Ron Hall's and Denver Moore's story elevated the deepest of pain to amazing heights.  I think I may not ever forget their story either.

The book at Costco

Everyone I know was reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert a couple of years ago.  It was a hit and everyone I know either loved her self-exploration or  just viewed the book as grandiose self-glorification.  Well, I was definitely in camp #2; just not my gig.  The whole story left me feeling a little sorry for her.  So, you can imagine my surprise when collecting the usual 5 tons of crackers, asparagus, grape juice and other assorted items at Costco, I was instantly drawn to a book on the gargantuan pile in the middle of the store.  It was by Elizabeth Gilbert!  

I am a sucker for good titles and The Last American Man sounded just up my alley.  Why? Who knows.  It says on the cover that this book is "the finest examination of American masculinity and wilderness since Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild."  Be still my beating heart.  I LOVED Into the Wild, so I was sold.  I even recommended it to a woman in line behind me at the checkout sans examination.  So, I actually wasn't allowed to not like it, not allowed by my own self, of course (my own worst critic: hard to please, and perpetually complaining about something).  

Anyway, the book.  Eustace Conway is a real live man, still living in Western North Carolina, and is the subject of this book.  He is a self-taught naturalist (to put it mildly), a highly driven man and a genius self-promoter.  Elizabeth Gilbert makes a thorough examination of both the psychological drive of this unique and intriguing man, and at the same time a thought-provoking look at American male culture.  This is not a man-bashing book.  It is thoughtful and quite revealing.  She does an amazing job of depicting the complexities, inner conflicts and inspirations of Eustace while shedding light on the culture (both external and internal) that have created people like him.  

Eustace Conway left home at the age of 14 to live in the wilderness and has really never gone back.  He is an expert at blacksmithing, farming, husbandry, and botany; just to name a few.  He hiked the Appalachian Trail surviving off the food he scavenged, rode a horse from the Atlantic to the Pacific at mock-speed, built up a camp of acres upon acres of prime western North Carolina mountain property to train future naturalists by an uncanny genius for business, and yet he is handicapped by both his anachronistic beliefs of the "outside" world and his own unbending perfectionism.   His mission is to get people to realize that (to paraphase him) we are "sleeping in a box, eating out of a box, driving to our job in a box, working in a box that is called a cubicle, etc"...without ever interacting and enjoying this amazing, beautiful, life-giving planet we live on.  Not a shabby message, and truly, Eustace is just the guy to deliver this message.  He certainly walks his talk.  Elizabeth Gilbert actually knows Eustace, and she interviews his family members, his friends, former lovers and interns from his camp, Turtle Island.  Between her personal interactions with him and her interviews with others, she paints a vibrant picture of what makes this man tick.  

There are actually at least a couple of people in my life that I have known that remind me of Eustace.  However, while there are elements of this pioneer ideal in some of these guys, some serious ingredients are missing.  There's the one who has all the big talk of living off the land down pat, yet doesn't have more than a days worth of manual labor under his belt.  He would just fall in love with the land in the mountains, the plowing by oxen, the encyclopedic knowledge of flora and fauna...Eustace, if this guy knew him, would be his hero.  This same guy would last about 2 nanoseconds on Eustace's team.  That's just the thing, the amazing thing is, that there are a lot of people out there (both men and women) who think they are living like Eustace, but I would venture to guess he is actually the only one.  Which is pretty impressive but that is also the thing that is quite frustrating to Eustace.  He doesn't get why there is NO ONE out there who can just live like him.

There is also the other one I know who just wanted once to hear from their parents that they were proud of them.  I don't know if Eustace would have been as dedicated and successful if he had had his dad's approval.  In a funny way, it was his own father's lack of approval that created in Eustace the need for unwavering perfectionism.  But, it sure stinks if your own parents don't even seem to notice your accomplishments.  It is certainly still what is driving Eustace today.  

Lots to ponder, and that is what makes it good.

All that said, and boy was that a lot, I am glad I read it, and I would still recommend it to the lady behind me in line at the check out.

Favorites

I love looking at the 100 Best Books lists that you can find anywhere by just googling it.  There are always lots of books that I agree are great, a few that I scratch my head over and ones that I just don't get...sorry Harry Potter (while a great phenomenon and good story, not a top 100, my opinion only).  So, obviously, recommending a great book is like naming art.  The beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

My favorites change all the time, but there are definitely some books that stand out.

1.  East of Eden by John Steinbeck

2.  The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck

3. Flags in the Dust by William Faulkner (also As I Lay Dying)

4. My Antonia by Willa Cather

5. In Cold Blood by Truman Capote

6. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith

7. All The Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy

8. A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving

9. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

10. Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt

There's more, but those top the list and I have to say one thing:  One day, long ago, my husband asked me what made a book a good book and I handed him Les Miserables (not in real time of course, I had to think about it for a minute or two).  His exposure to reading was mostly the back of movie boxes for he had "seen the movie" of lots of great books...and that didn't cut it in my snobby opinion.  With Les Mis, he started waking up at 5 am to make sure he got to read and read each moment he could fit it in and when he put it down, he got it.  Good books are not daunting, they are not difficult, rather they are transporting.  You begin to think about the characters, dream you are in the story at night, and most of all, the story becomes a part of you.  That is a good book, that is my definition of a good read.  

The Mystery of all Mysteries

Murder on the Orient Express, unless I am mistaken...and it wouldn't be the first time, might possibly be the most well-known mystery written, for sure it is Agatha Christie's most famous and I just read it this summer for the first time.  I have to say that I had no new revelations about life and the world around me as a result of reading this book; there were no profound monumental truths that I pondered....BUT boy, was it fun to read.  Talk about addictive, I can see why people might gobble these things up.  Reading it kind of reminded me of playing sudoku; something to keep your mind occupied and time flying.   The book was entertaining and so enjoyable and might be the quintessential summer type reading:  quick, interesting and easy.  Surprisingly, I have never met anyone who has either 1.  recommended an Agatha Christie book to me, or 2. told me they had read any Agatha Christie.  I am obviously running with the wrong crowd!  

You can tell the gist of the story just by reading the title.  Obviously, someone gets murdered on the train.  As the pieces fall together and disbelief is suspended, the story sort of takes over and I found myself caught up in the "who done it" even when I wasn't reading.  So, there's a little plug for a genre that probably doesn't need a plug at all.  I'll be off to the library to pick up another whenever I am looking for that sudoku-type diversion.

By the way, the back of the book mentions that there are over 2 BILLION copies of Agatha Christie's books in print.  Wow, that is a big, big number.  Impressive.

Books and Friends

I have an old (as in for a long time) friend who I know is a friend indeed.  She lives thousands of miles away and I only see her once in a blue moon and yet when we are together, we fall right in step and back into that comfortable rut called companionship.  The most recent example was last June when I flew into her town for my niece's wedding and we met for lunch the first day I was there (after she kindly picked me up from the airport...Thanks!!)  After figuring out all the problems in the world, delving into politics and then examining our own issues (those shall remain nameless) we had finished up lunch and then that true friend said to my wondering ears, "How about we go wander around the bookstore?"  Two peas in a pod, I tell you.

She let me show her all the books I loved, and then I let her for only half the time show me her favorite books, thanks for being patient, Friend!  I recalled that a book I had read about was just up her alley (Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, a "parody novel" by Seth Grahame-Smith.) and she grabbed that and I ran across a book that had been dogging me for a little while...  First They Killed My Father:  A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers by Loung Ung (Harper Perennial, 2000).  I picked that up looking for something to wile away the time as I had a day or so on my own before the wedding.  That was the last we saw of each other but we parted ways happy to have an enticing book under our arms and a good memory of some time together to boot.

The book was eye-opening of course, yet another reminder of how much life I have missed outside my own bubble.  Was I sleeping when all world events occured?  From 1975-1979 Cambodia was turned upside-down, more lives were tortured and lost than can be conceived and Pol Pot probably among the most atrocious of leaders ever to be present on the world stage.  I am sure that my mother wisely kept the news to herself since I was only between the ages of 4-8 during this time, but holy moly, how come we don't talk much about this history in school??  We learn and study about the Holocaust (with very good reason), but also need to spend time examining the lives of people like this maybe to prevent other suffering around the world.  I don't want to guess why one horrific history is laid bare while another is virtually ignored.  The same thing is happening with Darfur...no one talks much about it, yet should.  Politically, any solution I may have is naive, I am sure, but shouldn't we be more aware??  Just a thought.

First They Killed My Father is the memoir of a young girl who at the age of five was evicted from her home with her family, forced to walk mile after mile to a meager existence in a hut, hide her father's connection to the previous government, enslaved to produce food for the regime, watch her family disappear, some die terrible deaths, and was forced to join a child's army.  That is only the surface!  How can one ever move on from a nightmare like this?  Somehow, she has as she emerges from this horror story to tell it to anyone who will read.  Walking around with a history like this in one's heart with very little understanding or publicity to elicit concern or compassion has got to be a heavy burden.  

Thank you, Loung Ung, for telling your story.  Thank you for entering into my bubble of comfort and giving me new insight into the human will to survive and into the depths to which evil will go when left unchecked.  The only question left is, what can little me do to reach out to a world that needs more compassion, and more hope offered?  We should never be bored with how much there is to accomplish in bettering this world.  

Good Reads

Thinking back some of my favorite books:

Falling Leaves by Adeline Yen Mah about growing up in China during the revolution, but really a rather personal story of feeling rejected in one's family

The Year of Biblical Living by AJ Jacobs funny, funny book.  This one really made me contemplate what following the letter of the law without the application of the principle behind the law...of course, that is a deeper response than probably the author intended, but that was my take away.

I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith (who incidentally wrote 101 Dalmatians).  Delightful and well written romance.  The story itself is light, but the writing is wonderful.  I would recommend it to anyone in their teens who love Jane Austin.

Don't Lets Go to the Dogs Tonight by Alexandra Fuller.  The story of an African childhood.  I love books that open my eyes to the world around me, this one gave me insight into the complicated political changes that have overwhelmed much of Africa...from a personal perspective.  We all ought to know more about our world, and we all ought to be more involved in making it a better place.

That's all for now.  Just little thoughts.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

By Jonathan Safran Foer, Houghton Mifflin, April 2005

When I put it down and my husband asked me if it was good, I cried.  This book is not for the faint of heart and in an odd way, I would hate recommending it to someone who I would be afraid wouldn't have the same response.  It would be like someone dirtying up holy ground.  The book itself not being holy, rather, the subject matter is sacrosanct.  I read the book in its entirety with my heart in my throat alternately aching painfully and anxiously awaiting the next poignant scene.  

I think I read it through my own experience regarding the events of 9/11, who doesn't read a book subjectively?  I found myself reliving each moment of the tragic day and then the weeks that followed.  

Everyone says they remember where they were (if they were alive and cognizant, of course) when JFK was shot.  For me, my defining day will always be 9/11:  I got up as usual, early to run over to my in-laws to work out in their workout room.  My brother in law happened to be there, too.  The phone rang...we were watching a strong man competition (not my choice, as a matter of fact) and it was my husband who told us to turn on the news.  We saw the second plane hit, and then we knew it was no accident.  The brother in law and I didn't converse much after that, it was mostly shock as we processed, he thinking of the plane he wouldn't be flying on that day, and I thinking of the details of a day ahead with my two little ones.  I took the kids to get their hair cut, I went to the store, all barely conversing with the people we encountered, and then everything closed.

I spent some time that day calling my friend who lives in NYC, but the lines were all busy.  That night, as I nursed my baby late I heard the eerie silence in the sky...no planes flying overhead.  All the while processing processing, what will this world be like from now on?  The news was on without ceasing, we were all walking around digesting this new cruel reality.  We were like Dorothy and crew in the Wizard of Oz, the veil was lifted and the world was much less magical and much less hopeful than before.  

My husband and I had actually scheduled a trip to NYC earlier that summer for the beginning of November 2001.  I didn't think we should go, of course, leaving our children and heading to the place where all of our fears lay exposed.  Being there meant flying, subway and train riding and all the things that now had become echoes of the horror of September 11th.  We went anyway.  

Back to Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close:  The story of a young boy, Oskar, whose father was killed during the terrorist attacks of 9/11.  Funny that I didn't mention the jist of the story yet...obviously my first response was completely personal.  One of the things this book does well is illuminate humankind's need for connection, made more profoundly real by 9/11.  It then takes the events of those days and illustrates the way in which this tragedy both drew humans together and yet reveals how far apart we construct ourselves and lives to be.  Oskar's memories of his father include the last story he told him (which he clings to as if it held some answer to the pain he feels) the night before he died.  His father was loving, brilliant and perfect in his memory of him and the loss of him is agonizing as only it can be for an 8 year old coping with the terrible reality of life...too terrible for an 8 year old, actually too terrible for anyone.  The nursing of the pain of his loss of his father is almost what keeps him going.  Oskar's story is juxtaposed against the story of his grandfather who also suffered terribly during the Holocaust.  Life is full of pain...the line that reverberates through the text is something along the lines of "living is more painful/scary than dying."  In essence though, in a way, it is the fact that we can plumb the depths of pain that we know we are really alive.

I kept thinking and remembering as I read the description of Oskar and his father's last night together, and the pain of moving forward about my own experience at Ground Zero, just five weeks after the towers fell.  Smoke was still rising and the dust was thick everywhere.  I called my 2 1/2 year old as we stood there feeling vulnerable and the exchange went something like this:

Child:  Mommy, are you there?  Mommy, are you crying?

In response I couldn't choke back the tears enough to tell her anything.  My memories of NYC then were of the many many posters of, in a way, tributes to those lost that day.  We slowly wandered and read and looked and mourned the loss of these unfamiliar faces.  One, a picture of a loving smiling daddy, on which was written:  "Daddy, I miss you, I learned to blow a bubble, I wish you could see it."   I've always wondered who that boy was, how his life has been since and my emotional response to that poster spilled into the pages of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.  

The critics hated the gimmicks of the book (empty pages, flip-book at the end, etc...) and I saw similarities between the story and other books I have read (Catcher In the Rye, A Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man, and even Foer's wife's book, The History of Love among others).  But bad press is just as good as good press, isn't it?  It certainly got the critics attention and people reading it.  I won't shake this story and am glad for a work that attempts to delve into pain in such a way as to make some sense of it.

My personal book club

When I was a little girl I was going to be an author.  I mostly practiced signing my autograph, a pen name I had carefully thought out:  Anne Lange.  I loved the "e" at the end of both the first and last name.  Unsurprisingly, like most dreamers, I hadn't gotten much farther than the pseudonym. I figured that was enough and the rest would follow.  

As I grew up, my philosophy was that the more great writing I read, the better writer I would become.  So I read.  That pen name has yet to come in handy.  I gave up years ago practicing signing my autograph, and now I just read and ruminate over the sentences, words and ideas in books.  This blog is my own private version of a book club.  One that I get to actually discuss the books I've read.  I don't expect a big readership, this is really for me.  A chance to, in a sense, exorcise the thoughts that bubble up as I become immersed in both good and marginal writing.  Also a chance for me to write as me...not Anne Lange.