Just an Update

Plodding along here at the camp. I just put down two books. Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese and Zeitoun by Dave Eggers. And hmmmm. What do I say about them?

Verghese's book was fascinating, and would quite possibly have been more so if I were a surgeon. While I fancy that I have many abilities, I am wise enough to stop short at internal repair work. A friend gave me this book because it is about identical twins (which I actually am one). But, it is also about a nun (which I am decidedly not), and a revolution, and Ethiopia, and surgery. Well written, and at moments perfectly executed, I would even say that it is at times surgically wrought in that the investigation into the main character's thoughts and circumstances are minute dissections of humanity, circumstance, and psychology. And, the fact that it was written by a MD makes sense yet at the same time is astounding. Slow at times, overall it was a beautiful story.

Egger's book: I think I should take a break from Eggers for a while. Not because this last book wasn't interesting, but I have to say in my small little thought processes, I have become a little tired of Egger's way of posing a problem. In this book, he calls attention to the atrocity of events surrounding one man after Hurricane Katrina and they were atrocious. And even more shocking is that what Eggers writes truthfully about happened on American soil. However, as the problem is laid bare, I got a sneaking feeling that the story was just a little more complicated than Eggers would like to admit. Yes, what happened to Zeitoun should not in any way have happened. That Zeitoun was a victim of terrible circumstances when he was doing the best he could in a horrible situation (the frightening days following the hurricane) is without question. I just want to point out one thing (by way of an example): Every day I give my kids what I feel is the best guidance I can, for their own good. For instance, just tonight, I sent the kids to bed, after bedtime prayer, with very clear instructions to GET INTO BED. Now, surprisingly, this is a difficult request, as there are other sisters to tease, toothpaste to squirt and general bedlam to be had. And once again, when they did not follow my simple request (albeit simple in MY mind, it was a post-graduate physics equation to them), someone got hurt, no big surprise. Instead of getting into bed, as directed, the two littlest decided, "Bedtime... shmedtime!" What could be more fun than a sword fight with sharp pencils!! And...I don't need to tell you any more. Back to Zeitoun. In my opinion, all of this horrible story would have never happened if he had followed the direct instructions of the officials of the city, which were to evacuate the city. It was mandatory. And the edict was for the best interest of the citizens of New Orleans. That said, Zeitoun was guided by moral principles once he was stuck in the city to help others the best way he could, and he suffered unjustly for it. It shouldn't have happened, and it wouldn't have happened if he had just evacuated as had been demanded of all. That is all I will say about that.

I will be gladly reaching for a new book and will report back soon.

Imperial Woman

I meant mightily to consume books like candy one after another, but alas, it wasn't so. I can't seem to stop eating the peanut M&M's on my counter, but the reading, it has not been so easy to come by.

I got five books at the library plus have had one book that I started a while back that my sister absconded from me and then returned sated on good bookism, but I have only eeked out a page or two a day. The last book I have finished was Imperial Woman by Pearl S. Buck (of The Good Earth fame), which was started merely seconds after I had turned the last page of The Writing on My Forehead more than a MONTH ago. Oh well, I might as well surrender to the reality of life. I seem to forget every summer that the notion of lazy afternoons consumed with a book doesn't jive with four kids (plus an exchange student!!). One day I will have eons of time, I know, so really, I can't feel too sorry for myself, the time will soon pass that someone needs something (namely, me) every nano-second and so I will try to enjoy what I can.

Anyhoo, that is so off the subject of the intriguing book of the last reigning Empress of China. I don't know how factual it was, but somewhat like Joan of Arc, if only 10% were true, it is still an amazing story of clawing one's way to the top and maintaining authority in a place and during a time in which: 1) no woman was viewed as capable of leadership, 2) women who had tried to gain power (in the ancient annals of Chinese history), were conniving and considered evil at their core, and 3) tradition meant EVERYTHING. How she did it is an unbelievable story of opportunism. Again, Pearl S. Buck's books are such an intimate portrait into the culture, tradition and mind of the Chinese, and are written with utmost respect and understanding. How she gained such insight into the intricate workings of the Forbidden City and its inhabitants is a marvel unto itself.

The Empress was born not into the imperial line, but rather by her own determination and the best instance of taking advantage of a limited opportunity I have ever read about, she rose from a lowly concubine of the Emperor to high ruler of the kingdom and held that power through mighty power struggles and suspicion. She determined from the time she first was brought to the Emperor to be considered for a concubine that she would rise in whatever way she could and she dedicated herself to gaining power by learning, listening and performing the role of subservient lover first to the Emperor and later as subservient Ruler of her people. She didn't make a move that wasn't calculated to the nth degree. She acted imperially from the beginning, without remorse and with such dignity and self-control. She was a study in contrasts, both arrogant and kind, both traditionalist and feminist, both ancient and modern. Although, she resisted contact with the outside world (outside of both the Forbidden City and any foreigner in China she considered to be trespassing and desired their explusion), she came to embrace it on her own terms and in her own controlling way.

Someone named Hilary Spurling has written a book: Pearl S. Buck in China: Journey to the Good Earth that is just out this past June. I have put it on my ever growing list of books I must read as I want to know more about Buck and her ability to transcend Chinese culture and history as she has done so well in this recent read of mine. While I was captured by the story of the Empress, I was even more in awe of the story-teller, I have a hankering to know more. Give me some quiet moments, I have some books to read.

Bookapalooza

I have decided I am going to really buckle down and read as much as I can this summer. It is good for the kids, it is good for the soul. We ban tv, internet, etc...all summer around here, so our library trips are very frequent and sort of a highlight each week. I myself picked up FIVE! books in anticipation for a long leisurely weekend up at the cabin and while it was a little ridiculous to think I might be able to get to them all (I must sleep, you know), I did manage to down 1 and a half.

The Writing on My Forehead by Nafisa Haji was on the shelf at the library that had a sign over it exclaiming GOOD READS! and I thought I would give it a shot. My husband asked me how I seem to stumble upon so many book about Pakistani/Indian/Afghani culture (not that they are all the same, it is just that my reading recently has been centered a bit in that part of the world), and the answer is...I don't know. Experiencing a completely foreign culture through a story is the most thought provoking kind of reading. I am so isolated in my little bubble and the beauty and complexity of an unknown world is powerful. What I read in this book will stay with me, and with it a new appreciation for the ties of community which the author so emphasized as being elemental to the family of the main character and also to the Ind0-Pakistani world. This story is about a self-described Indo-Pakistani family and their ties to both one another and the larger world. The main character, Saira, is caught between her obligation to family tradition and her desire to be free to choose the kind of life she wants to live. In the midst of the developing story, it is also the story of this family's scandal and what it means to remain loyal to tradition for tradition sake. One thing that struck me and that was emphasized was the interconnectedness of their community despite the distance between them (both figuratively and literally).

A snapping turtle laying eggs at the cabin...entertainment at its best! Especially when the dog learned what a snapping turtle is, his poor tail hung at an odd angle all weekend.

I really enjoyed the book although the beginning was a little stilted and a bit awkward in getting the story itself going, but overall, such a interesting contemplation of not only the culture (in the backdrop of Karachi, Pakastan; London, England; and Los Angeles, CA) of this community but how the same world events I experienced in my own culturally conformed way were interpreted by these other inhabitants of the planet we live on. Also, to really contemplate what it means to be a part of something bigger than yourself, and why at times self-sacrifice (for example, giving up choice in who one's marital partner would be) ultimately is about advancing the whole community. We are such rugged individualists here in the good ol' USA that the ideas seem so diametrically opposed to good reasonable thinking, however, Haji (the author) does a wonderful job of painting an evenhanded picture of the clashes of culture that occur in the book.

Now, I am reading another Pearl S. Buck book, Imperial Woman, which is about the last Empress of China...it promises to be great. What a good way to start the summer. Book in hand, not a plan.

The dog's education continues! This time, no harm done (only one hook in his collar). Pretty good, I'd say.

BOOKS FALL OPEN

by David McCord

Books fall open

you fall in,

delighted where

you've never been;

hear voices not once

heard before,

reach world on world

through door on door;

find unexpected

keys to things

locked up beyond

imaginings.

What might you be,

perhaps become,

because one book

is somewhere? Some

wise delver into

wisdom, wit, and wherewithal

has written it.

True books will venture,

dare you out,

whisper secrets,

maybe shout

across the gloom

to you in need,

who hanker for

a book to read.

No book, just life

Uncanny how life is just like a book...sort of. I spent the last week in Butte, Montana visiting my sister and her husband. And what was on my brain? Wouldn't ya know, a book I read.

I went to the World Museum of Mining (yup, there is one of those) and was completely surprised by how much I learned there. If ever you are in Butte, please go see this little place that is full of the stories of the many men who have sacrificed their lives and health so that my and your little world can be a delightful place to live. Our tour guide, Logan, was all of 25 years old and was a font of information if ever there was one. His dad had been a coal miner in W. Virginia for many years then headed to

Butte where he top-mined at the Berkeley Pit (now one of the largest toxic waste sites in the world). Life is just so complicated. In pursuit of houses that stay warm, telephones and computers that work, not to mention electrical wiring many many men over many many years have suited up and headed down into the bowels of the earth to painstakingly excavate the hidden lifeblood of our modern world...coal, copper, iron, etc... In the meantime, they have suffered (only think back a few days to that tragic recent event in the coal mines of West Virginia), and the earth has suffered, and we take it all for granted, for sure. I had a new appreciation for the complexity of attempting to determine easy answers for not so easy problems. Anyway, enough pontificating.

I probably recommended How Green Was My Valley to Logan ten times during our couple of hours together. I will be sending my sister up again to check in to see if he read it...and if not, well, I think he's lived it.

I'll Trade Ya

I just sloshed my way through two bad books in a row.  They shall remain nameless, mostly because I don't want to make any enemies, and I am scared that someone might read this who really really recommended a book to me only to have them see my loathing of it splashed on the internet for posterity.

One of the books was about the history of Mormonism and the FLDS, or "firsts" who still practice polygamy in adherence to the revelation made by both Joseph Smith and Brigham Young who both had a lot of wives, to say the least.  The book made an attempt at examining what prompts faith in something that is rejected pretty much universally in modern culture.  And while I found it a thoughtful question (not about polygamy, rather about how faith is developed), it missed the mark on character and story development making it awkward.   I thought the book The Life of Pi by Yann Martell did a much better and unique job of tackling just what makes one believe in what one cannot logically account for.  That one is a great story, completely creative and unlike any storyline I have encountered.  

A better, more interesting book about Mormonism was Under the Banner of Heaven by Jon Krakauer, which I think left a lot of adherants to Mormonism pretty ticked off, but in spite of that, it is intriguing.  It tells the history of Mormonism as they were chased from essentially one side of the country to nearly the other and at the same time examines a "modern" day murder in a Mormon family.  Krakauer does an excellent job of laying out the events that led up to the murder story while connecting them to the larger picture of Mormon history and doctrine.  It is certainly worth contemplating not just the facets of Mormonism that are troubling but also what prompts humans to commit murder in the name of religion (regardless of what that religion is, certainly many books about many religions could be written on the topic).  

So, there are two book recommends to make up for the two I wouldn't mention.  You should be glad I spared you.

How Long Was the Story

I finished reading How Green Was My Valley by Richard Llewellyn (Scribner, 1967) a couple of days ago.  I have been reading it for about 3 months.  I could probably stop writing there because who will be rushing out to pick up a book that an avid reader like me slowly slowly slowly got through?  I have nothing to say for myself except that it was a good, beautifully written book that took forever to read.

Funny, back at Christmastime, when I was telling my Uncle-in-law about the book I was reading, he had the same reaction that everyone over the age of, say 60, had when I mentioned reading it...they all had seen the movie, they all had loved the movie, they all had nostalgia about the movie.  No one I know, except my sister, by the way, has read the book.  The movie, I am sure you could still find somewhere.

Here is what was great about the book:  the writing.  I once took a fabulous class on Romantic Poetry (not love poems, but from the romantic era: 1798-1832).  Anyhoo, the class introduced me to Keats, Wordsworth, Blake, Byron, Coleridge, etc...  I had never enjoyed poetry as much as I did in this class.  The imagery and language were so beautiful to me and I really was entranced by it all.  I was reminded of that type of writing as I read How Green Was My Valley.  There is a lyrical nature to the writing in this book, as I read, I could hear the lilting singsong Welsh voices and wished that I could talk like them.  It was beautiful, and passages took my breath away with their loveliness.  For example, Huw, the main character, is old enough to get his first pair of long pants (trews, he calls them).  Hear the pride in this passage:

Royal, royal is the feeling, to be standing in your good long trews, and well I 

understand the feeling of gentlemen with sashes round their middles and 

feathers in their hats.  You are brave with glory, and with fear for none. (p. 306)

Later, Huw visits a nearby town for an excursion and skillfully the author describes this small town boy's perception of the strangeness and sadness of the city life:

There is strange to walk in a town.  Something is strange in the faces of 

people who live all their lives in a town.  For their lives are full of the 

clock and their eyes are blind with seeing so many wonders, and they

 have no plesure of expectations or prettiness of wish.  Good things are 

heaped in the windows all around  them, but their pockets are empty,

and thus they suffer in their minds, for where they would own, now they

must wish, and wishes denied soon turn to a lust that shows itself in the 

face.  Too much to see, day after day, and too much noise for peace, and 

too little time in a round of the clock to sit by themselves and think.  (p. 464)

The story is essentially the story of a Welsh coal-mining family and specifically almost a coming of age novel about its main character, Huw.  The world they inhabit is small and the world out there is something to be defended against.  Their world and livelihood as coal miners has been threatened by reduced wages and discontent workers.  However, I loved reading about the pride of this large family, and many moments brought tears to my eyes.  

And, on a completely different and seemingly unrelated note, this story reaffirmed to me something about what it means to honor women.  I wonder if ever anyone else might say that about this book.  You see, the mother in this family was uneducated, perhaps had never left her hometown and didn't have a single ounce of desire for learning, in fact, she didn't hold much value for education at all.  Yet, she was honored, respected and above all adored.  Here's where I go off on a pet peeve of mine.  I think that women's lib was a great thing; women had for centuries been held back from rights that they so obviously deserved.  However, one of the major fallouts for the feminist movement is that no one, not men and even not women themselves, respect motherhood or homemaking anymore.  Now, don't get me wrong, not every woman was meant to be either a mother or a homemaker, and I 100% support a woman's right to determine what she might do, however, when a woman might choose to be "just" a mom or "just" be a homemaker, they ought to be respected and revered for that particular choice.  There is a lot of lipservice out there for both occupations, but as a society, there is no reverence for either.  That said, this Welsh family couldn't have lifted a woman up higher in their awe of her.  She was the wheel that kept the family going and while she wasn't worldy, she was strong and just the kind of woman I would want to be.  At one point in the story, a young Huw witnesses a woman giving birth to a child, and he was obviously upset by the pain, blood and anguish he saw.  His father gave him this bit of wisdom:

"Listen to me.  Forget all you saw.  Leave it.  Take your mind from it.  It has 

nothing to do with you.  But use it for experience.  Now you know what hurt

it brings to women when men come into the world.  Remember, and make

it up to your Mama and to all women."

"Yes, Dada," I said.

"And another thing, let it do," my father said. "There is no room for pride in

any man.  There is no room for unkindness.  There is no room for wit at the

expense of others.  All men are born the same, and equal.  As you saw to-day,

so come the Captains and the Kings and the Tinkers and the Tailors.  Let the

memory direct your dealings with men and women.  And be sure to take good

care of Mama."

I have a suspicion that part of the strength of Huw's mother came directly as a result of the undaunted honor that was afforded her by a husband that respected her and a family that longed to please her.  

So, if ever you wanted to savor a page or a paragraph a day and reread and reread passages to soak in their beauty, this book is for you.  If you read it or have read it, let me know, I would love to reminisce about its loveliness.

Forever and a day

It's been forever since I wrote and I promised myself that I would be committed to writing, mostly because it is good for me.  And, I will write, I promise, I promise.  I will write about the book I am currently reading (taking a long time) and in the meantime, I can write about what I am not reading.  

I am not reading God Grew Tired Of Us because it was a movie I watched the other day, not a book at all.  By the way, there are a lot of books about the Lost Boys of Sudan, so if you have something against film, by all means read one.  What I learned from watching the movie mostly beside the great, terrible atrocities that have occured in yet another place in the world, is the power of the human soul to rise above the worst that can be thrown at you.  It is a good film to watch with your family and talk about at the dinner table.  

I am not reading any books about music because I have been listening to Patty Griffin's "Heavenly Day" over and over and kicking myself that I hadn't heard her beautiful voice before.  

When I am done reading what I am reading now I WILL be reading a long list of books that are taunting me.  I just can't remember all their names right now.  

That is the state of affairs around here.  Not much to report.

Full disclosure

No big surprise, but I have a pretty big most embarrassing moment.  For me, anyway.  What might be surprising, is that this one has to do with books.  Or rather, an author.  I have actually told some friends about this horrifying experience, but I have mostly kept it under wraps.

It has taken me a few years to get over it.

I am a big fan of Pat Conroy.  I have read most of his books (The Prince of Tides, Lords of Discipline, The Great Santini, Beach Music, and probably my favorite, The Water is Wide).  I have an affection for southern writers, I don't know what it is, but something about the stories are magnetic to me.  Stories of families exposed and at their most fragile and yet, deeply tied together.  In college, I did an independent study on William Faulkner (the reigning king of Southern Lit in my humble opinion), and while the style is different, the themes are similar.   I'll just bet that Pat Conroy has never been compared to Faulkner before...as I am typing these words, I can feel the earth shift  (hello, all six of you readers!!).  Anyhoo, I digress, get thee to a second hand store or library and pick up one of those aforementioned Conroy books...you won't regret it.

So, and here is the full disclosure part.  Quite a few years ago, probably 15 or so, when I was young, naive and foolish (that's my excuse, and I am sticking to it!), I heard that Mr. Conroy was going to be giving a book reading at a local college and everything was dropped and my sister, a friend and I hightailed it to hear him.  It was great.  Pat Conroy is an amazing story-teller.  He read a little from his new release (Beach Music) and then told some of the funniest stories I have ever heard.  I laughed so hard I cried.  He was charming and funny and just the way I thought he should be.  We could go up after the reading to have our copies of his book signed and I certainly did.  I was working at the time at a very small publishing company and still had aspirations of becoming a writer one day and when it was my turn to get my book signed I told him all of the above and mentioned that I would be heading down to his neck of the woods the next day (Columbia, SC).  We hit it off!!  When he heard that I was heading down to the good ol' south, he said, "You should look up my brother!!"  And, since Pat was now my bestest bud in the whole world, I said "Yes!," and,  "Of course!"  

Here is the moment where I hang my head.  I hadn't totally grasped the whole lovely notion of pleasantries, I was just a youngster, you see.  I flew down to Columbia, South Carolina, the next day.  And because I was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that Mr. Conroy did not, in fact, actually intend for me to find his brother and hang out with him, I waited until the last day of our visit to look up Mr. Conroy's brother in the phone book.  But, I felt a moral obligation, so I felt I must call him!  I promised!  And, as I dialed the number and a stranger's voice answered the phone, I realized what a dope I was.   But, it was too late.  I had Pat Conroy's brother on the other end of the line and I couldn't just hang up on him.  So, I tried to chat a minute, let him know I had promised his famous brother that I would call him up and then things really took a turn for the worst when he strongly hinted that he needed to go because his WIFE and he had plans that night (he did emphasize WIFE, for goodness sake).  He thought I was hitting on him, maybe even using him to get to his brother (did I mention that Pat Conroy is going to be 65 this year?...that makes him 27 years older than me.)!!  I hung up the phone quickly just as I noticed my husband standing in the doorway of our hotel room shaking his head and vividly grimacing. He didn't know he had married an author groupie.   I hated that he had to find out that way.

It is a wonder I could ever pick up another book written by Pat Conroy.  And while a little teensy bit painful, not enough to deter me from a good story.  He has just recently (as of August '09), come out with a new book, South of Broad.  I'll let you know how that goes.

Daniel Pinkwater!

I was pleasantly surprised to discover a new author...about 30 years later than I wish I had. Daniel Pinkwater has written, according to his website, about 100 books. He is also a contributor on NPR's All Things Considered. Which means I probably have heard him before, I just hadn't heard of him. And it's a shame.

I bought my 5th grade daughter The Neddiad the other day because simply it looked like a good book. And with the subtitle: How Neddie Took the Train, Went to Hollywood and Saved Civilization, I was won over. It sounded like a good adventure any 5th grader could get into. She couldn't put it down. When I asked her to tell me about the story, she said that it was about a boy who gets a turtle and has to keep it safe and people were trying to get it from him. That sounded like an okay story. Although. She couldn't stop reading it and talked about it quite a bit (and told me that it was really hard to explain the story) and then wrote a letter to the author for a class project (hasn't sent it yet, I'll get back to you on that).

The next thing I knew she set it down on the kitchen counter one morning and was FINISHED. And, I thought to myself...maybe I should read this book, too; see what she liked, and try to get a grasp of what was so hard to explain about it. About 7 delightful hours later, broken up, of course, over two days (or the family would have complained mightily), I was done. One might think, like I did, that since the title is a dead ringer for the Iliad, that it might be a retelling of that monumental tale. But, really, it isn't. Instead, on one level (the level that perhaps a fifth grader might most easily understand), it IS the story of a young boy given a mysterious and courageous task and how he accomplishes it. Also, there are wacky characters, shamans, a ghost that joins in the story, even aliens...who could ask for more?

On another level (the one that I have been pondering in the five days since I finished the book), it is the classic story of good and evil. The story that transcends culture, time and place. Daniel Pinkwater basically took the mythical heros and demons of many cultures and threw them all in a pot, mixed them together and wove them all into a great book. Like the Saturday matinees the characters in the book so love to watch, Neddie's trip across America to the land of Hollywood (where new myths are recreated over and over again for the screen), Neddie is the good guy (and really a good kid) who unwittingly becomes a mythical force for good against the bad guy. The book is chock full of references to mythological figures of good and evil, which I have to think Pinkwater must have had a gigantically delightful time digging up to tuck into every corner of the book.

This is such a good, fun read. Read it with a kid you know (on Amazon, it is recommended for 5th-9th graders, and I agree), and enter Daniel Pinkwater's zany world together, it would be a thrilling ride. I am planning on reading The Yggyssey next, after, of course, my daughter reads it.

Check out http://www.pinkwater.com/ .