Definitely Dead - Charlaine Harris (Ace Books, 2006)
I can't imagine anyone will be too sad when I catch up with this series, b/c I long ago gave up on having anything new and interesting to say about it. Even though it's kind of gotten more interesting. Less Bill Compton always good. But tigers?! And obviously there's not nearly enough Eric (can there ever really be enough Eric?). But anyway, I think I'm only 3 books back now? So just a couple months left, and then I can find other candy reading.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
A heartbreaking work of ... oh, wait
A Complicated Kindness - Miriam Toews (Counterpoint, 2004)
I've already told the story of how excited I was to finally track down this book (with the correct author and title), and I even managed to related to hockey, since that's what I do. What I haven't done is actually write about the experience of reading the book.
It was like one extended sucker punch. I felt so protective of Nomi, so much desire to somehow fix it for her. And I couldn't. I mean, obviously, since Nomi is a character, but still.
Let me back up. It's the 1970s, in Canada, in a small Mennonite community not that far from the US border. Nomi, at 16, lives with her dad, because her mom and sister each left within months of each other, about three years earlier. Both father and daughter are broken, utterly. Nomi deals like you might expect: she fantasizes about New York, smokes cigarettes and pot, listens to rock music, has an older boyfriend, shaves her head, gets in trouble at school.
But it's more than that. Toews elegantly handles what may actually be the easy part: showing how the community and its sensibility has damaged her family. While Nomi isn't the only teen who rebels, clearly, she is further adrift than the others. What makes Nomi's story so powerful is that she is so often unflinching in her assessment of how things have fallen apart, and yet the ways in which she tries, when she needs to, to spare herself or her father or her best friend the worst of it. To be cliche about it, she reminds me of nothing so much as a wounded animal that's still trying to be tough.
I didn't even bother trying to note remarkable and representative passages. There's something on virtually every page. At random:
Hmm. The problem here is that they are too long to reproduce here, and they lack context. But to give you the best sense of it, here Nomi explains the impossible decision her father would have faced had her mother stayed in town in the face of excommunication: shun his wife, or leave his faith? "He was stuck in the middle of a story with no good ending. He had the same disease I had." You're not sure if you should pray, since prayer has done so much harm already, but if you did pray, you would pray for a cure, a way for them to find a suitable ending to the story.
I've already told the story of how excited I was to finally track down this book (with the correct author and title), and I even managed to related to hockey, since that's what I do. What I haven't done is actually write about the experience of reading the book.
It was like one extended sucker punch. I felt so protective of Nomi, so much desire to somehow fix it for her. And I couldn't. I mean, obviously, since Nomi is a character, but still.
Let me back up. It's the 1970s, in Canada, in a small Mennonite community not that far from the US border. Nomi, at 16, lives with her dad, because her mom and sister each left within months of each other, about three years earlier. Both father and daughter are broken, utterly. Nomi deals like you might expect: she fantasizes about New York, smokes cigarettes and pot, listens to rock music, has an older boyfriend, shaves her head, gets in trouble at school.
But it's more than that. Toews elegantly handles what may actually be the easy part: showing how the community and its sensibility has damaged her family. While Nomi isn't the only teen who rebels, clearly, she is further adrift than the others. What makes Nomi's story so powerful is that she is so often unflinching in her assessment of how things have fallen apart, and yet the ways in which she tries, when she needs to, to spare herself or her father or her best friend the worst of it. To be cliche about it, she reminds me of nothing so much as a wounded animal that's still trying to be tough.
I didn't even bother trying to note remarkable and representative passages. There's something on virtually every page. At random:
...every time I looked at it I was reminded that I was, at that very moment, not bleeding from my face. And those are powerful words of hope, really.
Hmm. The problem here is that they are too long to reproduce here, and they lack context. But to give you the best sense of it, here Nomi explains the impossible decision her father would have faced had her mother stayed in town in the face of excommunication: shun his wife, or leave his faith? "He was stuck in the middle of a story with no good ending. He had the same disease I had." You're not sure if you should pray, since prayer has done so much harm already, but if you did pray, you would pray for a cure, a way for them to find a suitable ending to the story.
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Serendipity, finally
Not quite ready for the real post, but I've been excited about mentioning this for two weeks now...
A few years ago, I was walking around West LA listening to the NYT Book Review podcast where one of the reviewers mentioned a book that she just absolutely fell in love with. I forget the context, but whatever she said made me want to read it. So when I got home, I wrote the following in my "books to read" list: "An Uncommon Kindness - Muriel T..." But when I went to find this book at the library, it didn't seem to exist. I'd try again now and then when I noticed it, but really, I kinda figured it was a lost cause. Why, oh why, did I not actually listen to the podcast again right when I got home so I'd get the author right?
But then, a couple weeks ago, I was at the library, list in hand, looking to see what was in stock. (Not much.) I went to find The Flying Troutmans, even though from what I could remember hearing about it, I wasn't sure it was the book I wanted to read right then. But it wasn't on the shelf anyway. But sitting right where said book was supposed to be: A Complicated Kindness, by Miriam Toews. Erin to self: Wait a second.... [jaw dropping]
So there it was. Uncommon and Complicated: got that wrong. Muriel & Miriam: really? Toews though? That's clearly forgivable. (Why I know and like the name Toews right now, btw. Chicago's my ideal hope for the Stanley Cup this year, and I like their players w/o knowing really anything about them except that they are mostly young and all signed to looooooooong contracts.)
Anyway, so I found the book. By accident. Yays.
A few years ago, I was walking around West LA listening to the NYT Book Review podcast where one of the reviewers mentioned a book that she just absolutely fell in love with. I forget the context, but whatever she said made me want to read it. So when I got home, I wrote the following in my "books to read" list: "An Uncommon Kindness - Muriel T..." But when I went to find this book at the library, it didn't seem to exist. I'd try again now and then when I noticed it, but really, I kinda figured it was a lost cause. Why, oh why, did I not actually listen to the podcast again right when I got home so I'd get the author right?
But then, a couple weeks ago, I was at the library, list in hand, looking to see what was in stock. (Not much.) I went to find The Flying Troutmans, even though from what I could remember hearing about it, I wasn't sure it was the book I wanted to read right then. But it wasn't on the shelf anyway. But sitting right where said book was supposed to be: A Complicated Kindness, by Miriam Toews. Erin to self: Wait a second.... [jaw dropping]
So there it was. Uncommon and Complicated: got that wrong. Muriel & Miriam: really? Toews though? That's clearly forgivable. (Why I know and like the name Toews right now, btw. Chicago's my ideal hope for the Stanley Cup this year, and I like their players w/o knowing really anything about them except that they are mostly young and all signed to looooooooong contracts.)
Anyway, so I found the book. By accident. Yays.
WASPS!
Cheerful Money: Me, My Family, and the Last Days of Wasp Splendor - Tad Friend (Little, Brown & Co., 2009)
Carolline says I am obsessed with WASPs. This may be true. I have fantasies about living in a Ralph Lauren ad. (That pic is not the best example. Anyhoo...) I also really like cable knit sweaters. However, I am pretty sure I do not live well on the East Coast. So....
Tad Friend is a staff writer for the New Yorker, so obviously I like his writing. (I don't understand why he's their Calif. writer when he's based in Brooklyn, but whatever.) He's also a Wasp. (I like it better all capitalized, like in the previous paragraph, but I'll bow to his usage for the rest of this post.) He's from what may prove to have been the last generation of Wasps to actually be Waspy. The book is a memoir of his family, on both parents' sides, and the wacky, wonderful, and often tragic turns their lives took. I added it to my list based on a recommendation that made it sound hilarious. It is not hilarious. It is however entertaining and often touching.
Among the themes that appear again and again: abandonment, emotional distance, drinking, thrift, not quite living up to promises of success, divorce and remarriage, homes that had names, and lots and lots of nicknames. The narrative is told out of chronological order, which was absolutely the right way to tell it. There are ways in which there is a grand narrative of Tad moving from childhood through to his post-college years, failed relationships, and eventual marriage. But mostly we move back and forth through years and between families. I had trouble keeping people straight at times, even with the very welcome family tree at the beginning of the book.
In some ways an elegy to a world that is slipping away, I think Friend ultimately paints a hopeful picture of the future. Not because he has embraced his Wasp heritage, or rejected it, but because he has made his peace with it.
I don't read a lot of memoirs - it's not really my genre, which is strange since it's history, after all - but I liked this one. It felt like the world it described, and allowed me to feel it too.
(PS - Friend's appraisal of certain attitudes toward privilege and success and working too hard made me aware of the ways in which places like Stanford still embody parts of the Wasp ethos. This could be a longer discussion, but I'll leave it at that.)
Carolline says I am obsessed with WASPs. This may be true. I have fantasies about living in a Ralph Lauren ad. (That pic is not the best example. Anyhoo...) I also really like cable knit sweaters. However, I am pretty sure I do not live well on the East Coast. So....
Tad Friend is a staff writer for the New Yorker, so obviously I like his writing. (I don't understand why he's their Calif. writer when he's based in Brooklyn, but whatever.) He's also a Wasp. (I like it better all capitalized, like in the previous paragraph, but I'll bow to his usage for the rest of this post.) He's from what may prove to have been the last generation of Wasps to actually be Waspy. The book is a memoir of his family, on both parents' sides, and the wacky, wonderful, and often tragic turns their lives took. I added it to my list based on a recommendation that made it sound hilarious. It is not hilarious. It is however entertaining and often touching.
Among the themes that appear again and again: abandonment, emotional distance, drinking, thrift, not quite living up to promises of success, divorce and remarriage, homes that had names, and lots and lots of nicknames. The narrative is told out of chronological order, which was absolutely the right way to tell it. There are ways in which there is a grand narrative of Tad moving from childhood through to his post-college years, failed relationships, and eventual marriage. But mostly we move back and forth through years and between families. I had trouble keeping people straight at times, even with the very welcome family tree at the beginning of the book.
In some ways an elegy to a world that is slipping away, I think Friend ultimately paints a hopeful picture of the future. Not because he has embraced his Wasp heritage, or rejected it, but because he has made his peace with it.
I don't read a lot of memoirs - it's not really my genre, which is strange since it's history, after all - but I liked this one. It felt like the world it described, and allowed me to feel it too.
(PS - Friend's appraisal of certain attitudes toward privilege and success and working too hard made me aware of the ways in which places like Stanford still embody parts of the Wasp ethos. This could be a longer discussion, but I'll leave it at that.)
Monday, February 01, 2010
Melancholia
Everything Was Fine Until Whatever - Chelsea Martin (Future Tense Books, 2009)
Martin is a young writer, much younger than I am, who appeared on my radar when a family friend sent me her book after hearing her at a reading. What she's doing isn't particularly in my area of expertise, but I'm going to describe it as prose poems, interspersed by drawings and very very tiny one liners. Ideally, the title of each piece doesn't have any obvious relationship to the body of the work. It's ironic, cynical-posing-as-sincere (or vice versa?), and pretty depressing. The other word that keeps coming to mind for me: hipster.
And just as this opinion was crystallizing, she essentially says the same thing: "I was injecting my cynicism, my malleability, my disregard for social skills and physical appearance." People like Martin have always made me feel terribly insecure.
There are a couple fascinating moments though:
Martin is a young writer, much younger than I am, who appeared on my radar when a family friend sent me her book after hearing her at a reading. What she's doing isn't particularly in my area of expertise, but I'm going to describe it as prose poems, interspersed by drawings and very very tiny one liners. Ideally, the title of each piece doesn't have any obvious relationship to the body of the work. It's ironic, cynical-posing-as-sincere (or vice versa?), and pretty depressing. The other word that keeps coming to mind for me: hipster.
And just as this opinion was crystallizing, she essentially says the same thing: "I was injecting my cynicism, my malleability, my disregard for social skills and physical appearance." People like Martin have always made me feel terribly insecure.
There are a couple fascinating moments though:
He figures out what she's insecure about and then gives her really transparent compliments that make her feel bad about her personality. She tries to pretend her feelings are hurt. I used to think the adjective a person uses the most often is the word that most accurately describes what kind of person they are. But this friend never uses the work 'submissive.'
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