Stay. Or let me go.

The Playboy - Carly Phillips (Warner Books, 2003)

This is the second in the trilogy (first here) about a trio of brothers who are sworn bachelors, until mom gets in the way. And the right woman blows into town. And....

Anyway, it's cute. It's sweet. And like far too many romances, it makes me want a change. A new town. (It makes me think of the lyrics to "Boston" for that matter.)

I'll get out of California, I'm tired of the weather,
I think I'll get a lover and fly him out to Spain...
Oh yeah and I think I'll go to Boston,
I think that I'm just tired
I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind...
I think I need a sunrise, I'm tired of the sunset...

Maybe change is in the air. Certainly feels like it must be.

Do you speak my tongue?

The 5 Love Languages: The Secret to Love that Lasts - Gary Chapman (Northfield, 1992, 2010)

I've been curious about this book since a friend gushed over it about a year ago. It seemed a little self-helpy to me, and my library catalog attaches it to Christianity. Also, I'm not sure what marriage I'm working on. But.

It seemed pretty self-evident to me that there are different ways to express love, and that some expressions of love mean more to different people. So I picked it up, and spent an afternoon with it and a glass of iced tea.

Here are the five love languages:

• Words of Affirmation
• Quality Time
• Gifts
• Acts of Service
• Physical Touch

Dr. Chapman devotes a chapter to each one, and has lots and lots of examples of marriages falling apart that were saved by the decision to really try to speak one another's language. Cute.

Okay, fine. I get that. What I found most interesting was the relative ease and difficulty of figuring out the dominant love languages of those around me. My mom was immediately obvious, and it threw a lot of areas of our family dynamic into sharp relief. My dad was harder. Some friends became clear just as they popped into my head over the past few days, as I'd be thinking about other things. What frightens me is that I look at my past romantic relationships, and I can't say for sure what my partners' languages have been. Even more so, I can't figure out my own. He offers lots of tips for figuring it out, but all I really got to was that one of the five is definitely not mine. (This one, by the way, happens to be my mom's, which I find amusing.) So I'm still puzzling that out. (Chapman has an edition for singles, which might be worth digging up.)

What I have thought about is that I can show love and appreciation in my relationship through all these ways, and that I should, in order to really ensure the people around me know that I appreciate them. It has also been a good reminder that they show their appreciation and love in different ways too. Sometimes, when you're convinced love looks a certain way, you miss the love that's right in front of you.

Hell-o Starling

Bright's Passage - Josh Ritter (Dial Press, 2011)

I am a sucker for "Snow is Gone." I could just listen to it over and over again. I'm still discovering Ritter's other songs, but it alone was enough to get me excited when I saw he was coming out with a debut novel this summer.

Bright's Passage is lyrical and fascinating, but devoid of the joy that drew me to the songs. It makes sense; what joy is to be found in a hard world, where the trauma of the First World War is followed by the trauma of losing one's wife in childbirth and fleeing the raging inferno that has taken over your home? The chapters alternate between Bright's attempts to make his way with his newborn son and his experiences on the front lines of a war that was all over except for the brutal and senseless killing. Plus, we get a peek at the opaque menace that is Bright's father-in-law, out for revenge. As a result, the book just gets harder and harder and harder to read. Which is, I must believe, Ritter's intent.

Nothing has ever convinced me that war is anything other than hell. And this novel places it on a continuum of horrors that have followed Bright from childhood. No wonder he has picked up an angel, who offers the promise of something better. Perhaps.

The questions of redemption is left until the final pages, which is all I will say about that. Can there be such a thing as redemption in a world where such arbitrary violence is allowed to occur?

Aw, it's blue because... well, you'll see

Something Blue - Emily Giffin (St. Martin's Griffin, 2005)

Have I mentioned anything about liking John Krasinski? Maybe once or twice?

Anyway, I'm so glad he's (I presume) going to be playing Ethan when they film this follow-up to Something Borrowed.

Um, there's really no way to talk about this book without spoiling the end of the earlier novel, so we'll have to deal with that. Darcy has spent 30 years as the golden girl, who always gets what she wants. And who is always wanted. And suddenly she finds herself alone, dumped by friends and loved ones, and pregnant. So she does what any woman would do - flee to London.

I preferred this book to the first, which I didn't expect. I never really got over my discomfort with Dex. I kept wondering... if I were Rachel's friend, wouldn't I tell her she's too good for him? That she deserves someone more willing to take a stand? In this novel, the ick factor was different. Darcy is a bitch, but she's also our first-person narrator, and it's nice to remember from time to time that shallow and selfish people aren't only shallow and selfish, that they often believe they are trying to be good, and that often enough, they are capable of growing up.

So we grow to like Darcy. And we are awfully fond of Ethan, the childhood friend who finds himself a sucker for Darcy's damsel in distress. And so it works. And works enough that I devoted an entire Saturday to devouring the book essentially in a single sitting.

You drive and you drive and you drive some more

In a Sunburned Country - Bill Bryson (Broadway Books, 2000)

Last week I drove about 800 miles over 2 days. It made me a little cranky, and definitely sore. But I was driving between Southern California and the Bay Area, where there is plenty to see, even on that cow country stretch of the 5. So I felt a little sheepish reading Bill Bryson in Australia, where there are regular 1000+ mile drives to get pretty much anywhere.

Bryson is hilarious. I think I knew this, but here is proof. This exploration of Australia's cities, interior, features, people, culture, etc. is the result of 3 separate trips that expose him to much (and yet still just a small piece of) the land Down Under.

Themes: Places have a lot of weird stories. And when you're on the road, you get intrigued by all sorts of roadside attractions.

Australia has LOTS of things that can kill you. Lots and lots and lots. Animals mostly. And getting lost in the desert and dying.

Bryson walks a lot. He makes me wish I were better at going offline and just walking.

He also drinks a lot on occasion. Especially when traveling with a friend.

Travel plans get messed up pretty often.

Australia is awesome, and writers get to go there surprisingly often (well, to me) for book tours.

Also, you should probably find this book just for the description of cricket. I almost fell off the couch. It's most of chapter 7, although it appears here and there elsewhere in the book. This may be one of the lazier book reviews ever, but I promise, you will enjoy this read.

My Best Friend's Wedding

Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin (St. Martin's Griffin, 2004)

I knew the book would be different from the movie. And I wanted to see the movie - um, hello John Krasinski! - and read the book. So: movie first. That way I wouldn't be disappointed by it.

It worked pretty well. Except I am sorry, but I still think Rachel is too good for Tom Cruise, or Dex or whatever. Maybe I just want to think that the right guy won't be so wishy washy about me. And the book and movie were surprisingly different. Even on major plot points. The book did things that just couldn't have worked on screen. I think we would have hated Rachel more. And maybe that's too bad, that we have to bow to convention, but so be it.

Rachel's "best friend" is bratty Darcy, whose fiancé is changing his allegiance. But her real best friend is co-worker Hillary. Although other childhood bud Ethan is pretty cool too. In the movie, rather than complicate things with another actress, we just wrap them both into Ethan (John Krasinski!) who has secret feelings of his own.

Anyway, totally enjoyable. I like that Rachel does something pretty horrendous - sleep with her best friend's man mere weeks before the wedding - and yet is portrayed as sympathetic and human. And while you root for her, you also do feel squeamish about what's going on. Except that you also don't. And you also - if you're me - can't decide if you think Dex is a cad or just a guy who misplayed his hand and is now figuring that out.

The sequel follows Darcy. And I bet we are going to learn to like this spoiled princess. But I sort of don't wanna. That said, I'll read the book. And watch the movie. After all: John Krasinski!

The Dark Side

I Am The Cheese - Robert Cormier (Dell-Laurel Leaf, 1977)

First of all, my boy Corey Perry just won the Hart Trophy for League MVP. I'm a whole mess of happy about that. But I won't let that distract me from my book review.

It starts with Twitter, and the #YASaves trending topic that got big a few weeks back after a WSJ article posited YA lit today was darker than in past years, and even dangerous. (I am oversimplifying.) Anyway, the response was immediate and severe. The consensus: YA literature helps teens navigate the perils of adolescence, and adults who write for the WSJ need to calm the eff down. (Again, oversimplifying.)

I had a few discussions arising from some RTs of mine. A friend told me that while reading the article, he was reminded how I Am The Cheese was a really powerful book, that stuck with him. I decided to read (or maybe re-read?) it. Which I did on Monday night.

It's powerful stuff, this book. Adam's story is revealed in alternating chapters. His solo bicycle journey from his hometown to a Vermont town 70 miles away, where his father is in the hospital, and then the transcripts of taped sessions between him and a shadowy doctor of some sort, who is asking questions about his past. It quickly becomes clear that something in his life went dramatically awry, both recently and in his very early childhood. You fear for Adam, and reading this now, an adult, all my maternal instincts kicked in. I was troubled that I was obviously too late to protect this child.

1977, and this is dark. Apparently not as graphically dark as what's out there today. But powerful. Harmful? I doubt it.

Speaking of the impact of YA, another discussion led to Lois Duncan.... My friend brought up Don't Look Behind You, a 1990 novel about a girl whose family is in the Witness Protection Program. Of course I remember this book! I must have read it a bunch of times. But the one that stuck with me more is Stranger with My Face, the novel that introduced me to the concept of astral projection, and also terrified me away from ever being willing to give it a try. (Wimp.) Are these books still being read?

Before I wrap up, I want to mention that the books that stuck with me the most are the scary ones. I bet this isn't uncommon. And I wonder how much it relates to the central thesis of Bruno Bettelheim's The Uses of Enchantment, namely that dark tales enable children to safely grapple with their fears. I am sure there is plenty of scholarly literature out there on the topic. Maybe one of these days I'll do a little more searching. For now, just speculation....

In the Mood for Love

The Bachelor - Carly Phillips (Warner Books, 2002)

First Lady - Susan Elizabeth Phillips (Avon Books, 2000)

No one has to pretend to be married! No fake marriages! Well, except in the latter, the widowed FLOTUS does pretend to be pregnant, and is at least once introduced as the wife of the guy to whom she's hitched her runaway self. And in the former, a fake illness forces our hero to find a lady to wed. In a hurry. Luckily his old high school crush is back in town too.

I should stop. Talking about romances makes me ironic. Because there's no way to admit you read and enjoy them without telling everyone that you are a hopeless romantic. Rolling your eyes dramatically at least shows you know they are foolish.

But who am I kidding, really? Would I keep reading them if I found them so moronic? (Well, maybe...) I am a sucker for them. I love the dramatic arc. Damsel is in distress, finds herself latched to vaguely abhorrent but totally sexy man, and as she falls for him, discovers all this strength within herself. I know there is plenty that is escapist and dangerous about this fantasies, but they really could be a lot worse. There are many worse things than believing that you can grow into your own best self and find true love. Right???

A Memory Palace

Great House - Nicole Krauss (W.W. Norton & Co., 2010)

Nicole Krauss blows my mind. (I have mentioned this before.) A few years back, I gushed about The History of Love, and her latest novel employs a similar plot devise, being a sort of biography of a thing. In this case it's a desk, this monstrosity of a desk that is confiscated during Nazi occupation, and touches the lives of a surprising number of people. Strangely, I kept seeing the desk as almost like an organ - all the different drawers like pipes and .... I don't know.

Her stories are lyrical and haunting, and it's no surprise that many of the narrators are either authors or loved ones of writers. They speak in a high-flown language that doesn't really bear any relationship to how most of us talk, but carries the weight of intense sadness, loneliness, emptiness, and a struggle to know those we love.

I noted less than I would have liked, and this makes me sad. I'd probably direct you to the entire (long) chapter "Lies Told by Children." The first narrator, the author who owned the desk most recently, comments on how the things she loves she is reluctant to share with others, unlike those who want to share the music and literature that makes them who they are. She also has a lovely line about her youth: "I had been young and full, bursting with feeling, overflowing with desire; I lived closer to the surface of myself."

This is, perhaps, a book better meant to be reflected upon in conversation - or silence - than in a blog. It consists of interwoven parts, and leads to interwoven thoughts. I want to talk about it, and digress, and bring up other points, and wander down tangents. (That last might have been redundant.) So go read, and then come talk to me about it, okay?

Literary debates

Michael Silverblatt generally makes me giggle. Because I'm like that. But I found his discussion with professor and author Marjorie Garber fascinating.

Have a listen:

Vacation Reading

There's Cake in My Future - Kim Gruenenfelder (St. Martin's Griffin, 2010)

For my vacation, I brought a bunch of unread New Yorkers (of which I read one, on the plane ride home) and a serious novel (post to come), which I worked on at airport gates and on the plane. But for the meat of the trip, the hotel reading, I wanted light and fun. For that, I went with the Gruenenfelder.

The premise is cute. Three friends. One tries to direct the future through this cake pull charm thing. Except it gets messed up and fate has its own plans for the ladies. I like these "friends" books, b/c you get different stories. One woman tries to adjust to married life, one negotiates the problem of being best friends with the guy you love, and the third rebounds - or attempts to - after a breakup. All light, all fun, all funny. Also, set in Los Angeles. Hurrah!

One thing that got a lot of attention from me was the mention of the crushworthiness of John Krasinski; the other was this line, from the fiancé: "I love that you think that anything I do could be fraught with subtext. I'm a guy: we are rarely, if ever, fraught with subtext." I still don't really believe this is true, regardless of what guys tell me, but I thought it was adorable all the same.

Going back to find Gruenenfelder's first two novels. But first I really need to make a dent in that pile of magazines. My nightstand thinks it's still January, folks. :(

She's back!

Dead Reckoning - Charlaine Harris (Ace Books, 2011)

I've sorta missed my girl Sookie. This series has long since been completely out there. I mean, there's suspension of disbelief, and then there's what Sookie's Louisiana requires. But, after 9 months or whatever, I realize I've missed it. It was oddly comforting to return to vampires and werecreatures and fairies and witches and demons ... and now elves? Well, elf.

Too much going on. And everyone is out to kill Sookie or someone she loves. Or is creating plots that impact Sookie or someone she loves. Also, everyone still wants to have sex with her. It's exhausting, but it's fun.

But this installment was also sad. I'm not sure what comes next for Ms. Stackhouse. Each book has a melancholy ending, but this one hit harder for me. I guess I have to wait until next spring to find out what's next.

Or, How I Found Love Thanks to a Bluebird

Goodnight Tweetheart - Teresa Medeiros (Gallery Books, 2011)

It is getting to be the case that I can't read a serious book without having its lighthearted companion on the nightstand with it. And this was on an endcap at the library. I'm sure David Foster Wallace would appreciate the fact that while I was reading a novel that is in so many ways a meditation on presence and paying attention, I was also starting a short romance about Twitter, which is essentially a paean to short attention spans.

Abby is a writer who had an amazing breakout novel, and who is suffering less from sophomore slump and more from a crippling case of writer's block. Her agent puts her on Twitter so she can connect with fans and keep her name out there. And she immediately meets a guy, a literature professor. And most of the novel is the DM (direct message) banter between them. Lots of pop culture references, lots of flirtation, lots of ... well, mainly just flirtatious pop culture references.

There is a deeper undercurrent, of family and love and loss and connections and how they are difficult and frustrating and all that. And of course escapism, which is one of Twitter's strong suits. How does Twitter enable us to get away from who and where we are? And can that be a good thing? How strong of a connection can you really form with someone who you met in spurts of 140 characters? I spend a lot - a lot - of time on Twitter, so these are questions I've spent some time pondering. Answers? I might still need to get back to you on that.

Mindfulness

The Pale King - David Foster Wallace (Little, Brown and Company, 2011)

Talking about DFW is something I do quite a bit, but that I find intensely difficult. (And I'm far from the end of the bell curve of his most devoted fans.) So I'm gonna skip all a whole bunch and go straight to an attempt to make some sort of sense for myself of this unfinished work.

I found myself wondering how long this novel would have been if finished. There's so much... it stands up well as it is, but then I think about Infinite Jest, and I start to think that maybe these 538 are really only about half. And that's.... well, it is. We can leave it there.

What DFW had in mind only really became clear at the end, in the notes, where I was like: ohhhhhh, so that's why everyone was so ... what's the word? They were all gifted. But these quirks all seemed to make sense in middle of the mind-numbing bureaucracy of an IRS building in the middle of a Midwestern field in the middle of the 1980s. It's as much about being present, and paying attention, and breaking through that wall. Thus.... a big long list.

• "It was true: The entire ball game, in terms of both the exam and life, was what you gave attention to vs. what you willed yourself to not." (Esp, in the case of the character thinking this, when you are inundated with extraneous information.)
• This unbelievable passage, too long to quote in full here, about the power of interrupting a conversation and asking "what's wrong?" which will shock the other person into wondering how you know. "He doesn't realize something's always wrong, with everybody. ... He doesn't know everybody's always going around all the time with something wrong and believing they're exerting great willpower and control to keep other people, for whom they think nothing's ever wrong, from seeing it."
• §13 is a really quality depiction of the thought process in panic attacks, and the way anxiety about having anxiety becomes the central source of the anxiety.
• This is (naturally) a footnote: "There are secrets within secrets, though--always."
• The 100-page mega-chapter has several thought-provoking moments, although it becomes funny when you realize later one what its function is.
• A callback here to that first quote I mention: "It had something to do with paying attention and the ability to choose what I paid attention to, and to be aware of that choice, the fact that it's a choice." Different speaker, same idea.
• Oh, and that guy's mom becomes a lesbian in the mid1970s and opens a feminist bookstore called Speculum Books. I loved this.
• Advice often merely points out "the wide gap between the comparative simplicity of the advice and the totally muddled complication of [the advisee's] own situation and path."
• Wallace, as a character: "What renders a truth meaningful, worthwhile, & c. is its relevance, which in turn requires extraordinary discernment and sensitivity to context, questions of value, and overall point - otherwise we might as well just be computers downloading raw data to one another."
• Back on the point of paying attention, there's another lovely long passage (by the DFW character) about concentration and studying and how most paying attention is done in "jagged little fits and starts" and is mostly all the things we do to distract ourselves.
• Oh, and then we get to the uncomfortably true observations about the banality of certain immaturities... that no one truly understands and loves you for who you are and "you're also aware that your loneliness is stupid and banal even while you're feeling it, the loneliness, so you don't even have any sympathy for yourself."

And this doesn't even get at how interested and funny and annoying and actually quite tragic most of the characters are. At how fascinating and extraordinarily rich and DFWian. This book is a treasure, partially formed. And that, unfortunately, has to be enough.

It's a choice, mindfulness. It's a choice what we pay attention to. And everything about David Foster Wallace makes me want to remember that. And to make choices that I find satisfying. It's so difficult; it's unbelievably and maddeningly difficult. But still worth the trying.

Festival of Books + DFW

Before I tackle The Pale King in full, I thought I would start with a quick and dirty overview of the panel I attended yesterday. Times book critic David Ulin moderated a panel with Wallace's biographer D.T. Max, agent Bonnie Nadell, and editor Michael Pietsch.

The discussion began with Nadell's and Pietsch's experience in the weeks and months following Wallace's death, compiling the thousands of pages of work and going through it to see how much of a book was there. It moved on to an exploration of some of the ideas he explores in the work and, for lack of space to consider it more fully, why the work remained unfinished.

Of our threesome, we had just finished the novel, were halfway through, and were about to start. But the discussion I think worked for all of us, although we were distracted by what appeared to be some tension between Nadell & Pietsch, who knew DFW much longer and more intimately, and Max.

A couple interesting lines I picked up from each:

Max mentioned the struggle of "pushing away extraneous noise and thoughts." Nadell noted that Wallace found non-fiction easier and more fun, and "he didn't trust how much fun it was." Pietsch formulated maybe my favorite question: "Is the plot what's happening while you think you're looking for the plot?"