Book 20 - Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk

So apparently, my brother, Buttmunch, called Boyfriend seeking Christmas present advice for me. All Boyfriend could apparently come up with was that I liked books by, "that gay guy who you guys listen to when you drive around."

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 This is actually a fairly accurate description of David Sedaris and Buttmunch was able to break the code and come through with this book which I had never read (despite the fact that its been out for Years).  And I got though it in less than 48 hours.

This book would be described as a delightful romp through the animal kingdom.  I bet you didn't know that animals talk and think like us, but they do.  They make bad choices and date people their parents don't like.  They are really sarcastic, judgement and just a little bit racist.

Its exactly the book you need when you are sick of humans and need a reminder that if you were a member of the animal kingdom, it would probably be just as bad.

Book 19 - The Cookbook Collector

Two books. 20 days. I can do this.  I might even finish the stack of New Yorkers while I am at it.  Believe in your dreams, guys.  Or my dreams anyway.

I did not do this book justice.  This book deserves a bubble bath, with candles and a nice bottle of wine.  Instead it got dirty, dirty train cars as I gulped it on commutes.

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I probably will never read it again, but I loved every second of reading it. It had the occasional moments of Jane Austen-esque squeals and great moments of page-turning anticipation.

It also had some serious, serious eye rolling.  I think it only took four or five pages before there was a Chez Panisse reference.  Of course.  And the deus ex machina at the end (that I was seriously waiting for because Miss Goodman wrote herself into a serious corner with a few of the relationships in this book) was well done, but kind of frustrating because it just seemed too easy.

Also, I pretty much glossed over all of the IPO business.  I think I saw VC six or seven times before I took the time to figure out it meant venture capitalist.  I also glossed over most of the religious gobble-de-gook, it bothers me when people try to push a religious agenda on me while I am reading their novels, even when its subtle and unoffensive.  I read novels to get away from agendas.  Stop ruining everything.

That being said - it was a delight.  It made me really hungry.  And it made me want to spend time researching old books (and buy a beautiful house on the West Coast).

Book 18 - The Book Thief

Guys - if I can make it to 21 books this year (half my original goal) than I will give myself a solid pat on the back. It is hard to maintain a New Yorker subscription and deal with the ever present temptation of an iphone while trying to read all the books.

Anyway - this was probably not the book to finish reading on the morning after Thanksgiving, alone on my couch with a stabbing pain in my belly potentially caused by a (self-diagnosed) swollen lymph node. Oh the tears, they did fall.  It was not quite as ridiculous as Little Bee, but I guess what did I expect from a book about the Holocaust?

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The schtick of this book is that Death is the narrator, which I will give bonus points for, as it is both clever and very appropriate for the subject matter - even though I found it to be kind of a tedious bit after awhile.

The characters in this book are so wonderful and they are that way because this duder, Mr. Zusak, has a way with the descriptors, let me tell you. I love the little phrases that so accurately depict things.  It makes me want to study people and write about them.

There are a lot of design decisions that were made that I could have lived without, but there's a part in the middle that involves pictures that I want.  I want framed prints of it in my house (if that wasn't so morbid and strange). They are all so simple and just perfect.

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Books about the Holocaust will always be devastatingly sad, because, like a book about the Titanic, you kind of have some idea where its going. But this book was just as much about being a girl who truly loves books as it was about horrible things happening.

It was strange, if you asked me if I liked it while I was reading, I would have probably just shrugged and said, "meh," but it kept me reading.  I don't know if its that I did not want it to end, due to my premonitions of what would happen, or if it really had just gotten under my skin and taken hold of me.

Now that its over, I cannot imagine reading it again, but I know that eventually would want to just revisit the pictures and descriptions of all these people who make it what it is.



 

Book 17 - The Fish Can Sing

So, if there was even an outside chance of me fulfilling my resolution - it is now gone, because it took me 3 weeks to get through this one, which means I now have a stack of New Yorkers to get through before I even crack another cover.

It's cool though.  If any book was going to be my downfall, I am glad it was this one.

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Do you guys remember when I went to Iceland?  Do ya, do ya? It was awesome. 

And this book? Was like a little piece of Iceland that I got to carry around with me for a few weeks.

Let me be real with you, this book was by far the most challenging thing I've read in a while. I can't quite put my finger on why it was so hard to get through, except to say (and I kind of want to punch myself for saying this) - it was very Icelandic.

The whole time we were there, and the whole time I was reading this book I was struck with this sensation of feeling like I didn't really understand everything that was happening.  We would walk down the streets and go into stores and buy food and watch for whales, but the whole time I just felt like there was this bigger narrative that I wasn't really aware of.

This book gives you a peek into the secrets I wasn't let in on.  These people who have lived this life that looked the same for hundreds of years, whose moral fiber is wrapped up in fish, and flowers and being good to others.

When we were at the National Museum of Iceland, there was this little exhibit about how Icelandic people used to reuse everything and darn their socks.  Nothing was ever thrown away until it disintegrated.  This culture of value (rather than waste) lasted right up until the Americanization of the place, and the of course, their economy went in the pooper (coincidence? doubtful.). This book encapsulates that mentality and expands upon it.

Also the story is just so. strange. and awesome. I don't even think I do it justice when I try to explain it - its just that, "so strange and awesome," just like Iceland.

Book 16 - Feed

So.  I just realized I am supposed to read 26 books in 11 weeks. Survey says?  Not possible.  As far as resolutions go this year - I did not do so well.  Typical.

Anyway - I am still reading books and New Yorkers, but mostly watching television.  And now?  Having nightmares.

Books very rarely affect me outside of when I am reading them.  Exceptions?  The Historian and The Kiss - which made me so fully depressed in every moment of my life that I literally had to stop everything and finish reading it so I could be put out of my misery. 

Anyway, Feed is yet another book that messed with me outside of book-reading time.

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First things, first. I got this book from one of the parents at my program. The glee this brings me is nearly indescribable. I love book recommendations and I really love when they come from places and people you wouldn't expect. This particular parent is lovely, but I don't know how much she knows about what I read.  Truth be told - I will probably read a book recommended by an acquaintance before a friend.  If only because they are so much more rare, that I am more curious about what their recommendation says about me/them/our relationship.  Double bonus points for when you actually let me borrow your copy of the book (how do you know I am going to give it back?  That's trust).

Anyway. In theory - Feed is kind of brilliant. It combines two incredibly trendy topics (blogs and zombies) and explores them in a really thought-provoking-about-the-future kind of way.

The flaws?  Well, the language is colloquial at best.  And here's the thing - I love informal writing. In case you have just been clicking on this page and not actually reading anything, colloquialisms are my bread and butter.  However, in book form, it doesn't really work for me.  Its hard to read sarcasm without kind of rolling my eyes.  I think it, more than subject matter, is what makes a book for teenagers rather than spanning all age groups.  And Feed drops the F-bomb like its trying to impress its older brothers.  I found it somewhat tedious.

And, I love my brother like, a fair amount.  We are pretty cool. However, there was something really creepy about the relationship between the siblings in this book.  Maybe it was the chasing zombies bit.  There is no way my brother and I would chase zombies together.  We would be on the couch crossing our fingers that those zombies might be in the kitchen making us a sandwich.

The other thing is I really, really Hated the way the book ended.  Without dropping a major spoiler fart on this blog - I really feel like she made the wrong choice - especially in terms of making it a trilogy.  I am not going to say this guarantees that I am not going to read the next one, because that kind of hyperbole always kicks me in the ass (see - leggings) but I feel like I lost a fair amount of interest.  Feel free to get a spoiler-iffic discussion going in the comments regarding this if you'd like.

All that being said, this was an entertaining read. As I discovered while reading this book, I am way more interested in medically-created zombies over religious/extraterrestrial/unexplained zombies.  Also, as a card-carrying, check-cashing (back in the day) member of the print press and a hopeless romantic about the future of blogging I really love how these things got tied together.  Also, I loved the character of Buffy - and the idea of a "fictional."  How nice to give people who fill the internet with fan fiction, deviantart, Emo-y Live Journal poetry a place to call home and a sense of ownership and ranking-system value (and I am not saying what they do now isn't valuable, it is just hard sometimes to wade through the painful stuff and find the things that are good). 

But its truly the isolationist themes that got to me.  As I went to a football game, and traveled on public transit and spent hours and hours at a company retreat trying to figure out how I can get more kids into classes that are already at 20 or 30 people.  I tried to imagine a world where you didn't do all these things - where, in fact, you avoided them.

I am not going to lie - it freaked me out.  As a person who craves big city anonymity over the suburbs (which, according to this book, is what the universal norm will be after the zombies come) this is more terrifying than the actual zombies.  In every minute where I was surrounded by complete strangers, I felt my breath catching - what happens when there is a panic?  What will I do?  Fun fact - the only thing I could ever think to do was, "find an exit strategy." I would be the worst real-person-turned-hero Ever.

The whole, "Whoops, how did we get zombies?" plot actually made sense, and felt so stomach-wrenching plausible.   And as we wrangle with the media leaving out pieces of the story, and flat-out not covering things (the #occupywallstreet movement comes to mind).  I got all panicky.  It reminded me of the story my Mom told me about the first time she read, The Handmaid's Tale, and then she went to the bank and her ATM card didn't work.  An awful sense of foreboding terror.

Is there anything but an awful sense of foreboding terror?  Like is there a whimsical sense of your impending doom?  Perhaps to one of those emo poets?

Book 15 - Unfamiliar Fishes

I spend a lot of time thinking about what I would do were I to meet an author I love in a social setting.  I like to imagine that I would be incredibly blase and ask them really erudite questions, perhaps about the oxymoronical irony of using the phrase "erudite questions" - however in my heart of hearts I know I would probably just get embarrassingly drunk and ask if we could be best friends.

The exception to this rule is if I ever meet Sarah Vowell.  In this case, I will force myself to stay sober and do whatever I can, even if I am creepily hovering, to listen to every word she says.  Then maybe, when its all said and done, find out if she would ever even consider being like, just a regular-see-you-ever-two-months friend.  Aiming low, so I won't set myself up for disappointment.

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It took me longer than I expected to get through  Unfamiliar Fishes. But then I realized that Sarah Vowell books always take a little longer than they should (based on thickness, lack of pictures and size of font) - but that is because she crams so much knowledge into each moment I find myself reading passages over and over to get every nugget of information out of it.  This book was no exception.

I was lucky enough to spend some serious quality time in Hawaii a year or so ago, and I went in as a tourist with an embarrassingly WASPy lack of interest about the history of this particular state.

In fact, if I am going to be totally real, my knowledge of the history of Hawaii is based mostly on the Saved By the Bell Hawaii Vacation mini series.  In that fine piece of cinematic history, Mr. Belding dresses up as a professor and spews made up crap to save Kelly Kapowski's grandfather's hotel - anyway, he talks about King Kamehameha and how he mandated this hotel be saved back in the day.  Every time I saw this movie I was far too interested in how 17 year old Zach Morris thought that he was ready to be a parent and how we had no idea how old Rena Sofer was (also, this maybe one of the best things she's ever done - which says a lot about all the crap she's done over the years).

ANYWAY - when we were driving around Hawaii and I saw the word Kamehameha on all the road signs and finally I verbalized it the same way Principal Belding did and Maimees was impressed that I had gotten the pronunciation right on the first try.  I was impressed that something from Saved By the Bell had a modicum of historical accuracy.

It was time to learn something - and any time I can pair learning good conversation-at-parties knowledge with the kind of dark, subtle humor that makes me giggle on my morning commute, I feel like I've won the from-now-until-the-acknowledgements lottery.

It was a difficult and satisfying read, that left me all at once smarter and more at a loss than I was before I started.  I now know so much about Hawaii but am helpless about what to do about the incredible douchebaggery of the generations before mine.   The story of Hawaii only reiterates what we all already knew about the selfish manifest destiny mindset that America can't seem to kick. But the maple syrup sarcasm that Sarah Vowell pours all over everything makes it that much easier to swallow. 

I wish I could be even a fraction as smart and dedicated as Sarah Vowell is - her books are so intricate and wonderful.  I want to wear a scarf, brown boots and carry them around - hopefully drawing in funny one-liners and a deeper awareness of how this country really is by osmosis.

Or maybe I'll just get drunk and ask her how she does it.

Book 14 - Emma

Guys!  I read another book!  That's what I've been doing instead of writing blogs.  I get exactly 6 minutes of quiet time a day and I spend it reading (and checking facebook).  Sorry, folks.

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So, I read Emma.

And technically, this should count as a re-read as (apparently) I read it in college, however, I think it is one of those books I read the first three pages of and was like, "yeah, I can bullshit my way through any assignments that get tossed my direction.  Next!" (in my own defense, I was supposed to read something like 40 books that semester, and, actually attempt a social life...clearly the booze won, every time).

Anyway, so I read Emma.  And it took me longer than I was expecting, but I've been traveling and, again, I am a terrible person.  Also, the beginning of Emma is pretty long with way more exposition than was really necessary.  Reading the book was kind of like taking a mental bath.  Occasionally I paid attention to my surroundings, but mostly I just enjoyed the words and how they sounded and how easy it was to find the funny in this particular book.

I struggled with the funny in Pride and Prejudice.  Everyone is so concerned with being smart in that book that they left me behind.  But in this, I got to enjoy Miss Bates and Harriet along with everyone else.

Guys, Jane Austen writing Miss Bates is, to me, the epitome of my writing goals.  I am pretty close, but man, the way you can just hear her talking.  Its so awesome to me.  I got sick of reading it to myself because I found her so tedious.  Any book that brings out an emotion like that deserves two thumbs up (even though I know I have friends who don't agree with my assessment).

Also, can we talk about how big a douche Frank Churchill is?  Oh man, douchewaffle of the century.  I tots would have fallen for him.  What a mess.

And let me just say - Jane Austen knows how to build an effin' moment.  You spend most of the book just hanging out and then all of a sudden there is Mr. Knightley professing his love.  I literally squeeled.  Squeeeeeeeled and then bent my knees and tucked my feet up and brought the book closer to my face as if proximity to the pages made the story more likely to happen to me.  Even if Mr. Knightley is, for all intents and purposes, a fuddy-duddy it must be nice to swept off your feet, regency style.

Also, fun note -  I bought this from Bookworm, my favorite used book store and paid $4, only to turn it over and discover that back in the day (early 90's?) it retailed for $2.50.  I am such a sucker.

Book 13 - The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

I think one of my least favorite, but most often asked-of questions is, "What kind of books do you like to read?" It's mostly just frustrating in its misguideness. 

Why in the world would you limit yourself to "one kind" of books?  I know there are people out there who do such a thing, and I salute them for even picking up a book at all, but am frustrated by close and yet so far they are from having their lives changed. 

For example, when forced to give an answer besides, "everything," to the above-mentioned question, I often spout "post-apocalyptic fiction." Which pisses people off because they want you to say something that can be easily categorized.  If they continue the conversation (I find that this answer can be a turn-off to many) and let me explain (Margaret Atwood, Hunger Games, blah blah) they then eventually ask, "wow, are there a lot of books out there like that?"  The answer, at least according to me is, "in the grand scheme of things, not really." Which is why I hate the pigeon hole it puts me in.  How frustrating to be leaving David Sedaris, Erik Larson and others off my most favorites list. 

Anyway - soap box aside, I love all books.  Some more than others, but I am willing to give anything a shot.

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Creative Non-fiction is always a genre I forget how much I love.  To be learning real facts AND being entranced by a fascinating story?  Epic. Win. 

Boyfriend recently discovered how awesome books are and his somewhat creative non-fiction bent has been a fantastic ying to my crazy-dramatic-make-'em-ups fiction yang.  He has a whole pile of books that I cannot wait to get my fingers on, but I started with this (bought by me, not by him - for book club). 

Ms. Skloot spins a pretty fantastic yarn.  I don't want to get bogged down in summary - but this book is about the first "immortal" cells - the HeLa cells, which essentially revolutionized science and the woman (and her family) that they were taken from.  Its a hefty story to undertake, and from what I read - she put in her time.  She researched and worked for over a decade for this story to come alive, and for someone who cannot focus on something for more than 5 days without totally losing interest, I am completely in awe of her dedication.

However. I wish there was less of her in the book.  I feel as though I am reading her story of learning about these people and things when I wish I was just learning about the people and things.  Maybe I'm wrong, and it would lose a lot of the relatability if you took out her perspective, but to me- it feels as though she is trying to bestow upon us, her knowledge, rather than the knowledge that just exists.  When you read Devil in the White City - Mr. Larson is not a part of your experience.  And I think, that is what I love so much about it.  It transports me back to that time.

And, to be totally fair- the events of this book happened/are still happening much more recently than most creative non-fiction I am used to reading.  So that changes things.  But I still couldn't shake the fact that I wanted less of her, more of these people.

I have to give her mad props though - talk about being at the right place at the right time.  Affordable, accessible health care has always been a struggle in low-income area (obvs.) but I feel as though in the current political climate, this book struck a particular cord that resonates louder than it may have 10 years ago. 

I will be totally honest with you - parts of this book made me cry, and some made me seethe with the injustice of it all.  Mostly it just overwhelmed me with how much I truly did not know about the lack of true privacy in the world. 

I was fully aware that my spirit, and my image will live in infamy on these crazy internet tubes, but I honestly had no idea that if I was at a hospital (which I haven't been really yet, but give it time) - any bits they take out of me, I no longer own or have control over.  Of course there are forms and what not, but the thing that I got most out of this book is that releasing control of your cells, the things that physically make you, you - sitting, reading, breathing, digesting is what needs to happen for any sort of advancement in science.  It's some what violating to think, not just because they take what makes up you, but that you can't really control it.

If that doesn't freak you out enough, just think at least I am giving you the heads up...there are people (Ms. Lacks being one of them) who had their cells taken without anyone telling them or their families.  And while the idea of monetary compensation is a huge one (though not one I want to get into) it is something to just know.  Know that your cells are out there changing things - and if my cells are the secret to curing something (I really hope its morning breath or why I biologically need to eat a whole bag of yogurt covered pretzels in a day) than I am stoked I am doing my part.

I just want the people who give their cells (ie - everyone) to all have equal access to the medical advancements that might come out of it - regardless of financial situation.  Its really only fair.

Book 12.1 & 12.2 - Catching Fire and Mockingjay

Y'all, there is a reason I have a mockingjay key chain on my house keys.  These books are amazing.  After the epic book drought of 2011 (Icelandic adventures did not lend themselves to getting anything but guidebook reading done), I managed to read two books in three days.

I am fully aware of the fact that there is something ever-so-slightly off about being this into books that are geared for younger readers.  However, I feel like, in my own defense, perhaps it is time to call shenanigans on that particular reason for judging me (there are SO many other reasons).

When I, myself, was a young adult I read whatever I could get my hands on.  I was a completely unbiased reader.  Did I learn some things that maybe I could have waited a few years to learn?  Develop some misconceived notions about what to expect from relationships? Start using words I didn't really know the meaning of?  Yes.  These all happened, but my parents embraced it because a kid who is reading is way better than a kid smoking crack.

Anyway - since a young age, books have been just books and so that has continued into adulthood.

The way I decide what books I am going to read is by how much I want to keep reading them.

Catching Fire was waiting for me at the office on Monday morning.  I managed to wait until I got on the train to go home before diving in and then it was non-stop reading.  I read while I brush my teeth, and while eating dinner.  I read long past it was time to go to bed (even grown-ups have bedtimes, its how we keep ourselves from getting fired at work).  The next morning it was the same.  I got to my office and I just sat at my desk, computer still off, reading.  Then I turned the computer on, and kept reading until it got to the point where I realized that this was just ridiculous.  So I put it away...until lunch.

I was done by dinner.  And since Catching Fire is so good, I couldn't live with myself until I read Mockingjay too.

I think that Catching Fire might be my favorite of the books, which is weird for me too, guys.  I like the smell of uprising.  I mean, its no fun when everyone gets killed for their beliefs but its pretty bad ass to get to see what's about to happen.  Also its the book where Peeta is a dick, which is satisfying.  Apparently even when you're the nicest dude on the planet you can still be a total douche when some one hurts your pride/heart.

Mockingjay - on the second read (the first time was last summer when it came out) is still just as slow and disappointing.  And I still kind of wanted to punch Katniss in the face.  Like right in the jaw and tell her to grow up and stop whining.

I also wanted to tell everyone to leave her alone because she's a kid, not your dress-'em-up Warrior Barbie.  But since we hear her view points rather than anyone else's - her emotions are the ones that annoy me the most.

Also, I slipped for a second and thought that maybe Peeta was the best guy after all.  But then I remembered that my hate for shmoopy love business (despite what you may have heard) outweighs my love of cakes, every single time.  Also, get a job, Peeta.  Get. A. Job.

The best moment of this re-read came when I was letting a coworker borrow The Hunger Games and handed it to him in the middle of summer camp lunch when he was surrounded by 10 - 13 year-old girls.  The girls lost their Minds.  I think I won all the cool points available that day from having already read all three books.

And here's the thing - anything that gets kids reading is okay.  Anything that turns the tv off is amazing.  And books that bring together 26-year olds and 12-year olds (and perhaps a more mature audience as well, my mother and most of her friends have read it...and they are in their early 30's) and gives them something to bond over is the most inspiring and truly lifts my spirits in a way that makes me realize how truly important and valuable books are.

So thanks Suzanne Collins and J.K. Rowling and Tamora Pierce and Monica Furlong and Phillip Pullman...for writing books that defy labels and generational gaps. 

Book 12 - Bel Canto

This is a book that makes me put my foot in my mouth

I spend most of my time speaking in hyperbole.  Everything is perfect or terrible or amazing or horrifying.  This especially applies to the ends of movies, but also some books.  Most of the time I prefer a terrible, dark depressing ending to one with butterflies and rainbows - because that is how the real world works and I am nothing if not a realist when it comes to movies made by perfectly sculpted humans pretending to be other people.

I don't want to give too much away (although this book is basically a primer on "being hit over the head" foreshadowing) but... well, too bad.  Based on past experience, my reaction to the ending should have been, "pleasant surprise" but instead it was somewhere closer to grouchy pants stick-in-the-mud.  And I will say there are two endings to this book (I think its what some people, in the biz', call an epilogue) to throw you off the scent.

I don't know if my life of domestic partnership has made me soft, or if I've just lost my taste for sadness and desperation but I was kind of a little bummed.  And then I was angry.

This book apparently gave me a lot of feelings.

However, I don't think I would say I liked it.  I think it was okay and a pleasant enough vacation read - but I found myself preferring words with friends (or my weekend fling - four square) over slogging through.  Literally, I felt like a hostage of this book.  And if that was her intent - well then, a tip of the hat to you, Ms. Patchett.  Well played.

Also - I think I just don't do well with a cast of social misfits.  They were all just strange and awkward. This is probably how I would also be in a hostage situation.  But it kind of just made me not want to read about them any more.

So basically - this book was too much like real life for me to be happy.  Which completely negates everything I've ever thought about anything.  Dang lady - what a way to write a book.

Book 11 - About Alice

Guys, these book reviews are coming 'atcha.  There are three unread New Yorkers on my kitchen table (I'm saving them for Iceland as they are easier to dispose of than books) and I have a fair amount to show for it.

This book made my heart make funny noises.

It made it beat seemingly slower and faster at the same time.  It made me cry with sadness and with pure joy.

Seriously, if 16 year-old girls knew what was good for them, they would stop mooning over boys who can write songs and spend some time with boys who can write words that don't need to hide behind  lame guitar cords and canned drum beats (You're Welcome, nerdy book-writing boys).

There isn't much I really want to say about this - except you should go read it.  Now.  Right now.  It will take you exactly one lazy, sunny afternoon on the porch.  You'll still have time afterwards to cry a little and then send a wish out into the universe that you'll feel that way some day.  Or that someone will feel that way about you.  And even if it never happens - you can smile because it happened somewhere, for someone.  And in some small way, the fact that we get to share it makes it wonderful.

Book 10, 10.1, 10.2 - If I Were in Charge of the World and Tamora Pierce books

That was an excessively long title, but I need to catch up a little on these.

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I read If I Were in Charge of the World two months ago.  It took about an hour.  But it was a delightful hour.  Kids poetry is so unassuming and I don't really have to guess at the meanings or read between any of the lines.  Adult poetry sometimes takes more trouble than its worth - kids poems are like a glass of Sprite.  Clean and refreshing and with some bubbles.

Buy a kid you know a copy of this poetry book.  Read all the poems together and then write poems.  Go.  Do it now.  You will be surprised at how inspired you are.  No seriously, I'll wait.

The reading of Pippi and of this have really reinforced my determination to get at least one or two kids who hate reading to come around to it at some point in the next...ever.  I don't know how I'm going to do it - but I'll figure it out.  You can't hate reading.  You just can't.

Also, in the dropping off of letters that my Mom did, she also left behind some books.  Per my request, as I thought that my bookshelves were not looking overstuffed enough.  Some of the books she left behind were a sampling of Tamora Pierce offerings.  So of course, rather than read something new - I immediately had to read Lioness Rampant and Wild Magic in quick secession.

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I cannot remember the last time I read either of these books all the way through so I had some new thoughts on them.

One - Dang.  There is a lot of sex.  I am all for girls being heroes and getting their swerve on but, Dang.  And while I would never call someone who had sex with exactly three people a slut, for some reason when I read this book I am lead to believe that she is a little bit of a ho (fo' sho'). 

Also this book is for kids - I guess maybe there is the hope that 12 year old girls won't understand what, "sharing a bedroll," means, but kids are way smarter than we give them credit for.  Or maybe Ms. Pierce just wants girls to know that its okay to get Biz-ay - as long as you wear a charm around your neck that will keep you from getting from pregnant, because we all know those are 100% affective.

Boyfriend kept trying to read over my shoulder as I was reading so that he could make fun of me (he sneaked a peek at the back cover and was full of judgement).  When I refused to let him read it he would invite ridiculous text for the book that was, embarrassingly, not that far off from the actual.

These books are super ridiculous and yet, I love them.  I totally dig 'em and I am a big fan of Tamora Pierce as you can tell from this lovely sepia tone photograph.

Fun fact, right before this picture was taken, my good friend McKim was very mad at me because I had just dropped the F-bomb in a children's book store and McKim doesn't really approve of that sort of behavior.

Book 9.1 - Blackhearts in Battersea

On my 26th birthday, as a treat, I let myself get lost in the book section of the Brown Elephant on Halsted.  I have a wicked thing for used books and, left to my own devices, I will happily walk out with as many as I can carry.  Because they tend to cost about a dollar a piece, its an excellent opportunity to judge things by their covers, or by the fact that you once heard someone say the title, or it has a blurb on it from another person you like, or some other absurd reason. This was an especially amazing used book adventure because I didn't just find new books - I found an old friend.

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In my mother's house, somewhere among the Laura Ingalls Wilder and the four copies of Me Talk Pretty One Day we collectively own is a hardback copy of this book.  I don't know if its Mom's or Granny's or someone else's, but nearly all of the pictures have been lovingly colored in (apparently when my Mom was sick as a child, this was a special treat she got, it was, devastatingly, Not passed down to the future generation, probably because she did not trust us to color inside the lines) and its one of my favorite memories of childhood.

I did not even know they had come out in paperback (and on my birthday 11 years ago!  How marvelous!) but this was a nice way of finding out.  I snatched it out of the pile, afraid someone else's hand would get there faster, and clutched it close to my chest.  Its sat on my shelf since, a friendly reminder of childhood.

On Friday at work, I was talking with one of our tutors, who is about the same age as my Mom and as wonderfully well versed in the best books of childhood.  She was positively glee-ful to discover that my mother had taken the time to introduce me to all the classics.  I brought up Wolves of Willoughby Chase and she talked about how much she had loved it.  I mentioned Blackhearts in Battersea and how excited I had been to find a copy and it drew a blank stare.  

 

"You never read the sequel to Wolves of Willoughby Chase?"

"There's a sequel?"

 

I am beyond delighted to have the opportunity to share this book with her, as there is nothing quite as good as sharing a book with someone you know will enjoy it immensely.  I put it in my bookbag when I got home on Friday so I wouldn't forget it come Monday morning, but of course, since it was there, I took the opportunity to get reacquainted with Simon and Sophie and little Dido Twite on my bus rides and stolen moments waiting in line for things.   

 

Its really good still.  Its obviously more of a child's book than anything else, and so is the easiest of reads, but it is also full of danger and intrigue and phonetically-spelled cockney dialogue full of the jargon of the day.  I wish words like "tosser" and "naffy" would come back into popularity and we could all talk with English accents without sounding ridiculous.  

 

Its one of those great children's books that can draw in both boys and girls.  Naturally having a male and female protagonist will help, but the girls in this book do just as much rescuing as the boys and they're just as smart and they get to wear gorgeous dresses that are described in just enough detail to let your imagination lose.  

Naturally, if you've never read this Joan Aiken series, you must start with Wolves (which is every bit as good, though geared slightly more towards girls although there are some pretty vicious wolves that might pique the boys' interest) then read this one.  It's a real hum-dinger.

 

Book 9 - Waiter Rant

I got half way through this book and had a moment of paralyzing fear, Why did Boyfriend get me this book for Christmas?

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Because here's the thing.  This book is not very kind to people who eat in restaurants (a label which I happily give myself as much as possible).  He tends to make broad generalizations and then rationalizes them with, "most people are not like this." There are some heart warming stories about very rich people who help him out or very poor people that he helps out (because being a waiter in a fancy restaurant is kind of like being the messiah) - but, obviously, there are not very many stories about just normal people who come in, eat, leave a 20% tip and then go home.  Which makes sense because we're a fairly boring bunch, but he complains SO much about jerks that you kind of feel like he thinks we're all jerks and every now and then, someone surprises him.

Anyway, turns out Boyfriend does not think I am a terrible person who does not deserve to eat in a restaurant, he just thought that the book might be kind of like David Sedaris and knew I liked him, so went for it. 

And it is like David Sedaris, in that there are many short stories, although he spends much more time finding meaning in the stories than David Sedaris every does.  While David Sedaris does eventually find meaning - the meat of the story is the story itself.  I wish this book was more like that.  I get that being a waiter is shitty.  But most jobs are pretty shitty.  I can't think of a single job where you aren't dealing with jerks and annoying people all day long.  Apparently this planet is overrun with terrible people. Bummer. 

My favorite part of this book was the descriptions of all the people.  Obviously.  The best part is the story.  And so, if this was truly a David Sedaris-esque book it would be all story, with space left for the reader to figure out that we're all terrible people and we should tip better.

It did give me pause, to be perfectly honest.  There are some habits of mine, that now seen from the other perspective make me feel a bit guilty.  Although I still do not understand the assigned seating in a completely empty restaurant bit.  Maybe it depends on the place or the day, but if its a Sunday morning and there is no one there - why can't I just sit wherever I want??  I am paying for this experience right?  I should not be judged for wanting a table near the window.  Right??  Sorry to be a dick, maybe there is something I'm just not getting about this whole thing...

But more stories about crazy people!  That's what I want!  I want to hear more about the stupid people who insist that everything on their plate be cooked in peanut oil and the men who come in with hookers and all that good stuff.  That was by far the most enjoyable part of the book.  Some of it kind of felt like I had done something wrong and was being lectured. 

Also, this guy made a book out of a blog, I have to give that kind of thing uber-props.  As someone who can barely force herself to type more than four or five sentences of pure drivel on any given day - this guy put in the work and it paid off well.  So, kudos for that...but I still want to hear more gossipy stories about strangers. 

Book 8 - The Perks of Being Wallflower

Before you start with me, No, I have never read this book before.  Never.  Is that crazy?  Some people think its totally crazy - apparently its a staple of many pre-adolescences.  I some how coasted over it, probably because I spent most of those formative years reading as much Margaret Atwood as humanly possible (and just as much time pretending like I understood it).

Anyway, I can cross it off the list, I've now read Perks of Being a Wallflower.

So when I was lacking a book for my train ride home I picked it up off the bookshelf in the tutoring room at work.  Thinking that a whole bunch of people have it listed as one of their favorites on the Facebook.  It was worth a shot.

I read the first 10 or 15 pages on the way home and then abandoned it for a current New Yorker.  I was not getting the big whoop as of yet.  Then on Sunday night, after hearing my friend rave about it - I decided to give it another go.

Sunday night bath is one of my most favorite new traditions.  Its not quite an every week thing, but it happens enough to be more than just a passing fad.  I took Wallflower with me and started back up and read straight through from page 12 or whatever - until the very end.  It took an hour and a half or so (I take pretty warm baths so I'm not running the risk of catching hypothermia or anything) and when it was over I was prune-y and thoughtful.

I thought it was good, to be sure but I am not quite sure why all my friends think its so amazing.  Without giving too much away, it bills itself as being a book about a typical high school experience but uh - its not.  There are parts of it that (I hope) are anything but typical.

I related with Charlie to be sure, especially there were a few lines that just echoed in my head, knocking around like unfamiliar memories, I wasn't sure how he had known exactly how I felt.

This all came to a screeching halt with the final reveal which made me reevaluate everything I thought before.  Am I really like this character who I am realizing, is so not like me?!  Yikes, Stripes.

Also, the fact that Charlie was a boy.  As with any book written about adolescents, I want to hear the same story but if it was a girl - how does that change his/her feelings and actions.  I don't know why - perhaps femenocentricism is to blame, but, Lord of the Flies, A Separate Peace...what it would be like if they were about girls? (I can tell you one thing - probably a lot fewer people would have died).  These are the things I think about when I am reading.

Anyway - if you're a teenager and you're very angsty, you should probably read this book.  If you are a grown up and want to feel nostalgic about how amazing high school was then, I hate you and everything you stand for - and you probably will feel like you empathize with this book.  If you feel like high school is best left in the past and don't need anything else to bring you down in this world of sadness - read Harry Potter, because its about angsty kids, but there's Magic!

Book 7 - Neverwhere

I hate that this is becoming the all books blog - but my brain has been spinning at about 100 miles an hour most of the time - and when I am home, not working, I try to stay away from the computer.  Which means a total lack of blog posts.  But it does mean a lot of snuggling up with a blanket and reading.  I've finished two books in the past couple weeks, and at first I thought this post was going to be for both of them, but I write too much and so I had to split it into two (you're welcome).

First off - Neverwhere.

image (via)

It's been on my shelf for a while now and then I randomly picked it up, only to discover (Thanks to a random guy on the Lawrence bus) that it is currently the One Book, One Chicago...book (also known as the One City, One Book Book).  This is one of those totally corny things that I absolutely lose my sh*t over.  A whole city reading the same book!!!?  Squeeeeeee, how harmonious!  No guns! Only books!  I got so jacked about it I suggested my book club read it too so that we could be one with the city (it lost out to Public Enemies - the John Dillinger book, which is poetic, Chicagoian democracy at its finest).

This is also wonderful because Neil Gaiman (himself) will be here to talk about it.  I love listening to authors talk and rubbing off some of their being-published aura.  So I'm excited because its really quite lovely when timing works out just right.

As for the book.  Well.  I cannot bring myself to think anything beyond, "yeaaah, its good."  I mean, it is crazy imaginative and vividly written (to the point where there were moments that I forgot it was a fantasy book.  I totally bought into this world because sometimes I'm an idiot).  But at the same time, I didn't really jam out with any of the main characters.  So much energy was spent on the world, that I felt completely ambivalent on whether Door or Richard or any of them made it out of this place alive (except the two bad guys - they were deliciously bad).

I don't think that this is a problem, necessarily - it was a pretty quick read and accessible for the masses (as the One City One Book...book should be).  I am excited to read his other stuff and also listen to him talk, as I have heard he is funny fellow.

Book 6.1 - The Hunger Games

I didn't have a plan in place for re-reads.  At this point they don't count.  But I still want to talk about them.

I am not going to say that this is my favorite book ever, because while appropriately hyperbolic for me, its not quite true.  I will say its for sure the best book I discovered in 2010.  And by discovered I mean was sent by C. McKim.  My book hero (for serious - if you're ever on the hunt for a good book - check her blog.  Its updated frustratingly infrequently, but its my go-to for new reading material).

Anyway.  I started re-reading this because now that the protagonist has been (irritatingly) cast I wanted to read it again from a screen-writing perspective (not that I have been hired to write the screen-play, but I feel like I should make myself available to step in).

This story is made to be a movie, y'all.  Suzanne Collins knows exactly where her bread is buttered and for that - I salute her.  Its not everyone who can make a really compelling book that will also make a really compelling movie.

Upon reading this book for the third time I noticed a few things -

1- Katniss is frustratingly dense sometimes.  Perhaps this is a by-product of growing up in the seam and having "not starving to death" being your one and only mental focus day in and day out.  So much mental energy is spent staying alive you don't spend enough time learning about subtle nuances and reading between the lines.  Eventually she gets with the effing program, but Gah.

2- I am still, most definitely (for the period of the first book at least) solidly on Team Gale.  Grow a spine, Peeta.  Maybe it's Katniss's stupidity that's to blame, but I still vote Team Gale all the way.

3- I am still not quite sure how to sell this book to others.  When someone asks what its about, I'm always like, " Erm? Post apocalyptic America annnnd reality television?  And also young people in love.  Oh, and teenagers killing each other."  That being said - I started a Hunger Games revolution in Chi-city in the 25-and-older demographic.  You're welcome, Miss Collins.

I don't know why these books are so good - but they are.  And they are a delightful guilty pleasure.  Favorite moment this month?? - Hunger Games in a Sunday night bubble bath with a glass of wine.  Epic Win.

Book 6 - The Pilot's Wife

So, I'm pretty sure I started reading this book when I was fourteen or so.

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(I have no idea why this picture is so wee)

But honestly, I cannot remember if I really did.  That was a long time ago, and there have been a bunch of books since then, but for some reason I have this memory of picking this book up while baby-sitting and not getting interested in it at all.

Which is weird, because this book is very very gripping.  Anita Shreve knows how to sell her 'ish.  You know?  She can turn a phrase to keep you reading.  And I dig it.  I like a book that keeps me reading (dur - if you want a book that doesn't keep you reading read Catcher in the Rye, yawn).  

I read this for book club and I am curious to see what everyone else says about it, its the 2nd Anita Shreve book we've read in the past year (We read Testimony pretty recently) and I will say - they are two different books, but you can tell they are written by the same (albeit very talented) lady.  

Also, in the grand scheme of the three books I've read by her - nothing holds a candle to Fortune's Rock. I was super stoked that the house from Fortunes makes an appearance in this one.  It sounds like a gorgeous house - I would like to go to there (mmm, imaginary real estate porn).

Obviously, I don't want to give anything away - but this book made me second guess everything in my life.  Like Everything to the point where Boyfriend was like, "you need to remember that there is a difference between books and real life, although sometimes that difference is very, very small (and for the most part more attractive) - also this book did nothing for my complete and total irrational fear of flying.  So, that's great.

There is also some historical stuff that was touched on but not really discussed towards the end of the book and I think that maybe because of when it was written, there wasn't a ton of backstory (ie - when it was written, this particular thing was a whole bunch more prevalent) so I am left scrambling to the wikipedia and feeling like an uneducated loser.  So I'm just saying, maybe a little more context would not have hurt things.

Anyway.  Pilot's Wife is totally worth picking up at your local resale shop (I feel like I always see copies of it around) and reading.  It has some surprises in it that I wish were better explained, but left me feeling satisfied and made me feel better about reading it.  I feel like her books walk this very fine line between Chick Lit and just books about girls and boys and love - and this book for sure fell in the second category.  Despite the ending which almost tipped it back into the chick lit ocean.  

Book 5 - Quite A Year For Plums

We are just humming right along.  Thanks public transit!

To be completely honest, I never would have picked up this book if it hadn't said "Author of 'Mama Makes Up Her Mind'" on the cover.  That was one of my most favorite books when I was 11 or so (I had NPR nerds for parents).  I loved Bailey White's short-possibly-some-what-autobiographical stories and hoped that Mama might make an appearance in this one.

Sadly, there was no Mama.  There was a whole bunch of other characters that I could never keep straight.  Ms. White provides a handy who's who list in the front of the book - but I was switching back to it so much that I got impatient.  Ultimately, not quite knowing how all these people were related did not really affect my enjoyment of the book.

And I enjoyed it a fair amount.  The tone was remarkably different from MMUHM - in a way that kind of disappointed me a little bit.  Part of the reason I loved MMUHM was because she was so frank and immodest about these crazy people, where I feel as though in this book - she was very delicate with these people who were pretty nutty.  It seemed as though she was worried she was going to offend, maybe? I don't know.

Anyway - Its an okay book.  At the end of it I was kind of meh - but also in a good mood and not sobbing my eyes out, so we've made some progress since the last book.

Book 4 - Little Bee

So, I know I'm a little late to this particular party, but just in case I'm not the only one.  Read this book.

I started this book Sunday night and I finished last night around midnight.  Now, I am a pretty fast reader, but 3 days is impressive, even for me.  This is the first book I've read since probably the Hunger Games that has kept me so engrossed.

Its hard to talk about this book without giving everything away.  As I tried to tell Boyfriend last night as I was bawling uncontrollably, "Its about a girl and a lady and their life and its sad."


Anyway - I loved the whole book - cover to cover, despite the crying.  Its wonderful and everyone should read it.  I am curious if Chris Cleave's first book is as good.  Also, I challenge you to read this book and not feel more aware about the world.  What's frustrating is its such a pessimistic awareness.  I don't know if that's what Mr. Cleave was going for, but I woke up this morning with an even heavy heart that usual.  Not only are all the silly minute things wrong in my life, but there is a world out there full of terrible, terrible things that I am completely powerless to stop.  So what do you do?  How do you live with this new awareness?  And how do you get over the fact that it took a novel to open your eyes - as if 26 years here wasn't enough?