2016 in Books

My #hottake on 2016 - I probably wouldn't have gotten married this year if I had known it would open the seventh circle of hell. Holy smokes this year was terrible. BUT! I made it past the goal of 52 books. 56 books in 52 weeks! It was nice to escape the dumpster fire for a little while in some good (and not-as-good) reads. The bolded ones are my top recommendations. Some random thoughts below.

Thirteen Reasons Why
The Martian
The Invention of Wings
The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up
Jane and the Waterloo Map
Selfish, Shallow and Self Absorbed
The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P
Death of Cancer
Missoula
Orphan Train
Life After Life 
The Clasp
A God in Ruins 
Emma: a Modern Retelling 
The Language of Flowers 
The Prince of Nantucket 
Men Explain Things to Me
The Crown
A Study in Charlotte 
Eligible 
Everything Everything
All the Single Ladies
If I was Your Girl
The Girl Who Fell from the Sky
The Thing About Jellyfish
Rosemary The Hidden Kennedy Daughter
Belzhar
Asking for It
Breath Becomes Air
Why Not Me?
Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit 
Being Mortal
* A Short History of Nearly Everything
Morning Star
Let's Pretend this Never Happened
Boys in the Boat
Sharp Objects
Smarter Faster Better
Dark Places
The End of the Perfect 10
Dear Mr. You
Pre-Suasion
Vassa in the Night
The Girls
Luckiest Girl Alive
The Hike
A Life in Men
In the Garden of Beasts
Ghostly Echoes
Love Warrior
Hag-Seed
In the Heart of the Sea
An Ember in the Ashes
November's Fury: The Deadly Great Lakes Hurricane of 1913
Crazy Rich Asians
I'm Thinking of Ending Things

Crazy Rich Asians is a perfect beach read. Hag-Seed made me fall in love with words (again). The Hike and In the Heart of the Sea are the best "books for boys." Asking for It and Men Explain Things to Me will make you angry. Breath Becomes Air and Being Mortal will make you sad. Dear Mr. You will give you every emotion ever. If I had to pick a worst book, its probably The Prince of Nantucket. Triumphs in young adult literature include The Thing About Jellyfish and Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit. I'm Thinking of Ending Things was an appropriately titled book for last book of the year.

Happy reading in 2017!!

TBIF: Don't take my word for it

I am 100% over the moon for this Reading Rainbow kickstarter.

I cannot remember a time in my life that I did not love books and reading. I am forever grateful for my parents who encouraged books to be a part of our lives, by making it a part of our entire family.

Now that we are older, books are still a part of our family. They get purchased as gift for someone, as an excuse to read them ourselves, then passed around the family. There are books that I got as gifts that have never actually spent anytime on my shelf (which is fine, I feel completely comfortable taking books of any number of shelves and never returning them - it all works out in the end).

I cannot imagine not having this relationship with books. I can't imagine a life not full to the brim of stories I have read and the comfort that comes with a book in my hand.  While I did not need Reading Rainbow's peer pressure to try books for the first time, it gave me security in knowing that this love I had for books was a great thing.  And I watched it joyously, just as I watched Seaseme Street, 3, 2, 1 Contact, and Ghostwriter (PBS did a damn good job raising kids in the 80's and early 90's. Thanks guys). I know there are kids out there who discovered reading through the show and for that I think the world is a much better place.

I am tickled pink that the Reading Rainbow Kickstarter has already blown itself out of the water because there are so many people, like me, who recognize the value of reading as a joy rather than a test-able subject in school. People who are nostalgic. People who love LeVar Burton (he is so very, very lovable). People who love a good coffee mug (I am way too excited about this mug).

I also know there are people who more skeptical about this whole thing. People who do not trust the internet, or celebrities, or crowd-sourced anything. And I completely understand and respect that.

To those people, I say, give your money that maybe would have gone to this to Open Books. My favorite literacy program in Chicago. Open Books give kids the joy of reading with bonus joy of writing included at no extra cost. They make living life better for kids in Chicago. The programs are focused on reading and writing as a thing to treasure rather than one more thing to worry about failing.  And if you feel like you are being scammed if you don't get anything in return for your donation - go down to the Open Books Bookstore and buy yourself something nice. All the money from the store goes back into their amazing Chi-city programs.

I feel like there are so few things left in this world that we can just enjoy without worrying about how its going to kill us (food, the water in Lake Michigan, hugging people) that reading should be something that is pushed for its capacity to make the world a better place.

On Birds and Words

I had truly no idea how hard the news of Maya Angelou dying would hit me. I guess I had never really considered it until I was faced with it - and it just hit me like a ton of sadness bricks.

How people managed to pick their one favorite Angelou quote boggled my mind. I could no sooner pick a favorite cupcake. Why would you limit yourself to just one?

I am grateful to my AP Lang and Comp teacher for introducing us to Phenomenal Woman. For telling all the boys to shut their yappers when they said it was stupid (oh weird, another theme to this terrible week) and for those of us who heard it, she encouraged us to listen as hard as we could.

So I want to take a moment and say Thank you to Maya Angelou for putting words together in a way that had the capacity to stop my heart and made me feel through every single pore.

Thank you for living your life and letting us share it. Thank you for inspiring so many writers and readers by being you and no one else.

Three Books. One Shame.

As I mentioned on Monday, I managed to coast through three books in the past couple weeks.  Two of which I flew through, the other one that took me ages and ages, partly because I kept reading other things because I didn't want it to end.

(turns out kindles make for bad blog photos, that kindle screen says How We Do Harm: A Doctor Breaks Rank About Being Sick in America).

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay takes some patience at the beginning. You have to want it. Keep reading and you will be eternally grateful for the opportunity to go on this journey and you will be sad.

How We Do Harm confirms the fact that everything in America is the worst particularly in terms of Healthcare. Not only are we being scammed by health insurance companies and pharmaceutical companies, but also apparently doctors. So that's a new thing to be worried about.

A Long Way Gone has been on our bookshelf for years and I finally opened it and then read it in about three days. If you're looking a direct punch to the gut and some real rude perspective, give this guy a whirl. Yikes. You will be #firstworldprobz-all over the place.

So after three brutally emotional sadbadnot-glad books in a row I needed a palate cleanser and luckily there was one on the shelf.

Guys, first things first - this book is terrible.

You know how you have that friend who name drops like, as much as humanly possible (note: I might be that friend sometimes. I am working on it)? This book is just "how many Nantucket-y things can I mention on one page?" I love it but I hate that I love it.

Also, its got that Dan Brown device where you feel like a genius because you solve everything fifteen pages before the characters do. How does someone write people that stupid?

And it is Salacious. What you may not know about me is that I a giant blushing prude. All kissing makes me uncomfortable anything more scandalous and I am sure that everyone on the train knows that people are totally naked in this book. I just want to die.

It's gotten away from the "Reginald's quivering member" themes and now is just absurdest mystery. But, I can't stop. I will read this whole book and then if someone wants to get boozey with me and talk about the overarching themes and Elin Hilderbrand's place in the cannon of post-modern feminist literature, I am in.

Sometimes after a flavorful, huge, delicious meal you just want some month-old Easter candy.

A week away

So. I took a week off from blogging. I was tired and pulled away from everything that wasn't totally necessary. It was a week of saying no mostly, instead of yes.

Instead of blogging here are some things I did:

-smelled flowers (I was gifted not one, but TWO bouquets last week. Twice as many as I have ever received in ever. I love having fresh flowers around. It is quite addicting).
-ate things that were so delicious. Mostly this.
-slept on the couch too much.
-wrote thank you notes.
-went to the zoo.
-finished three books (almost. let's just say 2.75).
-did some lunges and squats.
-regretted most lunges and all squats.
-forgot to wash my hair.
-encouraged people.
-considered the future.
-planned a party.
-drank a mint julep.
-stole a gold-painted horse.

Real life (and blogging) starts again tomorrow.

Tommy Crommy and feeling dumb - a book review

I finally (finally) slugged my way all the way through Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall.

Ugh, that was an ugly journey through some years of Thomas Cromwell's life. I alittlebit feel like they happened in real time. 

My book report on this would go:

First Thomas Cromwell was poor and a little kid. Then he was friends foreign people. Then he was friends with the Cardinal. Then the cardinal died and he was friends with King Henry. He had a lot of friends but also a lot people hated him. Most people in this book died. The end.

The writing was relaxed and super oldey-timey delightful to read in my head that whole pages would go by before I realized I had no what was actually going on. At any rate, apparently our boy, TC had quite the life, from what I gleaned from the 55% of the book that I comprehended.

I know this is the beginning of a trilogy, but for me - it might also be the end. I shy away from culture that makes me feel like a stupid dummy. Even though, like my maternal line before me, I have a strange obsession with Henry8. I want to get through some books that don't make me feel mildly illiterate before I consider hopping back on this bandwagon. 

TBIF: for Bros and Creepers.

Mel Evans might be the funniest person I know in real life. Its real creepy and weird how much I like her and not-so-secretly would like to be her friend. Its mega strange and if she is reading this (which, lets be real, she isn't.) she would probably be hella uncomfortable and rethink all those cat pictures of mine she liked on instagram.

At any rate. She is a contributor to the perfect on-the-clock time-waster Bro Jackson which is basically if Deadspin was like, "Fuck you, Nick Denton, we're in charge. Jezebel, you can come too. Be cool."

Her columns, introducing bros to the finer, loved-by-the-ladies, things in life, are consistently hilarious and worth a read. This week's installment about Flowers in the Attic was particularly eloquent and on point as it discussed why girls in 8th grade are weirdly into incest and inappropriate boinking of other varieties.

I, myself, did not read Flowers in the Attic, though I have no idea how I missed such an essential part of adolescence, though I am sure this rationally explains my fears of commitment and twins.

What I did read was Return to the Secret Garden which had to have had the same effect. My mom purchased it for me in an insane error of judgement (seriously, do not judge a book by its cover unless you want your child's favorite childhood stories being beat up and kicked down a flight of stairs).

The Amazon page for this book is really quite spectacular. The summary has a bulleted list of facts. And those facts are mostly about the original. Also, everyone in the comments section is mad. The Amazon page might be more entertaining than the book itself.

There are some passages to that book that I read so often as a ten year-old that I still have them committed to memory despite my insistence on killing of brain cells at an alarming rate in the interim.

The book got passed around my middle school like the new Green Day CD. By the time I retired it, the spine had been taped back together numerous times, so exhausted had it been lying open for the young, impressionable girls to learn about the intricacies of marrying your cousin (spoiler alert) and the complications that arise after illicit garden sex.

I cannot in good faith recommend this book. I can tell you that if you should find it for sale for under a $1 then sure, let me know how it goes. I can in good faith tell you to be really, really awkward around Mel Evans and read Bro Jackson around 11:30 a.m. when you have already given up on the day.

truism 2014 v.1

A night where I can be in bed by 10 p.m. with a book in my hand feels like a good day. Even though it actually means I am ignoring all the work I have to do and avoiding all the cleaning my house needs - it feels good which has to be enough sometimes.

Be Happy. part 1.

My actual "resolution" this year is to spend all the gift cards and gift certificates cluttering up our junk drawer. It took about four of them expiring for me to decide to do.something about it.

My Intention for 2014 is to be happy. It seems simple enough, but my default feeling is anxiety and frustration so it is less simple than it would be for normal people. Naturally, to be truly happy, I would have to come into some independent wealth, so I could just live on fanciful whims all goddamned day but with that not happening anytime soon - I am going to make a conscious effort to do and find things that make me truly, legitimately happy.

We're going to do one thing a month, because I gotta go slow with things that are unfamiliar and scary like happiness.

Month 1.

For the past seven years, my dad has very generously provided me with an annual subscription to The New Yorker to make sure I do not lose touch with my superior, erudite East Coast roots while surrounded by these midwestern yokels.

Without The New Yorker, I would know nothing about artificial food flavoring, the Miami Marlins, the favelas of Rio De Janeiro, and would not have read my three favorite articles of all time: Max at Sea, Trial by Fire, and the one that ALWAYS comes to mind when people ask what I've gained from getting the magazine for the better part of a decade: The Itch.

But reading the New Yorker leaves little time for reading anything else. My subscription stopped unexpectedly at the end of November and I found myself cruising through three books in four weeks. So when Dad offered it back up yesterday, I said no. Because I want to read books. The books above and the unseen ones floating around in tubes of my (still in its packaging because I am waiting for my cover and do not want to take any chances) Kindle.

Reading the New Yorker is wonderful but it also kind of feels like work. Its a weekly assignment I feel guilty about not finishing on time. Reading books just makes me happy.  Right now I'm knee-deep in And the Mountains Echoed and its amazing. I am deliriously satisfied to be reading something so good.

To books and happiness in 2014.

A new season

While I did not love this book about friends, it has made me incredibly thoughtful about how I spend my free time. Recently, a mantra has been running through my head:

                                 

For the past few weeks I have jammed my schedule full of people who I don't always get to see. It's the last weeks of summer and patio-seated, margarita-drinking, out-too-late living. We're all about to crawl into our caves and hibernate until Spring, only peeking out for the occasional football game. And I am trying to make the most of it. 

But sometimes it means making choices. It means sometimes saying no to what has always felt like the obvious social invitation and saying yes to the one that requires a little more work.

It always feel better. Every time. It feels better to spend that time with people that matter to you.

I am finding myself being more thoughtful about what I plan, working harder to reach out to people, and grateful that I am surrounded by so many great people who want to be my friends.

Let's just call it a midlife resolution.

Gone Girl

Oh Shit, Gone Girl, Oh Shit.

That was what I said, out loud, in text messages, and in my head, no less than 80 times while reading Gone Girl.

Some of the times (while babysitting) when I couldn't contain myself, were less appropriate than others (in bed at 2 in the morning, loud enough to freak out the cat at my feet).

In conclusion. I should read thrillers more. I remember learning at some point the "tricks" that go into making a thriller one of those page turner, couldn't-put-it-down books and then I judged thrillers. While I am humbled to admit that I got played like a teenage boy's acoustic guitar...I did. And I'll admit it. And it was awesome. 

One of the best parts of being unemployed is that I have had the time to inhale books. I'll sit down at 4 PM and won't get up until I am good and finished with a book. It's so satisfying to have enough time to read all the words I want every day. I am so spoiled. Ugh.

Gone Girl, while a thriller in every sense of the word, was so fun to read (although, as an unemployed woman in the midwest, also sliiiightly terrifying). It was also an interesting book to read right after The Light Between Oceans, so many different ways of dealing with marriage. Yikes. Best to stay away from that shit show.

Apparently Gillian Flynn (who wrote Gone Girl) lives in Chicago. I wonder how often she saw people like me on the red line, my face buried in the book, occasionally looking up to mouth,

"Oh Shit, Gone Girl. Oh shit."

Book 1 - The Light Between Oceans

Guys, I am reading books again this year. Neat, huh? Books are the best.

image via

As an after-thought, I added this book to my amazon wish list right before Christmas because its our book club book this month, but I wasn't anticipating getting a chance to read it. I lucked out that Boyfriend's Dad did their Christmas shopping late this year and that he is good at following instructions and so it arrived under the Chicago tree.

I started reading it on New Year's Day-night, post-Rose Bowl. I got about 10 pages in before I fell asleep. I was sure that, despite my friends words to the contrary, this book was going to be slow and boring.

On January 2nd, what with no job and no prospects and it being only the day right after 2013 started, so no motivation to get either the former or the latter, I sat back down and opened up to page 11.

Five hours later, with tears streaming down my cheeks so much that I could barely see the words on the page, I finished the book. 48 hours in- I had my first ugly cry face of the year, that's some sort of personal best.

I think right now (in my life) is maybe the best time to have read this book as I am smack dab in the middle of the babies-and-weddings portion of the journey. I cannot imagine getting through this book as a mother. The amount of actual physical pain I felt was incredible, if I had a grown/raised a baby, I assume it would be akin to some sort of invasive, unanesthetized surgery. And while I know I would have loved the book in my younger years, the questions of what sort of sacrifices you make (and don't make) for the people you love probably would not have resonated as strongly as they did.

That all being said, the wonderful writing and vivid imagery make up for any emotional wringer it might put you through, so read it anyway no matter where you are in life.

Unlike so many books I like, I am actually willing (and dare I say, interested?) in seeing the movie version of this. If they get the right actors involved, the words of this book lend themselves to a solid script and if the western coast of Australia is anything like she describes - its going to be landscape porn best viewed on the biggest screen you can find.

Let's all go live in lighthouses and/or Australia.

The need for heroes

oh. Hello, blog.

A few days ago I had a discussion with a lovely person about children's books. She dropped a serious wtf-bomb when she mentioned casually that she had never read, nor knew anything about The Hunger Games books. She's a sweet girl, but apparently the rock she lives under is both spacious and all encompassing, because I feel like dead people at least have some semblance of the plot of Hunger Games.

After reviewing the entire plot (but leaving out the good bits) she shrugged and said she just didn't really connect with childrens/young adult literature.

Believe it or not, I did not just get up and walk out of the room at that kind of egregious and failbomb-y statement.  But I was slightly taken aback and a little disheartened, though it took me a few days to figure out why.

There are SO many reasons that I personally like The Hunger Games, the Margaret Atwood-y dystopian-ness, the struggle to come to terms with what romantic love is and how to react to it, the deep-seated need to provide for the ones you love...granted, we aren't really in the same place in our lives, but Katniss Everdeen is my kind of lady.

But beyond my personal preference, I love these books for what they provide to girls: A real, true-blue, honest girl hero.

As I think back to the books I read as a kid (when you pull "The Baby-Sitter's Club" weeds away) there were some amazing women. Calico Captive, Witch of Blackbird Pond, The Wolves of Willoughby Chase and even the Little House in the Big Woods books, although Laura Ingalls Wilder was a big fan of rule-following. Lame.

But ALL of those books were books that my Mom also read. The world was desperately in need of some new females to carry the torch - and what did they get? Harry Potter and Twilight.

Don't get me wrong, Harry Potter is some solid business. But the girls are relegated to the sidelines and to waiting around for rescuing. Even though they seem to be the smartest ones. What kind of message is that?!

And DON'T get me started on Twilight. I could write for centuries about why Twilight is the worst thing to happen to girls and the publishing industry - if for no other reason than we have it to thank for Shades of Gray (so now women of ALL ages can read books about emotionally abused women with some sort of twisted masochistic streak...awesome).

We needed some girls who are in charge without big brothers to save the day. And I am not saying Katniss is the perfect girl. She is super flawed and kind of terrible a lot of the time, but that's a GOOD thing. Find me a male hero who doesn't have a problem with the drinking or the ladies (Jesus doesn't count).

I am glad Katniss was around to open the door and I hope, for girls (both big and small) everywhere, that there is a long parade that follows behind.

Outside and Off.

Sometimes I get home earlier that Boyfriend. Earlier enough that it doesn't make sense to start dinner yet. And occasionally I manage to make it home without feeling the heaviness of work that must be done before the sun goes down. On those days I have made it my mission to turn everything off.

I leave my phone and my laptop inside. I take a book and a glass of something delicious out onto the deck and I read. I know this doesn't seem particularly luxurious, but it is my favorite part of my week.

If I am awake 15 hours a day, I probably spend 13 of them staring into the soulless brightness of a screen. And its totally my own fault, I will admit that. Between having a job, looking for a job, and Dance Moms - I find it hard to tear myself away from them.

But for, like, 40 minutes, twice a week - I make a decision to just let it all go. Its wonderful. Its amazing. Its all the adjectives. Four out of five Rachels agree.

So my new goal is to do it more. By the end of the year, it should happen almost every day. Granted- if I am unemployed by that point - it shouldn't be too much of a struggle, but jic - let's enjoy the world beyond the internet.


***bonus points if you can figure out what book I am reading...

Crap comes to Pemberley

Oh man, this may be the last time I try to read one of these books-based-on-books-that-I-already-love.

Image (via)

The first chapter or so of Death Comes to Pemberley was awesome. The rest was pretty much crap. First boring crap where nothing really happened and then implausible crap that made me want to punch P. J. James (who is apparently, NOT a man, as the Southwest employee told me rather emphatically as I was telling her about my opinion of the book) in the throat.

I am not sure why I thought that this wouldn't be disappointing, maybe because they advertised it on the back of the New Yorker, maybe because Lydia is secretly my favorite Bennett sister (I am a big fan of doing things just for the story, as is she - trust me). But this was a mega let down.

Speaking of Lydia, for some reason as I read this book, I was not picturing Colin Firth or Kiera Knightly or anyone EXCEPT I could pretty much hear Jena Malone reading Lydia's dialogue in my head. Say what you will about her as an actress, but clearly she leaves a lasting impression.

Of all the things that pissed me off about this book (and there were MANY) - the thing that got my goat the most? The cross over business between the books (I won't ruin it and tell you how it affects the story, but I feel like you have a right to be warned against such atrocities). I am not quite sure who died and named P.D. James queen, but there needs to be a coup d'etat. Pronto. You cannot just wave your magic freaking quill pen and connect imaginary dots between Emma, Pride and Prejudice and Persuasion. You. Can. Not. I do not care how many old ladies think you're really great.

Thank goodness it was over quickly. And for the record, I knew who did it all along.

Books, y'all

I recently met a new person who I have been getting to know.  In one of our conversations she mentioned her insulin pump.  I, of course, asked if it had a name - because I am socially awkward and the only other person I know who has an insulin pump has named it (Needy T. has named most electronics though, so perhaps it is the person, not the pump...I digress).

She said no to the naming and mentioned she has been dealing with diabetes since she was three which is crazy to me. A child of near-perfect health trying to fathom dealing with anything chronic for such a vast majority of a life is always mind boggling. So again (due to the social awkwardness) I announced, proudly, that I had diagnosed my friend with her diabetes.

Being a patient woman, my new acquaintance allowed me to tell the story of how Needy T. came to visit me on Nantucket and she was drinking tons and tons of water and peeing, like, ALL the time. I mentioned several times during this trip that her symptoms pretty much exactly matched those of Stacey from the Baby-Sitter's Club and she should probably go to the doctor before she peed all over the bed during a slumber party.  Needy T. got off the island, went to the doctor / who gave her the news / that she had a bad case of the diabetes.

Image (via)

"Well, thank goodness you read all those books."

I think she was just trying to get me to stop talking about it - but it totally struck a chord with me. Of ALL the books I've read in the past 27 years (y'all know I could read when I was born - Recognize) the baby-sitters club have been the only ones that have given me practical, Life-Saving knowledge.  The others have been good for lameskis, bourgeois meditations on society, and trivial pursuit domination - but these books saved a LIFE. Not just any life, this life:

Pre Diagnosis, Post Awesomeness

Anyway, when you have children and they want to read crappy tween books - First - thank the little baby Jesus that they are reading books. Second - Remember that most medical knowledge that your child will posses (unless they become a medical professional) will probably come from those books.

Trashy teen literature saves lives.

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.

image (via)

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 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.