(More) Recent Reads

Some of these books I read back in November; I wish I'd reflected on them then.
My responses probably aren't as specific now as they may have been earlier.

Blessings, Anna Quindlen. This book wasn't particilarly complex in the sense that it had only a small cast of characters and a pretty singular story line; however, it was sweet, tense, heartwarming, and heartwrenching all at the same time. A 24-year-old with no family and a recent criminal record is hired as the caretaker at the Blessings Estate. He works for the aged widow who gives him a chance, although she's not necessarily a woman with an open mind or an easy manner. Ultimately, (early on) they're thrown together to secretly raise an orphaned baby left on the doorstep. This is the story of how they grapple with their own weaknesses, stories, prejudices, strengths, and abilities to give and receive love or trust. I read this story quickly and was moved by Quindlen's ability to tell the story without sentimentality and without sugarcoating the implications (and outcome) of a tricky situation.

A Series of Unfortunate Events: The Bad Beginning, Lemony Snicket. I read this in a couple of hours for my Mormon Book Club (again, I call it this since I'm the only participant not in a ward!). It's a kids' book (maybe age 8?); it's also been made into a movie (which I've seen) starring Jim Carey. Kids probably like that it's not sweet and sappy. In fact, the "author," Lemony Snicket, warns readers that bad things happen in this book and it's not for the faint of heart--orphaned kids, evil guardian, etc. (Doesn't every kid want to be warned they might not like something and then be tempted to test their ability to endure?) The story's interesting array of characters--kids with special abilities and skills, angular and bushy-browed greedy guardian, creepy acting troupe--and quick-paced plot make it appealing. The narrator's voice (Lemony Snicket) is also appealing. For instance, he often offers plainer definitions of unfamiliar words he's used that make it sound more like he's in cahoots with the young reader rather than condescending to them (a delightfully sneaky teaching method!).

The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath. This book is powerful, particularly in two regards: 1) Plath described a young woman's descent into insanity with what seems like eerie precision. Knowing that this was published posthumously, and, knowing the details of Plath's suicide, this book is a sad step toward understanding the demons that haunted this writer (well, this human being, really); 2) Plath's writing itself, the story and descriptions of depression and confusion and listlessness and despondency was strong enough to evoke a sort of morbid cloud around me (a reader) in the minutes, hours, and days I lived between pages. (For the record, the film Lost in Translation's mood evoked a similar effect on me--one where I'm sad and grey and blue for the unfulfilled characters for hours after finishing it.)

Freakonomics, Stephen D. Levitt and Steven J. Dubner. My Aunt Laurie recommended this one; I just finished it last night. What an innovative, rigorous approach to grappling with interesting questions and conventional-wisdom-defying answers as attempted by an award-winning self-described "rogue economist." Levitt fearlessly takes into account biggies (like race, nature/nurture, politics, parenting) in unconventional but critical, analytical ways. My favorite chapters had to do with to what extent genetics and socioeconomic status seem to play into a child's intelligence and chance for success (rather than good parenting). I think the whole book, the whole approach, is fascinating and I highly recommend the book to anyone who wants to jiggle their thinking. Sample chapter titles: Why Do Drug Dealers Still Live With Their Moms? and How Is The Ku Klux Klan Like a Group of Real-Estate Agents?

Leave Me Alone, I'm Reading, Maureen Corrigan. While similar to the focus of So Many Books, So Little Time, a book I mentioned in an earlier blog, Corrigan's portrayal of her life as an avid reader is a little less lippy, a little more academic. In fact, at times it's so academic I thought the title should've been more formal; this title doesn't really seem to get to the meat of her focus. Corrigan is a lit professor at Georgetown as well as NPR's Fresh Air book critic, and this memoir focuses on, specifically, how the feminist movement and the detective genre have shaped her reading experiences. She is quite the scholar, and when I finished the book, not only did I have a greater apprecation for the historical and cultural contexts of a number of classics I've read, but I had a brand new list of about 25 books I'd never considered before.

Moo, Jane Smiley. I read this as the December selection for my Marin City Library Book Club. I'm a fan of A Thousand Acres (her novel about a modern farm family, which retells the story of Shakespeare's King Lear), and am impressed once again with Smiley's ability to skillfully write a long and detailed book. At times, it seemed there were too many characters, but she managed to tell a complex and (usually) interesting tell-tale story in Moo of academia set in the midwest. For the most part, her book was funny and poignant. Not, however, as funny and poignant as another clever book about academia, The Straight Man by Richard Russo (mentioned in an earlier blog), and not as well-titled either. (Moo? Whatever...)

Maybe the Moon, Armistead Maupin. Maupin is a well-known SF writer. This is the compelling fictional story of actress Cadence Roth. Cadence is punchy, thoughtful, talented, lonely, loved-- and also a dwarf--and she is trying to maintain her dignity while attempting to ignite her acting career, which has had but one stellar (yet anonymous) role. Maybe the Moon is the penetrating story of a woman in a career and in a world that is unable to overlook her differentness.

Middlemarch, George Eliot. The 800 page gorilla. But I mean that in a good way. George Eliot is my new hero. I can't believe she wrote this over a hundred years ago, and I can't believe she did it without Microsoft Word. She deserves every ounce of respect she's got (which is immeasurable): Middlemarch is a brilliant, warm, reflective, funny, complicated exploration of English society--but, actually, most importantly, of human nature--with round characters and smart plot. This book was revolutionary in that it was the first British book to convey the thoughts and feelings of characters (and, yes, even women!) rather than simply conveying their actions, as British books, up until this point, did. (I understand the Russian writers were doing this already, but I have some reading in that area ahead of me to catch up on before I can confirm.) What a talented writer with real ideas. This was the January selection for my Marin City Library Book Club, and it inspired our most engaging discussion yet.

The Same River Twice, Chris Offutt. I read an essay by Offutt in The Eleventh Draft, a collection of essays about writing by graduates of the prestigious Iowa Writer's Workshop, that I loved so much I knew I had to read more of him. Offutt is a Kentucky native, who in this memoir, writes of his life as a sort of aimless vagabond while simultaneously writing of falling in love with his wife and the birth of their son. This is beautiful, meaningful, brilliant writing. I loved it.

A Walk in the Woods, Bill Bryson. I'm running out of steam on this blog, so I'll be quick: This book is wonderful. I swiped it from Mick's dad (Mike) when I was in Tacoma in November, since it had been recommended to me by Mick's uncle, Mike's brother, Rod. (Follow that?) I DEVOURED this book. It made me want to make a long trek, made me want to write. Bryson is cheeky (sarcastic but not cynical), smart, and thoughtful in his rendering of his attempt(s) to walk the Appalacian Trail one summer, a trail that extends 2,100 miles from north Georgia to Maine.