On Fire for the New Year

I can't believe a new year is upon us again! Where does the time go? Who knew that a year ago as I was working for pennies trying to land a permanent teaching position that I'd be sitting here today with my dream job in my hands. 2011 has been very good to me. 2011 has also been extremely busy. But I like it that way. I've fallen behind on my reading and blogging, but I'm hoping to get caught up in 2012. . .

As I ring in 2012, I actually feel like I'm finally part of the digital age. (Is that even the correct terminology? I don't know. I'm not technologically savvy. But I like to pretend that I am). So, I received some of those pre-paid credit card/gift cards from family for Christmas. And now I was left with the big decision ~ What's a girl to do with a bunch of gift cards? Decisions, decisions. Of course, I had a gazillion ideas running through my head ~ a new watch, an I-pod, jewelry, clothing, boots, the possibilities were endless. And because I actually have a job this year and don't need to rely on gift cards to buy toothpaste and shampoo, I decided that this year I wanted to spend those gift cards on an actual "gift," something that I would never in a million years decide to buy for myself.

So, of course, I found myself in Target this week (I actually found myself there four times this week) because I really did need toothpaste and shampoo. While I was there, I decided to venture into the electronics section. For anyone who knows me, you know that this is a huge deal. I'm like a fish out of water in that department, flopping helplessly away as I try to wrap my strained mind around the purposes and uses of these gadgets and gizmos. I was originally there to look at the I-pods, but I wasn't convinced that I wanted one. Then something drew me to the Kindles. I started looking at the Kindles and playing around with the demo pieces they had on display. And lo and behold, I suddenly had an urge to buy a Kindle Fire. It was speaking to me, "Pick me, pick me." I don't know why or how I suddenly became enamoured with the Kindle Fire. But the next thing I knew, I was traveling all over the State of Connecticut in search of the last retailer on the planet who just happened to have the last Kindle Fire in stock. No one had one. But that's okay because Amazon did! Woo-hoo! And it was on my doorstep by Thursday afternoon.

Like I said, I'm not technologically savvy, but I have to toot my own horn for a minute. I am quite impressed with my digital prowess as of late. I know nothing about routers, modems, Wi-Fi, what-have-you; but I had that Fire set and ready to go and hooked up to Wi-Fi in less than two minutes. I love how it's so easy to use and so easy to navigate through.

So now that I have this new toy, I have to "train" myself to read digital books as opposed to "real" books. I've always been resistant to e-readers in the past because I was afraid to lose that connection to books, the overall charm and nostalgia of sitting down with a good book in my hands, turning and flipping through the pages, blah, blah, blah. But I actually took to it like a fish to water. I was no longer flopping helplessly. I was swimming!!

Because I get a free month of Amazon Prime with my new Kindle Fire, I decided to take advantage of its perks and benefits and "borrowed" a book from the Kindle borrowers' library to sort of ease myself into this new e-reader experience. My induction began with 7 Days to Say I Love You. It had gotten a solid 5-star review, which is why I gave it a shot. It's no literary masterpiece by any means, and there are quite a few misspellings and grammatical errors; but it's an okay story. It's a memoir of a man's experience with watching his father die of liver cancer and how he has just a short amount of time left to tell his father that he loves him. It's an easy, quick read and was a good way to get myself started on my e-reader journey; but it's certainly not a memorable read.

I also got caught up with a few non-digital books that I had been hanging on to and had never gotten a chance to sit down with. I zipped through The Paris Wife by Paula McLain. It's historical fiction based on Ernest Hemingway's first marriage and told from the perspective of his first wife. Again, I got the book because the reviews were good; but sadly, this one was not memorable for me either. There wasn't a whole lot of information driving the story. And really, there was no story here. It's just a constant back and forth from Paris to Switzerland to Spain, writing, skiing, and bullfighting. I had trouble finding the author's purpose. Was I supposed to feel sorry for Hadley Hemingway? because I didn't. I'm sorry your husband was a struggling artist. But how much could they have been struggling? They lived in Paris, vacationed in Spain and Switzerland, left their child to be raised by several nannies and partied and got drunk every night. Ah, well. To each his own. The book was just really flat.

A book that definitely was not flat and will stick with me for some time is Jenna Blum's Those Who Save Us. This one is hauntingly disturbing but a great read. It really highlights and details the unfathomable challenges and decisions people were faced with during WWII just to secure their own survival.

Phew! There was a lot to say, but I suppose that's because I've been out of the scene for a while. Here's to 2012 and to hopefully it being just as successful or even more so than 2011. Happy New Year!

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

She was a mother of five, a terrific cook, loved to go out dancing with her cousin, and never went out without making sure her red toenails were painted to perfection. Although she was a poor tobacco farmer, she lived life to the fullest. Except to her family and small community, this woman was unknown to the world. But then cervical cancer changed the course of her history, her children's history, and that of the world of science forever.

Her name was Henrietta Lacks. She was admitted to Johns Hopkins Hospital in 1951 for treatment of an agressive strain of cervical cancer. Cells from her tumor were taken without her knowledge or consent. Those cells have launched a scientific revolution, responsible for discoveries including the polio vaccine, chemotherapy treatments, and invitro-fertilization procedures. She died nearly 60 years ago, yet her cells continue to thrive and continue to be used for scientific and medical research. But while her cells have been mulitiplying and while researchers and doctors have cashed in on discoveries related to her cells and while the public benefits from vaccines and treatments that her cells have helped discover, Henrietta Lacks's children have not faired as well.

As I am not the scientific type, I went into this read with a little trepidation. But I am so glad I went for it. This novel brings to life the fact that behind all medical research, there is indeed a human connection involved. Because we are so wrapped up in finding cures and breakthroughs, we lose focus of that emotional factor. This book reminds us that behind that cancerous tumor, behind those cancerous cells, there once lived a human with a life and a family, someone who was loved and someone who had loved back. And that person deserves a name, and her history deserves to be preserved, and her family deserves to be dignified. Henrietta Lacks will now truly be immortal thanks to Rebecca Skloot.

To Kill a Mockingbird

It's a funny thing when you go back and re-read a book. Sometimes you remember it word for word as it's unfolding; sometimes you pick up interesting little bits and pieces that you never caught before; and sometimes it's a whole new story as if you've never read it in the first place. For some crazy reason, when I started reading this one again, it was like I had never read it before. I can only think of two possible explanations why I don't remember To Kill a Mockingbird.

First of all, I know this was assigned reading in high school, which might explain why I didn't remember a whole lot of it. I usually don't like to be "told" what I "have" to read. I like to make choices for myself. So there is some possibility that the inner rebel in me had come out (as it did when I had to read Moby Dick) and made the choice not to read it with the hope of being able to fly by the seat of my pants on just the class discussions themselves.

Secondly, I do remember watching the movie in class after we discussed and finished the book. I remember Boo Radley, Scout, and her brother Jem; and most of all I remember the court trial. So perhaps I'm just remembering the movie and not the book. . . or confusing the movie with the book. . . or maybe I just truly don't remember anything about it at all.

Oh, well. Whatever the reason may be, I discovered new information in this story that I had somehow escaped my teen years. It took me a long time to read this one, but it was worth the re-introduction.

Mudbound by Hillary Jordan

It feels good to be back into the reading scene again! My normal routine of sitting in a cozy spot with a hot beverage and a good book had been taken over by nights of reading professional books, grading assessments, organizing a classroom and curriculum binders, and settling into the routines of the first weeks of school. It's been crazy! Oh, how I miss my books and having that free time to myself. But I love my job and wouldn't change it for the world. My students are wonderful! I just love them and know that it's going to be a great year for all of us! And now that we have all hit the ground running at a steady pace, I can get back into a normal routine for myself at home ~ mainly my passion for reading!

I picked up Hillary Jordan's Mudbound a while ago at Borders when they were having their going-out-of-business sales. My friend Pam had recommended it to me. Pam is awesome! She reads everything and always fills me in on the best books, and this was no exception. Mudbound is a fabulous, intense, emotional read. Only a few other books have ever brought me to tears, and this is now one of them.

Set in rural Mississippi during World War II, Mudbound is a shocking and honest look into the world of hate and racial discrimination. Told from the perspective of several narrators, both black and white, Jordan allows her readers to develop deep, personal, sympathetic connections with her some of her characters and a deep, emotional disgust for others. It's a tale of two families and how their lives have been torn apart from the same tragedy and their own unique way of dealing with the tragedy. What a great novel to get me back into routine! It just enveloped me and evoked so many emotions and is a true example of why I love literature.

13 Rue Therese by Elena Mauli Shapiro

I fell in love with this book before I even read the first word.  The black and white photograph on the front cover sparks an instant sense of mystery. There is something about her shabby, unkempt hair that makes me wonder ~ Who is this woman? and Why is her appearance shaggy and unkempt, or is this just the style of the time?

Colored photographs of artifacts, again, items telling of the time and history of the world, greet the reader every few pages and was the second thing about his novel that caught my eye.  These items are the personal affects of a woman named Louise Brunet, and they open the reader to a world of mystery and wonder about their initial owner.  Letters, postcards, photographs, gloves, pen holders made from German bullets are a few of the artificats whose own stories are pieced together revealing the life behind the mysterious woman on the front cover, Louise Brunet.

The Black Rose by Tananarive Due

"Which has made your life more difficult, Madam Walker?  Being Negro, or being a woman?"

"In my shoes, Mrs. Trask, it seems like only a white woman would even ask that question."

Sharp-tongued, witty characters always grab my attention, and I just loved this question and response from The Black Rose.  Madam C.J. Walker spent years learning how to speak eloquently and eventually built her confidence to stand up to people who felt entitled to kick her down.  And when she stands up for herself in the book, you can't help but jump out of your seat and cheer for her.

The Black Rose is the story of Sarah Breedlove's rise from poverty to wealth as Madam C.J. Walker, the first black, female millionaire. Although the novel is a work of fiction, it is infused with historical facts and the research of Alex Haley (author of Roots).  With little education but with a strong work ethic, Madam C.J. Walker became a business savvy entrepreneur who formulated and sold her own line of beauty products to which her sales allowed her to build her own factory and empire from the ground up.

Whether you are black, white, purple, green, female, or male, this novel is an affirmation of how far hard work, dedication, and the desire to succeed will take you in pursuing your own dreams. 

The Memory Palace by Mira Bartok

Opening the pages of an author's memoir depicting a tumultuous life with a mother with schizophrenia should be like opening Pandora's Box.  The craziness and disfunction should come flying off the pages out of control.  And with all of that craziness and disfunction, elements of shock, disgust, horror, and revelation should be the expected, clear consequences for both the author and the reader.  Saddly, the only consequence that struck me was shock.  My shock was not in response to the author's experiences with schizophrenia, rather, it was shock resulting from the author's choice in telling her story in a mellow, low-key tone.

Dad moves out and leaves the family.  Grandpa mentally, verbally, and physically abuses his wife, daughter, and grandchildren.  Grandma quietly lives in her bubble trying to keep the peace.  And Mira and her sister Rachel just try to make it from one day to the next.  As the sisters enter college, they change their names to avoid unwelcome housecalls from their mother, who conjures delusions of people trying to hurt her and her children because she suffers from paranoid schizophrenia.  It's seemingly the perfect recipe for the next great American novel ~ families overcoming unfortunate circumstances and tragedy.  The recipe contains the major characters and their roles, but it's missing a key ingredient ~ suspense leading to that climatic moment in a tragic tale that makes readers say to themselves, "How the hell did anyone ever survive this?"  I so wanted that moment in this memoir.  I wanted to gasp in horror. But the novel never afforded me that opportunity.  The facts and circumstances of the author's story are told in a matter-of-fact, clinical manner, which made it difficult to sympathize with the broken pieces of her life.  Unfortunately, The Memory Palace did not hold a majestic place in my own memory.

Girl in Translation by Jean Kwok

Apparently, I am on an Asian cultural kick with the books I've been reading lately ~ Peony in Love, Please Look After Mom, and now Girl in Translation.  That seems to happen to me sometimes.  I'll be perusing the shelves in the library and start pulling books with the same theme or premise without even realizing what I've done.  It's usually unintentional.  So I'm not always quite sure how this happens.  Whether its instinct, intuition, or not-so-random mindlessness that has been guiding my book choices, it's been working out for me lately.

Girl in Translation is a work of fiction that reads like a seamless memoir because it allows readers to feel deeply compassionate for the narrator, Kimberly Chang.  Every event, circumstance, and emotion bears a validity that is easily recognized in those every-day people to whom we may not always be able to give a second glance but whose presence overwhelms our sympathies.

Kimberly has high hopes for success and liberty as she and her mother move from Hong Kong to Brooklyn, NY when she is only 11 years old.  Unaccustomed to the language and culture, Kimberly and her mother rely upon the "kindness" and "charity" of Aunt Paula.  Aunt Paula "generously" supplies her younger sister and niece with a rat and roach infested apartment in a condemned building and jobs in her clothing sweatshop earning 1 1/2 cents per skirt.  While Kimberly attends public school, she begins to realize just how dire her and her mother's situation truly is and vows to create a better life for the two of them.

Girl in Translation is a wonderful reminder to its readers that dreams can only be realized if you work hard enough for them.  It also reminds us that we all have the ability to make choices for ourselves, but it's those choices that have been made for us that are sometimes the hardest ones to overcome.

Peony in Love by Lisa See

It's never a good thing when my mom says, "Well, I have an idea for you."  It usually results in me baking 700 cookies for a family picnic or chauffeuring my 15-year-old sister around the State of CT or watching her high-maintenance (but very cute!) little dog while she and my father are living it up on vacation.  So when this was her response after my niece and nephew proclaimed their boredom in her presence while I happened to be watching them for a week, I pegged my niece and nephew on the arm, gave them a dirty look, and asked, "What are you two monkeys thinking?"  Haven't they learned how to play the game by now?  Talking to my mother requires a delicate balance between self-control and manipulation.  When done properly, we can bamboozle her into doing anything.  But as soon as she utters the words, "Well, I have an idea for you," you know you've lost the game.  Thanks to Bobby and Kayla's "boredom," we were now the ones being bamboozled.

So my mother's fine plan was that we go to the library, return her books, and come home with another pile for her to read.  Now, most of you are probably thinking, Well, that doesn't sound so bad.  But if you know anything about Bobby and Kayla, then you know that an outing in public with them is no small feat.  It becomes a test of my physical endurance, mental stability, and dignity.  While they are running around the children's room, jumping on the furniture, locking each other in the bathroom, and taking joy rides in the elevator, I'm burning red with embarrassment, stifling the foul language that is about to pour out of my mouth, and restraining myself from grabbing them by the neck and dragging them out of there ~ all the while I'm trying and failing to pretend to look calm and relaxed as I have students and their parents coming up to me and saying, "Hello, Ms. C.  Are you enjoying your summer so far?"

After about a half an hour of my own personal hell with these two crazy kids causing a raucous in the library, we finally left with my mother's new reads in my arms and the sound of the public cheering at our departure.

Peony in Love happened to be one of those books that I picked up for my mother between unlocking bathroom doors and chasing the elevator up several flights of stairs.  If something about a book is able to grab my attention while chaos is erupting around me, then it has to be good.  And, yes, it was good.  It is so rich in Chinese culture, particularly in regards to their views on death and the afterlife and their views on women's roles in society.  Chinese women in the late 17th Century had few liberties.  Marriages were arranged by their fathers who sold their daughters for a hefty price.  Women were treated as objects whose sole purpose was to produce male heirs and satisfy their husbands, including providing them with concubines.  Young girls' feet were broken and bound to make them appear dainty and delicate and to keep them from walking too far out of the confines of their homes.  They passed their time painting, embroidering, and serving their family.  However, some women broke out of this traditional mold and became published poets and authors, an extremely rare accomplishment for women at the time.  And some of these women purportedly died of "love sickness," a condition thought to be brought upon from the reading of a popular Chinese opera.  This book is told from a "ghostly" perspective of a female character who dies from love sickness, but she instantly wins your heart over and allows you to appreciate your own ties to your own family ~ even if it involves a bit of chaos and a slick idea.

Year of Wonders by Geraldine Brooks

Ahhhh!  School's out.  The weather is sunny, hot, and humid.  It's finally time to relax on the beach with a good book in one hand and a cold drink in the other while listening to the waves lap up against the shore; right?  WRONG!  I love summer, but this one has started off crazy.  Thankfully, however, the crazy is due to great circumstances rather than bad ones.

I finally got a permanent teaching placement!!  Woo-hoo!!  It's my dream job at my dream school working with colleagues and a principal whom I adore.  So as much as I thought it would break me (and sometimes it did), maybe schlepping through various school systems working as a pee-on for a couple years trying to get my foot in the door somewhere was worth it.  With the new job, of course, comes bigger responsibilities.  So I've been spending a lot of my time these two weeks filling out paperwork, ordering supplies for my new room, attending meetings, teaching summer school, and reading a ton of professional materials. Naturally, this has all left me with little time to read my own personal picks.  And I'm beginning to miss my reading routine.

My own personal picks these days have not been going smoothly, though.  I can't seem to find a book that holds my interest long enough.  Yes, I have a lot of excitement, stress, and adrenaline pumping through my body right now which does make it more difficult to focus.  But I'm also finding myself overly eager to discover that next great book that traps me between its pages and doesn't let me out until I've absorbed every last detail of its intrigue.  I've had to flip through three or four books before finally settling upon one.  And they all fall flat.

Because I loved Geraldine Brooks's People of the Book so much, I tried to read Year of Wonders.  It's the story of the plague that takes place in England during the late 1600s and follows the life of a village that is quarantined from the rest of the world until the plague has eventually run its course.  Some of the story is even based on actual people and events.  I love these types of books.  So I was ready to tear through this one.  But I found no suspense nor fascinating information about the time period or events to pull me into a sense of sympathy for this village and its people.  What I did find was its predictability and lackluster storytelling.  Unfortunately, it was an underwhelming read.  I think Geraldine Brooks is an amazing author and her attention to detail and research are evident in her writing.  I just did not care for this one, but it won't deter me from reading her others.

Please Look After Mom by Kyung-sook Shin

"It's been one week since Mom went missing."

The haunting opening line of the novel immediately sends you shivering into a feeling of panic, a sense of anxiety that slaps you with the reality that life is not a guarantee.  You are reminded of the brutal fact that our parents will at some point no longer be around.  And you begin to think to yourself, "What will I do; how will I react; how will I go on when one or both of my parents are gone?"

While the four voices narrating this novel worry and desperately search for their missing mother and wife, they each bring forward lost memories of a woman they only truly begin to know after her disappearance.  For the first time, they realize and understand the sacrifices she had made.  They burden themselves with the task of analyzing and discerning the obstacles of Mom's marriage and the challenges of raising children in poverty.  They attempt to comprehend the decisions Mom allowed herself to make.

Originally published in Korea, Please Look After Mom has been translated for English readers to absorb and treasure.  It is a moving story about a mother's love for her family that transcends cultural boundaries.  For anyone who is a mother, has a mother, or wants to remember a mother, Please Look After Mom will provide a deeper appreciation for the thankless, unseen, profound roles moms quietly perform to make our lives a little easier.

My Name is Mary Sutter by Robin Oliveira

Right after high school, I was a shift supervisor at a CVS in my hometown.  I had worked in retail beforehand and knew the challenges it would bring, especially in dealing with the diverse personalities and temperaments of the public.  To put it bluntly ~ sometimes people can be downright rude.  (Not all.  But some.)

I clearly remember an incident that occurred between myself and an elderly male customer.  An item he wanted to purchase rang up at regular price.  He thought it was on sale and wanted the sale price.  (Hasn't this happened to all of us?)  I had a female sales associate escort him back to the aisle to look at the sale sign; I had showed him a copy of the store ad; several female customers behind this man even got into the action.  We all tried to explain to this man that he had the wrong item.  He wouldn't listen to any of us.

After about seven minutes or so of this man arguing at me and foaming at the mouth (I swear!  I have witnesses!) and me trying desperately to keep my composure and act civilized, the man pointed at a male sales associate and said, "I want to talk to that boy over there."  "That boy over there" told this rabid man foaming at the mouth the same exact thing that I had explained to him, the same exact thing that the other female associate had explained to him, and the same exact thing that the two or three female customers behind him had explained to him.  Even though I was the manager on duty at the time, this male customer refused to listen to anything I had to say simply because I'm a woman.

In the grand scheme of things this little incident of discrimination didn't kill my day or define my life.  It was just that ~ a little incident, an aggravating annoyance, and a lesson learned in regards to other people's ignorance and intolerance.  Other than this small moment, I have been extremely fortunate in that my gender hasn't affected my ability to take advantage of certain opportunities in life.  (And if it has, I haven't noticed and it would be too late to care anyway.)  Mary Sutter, however, deals with a degree of gender discrimination much harsher than my own.

My Name is Mary Sutter is about a midwife who desperately wants to become a surgeon.  What's holding her back?  Well, in the 1860s with the Civil War raging, with emotions and tensions running high, and with discrimination in all forms at its peak no doctor is willing to take her on as a student because she is a woman.  Built upon this intriguing foundation, you jump into this novel geared up to fall in love with Mary Sutter as one of the deadliest wars in history is firing away in the background, setting the scene and mood of the novel.  You want to sympathize with her and root her on as she struggles to pursue her dreams.  She's the less attractive sister whose beautiful twin sweeps away and marries the man she loves; she's the responsible one with a smart and witty head on her shoulders; and no matter how hard she persists, someone is always knocking her down.  But. . .the writing is monotonous and slow and drags on through scenes that really do nothing for the story and just do not resonate with me as the reader.

Poor Mary Sutter.  She is a very likable character.  And if she were a real person, I'd love to sit with her and talk over tea or coffee.  I can relate to her as a woman, and I can relate to her as someone who has been occasionally knocked down while pursuing my own dreams.  Sadly, however, the writing style also knocks her down.

Stiff by Mary Roach

Sometimes a book comes along that begs the question:  What the hell was I thinking when I picked this one up?

Actually, I do sort of know what the hell I was thinking when I picked this one up.  I was thinking:  Oh, this is on our school district's summer reading list for the high school students.  And since I've always had good luck with their summer reading lists, let's give it a spin.  It was the book, however, that put me into a spin ~ a spin that began with head shakes that led to cringes that spawned into impossible bodily contortions (that I haven't been able to perform since first grade gymnastics lessons) until I finally found myself in a comatose state of nausea with a few surprising escapes of the giggles as I was left continually reeling over the question:  What the hell was I thinking?

And then as I kept reading, another question kept nagging at me:  Why, oh why, are you continuing with this train wreck?  But that's just it!  It was like watching a train wreck.  You know it's going to be horrifying, gruesome, and unpleasant, but you can't take your eyes off of  it because you want to know what's going to happen next and how it will all end.  But, ironically, in a book dedicated completely to the "lives" of human cadavers, we're beginning with the end.

Don't adjust your glasses, contact lenses, or computer screens.  Yes, my friends.  You read that correctly.  Stiff provides a detailed and explicit account of the "lives" of human cadavers.  This book gives insight into how and why cadavers are used for surgical practice.  We also see how they have been used as crash test dummies for cars.  There is also a chapter encompassing the concept of body snatching.  And of course, what book about cadavers would be complete without a chapter dedicated to decomposition?

Sounds like a happy and delightful read for the whole family; doesn't it?  Especially for a young and impressionable high school student whose school district has recommended this book for their summer reading list.  But here's where the other crazy part comes in (as if you haven't already been hit with enough crazy).  The book is told with a surprisingly amazing sense of humor.  So while you're turning green, crouching in the fetal position, and hugging the toilet, you're also uncomfortably laughing.

I still have no idea what the hell I was thinking when I picked up this book.  I'm not scientific minded nor do I desire to become a mortician.  But I guess if you're interested in reading something outside of your comfort zone this is definitely your book.

The Sacrifice of Tamar by Naomi Ragen

My best friend and I had a conversation a few years ago that gets brought up again every so often ~ Would you rather be street smart or book smart?  The topic is usually triggered by something that someone we know has done or has failed to do and why he or she has made that decision.  Over the years in going through these options, we can both see the pros and cons to each one.  And admittedly, I sometimes waiver in my choice and lean more toward one than the other depending upon how I feel that particular day.  Nevertheless, it's always an interesting discussion.

The Sacrifice of Tamar throws a completely new dimension into this topic of conversation, one that I had never considered until only after having finished this novel.  Are you book smart or street smart when it comes to making decisions that call upon your faith?

Tamar Finegold wants nothing more than to live a perfect, safe life with her family within the confines of her Orchard Park, Brooklyn, NY neighborhood.  She faithfully abides by the Hasidim Jewish Laws and traditions, never straying from her beliefs.  But when she is violently raped while babysitting for her nephew, the decisions and actions she must face in the aftermath of her trauma test her willingness to adhere to the strict halacha, the law, of her faith and the humanity of others within her community.

Not only did this novel educate me in regards to the Hasidim and Orthodox Jewish laws and traditions (which I found to be extraordinarily fascinating), but it provided me with a profound perspective of how and why people make such drastic decisions based on their faith.  Initially, Tamar's choices are based on fear of the consequences she will suffer for going against the halacha.  But had she been more educated on her own religious beliefs and looked deeper into its purpose and meaning, her actions and choices would have been drastically different with a whole new twist to her fate.  This is undoubtedly a heart-wrenching read that opens your mind to the thought:  Are you book smart or street smart about your own religious beliefs and community when it comes to the choices you make? and do you have the fortitude to live with the consequences?

American Music by Jane Mendelsohn

Oddly enough, my least favorite teacher in high school left me with a quote and a lesson that I continue to remember to this day ~ "Music has a way of affecting all of us."  He's absolutely right, at least in my experience.  If you think about all of the little jingles we put together for children to learn the alphabet and their vowel sounds; if you think about how many cell phone lights wave in response to a ballad sung at a concert; if you think about the motivational spark music lights under our feet during our workouts; and if you think about how many of us roll down our car windows, blast that tune, and sing at the top of our lungs without a care for who's watching us, then yes, I would say that music definitely has a way of touching us all.

And this latest read, American Music, definitely sang to me.  If this were a song at a concert, my cell phone light would be waving.

Jumping among several decades, the novel weaves and binds the stories and fates of its seemingly disjointed characters. Characters' stories are revealed through a physical therapist's touch as she works with a wounded Iraq war veteran, Milo.  Honor's therapy sessions with Milo draw out each story that reveal a lyrical and secretive history to which Honor surprisingly discovers she is a part of.  The common thread that they all share is their connection to music. Whether they play an instrument, make the instrument, or just enjoy listening to music, it is the common denominator that drives their destiny.  This is a novel that makes you think about every choice you make, why you make it, and who it will eventually effect in the long run.  It is a story that makes you think about the importance of listening to the song that sings to your heart.

Mennonite in a Little Black Dress by Rhoda Janzen

Well, the proverbial storm clouds have lifted ~ both literally and figuratively.  At least for the time being on my end of the spectrum, it doesn't appear as if the world is ending and the Rapture is coming.  Not today anyway.  I haven't felt any horrible tremors of an earthquake or seen any out-of-control fires sweeping through the nation or witnessed any Biblical-type flooding.  Nope.  It's been quite the opposite, really.  I already had my own personal week of hell and have paid my dues until the next wave hits.  But now things are looking up.  The sun is shining after a full week of rain; my dog seems to be feeling more comfortable; and I have an interview on Thursday for a permanent teaching position.

Huh. .  . Maybe the world is ending. . . lol

Thanks to the few rays of light that are beginning to peer out from the end of the tunnel, I was able to get back into the groove of reading again.  My groove, however, did not include finishing The Invisible Bridge.  I tried reading another 50 or so pages, but it just wasn't holding my interest.  And let's just suppose that this Harold Camping guy happened to be right about the end of the world today.  Did I really want a boring novel that moved slower than my grandmother on a walker to be the last thing I had read before the world swallowed me whole (because I doubt I'd be one of the chosen)?  Not that I was sitting around waiting for judgment but really, life is too short, there are too many good books out there, and I am far too busy to be tied to something that is just not working for me.

Mennonite in a Little Black Dress is also not the last novel I hope to read before my clock runs out, but at least it was mildly entertaining, somewhat humorous, and moved at a pace I could appreciate.  The author's witty and large vocabulary base certainly kept her memoir rolling.  ("Vainglorious" is her favorite word.  It makes an appearance on every page).  But she left me with a huge lingering question, the whole basis of why a novel is written:  What was the purpose in telling her story?  Perhaps it was to prove to the world that she continues to have a large vocabulary base despite the fact that her husband left her for a man named Bob and that she has suffered some major health problems.  After all of this trauma and drama, however, I was really expecting the unveiling of a huge revelation, such as a life-changing lesson learned.  All I really got out of it was her self-deprecating manner in poking fun at the Mennonite religion and culture.

Ah, well.  So be it.  It's not like the world is ending; right?  There's still time to find another novel out there with a purpose.

The Invisible Bridge by Julie Orringer

When it rains, it pours.  I don't consider myself to be a superstitious person by any means, but it seems a little too coincidental that everything came pouring down on me yesterday, Friday the 13th, after an already trying week.

Now that the school year is coming to a close, I have been frantically running around scheduling observation lessons and meetings, asking colleagues and supervisors for letters of recommendation, and revising and sending out my resume to the four school districts in the state that are actually hiring rather than laying off.  It has been a very long, discouraging and frustrating five-year process in trying to find a full-time classroom teaching position in a struggling economy.

We live in a society ~ or at least I grew up with the belief pounded into my head like a sledgehammer from two parents who did not receive a college education ~ that if we go to college and earn a degree we will find a well-paying job; and we will have better successes and more opportunities for advancement with our career.  I watched all of my friends do it.  They live in nice homes, drive beautiful cars, have health insurance, and a retirement plan.  They can afford to go out to dinner once a week or take a vacation (or two!) every year.  Certainly, this belief about a college education can't be a myth.

So when I returned to school later in life after finally figuring out exactly what it was that I wanted to be "when I grew up" and earned not just one, but two degrees, volunteered and participated in community service events and projects, and continue to this day to do everything I can to prove that I am not only a team player but also a leader while plunging myself into thousands of dollars worth of school debt, this whole idea of a college education has been one huge lie.

But I also grew up with the belief that if I quit, I'll never achieve my dream.  I am frustrated, discouraged, and extremely pissed off to put if frankly.  But I'm not willing to give up.

After a week of having my teaching skills observed, praised, constructively criticized; after having a human resources administrative assistant jump down my throat because she thought I was handing her too much information; after receiving rejection letters from 3 out of the 4 schools that are hiring; and after an extremely hectic, emotional, and expensive Friday the 13th with trips back and forth to the vet, another trip to an outside pet pharmacy for medication that our fine pet emergency hospital does not keep on hand to add to the shopping bag full of medications that the vet was able to supply me, and to the pet store to pick up a very specific brand of food for the special dietary needs that my very sick dog now requires, I am just a little bit worn out this week.

(I really needed to vent!)

Needless to say, I got very little reading done for the week.  I began Julie Orringer's The Invisible Bridge.  I'm only 100 pages into a 600 page novel.  The story line is moving very slowly, and I've had a lot of difficulty getting into it (probably because I've been under a tremendous amount of stress.  Do you think? Ha, ha!).  So hopefully things will calm down a bit this weekend and I'll be able to focus and re-armor myself with my "take charge attitude."

Becoming Queen Victoria by Kate Williams

Thank you, Queen Victoria, for pulling me out of my slump!

As a reader, it is so frustrating to have a stack of books that I've been looking forward to reading only to discover that they are all duds.  So after a week of furiously flipping through pages of books in a desperate attempt to fall in love with the characters and get sucked into their stories, I returned to the library for a fresh crop.  It wasn't my intention to pick up a novel about British Royalty.  But apparently the Royal Wedding hype must have been speaking to me because I picked up Becoming Queen Victoria on the day of William and Kate's wedding.

Actually, this book is not just the biography of Queen Victoria; but it is also about her cousin, Princess Charlotte ~ the would-be queen had she not died in child birth.  I found Princess Charlotte's story so much more interesting than that of the queen's.  Charlotte's upbringing was drastically different from that of Victoria's.  Locked away from the public eye and provided with very little education, Charlotte was never properly prepared for her role as future Sovereign.  The royal family at the time, to put it lightly, was a bit crazy.  One has to wonder how a country can maintain its dignity and power when it has not just one mentally ill king bound in straight jacket but his successor as well.  Add philandering, drunk dukes chasing women from one brothel to the next all while the king's daughters are forced to live a spinster's life by keeping them locked in the palace and it's a wonder the country even survived.  Then when the beloved Charlotte dies, a sudden scramble begins for these 40 - 50 something year old princes/dukes to marry and produce the next heir to the throne.

Thus, was born Victoria, daughter of Prince Edward, Duke of Kent and Victoria, Duchess of Kent.  Unlike her cousin Charlotte, Victoria's manipulative, deceiving mother pulled every string she could to provide Victoria with the best education and preparation for her role as future queen; and she knew she had to work fast.  With the death of her father a year after she was born and with an aging, ill uncle as Sovereign ruler, it was likely that Victoria would take the throne at an early age.  She became Queen of England when she was only 18 years old.

I was a little worried that when I started this book that it would read like a history book and provide me with an endless list of dates for wars, battles, and signed peace treaties; but it read more like a story.  I was surprised to learn that both Kings George III and IV suffered from mental illness and that George III's sons were so frivolous with their habits.  It made me wonder what would have happened had Princess Charlotte survived and become queen.  How would Britain's history have been changed, especially since her upbringing was so drastically different than Victoria's?  It was certainly an entertaining read, but not something that left me enthralled.

A Week of Duds. . .

So, I usually pick up about five or six books when I'm at the library because chances are, I may not like one or two of them; and it gives me four or five others to fall back on.  If there was ever a jackpot for duds, then I definitely hit it.  And I hit it hard.

After having already read two of my choices, I started my week with Jose Saramago's Blindness.  The book had an interesting concept, a bit of suspense, and an overwhelming dose of edginess.  But I just could not get past the writing style.  It was chock full of run-on sentences and contained no breaks nor punctuation for the dialogue.  Mind you, had one of my students passed in a paper looking like this, it would have been handed right back to him.  So it's a little disturbing that a published author can get away with this, even if his purpose is creativity.  I was constantly confusing the characters ~ who did not have names, by the way ~ and had trouble visualizing parts of the setting.  Since I found myself blinded by the story and the writing style, I gave up on it at about page 72.

Then I picked up The Adventures of Augie March by Saul Bellow.  I was really looking forward to this one.  I needed a "feel-good" story about a quirky somebody who builds a spectacular life for himself out of virtually nothing but his own gumption and determination.  I needed a little inspiration for my own never-ending, fruitless job search that I killed myself in college over and invested my life's savings in.

Strike 2!

If a book is going to be over 500 pages long, then it better keep me entertained, enlightened, intrigued, and glued to the pages.  The first eight pages contained so many characters; and quite frankly, I was not in the mood to care or keep up with them.  It was unfair ~ I usually give a book a good 50 to 100 pages before I decide to jump ship ~ but I willingly walked the plank and bailed out on Page 11.

I also tried Willa Cather's Death Comes for the Archbishop.  Since I only read the introduction and the first two pages of the story itself, I clearly didn't give this one the chance it deserved.  Classics usually draw me right in.  But I think by the time I finally got to it that I was completely frustrated and needed a book that would instantly hook me in and take me for the ride.

It was quite the unfortunate week for reading.  Perhaps each of these books are stunning and dazzling in their own right.  However, I failed to find it in any one of my choices this week.  But that's one of the fun aspects of reading ~ it's very subjective.  I guess it's back to the library for another round of choices . . .

Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys

Jane Eyre is one of my all-time favorite novels.  So when I discovered that there was actually a book about Mr. Rochester's infamous, attic-dwelling wife, I had to read it.

The first time I read Jane Eyre was about eight years ago as a requirement for one of my literature courses, and it instantly became a hit with me.  Of course, I loved Jane's story.  But it is completely impossible to read this classic without feeling haunted, bewildered, and affected by the madwoman in the attic.  A short, quick, and creative story, Wide Sargasso Sea cleverly explains how Antoinette Bertha Cosway goes from being a Creole heiress to Mr. Rochester's insane wife.

I remember feeling outraged when I learned that the woman in the attic was actually Rochester's wife.  What would possess a man to lock his spouse in an attic and keep her a secret from the outside world?  But as I've recently learned, Antoinette Bertha Cosway came from a troubled and tragic past which led to her insanity.  By the end of Jane Eyre I developed a sense of pity and favor for Rochester; but in Wide Sargasso Sea my initial feelings of distrust were ignited once again through his authoritative dominance over his wife.  Granted, "Bertha" clearly has a genetic predisposition to mental illness and a seduction to Creole obeah (a type of voodoo or witchcraft); but Rochester's behavior and attitude certainly contribute to the problem, a problem that becomes wildly out of control in both novels.

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz

My niece Kayla made me laugh the other day.  We were taking a walk, and she asked me if I walk every day.  I told her yes.  Then she slightly cocked her head to the side, pointed her nose to the sky, placed her hands on her hips, and replied, "I am marveled by you."  Coming from the mouth of an eight year old who pronounces the word "Portuguese" as "pork 'n cheese," I found myself marveled (and humored) by her comment.  Ever the doubtful aunt when I hear something embellished and out of the ordinary from a habitual story teller, I had to pry further into how and where she obtained this new word before my socks were truly blown off by this sudden command of new-found vocabulary.

So I asked Kayla if she knew what the word "marvel" meant.  And she said, "Yeah, you know how when someone is painting a sculpture?  They use marvel."

Huh.  Well, I guess we were 1 for 2 on this one.  She knew how to use the word in a sentence but had no idea what it meant.

I too find myself marveled by certain aspects, situations, and achievements in life.  In her 8-year-old mind, Kayla finds my daily walk to be an astounding and wondrous feat ~ probably because her short legs can't take her as far as mine.  But she is marveled nonethelesss.  She viewed my walk the same way I may perceive the amazement in someone's ability to paint a landscape, climb Mt. Everest, or overcome and survive a personal tragedy.  Everyone has their own perceptions of "wonderful," and we all have goals we'd like to achieve to make us feel like we're living a wondrous life.  But we also have different abilities and limitations toward achieving these goals.  At the core of it, however, don't we all just want to feel love, acceptance, and happiness?

Although his life may have been wondrous, Poor Oscar Wao was doomed from the beginning.  A bookish, overweight, down-on-his-luck, science fiction nerd, Oscar Wao strives to find a girlfriend and fall in love before dying a virgin.  He believes that finding a girlfriend will help him achieve his own goals of love, acceptance, and happiness.  Oscar's tragic and sorry life is told through the perspectives of his sister Lola and their friend Yunior.  The detailed, turbulent histories of his parents, grandparents, and home life are included as part of his biography, which also include the history and political atmosphere of the Dominican Republic at the time.

I wish The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao had marveled me, but I had difficulty connecting to any of the characters.  The stories behind each character were interesting, but I found some of them to drone on longer than was really necessary.  The book is loaded with lengthy footnotes, which distracted me from the story and made me feel like I was reading a thesis paper rather than a fictional biography.  Maybe that was the whole point, and I clearly missed it.  This was just an okay read for me.  I didn't love it; but I didn't hate it.  I guess I was hoping for something "wondrous" and exciting to emerge from all of the tragedy so that I could be marveled.  Unfortunately, it just left me feeling a bit flat.

The 19th Wife by David Ebershoff

Polygamy, murder, scandal, religious and moral disputes, suspense, intrigue ~ what more can you ask for in a novel?  This one had it all and then some.

As someone who is New England born and bred and grounded in Italian roots, I am not familiar with the Mormon or Latter Day Saints (LDS) religions.  I'm sure if I dig far enough, I could find temples and churches in the area with people practicing these faiths; however, this is not something that is prevalent around here.  And as far as I know, neither is polygamy.  Polygamy, of course, is illegal here ~ so is drug use, homocide, theft, and the like.  But it doesn't mean that people refrain from these activities.  Such is the case in The 19th Wife. . .

Two parallel and connected stories comprise this novel ~ one set in the 19th Century, the other in the 21st.  Ebershoff takes us through the history and formation of the Mormon and LDS religions and beliefs by weaving Ann Eliza Young's biography (the purported 19th wife of Brigham Young) with that of modern-day fictional character Jordan Scott.  As Ann Eliza Young makes a daring and dangerous escape from the Mormon church and her marriage to Brigham Young in the late 1800s, she becomes a public activist against plural marriage.  She travels the country lecturing about the inequities and cruelties encompassing polygamy before mysteriously disappearing.  Intersecting her story, Jordan Scott is on a mission of his own ~ to find out why his mother, a 19th wife herself, is sitting in jail for the murder of his father.

The 19th Wife exudes an extremely distinct impression that Ebershoff is as dead-set against polygamy as his two protagonists.  The details he provides conjures such graphic pictures of the lifestyle of these women, their children, and their husbands.  The book alludes to this lifestyle as being wrought with injustice, brainwashing, and crime with its negative implications particularly imposed upon the wives and children.  Ann Eliza Young and Jordan Scott's experiences really put this practice into perspective and makes you think:  Just how practical is this belief?  and Can anyone really be happy this way?  Because this lifestyle and practice is so far removed from my own, I found it completely fascinating to explore its history through the eyes of a former plural wife and to see why women in particular would subject themselves to polygamy.

Thank you to Kerry McKibbins's recommendation for this book.  After reading her review of it on her Curly Girl blog, I had put it on my "To Read List."  I'm so glad I did because it was a real page turner!

People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks

I know that it's only the beginning of April, but People of the Book is by far the best book that I've read this year.  My list of Top 10 All-Time Favorites will now have to be a list of Top 11.

Library books, as we all know, get passed from hand to hand.  And on occassion (more often than I'd appreciate), I'll turn a page and some unexpected, unidentifiable substance will be staring back at me.  I would care not to know what most of these items are, but the obvious food stains, crumbs, water damage, coffee, and beach sand have made their presence known in many a library book.  These little pieces of evidence left behind by previous readers have sometimes caused me to wonder what they were eating or doing while this book was in their hands.  What caused this person to spill his or her coffee?  What beach is this sand from?  Were these Ritz crackers or Saltines?  And the question that usually leaves me cringing:  Is that what I think it is?

Of course, Geraldine Brooks doesn't answer any of my questions in her novel.  However, she does take us through the controversial existence of an extremely important and rare book in which particles of past lives have been left within its pages and bindings offering insight into its creators and owners.

As Hana Heath analyzes a rare, illuminated Hebrew codex known as the Sarajevo Haggadah, she finds an insect's wing, a wine stain, and a saltwater stain within its pages along with evidence that the book at one point contained a set of clasps.  Each of these items holds the story behind the existence of the Sarajevo Haggadah and the people who had possessed it dating as far back as 1480 on the coast of Spain.  This is a novel not just about war and the struggle for religious freedoms and acceptance, but it is a novel about survival, the risks we are willing to take to survive, and the interconnectivity of all people.

Had I not had such a busy week, I could have devoured this book in a single sitting.  Inspired by the true Sarajevo Haggadah, each historical flashback is written with such care to detail for its time, place, and characters that I wanted to believe that this was the true story behind this Hebrew codex.  The amount of research that had to have gone into this novel is astounding.  I read it with a true appreciation for the lives affected by these wars, circumstances, and outcomes.

The Ha-Ha by Dave King

Images play in my mind like a movie as I read the text off the pages of a book.  The book is the script.  My mind, the director.  I take full control over the pictures I see, adapting a detail here or there to fit my own experiences and perceptions.  That movie is always playing for me from the beginning of the novel to the end, pausing only when I lose focus of the story or when I put the book down to move onto another part of my daily life.

I was both fascinated and shocked to learn that not all people create images in their minds while they read.  Ignorantly, I did not even consider this to be a skill that some have to learn ~ because for me forming that movie comes innately and naturally.

This revelation came to me after an in-depth conversation with a colleague of mine where we were planning a literary unit on imagery for our fourth graders.  She had stated to me that one of the heads of our own reading department does not visualize.  The conversation really left me perplexed and full of questions and wanting to learn more.  If images are not created, then how does that reader grasp what's happening in the story?  How does she form meaning out of words without pictures to associate them with?  We teach imagery or visualization to our students as a comprehension tool.  Foolishly, I have always gone into this unit with the assumption that all readers do this anyway.  I have always seen these lessons as a way for my students to reinforce this "natural" skill and create more detailed pictures in their minds.  But now I know that not to be true.

The Ha-Ha by Dave King allows for great visualization.  This is a beautiful story full of symbolism and emotion about a broken man who struggles to redefine the meaning of his life through the bonds he creates with a nine-year old boy, Ryan, and his housemates.  After serving 16 days overseas in the Army, Howie suffers a traumatic brain injury leaving him unable to speak or write.  Frustration, anger, and physical violence often surface as consequences of his trauma.  When his ex-girlfriend suddenly leaves for drug rehab, Howie finds himself caring for her son Ryan who brings joy and fresh perspective to Howie's life.  Unexpectedly, Howie finds the love, friendship, security, and purpose that has been missing for so long in his troubled existence; but he knows that this arrangement is short-lived.  Howie commiserates over the eventuality that Ryan will soon be going home to his mother, leading him to make several unwise decisions.

Some of Howie's choices manifest in the form of physical violence, which the author describes in a degree of particularity that easily provides me with a mental picture.  Howie's scar, home, neighborhood, housemates, and experiences all played out for me because I was able to visualize the story based on the detail in the text and my own personal experiences.  One detail, and a major one, that I had trouble imagining was the "ha-ha," which the book defines as "a kind of trick of the eye that conceals a break in the landscape."  Because I have never personally seen nor heard of a ha-ha, I had to form a picture in my mind using only the text as a guide.

Clearly, how I imagine the story is different from how another reader may visualize or not visualize it depending upon what type of a reader we are and what type of experiences we've had.  Because mental pictures from one reader to another vary, perceptions too will vary.  I perceived this novel as a type of rollercoaster, moving from dark moods to lighter ones back to dark again but always with a lingering hope for a positive outcome.  Although I had trouble picturing it, I still perceived the symbolic purpose of the term "ha-ha."  I also perceived the symbolic purpose in a character named Timothy.  More importantly I perceived this novel as a model of acceptance for who we are and for the talents we have been given.

Daniel by Henning Mankell

After having worked as a court stenographer for seven years, there are few things about peoples' actions and words that shock me anymore.  Saddly, my previous court reporting career has completely desensitized me to the degree to which people can be cruel, callous, manipulative, remorseless, and disgusting (to name only a few adjectives in my experience).  I am a bit jaded; however, it doesn't mean that I don't find many actions and words to be extremely disturbing.  That's exactly how I felt about Daniel by Henning Mankell.  The cruelty and lack of human respect depicted in this novel is something I have unfortunately witnessed before, but it still left me feeling troubled and uncomfortable.

The novel begins with a man, Hans Bengler, an egotistical, selfish, jerk with aspirations of notariety and fame fueling every one of his decisions.  He travels to Africa in 1877 in search of a rare, never-before-seen insect that he declares will be named after him and provide him with great fortune and popularity.  Bengler returns to his native Sweden with a bug in a jar and a black child on a harness.

Swedish history is a subject that I have never had an opportunity to study or research.  Therefore, I do not know how involved or uninvolved the country was with the African Slave Trade.  From the inferences I made through reading the text, my understanding is that Africans were rarely seen in this country during the 1800s.  For that reason, when Bengler brings this child home and names him "Daniel," they become a circus show of sorts.  Bengler's unique bug and rare human find are both put on display for public viewing. 

That's where the uncomfortable and troubling part of this novel comes into play with me.  The Prologue begins with the discovery of a murdered young girl.  Criminal acts, violence, and rape occur throughout the entirety of the novel ~ all of which are disturbing in their own right.  But what upset me most was the objectivity of this young boy, Daniel.  With the exception of actions by a few characters, Daniel is never afforded the luxury of human respect and kindness.  He is tied up and harnessed like a dog, and then he is put on display like one of Bengler's bugs to be scrutinized for his differences.  Daniel is a smart child who pursues his dream of walking on water so that he can cross the ocean on his own two feet and return to Africa.  He wants to be loved, but he doesn't know where to find it or how to accept it.

Despite my own uneasiness with Daniel's situation, I found myself enthralled with this novel.  The story is so intelligently written.  From the beginning to the end, it contains a series of logical yet disjointed events.  You never quite understand why these events are taking place or where they are leading you.  The entire novel takes place in 1877 - 1878, but then the short Epilogue suddenly brings you to 1995.  It is during this time, 118 year later, where all of those loose ends about Daniel's life and circumstances are seamlessly tied together with a completely unexpected and deserved respectability, an ending that made my own discomfort and Daniel's hardships worth bearing through.

The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje

Dinner is done; I've gone for my walk; the dogs have been fed and taken care of; and I'm decked out in my favorite comfy pajamas.  After another long and stressful week of administering the Connecticut Mastery Tests, all I want to do is sit down, relax, and finish my book before going to bed.  So as I settle into my favorite spot on the couch with my book in one hand and a cup of tea in another, conditions are perfect for wrapping up the ending to The English Patient.  Or are they really?

Things are never as they appear.

And why is that? you may ask.

Well, let me introduce you to the problem ~ or shall I say problems.


Meet Problem Number One, Roxie, or as I'd like to call her "Fuddrucker."  Fuddruckers is the name of a hamburger restaurant I had discovered while vacationing in Myrtle Beach, SC.  I thought the name was hillarious.  So I found ways to incorporate it into my every-day vernacular.  I originally adopted the term "fuddrucker" as a hillarious substitute in a bad-word-sort-of way, as in "What the Fuddrucker?"  But over the two years that fuddrucker has been a part of my daily language, its definition and usage has evolved above and beyond the queen mother of dirty words.  It's taken on a connotation that I'm sure Mr. Fuddrucker himself or the founders of the Fuddrucker Corporation (if either one exists) never intended.  For me, it has become a fun way to label Roxie as a big-time troublemaker.

Anyway, that brings me to the next troublemaker, Problem Number Two, Holly, or as I'd like to call her, Holly-hoo.  (Everyone has to have a nickname around here.  It's an unspoken rule).  Holly is 11 years old and is far too docile to be dubbed a fuddrucker; but when Roxie instigates trouble, the fuddrucker in Holly comes out.

Don't be fooled by the innocent veneer of Fuddrucker and Holly-hoo.  For the most part, they get along perfectly well.  It's only when I want to sit and relax and try to read that the Wild Fuddrucker Rumpus begins.  That's when they decide to argue for my undivided attention.  It starts with Roxie jumping on and pacing across my lap, crinkling the pages of my book, knocking the tea out of my hand, and barking hysterically at Holly.  Holly retaliates by barking back; but because she's old and and battling ailments common to her breed, she easily becomes winded and tired.  Her barking subsides, and she decides to invade Roxie's toy basket in an attempt to throw in another jab.  Roxie, of course, gets upset, barks louder, and jumps higher.  After about five minutes of them barking and me shouting, toys are now littered all over the floor; I'm dripping in tea; and somehow the couch pillows have grown legs and walked across the room.

Over the last two years, my Junie B. Jones bookmark, Page 34 of Wuthering Heights, and a William-Sonoma coffee cup have suffered as just a few of the casualties to this War of the Fuddruckers.  You'd think I'd learn my lesson by now and lock myself into another room.  But it starts off so seemingly innocent. . .

. . . as did The English Patient.  For a 300-page book with short chapters, I thought I'd rip through this one with ease.  But, oh, no.  This story bounces between time and place and from one character to the next, and sometimes I had difficulty deciphering who was who and exactly what was happening.  And it was particularly difficult to focus with two fuddruckers creating havoc.  The English Patient is actually a beautiful story, but one that I was only able to appreciate after giving it the intellectual muscle required.  The writing style does take a while to get used to, but it's written with rich details that entice you into a journey that takes place at the tail end of World War II between Italy and Cairo.  The characters are easily likable, even for all of their faults.  It's a book definitely worth reading, especially when you have a quiet place to sit, focus, and absorb its intricacies.

Cold Sassy Tree by Olive Ann Burns

In my compulsive need for organization, my books and I have adopted this whacky tradition.  As soon as I get home from the library, I sit down on the bed or the couch and I line the books up in front of me.  I then look through each one of them with the precision of a crime scene investigator, paying closer attention to detail than I did during their selection process at the library.  I re-read and ponder over the summaries on the book jackets or back covers; read the first few pages or the first chapters; review the return dates for each one; and finally stack them on my desk in order of priority to read from first to last.  And since I've got this ritual down to a science, it doesn't take longer than an hour; and I can sleep easy knowing what to expect because it's all been planned out ahead of time.

Okay.  So I realize that this routine is a bit extreme to some (and hopefully there are others out there that share my desire for spotless oraganization and detailed planning.  I know my aunt certainly did).  But in a world and in a life full of chaos, choosing the next book I read is one of the few things I can control.  And given the fact that many people love books and love to read, maybe it's not such an odd ritual afterall.  Perhaps these books do more for me than I realize.  And then I got to thinking. . .

I remember watching a public announcement made by John F. Kennedy, Jr. in regards to his mother's death.  And I remember him stating that she had died "among her family and her books."  Honestly, I first thought the statement about the dying-among-her-books part was a bit odd.  But after a little thought, I suddenly understood what he was saying about the former first lady.  She must have loved to read, and she clearly enjoyed being surrounded by books.  Books brought Jacqueline Kennedy Onasis comfort even as she lay dying.  Her son's statement suddenly struck me as being exceptionally poignant.  I have come to realize that books bring me comfort, as well.  They're like old friends that you can rely upon.  And I like knowing that through this routine I have developed a relationship with a selection of titles piled on my desk waiting for me to read.

Coldy Sassy Tree happened to be one of the books at the bottom of my pile.  Not only did it have a later return date than the others, but it was something I just wasn't excited about (for reasons I can't explain).  But I was pleasantly surprised when I was immediately sucked into this turn-of-the century, Southern-fried delight.  It's the story of a 14-year old boy and his grandfather who recently lost his wife and remarried a woman half his age three weeks later ~ causing quite the scandal in the small southern town of Cold Sassy.  And the scandals keep on rolling throughout the book, stirring up gossiping neighbors and adolescent-like antics.  I adored the relationship between Will Tweedy and his grandfather; and I adored the traits of the other characters involved.  It was unfortunate that this little gem of a book didn't make it to the top of the heap.  But the important thing is that it did make it and that it provided me with a good dose of southern comfort.

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro

It's a bit coincidental how I'm teaching a second grade reading group the importance of generating questions while reading a book ~ because this book left me with a lot more questions than I usually have pertaining to a plot, characters, events, etc.  For my students, this is a skill I want them to practice because it will help them develop those higher order of thinking skills, which are so important for academic success.  For all of us, question generating allows us not only to think more deeply about the story but also to understand it more clearly.  Never Let Me Go certainly fueled my own higher order of thinking skills toward a spinning and churning cycle.

The minute I dove into this one, I got the odd sense that I was not leaping into a shallow pool.  Plunged into the thick of obscurity from the start, I kept asking myself:  "What are guardians?  What are carers?  What is the purpose of Hailsham?  Why are these students here?"  The terms and language were initially confusing and their meanings continued to remain just as vaguely throughout most of the book.  Add that confusion to a writing style that took me a while to adjust to, a rambling narrator, and characters that were not easily likable, and I often found my mind wandering and losing focus.

Further into the novel, I began questioning the plot holes.  Were these gaps intentionally left by the author?  Because of her unfortunate circumstances, we have an unreliable narrator.  Did she purposely leave out specific details that I'm questioning because she didn't want to tarnish our perceptions of her?  These were pretty big details to leave out too.  For example, once these students arrive at the Cottages, we are never told whether or not they find jobs, earn money.  They just seem to sit there in a sort of gray, melancholic pergatory.  Yet, they somehow have money to buy things like old music tapes and gas for their cars.

And the biggest question I was left pondering was this:  These students know that they will eventually perform a specific, dangerous, and deadly purpose with their lives.  It is what they were "bred" for.  Despite the fact that many of them questioned it and were uncomfortable with it, I can't understand why none of them attempted to flee from the Cottages in search of a better situation.  No one was holding them back.  They certainly had the ability to travel away from the cottages (hence, a trip out of town to buy this Judy Bridgewater tape).  Had there been some sort of "escape" from the cottages, the story definitely would have been much more suspenseful and fulfilling.  It would have given the story's purpose (and revelation) a true and meaningful resolution.

Some of my questions were answered throughout the novel; however, most of them were left lingering.  I can't say that this was a great read, but it was certainly intriguing.  It involves a delicate subject matter that forces readers to think about the morals and actions of our society as it pertains to medical research.  This is not a book for everyone.  It wasn't even a book for me.  But any novel that throws my mind into a tailspin and forces me to generate questions at this depth and level is worth a nod.

Funny in Farsi by Firoozeh Dumas

For a book that is less than 200 pages, it certainly took me a while to trudge through this one.  Consciously, I'm telling myself that I enjoyed it because I really wanted to feel connected to the author and her experiences in some way.  Memoirs are one of my favorite genres, and I was really routing for this one.  But deep within the cogs and gears spinning inside my subconscious, I know that I really wasn't that into this book and didn't quite grasp its purpose and intent.

Funny in Farsi is a somewhat funny memoir about Firoozeh Dumas's immigration to Whittier, California from Iran when she was seven years old.  The chapters of the book serve more as a series of short stories rather than a cohesive flow from one event to the next.  Some of the chapters are so disjointed that I felt like I was putting together an impossible tangram puzzle in an attempt to make sense of its pattern and where it would eventually lead me.  I also had difficulty connecting to the author.  Aside from the fact that she has certainly led a much more privileged life than I have, and aside from the fact that we are both women, I could not find a common, solid link between us.

Although the book was generally a bust for me, there were some stories that made me laugh.  Her trip to Disney Land where she gets separated from her family, for example, was pretty hillarious.  Unfortunately, most of the other stories just did not resonate with me.  Like any other book or piece of literature, our own personal experiences play heavily on whether or not we love it, hate it, or just don't care for it.  I have to say that this was one that I just didn't care for.

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

I thought for sure that I had read The Bell Jar as a requirement for one of my college English courses.  I know I have read Sylvia Plath's poetry and studied her short and  tragic life.  But the title and summary of this book seemd so familiar to me that I was positive I had read it.  So as any English major has been trained to do, I researched and analyzed the situation.  I pulled out my 3,000 page, Fifth Edition Norton Anthology:  American Literature textbook that I have been hanging on to for the past 10 years for such the occasion.  (My professors would be so proud).  (I am such a nerd!)  Coincidentally, the very first page that I happened to flip to in the anthology was a short story by Charlotte Perkins Gilman entitled The Yellow Wall-Paper.  Of course.  I was confusing two women with similar situations and the same unfortunate ending.

Even after a quick investigation into my questions regarding Sylvia Plath and The Bell Jar, it was not my intention to pick up this book during a recent trip to the library.  However, it "jumped" out at me while I was perusing the aisles for another title; and for whatever reason, it spoke to me.  And oddly enough, I discovered another extraordinary coincidence.  Upon reading the biographical information provided at the back of the book, I realized that I checked this book out of the library on the 48th anniversary of Plath's death ~ February 11.

It is no secret that Sylvia Plath led a severely depressed life which she chose to end on her own terms in London in 1963.  The Bell Jar is fictional. However, it is largely based on Plath's own life, making this an emotionally draining and confounding experience for the reader.  At first I had trouble following the story and understanding its purpose.  But as it progressed, I understood that its purpose is just as jagged and uncertain as the mind of someone dealing with mental illness.  It is important to keep social views, women's roles in society, and society's views on mental illness within context (as I sometimes forget while flip-flopping between books) because the story reveals Plath's struggles to define herself and to find a place both socially and professionally among her peers during the 1950s.  It's amazing to think that procedures such as the lobotomy and electroshock therapy were thought to "cure" illnesses such as depression, bi-polar disorder, or schizophrenia.  We've come a long way.  And it makes me wonder whether Plath would have come as far had modern science advanced more quickly in this field.

Because I could really use it, I am off to read something a little more light-hearted this time. . .

Room by Emma Donoghue

Disturbing, haunting, fascinating, heart-pounding, incomprehensible ~ just a few adjectives to describe my experience reading this book.  To quote one of my first grade students (in response to a book she had read to me), "Holy bejeebers!"

You know you've got a good book when you're able to focus and absorb every detail of the story while battling a nasty sinus infection.  My head may have been throbbing and my eyes may have struggled to stay open, but I could not put this book down.

Narrated in the choppy, emergent language of a five-year old boy named Jack, Room is the story of Jack and his Ma and how they are forced to live in a locked, secluded, windowless (but for a skylight), and soundproof eleven-by-eleven foot shed.  Except for nightly visits from Old Nick, Jack and Ma have no access to or contact with the outside world.

During one of my child psychology courses, I remember having to watch a documentary about a girl who had been locked in her bedroom her entire life since birth.  Except for some food and a little clothing, she had been neglected by her parents, never receiving a mother's love or touch.  If I remember correctly, the child was finally discovered by the time she was ten years old.  Because no one had ever taught her how to walk, speak, eat, or perform other normal daily functions of life, neither the child's brain nor body ever fully developed.  Researchers believe she had been healthy at birth; but because she had suffered such neglect and had never left the environs of such a small, enclosed space, she never had an opportunity to develop to her potential.  It was such a fascinating yet sad story, but it was an enthralling piece of evidence proving that our environment plays a huge role in our development.

Jack's circumstances are somewhat different from the severe neglect of the child from the documentary, but there were certainly similarities that I noticed.  It was interesting to see how the author handled Jack's development and adaptation.  The moral of the story:  Love your children and provide them with a multitude of experiences.

Another great book I'd recommend regarding child psychology:

     *  A Child Called It by Dave Pelzer

Someone Knows My Name by Lawrence Hill

Piled on my desk are dozens of lists.  Lists of reminders, things to do at work, things to do at home, errands to run, and what to pick up during those errands.  I also keep a "To Read" list.  Because I have always held a strong affection for pretty paper and smooth pens and also hold a panic-induced anxiety for all things technological, my lists are handwritten on small pieces of paper.  You won't catch me keeping notes on an iPad, iPhone, Blackberry, or an electronic day planner because it would take me longer to figure out how to turn the darn thing on than it would for me to find a piece of paper and a pen.  That's why I'm the crazy lady clogging the aisle of the library or the bookstore while digging through my purse for the crumbled sheet of rough-edged notebook paper containing an unalphabetized list of books that I'd like to read.

Somehow, someway this book made my To Read List.  I don't remember who or what source provided me with the recommendation.  But it was on my list and it was available in the library.  That was good enough for me.

Someone Knows My Name is the fictional story of a woman named Aminata Diallo.  Abducted from her home in Africa, she is brought to America where she is bought and sold into slavery.  She moves from South Carolina to New York, makes a daring escape to Nova Scotia, finds herself back in Africa, and finally arrives in London.  She learns how to read and write four different languages and eventually begins to work with white abolitionists.  Throughout her experiences she notices that few people even know her full name or choose to use it; and she comes to value the purpose and meaning of a name and the legacy it provides.

I enjoyed this book and was happy to read it but didn't find it to be the gripping tale of a woman who triumphs over her tragedies that I had hoped it to be.  I wanted it to be like Frederick Douglass's story (which is non-fiction) but from a female perspective.  The subject matter was certainly interesting to me and it brought to light many events in history that I had not known about.  However, some of Aminata Diallo's experiences and twists of fate seemed so over the top for that particular time period that I find it hard to believe that something like that could ever have happened.  I realize that this is fiction and anything could happen in a piece of fiction.  But this is supposed to be realistic fiction (emphasis on the word realistic).

Someone Knows My Name will certainly not go on my list of favorite books, but I would recommend it if you have the time to read it.

Books that do make my list of favorites ~
Highly-recommended books to read in honor of Black History Month:

     *  Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave by Frederick Douglass
     *  The Kitchen House by Kathleen Grissom
     *  The Color of Water by James McBride
     *  The Help by Kathryn Stockett