Glass Castles

I haven't written any book reviews lately, because I've been waiting for that "ohmygoshyouhavetoreadthisone" to come along.  Found it. And for the uppity-up readers, I know I'm behind the eight ball. (When I brought it up at lunch and library as a possibility, everyone looked at me like, "Oh yeah. Read that one eons ago.")

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls might make a few of you say, "Maybe my childhood wasn't so bad after all." Then again, maybe not. I'm sure there are more horrific childhoods fettered with tragic events. But Walls certainly had some stories to tell. And she does it so well.  She certainly has fodder–an alcoholic (and revered) father who used his genius to gamble, an artistic and unstable mother whom felt indelibly trapped by maternal responsibilities and four brilliant children who happened to be as tough as nails. And boy did they understand self-reliance. At one point in the book, Jeannette's father puts her at risk of being raped by a no-good barfly. He needs her to help win money in a pool scam. Luckily, she isn't harmed, but her father shrugs off the incident. He likens it to a "sink or swim" analogy. Like I said, tough as nails.

While the family was strangely dysfunctional, I was rooting for The Walls–every single one of them. Obviously, I didn't agree with their parenting techniques. Jeannette's mother could hardly stand to utilize her teaching certificate in order to provide food for her kids. She knew in her heart she was really an artist. So they starved instead. And Jeannette's father? Well, you'll have to read the book. He was really smart though. I loved reading about his ideas and what he knew. Catching up on chaos theory...really? (Perhaps there is some metaphor in that?) Mme Walls wrote about the family's history and their nuances so that you always understood the bond and the love that existed amidst the clan.

By the end of the memoir, we see how the accomplished writer has come to be who she is–and how she has come to terms with her past and the present. The last scene ends on Thanksgiving with her family. Her mother gives a fitting toast, saluting Jeannette's father, who is now deceased, about life with him never being boring. It's lovely. Just as is the book.

I didn't grow up with much money. We drove clunky cars. Lived in an extremely modest house. I always thought to myself, "I'm going to have a mansion someday." Perhaps a glass castle! As I read this book about the Walls' childhoods, I realized something. I had the glass castle. And truly, I still do.

Little Bee

Little Bee. Sound like a children's book? This novel by Chris Cleave (which has been sinfully collecting dust on my shelf for that last couple of years) is anything but. Even the title and cover design seem to imply a lightness. But the story isn't light. It's fairly heavy. And I found it deeply compelling–and irrevocably eloquent.

The story involves a young Nigerian refugee girl who escapes the horror of her homeland as big oil companies are uprooting villages. Her fate becomes bound to a recently widowed journalist who is dealing with her own complex issues. Her husband took his own life, leaving her with a four-year old super hero who refuses to take off his Batman suit. When Little Bee shows up at Sara Summers door on the day of her husband's funeral, secrets and histories become disclosed.

There were many aspects that struck me about this book. The beautiful dialect of Little Bee. Maybe it's because I have an African friend, but I loved the voice. I could hear her lovely idiom, as she so formally used the "Queen's English." And while by definition prose is not poetry, Mr. Cleave's writing is undeniably elegant. Beautiful.

At the heart of the novel is a moral conundrum that would make for an excellent book discussion. I won't ruin the plot for you, but I bring it up because it made me consider how I rate books/characters. Typically, if a protagonist had done something that I am morally opposed to, I repudiate the book. (Not always, but often.) And not this one. The story was too compelling. The writing was too good. And obviously, the plot was too clever.

Oh and one more thing. While it was fiction, it certainly brought to light more social injustice in the world. And once again, it reminded me to thank God for my warm bed every night.

Left to Tell

In 1994, I had the world by the tail. Fresh out of grad school with a job that was full of promise. Newly-engaged to the man of my dreams. But while I was consumed by advancing a career and planning a wedding, there was something incredibly sinister occurring across the globe. A holocaust was taking place. Approximately a million people were slaughtered in the Rwandan genocide.

Immaculée Ilibagiza is a surviving Tutsi from Rwanda. And she recounts her amazing story in the book Left to Tell.  If you haven't read it, please do. I'd also recommend renting Hotel Rwanda. It's an important piece of our modern history. And it still befuddles me.

The young beautiful Rwandan poignantly takes us through the story of the Civil War through her innocent, faithful eyes who grew up in a peaceful village of Hutus and Tutsis. She, herself, didn't even know her lineage until the "ethnic roll calls" begin. Then we see how the world turns upside, seemingly, overnight. And Immaculée loses almost everyone in her family–in the most unthinkable ways. While she (and seven other women) are kept alive by a minister in a secret bathroom, she is really saved by her faith in God.

There won't be a part of the book that you won't continue to think about. But I will tell you this–the ending will resonate with some force. The survivor is not only delivering a message of tolerance. She's delivering a message of faith...and forgiveness. Forgiveness. Now that's grace.

Reading with Your Kids?

Need a quick "pick-me-up" type of read? In the spirit of the holiday season? I just downloaded Barbara Robinson's The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. Glad I did. Now it's my kids turn. They won't put up a fuss, since they heard plenty-o-giggles my way.

How often do we really seek out the face of God in others? No matter who they are or where they came from? (I can't take credit for this question. It was posed to our congregation in our priest's homily a few weeks ago.) It's certainly something I need to ask of myself more often. And this cleverly crafted story which recounts how the shunned clan known as the Herdmans manage to transform the annual Christmas Pageant from a rote ritual into what the Christmas story is meant to be. And while the pageant was a bit clumsy and unorthodox, it was perfectly heartfelt and undeniably real. I love a message when it's spun with humor. Speaking of...

On to Diary of a Wimpy Kid's Cabin Fever with my son. I sense a theme in my reading material these next few weeks. Oh–happy times! The most wonderful time of the year!

Three Weeks with My Brother by Nicholas Sparks

A few years ago (quite a few actually), having just finished vacationing with our best friends at the Great Wolf Lodge, we were getting ready to head home from Kansas City. While it had been a fun vacation, all of us were tired. And a bit cranky. The kids were on the verge of shattering our nerves and I was praying the four hour ride home would be...peaceful.

"Have you read The Notebook?" asked my dear friend Amy, handing over her copy as we parted ways.

I'm not sure if my husband has ever forgiven me for completely ignoring the crying kids in the backseat while his wife read, sniffled, and cried for the duration of our trip home. (I think it's why he gets annoyed every time I try to force the DVD on him as well.) Anyway the point to this verbose anecdote? It was my introduction to Nicholas Sparks. And my sensitive soul was hooked on his works.

I'm a fan of Mr. Sparks, but I have to pace myself when reading (or watching) his creations. Since I'm likely to cry over a well-crafted soap commercial, you can imagine how I'm affected by A Walk to Remember. Needless to say, I greatly respect this author. So, when my good friend Diane brought me Three Weeks with My Brother by Nicholas and his brother, Micah, I was excited to read a piece of his non-fiction! This certainly wouldn't be a tear-jerker.

Au contraire.

The book intertwines a three-week trip that Nick embarks upon with his brother and his own personal history, beginning with his childhood. And while I dived into the book thinking, "How lucky for this guy to become an overnight success," I certainly have different sentiments now. Mr. Sparks writes about the human heart so beautifully because he himself has been struck by tragedy himself. And not just once. I'm fairly certain Nicholas Sparks would trade his fortune for the family members he's lost.

But don't think this is a sad book. It's not! There's actually a fair bit of humor. And this author is so talented that you think you're reading a travel/memoir, then all of the sudden, wham! You just learned a lesson about life...

I myself have been working, working, working. Trying to finish this project. Trying to get to that project. But not really living. And that's what Mr. Sparks was forgetting to do. Live. Enjoy the gift of life. And I'm sure this is the message he wants to pass on to everyone who reads his books.

Cutting for Stone

My mother determines the greatness of a book if she's still thinking about it a few days after completion. Good litmus test. It's been a few weeks since I've finished Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese. And yes, I'm still thinking about it. I'm not really sure I'm even qualified to write a review. The novel is just that massive.

For starters, we could talk about the metaphoric title at length. At book club, one of our members mentioned that her son (a pre-med student) was required to read this fictional account of an Indian nun who gives birth to twins at a missionary hospital in Ethiopia. (Cool prerequisite, huh?) The father, a surgeon, named Thomas Stone, flees upon the death of the nun and the twins are left to be raised by other doctors. Anyway, that's just the beginning. The story is at the heart of an Ethiopian revolution and much, much happens as the twins grow up and eventually become reunited with their father.

The book was long, yes. But compelling is an understatement. For example, the last time our Lunch and Library read a book over 600 pages, only three of us toiled through it. When I walked into our Cutting for Stone session, we had a full house. And we hardly had enough time to fit in all of  our discussion.

Voice–beautiful. And there was plenty of medical terminology tossed about. Now that's talent.
Themes–the unique bond between twins, a doctor's duty to care for patients, Africa's constant war with itself, unrequited love, requited love. Yes. He manages to weave all of these themes perfectly.

A five star book, through and through. I'm typically a fast reader...I whiz through them. But this is not a book to speed read. It's a book to savor. So, if you're reading it for book club, start early.

The Great Gatsby

Last summer we saw Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris. I can't imagine any enthusiast of literature not loving this film. Especially when Ernest Hemmingway, Gertrude Stein and F. Scott Fitzgerald made their clever appearances. Anyway, the film reminded me that a long time ago I had read The Great Gatsby. And loved it.

I was really young (high school age), so I searched my memory bank. Why had I loved it? Barely remembering the plot or the characters, the depiction of life in New York York City in the 20's is what resounded with me. Maybe, just maybe I needed to read the novel again to make sure my youthful self had painted the picture F. Scott really had in mind. What better excuse to read?

Said task is complete. The verdict?

Still love it. And amazingly, the images of "West Egg and East Egg" in Long Island are still just as vivid as when I read them over twenty years ago. The plot  had been pretty much lost in my memory completely. So that was fun for me - like reading a whole new book.

I was most amused by each of the personalities' flirtatious relationship with the glamorous eastern metropolitan of NYC, even though these characters were actually common Midwesterners, like me. (Okay, maybe a little less common than me.) Of course this book is chock full of symbols and metaphors dealing with the age-old of topics of love, greed and calling - all great fodder for book club discussion and high school language arts class. But I want to discuss what really makes me love this book... the lyricism. The voice.

I can pick up my paperback classic, flip to any page and start reading.

"Flushed with his impassioned gibberish, he saw himself standing alone on the last barrier of civilization." 

I'm an aspiring author - one of my favorite ways to study writing is reading from the best - and finding a sentence like this and pondering it for awhile.

The minute I read the first paragraph of Gatsby, I was hooked. I was hooked until Mr. Fitzgerald typed the last sentence in which he so perfectly and poetically stated,

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaseless into the past."

I do wonder how a mint julep tastes...probably best not to know. Best to let those Roaring 20's cats drink their drinks. I'll just sit here and imagine.