reading & read | cmr

For the Sake of Not Forgetting...

2007-12-14T01:13:00.000-05:00

I am currently reading Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown.

I have yet to write reviews of:

Died in the Wool, by Mary Kruger

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, by Patrick Suskind

Tanglewreck, by Jeanette Winterson

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, by JK Rowling

Me Talk Pretty One Day, by David Sedaris

The Stepford Wives, by Ira Levin

1984, by George Orwell (for the 2nd time)

Perhaps I will get the chance to write these reviews. Perhaps I will instead get caught up in other books. Either way, read. It's good for you!

Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal, by Christopher Moore

2007-07-24T14:16:00.000-05:00

Recommended by a friend, I picked up Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal. I don't often read comedy but admit that on each occasion I do, it's a good time. (For instance, when I first read Bridget Jones' Diary, tears rolled down my face and I had to lie down. My boyfriend at the time could not understand what I found so funny when I'd read a page or two aloud. Needless to say, he is no longer my boyfriend. Humorless git.) To take it one step further, nor do I read books about religion. I had a feeling, however, that Biff's gospel wasn't going to get too preachy.

A point is made throughout the book: the bible mentions Jesus (referred to by his birth name Josh) when he is 30 years old and older but never, not even once!, does it mention the Josh we must surely be most curious about: Jesus the Child. Biff clears that up. He is brought back from the nether-regions of wherever-friends-of-Jesus go when they die to add his own gospel. Inquiring minds want to know!

Biff starts where he should: at 6 years old, when he and Josh are best buds. There's a girl in town that Biff has a crush on - her name is Mary Magdalene. But wouldn't you know, she kinda likes Josh.

Josh knows he's the Messiah. That means, he also knows he can't give in to any sin. Biff takes on the burden of helping Josh understand sin without directly dabbling in the stuff himself.

And did you know Josh said that God really doesn't care if Jews eat bacon? Because... it's just bacon. (Hey! Look at Chris Moore, not the Crobinator).

To make this less a book report and more a review, I tell you my experience in the reading: smirking. I didn't think it was a comedy in the slap-your-knee, hardy-har-har sort of way. It had an undertone that required silent head-nods at parties. Those quips and wits and nods that say "You get that? I got that. That was good."

Personally, that's all I need to enjoy it.

(I'd try to end this with something sarcastic, because Biff is proud of his invention of sarcasm - and upset when Josh uses it incorrectly, but I can't think of anything. Plus I'm working. In a cubicle. Which are brain-disinfectants, leaving them completely free of thought).

A Quick Update - Mentions Sex! Yay!

2007-03-14T22:11:00.000-05:00

I have not forgotten about the wonderland of book-reading, my dears. I have been reading - just neglecting to tell you what I thought of them. I've recently read Miracle in the Andes, written by Nando Parrado. Nando was one of the two men who trekked out of the Andes mountains where their plane had crashed in 1972. Part of a rugby team on their way to Chile, he made the journey to civilization.

Miracle in the Andes was good. But something kept getting in the way and I think it's the author's need to be so fair. Though the compassion and understanding he blankets over each individuals' reaction is certainly justified and true, I think it takes away from his own experience - and sucks out some of the emotion a person would feel in that moment. For instance, he notes the lack of motivation and the strong desire to die in some of the passengers. He touches upon his own feelings of being frustrated and angry with that person, but quickly (and I think too quickly), he dissipates those raw feelings with understanding and compassion. Very PC; but also... very PC.

I have also been reading She Comes First: The Thinking Man's Guide to Pleasuring a Woman This is a great source of information. The entire first part of the book is focusing on understanding not only the female body's purpose and "mechanisms"(if you will) but also the connection between emotions (read: sensuality, knowledge, "scary talk," etc.) and the body's process of arousal. I admit I was a little anxious to read a man's interpretation of the female body, because let's ALL admit it: even if the information is factual (he does use many reports, essays and studies as back-up), facts themselves can still be interpreted differently from person to person. I want to know what one man is spreading to other men. If I feel that information is accurate to me, then great. Publish away! A "Bravo" to Mr. Kerner. Let's just hope that the men who read it don't skip to the "technique" section - skimming the bolded words.

I have yet to get to the part of the book about technique (because as I only date men, I am in no rush to read how to pleasure a woman - though should death be here on the morn and a poor woman needs some intimacy, I might claim love on the heart of this damsel if only to not be alone on my very last night alive without an orgasm [so I should make sure she reads the book too]. However, I may currently be in a bit of a rush to "hang out" with a man who has read the technique part of the book).

Because I play things fair, I am also in the process of reading the counterpart to the above,
He Comes Next: A Thinking Woman's Guide to Pleasuring a Man. The book is great. It is formatted just as She, with understanding (a blanket term that is not at all specific) and technique. It's great to read these things, and even better when you know it comes from a clear and blunt (but sensitive!) author. Note: Ian Kerner wrote the juxtaposed book Admit It: You're Not That Into Him Either, to He's Just Not That Into You (I may have these titles slightly wrong, but oh well. I've had some wine and I'm not setting up links. Wait till I read them.) Knowing he writes with that honesty, I was pleased to read about a man's feelings.

But there is a downside.

I get the very strong feeling that this book - at least Part 1 - was written for (either):

A: Married couples/women
B: Older married couples;
C: Couples with sexual problems;
D: Overweight men.

I can count on one hand the excellent wonderful things from Part I that I could take with me; however, the rest was very irrelevant.

I am a single woman on the prowl. I'm not reading the book to be a great fellatio-er (how the hell do you say something like that? Would "slut" do?), but because I am curious to know about my body, the perceptions about my body that are being published, and the perceptions purchasers are buying into. And fellatio is, predominantly, a female-performing event, is it not? I wanna know what it has to say.

Again, I have not yet read the technique part of this book (I suppose this means I won't be getting any calls soon? . . . Buncha bastards. I should go dyke.)

. . . Now I am trying to remember what other books I have read since October, but my mind has gotten all crazy with fellatio and cunnilingus. Thanks a lot!

. . . Oh! I am currently reading The Witch's Boy by Michael Gruber. I'll definitely post when I'm finished with that (probably tomorrow or Friday). Because I'm back on track, babies. That's right!

(P.S. I plan on figuring out how to sexily integrate this page to my main homepage. So stay tuned. ... For a really long time. [Just in case.])

Woe am I!

2006-10-31T21:50:00.000-05:00

Poor you... Poor me!

I have been reading. I swear this to you, faithful readers. But I have not been posting. I take full responsibility. When I next write articles/reviews of my books, you will read about the following:

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, by Michael Chabon. Two-word review: Wonderfully heftig

Lighthousekeeping, by Jeanette Winterson. Two-word review: Lovingly soft.

I Never Promised You a Rose Garden, by Joanne Greenberg. Two-word review: Disappointingly pragmatic

The Testament, by John Grisham. Two-word review: Sauntering entertainment.

I am now starting The Anatomist, by Federico Andahazi. No opinion yet.

Links to each will be posted when I post the reviews. And I will post the reviews. Meanwhile, go read something. It's good for you. Of the list above, the quickest to read, while still being good, is the Winterson. The brain candy is Grisham. The slow but it's a story, is Greenberg. The best is Chabon (also wrote The Wonder Boys).

The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress, by Robert A. Heinlein

2006-07-12T08:43:00.000-05:00

This was given to me by a co-worker who plopped it on my desk one day and unceremoniously announced that I would appreciate it. Always hoping not to disappoint, I picked it up. I was just finishing something else that I neglected to post here (for reasons I have also forgotten), and was pleased to have something chosen for me to read.

I don't know much about Robert Heinlein, which is to say, I don't know anything about him, other than what is offered on the first introductory pages of the novel. For instance, a crater on Mars was named after him. Nor do I read much Science Fiction. What I have read, though, was carefully suggested by friends, and I tended to enjoy all of them, such as: Neuromancer by William Gibson (so much so, in fact, that I still have my copy of Pattern Recognition, unread, but with intentions of being so), The Diamond Age by Neal Stephenson, that I absolutely loved, and some other wayward pieces. Despite loving them, though, in all cases, it's been the same: they take me longer to get through. I can't get in the thick of the plot, on the edge of the seat, in the mask of the author. I read some, I put it down, I read some more. Often times, the compulsion to finish is more driven than the compulsion to finish the story. By the last third of the book, I can scream through it... but it takes a while to get there. Understand what I'm sayin'?

Much like with The Diamond Age, I wished for more coffee shops with free coffee and warm comfortable tables, because I think that if I had that opportunity, I would have drank the book in like hot chocolate (but cooled enough to take good long drags of, you know?). Luna - the Moon - a prison ground for wayward mishaps of Earth (Terra). They have developed, they have adjusted, they live in a society not at all like that on Earth. And their livelihood, their freedoms, their basic needs are threatened by a government far away treating them as slaves. Luna does not want to be a slave. To anybody. They live solely for the things they need and they work for those things. As the motto of the book clearly indicates: TANSTAAFL! "There ain't no such thing as a free lunch!" - or free air! Everything on Luna is produced. Everything must be paid for. Everything must be created and that means that if you want it, you best be prepared to work. The Terrans feel that they should do nothing for the essentials that Luna provides (such as grain), and the Loonies (Luna residents) disagree.

With the help of an old professor, a sexy six-foot beauty queen, a computer tech with eight arms, and a computer that learns to breathe, Luna works to become free.

It was fascinating. I enjoyed it one-hundred percent. One thing though. I asked a sci-fi loving, reader friend if he'd read it. He said, "I read that book when I was 13 and it changed my life." I don't know how, and I'm not sure when I'll be ready for the conversation, but I'm curious until then...

Currently reading: The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon. And because I'm shameless, I'm adding a link to my Amazon.com wish list to my site. I want more! More, I tell you!

Those Silly Agents!

2006-05-25T09:41:00.000-05:00

Make sure, all you writers that are readers, to read my post about the bad manners of a certain agent.

The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn, by Robin Maxwell

2006-05-11T11:25:00.000-05:00

Every now and then, I love delving into historical fiction. Rarely does my date stamp go beyond the 1800s when I can fantasize about Mr. Rochester or Newfoundland in the height of seal hunting. My mother Ellen is most intrigued by biographies of Kings and Queens and I like the movies about them - all so scandalous. But on a trip to Borders, looking for something cheap to read and feeling in the mood for a little historial fiction, I picked up this book for a mere $3.98. The cover line that got me?

Blending a historian's attention to accuracy with a novelist's artful rendering, Maxwell weaves compelling descriptions of court life and devastating portraits of actual people into her naughty, page-turning tale. The result is a masterpiece of historical fiction - so prophetic of our time that one would think it were ripped from today's headlines.

The novel begins with Elizabeth I at the throne. There is much talk about her and Robin Dudley, her horsemaster and lover. She hates her mother - simply because what she knows is what the public knows; and she adores her father for the same reasons. But then an old woman comes to visit and presents to Elizabeth an old journal - that of her mother, Anne Boleyn.

I personally found the diary far more fascinating than Elizabeth, but the concept of never letting a man rule over you, even if it means your head, would not have hit quite as hard without the tale of Elizabeth contemplating marriage with Robin after his own wife dies.

An intriguing story; not a book I'd recommend to my friends unless they wanted entertainment, or something to inspire them into more history, but good nonetheless. I just read and wanted to watch the movie all over again - especially when Cate Blanchette says, "I am married to England." Fucking badass.

No really cool badass songs in this novel, but entertainment aplenty.

Oh. And I'm really fascinated to read more biographical accounts of both women.

Veronika Decides To Die, by Paulo Coelho

2006-04-13T09:51:00.000-05:00

I found this book at the oft-mentioned Normal's bookstore on 31st and Greenmount here in Baltimore. Obviously, the title captured me and was the first book I carried around, surviving every pause to re-evaluate my pile. Is it my current bout of depression that saved this one from the shelf? Is it the fact that despite such a decision made in the first page of the novel, a hundred or so pages still followed? Whatever it was that made me bring it home, I'm glad that I did.

Veronika is 24 years old and for no reason other than the chance to break the monotony of life, she decides to kill herself by overdosing on sleeping pills. Knowing she won't become unconscious right away, she grabbed a magazine to read while she waits. She comes upon an article that asks, in the first line, "Where is Slovenia?" Veronika is from Slovenia, and here she is, in the capital city, killing herself--and yet people in the world don't know where it is! She then decides that she'll write a letter to the magazine in response to this question. Some will think it her suicide note; some will overlook it.

Her suicide fails and she wakes in a mental hospital. Disappointed at her inability to take her own life, she is somewhat shocked to learn that she has damaged her heart sufficiently in her failed suicide attempt that she has only 5 to 7 more days to live. What to do in those 7 days? Certainly not change her mind! But staying still and waiting for the time to come is a lot harder than she thinks.

After I read this book, which I thoroughly enjoyed, I did some very vague research on the author. I left each website feeling he was a motivational speaker. I wished I hadn't looked up anything, because it gave Veronika Decides To Die a cheesy element that I hadn't sensed before. I laughed out loud while I read it, I pondered it's thoughts, and I wondered: if I were to die in 5 days, what would I want to do that I can't do today because the world will call me crazy? Well... it's actually a hard list to come up with. I'd want to go to an ocean and walk into it naked. I'd want to hang upside down from a tree and hope a handsome, true-love-for-a-day man walked opposite and kissed me. I'd want to sing poetry and write novels while a scribe followed behind me as I flounce through Sounds of Music-like hills. I want to kiss strangers. I want to pet a pig. I want to sit on top of a billboard. I want to paint a picture. I want to lie down and rest and enjoy the moment in which I realize: tomorrow, I don't have to go to work.

A quick snippet:

"I'm going to tell you a story," said Zedka. "A powerful wizard, who wanted to destroy an entire kingdom, placed a magic potion in the well from which all the inhabitants drank. Whoever drinks that water would go mad.

"The following morning, the whole population drank from the well and they all went mad, apart from the king and his family, who had a well set aside for them alone, which the magician had not managed to poison. The king was worried and tried to control the population by issuing a series of edicts governing security and public health. The policemen and inspectors, however, had also drunk the poisoned water, and they thought the king's decisions were absurd and resolved to take no notice of them.

"When the inhabitants of the kingdom heard these decrees, they became convinced that the king had gone mad and was now giving nonsensical orders. They marched on the castle and called for his abdication.

"In despair the king prepared to step down from the throne, but the queen stopped him, saying 'Let us go and drink from the communal well. Then we will be the same as them.'

"And that was what they did: The king and the queen drank the water of madness and immediately began talking nonsense. Their subjects repented at once; now that the king was displaying such wisdom, why not allow him to continue ruling the country?

"The country continued to live in peace, although its inhabitants behaved very differently from those of its neighbors. And the king was able to govern until the end of his days."

The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver

2006-04-04T15:13:00.000-05:00

Do you think you're ready to read what I have to say about this novel? It was one of those, "Oh. I'll start this now. Everyone says I should read it..." So you start to read. Then you go away on a weekend trip and silly you! You forgot your book! So you pick up a new book and start reading that. Then you start another book, because you just weren't disappointed enough the first time you had to put the book down--what if it's not worth it? What if you want to put it down because the flashes of other book covers on your walls and floor are screaming at you to free them of their bondage?

But I did pick it up. And I did continue to read, and though I wasn't praising the book for its adventure or its thrill, I did raise an eyebrow to its clout. A Baptist man leading his family into the 1960s Congo, straight from Georgia, to praise the merits of Jesus in his toga to men and women who don't even have legs and share their bowls with villagers. Was the man crazy? YES. Were the women scared? Hell, no.

The story is shared through journal entries from each woman in the family: the mother, the twins (one a bit slant) and the youngest of the bunch, 5 year-old Ruth May. It was hard to pick a favorite among them--even the angst-ridden, snobby Rachel who despises the very blue sky over a country of black people had her charms. And despite the utter dismay I couldn't help but experience when reading about the Baptist Hellian known as Brother Price, Kingsolver broadens your understanding and empathy farther than you thought you were capable. How does a writer create a horrid individual who commits crimes too cruel to put in law books--and still make you feel bad for him?

Sheer talent.

I fell in love with the Congolese, with the play of languages, with the eccentricities of a mute and reaffirmed my belief that to write well, to tell a story well, to create three generations of life that educate you, while you sit in your bed reading till 1:00 am and the covers are getting itchy--you need to educate yourself on the rest of the world and not just organize your desk for a day of writing. I learned more about the Congo in four parts than I would have reading a bestseller. Kingsolver's bibliography helps cement your newfound education.

It's not a roller coaster ride; it doesn't even make you scream and get nervous at the top, but it's a nail biter... it's a Wendigo* - and though I won't say "I can't talk to you till you read the book," I will ask you every now and then at the bar if you read it yet, and if you have, if you wanna go on a little jaunt to Zaire next winter.

*Wendigo is a film by Larry Fessenden that I watched about two years ago with a friend. We both felt the same thing: utter fright for the first hour of the film...and yet nothing had happened. So how could that be? We checked each other, each expecting something to jump out, to scare us, to remind us that in the end, we're all alone. Nothing ever did. The rest of the movie turned out to be a complete bust - shit, if you ask me. But the first hour is the best suspense and thrill of a horror movie that has ever been made.

The Lovely Bones, by Alice Sebold

2006-04-03T07:42:00.000-05:00

I've had this book on my shelves (or in my boxes) for well over a year yet each time I considered reading it, something said to me, "Sappy. Skip it for now." I'm not going to launch into an exciting dance-theme of "Boy, was I EVER wrong!" - because though it was not sappy, it wasn't a killer of a novel either. Perhaps I'm too harsh; a co-worker of mine, who also read the book, noted that she cried. I may be the next Hitler, who knows, but all I really wanted to know was: when are they gonna catch the bastard?

The back cover explains that the novel teaches about forgiveness. I had a hard time relating. Though I could see that theme played out in the personal relationships of the family, I could not help but wish and wish the guy who caused the whole novel get shot in the head by the little brother.

Here's the jist: The Lovely Bones is a novel told by the perspective of a young girl, only 14, who is raped and murdered in what can be called, for all intents and purposes, her own backyard. She is in heaven (not a typical heaven with clouds, togas and angels) watching the world unfold after her death. She watches her father, mother, sister and brother, her high school crush, classmates she never talked to, and her killer...

The familial relationships - the characters, the ties, the essence and personality of each of them - were exceptionally related (here, I wish I could define a new word: shewn. It has no meaning as of yet, but I feel it should mean "expressed; shown; displayed; all "show and not tell" -ed). In reading, I felt for the worn mother who loses feeling in her limbs and wants to run away and abandon all she's ever known if only to never have it taken away; her father, who knows in the very first week who it was that killed her - and nobody believes him; the sister who is left with the ghost of her dead sister written all over her face; the brother who asks daily "Where is she?" - these characters were so well placed; so well loved; and so well lived in the novel, I wonder if they were representations of Alice's own childhood.

I would recommend you take the time to read it if only for the characterization. I never am one to suggest it teaches a life lesson; after all, I didn't cry.

Surviving Intimate Terrorism, Hedda Nussbaum

2006-03-30T10:43:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I've posted something I've read. It's not to say I haven't been reading; but I've been "dabbling." I was promoted last summer and the job has taken it's toll on me mentally. I get scatterbrained; a little tired sometimes, and I struggle between writing, watching movies, reading and going out and eating food (I do love food). I dabbled in Sons and Lovers by DH Lawrence. Read most of it and really liked it, but then it waned off. I read some of the graphic novel Hell House, and again, things waned. And so on, and so on... Well, to get my mind to read something, I often turn to crimelibrary.com. I get a good fill there and came across the story of Hedda Nussbaum. I found that she wrote a memoir about her experience called Surviving Intimate Terrorism, so I ordered it.

Every two pages makes up it's own chapter. Her story is, of course, a "harrowing" one (though I really do hate that word. It's so... dowdy and morose... But then, so is "morose" and I just used that word. They complement each other well!). It's easy to see while you're reading that she wrote children's books. A terrible thing to think about when you're reading about domestic violence and brainwashing, but it is a book, so I think of these things. She often throws in sarcastic language that I believe could simply be a way to seem more human to a reader (as in, You are reading a book about domestic violence, but in case you aren't yet feeling what I felt, I want to remind you that I'm human; I'm not a novelist; I'm not an award winner; I'm not Gabriel Garcia Marquez; I'm a person; A woman. I was beaten), and though the language, when it shows up, is uncomfortable on all literary levels, it does succeed in reminding you that she was simply a woman who was beaten and a child died in the process of it all, as the result of 12 years of heart-chained torture.

It isn't a literary masterpiece and I don't think anybody involved in it's production would claim it to be; but like all memoirs that share intimate details of downfall and mistakes and intimate pain, it's a work of art to be read if only to share the reminder of fallacy, humanity and weakness. I did not get emotional when I read it, but I shared it with a co-worker who cried so much on her couch, her boyfriend asked her if she could maybe read in another room where her snot wouldn't get all over him.

A Darkness More Than Night, Michael Connelly

2005-09-10T17:36:00.000-05:00

Now this is a far better TV book than those Stuart Woods deals that I muddled through. This has more substance; more flair; more character and better yet? A resolution! Imagine that. A plot with a resolution in a book. Michael Connelly is the author of Bloodwork, after which the same-titled movie was made starring Clint Eastwood. Same characters in this book--as far as I could tell--and a killer is on the loose who targets, it seems, a cop with a fancy for art ("I know a lot about art") This book didn't make me want to write; it made me want to be a private detective.

Stuart Woods

2005-09-07T17:27:00.000-05:00

We all have our weaknesses, okay. Mine happens to be the "I want to read but I want to watch TV too." Fortunately, there are authors like Stuart Woods who make books into those of Penny and her sidekick Brain. The book that moves; the book that is a movie. The Primer--like in Diamond Age by Neal Stephenson (everybody go buy it now).

Stuart Woods has a character in all these books named Stone Barrington. Barrington isn't all that intelligent. He isn't all that rich. He isn't even all that suave or fancy. In fact, he's dry. I can't find a true personality in there. But he's in all these books. He's a cop cum lawyer cum PI. And he has a lot of sex. With a lot of women. And happens to end up with a lot of money after a lot of action after a lot of not-so-much-is-going-on-with-the-case. The books end with a "well, there's that. Guess we'll just get the next one."

One thing that is on Stuart Woods' side? You can read this book during commercials and be guaranteed that something always happens.

The Lake of Dead Languages, Carol Goodman

2005-09-03T17:20:00.000-05:00

You really do have to hand it to that Alice and her book recommendations. I read this on the fly while up in Pennsylvania with Dave, the same weekend I finished up Barbara Vine's book. This book, though... now this knows how to blow you out of the water.

First things first, as the cover will tell you, this has the same mystery, the same aura about it that The Secret History, by Donna Tartt, did (which I reviewed back in July, 2004, I think). This time, the students are Latin, they are in high school, and something isn't quite right. After the not-quite-right turns deadly, one girl returns to her high school only now as a teacher and realized it's all happening again.

Excellent characters, excellent mystery, excellent way to draw it out and wait so you can hold your breath without annoyance, waiting to see what will happen next.

This is one of those books that made me want to write.

A Year by the Sea: Thoughts of an Unfinished Woman, Joan Anderson

2005-09-02T09:19:00.000-05:00

A Year by the Sea was a last minute purchase decision made by my inner old person just wondering if I need some spiritual guidance at some point in my life. You have to admit: the thought of living a year at Cape Cod right by the water is pretty darned entrhalling. I love the water and winter is my favorite season, so having them together in one place means I'd freeze my ass off but the writing possibilities are amazing! The solitude of it could get to me, I suppose, but there's something attractive about having no choice and doing what Joan did: she worked in a fish market, she chopped wood, she had fishermen drop her off at islands for a whole day of sitting there or camping overnight, she did some crabbing. I can't help but think of it as fun. And she was in her fifties, married--just decided that she was going on a year-long vacation.

The Chimney Sweeper's Boy, Barbara Vine

2005-09-01T09:08:00.000-05:00

This novel was recommended to me by Ellen, my voracious reader of a mother who knows a good story when she sees one. So as soon as I had finished The BK, I picked it up. The story is about a gruff older man whose only affection is for his daughters. He's a best selling author, dies suddenly of a heart attack, and the truth of them all just falls out. Ursula, the mother, the wife--nothing more. We find that her husband the author was really just an asshole who loved to steal the children's attention, pretend she didn't exist except for the necessary eggs needed to produce children. The daughters, Sarah and Hope, up and coming, forget about their mother and focus only on what their father left them with: nothing. They don't even consider going home for Christmas because if their father is dead, then there's nothing there. No reason to go home. The layers in this book are fascinating, amazing. You feel for each of them while wanting to slap them uncontrollably. Sarah has a relationship with a man who turns her on by treating her like shit in front of other people and once it's done, they rush out back and topple on each other like rhinos in heat. Meanwhile, she complete misses the misogyny with which her father treated her mother.

That part of the novel is what fascinated me the most. The gist, however, is uncovering the man who made this family. Sarah is asked by her father's editor to write a biography about the man. She finds, first, that he is not who he said he is. Different name, different history, and a lot of secrets. It was a great book.

The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky

2005-08-29T08:58:00.000-05:00

This book came highly recommended from one McFeltenbenbergersteinovski, a Dostoevsky lover. I took the enormous book in hand and dove in full of expectations. This can be a tough endeavor. The book is certainly a podium for tumultuous conversation surrounding the canon of good conversation: religion, morals, love. I almost wish I had read it in college, when my brain soaked it all up like dry sawdust in a morning mist, but truth be told, I wanted the story more than the conversation. The Brothers, a sorry lot competing for the attentions of women, their goals assumed, their attempts assumed, their guilt, their innocence, their meaning, their purpose--all assumed, are wise, young, and sound devilishly handsome. One an intellectual, one a walking treatise on morals, one a walking depravity. All not understood by even themselves; all still in the air toward the end. I was told that the book was to be a trilogy and I was hoping that Fyodor could have lived long enough to share it. The stories that fascinated me the most were the ones that took up only 200 pages of the 800 page novel: the kids in the alleys, the old men in the bar, the women locked in rooms in wheelchairs. We're given just enough cheese to nibble, but miss the satisfaction of a trap on our throats. Maybe next time.

Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury

2005-07-18T07:36:00.000-05:00

Okay, okay. So I admit it. I never read Ray Bradbury. I'm a big jerk for it. Here I am, in the middle of The Brothers Karamazov (which I have nearly all read), and need a little break. Dave suggests I read a little something about book burning. I'm sure many of you have already read this book in high school, which is where I first heard about it. My eager English teacher had many books he wanted us to read and often told us of the ones he had to put aside. This was one of those books. It's fascinating; it goes by quickly; in fact, I wish it weren't quite so quick. I wish it had more substance, more fat, more grizzle. It reminded me of The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood, which had that fatty overweight feel to it that 451 was lacking. Either way, a classic is a classic, and this is certainly something that comes up in conversation, so read it. But don't get the movie. A total flop, if you ask me.

The Awakening, by Kate Chopin

2005-06-22T08:06:00.000-05:00

I'm shocked I did not know about this book before I found it at Normal's, just a thin little thing by the Byatt books. Written by Kate Chopin at the end of the 19th century, after her husband died, it's a story about a woman who realizes that she can do the things she wants. And I don't mean the usual when it comes to these matters (college, be a doctor, etc.) I mean simple things.

Mrs. Pontellier, in this novel, wants to practice her painting. She does, to her husband's chagrin. She wants to take walks. She wants to not be relied upon to be home for Tuesday visits. She wants to have the same independence of movement as her husband, deciding to go for a walk, to visit a friend, to read a book, and not seek out permission to do so. In the end, however, she still has two children, and for their sake, she must make a sacrifice.

I read the first ten pages and was sure it would only piss me off. Her husband, insolent, dense, putting her in her place. If it's not her job to look after the children, then whose is it? But I read on. I liked Mrs. Pontellier, but sometimes saw her as stubborn... but I was rooting for her through and through.

It's a quick read and I'm afraid I'm going to give it all away--so I suggest you pick an afternoon and just read it. It's great.

Possession, by A.S. Byatt

2005-06-16T08:48:00.000-05:00

I have found a new love. A new author to think about, to read, to emulate, to go to when I need some kick in my ass to write. A.S. Byatt, to put it bluntly, FUCKING ROCKS. That's just simply put. Simply it. I went to a great used bookstore here in Baltimore called Normal's, a most excellent wealth of ... well, everything. Their stacks secretly remind me of a closet I hope to have one day, books books books. On one trip, I picked up Possession, along with Dr. Faustus and a few others. Possession, is, I think, the first book of that shopping day I've stopped to read.

The story is labeled "a romance," and indeed it is, but none of that Steele, Garland or other bubbly-naked-cover romance you may associate with the word. It takes place in two different times: 1986 or 87, and 1859-61. Two present-day scholars, academia in poets, long-dead, and the two long-dead poets, up until one fateful day, were never to be related to each other further than the opposing readings of each. One labeled a mysogynist who cared only for words, found women weak, etc. and the other a lesbian, fiercely independent, fiercely an artist, fiercely claiming a place in intellect. But one of these present-day scholars, Roland, fumbles, and finds a handwritten, unfinished letter by the man-poet, Randolph Henry Ash, and recognizes a sense of intimacy never before seen in his writing. Not knowing why, only that it touched him more than mere intellect, he took it.

What unfolds is absolutely FANTASTIC. Studies, researches, trips, underhandings, discoveries, sex that's not sex, intrigue, mystery, desire--they're all there.

In looking for the appropriate cover (the version I read), I found a movie cover and did not realize that a film has been made based on the book. Which I must check out immediately. However, I did see Angels & Insects and discovered, on a return trip to Normal's, that Byatt also wrote that, and Babette's Feast, another book-cum-movie.

As a shameful side note, I was distraught to find that I immediately assumed A.S. Byatt was a man, based on the name alone. I was thrilled to learn otherwise, quite by surprise. This makes me wonder: what name will I use when I publish? Because... I do intend to publish.

On the Road, by Jack Kerouac

2005-06-10T13:23:00.000-05:00

Dave got me this book for my birthday, and I started reading it while we were in Krakow, Poland. I'd always wanted to hear it simply for his "historical"--if you will--importance in literature. I honestly thought, before opening the pages, that it was supposed to be a sort of epic poem a la The Odyssey (why does that spelling look so funny to me?), or am I mistaking that for The Illiad? Either way, I was excited to get the book, and then get down and dirty with the reading.

I had, without even reading the book, assumed that the fun vivacious character of the book (the crazy one), Dean Moriarty, was supposed to be a fictional representation of the author. The introduction, however, written by someone else, quickly quieted that all-too-popular assumption, which, it turns out, actually pissed Jack off. The character is actually based on a Cassady, an ADHD sort of fellow who had a life that seems hard to imagine, but makes for a great story. Jack jumped on that--and I would have too.

Although the story didn't remark too much on writing or the art of writing, knowing that Jack/Sal Paradise is a writer really got my fingers itching to write myself. But being with a partner in Europe and writing would be a bit rude and not all that fun considering the conflict of ... um ... hello! Being in Europe! I'm not an expatriate, though that'd be fun, so to sit and write for hours, as grand and wonderful as it might feel for me, would not be all that intriguing to a partner, who may go off and see the great outdoors without me, only for me to be incredibly jealous later when he tells me of the great sights. So writing was... I fear to admit... coming second on this trip. I'm a horrible writer, aren't I?

The story was AWESOME (to get back to the actual book). The story just kept going, characters flitting in and out, adventures had everywhere, details irrelevant when action is the jist. Apparently, Jack wrote the book in a sort of freewrite. Automatic writing. On a typewriter. He also took many drugs to stay awake for the writing which he finished in some ridiculous amount of time but spent the next few years editing and rewriting. I have a friend or two... actually, only one, who reminds me truly of Dean Moriarty.

I see him wanting to be on the road, getting into danger, lost in drugs... why this life is appealing, I see only dimly. For the most part... it's a character, not a person. Except for the person Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg knew. Which reminds me--Allen Ginsberg is gay or bisexual? And I have to read the poem that begins with the lines used in a They Might Be Giants song, "I've seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness starving hysterical..." Yes, yes.

Currently, I'm reading A.S. Byatt. I'll let you know what I think.

I Survived Auschwitz, Krystyna Zywulska

2005-06-02T16:23:00.000-05:00

I got this book while visiting the camps as well as the one reviewed below (By Bread Alone). The account is tremendously different for very important reasons. 1) It's a different person. Obviously. But 2) The subject is a woman, and 3) She was not a Jew--as far as I could tell. It was difficult to understand this point exactly. She was labeled in the camp as a political prisoner from Poland, and she was treated as such--not an immediate target for execution as the Jews were, yet references I find online suggest she somehow masked her true identity. I think it may go beyond my knowledge of Jewish and Polish names, because it was very clear that she kept her real name a secret, which perhaps has Jewish origins. Most Holocaust accounts I've read are written by Jewish men, so the perspective of a political prisoner (whether she was Jewish or not is irrelevant, because she was treated as a political prisnoer) and a woman who works registering those next in line to die, is fascinating for this completely different perspective. It goes to show that even if their suffering was "logically" less, it's still far too immense to imagine. Another good read.

By Bread Alone, by Mel Mermelstein

2005-06-01T15:05:00.000-05:00

The above picture was taken by US troops when they liberated the Buchenwald Concentration Camp, located on the outskirts of Weimar, Germany, home to Goethe and Schiller. The last small face you see on the top bunk to the far right is supposedly that of Mel Mermelstein, the author of By Bread Alone, which I bought while visiting the Auschwitz camp during my trip to Europe this last month. However, it should be noted that the last full face on the second bunk is rumored to be that of a very famous camp survivor, Elie Wiesel. I've also read his books. I don't recall his recollection of this photograph being taken, whereas Mermelstein gives a detailed account. But to claim either as fact would be hasty, if you ask me.

The account is, and I doubt any account can be anything but, amazing. Mel Mermelstein was a young 17 years old and Jewish when his family was transported from the Czech Republic in 1944 and transported to camps. At the urging of his father, after it was clear their mother and two sisters had already been gassed, they vowed to separate in order not to see each other's suffering.

His story is easy to read through. Though horrific in all its detail, though emotional in its story and its fact, something about how he relates it keeps you at a safe enough distance that you'll read on; your humanity isn't crushed the way you'd imagine it could be, but it is indeed touched.

It is loaded with photographs, documentation, newspaper articles (mostly from the Los Angeles Times) showing that the world was far more knowledgable about the Nazi crimes than those from history would like to admit. It makes you feel sick to imagine that in that time, it was simply news to people overseas, while the book you hold in your hand prove it was much more.

In the 1980s, Mel Mermelstein challenged a California-based Revisionist History group, who promised anybody that could prove gassing happened at Auschwitz would receive a $50,000 reward. Mel Mermelstein took their bet. He mailed in all his documentation, his book, a picture of his own tattoo, and they did not issue him the money. Therefore, he sued them for breach of contract. They were taken to court, and they were ordered to pay him because he did indeed prove that such things occurred. It's weird though--when you're online, some revisionist groups call this a "triumph," for themselves, and I'm so digusted by the groups in general, that I don't linger to read why. I'd rather not know.

To see photos taken by Dave at Auschwitz, refere to his page dedicated to the trip. I'll add an update when I finally post my pictures.

The Devil in the White City, Erik Larson

2005-05-31T17:03:00.000-05:00

So I'm on my way to Dresden, Germany, hanging out with Alice and Dave before departure, realizing as I ponder her book collection that I did not bring anything to read that I knew would captivate me for the trip. I had Kafka's Das Schloss, the good ol' original German version of The Castle, which I read in English once. I can always rely on Alice for good book suggestions, as past reviews can show you. So I grabbed a few, asked her which I should read, and she pointed to this one and said, "You'll definitely like that." And boy, did I ever. By the time we were landing in Dresden, my book was finished and I discovered all about the World's Fair.

I had already been aware of Dr. H.H. Holmes via crimelibrary.com, my bored-at-work-reading of choice. But I was clueless about the World's Fair. Erik Larson gives great behind-the-scenes details and stories about the inspiration, planning, building and living-out of the humongous 1893 affair. He did it so well, I wanted badly to be the first on the very first Ferris Wheel; I wanted to walk in the buildings, smell the air, look at the dirt, compare the before and after pictures. Put on my wire undergarments, hold my parasol and go watch the Wild Wild West show after a luxurious train ride! It was awesome. The people that crossed paths with the World's Fair, the inventions that walked out, the legacy it left for Chicago--so important--YET I HAD NEVER HEARD OF IT.

I do recommend you pick this one up. It was amazing. Though the Holmes part is what intrigued me most about the book when I picked it up, the new info about the World's Fair is what I ended up enjoying the most. For more info about the World's Fair, click on the picture, and for info on the architecture, click here.

Henry and June, Anais Nin

2005-03-14T08:57:00.000-05:00

Back in the day, Alice and I used to exchange books centered around eroticism. One of the first books Alice gave me was Little Birds, by Anais Nin (how do you do umlauts in HTML?). It was my first Nin experience. I loved her writing. In Baltimore, there's a cool used bookstore called Normal's. On a trip there with Dave and Alexis, I found Nin's Henry and June, which is not at all a novel, but the diary she had while she was seeing Henry Miller and his wife, June, was in the states. The diaries were eventually made into a film, which I have yet to see, but from what I hear is full of good erotic hotness. The journal is as well. In it, I see her claiming independence, fervor, sexual release and independence that comes off as trying, trite, painful, insecure... this could also simply be a reflection of myself though. I readily admit that there has been more than one occasion when my excitement for sex and eroticism has been more for safety than an actual expression of me. However, her journal writing is fantastic and affects my own because I can see in what she writes a necessity to simply write. A romantic notion, but one I don't mind adopting. From her journals:

I have remained the woman who loves incest. I still practice the most incestuous crimes with a sacred religious fervor. I am the most currupt of all women, for I seek a refinement in my incest, the accompaniment of beautiful chants, music, so that everyone believes in my soul. With a madonna face, I still swallow God and sperm, and my orgasm resembles a mystical climax. The men I love, Hugo loves, and I let them act like brothers. Eduardo confesses his love to Allendy. Allendy is going to be my lover. Now I send Hugo to Allendy so that Allendy will teach him to be less dependent on me for his happiness.

Hugo is Nin's husband; Eduardo a long-time lover; Allendy is Eduardo's psychoanalyst, and then Nin's, who eventually seduces him to regain control over the emotional nakedness (it seems so obvious to me). Henry is who she loves most--sensually--though she finds safety in Hugo. She also loves June.

This woman.

What a night! How one can go to sleep poisoned, heavy with tears, with rage still smoking. Go ahead, Henry, pity Hugo, because I am going to deceive him a hundred times. I would deceive the greatest and finest man on earth. The ideal of faithfulness is a joke. Remember what I taught you tonight: psychology tries to reestablish the basis of life not on ideals but on sincerity with one's self. Hit, hit all you want to. I'll hit back.

The final passage I leave is one that sums up her writing, what she wanted her life to imitate, and what turned me on--quite honestly.

God, this is like living every moment in an orgasm,
with only pauses between plunges.