SEXIEST PERSONS ALIVE

Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

EPIC FAIL


A huge thanks and nod of appreciation to my regular readers who haven't given up on me. Especially those who continue to leave comments despite my EPIC FAIL as a reciprocal blogger.

My excuses are as follows.

Work has been kicking my boo-tay.

Playing limousine driver to my not terribly grateful twin tweens has been kicking my boo-tay.

My husband's rants about the Aggies leaving the Big 12 Conference and joining the SEC have forced me to feign active listening whilst playing Pogo's Poppit ad infinitum.

As you can see, it hasn't been all work and no play (see Poppit). I've been getting to bed earlier and doing more reading. Of the book variety. Rah! My favorite genre, historical fiction. Pithy reviews for those who share my enthusiasm:

Jude Morgan's Charlotte and Emily: A Novel of the Brontes was somewhat slow but one I could sink my teeth into. I can't get enough of 19th Century women authors.

In Manette Ansay's Good Things I Wish You, a contemporary woman writer speculates on the relationship between pianist Clara Schumann and her husband's protege, Johannes Brahms, while also relating to their mutual hardship of balancing career and motherhood. Good stuff.

So here I am, between books, with the aim of reconnecting to bloggerville and finding more entertaining and intellectually stimulating ways to pretend listening. Let's see how well I do.

Thursday, February 03, 2011

swann's way out


I recently mail off my copy of Remembrance of Things Past, Volume I: Swann's Way, by Marcel Proust.

Unfinished. About 400 pages worth of unfinished.

I'd heard about Proust from a number of sources, spoken with a reverence reserved for the likes of James Joyce and Dostoevsky.

I didn't finish Ulysses either though I loved Crime and Punishment.

So when I brought home Swann's Way it was with a token solemnity that I climbed into bed to read it, cup of tea by my side. I hunkered down hoping to love this book, with those many volumes and thousands of pages to look forward to.

Nope.

I wasn't all that certain at first. I'm still not. After many nights and many dutiful attempts to read a multitude of paragraphs, filled with endless compound and run on sentences covering a period of time that could have lasted no more than five minutes, five seconds, perhaps, devoted to a glimpse into the stream of consciousness of one man as he lie awake in bed, moments after snuffing out his candle, remembereing his youth, a childhood of inconsolable angst, a childhood of yearnings and dread combined into a dull, relentless ache of loneliness, when he would lie awake then, in just such a bed, in just such a way as this, a boy, waiting for his dear, sweet mother to climb the steps and come to his room and deliver a good night kiss, a kiss he anticipated with unbearable fervor, after which he felt an intensity of disappointment that it was over and that he would not see his mother again for many hours yet to come, knowing that his father would ridicule him for his clinging emotionality, I decided that reading pleasure was not to be had at the prolific hand of Proust.

In short, reading left me feeling really annoyed. Was it Proust's writing style? Or was it a function of the translation? Whichever, it writing bounced and skipped like a beaded bracelet that breaks open and scatters across concrete. Where is it all going? Will it ever come together again, into one coherent idea? Too much repetitive detail. Too little notice before a topic change. My mind was ringing with, "Alright, already!" Throughout the one hundred or so pages I read, I wasn't sure if, during the entire narrative, he was still in bed.

For several nights I gave it another try. I thought maybe I'd finally get into his rhythm, start to follow his train of long, obsessive thought. Determined to appreciate it.

Didn't happen.

Instead I started to wonder if the One Hundred Greatest Novels of All Time list was penned by none other than Ellsworth Toohey, playing a trick on the masses, trying to make us feel small and guilty for failing to comprehend the magnitude of Proust's style.

But in the end, I let it go. Life is too short to feel annoyed. Too many good books out there waiting.

I'm curious though. Any readers think I made a mistake, loved the book, think I should have persevered?

Friday, June 18, 2010

best summer read - my nomination

It's awfully early to say this is the best damn light read of the summer. Especially since some parents, teachers, and kids are not even out for the summer (Hi, Sis!) So I won't say it.

I'll just nominate this novel and say I'll hold my real vote at the end of summer (wink, wink).

It qualifies as a light read because there are no longer-than-your-driveway sentences, it's not thicker or heavier than your Websters New Collegiate Dictionary, and it's written in a three-paragraph-per-section style, i.e., you can pick up the book soon after sitting your feeling-fat, matronly self down at Barton Springs Pool, surrounded by the hundreds of young, single, hip, tattooed, hard-bodied University of Texas coeds, and immediately jump right back into the story, without being distracted once.

I loved this book because Julia is such the anti-heroine. She reminds me of an all grown up and married with a kid version of Bridget Jones. And I lurrved Bridget Jones.
Julia's conversations with herself are such a contrast to the out loud conversations I have with the moms I run into.

You know the type, the I only buy organic, gluten-free, lactose-free, corn syrup-free type and the Gotta run, my son has a soccer tournament in Dallas and my daughter has a soccer tournament in Houston, busy day!! type and the I'm so tired I stayed up reading the entire Harry Potter series to my identically dressed, identically hair-styled triplets type.

The type where I walk away, thinking, My kids are soooo screwed.

But not true with Julia. This is a mom who writes honestly about her parenting foibles. Who shares her dissatisfactions within her marriage (read, mediocre to forgettable sex) . Who does all the wrong things, thinks all the most irreverent thoughts, hopes for all the most immoral endings.

And I loved her. Lots of cynical, gutteral sniggering in my beach chair.

My one complaint - I wish it were the size of my Websters New Collegiate Dictionary.

If you like self-loathing, sardonically witty, modern-parenting-trend-bucking moms who still have a naughty sex life, at least in their minds, and occasionally in real life, you might love Julia too.

Monday, May 10, 2010

feels like saying goodbye to a good friend



Finished reading Lit last night. Feels like saying goodbye to a good friend.

Really good memoirs and novels feel like that. One reason why I like reading so much. I'm one of those people-who-need-people, people. Having a book in my lap, especially when written in the first person, feels like listening to a friend confide their deepest secrets.

As for Lit, it was another home run for Mary Karr. An an especially insightful read for those trying to understand alcohol abuse. Or trying to kick it.

Recovery, relapse, reconciling with an abusive parent, doing what it takes to stay sober. It's all there.

So I'm back to the novel I was reading when I got notice that Lit was ready at the library, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. It's the story of an eccentric teacher at a girls school in Scotland, told through the eyes of the students.

Halfway through the book I was thinking it was not all that great. But then over the weekend, while planning my next read, I came across Brodie on one of TIME's 100 Best lists. Ok, so somebody thinks it's all that and a bag of chips. I'm determined to finish it since it's right there on my bedside table. Check off one more on their list.

Last night I read the passage where the students are attending sewing class. The girls see the sewing machine's needle go up-down-up-down, "which usually caused Sandy and Jenny to giggle, since at that time everything that could conceivably bear a sexual interpretation immediately did so to them."

I was immediately transported back to Catholic school. Sixth grade. Miss Napolitano's Geography class. Listening to a student drone aloud out of the textbook, about some South American country,their biggest export, rubber. My BFF and I caught a glance, laughed hysterically, trying not to, which only made us laugh more. Miss Napolitano saw us and rolled her eyes. Miss Napolitano was no Miss Jean Brodie.

And now I'm thinking of watching the movie, since it stars Maggie Smith. I fell in love with her when she played Miss Bartlett in A Room with a View, one of my all-time favorite movies. Smith must have played an equally excellent Miss Brodie, given her Oscar win as Best Actress for the role.



Has anyone seen the movie? Recommend it? And how about the book?

And readers, what are you reading now? Meeting any good friends lately?

Sunday, May 02, 2010

do not disturb




Seriously


excellent

reading

in

progress.




For weeks now, I have been patiently pacing the floors waiting for my local library to deliver my hold request.

And Thursday?

Deliverance.

So now, after numerous distractions (volleyball game, two-night visit from mother-in-law, school carnival pick ups, sleepover drop offs) I am, to use a phrase I know the East Texas author would approve of, happy as a pig in sh*t.

If you are looking for a fascinating, disturbing, engaging, and inspiring memoir, or series of memoirs, which in my mind's eye is evah so much bettah, I invite you to read my absolute

favorite series by Mary Karr.

Begin with Liar's Club. Natch.

It's about her Texas childhood. Daddy working the oil fields. Momma working the bipolar. Both working the bottle.

In her words, "A dysfunctional family is any family with more than one person in it."





Follow Liar's Club with Cherry. Karr's adolescent years. Where she unwittingly follows in her mother's footsteps. Isn't it always the way? We're running away from our parents but running right smack into them at the same time.

And finally (oh hopefully not) the sequel to the sequel, Lit.

When I read Karr's memoirs, I feel as if she is sitting by my side, talking to me. An intimate conversation where I'm thrilled I've found a new friend who will tell-it-like-it-is. No sugar coating. No holes barred. Emotional, gutsy soul barings. The stuff typically reserved for the confines of a shrink office.

The way Karr describes her confused, distressed, approach-avoidance feelings regarding her mother is deep, from-the-core, inside turning out.

And her marriage to the wealthy, waspy New Englander. The same. The subtle twists and turns that can steer a married couple right into the ditch. And the way the hurts stick with us, "the shreiking fight or the out-of-character insult endures forever, while the daily sweetness dissolves like sugar in water."

But mostly it's her insights about herself. ""For me, everything's too much and nothing's enough." Yep. Especially when I'm reading her books.
All this to say I may be even less present in the blogosphere than my poor attendance record of late.

But I know you understand.

Friday, December 11, 2009

novel synchronicity


What are the odds of reading two novels, back to back, with the same unusual and unexpected ending?

In the first, a person fakes his death and moves to a particular southern state that shall remain unnamed.





In the second? A person fakes his death and moves to a particular southern state that shall remain unnamed.

And yes, the very same state.

The setting of the first book: New York City and New England. The second? England.

The first book I acquired from a neighbor. She gave it to me saying she couldn't get through it but thought I might like it (I did).

I wonder what this says about our friendship. Here's a book I hated. I think you'll like it.

The second book was sitting neglected, on my bookshelf, for nearly a year because I had regretted buying it. Not my usual fare, I wondered what the heck was I thinking. Book buyer's lament.

So late on this one night, after finishing the first book, I wandered to my bookshelf and reached for this second, unappealing one, thinking "This ought to put me to sleep."

In other words, no connection between the two books. Complete random coincidence that I selected two books with identical endings.

The Goddess of Synchronicitous Endings guided me there, apparently.

And I wonder what this means, too.

Is the universe talking to me? Should I be thinking about faking my death and moving to a particular southern state that shall remain unnamed?

Or if my husband suddenly disappears? I know where to find him.

How about you, reader? Has this ever happened to you? Two books, read back to back, with an eerily familiar theme or ending?


Friday, May 29, 2009

give a book, get a book

I joined PaperbackSwap a few months ago and it's great. It's an online book swap networking site. You list the books you are willing to swap. You mail it out to an interested reader. You get a point when your book is received. And then you can cash in that point to request a book from some other member. It costs about $2.30 to mail each book.

I'm at a point where I've accumulated several points and want to order some sure-bet summer reading. There are a LOT of books to choose from.

Which brings me to the reason for this post. I would love to hear your suggestions, some of your favorite novels read over the past few years. Books that stand out as having been "one of the best books I've read in a long time." Or "books that I couldn't put down." As I said in my previous
post, I'm not into pain or violence or scary. So no murder mysteries or Stephen King, please.

Oh and I did see The Wrestler. As promised, I kept my laptop open through quite a few scenes, all of them, I think, took place inside the ring or in the locker room. I was glad I saw it. There were several emotionally wrenching themes presented in an intelligent, sensitive manner, having to do with substance abuse, parenting, and aging out of careers. It clearly was not about the wrestling so much as the man who is wrestling with his personal demons.

But back to the books. Here are a few of the books that fit this description for me. I prefer women authors but there is one favorite male author who has never disappointed.

For Love by Sue Miller. One of my favorite authors. The story of a woman whose mother enters a nursing home. She returns to help get the family home in sellable condition. She explores her long crumbling relationship with her mother and brother. She evaluates her teetering marriage. She revisits a key childhood friendship. I felt like I was listening to a client or a friend try to reconcile her past with her present. Oh, and if you don't know what a porte cochere is, like I didn't, you can see one here.

Fall on Your Knees by Anne-Marie MacDonald. I read this one years ago. I love novels that delve into childhood associations of Catholic teachings and how they interplay with other religions. I don't wonder why. I grew up a Catholic school girl whose next door neighbors were holy roller Presbyterian on the one side (we choreographed dances to gospel quartet music - her father played stand up bass) , and a liberal, somewhat eccentric (compared to my family's conservative conventions) Jewish family on the other. This novel is set in Nova Scotia. It spans the early 20th century and beyond WWI.

Three Junes by Julia Glass. This one I consider a found treasure. You know how you're walking along and out of the corner of your eye you see something that sparkles? You pick it up thinking it will be an old bottle cap but instead it turns out to be a gemstone? Three Junes was like that. The title caught my eye on the library shelf. I hadn't heard a thing about it. I brought it home to give it a try and I loved it. It's a story of a Scottish family with a matriarch who breeds dogs, her husband, their son who is gay, the family's struggle with acceptance, and the son's life in NYC.
Atonement by Ian McKewan. Although Amsterdam was the McKewan novel that drew me in first and probably is still my favorite. The movie, Atonement, was very well done. The mystery of the logistics of the library sex scene was answered, thanks to the visual aid that is film.



A Round Heeled Woman by Jane Juska. One of the bravest contemporary memoirs I have ever read. Real life "edge of your seat," interpersonal and emotionally moving tale of a woman, late in life, looking for love and connection.




The Weight of Water by Anita Shreve. Another of my favorite writers. This book of hers is my most loved. And I still have not seen the screen adaptation, starring Sean Penn. What is my problem? Adding to my "movies-to-rent" list now.





So how about it, reader? Have any suggestions for me?

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

I missed the turn on Revolutionary Road







A couple years ago I read a review of Revolutionary Road, the book by Richard Yates. It sounded straight up my alley. National Book Award finalist. And one of my favorite storylines: the inner workings of a suburban marriage gone awry.


I was so disappointed once I got to reading it, though. The writing style was bland and uninteresting. Unsophisticated, even.


Did I get the right book? I went back to the internet. Wiki said "the novel was chosen by Time as one of the 100 best English-language novels from 1923 to the present." Huh? Really?


So I have to ask. Was it just me? Did anyone else try to read this one?


Now that it's out as a movie starring Kate Winslet, one of my top female actors, I want to see it. And of cose I'm dying to see this onscreen pair together again. But as for the failed book attempt, I feel gypped. I wish I had stuck it out. Maybe once the plot made itself known I would have seen what all the fuss was about.


So as of now, my plan is to see the movie and forget about trying the book a second time. I'm one of those people who likes reading the book first. Always.


But I dunno. What do you think? Is it worth a second try?


Thursday, January 22, 2009

beautiful boy, ugly drug

I finished this book last night. I can't recommend it highly enough to parents. I plan to encourage my teenagers to read it. It's a memoir, written by a father, David Sheff, whose family is coping with their son's addiction to methamphetamine.

Before reading, I had a basic but inadequate knowledge of meth. I had attended a substance abuse conference, but this was years ago, when meth was largely an urban street drug, before it had exploded in rural and suburban America. I had treated individuals who reported a history of using meth, but no acknowledged addicts or current users. That I knew of. After reading this account, I'm close to convinced that a perplexing patient or two were actively using.

I had seen Oprah's depiction of suburban moms addicted to meth but stereotypes die a slow death. I still viewed this drug as a low income affliction, not something my kids would be at risk to use. I had heard first hand accounts of how prevalent meth use was in very rural areas, such as small towns in Wyoming and Montana. Again, not my kids.

This book is a wake up call to parents. All parents. That means me, too. It's about a family I could identify with. A boy with loving, supportive, nurturing parents. A boy whose intellect, creativity, and sparkling personality showed all the signs of a bright future.





Sheff tells us about the private schools carefully selected to advance his son Nic's academic career. Nic's attendance at a study program in Paris. His acceptance at numerous prestigious universities. His attendance at U.C. Berkley.





Nic first tried marijuana and alcohol at age 12, younger than my son is now. His parents' response seemed reasoned and appropriate. Like how I imagined I would handle it. Nic's escalation into "the hard stuff" was unlikely and shocking. Once in the grip, the Sheff family found themselves in the midst of a harrowing nightmare.
Sheff gives us a moment by moment account. His personal reflections, fears, uncertainties, shock, and despair. He wrenchingly questions his parenting decisions, wondering "What did I do?" and "What could I have done differently?"
He interviews leading university researchers and shares his acquired knowledge. It's a quick study on the ravages of meth and recovery strategies. So, for me it serves a personal and a professional function.

In 2005 David Sheff first wrote an article for the New York Times describing his son's ongoing addiction. You can read it on Sheff's website, here or at the NYT, here. He later published this memoir, Beautiful Boy, an expanded version. A book review in the NY Times can be read here and here.

The most common street names for crystal meth are ice and glass. Here are some others:

Batu.....Blade.....Cristy.....Crystal.....Hoo.....Hot ice.....Ice cream.....Icee.....L.A. glass.....L.A. ice.....Quartz.....Shabu..... Shards.....Stove top.....Sugar.....Super ice.....Teena or Tina.....White crunch.... An even longer list can be found, here.

You can view David and Nic Sheff on Oprah, here. Nic has written a book called, Tweak, which I plan to read next.

Oddly enough, I had sat down with my kids about a week prior to my friend lending me this book. I said "We're going to have a talk about sex and drugs." They immediately belly ached, "Aww, Mom! We know all about that stuff."

No. They didn't.

Neither did I.

Saturday, December 13, 2008

to which this mom is left speechless


.
I found a pair of girls corduroy pants in my bedroom, that look to be my daughters' size.

I go to their room and ask them, "Do these fit either of you?"

They both replied, "No."

Hmmm. What is wrong with the pants?

To which my fashion savvy daughter enlightens me: "I can't wear those because they make my butt look big."

My ten year old thinks her butt looks big?

Using my sternest, no nonsense voice, I replied, "Oh, they do not. You don't need to worry about such nonsense. Now here, take the pants"

Savvy Daughter: "Oh yes they do! They don't have back pockets. Pants without back pockets make your butt look big!"

Stern Me: "That has nothing to do with anything. Here, take the pants."

Savvy Daughter: "Yes, Mom! Pants without pockets make your butt look big! They do! Look, it says so in the book you gave me!"

In my most incredulous mom voice: "What?" (Thinking, "yeah, right!")

To which she produces the book, that yes, I gave her for Christmas last year, School Handbook for Girls* by Lisa Regan. I purchased it at the Scholastic Book Sale put on by their school each year.




And then my daughter quickly flips to the exact page, titled, Dream Jeans, where it says,



"If you're concerned that your butt is too big to wear jeans, think again. Choose a pair with large rear pockets to minimize your butt. Small pockets make it look bigger and no pockets will make it look huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge!"



Savvy Daughter: "See, Mom?!?"

I say nothing. I know when I've been beat.

And instead of taking a moment to explain that she has a beautiful little butt and doesn't need to worry about her butt looking huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge like the book I gave her says, I left the room with my mouth hanging open, determined to write a letter to the publisher, or leave an angry review on Amazon books, or both.

Or maybe just to blog about it.

*BackPackBooks. 2006. Miles Kelly Publishing Ltd.

Friday, October 03, 2008

story of a marriage



told in book titles.



Magpie Musing gave me the idea this morning. And her sister-in-law gave her the idea to give The Sorted Books Project a try.





So here is a book stack from my home and a story of a marriage.

It begins with a book I haven't read. I won it from Jenn at Juggling Life (thanks again, Jenn), a giveaway of her first paid book review.








And it ends with a library book I've also yet to read.

It just so happens I've been reading a run of novels with the theme of infidelity. It began during my summer vacation with a book on my mom's shelf, Joanna Trollope's Marrying the Mistress. I was pleasantly surprised how much I liked it. That led me to try more Trollope.

Each one I grabbed off my local library shelf, so far, involves someone stepping outside of the marriage and the effects on everyone around them. Someone Else's Children was very good. Helpful insights for parents of blended families. I finished my third last night, The Best of Friends, but wasn't as bowled over.

At this moment, Second Honeymoon sits on my bedside table, waiting for me to start it. If anyone has read it and wants to tell me if it's worth my while, I'd very much welcome opinions.


So what story do your book stacks tell?

Thursday, July 10, 2008

answers at any hour


One of the things I love about "the internets" is the ready availability of answers. Answers in pictures, even. A virtual, day or night, daily updated encyclopedia.

Last night, for instance. I'm reading For Love, by Sue Miller. The heroine keeps mentioning the "porte cochere" on her neighbor's house. Its part of the story.

What the heck is a porte cochere?

I get out of bed. Sit at keyboard. Open Google. Type 12 letters in the long blank box. Hit return. Voila.

French for "coach door," it says. "The architectural term for a porch or portico-like structure at a main or secondary entrance to a building, through which it is possible for a horse and carriage or motor vehicle to pass, in order for the occupants to alight under cover, protected from the weather."

So one of those side-of-house car port thingies.

Oh, but wrong, continues my other late night resource, Wiki.

"Porte-cochères should not be confused with carports in which vehicles are parked; at a porte-cochère the vehicle merely passes through, stopping only for a passenger to get out."



So now I know.

Back to the story.