Where were we?

I promise, I haven't abandoned this little project, nor have I forgotten about it exactly. I have, however, been a bit distracted. Between moving (an ongoing project, though the actual move was completed 2 weeks ago) and student teaching, I've had time for little else. I haven't stopped reading, though. I've got a few books to talk about - enough that I think we need a few different posts to cover everything.

First of all, when I finished Pride and Prejudice, I moved on to another book that had been mocking me from my shelves for a while: Jean Hanff Korelitz's Admission. I bought the book after I saw the trailer for the movie - last November-ish. I saw the movie, but I just didn't have time for the book. (The movie, if you're curious, was fine, but rather unmemorable. Tina Fey and Paul Rudd deserve better, really. More importantly, in the context of this blog, differs quite radically, and unfortunately, from the book.)

Anyway, in the midst of my move, I made the time for the book and I'm so happy I did. My copy has a quote on the cover describing it as "compulsively readable," and I think that's perfect. It isn't the best book I've ever read, but I couldn't put it down - it was just the right amount of soapy academia to close out the summer and a delightfully adult novel in a year of YA.

Second. This week was my last week in the elementary school. I had been flipping through the books on the Maud Hart Lovelace Award list in my spare time and decided to grab the opportunity to take one home and plow through it. The book I chose was Sharon M. Draper's Out of My Mind. SUCH A GOOD CHOICE!

If you aren't familiar (and you should be), Out of My Mind is the story of Melody, a 6th grader with severe cerebral palsy. Melody is confined to a wheelchair and has almost zero control over her body - she slips out of the wheelchair if she isn't strapped in, she needs to be fed and changed, and, most importantly, she can't speak. As a result, most people think Melody is not just physically handicapped, but mentally handicapped as well. It isn't until she gets a computer that helps her express herself that she can prove how brilliant she really is.

So, what do I love about this book? I loved Melody and I ached for her. I loved her neighbor, Mrs. V. I loved the way Draper filled the book with all of the words that Melody had been holding inside of her. I hated the way that Melody was treated, and I loved how deeply it made me feel.  When people talked about Melody as if she couldn't understand them, I wanted to crawl into the pages and throttle them and when Melody's team abandoned her, I was crushed. It isn't an easy book - Melody's life has improved by the end of the book, but in a measured, realistic way. I admit, I was a little frustrated by the ending - it was honest and real, but a little part of my wanted just a little fantasy, just enough to ensure that we were leaving Melody with a friend her age, a true confidante. That said, Draper's ending is right.

Third, and back to the aforementioned "few different posts." I have also been re-reading my Madeleine L'Engle collection. I want to give her a post of her own (I hope to do the same for a few other authors in the future). I also want to talk about the music I've discovered because of books, and since some of that music is in some of these L'Engle books, this seems like as good a time as any. Things to look forward to!

On love and kitchens and moving

First and foremost, this wisdom from Elizabeth Bennet:

"Is not general incivility the very essence of love?"

Ha! My reading of Pride and Prejudice continues apace. I remain occasionally surprised by how little I remember of the book (and how many of my "memories of the book" are really memories of movies and various adaptations, among them Bridget Jones' Diary and the Lizzie Bennet Diaries). Lizzie is rather crueler than I remember, as is Mr. Bennet (I still like them. And I still identify with their general misanthropy).

So, once again, I am moving. The last time I moved (only a year ago), I thought a lot about the trials and tribulations of moving a sizable library (really, mine never seems particularly large until the time comes to pack it up) and considered the possibility of writing about particular sections of said library (which, of course, I never did - maybe this time). This year, the packing up of my books went smoothly, and I'm hopeful that between the elevator and the two-wheeler I plan on employing, the moving won't be so difficult. Actually, packing boxes has mostly led my thoughts back to Consider the Fork and Wilson's final chapter about kitchens. She talked about the age of kitchens and suggested that a showplace kitchen, where everything is the same age, is kind of dishonest. Anyway, as I packed up my own cobbled together kitchen, I kept coming back to that and to the memories that various pieces brought back.

My own kitchen is a hodgepodge of cheap stuff I've purchased on my own, things I've stolen from my parents, and things I inherited (mostly from my grandma Mabel and my mom's friend Chris, after they passed away). I can't use these things without being reminded of their former owners. The kitchen scale, still in its original box, was pulled from Mabel's kitchen, as was the set of Pyrex bowls (harvest orange, with stalks of wheat), and a full set of silverware (there was a second set that wound up in my sister's kitchen). Pots and pans, an adorably tiny whisk, an equally adorable biscuit cutter, a nut grinder, and a motley collection of lovely china tea cups all came from her as well. When I use these, I think about my grandma's peerless donuts and lefse and flatbread, about weekends at my grandparents' farm and the bedroom I shared with my sister there. I think about one of my earliest memories - spending some days there during beet harvest, when my dad drove a beet truck, and going out to ride with him, carrying a peanut butter and honey sandwich made for me by my grandma. From Chris, a set of wood salad spoons with elephants on the handle, a white tray rimmed with sea shells, and a mug with a tuxedo on it. When I use these things, I think about the Christmas Eves we spent with Chris and Tom and their cats and the summer nights we spent at their lake place. My kitchen seems paltry - I have no KitchenAid mixer, no Le Creuset dutch ovens - but it is rich in history. I'm grateful to Wilson for reminding me of this.

Pride & Prejudice

"She had dressed with more than usual care, and prepared in the highest spirits for the conquest of all that remained unsubdued of his heart, trusting that it was not more than might be won in the course of an evening."

It's been a long time since the last time I read Pride and Prejudice - most of my ideas about it are really from adaptations (the movies, Lizzie Bennet Diaries), not the book. The adaptations take a more charitable approach to Elizabeth - she might be judgmental, but you never really get the sense that she's prideful. Austen makes this much clearer (see the above quote). She's still a lovable character, but far more human than the spunky proto-feminist I remembered (and by "remembered," I suppose I mean "cobbled together from multiple sources").

I also tend to forget how downright disdainful Austen is toward so many of her characters. And not the wicked ones. The stupid ones and the silly ones seem to be the prime targets of her disdain. I think it's easy for people who haven't really given Austen a chance to write her books off as fluffy romances, but they're much darker than they seem at first glance. There are moments in her books that resemble, more than anything, modern cringe comedy, where the way she presents characters is funny in an uncomfortable way, a way that makes you question, as you laugh, exactly what kind of person laughs at such nastiness.

Reading differently

I am still reading Consider the Fork. I think when I say it like that, it could come off as frustration, and I really don't mean for that to happen. It is a slower book than the last few I've read, and a different kind of book, and the experience of reading it is different. Not just that it takes longer, although clearly it does. I said last time that it was the kind of book I kept wanting to share tidbits from, and I still feel this way (and I do share tidbits every chance I get). It is also the kind of book I could and would like to dip in and out of. A book I should be reading along with another book (I can't - there isn't time). It's very engaging, but I'm not invested in it.

It's kind of amazing, the vastly different effects that books can have on you. Just comparing this one with Lovely, Dark and Deep, for instance. Consider the Fork has, thus far, made my thoughts spin off into considerations about having a minimalist kitchen, wishes to cook more in the hopes of becoming a more intuitive cook, and dreams of buying new pots and pans. It has also made me feel a little lonely in the sense that I don't always have someone around to recount interesting factoids to. Reading Lovely, Dark and Deep took me in some very different directions indeed (I think what little I wrote about it should make that apparent). It made me consider my own past, lost relationships that I have grieved (may still be grieving), and it made me frustrated because I did and did not want to let all that out. Or something. Reading a book like that is visceral - parts of it are so raw it hurts to read them and it hurts to deal with the mental spaces they rub up against.

I keep thinking about Lovely, Dark and Deep. Much as I'm enjoying Consider the Fork, and despite the high probability that I will be regaling friends and family with trivia from it for years to come, it's not going to stick with me in the same way. And that's okay. It doesn't need to. In fact, it might be good - having every book cling to you in such a persistent, gnawing way would be unbearably heavy. These moments of levity, these palate-cleansers, are crucial.

Consider the Fork

I didn't actually mean to be quite so depressing with that last post. It was the book, and a week of being mostly on my own, and a very terrible sleep schedule - they ganged up on me. Really, Lovely, Dark and Deep was fantastic. Poetry. Complex, with no easy resolutions (my biggest problem with Jepp was the too-tidy ending), but still deeply satisfying. And with such a distinct sense of place, something I'm always over-the-moon to find in books.

And now I've moved on. Bee Wilson's Consider the Fork: A History of How We Cook and Eat. Non-fiction seemed like a good idea.

I'm still reading the introduction, but it is already the kind of book I want to share, the kind of book where you want someone around who is willing to listen to you read particularly interesting passages aloud because they simply must be shared. For instance:

Open hearths were a major cause of death in Europe, too, for centuries. Women were particularly at risk, on account of the terrible combination of billowing skirts, trailing sleeves, and open fires with bubbling cauldrons hung over them. Professional chefs in rich households until the seventeenth century were almost universally men, and they often worked naked or just in undergarments on account of the scorching heat. Women were confined to the dairy and scullery, where their skirts didn't pose such a problem.

Hilarious! From the mental image of the naked chefs to the absurdity of women continuing to wear billowing skirts, despite the obvious risk. This, I think, is precisely the book I needed. I'm glad to have found it.

Lovely, Dark and Deep

Turns out I don't have much else to say about Jepp, Who Defied the Stars. I certainly enjoyed it, and I love that it deals with the question of fate versus free will and I can recommend it, but I just don't have much else to offer.

And I'm not sure how much I can say about my next selection, Amy McNamara's Lovely, Dark and Deep. To be honest, I'm a little worried about reading this book. I've plowed through the first 80 pages already and the language is gorgeous and affecting. But the story deals with grief and depression and it plunges you into that so deeply that...yeah, I worry. I can't empathize with Wren's crushing grief, but I'm finding her story to be a little too resonant for this rather lonely girl and I just don't know how smart it is to willingly dig myself into melancholy like this.

Let's be honest, though. I'm not going to stop reading. I just wanted to say out loud-ish that this might be a tough book for me to deal with. And maybe a tough book for other people to deal with, which is maybe an important thing to acknowledge if I'm going to talk about it and/or recommend it.

Jepp, Who Defied the Stars

First of all, that title. Don't you want to read it for that? And if not that, then the design, because what a lovely cover! And the end-pages, and the blue text...it may all be artifice, but it is charming artifice.

I've been reading a lot of this book out loud to myself. It slows me down, and there are just some people whose words you want to say out loud. Katherine Marsh is one of those people. I've mentioned before the language of Mervyn Peake in his Gormenghast trilogy - the way he lavishes words on his readers; I don't think Marsh is quite up to Peake's standards, but she doesn't shy away from the vocab. Especially given that this is, ostensibly, a young adult novel (I can see some teen readers struggling with the language, as well as the shifts in time and tense).

At this point, I'm about a third of the way in. Beyond the language, I'm finding the story pretty engaging, although I don't know (at this point) if it would make my year-end top 10 (that's a thing I should do, right?). If it gets really good over the next 200+ pages, I'll be back with more information. Otherwise, next up is probably going to be Lovely, Dark and Deep by Amy McNamara (yes, I'm incredibly bothered by the lack of an Oxford comma there).

So Long

How long I've been away, that is. I haven't entirely given up on this (though, let's be honest, I probably should).

I didn't even check to see what the last book I posted about was...it's been far too long to catch up. But the last book I read was this one:

Kristin Cronin-Mills' Beautiful Music for Ugly Children.

It's about Gabe, a trans boy with a serious music obsession, growing up in southern Minnesota. The book follows Gabe's final days of high school and the summer after graduation as he struggles with coming out and being out and tests out his dream of being a radio DJ. 

Let me say first of all that I tend to be a little biased toward books set in Minnesota. I can't help it. That said, it would be a pretty darn good book no matter where it was set. It's an important story to be telling (there just isn't much out there dealing with trans issues for young adults), it avoids a super-easy happy ending (thank God - I was worried that Gabe would get absolutely everything he wanted), and it's relatable, even for kids who aren't dealing with coming out of the closet. I think most of us have felt like the person we know ourselves to be isn't visible to those around us and have been frustrated when our attempts to make other people really see us go awry. 

Honestly, my biggest problem with this book is a pretty nit-picky thing from early on - Gabe and his mentor are debating music and Cronin-Mills offers some simplistic explanations of who these musical giants are. First, I don't like the assumption that Merle Haggard needs to be explained. Second, and more importantly, the explanations discourage exploration. If I didn't know who Merle Haggard was and read an argument about his greatness, I would feel compelled to do a little research and listen to some new music and I might discover something incredible. When you're writing about music, you should make me want to listen to it. (The best example I can give is the way Daniel Handler wrote about Hawk Davies in Why We Broke Up. I wanted to hear his music and understand what Min was talking about and I was kind of devastated to discover that he didn't exist.) But like I said, this is nit-picky and really, it's only a problem in the first chapter. 

In sum, read it. 

Where were we?

Tuesday night was my first class of the new semester. I told a few people that I was really burnt out on YA, which was partially true, although I think the real truth (as evidenced by today and yesterday, my first sick days of the year) is that I was just straight-up burnt out. Run down. In serious need of a mental and physical BREAK. That said, I was also needed a little break from YA and books in general, which is why it has taken me the better part of two weeks to muddle through Markus Zusak's The Book Thief (I'm still not finished, but the end is nigh). My time has instead been spent at work or burning through three seasons of Downton Abbey. 

So instead of talking about all the books I've read since How I Live Now, which I will get to later (maybe tomorrow), let me instead apologize for abandoning this space and talk about two books that I haven't read recently but have been thinking about, particularly in conjunction with Downton Abbey (and a little bit with my Tuesday night class).

First is L.M. Montgomery's Rilla of Ingleside. I started this blog off by talking a lot about Montgomery, but never got to this book. The reason I've been thinking about it is because it is the only book I can remember reading that takes place during World War I (just like Downton's second series). Because it has a similar level of soapiness as well, I just keep imagining that somewhere along the way, Walter or Jem might have met up with Matthew, Thomas, or William in some trench in France. Silly. Anyway, I also wonder why this is the only book I've read about WWI, especially when I've read countless fictional accounts of WWII. 

So, the other book I've been thinking about is E.M. Forster's Maurice. Again, it takes place around the same time (Forster wrote it in 1914, although it wasn't published until much later) and in the same place and treats on some of the same themes as Downton; namely, being gay in a time and place that wasn't going to allow it, at least not without putting up a fight. I can't help wondering if Maurice came up in the creation of the character of Thomas, though even if it didn't, I can't help associating him and his plight with Maurice's (and hoping, even though he's kind of a bastard, that he'll get a similarly happy ending). 

In relation to class, I can't help wondering if Maurice should be classified as a young adult novel. Certainly, it follows Maurice's young adulthood. (One of our many assignments is to compare a pre-1980 YA novel's treatment of a theme with a more contemporary work - it would be pretty cool to compare a 1914 view of homosexuality with something later.)

Next time, we talk about books I've read recently. I promise.

On a Roll

I was not so enthusiastic in my last post, but since then, I have been on a serious roll. The last five books I've read have been total home runs (and the one I'm reading now is shaping up to be one as well).

Let's begin with Catherynne Valente's The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making, which is utterly magical and completely heart-wrenching. I fell hard for September, the Green Wind, the Wyverary (son of a Wyvern and a library, of course)...the whole bunch of enchanting characters. Not to mention Fairyland itself, a land suspiciously absent of fairies. Valente's descriptions made me want to draw everything she described (a good sign) and September's quest kept me on the edge of my seat throughout. I was especially enthralled by everything that happened once September was separated from Ell and Saturday. Her tenacity made me cry. For real. I have only one complaint: I'm not a fan of the illustrations. But who needed them anyway? The images Valente drew in my head were more than enough.

After the triumph of the first book, I moved straight into the second: The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There. It picks up where the first book left off, with September waiting to return to Fairyland (as a Ravished child who has eaten the food of Fairyland, a la Persephone, she must return annually) and still missing her Shadow. Another grand success, with a visit to the world Below Fairyland. More delicious characters and new lands to explore. A creepier book, which makes sense, given the shadowy underworld in which it takes place. But September is a true hero, and her quest to save Fairyland from turning into the real world is spellbinding. I was especially moved by the scene with the Onion Man. It was initially creepy, but once the dancing started, I was in tears.

After that, it was on to Laura Amy Schlitz's Splendors and Glooms. I wasn't sure quite what to expect from this, although I had read reviews that described it as being the kind of book where liking it made you feel smart, like you were getting something most people didn't. I was intrigued. Having read it, I can say that were I reading it in junior high, I absolutely would have felt that way. The historical setting, Dickensian dialects, and the general creepiness of marionettes would do that. And it is kind of tough to get a grip on at first, especially since it starts with a scene featuring an ancient and dying witch. But really, once you've gotten a bit into the first chapter, you're hooked. The characters, especially the children, are vivid. It's a world that creeped me out and sucked me in at the same time. Fantastic.

If you held me at gunpoint and forced me to declare one of these five books the winner, this is the one I would choose. In a field of truly fantastic books, it was, for me, the most fantastic. It's the story of two young women during World War II - a pilot, Maddie, and her friend. The friend, our narrator (for much of the book), is flown into France by Maddie. When Maddie has trouble landing the plane, our narrator is forced to parachute and the two are separated; our narrator is quickly apprehended by the Nazis and held. This story is her confession, tortured out of her. I don't want to say anything more. I didn't ever intend to look out for spoilers here, but honestly, if someone came across this post and learned anything more than what I've said, I'd be brokenhearted. I will say, again, that this book is incredible. A beautiful story about WWII and bravery and, more than anything else, friendship.

Finally, Meg Rosoff's How I Live Now. This is a book for class. From here on out, at least for a little while, that will be my focus. The last couple of books I read for class, Twilight and The Summer I Turned Pretty, were pretty disappointing (well, I knew Twilight would suck, but it was disappointing to have to read it anyway), but How I Live Now was great. It made those last two seem far worse in comparison. It's fairly short (less than 200 pages), and it flies breathlessly by. This is due, I suppose, largely to the style in which it is written, with run-on sentences and a stream-of-consciousness feel (especially given the lack of consistency when it comes to tenses). I have to assume that this is also the reason for the absurdly high Lexile (1620!). It's a strange story, set at some point in what seems to be the near future. 15-year old Daisy has been sent to England to live with an aunt (Penn, who is only a minor character) and her four cousins. Shortly after her arrival, England is occupied by terrorists (who they are, what they want, etc. is never made clear, although based on the things Daisy says later on, it sounds like similar terrorist groups occupied most developed countries in the world, leaving the English on their own). Daisy and her cousins are at first unaffected, continuing with their unsupervised, Edenic existence. Eventually, the real world comes knocking - their farmhouse is taken over by the military and the children are split up and sent away. The rest of the story follows Daisy and her cousin Piper, as they try to survive and reunite the family.

It's a weird story, especially the part about Daisy and her cousin Edmond falling in love (is there some metaphorical meaning to this?). The post-apocalyptic travelogue thing reminded me quite a bit of Cormac McCarthy's The Road. Both books lack real specificity - we know the country in which the story is taking place, but not the specific location; we know this is the future, but not exactly when; we know that something bad has happened, but the whats and why are a little fuzzy. Daisy can be a frustrating narrator - she isn't really interested in the specifics, so she doesn't talk about them. She's also, apparently, anorexic (another detail that seemed like it must have some metaphorical significance that I'm missing). She's not particularly likable at first, but you can't help aching for her as she and Piper try to find their family and stay safe. The scene when they finally arrive at the place Edmond and his twin Isaac are supposed to be is graphic and horrifying and completely heartbreaking, and by the time they finally make it back to the farmhouse, I was exhausted. I didn't know what to expect from this book, but by the time I laid it down, I was a big, big fan.

Next up: Ernest Cline's Ready Player One. And by "next up," I mean I'm already 100 pages in and loving it.

Happy New Year!

But really, I still have to wrap some things up from 2012. I hauled a bag full of books home with me for Christmas and, while I didn't read as many as I'd hoped to (or as many as last year)...

...I counted. It was 8 books. Only one of them was for class, so we'll start there.

Jenny Han's The Summer I Turned Pretty

Meh. I think I'd have been more on board with this book if I had actually been reading it during the summer, because it  has a lazy, summery style wherein nothing really happens. There are a few actual problems simmering under the surface of a seriously lightweight romance, but I almost wish there hadn't been - they seemed unnecessary. I didn't care much about any of the characters, except Conrad, who (even knowing his motivations) was really unlikable. I never understood why the narrator, Belly, was still carrying a torch for this guy, especially since Jeremiah was obviously more likable and actually liked Belly. Ugh. That is making it sound like I was invested in this book when really, I was meh about this book.

Rebecca Stead's When You Reach Me and Liar & Spy

(I haven't read The Diviners yet, but I really want to.) I liked both of these books a lot. I was always going to like When You Reach Me because it references A Wrinkle in Time frequently, and Madeleine L'Engle is one of my favorite authors. I figured out the ending pretty easily, but it was still a delightful book (and totally worthy of the Newbery). Liar and Spy was also charming and, like When You Reach Me, deceptively simple with surprising depth.

Susan Beth Pfeffer: Life as We Knew It; The Dead & The Gone; This World We Live In

OMG, such a depressing bunch of books to read over Christmas. I suppose any book that takes place immediately post-apocalypse is going to be, but seriously. The first two books at least end with a little tiny bit of hope, despite being incredibly bleak (and compellingly readable), but the third book was just pure bleak, horrible, depression. Apparently Pfeffer is working on a fourth book...I don't know if I can handle it.

Lauren Oliver's The Spindlers

This was a much-needed breath of fresh air. I don't know if I've mentioned yet how much I really love Lauren Oliver's YA books (I do); now I'm also a fan of her children's books (I'll have to obtain a copy of Liesl and Po sometime soon). I love the world she created here, the characters are wonderful, the Spindlers (not to mention the many other villains Liza encounters on her travels through Below) are terrifying (I don't like spiders)...I just dug it. It's something to be read alongside Alice in Wonderland and the Narnia books.

Veronica Rossi's Under the Never Sky

I really hate this cover. But I really enjoyed this book. Seriously, there are so many cool things you could do with this cover...that should never have happened. I had a little trouble getting into this book at first, but after the first hundred or so pages, I was pretty hooked. It's a fairly standard dystopian story: girl lives in controlled environment, raised on stories of the terrifying Outside, which she of course winds up on her own in, where she of course meets a boy who grew up in the Outside, who of course wins her heart and shows her how much more real and amazing the Outside is. I always wonder, as I read these books, if kids really get that message, that the real world is so much better than the virtual world that they spend more and more time in. Rossi does a great job of selling nature (it reminded me quite a bit of Lauren Oliver in Delirium) - I hope that message actually gets through to other readers the way it did to me (I've been wanting to run around outside since setting the book down and, while the bone-chilling cold stopped me yesterday, today I may not be able to resist).

Okay, even with 8 books, that took longer than I expected. So, to finish my 2012 wrap-up:

In 2012, I read 90 books. 62 were children's or young adult books (mostly young adult). So 28 were grown-up books. 11 were non-fiction. About 6 were classics (that being a difficult category to define).

In 2013, I'm aiming for 100.