Bluestalking

Still not practicing what I preach...

 

...or, maybe I should say, what I read. I continued reading The Tyranny of Email ** yesterday, until I couldn't hold my eyes open. Last night's section was about typewriters, and how revolutionary they seemed at the time. Typewriters... Can you imagine that? But it's true, at one time they were cutting edge. Like our technology today, that now changes weekly.

Mark Twain was the only famous writer known to have used the typewriter after it debuted. Otherwise, it was used for business, and women (mostly) were required to type something on the order of 150 wds/min in order to get a good job transcribing, etc. I don't even know how quickly I type. Quickly, but that's because I do it for hours every day. Too many hours.

I didn't pick up the book until I'd spent a couple hours catching up with the discussion board for my grad school courses, then another hour or two working on things blog related - because I accidentally deleted my entire sidebar here. Twice. And had to reconstruct it, or at least as much as I could, as I've collected various widgets and such around the net for years and can't find them again without a massive search.If I even remember what they were. Wanna talk fun?

Hours and hours of eye strain, of hunching over the computer after a long day, following a night of not sleeping well at all. Which followed several nights of not sleeping nearly as much as I should. Awful.

The sleep problems started (this round) after sitting up 'til 3:00 a.m. last Saturday, doing homework, then going to bed every night this week at about 1:30 a.m. Between a snoring husband with a cold (or the SWINE!), my bloggery, and various and sundry things like having to make the family lunches, I haven't rolled into bed, or fallen asleep at a reasonable time for, well, as long as I can remember. An early night for us is midnight. Really bad for the health. I'm surprised I hardly ever get sick. I must have an incredible immune system, because I don't deserve such health.

Then there's the accumulation of email. Oy. I cleared out 2,000 messages last week, and still have about 1,500 at Yahoo, and I don't know how many at work. Lots of them, probably most, are professional-related. They're either Google Alerts that comb the web for a specific subject, then send me daily links, or their discussion lists dedicated to a certain professional listserv. But I can't get caught up with them.

No wonder John Freeman is up in arms. We really do need to change this, or who knows what will happen to our society, not to mention our rate of traffic fatalities, the majority of which are caused by drivers not paying attention.

I know my behavior's not unusual, and I don't know if I could change it, because I've never set goals to try. One thing in my favor, I don't own a portable internet device. Very few people really need those. CEOs, okay. Doctors, definitely. But your average citizen? Not on your life. Mostly, they're for show, as in, Look at me, I'm so important I can't be disconnected for even a minute!

Keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you'll believe it. Those who say it are those who don't truly need it. Those who do don't have to justify it. 

Maybe over my next retreat I'll think about these issues, and how I can reorganize my life in order to both take better care of myself and teach my kids by example they don't always need a keyboard attached to their hands. But with Paul being sick lately (strangely, always when it's time to make lunches) I've fallen out of the habit of hanging out and watching TV. He's on the laptop; I'm on the desktop. I need the TV off, or it's too much mental stimulation. That hurts my head. This needs to change.

How, I don't yet know. Maybe John Freeman, and the others writing about the problem, will have some good ideas. It could start with getting off my butt and doing something else, though. I'm totally guessing on that one, but it makes a measure of sense. Better organization. That's another good idea. A schedule, though I rebel at those. Maybe a limit, instead, taken whenever I want, but adhered to.

Right now I'm too tired to think about it, and I need to get to work, where I'll hopefully not fall asleep at my desk. Because I could. I can fall asleep sitting up now. That's a new achievement, and one I'm not particularly proud of.

I'm off.

** Due to a recent requirement instituted by some internet organization or something, I have to disclose the source of every book I talk about. In this case, it was the library system. Not a freebie, not bought at a bookstore. But checked out from the library.

Navigating the influx of self help books

My God have I read a lot of self help books over the past two years. I'd be embarrassed to list all the titles, much less how many are still teetering in piles, languishing unread. And well some should continue languishing, considering the quality of some of them.

Barnes & Noble, Borders and Amazon should be grateful I'm so messed up. Their top executives are probably keeping their fingers crossed I never fully recover from my lifetime battle with depression. I wouldn't put it past them to have played a part in some of the suspiciously bad things that have happened to me. After all, that's great for business.

I think I'm solely responsible for the sales spike the big box retailers experienced last year, and I know I've lined the pockets of Wayne Dwyer - possibly even making a mortgage payment or two for him. He has vanity plates reading, "LUVLISA." And yes, I know. He mostly writes the same damn book over and over, just shuffling a few words around here and there. But he looks so caring in the photos! He and Julia Cameron both, but God I love her! I'd have her baby if she asked. And if she'd give me half her book proceeds.

But those cover blurbs! They get me every time. Every self help book sounds like THE ONE that dwarfs all the others I've bought. Those idiots who wrote those other books? What did they know? It's this author who has it all straight, and can fix my issues. It's this one who's been there and back again, and can tell me how to do the same. And, best of all, it's so, so easy! Just twelve steps, twenty five at most, and I can be more assertive about meeting my needs, influencing others to treat me with respect, and organizing myself in every way, making my life seem better than a plunge off the Sears Tower (IT WILL NEVER BE WILLIS TOWER TO ME).

I have a special fondness for the Idiot/Dummies series. There's something so darkly funny about a depressed person buying, "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder for Dummies," "An Idiot's Guide to Depression," or "I'm a Bipolar Idiot; You're Just a Dummy." Does it get better than that? I think not.

And workbooks! How I love workbooks. I like filling in blanks, writing essays about myself, and writing essays about myself. I fascinate me, and there's nothing I wouldn't share with myself. Those books totally rule. The same goes for journals, in which there are hundreds of pages to write about me, me, me!

Some of these books I've started, read enough pages to induce my gag reflex, then tossed back onto the pile thinking maybe I didn't give it enough of a try, but I'll get further into it later. And, as we all know, later just never seems to get here. Sometimes that's a good thing, but waiting for sometimes sure can allow for a lot of clutter pile-up in a person's house.

It's fairly obvious you don't really need strong professional credentials - or any at all - to write a self help book, at least nothing beyond the ability to construct sentences in a (semi)coherent fashion. Having had a crappy life helps, too. The crappier the better. As does having been visited by angels, demons or other supernatural beings. Gnomes may even count, but I'd be suspicious about elves. Near-death experiences are great. If someone else dies, then talks to you from the GREAT BEYOND that's a flippin' gold mine.

My personal favorite self help books - aside from the workbooks - lean toward Buddhist philosophy, emphasizing exercising the power of your own mind in order to help minimize negative thoughts, replacing them with positive truths about yourself.

The over-arching theme: we beat ourselves up way too much. Well, most of us do. I can't see Paris Hilton stressing about much of anything except smudging her nails after a manicure. But we normal human beings tend to consider our humanity a detriment, forgetting we are all in the same boat. Other people may seem they have it all together, but sometimes that's just a facade. And being human equates to screwing up, sometimes a little, and sometimes a lot.

No matter how many of these books you read, it all boils down to taking negative self-thoughts and putting them into perspective, then realizing you're not as much a loser as you thought you were, doggone it. You don't ignore the thoughts. You let them pass by, maybe writing them down and considering why you beat yourself up over it, and where the thought came from (if you're like me, and think best while writing), then reassuring yourself you don't suck. Unless you are Paris Hilton, and I'm so ashamed I went there.

I'll keep reading these self help books, at least the well-written ones, and those that allow me to write a lot about myself. Even knowing the GREAT TRUTH it's good having it repeated over and over again. Some days it's easy enough to remember, but other days not so much so. Reading to myself in that gentle, if opiate-influenced tone of voice, is soothing. A sitar playing in the background, while the scent of incense burns your nostrils, equate to Nirvana. How many of us couldn't use a little of that now and Zen?

Oh God. I went there, too.

I hang my head in shame, then write all about myself and feel better again. Over and over and over. Maybe one of these days that'll stick, shortly before the big box retailers go out of business. I miss them already.

Do you finish everything you start?

A column by Richard Horan on the guilt involved in not finishing every book a reader starts.

__________________________________

I feel no such compulsion to finish every book I start, and I'll tell you why. I get so angry at publishers, usually the big ones, who publish loads and loads of crap, just because they believe it will have market appeal, they can see it turned into a movie script, or because it's written by an author with a good reputation.

Aggravating.

Meanwhile, there are really great writers out there toiling away, writers who've written quality works that should be published and given deserved attention. They're usually unknowns, so publishing houses are afraid to take a chance on them.

Many of these writers go to the small presses, the ones who recognize great writing and don't mind if the writer's never been published before.They're looking for the gems the big houses didn't have time or inclination to read. Sometimes what they publish is eventually picked up by a big house, who republishes the work. Oh. So generous of them.

I give my opinions on books by large and small publishers, and often I'll tell you if I couldn't get through a poorly written book. I don't want others wasting time on junk, not when there's so much out there that's wonderful. There should never be guilt attached to not finishing a book if you aren't loving the experience. The guilt should come when you've wasted precious reading time that could have been better spent.

Granted, not everyone will share my opinion as to what's poorly written. And I'm fine with that. But I will never pretend to like a book that's complete and total crap, no matter if it's a review book, a book I've bought, or a book I borrowed from the library. And that's something you can take to the proverbial bank.

A view from the other side

What dads are reading--it's not what you think

June 21, 4:08 PM · Marilyn Crain - Non-Fiction Books Examiner

 

Ask a dad what he's reading. The answer may surprise you. After conducting the first annual, informal, not so carefully monitored, survey of the smallest pool of reading fathers ever, this is what we discovered this morning. Dads are extremely unpredictable readers.

Are they reading one of the recent Pulitzer Prize winners? No.

The latest manly man-fiction? Not a chance.

Maybe something mind-stimulating, like What's Next: Dispatches on the Future of Science by Max Brockman. Not a chance.

To a man, all of the dads who took part in this Father's Day survey were re-reading an old favorite. Perhaps, this means when times are a little uncertain, men reach for the comfort of the books they love. Old friends they can count on?

Whatever the reasons, here are the books these dads are reading:

• The Pleasure of Finding Things Out by Richard Feynman—A collection of Feynman's writings about the joys of life and learning.
• Education of a Wandering Man by Louis L'Amour—A memoir from the master of the western cowboy, about a life of globe-trotting and reading.
• First Light: The Search for the Edge of the Universe by Richard Preston—Nonfiction that this dad says reads like fiction, about astronomers at Palomar Observatory and their adventures with the Hale Telescope.

Even though it's Father's Day, one mother wanted to participate in this survey, so risking the integrity of such a tightly controlled endeavor, in the interest of fairness she was allowed to add her voice.

So, what new and exciting best-seller is she reading? You guessed it. Her choice is even older than the guys' picks. She is reading (maybe for the tenth time) A Thousand Miles up the Nile by Amelia B. Edwards. She found a copy of this classic for $9.95 several years ago and she calls it her best find ever.

Well, that's it for this year's survey. It might be interesting to conduct a Father's Day inquiry of your own.
 

Copyright 2009 Examiner.com. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

Author

Marilyn Crain is an Examiner from Chicago. You can see Marilyn's articles at: "http://www.Examiner.com/x-7711-NonFiction-Books-Examiner"

The luxury of getting lost in books

Mmmm, summer! I grouse about the heat and humidity (you should have seen my hair yesterday .... ye gods), but having taken the semester off I'm positively flying through books. It's as though I've just crawled out of the desert - after days of wandering - and found a pond I've stuck my entire head in, and won't come back up 'til it's drained dry.

Relief!

I mentioned my sons are enthralled by the Tunnels series of books. I'd had the first around for months, ordered after I heard it billed as the successor to Harry Potter. I got about a quarter way through, and put it aside, likely for a school assignment. Ultimately, my son (youngest) picked it up to read for a school book report. And he was RIVETED.

This is my child who thinks video games are the reason for humanity's existence. And he loved Tunnels so much he literally begged me for the second installment in the series - Deeper. I bought it immediately, in hardback for goodness sake, and he blew through that faster than the first book. Champing at the bit for book three, I wrote and asked the publisher for a copy. Now he's reading that, but more slowly than the other two.

After my youngest fell so hard for Tunnels, he convinced my middle son to read it. Imagine a librarian (almost!) walking into her sons' room to find the two of them burrowed in books! It's a dream come true. That hasn't happened since the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books late last year.

My middle son, likewise, was riveted by the first book. By this point I was waiting by the sidelines, biting my nails. Finish already, thinks I! The book flew from his hands to mine. I started over, since I didn't everything I'd already read, and now I'm finished. I try not to sit staring at middle child, as he's ONLY HALF WAY through Deeper. I may have to use other means to get my hot little hands on it...

As you may have gathered from that little rant, this is a compelling series. Young Will Burrows and his father, a historian and archaeologist, literally dig tunnels in the earth. Their attempts vary in success, as his father uses his knowledge to locate probable sites of interest. One day, they stumble upon what appears to be a disused underground railroad station, abandoned approximately one hundred years ago.

Will, enlisting the help of his best friend Chester, spends hours after school digging around. After the two boys find themselves chased by mysterious men dressed in black, wearing hats and sunglasses, they know something is up, but not what. Soon after, Will's father disappears. Chester, naturally curious but not quite as courageous, agrees to help Will find his father, with reservations. The two soon find themselves in a predicament, taking them off on a journey long and strange, filled with danger ...

I don't want to spoil the magic. Imagine the appeal for young people. Two boys of their approximate age investigate what appears to be a lost city, finding all sorts of buried "treasures" that are of curiosity rather than monetary value. With one parent lost, Will's mother inaccessible due to what may or may not be some sort of mental issues (it's spelled out more clearly in the books), and Chester's family not on the scene, the two are free to explore a lost world.

I've read, or am in the process of reading, several others. I don't want to make this a monster post, so I'll write briefly about the books I've finished in another post, and tell you I'm currently embroiled in:

The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters

Valeria's Last Stand: A Novel by Marc Fitten - Review

Sacred Hearts: A Novel by Sarah Dunant - Review

And have just checked out of the library:

The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work by Alain de Botton

Despair: A Novel by Vladimir Nabokov

Primates and Philosophers: How Morality Evolved by F.B.M. De Waal

Fingerprints of God: The Search for the Science of Spirituality by Barbara Bradley Hagerty

And, of course, the search for Deeper goes on ...

And how is YOUR summer reading going?

The Interlopers

 

Working in a library has several thousand perks, i.e., all the news about new and future book publication coming under our noses. Not to mention the brand new books themselves, upon which we may put holds and read before the general public.

I used my SUPER POWER to put Kate Morton's The Forgotten Garden on hold as soon as I read a review of it.

Check this out:

Amazon Best of the Month, April 2009: Like Frances Hodgson Burnett's beloved classic The Secret Garden, Kate Morton's The Forgotten Garden takes root in your imagination and grows into something enchanting--from a little girl with no memories left alone on a ship to Australia, to a fog-soaked London river bend where orphans comfort themselves with stories of Jack the Ripper, to a Cornish sea heaving against wind-whipped cliffs, crowned by an airless manor house where an overgrown hedge maze ends in the walled garden of a cottage left to rot. This hidden bit of earth revives barren hearts, while the mysterious Authoress's fairy tales (every bit as magical and sinister as Grimm's) whisper truths and ignite the imaginary lives of children. As Morton draws you through a thicket of secrets that spans generations, her story could cross into fairy tale territory if her characters weren't clothed in such complex flesh, their judgment blurred by the heady stench of emotions (envy, lust, pride, love) that furtively flourished in the glasshouse of Edwardian society. While most ache for a spotless mind's eternal sunshine, the Authoress meets the past as "a cruel mistress with whom we must all learn to dance," and her stories gift children with this vital muscle memory. --Mari Malcolm

Yum.

Considering it has a waiting list, and is overdue from the library, I pushed aside a pile of review books to read a few pages and see how good it actually was. The cover review, and all the other reviews I read, made it sound like the best thing written since Dickens' untimely passing. But you know how those darned reviewers are, how they tend to exaggerate and such.

Intending to read a chapter at most, I didn't come up for air until sometime around page 100. Ye gods, this is a GOODIE. If you enjoy these thick, richly layered books, edged with a bit of semi-gothic mystery, at least one orphan and a few fairy tales stuck in for good measure, you will love this book. Love, love, love. It's all you need.

I've pushed aside everything else I'm reading. Very bad of me, I know, but then again quite responsible, as the book has so many other people patiently waiting for this greedy almost-librarian to hurry up and finish it, already.

 

Oh, but did I mention this one, too? How remiss of me. It likewise jumped the queue, the cheeky thing, after I read this:

From Publishers Weekly
Starred Review. Leigh follows her internationally acclaimed The Hunter with a haunting family drama tightly packed into a tense novella. Olivia, referred to primarily (and somewhat affectedly) as the woman, has fled her abusive husband with her two sharp-tongued young children. She seeks refuge at her mother's chateau in France, which she left on bad terms to get married 12 years earlier. Soon after Olivia's unexpected arrival, her brother shows up with his wife, Sophie, and the body of their stillborn child. Although the plot feels a bit slight, there is great emotional weight and disturbing imagery, as Sophie wanders aimlessly, still wearing her hospital ID bracelet and carrying her lifeless daughter in her arms as if the baby were a doll. The chateau is an ideal gothic setting for the morbid events that occur over the course of several days; indeed, there is only one scene that takes place off the chateau's grounds, infusing the novel with an unsettling atmosphere of claustrophobia. Death and impending death reign, but Leigh also paints a subtle portrait of a broken family trying to piece itself back together. (Dec.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

By the way, the body of the baby must be stored in the freezer at night, for obvious reasons. It's left in there on a little pink blanket and satin pillow.

And ... No, can't tell you that. It would be a huge spoiler.

It's a tiny book. A novella really. I'm planning to re-read it to determine if the disturbing thing I think happened really did. It's a bit vague that way, but chilling nonetheless.

Yours in reading heaven,

Bluestalking

Reading, reading and more reading. Current news from a bibliophile.

I know. Quitcher whining. Oh, poor me! I've been getting so many free review books lately!

Yeah, well, it IS a problem when you're trying to fit in the actual time to read them. Here are a couple I'm working on right now:

 

Short reviews:

“Lynch’s depiction of the natural world and his deep sympathy for his characters carry the book [with] majestic moments.” –Publishers Weekly

“Meet Brandon Vanderkool, the most fascinating, memorable, and human character in American fiction since Ignatius J. Reilly of A Confederacy of Dunces.  Birder extraordinaire, painter and sculptor, part-savant and ever the Good Samaritan, Brandon also happens to be a 6’8” Border Patrol agent with an uncanny gift for finding contraband and smugglers.  Border Songs is a masterwork, and Jim Lynch, for my money, is our best new storyteller since Larry McMurtry: deeply in touch with the natural world, the absurdities of our era, and the hearts and minds of his unforgettable and endlessly surprising characters.” –Howard Frank Mosher

“Jim Lynch’s new novel reads as an antitdote to the 21st century: a kind of metaphorical insistence on hope and simplicity and art in the face of a surrounding storm.  Border Songs is a quietly ambitious book and it just gets better as it rises to the final satisfying image.” –Kent Haruf

And me:

So far, he alternates between exquisite prose and one thing that annoys me to no end - using adverbs to describe in what tone a character is speaking. He has too much experience, and writes in too fine a manner to do this. Don't tell me, "Yes!" he responded eagerly." The exclamation point SHOWS ME he's responding eagerly. Don't repeat it. 

Oh, and exclamation points in formal writing? I hate them!!!!!!!!!!!!! There's almost never an appropriate time to use an exclamation point in fictional prose. Almost never!!!!!!!

I can't stand this way of writing. Don't use adverbs to tell me how a character feels. That's sloppy writing, and as the reader I need to intuit this from the scene. And, unless your character is falling off a cliff, no exclamation points. But even then, I think I'd get the idea of urgency from the scene.

When editing I strike these sorts of things with a red pen, yet some writers are positively determined to annoy me.

 

Review:

"Sellers’s elegant first novel imagines life in Britain’s Bloomsbury circle from the point of view of Vanessa Bell, Virginia Woolf’s older sister... The amazing aspect of this novel is its painterly quality. As Vanessa recalls her life, layer upon layer of memory is applied to create a portrait of color and shadow, a process that is mirrored in the narrator’s descriptions of her methods of painting...Highly recommended for collections of literary fiction-particularly where Woolf is popular."--Library Journal

Hmmm... Really? That's awfully high praise.

I'm not far enough into this book to really judge it. Let's just say, I'm a VW fan, and in order to write about these sisters you'd better be prepared to really impress or I'll toss you against the wall.

Can you say, "hard ass critic?"

Finally, has anyone read this book?

 

I feel lust and extreme want coming on, but the pile of review books I have now - plus the library books I have checked out - is teetering already. And this one's over 500 pages.

Gads.

Anyone read it and have an opinion? I don't know how long I'll be able to hold out.

The word of the day is "voyeur" ...

I've been so into reading memoirs for the past year or so. Before that I hardly touched them, unless it was something written by a literary figure. Those have always been exceptions. But now memoirs rivet me. Well written ones, at least.

That explains my recent love of Ayelet Waldman and her Bad Mother. The subject matter hit close to home, and because I've read one of her novels it was a foregone conclusion. Nothing was going to stop me from reading this book.

Now it's Julie Metz's turn, with her Perfection: A Memoir of Betrayal and Renewal. This one's a review book, and I don't remember anymore if I requested it or if the publisher/agent just sent it. Either way, I'm already hooked.

Basically, Metz's husband, Henry, dies suddenly (not a spoiler; it's early on in the book), leaving her to raise their little girl alone. But then she finds out her husband had been having an affair (on the back cover blurb!) with one of her close friends. And that's as far as I've gotten.

Metz is remarkably open; I feel weirdly voyeuristic reading the intimate details about her marriage, especially when she writes about their sex lives. I'm considering writing a memoir one day, and I can't say I'm planning to be quite this forthcoming - sorry about that. I probably have enough material without the incredibly personal details, but for those who feel free sharing, more power to them. For me, I prefer to leave some matters to the imagination.

I don't know that much else about Metz's book. I'm guessing finding out about the affair is that much worse by not having her husband there to talk through things, to find out the reasons, deciding whether to stay together or split up. Having him die so suddenly, and so young, is shocking enough on its own. The revelation of the affair must have blind-sided her.

I Googled her website, and I'll probably ask her for an interview once I've finished her book. In addition to being a writer she's a graphic artist who designs book covers. What a fascinating woman.

I don't know how long this memoir kick of mine will last. I'm still reading fiction, but memoir's enthralling me more now. Then again, here I sit with Baker & Taylor's (major distributor to libraries and bookstores) May/June catalog, looking through upcoming fiction. And I feel myself weakening ... So many pages of fiction! I feel dizzy.

The good thing is, the older I get the more picky I become. Every year I scratch a genre off my list, limiting the scope of my booklust a little more. Lately I've eliminated historical fiction based on real figures. I can't stand not knowing what's real and what's made up. Chick lit went a long time ago. Actually, it never took hold. Then mass market fiction - most of what's on the bestseller lists. Also, most books about "how I found God," unless they're by people like Anne Lamott, who makes me laugh and doesn't preach. And books using 9/11 as a backdrop. Fagettabout it. No way.

Call me picky. I've been called worse. But I prefer "discriminating."

But the memoir? Hook, line and sinker. It's a lost cause. I can't see striking this one off the list, ever.

Books: Coming Back Out of the Woodwork

When I say "this is what I'm currently reading," more than half the time what I really mean is, "this is what I dip into when I have a few minutes, or try to read while the rest of the family is watching TV, doing homework and creating distractions all around me." Only in the case of the review books, and an exception or two, do I read in a distraction-free environment. And yes, it pains me.

But here is "What I'm currently reading":

Intelligence and How to Get It: Why Schools and Cultures Count by Richard E. Nisbett -  Library Loan (saved $ 26.95 !!)

"A devastating and persuasive refutation of all those who believe intellectual ability is fixed at birth. Few Americans have done as much to deepen our understanding of what it means to be human." (Malcolm Gladwell, author of The Tipping Point and Blink)

A bit esoteric/scientific/confusing for me at times, but a great book for digging down deeply into the subject of intelligence.

Good Book: The Bizarre, Hilarious, Disturbing, Marvelous and Inspiring Things I Learned When I Read Every Single Word of the Bible by David Plotz - Library Loan (saved $ 26.95 !!)

"Like the Bible itself, Good Book contains multitudes-it is by turns thought-provoking, funny, enlightening and moving. In short, David Plotz's book easily lives up to its name. Trust me, Thou shalt enjoy." (A. J. Jacobs, author of The Year of Living Biblically )

(P.S.: I read, loved and reviewed The Year of Living Biblically, even corresponding with A.J. for a while - Where art thou, A.J.?)

Really, a very deep consideration of the Bible. So deep I need my own copy (GREAT MOTHER'S DAY GIFT!!!!!!) so I can highlight, write in the margins and do things some book lovers consider sacrilege. As one Amazon reviewer said, this book is so thorough it could take the place of reading the Old Testament. That's how "meaty" it is.

Castle: A Novel by J. Robert Lennon - Library Loan (saved $ 22.00 !!)

Though I'm not reading this one for review, it's so absorbing (in a gothic sort of way) I'm savoring it in private.

From Booklist
"Returning to his hometown in upstate New York, Eric Loesch buys a large tract of forested land and the rundown house upon it. Emotionally constricted and painfully awkward in his dealings with locals, he is beset by strange feelings of fear and déjà vu as he first restores the house and then explores the land. Suspense mounts as he makes one strange discovery after another—among them that he is not alone—until a penultimate event unleashes a flood of memories and the novelist’s true agenda. In Mailman (2003), Lennon created an unforgettable, outsider protagonist, and Loesch is just as memorably crafted. What works less well here is the story’s construction: what begins as a literary suspense novel with an almost mystical atmosphere is suddenly, violently grounded in current events. Readers’ willingness to follow the surprising shift will depend on their willingness to embrace unconventional narrative. However admirable, and whether or not intentionally, Lennon’s overt message breaks the spell cast by his art. He’s still a terrific talent, but Castle isn’t as successful as his previous works."

Well, then! I'll have to read his previous works because this one's pretty doggone good.

The Overflowing Brain: Information Overload and the Limits of the Working Memory by Torkel Klingberg - Library Loan (saved $ 21.95 !!)

From Publishers Weekly
"As the technological environment speeds up to a maddening degree, Klingberg, a professor of developmental cognitive neuroscience at Sweden's Karolinska Institute, warns that the huge burden of information overload and multitasking can exceed the limits of our slowly evolving stone-age brain. Using data showing the subtle increase in IQ scores during the last century and its link to educational improvements, Klingberg notes a gap between the rapidity of electronic high-tech devices and the brain's relatively slower capacity to process information, leading to memory malfunctions. The text can be somewhat academic, but the amount of scientific fact translated to something the reader can use is still sizable, including keen writing on the impact on working memory of problem solving, meditation, computer games, caffeine and the existence of attention deficit disorder. Klingberg also reviews the evidence that mental exercise can increase the capacity of working memory. A highly sane look at the increasingly insane demands of the information age, this book discusses with precision a subject worthy of attention. B&w illus. (Nov.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved"

A surprisingly "light" read, for a book about how the brain works. I've started others I had to abandon because they got too scientific for me, but so far this one's on my level.

Fall by Colin McAdam - for Review (Amazon - FREE !!)

Product Description
A masterpiece of adolescent perspective, emotion, impulse, and relationships: the riveting story of two male roommates at a co-ed boarding school and what happens when the girlfriend of one of them goes missing during their final year.

"From an internationally acclaimed, prizewinning author, whom critics have compared to Dave Eggers and Michael Ondaatje, comes a tour de force: a mesmerizing novel that is at once a spellbinding psychological thriller and a brilliant portrait of adolescence that goes deep into the heads of two very different boys.

Awkward Noel thinks he’s been allowed into the inner circle of his elite boarding school when he discovers his senior-year roommate is to be handsome, athletic Julius. Julius, in turn, cares only for the fleeting joys of teenage life: sneaking out to parties, playing pranks with friends, and most of all, spending the night with his girfriend, Fall. As Noel narrates this fateful semester from a perspective of many years, interwoven is Julius’s own in-the-moment experiences of first love and male camaraderie.

Always an outsider, Noel develops an unhealthy fascination with Julius, and his crush on Fall begins to border on a dangerous obsession. As Julius experiences all the pleasures of an eighteen-year-old in love, we watch as Noel self-consciously analyzes his interactions with Julius and Fall, convincing himself of a deep connection that might not exist. When Fall disappears close to winter break, Julius and Noel are forced to face their own inner desires, a confrontation that ushers the two boys out of the innocence of adolescence and into adulthood.

A tremendous literary page-turner that perfectly captures the agonies and delights of adolescence, Fall is the exhilaration and angst of teenage love and friendship— and the ultimate transience of those feelings."

Some with have trouble with the use of stream-of-consciousness writing that makes up around half the book, but the overall effect is wonderful. I love books with off-kilter characters, and getting into their minds fascinates me. A great read so far, despite the two lukewarm reviews at Amazon. Piffle on them.

I have a very big stack of recent review books recently sent to me. Choosing amongst them is tough, but I'm bound and determined to read as many as I can.

You can tell the semester's winding down, eh?

 

Free stories of divine intervention.

This title came from another Google search. I couldn't have said it better myself.

I'm reading my review copy of Rick Bragg's The Prince of Frogtown. It's out in paperback today. I saw that at Amazon, after I'd already started thinking about crafting this post. I went there to double-check the title. Ironic, considering my reaction to it is so deeply visceral. I came here to write it out - hoping it would make me feel a little better.

I'm in the middle of existential angst. I'll just warn you now. And I'm understating facts.

Abandon hope all ye who read further.

Didn't I warn you?

Anyway. Rick Bragg's prose - and there's no way to say this without sounding cliched, though I wish there were - takes my breath away. It's so beautiful it's heartbreaking. Powerful. Ethereal. Achingly brilliant.You pick.

No one should have the right to write that well. I resent him for that.

His people are my people. White trash - what middle class southerners used to refer to as "crackers," but now I don't know what they call them. Maybe it's still white trash. What I do know is their blood runs through me, but if I could get rid of them by draining every last drop out of me I would. With pleasure.

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Entry Word: hate

Function: noun

Text: 1 a very strong dislike<hate can sometimes be replaced with tolerance when people meet face to face>

Synonyms: abhorrence, abomination, execration, hatred, loathing

Related Words: cattiness, despite, despitefulness, hatefulness, invidiousness, malevolence, malice, maliciousness, malignancy, malignity, meanness, spite, spitefulness; aversion, disgust, distaste, horror, odium, repugnance, repulsion, revulsion; animosity, antagonism, antipathy, bitterness, contempt, disdain, enmity, grudge, hostility, jealousy, pique, resentment, scorn; bile, jaundice, rancor, spleen, venom, virulence, vitriol

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They lived in houses with dirt floors - red, powdered clay that coated everything - and tin roofs. Surviving from paycheck to paycheck, with enough money for food but not always enough for the urchins to have shoes. Or clothes that hadn't been handed down three generations. They got drunk on payday and beat each other to a pulp. Someone bailed them out, or they were kicked out. They went home to beat their wives, rape their children - or whoever was handy - before passing out until the next work day.

Dregs of humanity.

This is my lineage, and Bragg's as well. They crawled out of Appalachia on their bellies, migrated to Alabama, some on to Mississippi - scratching out a living, minus the raw determination to want better. Sometimes they stayed with their families, sometimes not. When they did stay their families often wished they hadn't - that they'd have been sucked into the machinery at the cotton gin, kicked in the head by a mule, thrown out the windshield of a car.

Bragg's father left. Mine stayed.

Reading Bragg's writing sucks the life out of me, but that gorgeous prose ... It's just like you'd imagine an angel would write, if there were angels. And if they could hold pens. Or maybe God would give them laptops, if the condensation from the clouds wouldn't make them slip from their hands and drop to earth, clonking innocents on the head. Would insurance pay if you got a concussion due to a careless angel? You could claim an act of God - like a flood, an earthquake, or a burning bush. 

Would God have a PC or a Mac? A Mac, of course! God. Adam. Eve. Apple. There are no computer viruses in heaven. No worms in their Apples.

Ignorance and poverty don't always equal evil.  But those who are? They're black to the core - completely lacking a soul. Their last exhale on this earth smells like brimstone. Satan's hands are on their ankles before their bodies grow cold - his grin maniacal, smoke curling through razor-sharp teeth. Under their Sunday best are the scratch marks on their legs, dead skin under Satan's nails already burnt to a crisp.

This is what passes for solace when you come from depravity.

Existential angst. Don't say I didn't warn you. But I do feel better. And a little Faulknerian. Minus the whiskey on my breath. Just don't forget: you get what you pay for. And what you paid for were free stories of divine intervention. And free stories you shall have. The intervention part? We'll see.

"The writer's only responsibility is to his art. He will be completely ruthless if he is a good one. He has a dream. It anguishes him so much he must get rid of it. He has no peace until then.”

- William Faulkner