Category: A Real, Live Book

Casino Royale is the first Bond novel.  I'll confess that I picked it up because of the fabulous Penguin edition pulp cover.  The first 50 or so pages dragged.  I stayed with the book for only two reasons: it is on my 1% Well-Read Challenge list (I'm up to 15.78%), and Neal read it and wanted me to check it out, too. 

Once the situation is established, though, the story picked up.  From the point where Bond sits at the Baccarat table with Le Chiffre until the final page, I read it in one sitting. 

Around the time the film came out, I listened to an NPR show about Ian Fleming and Casino Royale.  The journalist discussed how Daniel Craig's (my secret boyfriend)portrayal of Bond is much closer to Fleming's character: dark, brooding, uncertain.  I was interested, then, to take in this truer picture of Bond. 

At times the writing has a similar feel to Miss Pettigrew in the overuse of descriptors, but as the pace picked up, I found this less distracting.

Ultimately, I believe any Bond fan will have a good time reading the novel and seeing the connection to the film Bonds who are so familiar.
(Review taken from my Goodreads page)

Two more books to go on my challenge.  What are you dipping into this holiday season?

Choke by Chuck Palahniuk was like a train wreck for me, but I'll try to refrain from
getting too personal while I assess it. The narrator is a young man in
a 12-step program for his sexual addiction, but the program only serves
to fuel his addiction. His mother is in a nursing home, starving to
death, and he isn't sure he cares. When he learns the secret of his
birth from his mother's doctor, his life changes–he is, we learn,
descended from Jesus Christ. As the narrator struggles with his new
identity, he comes closer and closer to being able to complete that
vital fourth step of the twelve.

I enjoyed the narration, although some of the quirks were overdone
at times. Some of the minor characters were flat, but the narrator, his
best friend, and his mother were all richly portrayed. The end of this
book left me cold. I did appreciate the glimpse into the mind of a sex
addict, and it made me understand that particular addiction better than
I did before reading the novel.  Reading this right after The Bell Jar, though, has made me feel like I've been under assault.*  My sister loaned me Twilight,** which I suspect may be a little, em, how shall I say it without sounding like a snob?  Well, light, for my taste, but really, that may be what I need right now.  Any other suggestions that might bring a ray of joy into my reading world again?

* Mind you, I adore The Bell Jar.  But still, a joyful read, it ain't.
**She loaned it to me because I asked her for it.

How was your Thanksgiving?  Ours was lovely, spent at one of Neal's sister's.  Three of his five siblings were together, along with spouses and adult children and, for the first time ever, our great-niece Meadow.  She'll be one in January and was a hoot to have around for the big feast.  My sister-in-law was sweet enough to make a vegetarian stuffing for me, and I savored every bite. 

Despite the joy of the day, or perhaps because of it, I was more homesick for my family than I've been since I moved away from home at 21.  One of my sisters is in the hospital (she'll be fine), so my folks had to change their plans in order to be with her.  My mom was so, so sad that M. wouldn't be out for the holiday, that she would have to postpone dinner with my oldest brother and his family.  There is no way my mom would ever leave one of us all alone on a holiday, but I think more than anything she was just heartbroken that my sister and brother couldn't enjoy each other as they'd planned.  That, along with the terrible news from India dampened the spirit of the day.

I've been struggling with a cold for almost two weeks, and yesterday and today, I gave in to it.  I hunkered down on my little loveseat, my personal hot water bottle on my lap, and ripped through Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar.  I can't believe I've gone this long without reading it, but as I commented to Neal, I'm really well-read when it comes to dead, white English guys and totally useless when it comes to American authors.

If, like me, you've missed The Bell Jar, then I say, pick it up fast.  This is the story of Esther, a bright young woman who has made a life of winning scholarships and academic prizes, who is in danger of breaking under the pressure of expectations.  Her narration is articulate and often truly funny.  Her love of words comes through as she writes with precision about the sense of being under the bell jar.  The most frightening line of the book occurs after Esther's first electroshock therapy treatment, which we later learn was incorrectly (and traumatically) given.  Her mother says, "I knew you'd decide to be all right."  I got shivers as I read that and wondered how many young people suffering from mental illness have faced not only poor treatment, but such terrible misunderstanding. 

Literary critics have called Esther the female Holden Caulfield, but I argue that she is much more important, more articulate, and as a narrator brings greater self-awareness to the page. But then, I've never had much empathy for Holden.

I apologize for the morose tone of this post.  I promise pictures of knitting and a better attitude later in the week.  Until then, I hope each of you knows that I am thankful for our on-line community, and I appreciate that you visit my little corner of the Internet as much as you do!

She's resting on my lap while I write this. Clearly my little mutt has recovered from her spaying surgery and the infection that followed. She's shown her true, spunky nature the last few days. I had forgotten how much energy a puppy has, even a 7.5 pound puppy.

Last night she practically put herself to bed, walking into her crate and snuggling down. What's cuter than a sleepy pup? Okay, a sleepy baby, but the pup runs a close second.

While she snoozed, Maddie curled up next to me and rested her head on my legs as I read Tobias Wolff's 2003 novel Old School. I fell asleep before finishing it, but not because the book was a bore. No, indeedy, it was fabulous, and I could not wait to finish it this morning. 

The narration of this novel was even and spare, a style of voice that I strive for in my writing.  For most of the novel, Wolff lingers at a boy's school, letting the narrator tell us about the coveted six-level prize: an audience with a favorite author.  We watch the narrator as he attempts audiences with Frost, then Rand, and finally Hemingway.  As he considers what a stroll in the garden would mean to him in each case, we see the narrator face his identity–the one he has constructed in his efforts to fit in and to grow up, and the one that feels truthful to him.  His story is juxtaposed by that of Arch, the dean of the school.  Only after our narrator is grown and an author in his own right does he find out about Arch's layered identity that reflects his own.

My favorite line in the novel occurs when the narrator, as an adult, meets the woman whose story he plagiarized in his efforts to meet Hemingway.  The story, by all accounts, was startling and rich with emotional truth, but Susan, the real author of it, no longer writes; in fact, she dismisses writing as frivolous.  The narrator reflects: "This actually shocked me.  We know what is sacred to us when we recoil from impiety, and Susan's casual desertion of her gift had exactly that force."  The truthfulness of this struck me.  Recently confronted with a careless attitude about writing where I didn't expect it, Wolff articulated what I could not.

This is a compelling read, one which is not only about writing, but about growing up and seeking our individual truths.  Five stars from me!

I’ve got three more book reviews for you.  I’m taking part in a Swap-bot Reading Log swap, so one of the reasons I’ve been tracking my books on the blog (beyond my love of chatting them up with you) is to make it simple for me to put together my log at the end of the month.

Blog-free Kim loaned me The Book Thief by Mark Zusak.  (My Goodreads review follows) Death
narrates the story of a young German orphan, Liesel, during World War
II. While at times the foreshadowing was a bit heavyhanded, overall
this is an excellent novel. Holocaust literature is so powerful by its
very nature, and Zusak heightens this by sharing the stories of
ordinary people who do their best to be good in bad circumstances. The
Book Thief is a YA book that shouldn’t be limited to a YA audience.

I moved on from heart-wrenching, profound, serious matter to bubble gum with my next two books.  I loved Water for Elephants when Scout loaned it to me.  When I saw Sara Gruen’s first novel, Riding Lessons at the library, I grabbed it.  What a change in her writing!  I’m glad I read her second book first; I read Riding Lessons knowing that Gruen has since learned how to write more complicated plot and finer sentences.   That’s not to say that the writing of the first novel is bad by any means, just clearly a first novel (as mine will be, no doubt!).  I enjoyed the plights of the protagonist, and as it is an intergenerational mother-daughter story, I was even more interested in the book.  Annemarie is 38, and her life is falling apart.  Everything she touches–from her marriage, to her daughter, to her family’s business–is in jeopardy because of her inability to think straight.  The novel tracks her struggle to get her life back together, and I think that’s the charm of the book–if, like me, your life has fallen apart at least once, it’s a book to which you’ll relate.  While it lacks complexity, it is an enjoyable read, especially if you can manage to do it all in a day or two spent in the sun!

Finally, I dipped into Muriel Sparks’s The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie as part of my 1% Well-Read Challenge.  The writing is sharp, witty, and engaging.  I enjoyed the interplay of the girls with Miss Brodie and each other, but I never quite "got" the motivation for the betrayal around which the novel centers.  I thought the novella did a great job in commenting on the power relationship between teacher and student, with great wit, of course!  I think I may need to read this one again to appreciate it more fully.  As amusing as it was, it left me a little cold; I never grew to care deeply about any of the characters.

As a thank you for reading all this way, I’ve got a fantastic link for those of you who embroider.  Enjoy!

ETA: The dogs were making such a fuss to have their walk that I totally forgot the teaser!  Guess what is nearly done?  Only a year later than I wanted it, but I should be able to post pictures next week!!

I’m on a kick reading novels about Iran, it seems.  I finished Yasmin Crowther’s The Saffron Kitchen, and I thought I’d share my ideas about it.  This is Crowther’s first novel.  She is the daughter of an Iranian mother and British father, just as her main character is, and I think that she brings a lot of authenticity to the page in terms of being of two different worlds.  The book I’m working on is a mother-daughter story, so I was especially interested to see how Crowther handled point of view in her novel.  Her choices, unfortunately, don’t always work.  In an interview, Crowther explains her moves from first to third person as she moves among Sara (the daughter) and Maryam (the mother), but until I read the interview (actually, even since I’ve read it) I didn’t quite understand why she made the pov shifts.  They distracted me from the story, which I thought was most powerful when Maryam, as first person narrator, tells about her childhood in Iran.  Near the end of the novel, when Maryam finally reveals to Sara the big secret that has colored her entire life, I was left wanting more.  Crowther shies away from the hard stuff, and in doing so, left me dissatisfied.  The impact that section might have had is deflated.  When her writing is good, it really shines, but it is inconsistent.  The story she has to tell is fascinating.  I can’t wait for a second book by Crowther, as I think the flawed writing will gain polish with experience.

A moment ago I finished reading Marjane Satrapi’s Embroideries.  What a funny, poignant book!  Satrapi continues in the graphic novel/memoir genre, this time setting the story at a gathering of women after a dinner party.  The women reveal different attitudes about love, sexuality, and marriage, and Marjane takes it all in.  I laughed out loud even while I winced at some of the male attitudes brought forward.  This is a universal story, one of women being women as they often can only be when not around men.  Satrapi makes me enjoy the graphic text form so much; when her characters are rushing through their dialogue, the script of the text blends together.  I admire her ability to use everything on the page to convey her story.  If you liked Persepolis, I’m betting you’ll enjoy this, too.

This isn’t the way to do it.  It’s just not fun for readers to see paragraph after paragraph of one Golightly’s opinion on so many books.  Spread it out over a few weeks.  Add pictures.

Or throw caution and readers’ comfort to the wind and just pile ’em all up. 

You won’t hurt my feelings if you click away now.  Too much.

Back in April, I created a list for the Non-Fiction Five challenge with the caveat that I might change my list.  Whoa Nelly, did I ever change it!  What follows is the new list, with reviews, as well as my take on some fiction.

1.  The Delicacy and Strength of Lace, reviewed here.

2.  The Opinionated Knitter by Elizabeth Zimmerman.  I read this cover-to-cover, which is not usually my approach to knitting books.  EZ manages to write as though she is in the room chatting with you, but she does so smartly; I never felt put off by her voice.  In fact, I couldn’t get enough of her.  I enjoyed the biographical information, as well as her no-nonsense approach to knitting.  The patterns included are classics.  I resisted buying this book for a long time; it is pricey, and I have two other books of hers.  This one is the one to spend on, though.  It might even be my desert island knitting book!

3.  Escape from Slavery: The True Story of My Ten Years in Captivity and My Journey to Freedom in America by Francis Bok.  It’s easy and comfortable to turn away from the atrocities in the world.  We all do it in one way or another, but there are times when we’re presented with a chance to really see what is going on, to learn about something painful, and I try to take those opportunities, to learn what I can. Knowledge, is, of course, power.  My good friends Dana and Miguel are teachers, and before they moved to NM, the community in which they lived had a significant Sudanese population.  Dana talked to me about having some of the young Sudanese in her school, and her conversation about it made me realize how little I knew about Sudan and what has been going on there.  When I saw Francis Bok’s book in my library, then, I couldn’t wait to read it.  It is sad at times; he was taken from his family and forced into slavery at age seven.  For ten years, he was treated worse than the animals he herded.  But Bok’s spirit remains strong, and he manages to not only escape, but in time to become a spokesman about the atrocities in Sudan.  The voice of is book is sweet, making it all the more harrowing to imagine him as a little boy, alone in a shed, uncertain about everything in his life.  He’ll be speaking about his experience in my town in October, and I cannot wait to hear first hand what I read in the book.  I think this is appropriate for young people as well.  It’s never to early to see that others need our help.

4.  Gustave Baumann’s Southwest by Joseph Traugott.  I brought this back from Taos for Neal.  We’re both fans of woodcuts, and Baumann‘s are lovely.  The reproductions are excellent, and the text is informative; I learned a lot about Baumann’s life, techniques, and his journey to using the Southwest as a subject.  This is a wonderful coffee table book for anyone who likes woodcuts.

5.  It’s Easy Being Green by Crissy Trask. (Note: I’m stealing my Goodreads review).  More
than anything, this is a good reference book with a wide variety of
ideas about how to live in a more earth-friendly way. The book is well
organized, with tons of websites to help the reader find out more about
everything from activism to buying more sustainable products. A bit
preachy at times, especially as most readers are likely to already want to do
more, the book is nevertheless useful.

I don’t know about you, but I’m wiped out by all this book talk.  I’ll save my other reviews for later in the week.  As always, let me know what you’re reading!

I’m just about settled into life at home again.  I had a fantastic time in Taos and Albuquerque and will post a few pictures when I have a chance.  I’ve renewed my passion for my book, which is a relief.  I’d started to think that I was going to have to relegate it to a drawer, but my workshop pals helped me to see what I need to do with it, and yesterday I began the work.

As I waited in the Albuquerque airport, I read The Epic of Gilgamesh, another book that I felt I ought to have read already by this point in my life.  I’m a fan of the great epics, and as I read this, perhaps the earliest work of literature, I saw how it had influenced later works.  Gilgamesh, the king of Uruk, is unhappy with life as a ruler.  Along comes his slightly wild new best friend, Enkidu, with whom he has great adventures.  When Enkidu dies, though, Gilgamesh is left once more unhappy as he faces mortality in his search for immortality.  Theoretically, Gilgamesh may have been a real king, in which case he has achieved that which he sought, although not through the means he’d hoped. 

I liked the repetition of the narrative as it made me imagine the story being shared orally, and it was exciting to see the flood myth as well as similarities to the much later Odyssey.

Unlike with Lolita, which I also read out of a sense of obligation (to my own education!), I feel good about having read this slim volume.  I’ve filled in a gap in my knowledge of early works, which is just as important to me as checking out more contemporary literature.