I subscribed, briefly, to one of those mystery box things that are so popular now. This one allows you to select two genres (of a very limited list) aI subscribed, briefly, to one of those mystery box things that are so popular now. This one allows you to select two genres (of a very limited list) and sends you one book for each genre per month, along with some book-related goodies. The Temporary Bride was the nonfiction selection for February. I love memoirs, and I love books about travel, so this seemed perfect for me. And it really did hit the right spot.
Jennifer Klinec is the kind of adventurous soul I wish I was, well-traveled and not afraid to leap up at a moment's notice to go somewhere they don't speak her language (though since she apparently speaks a bunch of languages and can get by in several others, there aren't many places like that). But her memoir reveals a person who is on some level very lonely, never having put down roots. She loves cooking and loves learning about cooking, and has always wanted to visit Iran despite the difficulties of doing so. Finally, her dream comes true, and she heads off on her own to get to know the women of Iran and, hopefully, induce some of them to teach her to cook their way.
Her introduction to Vahid's family is...weird. Vahid, a young Iranian man, approaches her, she writes, out of boredom rather than anything else. He introduces her to his uncle, and when they understand why she is there in their country, arrange for her to meet his mother and learn to cook. And that begins her romance, completely unexpected, both with the country, its cuisine, and Vahid.
I found their romance touching and beautiful. Vahid (view spoiler)[At the end, we learn they married for real and are still married as of the publication of this book. Let me tell you, he has got to be impressive to be willing for her to lay him bare the way she does here, because he doesn't always come off looking good (hide spoiler)] is an odd mix of maturity and inexperience (he's 25), while Klinec (who at the time of the story is in her early thirties) appears to have all the worldly experience Vahid lacks, but is surprisingly emotionally inexperienced. Klinec's relationship with him begins with a complete lack of interest in him, and develops into love either because she needs to make a connection or in spite of it, I'm not sure which. But I found myself rooting for them, with their struggles to hide their romantic relationship from the police, both official and unofficial, that seemed to be everywhere they went.
It's been three weeks since I read the book, which I did in one sitting, so much of the detail of my reaction is lost. But Klinec's writing is strong, and her passions come through clearly. I am not a cook, but I love food and I'm fascinated by people's passions well-expressed. This book left me hungry for Persian cuisine and cheered at the possibility that two people from such very different places might find happiness together. ...more
Julia Child's love of cooking and love of France really come through here; surprisingly, the long lists of menus don't get old, though they do make yoJulia Child's love of cooking and love of France really come through here; surprisingly, the long lists of menus don't get old, though they do make you hungry. The book's weakness is that it was compiled from letters and journals written decades before, which makes it feel rather episodic, and the episodes aren't always connected naturally. This makes for an occasionally jarring reading experience, and ultimately it's a book you read for the content rather than the format. Fortunately, that content is engaging and personal, and I enjoyed it very much....more
I liked this one about as much as I liked All Creatures Great and Small. It's not so much a book, in my opinion, as an excellent collection of anecdotI liked this one about as much as I liked All Creatures Great and Small. It's not so much a book, in my opinion, as an excellent collection of anecdotes, each to be enjoyed separately. I picked this up to have something to read between more serious novels, so it was very satisfying....more
I knew of Nicholas Meyer as a novelist long before I knew he was involved with Star Trek. His first book, The Seven-percent Solution: Being a ReprintI knew of Nicholas Meyer as a novelist long before I knew he was involved with Star Trek. His first book, The Seven-percent Solution: Being a Reprint from the Reminiscences of John H. Watson, MD, was the first Sherlock Holmes pastiche I ever read and remains one of my favorites. So although I picked up The View from the Bridge because I'm interested in Star Trek, I ended up liking it better for his stories about writing The Seven-percent Solution and then producing the movie based on it. The View from the Bridge is organized chronologically, divided into sections about each of the movies he's worked on, either as a screenwriter or director. It gets a little same-ish after a while, and there were a few too many "of course the movie didn't do well because of blah blah blah stuff beyond my control" moments, but there are a few real gems. Meyer had a major hand in developing Star Treks II, IV, and VI (known to fans as "the good ones"), so I like it that he started out as the guy who, when asked to help out with The Wrath of Khan screenplay, referred to Star Trek as "that show about the guy with the ears."...more
Meh. Angela's Ashes was wonderful, lots of history mixed in with the memoir, and so emotionally engaging. This one was a lot more memoir and not so muMeh. Angela's Ashes was wonderful, lots of history mixed in with the memoir, and so emotionally engaging. This one was a lot more memoir and not so much history, and far too much detail about his sex life and frequent masturbation (though he does, amusingly, refer to the latter as "interfering with himself"). The beautiful Irish voice still comes through, so it's pleasant to read even when the subject matter becomes pedestrian, and there are a few brilliant moments: my favorite is when, as a first-time teacher struggling to teach English to a class of uninterested teens, he finds an old stash of essays the previous teacher had left in a closet. When these essays turn out to have been written by the kids' parents, uncles, cousins, etc., McCourt sets them to copying the decaying pages so they won't be lost--and connects the project to them by pointing out that their children might someday want to read about their lives. Based on this, I think McCourt's other book Teacher Man might be more my thing....more
This is a brilliant and devastating book. If The Glass Castle portrayed terrible poverty and neglect, Angela's Ashes takes that portrayal to another lThis is a brilliant and devastating book. If The Glass Castle portrayed terrible poverty and neglect, Angela's Ashes takes that portrayal to another level. It's hard to imagine hunger so devastating that you'd suck old newspapers stained with the grease from fish and chips, or poverty so inescapable that even charity can't relieve it, but with this book, you don't have to imagine it; you're there with Frank McCourt, reliving his childhood.
In a way, memoir is the art of the truthful lie. The earliest chapters of Angela's Ashes contain episodes that McCourt was either too young to remember or that happened before he was born, but are written as though he knew them well enough to repeat dialogue he'd never heard or describe details he didn't witness. On some level, these scenes have to be fiction--and yet you never feel as though he's making stuff up. If anything, he's elaborating on what *should* have been and what actually *was* and at the end, it's the truth, even if the details may not be.
Frank McCourt was the oldest son of two people who never should have married: Malachy McCourt, a drunk and a dreamer, unable to keep a job for more than three weeks; and Angela Callahan, swept off her feet by a sad-eyed mystery man from the North. Frank was conceived out of wedlock and Angela's relatives made sure he wasn't born that way, unfortunately for everyone concerned. Malachy is completely unsuited to raise a family, and Angela becomes trapped by the needs of her children (she bears seven, of whom four survive childhood) in an era when women supporting themselves was almost unheard of. In a true example of leaving the frying pan for the inferno, the McCourts leave the United States at the height of the Depression to return to Ireland. You know, because jobs were so much more plentiful there. They immediately discover that Malachy's Northern accent and mannerisms make him almost unemployable in southern Limerick; Angela's family is unwilling to help them (making sure she got married didn't mean they stopped throwing it in her face what a loser she married) and the few "charitable" institutions they qualify for are overwhelmed by thousands of other families in the same situation.
This is the setting of Frank McCourt's childhood. He loves his father and hates him, despises him as he grows older and more aware of just how thoroughly the man has abandoned his family. One of the saddest moments is when Malachy McCourt finally gets work in England during World War II, something that in every other case means being lifted out of poverty from all the money the man sends home. The reader knows full well that Malachy's never going to send anything, so the anticipation of his family is simply heartbreaking. Even sadder is the realization that except for being an unregenerate alcoholic, Malachy is a brilliant, imaginative man, capable of working hard and dreaming of a better life for his family. What a waste.
For me, the most enjoyable parts had to do with how Angela's family blames everything Malachy does wrong (or differently) EXCEPT HIS ALCOHOLISM on his being a Northern Irishman. Funny walk? He's a Northerner. Can't hold a job? It's the way of those shiftless Northerners. Doesn't go to Mass often enough? You know those Northerners are all tainted with Presbyterianism, not to mention being from the North. This amused me because my McShane ancestors come most recently from Northern Ireland, some of them Irish Celts and others Scottish Protestants shipped over by James I, and I imagine most of them were Presbyterians--my own grandfather was a Presbyterian minister. So now I know that everything that's wrong with me can be blamed on the genetic material that passed through Donegal all those years ago. (Strangely, every Irish person in this book calls alcoholism the fatal curse of the entire country. Those stereotypes of the drunken Irishman? Not all of them arose from bigotry.)
Angela's Ashes ends with Frank finally escaping poverty and going to America. Despite a little too much emphasis on teenage Frank's love of masturbation, the final chapters of Angela's Ashes left me wondering what path he would choose, once he was free to choose. It's a brilliant memoir and a brilliant story, very worth reading. ...more
Mary Littell was like a less-famous version of Shirley Jackson, and both of them have an approach to childrearing that I can relate to. French ImpressMary Littell was like a less-famous version of Shirley Jackson, and both of them have an approach to childrearing that I can relate to. French Impressions:: The Adventures of an American Family cracks me up. Whether Mary is setting off the Great Mayonnaise War, inadvertently giving her two-year-old son hard cider, or running to the curb in her nightgown because she forgot to set the trash out, her adventures with her family in southern France never fail to cheer me up....more