Bonnie has
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| # | cover | title | author | isbn | isbn13 | asin | num pages | avg rating | num ratings | date pub | date pub (ed.) | rating | my rating | review | notes | recommender | comments | votes | read count | date started | date read |
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109
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| 0307269760
| 9780307269768
| 3.83
| 4,783
| 2009
| Nov 17, 2009
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108
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| 0061715506
| 9780061715501
| 3.89
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| Oct 01, 2006
| Jun 01, 2008
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107
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| 0670069086
| 9780670069088
| 3.64
| 1,399
| Mar 03, 2009
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106
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| 0307269752
| 9780307269751
| 4.04
| 779,478
| Jan 01, 2000
| Sep 16, 2008
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105
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| 0316069906
| 9780316069908
| 4.14
| 22,515
| Nov 02, 2009
| Nov 02, 2009
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Jun 28, 2010
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103
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| 1551437139
| 9781551437132
| 3.42
| 19
| Mar 2008
| Mar 01, 2008
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All-Season Edie, Annabel Lyon’s first pre-teen novel, chronicles one year in the life of eleven-year-old Edie Jasmine Snow, book-ended from one summer...more
All-Season Edie, Annabel Lyon’s first pre-teen novel, chronicles one year in the life of eleven-year-old Edie Jasmine Snow, book-ended from one summer vacation to the next. The main themes are sibling rivalry and a grandfather’s illness. I loved experiencing the world through Edie; a mix of being a bit too-wise for her years, a “typical” eleven-year-old, and sometimes acting younger than her age, makes her character credible while following the writing-fiction rule: make your main character “larger than life”. Written in the first person, the book drew me in from the first paragraph: A warm car makes a good place to sleep, even when you have to share the back seat with sleeping bags and the big orange cooler, and the kettle is on your lap, and they still make you wear your seat belt. I listen to the raindrops hit the station wagon, landing heavily, like magnets dragged from the gray sky to the metal roof. I watch water slurp down the windows and listen to the skreeking of the windshield wipers. I’m lulled by the rhythm, and I wonder why Mom and Dad find it irritating. They’re on their way to a cottage on one of the Gulf Islands. They’d planned to go visit the Grand Canyon, but Grandpa recently suffered a small stroke and “perfect” 13-year-old sister Dexter is staying with best friend “Mean Megan” because their annual two-week ballet-dance class camp overlaps this vacation time that Dad can’t change. But their trip is cut short, just when Edie has developed a daily routine of fishing with “fat boy” Robert – because Grandpa is feeling just a little, little tiny bit worse. Lyon doesn’t leave out the rest of the family as they deal with Grandpa’s slow but steady decline, particularly Dad and Grandma, but it’s Edie who really takes his illness to heart. She doesn’t understand, or mind, that her Grandpa has always called her Albert for some reason, because it’s obvious he knows who she really is. But what if he forgets? When Grandpa gives Edie a nickel – “What do I do with it?” – Grandma blows on it to make it lucky. Grandma has also been experimenting with remedies from an herb book. But Edie thinks her Grandma is a witch, and if she’s a witch, then Edie must be part-witch, which should be enough to cast a spell that will cure Grandpa, anyway. So, at school, when Edie needs to come up with a topic for a library project, she informs the librarian that hers will be on Witchcraft. Meanwhile, special occasions and seasons pass and during the year all sorts of things happen. Throughout the stories within this novel, Annabel Lyon continues to entertain her readers not only by the events; by the way the characters behave and develop; but also by the language she uses: this is kid-lit at its best. The relationship between Edie and Dexter is pitch-perfect and develops in a realistic, touching way. As the eldest of four, with a sister one-and-a-half years younger than me, as well as two brothers, I know first-hand about bickering and sniping and teasing yes, but also that current of love and loyalty and sense of duty to protect that can exist between siblings. It was also interesting to learn that the story takes place in Coquitlam, BC, which just happens to be where we lived until I was fifteen. To an outside observer, I must have sounded as though I couldn’t stop laughing, but I probably only laughed every half-dozen pages or so. When I was quiet, said observer might have caught a glimpse of my sleeve swiping my eyes, or trying very, very hard to swallow. To say that I enjoyed this book is a bit of an understatement. At the same time, I’m not entirely sure who to recommend it to, specifically. Evidently, it’s recommended for ages 10+, but I think I’d leave that open: after all, if I enjoyed it, then what’s to stop anyone from reading it? The more young adult books I read, the more impressed I am becoming with how refreshing they are – that’s it: this is not only good literature, but it’s refreshing. And there is going to be a sequel! I’ll bet that is the perfect project for Annabel after publishing The Golden Mean, which was nominated for all three of Canada’s top literary awards, and winning one: The Writers’ Trust. I’ll be reading The Golden Mean next, but I also plan to read the sequel to All-Season Edie. (less) | Notes are private!
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1
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| Nov 30, 2009
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Dec 01, 2009
| Paperback
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102
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| 0002007207
| 9780002007207
| 3.18
| 28
| Mar 24, 2008
| Mar 24, 2008
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Although the Girl in Saskatoon is about a murder that took place in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan on May 18, 1962, I would not label it simply true-crime. T...more
Although the Girl in Saskatoon is about a murder that took place in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan on May 18, 1962, I would not label it simply true-crime. The subtitle calls it “A Meditation on Friendship, Memory, and Murder”, and I agree; it is a meditation, though perhaps more about memory and murder than friendship. Some forty years after the crime Sharon Butala set out to gather the facts in hopes that she could find out who raped, savagely beat, and buried alive her former schoolmate, 23 year-old Alexandra Wiwcharuk. Part auto-biography, part biography, and part real-life mystery, this is a disconcerting but compelling story that, after a slow beginning, becomes a genuine page-turner. I wasn’t too far into my reading when I thought the story sounded awfully familiar. By the time I reached page 95, I understood why. Evidently, near the end of 2002, Butala had given up her efforts to find out information about the murder and the investigation and had phoned the fifth estate: http://www.cbc.ca/fifth/ Canada’s long-running, award-winning investigative television show. One of the hosts, Linden MacIntyre [who incidentally has just won the 2009 Giller Prize for his own novel The Bishop's Man) decided to take on the case not long after this. In January 2004, the show aired an episode about Alex’s life and death. I recall watching that show, but I hadn’t remembered Sharon Butala being interviewed in it. After the CBC broadcast, a number of people approached the author to offer what details they remembered about the time of the murder and the finding of Alex’s body. Alex’s sister Ann said she and the rest of the family appreciated what Sharon was doing and offered to help, including giving background information about the family. Others suggested people to contact, and one story led to another. For a while Butala trailed rumours but decided it was a fruitless task; and that solving the case had never really been her purpose. But she and the program researchers kept following leads – they planned a follow-up program, and Butala was glad to have the information for her book, for her unsatisfied curiosity. In an interview she said that knowing she couldn’t solve the murder, she wanted to know how what happened to Alex had to do with who they were – young, decent girls growing up in the 50’s and 60’s, expected to think of marriage before career. More than who killed Alexandra Wiwcharuk, what does it mean, if anything? Why did her rape/murder become a part of the city’s lore, and why can we not forget it? Back in the early 60’s, murders were rare anywhere in Canada, let alone in Saskatchewan. And as she said, things were quite different for women. Sharon Butala is only five years younger than my own mother, and much of what the author had to say about what society expected of girls such as herself and Alex and my mother, made me really think about what life for women was like then; I began to feel a more personal connection as I continued to read. Even though Sharon went to the same school as Alex, they never really knew one another. And so, as Butala did her research, trying to learn more about who Alex really was, she invariably entered the political field: Alex, a former beauty queen, wanted to be a stewardess, but ended up going to nursing school, and on the night of her murder, she went out for a walk on the riverbank before her night shift at the hospital as an intern. The reaction to her murder may not be a surprise: many concluded that Alex was not what she appeared to be, that she must have been a slut or a tease, or otherwise to blame…the assumption was that, as we used to say, she got what was coming to her. Nasty things don’t happen to nice girls. As Sharon learned more about Alex, she began to examine her own past. She wanted to make sense of that time and place. Central to the narrative is that evil can exist anywhere, any time, even during such innocent times and places such as Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, 1962. Butala had completed university and was married when she found out about her former schoolmate’s murder. Her first reaction was: I knew her! She did end up conceding that she hadn’t really, that they had been mere acquaintances, but that still, there had been a link between them. They both lived in the days of rock ‘n’ roll, days when girls applied lipstick and tried to appear sexy, while remaining “pure” at the same time. My mom used to tell me how she loved dancing at “The Dew Drop Inn”. She married and had me at a very young age. I appreciate books that speak to me, pull me in, emotionally. Butala did that by telling this story – a story that isn’t over. Alex’s family – in fact many people in the town of Saskatoon – have not forgotten that long-ago evening. Alex’s nieces still want to know who killed their aunt despite Linden MacIntyre telling them: You might be looking for a ghost here. As a result of this book, Alex’s nieces are actively involved in their own investigation, even though the police have not officially closed the book on the case – and if they’re unsuccessful? They have this to say: We’ll never let it go, so if it isn’t us, it will be our kids. Every family has a tragedy and this is ours.” They claim that many of the people they talk to don’t trust the police, that back then people were scared; that now they’re more willing to speak out. Perhaps that’s why it appears that this decades-long case may well not have been investigated as thoroughly as it could have been. When Alex’s body was exhumed in 2004, more evidence was found. And on October 22, 2008 the fifth estate aired their follow-up program, with a repeat October 26, 2009. Read this book, then watch the show: http://www.cbc.ca/fifth/2008-2009/the... if you want to learn more details about this fascinating case. I could end with Sharon Butala’s words: Catch the murderer or never catch him, this story of evil keeps on touching people, devastating them. I see now that this story, simply, has no end. But I’m not so sure about that; otherwise why should this book still be read, why should this murder not just be forgotten. The case is still open, and I believe there will come a day when it is discovered who murdered Alexandra Wiwcharuk that night. [book:the Girl in Saskatoon|2446496] hooked me, and there are details I have deliberately not included here that lead me to have hope. (less) | Notes are private!
| Fiona
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1
| not set
| Nov 21, 2009
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Nov 21, 2009
| Hardcover
| ||||||||||||||
101
| 
| 0771080905
| 9780771080906
| 2.94
| 34
| 2008
| Dec 28, 2011
|
3 ½ stars Falling is about grief, from first to last page ..A lot of water, from the tiniest trickle to the roar of the Niagara Falls ....Lovely litera...more 3 ½ stars Falling is about grief, from first to last page ..A lot of water, from the tiniest trickle to the roar of the Niagara Falls ....Lovely literature about life and loss and love ......Life after Lisa’s drowning; its aftermath for other characters ........I wanted to know more about Lisa ..........Nearly two-thirds through, a crafty countdown; no punctuation .......... Given the ending, the reader can perhaps see a glimmer of hope (less) | Notes are private!
| none
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1
| not set
| Nov 17, 2009
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Nov 17, 2009
| Hardcover
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95
| 
| 193337201X
| 9781933372013
| 3.60
| 614
| Jun 03, 2004
| Sep 01, 2005
|
I am laughing again as I turn to this, on page four: The day has dawned bright in every sense and I am making good progress up a ladder painting the k...more
I am laughing again as I turn to this, on page four: The day has dawned bright in every sense and I am making good progress up a ladder painting the kitchen – the most important room in the house – in contrasting shades of mushroom and eau de Nil. Anyone can do the white-walls-and-black-beams bit, but it takes aesthetic confidence and an original mind to make something of a Tuscan mountain farmhouse that isn’t merely Frances Mayes. It also takes a complete absence of salt-of-the-earth peasants and their immemorial aesthetic input. It is all rather heartening and as I work I break cheerfully into song. I have been told by friendly cognoscenti that I have a pleasant light tenor, and I am just giving a Rossini aria a good run for its money when suddenly a voice shouts up from near my ankles: ‘Excuse, please. I am Marta. Is open your door, see, and I am come.’ I break off at ‘tutte le norme vigenti’ and look down to find a shock of frizzy hair with an upturned sebaceous face at its centre. In this first part, the most hilarious two-dozen pages in the book, we view the world as seen by Englishman Gerald Samper – who refers to himself as a “Shropshire Samper” – hunkered down in a cottage about as far off the beaten path as it is possible to get in the Apuan Alps of Northern Italy, practicing his trade as a ghost-writer, working on the autobiography of the lead singer of a boy-band; but also taking the opportunity to devote more time to his passion for cooking. The next section is told from Marta’s point of view. Despite her Borat-like butchering of the English language, Marta, from the fictional ex-Soviet country of Voynovia – Voy-NO-via! – is every bit Gerry’s intellectual equal. She is a composer, and has come to Italy to work on a score for a famous cult film director named Piero Pacini, although she has not seen any of Pacini’s films. It is through Marta’s eyes that we see “Gerree’s” flaws. Marta ends up copying Gerry’s abysmal kitchen singing for the film, which for some reason is a perfect fit – it’s possible this is a pornographic movie, though we aren’t really sure. Gerry finds Marta slovenly and her music absolutely horrible – not recognizing its source. The agent has told each that the other would only be there a month and wanted nothing but seclusion. And there the misunderstandings and misadventures begin. Fernet Branca is “an herb-based liqueur” perhaps better described as “a bitter Italian spirit” since not only is it liberally used in cooking, but both characters drink copious amounts of the stuff, each of course blaming the other for the excessive consumption. I assume also that the author intended at least some of his readers with too much time on their hands to stumble upon the fact that Fernet Branca is the preferred drink of the title character of Notti di Cabira, by Fellini; linking us to Marta’s Pacini, perhaps? In any case, “fooding” as Marta is wont to call cuisine, is just one common fondness these two share. For their first dinner together, she serves him shonka, which Gerry describes as a gross sausage the colour of rubberwear and as full of lumps as a prison mattress. When he pokes it with the point of his knife, he hears the sound of a boil being lanced, yet in no time at all he’s eaten a good two inches of the thing, with a mere yard to go. Gerry provides the dessert – Garlic and Fernet Branca Ice Cream – created to discourage Marta from becoming habitual in her visitations to his habitat. Of course she polishes it off with gusto, washed down with copious draughts of Fernet Branca. The story inevitably spins off into many directions – perhaps too many – and I have to confess that I was insufficiently exposed (wink-wink, nudge-nudge) to Monty Python in my youth, so it’s possible I just didn’t “get it”, or else it was simply impossible for the author to keep his readers’ spirits up after such a hilarious beginning. Technically, I must say I very much admired the author’s use of the “unreliable narrator” here – one of the best examples I’ve read in quite some time; especially using two alternating narrators, recalling One Hundred Dollar Misunderstanding, but fully milked in Fernet Branca for humour. I also found “seasoning” enough sprinkled throughout the story to read through to its conclusion, even though I’d guessed it beforehand; as you will, too. But don’t let that stop you. Cooking with Fernet Branca is a light, airy narrative that spins around two unique characters, is filled with many strange dishes and goings-on, and of course, after so much mention of Fernet Branca, you might feel as though you’ve actually tasted it! At the very least, you will certainly hesitate before sipping an unfamiliar liqueur or tasting an exotic dish, especially after reading the recipe for Alien Pie, which calls for 500 grams of baby beet; a single drop of household paraffin; 1 kg smoked cat, off the bone, and… I expect you get the picture! Buon appetito! (less) | Notes are private!
| 1
| not set
| Oct 20, 2009
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Oct 20, 2009
| Paperback
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94
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| 0889953694
| 9780889953697
| 3.56
| 9
| Sep 21, 2006
| Oct 01, 2006
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What a find! Marie-Francine Hebert is not afraid to tackle – appropriately, in this young-adult novel – difficult subjects such as prejudice, racism a...more
What a find! Marie-Francine Hebert is not afraid to tackle – appropriately, in this young-adult novel – difficult subjects such as prejudice, racism and sexual abuse. While these topics could be disturbing, Hebert tempers such themes with her unique, poetic prose; and by offering her characters the opportunity to develop self-esteem, self-reliance – and hope. You know those book sales that happen in a mall or outside your local library? Well, just recently, I came across one in the process of being set up. I had two cloth bags – my intention was to fill them with the books waiting for me on “my section” of the book-request shelf inside the library. The sale wasn’t to begin until the following morning, but the volunteers graciously allowed me to rummage through, as they unpacked box after box of books. After quickly filling one bag, I asked how much they were asking: 50 cents for paperbacks and a loonie ($1) for hardcover! The slim volume titled this side of the sky [no caps:] caught my eye: I loved the title and the cover, and Hebert was a new-to-me author from Quebec. I didn’t even realize it was a young-adult book until I read the first few pages, but by then I was hooked. The novel opens with a poem written by teen narrator Mona, a homework assignment: address normal events that happen at home on a day off school. It’s a clever beginning, because right away we know that Mom expects Mona to look after her younger sister Angelique – who insists upon being called Bird, because she prefers to spend her time at the top of trees – and that Dad isn’t a particularly nurturing parent either: he sits in front of the TV drinking beer, and says to Mona, You deaf, girl? Beat it! We soon learn that Mom is pregnant and we guess that she’s worried she will bear another child like Bird, the baby who didn’t receive enough oxygen at birth, and who, according to Dad, was born with a sparrow's brain. To others, she is more like a five-year-old in an eight-year-old body. But Bird senses things, and she possesses keen observation skills. Two classmates live nearby. Mona doesn’t like Suson, the daughter of the mayor and police chief, but she does like newcomer Jon, an African-American boy. One day Bird shows Mona a scene Bird has seen before: the police chief sexually abusing his daughter. Mona insists they can’t tell the police, because Suson’s father is the police. When Suson is found after running away, it is Jon, predictably, who ends up getting accused. But this is a simplified synopsis of the plot, and it would be a discredit to Hebert’s talent to dismiss it as just another story dealing with the same old themes. I love it when chapters are titled. In the first: “the hidden lake”, Bird says that the lake is one of earth’s eyes. Because the lake is rotting, Mona says, “With an eye that full of slime, the earth can’t recognize many people.” In the chapter called “parents and other animals”, Mona and Bird secretly watch Jon leave for a weekend visit with his father. His mother’s heart is full of him. The girls kneel behind the bush in pieces. Mona can’t imagine her mother’s heart being full of her. She knows Bird can’t either: We stay on our knees for two days behind that same bush. Not in the flesh, of course. In our minds. We don’t dare look at each other, Angelique and me. It’s like when you’re hurt, as soon as you see your hurt reflected in someone else’s eyes, there’s no longer any room for doubt and your pain explodes. In “the lake’s arms”, Mona goes through the woods to the hidden lake, making sure to avoid Jon’s house. There’s too much joy down his way. Later, they’re at his house and a whisper of music makes its way through the open doorway... A whisper of music the trees hereabouts have never heard before. The leaves stand still on their branches… “I’m flowing inside,” murmurs Bird, like the creek into the arms of the lake. The teacher had given Mona 0/10 for her poem, but Jon said it was beautiful. In “the story we didn’t choose”, they find Jon’s book, Les Contemplations by Victor Hugo, and Mona reads a poem aloud to Bird. It refers to a child as a small joyous creature. This is too much for the girls to take in, especially Bird, who falls into the huge puddle of nothingness at her center. Mona throws the book and everything it holds into the woods as far away as possible. “I told you, Bird, it’s got nothing to do with us." But in the end, it will. One of my favourite passages is when Suson has run away, and Jon is in hiding after being beat up by the two "Sigouin blockheads": The light’s shining louder than usual in all three houses, a blaring light that can be heard from a long way away. At Jon’s house, no music is playing, just the shadow of his mother pushing light from one room to the next, wearing a hole in the window, shaking the phone to make it ring. Key to the story is Bird recognizing that Suson, though otherwise pretty, has dead fish eyes. And when Bird climbs a tree so high no one can get her down, insisting it wasn’t Jon who “did it”, the teacher tells Mona about being the first to discover her. She says she’d asked Bird what she was staring at: ‘At your dead fish eyes’, and then, ‘I want to see you cry.’ And the teacher did cry; and that’s when Bird told her about Suson and her father. Later, with everyone assembled below the tree, Mona and the teacher tell the truth, Suson says it wasn’t Jon, and Suson’s father is taken away. And Jon is the one to get Bird down from the tree. I won’t disclose anything further – and there is more to this story – but I will say this: in the final chapter called, “an unconditional present”, I laughed out loud, and by the time I read the final line, I thought it was the perfect ending to this extremely moving, beautifully written story. Marie-Francine Hebert’s books have been translated into eleven languages. Our library has fifteen copies of this book. Chances are, you will find a copy in yours. I highly recommend this side of the sky for teens and adults around the world. (less) | Notes are private!
| none
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1
| not set
| Oct 07, 2009
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Oct 07, 2009
| Paperback
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92
| 
| 0771065124
| 9780771065125
| 3.24
| 59
| Mar 27, 2001
| Apr 24, 2001
|
It must have taken a lot of courage to write this memoir. I think most writers would concede that writing is difficult enough, but when one’s mother i...more
It must have taken a lot of courage to write this memoir. I think most writers would concede that writing is difficult enough, but when one’s mother is The Alice Munro, it must have been excruciatingly tough to do. Can you imagine carving out a niche for yourself if she was your mother? This in itself, to me, warrants a higher rating than I might ordinarily give. Lives of Mothers & Daughters: Growing Up with Alice Munro is definitely more about Sheila Munro than it is about her mother. Yet while I found those parts interesting, it was the personal anecdotes about Alice Munro that I really treasured. I also appreciated the black and white photographs included throughout the text. Sheila includes information about her ancestors who arrived in Canada, from Scotland, in the early 19th century, long before her mother’s birth in 1931. I basically skimmed those sections, anxious to get back to the more personal tidbits. The writing style is simple, straightforward; and Sheila tries to maintain a balance about what her life was like growing up with her ambitious mother. This memoir/biography is not at all like My Mothers Keeper by B.D. Hyman. (I read that many years ago and am surprised I finished it, it was so mean-spirited.) In fact, in 1997, Alice Munro asked her daughter if she would like to write her biography. It took Sheila about six months before she realized that she did want to write about her mother, but that she was too close to her to write a biography; what she preferred, was to write a memoir: For years I had been writing vignettes about my own life, but I could never find any framework into which they would fit; they seemed to be going nowhere, and I was growing more and more frustrated. It occurred to me that perhaps I could use a memoir as a framework. And as for learning more about Alice Munro, I was in the unique position of being able to talk to her any time I wanted, about anything and everything under the sun. I was having conversations with her that other writers would kill for. And therein lies the main reason to read this book: not even Robert Thacker, who took thirty years to research his tome of a biography, was able to provide such intimate details about Alice’s life, although Alice finally granted him interview time – thirty hours over six days. And Alice not only sanctioned Sheila’s decision to write a memoir, she provided time for her to write: There seems something ironic about this, my mother taking James for a walk so I can write. Secretly I feel like a fraud. I’m not a real writer. Yes, I’ve written book reviews, but everyone – especially reviewers – knows they don’t really count. (I included that last sentence for the obvious reason!) So little was known about Alice Munro before the publication of this book because Alice deliberately kept a barrier between herself and her writing, and the rest of the word; she was, and is, an “intensely” private person. Sheila says: The family life she lived with us was not her real true life. That was the solitary life she led at her writing desk. Whenever I went to Comox to visit family, I thought of trying to find out exactly where it was Alice Munro lived. I fantasized about catching her in her yard as I passed by jogging, and stopping to have a little chat over the fence. Not any more. And besides, after reading this book, I know that I wouldn’t likely find her out gardening in the first place – she’d be inside, busy writing! There are many little details that I could include here to entice you to read this book. But if you’re an Alice Munro fan, as I am, you will prefer to read them yourself. Suffice it to say that I was so fascinated with the information about how personal things related to various stories, that I am now rereading one of Alice Munro’s earlier collections: Who Do You Think You Are? Stories By Alice Munro. Sheila Munro’s memoir has provided a picture-window that I did not have before. Alice Munro’s stories were powerful reading before, but they have been enriched for me because of the insights shared in this memoir about growing up with one of the most famous fiction writers in the world. I am very grateful to Alice Munro’s daughter for giving me that. (less) | Notes are private!
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1
| not set
| Sep 15, 2009
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Sep 22, 2009
| Paperback
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89
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| 0913580813
| 4.00
| 1
| 1986
| 1986
|
This was the text used when I took a course in Signed English. The word “Comprehensive” in the title says it all, really: it includes the alphabet, nu...more
This was the text used when I took a course in Signed English. The word “Comprehensive” in the title says it all, really: it includes the alphabet, numbers, and over 3000 illustrated signs. As stated in the preface, the majority of signs are taken from American Sign Language, but it includes signs from the Gaullaudet community, the various SEE systems, the National Technical Institute for the Deaf, and other postsecondary programs. The primary audience of this book is of course the Deaf community, but I would recommend this book for any parent. While various kits on Signing for Babies are good starters, this text offers many more options for parents wanting to teach their children to sign. My now 19-month-old hearing grand-daughter learned to sign early, and while she still uses many signs, she has developed an extensive spoken vocabulary as well. Early on, though, signing allowed her to express her needs, so frustration was limited. She has even made up some of her own signs. It goes without saying that for parents of children with any level of hearing impairment, teaching your child Signed English will not only help to develop his/her English, but speech and speechreading (often still incorrectly referred to as lip-reading) will also be enhanced. And obviously, the earlier you begin the better. Finally, if you are at all interested in language, Sign is a beautiful one, and fun to learn. Teach your partner or family members a few signs to use in noisy places, or in situations that call for nonverbal communication. How invaluable are those few signs you know now – yes, those ones! Why not expand your signing vocabulary! (less) | Notes are private!
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too-many-to-count
| not set
| Aug 22, 2009
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Aug 22, 2009
| Hardcover
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87
| 
| 0027590402
| 3.84
| 631
| 1958
| 1984
|
I enjoyed Lotta on Troublemaker Street – the follow-up story to The Children on Troublemaker Street – but suspect that I would have enjoyed it more if...more
I enjoyed Lotta on Troublemaker Street – the follow-up story to The Children on Troublemaker Street – but suspect that I would have enjoyed it more if I had read it first. In this early edition of Lotta, the illustrations by Julie Brinckloe show a more disheveled Lotta, but the drawings are every bit as charming as Robin Preiss Glasser’s illustrations in The Children on Troublemaker Street. * This five-chapter story is about five-year-old Lotta waking up angry at her older siblings for hitting her beloved Bamsie, the fat, stuffed little pig that Lotta insists is a piggly bear. Now this did happen in a dream, but Lotta still can’t shake off her annoyance, the first visible sign of which is her refusal to wear the sweater knitted by her grandmother. She would rather wear her velvet dress, her Sunday best, because the sweater “tickles and scratches.” When Mother insists, Lotta declares she’d rather go naked. Nonplussed, her mom descends the stairs to the kitchen. Soon afterwards, she calls up to tell Lotta that her hot chocolate is ready. After not answering her mother’s second call, Lotta decides Mother has waited long enough, and besides, she really is hungry. The illustration shows Lotta marching into the kitchen with Bamsie in tow. She isn’t exactly naked – she’s wearing an undershirt, panties, socks and shoes. Her mother, calmly drinking coffee while reading the paper, says hello, but Lotta doesn’t answer. Finally, “Well, if you really want me to, Mother, I’ll drink my hot chocolate.” But her mom says she isn’t insisting Lotta drink the chocolate, but that she should get dressed first. Things aren’t fair! First she has to wear a scratchy old sweater and now she can’t have food. “Bad Mother!” she says, stomping her foot. For this, she is sent to her room until she’s ready to behave. Inside her bedroom, Lotta proceeds to cut the horrid sweater up until it is in pieces and decides she’ll blame a dog for doing it. By the end of the chapter, she justifies her actions by half-believing that everyone is mean, so she’s entitled to blame a dog for the ruined sweater. She looks at the wastebasket and says quietly, “Besides it was a dog, anyway.” “Lotta Moves Away from Home” is interesting: Mother calls up to ask Lotta if she’s ready to be good, and tells her to put her sweater on so they can go shopping together. Obviously, Lotta can’t wear the sweater, so her mother decides to go to the store without her. “Your hot chocolate and toast are still on the table if you want them. I’ll be back in a little while.” At first Lotta doesn’t know where she’s going to go but soon decides she’ll ask Mrs. Berg, their neighbour, if she can live with her. If it wasn’t for Mrs. Berg nearby, I could hear alarm bells going off, especially during this day and age when most parents chauffeur their children everywhere, and in many cases, never let them out of their sight, let alone leave them home alone. And certainly, Lotta is headstrong and determined, but not nearly as independent as Pippi, who does live alone and is the character Astrid Lindberg created that caused so much controversy over the years. But that’s another story. Suffice it to say that, in this translation at least, Mrs. Berg sets Lotta up in the “junk-room attic” which is actually the second floor of a shed in the furthest corner of Mrs. Berg’s garden. After much reorganizing and dusting, and a system set up for receiving the delivery of food from Mrs. Berg’s house, Lotta has a “househole” just like her mother’s. At the end of the story, after a straight-faced visit from each member of her family – Mother brings a houseplant, the custom when someone moves – Lotta doesn’t make it through the night in her househole, and decides (surprise-surprise) to move back home and into her parents’ welcoming arms. *This edition is the earliest one I could get via inter-library loan, and is out of print. Interestingly, this edition is apparently more difficult to find than those printed in the 1960’s. Recently, the CISIA (Consumer Product Safety Improvement Act) stated that books printed before 1986 should be pulled from library shelves (!) because before then lead was not banned from printer’s ink. >> http://www.cbc.ca/consumer/story/2009... << If so, not just children’s books, but books such as Fahrenheit 451 would make the banned list – unless they are reprints, of course. Or perhaps we’ll need to insist our children wear white gloves to read: can’t you just hear the eye-rolls from Lotta and Pippi! (less) | Notes are private!
| Manny
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twice
| not set
| Aug 2009
|
Aug 14, 2009
| Hardcover
| |||||||||||||||
86
| 
| 0689846746
| 9780689846748
| 3.99
| 258
| 1957
| Dec 01, 2001
|
I enjoyed this book, first published in 1958, even more than I did Lotta on Troublemaker Street, published in 1961. In The Children of Troublemaker St...more
I enjoyed this book, first published in 1958, even more than I did Lotta on Troublemaker Street, published in 1961. In The Children of Troublemaker Street, Lotta, at four years of age is a year younger than the follow-up book. I imagine Astrid Lindgren, like characters from sitcoms that end up with their own show, decided to write a book focusing on Lotta because in this first book, Lotta is a great source of entertainment for the whole Nyman family, and “steals the show” so to speak. I can’t believe how often I laughed out loud reading this 92-page “Ready-for-Chapter” book when its targeted audience is 7-10 year-old children. But it’s funny; it turned out to be just the thing I needed for “light” reading! Our narrator is almost-six-year-old middle-child Maria. Older brother Jonah is called “Big Noise” by Dad, Maria is “Little Noise”, and Lotta is “Little Nut”, The thing I like most was how Lotta’s older siblings, Maria and Jonas played together, creating fun things to do – things that often got them into trouble. Of course, this is author Astrid Lindgren’s trademark: create children like Lotta and Pippi Longstocking http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/... children who do things they aren’t “supposed” to do. Not really a novel, this is more a collection of ten separate days in the life of the Nyman family. In “Lotta is Stubborn” Maria is sent to the store for medicine the day following Lotta’s refusal to take anything for the cough and cold that worsened overnight. Maria is waiting for the clerk when Lotta walks in, her nose running worse than ever. Maria tells her to go home but Lotta refuses. When a lady nearby asks, “Don’t you have a handkerchief?” Lotta replies, “Yes, but I don’t lend it to strangers.” In “We Visit Our Grandparents” Mother and the children take the train, because Mother doesn’t drive. On the train, Lotta whispers loudly to her mother: “That old man has a wart on his chin.” Mother tells Lotta to be quiet; the man can hear her. A look of surprise crossing her face, Lotta asks, “Doesn’t he know that he has a wart on his chin?” Later, when no one can find Lotta, she’s finally discovered busily explaining to the occupants of a compartment further down, “In our compartment there is a man who has a wart on his chin but he doesn’t know about it.” And in “Lotta Almost Curses” – I won’t give it away, but – one little scene is particularly illustrative of Lotta’s precociousness: Up in a tree house, unable to finish eating all the pancakes their grandmother made them, Lotta hangs them on the tree, pretending they’re leaves. Eventually those pancakes get eaten, so Lotta proclaims that they have to begin eating the green ones. She puts jam and sugar on a leaf and eats it. When Jonas tells her she’d better make sure there isn’t a worm on the leaf, Lotta says, “The worm has to watch out for himself.” Granted, Lotta is quite astute for her age, and these are tame anecdotes by today’s standards. But Robin Preiss Glasser’s illustrations are delightfully expressive, and it’s a story that a young reader could read independently and “get the humour”. Teaching Grade 2 for a few years, I was often amazed at what children at that age found hilarious; it’s an age where they can appreciate puns or the silliest of jokes. And of course this book would be great fun for an adult to read aloud to a child, too. (less) | Notes are private!
| none
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twice
| not set
| Jul 2009
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Aug 13, 2009
| Paperback
| ||||||||||||||
91
| 
| 0887842151
| 9780887842153
| 3.70
| 157
| May 05, 2008
| May 05, 2008
|
4 ½ stars It seems ironic (to me, anyway) that I had already partly written a review for The Withdrawal Method when I had an accident that meant I had...more 4 ½ stars It seems ironic (to me, anyway) that I had already partly written a review for The Withdrawal Method when I had an accident that meant I had to quit writing: I’ve had to extract my body from the computer. I literally could not sit down. Now I write this half-sitting, half-standing, and in short spurts; I pull out from my chair now and then to give my butt a break. When the expression “withdrawal method” enters conversation, it’s usually in reference to a form of birth control, generally ineffective, as well as messy: unsatisfactory as well as unsatisfying. That Pasha Malla chose to title his collection of 13 stories under the header The Withdrawal Method is certainly ingenious, and quite effective, especially given that there is, if not sexuality, then at least some form of intimacy in each story. And all the narrators are male, with characters ranging in age from children to adolescence to young adults. I most enjoyed the stories that involved children, whether they were primary or secondary characters. Pasha Malla is a young man, himself not that far removed from childhood. Perhaps it is easy for him to recall childhood. Not to take away from his talent; his treatment of childhood is realistic but empathetic. There is often in these stories a disturbing aspect of sophisticated naiveté – arguably a contradiction in terms; but take the story “Big City Girls”: seven-year-old Alex is at home with his fifth-grade sister and a few of her friends. Malla builds the tension up until this bored group begins to talk about sex, which in turn makes them wonder about the big city, and from there, what it would be like if a girl was raped by a homeless person. These children don’t know much about rape except that it’s bad, so they decide that a knife must be part of the act. They make up a game where Alex is the rapist. Without giving away the details of the story, Alex is eventually sent to “jail” – his bedroom. The story ends with Alex watching the girls from his window: four girls on their backs in a line, making angels in the snow. But Pasha Malla’s genius is in how he draws out the tale, and ends it with this beautiful, innocent scene, with Alex as witness – and changed, in a very subtle way. This is a very believable story. Not so believable to me was one detail in the futuristic story, “Being Like Bulls” – I just couldn’t visualize Niagara Falls dried up. And yet, by disengaging from that image, I was able to appreciate Pasha Malla’s creative exploration of the relationship between main character Paul and his friend Kaede. My least favourite story, and the only one I read out of sequence, was “The Love Life of the Automaton Turk.” After reading all the other stories, how could I not return to it? The three parts of this story are linked by a failed invention that begins in Vienna, 1755; is found in Havana, 1838; and then again in Philadelphia, 1854. Each of the other stories was different, but this one jumped the rails onto a completely different track, and missed its mark, at least for me. The only sense of completion I got was that I could now claim to have read the whole book. But I can truthfully say that I would buy the book for any one of the seven stories that I thought were most compelling, despite some disconcerting themes. Besides “Big City Girls”, I loved “Pushing Oceans In and Pulling Oceans Out”, Long Short Short Long”, “Dizzy When You Look Down In”, “Pet Therapy”, “The Past Composed”, and “Respite”. I would recommend that you read this collection as a book – from the first story to the very last, very short story. It might make you think just that much more about how this extraordinary collection of stories by an up-and-coming author fits together. Awards thus far for this book: Recipient of this year's Danuta Gleed Literary Award ($10 000 administered by the Writers’ Union of Canada) Winner of the Trillium Award. ($20 000) Finalist for the Commonwealth Writers' Prize Longlisted for the Giller Prize.($50 000 for winner; 5 000 for 4 runners-up) In an interview: "It hadn't even crossed my mind," said the author of The Withdrawal Method. "I mean, a first book of stories? I was kind of shocked." Won the Ellis Award for the Best Short Story for “Filmsong”, his contribution to the Toronto Noir. Do yourself a favour and insert The Withdrawal Method into your list of books to-read. (less) | Notes are private!
| none
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1
| not set
| Aug 2009
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Aug 11, 2009
| Hardcover
| ||||||||||||||
85
| 
| 0670557455
| 9780670557455
| unknown
| 4.08
| 61,328
| 1945
| Oct 16, 1950
|
5 stars *(My child-experience rating, though my adult rating wouldn’t differ much.) As an adult, I find it interesting to revisit books I read as a chi...more 5 stars *(My child-experience rating, though my adult rating wouldn’t differ much.) As an adult, I find it interesting to revisit books I read as a child. Pippi Longstocking is one of two I remember most vividly; The Ugly Duckling is the other. These stories are so different from one another that I find it odd – it must say something about my personality as a child. Rereading Pippi recently, I laughed out loud throughout the first half of the story and then I’m not sure what happened. Maybe “Monkey mind” took over my brain. (“Monkey mind” is a Buddhist term that refers to a “mental busyness that separates us from our true hearts”.) Astrid Lindgren has been quoted as saying that “if an adult reads her books, it means there’s a kid living in their souls, like it did inside hers.” So maybe the adult-I-am shut down the child-in-me after a while. Or maybe the novelty simply wore off after a hundred or so pages. But, I did keep smiling; it’s just that my rather loud laugh no longer ricocheted off the trees and mountains around me as I read outdoors on the deck. Like children throughout the last 64 years, since Lindgren first cast her character onto the page and into the world, today’s sophisticated child will likely still be highly entertained by “Pippilotta Delicatessa Windowshade Mackrelmint Efraim’s Daughter Longstocking, daughter of Captain Efraim Longstocking, formerly the Terror of the Sea, now a cannibal king” as Pippi explains to the teacher when she decides to go to school – for a day. Pippi decides she doesn’t need to learn her “pluttification tables” and so that is the end of that. Who could resist a 9 year-old girl living alone with no parents – no one is there to tell her when “to go to bed just when she’s having the most fun”? Pippi believes her father is still alive and she waits for him in their house called Villa Villekulla, along with Mr. Nilsson, her pet monkey, and her horse, that she bought with one of the many gold pieces in the big suitcase she carried from the ship. Pippi is so strong she can carry more than a suitcase of gold – she can lift a whole horse. And, as the reader finds out in Chapter 3 “Pippi Plays Tag with Some Policemen”, there is not one police officer who is stronger than she is. Pippi’s foils come in the form of neighbours Tommy and Annika, “good, well brought up, and obedient children” who first encounter the “most remarkable girl they have ever seen” when Miss Pippi goes out for her “morning promenade.” It is through their eyes that we learn that “Her hair, the color of a carrot, was braided in two tight braids that stuck straight out. Her nose was the shape of a very small potato and was dotted all over with freckles.” Her dress was also unusual: Pippi had wanted it to be blue but ran out of cloth so had to use scraps of red. She also wore a pair of long stockings, one brown and one black, and a pair of black shoes, exactly twice as long as her feet. “These shoes her father had bought for her in South America so that Pippi would have something to grow into.” Indeed, as her two best friends come to understand, Pippi had been traveling all over world while they had been attending school. She makes up stories about the people in many of the countries, and when her friends accuse her of lying, that it’s “wicked to lie,” Pippi concedes that it is, “But I forget it now and then… and let me tell you that in the Congo there is not a single person who tells the truth. They lie all day long. Begin at seven in the morning and keep on until sundown. So if I should happen to lie now and then, you must try to excuse me and to remember it is only because I stayed in the Congo a little too long. We can be friends anyway, can’t we?” Like children everywhere, how could these children from a conventional home resist the outrageous, uproarious, extraordinary life that defines Pippi as one of the most controversial and popular characters to enter the world scene of children’s literature? When Annika wonders who does tell Pippi when to go to bed at night, Pippi says she tells herself. “First I tell myself in a nice friendly way; and then, if I don’t mind, I tell myself again more sharply; and if I still don’t mind, then I’m in for a spanking – see?” She messily makes pancakes, and when the yolk lands in her hair, well, she always did hear that yolk was good for the hair, and soon hers will “begin to grow so fast it will crackle. As a matter of fact, in Brazil…” Pippi Longstocking has been published in more than 100 countries and 85-plus languages, from Arabic to Zulu, winning awards in Russia, Denmark, Chili, and Sweden. Who would have believed that from the time Lindgren began writing this story in 1944, she would end up topping the list of Sweden’s best-selling authors, become the winner of the Hans Christian Anderson International Gold Medal, as well as the Smile International Children’s Award? Not Astrid Lindgren and the many readers who were shocked by Pippi. Lindgren evidently said, “I was personally quite shaken by Pippi, and I remember that I ended my letter to the company, ‘In the hope that you don’t warn the child welfare officer.’” Two years ago, the China Children’s Art Theatre joined with Swedish artists to adapt this story into a musical to mark the 100th year of Lindgren’s birth. And when some from the “typically conservative Chinese culture” claimed Pippi a bit too naughty, the drama’s director said, “the story is just about children, and Pippi rebels against adults who do something wrong to children. Pippi is not a bad child, just humourous.” Astrid Lindgren said she wrote for children “to teach them how to be more human and understanding people.” With Pippi’s heroic acts such as teaching bullies and would-be-burglars a lesson, and saving two little boys in a house fire, made “believable” by the feats she was able to form in the circus, I think the author succeeded. Speaking of the circus, when the crowd is offered a hundred dollars to anyone who can “conquer the Mighty Adolf” Pippi knows she can do it, “but I think it would be too bad to, because he looks so nice.” When Annika tells Pippi she couldn’t possibly because Adolf is the strongest man in the world, Pippi says, “Man, yes… but I am the strongest girl in the world, remember that.” No wonder I loved this book as a child! And now that I think of it, it isn’t odd at all that The Ugly Duckling and Pippi Longstocking are two of my most memorable earlier reads: the duckling discovers that the beauty he was seeking was inside himself all along; and Pippi, although unconventional, does the things she wants, but she tries always to never intentionally hurt or harm any one or any thing. She has a strong sense of self, and she proves to be a loyal and generous friend. Pippi Longstocking will endure for many more years for the simple reason that Pippi will inspire her young readers to let their imaginations soar so high and wide that no matter what the odds, a belief in yourself will direct you onto any path you choose. It worked for me. (less) | Notes are private!
| none
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3
| not set
| Aug 07, 2009
|
Aug 11, 2009
| Hardcover
| |||||||||||||
81
| 
| 0395313813
| 9780395313817
| 4.21
| 476
| 1970
| Apr 26, 1982
|
4 ½ stars Note: Bill Peet, author and illustrator, died at the age of 87 in 2002. All of his 34 books, including the first, published in 1959, are stil...more 4 ½ stars Note: Bill Peet, author and illustrator, died at the age of 87 in 2002. All of his 34 books, including the first, published in 1959, are still in print today. In his career as an author and illustrator of children’s books, Peet created a menagerie of unforgettable characters. He had this to say about them: “I write about animals because I love to draw them. Most of my animal characters have human personalities, and some are much like the people I know.” Children from ages 4 – 8 love to listen to these stories, and some of them are inspired to read independently (and successfully), even though the vocabulary is quite sophisticated. I chose to review one book, in the hope that it will create an interest for this great author of picture books. The Whingdingdilly is a story about the many adventures a dog called Scamp experiences in his quest to accept what he is – a story about identity. Both the text and crayon (!) illustrations are rich in detail and colour. The expressions in the pictures and the colourful expressions in the print work harmoniously together to give a lively and vivid look into the world as seen by Bill Peet. The author was able to create very clear pictures of the central character, Scamp, in his aspiration to be like “Palomar, the wonder horse” and the mortification felt by the dog when his owner Orvie laughs at him for imitating the horse:  This sets the stage for Scamp running away and the subsequent adventures that are one of the hallmarks of Peet’s particular brand of storytelling. Scamp has no idea where he’s going, but he stops when he comes to a dense woods. He’d heard that a wicked little witch lived there who possessed the power to turn anyone into a stone or a toad. But Scamp was in no mood to worry about a little witch, so in he went. The imagery is such that the reader can’t help but be drawn into the scene; to actually feel how much cooler and spooky it is in there, and how quiet it is except for the burbling brook running through a jumble of rocks. And the reader can’t help but empathize with the poor, dejected dog as he trots from boulder to boulder beneath a black, overhanging canopy of trees. A little later, Scamp senses someone watching him, and the hair on the back of his neck bristles. It’s Zildy, the witch. “Why old Zildy can turn you into a horse in a twinkling,” she said, patting him gently on the head. “Oh, but I can do much better than that, doggy. How would you like to be something fantastic? The only one of its kind in all the world? A marvelous magnificent something I call a wingdingdilly? What do you say?” To cast the spell she spews nonsense words and rhyme in a smooth-flowing style, to transform Scamp into a hodgepodge of animal parts. From there, Peet weaves in adventure after adventure until, in the end, with a blend of realism and fantasy, the tale is believable: the author has taken the story full circle, placing Scamp back into “dog-world”, where he can no longer communicate his feelings. But nor does he wish to: he is finally happy to be a plain, regular old dog. In the end, both Orvie and Scamp have undergone a growth process in learning to appreciate themselves and the others around them for who they are. And the reader has learned a simple but powerful truth in a quite unique way. And while Peet dressed up a simple plot by the use of rich detail in text and illustrations, he was also careful to create an atmosphere of security for the young reader or listener; through the use of foreshadowing, events unfold in such a way that the reader may actively make close predictions throughout the text. The Whingdingdilly is dedicated to Rama, Bill Peet’s dog: In memory of a wonderful dog. Our library has 20 other wonderful books besides this one. If The Whingdingdilly isn’t immediately available, choose one of these: • Hubert's Hair-Raising Adventure (1959) • Ella (1964) • Randy's Dandy Lions (1964) • Kermit the Hermit (1965) • Chester: The Worldly Pig (1965) • Farewell to Shady Glade (1966) • Buford, the Little Bighorn (1967) • Jennifer and Josephine (1967) • Fly, Homer, Fly (1969) • Wump World, the (1970) •• How Droofus the Dragon Lost His Head (1971) • Caboose Who Got Loose, the (1971) • Spooky Tail of Prewitt Peacock, the (1972) • Ant and the Elephant, the (1972) • Countdown to Christmas (1972) • Merle the High Flying Squirrel (1974) • Cyrus the Unsinkable Sea Serpent (1975) • Gnats of Knotty Pine, the (1975) • Big Bad Bruce (1977) • Eli (1978) • Cowardly Clyde (1979) • Encore for Eleanor (1981) • Luckiest One of All, the (1982) • No Such Things (1983) • Pamela Camel (1984) • Kweeks of Kookatumdee, the (1985) • Zella, Zack, and Zodiac (1986) • Jethro and Joel Were a Troll (1987) • Cock-A-Doodle Dudley (1990) (less) | Notes are private!
| none
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many
| not set
| Jul 15, 2009
|
Jul 15, 2009
| Paperback
| ||||||||||||||
78
| 
| 0590452207
| 4.13
| 226
| 1916
| 1975
|
In this slim volume of 51 poems by Robert Frost, with foreword by Hyde Cox, and wood engravings by Thomas W. Nosan, you will notice that though most o...more In this slim volume of 51 poems by Robert Frost, with foreword by Hyde Cox, and wood engravings by Thomas W. Nosan, you will notice that though most of the poems include people, they are all about things that grow; and many are about and for “people that grow” – children. This collection of clever, observant and compassionate poems – selected by Frost himself for young readers – is recommended reading for Grades 6-8, but I suggest they are poems to be read to and by readers of any age. The book is dedicated to his mother, Belle Moodie Frost, “…who knew as a teacher that no poetry was good for children that wasn't equally good for their elders.” Frost obviously chose these particular poems as a good variety for the young reader; a young reader to be treated as adult, with respect, and without condescension. If you are already familiar with Frost, the only four-time Pulitzer Prize winner for poetry, then you will be happy to know that included in this collection are some old favourites: Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening; Fire and Ice; and The Mending Wall. Robert Frost considered both the writing and reading of a poem to be “little voyages of discovery” and with this volume, he is offering an invitation that YOU COME TOO. (less) | Notes are private!
| none
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1
| not set
| Jul 06, 2009
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Jul 06, 2009
| Paperback
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82
| 
| 088784202X
| 9780887842023
| 3.69
| 1,520
| 2009
| Jun 15, 2009
|
I have been waiting for a new book by Lisa Moore and this did not disappoint. I read slowly right from the start, so that I could absorb each essentia...more
I have been waiting for a new book by Lisa Moore and this did not disappoint. I read slowly right from the start, so that I could absorb each essential phrase, to appreciate how one sentence moved to the next, to marvel at a particular paragraph, or to pause at the end of a subsection to reflect on the way Lisa Moore had crafted a scene. February is a fictional story about how one Newfoundland family of five deals with the loss of husband and father Cal, in the real-life tragic sinking of the offshore rig, the OCEAN RANGER, on Valentine’s Day, 1982. The main characters are wife Helen, eldest child and only son John, and, in flashback scenes, Cal. Secondary characters are Helen’s sister Louise; Jane, connected to John; and John’s three younger siblings: Lulu, Cathy, and Gabrielle. Then there is Barry, the man who not only renovates the house, including choosing the correct paint, but eventually alters Helen’s life. Like a watercolour painting, Moore builds layer upon layer to build the story from its foundation to its final coming-together. Part one begins November 2008 with son John phoning his mother from Singapore. He asks her: Have you ever tried to figure out the difference between what you are, and what you have to become? This is essentially the theme of the novel. Then Moore whisks us to February 14, 1982 when the OCEAN RANGER begins to sink. John and Helen are presented as more affected by the loss than his three sisters. Back again to John, as Jane, the woman he spent a week with seven months ago, informs him she is pregnant. This is the present-time story-line. His mother would force him to do the right thing, whatever that was. She would know. But the heart of the book chronicles Helen’s decades-long grief over the loss of her husband. Flash back to 2008 and her delivery of Gabrielle, the youngest child, born after Dad drowned at sea. Then, Call me when you get to New York, his mother said. We’ll talk about the baby. Moore has created an interesting structure here. Five sections are broken into subheads with titles, including dates for each. Most of the story takes place during 2008: June, August, October and November; not in order, and mostly in November. The rest slips back to 1972; ’75; ’78; ’80; 82; ’87; ’95; ’97; more emphasis on February, 1982, but again, not chronological. And finally, the fifth part takes place in January and February 2009. (The book’s release date was June 1, 2009.) The writing is also interesting: Lisa Moore writes the way we often think, with thoughts jumping at random. As with the structure, this semi-stream-of-consciousness style is a very effective way to draw us in and really experience Helen’s grief. At times, Helen’s view of the past and the present reflect a distorted view of reality; thoughts that create images like one of those carnival mirrors. Except that rather than comic, more often the optical-feeling effect is of multiple parts, missing parts, huge parts; memories can loom large, or have pieces missing, or be jumbled together. The present can be distorted by memories of the past. Juxtapose this with clarity of vision that is so startling it can leave the reader gasping. With such structure and writing style, one might think the story would be difficult to follow. On the contrary: it serves to add breadth and depth – of feeling, of sensory detail, of the moment-to-moment momentum of observation, as when her father-in-law phones to tell her he’d identified Cal: Helen lost her peripheral vision. She could see a spot about the size of a dime in a field of black. She tried to focus on the surface of the kitchen table. It was a varnished pine table they’d bought at a yard sale, and in that little circle she could see the grain of wood and a glare of overhead light. She had willed the spot to open wider so she could take in the bowl with the apples and the side of the fridge and the linoleum, and then the window and the garden. Her scalp was tingling and a drip of sweat ran from her hairline down her temple. Her face was damp with sweat as if she’d been running. Which brings me to the use of light as a motif, starting with the very first lines: Helen watches as the man touches the skate blade to the sharpener. There is a stainless steel cone to catch the spray of orange sparks that fly up. Here is Helen, up at 4:00 a.m., on the night the rig began to list, though she doesn’t know that yet. There’s a storm happening outside: But then a plow came down over the hill and it was bleating and the revolving light on the top of the cab struck the frosted window and Helen could see thousands of crackles and crystals and grey shimmer burning as white as flashbulb, violet-white, just for an instant, burning so fiercely it hurt somewhere behind her eyes. It hurt somewhere deep in her skull. It felt as though the light had pierced her, gone through, and the mad design of the frost, infinitely curling in on itself, had been printed on her retina. It felt like a puncture. A rapture.…the light hitting the frost at that second had refracted, each minute crystal a hall of mirrors, so that the intensity was hugely magnified. If only I could quote three pages (!) here, because it all ties in with her being pregnant; and leaving a pot burning on the stove, and hurling the pot outside into the snow; and dreaming of Cal, and being afraid. February is the shortest month of the year; but it often seems the longest, at least in parts of Canada, when winter can be unrelenting; will February never end? Helen’s grief is relentless for twenty-six years. For me, Helen’s grief was an intimate experience; at once familiar and fresh at the same time. It may sound contradictory, but it never seemed morose; there was beauty in Helen’s memories, in her grieving. In writing this story, Moore knew that she had to reveal glimpses of the intense love Helen and Cal shared; so that we could understand how much Helen had really lost. The bright flame of their love extinguished in a flash when Cal died, plunging Helen into an inward life of loneliness, of darkness. But like the seasons, in the end, Helen cycles back to emerge from the dark into light once more. February is a passionately crafted story that rang true to me, true to life. (less) | Notes are private!
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75
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| 088971200X
| 4.60
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Winner of the 2005 Acorn Plantos People’s Poetry Prize (The award recognizes poetry written with the common reader in mind.) I know what I wanted. Air...more Winner of the 2005 Acorn Plantos People’s Poetry Prize (The award recognizes poetry written with the common reader in mind.) I know what I wanted. Air thrust in and out of lungs like blows, that pure physicality, shortness of breath, chests rising, pupils engorged to take in the peaks around us. Fine licks of sweat, taste of salt on mouths, we would always lead ourselves back to where we started. After reading this book, I have decided that I am going to read more poetry. In this collection, Laisha Rosnau explores a wide range of themes around leaving and arriving; transit and transitions. The lengthiest poem (8 segments) “Notes on Arrival/Notes on Leaving”, is about leaving behind a man.: 1. it is a transition; over a boundary marked only by a fold in a map…6. leave behind/bands of humming light in the sky so newly dark it is electric with night./when you do, when you leave without him, you will feel the fold in the map as surely as the jolt of tires too fast against a sudden rise in the road./and while 7. his smell/wanes from your skin you find solace in the fact that you have the truck, your movement refracted in sun off metal, a silvered drop sliding down the charted page, memory of his tongue tracing a route down your torso, thrumming south, the highway swelling with each town, until you round the last curve, a crescendo, cross the river’s mouth to a place where the city meets itself on each wave and ripple the water brings in, and 8. forget everything else. Rosnau’s poetry is direct; yet it flows with a deep intensity. There often seems to be a current of sexual energy running between the lines in Laisha's poetry, no matter what the subject. In “Hestia”: When your sisters left, taken by marriage, your father hired hands, you helped Mother in the kitchen./It would be years before the first half-ton truck drove by your farm but you knew then what you wanted: the control of something so large: to hold the gears in your hand and shift. Within the themes are memories of childhood, teenage growing pains, love relationships and sexuality. One of my favourite poems is called “How Babies are Made”. It begins with a young girl and her mother reading a book that explains intercourse, very explicitly. The girl asks, “Do grown-ups really do this?” and “How does it feel?” “Very good. If you’re married.” Your friend’s cat gives birth in a box under the table on the patio. You tell Cindy about the way babies are made, the words big between you. ...Penis Regina ...until you both wonder who Muffin married. You and Cindy are too small to close the latch on the patio gate. You watch and scream while King, the German shepherd, eats the baby kittens, the sound of small bones between his teeth louder than any word you’ve read. Another favourite is “Request” which begins: As I danced, a man said, I want to see you naked. The poem ends: he never did see me naked – and you might not either. But, let me tell you this: we live in a world saturated with symbolism. Sometimes, it is best to be direct. Laisha explores landscapes across Canada and overseas; from small towns to cities, spanning decades in time. In “One Hundred Dead Kangaroos” she rides in a van with a couple of men in the front seat and is challenged to a game counting roadkill. They “cap the count at one hundred. I win every time, my eye sharp for different shades of death.” Later, on her own, she sees fewer kangaroos, but she counts the dead, regardless. I will remember the heat between our three bodies cramped in the front seat when one of them asked, “How many points for a dead man?” and I didn’t know how to calculate the answer. In the final poem, “Montreal 1977”, the first lines are a daughter asking her mother, “What is charismatic?” Her mother’s answer: “Our Prime Minister.” The poem ends with: …the mother explains, Charisma. Confidence, her daughter’s hand hot in hers. That’s what we need, what everyone wants, and the girl takes note. Notes on Leaving is a slim volume of just over 40 poems, but it is an electrifying debut. There was not one poem I didn’t like. I can’t wait to read Laisha Rosnau’s recently released new collection of poetry, Lousy Explorers. (less) | Notes are private!
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Jun 27, 2009
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74
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| 0321107179
| 3.76
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| 1990
| 2004
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This second edition of What if?, a tome of a book, is labeled “College Edition” and would appeal to anyone teaching fiction writing, or to anyone who...more
This second edition of What if?, a tome of a book, is labeled “College Edition” and would appeal to anyone teaching fiction writing, or to anyone who writes fiction. This book would also appeal to readers: the final two sections – 200 pages of this over-500-page book – contain a dozen short-short stories; and a collection of contemporary short stories by stellar authors such as Margaret Atwood, Raymond Carver, and Alice Munro. The book is organized around fourteen topics: Beginnings; Notebooks, Journals and Memory; Characterization; Perspective, Distance and Point of View; Dialogue; The Interior Landscape of Your Characters; Plot; The Elements of Style; A Writer’s Tools; Invention and Transformation; Revision: Rewriting is Writing; Games; Learning from the Greats; and Sudden, Flash, and Microfiction: Writing the Short Short Story. Although I am presently working on the second draft of a novel, I still do some of the exercises now and then, and have ended up with some surprising results. What If? is actually more like a textbook: Each exercise consists of an introductory paragraph, instructions for completing the exercise, a paragraph explaining its objectives, and finally, in some, but not all cases, an example executed by a student. By breaking down the exercises into their constitutional parts, we ensure that student and teacher understand both the rational behind the task and the method by which to complete it. … Included, are many exercises by fiction writers who are also teachers. In the introduction, the authors quote what Angus Wilson had to say in a Paris Review interview: “Plays and short stories are similar in that both start when all but the action is finished.” This goes along with Horace’s injunction to begin the story in medias res – in the middle of things. In The Exercise: “Consider how many of the opening lines below pull you into the center of the story. What do you know about the story – situation, characters, geography, setting, class, education, potential conflict, etc. – from reading the titles in the opening lines? What decisions has the author already made about point of view, distance, setting, tone, etc.? Notice how many of the titles are directly related to the first line of the story: “The Lady with the Dog” by Anton Chekhov They were saying a new face had been seen on the esplanade: a lady with a pet dog. “Medley” by Toni Cade Bambara I could tell the minute I got in the door and dropped my bag, I wasn’t staying. “Bigfoot Stole My Wife” by Ron Carlson The problem is credibility. “Jump-up-Day” by Barbara Kingsolver Jericha believed herself already an orphan – her mother was in the ground by the time she could walk on it – so the loss of her father when it came was not an exceptional thing. These are only a few of the examples given, and they are followed up by student examples. The Objective: “To cultivate the habit of beginning your stories in the middle of things. Because you are not obligated to finish these stories, this exercise lowers the emotional stakes and helps to shake up and surprise the imagination.” And, if you write reviews, you might find the following “exercise” especially helpful: In Learning from the Greats – What Keeps You Reading?: “In The Eye of the Story, Eudora Welty writes, ‘Learning to write may be part of learning to read. For all I know, writing comes out of a superior devotion to reading.’ Part of the apprenticeship of being a successful writer is learning to read like a writer, discovering how a particular story catches your attention and keeps you involved straight through to the end. The Exercise: Half-way through a story, ask yourself several questions. What do I care about? What has set in motion that I want to see completed? Where is the writer taking me? Then finish reading the story and see how well the writer met the expectations that she raised for you. The Objective: To illustrate how the best stories and novels set up situations that are resolved by the time you finish the story or close the book. To learn how to arouse the reader’s curiosity or create expectations in the first half of your story or novel, and then to decide to what degree you should feel obliged to meet those expectations.” This is a book for a writer at any level. If you use this book, your writing will definitely improve. And if you are “just” a reader, you may well find a new level of appreciation for the writing that you choose to read. There is something in it for everyone. (less) | Notes are private!
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on-going
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Jun 26, 2009
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73
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| 067980837X
| 9780679808374
| 4.12
| 217
| 1986
| Sep 26, 1990
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Anthony Browne: named the UK’s Children’s Laureate in June, 2009. I love this book – and so did the kids in the many classes I have read it to. Usuall...more Anthony Browne: named the UK’s Children’s Laureate in June, 2009. I love this book – and so did the kids in the many classes I have read it to. Usually, we would read it twice – straightaway – because it isn’t only the printed word, but the illustrations that add depth and texture to this richly layered picture book. No getting around it: the males in the Piggott family are chauvinistic pigs. Dad and the two boys consider it their right to make demands upon the only female in the household, their mom. Mr. Piggott has a “very important job” and Simon and Patrick attend a “very important school” dressed in their British school uniforms. Meanwhile, almost-faceless Mom makes their breakfast, does all the chores; then goes to her own outside job. Every evening when they come home, the boys say, “Hurry up with the meal, Mom,” and Dad, busy reading the paper, adds, “Hurry up with the meal, old girl.” So Mom prepares dinner, does more chores, and makes lunches for the following day while the boys lounge on the chesterfield, in front of the TV.  One night, the boys arrive home to a silent house, “Where’s Mom?” Mr. Piggott demands. Mom is nowhere to be found, but she has left a note on the mantelpiece: You are pigs. With his great use of foreshadowing, Anthony Browne has included so many details that even pre-school children will search for all the signs of pigs they can find. The “boys” literally turn into pigs as they try to take care of themselves. (Oh, the artwork is exquisite – and even the language changes): “When is Mom coming home?” the boys squealed after another horrible meal. “How should I know?” Mr. Piggott grunted. They all became more and more grumpy. Another double page spread, with text and more pigs, and then: One night there was nothing in the house for them to cook. “We’ll just have to root around and find some scraps,” snorted Mr. Piggott. And just then Mrs. Piggott walked in. Her three piggy-boys, on their knees pleading for her to come back, see her for the first time as more than just “background”. And of course, given their hard lesson, they begin to pitch in. By the end of the book Mom has a huge smile on her face as she too, pitches in, in a way she never has before. Anthony Browne, author and illustrator of Piggybook, has produced a book about gender roles that is both insightful and meaningful, and sends a message to both males and females. And it may have been written over two decades ago, but the message is still relevant today. (less) | Notes are private!
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dozens
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| Jun 21, 2009
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Jun 21, 2009
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90
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| 0553806882
| 9780553806885
| 4.05
| 890
| 2009
| Feb 03, 2009
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4 ½ stars I have read a half-dozen or so books about Deafness in my research on Hearing Impairment, and each of them is entirely different. Hands of My...more 4 ½ stars I have read a half-dozen or so books about Deafness in my research on Hearing Impairment, and each of them is entirely different. Hands of My Father is unique in that Myron Uhlberg is not deaf, but as he says in the first sentence of this biography of his parents and younger brother, Irwin, and a memoir of his own life: My first language was sign. As a traveler, I speak a smattering of Spanish, French and Thai, but twenty-something years ago a night class on Signed English was offered at the local college, so I decided to take it. I learned over 3000 signs, including numbers and the alphabet – some things can only be finger spelled. Knowing sign language first came in handy when I worked as a Teacher-on-Call for a year in between regular teaching assignments. Signing became part of my “kit” – a portable package of lesson-plans suitable for any grade level – and I was able to use it for almost all the classes I covered. Students invariably loved this new experience; and teachers rarely objected to having a little less preparation. After that year finished and I again had a class of my own, I of course taught my own students to sign; a bit of a mistake, as it turned out, since it was no time before I noticed friends signing to one another from across the room, not doing what they were supposed to be doing. That was the end of that. I still managed to maintain “the language” to a degree by using it in other ways. The most memorable one was a Christmas concert. My Grade 3 / 4 class sang and signed the words to four different songs in English, French, Spanish and Zulu. Even one of the students with Down’s syndrome participated on stage in front of a packed house. The audience was suitably impressed by the whole performance; many had likely never seen sign – nor heard Zulu. All languages are unique, but Sign is definitely underrated, let alone not generally acknowledged as an “official” language. And yet it is a beautiful language of and in itself. What I loved most about Ulberg’s story is that he described the hands of his father so well that I could see him translate the radio commentary covering the boxing championship between Joe Louis and Max Schemling – at six years of age, Myron didn’t have know enough signs to tell what was happening, so he leapt up and acted out both roles. I could also feel the frustration both father and son felt when Dad wanted his boy to explain to him what waves sound like. At first, all Myron could come up with was that they sound wet, but then he knew that his father would want to know what wet sounded like. When he made the sign for “wet”, anyway, his father demanded, “What kind of wet? Wet like a wild river? Wet like soft rain? Wet like sad tears?” Myron was stumped. Finally, he signed, “Waves sound like a billion wet drops breaking apart when they smack down on the hard sand, all the tiny sounds joining to make one great sound. A wet falling ocean sound.” His father got down on his knees, took Myron into his arms and told him he now understood. This coming-of-age story takes place in 1940’s and 50’s Brooklyn, but is recounted by Myron Uhlberg in the present day. It is actually a tribute not only to his father, but to both his parents, as they chose to take a chance on bearing hearing-children despite protestations from their own parents. As Myron learned, his grandparents, aunts and uncles visited the apartment on a weekly basis for the first year of his life. Why? To see if Myron would wake up at the sound of banging pots and pans! Passing this story on to Myron, his father signed how wonderful it had been to witness him waking up, bawling at the noise. Myron’s reaction was to sign back, “Wonderful for who? Now I know why I have trouble sleeping some nights.” The narration is well-balanced, except for the fact that Myron didn’t write much about younger brother Irwin who suffered from grand mal seizures for his first five years; of course it was Myron who heard and had to tend to him nightly. Uhlberg doesn’t stint on his memories of the prejudice and ignorance encountered on a daily basis, and he admits to obvious feelings of resentment at times for being burdened with the role of interpreter for his parents. But he often refers to how appreciative and loving his father was for this son who always tried his best to satisfy his dad’s enormous curiosity about a world that was largely shut off from him. Hands of My Father will move you in many ways and, unless you yourself are deaf, it may well open your eyes to a world that is foreign to you. The Prologue and Epilogue are poignant bookends for this remarkable story. I began reading with anticipation, and ended with tears. (less) | Notes are private!
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Jun 20, 2009
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| 4.41
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| Jul 21, 1954
| Jan 05, 2004
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[Update, to correct review links.:] This is my all-time favourite classic fantasy and I have read it at least four times over the years. I believe it...more
[Update, to correct review links.:] This is my all-time favourite classic fantasy and I have read it at least four times over the years. I believe it has stood the test of time, hence - it is truly a classic. But to read an excellent pair of reviews, I recommend that you go to Brad's, recently posted: >> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/... << And for a different, but equally excellent take, see Manny's review: >> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/... << (less) | Notes are private!
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4 +
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Jun 19, 2009
| Paperback
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72
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| 1551119293
| 9781551119298
| 3.53
| 1,526
| Jul 01, 2008
| Jul 01, 2008
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Finalist Scotiabank Giller Prize 2008 One of Globe & Mail’s Top 100 Books of 2008 Marina Endicott has come up with an original concept: Is her chara...more Finalist Scotiabank Giller Prize 2008 One of Globe & Mail’s Top 100 Books of 2008 Marina Endicott has come up with an original concept: Is her character Clara (Clary) acting out of goodness, or guilt, or a sense of responsibility? Is she selfless or selfish? Or do all of these come into play? Clara herself questions her motives, as will the reader, given the conflicting hints along the way. The story opens with a collision: Clara Purdy, 43, a divorced, childless woman, is “thinking about herself and the state of her soul” when it happens. From out of the other car, the “Dart”, tumbles a whole family. “The old woman was stupidly plucking her bloody shirt away from her body, bits of flesh falling. Wherever Clara turned there were more. A boy, bleeding, holding his head.” Since they had been living in their car, now totaled, they are homeless, but they are not seriously injured. It wasn’t blood: Mrs. Pell, the grandmother, had been eating from a big bag of cherries. The father, Clayton (Clay), the daughter, Darlene (Dolly), Mrs. Pell, and baby Pearce, are fine. The boy, Trevor, suffered a minor scalp wound, but the mother, Lorraine, turns out to have a fever, and bruising. Not from the accident, though: she has cancer. Whose fault is it all? We’re not sure. Is it Clayton, for driving too fast? Lorraine thinks it’s Mom Pell, since stopping for cherries meant Clayton had to drive fast, to make up the time. Clara feels she was at fault, feels sorry for Lorraine, and deep down, she’s dissatisfied with her life, so she takes the whole family into her home. Before committing to this, Clara first tries to explain to Paul Tippett, the priest: “I see what they need,” she finally said. “But I am unwilling to help.” But that was not it, she was not unwilling – she was somehow stupidly ashamed of wanting to help…. “I don’t want them in my house,” she said. But maybe she did. “No one could plausibly expect you to take them in,” the priest said. ‘There are agencies…” “It’s not what’s plausible; it’s what I ought to do.” “You’ve visited them,” he commended her. “Many would not think to do as much.” Many would not think to do as much, she thought, almost laughing…. “Visiting the hospital is – nothing! My whole life does not seem very worthwhile,” she said. “Or even real.” (p.25) As it turns out, neither Clayton nor Lorraine live with Clara. Lorraine will remain in hospital for treatment, and Clay, the children inform Clara, is gone, taking with him her mother’s car, the stereo, the silver clock and teapot, some food, and money from her wallet. But not her credit cards, or so she thought at the time. Later, she discovers he’d taken her phone card, when she receives a whopping phone bill. It appears, that to absolve himself from responsibility, he’s phoned everywhere in an attempt to track down Darwin, Lorraine’s brother who “goes where the wind blows”. And through all this, Clara, as a character, is surprisingly believable, although not necessarily likable. Yes, there is a measure of selfishness in her actions; she wants a family: “When baby Pearce starts crying, Mrs. Pell shows no signs of going to see to him. So Clara went. Mine, she thought.” (pp. 29-30) (Clayton wins, in close contest with his mother, as the most unsympathetic character in the book.) The point-of-view switches from Clary, who has finally found some sense of purpose in her life; to Dolly, who struggles between her gratefulness for the physical comforts Clary provides, and her love for her mother; to Priest Paul, who grieves for his wife, seems capable only of speaking in Pulpit Prose, yet becomes intimately involved with Clara; to Lorraine, powerless to do anything but accept Clara’s help, and while acknowledging the impossibility of repaying her, does not feel indebted to her. Through these characters, we understand that Trevor can’t even admit to himself that he loves Clary, because of his loyalty and love for his mother; and that baby Pearce regards Clara as his mother – Clary is ecstatic when Pearce’s first word is “Clah!” Each of the characters in Good to a Fault is extremely well drawn, including minor characters not mentioned here. My favourites were actually Darwin and Dolly. Darwin is responsible – when he needs to be: he spends his nights in the hospital with Lorraine, and is a wonderful uncle to the children. He also becomes a good friend to Clary. Dolly is a treasure; I loved it when the perspective switched to her. And we have a nice, tight ending, too, with all threads of the story pulled together, all characters’ true feelings and roles revealed in a very ingenious way. Good to a Fault begins with a compelling premise, and finishes with a fine flourish. (less) | Notes are private!
| Fiona
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| Jun 17, 2009
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Jun 14, 2009
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76
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| 0375706771
| 9780375706776
| 3.89
| 72,268
| Apr 1997
| Nov 08, 1998
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I’ve had Midwives, Chris Bohjalian’s fifth novel, on my to-read list for quite a while, but I resisted reading it until now because of some personal b...more
I’ve had Midwives, Chris Bohjalian’s fifth novel, on my to-read list for quite a while, but I resisted reading it until now because of some personal baggage: my only son was born, perfectly healthy, in a hospital; but the labour was prolonged, resulting in life-threatening complications that brought me back to the hospital in isolation for almost three weeks during which I was not even allowed to hold my own newborn child. Midwives is a story about a pregnancy that goes wrong, but not in a hospital: in a home. The novel is mainly told through the eyes of Connie, the daughter of midwife Sibyl Danforth. Each chapter begins with an entry from Sibyl’s diary. Connie’s narration does require a degree of concentration from the reader. Bohjalian takes us back and forward in time, from Connie telling the story as an adult, going back to when she was fourteen. And because she was the point-of-view character, Connie had to overhear many, many conversations. Once I had the narrator, and the author’s narrative technique, firmly fixed in my mind, I was able to settle in to reading this compelling novel. For years Sibyl enjoyed a thriving career as a “catcher” of babies. And then, one cold winter night, after a difficult and lengthy labour, Sibyl realizes she needs to get the mother, Charlotte to the hospital. But the phone lines are down, and Sibyl drives her car into a snow bank. She returns to continue to assist in the birth, and then Charlotte collapses. Believing Charlotte has had a stroke, Sibyl attempts CPR, and after some time, concludes that the mother has died – but that there may still be time to save the baby. She performs a caesarian section, and saves the baby, but did she kill Charlotte in the process? Sibyl’s inexperienced apprentice, Anne, and Charlotte’s husband, Asa, later contend that she did: that Charlotte was still alive before Sibyl performed the operation. The coroner comes to the same conclusion, and Sibyl is charged with involuntary manslaughter. The book is the story of the trial and the events leading up to it. As I read this novel I was never bored; and as I approached the end it became, for me, more and more of a nail-biting page-turner. I found the trial and the complementary battle outside the courtroom – medical community against midwifery – very interesting reading. Throughout the story Bohjalian casts doubt even as he leads the reader – sometimes “astray” – to certain assumptions. For example, Charlotte hid her medical history from Sibyl. Did this contribute to her prolonged labour and resulting collapse? Then there’s our discovery, before the end of the book, that Connie is now, as an adult, a certified OBGYN. We must assume that this is because of her mother’s experience. Finally, we never really know what happened that night until the very end of the book. Clearly that was Bohjalian’s intention, and he pulled it off very well. Read Midwives with an open mind, and you’ll form your own ideas about why and how Bohjalian decided to write this story. He certainly did his research, and he makes us think: the major issues surrounding midwifery and the dangers associated with any birth are presented without the author taking sides. For myself, in the end, I feel I didn’t so much read Midwives, as ingest it. Looking back, I think that if I had had a certified midwife, along with a doctor, working with me during my pregnancy, things might well have turned out better. Interestingly, Chris Bohjalian himself has been quoted as saying that “in a heartbeat” he and his wife would be comfortable having a baby at home, or using a nurse-midwife at the hospital. (less) | Notes are private!
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1
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| Jun 29, 2009
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Jun 12, 2009
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77
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| 0399246002
| 9780399246005
| 4.25
| 305
| Sep 25, 2007
| Sep 25, 2007
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What a wonderful, inspiring anthology! Odilon Redon is quoted as saying, “Art is a flower which opens freely, outside of all rules.” The 23 illustrato...more
What a wonderful, inspiring anthology! Odilon Redon is quoted as saying, “Art is a flower which opens freely, outside of all rules.” The 23 illustrators here are each unique and they each talk openly about their art: how they began, and continue to enjoy the creative process. The lay-out is quite ingeniously done: with its fold-out style it invites the reader to literally “enter” the pages of each artist/illustrator beneath a full-page self-portrait. Adjacent to this is a letter addressed to children, and with one exception, a photograph or two of the artist as a child is featured in the top right-hand corner of the page – I viewed this as a personal postage stamp. All letters are signed – even their signatures are interesting! The two pages inside the fold-out vary, but most feature photographs of early work, sketches and finished art, and often, a picture of the artist’s studio. Reading this as an adult, I was reminded of the many books I had read as a child and to other children as an adult. And in many cases I learned about and was intrigued by books I had never heard of, such as Mordecai Gerstein’s The Absolutely Awful Alphabet and Alice Provensen’s A Day in the Life of Murphy. The only author/illustrator not living to this day is Leo Lionni. He is one of my favourite authors, so I was pleased to see him featured, and a letter written on his behalf by his granddaughter. In the Biographies of the Artists in the final pages of the book, it says he passed away in 1999 at the age of eighty-nine. Matthew Reinhart certainly got it right in the opening statement of his letter: “When I was a kid, an uncle of mine, a well-known painter who made giant paintings of ladies in their underwear, told me that I couldn’t be an artist until I was dead. I was too young to argue, but I knew he was totally wrong.” In fact, as Eric Carl says in the intro, that he was “struck by the fact that, for many of [the artists:], the dream or longing to make pictures and tell stories began in early childhood. Tomie dePaola – another of my favourites – says in his letter that he told everyone who would listen that he was going to be an artist when he grew up. He first said this when he was four years old. Tomie dePaola ended his letter with this advice: As my twin cousins told me a long time ago, “You have to practice, practice, practice – and don’t copy.” That was very good advice, so I am passing it on to you, Artist to Artist! Here is a sampling of what a few of the others had to say: Mitsumasa Anno: But in developing one’s own individual style, I believe that the culture that is part of your being from childhood is of great importance. If you look deeply into the culture you were brought up in… you will discover that the actual techniques you need for drawing good pictures are very easy to find. They are within you. Ashley Bryan: In our earliest years there’s no how? to our plunge into art. The doing gives the answer. There is no one way. Your work in art is original and there is no end to the adventure…HURRAH! Eric Carle: Ultimately, my aim is to entertain, and sometimes to enlighten, the child who still lives inside of me. This is where I begin. And just as in my boyhood, making pictures is how I express my truest feelings, my truest self. Alice Provensen: Young children make marvelous pictures. There is nothing they can’t draw. They paint and draw from their imaginations and the world around them. And they are not afraid to draw anything… It isn’t until an adult criticizes the picture and makes derogatory comments – “Those cars only have three wheels” or “The printing on those stores is too big” or “That person’s legs are too long – that children lose their confidence and stop drawing. If young people spent as much time drawing as they do learning to form the complicated letters of the alphabet such as Q or F or G, they would all make good pictures and maybe never even need to draw a straight line. Maurice Sendak: An illustration is an enlargement, an interpretation of the text, so that the reader will comprehend the words better. As an artist, you are always serving the words. You must never illustrate exactly what is written. You must find a space in the text so that the pictures do the work. Then you must let the words take over where words do it best. It’s a funny kind of juggling act. A great example of this is found in Piggybook, by Anthony Browne: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/14... And finally, Rosemary Wells: Expect to be different from other kids, because if you are an artist, you are different. Sometimes it’s hard to be different…but stay the course. Believe in yourself. Few people in this world can truly say they love their jobs, and the meaning of their work. I f you stay true to yourself and practice, practice, practice, you will have a life where you love what you do. And you can do it forever. All profits from the sale of this book go to the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art, which opened in 2002. “The museum’s mission is to inspire, especially in children and their families, an appreciation for and an understanding of the art of the picture book.” That’s what this anthology does. Surely, despite severe cut-backs in education, schools can purchase one copy for the school library for all to share. Or, if you are a parent, relative or friend of a child who aspires to be an artist, this would make a wonderful gift. To learn more about the museum, visit their website at: www.picturebookart.org Take the virtual tour – I did! (less) | Notes are private!
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4 ½ stars This may be Juvenile Literature but it affected me deeply. I don’t recall going to a zoo as a child, but I did go to the circus, once. As an...more 4 ½ stars This may be Juvenile Literature but it affected me deeply. I don’t recall going to a zoo as a child, but I did go to the circus, once. As an adult, I took my son and one of his friends to the circus, and I remember being struck by the contrast in the way that I saw things through my adult eyes as compared to my childhood memory. Gone was the glamour, and instead I squirmed and tried to stay silent for the sake of the two wide-eyed five-year-old boys sitting beside me. We never went again. Yes, I have seen animals in captivity. I had to leave the Edmonton Mall, Alberta, when I saw the dolphin perform tricks to the delight of the shoppers. I went to the zoo in Bangkok, Thailand to get away from the noise of the city. Yes, I recall the quiet, but felt disquieted, especially when I saw animals not native to Thailand such as penguins, camels, Kangaroos, tigers and lions, giraffes, ostriches and zebras. Rob Laidlaw (founder of the wildlife protection organization, Zoocheck Canada, established in 1984) has investigated some 1 000 zoos around the world, from large to small; to the best – where the animals live in “diverse and stimulating habitats” – to the worst: roadside zoos where wild animals live in “small, barren cages”. His point in writing the book (which contains many pictures), is to teach young and old more about the experiences of captive animals, and to ask questions about what you see, if you choose to go. An animal living in captivity is usually lonely – many, of course, are social creatures – and, because they are unable to move freely, end up sick or unfit. Most zookeepers claim their displays are educational, but I ask you: how much can you learn from looking at a caged animal? Elephants in the wild roam areas more than a thousand times larger than can be provided in a zoo. They end up with arthritis, or foot infections, from standing on hard, unheated concrete all day – and infections can cause death. Or imagine polar bears in a tropical zoo in Indonesia. No wonder they develop patches of green algae in their hollow guard hairs! Seven thousand bears are confined in small, steel cages in China. The motive: to supply bile for the Traditional Chinese Medicine Industry. Laidlaw is not saying that zoos should be banned. He’s simply saying that zookeepers really must accept that they are holding animals captive, and must compensate for this injustice by showing their captives a full measure of respect. He lists “Five Freedoms”; what animals in captivity require for a sense of well-being: (1) nutritious food and fresh water (2) appropriate shelter and comfortable climate (3) gentle treatment and veterinary care (4) large natural space and rich environment (5) places to hide and respectful zookeepers This book contains four chapters; includes ten ways to help wild animals in captivity; a list of Animal Welfare Organizations; a Glossary; and an Index. And lest you think it is largely filled with doom and gloom, it isn’t. The final chapter is called An Elephant Step in the Right Direction and tells the story of Wanda and Winky enjoying their elephant-retirement-years in the Captive Wildlife Sanctuary in San Andreas, California, along with five other Asian elephants, where they live on 35 acres and act like "real" elephants. As Jane Goodall says on the back cover of the book: “Rob Laidlaw has been working tirelessly on behalf of zoos ever since I first met him many years ago. This well written book, with its carefully chosen examples and photographs, is a fair assessment of what is bad, better, and best for animals in this world of captivity. It will help you to judge for yourself whether or not the conditions are suitable so that, when necessary, you can speak out on behalf of some unhappy animal prisoner.” This book was written primarily for an audience of children in grades 5-8. But it opened wide my adult eyes, and I recommend it for anyone over the age of nine. And perhaps even younger, if shared with an adult. For the right child, at the right time, this could be a very important book. (less) | Notes are private!
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A combination of these two reviews says it all for me: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/... http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/25... Bravo, Kay. | Notes are private!
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| 0689712030
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When you raise a child, or teach young children, there is bound to come a time when a beloved pet dies. Given that the life cycle of animals is short,...more When you raise a child, or teach young children, there is bound to come a time when a beloved pet dies. Given that the life cycle of animals is short, it is often the first death a child will experience. This story is first person narrative of a young boy trying to comprehend and come to terms with the death of his cat, Barney. They’ve decided to have a funeral and, the night before, the boy’s mother tells him to think of ten good things about Barney. At the funeral, attended by both parents and neighbour Annie, the boy recites his list of good things: smart, and cuddly, and so on. Those are all good things about Barney, said my mother, but I just count nine. I said I would try to think of another one later. And later, as they work together in the garden, his dad tells him how things change in the ground, and that yes, Barney will change, too. And the boy comes to understand how Barney fits in with the circle of life, in this story that comes full circle itself, and delivers on its title. One small detail I found particularly interesting was that Viorst named everyone except the boy. That way, when you read this story to/with children who have suffered the loss of a pet, it will be easy for them to put themselves into the boy’s place. Was this deliberate? Viorst has written many books for children, and she can be counted on to be truthful, empathetic and quite insightful. (less) | Notes are private!
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| Jan 1995
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May 29, 2009
| Paperback
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